JT sat at his desk, clicking the tip of his quill on the surface as he read a rather boring report. He was feeling a bit of pressure from his superiors to take some time off since according to them he was acting in an irrational manner but they’d have to force him to go on vacation because there was no way he’d do it. His mother had encouraged and helped to develop a strong work ethic in her son and that meant not taking days off just because you felt like it. Of course, there was more to his angst than just that but he wasn’t prepared to admit it. He figured he could get over his attitude of do or die…it just might take a while. But apparently his boss wasn’t willing to wait for that to happen since Merlin knew how long that would take. Who could blame the Auror for his actions of late? That seemed to be the rhetorical question everyone had been asking while trying to convince him he needed to take some time for himself. The trouble was that Jack couldn’t just immerse himself in something to avoid his emotional issues; well he could for a little while until he experienced a physical reminder with the pain in his leg. Every few months the seemingly healed wound would open and gross fluids would emerge, making him not only uncomfortable but in a great deal of pain as it would throb horribly. Surprisingly JT didn’t feel too much resentment towards the Death Eaters (he still didn’t know who had done it) since he figured he had it coming what with not being alert enough and behaving in a similar, antagonistic fashion as he was now. He just resented the whole wound itself. He had been fast and strong before all of this and now he had to second guess himself every time he needed to chase someone or something down. It made him feel weak and as an Auror, that could be costly.

Apparently there was some good that came out of it since it helped to mature him a little.Iin the past there’d be no way in hell he’d go to St. Mungo’s about anything even if his arm was about to fall off after a bar fight. Now, he even scheduled an hour or so into his day to make his almost regular trip to a healer to help him clean it and what have you. He put his papers aside, threw on his jean jacket, and left the office for the hospital.

He took the lift up to the fourth floor of the Wizarding hospital and approached what looked like a reception desk. “Yeah, hi…I need to see a Gabriel McTiernan,” he mumbled, smiling politely and hoping they weren’t going to give him trouble. “Do you have an appointment?” the older Witch asked. “No, I don’t but he’s the healer I usually see and I’d be happy to wait till he’s available.” After only a few minutes of waiting, he was ushered to a bed with a curtain around it.

“Mr. Rainey,…Your leg again?"

“Yeah, nice to see you too,” he joked as he lifted his leg onto the table and pulled the leg of his jeans up. He wore a looser pair than usual since he knew Gabriel would have to examine the leg and the dressings would be uncomfortable under his usually tighter jeans.

“On a scale of one through ten, how much does it hurt?...Just so I know how strong of an anestetic potion I'm going to need before I can close the wound again."

“Oh ya’ know…” he murmured, looking at the red and mildly swollen gash on his otherwise pale skin. He scrunched his face up a little in pain as the Healer touched it lightly. “I’d say a two,” he almost said with confidence but then quickly retracted that as he attempted to flex the muscle. “Maybe an eight…or a seven.”