Visiting hours were just about to end, and while Rafe and Gabriel had remained behind in Jonas’ room, Donovan had what he considered ‘good reason’ for wanting to get out of there at least a few minutes earlier than was required for any guests at Mungo’s. Thankfully he didn’t need to explain what this reason was, but some part of him had a feeling they already knew – if they had been checking his latest entry, they definitely knew. He didn’t want to be immature and avoid her completely if he saw her, so he thought it would be better if he left before Danielle – her, maybe ‘Healer Kettleburn’ was the more appropriate title, considering she was his best friends primary care taker while he was laying unconscious in Mungo’s.

God, he still couldn’t believe she was back. His head hurt at the mere thought of seeing her again, and the anger, the frustration and anxiety he had been feeling all week because of what has happened to Jonas was sure to surface and reach a boiling point the moment those blue eyes set sight on a blonde he knew so many years ago; a blonde he had loved - or, he thought he loved her. They were just kids, when they had been together…but he knew whatever it was he felt for her was strong, and it was real, and he knew he didn’t know what to do with himself for such a long time when she just vanished one day. She had the decency to at least let him know she was going to Colombia, but never said when. He found that out on his own when he went to try and see her at her home, only to have the news broken to him by her parents.
( 5 years had come and gone, and Donovan had…changed, over the years. )

The coma that Jonas was in wasn’t a natural one. It was a magically induced one to keep him from suffering through the pain of the reconstruction of his body from a heap of mauled flesh and broken bones. Dozens of charms had been used on him to hold his broken pieces in place, to help him breathe, and a host of other remedies that were medically required to bring him back from near-death. There was an IV in his arm so that he could receive fluids and tonics straight into his bloodstream. It chilled his body, so blankets were tucked neatly over him as he lied, there, in the hospital bed in his ward.

He looked pale but comfortable. The gashes and scrapes on his face and body had almost healed entirely and most of his bones had been repaired or re-grown to fuse together. His hair was still messy and a crucifix hung around his neck, over his hospital robe. The nurses and healers bustled around him day after day as they waited for him to show signs of being on the mend, but there hadn’t been much good to report thus far.

Jonas was also peacefully unaware of the other hoopla that had been generated around him. His family and friends were gathered in the waiting room as they worried themselves and tried to comfort his poor wife and mother, who had been hysterics ever since laying eyes on his battered form. If he knew of the drama he was creating, it would terribly upset him, but a coma was oblivion.

On the twelfth day of his hospital stay, Jonas’s healers made the decision to release him from his coma. He didn’t awake right away, so his family wasn’t alerted, but eventually, he groggily roused out of his deep slumber. The world was a blur as he slowly flapped his eyelids and his hearing was foggy. He tried to raise a hand to wipe at his eyes, but found that to be terribly painful. He would have yelped, but the coma had taken his voice, too, and it came out as a dry murmur as he laid his heavily bruised hand back to the blankets.

Jonas continued to blink in his dazed state as he watched a nurse come toward him and after checking his vitals, lift a small cup to his lips. The water dribbled down Jonas’s front as he tried to drink, finding it difficult to do when one could use his hands and had a shaky jaw, but the water was like heaven on his throat. Clearing it, he suddenly found a low, croaky tone.

“My wife,” Jonas said as the nurse dried his chin. “Where’s my wife?” And why, in the name of Zeus, was he in this place?

There was a plan and it was set in motion from the moment that Devon left work for the day. Darren knew it was a little mad, but it was going smoothly thus far. It had been hatched between him, Aland, and Grail just one day before, when they had met up for drinks and Darren had shown them the ring. Of course, Grail had called him a nutter and said he should call the whole thing off, but thankfully, Aland had been louder in his support of getting this over with already.

Knowing that Devon would go from the floo to wine cabinet first thing, when she arrived home, was the key. Quite literally. The entire plan hinged on her going to the wine cabinet; the door handle was actually a port key. Thanks to a little help from his friends, the moment that Devon touched the cabinet, she would be transported to a place they both knew well – an enchanted bridge in rural Ireland where Darren had confessed his full love for her months earlier. The bridge was said to seal any relationship that was meant to be when lovers crossed it and well, Darren wanted to make damn sure that it all worked out, this time, too. Checking a pocket watch, he saw that it was time for her to be arriving home.

He took a deep breath and hoped she wasn’t apparated to plop in the stream below where he stood.

Who: Mackenzie Goldstein & Caradoc Dearborn
When: now
Where: her house!

( He didn't respond to her, holding back his question as to why Goldstein would join the Order in the first place if they were trying to lay low. )