Lundi...? [Magnús and Vidar]

This particular hallway in the children's ward seemed to have an ethereal sadness to it, some vague phantom of the people that had passed through, and passed, this particular cluster of rooms. The oncology ward. When the chief resident had handed Vidar that particular clipboard, his stomach had fallen through to his feet. Could he handle getting close to a patient, only to have him slip through his fingers?

Taking a deep breath, he read the chart, trying to get a feel for the boy's story. Magnús. Icelandic. Leukemia... Pausing in front of the appropriate room, Vidar simply stared at the diagnosis, trying to keep himself composed. He could handle this. He was a professional. He opened the door.

The first thing he saw was the puffin plush. It was clearly ancient, a child's security toy against the nightmares of being in a hospital long-term, and Vidar hated that someone well into his teenage years still relied on it; it felt like his heart was breaking already. But, he put a smile on his face, slipped the chart into the holder at the foot of the cot, and held his hand out. "Hello. I'm Dr Landvik, and I'll be taking care of you."

Let's be fair, he was here for his own good. But he lothed every moment of it. Every day was painful, every day seemed to drag... too much. He wished he would get better soon, he really did.

Magnús saw the man standing beside his bed... another doctor? He sighed, hesitantly moving an arm ever so slowly, if he rushed he'd probably hurt himself more again anyway. "Halló, Dr Landvik." So, this guy was going to look after him? He gave a quick sigh, finally managing to grab hold of his new doctors hand to shake. "So, you're looking after me now, já?"

Nodding, Vidar had to continually tell himself that Magnús was a child. But as he looked at the boy, trying to get a feel for him, he saw more in those eyes than most people had at the end of their lives - it was everything from pain to fear to weariness to hope, and to see that in a child so young softened his own gaze a little. "That's me," he answered, trying to smile a little more genuinely. "Give me just a second to look over this, and I'll see what I can do to get you out of here."

Reading the chart, he frowned thoughtfully. Magnús didn't seem to be responding to the chemotherapy quite as well as he would have liked, at least in this stage of the illness, and that worried him. He was by no means in a critical state, though, which was encouraging.

"Well, if you keep progressing like this, it'll take a while for you to get better, but it looks better than what I'd thought," he quipped, replacing the chart and glancing at the monitor. "I don't think we need to adjust anything for the moment, but I'll be watching your situation carefully. Did you have any questions for me?" The questions always seemed to be the hardest. Vidar found he often didn't have the answers. He didn't know when or if someone was going to die. He didn't know when or if they'd leave the hospital. It was impossible to answer sometimes, and the questions were the part of being a doctor he dreaded most.

Giving the slightest and rarest smile, Magnús gave a nod, watching Vidar as he checked the board on his bed. He knew he wasn't doing as well as he could be, but at least he wasn't dead, right? And at least Vidar thought he was doing well. He smiled a bit more when Vidar just pretty much told him he'd try help him, he really wanted to be out of here. "Takk, Dr. Ladvik."

Grabbing the puffin plush to his side, he listened, watching Vidar look from his chart to the screen. Now, he could ask the questions like they ask on those crappy dramas or he could say no, he didn't really know what to say himself without using the typical things dying people say, he sighed "...I can't really think of anything to ask at the moment, I'm sorry." he replied, giving the slightest frown and looking away.

"Any time," he replied, giving the boy a rare smile. "Since I'm your primary oncologist, I'm going to leave my mobile number, in case anything comes up," Vidar added, scribbling it on the corner of the cover sheet of his clipboard and leaving it on the bedside table. "Call me if you need anything at all, okay? Questions, new symptoms, even if you just need to talk."

There was something about this young boy that tugged at Vidar's heart, a strange, inexplicable need to protect him and make him healthy again. Trying to crack the shell a little more, he tucked his clipboard under his elbow, nodding at the stuffed puffin. "What's his name?"

Magnús watched Vidar as he scribbled on a peice of paper and leaving it on his table. "..O-Okay, thank you..." He hadn't had so much attention in what seemed forever, but it made him smile that little bit more.

It took him a few moments to realise the doctor was on about his stuffed Puffin. It was embarrassing to admit, but when he first got that Puffin, he called it "Mr. Lundi". Remembering such a thought brought a faint blush to his face. "His name is Mr. Lundi..." he gave a slight pause "Lundi means Puffin in Icelandic, by the way."