“Mathis, you are missing a finger and [i]I’m[/i] the one emphasizing the importance of safety gloves? I mean, even without the [i]particular[/i] risks in this line of work-“ 

The subject of Aaron’s lecture didn’t seem concerned, leaning away to mock Klaus in the other room. Aaron massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to force his eyes to open wider and stay that way. 

Evidently, Mathis’ comment was not well-recieved, if the erupting canister of rubbing alcohol were any indication. Both men covered their faces, a string of obscenities spewing from Mathis. 

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, this man is flammable you know!” Aaron loudly exclaimed, glaring around at the rapidly evaporating mess. Huffing, he waved a (now-invisible) hand in Klaus’ direction and beckoned Mathis back over to the examination table he was [i]supposed[/i] to be sitting on. With a heavy sigh, he continued, “Alright, enough of that. We’re almost done here, get rid of that shirt - Oh where in God’s name is that tech?” 

The (usually) patient man had to pause to take a breath, donning a stethoscope as he helped Mathis out of his shirt and continued a very routine examination; heart, lungs, eyes, ears, the works. It was a thorough physical that most wealthy men only received once or twice a year, but since the launch of the Zauber Project, every researcher on the team had been getting them once or twice a [i]week[/i]. They were also asked to keep detailed journals documenting anything that felt out of the ordinary, along with tracking how much they slept and ate and [i]especially[/i] the details of any and all magical episodes. Aaron kept detailed notes on everything he checked, compared them with what his patients wrote and told him, and so far was coming up with less than satisfactory results. 

Nothing. 

One would think that occasionally combusting would at the very least raise a man’s body temperature, change his metabolism, curb his preference of temperature when he bathed, [i]something[/i], but nothing was changing. Klaus should have been experiencing some muscular atrophy from his occasional refusal to comply with gravity, at least a change in the blood pressure in his feet compared to his head from all the accidental floating, assuming he was simply negating gravity’s effect on his body and the objects that tended to float around him. If that were the case, he should have lost some blood volume, had a change in bone density, or at the very least suffered from Vertigo or dizziness. Jozef, the deadpan lab assistant whom Aaron still found himself a little nervous around, well, he wasn't even sure what kind of symptoms to expect from conjuring objects out of nothing. Loss of body mass? Blood clots? Sudden imploding? He didn’t have a damn clue, which only bothered him further. If nothing else, this was a medically educational opportunity comparable to his short term of residency at a military hospital. 

Sighing heavily, Aaron sat down, recording his painfully normal observations into Mathis’ file and rubbing his eyes. His hands were visible once again, at least. He had coffee somewhere. It was likely cold now, wherever it had gone off to. He huffed another tired breath. “Okay, no changes, looks like. Are you [i]sure[/i] you haven’t felt any differently lately?”

Mathis shook his head through the fabric of his shirt as he pulled it on. “Nothing, I’m telling you. And only three flare-ups this week, so far. My hair the other day, my arm yesterday - remember, the clipboard? - and my whole body this morning. Thank the Lord I didn’t lose another pair of trousers.” He grinned, blue eyes twinkling. 

His gaze was met by the murky eyes of a very tired Dr. Aaron Bachmeier. Where he would normally humour Mathis with a smile, he simply ran a hand through his hair, squinting down at his clipboard and back to Mathis. “And you haven’t noticed any pain or numbness in the affected areas? Tingling? Hot flashes? Sudden, overwhelming urge to drink Petrol?” 

Mathis grinned. “Nothing. I’m sleeping normally, eating normally, and touching hot things still burns.” He shrugged. “Sorry I can’t help you more.” 

Aaron waved the thought lazily away. “No, no, it’s all important.” He stood, shaking Mathis’ hand, resisting the urge to choke him for not having symptoms and gesturing to the door. “Just see me immediately if anything changes, and [i]please[/i] keep up with the journal, yeah?”

Mathis nodded, said his pleasantries, and was gone, a head of blond hair slipping through the door like so many before him. A second later, he stuck that blond head back through the door one last time. “By the way Doc, your lips disappeared. Maybe you should wear a surgical mask all the time.” His smug grin was gone before Aaron could throw a cotton ball at it. 

Glancing at the nearest reflective object, which happened to be the spigot in his sink, he observed that his lips, indeed, had gone transparent. Aaron had seen enough gore in his life not to be particularly bothered by it, but it’s safe to say that the face of a man with no lips isn’t the most pleasant thing to have a conversation with. Without batting an eye, Aaron tossed his clipboard onto his desk, squared away in a small adjacent room to the lab that had become his home. He definitely spent more time there than in his pitiful little apartment. God only knew that he wasn’t sleeping. He’d become more acquainted with the medical records of his colleagues in the past few months than he had with the people themselves, and all of it was getting him nowhere. The complete lack of physical response to something as jarring as damn [i]magic[/i] was enough to keep anyone awake at night. 

Maybe he took his job too seriously, but it certainly wouldn’t look that way to anyone who walked in on the praised doctor, out cold with his head precariously balanced in his hands.