The End - For Sinthia

[red_peril]

(Takes place one week after this entry. http://red-peril.dreamwidth.org/2504.html)

He tucked his shirt into his pants, the bulletproof vest with it's squib packs of blood in place. Illya didn't even have time to text Sinthia to let her know that the conclusion of the mission was happening now. His handlers had intercepted him on his way to work as he stopped to get coffee that morning before heading to Ivan's restaurant.



"Are you ready for this, Kuryakin?" his FBI handler asked. Amanda was a petite older woman. She was just over five foot and had to crane her neck to look up at the very tall Russian agent.

"Da," he said curtly, adjusting his tie and putting on his jacket. The new thin fabric bulletproof vest was well hidden beneath his clothes. "Are you sure this is going to work?"

"Nervous?" She asked, her cool green eyes searched his face for any trace of anxiety.

"I would be fool not to be," he told her. His face unreadable. "Listen if anything happens to me," he said pulling a hastily written note out of his pocket, "Get this to Sinthia, please." When she was about to protest, he continued, "She knows about the mission, I already told you that. Sinthia won't do anything to compromise it. And this only goes to her if something happens to me. If everything goes as planned, you can just throw it away."

"Just be careful in there, handsome. Don't make me have to deliver this," she said to the FSB agent as she slipped the letter into her bag.

With that he put his gun in its shoulder holster, buttoned his jacket, and stepped out of the trailer. It was parked in a vacant parking lot behind the coffee shop. Illya went in the back door, ordered coffee and by 7:00 am he was at Ivan's side as the old man picked up his grandchildren to take them to school. The rest of the day went fairly routinely.

"The Chechens new leader wants to meet," Ivan announced. "This afternoon. In a neutral location," Ivan said, amused. There was no such thing as a neutral location in New York. As it was, they would meet at a warehouse on the dock in Brighton Beach. There had been squabbling among the Chechens faction of the Vor since Anatoli, their previous leader, had been assassinated earlier in the week. Apparently some sort of truce seemed to be in order. The new man was wanting to heal old wounds between the two Vor factions.

They arrived at the warehouse exactly on time, Illya getting out of the car ahead of Ivan, as usual. Illya recognized the old warehouse. It was not the first time it had been used as a meet. It was strangely deserted. A single shipping container was sitting in the middle of the warehouse floor. "Wait," Drawing his weapon, Illya checked around the container and there was no one.

"There is no one here. Something is wrong," he said looking around the dark warehouse. He returned to Ivan's side. This was supposed to be a routine meeting and yet the Chechen were not here. "It feels like an ambush, boss. You need to get out of here."

Taking his advice, the old man headed back toward his limousine. Just as he was about to get in, a bullet zinged off the door frame and Illya shoved Ivan inside the back seat of the car. "Stay down! Drive!"

Everything after that seemed to happen in slow motion. Illya knew he would be hit, that was the plan. He turned to return fire but didn't have a chance. Of course, that was when the Chechens decided to join the party.

Three bullets slammed into his chest exploding the squibs and making it look as though he had been fatally hit. But even with the bulletproof vest on, it felt like someone hit him with a sledge hammer. Gasping for air, Illya slumped back against the open door of the car.

But the Chechen didn't know the shots weren't being fired in their direction and they opened up on Ivan's car. He felt another searing pain as a slug tore through his thigh. Two more shots hit him in the chest and the shoulder. He felt like he was falling in slow motion as the car moved away and he collapsed just as another bullet struck him, this time in the head. He had no idea if Ivan managed to escape the authorities or if the task force had caught him. Everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~

Under the circumstances, Amanda didn't think that just a note dropped off at Ms. Schmidt's workplace was sufficient. At least, she wouldn't want to get such a note in the mail with no explanation if her boyfriend had been the one who had been critically injured. She went against orders to track Sinthia down and headed to the auction house where she worked.

"Ms. Schmidt? I'm afraid need you to come with me." Amanda Bergen told her, as she showed the woman her FBI credentials.

Comments

[red_peril]

"Are you a relative, miss?" the doctor was asking when she turned to demand his prognosis. From the look on her face, it was clear that she wasn't going to take no for an answer no matter who she was.

"He came through the surgery on his shoulder very well," the doctor started, keeping his voice low out of habit. "Even with the amount of blood loss he suffered. We're giving him extra blood products to try and give him a better chance of healing. The rest of it is really superficial. Broken ribs, the bullet wound to the side of his face, and one through his thigh were easily patched. At the moment, he's in a coma. Which is serious, but not as bad as it sounds. People always think the worst when they hear that, but really, it's the body's way of protecting itself and giving itself time to heal. He make wake up in a few hours or a few days," he explained. "He'll initially have limited movement with his right shoulder and he'll have to go through physical therapy to increase that. He's got several things going for him, he is very physically fit and he's young."

[abyssum_invocat]

"Did you induce the coma or did he slip into it naturally?" she asked, masking the tremor of fear that shrugged its way up her spine when he'd said it first. "I assume no punctures of the intercostal muscles, since he's not ventilated."

She knew her own version of the medical language, yes. Having put people into hospitals, and taken them out, for many years it was impossible to remain ignorant of it and still do a good job. "He;ll need a cane at first." She'd had her knee broken once, she knew how the recovery went.

[red_peril]

The doctor was a little surprised that she obviously had some medical knowledge. "It was natural, but we're encouraging him to stay unconscious for a while. Just to give him more healing time. The fractures in his ribs were luckily minor. It will be very sore for a while and breathing will hurt the first few days. I don't think he will actually need a cane. The thigh wound was only in the muscular tissue. It didn't go through the femur or damage any connective tissue. It will just be painful as it heals and he should be able to bear his weight on it. The shoulder wound was unfortunately, not as lucky. Broken clavicle, tear to the rotator cuff and fractured scapula. It's going to take a long time to heal and may require further surgeries. He'll have to be very careful of that shoulder while it heals. He doesn't play sports, does he?"

[abyssum_invocat]

"No," she murmured, looking at his shoulder while the doctor described the major problems with it. "He doesn't play any sports."

The damage to the shoulder would be a lengthy process to fix, though. "He plays music."

[red_peril]

"That's good," At least he wouldn't be re-injuring it playing football or baseball. "We'll be sure to pass that on to the physical therapist. Eventually, if he recovers most of the movement of his shoulder, he'll be playing music again. It's going to take some time and a lot of practice to rebuild the muscle without straining it." It would probably take a year or more and a lot of hard work and patience to recover. Illya had a long road to recovery waiting for him and patience was not something he had a great deal of.

[abyssum_invocat]

"More than a year?" she asks, tilting her head but not looking away from Illya where he lay. "I'm staying with him here. Until he gets moved to a room."

[red_peril]

"It could be. If he doesn't need any further surgery and he doesn't push it too hard so that he reinjures it, it could take as little as six months." For a rotator cuff injury that was the best prognosis he could give. "That's perfectly fine. I'll have someone bring a chair in for you." ICU wasn't set up for visitors. "I'll also get him referrals for a specialist and a physical therapist."

"I would like to meet with you later," the administrator added before leaving. She had the doctor's permission to be there, it would do nothing useful to argue with her. The doctor told her he would be back in a few hours to check on the patient and also left. A few minutes after they departed, a nurse brought a chair in for Sinthia.

"I'm Bruce, duty nurse for the ICU tonight," the man introduced himself to her. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. Its a slow day and your friend is the only patient here tonight."

[abyssum_invocat]

"I'm sure you would," Sinthia said, the only direct comment she gave the administrator, indeed the only affirmation she gave the man that she acknowledged his existence. Sinthia didn't react much to the doctor's notice that he'd be back in a few hours, but when Bruce came in she accepted the chair, watching Illya's monitor.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I need to make some phone calls, but thank you. I should be able to get whatever I need." She'd need to call her boss, and make sure someone would take care of her dog for the next day or two; all those things done the adrenaline rush wore off, and she curled up in the chair, shoes kicked off neatly under the seat, lacing her hand through Illya's unresponsive fingers, listening to the beep of the machine monitoring his oxygen levels and heart rate. She hummed a Russian lullaby tune gently as she sat with him, waiting for him to wake up.

[red_peril]

A few days later, he finally awoke. Consciousness came slowly to him. His eyes opened to slits and it took him a while to realize that he was in a hospital. He tried to move his arms and couldn't manage it. He was in some sort of cast. Everything hurt. Though he could feel a hand holding the fingers of his left hand. Illya couldn't turn his head in that direction, but he moved his eyes that way and saw Sinthia sleeping with her head on his bed.

"Sinthia?..." His throat was dry and his voice was little more than a raspy whisper and he squeezed her fingers again and tried to speak louder. "Sinthia."

[abyssum_invocat]

She blinked awake at her name being murmured, and lifted her head towards Illya, not fully recognizing that he was awake yet, until she saw his face, and those eyes, and gave him a slow, sleepy but entirely happy smile.

"Hi soldier," she murmured. "I'm glad you're awake, love."

[red_peril]

Illya managed a weak smile. Blue eyes were slitted and a faded gray with pain. He tried to access the damage, but his mind was sluggish.

"Little water please?" He rasped. His tongue felt like dry leather and he didn't have any saliva to properly swallow with.

[abyssum_invocat]

She reached for the water cup that had been on the table mostly for her, and lifted it to his lips as she got up from the chair. "You've been out for a few days, Illya. Apparently you're an overachiever," she managed to tease.

"Amanda came to get me from work. I've been here since you arrived."

[red_peril]

He sipped carefully at the water when she offered it to him. Illya was tempted to gulp it, he was so thirsty, but he tried to control himself. When he spoke again, his voice was a little better, "What do you mean?"

[abyssum_invocat]

"I mean you've been unconscious for four days," she said, rubbing the pad of her thumb over the bones in his wrist. "I've been here. You were shot, do you remember that?" she asked.

She hoped he'd respond that he did, and selfishly thought it would alleviate a good deal of the new worry springing to mind.

[red_peril]

"Vaguely," Illya said after a moment. He remembered getting shot, falling. He liked her touching him. Her fingers were caressing the only thing that didn't seem to hurt currently.

"Four days, huh?" He blinked slowly and tried to process what she was telling him. Time didn't want to make sense to him. "How bad?"

[abyssum_invocat]

She huffed out a tiny amused sound. "Well they told me first you'd been shot in the head, and I assumed it as very bad," Sinthia said. "But it's not extreme. Your right shoulder is the worst of it with the damage to your rotator cuff. The head is a graze, and your ribs aren't splintered. Some cracked from the bullet impact, a few broken."

It made her stomach twist unpleasantly to tell him, but she'd seen worse. She just hadn't cred so much about the people who'd experienced it. "Apparently they didn't actually expect the Chechens to show up."

[red_peril]

"Fucking stupid plan," he sighed through gritted teeth. Illya remembered that much of it. Moving his legs, he shifted his body a little. "Need to get up. I need to use the bathroom," he said. His leg throbbed with the movement.

It was just then the doctor showed up. "You don't need to go anywhere," the doctor said. "You have a catheter, just relax and you can urinate."

That explained why his penis felt there was something in it. "Don't want to wet bed like baby," he protested feebly.

"Don't worry about it, you won't. It will go through a tube into a bag. You won't wet the bed, I promise," the doctor said leaning in to look at Illya's eyes with a penlight. "How's the pain?"

"Not good," he said, giving in and relaxing his bladder. It felt weird, but did give him a little relief. "Hurts to breathe deep." And he hated being trapped in the bed. His legs tingled and felt uncomfortable.

[abyssum_invocat]

"That was what I said," she murmured to her boyfriend's first comment with a little smile, crooked as she stretched herself out and kissed Illya's forehead.

"All told, you are still badly hurt," Sinthia told him quietly. "But I'm very glad you're alive."

[red_peril]

Illya appreciated the kiss. He wished he could reciprocate, but he wasn't going to be moving much. "I am too. I am just not going to enjoy it much for a while."

"This should make it a little better," the doctor said, slipping a control into the fingers of his left hand. "It's a morphine pump. It's hooked your IV."

"Morphine? It is addictive?" he didn't want to become dependent on a drug, but the pain had him near to tears.

"Yes, it is," the doctor answered. "But not at this dosage. It's very small and will only last twenty minutes at a time. You can press the button ten times if you want, but you will only get one dose in twenty minutes. It's not enough to make you addicted, but it will make you more comfortable for the first few days and it will make you sleepy. If you feel like you don't need it, don't press the button. Go ahead and try it."

Illya pushed the button. For a moment he felt no improvement, then in a heartbeat, almost instantly, the pain went away. All the tension drained from his face, "Bozhe moi. I like this very much."

Now Illya knew exactly why the morphine was so addictive. He took a deep breath without the stabbing pain in his ribs. The tingling sensation in his legs went away and he was able to really relax. For the first time since he opened his eyes, he felt no pain at all. Just sort of warm and comfortable. And sleepy. In moments his eyes closed and he was out. It was a normal sleep this time, not the profound unconsciousness of a coma.

"He should sleep for an hour or so," the doctor told Sinthia. "When he wakes up, we'll see if he can take a little food. I'll be back about then to check on him." He left Sinthia alone with Illya for now.

[abyssum_invocat]

She knew how much of waiting in hospitals with the sick and injured involved doing nothing; she'd rarely been in them herself as a patient, because her keepers had much, much preferred to do their cleanup in-house without such pesky things as consent forms and painkillers.

So she waited with Illya, awake enough herself to just watch him in the time she wasn't on the phone or arranging to put several things on hold back home in the city. She ate--mostly because the nurse assigned to that shift had been giving her pointed looks all day--and tried to let it sink in that it would take a long time for Illya to be totally comfortable again, physically speaking.

[red_peril]

About an hour and a half later, his eyes fluttered open. This time looking much more their normal brilliant blue. "Did I sleep long?" he asked.

[abyssum_invocat]

"Only about ninety minutes," she murmured, happy to see those eyes their piercing blue shade again, smiling at Illya. "Long enough for me to get some phone calls made." She'd had a friend bring clothes up for her to change into; her work clothes weren't altogether made to be worn for days at a time, and she was much more comfortable now in dark jeans and a flower-printed blouse.

"I wish I could take you home."

[red_peril]

The pain had not come back yet. Not fully, anyway. He could feel it like a dull ache, but it was nothing compared to what it was before. He felt significantly better.

"I wish I could come home with you." Illya sighed, "I do not like this bed. Could I have more water please?"

[abyssum_invocat]

"Would you like mine any better?" she asked, motioning to the chair with a tiny laugh. Thankfully they both knew she could sleep in some odd positions, but hadn't needed to, actually needed, in years. She just didn't fight it when that was easier.

"Do you think you could eat anything?" Sinthia wondered, bringing him the cup of water, but instead of putting it to his lips she let Illya take it with his uninjured hand, sitting on the side of the bed to make sure he could manage. But as much as she hated being coddled when injured or sick, she imagined he would hate it more so, size and profession notwithstanding.

[red_peril]

"Ugh. No." Sleeping in chairs was not something he cared for though he had done it before. "You could sleep up here with me," he gratefully took a sip or two of water. He already despised the catheter.

"Yes," he said, his stomach rumbling a bit. It had been empty for so long. "I am hungry."