"Divya, please. If you won't do it for me, do it for him."
Divya uncrossed her arms, placing them on her hips instead. "Give me a reason why I should, Hank," she replied. "We have clients to look after. What should happen if there were an emergency? You certainly couldn't rely on Evan for any help…"
"He needs supervision, Divya. He's sick…very sick," Hank lowered his voice, looking around as if suspecting the man in question to be nearby. "And I know he won't like it but, I have a way of talking him into things…I'm his doctor; he knows he needs to listen to me if he wants my help."
She considered this for a moment. Hank had divulged Boris' routine for secrecy to her before, but she'd never known that his stubbornness would prove to be potentially fatal. But it seemed so ironic…the benefactor, of sorts, becoming the patient, and yet as she thought of it, the more Boris' interest in Hank Med's flourishing made sense. He had needed help, and was much too proud and covert to share such a painful verity with anyone.
"Fine," she said, at last, and Hank gave a small sigh of relief. She held up her hand, "but if there is an emergency, even a small one, I will want involvement, Hank."
"I know," he replied, offering her an assuaging smile. "I won't hesitate to call if there is one. Deal?"
She smiled as well. "Deal."
It took only a few moments to reach the house, and when she arrived, it was utterly bereft of activity. No sounds, no shuffles of busy feet across the polished floor, and not even the hushed, surreptitious flow of Boris' articulated accent behind the door.
It seemed a fortress to Divya…a fortress of lies, of deceit, and a life of self-acclaimed loneliness which she ultimately feared so much in her own future. A part of her, the small part which did not feel intrusive in this messily concocted plan of Hank's, felt as if she was doing him a service in involving herself in his condition; the other half felt completely opposed to such an informal scheme and, knowing she favored her own privacy, intruding in on Boris' furtive lifestyle.
She gave a determined knock and, before long, the sound of footsteps echoed off the decorated walls. At last, she mused…there was some life within the manor after all.
Dieter, the manservant, allowed her in without question, and this came off as strange to Divya, as even the manners of Boris had rubbed off on the butler as well. Questions on behalf of his employer had become a custom for the man, and Divya could not help but assume that she was being expected.
As if prompted by her thoughts, a familiar voice came from the nearby parlor, the same fluid ease and articulation of charm which she had heard the night of the party. "I've been anticipating your arrival, Divya," he paused, and the sound of his footsteps resonated off the masked plaster. "Hank contributed his fair warning in exchange for allowing you in. I'm afraid the terms were that I offer you a drink without first questioning your presence here."
"Yes, well, Hank has seemed to forget that I don't drink on the job." She said decidedly, tightening her grip on her purse.
His brow raised as he walked into the light, the silver of his hair gleaming beneath the gold-washed glow. "You are here on business, I presume," he probed lightly. "On Hank's behalf…or my own?"
"He did not tell you?" She huffed slightly, shifting her weight onto one leg. "I expect he has put the burden of explaining this situation to you on me."
"I'm afraid so but…in Hank's defense, he was rudely interrupted, and therefore…the task has been appointed to you in his stead," he waved his hand, to invite her in, and led her to the parlor room, where he poured himself a drink.
"There is not much to explain, Boris, except that you have been wrong to keep your ailment from him. He wants to help you, but if you do not let him…then I'm afraid that this whole business, of me keeping an eye on you for him, will prove to be futile."
He gave a quirk of his brow and threw back his head, drowning his anger in being discovered with the smooth, consoling taste of alcohol. The glass, however, caught the brunt of his indignation. "Yes, well, Hank has a most irritating inability to keep secrets…secret."
"Like I have said before," Divya replied. "It is all in hopes of keeping you alive long enough to diagnose your problem," she began to dig through the duffel bag of medical supplies which she brought with her. "I will need another blood sample, which I can assure you…we will keep out of the way of inquisitive eyes."
He cast her a sidelong glance, as if questioning her and she rolled her eyes slightly. "Mostly, meaning Evan of course…who cannot keep his trap shut to save his life."
More alcohol was poured, and Boris turned away from Divya's expectant eyes. "I will confess I do not like this arrangement at all," he said, and paused to drain his glass. "But I…I have the utmost confidence Hank, and if this is what he must do then…I will comply. Let us only hope that he does not fail my confidence in him."
"I can assure you that he won't." Divya countered forcefully, and earned an equivocal glance from Boris in return. He then replaces his empty glass to the small tray on which it was settled before, and crosses the room to ease his weary body into the sitting chair, rolling up his sleeve. Divya took this as another act of compliance and removed her supply of needles from the medical bag.
"If I may explain the schedule…"
"By all means," he said, watching with indifference as she pulled on a pair of white, plastic gloves. "Do not feel obligated to repress your explanations."
She cast him a short-tempered look, feeling the scathing disregard in his statement which had been cleverly disguised in eloquent charm and phrase. "I will repress nothing, thank you," she replied, and pulled a syringe from its sterilized bag. "Hank has asked me only to check on you, keep watch on your vitals and routine blood work. I will only come an hour every day, as Hank has requested, and he will make his own visitation as well," she paused and softly prodded the skin for an available vein. "There is also medication which can be administered that will help your muscle contractions, if you will not worsen your condition by administering them yourself."
Boris gave no reply, and Divya could tell, as she gently slid the needle into his arm, that he was quite…opposed to the idea of his privacy being invaded, especially by that of a woman who was most certainly not his doctor.
She could only hope, as the room reverted to a thin, uneasy silence, that Hank's idea would not prove to be more of a bother than he'd planned.
AN: Hey there...this is just an idea, something of an AU post-finale plot, since I'm sure they wouldn't even take the idea of a Divya/Boris ship into consideration. However, it will be written for fun, and please forgive the shortness of this chapter...it's somewhat of a prologue.
Feedback is welcomed! Thanks for reading.