Chapter 2

Ten hours after patients started pouring in, Rita was sending people home. Okay, sending was probably a nice word. Ordering was a more apt description of the way Rita was charging around telling people to sign off and get the heck out; Sylvia included.

"Get out of here Sylvia, you've been on the clock for almost forty hours. You look dead…I don't need a nurse who is dead on her damn feet."

"I'm not dead yet." Sylvia grumbled. "I hurt too much to be dead." Home sounded like heaven right now. Complete with a hot shower, some reheated pasta, cold wine, and bed. Her poor fat cat was probably dying for attention.

"Bullshit…get home, get sleep, I don't want to see you for at least 16 hours. Rest, food, and a bath…you stink."

Sylvia wasn't going to argue with that. 10 hour deodorant was not built to handle the stress and heat of an emergency room during a full blown emergency. She did stink and her scrubs were covered in god only knew what. She held her hands up, "I'm just gonna check in on 314 again."

314 is where they had stored the burn victim with the tattoos.

Rita raised one black brow and gave a 'humph' sort of sound, "I just bet you are…go on girl…I ain't gonna stop ya."

Sylvia shook her head, "It's not like that."

"Whatever…I gotta get home and screw the hell out of my husband before he forgets who I am."

Sylvia doubted anyone could forget Rita. Still, Sylvia waved at her boss and headed for the elevator. The doors slid shut and Sylvia had a few precious moments of personal space and silence.

She wasn't entirely sure why she cared so much about this one particular patient. He had been out almost the entire night, so far classified as a John Doe. Aside from those odd words he had spoken he hadn't given them any information. She had no idea who he was or where he was from. She assumed he was with the expo, though she couldn't imagine a scientist with that many marks. Unless science had gotten a great deal more liberal recently.

She stepped into the white room. The scent of antiseptic and plastic medicine swarmed her. A clear plastic tent had been placed over the burned area, the wound had been cleaned and bandaged. She picked up the little clipboard hanging off the end of the bed.

"Jesus..." She whispered. X-ray's had found that several ribs had been cracked, two broken, his right ankle too, not to mention all the lacerations, and bruising. But according to the doctors notes the man had suffered worse before. The doctor had circled almost 30 previously broken bones, the doctor had gone on to make notes of circular burn scars still visible on John Doe's back and legs.

The tattooed foreign man had all the markers for someone who had grown up in an abusive household. Somehow, Sylvia hadn't been surprised.

Despite everything the John Doe was in excellent physical condition and that he was confident that Mr. Doe would recover. It was just going to be a matter of time. His vitals had leveled out. He was on a regiment of broad spectrum antibiotics, Naproxen, and a few others. Everything seemed okay.

Still, Sylvia wanted to make sure. See it with her own eyes. She let her eyes fall away from all the bandaging to the monitors that told her his heart was beating slow and steady, that he was breathing that soft shallow breath of a man deep in sleep. It was a comfort to know he was sleeping easily.

"I see now. You like bad boys."

Sylvia didn't need to turn around to know it was Ray talking. "I don't know what you are talking about." She let the papers fall into place and set the clipboard back into it's slot.

"Please, you've been coming in here every hour to check up on him."

"Ray you sound jealous."

"Is it the tattoo's? Gotta be the fucking tattoos." Ray snorted.

Sylvia pushed the chart back into it's slot and tried very hard not to raise her voice in front of the patient. "Ray, I've tried to be nice. I've told you that I'm not interested. I've never tried to lead you on. I don't understand why you think you have any right to even think about asking about anything personal."

Ray put his hands on his hips and snorted again. Sylvia watched his pretty face contort into an ugly parody of his angelic visage. "You're so full of shit."

" 'Ey…"

Sylvia and Ray both jumped as the John Doe bed occupant called out.

"Why you don't lea'f lady alone, uh?" The voice rumbled once more. Sylvia turned and saw the John Doe looking at Ray with darkened eyes. No, looking didn't cover it. The tattooed man was laying out in bed, half of him bandaged up, unable to move, and he was staring down Ray. "She not interested."

Sylvia watched Raymond take a step back, He ran his hands over his side as if trying to stuff them into pockets that weren't there. "Fine, whatever."

The tattooed man said nothing else. He just nodded his head and watched Ray back out of the room. Only when they both heard the echo of footfalls fade away did he turn his attention on her. She felt his eyes scan her over, the same way a large cat might watch a very small mouse. She shifted uneasily and looked down, drawing her thumb over the medical chart.

"Thank you."

"Welcome." He said. She recognized the accent now. The rolling R's and hard enunciation of a Russian speaker.

"Now that you are awake, would you mind answering a few questions?" She said trying to put on her best business tone.

"Okay." He said starting to sit up.

"Oh, nononono no don't do that." She said moving around the bed, chart once again in hand. She placed her palm upon his chest and pushed him gently back against the bed. "You have been badly hurt…you should still be asleep."

"Not asleep." He said letting her push him back. Good, at least he was listening. Sylvia wasn't an idiot. She knew if he really wanted to sit up, her hand wasn't going to stop him.

"So I noticed, still…you need to rest, you've been injured." She said flipping open the chart, "Your ribs and ankle are…"

"No." he said flatly, "Don't need know…will heal."

She frowned, everyone wanted to know what was wrong, but…well if he wasn't ready…she wasn't going to say what's going on. It was his body. "Alright…still before we do anything else I need to know a few things. Name?"

"Ivan, Ivan Sokolov."

"Spell that for me." She asked eyes on the chart as he spelled out the name. "Thank you. Now, date of birth."

"October 15, 1972."

"Alright…Do you have any allergies that we should be aware of."

"No."

She continued on that way, asking all the normal medical questions. He answered in that rolling direct tone. No more information that exactly what she asked for, no details, no extras. "Alright, Mr. Sokolov….that's all for now. You should probably be getting back to sleep."

He just nodded and ran his tongue along the corner of his mouth. "You are one who brought me to this room."

"Yes, well not just me…I thought you wouldn't have remembered."

He gave her a blank look that told her absolutely nothing. She was beginning to find it rather annoying.

"You said something to me in Russian, I think."

"Oh?" he asked raising one dark brow. "What I say?"

"Uhhhh…Ti…priv…something."

"Don't remember." He said tilting his head to one side. He froze mid-motion and straightened his neck back out.

"I don't believe you." She said trying to mimic his flat tone. "But fine, have it your way." She moved around to one side leaning over him to adjust one of the little pads that was monitoring his vitals.

"You have bruise." He said suddenly, seeing her wrist.

"Yes, you gave it to me."

His eyes widened. "Did I?" He asked, his tone becoming softer. If she had known him better she might say there was sympathy there.

"Yes, when you came in…you were in pain, you reached out…grabbed my wrist. That's when you said what it is you said."

"Not dream." He responded, confirming something to himself.

"No, it wasn't." She said about to pull away. He grabbed her injured wrist again and held it gently between his thumb and index finger.

"Forgive." He leaned forward. Sylvia was sure he shouldn't be doing this. It must hurt his ribs and burned shoulder like hell to move at all. But she watched him lean forward anyway and then his lips were pressed to the bruised flesh. They were warm…gentle…which was unexpected. The kiss sent a tingle from her wrist to the rest of her entire body.

"Umm…" she said after a long moment. He looked up at her, his lips still pressed to her flesh, and he smiled, showing off a set of golden teeth. She usually hated grill-work. But…somehow it suited the rest of him just fine.

"Better?" he asked, his voice a deep purr.

"In a way." She said before she could stop herself. She cleared her throat and slowly pulled her arm away. "Thank you, Mr. Sokolov."

He nodded once more and settled back against the bed. He closed his eyes and she was relieved to see him attempt to rest. She slid the file back into place and moved to leave.

"Name?" He asked suddenly. She turned and he was looking at her with one barely opened eye.

"Sylvia."

"Sylvia, you call me Ivan."

*Translations-

Da- yes

Nyet- No