LEGAL DISCLAIMER:MacTavish, Price and the other characters you'll recognize from the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare series are the property of Infinity Ward/Activision/Sledgehammer Games/Raven Software.
This story is an AU. Contains mature language and violence.
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The attempt to get the feeding tube back in MacTavish had gone terribly wrong. From bad to worse. The morphine's effects were finally spent, at the worst possible time.
Weak and disoriented, Soap had fought them. They'd wound up wearing what little nutrition he'd taken. The act had reduced him to a sweaty, whimpering heap. Nikolai had held him while Price, his face pinched with regret, cleaned up the mess.
I can't take the pain away lad, I can only make you forget about it for a while.
MacTavish had nodded his trembling consent. A few minutes after Price had located the small vial tucked away on the bedside table, Soap's eyes rolled back, and they eased him down onto the mattress. Nikolai had felt like they'd made yet another wrong decision, when there didn't seem to be a right one.
After hours of their watching him breathe too rapidly for a sleeping man, MacTavish had become restless and begun to cry out, caught in a dream they couldn't wake him from.
Calling her name.
There'd been shadows under the crack of the door, then a knock. Shouts to be quiet. Nikolai had confronted them, while Price had turned to the vial again to ensure silence.
A gray dawn came, but the mobile never rang.
They'd had words. Tempers had flared. One thing they'd agreed on was that the situation had become urgent.
As Nikolai had dashed down the street, from hotel to hotel, he'd heard what sounded like thunder. Except it wasn't, a lesson he'd learned long ago as a young conscript in Afghanistan. He then knew why the call hadn't come, and never would.
It had already begun, the subtle change in the streets. An undercurrent of alarm, doors and windows opening. People stopping, shifting uneasily, looking upward. Plumes of black smoke curling into the sky north of town.
When he'd spotted H3's vehicle, he'd hoped they'd finally done the right thing, and that it wasn't too late.
-=xXx:xXx:xXx=-
It had taken all of Nikolai's charms – scratch that, just plain begging – to get her in this dingy room. MacTavish needed a doctor, and this … malenkiy zemloroyka from H3 was the best they could do under the circumstances.
The moment she saw Price leaning against the dresser next to her stolen medical bag, Nikolai's hands moved instinctively to protect his genitals. "Oh fuck no," she spat. She spun around and was almost out the door before he flung himself in her way, but it was Soap's low moan that stopped her.
Nikolai extended a hand to usher her down the short hallway past the bathroom, though this wasn't quite an invitation. "Please." Price gave her a stiff nod and stepped aside. Her demeanor changed at the sight of MacTavish. She walked around to the other side of the bed. The more she saw, the deeper the rut between her eyebrows became.
She glanced over at the bedside table - at the abandoned IV set and the NG tube half-wrapped in its towel. She pulled up an edge of the cloth to confirm what it was.
"He kept complaining about it," Nikolai offered by way of explanation. He wondered if she'd caught the lingering smell of vomit.
"Of course he did. And how do you even know how to – never mind. Forget it." She waved a hand, lowering herself down to sit on the bedside. "I don't want to know." Her voice softened into a coaxing tone. "Hey. Can you wake up and look at me?"
MacTavish sighed, his eyes rolling a bit, but never quite opening. She reached out to gently turn his face toward her, and laid the back of her hand against his cheek and forehead. "Whew, you're a little warm, aren't you?" She pried open an eyelid and scowled, turning to Price. "Not only that, he's snockered! What did he take?"
Price lifted his chin at the table. Finding the vial of midzolam, she picked it up and scoffed, shooting him a sharp look. "How … where did you even get this? She eyed them both suspiciously. "Was this how you handled his other complaints?"
"It's all we have left. No more pain meds," said Price.
"So you just gave him a squirt of that to keep him quiet," she muttered. "C'mon bud. I need you to wake up and talk to me." She slid two fingers beneath Soap's jaw. "Heart rate's up there. He's probably pretty uncomfortable, among other things." She took hold of his wrist, turning it to expose the puffy red lump on his forearm. "That's where you tried to get the IV in him, I take it?"
"Yes."
She ran her fingertips over the collection of bruised puncture marks, glancing at MacTavish's opposite arm, which was in a similar state. "Is he taking any water at least?"
"He can't tolerate much."
"Hmph," raising her eyebrows with a wry twist of her mouth. "Smells like the last complaint was not issued in the standard way."
She had noticed, apparently. "Da … it was about the tube," Nikolai admitted, eager to change the subject. "We're concerned with how his wound looks."
Her brows shot up even higher. She pulled a pair of purple nitrile gloves from her purse and turned down the blanket. At the sight of the drain and dressings, an outraged breath gusted out of her. Nikolai felt himself withering beneath her judgmental glare. "What kind of back alley shit is this?"
Her question met with stony silence, she eased the tape away from already irritated skin, first for the stab wound, saving the big one for last. Once she saw it, she closed her eyes for a moment, as if she wished she'd hadn't. It looked even worse now, with a red streak radiating away from the infected area. She sighed deeply. "All right, I think I've seen enough. Gentlemen, he needs to be in the hospital – now."
"That's not possible," said Price.
"Let me tell you what else isn't possible. He's not going to get better without round the clock care, from people who actually know what they're doing."
"So tell us what to do," said Nikolai.
Snapping off her gloves, she covered MacTavish back up. "We're past that point now. Apart from what might be going on – or not going on – with his insides, he's got an infection brewing that could turn deadly in a hurry. I'm calling an ambulance." She pulled a mobile from her purse and began to dial. "Hey!" Price snatched the phone from her hand. "What are you doing?"
"One of these, even worse." The iPhone dangled between Price's fingertips like he'd just picked up a well-used tissue, though that description was far too kind for his expression. He dropped it into a nearby glass of water.
"What the fuck was that for?"
"Have you lost the bloody plot, girl? Every one of those things is a snooping device, no matter what sort of bollocks they told you in their big shiny store."
As if on cue, a siren sounded somewhere outside. "OK. That's it. 108- " She stood, snatching up her paisley bag. " -that's the number for emergency services. For his sake, you'd better stop fucking around and call it. I'd call it for you, but…" Giving Price an angry smirk, she jerked her head toward the floating phone. "I'm done here."
"No you're not," said Price, stepping in front of her.
Her brown eyes, bright with fury, were level with his chin. "Get out of my way." He looked down at her as if she were a miniature terrier nipping at his ankles. Some of her highlighted reddish-brown hair had escaped its clip, and with some unruly bleached tendrils dangling in her face, she looked the part. Her chin jutting out, she leaned closer toward him, her voice growing quiet. "You think I didn't tell anyone where I was going?"
Price regarded her calmly. "For your sake, I hope not."
They all jumped as someone else with an American accent banged on the door. "Anita?"
Nikolai wordlessly took a position next to it. "Quiet," Price whispered. She began to open her mouth then immediately shut it, shrinking from him in fear when he clamped a firm hand on her shoulder, his pistol appearing next to her.
"Anita?" The man called again. Price herded her up against the wall.
Nikolai opened the door. "Hello." He promptly dragged the surprised man in and shut the door behind them.
"Hey!" He struggled out of Nikolai's grasp, ready for a fight. Nikolai took a step back, hands upheld as the man saw Anita trembling wide-eyed next to Price at gunpoint.
"Who's this?" Price asked.
The woman's voice wavered. "I'm sorry, Tim."
"Answer the question."
"I'm a doctor with H3," said Tim warily. He was almost Nikolai's height, with a medium build. About his age as well, maybe a little younger. His short curly blond hairline was receding from a tanned, weathered face. His cautious blue eyes traveled over both Price and Nikolai, sizing them up. "I see you've met Anita. We work together."
"Charmed," said Price curtly, giving her a look of cool disapproval. Both Americans, in their well-worn jeans and t-shirts, looked more like disheveled tourists than doctors. He was at least two days unshaven; she smelled faintly of alcohol.
"We could help your friend."
Nikolai looked at Price as he spoke. "Yes, Tim. We'd like that very much."
Price let go, pointing his gun toward the ceiling, his empty hand up in a conciliatory gesture. He backed away from her.
Tim rushed to her side, taking her by the shoulders. "Are you all right?" He asked, glaring at Price. She nodded.
"We're very sorry about all this," said Nikolai. Price didn't look sorry.
Both doctors were at Soap's bedside now, retaking possession of their medical bag, Tim unzipping the backpack he'd brought with him. Folding his arms, Price leaned against the arm of the sofa, chin cupped in his hand, watching.
"So what have we got?" Tim asked, pulling out a stethoscope.
"A guy in his - thirties?" Anita looked at Price and Nikolai for confirmation. Nikolai gave a slight nod. "Who very recently had the tar beaten out of him- "
Tim glanced sideways at Price. "Seems to be going around."
" - looks like he was stabbed as well, had a laparotomy which got infected, and now we're looking rather septic."
"Nice pants," Tim commented as they both gloved up. "What's his name?"
"…John," said Price.
"John? John can you hear me?" Tim reached down to drag his knuckles across MacTavish's sternum.
Anita grabbed his fist to stop him, with a jerk of her head toward the table and an accusatory look at Price. "Oh yeah and we're also rather sedated. He's got some Versed on board."
Tim's frown swept between the vial and everyone in the room, until he finally just shook his head. They sat down next to Soap, leaning over him with gentle hands and voices. "Hey buddy, we hear you're not feeling too good. We're going to have a look at you, okay?" Tim wrapped a blood pressure cuff around MacTavish's arm, while Anita pressed a digital thermometer into his ear. When it beeped, she turned its display to show Tim, who returned her grim expression. The air slowly hissed out of the cuff, until Tim plucked the stethoscope from his ears. "Pressure's still decent, that's something."
They proceeded with a more detailed examination of MacTavish, speaking to each other in hushed voices, until finally Anita said, " – and they don't want him in the hospital."
"We have … situation," Nikolai began hesitantly, stopping at the look Price gave him.
"You want your friend to live, don't you?" Tim asked, catching the nonverbal exchange. "John's pretty sick right now, and he's going to get a whole lot worse if something's not done very soon."
"So do something then," said Price. Nikolai groaned inwardly. Enough was enough.
"This isn't a home health kind of problem," said Anita.
"I'm guessing there are … financial issues? Money troubles?" Tim asked. A shrewd move on his part. He was redirecting, de-escalating, in the cool, careful tones of a hostage negotiator. Nikolai was willing to bet it wasn't his first time in that regard.
"We have money… " said Price.
Tim nodded as he spoke, encouraging the answer he was looking for. "But not enough for a stay in the ICU."
To Nikolai's relief, Price shook his head. He'd recognized the 'out' and taken it - as good an excuse as any. Probably true anyhow.
More sirens wailed in the distance. "Something's going on - something big," said Tim. "Everyone was crowded around the TV in the hotel bar." He stepped over to the window to peer out at the street below, while Price raised a knowing eyebrow at Nikolai. "From the sounds of things, the public hospitals are about to get jammed up. Not that you'd necessarily want him in some of those places." He returned to the bedside, his voice softening as he addressed Anita. "The truck's out front."
"The clinic's almost an hour away," she protested. "And if he goes south- " Catching herself, she looked down at MacTavish lying white-faced and unconscious next to her, his chest rising and falling too quickly. She narrowed her eyes at Nikolai, clearly not in lockstep with her partner or their story. "Situation with who? With the cops, you mean?"
"Not them," said Price. "Worse." The sirens outside were multiplying, in both number and signature. More than one emergency service was involved now. "With the people who did that." She blanched, words failing her for once.
"If this is what it sounds like - a mass casualty event, he's better off with us," said Tim. "He's not going to get treated any more quickly down here." His next words, directed at Anita, were obviously for Price and Nikolai's benefit. "If we set up a quarantine, say he's contagious, it would help keep people out. Out of the room and out of their business."
"From the looks of that wound, that might not be too far from the truth," said Anita.
Turning to Price and Nikolai, Tim stood, patting the air with his gloved hands. "Okay, we don't know what you're into, and we don't need to hear about it. You're hardly the first we've dealt with, as far as that goes."
"We've got people we can trust to keep it quiet," said Anita reluctantly.
"Won't stay quiet for long," said Price.
"Long enough to get him over the hump," said Tim. "Then you can take him somewhere else. We'd much rather you did, actually."
"We have to leave now anyway." Nikolai stopped short of saying Price's name. They hadn't fully discussed how they were going to handle that. "We have to get out of the city."
"So put your gun away and help us get him into the truck," said Anita.
-=xXx:xXx:xXx=-
When Tim pulled open the rear doors of their white 4x4, Price stepped menacingly toward Anita. "You wanted to call an ambulance when you have one?"
She didn't back down. "You're the one that kept refusing to let him go to one of the local ERs. Doesn't matter how he gets there." She climbed into the back, sliding along a narrow side-mounted bench to toss the blue medical bag into the corner next to a small cabinet. "We're way up in the hills. Time is not on his side"
Relief and amazement both washed over Nikolai. The Land Cruiser was indeed outfitted, though sparingly, as a fully functional ambulance. A trolley upholstered in red vinyl was nestled into the opposite side of the SUV's rear compartment. A plastic backboard sat on the floor beneath it. He saw other basic equipment, including a small suction container and oxygen cylinder. Everything looked new and relatively unused.
"Come on guys, let's get him in here," said Tim, yanking the trolley out, its wheeled legs unfolding onto the street.
Nikolai felt even better when it slid back in - with MacTavish belted securely into it, a blanket tucked around him. As Tim strapped an oxygen mask onto his face, Nikolai tossed the bags with their meager belongings onto the floor, tucking them underneath the trolley as much as possible.
He was about to climb in after them when aircraft roared overhead. Sukhoi SU30-MKIs in attack formation - the 'finger four', shooting toward the black smoke filling the northern sky. His heart sank. Whatever had happened, the Indian Air Force was now responding to it. Cherepa had been right, about all of it. Now Nikolai had to wonder if he, Yuri or anyone at the safe house was still alive.
