He looked like hell under that jacket. Pale scarred skin with dried and browning blood sticking to his chest and stomach while a rather large gourge ran from his shoulder to hip. Slowly Nigel allowed his fingers to gently move down the wound and over the skin.

Stubborn Bastard, a part of the spy grumbled, he should have said something sooner. If something of this magitude got infected-

"Keep that up and I'll charge you with Sexual Harassment."

Jumping slightly Nigel quickly drew back his hand as if touching fire. Damn it, even when chained to a hospital bed, Red still managed to get under his skin.

"I'm trying to check for infection."

"Of course you are."

Shaking his head, Nigel chose not to respond - if he did they would likely end in their annual arguments that would somehow end with the Russain escaping and him flustered half to death -but instead continued with his enspection.

There were some minor wounds- compared to the previous- as well. So far he had counted three that would require stiches and four fingers that would have to be rebroken and set correctly.

Thankfully there didn't appear to be anything too major that would require surgery, though that one gourge was still questionable in that matter. It would depend on wither or not the damage was as bad as it looked and if infection had settled in or not.

If there was one thing Red hated more then sugery it was recovering from said surgery while being strapped to a bed and forced to share a room with Rockgut. Hell, he'd actually prefer the cell compared to this room. At least there he had some illusion of privacy without being watched twenty four seven by a pariniod man.

Glaring at the celling, the rouge man pondered his -rather slim- chances of escaping without Rockgut noticing.

...

...

...

"Red?"

Raising an eyerbow the Russian glanced to the American who was now giving him this weird look- weirder then normal that is. Almost as if he was in pain yet grateful? Was that even possible?

"Da?"

"Thank You."

Silence consumed the room as the Golden eyed villain stared at one of his Arch Nemesis in disbelife. Did he just...Was he dreaming? Maybe he had a concussion as Buck Rockugt never thanked anyone for antything, let alone him.

"You're Welcome?"

Now if only he knew what the other was thanking him for and what parrell deminson he had accidentally slipped into. Whichever one it was Red wanted the Hell out, A friendly sincere Rockgut was just disturbing.

None of it made sense.

According to the American it had been a misfired weapon that had caused the explosion- and Nigel fount himself beliveing the man the more he personally looked into matters.

According to the street cameras Red had been on the other side of the street, no where near where the Bomb Fragment was fount. Red never once put his hands into his pockets or pulled out the remote detonator his bombs usually acquired. He just there far too close to the blast zone with an amused glint in his lone eye as the Agents caught up to him.

No detonator.

No other Bomb Fragments.

That damn amused look.

Far too close to the blasting range.

If there was a bomb Red obviously didn't know about it.

And then Agent Megal drew a weapon and just like the American said it backfired.

Playing the frames back slowly Nigel watched Red closely through it all. The amusement had vanished instantly the moment the weapon had began to glow a bright red from the inside out instead it was replaced with wide eyed statement before he was towards the Agent shouting at them to drop it and run.

They never got the chance to do so as the weapon exploded blowing the street up with them.

This was no Bombing on the Russian's behalf. It was obvious even he hadn't expected the miscalculation so it ruled out Foul Play from him as well.

Which only left one thing: Someone planted the Fragment. Someone- for whatever reason- was trying to frame the Russian.

But who?

And Why?

"Red, wake up."

Instantly the Russian's lone golden eye snapped open. He knew that voice and disobeying never ended well even on matters of waking or sleeping in- he was not being thrown into another of them damn icy lakes no matter how 'safe' he was with the man there.

Slowly the rouge's lone eye blinked as it moved around the room, locating the source of the voice who happened to be standing on his right.

Victor von Sova.

The man's natural silver hair was slicked back as his golden eyes were narrowed slightly in annoyance- at what Red wasn't sure but he suspected it had something to do with the Doctors uniform and the man was wearing and the fact he had been forced to come from Mother Russia just to break into MI6.

Saved an Enemy Agent, Walked into MI6 willingly, Captured, Wounded, Strapped to a Bed in the Medical Wing of their Enemy's HQ.

God Above, he was in so much trouble.

"Father."

Some one was going to pay.

That was the first thought to travel though Count Victor von Sova's head as he started down at his sleeping protégé, who was wrapped in heavy yet blood stained bandages and strapped down to the Enemy's Hospital bed.

The first time he doesn't have one of his 'Mice' following his child and this happens.

He knew it had been too soon to allow the boy free, unsupervised reign. Yet Red had inherited a silver tongue and held a strong case about learning best while doing.

Oh yes, he could just see how well his son was doing alone:

Saving an Enemy, Walking into the Enemies Headquarters, being Captured and actually staying, Wounded far more then he should be for a simple outing, Strapped to a bed in the Enemy's Isolated Medical Wing, Being Framed for a Bombing that never happened.

This is why you should never allow your children to leave home far too soon- even if they think they're ready for it.

"Red."

Instantly his son's natural eye opened and glanced around before landing on him.

Slower reactions- usually he couldn't get near Red's bed without waking him- probably hyped up on whatever drug those so called 'Doctors' used.

"Father."

For a brief moment emotions flashed through the boy's lone eye- another lesson they were going to have to go over- before settling on resigned look. Good. Things went so much smoother when the boy wasn't actively fighting him every step of the way.

Not wasting time, the 'Mad Owl' began to work on freeing his Heir.

"They're holding you responsible bombing for the street that killed three agents."

"I didn't do it. It was a Weapons Malfunction."

"I know. I checked your weapon stash before coming."

Freeing one of the boy's hands the Count stood back watching as the rouge haired boy finished freeing himself.

"You're Grounded."

"Yes Sir."

"You'll be coming home as well. "

A soft sigh left the other as he stood and began to search for his clothing.

"Yes Father."

Reaching into his bag, the Count handed the smaller a spare set of clothing he had brought along out of foresight- those Agents had probably burned Red's by now.

He was going to die of boredom.

Leaning back in his seat, Red glared at the Ankle Bracelet that was part of being grounded. God he hated being trapped in this house, especially when he to listen to every lesson the Count's ever taught him through the years despite having mesmerized them all.

It was like being sent back to school starting with preschool after graduating Collage. Personally Red would rather be back in MI6's Holding Cells- Maybe their building prison- then here.

"Pay Attention!"

Sitting straight once more, Red forced himself to refocus on the Count while dutifully ignoring the slight sting on his cheek form the being grazed by the Count's throwing knife. Only ninety-five more days to go.