Chapter 4: Playing Doctor
It had taken Sara an hour to carry and drag Ian back to her apartment. She had the hardest time trying to get his large frame up the stairs. He was much heavier than she thought when she was just looking at him. She was worried about him. He was not acting like himself; he was actually showing emotion! This night had been one of the weirdest to date for Sara. First the nightmare, then she saw that strange vision in the park, then she was scared not once, but twice and now Ian was laying on her bed bleeding to death. "Okay, Sara, breathe..." She tried to calm herself down and catch her breath as she removed his now blood drenched shirt. Had the woman they saw really been Constance? She was so confused now that she had to think of one thing at a time, which was going to have to be stopping Ian from bleeding. She gritted her teeth as she rolled his lean, yet by now VERY heavy, body onto his stomach. She had to get to his wounds. The gauze he had wrapped himself with was not doing the job; it was dripping and oozing blood. When she removed it the smell of infection drifted up to her nose. How could he have let himself get this bad? Now that she thought about it, she had never seen him hurt before, it was strange seeing him laying on her bed, helpless, vulnerable, not at all the invincible assassin she once knew. His breathing was shallow and raspy, not a good sign. Sara knelt beside the bed and looked at his sleeping face, "Hang in there, okay? Don't' you go and die on me." The wounds on his back looked like he had been whipped. Her teakettle whistled at her. She soaked some towels in the hot water and placed them on his wounds. The pain of the hot water in his wounds startled him out of his unconscious state. He tried to sit up, Sara held him down, "Stay put, you'll start bleeding again." She could tell that he was disoriented. His eyes were still a little glassy and were incoherent.
He got lightheaded again and stopped struggling. "Sara?" His voice was a whisper.
"Yes, Nottingham?" She stroked his hair out of his face. Her hand brushed his forehead; he had a fever.
"What happened?" He moved his head a little so that he could see her face.
"You collapsed when you were chasing that woman. You have lost a lot of blood." Sara pressed down on the wet towels and Ian cringed at the pain.
She could see his eyes looking around the room. "I am in your apartment...how..." He was cut off by a sudden attack of chills, he was gasping for air.
"Breathe!" Sara rolled him onto his side so his airway would become unobstructed. His body shook violently. She climbed onto the bed and held his body close to hers. Their faces were inches apart. She looked into his eyes, "Breathe...it's not your time to die!" She held his head in-between her hands and looked into his eyes. His breathing slowed and became less labored as she cradled him in her arms.
His body calmed and she felt his arms push her away, "It's...over...for...now." He managed to speak between heavy breathing. She helped him back to his stomach and picked up the towels. He watched her walk tiredly over to the sink and throw the towels in. Why had she helped him? He thought that she didn't trust him, why would she trust him now?
"I'm going to put this ointment on your back, it's going to sting." She walked over to him with a big bottle in her hand. He watched her body sway back and forth as she walked toward her bed and sat down. The ointment did sting, badly, and Ian had to bite his lip to keep from yelling. His whole body felt exhausted, he didn't feel like he could ever move again. Sara wrapped his back with fresh gauze and helped Ian roll over onto his back. Once he was tucked in with warm sheets, she felt his forehead; the fever had broken. "Your fever broke." She pulled up a chair next to her bed never taking her eyes off of his tired face. "He did this to you, didn't he?" Sara's face was angry.
Ian moved his eyes off her to look at the ceiling, "And what would you do if I told you it was him?" He kept his eyes on the ceiling. "Kill him?" He said turning to face her.
Sara quickly looked away. She knew that she couldn't kill Irons, but boy did she want to. Her eyes became teary, she wiped them away before they could fall, "Then at least tell me why. I deserve that much after saving your life." The bitterness he had shown in his face earlier that morning had transferred to her.
"I said something I shouldn't have. I could have kept this from myself, Sara, but I didn't." Bitterness filled his face, "He wouldn't let me." Ian sighed, "There is nothing that you can or will do, Sara." He reached over and touched her face with the tips of his fingers. Sara grabbed his hand and squeezed it. She started to get up to go sleep on the couch. "Sara," Ian's voice was childish again, "stay." Sara knew what he meant; he needed her as much as she needed him. She crawled into the bed and laid her head on his chest. They both surrendered to their sleep and didn't dream all night.
