From The Ashes Chapter 9: 9: Pulled from the Wreckage, a sakura wars fanfic

Author's Note: Karpov, Maria and Valentinov do not speak English very well. Valentinov is relatively good, Maria is not very good, Karpov is miserable. In the scenes where you read them speaking English very beautifully and eloquently, it is because they are actually speaking in Russian and I have written it in English. I have attempted to make that clear, and apologize if I failed at points.

Rating: PG-13, Language, Violence

"FROM THE ASHES" – Pulled From The Wreckage

Karpov's driving duties don't keep him very busy, so Ignazio sends him around from time to time as a messenger. Him, Valentinov and the Kazuar are the only three Russians we got. Valentinov brought two others with him, but they, uh… sought… other… interests. If ya know what I mean.

So anyways, I'm done with Karpov, he's brief and to the point – kinda vacant… a lot like the Kazuar is. The Russian Revolution must be some war. Heck, it lead us to where we are now, which is the whole world at war, so maybe it is awful. Either way, there's not much small talk from the Ruskies. So I'm headed downstairs to Luna's and see if she can get me some coffee.

I'm just about to open the door at the bottom of the stairs that leads to the street when it bangs open and some kid bursts through, staggering like he's drunk as a skunk. The door cracks into my hand as I'm reaching for the knob and I yank my hand back and grip it.

"Ah! Hey!" He tries to push past me, but I grab him by the arm. He's trying to pull away.

Ignazio doesn't own this whole building, but I know all the people who live above Luna's – ours and otherwise – and this kid ain't one of them. I dunno what business he's got upstairs, but he looks suspicious, in a hurry, and he's bloody. I wrap both arms around his arms and ribs from behind and pick him up off the floor. He's tall, but wiry – and he's already hurt, so this isn't hard. I kick the door closed and set him on his feet, turn him around, and hold him back against it.

"What the devil do you think y—" Two things strike me at the same time. First, how badly wounded this guy is. Second, this guy is a girl. It's the Kazuar. "Holy Jeezis…"

You know when you're in a crisis situation, and you can just keep going as long as you need to, just because you need to? And when the need for you to carry on stops, your ability to carry on stops, too? Well, the Kazuar's need to remain conscious just ended. Her eyes flutter closed and she collapses. Fortunately, I'm standing right here, and I catch her.

Bloody hell. At least this time, she only lives on the third floor instead of the fifth. She's not all that heavy, but she's tall. I bend my knees and let her fall forward over my shoulder. I'd be a little more respectful and carry her in my arms, but the staircase is just too narrow.

I'm halfway up the second flight when I encounter someone coming down. It's Karpov. He stops, staring at me. Even if the Kazuar wasn't disguised as a boy, I don't think Karpov would recognize her from what little of her he could see – which would be the back of her from the waist down. "Gimme a hand, would ya?"

Karpov's eyes narrow.

"She ain't dead, she just passed out. It's the Kazuar. C'mon."

Now urgency registers with him and he turns and runs back up the stairs, preceding me. He turns the handle on her door, and it doesn't open.

"Christ… it's locked?" I ask him as he drops to his knees in front of the door, drawing a tool out of his pocket and staring at the lock. "Ya know, it'd prolly be a helluva lot faster if ya jus' got Valentinov. I think he's got a key ta dis room on accounta he's the one who s—"

The door swings open as Karpov stands, pocketing the tool and gesturing me to proceed him.

"Yeah. That was fast. So, you prolly oughta get Valentinov anyway, jus' ta let him know th—"

Karpov's gone. Yeesh. Soldiers.

I do my best to lay the Kazuar down gently. I cringe and hiss through my teeth. She's pretty well beaten. And after the stories I heard about how she took care of Bianni, this had to have been someone GOOD to have managed this on her. Christ… What if it's Lupo's gang? What if they know about the mark on Silvio? What if they think we're conspiring? What if she just blew everything wide open?

I'm pacing and worrying. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it occurs to me that I should probably see if there's anything I can do for the kid before Valentinov sees me up here dumping her like she was already a corpse. The dishcloth on the sink doesn't look none too sterile. So I pull open a drawer and rummage for something cotton. I find something that looks short-sleeved and thermal, and run it under cold water for a couple of seconds then wring it out.

I drag a chair over to the bed and sit, and put the cold cloth against her scraped and bruised cheek. It comes away bloody. She doesn't even flinch, she'd out cold.

Karpov follows Valentinov into the room, and Valentinov closes the door behind him. Valentinov doesn't even glance at me. The way he's headed toward the chair, it looks like he's going to take my place whether I'm out of it yet or not, so I get out of it, quick. He takes the cloth out of my hand and sits in the chair I was in without noting my presence at all. I back up a couple of steps and stand by Karpov. I glance at him, but his focus is fixed on her, too. I could probably walk out and not be missed, about now. But something feels like that might also draw their attention.

"Maria…" Valentinov's brushing her hair back from her face and whispering to her, holding the cloth to her cheek and looking for other wounds. "Maria, eta siryozna? Shto s vami?"

I feel a little like a deer who brought back a wounded lioness to her den. It's a strange feeling, being surrounded by these… intimidating soldiers who have decided English isn't a necessary effort just for my benefit at the moment.

"Tavarish, gavaritye…" Valentinov shakes her shoulder lightly. No response. Karpov steps forward and takes the cloth from him. He runs it under water to make it colder again and wrings it out. Valentinov stands and gives the Kazuar a once-over. Touching arms and legs to see if she flinches in pain – she doesn't. He rolls up her sleeve to find the sources of blood on her right arm.

I flinch again. I've never seen the Kazuar without gloves on. And now I know why that is. Besides the old scar, though, her palm, elbow and shoulder are scraped. Her shirt is ripped at the shoulder seam, pretty widely. Looks like she was yanked around by it.

"Gaspadin, vyzavitye pashalusta vracha," Karpov says softly to Valentinov.

"Yirunda! Tishe, Karpov," Valentino scowls, seeming derisive of whatever Karpov had just said. Karpov tries to interject again, but Valentinov cuts him off. "Pashol von! Astaftye minya f pakoye!"

With that, Valentinov makes a sweeping gesture with his arm that causes Karpov to step back. Karpov is silent for a moment as Valentinov turns back to the Kazuar, then sits down on the edge of her bed and holds the cloth to her cheek again. Then Karpov turns to look at me. He pins me with a vacant, snowy gaze, and then flicks that gaze to the door and back to me.

We're going, it seems. I push off from the counter I'd been leaning on and head for the door. Karpov opens it for me and closes it behind us.

Have I mentioned yet how damned scary the Russians are?

Russian Glossary:

"Maria, eta siryozna? Shto s vami?" – Maria, is it serious? What is the matter?

"Tavarish, gavaritye…" – Comrade, answer me…

"Gaspadin, vyzavitye pashalusta vracha," – Sir, please call a doctor.

"Yirunda! Tishe, Karpov," – Nonsense. Quiet, Karpov.

"Pashol von! Astaftye minya f pakoye!" – Go away! Leave me alone!