A The Russians are Coming! Fanfic

Shattered Window

Chapter 2

Wounded More Than Just Dignity

Walt Whitaker took a step toward the wrecked car. What had he done? His daughter and Alyson were alive and unharmed...

The Russian had been Innocent.

Walt swallowed hard. There was still no sound from the wrecked car. Had he killed a man? Walt shook at the thought. How could he have done this?

Nervously, he walked forward, trying to seeing in through the windows of the still car. He stopped when he had reached the driver's window. Taking a deep breath, he let it out shakily. Walt bent over, looking in through the open window.

He froze when he saw the still, slumped figure of the Russian.

He was laying on his side across the two front seats, an arm covering his face. Shattered glass covered him and lay scattered everywhere else. He was perfectly still and deathly silent. Walt shifted his weight nervously. He looked intensely at the Russian's side and saw to his relief that it was rising and falling ever so slightly; he was breathing, but very shallowly.

"Hey?" Walt reached in, gently shaking the Russian by his side. "Hey?"

There was no response.

Walt looked desperately up at the others, who had now gathered around the car.

Taking a hold of the door, he opened it, trying again to arouse the Russian. Walt shook him again, firmer this time. He was growing very nervous. Suddenly, the Russian moaned, then curled up in a cringe of pain. "Unggh..." He moaned.

"Hey? Hey, are you- are you hurt?" Walt asked, worried.

His only reply was another pained moan.

"Hey?"

"Uhnnngh"

Walt stepped back from the door.

"Well?" Elspeth asked, worried.

"I don't know." Walt said quietly. "I think he's hurt."

Walt leaned into the car, holding onto the dashboard for support. Carefully, he moved the Russian's arm to uncover his face.

Walt cringed as his limp arm slid away. Crimson blood glistened on his forehead. The blood, however, wasn't from a bullet wound, but looked more like he had hit his head during the crash, which explained why he was unconscious.

Walt sighed in relief. He had been afraid that he had shot him; which would have complicated things very much. Reaching in, Walt gently took a hold of the limp form, carefully sitting him upwards.

The Russian moaned and winced at the sudden movement, which made the American question his latter thought. As his limp form straitened, something crimson caught Walt's eye.

He gasped.

Blood stained the front of the Russian's black, leather jacket.

"Walt, what is it? What's wrong?" Elspeth asked quickly, having heard his horrified gasp.

Walt didn't reply. He was staring in shock down at the unconscious man's chest. What have I done?

Suddenly, the Russian stirred, groaning.

Startled, yet happy to see him moving, Walt gently restrained him to the seat to prevent him from causing further damage to himself.

Rozanov cringed at the pain that burned in his chest. He felt something touch him and it seemed to restrain him, making him unable to move. He furrowed his eyebrows. Gun shots. Yes, that was it. Then an intense searing pain in his chest. Now blackness. He heard himself moan again and he grit his teeth against the pain in his chest. What was holding him down? He fought to open his eyes and, after a moment, managed to do so.

Everything was a blur of color and he quickly closed his eyes again, tightly; waiting a few more minutes before trying again. As the blur cleared, he saw the windshield-cracked and porous with bullet holes. Moving his gaze over he realized what was restraining him.

A nervous smile flash momentarily on Walt's face as the Russian's dazed eyes opened partway and looked around, his gaze turning up toward him and staying there a moment before slowly closing again.

Rozanov sighed, then gathering his strength, opened his mouth to speak.

"Always I am saying good-bye to you," Rozanov said, his voice weak and strained with pain. "And always I am meeting you again..." His voice cracked and trailed off, followed by several soft moans and gasps.

Walt tried to smile, but only concern and regret shown on his face.

"Unh..." Rozanov slumped in the seat, sending a wave of panic through the poor American. Walt loosened his hold on him, but didn't let go because he would fall over otherwise. Seeing that now would be the best time (seeing that he was unconscious again), Walt slide his hands under the Russian's arms, gently pulling him out of the car and laying him out on the grass where he began to moan again and wreath in pain.

Walt heard the others gasp behind him. Walt looked down.

The poor American didn't know what to do. He had done this. How could he have been so- Stop it! Pull yourself together, Walter! A voice in his head screamed. Here you are feeling sorry for yourself when this man could be on the threshold of deaths door! Walt shook his head, quickly pulling himself together.

He turned to face the others. Alyson was holding Annie close to her, avoiding the girl's young eyes from the scene before them. Alyson herself, stood frozen; staring down at the shaking form of the Russian, who lay gasping on the ground. Beside her stood Kolchen, his hand firmly, but gently, gripping hers, a look of shock on his face. Beside them, stood Elspeth and Pete. Walt's wife was avoiding looking directly at the injured man due to her homophobia, or fear of blood. Pete stood perfectly still, eyes wide.

Walt immediately took charge of the situation.

"Elspeth, get the children inside the house; Alyson, get some water and rags and get the spare-room bed ready; And you, Kolchen, help me."

Immediately, they moved to obey. Elspeth took Annie from Alyson and led Pete by the hand to the house. Alyson, after a reassuring glance up to Kolchen and a gentle hand squeeze, she quickly followed to make ready for the injured Russian.

Kolchen stepped up eagerly, looking down at his injured superior officer.

"Kolchen, help me lift him. Be careful of his shoulder." Walt instructed. Together, they managed to left him without to much trouble and quickly but carefully carried him towards the house.

Walt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If anything was to happen to this man, he would never be able to forgive himself.

O Lord, don't let him die.