Vampire Academy = Richelle Mead's :-D
Before he left the infirmary, Nikitin spoke to Dimitri once more. "You did good," he said, gripping Dimitri's unhurt shoulder and staring hard into his eyes. "You were only an inch away from making that kill yourself. But next time –" his statement took in Malina and Dimitri's isolation on the edge of campus, Malina's royal pedigree, and Dimitri's recklessness in attacking beyond the protection of the wards – "you run."
The infirmary doctor – an older Moroi woman - came in to see him after she'd treated Malina. Young feeders were kept on site specifically for the hospital, and Malina had been taken there and examined first. The doctor checked the IV that the nurse had placed almost as soon as Dimitri was admitted and briefly examined the rest of him. She was efficient but kind. She reset his dislocated shoulder with a few well-practiced maneuvers and gave him a moment to savor the relief. "Nothing broken, no internal injuries, and the Strigoi bite lacerations are closing nicely. I'm still keeping you overnight. The IV fluids should take care of the blood loss and help cushion the shock, but the Strigoi endorphins still mucking around in your system make me nervous." He protested but she held firm. "I expect you'll be climbing the walls by morning, but occasionally even the strongest dhampir crashes from shock. I'm not taking any chances."
She finished, promising to be back to check and discharge him in the morning. The nurse came to check the IV shortly thereafter, cleaned and dressed the Strigoi bite, and when the drip was completely empty, disconnected the lines and left Dimitri alone.
He shifted in the less-than-comfortable hospital bed, trying to find sleep in the unfamiliar space. He wasn't used to the near-total darkness. Every window in the infirmary was blackened, blocking all sunlight for maximum Moroi comfort. The windows in his dorm room had heavy curtains, but a soft haze of sunlight always leaked around the edges. The only illumination in his current space were the green numbers on the monitor that hung on the IV pole, showing his latest blood pressure.
He'd been allowed scrubs instead of a hospital gown, and he lay under rough sheets that smelled like hospital – overly disinfected and overly clean. The adrenaline rush was long gone and he was exhausted, numb. His whole body felt heavy. He couldn't sleep. He kept feeling the Strigoi's fangs cut into his neck, kept feeling the crunch of his stake through the Strigoi's ribs, and kept hearing the Strigoi laugh. The visuals were worse. He kept seeing the Strigoi watch him, gauging his reaction; Malina crying, angry, her hands covered with dirt; the Strigoi sucking his own wrist in a nauseating, pornographic display.
The soft padding of footsteps floated through the darkness and he was instantly alert. His heart pounded as he slid out of bed. He put one hand on the IV pole – his most available weapon. He didn't pick it up, needing to stay as quiet as possible for the element of surprise. The privacy curtain split apart slightly and he tensed further, his entire body wound tight.
Malina stepped just inside the curtain.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His heart still raced wildly, uncontrollably, even though it was clear that there was no actual danger. His body was simply on too high alert after the attack.
Malina took one step closer, and let the two halves of the curtains fall closed behind her. Even through the buzz of adrenaline some part of him was struck yet again by how beautiful she was. Her pale skin nearly glowed in the faint greenish light. Her hair was down and loose, and her curls spilled over her shoulders and down her back. She'd been given a standard-issue hospital gown that tied in back and covered her only to mid-thigh. Her green eyes met his but she didn't come closer.
"I'm still mad," she said finally.
He stayed still, heart rate slowing, wanting to protest but not yet able to speak.
"I'll probably yell at you more later." She hesitated. "I just came to see if you're really okay."
The rush from his hypervigilant over-reaction faded further, leaving him jittery and tired. He tried to be angry with her. Regardless of his own mistakes, she hadn't run, hampering his efforts to keep her safe. But she stepped closer and he could see in her eyes how truly worried she was. A new emotion – guilt – made him look away.
"I'm fine."
She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. "Idiot," she whispered.
"I'd be more fine if you would have run," he countered. But with her safe in his arms, all he felt was relief. He peeled his fingers off the IV pole and held her closer, suddenly too aware of the thinness of the hospital gown and how easy it would be to pull the ties to open the back. He stroked her hair instead.
She pulled away, checking the bruising on his arms and shoulder and across his windpipe. She laid her hand lightly on his shoulder beside the thick gauze covering the bite. Even cleaned and covered the area was raw and painful. "More fine than this?"
He shrugged, ignoring the discomfort from the movement, and the distraction of having her so close. They come first. "I needed to keep you safe. It doesn't matter what happens to me."
She laughed bitterly. "Very noble. What do I have to say to get you to understand that you being safe is just as important to me?"
He stayed silent, not understanding.
"I want you safe." The intensity in her eyes caught him; he couldn't look away. She touched his cheek. "Why is that so wrong?"
He realized, slowly, that there was more in her question than just her feelings for him.
"Why is what wrong?' he asked.
"Nothing." She untangled herself and stepped back, unable to keep eye contact.
He flashed back to the attack again: Malina angry, crying, digging in the dirt, and his anger and terror that she wasn't safe. The Strigoi – both during the attack and in the aftermath - had filled his experience so badly he couldn't perceive anything else. He hadn't even questioned what Malina was doing.
Now he remembered the burning, the heaviness in his legs – making it possible for him to function despite the Strigoi high. He shouldn't have been able to fight the Strigoi's endorphins: no one's willpower was that strong. "Your hands," he said. He grasped them, her skin was clean but dirt still caked under her fingernails. "What did you do?"
She pulled her hands back and wrapped her arms around herself, half in modesty, half self-protective, She stared down at her feet. He kept his eyes focused on her face, not letting his gaze wander to her bare legs, or to how little the thin fabric of the hospital gown actually covered.
"I'm not exactly sure. I didn't even know if it would help. But my grandmother taught me some things, some magics that are technically… forbidden."
Sometime in their history Moroi had used magic much more freely, even to fight, but for reasons Dimitri had never adequately understood, magic use had become heavily restricted. "What did she teach you?" he prodded.
"Not a lot, just some… old ways to use the magic. The earth specialization is about life, strength, growth… fertility…" she blushed and continued quickly, "and a timelessness that's different from Strigoi immortality. When the Strigoi appeared tonight I just thought it would help you and not him, so I had to try."
"You still should have run." His conviction pulled his eyes away from her eyes and the silky curls that cascaded over her shoulder.
"I had to try," she repeated firmly.
She hadn't known her magic would help but she'd stayed despite the danger, despite risking expulsion for unapproved magic use. And she'd saved his life when he was supposed to be saving hers. His internal world shifted, unbalancing him, leaving him physically disoriented. He had always been the protector, the rescuer. He'd always had to stand up for himself. He had no experience being protected, no experience being the one who was saved. He didn't know how to fit this new experience into his life.
"Dimitri?"
His name didn't sound right. She usually called him 'Cowboy'. He tried to put his experience into words. "Whatever you did cleared the Strigoi endorphins enough for me to get away."
He couldn't find the right way to say more.
She touched his arm and offered gently, "You could say 'thank you'."
The words stuck in his throat. Uncertainty clouded her features. "I'm not sorry I did it but I'm sorry I scared you. I just couldn't run away. I hate being helpless.
He knew the horror of being helpless, and worse, of being forced to stand by, unable to help someone he cared about. He hadn't ever considered that a Moroi might feel the same.
She turned away and wrapped her arms around herself again. He took a step toward her but had to steady himself against the side of the bed. He hated the weakness, hated that the attack continued to affect him. He touched her shoulder.
"Thank you." He hadn't been reluctant to say the words, they just hadn't seemed like enough. He hesitated, unable to convey the magnitude of the world re-ordering her actions had caused for him. "No one has ever done anything like that for me. No one has ever been there to help me. Thank you."
He'd said more than he intended but he couldn't take it back, couldn't cover up this newest opening into his past. She turned and stepped back to him, a quiet, invisible connection drawing them together. Her voice dropped. "Then I'm both sorry and glad I was the first."
Their eyes held in the profound silence that followed her words. Malina was the first to look away. "Can I stay with you?" she asked. "Just to sleep," she added hastily. "I was feeling really strong and powerful and ready to take on anything. But right now I just don't want to sleep alone. "
Dimitri squeezed her hand, feeling the shift in their relationship, unsure of what it meant, but strangely unafraid. He felt safe in a way he'd never felt with anyone, not even Katya. Ordinarily he would have struggled for the right response, but for now the words came easily. "I'd like that. I don't want to be alone right now either."