Milos laid on the bed before me, totally limp. His skin was grey, he was covered in bandages and casts. Tubes ran into both arms, delivering fluid and medication. A nurse entered the room behind me, carrying a bag of blood. She hooked it near the others, fiddling with the tubes until it was being funneled into his arm.
"What does he need that for?" My voice was still hoarse from disuse.
"Sit, sit." The nurse said, ushering me to a chair beside Milos. "Let's talk about the surgery."
I nodded, only just realizing I'd never asked the doctor. "That would be nice."
The older woman patted my shoulder. She reminded me a little of Jane's grandmother. "The good news is that he's going to make it."
"And the bad news?" I asked brusquely.
She didn't seem to mind. "He's got a lot of healing to do. Three broken ribs, four more fractured. Ten broken fingers, five severely broken with visible bone crushing. Broken ulna and radius-that's both bones in the forearm-severe pelvic shattering, lacerated kidney. We weren't sure we were going to be able to save it, but we did. Severe infections of the liver, kidney, and pelvic bones. Osteomyelitis. That's just the big stuff."
I looked over at my husband again, then laid my hand over his. "What does that mean?"
She patted my shoulder again. I only found it marginally irritating. "He's going to be in a lot of pain for a long time. He may never fully regain use of that hand. And he's going to be on pelvic rest for a long time while the fracture heals. That means no sex, not that he's going to be in the mood for a while."
She chuckled a little to herself as she looked at some monitors and wrote some numbers down.
"How long is a long time?" I asked.
"About six months." She answered. A moaning sound came from the bed. "I think he heard me. I'll go get some ice."
I turned fully look at Milos as his eyes started to crack open. The room was dim, but he was still squinting.
"I'm right here." I reassured him softly. "Just like I promised."
"Petra." He breathed out. "I've waited for you. Six months in Hell was worth it, just to see you."
A slow, dopey smile spread across his face. He was vacillating between English and German, which was odd for someone born and raised in the Czech Republic. Clearly whatever they'd given him for pain was substantial.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, running my fingers through his hair.
His smile slowly dropped into a frown as he thought about it. "Awful. In some places I'm numb and in others it hurts very badly."
"You've had a lot of surgery." I reminded him. "But you'll be okay."
He nodded distractedly. "I'm sorry."
I furrowed my eyebrows at his sudden apology. "Why?"
"We can never go back to Prague. Or really any of eastern Europe. Or most of Africa."
If he hasn't looked so remorseful, I would have laughed. "Milos, you couldn't pay me to go back to Prague. It's okay. Just rest."
He shook his head just as the nurse returned. "Don't need rest."
"Is he being obstinate?" The nurse teased. "His next dose should dispense any minute."
Milos glowered at her while I asked a few questions. "Will it help him sleep? Will someone be in overnight to check on him?"
"He won't be able to stay awake long, the medication will make him extremely drowsy. I'll be back every two hours to check his stats until the morning nurse takes over." She offered, writing down some numbers.
"Thank you." I said earnestly.
She patted my shoulder again. I could almost get used to it. "It's no problem. Get some sleep, both of you."
"Do háje." Milos muttered.
"He says thank you also." I smoothed over as the nurse left the room.
"That's not what I said." He groused.
"I'm well aware." I replied, rolling my eyes at him. "You can't insult the medical staff. They'll quit and then you won't get any more medication."
He looked cowed. "I'm sorry. Don't be mad please."
It was adorable. He almost looked like a sad, sick child. It also took the wind right out of my sails. How could I possibly be mad at him? I leaned over and kissed his forehead, inhaled his musky, masculine scent. There were dark circles under his eyes.
"I'm not mad, Milos. Now go to sleep."
Slowly he started to shuffle himself over to one side of the bad. "Not without you. Never without you again."
Any argument I might have had died on my tongue while he spoke. I sent him to whatever horrible place he had been held and tortured, and he just wanted me near him.
I could compromise.
I carefully checked to make sure I wouldn't be bothering any of his medical equipment, then got up on the bed beside him. His heavily bandaged better hand dropped heavily onto my thigh as I laid lightly against him.
"You feel so real, Petra." He mumbled sleepily.
His medication drop must have been dispensing, I assumed. "I am real, don't be silly. How are you feeling?"
He shook his head sadly, his eyes starting to close. "I hurt everywhere. Even breathing hurts."
Vulnerable Milos was an incredible rarity. For someone so generous with expressing his emotions, he had serious issues with people seeing him as being physically weakened, either by injury or illness.
We had been together over a year the first time I saw him hurt. It was the day after my birthday, and Milos had just missed my birthday for the second year.
I was wandering the streets, looking for some chicken vendor my mother wanted something from. It was a lovely summer day, warm and clear.
"Natalia!" A deep voice called from my left.
"Ivan?" I questioned, confused. "Is Milos back?"
He looked alarmed. "He said he would be spending a few weeks with you. You haven't seen him?"
"No, not since you left a few weeks ago." Ivan's jaw clenched as he whirled around, pulling out his cell phone and starting to yell something in Russian. Then he stormed off. "Wait! Where are you going?"
He didn't even bother to turn around, let alone answer me, but I followed. He made twists and turns through the city, ducking through back alleyways and cutting across major roads until he entered what looked like a residential home. An old woman stood just inside the entrance, arranging flowers.
"Is Milos here?" Ivan demanded without preamble.
She nodded, wiping her hands on her apron. "A week since he came to stay and he hasn't left his room. Foul mouth on that one, banging around all hours of the night."
I followed Ivan up the stairs, stopping behind him as he started hammering on one of the doors. A few moments later it slowly creaked open. A litany of profanity spewed forth as he saw Ivan.
"Is there an emergency? You know only to come in emergencies."
"I am only making sure you are okay. I ran into Natalia, she said she hadn't seen you."
Milos, at least the sliver of his face that could be seen, looked furious. I had to do something.
"I was worried." I said. "Don't be mad at him. I begged to see you, Darling. I missed you."
His face softened as he turned his head at my voice. "Natalia. Come in. Ivan, leave."
Like usual, Ivan did as he was told. Milos waited until he was gone before opening the door and ushering me in. I looked around the small space. There wasn't a single personal item to be found, just a bed and television. A couple of empty liquor bottles laid on the floor, which was odd since Milos didn't drink. I turned to ask him about them, and was surprised by the sight of his black eye and splinted arm.
"What happened?" I exclaimed, horrified.
"Ssh. I don't want anyone knowing." He said quietly. "I got my arm broken on my last trip."
"Have you seen a doctor?" I demanded.
He shrugged. "More or less."
I raised an eyebrow. "What kind of doctor prescribes alcohol for pain management?"
Milos grinned at me. "Let's call him a field medic. Someone within the company who is good at keeping quiet."
"How long have you been back? Why would someone break your arm?" I led him to the bed and sat him down, noticing for the first time a wobble in his step.
"About a week. There was an issue with a delivery. Decided breaking my arm was reasonable punishment. I hid it on the way back, can't look weak in front of my people. Didn't want you to know, either."
I sat down bedside him, frowning. "Why not? I wish I had known. I could have taken care of you. I want to take care of you. I love you."
He blinked a few times in rapid succession. "You would do that? For just a broken arm?"
I turned to look at him, shocked. "Of course I would! I would do it if you had the sniffles. I want to be here for you."
He wrapped me in his good arm and laid us down together on his bed. "For better or worse? That sounds nice."
A little smile crossed my face, followed by a blush. "Yes, it does."
"Would you like a big wedding, my Princess?" He was smiling at me, charming and engaging.
I bit my lip. "Weddings cost so much money. Who would we even invite?"
Milos shrugged a little. "I'm making more money now. If you want the grandest wedding Prague has ever seen, I'll make sure you have it."
"I've always imagined getting married in a big, traditional dress. But-" I stopped.
"But?" He prompted.
I looked away. "I don't care about the dress as long as I'm marrying you."
First he stared at me quizzically, like he didn't understand. Then he tenderly lowered his mouth to mine in a warm, soft kiss. "You never stop surprising me. You are the love of my life, Natalia. You are the most incredible human I've ever had the good fortune to follow around the streets of Prague."
A blush bloomed across my face again. "Me? You're the incredible one. Brilliant and driven and successful. Anyone would be lucky to be Mrs Dvoracek."
Milos was quiet for a moment, and when he finally spoke I couldn't tell if he was teasing. "We could get married now. Find a church and run away together."
"You know I can't leave my mother." I replied.
"I can give her money. Natalia, I love you. I've been making a lot of money, I have enough to last us the rest of our lives if we live sensibly. Nothing grandiose, but still much better than we're living now. Real middle class."
Silence stretched between us, taut and thick. He seemed serious. I loved him, I wanted to marry him. He was my Prince Charming, everything I had ever wanted and more. But I couldn't leave my mother, and he was a little drunk, and what if he regretted his impetuous words in the morning?
"We really need to get some food in you." I said finally. "You've spent a week stewing in this room with nothing but alcohol, and when you propose I want you to really mean it. I want you to propose because you can't bare to live a day without me."
He just kissed me again. "I knew nothing but unhappiness for thirty two years before meeting you, Petra. I will never let you go. I promise you this; I will marry you."
I was awoken hours later by someone poking me. Memories could make for the best dreams. I started to wonder for a second of Milos remembered that night, but was prodded again.
"You need to get out of the bed, Mrs Dvoracek." A voice insisted. "Mrs Dvoracek? You need to get out the bed."
I lifted my head. Milos was sleeping peacefully beside me, the dead sleep of someone heavily medicated. One of the male nurses from earlier was looking at me with a disapproving frown.
"You need to get out of the bed." He repeated. He was going to wake up Milos. He needed to rest. My hands clenched the sheets.
"Listen here, you irritatingly loud clod. I own this hotel and I'm currently paying your salary. So take that ridiculous clipboard, your power trip, and your attitude out of this room before I get off this bed to remove you myself."
His eyes widened with every quiet word. His mouth tightened. "Ma'am, I need you to listen to me-"
"No." I interrupted, my words an acerbic hiss. "You listen to me. Get out!"
A chuckle came from the bed as the nurse rushed out of the room. Slowly I looked down at Milos, who was positively grinning. "You can't insult the medical staff. They'll quit and then I won't get any more medication."
It wasn't the first time my words had come back to haunt me. Really, I was surprised he was that coherent. I laid back next to him. "You're right. How are you feeling?"
His hand took its place back on my leg. He breathed in and out slowly. "It is not the worst I have ever felt. Thirsty. But less fuzzy than yesterday. Need less medication today."
I nodded. "I'll talk to the doctor. Anything else? Food, water, ice?"
He nodded weakly. "Juice? Or..."
I waited for him to continue, but it never came. He just laid there, staring into the distance. "Or what? What are you thinking about?"
He attempted to school his face into a neutral expression, but something sentimental still remained. "Once I was very ill as a child and my mother thought I was going to die. My forehead was so hot it hurt her hand to touch it. She said she wasn't going to waste good money on a doctor, so she came home with chocolate milk instead. She told me wonderful stories all night. Nice ones, fairytales. Stories about her childhood. She even laid in bed with me and stroked my hair. Come morning, my fever broke. It was the closest thing she ever did to being a good mother. I could almost pretend she loved me."
Milos never talked about his mother. Ever. All I knew was that she died when he was young, that she was a drunk. Even getting that much out of him had taken two years of gentle persuading.
"What was she like?" I asked softly.
He shook his head. "Mean."
I laid my hand on his, careful not to hurt him. "That seems pretty standard amongst old Czech women."
He scooted closer to me. "She wasn't old or Czech. She was twenty nine when she died, and she was English."
That was certainly a surprise. "English? But you don't have an accent."
His shoulders lifted slightly in an attempt at a shrug. "I did. Until state care. It was a target for bullying. So first I got rid of the accent. When that didn't work I learned to fight."
Milos would not appreciate my pity. I repeated it over and over as I imagined a tiny child being mercilessly picked on by kids twice his size. A child who would never cry out for help, because no one had ever been there to help him. A new hatred burned inside me for his mother. How could someone abandon their child like that?
"How is everyone today?" Dr Lawson strode into the room purposefully, making polite eye contact with Milos and wisely not mentioning my location.
"Fine." Milos replied curtly. I tried to remember he was in pain, and that hated being vulnerable. I would not kill him for acting like he was raised by wolves, especially considering wolves might have been the better choice. He didn't have great people skills. We could work on that.
"We're doing well. Milos wanted to know if it was possible to have less pain medication. The side effects don't agree with him. The sleepiness and all that."
The doctor nodded. "Of course. We'll be giving you about half the pain medication today, then slowly weaning you down."
"And he'd like something to drink. I was thinking something heavy, like chocolate milk?" I felt Milos' hand rub my leg. A silent 'thank you'. I had to look out for him. Aside from Ivan, no one else ever had. And even Ivan had betrayed him for a price.
"Of course." Dr Larson agreed. "As much as he'd like. Just be aware that his stomach probably can't handle much at this point. Are you two ready to talk recovery?"
"Yes, let's." I agreed while Milos continued to glare sullenly. We were going to have a serious talk about manners. Especially since we owned a third of the hotel.
"Okay. Well, you've had major surgery realigning bone, repairing a kidney, and piecing back together your shattered pelvis. The bones should mend in six to twelve weeks, your kidney should be fine in only a week or two, and that brings us to your pelvis. You're on antibiotics for osteomyelitis, an infection that set into the bones after your pelvic fracture. That's going to take the longest to heal. I'm estimating four to six months, probably closer to six."
"So what do I have to do in order to heal?" I was surprised to hear Milos finally taking to the doctor.
"Physical therapy, three to five days a week. That's mostly for your arm and fingers, though. You're going to need to spend a month on bed rest, then three to five months on pelvic rest. I regret to inform you that means no strenuous or high impact activity, no running, absolutely no horseback or surfing activities, and absolutely no sex unless you'd like to spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair. And let me be perfectly clear, that includes receiving oral sex and any type of manual contact."
Milos nodded, the opposite of the fight I had expected. Maybe the medicine drip was on again. "What about upper body martial arts? Is there anything else?"
Dr Larson caught my eye. "Upper body only should be fine after the first month. Light strength training would actually be beneficial. I'll also say this. You've suffered a major traumatic event, Milos. You're going to need therapy. I know big, tough men like you hate talking about your feelings, but please trust me. I've worked with men who have survived similar situations to yours, and the ones who didn't get help did not turn out well. They lost their families, they turned to alcohol or drugs, many of them ultimately disappeared."
Milos was absolutely silent.
"I'm sure he will agree to therapy." I assured the doctor. "He has a family to think about."