Chapter Nineteen
With or Without You

She looked down at his stomach. Perhaps she wasn't strong, but they had fought.

"I should check your wounds," she said. "A stitch might have broken."

He was already seated by her left side, so he only needed to bend forward and she could check the wound on his back.

"I can be quick," she said awkwardly when he didn't reply or move.

All his previous humor was gone.

He pulled up his clothes, exposing both wounds at once. Alice quickly found her scissors and cut off the bandage. She stared at the sight in fright, then brought her worried eyes up to his. He was gazing at the wound on his stomach, then brought his head up to the door with hard eyes.

Both wounds were highly infected and infections like these were highly painful.

He hadn't bothered telling her.

"When did the pain start?" she muttered.

It would be good to reopen the wound, put some strong antibiotic inside the wound, then stitch it back close again, only not so tight this time. The scar would be nasty once healed, but it would improve his chances of not dying of infection.

He didn't answer. She grabbed her morphine along with a sterile needle.

"No morphine," he said.

"This thing between us started with you asking me for help with your gunshot wound! You can drag me across Berlin as much as you want, but when the case concerns this gunshot wound, I'm making the calls. And I say you need morphine."

She ripped the foil off the needle and filled the tube halfway. She pierced his back and pushed half the contents inside. Then she did the same with his stomach, emptying the contents.

Waiting for a moment for the morphine to work, she cleaned her hands, along with her surgical scissors and knife.

"It's been hurting since yesterday when you stitched it," he said eventually. "Vague shots of pain. I tried to ignore it."

"Not a smart move."

"Is it bad?"

"You could die of infection."

"Thank you, America. That reassures me."

He didn't realize that she wasn't joking.

She cut all the stitches open and pulled them out. The tube of strongest antibiotics she had already placed on the ground.

"Why should I reassure you?"

First she placed the tip of the blade on the wound of his back, then pressed it into his skin. He didn't flinch, so Alice figured he wasn't feeling it. Slowly she cut the wound back open and dead white cells, or as others would say pus, oozed out of the wound. The infection was very deep inside and she didn't dare cut him deeper for she might cut something important.

She removed most of it with a clean cloth.

"Can you take that tube and press some of the slave on my finger?"

She had her finger up and he did as told. With the slightly cold salve on her front finger, she applied it into the wound, as deep as she could get it. She packed it without stitching it. Stitches were dangerous with infections so deep like these. She had no idea it was as worse as this.

Her lips were pressed against each other, which he took notice of.

"What's the matter, America?"

She shook her head and was in time to cut his wound on his stomach with a clear vision. When she held up her finger - her eyes were low for him not to see - her eyes had watered completely. She was working blind now, but she wasn't doing anything important now, like cutting. She was only getting as much of the salve in his wound as possible. She packed that wound as well.

"Best not to stitch it yet," she said with a sniff. "The infection is deeper then I thought. Closing it will only make it worse."

Before she went to the bed so she could sit away from him as far as possible, she searched in her bag for her thermostat. She jammed it in his mouth unladylike and then tried getting up on trembling legs, while trying hopelessly to keep the coat around her bare legs.

He stopped her. He pulled her back on her behind and steered his head when he saw tears on her face.

"Why are you taking my temp?" he asked with a scowl.

"To see how bad the infection is," she mumbled. "If you have a fever, it's bad. Horrible. Dramatic."

"What?" he asked with a little smile at her exaggeration. "It's only an infection."

She brought her wet eyelashes up to meet his cheerful eyes.

"I've seen more men die than live from such infections."

"How many?"

She shook her head, looking away.

"How many live, Alice?" he asked strictly.

"It's not important for you to know," she whispered. "It good to have hope that you'll be alright."

He watched her deadly and asked, "How many live, Alice? Give me the number."

"One in..."

He raised an eyebrow, seeming to almost want to shake the number out of her.

"One in a hundred. Give or take."

The hope in his eyes, like an almost dead candle, vanished. There was an eerie smile on his lips, probably because he now knew how little chance he made. Death was close behind him.

It all depended on if he had a fever or not.