A/N: Pushing for plot development here. Remember the hunt for Makarov is still on.

Ch9: From Russia with Love

Today is otherwise uneventful, considering its New Year's Eve. Again the hospital is all fun and games, and full of energy. Elle's all smiles and has plans for going out tonight with staff friends. With my sense of taste and smell coming around and feeling more of myself with each day, it's hard to not want some of the smaller luxuries in life –like the outside world. PT is changed up and fun in the spirit of the holiday. It feels better not having the port in my chest anymore, but its absence has left the area tender.

Elle kicks me loose to the atrium with several others after a nice stroll outside in the cold. She wants to visit some of her RAD patients, and it gives me some alone time without being trapped in my room. She delivers some good news.

"I want you to know I've scheduled a date for you with Mr. Whitney on Tuesday."

"A date, huh?"

"He's been annoying the hell out of Anna since he formally met you."

I could imagine that too. He had an energetic enough personality about him. Pushy. Persistent. Even belligerent. Straight up Yankee.

"I could use a change of surroundings. All this estrogen around here is starting to smother me."

"You won't be saying that when the cavalry comes in." Elle gives a coy remark. I missed something here.

"Who?"

"You'll find out soon enough if you haven't met them yet. Now, John," she pauses, giving me a once over before she leaves me unattended for the first time in an open space.

"Do you need anything else before I go?"

"Bring me back some scotch."

"No."

"Fine." I concede. Figured it was worth a shot. Elle starts to exit towards the main lobby, but not without giving me a friendly parting wave before she walks through the large glass doors.

I chat with a few passerby's. Or rather, they stop to chat with me. A female cancer patient. Several nursing staff who recognize me as Elle's exclusive ward. Signey from CT scanning. She's amazed with my recovery progress.

During my whole time while enjoying my journal out in the atrium, I notice something. Call it my reflexes returning to me, but there is something that doesn't quite belong. I'm not sure what. It's not until the woman across the way smiles at me. She's wearing a dark grey jacket and a light purple colored scarf. Tall black boots. Older, grayed out hair. Maybe late 60s.

That's the only time she does though. I almost completely dismiss her until I'm nose deep in my journal and someone passes by, slipping an envelope into the open spine of my journal. It's her. She's a lot larger framed than I expected. In shape for her age. A robust silver stamped ring. She plays it casual.

"Happy New Year Captain MacTavish. Welcome back."

This is where your training comes in. From pose, posture and knowing your geographical areas. From the way she carries herself, she's probably ex-military, which is shocking for her age group. Still operating in the field in some way. German undertones -might be a ruse but it comes too natural for her dialect. Too proud. Sharp cheek bones and straight nose. Small scar on her upper lip, almost unnoticeable to the untrained eye. I don't recognize the sigil on the face of the ring. Looks like a V or a six.

I go to apprehend her before she leaves but I hear Elle as she breaks the lobby threshold, laughing with her protégé, Jakob. I don't want to make a scene and the moment of distraction is all the woman needs to break the reactionary gap. She vanishes into the crowd. I peek down at the envelope she left in my journal. Could be something import. Could be someone sent to kill me. She had that vipery feel to her. Never let someone's age deceive you. Killers come in all shapes and sizes.

Could even be one of Makarov's loyalist hit men.

And now this envelope was sitting in my lap. Checkmate. I close my journal carefully as Elle approaches me. She looks elated. Refreshed. Almost too happy to see me.

"Did you enjoy yourself John?"

"Of course. I was going to call security to bat all these visitors away."

"I know! It's a busy today!" she sounds exasperated, but in a positive way. Elle stands with her arms akimbo, looking ready to tackle the next task at hand –namely me.

"You ready to get going?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Not really."

Elle tucks me in for night and warns me I'd be having a different nurse on call since she's off the next 2 days.

"It's not Naomi, is it?" I have to know.

"You sound a little worried John." She's doing nothing to hide the shit eating grin on her face as she's jotting down her notes for the day on my charts. I manage to make good attempt at a full close on the gripmaster with my right hand before it springs back open.

"I think I have a right to be." This time Elle laughs out loud.

"Well, will you sleep better if I told you no?"

"Would you be lying to me?"

"Not entirely. She's not assigned to this wing, but she is working tonight."

Great. Just great. That girl gave me the heeby jeebies with how jumpy she was. Granted, I did apprehend her, but she never bounced back from that. Too apprehensive with her moves. I feel my fingers drumming the springs without prompt.

"You look absolutely ecstatic about it John."

I know she caught me rolling my eyes. I thought I was about to hurt my neck from doing it so hard.

"Is it that obvious?"

"You don't exactly have a great poker face if that's what you're asking me."

"Look, if you're leaving me to that whack job's care, I propose you give me a contingency plan how to survive the next two days while avoiding her."

"Was she really that bad?"

I won't dignify it with a response. My face says it all.

"You should try to be nice to her if she does drop in John. She's a good girl." Elle finishes her notes and tucks the chart back up by the top of the bed.

"I'll try –for your sake, Elle."

"I'd appreciate it, and I'm sure she would too if you do. Need anything else? I'm sorry for heading out a bit early tonight-"

"I'm fine Elle." I interject.

"Thanks for asking though."

"Are you sure? Last call."

"Got anymore of that morphine?"

"I'm not your personal drug dealer." She gives me a hard time,

"I've got some oxy set aside if you need later tonight. You've been doing really well with your pain management and I want to keep progressing that way. What's bothering you John?"

"Left hip. It started this afternoon." Honestly did too. I've noticed at times my pain reception is a delayed. Elle gets her hands on me before I can stop her.

"I didn't mean you needed to do something about it now."

"If you're uncomfortable you need to let me know. I have to make sure it's not an underlying condition. The last thing I need is you throwing a clot."

She grabs my left leg and bends it at the knee, then draws it back towards my chest. Does a few different maneuvers. It's when she starts working it left to right I find myself tensing up. Elle picks up on my reaction and gives her diagnosis.

"You're probably over compensating your weight bearing load when you're walking. It starts with your foot, then to the knee, up to your hip. Next it'll affect your back, then your shoulders and neck."

"And what do you plan on doing about that?"

"We'll worry about that when I return. I'll make an entry in your notes though so they're aware."

She grabs the chart one more time and scribbles down more information. Satisfied, she returns it to wall mounted box, and gives me a once over, straightening out the blankets she's disturbed in the process of assessing my discomfort. Ells posts up on the bedside rail.

"Anything else you want to let me know before I head out."

"I'm good. Enjoy your night out Elle."

"Thank you John. You too." She leans across and gives me a hug. I'm much better about it this time.

I wait until 2200 hrs to retrieve my journal from the stand. The note is still tucked inside where it had been dropped off.

I still can't determine if it's laced with something. Ricin, Anthrax. Arsenic. Strychnine. Those were just the well known typical ones. There were 100s more unlisted and unnamed. Before I open the envelope I write down a description of the woman and document the encounter. In case I die or something. At least they'll know if was under some suspicious circumstances, and not liver failure or a blood clot.

After much anticipation, I give a thorough inspection of the envelope. Nothing note worthy about it. Self adhesive strip. I use my pen to open it up, half expecting to find some sort of powder or residue. Nothing. Just a folded piece of paper inside. If I've been exposed to something, it's too late. I flip open the tri-fold and study its contents.

Handwritten. Chicken scratch. I stare at it for a while trying to decipher the code. It know I know it. But I can't read it. After mulling over it for a while I tuck it back inside its envelope and safely into my journal. Maybe I just need to look at it with a fresh set of eyes and a clear mind. The whole encounter had me on edge. I didn't like the fact I had let that woman get so close to me without noticing until it was too late. Had that been in the field, it certainly meant death. I stuff my journal under my pillow that night.

0154 hrs and I snap awake. I had been having a dream. I was trapped inside a tin cubical and given a piece of paper with meaningless scribbles all over them. I'm up to my knees in water, it keeps rising. The walls were covered in strange symbols too, top to bottom. There was a screen in front of me equip with a keyboard, and I had to somehow translate one code type to the next. I know if I don't do it right, something terrible is going to happen.

Now I know it. Now, I understand.

I rip my journal out from underneath and fish out the letter. The night lights are dim and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. I look over the chicken scratch again until it makes sense. It's Russian, and I recognize the handwriting. I know this person. And they know me.

They say you made it. Rumors are just rumors until they're confirmed otherwise, right?

Trust, but verify. If so, I hope they're taking care of you. Don't mind the old goat, you know how stubborn they can be.

With love,

–N

The general message was a reach out, and most likely expecting a response.

Trust, but verify. The Russian proverb carries its own weight alone. Right now I was blind. I had no resources except for a RN from the most forsaken neutral rock in the Atlantic as my ally. No one on the outside. A faceless handler. The nameless stranger with the ring that knew exactly who I was and I knew nothing about.

It's a sobering moment. The hunt is back on and my cover compromised. Elle had been fair in her warnings, but I wish she hadn't held back.

I fold up the paper, stick it back in the envelope and move it to the back page of my book for safeguarding. I want to know who the woman is. How she knows me. How to get back in contact with her and maybe get a message out.

Maybe it's a trap.

I try to go to sleep but my mind's a mess of questions and possibilities. I never considered myself the paranoid type until now. Then again, with as many brushes with death, and a direct hand in the direction of the world war, one can only expect to get jaded. That's the nice way of putting it.

I need to get that box of my belongings. There's answers in there.