Vanguard (15 page)

A couple of hours later, Anjali returned to the infirmary. She found Sophie working, laptop balanced on her knees. Sprawled across her, one foot dangling off the edge of the bed, was Michael.

Anjali glared at her. “This is a hospital, not a dorm room! Why didn’t you call me?”

“I made sure he didn’t remove his lines this time.” Sophie pointed to the tubes and wires stretched between the two beds. She’d shoved her bed over to make everything reach. Barely.

Anjali sighed. “He’s got a highly infectious pneumonia. You can’t have this kind of contact with a patient. Use your head, for God’s sake.”

Sophie ignored her, but she also didn’t return to her work, instead picking moodily at the edge of her blanket. “Listen,” she finally said. “Is he well enough for me to let his parents know he’s alive?” She tried to be casual, but the fear in her voice leaked out. “I don’t want to tell them until I know the odds are in his favor.”

“There are no guarantees, especially this early on,” Anjali replied. “He’s improving, but he’s a very sick man. I’m not sure how he managed to stay alive as long as he did. That said, yes, I think you’re safe to tell his parents that he’s alive.”

After Anjali had left, Sophie picked up her iPhone and, tears trickling down her face, sent the text message to Maxwell and Signe that she had dreamed of sending for so long.

Vanguard secured. Safe at base camp. Condition sub-optimal but improving. More information later.

~~ - ~~

The next time Michael got out of bed went differently. Sophie, who had been in the midst of it, hadn’t had time to notice her colleagues’ reaction to seeing the infamous Nariovsky temper in action.

Anjali had been taking a briefing in the evening from the Rev and Georgs, the translator helping him work with the Commandant. They were standing outside the infirmary when a husky, crackling sound came from inside, punctuated with booming coughs. Anjali, the Rev, and Georgs looked into the room.

Michael’s voice was little more than a rasp from the pneumonia. But what he lacked in volume, he made up for in intensity. He stood at the end of Sophie’s bed, lines trailing away onto the floor, trembling with the effort to stay upright. Even though a strong wind could probably have knocked him down, Michael still managed to look intimidating. The Rev glanced at Anjali in alarm, clearly wondering if he should intervene.

Sophie sat in bed, glaring at Michael. They started toward her in concern, but she waved them back. Michael continued to rage in Orlisian, oblivious to his surroundings.

“Georgs,” Anjali said, nudging him. “C’mon. What’s he saying?”

Georgs gaped at her. “It is a conversation of a personal nature, Dr. Shah.”

“Then they shouldn’t be having it in front of a translator,” she said impatiently. “What’s he saying?”

Georgs looked at the Rev helplessly for a minute, then turned back to Michael. “He…he is…extraordinarily displeased to find Miss Swenda here.”

“We figured that. Go on.”

“He indicates that he left her very…um…clear instructions upon his departure that she was not to follow him. That, as usual, she shames him by acting like the…uh…” He swallowed hard under Anjali’s steely gaze and continued, “…by acting like the untamed brat that she is, even though she is now old enough to know how to behave properly.” Anjali had the feeling Georgs was editing the more colorful phrases.

“He asks if Miss Swenda…uh…has…um…recently checked her groin to ensure that she has not recently grown a set of…oh dear…testicles. And if she has not, perhaps she may wish to acquire some since she…uh…insists on behaving as if she had been born a man. A man, like Dr. Nariovsky-Trent is. A fact that he believes Miss Swenda has forgotten.”

Anjali didn’t know whether to laugh at the ridiculously prissy translation Georgs had provided, or if she should kick Michael back to Parnaas to see if he’d prefer it there after all.

Sophie and Michael were locked in a furious staring contest. Sophie took a deep breath and spoke icily in Orlisian. The Rev and Anjali turned to Georgs again for the play-by-play.

“Miss Swenda says it is refreshing to see that Dr. Nariovsky-Trent has not changed during his time in captivity, but I believe she is employing sarcasm in this case.” Anjali rolled her eyes at the Rev. “She also says that she understands how frightened he feels upon finding her in this place of danger. Because she has been similarly angry and frightened for the last several months while Dr. Nariovsky-Trent, too, was in harm’s way.

“She thanks God that Dr. Nariovsky-Trent is alive and still able to shout like the sexist…um…there is no translation for that word…individual that he is. Miss Swenda says she loves Dr. Nariovsky-Trent more than her own life, but that if he addresses her thusly again, she will…your pardon…acquire the testicles he referred to earlier from Dr. Nariovsky-Trent personally. With force.”

Anjali snorted with laughter. Even the Rev chuckled. Michael still stood there, but the anger had faded from his face. He looked lost. Sophie’s expression softened, and she patted the bed beside her. He limped over to lie down beside her. In minutes, he’d fallen back into a restless sleep, the fever sending him into another bout of violent chills.

They applauded from the doorway, and Sophie blushed. She busied herself with pulling the blanket up over Michael’s shivering form. But Anjali stepped forward to stop her, a loose IV line hanging from her hand.

“He can’t keep taking his IV lines out,” Anjali said. “We’re going to run out of veins. Nor can we keep him sedated around the clock. And I think restraints would be very bad for him psychologically, given what he’s been through.” Everyone in the room shuddered at the thought of Michael waking up delirious to find himself strapped to the bed.

“Sophie, why don’t you move back to your room?” Anjali’s voice was gentle. “You don’t need to be here anymore. Maybe then he’ll stop trying to come to you every time he wakes.”

“No. I won’t leave him,” Sophie said instantly. “If I need to, I’ll sit beside his bed all night to prevent him from wandering, but I won’t leave him.” She looked down at his sleeping form lying against her. “I’m not ready to let him out of my sight yet.”

~~ - ~~

That night, Sophie slept with Michael in the narrow hospital bed. No amount of arguing from Anjali or the rest of the medical staff could convince her otherwise.

She awoke before dawn the next morning, gradually becoming aware that her chest and one shoulder were wet.
Is the IV dripping on me?
But before she could check, Michael took a deep breath, gasped, and started coughing.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “You’re safe. I’m here. Don’t be afraid.” She started to move the arm that she had wrapped around his body, when she suddenly realized Michael’s skin was no longer blistering with heat.

His fever had broken, and she was soaked with his sweat. Sophie felt a huge wave of relief wash over her, then nearly jumped out of her skin as she heard a cracked, feeble voice break the silence.

“
Mana mila
, why do you speak to me as if I were a child?”

For a moment, Sophie thought she was dreaming. Heart racing, she released him and slid out of bed. She walked around the bed and crouched down in the dimness so she could see his face. Instead of the blank, unresponsive gaze she’d seen for the last few days, Michael – the real, aware Michael – looked back at her.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” She flipped on a small lamp, relief pounding through her blood. Michael scowled at her, then lifted his arm and stared in amazement at the battlefield of puncture marks on it. The IV looked like it had been secured with an entire roll of tape.

“Of course it is,” he whispered crossly. “Who were you expecting?”

“It’s been hard to tell lately.” She headed toward the door. Michael gasped in pain, and Sophie turned back to see him attempting to sit up. She opened her mouth to tell him to lie back down, then thought better of it.

“Where are you going?” he croaked.

“To get someone from the medical team.” She saw his blank look. “I want someone to check on you.” She started out the door once more.

“Sophie, wait.” She turned yet again, her eyebrow raised. “Where are we?”

“We’re in the Soviet Republic, just south of the Orlisian border,” she said softly. “At the base camp of an aid agency coalition. You are safe here.”

Sophie heard him begin to cough as she raced down the hallway to see which of the medical team had stayed back from the camp. By the time she’d returned with Kathy, Michael had lapsed back into unconsciousness.

“Fever’s way down.” Kathy made a note on the chart. “And it sounds like he was much more lucid during this period of wakefulness.” She checked Michael’s lines one more time to ensure they were secure. “Come get me if he wakes up again in the same state. Sounds like things are about to get really interesting around here.”

~~ - ~~

February 16, 2014

Michael woke again three or four times in the next thirty-six hours. Each time, his periods of lucidity grew longer. In the early morning, Sophie was taking advantage of the pre-dawn quiet to get some work done at the nurse’s station when a thin whisper broke the quiet.

“Sophie?”

“I am here, Mikael.” She continued in his native tongue. “We are in the Soviet Republic. At an aid agency coalition base. You are safe.” She said it automatically, having reassured him with these words dozens of times since he had started regaining consciousness.

“I am hungry.”

She put the computer aside and walked to his bedside. He looked up at her with dawning awareness. “Why are you here?”

“Let me see who’s available from the medical staff, and see if you can have something to eat.” Sophie didn’t answer his question. She returned a few minutes later with Raj Patel, then retreated to the nurse’s chair.

“Dr. Nariovsky-Trent? I’m Dr. Raj Patel. It’s a pleasure to see you looking so much better.” Raj began his examination, explaining about the pneumonia and his overall condition. Michael looked resigned at the news that he’d probably need to have a few toes amputated in several months’ time.

“May I eat?” he asked when Raj finished.

“Liquids only for now. I’ll have someone bring you a tray. We’ll see how you’re doing tomorrow or the next day. Anything else we can get for you?”

“A set of scrubs,” Michael said. “And a shower.”

Raj looked doubtful. “Sponge bath is a better choice.”

Sophie could see the fury that crossed Michael’s features at this undignified suggestion. She chuckled as Raj took a startled step back in the face of his suddenly wrathful patient.

“I’ll keep an eye on him while he showers, Raj.” Dr. Patel turned and raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s not what I meant.” She silently cursed the blush rising to her cheeks. “And get him a toothbrush too, would you?”

“Er…sure.” Raj left to track down food and essentials for Michael, and the two of them sat in awkward silence.

“
Mana mila
,” Michael finally said, “what are you doing here?”

“I am the leader of an international coalition of aid agencies, providing assistance to the refugees in Parnaas.” He seemed surprised. “What?” She could feel her irritation rising. “Surely you know what I do for a living by now.”

He didn’t respond, and Raj returned to the room. Michael made a face at the red gelatin and broth, but he ate everything with good appetite.

“Out, Sophie.” Raj pulled the curtain. A few minutes later, Michael’s IV was capped, his catheter out, and he was sitting sulkily in a wheelchair. “Don’t worry about the bandages on his feet; we’ll deal with those later,” said the doctor. They walked down the hall to the showers, Raj updating her along the way about their efforts the previous day to persuade some of the more suspicious refugees that the medications they were distributing weren’t harmful.

They arrived at the showers. Raj dragged a chair into the stall, looked doubtfully at Michael, and vanished.

Better take control of this situation.
Sophie went into command mode.

“I’ll start your shower, then you go in there. Sit, don’t stand.” She pointed at the shower stall and chair. “Take off your gown and throw it over the curtain to me. I’ll hand you your towel and scrubs when you’re done. Okay?” He nodded. “Talk to me while you’re in there so I know you’re still alive.”

Two minutes later, she threw Michael’s hospital gown into the laundry. Steam billowed out of the stall, and the noise of the splashing water couldn’t cover his sigh of pleasure. She had to smile.

“How long has it been since you’ve had a hot shower?”

“Oh God, I cannot remember,” he groaned. “Weeks, maybe? We washed with cold water in a bucket when we could. Most of the time, we went without.” He let out a startled gasp, followed by silence.

“Are you okay? Michael?” She flew to the curtain in a heartbeat.

“My hair is gone.”

“Anjali had to shave it off. You had lice.” More silence.

“Anjali is here? And also Will?”

“Yes. RCI leads the coalition.” She heard Michael scrubbing months of filth off his body. Sophie couldn’t imagine how good he must have felt right now. She tried not to think about the fact that he was naked a few feet away from her.