Chapter 25 The Definition of Fine
The Definition of Fine
Hours had passed since Nikhail left, and River had run out of things to do.
At first, she’d occupied herself by exploring the small apartment.
It boasted a single bedroom, which housed a double bed, a bathroom with a stand-up shower, and a combined kitchen and living room.
If this were someone’s home, she would’ve felt differently about snooping, but the safe house felt like fair game.
River had started in the bedroom. A black dresser was against the wall across from the bed. Inside, she’d uncovered a variety of men’s and women’s clothing, mostly black, in a variety of sizes. Packs of unopened socks and underwear were neatly organized in the top drawer.
A small bookshelf was in the corner of the room, housing a stack of fiction and non-fiction books.
River had rummaged through the nightstands next. One was empty, save for a book of old fae prayers. The other was home to stacks of old papers, pens, and a gleaming black key.
Nothing overly interesting.
After the bedroom, River had gone through the kitchen. She’d rummaged through the cupboards, cataloging the pantry items, before peeking into the fridge.
Unsurprisingly, it was empty.
The bathroom had been her next stop. Here she found a well-stocked emergency kit, along with a stack of clean towels—also black—and an array of hotel-sized shampoo bottles.
She’d selected a couple before turning on the shower.
She stripped, showering off the day and washing her hair, before she changed into sleep shorts and a tank top.
Digging a frozen dinner out of the freezer, she reheated it in the microwave. The food, some sort of mashed potatoes and meatloaf, had desperately needed salt and pepper, but bland or not, it had done its job, filling her stomach.
Nikhail still hadn’t returned.
Now, River sat on the couch. She’d wrapped herself in a black fuzzy blanket, and her feet were curled under her. She yawned, glancing out the window. Pastels streaked across the sky, shoving away the darkness.
River struggled to stay alert. Her eyes were so heavy, her head was pounding, and exhaustion had woven itself into her bones. Each blink felt longer than the last.
Maybe if she just rested her eyes for a moment….
The sound of a lock tumbling was the next sound River heard.
Fuck. Despite her best efforts, she’d fallen asleep. River reached for the ceiling and arched her back like a cat as the door opened.
“Hey, Nik,” she said groggily. “How did it…”
Her words trailed off. She bolted to her feet, the blanket falling to the floor, forgotten, as Nikhail kicked the door shut behind him. The lock engaged, but River barely heard it over the rushing in her ears.
She was halfway to Nikhail before she’d made the conscious effort to start moving. The air fae sagged against the wall, and she reached him the next moment.
“Gods above, Nik,” she cursed, taking his arm. Her lingering drowsiness had vanished as though it had never existed in the first place. “What happened?”
Gone was the put-together fae who had left the safe house hours ago. Now, River understood why Nikhail had changed into all black before leaving.
The color was utilitarian in its style and purpose. Not only did it blend into the night, but it didn’t show blood. Or it wouldn’t, in normal circumstances.
Right now, the shirt was hanging in tatters over Nikhail’s shoulders, which didn’t do much to hide the crimson staining his skin.
And there was a lot of it. Countless scratches covered Nikhail’s face and arms, and the tang of iron was heavy in the air. She assumed his fae healing had already taken care of several of his wounds, so the fact that he was still injured spoke to the depths of his initial injuries.
River was less concerned about the scent of blood and more worried about the laceration on Nikhail’s forehead. It looked bad, even now. Another worrying cut peeked out from beneath the remains of the air fae’s shirt.
Nikhail stumbled past River, clutching at his chest and the worryingly dark material of his shirt.
“Things didn’t exactly go smoothly,” he admitted, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table.
A coffee order being mixed up was “things not going smoothly.” Hitting every red light when you’re already running behind.
Not this.
River rushed after him, disbelief crashing through her. “Nikhail, you have a talent for grossly underestimating things.”
He smiled weakly at her. “At least this time, my intestines are still in place.”
“That’s your bar? The fact that your internal organs are not currently trying to escape your body?” She gaped. “Oh, my fucking gods, Nikhail. You need to take better care of yourself.”
“And miss you looking after me? Never.”
This man.
This. Man.
River wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or cry or scream. What would Nikhail have done if she hadn’t been here, waiting for him?
A question for a later time.
“I’m going to pretend that you agreed to be more careful. Just… don’t move.” She held up a hand to emphasize her point. “Stay right there.”
She raced to the bathroom, retrieving the first aid kit she’d seen under the sink earlier. When she returned, Nikhail was paler. He noticed her frown and joked, “Seriously, River. It’s fine. You should see the other guy.”
His teasing words didn’t cover his wince when he shifted in his seat, though.
River placed the kit on the table.
“Take this off,” she said, tugging on the hem of Nikhail’s shirt. It was barely hanging on to his frame. “The weapons, too. I need to see where the worst of your injuries are located.”
Despite Nikhail’s earlier comments, he didn’t utter a single protest as he complied. That, more than anything else, confirmed that the extent of his injuries was far worse than what he was letting on.
The knowledge that River hadn’t been in the operating room since before her father’s passing, coupled with the fact that Nikhail would be better served at a hospital, poked at the edges of River’s mind. She forced those thoughts away. They wouldn’t do any good right now.
Yes, Nikhail needed medical care. Yes, he’d probably be better off in a hospital. But he hadn’t gone to one. He’d come here, and he wanted her help.
That meant a lot to River.
Nikhail piled his weapons on the table as requested, his shaky movements at odds with the graceful fae she knew him to be. There was an irony in the way he placed his guns next to the first aid kit, but she would have to think about that later.
When her air fae wasn’t suffering.
River ran back to the bathroom, grabbed a black washcloth, and wet it, racing back to Nikhail’s side. His hands were flat on his thighs, and he shuddered with each inhale. Even though he wasn’t making any sounds, she could tell he was in pain.
River pulled on a pair of latex gloves and perched on the edge of a chair, getting to work cleaning his skin as quickly as possible.
As River wiped away the blood and dirt, she had the dark thought that, like Nikhail’s clothes, the safe house’s black aesthetic was less of a décor choice and more of a deliberate decision for moments such as this.
The worst wound on Nikhail’s chest was over eight inches long, and it was red, and angry. She pressed her gloved fingers against the edges of the wound, and blood seeped out.
“This is going to need stitches, Nik.” Her lips tilted down as she studied him. “Your fae healing should take care of it, but I don’t want to take any chances.”
He jerked his chin. “Do what you need to do. I trust you.”
Embers of warmth kindled in River’s stomach, and they remained there as she retrieved several items from the first aid kit. She lined them up on the table, then realized something was missing.
“One second.”
She hurried into the kitchen, getting the bottle she’d spotted earlier. Thank the gods she’d taken the time to explore when Nikhail was gone.
River added the bottle to her pile before picking up the smallest vial. The clear liquid inside sloshed.
“I’m sorry, Nik,” she said, removing the cap. “This will sting, but it’s important. The last thing we want is for your wound to get infected.”
Nikhail closed his eyes without even reading the label. “It’s fine. Do whatever you need to do. I can take it.”
That, she believed. But even the knowledge that Nikhail was used to medical attention didn’t stop River’s vision from blurring as she poured the liquid onto a clean washcloth. Nikhail inhaled sharply when she dabbed at the cut, and the sound might as well have been a scream.
River hated that she was causing Nikhail more pain and that he was sitting here needing medical attention.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry.” River continued mumbling apologies as she poured a generous serving of the amber liquor into a glass, handing it to Nikhail. “I don’t have anything else to help ease the pain, but hopefully this does something.”
Nikhail took the glass, his fingers brushing hers. “Thank you.”
He downed the contents in one go before setting the empty glass on the table.
“Ready?” she asked.
The air fae jerked his chin.
“Okay.” She drew in a deep breath. Steadied herself. Exhaled. “Let me know if you need me to stop.”
A vein pulsed in Nikhail’s jaw, and he nodded tersely.
Moving as quickly as she dared, River unwrapped the pre-sanitized needle from the first-aid kit and threaded it. It didn’t escape her notice that the safe house was far more equipped than most houses, both with weapons and medical equipment.
Dyna, be with me, she prayed in her mind, beseeching the fae goddess of life and healing for strength.
Holding the needle in her right hand, River pressed the broken edges of Nikhail’s skin together with her left.
He hissed through his teeth.
“I’m sorry, I’m working as fast as I can.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he ground out. “I’ll be fine.”
His definition of fine was extremely different from River’s, but this didn’t seem like the right moment to argue.
“Okay,” River mumbled. Then she repeated, surer of herself, “Okay.”
She could do this. She had to be strong for Nikhail.
Focusing on her breathing, she inhaled for four counts. Held it for four. Exhaled for four. Held it again.
She cycled through her breaths until she felt grounded, then she brought the needle to the wound.
Her hand hovered an inch from Nikhail’s skin.
I can do this, she told herself.
She was a competent doctor, for the gods’ sakes. She’d graduated at the top of her class, and she’d taken care of hundreds of people. This wasn’t even that big of a deal.
Except that it was Nikhail.
Still, she couldn’t wait any longer.
Exhaling, she pierced Nikhail’s skin. He grunted, his fingers tightening around the armrest, but otherwise he remained silent.
River didn’t dare look at his face. She focused on the wound, drawing her needle through his flesh and carefully bringing the ends together. Her hand never wavered.
This was something River had always excelled at.
She’d been taught to embroider as a young girl—it was an essential life skill for every well-to-do lady, according to the mistresses at Highmountain’s School for Young Fae—and it had transferred well to her medical training.
From the moment River had first picked up a needle and thread in medical school and practiced suturing an orange, her teachers had remarked on her ability.
“A natural,” Doctor Vandrawn had commented. “Born to heal.”
“The tightest stitches I’ve ever seen,” Doctor Thorndale praised.
“Good,” Doctor Winters, the most stoic of all her teachers, had said. The small bit of praise from the pragmatic Death Elf had meant the world to River.
She’d never imagined she’d have to use those skills on Nikhail, though. Especially outside the safety of a sterile operating room.
Reaching the end of the laceration, River tied off the thread. Keeping one hand on Nikhail’s chest, the steady thump of his heart assuring her he was alive, she grabbed the scissors from the first aid kit. She cut the thread and placed her tools to the side before looking up.
A pair of amber eyes watched her intently.
Nikhail tracked her movements as she cleaned the wound on his forehead next. River was intensely aware of how close they were. They weren’t touching, save for her hand, yet every part of her felt like it was buzzing from their nearness.
River opened several butterfly bandages, applying them to Nikhail’s forehead, and rolled her lip between her teeth. “So, I take it you didn’t find the man you were looking for?”
Nikhail groaned. “No. He… got away.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.” Nikhail gestured to his chest. “This was courtesy of the other rebels. They came at us, giving him a chance to escape.”
“Us?” She picked up another bandage.
“My team.”
“Oh.”
“No one was seriously injured, and we captured two rebels, but neither was the man we were seeking. We have another lead, but we won’t be able to follow up on it until tonight.”
Another lead.
Another mission.
Another opportunity for him to get hurt.
River’s breath caught in her throat, and her hand froze mid-air. What if next time, Nikhail didn’t get back in time? What if he bled out in the field, and he just… never came back?
A sob crawled up her throat, and it took everything she had to force it back down.
Nikhail’s fingers laced through hers. He tugged her onto his lap, despite her protests about his injuries.
“It’ll be okay, River. This is a minor setback, but I meant what I said earlier. You’ll be safe here. I’ll make sure of it.”
Clearly, he’d misinterpreted her silence.
“I’m not worried about myself, Nik.”
His brows knit together. “You’re not?”
“No, you foolish fae.” She shifted on his lap, looking up at him. “I’m worried about you. About what might happen to you. What if you get seriously hurt, or worse?”
“No.” He silenced her with a kiss. “No what-ifs. No wondering about what might happen. We don’t play that game. There’s no need to borrow trouble before it happens. I’m taking every precaution I can.”
She noticed he didn’t refute her claims. He didn’t tell her it would be okay or that he wouldn’t get hurt.
“Enough about me, Princess. How are you?” Nikhail looked her over, concern etched onto his features. “Can you see the stars?”
Even now, after everything, he was worried about her.
No one had ever made River feel the way Nikhail did. Loved and cherished in a way that barely made sense.
And that, more than anything else, made her next words come easily to her lips. River kissed Nikhail softly, relishing the fact that he was here, safe and with her. She rested her head against his shoulder, avoiding the worst of his injuries.
“Yes,” she whispered, tears of gratitude sliding down her cheeks. “I can see them.”