Cassia's POV

Ilya left me alone to tend to the patient after that.

I should be nervous about the fact that now I'm the only person responsible for the patient lying before me but I've been in this situation a thousand times before. The stress of the emergency room is an earthquake compared to the silent buzz going on behind my mind.

I take my time as I take apart the stitches and then start cleaning the wounds, glad that the young patient before me is unconscious so he doesn't feel any pain as I clear out the infection. Then I open up an IV and start on his treatment. I take off my sweatshirt, leaving myself in only a tank and sweatpants. I should have changed my clothes before coming here but too late for that.

I go into the adjoined bathroom and turn on the lights. It's as spotless and classy as the rest of the house, with pristine white tiles and gold fixtures. There is a bathtub on the right side and a toilet and a sink. I rummage in the cupboards next to the sink to look for towels. I find spare hand towels and take a couple out. Turning the faucet of the sink on, I wet the towels with cold water and wringing them out of the excess water afterwards.

Walking back into the room, I gingerly sit on the bed next to my patient and lay one of the towels across his forehead. I lay one across the wide expanse of his abdomen and then two on his legs, careful not to let the towel touch the bullet wound on his right thigh.

Then I take the last cold wet towel and gently wipe down his arms. Cleaning the sweat coating his skin and also helping his temperature calm down. An involuntary shiver takes over the young man's body and I lift my gaze to see if he has woken up but his eyes are still closed. It's a soothing feeling, taking care of people who need it. It calms my mind and clears my head better than any meditation could as I take my time to methodically wipe across his skin.

He has bruised knuckles and previous wounds across different parts of his body but nothing that would affect his overall health. I try not to look too hard or take too much notice of his physical attributes because when one knows how to read the signs, it's very easy to learn information about a person just by looking. I noticed on my way here that that might not be the best idea when dealing with these people. Thankfully it hasn't backfired with Ilya... yet.

It's just so hard for me to keep reminding myself to keep my head down and mind my own business because I'm an inquisitive person by nature that can ask a million questions by a minute and it's like a constant itch that needs to be scratched to get answers for those questions. That's one of the reasons I went into medical field. To learn why most things are the way they are and when you know how stuff works, you can use that knowledge to help others.

I knew from early childhood that I wanted to be a doctor, my dad was ecstatic like any parent wanting their kid to have a stable future would be and supported me whole heartedly despite having no clue how the medical field works because he was a real estate agent. He was this bundle of joy that always had a smile on his face, ready to sell anything, anywhere with his contagious good mood and I miss him every day. My mom was devastated and the only thing that made her pull through was the fact that Olivia was still seventeen and going to high-school. She fell on her and took care of her, keeping herself busy.

My mom was a housewife but wanted to step up after dad's death and seek a job. But by that time, I was already out of med school and didn't want my mom to work on top of losing her husband so I worked double jobs through my specialty.

My rent isn't much and my mom's house is our own thanks to dad being a real estate agent and getting the best deals for the houses at the time so I only have to pay for Olivia's college and our daily expanses. I earn good money from the hospital that I don't have to take double shifts anymore but habits die hard and I often find myself working late into the night with long hours.

I don't mind the work though, I love my job.

I check on my patients vitals periodically and see his temperature gradually go down. I'm sitting in the chair by the bed when someone knocks on the door.

I see Grigory enter the room with a tray filled with refreshments in his hands as he walks to the dresser and sets the tray down. "Mr. Mironov has sent me to check up on you Dr. Whitaker. If there is anything you need, please don't hesitate to let me know." He says in his rough accent.

"Thank you Mr. Turgenev." I say.

"Please just call me Grigory." He insists and I nod my head, not used to being informal with people older than me but give in to his wishes.

"Then I must insist that you call me Cassia." I press. He makes an unsure face but I put on a stern face, showing that if he wants me to call him by his first name, it goes both ways. After a minute of pondering, Grigory gives in and slightly bows.

"As you wish." He says but I still note that he doesn't use my name. Then he takes a step closer to the foot of the bed and looks down at the young man lying in the bed. "How is Mr. Yuri Ivanov doing?"

I jut down my patient's name in a corner of my brain and move to turn the towels lying on his skin to their other cooler side. "He's improving. His fever is coming down and the medicine is halfway finished." I say.

Yuri starts to move and I look up at his face to watch as his eyes flutter open. He has crystal blue eyes very similar to Ilya's but Yuri's is a bit darker and his hair is a light blond. His disoriented eyes search the ceiling before they find my face and his pupils focus.

"ангел." He says in a gruff voice. I turn to look at Grigory with confusion.

"What did he say?" I ask.

"He called you an angel." Grigory says, his eyes holding light amusement but doesn't say anything else. I turn my head back to Yuri and move the wet towel across his forehead, as I feel my cheeks getting hot and turning a light pink colour. I'm sure it's his fever talking but the compliment caught me off guard.

His eyes follow my movements through half lidded eyes as I use the towel to clear the hair sticking to his forehead and wipe down the sides of his neck.

"I'll bring something for Mr. Ivanov to eat now that he's awake. Would you like anything Dr.-" Grigory stops himself when I give him a look. "Cassia." He corrects himself.

I give him a big smile and shake my head, "No thank you Grigory, I'm good." He nods and leaves the room. I turn my attention back to Yuri who has closed his eyes again but his breathing says he's still awake.

"How are you feeling?" I ask in a light tone.

"Like my body's on fire and the whole room is turning." Yuri says. He swallows and even though I have been hydrating his body through the IV bags, I go to the tray Grigory has brought and pour a glass of water from the pitcher. Then I place it on the nightstand next to the bed and help Yuri sit up against the headboard.

Then I give him the glass and encourage him to finish all of it. When he does, I take the empty glass from him as he leans his head back against the headboard and sighs. "Thank you." He says as he opens his eyes to look at me again. I take out some square patches of bandages and gauze from my bag and sit at the bed next to Yuri to clean his open wounds with anti septic before bandaging them closed.

"Your wounds got infected so I had to cut open the stitches but don't worry you won't need stitches again, it's been sufficient time since you got shot that your body is already closing up on it's own. We just need to help your body make it there." I explain as I finish bandaging his chest.

"If I'd known an angel would be taking care of me, I would've gotten shot sooner." Yuri says with a small tired smile on his face and I can't stop the smile that forms in response, his face is so boyishly, rogue-ish charm that I can't just stop myself.

"If you're good enough to flirt, then you're good enough to get up and work." A low cold voice says from behind me and I turn to see Ilya standing at the foot of the bed staring down at Yuri with indifference.

"His fever is not completely down, he should stay in bed until his medication is over." I interrupt and turn to Yuri before wiping down his arms with the cold towel and then around his chest.

"Cassia." Ilya's hard voice makes me turn around. His jaw is hard and his whole body seems tense but I have no idea what I've done wrong once again. "Would you join me for dinner?" He grounds out.

I furrow my brows. Didn't he bring me here to take care of Yuri? Besides I'm not hungry. I shake my head, "No thank you, I'm not very hungry." I reply as I once again turn back around to Yuri and gently grab his arm to lift it so I can wipe the side of his abdomen with the wet towel in my hand. Yuri sighs in relief as he closes his eyes.

Grigory enters the room then, with a tray filled with food as he comes to the side of the bed. I stand up to give him space as he sets the tray on Yuri's lap. "Great." Ilya's voice says and it sounds anything but great. "I think he can manage not to choke on his own food so you don't need to spoon feed him doctor. While your patient is eating, maybe now you will reconsider my offer to join me for dinner?" Ilya says as his defined jaw ticks in annoyance.

I really don't think saying no once again is a wise decision so I nod and follow Ilya out of the room. We're silent as we descend to the first floor. There is a silent tension between us a knife could cut but I have no idea what to say to make it disappear. So I silently trail behind Ilya's tall lean figure as he opens the door to a dining room. He walks over to the head of the table and drags back the chair to the right of the head. I say a silent 'thank you' as I step before the chair and he pushes the chair behind me, settling me in. Then he sits to my left at the head of the long table.

Grigory walks in with two plates in his hands and sets one in front of me and the other in front of Ilya. There is a steak with steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes on the side and all of it smells delicious. I smile up, "Thank you Grigory."

Grigory gives back a small smile in return. "My pleasure Dr-" I cut him off once again.

"Grigory." I say in a mock stern tone.

"Anything else I can get you Cassia?" He says. I shake my head with a smile, content now that I've managed to make the older gentleman call me by my name.

"I'll have a scotch." Ilya's voice cuts in and Grigory's face sobers like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't. "Right away Mr. Mironov." He bows and then leaves to get Ilya's drink.

I turn my gaze to my food and start eating. Grigory brings back Ilya's drink and sets it on the table before disappearing through the doors once again. Ilya and I eat in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds between us is the scraping of utensils and the clank of the plates. When I can't stand the silence anymore I speak up, "Have I done something wrong?"

"No." Ilya says in a cold tone that makes me furrow my brows.

"It doesn't feel like it." I say in a low uncertain voice.

My gaze snaps up when Ilya sets down his fork and knife down on his plate with force. "Do you always take it upon yourself to wipe down every inch of your patients?" He says which confuses me even more.

"You brought me here to take care of Yuri didn't you?" I ask and watch as he releases a frustrated sound as he runs a hand through his hair.

"I didn't know taking care meant caressing every inch of his body." He bits out.

My lips pull to the side as I try to work out his words. "When a patient has high body temperature it works to fight the infection coursing through their body. It's a defence mechanism because the membrane of a bacteria can't stand the high temperatures. But too much temperature also works to denature the essential proteins in our body. Research shows that above 40 degrees celsius is where the proteins start to degrade." I look up at Ilya's face with my bottom lip between my teeth worrying I'm making a fool out of myself but my mouth refuses to shut up when I'm nervous.

"Yuri's temperature was just above 40 degrees so I didn't want to give any antipyretics to overdo it, so I just-" I look around my half eaten plate, my voice becoming quieter as my brain finally decides enough is enough. "Used wet towels to bring his temperature down." My voice is barely a whisper by the time I finish speaking. I stuff my face with more food, keeping my mouth busy so it doesn't ramble on.

I look up at Ilya's face from the corner of my eye, he's cutting his steak with more force than necessary but he seems less tense than before. "You'll let Grigory know if you need to do stuff like that." He says in a gruff voice, not meeting my eyes.

"Oh that's okay, I don't want to trouble-" but Ilya cuts me off.

"This isn't up for discussion." He says his light blue eyes meeting with mine, stealing my breath for a moment. Then he tears his gaze away as he picks up his glass of scotch from the table and drinks a hearty mouthful.

"You don't do these menial tasks at the hospital yourself do you? Nurses help." He says.

"Yeah I guess so but-"

"Then it's settled, Grigory will stand in as your nurse." And then he returns back to his meal.

I want to open my mouth to argue but the tone of his voice was very final and I really don't want to make him tense again so I just nod. The rest of the tension visibly falls away from his shoulders and the air becomes a bit easier to breathe as we continue silently eating.

Until I my mouth decides to speak up before I can think my words through again. "What do you do for work?" I blurt out. I really need my brain to mouth filter checked.

Finished with his meal, Ilya leans back with a casual hand around the tumbler of whiskey in his hand, swirling the liquid as he looks at me. "What do you think I do for work?"

I feel like that is a trick question but my mind runs through the possibilities nonetheless. He could be an arms dealer, that would explain the guns. I would say he works in private security but they wouldn't pull out guns in a hospital so I'm more thinking along the lines of the wrong side of the law.

"Are you in a gang?" I ask, thinking about the mexican gangs and their turf wars we see in the news. A small smile forms on his lips as his eyes roam over my face, gauging my reaction.

"Similar. The russians call it the bratva. Like the mafias you have here in New York." He explains, still keeping his eyes on my face like any minute now, he expects me to start screaming and run for the door.

Except I don't. He and his men have pulled out their guns and threatened me at my place of work, I was expecting something dark. Sure I'm not used to interacting with anyone from the mafia but I've dealt with bad people and know well enough that there is a darkness in all of us.

"You don't seem to be nearly as scared as you should be." Ilya notes and I just give a small shrug.

"Is there any reason I should be scared? Will you kill me after I do what you ask of me?" I ask as I search his eyes.

He takes a long sip from his whiskey. When he lowers his glass down he replies, "No."

"Then I'm not. I can only control my own decisions and actions. What you choose to do is none of my business." I say nonchalantly. And for a reason my answer seems to displease him.

"Except for the fact that you are here."

"I'm here because I choose to help people. Always will. That fact won't change when I learn more about the situation I'm in."

Ilya gives a small shake of his head. "Don't they teach any self preservation at the countless years of med school you go through?"

"If they did, I must've not paid very close attention." I say jokingly but Ilya doesn't laugh. His face just becomes more stoic. We stare at each other for a minute in silence.

"You should go and tend to your patient doctor." Ilya says in a low voice, clearly dismissing me. I don't say anything as I get up and leave the dining room. It's fairly easy to follow the staircase to the second floor and find my way back to the room Yuri is in.

When I enter Yuri's room again, I see him asleep once again. I check on his progress and then settle on the chair beside his bed. The toll of today finally settling in. I have to go to work at the hospital tomorrow night but refuse to think that far ahead and frustrate myself. It's not a very comfortable chair but I manage to curl up in a somewhat decent position and try to get some rest.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I feel is two big hands picking me up and carrying me. My eyelids are very heavy and refuse to open but I recognise Ilya's addicting smell and unconsciously burrow further into his hold, breathing him in. He feels strong and warm against me, and I feel safe in his hold.

I'm lowered down on to a plush surface and a big, soft blanket is pulled over me. It feels like I'm laying down on clouds. When I hear Ilya moving to leave the room, I speak up.

"Don't shoot people for a few hours." I mumble out, my eyes still closed, somewhere between sleep and awake. "Then I'll have to get up and keep them alive." I say with sleep pulling me in.

I barely hear Ilya's low deep chuckle before sleep takes me again. "Okay milaya. I won't shoot anyone while you're asleep."

Definitely not fangirling about my own fictional male character.

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