[Milliways]: Recovery
By the time he wakes, his mini-mes are long gone, and it takes nearly every ounce of strength he has left to push himself onto his back.
He’s still bleeding, which makes no sense whatsoever. He shouldn’t be. He’s never still bleeding when he comes to. He pushes himself up slowly, gasping in pain. Whatever Druitt did to him is sticking.
It makes a bit of sense, he supposes. He’s never had to heal from a wound quite that large before.
Eventually, he manages to prop himself up against the wall. It takes him several minutes to catch his breath, and he considers his options.
He can’t stay here. The Cabal will come looking for their missing agents before long, and Nikola has no idea how much time has passed.
Getting out will be difficult, but it’s his only option, and he’s almost to the exit anyway. He slowly shrugs out of his jacket and then starts removing his shirt. His fingers fumble with the buttons, but eventually he can pull it off as well.
Making any sort of useful bandage from it proves to be much more difficult. It takes several minutes, but he does manage to get a few strips of cloth tied as tightly as he can manage around his stomach.
And then he crawls.
It’s a good half an hour before he makes it to the exit that is really only a few feet away, and he’s sweating profusely by the time he makes it out of the catacombs and into a semi-crowded street.
He loves Rome, but people here are far more willing to leave a man lying in the gutter than they would be some places. Nikola can’t blame them really. What must he look like? Pale, sweat-stained and bleeding, dirt and grime all over his clothing.
He’d probably leave himself in a gutter too.
It must be nearly an hour before someone stops, and though Nikola can feel his body slowly repairing itself, it’s nowhere near fast enough, and he is actually grateful for the assistance.
He pays the man to take him back to his hotel rather than to a hospital, and he nearly collapses on the marble floor as the concierge rushes to his side. All he manages to get out is a faint request to be taken to his room before he passes out again.
***
When he wakes up again, he is firmly ensconced in his bed, blankets pulled up to his shoulders and a cool cloth on his forehead.
“Scusi, signore,” the young man at his bedside (a bellhop, Nikola thinks) says when Nikola turns his head to look at him. “We tried to make you comfortable. Is there anything I can get you?”
Any other time, faced with a beautiful, young man in his bedroom, offering to make him comfortable, Nikola would have a host of things to suggest. Today, he merely asks for water.
Damn Druitt.
***
The bellhop, beautiful though he may be, is far too concerned with Nikola’s health.
“Signore,” he says, every time Nikola tries to get out of bed. “No, you are not well. Let me?”
Nikola’s patience only runs so far, and after the fifth or sixth time, he snaps at the boy, “Are you going to take a piss for me too?”
To his credit, he stands his ground enough to insist on helping Nikola to the bathroom.
They come to a compromise at Nikola allowing him to assist him to his cane.
Nikola is beyond relieved when he opens the bathroom door and finds a bar on the other side.