Alexei And Grace

14 | Steady Hands

AS I TOOK A CAUTIOUS step closer to Alexei he took a swig of whisky from the crystal decanter in his right hand. It was more than half empty.

          "Alex?" I said softly, and his head lolled in my direction.

          "You came," he breathed heavily.

          I shrugged out of my denim jacket and threw it onto the oak table, kneeling in front of Alex to take in his wounds. The vibrant red blood staining his white shirt was horrible to look at; I was desensitised to most people's injuries but I felt a connection to Alexei that I couldn't explain.

          "You've drunk a lot," I pointed out, gently trying to remove the decanter from his grip. "I can't medicate you if you're drunk."

            "The pain..." His dark eyes flickered closed as his hand tightened around the crystal. "It's for the pain."

          "I know," I whispered, "I know. But I can't medicate you if you're drunk. Please Alexei." I'd never called him by his full name before and at that moment his eyes shot open and I lost my breath.

          I quickly recovered and managed to prise the decanter from his hand, setting it down beside me. Once that was done, I returned to his wound. It was two gunshots, about ten centimetres apart, both of them thankfully lodged in the safe zone of his right shoulder. No serious damage. That was good. "We need to get you on to the medical table," I told him. Half of the room was a lounge, luxurious by all accounts, and the other half was like a mini surgery.

          Alex groaned.

          "I know," I crooned, feeling something almost painful tugging in my stomach at the sight of him so hurt. "You've lost a lot of blood." He groaned again. "Come on, on to the table."

          "Nyet," he breathed sharply.

          (No)

          "I don't understand," I admitted with a blush. For some reason it made me feel inadequate that Alex needed me to understand him and I couldn't.

          He grabbed my hand then, circling my wrist with his fingers and I gasped. "No," he repeated in English, imploring me with his eyes. "Here."

          I supposed he was leaned against something for support—it was as good a place as any. I nodded. "We need to get your, um, shirt off." I couldn't meet his gaze as I said this.

          When our eyes finally did lock, Alex's unfocused ones hovered over my blushing cheeks and then rolled back in his head. "Fuck," he slurred.

          "Is that such a bad thing?"

          With a great amount of effort he shook his head. "Good."

          "Oh."

"Not...like this." Alexei offered a wry grin but it quickly fell away as his expression morphed into one of pain. His dark curly hair was matted to his forehead with sweat.

Pushing away my embarrassment, I reached for the buttons of his shirt and began unfastening them as quickly as I could. He'd already lost a lot of blood; it saturated the material between my fingers, staining my skin red. When the last button came undone, I pulled the fabric away from Alexei's torso, exposing his tattooed chest. My eyes got lost for a second in the mass of ink swirling over his skin, intricate designs like scars so dense there was almost no bare space. I couldn't afford to stare too long. I pulled my eyes away and asked Alex, "can you lean forward? I need to get the shirt off."