The Code To A Don's Heart

t w e n t y - s e v e n

I didn't understand why fate wanted to push Viktor and I together again. I knew we still had much to say, much to correct so I didn't refuse the nurse's offer. There were many people here who'd been injured severely and Viktor had managed to stroll past these doors on his two feet which was more than some could say. I was given a simple metallic dish and a white face towel and sent off to Viktor's little makeshift hospital room.

When I ducked into the flap, he was slowly trying to take the bloodied bulletproof vest off his shoulders while seated on the hospital bed that was covered in a crisp light green sheet. He noticed it was me but didn't say a word, his eyes staying on his task. I set the dish down on one of the high stools and brought it close.

When I turned to Viktor he had discarded his vest and was lifting the hem of his shirt slowly. He was unhealthily pale and sweat beaded his brow. Reaching for the scissors by the desk. I reached out and stopped his hand, my gaze running over his chest. He had some cuts in his shirt, probably concealing wounds under the read soaked spots.

He was tired. I could tell by the bags under his eyes and the slow blinks he made constantly. He'd over exerted himself and the high from his kills must have worn off. I didn't need him pulling too many muscles.

"Let me," I softly prodded and he dropped his arms but still didn't look at me. I was avoiding his gaze as much as he was mine. My hands still trembled but I steadied them and slowly lifted Viktor's shirt, cutting upwards towards his neck. Whatever fabric remained, I helped him slide off his broad tattooed shoulders, my skin sensually sliding along his.

Viktor really was a sight to behold. He was sculpted, fat and muscle working with each under under the hands of whoever created him to curve out a muscled chest and abdomen which was dotted with a few dozen freckles of their own. His skin was smooth and slightly tan, glowing under the florescent lights in the panic room.

But he was scarred as he was sculpted.

Cuts grazed his body, old and new, running though his abs and side. I also noticed that his tattoos wrapped around the top of his collar bone, dipping slightly into his pecks. I was yet to see his back but dragging my thoughts from the gutter, I dipped the cloth in water, wet it, wring it and brought it close to his body.

His nastiest cut was a shallow slice from his upper right shoulder and down his arm. His middle was mostly protected because he wore a vest before. I started at his shoulder, rubbing the blood off his body over the delicate designs of ink. He sat on the bed but I stood off to only his injured side, feeling the warmth of his skin around me.

I hated that my hands shook when I tried to get him cleaned but I couldn't stop them. Viktor put his hand over mine but I kept my gaze to his skin, his tattoos. It was safer than looking into his eyes. There, he'd see my truth just as I'd see his.

"You fear me," he decided and all the signs to prove him right were there except, as he said it, I felt this wrongness in my chest.

I didn't fear him. If I did, I would've long since gone for the hills. No, I'd finally thought and sorted through my thoughts.

"I fear for you," I revealed. "I fear the demons you face and how you don't seem in control when they take over. I fear that one day, they'll change the person I've come to know. I fear that you might not know how to fight back." I looked at him then, the sincerity in my words and my gaze enough to cause a lump in my throat. "I fear that I'll lose you Viktor. I'll lose you to the demons you habour and the grief you try to lift."

"No one's perfect," he stated and I realised irritation seeped into his voice. I quickly figured out where he'd taken offense in my words and corrected his thoughts.