The Last Romanov (Under Editing)

Missing In Action

Sasha sat up in his bed, scratching the back of his neck. His hair had become a stringy, greasy mop of dirty blonde hair, one that he was half tempted to take a knife to, himself. He would have to wash his hair when he got back to the apartment. Well, if he could find some shampoo to wash his hair with, anyway.

That day was the last day he would be in that hospital. The doctors had cleared him somewhat grudgingly, as ordered by Anastasia, and he would be given a week to rest back at home before he went back on guard duty at the Winter Palace. All he had to do was get through one more lousy check-up, and he would go home to his crappy apartment and his even crappier life.

And yet, he was excited to go back to it: if there was one thing he hated more than his job, it was sitting around in a musty hospital, doing absolutely nothing.

He swung his legs out of his bed and stood up on stiff legs, still wincing at the pain in his side. The skin had completely healed, from what the doctors said, but it was still terribly, terribly tender. And, if the doctors were to be believed, it would be tender until he took the proper time to allow it to heal.

Which, considering his job, would probably be... never. "You'll sleep when you're dead" seemed to be the motto of Anastasia's guard, so it would probably be a very, very long time before he actually had a full range of motion, again.

In fact, he might tear his stitches, again. Which would not be good, seeing as the doctor threatened to kill him if he ever did that, again. And, judging by the look he'd had on his face, he'd been completely, utterly serious when he said that.

Sasha sighed as he stretched his arms over his head in an attempt to pop his back, being careful to not rip the stitches, again. It was at times like this that he couldn't help but wonder why in the world God had given him, of all people, a life as upside-down as this one.

Finally, he felt a few glorious pops in his back, his shoulders, and his arms.

He groaned, tossing his head back. Oh, sweet Mary and Joseph, did that feel good! He'd been looking forward to doing that for a very, very long time.

He walked over to the door, scratching his unmentionables through his hospital gown. Now, for one more item of business before he did all the things necessary to get the hell out of the hospital.

He knocked on the door, signaling to the guard outside his door that he was up. "You there?"

"Of course," the guard said through the door. "What do you want?"

"Take a guess."

The guard was quiet for a few seconds, then sighed. "Right."

The guard opened the door. He looked beyond annoyed, to him. "Come on, then. Knowing you, you can't hold it all day."

Sasha rolled his eyes, but he followed the guard down the corridor and towards the stairs, anyway.

He heard someone screaming from the other end of the hallway as they reached the stairwell, a scream that made every nurse, doctor, and soldier in that hallway right out of their respective skins.

Sasha frowned, looking in the direction the scream had come from. Was that... had that been Nadya?

Sasha began to head in the direction of the scream, the guard following behind him.

"Where are you going?" the guard asked. "I thought you needed to go to the bathroom."

"The toilet can wait for a minute," Sasha said as he made his way to Nadya's room.