The Canadian Connection

Ch. 18 Epilogue

"Ah mon cher," Francis cooed breathlessly. "Once more we are in each other's arms. I know, it was a close call for a time. And though we had to separate for necessities sake, I knew you would come back to me, our love was just too strong to be separated. Ah, my dear... Come, let me smell you."

"Uncle, was that Pierre at the door? What did- oh for god's sake. Uncle, get rid of those pants!" Sey snapped, glaring at the Frenchman currently holding Arthur's pants.

"Never!" Francis wailed, clinging to the garments as he bounded away like a rabbit.

"Uncllllllle!" Sey shouted in frustration, immediately giving chase.

()()()

Eduard disliked hospitals. The smell, reminiscent of bleach hanging in the air, the unnerving silence only interrupted by pained coughing or other symbols of human suffering, even the sterile look to everything had an unnatural and artificial feel to it. And this was coming from the many that essentially lived with computers! Still, now that we know why Eduard hated hospitals it must be said that the reason he was there was, naturally, not entirely compulsive, but rather compelled.

The individual who had done so was currently lying on the bed before the Estonian. Ivan, eyes closed and breathing softly, lay beneath a thin white hospital sheet in repose. He almost looked peaceful, like a bear in the throes of hibernation.

These scene of peace and tranquility promptly shattered as Raivis threw the door to the hospital room open, wood banging against the plaster of the wall sharply. Through a combination of the raucous crack of the door and Raivis's shrill cry of, "Eduard!" Ivan found himself rising sharply to sit ramrod straight like an undead monster brought to life, purple eyes blinking as they tried to sort through that realm between reality and sleep he still partially inhabited.

Ivan's eyes darted to Raivis, their menacing look fading slightly when he noticed who it was. "Ah, Raivis. Good to see you again. Is something wrong? You're shaking again," The Russian asked with a slight frown.

"M-mister Ivan! Y-you're strangling Eduard!"

"Hm?" Ivan glanced to his left, noting in surprise that he was indeed, a single arm thrust out with fingers enwrapping the Estonians throat tightly.

"Oh, so I am. I do that sometimes. Sorry Eduard," Ivan said airily as he released his hold. Eduard fell back into his chair, sucking in greedy gulps of air.

"I...I'm okay. Just... Just give me a second," Ivan acknowledged Eduard's request with an incline of his head, waiting patiently for his minion to recover. At length the bespectacled blonde stopped wheezing, though his hand remained upon his chest to try and calm his beating heart. With a final deep breath Eduard looked up to meet his assailant/employers faintly smiling face.

"Better?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Then, perhaps you could explain to me, Eduard, where I am and why I'm wearing a hospital gown? Though I am glad you managed to ensure I kept my scarf, I am still awfully curious." Eduard watched as the Russian tugged at his scarf meaningfully. The Estonian gulped; it had indeed been wise to make sure the scarf remained untouched.

"W-well, sir, after the... incident at the restaurant you began to feel ill. After throwing up into a trashcan I managed to bring you to the car. As I was driving you back to the hideout you, um, passed... out... sir. I took you to the hospital and we had your stomach pumped. I'm pretty sure it was because of the poisoned cake. Since then you have been asleep. For two days, and now you've woken up," Eduard finished, somewhat lamely.

Ivan was looking away, absorbing the information and turning it over in his mind. Fascinating. How could he have been so foolish as to let his guard down when he had been looking directly into the lion's maw? It must have been a ploy of that Mister Williams, a front to lure him into a false sense of security. He had been so cowed by the mask that he had neglected there being the demon hiding behind. A demon, who had somehow managed to psychologically trick Ivan into eating the cake! It all made sense now the Russian thought with a chuckle which reverberated in his chest like a drum. He had been beaten, face to face, with the battlefield being a cake of all things! His foe had taken refuge in audacity, and had escaped scot-free.