Chapter Text
As one of the doctors assigned on a night-shift, Flins can confidently say that he has seen it all. From apparitions of children running down the dull and stark halls, of shadows standing as still as a statue in the corner of rooms, to patients suffering grievous injuries with questionable causes.
If he weren't pulled in to vacate the spot in Nod-Krai city's only hospital that is painfully understaffed, Flins would've been working in Forensic. Alas, according from the Consigliere, saving lives is better than befriending the dead if Flins wished to find refuge somewhere.
Downing his third coffee for the night, he saunters to the hallway that leads to the ER where he was told to go. Flins was the only doctor to respond when a nurse was frantically running around like a headless chicken for a lounging specialist.
Her bangs was sticking to her forehead with eyes darting everywhere but his face, and that's how he knew this night will be one of those legally questionable operations. But, since the graying doctor that was supposed to respond is nowhere to be found, Flins has no other choice.
The sound of rolling hospital beds, trolleys rattling from every lines on the tiles, and the running heart-rate monitors from occupied rooms resumes with their functions without abandon. Snippets of conversations could be gathered from nurses and hospital staffs lingering around as well.
It's not as lively as the ones during the day but as equally chaotic and busy, which is particularly why Flins chose this shift. Besides, he has no one to return to in his house; not even a pet.
Upon reaching the pair of doors that glinted under the lights, Flins began hearing voices laced with worry and fear. The Emergency Room, unsurprisingly, is busy with seven to ten bloodied patients. Flins had to hold his breath the moment they entered, what with the awful mixture of distressed Alpha pheromones and the tangy scent of iron polluting the air.
But instead of being led to one of the men in black suits that are literally groaning from agonizing pain, Flins is herded to a private room down the corridor. On their way, he spotted crimson splotches that are dutifully being cleaned by janitors with ghastly complexions, as if they'd rather clean other stains than blood.
How on earth did something like this happen without him getting notified right away, exactly?
Ah.
He did come out from an operation room. Just got rid of the uniform and—
"Where the hell are the staff?!"
A voice, on the verge of breaking down, interrupted his musings. The moment Flins opened the door, the nurse behind him was already gone, and he's met with two men in black. Their suits are tattered with diagonal lines where red cuts are peeking through the fabric.
Their hairs are also disorganized and sticking to their foreheads, as if they ended up sprinting and scrambling on the way. With all evidence pointing to these people being a group, Flins can only assume that these men engaged with gang-related fights.
Well, the world is not as pure sunshine as they are portrayed in children's story books anyway.
The last person that Flins' eyes fell to is a blond man lying on the bed. He's big. And as embarrassing as it sounds, Flins has no other words to describe the patient with.
Without being told, Flins wordlessly walked past the two men, causing them to jerk from his silent arrival.
"You- who the hell are you?!"
Checking the blonde's pulse, Flins lightly hums. "Get me the nurse while I strip him."
"Hey! Are you listening—"
"You have no rights to-"
How noisy. With a stern face rivaling that of a statue, Flins begins working on unbuttoning the soaked white shirt. Not long after, the wheels of a trolley coming in gave him the cue to kick out the two unwanted guests by using force called dragging.
He ignored their sputtering and indignant cries of being 'unlawfully' forced out of the room. Flins only scoffed at their faces before turning back to the unconscious man. The nurse, fidgeting with her hands while looking back and forth from their patient to the closed door, stammered out a "Doctor?"
"They were on the way." Flins reasons with an impassive tone. "Hand me an anesthesia."
Crimson stains the man's abdomen and waist, which Flins roughly estimates has missed the vital organs, deeming the man one lucky individual. He made quick work with cleaning the skin and dislodging the two foreign objects from his patient's body, and when he arrived with the tools, he deftly and quietly glided the suture with a firm hold on the needle holder and forceps.
Despite his own discipline towards himself, it was impossible not to marvel at the hardness of the man's abs, sensing the slight tremor under his touch.
As the forceps glinted from the light above, Flins couldn't help but wonder how many stab wounds the blond can survive. Around seven? Or perhaps exceeding one digit? With the amount of scars littering his body, he must've survived worse. If that is true, then this man was born to walk on bloody pavements and to test everyone else's violence.
Just as Flins was about to snip the suture, the man decided it was the best moment to break through the sedative as he began breathing in and out harshly. When the blond attempted to sit, Flins was fast enough and—without the carefulness a Doctor should have—slammed the man back to the mattress by adding pressure on his shoulder, causing the bed to creak in protest.
If Flins applied a teeth-clenching force on his patient's body to keep him still, only him, the nurse, and the man are witness. He won't be facing any charges so soon.
"Where am I?" His patient heaved out, throat dry and eyes repetitively blinking away the daze.
Snapping the thread with the tool, Flins replies with a hum. "Hospital."
"I know that—ow!" Then why ask?
Blood spurt out from the gap between two stitch-works, pooling on the man's abdomen and in addition, besmirching his hard work.
For a moment, Flins felt the suture scissor on his hand speak to him. Open another gaping wound, it said. But he ignores it.
"I may as well increase your bill if you keep on squirming like that." He softly muttered with a polite smile down at the other, "Being alive despite all the cruelties dealt upon you is a privilege only given to those with strength, I kindly advise you to not waste it."
Despite his veiled threat, a brief second of clarity appeared within those brilliant blue eyes of his as he continued staring at Flins. Tutting, Flins cautiously padded a ball of cotton with disinfectant using the forceps.
Brushing the gaze away, Flins signals for the nurse to leave first as he spoke. "You'll have to stay here for about…two days. Your immune system must be incredible with the amount of danger you've survived, so any more duration of stay will be useless to someone such as yourself."
When no reply came, Flins huffed and meets his gaze with a tilt of his head. "And, I doubt you'd willingly stay a day longer with your business being active."
Without wasting another second inside the room, he turned and left, missing the way the man attempted to call after him. As soon as Flins walked out, the thugs that he kicked out was quick to scutter to who he assumes is their leader.
Now, where was he supposed to go to earlier?
…
"Rescheduled to…day shift?" Flins had to blink several times before eventually resorting to groggily rubbing the corners of his eyes. "Does it not normally start at seven?"
Glancing to his digital clock on his bedside table that reads [8:31], Flins inwardly groaned. Isn't he practically late? He just finished a night shift, and they expect him to ride it out and be early?
Flins exhaled, his head throbbing. Sleep deprivation? He deserves this, doesn't he?
"Due to unexpected circumstances, you are expected to arrive at ten in the morning."
"Yes, Doc. I'll be on my way."
"Thank you for responding at such short notice, Dr. Flins."
Before he could tap out, the Director hurriedly added. "Do head to the VIP room. You'll know where to enter."
'A VIP room?' Those rooms are only used by government officials and important people. Other than that, Flins is not the only Senior Resident, leaving this call to something intentional rather than a necessity.
What a farewell to a blissful and well-deserved sleep that he barely started.
Which is why they shouldn't blame him for showing up looking like he's one sneeze away from death, the charcoal-dark shades under his eyes more prominent. Striding to the direction of the lift with a straight back, Flins returned each of his colleagues' surprised 'good mornings' as they watched him stand before the metallic doors.
He observes the red pixel symbol of an arrow pointing down, and when the doors opened, Flins, out of sheer spite, swiveled and languidly walks to the receptionist to inquire for his schedule. When he received a shake of the employee's head, Flins' smile threatened to fall. He then goes to the escalator with the plan to ask around.
Most doctors and nurses urged him to go up, to follow the task given to him. Flins' spite was only fueled further when they refused his insistence on tending to the patients who needed him more.
Flins made sure he's as slow as an elderly man diagnosed with arthritis when he decided to heed their words. He stopped by the window, conversed with several of the hospital's janitors and security for information, and even walked out of the building to buy himself a coffee. Flins waited for the elevator, and once it opened for him and people flooded out, went for the escalator just to linger in the hallway.
This caused the Director to storm down from his office just to stare at Flins from the third floor, but the man didn't say a word at Flins' actions.
He could've received a phone call to give him the idea that he should pick up the pace, that the patient from the VIP floor is dying, but Flins received none. By the time it was nearing eleven, Flins decided he be done with the display.
No one even interrupted his nonsense, further cementing Flins' theory that his time, precious time that could've been spent tending to the patients or recharging his energy for tonight's shift, was shamelessly bought.
"What," Lauma's voice has Flins blinking away his drowsiness while they both step inside the lift. "Are you doing here, Dr. Flins?"
"Someone decided to be a Samaritan and changed my schedule." Flins croaks out, mentally wincing at the way his voice almost cracked. "I would've hung myself over that, but leaving the perpetrator 'hanging' is much better."
The Alpha stares at him with concern. "How much sleep did you manage to get?"
"Ten."
"Ten hours?"
"Ten minutes."
"Oh… Are you alright?"
Flins shook his head with a polite curve of his lips, "I had worse, Dr. Lauma. And I am fine, I can still do the most basic."
"You do know it can get busier here instead of the opposite, no? You should take a few nice rests in-between."
A few hours of rest would be nice, but Flins can still manage and even perform a heart surgery without it—unless if he's gone mad to risk it. Giving Lauma a small nod, they parted ways once they arrived at her destination.
Not long after, it was Flins stepping out of the elevator. And just as what the Director meant when he said Flins will know where to go, it was literal. At the empty and stark hallway are two men in the same black suit as the ones in ER, conversing with each other with a casual air around them.
Once they spotted him, the door to the room was rigidly opened, revealing the room's occupant.
Now, with all the sleep Flins has repeatedly lost throughout the week, it doesn't surprise him at all when he saw the blond again. Welcomed with the impressive display of the man's defined and scarred back, the doctor couldn't help but admire it. What else should he do other than ogle at it? It's a work of art.
"Why are the three of you back so soon? Didn't I tell you to retrieve the doct—"
The blond turned, his eyes widening at the sight of Flins standing right behind him. He opened his mouth, closed it, then swallowed as he slowly sat down on the bed.
"You're up and talking for someone that requires a doctor's attention."
Flins tilts his head, left hand in his pocket as he sipped, observing the way the man become pliant in an instant under his unwavering and calculating gaze.
"Such a good patient." He drawled out with a heavy breath.
There are multiple ways to strangle a man without using his hands. But alas, Flins shouldn't resort to violence.
His praise caused the other to swallow once more, pupils dilating before he grinned mischievously.
"Well, this 'good patient' does need your attention."
"Mn." He gives the man a half-hearted scan, seeing nothing amiss. Except for the exposed stitched area that is difficult to ignore from how fresh and red it looked, stark amidst the paleness of his scarred skin.
Flins points at the spot with the hand holding the cup. "I assume you were waiting for me to dress your bubu?"
Instead of replying right away, the blond continued to stare in a stupefied daze, giving Flins the time to sip his coffee while waiting for an answer.
Is he experiencing fatigue? A delay in his temporal lobe? He only said the word that Ineffa used for children.
When the man cleared his throat to say something, Flins abruptly and briskly walked forward that made the blond clench the sheets in preparation, the dorsal veins beneath his skin standing out in prominent curves.
'Just a brief delay, then. But he's a well-experienced individual, vigilant, sharp...' He stops once his knee hits the bed-frame, his position now between the man's legs. 'And looks like a duffus—a pretense perhaps? I'm not one to judge.'
With another tilt of his head, Flins opens his mouth. "Compensation for the hours of sleep I have lost along with the entire hour I could've spent helping patients to health or performing cardiovascular surgeries will be placed on your tab. That is, unless, you see yourself above the law permitting civilians to take action against harassment."
The man adapts a bewildered look, eyeing Flins up and down with a frown. "Since when did I harass you?"
"The moment you requested a night-shift Doctor like me."
"You…could've just said no, Doc."
Flins, embarrassingly, had to take a few moment to process the words the other said.
"At the cost of my job, I could've." He shrugged his shoulders.
He tipped his head up and emptied the caffeine before deftly tossing it to the bin next to the bed.
"I'll need the basic tools to disinfect and dress your injury."
Once the two men from the door placed a tray carrying a bottle of disinfectant, cotton, and several roll of bandages, Flins sat next to him with the tray on his lap.
They settled in silence with Flins fighting off the heaviness of his limbs and eyelids at once and his patient studying the efficient work being done on his injury. Their knees would occasionally brush with the blond keeping what little distance he should take, their eyes drawn to one place.
That was, until said patient found it nice to talk.
"Your name must be quite long."
Clipped from Flins' breast pocket is his ID badge, displaying his department, credential, second-gender and name.
"Kyryll…"
At the sound of his name uttered from the heavy cradle of the man's throat, Flins sharply flicked his gaze up, almost predatory in its movement. The blond answered with a lopsided grin that is both infuriating and amusing at the same time.
"Do call me by my last name, that's what everyone here calls me, and by extent, how we address each other."
"Are you from Snezhnaya, then?"
"I was born there, yes."
"Are there any disadvantages for being an Omega here in Nod-Krai?"
"Not unless you allow them to."
It impresses him at how the man never flinched when Flins accidentally pressed too hard on the delicate spot where the suture went through, more so when said man refused to keep his mouth shut despite Flins' exhausted replies.
"What time do you usually clock in, Dr. Flins?"
"I mostly arrive at 5:30 or before the clock hits six." This time, his mouth moved first before his mind processed the question.
"How about when you clock out?"
"Depends. Illnesses does not stop for no one, similar to how every waking hour I have has to be spent accordingly."
"Did I…really bother you?"
Leaning away to grab the bandage roll to snap it wide, Flins looks at him with a small smile.
"You did."
"But the Director made it clear that you're available anytime…" His tone was thoughtful as he frowned, "I'm deeply sorry-gah!"
Flins crossed the bandages that was already wrapped around his abdomen, putting a tight pressure on the wound as dots of red began to bloom.
"I can be an on-call doctor, no matter the price—that is if you're in dire need. What you just did? Utterly inconvenient."
"Look, Doc." He groaned out, "I'm really, really sorry. I just thought the Director wasn't lying when he said that!"
"Is it because the other territories has been very accommodating to you?" With a cold, and unfeeling tone, Flins leaned closer until his lip is almost brushing against the tip of the other's ear. "If you want to see me so badly, well, you can just call me by my personal number. But if you can't do the most basic thing, that is no longer my concern."
He shifts his gaze, looking down at him with a smile that held not an ounce of warmth. From what subtle scent Flins could catch from him, he sensed the musky pheromones sharpening. Flins takes a step back, finding humor in the man's stunned face.
The bandages are organized in a tight embrace, clean and professional aside from the throbbing pain the man must be feeling. Exactly Flins' work.
"My 'time', however, costs an exquisite amount," Flins brings his hands inside his pockets, maintaining his shredding composure as he kindly keeps the polite expression from fraying from the seams. "And this land is different from the Nations you've been to."
Glancing to the window that overlooks the rooftops of multiple buildings, Flins dazedly blinked a few times. There's a hollowness in his stomach that he failed to notice, and it continued to protest against Flins' cruelty in silent cries.
"If you no longer need me, I'll be on my way."
Surprisingly, the man allowed him to go without so much as a struggle, stating that he troubled Flins more than he should. Flins was already walking to the receptionist when he felt something buzzing from his left pocket.
Smiling to himself at the unknown number, Flins brought his phone to his ear.
"You're one, sly fox, Dr. Flins."
"And you're one, bold wolf—provoking anyone you meet."
"Hah. I'll be seeing you later, then. Call me Varka next time, it might sound nice from your lips."
Flins raised an eyebrow, despite the blond not being anywhere near him. "As I said, my 'time' is rather expensive, go bother someone else, Varka."
As soon as he ended the call, Flins continued down to his original destination before scrolling through his contacts. Varka's intentions are as honest as a saint's words, with the business card he slipped finding its use in no time. But it doesn't mean it's safe to assume that Flins won't find himself in a situation of push and pull.
"How very nice of you to call me first."
"You've seen what just transpired." With a light tone, Flins greets the receptionist again and requests for his schedule by tapping against the watch on his wrist. "I hope you know who he is?"
"Of course. I presume you already know his name, and you're requesting for his background. Give me a price."
A price. Well, it won't surely cost him a fortune this time. Nonchalantly looking around for one tall woman with a name that starts with L and ends with auma, Flins managed to find her tending to an elderly woman in a wheelchair, a man standing in between them in a rather close proximity next to her.
With a coy smirk, Flins pays his due. "Someone is hitting on her."
"What."
"I said what I saw, you heard, and now you know."
"You better not be lying to my face." In the background of Nefer's position, a chair scraped back and heels began to click and clack. "I'm on my way."
"And my item?"
"Secured." She clicked her tongue, her tone sardonic with a hiss. "You're one hell of a negotiator."
"I just happen to be your mutual and caring friend." And now, Flins just has to simply wait.
After heading to the convenient store for something light to eat, Flins went straight up to the rooftop. The barren place, now cleared of its mess, is a great spot for overworked doctors like him to quietly spiral.
Just one look down to the ground brings about the thrill of a what-if, but Flins is yet to feel eager to experience that. With the grieving clouds that stubbornly curtained the sunlight from those below, the wind becomes cool without any lingering heat, his long silken hair billowing along the breeze's feathery touch.
As he bit away on a sandwich without so much as chewing it for more than six to seven times, the door to the terrace opened with a woman with dark forest-green hair stepping in. Clad in a white and dark designer's outfit, is Nefer as she stared straight ahead at him.
The Omega's gaze alone carries the cold elegance and secrecy of what the underground's pretense has kept for decades. With a dark and thick envelope, Nefer strides to Flins' side without so much as a haste in her steps, as if nothing in this world could truly make her pick up the pace.
"A nice afternoon we have, Ms. Nefer." Flins greeted her with a nod. "Although, we don't do 'cleaning' services inside, I'm afraid."
"Already called one to my place." Her tone is scathing, something that scorch those without wit. "While I did say that your item is secured, it doesn't mean I won't place any additional fee for the amount of mora used to mark this information as 'confidential'."
"A shame." Flins shrugged with a regretful shake of his head. "But the Chudomir is on the surface for a reason."
Nefer hands him the envelope, and with practiced ease, Flins tossed her an intricately engraved silver moon token that glinted under what little sunlight manage to peak through the gray clouds.
As Nefer analyzed the authenticity of the token, Flins quietly flipped through the pages. After a few silent minutes of papers protesting against the wind, a bubble of amused laughter slipped out of Flins' lips.
"'Operation Warden'? Are they here for investigation? How reckless." The stretch of his lips and the dullness of his eyes brings about the eeriness of an entertained, towering hunter watching its little prey's activities unfold.
Just imagining the hefty amount of mora used to keep this file from being bought by the wrong hands mustn't be a laughing matter, but Flins, fortunately, is no antagonist to cripple a protagonist's confidence with his own hands.
"The Tsaritsa's Harbingers are operating in this part of the city, but it seemed they are sniffing around for the silent and archaic arbiter of the High Table." Slipping the papers back inside, he tenderly hands the envelope to Nefer, careful with how he held the very core of Varka's assignment.
Rubbing her newly acquired priceless token with a thumb, Nefer glances at him. "Are you going to intervene?"
"If I were to answer that," He props his elbows against the parapet and listlessly inclined his chin upwards. The darkening clouds grumbled, as if to reply to his slow mumbling. "I'll have to give you a different token."
Nefer huffed, leaning away from where she was resting. "Never mind, then. It's not worth a precious token of favor from a Chudomir."
Fortunately or unfortunately, Flins doesn't see Varka or any of his 'lackeys' the next few days. Believe it or not, Flins was even looking forward to meeting him be it as a patient or bumping on the streets—only, it did not happen. Because by the end of the week, Flins is assigned to the Pediatric Ward with his colleague after getting an increase of patients from an incident at a school.
The chances that he'd meet that 'thug' in a ward for children is almost close to a zero, and thoughts about the man eventually vanished.
"Someone was searching for you." Ineffa emerged from the hallway where Flins happens to be heading to. The Beta eyes the four cups of coffee sitting in its carrier in his hand. "That's all yours?"
"It was before you asked. Do you want one?" Nudging the group of coffee to Ineffa, Flins returns to walking again. "What do you mean by someone searching for me? You know I don't entertain admirers, Ineffa."
"Right," Ineffa eyes him critically with narrowed eyes as she sips loudly. "Because you only sleep with th—"
"Personal life should be separate with our job, Ineffa. That is one of my virtue." He calmly interrupts with a friendly, innocuous grin.
"The city has a handful of people with malicious intent, do not sleep with them."
Is she warning him? Shifting his gaze from her to the Ward, Flins managed to find two men in black. He would've chalked them to another faction or a rivaling Family were it not for the white tie that contrasted from the ones Flins recognized.
Ineffa was indeed, in all good grace, warning him.
Their statures are taller than ordinary, and their skin are fair as if it has long adjusted to the cold air.
They are certainly not the admirers Flins has dealt with in the past.
"Can you cover for my brief absence?" Flins asked with a low voice, causing Ineffa to glance at him with disbelief in her eyes.
"If you come back in a body bag, Aino won't be happy."
What an adorable way to tell him to be cautious. Nonetheless, Flins flashes her a polite smile before sauntering to the two men, all while sipping his warm Americano.
"Follow." Flins muttered to the two as he walked past them and towards the exit.
Not long after, he could finally hear two pairs of firm footsteps following after him. Once they are at a considerable distance from the hospital at the small zen garden, Flins stopped and turned on his heel.
"Want one?" He offers, to which the two hastily gave out their thanks before gingerly taking the two remaining cups. "I hope nothing serious happened for you to approach me while I'm working?"
"Ah, no, Lord Chudomirovich." The tallest lowers his head while the other opens his own cup. "It's about the Favonius spreading out in this part of the city."
At Flins' silence, the latter, after getting his tongue burned, added. "The Godfather was only worried that you might…er—get entangled with them. Especially with your decisions, they might go after y…"
"That's enough, Ivan. A reminder is simply unnecessary." Silencing the man, Flins began walking back to the building with leisure steps. "It would do all of us a favor if the two of you are taking a stroll not in your uniforms, it brings discomfort to both my patients and colleagues. And please refrain from addressing me with that name, gentlemen."
"Yes, sir!" He hears them exclaim in unison, loud enough not to alert anyone nearby.
"I told you we should've worn those Hawaiian shirts!"
"Are you serious?! No way I'd let the Warden see me dead wearing that!"
From what he gathered from Nefer's information, this 'Favonius' is merely a facade of Varka's for them to freely operate and blend in with the crowd. Now, everyone believes this farce, which further proves the effectiveness of Varka's strategy. It also seemed that the Table will soon be fussing over this playground.
Sighing to himself, Flins tips his head back to finish his second coffee of the day.
However, while on his way back, he sensed an odd itchiness on the back of his neck. Straightening his back, Flins scanned the area bathing under the sun's merciful gaze.
Lev and Ivan are still nearby, and the two would likely confront the person spying on him if they managed to see them. Boring his gaze to one particular tree among its brethren, he turns on his heel without sparing another glance.
"You're back and not in a body bag." Ineffa greets him with her eyebrows raised high up beneath her bangs. "Congratulations."
"In broad daylight?" Huffing an amused laugh, Flins grabs the clipboard she handed him and flips the papers attached to it, scanning the words with a quiet hum. "How are the children from the school fire? Are most of them calm now?"
At the reminder of the victims, Ineffa schools her expression to one of consideration. "Your young intern has managed to calm them down, but no immediate attention is needed."
"That's good. How about the school staff?"
"The physicians are tending to them and one requires a surgery. One of the doctors are already there. And since we're in-charge in pediatrics, they won't be calling for you anytime soon."
"Hah," Flins taps the clipboard's edge against the counter, chuckling. "If I were none the wiser, I would've thought they're trying to get rid of me."
"Must have something to do with all the mafia going-ons. You did tell me that you stitched up a big hottie that appears to be their boss."
Hearing 'big hottie' from Ineffa's mouth has him chortling as he turns to clear all the tasks on the clipboard.