Nikolai carried her with the same ease one would carry something fragile yet infinitely precious. His arms were steady, his stride unhurried. The steam from the shower still clung to her skin, a thin veil of warmth, while her damp hair left little droplets on his chest. Rose wanted to protest—God, she always wanted to—but her legs reminded her why she couldn't. Every throb in her bones felt like a cruel reminder of that car.
He lowered her gently onto the bed as though she were glass. The mattress dipped, cocooning her slight frame in softness. She watched him for a beat, her breath hitching despite herself. His shirt clung damply to his body from the misty bathroom, collar loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Without a word, Nikolai moved to the dresser, opening a drawer with deliberate precision. He retrieved soft cotton clothes, a pair of loose convertible lounge pants and a button-up sleep shirt—something that wouldn't pull or tug on her. He always thought ahead, always accounted for her comfort, even when she wanted to snarl at him for fussing.
"Alright, malishka, arms up," he said, crouching beside the bed.
She gave him a look. "Seriously? You're dressing me now?"
"Until you can do it yourself," he replied smoothly, not rising to her sarcasm. "You can fight me about it later."
She rolled her eyes but lifted her arms, muttering, "This is humiliating."
Nikolai smirked faintly, carefully sliding the shirt over her wrists, guiding her hands through the sleeves. His fingers were deft but gentle, brushing her skin in ways that sent warmth darting down her spine. He didn't treat her like she was broken, only… delicate, for now. He fastened the buttons, each one precise, before easing the loose pants up her legs, mindful of her injuries. Rose groaned but didn't stop him—because she couldn't.
"Perfect," he murmured once he'd smoothed the fabric into place. He brushed a damp lock of hair from her face, his blue eyes lingering on her with quiet satisfaction.
A sudden knock broke the stillness. Three crisp raps.
Nikolai straightened but didn't leave her side. "Come in."
The door opened, and Alexei entered, sharp in his tailored suit, his presence carrying the same weight as always. Behind him stepped a woman in her late thirties, carrying a leather medical case. She had sharp, intelligent eyes, hair tied back neatly, and wore a fitted dark blazer over professional attire.
"Doctor Morozova," Alexei introduced smoothly. "The physician you arranged for Rose is here, sir."
Rose stiffened slightly, instinctively pulling the blanket up to her chest. A stranger. She hated this.
"Thank you, Alexei," Nikolai said. His voice was polite but final, a signal. Alexei gave a small nod and stepped back, closing the door behind him.
Doctor Morozova's gaze softened as it landed on Rose. "Good morning, Rose," she said, her Russian accent lilting but her English clear. "I am here to check on your injuries, to make sure your healing is progressing well. Nothing to be nervous about."
Rose's mouth opened, then closed. Her instinct was to snap something sarcastic, to shield herself. But Nikolai's hand was already on her shoulder, grounding her. She scowled at him before muttering, "Fine. Let's get this circus over with."
The doctor gave a faint, understanding smile and set her bag on a nearby chair. "May I?" she asked, gesturing toward the bed.
Nikolai adjusted Rose's pillows, helping her sit upright. "She's still in pain when moving," he explained, though his eyes never left Rose's.
"I'll be gentle," Dr. Morozova assured.
From her case, she pulled out gloves, a stethoscope, and instruments neatly packed. She began with routine checks—blood pressure, pulse, temperature. Her hands were firm, professional, but never cold. Rose flinched at the cuff tightening around her arm.
"Your vitals are stable," the doctor said, jotting notes on her tablet. "That's a good sign."
Rose shrugged as though it was nothing, but her heart thudded harder when Nikolai's thumb brushed her knuckles in reassurance.
Next came the examination of her legs. The doctor crouched, slipping on fresh gloves. "I'll check the bruising and healing of the muscles. Tell me immediately if anything hurts more than it should."
Nikolai shifted closer, his body tense like a guard dog. Rose wanted to roll her eyes at his hovering, but when Dr. Morozova gently raised her calf, a hiss of pain escaped her lips.
"Easy," Nikolai murmured, his hand immediately covering hers, anchoring her.
Dr. Morozova examined the swelling, rotating Rose's ankle carefully. "The injuries are consistent with blunt trauma," she said. "The bones themselves are not broken, but the soft tissue took severe impact. You'll need physiotherapy, limited weight-bearing, and absolute rest."
"Rest," Rose muttered, glaring at Nikolai. "Your favorite word."
He smirked. "You heard the doctor."
The doctor continued, checking reflexes with a small rubber hammer, noting the way Rose's leg muscles twitched sluggishly. Each test made her wince, frustration knotting in her chest. She hated feeling weak. She hated them both watching her like she was glass.
Finally, the doctor pulled out a portable ultrasound device, running the probe gently over her thighs and calves. The cool gel made Rose flinch. The screen lit up with images of her muscles and ligaments.
"There's deep bruising but no tears," Dr. Morozova said. "You are lucky. With proper care, you'll recover fully in time."
"Lucky," Rose repeated under her breath. "I don't feel lucky."
Nikolai leaned closer. "Alive is lucky, malishka."
She didn't answer, her jaw tight.
The doctor cleaned the gel off her skin and moved on to neurological checks—tracking Rose's eye movement with a penlight, testing her grip strength in both hands. Rose complied, though her sarcasm returned in flashes.
"Follow the light with your eyes," Dr. Morozova instructed.
Rose sighed dramatically. "You people love bossing me around."
But she did it. And when the doctor smiled faintly, Rose pretended she hadn't wanted the approval.
After nearly an hour, the examination wrapped up. The doctor removed her gloves and folded her hands. "My conclusion: she's healing, but she must not push herself. Physical therapy will begin soon, but until then, no unnecessary movement. No walking without support. And absolutely no stress on the legs."
"Understood," Nikolai said firmly before Rose could argue.
Rose groaned, throwing her head back against the pillow. "Great. House arrest with Captain Control over here."
Dr. Morozova chuckled softly. "I'll leave detailed instructions and exercises you can begin once the swelling reduces. I'll also prescribe pain medication and supplements to speed recovery."
She packed her case neatly. "Do you have any questions?" she asked Rose directly.
Rose blinked, caught off guard. No one usually asked her. She hesitated before muttering, "How long until I can… walk again?"
The doctor's expression softened. "A few weeks before you can take small steps safely. Full recovery may take longer. But with patience, you will walk again."
Rose nodded once, biting her lip. Nikolai's hand slid to her hair, brushing it back, and though she swatted at him, she leaned imperceptibly into the touch.
When the doctor finally left, Nikolai sat back down beside her, his gaze unwavering.
"You did well," he said quietly.
Rose gave him a glare. "Don't talk to me like I'm five."
He smirked. "Fine. You were a pain in the ass, but you survived the checkup."
Despite herself, her lips twitched. "Better."
He leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. She recoiled with a groan. "Ew! Stop doing that!" She scrubbed at her skin with the blanket.
Nikolai only laughed, deep and unbothered. "Never."