Seeing Red

White walls.

All Adelina and I had seen for several hours, well past lunch time. It probably would have made sense to gone back to Anna's place and waited until it was closer to when she'd be getting out of surgery. Hell, it would have made better sense to a rational person to wait until we got word that she was out. With Sasha Galimov in his state and having his own work done, it felt like the situation was teetering on the edge.

Anna was released from the surgical unit about an hour ago, and was being transitioned to their Burn ICU to be treated for hers next. Now that we knew sort of what was going on, more pressing thoughts entered my head. Pavel Lysenkov had come to visit that morning, only forced to sit next to me until he had taken in his fill of white. Would Anna ever play again?

Okay, best case scenario, what it is? Anna is out for a season to recover, rehab her leg correctly this time, and plays again October 1st, 2012.

Fuck, it would be a long time. What would she do? She could stay in Yaroslavl with her mother, but for some reason, I don't think Anna would do that after this. Too many memories. She might go back to Omsk, but I don't think her mother is itching for Siberian weather.

Anna is clearly out of a contract right now, so maybe she'd come to Tampa again because Yzerman would sign her for next season in a heartbeat. We all know it. Why do I assume her mother is staying? What if she plans on going back to Italy? Why is she here in the first place? Not that I have anything against her, of course.

If she's out for a season, what are the chances I could talk her into moving in with me?

"Ad-delina T-Trovato," Came the stuttering voice of the same nurse that morning who had helped us. I had begun to take it as just who she was, not as a sign of the situation. When she had come to bring us information, she spoke in English for the mother, which was probably a relief. This being optimistic about Anna and Sasha's condition was probably the only reason for me not losing my mind. "Annushka has transferred, so we allow one back at time now."

Annushka.

If this nurse was calling her that, had she spoken to Anna? Did she personally know her? In Russian culture, if you want to call it that, we give terms of endearment to each other. Sasha is one for Alexander, Lyosha or Lesha is one for Alexei, Ekaterina would be Katya, and so forth. Anna would have been called Anya, or Anechka, or as the nurse said, Annushka. It was just how it worked in a country with not many names. Our patronymic names were also a mindboggler for Americans.

In my obsessing over what the nurse meant, Adelina patted my arm before following the woman. Checking my phone, I knew I'd have to leave that night for practice. I left without word to Boudreau or anything except Ovi or Dmitri Chesnokov. Dima Orlov probably knew, but after the rest caught word of what happened and me not there, they were smart enough to put two and two together.

Going to the browser and booking my flight back to D.C., Adelina sat down next to me and flattened out her black pants and purple top. Bringing a chance of clothes, she had changed once we were told to park it for awhile. She had in her hand papers on a clipboard, no doubt the paperwork for the hospital to file. "Go down to room 5. That is there room, Anna is on the closer side when you go in."

Thanking her, I made my way down the second hallway to where the same nurse was standing outside room number five, lightly tapping her foot and fidgeting with her scrubs. When she saw me, no doubt in wrinkled t-shirt and jeans, hair sticking everywhere, that was the source of her smile. Motioning to come inside, she shut the door behind me and pulled open one of the curtains. "I will be with Sasha if you have questions."

Allowing her to get by and attend to the man in the other curtained area, my body carried itself to the gap in hanging fabric to look inside.

She wasn't as pale as before, but her cheeks were blatantly red, almost like Oshie's in St. Louis. She had fewer needles in her, only one running to a clear liquid and another to that familiar red bag. The door opened and closed quickly before an older nurse grabbed the other curtain and opened it all the way, giving her access to my Anna. She noticed me watching her, but only chuckled while softly placing a cotton ball on the red-filled needle and pulling it out. Taping it on, she kinked the bag and wrapped it up and began to address me. "She finished her blood transfusions, so Annushka is back to properly levels."

"Lena was the nurse for Anna during her stay in Yaroslavl and during her surgery here. She might be able to explain what's going on a bit better than what I am able to do." Nodding at her, she went through the door again and through the slight peek in the blinds, took a seat at the nurses's station.

"Sasha Valerevich, Annushka is a lucky woman. The surgery went without a hitch and was successful; she'll be walking within a month." Unable to keep from smiling, I sat carefully on the bed next to Anna and took her hand in mine. The nurse walked to the other side, and took a seat in the chair. "I was surprised they asked me to come with her, but I am glad they did. We got her cleaned up, and her hair is in tact."

She winked at me, and I couldn't help but let out a laugh. "Thank you."

"Anytime. Want to go over the medical aspect of all of this?" Nodding at the aging woman, she continued. "Three cracked ribs that are healing marvelously, dislocated right arm that has been put back into place, one left leg healing and looking to make a full recovery, and one stubborn head that refuses to wake up and see the man who cares about her."

Snapping my attention back to Anna, I avoided looking at her to see that her right arm was indeed splint-free. Keeping her hand in mine, I stood up and the nurse helped me pull back the blanket that kept Anna warm. There was a large, thin bandage around her thigh and another of the same material around her ribcage, touching the waistband of the white shorts she had been put into and the band of the same sports bra from last time. Moving down, the skin down her right side no longer had that ashy, burnt look to it, but was very red. "Red?"

"When patients are burned, we have to wait for the top layer to come off. That's the new layer, red from what's left of the damage, but it means they are healing." She covered her back up and returned to her chair. Sitting back down next to Anna, initial fears quelled, my mind began to reel again.

"Why Annushka?"

"We didn't bother with anesthetics on the flight over, so while we landed and were waiting to be admitted to the prep room, she woke up." My breath caught in my throat as she continued. "She was clearly very disoriented, but while we were waiting for the Anesthetist, she was very talkative. Asking all sorts of questions, what was going on, where were you, if they won the Stanley Cup yet. She was very out of it, but out of all the answers we gave her, she kept asking for orange juice. Of all things, Sasha, she asked for orange juice!"

"I'm sorry I wanted some fucking orange juice." The soft Russian that filled my ears immediately cut of the nurse's giggling, both of us watching the waking woman whose first words included profanity. Her breathing wasn't so deep anymore, but her eyes were fluttering open and closed several times, no doubt trying to clear her vision. "May I have some now? I feel like shit."

The nurse, Lena, offered to get some and left the room in a flash, giving me time to round on her. "You scared me. Do you remember what happened?"

She shrugged her shoulders, barely, but it was there. She kept her eyes to the side where the blinds were, refusing to look at me. "This is just another dream of wishing you were here. Lena asked me before, it's a blur."

"Here you are, Annushka." Lena handed her the cup of orange juice, and it was gone within seconds. I think our dear Anna may have an addiction to it. Taking the cup from her and setting it on the table, I turned back to face her, but she was already out again.


My mother stood in the kitchen, not saying anything as I set my bag down and walked into the same room. She watched me somberly as I rummaged through the refrigerator. I half-expected her to say something, but she didn't before handing me a cup. Opening the orange juice, I poured it close to the top before putting the container back and shutting the door. Raising the cups to my lips, I drank the entire glass, trying to figure out what was so appealing about the beverage.

"How is she?"

"She's alright." Out of no where, I felt the anger inside me burst. Squeezing the glass in my hand, I didn't even think about what I was doing when it shattered against the cabinet in front of me. "She's alright, she's hurt, and there is nothing I can do except stand by patiently, watching them fill her with medicine and hope for the best! What the fuck am I supposed to do? I want to be there for her, with her, but I can't because Boudreau is down my fucking ass about everything!"

"Sasha, get some sleep. You need it for practice in the morning." I had forgotten that it was two in the morning, but quickly grabbed a broom and began cleaning my mess. "I think I am going to go back to bed. Have a good day at practice tomorrow. Tatiana said to tell you that her son is waiting to talk to you more."

Wishing my mother a good night, I dumped the trash into the bin and headed into the living room. Flipping on the NHL Network, I let my mind think once more. Having slept on the plane, with much difficulty, I couldn't see myself going to bed soon. Typing up a text to Ovi, for him to come over, didn't spend as much time as I'd have hoped. NHL Tonight came on after the commercial, and I turned the volume up a tad as the pre-recorded show came on again.

Only talking about the pre-season coming up, it was a relief when the front door opened, followed shortly by the larger man setting a 6-pack on the coffee table and collapsing next to me. "My mother is train wreck. Very upset about Anna and worried about you."

Shrugged, I grabbed one of the beers and the metal piece and popped the cap off. Drinking in a small gulp, I grimaced as it slid down my throat. Beer was never my forte, but there wasn't anything wrong with it. Definitely an acquired taste, however. "Anna is stable. There was nothing I could do, so I came back. I do have a job, you know, to this team."

Ovi only shrugged, grabbing his own beer as we turned our attention back to the TV. "In other news, we have updates on the Lokomotiv crash. Three survivors are currently in the hospital, one two member and two forwards for the team, Alexander Galimov and Anna Trovato. Trovato, recently departed from the Tampa Bay Lightning, was reported to have woken up today after going through surgery. Not much else is known on any of their states, but have been told that they are receiving the best care possible. Earlier, TSN spoke about their future, should everything go well."

The screen flickered to the TSN setup, obviously part of what they aired and sent in. Marc Crawford and some other man whose name left my mind, and some guy with a name of Dr. something something on the bottom bar were talking. "Galimov will be in the hospital for a while with those injuries. With several amounts of rehab and therapy, providing he wishes to do so, he could be back on the ice in 2013 and in time for the Olympics. Obviously you have nerve damage that has to regrow, and the mental aspect of it all. You have to be delicate in accidents involving athletes. All of that training has to be redone; everything. It's an intricate situation."

"Trovato is supposed to be in better condition, right?" Crawford, of course, sneering.

"Yes, I spoke with the doctors at the hospital and Anna is indeed in better condition. Her wounds are deemed more 'fleshy' than Alexander's, but overall appears in better health than he. I was told today that she was in surgery for six hours, but is expected to make a full recovery if they can take care of the burns." He rubbed his forehead, but looked back to Crawford nonetheless. "They said she was mentally sound. Very upset about the situation and refused to talk to any media, which is no doubt the correct thing to do in this case, but still very upset about it all."

Crawford looked to the other guy, who clicked a button on the desk. "We spoke with Dmitry Chesnokov earlier, who worked through Pavel Lysenkov and his end in Moscow, and had this to say: "Anna and Sasha were taken to Moscow early yesterday morning after spending the previous night in the hospital. He was taken immediately to the burn specialist and she went straight to surgery. Both have had visits from very close friends and family, but no other details will be released without consent. Only going off of what we know, and if Trovato chooses, she could make a return by next season.""

It went back to the three men. "Do we know what caused this?"

The screen went black, powered off, and Ovi set the remote down. "You can't beat yourself up, Sasha. If she is as strong as she is on the ice, then she will be fine, okay? Have hope. Crawford is a dick and we know he is a bad coach. Don't let his words get to you, because he is an idiot."

Taking a swig of the beer, I grimaced again before nodding.