Butterfly Bandages

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Scene Title	Butterfly Bandages
Synopsis	Sonny finally finds the time to stop by and save Lucrezia from experiencing a fatality.
Date	January 30, 2009

Some Random Smarmy Hotel

It's Friday night… or… is it Saturday morning? It's definitely somewhere in between one and the other, which means the sky (along with just about everything else) has been colored with the same shade of kohl normally reserved for late afternoon shadows hung between grim alleyways and painted on to bad luck cats. This is especially true with the rolling blackouts taken into consideration, as whole sections of the city blink in and out of existence like bad Christmas lights strewn across night's canvas.

The address Sonny was given — this can't be right, can it? Would Lucrezia Bennati ever be caught dead here? Well, uh, actually… yeah. She just might. It's been two days since her little bridge crumbling slash base jumping slash river fording escapade; a veritable triathlon of what not to do with a gunshot wound in the gut. It's a miracle that sepsis hasn't set in. She's currently occupying one side of a slightly saggy mattress. Rafe — Ethan — whomever has at least exercised the presence of mind to rustle up fresh sheets from somewhere, though fresh might be a relative term. They're not decorated with her blood, at least. Instead, they sport a very tasteful floral pattern. (Chicks dig flowers, right, Eth?)

Sonny would be out in this neighborhood with an alternate face were it not for the fact that his medical ID gives him a pass if the cops harass him. He is however, dressed down for the occasion as he tends to when on Ferrymen gigs. The place looks…unpleasant, but then, so did the last place that Ethan lead him to. Were it not for the sense that this woman means a great deal to Teo, he wouldn't be here.

The doc and his emergency sack climbs the stairs and moves down the hallway to the room number scribbled on a piece of paper. Rather than knock, he turns the doorknob slowly. "Hello?" He can smell the iron tang of blood in the air. "Lucrezia?"

Door's open. Come on in. Of course, door's only open because -Rafe- Ethan's out there somewhere in those kohl-colored shadows, watching and waiting. The wrong person wouldn't get a chance to have their fingers on the doorknob before they'd be dead. Sonny, however, is unquestionably the right guy. And on time. (Ish.) Always a plus.

Lucrezia's eyes lazily roll over to the door and, if only for a moment, she's struck with a brief twinge of fear. Who knows she's here? Is it American Homeland Security? Would they knock? She has no idea. When her eyes finally consent to focus on the door, however, she relaxes somewhat. "Dottore…"

"I'm guessing that's Italian for 'doctor.' Teo hasn't started giving me lessons yet," Sonny grins in a way meant to be reassuring. He closes the door behind him and moves towards the prone woman. He kneels down by her bedside and tugs off the wool cap to reveal messy curls. "I see Henry took care of you. He didn't curse at you in German, did he? I've been told that he's not really saying anything that nasty. Everything just sounds like sandpaper in German." Ah, bedside manner in full-force. "Now let's have a look, shall we? How're you feeling?"

Sonny's off the cuff mention of Teo makes Lucrezia's dark, perfectly-plucked eyebrows crinkle. After all, she thinks her nephew is dead. Shot in the head. And here's this asshole just carrying on like it doesn't make a difference. Still, she hasn't the strength to do much more than scowl and wince when he takes a seat. She's in pain — that much is clear — but, it's hard to tell how much is due to the hole in her stomach as opposed to the one in her heart. The former looks… well… it's a gunshot wound. It's infected. But, thanks to Henry, it's not her deathbed that Sonny's sitting on. "Hot," she says, finally. "I feel… hot. Tired. It hurts." Go figure.

"I haven't told Teo I've come to see you. But he's run off, putting out fires. I'm not keeping it secret this time. That was the deal." Sonny pulls back the edge of the bandage and frowns at the infection. "Okay, you need to get somewhere cleaner. Do you have any injuries other than the gunshot?" He checks her over visually to see if he can spot anything. Gently, he picks up her wrist and checks her heart rate. "I can move the shot to your arm, but it's still going to be infected. You need antibiotics and a clean place to sleep."

Lucrezia's finger curl reflexively in Sonny's grip but she's finally forced to muster up some vocal objection and says in her emotionally exhausted voice, "Teo… is dead." In other words, you're not funny, dottore. And, wait, he'll do what now? "What shot? What are you infecting me with?!"

"Teo is not dead. I just spent the past twenty-four hours pulling in ever last one of my favours to make sure that didn't happen," Sonny grins softly. "I had to pull that metal plate out of his head so a healer could repair his brain. But he's fine. Walking around and everything. And you will soon too." A beat, "I can move injuries. I'm going to move the gunshot wound from your stomach to your arm. But I need you to be prepared for it, because it's going to hurt. Okay?"

…what?? Wait, no. WHAT?! Lucrezia looks… er, well, pretty weak but, also, significantly shocked. If she'd been hooked up to a heart monitor, the room would probably be filled with funny, fluctuating beeps right now. "Oddio! He's alive?!" Yeah, sorry, one track mind over here. "Where is he?? Is he safe?!" She tries to exert her laughable grip on Sonny's wrist in order to squeeze more information from the man. Poor thing.

"Calm down, Lucrezia. Relax…" Sonny's somewhat surprised by her frantic response, though, in retrospect there isn't really any reason he should be. She is his family. "He's fine. He's a little weak, but otherwise entirely healthy." He gently pulls her hand back. "Now, you need to listen to me. Look at me. I'm going to do something that is going to hurt a lot. But then you'll feel better. Do you understand?"

Sunken bedroom eyes pitch frantic from side to side for a moment before finally finding a center and fixing on Sonny's familiar face. Her grip shifts from around the wrist to an attempted meshing of fingers, palm to palm, and with a certain, brave gaze she says, "Capisco. I… understand."

"Good. Okay. Deep breaths?" Sonny squeezes her hand once for reassurance, then releases. One hand rests gently on her injured stomach, the other on her upper arm. "Breathe deeply. Close your eyes…" His own half-lid. There is a tingling, warm sensation under his hands that is at first pleasant. Then, suddenly there's sharp, nauseating pain as for a fraction of a second, she has an infected gunshot wound in both stomach and arm. But the pain subsides, leaving arm injured and stomach completely unharmed.

"There. Now let's get this cleaned up, hmm?" He stands long enough to fill a dish from his backpack with clean water. Then he uses a cloth to gently swab the area around the wound. "Can you go home?" he murmurs softly. "This place is not safe for an open wound. I'll stitch you up, but you need to get somewhere clean so the antibiotics can do their work. You're not allergic to any drugs, are you?" All of this is spoken in a low, soft, doctorly tone.

Home. Home is in Sicily. For a moment, Lucrezia looks confused… or, maybe she's just a bit overwhelmed by what just happened. It's probably pretty safe to say that that was the first time she's ever had anyone do anything quite like that. Long, deft fingers found at the end of the arm which doesn't sport a fresh(?) wound poke and prod at the integrity of her belly's mended skin. Well. Isn't that… something. For a woman her age, her midsection's holding up pretty well. It helps that she's never given birth to a child of her own. She's just sort of staring at Sonny now, almost as if he'd abruptly sprouted a second head — it looks like Teo — but then she swallows heavily and nods. "Non." Presumably, that's a non for 'no allergies'.

"These stitches I'm using are the kind that dissolve, so you don't need to have them removed. The only danger you're in now is recovering from the shock and the risk of further infection. But if you get somewhere clean, keep the wound clean and bandaged and keep on your antibiotics, you should be fine." Sonny gives her a small, reassuring smile, then dabs a numbing agent over her arm. The stitches are made quickly and precisely with a minimum of pain.

"There. Now… take these…" He reaches into his bag and pulls out a jar of antibiotics. "Twice a day until the bottle's empty. Don't stop for any reason. And be aware that it will reduce the effectiveness of any oral contraceptives." Hey, he knows about Al. Then he goes about swiftly and neatly bandaging the gunshot wound in her arm after applying an antiseptic cream. "You'll forgive me if I don't stay, but your friend isn't exactly a friend of mine." He stands and starts to pack up his things.

Little does Sonny realize that Ethan's not precisely a friend of hers either. But, Lucrezia doesn't say that. Instead, she sits up for the first time without pain in as many days and says, "Grazie, dottore." A beat. "Thank you, doctor." See? She's her own translation service. So thoughtful. Part of her wants to reach out and take his hand; another part really doesn't.

"I'll let Teo know you're all right. Take it easy, okay? Your body's still been through a lot even if you don't have a bullet hole in your gut anymore." Sonny smiles reassuringly, but it's not the most genuine of expressions. The backpack is shouldered and the hat pushed down over his hair. "Call me if you have any other symptoms," a beat, "You know my number." And then he's out the door, into the streets and into his black Mercedes that he risked driving here. Better than trying to get a cab in a neighborhood ready to explode with riots. Fortunately, his car survived the brief time he was inside, given the fact that he parked it as out of sight as he could manage.