shadows and tall trees. [tag; ermanno]

She had no idea where she was.

Flat on her back on a thin mattress, Sofia was slowly regaining consciousness. Dimly aware of a clock tick-tocking and the scratch of quill against parchment, her eyes moved from underneath her lids. She felt like she was in limbo, between sleeping and waking. She felt cushioned, like a cocoon, surrounded and bathed in a soft and golden glow and the gentle lull of sleep was almost overwhelming.

She'd been unconscious for over fifteen hours and she had a very dim recollection of the previous events. Germany. Warehouse. Blonde. Pain.

Sofia twitched in her sleep. Bits and pieces were coming back to her. This room was uncomfortable. The mattress was thin and hard, the feeling of the sheets were scratchy against her warm, bruised skin. There was very little give in her stiff pillows. The air smelt like disinfectant, polish and tuberose. She frowned, her nostrils twitching. She'd not experienced that scent in years. Tuberose was her favourite flower. Highly fragrant and snow white in colour and ironically, it was often used as a funeral flower. Was that why she was smelling it so strongly? Was she dead?

That made sense. The Meers weren't one to faff around. But Sofia didn't want to die. There were lots of things she wanted to do before she perished. She wanted to travel more, she wanted to read the list of classic literature she'd made at New Year, she wanted to learn to cook properly. The one thing she didn't want to do was fall in love. Love was messy. Love was dangerous. There was no room for it in her profession. It was a weakness and one that had been used against her in the past more than once, come to think of it.

Sofia was dimly aware of someone touching her hand. She frowned in her sleep as she was sure someone was tracing the small and delicate tattoo on the inside of her left wrist. The Italian had gotten the inking in a fit of teenage rebellion when she was seventeen but funnily enough, she didn't regret getting it. For her, it was a reminder of the Italian Alps and the rolling Umbrian hills from where she hailed. More poetically, she supposed it could be used to symbolise strength, an immovable force, a wonder of nature.

The pressure she felt was gentle. It was more like a comforting manner but she didn't like it. "Mmfph," came the reply in a croaking, hoarse voice as she wiggled her fingers. Sofia became aware of the bright lights above her, invading her slumber and with a large amount of willpower, she finally managed to force her eyes open and instantly winced. With the lights slapping her in the face, she was then assault with the pain. It all came rushing back at her and everything hurt. Still laying in a supine position, she let out a pitiful groan of disagreement.

Cracking one eye open, the room was far too clinical for her to back at home. White walls, uncomfortable bed, horrible smell, it had to be a hospital. She moved a little, the crappy hospital gown she was wearing was thin and uncomfortable and she suddenly felt cold. The itchy regulation hospital blankets were a dead give away.

"Where am I?" She mumbled, slowly and trying hard to get her head to stop swimming. Aware of a presence near her bed, she retracted her hand. It felt like fingers but it could easily have been a sheet. Holding her breath, the image of the room swum in front of her eyes as she fought the urge to be sick.

Then she started to panic. Shaking her head to try and reorder her thoughts, she kicked out with her legs, getting tangled in the blankets as she coughed. She hated hospitals. Whenever she was sick as a child, her grandfather would have to try and fix it himself. The last time she'd set foot in a hospital, her grandmother had died and she'd made a point to never darken their doorway ever again. "Get off!" She cried out, attempting to escape the bed. "Lasciami andare!"

The caramel sharpness of the brandy Noemi had poured down his throat still lingered against his tongue as he sat in the hospital room brooding. He had been to see his baby cousin when he received the owl from Heinz that Sofia had been transported to St. Mungos grievously injured. He knew it had to be bad, because if it wasn't bad they would have made sure to place her in a private clinic and he'd be summoned in. Ever since he took a job with Vincenzo and spotted Sofia, he had been dreading the day he'd find her beat to hell or even dead. Now he sat by her side, watching the comatose witch wither from her injuries. Where was that brandy when he needed it?

Ermanno knew that with her at St. Mungo's, he had to oversee her treatment carefully as he mascaraed as a concerned relative. His director would have his practice if he attempted to steal a patient from the trauma ward. There were several brief moments where he seriously considered doctoring a pregnancy in her charts to try and sneak her away, but felt the risk was to high. So instead he sat by her bed unmoving, boohooing as her extremely concerned cousin.

His fingers moved rhythmically against the pulse of her wrist, monitoring every flutter like it could be her last. Ermannos brow had now continuously furrowed for several hours and it was impossible to tell if his forehead would ever be the same again. If it ended up being stuck that way, he would be sure to ream into her later, when she was strong enough to argue with again. A deep bellowing sigh passed through his lips as he watched her wriggle and stir further from her infirmary slumber. It seemed his spitfire was finally coming to and she was in no way happy with her current situation.

As a young medwitch hurriedly tried to sedate her, Ermanno did his best to calm her with his words. "Shh...shh...bella it is okay. You were hurt and are in a hospital now. You will be able to go as soon as your better so please stop fighting." The worry in his voice was palpable, he couldn't stand seeing her so frantic and in pain.

Her head going to explode. It hurt. Everything hurt. It hit her all at once but it didn't try to stop her fighting against the medical staff. She didn't want to be here. She didn't need to be here. She was fine.

Who had found her? Who had brought her here? How did they get her from Germany to London? And why?

Sofia flung the sheets backwards fiercely and she managed to get one bare foot on the floor before a nurse approached her and she shrank backwards, looking like a terrified wild animal. "Please don't," she croaked, holding a shaking hand up towards her in a defensive movement. She didn't want any more drugs and potions. She already felt like her head was full of cotton wool and she felt sick. The last thing she needed or wanted was to be asleep. She didn't know these people, therefore, she didn't trust them.

With effort, her large chocolate coloured eyes swivelled and focused on Ermanno. He was all she could see, as if the background had blurred and melted away. The only thing in high definition was his eyes. Her stomach lurched.

"How did I get here?" She said, her voice cracking as she remembered her modesty and tucked the sheet around her slender and bruised body. She looked like death warmed up. Pale skin, bruised cheekbones, deeply dark circles under her eyes and her hair needed a bloody good wash. Why did he always appear when she wasn't looking well?

"Why are you here?" She whispered, her eyes flicking to the nurse in a silent plea for her to leave them both alone. Sofia didn't understand. Wasn't he in a different department? Did he have his own practice? "You can't be here," she told him gently, her body twitching suddenly as though her body was rejecting the very words. She did want him here but it wasn't safe. Not now, anyway. She had the German mafia on her back. Shooting him a look, she dropped her hands to her knees as she nervously pawed the horrid blanket with her bruised fingers, twisting and pulling nervously.

Sofia took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying her hardest to obey his words. If she was allowed to go home as soon as she was better, then good. She'd eat her food and rest and do everything she needed to so she could go home as soon as possible.

Shifting in her bed, she winced and grunted. "I'm fine, I'm fine," she coughed, holding a hand towards him. She knew him well enough to know that he was a fusser, a worrier. Which was great with a pregnant woman but not with a twenty six year old assassin with a bruised ego.

She hated this. The word "vulnerability" was not in her vocabulary. Not at all. She was hard. She was cold. Dead inside. She didn't have a heart, she had a swinging brick in its place. But she looked fragile and childlike and she knew that she couldn't go home, not really, not right now. "How long have you been here?" She asked, scratching the back of her sore, pounding head. She honestly hoped he'd been here for ten minutes and hadn't seen her sleeping. That was an intimate thing to do and she wasn't comfortable with it.

"I'm fine," she told him flatly. Just then, all of the shame and pain and fear came rushing back at her like an emotional tsunami. Her family, her contacts, everything she'd worked so hard for. "I'm fine," she said again with a sharp nod. "I'm fine. I'm fi--" before the word was out, a sob caught in her throat. With her eyes wide in panic, she clamped her hands over her mouth as her body shook, the tears now falling freely, turning her into a shivering wreck. Must be the delayed shock.

It truly tore into his heart to see Sofia so frightened and vulnerable. He knew that she hated hospitals, knew that if he allowed her she would apparate out of the hospital to lick at her wounds hidden away. There was a part of him that wished he could let her, even another bit of him that wished she would secretly expire and he would be rid of her and his feelings.

Loving his she devil had never come easy. Some part of Mannie knew full well that he'd likely never have her in the way that he wished, picket fence and knee deep in babies. He'd always love a woman who put her life in the Reapers hands on a daily basis.

In that moment as he watched her sob and suffer, he hated her. He hated her with the whole of his heart, but he loved her even harder. As gently as he could he sat on the edge of her bed wrapping his arms around her. "Shh bella, please do not cry. You will be okay. They will take care of you and I will take care of you. We'll get you a cask of wine. It will be alright." Deft fingers brushed through the strands of her sweat soaked hair.

He signaled the young healer to move out of the room to give Sofia space to breath into her fear. He knew it was even more of an insult to her that strangers would see her in such a state. Mannie had lied in a way, Sofia's injuries were grave enough that she would be stuck in the hospital for several weeks and he knew he couldn't manage staying watch over her the entire time.

It was just the shock.

That was all. Sofia Rossellini did not cry. Crying was for girls. Crying was for people who were needy, emotional, stupid. She was none of those things but it didn't stop her. Sofia was all talk. She routinely risked her life but she was confident but this was the closest she'd ever come to death before and her body showed it.

What would have happened if she died? Well, she had plans. In a blue folder, tucked into a filing cabinet in the  Rossellini stronghold of Collina Verde in the depths of the Umbrian hills, was her funeral arrangements. Everyone in the company had one, it was standard. Sofia had chosen a simple affair. No lilies but jasmine flowers. No dreary organ music. Regardless of her time of death, she was to be buried on a sunny day in the north of Italy, surrounded by cypress trees and sunny blue skies. She'd like a plaque, she supposed, just to let her mother know where she was. Just a formality, really.

Then there was her will. She was a fairly wealthy woman. Her designer dresses would go to Etain, for a joke. Her jewellery, to her little sister, Rosetta. Her apartment in Milan to her brother, Anthony. She had shares and properties, all to be divided up between cousins and uncles. But there was one thing no one would get and it was ironic that he was sitting so close. Ermanno, in their brief tryst together, had bought her a bracelet. She used to wonder how he afforded the rose gold delicate chain. Sofia hadn't worn it for years but she still had it, sitting in the green box on her dresser at home. She'd never had the heart to throw it away.

Dimly aware of the pressure on the mattress, she sniffled, instinctively leaning into his warm and familiar presence. "I'm n-no-not crying," Sofia hiccupped, blowing her nose on her hospital issue gown. Pathetic. Utterly and completely pathetic. She'd had many close calls with death so why was this one making her act to irrationally?

Her eyes were red and puffy, her heart rate was once erratic but gradually slowing as she coughed, wincing at the pain that racked her chest. Broken ribs? Of course. Ouch. "I'm fine," she told him again, keen to cover up her little slip.

"You really shouldn't be looking after me," she told him, wiping her nose on the inside of her wrist sadly. "This isn't your department. I'm not your patient," she said but not unkindly. She and Mannie no longer knew each other. She'd ended their passionate, whirlwind romance for his own good. "How did you know I was here?" She asked. He wasn't her emergency contact. She didn't have an emergency contact. "It's late," she told him, feeling tiredness once again seep into her bones. Was it late? She didn't know. She didn't have a clock or a window but it felt late. "You should probably get home to your wife," Sofia said. He must be married by now, surely. He must have kids. The thought made her twitch as she felt a literal stab of odd jealousy.

Wine? "Could I have some wine?" Sofia asked in a gentle voice, feeling her eyes close against her will as the feeling of his fingers in her hair soothed her. That was the thing about Mannie; he always used to calm her down. But that was the thing. They weren't friends and they certainly weren't lovers. His reappearance in her life was shocking but not unpleasant. They had history but nothing more. For all she knew, he could have completely changed. Maybe he didn't swim any more. Maybe he stopped like jazz. Maybe he actually wore underpants now.

The crux of the matter was that she didn't know how to behave around him. Ermanno knew lots, too much, about her. It might seem like trivial things but he'd learned far too much about her and if anyone knew he'd been here, he'd be in trouble too. With that thought fresh in her mind, she gently but firmly disentangled herself from him and felt a whoosh of cold air as she did so. Offering him a brittle and feeble smile, she sank back against her pillows, pulling the scratchy blanket up to her chin and rolling over to face him.

With her face half hidden by her long dark hair, Sofia heaved a sigh. "Sorry you felt the need to come here," she told him, feeling genuinely remorseful that he'd abandoned whatever he was doing to come and see her. There was this strange sort of feeling that hovered between them. A heavy silence, filled with words unsaid. They'd never discussed what had happened. She'd hurt him, he left, he got himself a great career and he was happy. What had she done? Collected two failed engagements, a tattoo, had a run in with the mafia and sealed her heart away. It wasn't a life. It was more of an existence.

"You know you really didn't have to," she explained to him. Sofia reached out, almost to take his hand before she thought better of it. Clearing her throat, she dropped her hand before it touched him and tucked it closer to her body and out of harm's way. "Are you sure I can't have that wine now?"