[CW for drug mention and injuries <3]

Let it be known that Doctor Arthur Adams is a man that stops for nothing and no one.

Busted nose and torn shoulder be damned, whether he could see three feet in front or not, Arthur strode through the streets of Whitby with a bruise the color of night on his face, and opium the color of the moon in his pocket.  He was in the business of dealing cures, drug related or otherwise.

As far as the man was concerned, he had the antidote to every illness in existence.  A treatment for any ailment, a quick fix for injury he might stumble across in the modern day.

He just hoped he's be able to use some of his gloriously expensive knowledge for good, rather then... well, otherwise.

But more than anything, Arthur needed an ego boost.

The day had been long, and Alexi felt himself swept out to sea with every push and pull of the world around him. The ocean hadn’t been kind though the red sky at night promised a better tomorrow. With the evening light falling faster and faster into the depths of an endless horizon he hardly had a chance to even breathe before the evening chores needed be completed. From ships to shoes and sealing wax (cabbages and kings), Volkova depended on his own ability to push aside his own pain to press forward. 

The hook had caught him sometime last week but it festered now, and upon pale skin marked his flesh like a map lost. The flesh around the wound webbed in ways that made his veins look as though they were nothing more than inky marks upon his skin. A fever had set in, but it only came when the day finished and the sun set. 

This should have been his excuse. He acted out of a feverish dream right? Not because the mark upon the flesh of another man as beautify as Doctor Arthur Adams made his skin crawl. 

“Hold,” His thick accent made use of the misuse of English enough to in fact remind himself that he didn’t belong here, “Your face. Who did this?” He asked the other man as he studied the mark upon him.

The voice was less shocking than the figure it came from.  Arthur turned towards the source of it, confused by the cadence, only to look up and up and up towards the bearded face of an absolute giant of a man.  Lord, have mercy.  Arthur would never get used to being in this mans presence.

"Mr. Volkova," Arthur greeted, squinting up at the man, only to amend a second later, "Alexi, how nice to see you!"

How to explain his injuries.

"This is just - some argument or another with a patient of mine," he said with the wave of a hand.  "Don't let it concern you, I promise I'm just fine.  You should see my shoulder!  In a much worse state, but!  Ah, enough about me, how are you?  It's been a while."

Arthur's own green eyes could just barely make out Alexi's blue ones.  The doctor could feel something off about the man, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

“Ah come now, Doctor, you would not have me believing such tail. A patient did this to you?” Perhaps it was the fever or perhaps it was a moment of pure stupidity, but the taller man put out his hand to lift the doctor’s chin so he could see the mark better. 

“Tell me who it was and I will make sure it does not happen again.” 

When the young doctor turned the conversation back upon him he didn’t let it get any further than the surface. Alexi wasn’t a mastermind of politics and shadow wars, but he knew how to keep the attention off of his name. 

“I am going to drink this day away. Perhaps you too need a bit of hair on your chest?” He held up a small little flask of that clear liquor he favored so much. “Come. Sit with me and let me see this shoulder.”

Arthur did not move away from Alexi's hand as it came towards him, toward his face, a mixture of fear and fascination keeping him still.  Technically, it was a patient that did this to him.  Just, the circumstances were... not typical for a doctor-patient relationship, is all.

For a moment, he imagined sitting with Alexi and telling him all of the gory details of the night of the masquerade, and the morning after.  Imagined sending this giant of a man to tower over and intimidate Malachi, maybe even beat him like had been done to him, but... no, that wouldn't do.  Arthur wanted to confront the priest himself.  Wanted to be able to see his face when he did.

"Really, Alexi, I'm fine," he insisted, though his gaze lingered on the flask.  The doctor had all sorts of things for pain relief himself, but comradery was something he was perhaps lacking in recently.

"I would be happy to sit and catch up with you, though, unless you're busy.  I promise, my shoulder is not something you want to see, especially not so close to lunch time."

“Your shoulder is exactly something I want to see, Doctor, but more so you need to eat. I know well enough now, that you have forgotten to do so.” Healing was such busy business that he knew well the other man hadn’t taken much time for his own personal needs….though Alexi wasn’t much better.

“If you show me yours I will show you mine,” He pulled up his shirt only enough so that the doctor could see the purple skin that spidered out from the infection of where the hook got him.

“Come. I will feed you first, then you will tell me of who did this to you.” No matter how different or how many years spanned between them, Alexi knew the proper dedication that a man could take with his craft, and Arthur was one of those men that he wondered if he ever remembered to take care of himself.

“I will cook for you, you will show me your shoulder, and then you can look at my wound and remind me that I am too much of god to die this day.”

Eating... the idea of doing so was vaguely familiar to Arthur, and definitely appealing at the same time.  All appeal went straight out the window, though, when Alexi revealed to him what was certainly a painful and disgustingly infected looking wound.  The doctor's eyes went wide seeing it, shooting up to Alexi's face.

How could this man stand here and offer to cook for him when he was - was - Jesus Christ.  There was not a single normal person in Whitby.

"You're more than a god to be walking around with that thing festering," he said, grabbing Alexi's shirt and lifting it again.  "And by that I mean, you're crazy.  How long have you had this?  What did this?  This, this is... shit."

For a long moment, he stared at the wound.  It did not make it any more palatable.

"Follow me."  His tone suggested it was not a suggestion.  "We're going to my office so I can look at that properly, treat it, and then you can treat me to - lunch, or a date, or whatever you'd like.  But as a doctor, I cannot let you walk around like this in good conscious!"

Following the noble declaration, Arthur gave Alexi a look and turned on his heel, heading back towards his office with purpose.

“It isn’t festering, Pchela, you are fluttering too much. Always busy, always going—“ He followed regardless, though he would bitch the entire way.

“You say that you are doctor, but what is this?” He motioned to the man’s face, “And you let a patient treat you this way? Come now, you are not so weak. Did you fight back?”

A moment of weakness, or was it a moment of concern…either way all Alexi could do was reach out and take the other man’s hand so that he spun him around to face him once more, and with all of his towering might and dark shadow that covered the sun he spoke only this…

“Don’t you turn your back to me. I will cook for you, and you will sew me shut. Go-“ He huffed, “Go get your needle little bee, and I will start your dinner.”

Even if Arthur hadn’t wanted to turn back around to face Alexi, he had no choice. The man was huge, and his strength reflected that. Arthur could have resisted, but it would have been useless.

“Little bee?” he repeated, a bit incredulous, a bit embarrassed. Arthur glanced around the street t the other people milling about, and took a step back from Alexi as he cleared his throat.

“You can’t start on dinner until we get to my home. That’s where I work, where my office is, so! Either I turn my back on you to lead you there, or neither of us gets what we want.”

The doctor gave Alexi another look, though it was weaker for the pink across his cheeks. Arthur’s only solace was his face was so bruised, it might have not even been noticeable.

“And I did not fight back, of course not! The patient was a mentally disturbed man. I believe it would have been wrong to strike him back, however much he hurt me. In the end, I was able to calm him down and get him properly treated.”