Chapter Text
*-*-*-*Epilogue*-*-*-*
“You can still change your mind if you want to Hank,” Boris offered, as they approached the door to Milos' combination cell and hospital room which the FBI had provided. It was guarded by two security specialists which Boris had hired. Milos was being kept in a federal holding facility but Boris had managed to get permission to add his own men to raise the security around his cousin.
Hank still didn't know how Boris managed that trick.
“I appreciate that, Boris,” Hank said quietly. “But Milos is a patient of HankMed, and as Evan keeps telling me we have to build, not reduce, our customer base,” he added dryly. Although, Evan had been the first to yell at him when Hank broke the news that Boris has asked him to be Milos' doctor. His brother hadn't been happy at all and only really stopped shouting when Hank had reminded him that HankMed was still a fledgling medical practice and they could hardly turn away a hefty retainer on a whim. Evan had grumbled for hours, even when Hank had reassured him that Boris – and Boris' security – would be with him, it had hardly made a dent in Evan's pissed off mood. This morning when Hank left, after stopping by the guest house to have breakfast with his brother, Evan seemed to finally grudgingly accept the idea that Hank would be taking care of his kidnapper. Yet he also made Hank promise to let him know the second he was done and away from Milos.
Hank paused outside the holding cell door, glancing at Boris. “You don't have to come in with in, you know.”
“I don't plan on leaving the two of you alone,” Boris said mildly. Hank arched his eyebrows. “For my own peace of mind,” he explained. “And your brother's.”
Hank groaned. Damn it, Evan.
“He was very insistent.”
“Okay, okay,” Hank said, even as he wondered whether he should yell or thank his brother. Hank looked away from Boris, took a deep fortifying breath, nodded at the guards, and pushed open the door. Hank hesitated only for a moment before he stepped forward. The feeling of rot given off by Milos was a like a miasma, filling the room with a choking thickness. He didn't know if it was because the feeling of rot had grown stronger or if his Craft's increased sensitivity was to blame but Hank found it difficult for his craft-senses to feel anything else. Even Boris, who walked into the room by his side, felt muffled instead of radiating his usual effervescent bio-energy.
Surprisingly, Milos was asleep, laying back on a hospital bed which was inclined upwards. He was wearing a white hospital gown. Yet as Hank stepped further into the holding room, Milos' eyes snapped open and he sat up. At once, his eyes locked on Boris. A snarl grew on his lips and rage twisted his face.
“Boris, I told you, I did not want to see you again!” Milos shouted. “Get out!”
“I'm afraid you no longer get a say in such things, Milos,” Boris said firmly.
Milos sneered and his eyes flickered before locking on Hank. His eyes widened before his entire expression shut down.
“Hello, Milos,” Hank said quietly. He took several steps forward, stopping only just out of grabbing range, stretching out his craft-senses. After a moment, he frowned. He was getting some strange signals from his craft-senses. It felt like his Craft was being drawn to Milos, so much so that it felt like Hank was conducting a deep scan of Milos instead of a light surface scan. But that shouldn't be possible when Hank wasn't in direct contact with Milos. After a moment, Hank put his concern aside. Since Budapest his Craft power had been acting strange as he began to gain it back, such as feeling more sensitive and faster. Maybe, this was just another one of those changes that he hadn't noticed until now.
Milos stared at Hank for several seconds. Abruptly, he jerked his gaze away and glared hotly at Boris. His entire expression was ugly. “Did he succeed in making you more of the elixir? Did you bring him here just to gloat that you are immortal and I am dying, Cousin Boris?” he spat out, acid-toned.
“Neit, of course not, Milos,” Boris sighed, and he rubbed at his eyes, looking tired. “As I have told you before there is no elixir, the Count of St. Germain is a fairytale,” he added wearily, sounding like he had repeated those lines before, so much so that he had lost count.
“Liar!”
Hank shot Boris a concerned look. Boris had told him how hard it was for him to deal with Milos' delusions, especially his anger over Boris keeping the 'cure' to himself. Milos had been someone who Boris had once been close to, this Milos was so much a stranger that they might as well have never known each other before. And that was without even taking into account how personally Boris took the fact that Milos was suffering from their shared family genetic disease. Piled onto of that was also Boris' guilt over leaving his younger cousin to his own devices for so long that he had never learned of how sick Milos had been getting until it was too late.
There was a reason that Hank had offered him the choice to avoid facing Milos again. Boris was always emotionally wrung out after he visited Milos.
“Milos,” Hank said, interrupting Milos' rant against Boris. “Boris asked me here to check up on you. He's hired me to be your doctor.”
“No, that's not true, is it, Healer Lawson?” Milos insisted. “Tell me the truth. He brought you here to kill me. To keep quiet the truth of the elixir. You are here to help him keep his secrets! Why else would he have me under his personal guards? Why else am I being kept from other prisoners?”
Hank considered him. It was clear that nothing Boris or he could say which would break through Milos' paranoia. He was too far gone in his delusion. “Not, that's not what I'm here for. I'm here to help,” he said anyway. And before Milos could react, Hank wrapped his right hand around Milos' wrist.
Sinking his craft-senses into Milos' body felt like plunging into a murky ocean. One which had been polluted and choked with trash. The ocean still had life, there were still a few pockets which were clear and healthy, yet the majority of it was dying. The sickness was too far spread. For a long moment, Hank floated in this dying ocean and desperately wished he could do something to fix it. That he could come up with a way to fix this problem.
Maybe it was because he had such a great success last time he tried it, but Hank found himself thinking that this was a problem that could really use his Talent. He only hesitated a moment before he merged his powers together. Then Hank's power surged outwards like bolts of burning clean white light which then split into thinner filaments until it was touching every single part of Milos. Initially it was struggle. Milos' sick body fought the healing energy. But Hank had always been stubborn, and forced his concentration against the resistance until it broke, and Hank's Craft and Talent surged forwards, drawing away so much of Hank's energy he didn't know how he managed not to run dry. But he couldn't stop yet, Hank could feel it as his power found every health problem Milos was suffering under, from bowing bones to misfiring neurons, until he was able to completely restore Milos to what he had been before a quirk of DNA started affecting him. Hank's Craft and Talent went into every single cell and turned off the mutation, returning it to hibernation.
“Ah,” Hank gasped, trying desperately to get air. He staggered away from Milos, his knees nearly giving out.
Boris caught him under his right arm, keeping Hank from collapsing. “Hank, what is it? What's wrong?”
On the hospital bed, Milos stared at them both in confusion. “What is going on? Where am I?” He inhaled sharply as his eyes widened with understanding. “No, that's not true-- I would not--” His eyes widened even further in horror. “Boris... did I kidnap Healer Lawson? Tell me that's not true.” Milos tried to sit up only to be yanked down by the chains handcuffing him to the bed-frame. The look of horror on his faced then mixed with startled realization. “No, no... it can't be true.”
Confused, Boris stared at Milos over Hank's shoulder. “Hank-- Hank what did you do?”
Hank stared at Milos, stunned by the proof of what he'd done. Milos was lucid. Milos was more than lucid. Hank had healed him.
Hank looked back to Boris. “I think--- I think I healed him, of everything.” Hank swallowed, shaken by the idea of what that meant. He had done something that was impossible, something that he shouldn't have been able to do. Something that no Healer could do. Something that should have killed him for even trying. “And I don't know how I did it.”
Boris looked at Hank and then at Milos in disbelief.
“He saved me from the curse,” Milos whispered. His horror at the memories at what he had done waned away as he stared at Hank with wonder filled eyes. “So you were the source of the cure after all.”
End
