Well, fuck.
Ella awoke to the worst case scenario– at least in her book. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, the shouts filling the room making her want to bury her head underneath the pillow and never uncover it. Still admittedly bleary, she took in the scene before her with trepidation and more than a fair share of fear. The brothers stood in front of her bed, guns raised, Matt standing rigidly, but no less hostile, next to them. Wesley stood by the door, his own gun drawn, face red as he shouted at the Russians who were screaming back just as belligerently. Wesley’s suit was mussed up as if there’d been a scuffle. Vanessa stood, withdrawn and contemplative, directly to the right of Ella, leaning against the wall. Her only tell of unease was her white knuckled grip on her purse; that meant that Fisk would not be far behind. Huffing out a panicked breath through her nose, Ella waved an arm, trying to get someone’s attention. No one even flinched.
“I’ll kill you both!” Wesley screamed, finger tight against the trigger. The brothers spat something absolutely venomous back– even though it was in Russian, Ella had no doubt that it was scathing as all hell.
“You, put the gun down,” Matt ordered, jabbing one finger at Wesley, who only lifted his lip in a silent snarl. Ella resumed waving her arm, eyes widening and heart pounding as she was continually ignored. She hurriedly grabbed the whiteboard, and blindly flung it. It flew past Vladimir’s head and sailed into the far wall, landing on the linoleum with a loud clatter. Wesley and Matt hardly spared a glance toward it and continued exchanging increasingly violent threats.
“I’ll make sure you’re all decapitated this time. Before the day is out–”
“I’ll jam those glasses down your throat–”
“Nobu’s men will have a field day with you, if Fisk doesn’t tear you apart first–”
“I’ll hang you with that bandana–”
“Stop,” Ella mouthed, voice stuck in her throat, jaw uncooperative as per fucking usual. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vanessa start to edge toward her, but stop once Anatoly turned his gun on her.
“Don’t move,” he hissed, expression nearly feral. Ella could feel hysteria bubbling up, her heart pounding an unsteady rhythm, an unhinged laugh loitering right under her tongue. She had no hope of controlling this situation– none at all. But that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t try. She threw off her blankets, her cast blindingly white under the fluorescents.
“Stop!” Ella tried again, voice cracking and dry, barely audible to her own ears. Stealing herself for the inevitable aches that would resurface, Ella swung one leg off of the bed, then mostly lifted the one encased in the cast to rest beside the other. Her torso was shrieking at this point, ribs cursing her into a grimy, pain filled oblivion. She grit her teeth and stood; took a step.
“Ella, don’t–” she heard Vanessa say, before her legs completely gave out, sending her sprawling across the floor, smack dab between Matt, the brothers, and Wesley. Her body felt like it was on fire, and she viciously fought back a wave of nausea that threatened to send the entirety of her stomach out onto the floor next to her. She had seriously not accounted for how poorly a broken femur and a leg that was more than half asleep would be at supporting her weight. The room went silent, then proceeded to explode into a whirlwind of chaos. “Ella!” Anatoly gasped, immediately dropping to his knees beside her. Vladimir wasn’t far behind, Wesley following shortly after.
“Get away from her,” Wesley snarled, and was met with two, incredibly vehement ‘no’s.
“Just stop,” Ella gasped, gritting her teeth and attempting to push herself up on a shaky arm. The men, again, paid her no heed and continued to argue over her prone form, each attempting to help pull her up and away from the other. Sucking in a deep breath, Ella steeled herself and then, she screamed. It had its intended effect– everyone started, going silent and still, frozen in place as they tried to identify what, exactly, had happened. “Thank you,” Ella bit out, her jaw feeling as if it had come apart at the joints. “Now, stop.” Wesley looked back and forth wildly between her and the brothers, occasionally eyeing Matt who was looming over the far corner of the bed. His face went through a range of emotions: anger, confusion, betrayal, before finally settling on a blank expression, his underlying rage revealing itself in the tight lines beside his eyes.
“Explain, Ella,” he ordered, slowly retracting his hands.
“I…met them…all…a few weeks ago…in my shop,” Ella said, pausing every few words to help alleviate some of the strain of speaking. It absolutely did not work, but she’d be damned if she stopped speaking now. “We’re…friends. I know…what you did…to them, and vice…versa.”
“You didn’t think to mention it?” Wesley all but shouted, shooting to his feet and hurriedly backtracking as if she’d grown horns and began spitting fire.
“I didn’t…want this…to happen–”
“So you’d have us tip-toe around each other for…for however long you decided to keep this up?” he demanded, face reddening. “And then what? If we happened to run into one another and someone got killed, you’d hold a grudge against the person who pulled the trigger?”
“Wesley–”
“No. You know I can’t let this go,” Wesley said, and the brothers stood, Anatoly squeezing her good shoulder once before moving away. “I need to alert my employer of this new situation.”
“I hoped…you wouldn’t. I just…I wanted–”
“What, friendship? Wanted us all to get along like children on the playground?” Wesley shot back, phone already in hand. Ella had no response to that, because some part of her had wanted them to all at least be civil.
“If I…could just…talk to–”
“No, Ella,” Wesley snapped, and the brothers looked like they wanted to tear him into bitesized pieces. Vanessa watched quietly from the corner, brows knit in something Ella couldn’t quite identify. With that, Wesley put his phone to his ear and the room yet again flew into motion. The brothers sprinted past Wesley and out into the hallway, Matt almost teleported through the window, and a nurse rushed into the room, probably having heard the chaos.
“Oh my, I, dear, I’ll get the doctor,” the nurse stammered out, giving Wesley a spitfire glare before hastily retreating.
“I’m sorry…I didn’t…mean–” Ella began, feeling tears welling up for reasons completely unrelated to her injuries. Wesley only pocket his phone, shook his head, and turned to leave.
“Wesley…” Vanessa murmured, eyes full of pity as she stared down at Ella.
“We need to leave before they call security,” Wesley said, not slowing his stride as he exited the room, the door clanging loudly behind him. Vanessa looked mildly put out with his attitude, but complied. “It was nice to see you,” Vanessa said, smile tight before following after Wesley. Ella remained on the floor, ears ringing, hands clenched, and waited for the nurses to come in and help her up.
~~~~~~
As it turns out, Ella had come dangerously close to dislocating her shoulder again, and had actually re-cracked a rib in her fall. It extended her stay in the hospital by an additional two weeks– two weeks of torturous boredom and what Ella thought was food, but she couldn’t be absolutely certain. In those two weeks, there had been no calls, no texts, and no visits– nothing. The gnawing pain of worry had been following her around like a fucking storm cloud, refusing to abate. She didn’t know where anyone was, if they were dead, if they had followed Matt down into an open manhole and had reverted to cannibalism– it wasn’t a comforting thought. Ella took a cab back to her apartment, grimacing as she was forced to take the ancient elevator up to her floor. It smelled vaguely of cat piss and dirty socks, and Ella held her breath during the entire ride. Upon stumbling into her apartment, Ella found that everything was as she’d left it, and for the first time in her life that brought along a wave of disappoint. She had a feeling that no men in fancy suits would be showing up at her door again, any time soon– if ever.
“Stupid crime, stupid heroes. Why couldn’t they all work in retail? Apple versus Android would’ve been less dramatic,” Ella fumed to herself, hobbling to her bedroom. She all but collapsed onto her bed, huddling deep under the covers that, thankfully, smelled nothing like antiseptic. The brace on her leg got caught on one of the sheets and she spent a few minutes tugging and cursing at it before freeing herself. “Home sweet home,” she murmured, stomach growling its agreement. Ella quickly rifled through her jacket pocket for her phone, speed dialing the local pizza place and ordering a “pepperoni pizza with extra pepperoni. Extra. Yes. Did I stutter? When I said extra I meant extra.” With a sigh, she flung her phone down onto her bed and resolved to at least change into some sweatpants– her limited edition Disney World t-shirt would suffice for bed. She threw open her closet, halfway through wildly attempting to kick her pants off of her good leg when the jacket caught her eye. Hanging in between a red button up and an insanely bright, yellow sweater, was Vladimir’s leather jacket. She stared at it for a few moments, chest growing obscenely tight, before removing it from the hanger and throwing it over her shoulders. Her right shoulder protested minutely at the action and she rolled her eyes. “If I can hold it together, you can hold it together,” she thought, clumsily changing into her favorite pair of oversized sweatpants. Just as she was about to hobble into the living room to wait for the pizza man, her phone buzzed, causing Ella to leap onto the mattress. Well, not leap, exactly, more of trip and flop down in a tangle of limbs.Heart thrumming, she hastily unlocked the phone and wanted to re-lock it again, at what the new messaged read.
Made it to Russia.
The message that followed simply stated that the phone number had been disconnected. Ella was caught between the urge to laugh and to yell, and briefly thought to chuck her phone into the wall but the nightmare of a bill to come after, stopped her. Vladimir and Anatoly were safe– for now, but they also weren’t in Hell’s Kitchen. Or New York. Or the continental united states, and Ella had no way of contacting them ever again. She sat up slowly, phone held in a white knuckled grip. “They’re home, I’m home. We’re both fine. We’re fine,” she said, turning the phone off and placing it beside her. “You’re fine,” she ground out, pushing herself off of the bed as if she could leave all memory of the message there with it, and stalked over to the couch. She sat down and stared hard at the coffee table, ignoring the shadow that the massive painting cast from behind her. “So, this is what it feels like to have everything go to Hell in a hand basket,” Ella said, chuckling briefly at the pun, before quickly sobering up. “Fuck,” she hissed out, falling back into the cushions. She pulled the jacket a little more tightly around herself, and then she began to cry.