"circle". lo, jh.

Title: "Circle"
Suggested for Reading: Original Soundtrack, Cold Mountain



St. Anthony's Hospital, just outside Athens, Georgia. Year: 1927.

As usual, it was pouring rain outside, and Lena could hear the metallic pling of hard raindrops as they hit loose roofing tiles on her way down the long halls. She knew it upset some patients, and she knew the hospital was losing money, and she also knew the administrators didn't care.

Sighing, she turned moodily back toward the rotunda, heading for the maternity ward, still ever watchful. Though she couldn't help but think longingly of Victor. Of course, he'd gotten to pursue the big city end of this contract. He was probably wining and dining New York society widows about now, while she stood guard here, incognito, to make sure their mark didn't come back for the loot he'd stashed here.

So far, her lycan eyes and ears had picked up nothing. Not a solitary whisper that the mark had ever been here, let alone stashed $2 million in gold bullion here. If Victor got the flashy kill again, well, she'd pout far longer than normally allowed. Lena paused, flexing her feet in her clunky shoes. They were horrible, but part of the nurse's uniform. She had to fit in here, of course, and the slightest variation might cause comment.

Like a bad moving picture, though, a tattered scream suddenly flew through the hall. Lena reacted instantly, grabbing in the pocket of the dowdy nurse's apron to make sure her gun was there, but retracted her hand immediately when she saw she'd run into the maternity ward. Laughing slightly at her own foolishness, she nonetheless edged into the room. It certainly never hurt to cover every possible angle.

The scream had come from one of the not-quite-newborn babies, third from left in the centre row of bassinettes. Lena had to chuckle at her own memories; her docile daughter sleeping peacefully in just such a setup in the hospital in Florence. This child was anything but docile, however; its tiny arms and legs looked like whirlwinds, kicking so hard as it cried. Perhaps a touch of colic, Lena decided. More memories. She threaded her way between the cribs and bent over, trying to read the name and sex on the chart.

A boy. Joshua Holloway. Hm. She picked up the child, rocking him gently as he cried, only dimly feeling the thuds of baby fists and feet as they kicked. It probably was colic; goodness knew enough children here in the rural areas picked it up. She ignored the ticking of automatic hands as the machines kept things regulated, murmuring quiet Swedish nonsense to the child.

Come to think of it, she recalled the mother from the admissions desk. A shadow of a woman, pale, alone and listless, not even complaining at what must have been horrendous pain. Joshua whimpered as Lena stopped walking, her mind trying to cast back and think more. She couldn't even recall the woman's first name, just the eyes. She began to walk again, still rocking the child, pacing slow circles around the room as it poured.

Eventually, the baby's sobs had descended to quiet whimpers, and Lena smiled to herself. She'd grown used to the sound of her own footsteps echoing in the paint-peeling room, but finally it died away as she laid Joshua back in the bassinette. He still looked fussy, but all was quiet. She somehow knew the boy would fall fast asleep, yet she waited until it had happened before she exited the room.

The trek back to the nurses' station was long and contemplative. When she arrived, Lena sat and looked up the last name in the card file of new patients. The name Holloway did not appear.

She looked to her right, to the long black file, with the red X daubed on top. She didn't want to look in there, somehow.

Lena rose without comment, feeling again in her pocket for her tiny snubnose, and headed back down the hall. The card file sat, unopened and alone, on the cluttered desk. She didn't want to be near it. Somehow, that would have ruined everything.