A Nightmare Dressed Like A Daydream (Viktor/Cas)[complete]

When it rained...

After the lapse of memory from the battle in the Woods, Viktor has become keenly aware that something was amiss. Though he remained taciturn about it, he silently expressed concerns that his partner was no longer that. Something had stripped away the Renamon he once knew and created this... witch she was now. She had an obsession with biomerging, so he couldn't risk letting her take control for what he assumed would be the second time. A slip and a duck afforded him enough breathing room to return to the human world where he decided it would be best to lie low until he could get outside help against Genesis.

Then came the 'group' that attacked him. It was too precise to a mugging. But the lack of firearms, even in Japan, showed that this was meant to look like one. No... he knew a hit when he saw one. Despite four men with weapons attacking one that was unarmed, Viktor managed to achieve victory. But not without them taking a piece. His forearm was cut pretty deep, and he needed someone to watch his back while he mended his wound.

The last thing he expected to see was an American. She approached him as though one might an animal injured, and this was such a case for this. Her lab coat gave away what she did, but Viktor didn't trust it. Butchers came in all shapes and sizes. He stood up, bracing his aching arm;

"Back off. This is your only warning. I have no patience to entertain you."

Viktor spoke through his teeth as he blood trickled from his head, from where he caught the pipe. It spilled into his mouth as he spoke, causing him to spit.

But even still. Something about her made him want to lower his guard. To trust her. But while, at least to him, her hair fashioned in that way gave the appearance of a proud and powerful lioness. Viktor knew another wolf when he saw them.

"Take another step and I'll do what I must to defend myself."

He kept his arms raised, despite the clear laceration on his forearm that was actively leaking blood!

Odd... most Butchers would have tried to immediately sedate him or attack a weakened target. That's how Viktor had seen them in their modus-operandi. But some where indeed still licensed practitioners. They simply did it beyond the watchful eye of the medicinal government. Viktor would follow, but be incredibly wary. He'd grasp his wound and apply pressure the best he could. What was more was that she didn't appear to be lying. Viktor could pick up on that quicker than most, and though she simply flashed her license, Viktor picked up her first name.

"Listen to me, 'Cassandra'. You're not lying to me? I am not one to take things lightly. Do not cross me."

He would attempt to step in front of her to emphasize his point, leaning down; "I mean this. I will do what I must if it comes to that."

Viktor would step out of her way, should she have been stopped by him, then follow her in, still remaining wary despite his wounds as he took note of anything and everything. He would speak as he sat down in what looked to be her dining table, then prop his arm across the table, not really caring if his stained it with his blood. He would simply glance at her, then wait. If she went for any numbing agents or sedatives, Viktor would stop her then speak in an almost chilling calmness:

"No. Sow it up without additives. I got the wound, I can handle it."

Even as she would begin to stitch him up, Viktor would remain calm. Like he had done this a thousand times despite no real indicating scars to prove otherwise. He would occasionally sigh or even grunt, but never did much beyond that. How she handled this would determine how Viktor treated her afterwards!

Viktor cursed as he leaned against the chair, the needled easily poking through the layers of his skin while she patched them up. He would, maybe to her surprise, pour a bit of alcohol on the wound that he produced from his bag while she wasn't looking. He'd also take a swig of it while she operated and before long she was finished. Now she was trying to look at his head, where he caught a hit from a pipe. He knew the blood was superficial, as he didn't feel faint r lightheaded, but he'd let her check anyway;

"Six guys. Two with knives. One with a pipe. Three unarmed." He kept a single eye closed to prevent the residue blood from leaking down and blinding him. But would open as she commanded. Finally, after she would finish and find he just had a few cuts, he would correct her;

"Ukrainian. I am not Russian."

He reached into his bag and pulled a very neatly rolled set of bills. It valued about 17,000 Yen, he rolled it over to her;

"About what they would have charged me, minus room and board." he gave a slight chuckle, leaning back and taking another swig of the clear liquid in his bottle, "And to pay for anything that went bad in the groceries."

He sighed and looked around a bit more, from the looks of it she was likely a single, childless woman who made her living in Tokyo either as a medical professional within a nearby hospital or she was a Butcher. But being a doctor didn't make you a Butcher. If someone injured came to her, most doctors would take them in based on their oaths and morals. Despite them being gang members or not. Viktor would prod a bit;

"So, Cassandra Cross. How's the clinic?" She never told him her surname, but he took notes of bills and official documents with the name 'Cross' written on them. It was a safe assumption.

The slender girl's comment warranted another chuckle from Viktor, and he looked at his arm and the stitches;

"Not bad. Count myself lucky someone in the area could stitch me up in a snap. More so do a competent job." Viktor frowned as he leaned back, then stood up and checked walked to the windows. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that whomever sent those goons would send more. But something made him rub his beard as he thought; No more came.

These kinds of hits were never a one time deal if the target got away. Those hired muscle would be kicking in her door if this was real. Which meant one of two things: Whoever sent them either hired poor help, or they called the rest off. Viktor figured it was the latter, given there was plenty of muscle in the city of Japan willing to rough someone up or even kill for the right amount of paper. Another solution was they lost his scent and were actively looking for the man who just took six of their own down. Usually these kind of men were prideful and would want revenge. The final option was they knew of Cassandra's home and clinic and either feared what she might do, or simply didn't want to lose someone who was competent enough to patch up those who came to her with a serious wound.

Viktor took a seat again and eyed her, examining her every detail as though she was painting for sell. Some were offended by this, like he was trying to use them. Others were flattered, feeling as though he couldn't take his eyes off them. But to the assassin it was simple; He could tell more about the person simply by their looks and their posture. He'd be a terrible hunter if he couldn't read his prey.

"So, I can tell you're from America, not by just the fact of you speaking, but by your accent. The 'hook' around certain letters and phrases indicated an eclectic accent, so you're either from a tri-state area or a border-city."

Without so much as looking around, he tapped the table a bit, drawing a sort of map in his head. Then crossed his arms, taking care of the stitches as he gave a bit of coy smile;

"Chattanooga." He purposefully said the city wrong, putting more inflection on the first part of the word to sound more like "Chate" rather than "chat". He wasn't one hundred percent sure if he was right, but her accent was a dead give away. Plus, if she had pride in her city, she'd correct him.

Viktor was adept at telling when people were lying, more so when they already told the truth. When she said she was a doctor and how she spoke about some earlier facts on herself, Viktor 'picked up' on her mannerisms. Small things she does when she tells the truth.

Lying now would be as fruitless as fighting him. He already had her pegged.

Well, that was odd. Viktor had been out of the interrogation game for a minute, so there was a possiblity of misinformation. But what really caught him off guard a bit was her wanting to know him. He never really talked about himself much, so it was a bit strange to think about it. All she wanted was a first name, but truthfully his name a whole wasn't unique in anyway. He was the 'John Smith' of Eastern Europe.

"Even if my enemies could track me, I am careful and I have friends. My name is Viktor Makarov. Ukrainian born, but I am technically a Russian." he gave a chuckle and a wink, "And no, I do not work with or for Organized Criminal Agencies. I've heard one too many stories around the 'water cooler' about how they back stab and don't pay," He shrugged; "I have no want to harm those who do not deserve it... not anymore."

He shook his head, and sighed, "Two questions, hmm?"

He tapped his finger on his tricep, pursing his lip. He knew everything he already needed to know, but there was always more that could be learned, "Where did you graduate? Medical School wise."

He watched her with the same Ghostly ice blue eyes that almost looked as if they were glowing. A side effect of the Biomerge he had with his partner. The second question was much easier;

"Do you have any food?"

As she spoke, Viktor was bandaging his arms, to ensure that he wouldn't 'leak' anywhere. Giving a very stoic nod, he pushed from the table and followed her into the living room, taking a seat on the couch as he closed his eyes, keeping himself in train of thought as he listened. He didn't watch TV, he didn't mess around on his phone. He simply sat there... thinking. About how it came to this, about his partner which was a walking time bomb, about this girl and how she helped him with no offer of reward. She likely didn't know about the Digital World or it's inhabitants and for her sanity, he felt it best not to tell her he was one of the strongest Digimon on the planet.

Then his black camouflaged digivice began beeping and vibrating intensively. It was an SOS that was usually sent to all devices. Perhaps a tamer was in trouble or a Digimon needed help. They were all ghost messages left floating about in the human world on a frequency only one device could hear. Some of these messages spoke of La Familia, Devas, even some older wars between Digital Cities. But they only happened when the user's device was high enough to receive such distress calls, which is why most Rookies or In-Training tamers never heard them.

The device itself was hanging off the side of his bag, and continued to shake violently and beep. Likely Doctor Cross would be perturbed by this, simply because it was still in the kitchen. He didn't even budge. He was aware of it, but he ignored it. His focus was on trying to unscrew this situation he was currently in, maybe it was for the best he stay in the digital world? He couldn't risk bringing the D-Reaper or it's agents here in the human world. Not with how infectious it was.

He'd looked to Doctor Cross and walk to the kitchen, grabbing the device and shutting it off.

"Ah. Old Satellite phone. Picks up random calls from around the world. Some of them too old to even worry about. It's a good way to talk to those who don't want to be heard."

He wasn't fully lying. Just telling a half truth. He inhaled through his nose, smelling the chicken and the cheese being melted. He would offer to help, but it was best he kept his distance, for now. He'd pay her back, that much was for sure!

He held up his hand, "As is, please."

He wasn't a fan of bread, a whole lot of filling with little in the way of nutrition. Empty carbs, as they say. Watched her make the meal, equally impressed with her abilities to handle kitchenware as she was with a needle. He took a second to inspect the chicken, then gently cut it open and peered on the inside of the meat. It needed a few more minutes, but she was still cooking.

He chuckled and took a seat in the kitchen, watching her work;

"Work can be bothersome. I get called more than I would like. Speaking of."

He produced a smart phone from the pocket of his jeans and blinked, surprised at the sheer amount of times he was texted or called. He just shook his head and placed it on the table. Then took a deep sigh and pulled his bag close to him, digging through as he took a count of everything he had. He peered up to Doctor Cross as she informally introduced herself, which warranted a chuckle as he crossed his arms yet again;

"Well, still Viktor. But nice to know, Cas."

His eyes trailed a bit as she reached for the breadbox. This time he was eyeing her in a bit of a different manner than before. Not so much as trying to figure her out, but more... admiring parts of her. He shook his head and looked away as he caught himself. Not giving her any sign he was flustered or embarrassed as she'd turn back around and simply lean back, sighing.

"I think I have some ideas on who might have attacked me. Certainly wasn't Yakuza. None of the men where Japanese."