"Did you save me?" Tim voiced the only possibility he could think of.
"Ah... yes, we saved you." After a pause, Natasha nodded. Tim narrowed his eyes.
"From whom?"
"From... Hydra... uh... Federal... hmm... KGB? Right... the KGB! You almost got kidnapped by that Russian bastard!" Natasha nodded vigorously.
"Where is he?"
"He ran away."
"You didn't chase him?"
"Well, we thought your safety was more important." Natasha said, "You're an important person Nick asked us to keep a close eye on. Nothing outweighs your safety. That's all."
Natasha left quickly. Tim had not actually been badly hurt; the anesthetic in his system simply needed time to wear off. After lying in bed for a while, he felt much better. At least his head was no longer so dizzy, and his limbs had stopped tingling.
So, while the nurse was not paying attention, he got out of bed and began wandering around the ward. The moment Tim turned around, he saw the chart hanging at the head of his bed.
Most hospitals in the world wrote a patient's basic information at the head of their bed, such as their name, admission date, and condition. It was generally handwritten, but not in that illegible doctor's scrawl. They tried to make it as clear as possible.
Tim had only glanced at it casually, but the moment he saw that line, he could no longer sit still.
Where the hell did they bring me? Is this even English?!
The handwriting on the chart by his bed could not exactly be called non-Latin letters. It just had a bit too much cursive, a few too many circles, and was slightly messy... my ass! Wasn't this fucking Russian?!
Tim snatched up the chart and examined it carefully. What it said really was English—English written in