AN: Spoilers for "Resurrection." Warning: character death.
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The faintest blush of dawn swam before her eyes, the lingering effects of the tranquilizer even now muddying her bloodstream and nervous system. She stared at the sky for a moment, contemplating her life in a nutshell: annoy Irina, fluster Irina, eventually cave in to Irina's demands.
At least she was consistent, she thought with a sneer, pulling herself into a sitting position as her muscles protested the sudden movement. She sighed; growing older had its disadvantages.
Not that she let them often get in her way.
She picked her way carefully through the rocky set of paths to the camp, accepting with a shrug the inevitable desertion of the workers. The quiet was nice, almost comforting.
She was halfway to the closest Jeep when she paused, and turned. The sound had been nothing more than the merest hint of a whisper, but such caution had been beneficial to her in the past. She followed the sound to the pit, and warily looked down.
The faintest gleam of blonde hair glinted up at her. She considered her options, and in the moment before she turned to walk back to the vehicle, she surprised herself by climbing down the ladder. The rough wood chafed against her hands, and she added the slight grief to the long list of grudges she held against the young woman that lay on the packed dirt below her.
She met Lauren's weak gaze grimly as her boots met the ground, and they were both silent for a moment.
Finally, Katya spoke. "You lose, Lauren." She moved to stand beside the younger woman, boots toeing the edge of her arm. "Your game is over." She pulled an extra clip from a hidden pocket and slid it into her gun. "Was it worth it?" she asked. "Did you hope it would be a longer game than it was? Frankly, my dear, you didn't last half as long as others in your position have."
Lauren closed her eyes, silent in the face of imminent death. She no longer felt the need to answer to anyone, now… not even a Derevko. Katya allowed herself a moment of mild admiration for the younger woman's threshold for pain. How long had she been alive, despite her wounds? Four hours? Five? Six?
Blood was streaked across her face, crusted in the corner of her slightly open mouth. She blinked, slowly, and mouthed a silent word.
Katya sighed and slid her gun back into its holster. "I suppose I shouldn't try and interrogate you now." She glanced over Lauren's injuries with a professional eye. Whoever had taken her down (she suspected either Mr. Vaughn or her niece, possibly both), the bullets had managed to miss all major organs, while still assuring her certain demise. Either someone had been hoping for Lauren to experience a long and lingering death, or they had merely been caught up in the heat of the moment.
Katya shrugged. Either way, it was of no use to her or the blonde at her feet. Lauren would die, Katya would live. It was the way things would be, for now.
She considered going back to her car and leaving. Why shouldn't she let her die alone? It was hardly her duty to stay and comfort the girl.
It was the look in Lauren's eyes, weary, pain-stricken, and childlike, that led her to take a seat on the ground.
She hid her self-derisive smirk. Well, wasn't she full of surprises today? Starting up a conversation with Reed, and now attempting to comfort the dying.
She paused, tapped a finger on her chin. How, exactly, did one comfort the dying?
It was an interesting question, and one that she had never been given the luxury to ponder before.
Perhaps she could start with the truth. A nice moment of catharsis for Katya, something for Lauren to concentrate on.
It wasn't as if Lauren would be able to tell anyone, later.
"So," Katya began, "have you actually ever met Irina?"
The look in Lauren's eyes turned to mute surprise, and she shook her head as carefully as she could.
"I thought not. And you would know, if you had," Katya stated matter-of-factly. "She's just that way. Full of spit and fire. Unforgettable. Even I'm not immune to it, despite the fact that I'm her older sister." She smirked. "The effect is always magnified when she is with Bristow; I can't explain it. Something about pheromones, I suppose."
"I know enough about the legendary Irina Derevko to know I never would have lived up to her," Lauren whispered painstakingly, her words slurred immeasurably from the heavy blood loss.
Katya's respect for Lauren rose somewhat. "Smart girl." She tilted her head slightly, and rested her cool fingers over the pulse point in Lauren's neck. Barely noticeable, now. She was surprised that Lauren had managed to speak as much as she had, especially at this point. She judged that mere minutes, at most, remained.
"You had potential," Katya said bluntly, and after a brief hesitation took Lauren's right hand in her own. "I can't deny that. You would never have been Rushka, but you might have come close. Maybe."
The look in Lauren's eyes, a kind of thankfulness amidst the pain, was unexpected. Katya blinked, almost nervous at the sight of the emotion, and the niggling thought at the back of her mind slipped from between her lips, even more startling in its accuracy.
"You remind me of myself, at your age."
The words, almost cliché in their overuse in literature and film, hung heavily in the air. Katya frowned slightly, tempted to backtrack and cover her slip.
She reconsidered, against her own wishes. What would be the point of lying now?
"You're full of flash and misguided enthusiasm," she said slowly, moving her thumb over the pulse in Lauren's wrist. "And overshadowed by the doings of your predecessors- your mother, for one. Irina, another. They were both superb examples on how your kind of mission should be executed, but both held almost impossible high standards." She paused, evaluating her next statement. "Do you know what all of that got Irina?"
She locked eyes with Lauren, watching as she took in another shallow, strangled breath.
"She's buried, Lauren," Katya whispered, and broke eye contact. "You can take that as you will. I refuse to elaborate, mostly because I simply don't know anymore." She sighed. "They say the dead know everything," she mused, "I almost envy your coming knowledge, if only if I could know where she is, what she's planning, if anything. Is it wrong that I no longer know if she is living or dead?" she asked rhetorically, mind briefly caught on more important matters.
A slight shudder ran through Lauren's frame, and Katya jerked back to attention. She could almost see the last vestiges of life flow from her dim eyes. Seconds left, she knew.
She leaned over her slightly, purposefully catching Lauren's fading gaze. "You were loved," she whispered gently. "We're awful people, but people seem to love us anyway… some people."
She stared into Lauren's wide eyes, unconvinced even in death.
The pulse beneath her thumb had ceased to beat, and instinctively she closed the younger woman's eyes, covering her dull blue gaze. She kept her grasp on Lauren's cold hand for another moment longer, staring thoughtfully into the tightly packed dirt that made up the walls.
What business did Irina have, employing children to do her work? Lauren and Sark, both young and immature. Full of potential, yes, but inexperienced and convinced of their own immortality.
Look what it had gotten them: a desert grave and a prison cell, respectively.
She dropped Lauren's hand and stood, moving towards the ladder. At the top she examined the sky, noting as the last star disappeared as the sun continued its ascent.
She brushed a hand across her hair, exhaling.
Where are you, Irina? Are you beneath my feet or stalking your next victim?
She glanced down at the body of Lauren Reed, the dirt around her bloodstained. Soon enough sand would fill her makeshift grave. Katya doubted that the workers would return anytime soon to continue in their task.
It wasn't as if they were digging in the right spot, anyway.
She trudged across the sand and pulled herself into the Jeep, automatically hotwiring the vehicle as no keys were evident.
Halfway to the nearest airport she shook herself out of autopilot and laughed quietly, almost amused despite the circumstances.
Irina would turn up.
She always did, in one way or another.
(1/1)