AN: Well this is a gift-fic for one of my best friends, and my partner in crime (Although she does most of the writing for Freezing Fire...) Seeing today is her birthday, I thought I'd post it now. A perfect opportunity not…? Yes, I also thought so… So, Lhune-sama, this one is for you! And once again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! Have fun with it!!
When I remember
By: Kana
Chapter one:
The darkness is slowly fading. A soft sound reaches his ears. It are voices. Soft whispered words he can't understand although the language is familiar. What is going on? Where is he? Who is talking?
He is slowly waking, yet it feels as if every nerve in his body is on alert. There are people in the room and he has not heard them come in. He doesn't know why it worries him. He only knows it does. Come to think of it, that seems to be the only thing he really knows at that moment. His brain seems empty. It is as if he is just born. As if he hasn't learned a thing yet. However there are things that feel natural. Things he somehow knows. Or has known… is supposed to know…
Trying to open his eyes, he feels a pain wave shoot through his body. Nothing is as it should be. He doesn't know… There are so many things in his head that somehow fit in there. But where do they come from? And what is it? The constant bugging in his mind. Something that warns him. But for what?
"Hush… Take it slowly your body will soon start to respond again. Try not to move for a couple of minutes."
It is a soft, gentle voice that enters the blackness. For reasons he doesn't know, the face of a red haired woman passes his thoughts.
"You'll get better Yassen… I know you'll heal completely. I know you will. For me you will."
Yassen… Is that his name? He wonders. But he can't find an answer. He thinks it is. But can he be sure? And why can't he be sure? How come he isn't sure? How come he can't … remember…? She had spoken in Russian. So he must be a Russian.
Cool hands trace the curves of his face. Out of reaction, instinct one can say, his hand reaches out and grabs the intruder of his domain. Another pain wave shoots through his body. But this time he ignores it. Vaguely he wonders how he can stand the pain and why he reacts the way he did. Yet something inside him tells him his life depends on such reactions.
Opening his eyes he sees a red haired woman before him. It is her. The one he thought about when he first heard the voice… He slowly lets go of her hand.
Still… There is something strange. Apart from the fact that he seems to have lost his memory. Something is not right. There is a piece that isn't fitting in the puzzle. A puzzle he can't form yet.
"Yassen, you still there…?"
He opens his eyes again. It is only now that he realises that he has subconsciously closed them.
Now that he hears her voice again, he remembers what she has said earlier.
For me you will.
One can interpret it as dominance. Yet one way or another he knows that he will never tolerate to have someone above him. To have someone who controls him. So… Would it have been love? It didn't sound like she cared…
"Da…"
It were only a couple of seconds after she asked that he answered.
Turning his head away from her, he looks out of the window. He can't keep on looking at her. An impassive face, with eyes as hard as stone. No, she didn't care…
His blue orbs catch the dark sky, the brilliant stars and the white full moon. A full moon. It meant something to him. It still awakens a special feeling inside of him. It meant something important. But what?
Suppressing an impatient groan, he closes his eyes again. Should he say something? No, what would she care…?
With only frustration in his mind, he falls asleep. An uneasy slumber.
- - -
The snow was crisping under his feet. His breathing was soft, unnoticeable. Except for the steps that were heard on the snow, you would not know that he was there.
He was dressed in black. Completely in black. Just like the night. There were no stars, no moon. Darkness. A night were actually, you don't want to be out in. Yet he was. He had no choice. It was his job…
You would not think of him that he would be dangerous. Yet he was. His slender form hid the force that he possessed rather well.
The cold steal of his knife against his skin reminded him time and time again why he was here, what his job was. He hated what he was going to do. What they ordered him to do. He was not the type of guy to let himself be controlled by others. Yet with his work, he had no other choice. No other choice but to obey orders. And this was his first assignment. His first solo mission. He could not afford to fail. Failing simply wasn't an option. He knew that. Accepted that when he started his training.
Training… It seemed so long ago… Yet now here he was. Ready to do what he was told to do. Without hesitation, without questioning.
There was no turning back now. He could never go back to how it was before. Never… Not that he wanted to… But still. It was a strange thought. Leaving everything behind, without being able to look back on it. Abandoning everything… Yet from now on, that would be his life. No security. Nothing to lean on. If you fall, you have to get up alone… Or not at all… His life would be one of uncertainty. One of risks, of danger, of … Death…
-
His heart stopped beating. For only a second. His breath hitched. There was a lump in his throat. Something inside him cracked. He had done it. Mission accomplished. But he did not feel the satisfaction so many other guys had told him about. He just felt the loath for what he had done. He was just happy to still be alive… There had been no thrill about what he was about to do. There was just acceptance. Acceptance and a far away presence of fear.
At the moment though it had felt so natural. Sneaking in the house, finding the man, throwing the knife… If you hear it like that it sounded easy. And that was exactly what he had thought. That it was going to be easy. That he had been able to handle it. That he was ready. But that was exactly where he was wrong. He was not ready. You could never be ready…
He had taken someone's life. Destroyed something that lived…
And they say the second time is easier. That will probably be true. And after a while you will not bother anymore that you've taken a life. You'll become cold. You'll become used to it… But you'll never be ready. You'll never be free…
- - -
Blue eyes slowly open. There has nothing happened so you could have noticed that he woke up. His heartbeat is steady, calm. As is his breathing. Nothing shows the turmoil of feelings that race inside of him.
What was that? A nightmare? Yes, it has to be one. He would never kill someone. He can't be so cold… Or can he? Has he been like that? Is he…?
Closing his eyes again he firmly banishes the thought. Afraid that it might have been true. Yet he can feel it inside. Every thing inside him tells him that it was a nightmare. But a nightmare that has really happened.
He doesn't get it. Has he really been that way?
He shivers, suppressing the urge to shout out loud. He doesn't get it. The man in the nightmare… That wasn't him. He can't be that way. He totally isn't like that. He can't ever be able to kill.
The door opens silently and he opens his eyes. It is that woman again. And with her is a guy.
Old. Gray, almost white hair. Green eyes. Glasses. The body of a man that used to be a top athlete, but that now isn't maintained anymore. There's no doubt about it. He used to be a dangerous man.
Although he is confused about his trail of thoughts, he doesn't show it. How can he read the man like this? After all, he has never seen him before. Or has he? Somewhere in a past he can't remember… It has to be because of training. Like it showed in the nightmare.
"Yassen… You're awake. Good."
She doesn't sound happy though.
He doesn't answer. Knowing that it is not requested.
"My dear boy… What have they done…"
Once more he doesn't react. If one would pure listen to the words, one could say the man is worried, sorry for what has happened. Whatever it is. But he isn't like that. There is so much more than just the words some one says. And he knows it. There is body language, intonation of the voice, the eyes… And that is just where it goes wrong with this man. He doesn't look as if he cares. His green eyes are cold. Like a snake's orbs. Treasonous… The voice, just like the eyes is stripped of all emotion. No, this man doesn't care either.
What is this? Where is this? Who are they? Who is… he?
The man sets himself on a chair. Taking a map out of his black brief-case.
"What do you remember?"
He shakes his head softly.
"Nothing…"
His voice is steady and the Russian word feels natural. For less than a second he thought he had seen a wicked, victorious glint in those green eyes. But when he blinked it had vanished. Imagination? Probably…
"My name is Ivan."
After saying that, his hand takes a picture out of the map.
"Do you recognize him…?"
If one listens carefully, and he does, heaven knows why but he does, one could hear some hope shimmering through…
Another shake of the head.
A smiling face. Blond hair. A bit darker than his own. Blue-gray eyes. Something familiar, yet at the same time far away and dangerous.
Should he know him? Was he a friend? Damn these questions…
"His name is Ian… Ian Rider…"
Ivan's voice broke his thoughts. Ian… No it didn't ring a bell. But then again, neither did Ivan's name…
"He's cause of your memory loss…"
He looks up at him. Surprise clearly written all over his face. It must be the first time since he woke up that he shows any sign of emotion.
The cause?
"He fired the bullet. Luckily for you he didn't do his job good. He missed your heart, and hit your left shoulder instead."
His hand automatically went up to said place.
"The wound should be healed by now. You've been in a sort of coma ever since we found. Almost a month until you finally woke up."
He closes his eyes for a couple of seconds. This is too much…
"Unfortunately, the force of the impact sent you flying backwards. You knocked your head against a rock when you fell down. That is the reason of your memory loss as well as the coma."
He looks back at the picture that's now lying almost forgotten on the bed sheets. So this man… He seems so friendly though… Far away he notices Ivan get up.
"I think it best if we let you rest now. To give you the time to think about all this information."
Without another glance they both turn and walk. Out of the room. The photo still in his hands.
- - -
He's sitting in the helicopter. A determinant grim on his face. He'll get this right. The car beneath them is fast. Luckily a chopper can easily follow its track.
The man driving the vehicle must be good. The road isn't an easy one to drive on. But then again the man must be good in practically everything, for he is an MI6 agent, with the name Ian Rider… Sent out to kill him, almost six months ago. Yet on a miraculous way Ian failed miserably.
It is time…
Preparing his gun and himself, he signals the pilot to lower him down. The cord is tied tightly around his ankles.
For a second he doubts whether this is going to work. The dark blond haired man down there is a professional. He must notice that something is wrong. Must feel that something is about to happen…
His heart races. So this is him. The man who shot him. Who tried to kill him… The cause of his loss of memory. Finally he will see Ian in real. He will see him, a shocked expression on his face when the bullets are fired. He will be the only one to witness his target draw his very last breath.
Looking through the side window. He's sitting so close that he can almost touch his face, shouldn't the glass separate them.
He sees him turn his head. Eyes wide open. At that same moment he pulls the trigger. The first bullet is on his way to his prey. To kill… The others following soon on their deadly mission…
&TBC&