A/N: So I recently discovered Russian Roulette (I've read and loved the AR series since I was twelve) and devoured it and immediately wanted to write about Yassen, so I did. This is just a dumb short little drabble, but there are many others I have in mind and may write sometime if anyone's interested.
There is a man waiting for him when he exits the terminal.
His eyes immediately pick him out from the dozens of other people waiting for friends or relatives or clients, holding up signs or banners or waving excitedly. There is nothing special about the man, standing casually to the side near the ticket counters with his hands in his pockets, clad in dark trousers and a simple button-down shirt, but Yassen notes the way he does not search for anyone coming out of the gates, only checking his watch occasionally and then staring off into space, and the man's body language tells him all he needs to know.
Neither of them say a word. The man turns and walks out of the airport, and Yassen follows. The car they get into is dark and nondescript, the driver's face shadowed, and the boat that leads them to the Widow's Palace just one among many lining the canals of Venice.
Julia Rothman is waiting for him where they first met, in the room with an elaborately carved table and a row of windows overlooking the Grand Canal. She is alone—Yassen is careful to look for John Rider this time, but the British man (agent, spy) is nowhere in sight.
"Welcome back, Yassen," she says, and her tone is friendly, though her eyes are unreadable. "John tells me he didn't expect to see you again."
He says nothing. She gestures to the chair opposite her. "Please, sit."
He sits. She does not speak for a moment and neither does he; Scorpia must have heard the news about the Sharkovskys already, or he would long be dead.
"We believe," Mrs. Rothman finally says, "you can be very successful in this line of work, Yassen. But there is one thing you must remember: you are no one. An assassin kills for money. He does not kill out of pettiness, or anger, or revenge. Not out of any sort of emotion. Whoever wronged you in the past, forget them. You are nobody now. Your side trip did not delay any of our operations, and it proves your willingness to work for us, but in the future…"
She does not say anymore; she does not need to say anymore. Yassen nods, and her face breaks out into a red-lipped smile.
"Check in with Dr. Steiner when you can," she says. "You will want to meet with Desmond Nye and Oliver D'Arc as well."
He nods once more. His face gives nothing away, but she tilts her head and studies him with sharp eyes. "Is there anything you want to say, Yassen?"
The image of the battery flashes in his mind again, as it has been doing constantly since he left the dacha. You are no one, he hears as a whisper in his ear, and he knows then that he truly is just that: an assassin who owes allegiance to no one but himself. He shakes his head and the image disappears.
"Very well. Be prepared; you will be sent out again shortly."
There are no details. There are never any details and there never will be; he is already accustomed to it and he must be for however long he lives. Julia Rothman stands, and he follows her out the door.