It was 6:30 in the morning, and Gregory was about to die. To be honest, it wasn't a surprise. He'd suspected as much when everything had gone wrong twenty minutes before. Hell, he'd even thought it briefly when he'd heard that news the night previous. Gregory wasn't used to solo missions. His place was behind a desk or in front of a rioting crowd, where the setting or rising sun would catch in his hair and reflect the flag, or rapier, or whatever else looked heroic at that moment. Whatever it was, Gregory would be sure to do it impressively. Or eloquently. Or perhaps even poetically, if he could over ride his fellows with enough of his natural charisma.
But when he'd heard that news…
There was no striking image for the history books now. It was just a teenager running in fear through the dead looking trees. Bloody hell, even the lighting was all wrong! Somewhere in the distance and fog the sun was starting to rise, tinting everything a muted grey-yellow. It certainly didn't catch in Gregory's hair or clothes (which were, admittedly, rather messed up), nor did it frame him from behind in a dramatic action shot fit for a movie.
Frankly, Gregory was out of his element.
He was even more out of it a second later when the earth dropped out from under him and the world tipped. The teen flailed with all his might, trying to escape the inevitable. But he knew it was helpless. He was going to fall.
He was going to die.
The boy landed hard, flat on his back. There he lay and let his thoughts catch up with him, looking around to take in his situation. He was in a hole. Right away Gregory knew it was one of his, and he clamped his eyes shut as if that would postpone the obvious. So it was true. Gregory had hoped… He'd really hoped that-
Double-crossed.
that it was anyone but him.
But this wasn't the time to feel sentimental. It wasn't the time to feel anything. He just had to think! Gregory had beaten him before. He'd do it again. He just had to look around and get a clearer picture of -
Oh bugger. There was a sharpened stick protruding from his leg. Gregory made to cringe away, and felt a strange pull near his shoulder. He blinked, and glanced over. Oh bugger indeed! His shoulder had been impaled as well, and the bottom of this stick hadn't broken off, and was still anchored into the mud. As soon as he'd noticed them, the injuries began to hurt. Gregory bit back a groan, cursing his nerves for catching on so quickly and popping him out of shocked numbness.
He brought his uninjured arm up and shoved his hand in his mouth to keep from screaming. He needed to be absolutely quiet. He knew it, but knowing and doing were two completely different things. It took all of his considerable self-control to keep his sounds to pained gasps, before, after a couple of moments; he pulled himself together and allowed himself to calculate his situation again. It was bad, but it didn't exactly take someone of his high intelligence to figure out that much. He could still hear the alarms blaring in the distance and human yells creeping closer. He needed to get out, and quick!
The boy sucked in a deep breath, and carefully pulled his shoulder up as high as he could, unable to prevent a small yelp. He'd been injured before, but rarely this badly. His entire left side was burning, the throbbing pain wrapping around his heart and tightening his chest. He grabbed the base of the stake just beneath his shoulder and pulled up with all his might, ignoring the rush of warmth over his hand. He couldn't pull them out of his skin, though his senses were begging him to. That would lead to him bleeding to death within minutes. Yet, he also couldn't just sit there and wait to be found. If he wasn't shot on sight, he'd be dragged back for questioning. And, to be honest, he preferred the bullet to the brain. So he worked on pulling the rooted stake up, so he could snap off the ends and focus on the next part of the escape plan.
It was much easier to read about these survival tactics in the comfort of his posh armchair at home then to actually get the nerve up to do them. How had he (Gregory's mind bitterly refused to use the traitor's name, but there were images, oh boy were there images…) managed to do this sort of stuff all the time? It must have been genetics. Gregory had experience in this area, but he shone much brighter in the parts where he weaved words around crowds and pieced together every little shred of information. No, this laying in the mud and bleeding out was much more his favorite mercenary's area of expertise.
And, because of that, it was clear that he was outmatched.
Even so, Gregory screwed up his face and kept up the agonizing process of getting free, unwilling to give up. Finally, after minutes that seemed to blend into hours, he was sitting up and snapping the excess length of stick as best he could. He was lucky they were thin, and that all of the ones across the bottom were spaced far apart and were sparse, as if the person placing them wasn't exactly committed to the idea. That part must not have been his doing. If he'd been in charge of them, Gregory would most definitely be dead already.
The boy pulled out the binding he always brought on missions from his pocket and tried, one handedly to tie it around his leg and other arm. He had to slow the bleeding down as much as he could, especially if he was going to scale the walls.
Gregory looked up and swallowed harshly. The outer brim was around fifteen feet above his head. He shakily stood, leaning heavily on the wall – which proved to be muddy with rain. He reached up and tried to dig into the earth for purchase, but no matter how he struggled he couldn't get a grip. His breathing was labored now, probably way too loud, and his mind buzzed with panic as his good hand slipped over the surface slick with mud and blood.
He gave up for a moment, and slid back down to a heap on the bottom.
Shit. Shit, shit shit. That was all he could think, in time with his frantic heartbeats.
Something caught in his throat, and he coughed. A coppery warmth filled his mouth, and the British teen nearly gagged and got even more blood on his already ruined shirt. His poor clothes! He hated to let a good pair go like this! These had been specially ordered from Paris- oh. The city name brought back a rush of images, nearly all of them of him. Smoking from the balcony of the Eiffel tower, fighting in that bar, moonlight from the hotel's window highlighting the dark shadows under his eyes as he moved above him-
Gregory snipped that line of thought harshly, almost whimpering from the combination of pain, hopelessly, and-
Betrayal.
He'd suspected it from anyone else. In his line of work, it was just a way of life. But not from him. Never from him.
Gregory frowned as his vision danced before his eyes. He needed to snap out of it. He wasn't some fresh meat-noobie for a mission to chew up and spit out. Even if he were to die soon, he wouldn't make it easy for Death to finally catch up to him and make him pay back the nineteen years he'd spent dodging him. Nor would he make it easy for him.
With these thoughts running through his veins, he gathered himself together and sat up again, careful not to jostle his leg and shoulder too much. He couldn't get his hand deep enough into the wall to support himself, but perhaps if he took some of the sticks and stuck them into the sides hard enough they'd form some hand holds... It wasn't much of a shot, but it was the only thing his pain-muddled brain could come up with.
He shuffled over on his belly towards the nearest stake in the ground, breath ragged and ears straining to hear the sounds of yelling. They seemed to be traveling farther away... Or was it just that his hearing was starting to fade?
Whichever it was, Gregory started to wrestle with an embedded stick, trying to shake it loose and not pass out from the movement. How in the devil was he supposed to climb up the walls if he could barely pull a stick from the ground? He was just taking a break, victoriously clutching one snapped up stick in his hand when there was a sound behind and above him. Gregory flipped over, the well practiced reaction relatively smooth despite his injuries, and grabbed for the gun on his hip. In a flash it was out of the hostler and pointed up at the person standing at the edge of the pitt, who was-
Oh bugger it all!
There, standing with his own gun ready and a cigarette in his mouth was the one person Gregory would have lounged to see when facing death just twenty-four hours before. But now, it was just like looking at the grim reaper himself. As soon as Gregory had gotten that fateful info leak, they'd practically blended to one anyway...
"Crist-" Gregory cut himself off, refusing to use that name. "Mole." He snapped instead, annoyed at how strained his own voice was.
The mercenary stared down at him, brown eyes unreadable in the dim light. Or was it just dim because his eyes were now failing? Both of the boys kept their guns aimed at each other, though Gregory's was shaking and dipping so much that he might has well have been Tweek. His vision was also starting to waver again in the effort of keeping it upright, but he refused to look away.
They'd once been so much. Co-workers, comrades, friends... And, and, well... So much more.
It would all end with the tug of a finger.
Images were starting to flash through his head. He was remembering walking for the first time, the first time his father passed him a foil, his first cup of tea...
Oh dear, it seemed like his life was flashing before his eyes. He must have been farther gone then he'd thought, because now, instead of seeing the gun or the threat before him, he was back in his garden in London, meeting the Mole for the first time...
o-o-o-o
Well, here goes my first attempt at a multiple-chapter fic. Because I'm new at it, I have a couple questions. Do you like, quicker, shorter chapters? Or slower, longer, ones? : o Also, please tell me what you think by reviewing, so I'll know if I should go on or not. I know that there are a few of these start in the future and then jump to the beginning and work back towards the start, but I think it's because it's so much fun to plan out the characters growing up and growing together. This won't be all encompassing though, and will focus on all of the biggest moments for them. c: