Author's Note: This is the first chapter of a multi-chapter crossover between Malcolm in the Middle and Cody Banks. It centers mostly around the Malcolm universe, but adding in elements of Cody Banks. All will be explained in coming chapters, I hope. Reviews much appreciated!
This is the worst part. Even he can't lie to himself about that.
Her eyes are beginning to water. She leans her head up to sniffle, and he can see the overhead light glint off her now wet mascara. It's the middle of the fucking night and she's forgotten to take off her make-up before bed. Her hair's still perfectly styled, floating over bathrobe wrapped shoulders.
"Lucien, I..." she trails off.
"My name's not Lucien," he states, matter-of-factly. "It's Cody."
No mind that that's a lie also. It might as well be true, in this expensive flat in this strange city that's about to get a whole lot more exciting the moment he steps out that door.
Tears begin to drip down her face. She can't seem to find words, so he steps forward and puts his hands on her shoulders. "Look, Marie, I'm sorry that what we had wasn't real. This wasn't my decision. That's more here than you know, more than you'd ever want to know. I have to go now. You'll be safe, but I won't see you again. I'm sorry it had to happen this way, because it wasn't fair to you. But it's for the greater good, I promise."
One blonde hair sticks to her face with moisture. She's pretty, but he doesn't feel anything toward her. This relationship was predetermined, and not by any omnipotent being. He's so detached at this point he has to force himself to be guilty, and only when he's ready. Now is not the time to feel bad about this. Now is the time to say the little speech he has perfected and get the hell out. Other lives depend on him. Her broken heart will heal.
"You're going?" she finally chokes out.
He nods. "I have to. Your information is going to be useful. I'm sorry."
He turns then, grabbing his backpack, and pulling the gun out of the front pocket. After checking that it's loaded and ready to go, he shoves it in the underarm holster concealed by his jacket.
There's no trouble on the stairs, and the apartment building's lobby is empty. On the street he takes a right turn and stays to the darkened part of the sidewalk. It doesn't do much, as the ancient city's streets are narrow and lit by yellow light. Lost tourists try to decipher the french signs and a few drunken regulars stumble around the Moulin Rouge, as if they were Toulouse-Lautrec himself. He ignores all of them and keeps walking, head down, very aware of the thump of the gun, colliding gently with his side with each step.
A van turns the corner ahead of him. Unmarked, dark colored. Could be anyone. Could be an exterminator. A family of eight. Could be the CIA, arriving to pick him up. Could be the opposition, ready to chop his limbs off one by one and then shoot him in the face.
He changes directions and quickens his pace. The van follows him, pulling up slowly beside him.
"Bonjour," says the driver cheerfully.
Cody lets out a sigh. When he looks up, there's a shotgun aimed at his throat. He doesn't think, just lets his knees crumple under him, pushes himself forward three inches closer to the van, and then stands back up again suddenly. The shotgun goes off as his shoulder smacks into the barrel, leaving his ears ringing but his body unharmed. The driver's too stunned to keep his fingers solid, and Cody yanks the gun from his grasp.
He doesn't wait to see what else they're packing before diving back into the night. He slips into an alleyway, not shortening his pace for a second as he uses a trashcan to boost himself up onto a brick wall, running next to several backstreets. He's short, but just tall enough to spring up onto a rooftop, feet silent against the ancient materials. He leaps from roof to roof, just another shadow in Montmartre.
Only a few minutes lapse before he's being followed again, his pursuer's footsteps just barely audible over his own breathing and the unending din of the city. He throws the shot gun far to his left, hopefully drawing their attention away. He fears the moment when he'll run out of rooftops, or the jump will be too far. He's in a tight spot, but he consoles himself that he's seen worse.
His heart beats with the terrifying thrill of the chase.
Cody pushes himself across another divide, then lets himself fall to his knees, folding his body into a tiny crack where old building meets new building. It's so dark in the crevice he can't see his hands, but he can hear footsteps pause in confusion over his hiding place, and then a whispered conversation he can't make out any words in. Finally, the thuds of heavy shoes drift away, and he loudly lets out his breath.
Three quarters of a second later, hands grip his ankles, and he's yanked roughly from the hidden spot, and back onto the slanting roof. Two unfamiliar, angry faces stare down at him.
"Balls," is all he says. They pull him to his feet, pat him down, and inevitably find most of the various weapons he has stashed on him. If there is one thing his upbringing prepared him for, it's how to hide your valuables.
"They'll be here any second, you know."
His captors don't reply.
"You won't get far with me."
They drag him forward, his feet barely touching the surface, across the textured rooftops. He can see the Eiffel Tower in his peripheral vision. It's glowing blue for some occasion he can't remember. They walk without hurry, toward some destination hidden in darkness in front of them.
He can feel the vibrations before he sees anything.
Cody and his captors pause just long enough so that when he turns his head back he can see the charge, a pack of agents lead by his very own handler. A van is following from below.
Cody looks up at the man on his left. "Told you."
Veronica's face becomes clear when she's thirty feet out, though he knew it was her just from the rhythm of her sprinting gait. She's armed, sites already trained on the man to his right. Cody flexes his bicep experimentally, but he is still tight in their grip.
"Hand him over," Veronica commands. "There's no escape."
They seem to accept that. He can hear the air stir as the two men exchange looks. They turn to face the posse of CIA agents. It's mostly darkness behind them, but he can sense a gap somewhere close, a forgotten space between two buildings. How close, he can't tell.
"Let him go," Veronica says clearly, across the ten yard divide.
"Okay," one of them says. The hands on his arms tighten, pulling him backward and off balance, his face to the stars. For a second, he is in limbo, and then they release him.
He only manages to flail for a moment, and then he's in empty space. So there's that gap. The wind fills his ears, and he can hear his name screeched. He falls for an eternity, but they can't be higher than four stories up. Gravity carries him through the night air, until finally the earth meets him.
He crumples on impact with the concrete, and his mind goes blank.
