Yassen has a daughter?

By: pentaxx (Monidipa)

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Yassen Gregorovich sat waiting in his private cottage which he had rented for the summer. He didn't exactly like staying in one place for a long amount of time.

It was tedious as well as dangerous because of the predictability. But then again, it was nice to have a place all to himself, where no pesky hotel attendants would disturb him. Though he did not show it, Yassen was unusually tense this day. It was because of a phone call he received earlier.

At first, he thought it would be instructions for him to go on another mission. "Yassen Gregorovich?" the voice on the other line had asked. "Yes, who is this?" he replied. "This may come as a surprise to you Mr. Gregorovich, but we believe that you have a daughter." Yassen was startled at the comment, but didn't show it.

"You are mistaken," his words were calm and measured. "I don't have children." But the man on the other line insisted that he did have- at least one that he knew of. "Mr. Gregorovich, she will visit you today at 12:00 P.M. You can see for yourself then."

They exchanged a few more words, and then Yassen clicked off his phone. He looked at the clock above the fireplace. 11:55. Five minutes. Even though Yassen knew it could not be true, however hard he tried, there was an unpleasant lingering doubt at the back of his mind that he could not get rid of.

At exactly 12:00, the doorbell rang. Yassen got up from the chair he was sitting on with the grace of a ballet dancer. He pressed a small white button near the door, and part of the wall seemed to open up. It pushed open a flat screen, then returned back to normal. A CCTV camera screen. It showed what was happening at the entrance of the door. On it, there were two bulky men with close cropped hair and hard eyes who were looking around. Yassen could tell that they were bored, and were new to the job.

They did not know who he was, nor did he know them but one thing was certain- they were Scorpia agents. There was a young girl that looked to be about fourteen who was standing in between them.

Yassen keyed in the code for his door and opened it. He did not greet the men. "I don't think this is necessary," he said. His voice was controlled and calm.

The men looked into the cold, pale face of the Russian assassin and shifted uncomfortably. There seemed to be an aura of danger about him. His appearance seemed to be in a way, almost feminine. Chiseled lips, narrow face, cold blue eyes. There was a stillness about him. Something that made the men feel that his calmness was just a facade for quiet ruthlessness. Yassen could easily be passed as a dancer, if it were not for his cold look. Although he had not spoken very loudly, the men could sense something dangerous about his tone, something threatening. "It was our instructions," one of them said. Yassen's eyes turned from the men to the girl. She was lean with hard blue eyes that vaguely, for a brief moment, reminded Yassen of his own. He shoved away that thought as quickly as it had come. What was he doing? This was not his child.

The girl had a scowl on her face. "What do you want with me?" she demanded. For a moment, there was an uncomfortable silence. "Who told you to bring her to me?" Yassen asked the men. "Ms. Rothman suggested it. We don't know the exact details." That was something curious. For a moment, Yassen wondered how they had found her. But his expression gave nothing away. In a split second, he made his decision. "Come in then," he said. But the girl didn't move. "Why am I here?" she asked again. Yassen's day was getting stranger and stranger. But for some reason, he was not angry at her brash question. Instead, he found it slightly amusing. "Come inside. I will explain," he said.

"Are these goons going to follow me?" "Can you go in yourself, or do I need to ask these men to help you?" Yassen said cooly. The girl hesitated for a moment, but then went in, scowling. Yassen turned to the men. "You can leave. Your job is done." The men did, disappearing into a nearby blue car that was parked in the driveway. Yassen closed the door, and turned to the girl who was standing nearby. "Sit down," he said. The girl took in her surroundings. There was a set of leather sofas surrounding a fireplace that was lit. The room was a neutral peach colour, and there were some paintings on the wall of a boat and some sceneries. It almost seemed like the room was trying to be comforting, like it was pretending to be welcoming. But something about it made her feel uneasy.

As soon as Yassen turned his back, she lept at the door, pivoting on her heel and sending a kick that would have gone into his abdomen if he hadn't moved away in time. Yassen had predicted the move, and had reacted incredibly fast. Even if he did not expect her to lash out, he would have responded just as quickly. It was a skill, his short reaction time. An instinct necessary for not only his day-to day routine, but simply, for survival. "Please don't do that again," he said, and walked to the sofa. He took a seat.

Despite his statement, the insolent girl was still clawing at the door, shaking it furiously. "You're not going to get out that way," said Yassen calmly from the back of the room. "The door needs a code."

The girl hesitated for a moment, but still tried a few more times to open the door. When she wasn't successful, she finally gave up and took the seat in front of Yassen. It seemed that it she finally registered the fact that she had very little control over whatever would happen. It would not be wise to argue. Yassen looked at the girl. His eyes gave nothing away. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said. "You don't have to be afraid."

The girl glared at him. For a moment, Yassen was reminded of Alex Rider- the boy who caused a great deal of trouble to his employers. Yassen had seen the same look that the girl was giving him, in Alex's eyes, when he had talked to him. It was one of confidence and surety. Alex was the son of Yassen's favourite mentor, the one man Yassen looked up to in his early days of being an agent for SCORPIA. Ironically, Alex was also the boy whose uncle Yassen had killed.

Yassen turned his eyes to the girl. She had no idea what was going on in his mind, but Yassen was fairly sure that he had a good idea of what was going on in hers. "What is your name?" he asked her. "Why do I have to tell you?" "Because, it is in your interest to do so. If you don't tell me, I can easily find it out from other people. Now what is it?" The girl paused. "Dasha." "And your mother? What is her name?" Yassen's voice was even. The girl- Dasha- turned her head slightly away. "She died when I was little. I don't think I remember." "You want to know why you're here." Yassen said that more like a statement. "But first, I want to know how you arrived. Who brought you?" "I was at school," she said. "And then these people grabbed me and took me to a cell. I was in there for a while. I don't know anything else."

Yassen didn't say anything, but for some reason, the girl felt as if she were being appraised. His cold blue eyes remained detached and emotionless. "Do you know who your father is?" he asked calmly. "People told me that he died in a car crash...a few days after I was born," she responded. Yassen noted the change in her voice. "There are people I have been talking to," he said. "And they tell me that I have a daughter. For some reason, they think it might be you." The girl looked shocked. "What?" she exclaimed.

"I don't think so. You're a madman. Let me go. I'm not your child!"

For a minute, Yassen wondered if he was the only one having to include children in his work. He did not like it. It was one of the few things that made him slightly uncomfortable. In a way, they reminded him of his younger self, and the life he had to leave behind in Estrov. The children brought back memories that he had long tried to destroy. They reminded him of his past; the one thing that would always taunt him. The one thing that would never change or go away, no matter how hard he tried to forget. It was his only weakness. Yassen knew that people did not live a very long time if they're involved with criminal organizations, and the fact haunted him. "I'm not saying that you are my daughter. It's likely that you are probably not. In fact, I will send you home, right after I tell the people that you aren't who they think you are," he explained.

The girl scowled. "Yes? Well, when are you going to do that?" Yassen didn't respond. "Who do you live with right now?" he asked, avoiding her question. She turned away, breaking eye contact. There was a pause. Yassen waited. "I live in a foster home," she finally answered. For a while, neither of them spoke.

"Who are you?" Dasha asked on impulse. Yassen did not respond. His steady blue eyes and calm expression gave nothing away. Even though he did not show it, he was secretly amused at the girl's brash question. It seemed like a strange thing to ask. Briefly, he wondered whether he should answer. Would there be any harm in telling her? She was just a child. Besides, if his employer was interested in her, she would probably find out anyways. It would be entertaining at the least, to see how the girl would react. In a split second, he made up his mind.

"My name is Yassen Gregorovich."

The man carefully watched Dasha's expression. It had changed. She seemed like she was unsure of something, as if she was suddenly apprehensive. For a minute, Yassen wondered how she would react if he told her about his work. The thought was amusing. When the girl didn't say anything else, he stood up and walked away. "Hey," called the girl after him "where are you going?" Yassen stopped walking and turned around. "Come with me," was all he said, before continuing on his way, up the stairs.