A/N: This is just a little scenario that I came up with after the finale that I had to get down on paper. Probably a one-shot. Maybe not. We'll see. Enjoy!
October 5, 2001
A cool breeze brushed up against Mischa's shoulder as he headed home from work. He walked slower these days, his joints aching more as he aged. He should have retired years ago, he thought, but the idea of leaving his job and having nothing to do during the day terrified him. For the over twenty years since they arrived home, work was the only thing keeping him sane.
Nadezhda retired four years ago, but she had her art. It was the one part of Elizabeth Jennings that she had kept with her. Their new home in Moscow was covered with her work. She had an immense talent for it, and she only got better from the years of practice.
Just a few miles from home, Mischa became short of breath from the wind chill and stopped to rest on a park bench. Though it had just gotten dark, there were still several children playing on the playground. The two little boys from next door stopped to wave at him as they chased after a ball. He waved back, smiling.
Mischa took a moment to survey the rest of the park. The children here now were much more like the children in America than the Russian children he grew up with. The times had changed, but Mischa didn't mind at all. The twenty plus years he spent in America had prepared him for that.
As Mischa sat there lost in thought, he almost didn't notice that a ball had rolled up right next to his foot. A little girl in a blue dress covered by a white cardigan came running after it. Mischa quickly stopped the rolling ball with his foot and picked it up.
"Here you go," he told her in Russian.
She stared blankly for a moment before responding bluntly, "I don't speak Russian."
Mischa hesitated for a moment. For several years after they returned, he and Nadezhda had continued to speak English at home, but they were really trying to break that habit in order to return to their former selves. Phillip and Elizabeth Jennings no longer existed, and Mischa, in particular, was struggling to come to terms with that.
Still, the little girl in front of him was so charming, Mischa couldn't resist her.
"I said, here you go," he replied, surprised at how strong his American accent still was.
"Oh," the little girl responded, discarding the ball and taking a seat next to him. Mischa squirmed slightly at the girl's boldness. No child he knew would have sat down on a park bench next to a stranger in a what was clearly a foreign country for her. Mischa supposed he appeared friendly enough.
"Hi. I'm Mischa. What's your name?"
The girl smiled. "Emily. Emily Nadezhda Jennings. My middle name is Russian, because I'm half Russian. Sort of. It's really complicated."
Mischa struggled to keep his composure. He looked into Emily's eyes, and it all clicked. Her bleach blond hair didn't give anything away. But in her face, she was so clearly Henry's. There was a fair amount of Paige in her, too.
"That's a really pretty name. Were you named after anybody?" Mischa asked, feigning ignorance.
Emily nodded. "My Russian grandma. I've never met her or my grandpa. That's why we're here! We're going to surprise them tomorrow."
Mischa chuckled lightly. "That sounds fun. Who came here with you?"
"My daddy and Aunt Paige. Mommy stayed home in Washington with baby Michael."
Mischa took in a breath, quickly trying to process everything this little girl, his granddaughter, was telling him. After twenty four years, his children had come to see him, and he now had at least two grandchildren. He wanted more information, but he was still a stranger to this girl, so he knew he needed to be as nonchalant as possible. He was a little disappointed that the girl didn't seem to recognize him, but it made sense. The most recent picture she would have access to was over twenty years old, and returning to Russia had aged him quite rapidly.
"So, you live in Washington?" he asked, careful not to say "still". Emily nodded.
"Washington DC," she replied. "Daddy runs his own travel business!" she smiled proudly.
Mischa smiled back at her, glad to hear the apple didn't fall far from the tree.
"How old are you, Emily?" asked Mischa.
"I just turned five," she said, "And Michael's just a baby."
They sat there quietly for a moment before Emily asked "Are you a spy?" She furrowed her brow and glared at him rather intensely for a girl her age.
"What makes you say that?" Mischa asked.
"You ask a lot of questions. That's what spies do. They dress up in costumes and get information from people. That's what Aunt Paige says. She tells me really cool stories about spies."
"Well, no, I'm not a spy," Mischa replied.
"That's good," said Emily. She looked over and saw a woman walking toward them. "That's Aunt Paige. I gotta go." She quickly waved at Mischa and ran off. Mischa waved back, and then looked up at Paige. They locked eyes for a second, and he could barely make out Paige mouthing "Don't tell Mom." He nodded, and stood up to leave.
Although Mischa had successfully kept many a secret over the years, this was by far the hardest. The look on her face when Henry, Paige, and Emily appeared at their doorstep the next morning, however, was worth it.