Yassen Gregorovich had accepted his fate before the bullet reached him. "If you don't kill them, I will." The words of his employer- Damian Cray- rang in his head almost tauntingly. Yassen's fate was more or less sealed from when he first refused orders to shoot the teenagers- if fact, it was quite possible that he was already a dead man the minute he took Alex on the plane.
He was hit in the chest. It wasn't particularly painful, but for a moment, Yassen felt the breath knocked out of him. As he was thrown across the ground, he was aware of objects in his line of vision which danced and blurred before him. Yassen looked down and saw the red dot; the size of a quarter, on his shirt, spreading across the fabric.
For a minute, time seemed to slow down. Yassen grimaced as a spasm of pain shot through the new wound. Yassen closed his eyes and saw something which he had never meant to remember again, something which was lost to him until now. Estrov. His home. Leo. His mother coming from work, at the door with groceries in both hands. His father driving the family car. His grandmother sitting by the dining table, cheerfully peeling potatoes for the next meal… Another streak of pain went through him, waking him from his thoughts. Yassen remembered what he had learned in training- after the adrenaline passed, the pain would come in waves, it would be more noticeable… Useless. It was all useless. His mind turned to autopilot, rationalizing, to avert his attention from the pain.
From previous experience, he knew that unless there were special, specific instructions from Scorpia, his life was entirely at the mercy of his employers. If they chose to eliminate him, there was not much anyone could do to stop them from doing so. That was why he always tried to avoid assuming responsibility in high-risk operations. And this was precisely why Yassen wasn't going to survive. It wasn't just that no one would bother helping him, but rather, no one could. Yassen didn't need to be told this fact to know that he was dying. Despite this, he didn't see there to be any point to thinking of the subject. It was simple: Everyone dies, his death only would come a little sooner.
Cray. All the thoughts in his mind were replaced by a single realization. He was going to kill the boy. With newfound strength, Yassen turned his head to face Alex, and he grimaced as a short burst of pain went through his chest from the movement. The assassin forced himself to ignore the burning, striking pain spreading across his chest, and turned painfully to his side.
More than anything, he wanted to speak to the boy. Yassen knew he would be alive for only so long- a couple of minutes at most if he was lucky. If the blood loss wouldn't kill him, the plane crash after surely would. And he doubted anyone would send help. For the first time in a long time, Yassen felt an indescribable sense of urgency. A worry, that he wouldn't be able to survive long enough to meet with Alex- really meet with him. The boy deserved to know.
"Alex…" The single word came out in a hoarse whisper. The wound in his chest screamed as Yassen reached out and leaned clumsily on a nearby table, which had been overturned in the chaos. The boy turned. "Please…" Yassen hoped, more than ever, that the boy would notice the urgency in his plea. Alex walked forward.
"What happened to Cray?" Yassen asked.
The boy paused. "He went off his trolley."
"He's dead?"
"Very."
"I knew it was a mistake working for him," Yassen said. "I knew." Yassen grimaced, as another wave of pain shot through his chest. His chest screamed for attention. Yassen felt the blood; sticky, plastered to his shirt, and fought to keep from averting his eyes.
"There is something I have to tell you, Alex," he said quietly. "I couldn't kill you," Yassen continued. "I would never have killed you. Because, you see, Alex … I knew your father."
"What?"
"Your father. He and I…" Yassen had to catch his breath. "We worked together."
"He worked with you?"
"Yes."
"You mean … he was a spy?"
"Not a spy, no, Alex. He was a killer. Like me. He was the very best. The best in the world. I knew him when I was nineteen. He taught me many things…"
"No!" Somewhere in the distance, sirens wailed. They were getting nearer. The first of the vehicles must have arrived. Men were shouting outside. But Yassen knew that it was too late.
"I don't believe you," Alex cried. "My father wasn't a killer. He couldn't have been!"
"I'm telling you the truth. You have to know."
"Did he work for MI6?"
"No." Hardened, cold blue eyes watched intently for his answer. Through them, Yassen saw Estrov. His childhood friend, Leo. Himself as a fourteen year old boy who had lost everything in the world. Yassen was so ignorant of the world then. But wasn't everyone as a child? For some reason, Yassen found himself smiling. It was all so pointless. "MI6 hunted him down," he explained patiently. "They killed him. They tried to kill both of us. At the last minute I escaped, but he…" Yassen swallowed. "They killed your father, Alex."
"No!" the boy repeated again. He refused to accept any of it.
"Why would I lie to you?" With the remainder of his strength, Yassen reached forward and grasped the boy's arm. Alex jumped at the contact, but Yassen didn't care. He wasn't finished. He had to make him understand. Yassen shifted his neck, straining to show him the thin scar across it. "Your father … he did this." Yassen drew a finger along the scar on his neck. He couldn't explain. He had to tell the boy now.
Yassen continued softly, as patiently as he could manage. "He saved my life. In a way, I loved him. I love you too, Alex. You are so very much like him. I'm glad that you're here with me now."
Yassen paused, before continuing. "If you don't believe me, go to Venice. Find Scorpia. And you will find your destiny…" Done. It was finally done. For the first time in a long time, Yassen felt complete, utter peace. He slumped back to the floor and felt the cold marble against his cheek. Yassen Gregorovich was ready to die. He was ready to go back home. Yassen graciously closed his eyes, and let the darkness overwhelm him.