A/N : Well, that's different, writing chapters instead of one-shots. Although although every chapter can't be action-oriented, I'm hoping I can achieve a good enough balance to sustain your interest while I'm placing the story and introducing everyone and everything. Not sure about those verb tenses, let me know if it gets too confusing. Do review! I don't bite (unless it's your thing)

Birth of an Assassin Chapter 1

The man came to an abrupt stop. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and leaned against a low wall, trying to catch his breath. He looked behind him, and let out a small, disbelieving laugh. That had been one hell of a jump! For a moment, he'd thought he might hit the wall, but he'd just managed to land on the roof, finishing in a tumble before awkwardly getting back to his feet, following the momentum.

He looked over the parapet at the ground, stories below, and shook his head. You're some kind of crazy... Who do you get that from? He could hear his dad's reproachful voice as if he'd been right there, his heart squeezing uncomfortably at the thought. His dad had never really understood the reckless habit, but his disapproval had stemmed from genuine concerned more than anything else. He'd tried to get his son to channel his energy into a real sport, but he'd never been a good team player, nor did he show much competitive edge. And this running had kept him in shape, and mostly out of trouble, so dad had been content to just shake his head, tell him to watch his ass and leave it at that.

Still breathing hard, the young man faced forward again, planning his way back down. No acrobatics this time, though. He was just going to climb off, nice and simple. He could see the roof of his apartment complex from here, and there was no need to alarm the neighbours, who'd be getting up by now. Reaching the opposite edge, he hopped down onto the emergency staircase and made his way down to street level before jogging lazily towards the six-story building he lived in.

He lingered a bit longer than he'd intended in the shower, letting the warm water knead his sore muscles. He hadn't been as thorough with his morning ritual of late, and now that he'd started again, he felt it. But it was nice to run and think only of the next jump, the next obstacle, and not of the last few months. Life went on, and he was trying to find normalcy again. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth, willing the thoughts away. Coming out of the shower, he told himself he had grieved, and that he was done.

Now dressed, he foraged through bottles of pain relievers, picking the strongest he could find. That had become part of his morning ritual too, as an attempt to keep the migraines at bay. He'd always had them, but after the plane crash, he'd been raw and hadn't gotten much sleep, and the migraines had grown more persistent. They weren't painful, exactly, sometimes he didn't feel any pain at all, but they did make it harder to concentrate. He could usually tell they were coming by the strange spots of light, sometimes colour, that would blur his vision. The doctor had called them migraines with aura, and explained they weren't dangerous, but they remained an annoyance. Pain relievers didn't always help, but they were worth a try. He gotten into the habit of taking a few pills a couple of times a day. It dampened things up and made his days just a bit less daunting.

His laptop beeped at him, pulling him out of his thoughts. Email. He opened the lid as he swallowed and clicked the notice.

Show off!

Two words, that was it. He didn't even need to look at the sender. He smiled. Of course she had seen him. Lately, he'd been making a detour expressly for that purpose. If he'd gone out earlier this morning, he would have been tempted to stop by her place and let himself in with the key she'd given him, a corner of his mouth lifting at the thought. Dammit, he should have anyway. Closing the lid, he grabbed his wallet and keys and walked to the bus stop, checking his watch every few minutes. He'd be late for work if he wasn't careful, and that would bring more trouble than he cared to deal with. He liked his job enough: like his running, it kept his mind off less pleasing things. The money was good, too, and the people were decent, but he couldn't get himself to feel about it the way some of his friends felt about their jobs. He didn't see the attraction of sitting at a desk all day, like his dad had, or his girlfriend. And he just couldn't feel as passionate about his work. He did what he had to do to get by, no more, no less. He'd considered trying to reorient himself, but he couldn't figure out where to go. Nothing really inspired him. Or, at least, nothing that could realistically be turn into a profitable career. Too bad he couldn't make a living running. Now that he could get excited about...

The impact nearly threw him to the ground. Shit. He hadn't been paying attention.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" He turned in time to see a man walking briskly away, shoulders hunched and face hidden by his hoodie. He called after him, but the man never turned back. He disappeared from his mind the moment he turned the corner.

She was late, and he was growing restless. He'd tried to call her, earlier today, but he hadn't been able to reach her. She was with a client, they'd said. She had some desk job, something incredibly boring in accounting. She did try to explain the particulars of her work a few times, but it had bored him to tears. It was funny how it clashed terribly with her fun-loving personality. He just could not picture her glued to her computer, or in one of those power suits, even if he'd seen her in them. Unsurprisingly, he'd figured out meeting with clients was the part of her job she truly enjoyed; she always seemed in a good mood on those days work took her out of the office.

So he hadn't been concerned by her silence. On those days, she became so absorbed as to forget everything else. He'd known she would surface eventually. Indeed, by mid-afternoon, she had called to ask him to meet her in this unassuming little café. She'd kept the conversation short and had seemed distracted. Maybe her meeting hadn't gone as planned.

He drummed his fingers lightly on the cup before him, his eyes searching the street outside for the familiar silhouette. He'd met her accidentally, months ago, a little before his parents' death. He'd nearly knocked her down during one of his morning runs, while she'd been doing yoga exercises on the roof of her building. He hadn't stood a chance. She'd been stunning in her workout outfit, framed in the orange morning glow, and he'd just stood there, speechless and looking like a complete moron, while she'd given him shit for his carelessness. He wasn't timid, but her intensity had seemed so out of synch with her delicate features, he'd actually been awed by the diminutive woman. When she had finally been done letting it all out, he'd just blink and stared, dumbfounded, until she grew uneasy.

"Well..?" She'd rolled her eyes at his lack of reaction, and he'd found his voice, at last.

"I, uh... I'm sorry," he said, wincing. 'Sorry' just seemed terribly dull and unfitting after all that. "I was just…" He trailed off, running a hand through his cropped hair.

She had lifted an expectant brow, but he'd been about to state the obvious, and decided he already looked like enough of an idiot without adding to it. Her anger had seemed to deflate at his evident discomfort, and she'd just turned and went back inside, leaving him off the hook. He couldn't believe he'd been dumbstruck by anyone, it was out of character for him. He was no don juan, but to just freeze like that... After a minute of staring at the door, he made his way back home, slightly embarrassed, and resolved to change his route, so as to not bump into her again. There was just something about that woman...

His eyes still trained on the street outside, coffee in hand, he smiled at the recollection, now amused by it. She'd looked positively fearsome, that day. He hadn't thought he'd see her again. But he had, weeks later, after his world had turned upside down. After the news came of his parents' death, he'd stopped running and started trying to just hold everything together. They'd been overseas, and the paper work, the investigation and his aunt's reaction had sapped much of his energy. He'd been in a daze since, and had hardly had any time to grieve between work and taking care of the arrangements. His slow pace uncharacteristic, he'd been walking back from his aunt's place, deep in his thoughts when a voice had interrupted him.

"Wow. So I really scared you off, uh?"

He'd stared blankly at the petite woman, whose eyebrows shot up in question. It had taken a few seconds for his brain to recognize her.

"The rooftop? You practically assaulted me?" She'd filled in, her tone mocking, before he could say something. Noting the glint of recognition on his face at last, she'd smiled a truce.

"I'm Amy, by the way." Amy. He'd liked her name. It was short, feminine, like her. She'd offered her hand. "I haven't seen you since that morning. I almost feel bad about it. You must think I'm a major bitch for yelling at you like that." Her tone had been light despite her words, and refreshing to his gloomy mood.

"Josh," he'd finally said, and genuinely smiled back, shaking her hand. She'd had a surprisingly strong grip, and it had pleased him. He had been surprised she'd bothered to talk to him again or even remembered him, considering he couldn't have made a great impression last time. "Don't worry about that. You were right. Actually, I never properly apologized for that, but I assure you I am working on not maiming beautiful girls during morning runs anymore."

"How about you formally apologize over coffee or something?" She'd grabbed his arm, leaving him little choice, not that he'd have protested. He needed to take his mind off things, and she was quite the distraction.

He frowned at his watch again. Well, now she was ridiculously late, and he hovered between concern and annoyance. He resolved to call her, taking his phone out and dialling the familiar number. It rang four times, before transferring to her voicemail. He turned his scowl to his cup, set it down, and picked up his light jacket before joining the hustle and bustle of the commute home. Half way home, he dialled her number again. This time, though, she picked up on the first ring.

"Hello?" She sounded breathless.

"Hey, love," he answered, hearing the smile in his voice and feeling a little ridiculous for it. She'd really gotten under his skin in the short months they'd known each other. "I thought we were supposed to meet up?"

"um... Right! Right." She cleared her throat. "I'm so sorry. I completely forgot." She paused long enough for a sigh. "The day's been terrible, and I wasn't feeling too good. I came straight home."

"Do you need something? I'm not far from your place, I cou…"

"No. I just need to get some sleep. Don't trouble yourself," she cut him off before he could even finish his sentence. "I'll see you tomorrow night, alright?" She hung up, not waiting for an answer.

He frowned at the sudden dead air. Well, that was a bit dry. For a brief moment, he contemplated stopping by anyway, but quickly dismissed the idea. She'd just get pissed at him.