Disclaimer: I do not own the Alex Rider series or any characters pertaining to said series.
The boy switches trains many times on his journey, so many times that he can do it with his eyes closed by the end. First, you wait for the train driver to just touch his breaks and then you throw yourself out and roll, carefully holding your head with your hands. And then you scrabble to your feet and crouch and race across the tracks with your heart in your mouth, blood pumping frantically enough to almost burst your veins. You climb on just as the train starts to lurch away, and keep your head down until you're away. It's second nature for the boy now.
Every single rocking motion brings him that little bit closer to his destiny. He likes to think of elaborate ways he's going to live in Moscow. He's got it all down in his head. He's going to get a job as a chirpy little paper boy like the ones in the occasional American movies that get smuggled into Estrov. The ones with who call out the head lines. He knows it's naïve and not going to happen but it feels good to have a plan, to know what he's going to do.
And then, just as night is shrinking into day, the train gives one last huff and shudders to a halt and he knows, he just knows some how that this is it. He's here and he's ready.
The boy springs down gently from the train and moves stealthily across the awakening station. He hauls himself up onto the platform and ignores the looks he receives from the meagre prospective passengers as he drags himself out the gates. For a minute, he just stops.
Because it's so beautifully hideous, what he sees in front of him. He wants to cry and laugh but he can't. His cheeks hurt and he clenches his fists, starting down the street in the direction that seems less thronged. He's not exactly sure where he's going or why. He just walks and walks in a daze for what feels like a few seconds and then he finds himself sitting stonily by an alien river, feet dangling over the side.
He snaps out of his trance like state unhappily. He still feels empty, even though he's here now, here where he's wanted to be for so long. And still he feels a deep, crippling sadness in his heart. No, his soul. He's so sad that tears won't even come. And he can't explain why but he knows he can't let people see. No one must know the truth, ever.
He lifts himself up and shivers in his scanty rags, wandering slowly back along the river away from the rather large concentration of lights in the distance. He's pleasantly surprised to find himself walking alongside a railed in park, the fence of which is easily scaled.
And he almost drops down on the head of his destiny.
She's sitting there at the edge of the park shiftily, smoking a cigarette. She's looks like an angel. A tiny, black haired angel with a puffy bruise over one eye and a smear of blood on her cheek.
"Watch it!" She snaps out angrily, glaring at him with contempt.
He doesn't know why he stops there, standing with his hands socked into his pockets. Maybe it's how sad she looks, sad like him. Maybe it's how sad he feels. He moves closer to her slowly, as if he's about to wake a sleeping tiger. She doesn't look up as he slides to sit down on the freezing grass beside her.
"You got any money?" She asks suspiciously, shooting sparks of fury from her eyes. The boy shakes his head and her face hardens. She hasn't got any either, he can tell.
"You okay?" She sighs out, almost a whisper. The boy shakes his head again and she scoots an inch or so closer. She offers him the cigarette and he shake his head. She lifts her shoulders an inch as if she's too tired to shrug and takes a long, sharp drag.
They don't need to talk. The river gurgles along near them and she tosses the last fraction of cigarette away disdainfully. The boy picks at a few blades of grass and she starts to talk. She talks slowly and carefully at first and continues for what feels like a very long time. He doesn't hear most of it and what he does catch doesn't make much sense. She concludes with her name. Katya.
Even her name is beautiful and new.
"Yassen." The boy scratches out agonizingly, embarrassed and flushed and suddenly conscious of how filthy he is. Weeks of travel have streaked his clothes with coal and sweat and sticking to him.
"Do you want to come and sleep at my spot tonight? In the morning, we can get some money together and I'll show you the real Moscow." She offers generously. His eyes widen and he raises his eyebrows. He wants to tell her about how he's known better than this. How he used to have ten books, all his own, that he'd read. He wants her to know that he's better than this but the boy doesn't have the words.
"Why? Because. You look like you could use a friend. And you've got nice eyes." She answers his unspoken question with a grin. She leans in and swiftly plants a kiss on his lips and she tastes like cigarettes and earth but he doesn't mention it because he's sure he doesn't taste much better.
She stands up slowly and he looks up at her, following her every movement with alert eyes. She smiles again at him and slowly bats her eyelids and he feels stupid and awkward and out of place.
"Come on. I'm getting cold." She prompts.
The boy lifts himself back onto his weary feet with a slight stick of hesitance. How can he trust her? She begins to move away and he follows, because it's all he can do. She takes his hand and pulls him along, half skipping with evident glee.
"Just wait 'til I show the girls you. You're almost gorgeous. They'll all be jealous." She coos delightedly, tugging him along.
He wonders if perhaps he's maybe found a friend.
Yay. We've fixed young Yassen up with a little company. I apologize for my pathetic lack of updating. A mixture of writer's lock and schedule delays. Really sorry. Hope to do better in the future. And I'd really love a review from you.