Disclaimer:I do not own any of these characters.
Ch.4
The sidewalk is icy, causing Paz to slip to one knee. He immediately gets back up again, brushing himself off as he looks around the quiet London street. Satisfied no one has seen him, he enters a tall steel building. He's slept on the street for four nights, and only yesterday realized the door was always unlocked. He slips into a darkened side room; squatting on the floor, he pulls a sandwich out of his pocket and devours it ravenously. The bread is hard and tasteless, but he barely notices. Tomorrow is Monday; he has to get out before anyone arrives. He stuffs his hands in his pocket and tries to sleep.
Paz stared out the small plane window as the ground disappears below him. After working in Poland with Jarda for two years, he had been assigned to Mexico. He enjoyed Mexico; feeling much more at home in the culture than he had in Poland. Mexico was also much more exciting; he should know, he had a broken leg, deep scars around his neck, and another bullet wound to add to his collection. Now he was going to Wales. By now he was confident and collected in his work. During his time in Poland, he had sharpened his skills as a sniper; although he had few kills involving sniping. He was taking over another agent's apartment in Wales; the agent had gone missing several weeks ago, and, although it wasn't mentioned to Paz, he inwardly suspected the girlfriend had been the culprit. Paz had never had a girlfriend; the agency strongly discouraged it, and he took them very seriously. This was also partially the fault of Jarda, as he was nearly fanatical in his devotion to the agency.
The cracked mirror certainly doesn't flatter him. All he sees is a thin, pale face; his eyes are drawn and puffy and a few scars still frame his grizzled chin from his accident in New York. Yawning, Paz rubbed his eyes; he should have known he wouldn't sleep well in that place.
Another man entered the public washroom, and Paz turned away, busying himself with tidying up and changing his shirt.
The street lights flickered through the fog, and a few stray snowflakes drifted down. Paz sat hunched on a park bench under a tree.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt warm and contented. Ever since the plane touched down in England, he'd been questioning his decision to come.
After getting away from the two men in the airport, he had realized he'd lost the last bit of money on him. It had rained that night, and he'd gotten soaked; it snowed the next morning, and he was sure he'd get frostbite, now he had a sore throat and an aching head. He was completely miserable and desperate do something- anything. He knew he needed some plan of action; he'd been wandering around aimlessly for almost the whole time he'd been on the run. It was time to take stock of his situation and do something about it. The problem was; he had no idea what kind of action to take.
"Hey, you there!" Paz looked up, dismayed to see two police with flashlights striding across the lawn towards him.
Did they know who he was, or were they after him just because he was loitering?
He didn't wait to find out. He sprang up and dashed across the lawn.
He heard them shout as they pounded along behind him. He ran across a street and turned down an alley. He stopped short when he realized it was a dead end. He spun around; but it was too late, the police had already entered the alley. "Hold it right there young man!" the older one said.
Paz put his hands up, and they both slowly advanced forward. As soon as they reached him, Paz suddenly spun around and punched the first man. The other man tried to grab him, but Paz used his grip on the first man to block him. The man struggled against his grip and with another punch, Paz sent him stumbling aside. The other man advanced and grappled him, sending them both sprawling in the alley. The rolled back and forth, the man trying to use his pepper spray. Paz struggled to grab the man's flashlight, which had rolled to the side when he'd grabbed Paz. He finally managed to clutch the flashlight and rolled back, only to get a dose of pepper spray in his face. He swore as his eyes burned and teared. He buried his face in his hands and gasped for breath.
The man sat on him, and tried to handcuff him, when Paz blindly swung the light at his face. His aim must have been good enough, because the man groaned and loosened his grip, allowing Paz to get up.
"Oof," Paz grunted as he was rammed by the second cop, who by this time had recovered. Still holding tightly to the light, Paz swung it at his face, but the man ducked and sent a punch which connected with Paz's face. Paz gasped and reeled backwards. The man swung again, but this time Paz ducked to the right and smashed the light into the man's face with a sickening crunch. The man collapsed and didn't get up. That left the other man yet. He had gotten to his feet and stood glowering at him. Paz's face burned like fire and he felt a trickle of blood on his face, which only made him more determined. There was a moment of silence as they faced each other. Paz desperately wiping his face with his sleeve; reading hesitation in the young cop's face.
The silence was split by the squawk of the police's radio. The man hesitated, but when he made a move to touch it, Paz leaped at him. He tackled the man and they once again rolled around on the cold alley floor. They traded punches until Paz finally managed to get on top of the man and, pinning him down with his knees, blindly rained blow after blow on the unfortunate cop until he stopped resisting and went limp.
Shaking, Paz got to his feet and surveyed the damage. Both police were unconscious. As the adrenalin left him, Paz felt tired and sick. He gingerly felt his burning face, it was hot and tender compared to his cold fingers. Suddenly hearing people, he picked up his discarded bag and hurried from the scene. Two blocks away, he wiped the flashlight clean on his coat and dumped it in a trashcan.
There's a long note on the refrigerator: detailed instructions for the housekeeper. There's also the date of their return. By the looks of the magazines and papers, it's probably a vacation in the Caribbean. The alarm system is also in good working order, except now it's pointed a little different direction. The housekeeper has just been there, watering plants and feeding the cat. She doesn't notice the broken window on the second floor, but it's there, neatly covered again with cardboard (from that new TV they just bought) and hidden behind thick curtains. Mr. Minx, the cat, is sitting outside the office door, waiting for his new playmate to reappear. The door silently opens and Paz (with a very large black eye) glides out. He goes up to the darkened kitchen and prepares himself a cup of tea. Coughing, he arranges a pile of blankets on the living room floor, hidden behind the couches. After drinking the hot tea, he burrows down in the blankets and appears to fall asleep. Mr. Minx sits on the couch and stares disapprovingly down at him.
The next few days pass in a blur to Paz, who alternates between sleeping and recovering from his fight, and hiding from the housekeeper. Thankfully, the owners aren't expected home for another week, so she hasn't started cleaning the whole place yet. Paz makes sure to wash the cups and put the crackers back in the cupboard before she arrives. One evening, feeling a little better, he watches a movie with Mr. Minx. It's a sappy romantic one, and they both end up sleeping through it. The next day, he washes all his clothes. A few days later, he takes a long bath and emerges from the bathroom with his hair its normal color again. The next day, he bids a fond good-bye to Mr. Minx and crawls out of the window and into the cool spring air.
The Audi hummed along quietly on the busy highway. Paz had stolen it earlier in the day, and was now quickly approaching Cardiff. He had removed its plates and replaced them with plates he taken from another random car.
He checked his rear view mirror again, but no police were in sight. After parking the car on a quiet street, he strolled off. He wandered around the streets, eventually coming to a tall town house.
This had been his home for the several months he'd worked here, before being called out on that fateful mission to London. He knew the agency probably had been all through his apartment, but he wanted to take the chance of seeing if any of his stuff was still here. He didn't have a key, but that was the least of his worries. He let himself in the back door and made his way up to the top floor, stopping in front of Apartment #4. He paused a moment, then knocked.
"Lois, Carl, be quiet, someone's here." Emma Wright called to her two boys. She picked up a crying baby and stepped over cheerios and baby bottles on her way to the door.
Standing outside was a man. He was dressed in a tan leather coat and dark pants. He was holding a worn bag and a hat barely concealed his dark hair.
"How may I help you?" she asked warily. The man was wordless for a moment, then stammered, "Um, this was my former apartment; I hadn't realized it'd been resold."
"Well, we only moved in here last week," she offered hopefully, feeling uneasy about the man.
"Do you have any idea about the stuff that was in here?" he queried.
"No, it was all cleaned when we looked at it." The man's face fell and he turned away.
"Just as well, thanks anyway." Without waiting for a reply, he disappeared down the steps. Emma closed the door, deliberating about her strange visitor.
The day was warm and sunny, but Paz hardly noticed it. Sitting beside a fountain, he pulled some money out of his bag and counted it. It was all he had found while scrounging around that house while he'd lived there.
He tipped his face back to catch some rays while contemplating his situation.
"What in the world am I doing? Why am I going to all this trouble to hide from the agency; they'll catch up eventually, so what am I doing?
They'll most likely kill me, and I'll be known only as a conspirator and rogue. So much for the reputation of a respected assassin.
I'll be buried in a small cemetery, and if my name is ever mentioned again, it will be with a sneer and a shrug.
What a wasted life!"
Paz grunted and got up. Strolling under the trees, he observed people moving all around him. The young couples, still madly in love; the stressed collage kids, the teens, simply out looking for fun.
Where did he fit in? He didn't, that was the problem. He wasn't a normal citizen of any country; a different way of living had been deeply ingrained in him, and he didn't know if, by himself, he could find the answers to all his questions. Who could help him, who might… just might have some answers?
The answer came before he had even finished the last thought: Bourne.
