Chapter VIII: Numb

Scars, Romanov was covered with them, both physically and mentally. Now he would have a new one. He inspected it in the mirror. It criss-crossed the one that ran along the side of his head. It made a mad x, or crucifix, however one chose to look at it. He should have died from the bullet. If that bitch hadn't fallen he would have. Vladimir thanked God for small miracles.

He smirked at the cross in the windowpane, his shaved head gleaming, and then turned away with a dark look to the man sitting in the leather chair. "You know where he is, don't you, Renard?"

A hostage in his own office, within his own casino, Renard lounged in his chair, despite the 9 millimeter to his head. "A man like him doesn't need to inform me of his whereabouts."

"Mmhmm." Vladimir smiled. "But he trusts you. Because you help him." He threw the picture of Alicia being taken into the warehouse onto the desk.

"I help all of my connections." Renard said evenly, poker faced.

"And you think I can't hurt you because of your many connections." Romanov nodded his head, irked that it was, indeed, the truth. Renard and his kind were the reason revolutions were lost. Their own agendas of greed...such a small picture. Always conflicting with those striving towards the grander. Vladimir sat on the edge of the desk, fingering the fine wood thoughtfully. The casino was very fine, it was too bad that its owner should have bet against him. He would have loved to have tortured and killed Renard himself, but he would have to settle on another. Only looking up slightly, he gave a nod to George's replacement, and the man left the room.

Renard glanced after him, but his gaze was cool and disinterested.

Romanov met his gaze with a smirk, "Don't worry. He'll be right back."

As expected, the game changed when his man returned.

Renard tried to stand, but a heavy hand held him to his seat, the cold steel of the gun pressing firmly into his temple. He could only watch as Mira, his Mira, was forced into the room, her slight figure miniatured by the hulk of the man holding her arms.

Romanov's smirk broadened, seeing the reaction he so desired. "I love women." He confessed, and stepped over to the girl.

Her face was a stoney mask as she looked off into the distance. She was very strong, Romanov could tell, but he would break her if need be, just as surely as he would break Renard. "You are very pretty." He whispered. With a glance over at Renard he held a knife up so that it winked in the light. He touched the point to the girl's earlobe, and she flinched. Renard's jaw clenched visibly. "Very pretty." He nodded to the one holding her, and Mira was drug across the rug and tied to a chair positioned right in front of Renard. "I hope you don't mind if I make you a little more comfortable, dorogaya moya. Your boyfriend is a very stubborn man...This might take a while.

Once the tying was done, Vladimir knelt behind the girl, his chin at her shoulder, the knife hanging listlessly in his hand. He sighed, looking at Renard, his cruel eyes taking on a cat-shine.

Renard held the gaze, aware of Mira's panicky breath. He couldn't bluff his way out of this. The stakes were too high this time. With the deep pang of regret, he acknowledged the loss and the fact that he would have to fold.

It was raining when Jeremy woke, a lulling patter on the window sill. It was the best sleep he had ever had, but the view to which he awakened was better.

Alicia was sprawled against him, her face peaceful, her hand gathered in his shirt, her leg wrapping around one of his own. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled. At the unexpected but familiar scent of a Russian cigarette, his eyes snapped open.

"Good morning."

Renard Fomenko sat in the chair in the corner of the room. His eyes were like banked embers in the grey, flickering.

"I see you found the girl."

Jeremy glanced down at Alicia, and then back up to Renard. A bone-deep wariness spread through him, and his muscles engaged. He wished he'd had a piece beneath his pillow.

"You're probably wondering what I'm doing here." Renard exhaled and flicked the remainder of his cigarette out the window, into the rain. "But you shouldn't be so alarmed. I'm here to help you. Romanov is alive."

"Not anymore." He'd taken a bullet to the head. Jeremy could replay the shot in his mind.

But Renard shook his head, a sneer marring his features. "I know you're the best, my friend, but this time you missed. It's a shame...for both of us."

Jeremy saw the tell-tale signs of fatigue and fear in the tightness of Fomenko's face. It sent a new surge through him. He knew what had happened even before Renard told him.

"He sent me to bring you to him. I'm supposed to turn on you. He has Mira." He pulled out another cigarette and lit it. Taking a deep drag Renard looked at Alicia, still sleeping peacefully, thanks to his opening the window.

Jeremy watched him, uncertain how much to trust to what he was saying. Wishing now that Alicia wasn't on top of him, that his gun wasn't locked up in that case beside the bed. He wished he'd killed Renard before going after Romanov.

Renard's eyes flicked back up to his. "I know you're wishing I was dead. But I am going to take you to him, but only so you can kill him." He stubbed the cigarette out on the sill of the window, smashing it. "Mira's probably dead anyway." He exhaled the smoke hotly.

For a moment Jeremy considered trusting him. "You know where he is?"

"Yes. At the church."

He knew which church he was referring to. The church where he had shot Romanov's mentor, Dyusheyev.

"Mass is at six." Renard flipped his lighter in his hand, "I can't bring any men, Romanov is watching me. Anything we do, it will have to be just us." He looked at Aliica. "I don't know what you'll do about her."

Looking at her, sleeping still, Jeremy didn't either. Romanov wouldn't care about her, but he might want to kill her all the same. Romanov wanted to kill the whole world. "Is the doctor back?"

"No. And he won't be." Renard blew a cloud of smoke, a third cigarette between his fingers. "I flipped the nine."

The house numbers on the door, it was a trick that men like Renard and the doctor, the network they were apart of, used. A flipped number was a condemned sign.

"Good." But that still left Alicia. He looked up at Renard, still skeptical. "Why isn't Romanov here, now?" He was having Renard followed? Why not do it now?

The man looked at him hard, anger flickering in his black eyes as he flicked the ash off of his cigarette.

Because this was personal. Jeremy looked down at Alicia. It certainly was. He slid out from under her, careful not to rouse her.

Renard watched him enviously. "He knows she is here if he knows you are." He was somewhat apologetic, despite the fact that it was something out of his control.

Jeremy understood both points. He also understood that Renard had to leave soon. If he stayed too long it would raise suspicion about exactly how much was told, and even if Vladimir expected Renard to betray him, doubt would be an ally. They had to act their parts.

According to Vladimir's plan, Fomenko would leave. Jeremy would stash Alicia somewhere, and then he would go to find Romanov at the church. With the intent to kill him. Now that he knew his plan, he still had to follow it. Deviating only enough to save Alicia's and his own lives.

"I have men who could protect her. It would be plausable to Romanov if you let them take her somewhere. I have a house in the country. If he has men follow them, they will die. As surely as Romanov will die tonight." Renard took another long pull as if he could taste it.

It wasn't a plan that Jeremy liked. But then he didn't like any plan that involved Alicia out of his sight while Romanov still drew breath. Yet he couldn't kill Romanov and protect Alicia. That was a white lie. Technically he could have done it, given the right position, and since he had the weapon capable of the distance. But deep inside, he did not want Alicia to see him kill any one else. He put that above everything else. "Send a car in an hour."

Renard nodded his head and turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. "Assassin,"

Despite himself, Jeremy answered the term and turned. The Russian was looking at the Alicia.

"Whatever your name is, that is what you are."

He said nothing.

Rendard met his eyes, "But she will pay for it."

Jeremy saw a haunted look in the black eyes, he saw guilt etched in ever line on his face. Still, he made no answer.

The other man looked at Alicia again and then tore his eyes away, lighting another cigarette, leaving the apartment in palpable silence.

Standing in that grey room, Jeremy looked at Alicia for a long moment, memorizing the shade of her skin, the shape of her face. He couldn't keep himself from realizing the truth in Fomenko's words. It was inevitable.

Something twisted on the inside of him as a new truth rose inside. He had the power to protect her, not only now, but for the rest of her life. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and without further hesitation, he picked up his case and left.

When Alicia woke she was alone.

A chill crept across her skin and the curtain on the window flapped in wind. It was dark, stormy outside. She sat up, wiping the sleep from her face and stood. "Jeremy?" She straightened her skirt and stepped into the hall.

The light in the kitchen was on, a halo in the grey, and she could hear movement in that part of the house. Padding across the chilled floors, she followed the noise, coming into the small kitchen to find Jeremy with his rifle spread across the table.

Pausing in the doorway, still half asleep, she watched him. He did not look up at her, but she knew that he was aware of her presence. There was a stiffness in his neck and shoulders, a determination in his face, as if he was purposefully avoiding her. Waiting altered nothing, she had to break the enforced silence, hoping that it was only her imagination, "What's going on?"

Jeremy glanced up at her, and then looked at the clock on the wall. "The car will be here soon, you should get dressed."

Alicia stood mute as he moved past her, wondering why he looked so tired, why his eyes never reached her own.

Jeremy got his coat and removed money from the pocket. He handed it to her.

She took it, mechanically, and looked back up at him, confusion clouding her eyes as he continued preparations. But for what? Brows bunching, she frowned, "What car?"

"To take you to the country." He started packing the weapon away.

"What?"

"You have to wait there. It's the safest place for you."

"For how long?" He kept working, refusing to look up.

"Just until tomorrow. Then you'll go back to Britain."

"I'll go back?" She shook her head. "You mean we'll go back -"

"No, I mean you. You will go back, you'll take Henry, you'll raise him, you'll live your life and you'll forget about everything that happened here."

It started to sink in. Like a knife, it started to sink in. The pain in her chest spread to her head and every limb of her body and she was fully and painfully awake. "Why?"

"Because it's not safe here."

"No, why are you doing this?" She stepped between him and the table.

Jeremy looked at her, reinforcing his guards. "Because you're not safe - you will never be safe with me." He couldn't protect her from himself, that had suddenly become clear to him now. He moved around her, desperate to put something between them.

Unable to stop him, trapped in disbelief, Alicia let him move past her. Finally her voice kicked in, "What if...What if I don't want to be safe?"

"You don't mean that." He said, not looking up, ignoring the selfish part of him that said to believe her.

"Yes, I do. Don't tell me what I mean, I know what I mean, I know what I feel and what I want. I don't want you to do this. I don't want you to shut me out."

The rush of her words was more damaging than a barrage of bullets.

"I think it's you. I think it's you who's afraid of not being safe."

At last he met her eyes.

"You have to trust someone, Jeremy. You have to trust someone someday."

"You forget what I've done." He said, hoping that he might scare her away. If he reminded her that he was a killer, maybe she would stop looking for the good in him, maybe she would stop pulling it out of him, making it harder to do what he had to do - Leave her.

"No. I haven't." Her voice was hoarse. "But I haven't forgotten that you're more than that." She tried to see him, but he was closeted off from her, the man she knew as Jeremy. It was like looking for Dr. Jekyll in Mr. Hyde.

Her plaintive eyes, her persistence were too much. His conscience stabbed him. "I can't give you halves, Alicia."

"Good-"

"I can't be Jeremy Cale."

Alicia wasn't certain what that meant.

He stopped, looking down at the dissassembled gun on the table, and faced the truth. He could feel her behind him, waiting. She would have to face it too.

"My real name...is Jude Raleigh." He turned to her, eyes raw, "I killed my father when I was eighteen. Used his own 9 millimeter to do it. The courts ruled it self-defense because he was drunk and beating me with a cricket bat at the time. Still, I killed my own father so I joined the army after that, punished myself. It made me an expert marksman and little else." He paused, moving towards Alicia who hadn't moved or blinked, "Then the CIA recruited me and Jude Raleigh died in an arms envoy in Afghanistan." He stood a hair's breadth from her, "All I am is a killer. All I have is blood on my hands. I can't give you anything else."

"What about this morning?" Alicia's lips felt numb, as she struggled to digest everything.

"This morning was," Heaven. "a risk." His eyes were grey, "A risk I can't take."

Lungs cramping, Alicia looked away from him as her eyes filled.

He turned away from her. "I can't pretend to be something I'm not."

Listening to his footfalls, so loud and finite, Alicia struggled to speak, "But you said you wanted to be different..."

"I do." But his voice was removed.

"And you can. I don't understand?"
"What am I doing, Alicia?" He turned to her again, his eyes darker, the green flashing with energy as he was backed further into a corner of utter, brutal honsesty.

She looked at him, at the gun, and then back at him, stupified.

"I'm preparing to go and kill someone. The someone who kidnapped you because I killed someone else. I can't just walk away. I walk away, my past follows me. This..." he gestured to the rifle, to what it represented, "This will taint everything I touch." He looked at her, but kept himself closed off from her. He wouldn't let it taint her. "It will. As much as I let it." He turned and snapped the lid shut.

The pain in her lungs went deeper - somehow, she didn't know how it could get worse, but it did. It felt like she was shrivelling inside, as if all the life was being pulled out of her, like a raisin. Her heart felt like a hard and wrinkled raisin inside of her chest. It couldn't pump the blood and oxygen to her body. She couldn't stop him. "So that's it? You're just going to - to send me away? Do this and disappear? Forget this? Forget us - me?"

He met her eyes, leaving no room for her to doubt. "Yes." But he knew he would never forget her. She looked very pale and small in that grey dress, her hair was a tangle of curls about her shoulders, her hazel eyes were wet and glimmering with pain he had caused. No, he would never forget her. "I will forget everything. So will you.

"No, I won't." she said with a defiant tilt to her chin. It ached. This memory would ache for a long time, forever maybe.

"Then, I'm sorry." He looked over his shoulder, but wouldn't take his hands off of the case. It was too tempting to take her and crush her to him, take back all that he had said. But he couldn't do that. That would only be a deception to himself, and an execution to her. He looked away. "You only have a few minutes now."

There was no way she could speak. Her throat was useless, almost as useless as her heart. It pumped but she couldn't breathe.

It was a paradox; he had wholly opened himself just as he completely closed her out. She was confused, stunned, angry and hurt. There was so much she had to say, so many questions, but there was no more time. Everything was silent, deafeningly so. In that moment Alicia feared that the silence would pollute the rest of her life.

Her heart was a metronome, counting down their last moments together, waiting. But the metronome in her chest only kept the time for silence.

Resignation, acceptance, they were bitter pills, but Alicia swallowed them as she turned away.

Even though he wouldn't allow himself to turn and look, Jeremy knew the moment she left. It was the moment when he couldn't breathe. It was the moment when he went numb.

It was a decision. He wished he could erase himself from the world, from this life, from her life. He wished that he wasn't what he was, that he hadn't done what he had done. He wished that he hadn't made so many mistakes. Yet wishing was only wishing. Those mistakes now formed a wall. One that he couldn't allow himself to tear down. What would come to him today, tomorrow, in a week, in a month, in ten years...he knew deserved it. But Alicia didn't.

It could have seemed so noble. But inside he raged against the truth. He looked for an alternative, even a loophole. But there was none. It was his paradox. His desire for her, his love for her - they thwarted each other at every turn. He wouldn't let himself follow her and make promises and give comfort. Instead, he numbed himself against her. He chose to numb himself. It was a decision. She was his reason.

He closed the case with a decided snap.


AN: New chapter - in much better timing i think, eh? :) Thank you, readers, for all the reviews, faves and alerts - they rock my day and fuel my fingers! Linkin Park's 'Numb' and the piano cover of that same song on youtube, provided the soundtrack for this addition. Let me know what you thought, please, and remember that constructive criticism is welcomed. Till next time...A.