TITLE: It Takes a Village
CHAPTER/TITLE: Chapter Thirty Six/ AGRA
RATING: T (language, content)
A/N: like I said, I am no assassin or military or cia expert. i am just making things up here for mary. don't worry, i'm not just pulling it out of a hat. there is actually thought and, you know, work, going into it.
The name Dokka Mogilevich comes from 2 Russian mobsters/terrorists names from the CIA's most wanted list, just combined together. And yeah, a lot of this is stretched. Just, use your imagination kiddos.
Please read and review, many thanks.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sherlock.
Chapter Thirty Six: AGRA
Abigail Abbot was not the typical child. She wasn't sticking her nose in encyclopedias or spewing facts like a vending machine like other little geniuses her age. But she certainly wasn't occupying her free time with dolls or playing pretend.
Maybe she would have spared time for such activities, had she been born into a different life. She was sharp, intelligent, but she wasn't opposed to a bit of fun.
Sadly, little Abby Abbot wasn't going to be granted many opportunities for "fun".
For being one of the brightest children of her age, maybe running away on her sixth birthday wasn't exactly the most intelligent route to take. Perhaps living on the streets when she should have been in primary school wasn't the most brilliant plan. Maybe talking to a strange man with an odd accent and forced friendly smile on the corner of some forgotten road wasn't the wisest action to take.
But maybe, just maybe, when you've just turned six years old and instead of presents your parents give you a bloody nose, fractured finger and another bruised rib, even the smartest child doesn't consider the other options.
So, with a few coins in her jeans that she nicked from her mother's purse and a pack slung over her shoulder, the barely six year old girl took to the darkened streets seeking sanctuary.
What she found instead, was an entirely new life.
The strange man had spotted her successfully picking a pocket and apparently watched her for some time from afar. He appraised her thieving skills and even was an audience to quite a remarkable evading of the police by the small child. It was after this impressive chase that he finally approached her.
It was quite honestly easier to kidnap children and force them into the lifestyle, but this girl was different. She was already intelligent and talented and obviously on the run from more than just the law. Parents probably at that young of age and by the bruising he could make out from his hidden watching posts.
Even if it was sometimes simpler to just snatch the kids, he wanted to handle this one differently. Children could be incredibly loyal. If this girl thought of him as a surrogate father and mentor instead of a kidnapper, the "training" would not be nearly has laborious or painful for either parties. A willing worker was always preferable to the slave in his eyes.
Not to mention the glint in the girl's eyes. The spark that told him that not only was she doing this for survival, but that she got a charge from it as well. he saw it in her every time she snaked her little hand into a fruit cart or wallet or bag. He swore she was smiling as she escaped the police's pursuit. He imagined that this one would take very little convincing to join him.
And it didn't.
The promise of family and safety was enough of an incentive for Abigail to take the bait right from the stranger's hands.
The next seven years of Abby Abbot's life were marked only with pain and rewards. She was taught, bred. Hand to hand combat, weaponry, everything to mold her into the perfect killing machine. If she succeeded, she was awarded the simple pleasures of food and sleep and verbal praise; the last one something she had never experienced before. If she failed, however, certain disciplinary actions were swiftly brought forth. It wasn't the senseless abuse she had been born into though. At home, it did not matter to her parents if she was perfect or not. Merely existing wrought her punishment. This was different. And, eventually, her mind justified it. She began to understand, to appreciate the penance. She learned quite quickly and after a short time received far more praise than pain.
When she crested childhood and tipped over into the teenage years, the thirteen year old was given her first missions. They were all unofficial, of course. There was money in Columbia with the paramilitary and drug gangs and for a brief period Abigail Abbot was known as Natalia Moreno and worked among the local 'sicarios', helping to train the other teenagers. It took her little time to perfect the accent and language and, given her skill set, no one questioned her ethnicity.
She was hauled all across different countries, working wherever her surrogate father told her to, in whatever culture or capacity that required.
When she was an adult, they forged the proper documentations and accents and took up residency in America.
It was two weeks after they settled into their new little home when her handler was killed.
Abigail scoured the states to find the criminal, but never could trace him.
Dokka Mogilevich was her target. He wasn't the man who had physically put a bullet into her mentor's brain, but he was the kingpin. The head of the snake. A Russian mob boss and part time terrorist when it suited him. Her surrogate father and the man had had a deal that went south a few years prior. It was the true reason why they had suddenly took to moving every couple months instead of years.
Her handler's head had been on the chopping block, not hers. She was safe.
But not for long.
She was going to go after the man, no matter what it took.
Without her mentor, she lacked the connections and funds to do this by herself, though. Still, she had a plan. Abigail did have enough skills to fake her own records though and suddenly 18 year old Cathleen Bennett from Kenosha, Wisconsin was enlisted and quickly climbing the ranks of the US military. She bid her time and continued her own personal planning and preparation on the side of the new vigorous training she was receiving. She excelled, of course, with her intelligence and already honed talents. From US Navy petty officer to US Navy SEAL to her final goal. She was assigned to perform covert missions for the Central Intelligence Agency until she was fully recruited and became an official agent, or, more specifically, assassin. She was getting paid to do what she was good at; what she had been bred nearly her entire life now to do. It was all she knew. And killing Mogilevich was all she could think about. Every face she erased from existence, she pictured as his. Every heart that she stopped, was his. Each body brought her nearer to her enemy, and gave her new ones along the way. She cared little for the adversaries against her that she was building up. She only sought out one.
Every day she was getting closer, scaling the proverbial ladder until finally she was put on the one mission she cared about.
Dokka Mogilevich.
They found lackeys and arrested accomplices, but always he remained out of their reach.
Until one day.
The day she put a bullet in the man's skull.
The joy and relief and sense of victory she had expected after all this time was surprisingly not what came then. The revenge didn't make her whole again, didn't bring the only person she ever considered as family back.
She was alone.
She was empty.
And it was killing her.