A/N: Surprise chapter! Today's both mine and my long-lost French twin's birthday, so I thought I'd celebrate by dispensing more angst and drama. Fitting, no? ^^
Seriously, guys. You rock.
O
The warmth kept spreading through him, faster than before. Alex would have sighed happily if he could. It was like sliding into a steaming bath after a day of playing in the snow. Relief so sharp it was nearly painful. Yet as the warmth flowed into him, Jack- or the idea of Jack- seemed to drift further away.
Come back, he tried to tell her. Don't leave.
Her echo was faint but clear. It's okay. Go without me. Follow the warm.
There was no chance to argue, no chance to explain. Alex reached out to her, trying to grasp her warm-safe-happy but she was gone and he was already riding the crest of another wave-
O
Yassen shifted again, feeling a small wave of dizziness hit him. It was the first. The blood moved through the tube at a sluggish rate but that was by design. He'd set it to go slow, since he didn't really know the right speed for this sort of thing. He didn't even know how much blood Alex would need. He'd weather whatever the cost to himself was, but he didn't want to risk shocking Alex's weakened body if he guessed wrong. Slower was safer.
He was still talking for god knows what reason. The sound of his low, steady voice echoed off the walls of the empty room like the chanting of a prayer. A worship of the mundane rather than the profane. For lack of a better word, he was just chattering. About everything. How much he hated Alex's hair. What sort of breed of dog Alex might like. Wondered whether Alex would have to walk or bike to school. Promised to buy him a car and show him how to do donuts again. He even explained his talks with Briar and everything he'd tried to do for Alex, things he probably should have told him about to begin with. It hardly mattered now. Alex couldn't even hear him, he was certain of it.
Pausing in his nonsensical diatribe, Yassen frowned at a raw section of skin peeking out from beneath the collar of Alex's shirt. Gently tugged the fabric to the side. One glance was all it took to seal shut his throat.
Twenty years made the sight no less jarring; he would happily go another twenty without seeing it again. Eyes jerking to the ceiling, Yassen had to take a moment's break from the diamond shaped sores forming across Alex's chest.
Anthrax.
Yassen let his head drift down to the mattress and his eyes flutter shut. Nothing was ever just good or just bad, was it? It always had to be both. If Alex's skin could turn red, he had the blood flow to do it. Unfortunately for the boy, the blood Yassen had given him was poisoned with an artefact of his own bitter past. He should have just risked the saline. Whatever immunity to anthrax that the injections had given him had never resulted in any symptoms in Yassen, ergo if Alex was covered in sores, then Yassen's blood was toxic to him and Alex would die regardless.
No wonder everyone wanted his blood. They didn't want to study him: they needed to contain him. Yassen was a walking biohazard.
He raised his head, feeling older than he'd ever felt in his life. Unable to muster the energy to unhook the IV. What was the point? He tugged the blanket up higher around the boy's shoulders. "Did I ever tell you about Leo, Alex? He was a little bit younger than you the last time I saw him..."
O
Alex broke the surface. Instead of the vast-everything place with Jack, this plane of reality seemed a lot more coherent. There was a desk or a table or something, but when he turned to examine it, it became a curio cabinet. Solid for a moment before switching. At least things had their thinginess again, if only for a little time now. Was he in a house or a manor? A flat perhaps? He had no idea, but at least it had a sense of place to it. He couldn't really see himself, but he was more aware that he had a self. That was new too.
Ah. He was dreaming then.
Someone else was here with him, cementing things suddenly with their own different sense of self. Alex spun round, hoping for a boyish face and red hair and warm hugs. Instead, what he got was a brunette man leaning against a wall, regarding him with pleased dark eyes that seemed to study every inch of Alex and stare through him all at once. He wasn't dressed the way he'd been in the photo Ian had shown him; rather than his military uniform, now he wore a suit with an open necked shirt. Alex got the almost impossible impression that the man had dressed to get on a plane.
Alex deflated before he could think to conceal it for the sake of manners. It wasn't really his fault that he wasn't Jack. Or that he looked like Ian. Or that Alex was confident he'd secretly been a manipulative asshole. "Hello, Dad."
If John Rider was hurt by his son's reaction, he didn't show it beyond a slight smile and a shake of his head. Of course, he was a little hard to focus on, the way dreams were. "You're probably right about me but we don't have to think about that right now. You'll be through soon, with a little luck. I just wanted a look at you."
"Through where?" Alex asked. He glanced around but there was no one else. "Where's Mum?"
"She'll try to be here, I'm sure," his dad said, stepping forward. "Don't worry about the rest."
Alex scowled. "Why does everyone not want me to worry? It's like they want me to lie to myself and spare them the effort."
John barked out a laugh. "You really are something else, aren't you?" He sobered a touch before he gave Alex a crooked smile. "Good. Maybe that really shouldn't surprise me either. No one turned out the way I expected. Not you. Not Ash. Not Yassen."
Alex felt another warm wave envelop him, pulling him away from this not-quite-a-place and his dead dad. "No kidding."
"He's doing great, by the way. I never realized how dramatic he was in his own head, though." John seemed to follow him, running to keep pace, as though he wanted to see Alex up until the very last second. It cheered Alex just a hair; maybe they wouldn't have gotten along, but his dad cared about seeing him at least a little. "Tell him that for me, will you? He's so scared all the time, but tell him that John's pleased with how he's doing. Don't forget to tell him-"
O
Somewhere behind him, the phone began to ring.
Yassen paused, mid-word, and turned around. A paperwork desk had been shoved into the far corner of the room; atop it rested a plastic cordless phone in its cradle. Another harsh ring emitted from the speaker, a little red light flashing on the casing in tandem.
He considered it. The odds of someone calling the lodge weren't impossible. After all, it had shut down recently enough that the power was still on, but it had also been over an hour since he'd activated the panic button. Scorpia hadn't found him, nor had a bunch of angry police officers. It could be someone important or it could be no one at all. What were the odds a curious skier was desperate for resort info at this late hour?
Assassins who believed in coincidence tended to be dead assassins.
Yassen quickly pinched off the needle and disconnected himself, staggering as he stepped forward. Not quite dead, it seemed. Again.
Chert. What was fate planning for him this time?
He picked up the phone. "Yes?"
"I'm glad you answered," Smithers said, voice low and tense. "Is Alex…?"
Yassen drifted back to the bedside, feeling a bit like a ghost. It was probably the blood loss. "He's been shot but he's still alive. For now. I gave him a blood transfusion. I think it bought him some time." He glanced at the window. "Do you know how long-"
"Yes, I've already forwarded the coordinates to the CIA. They're nearly there. Minutes. Listen to me, you must make them agree to take Alex with you tonight."
"What are you talking about?" Yassen shook his head. "It doesn't matter. He needs a hospital. I'll probably go straight to a holding cell but-"
"Yes he needs one, but he must not stay in America. Listen, they'll work with you to get you out, I can't explain why right now, but they won't send you to prison. He must go with you. He must not stay behind, not even for treatment. Do you understand?"
"What are-?"
"He must go with you tonight. No matter what." Smithers almost seemed to hesitate. "And the transfusion. Hide it. Tell no one."
"Why?"
Smithers voice sharpened, if such a thing were possible. "That doesn't matter now. Hide the needles now. The most important thing is that Alex go with you tonight. Make that happen even if it kills you."
Yassen gripped the phone. "What will happen if I don't?"
"Just do it." The line went dead.
O
His mum was there. Shining dark blonde hair like his, bright blue eyes tracing his face as she seemed to drink him in. Mum in the flesh, as far as a dream could be flesh. Alex didn't question it, just immersed himself in her embrace with everything he had. She wasn't Jack, but her hugs were just as good, flooding him with that warm-happy-safe that he'd so desperately been craving for ages.
"Am I dead yet?" he asked her at length.
"Not this time," she said, sounding both amused and weary. "I'm starting to think someone on your father's side crossed a gypsy."
"Can I stay with you anyway?"
She brushed a stray lock of hair away from his face. "Until it's time to return."
"Damn." Alex sighed, feeling the tug near his navel again. Or was it his hip?
"No need to sound so put out about living," she chuckled. Her fingers stroked his features fondly, as though trying to memorize them by touch alone. "Besides, your new mum would be quite sad if you die on him."
"Can someone living haunt you in the afterlife? Something tells me he'd find a way," Alex grumbled.
"It's going to be okay," she told him, even as he slipped away. "You're going to be okay."
Impossible as such a thing sounded to his ears, he believed her.
