Alex didn't remember closing his eyes, and he absolutely didn't remember arriving back to base.
So it was understandably disconcerting to find himself sitting across from a particularly vexed assassin with no recollection of how or why he had ended up in the instructor's hut, to begin with.
And if he was being totally honest, half of him almost believed that none of it was real.
That what he was seeing was yet another vivid hallucination.
He saw Ben staring out of the corner of his eye
And between the two and their silent scrutiny, he felt his skin crawl as he felt prickles of memory emotion threatening to creep out of the deep subconscious hole he'd buried them in.
He swallowed thickly, using the last of his mental energy to push them deeper into the dark abyss of his subconscious.
Contrary to popular belief, Alex actually was aware that his way of coping wasn't healthy. In any sense of the word.
It just wasn't sustainable.
One day it would all cave in and he'd be left drowning in the sea of decaying memories and emotions all at once, and in all honesty, he wasn't sure he'd be able to save himself.
But that would be something to worry about at a later time.
For now, he needed to figure out how the hell he was going to explain himself this time.
And while he had at least somewhat of faith he could get past the older spy, Gregorovich was a different story altogether.
The man had seen past him at his best. It would be almost insulting to try anything in his current condition.
But he couldn't very well just confess everything …
And certainly not to Gregorovich of all people.
Because he'd assured the man that he was better. That he was fit for combat, and that what had happened that time in Three's vivisection lab wouldn't happen again. Which was why he hadn't been savagely ripped up and fed to the sharks.
Why Three had gotten to carry out a second punishment on top of Yassen's own.
He felt goosebumps rise on his arms, cold sweat starting to form at his nape in sudden dread as he realized that he had no idea what was happening. The man was obviously waiting for a reply, but to what Alex couldn't remember.
Everything before the point he'd realized where he was one big blackout.
"Tell me, Alexander. What time do you think it is?"
He could feel the familiar bite of cold water lapping at his ankles. So, so evocatively lifelike. He almost doubted himself a moment, almost glancing down to be sure.
It was one of many brutally sadistic punishments saved for more serious offenses.
He'd found out soon enough that the swift and severe punishments exacted by the man worked surprisingly well.
Far more so than anything 6 had thrown at him.
There was a certain level of control that could only be obtained through fear. And deep down, ingrained in some subconscious part of his mind was an absolute fear of the man.
Because Yassen Gregorovich was a paragon of the art of fear.
And he was staring straight through the lies forming in Alex's mind.
And Alex, for what he was worth, already knew he was doomed.
"05:00 hours." he kept his tone neutral. Answering as he would in any debrief.
Yassen continued his impassive observation, letting Alex stew in his own anxiety for an uncomfortably long minute before nodding in acknowledgment.
"How long have you been here?.
"Half an hour. Give or take a few minutes."
Yassen leaned back in his seat, arms crossed as he stared Alex down with barely checked ire.
Alex could practically feel the ice-cold water filling his lungs. Again and again and again until he was positive he'd end up drowning from the inside.
Just like before.
Pinned in place by Yassen's wrathful gaze, suddenly aware of just how badly he must have fucked up this time around.
'Don't panic. Don't panic. Breathe. Breathe, goddamn it!'
"Look at me, Alexander."
Alex obeyed, meeting Yassen's gaze straight on, thoughts halting at the unexpected mild-almost assuring tone so incongruous with the man he knew.
"This naive recklessness ends now ."
He couldn't look away.
"Or I will burn it out of you. Do you understand?"
Alex nodded.
"Yes."
"Good."
He turned to Ben who couldn't help but tense at the sudden movement of attention.
"Agent Daniels. The time, please."
"It's-uh- 23:13." he glanced over just in time to see apprehension flit across Alex's face as he stared holes into space.
"We started this meeting at 21:00, so we've been here for a little over two hours now."
"When did K-unit arrive back on base?"
"About 05:15."
Alex took a shaky breath. He knew exactly where his conversation was headed…
He'd lost more than seventeen hours.
More than half a day, gone. Swallowed whole by his own mind.
It was understandably problematic, not to mention personally daunting.
"Tell me, Alex. How is Casimir?"
Alex blanched as a sudden flood of visceral memories flooded his mind. Shaky hands gripped and ungripped into white-knuckled fists as he felt the familiar uncomfortable sensation of cold sweat beading at his nape.
And at that moment, things started to connect leaving Ben with an awful feeling that he was right all along.
"It's DID, isn't it…?" Ben scooted forward in his chair towards the assassin.
"That's why he's been so spacy. And losing time. Like it's him sometimes and not him sometimes. That's why there were so many parts blank in the debrief transcript. Because he genuinely can't remember-"
"Remember what ?"
Ben turned slowly, finding him face to face with a familiar face.
But there was just something so...wrong. So different.
Everything from his posture to his confident yet cynical tone of speech; was only a few degrees from the Alex he knew. Like this Alex had taken the most characteristic things of the younger spy and kicked them up a notch.
Same, but weirdly inexplicably different.
"It was noted in your debrief that there were certain parts of the mission-"
"In Russia."
"Huh?"
"The mission in Russia. That's what you're talking about, isn't it?"
"Yes. Do you-um-do you remember?"
"Of course I do."
"Then why-"
"But that doesn't mean I'm going to say anything."
"Why not?" Ben demanded.
"Well, first of all, we're not exactly the best of friends." he tapped his temple.
"And if I did fill in the blanks, SO would have hell trying to cover everything up. There's only so much Tulip can do, you know. We'd have to disappear, and uh-Shura isn't exactly 'supportive' of that plan." he shrugged.
"He'd fight tooth and nail and get distracted and then we'd both die. And not dying is something we can both agree on."
Ben squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing at his temples trying to absorb the new, very very bizarre chunk of information.
"Oh! One more thing!"
He sat up straight.
"When you decide to tell him about Tom, I suggest you go slow. He's still debating whether or not it actually happened. Which is fair since he's been seeing a lot of non-existent things lately. Been playing a weird little game of 'is it real or not'. It's really getting to him. So just take it slow. Alright?"
He hauled himself to his feet, stretching a yawn.
"I'll be around, I guess."
He walked out of the door without a moment's hesitation, closing it quietly behind.
"Are you-is he just going to-" Ben gestured haltingly, turning to the door, utterly baffled from what had just transpired in front of his two very own eyes.
"He won't get far."
"What the absolute hell is going on?!" the chair creaked in protest against the sudden movement.
"He was fine when he came back! None of this 'Split' mess. Not until he got put with you ." he jabbed an angry finger at the man who blinked back in cold indifference.
"I'm not going to ask how you got so friendly with SO so fast, but let's not forget that there was a DoA posted on your head not even six months ago, yeah? You may have Matthews on your side for whatever-fucking reason you do, but that does not mean you've garnered any sort of trust from anyone else." Ben spat venomously.
"I certainly hope not. That would be very disappointing." Yassen replied neutrally.
"Believe it or not, Agent Daniels. I do hold a certain amount of respect for Special Operations. He cut through the spy's retort.
"But then again, You are not quite SO, are you? At least, not anymore. But not entirely SIS either."
Ben's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"I've seen your file-" he pulled the uppermost drawer open and reached inside without breaking eye contact.
Ben paused for half a beat when he realized just what it was the man had so casually tossed towards him.
"A considerable file with an outstanding ops list, really.."
He didn't miss the infuriating ghost of a smirk that flickered across the man's face, hitting nerves with unnerving precision.
"But the actual list was far more impressive."
"I don't know how terrorist organizations work, but as excessive as 6 makes itself out to be, it's not ' hidden versions' excessive Gregorovich. They have better things to be doing. Sorry to burst that bubble." he scoffed.
Ben followed the glance down to the file, almost challenging the man to look as the tense silence ballooned.
He huffed, rolling his eyes as he snatched the file, holding it up with a mocking eye roll.
"It's a standard 6 file. Brief rank and medical. Some post-ops-" he shrugged.
"How'd you end up nabbing it from the Sergeant's hut anyway?"
"I didn't."
Ben stared back in obvious disbelief.
"I'm the one that brought this file over four days ago, Gregorovich. I personally handed it over to the Sergeant. You're gonna have to try better."
Yassen smirked.
"Beyond doubt?"
Ben stilled, regarding the assassin with sudden intrigue.
"Yes."
He tossed the file back onto the table, flicking it open.
"See. It's-"
The words died in his mouth as he caught sight of the glossy white of the identification photo clipped harmlessly to the upper left corner
It was him.
That was for sure.
Chestnut brown locs almost long enough to curl like they naturally did when not cropped like he'd kept them most of the time. Bright green eyes focused forward, wide and alert, deceptively youthful against the dark circles under his eyes.
It was the shirt collar that brought everything together, leaving him reeling.
Dark grey, not the military green he remembered the photo being last.
He'd last updated his ID earlier the year before after returning from Bahrain in a short term assist mission with K-unit.
He hadn't been required to change anything else. At least not to his memory.
Neither Jones nor Matthews had called him in, and before four days ago, he had no need to view his file let alone touch it.
But the photo…
It couldn't have been more than two months old. Of that he was positive.
Because, if he remembered correctly, getting the contacts in had been a right nightmare. Something Smithers had apologized endlessly for. But there was nothing that could be done. He needed those documents.
That meant that the photo was taken exactly a week before he'd shipped off to the SAS-SFSG base in Samarra, blissfully unaware of the extent of chaos that was awaiting..
But why the sudden change of photos? It wasn't extreme, but it was by no means what he normally looked like, killing the purpose of an identifying photo.
Benjamin Lee Daniels
Ben
Fox*
Böhm, Johannes
LaCoure, Bernard
Lawson-Bloggs, James
Noble, Robert
Santos, Gabriel
Jesus Christ.
The list went on, alphabetically for fuck's sake!
He flipped through the pages, zeroing in on dates and locations that were for sure not meant to exist nevermind be printed.
Page after page after page broken up by the odd, mostly gruesome photo here and there.
"What is this?" he hissed, slamming the file shut, all trace of diplomatic discretion burning away leaving behind cold unflinching austerity.
"Payment."
"From? "
"Take a guess, Agent Daniels." Yassen's frigid gaze didn't waver one bit.
" Bullshit ." Ben spat back, hands tightening into white-knuckled fists at his side.
"6 doesn't negotiate like that."
"MI6, as a whole, couldn't even if they wanted to. That point is non-negotiable in all fields of Special Operations in your country." he dismissed the comment with a derisive wave.
"But ' C' has a penchant for operating outside of set parameters, don't they?"
The spy didn't respond, glowering in stormy silence.
"So in the scope of years worth of questionable actions, it is not completely unthinkable, is it?"
There was an uncomfortable pause.
"Alright. Yes. Fine. Let's say that Matthews wasn't above negotiating with terrorists -" he hissed, capitulating to the appalling game of 'what if'.
"Why trade my file? I'm not that important."
"I would beg to differ," he smirked.
"SIS has a habit of running in the shadows. Keeping secrets and all of that. Alexander is at the very top of Matthew's list at the moment. And he has been for months now. You just happen to be very closely connected.
"Cut the riddles, Gregorovich. Just spit it out." Ben grit out, coming to fray in his patience.
Yassen leaned forward, leveling the spy with an almost amused expression.
"Do you really think that Alex's condition is recent?"
Ben stiffened, thrown by the sudden innocuous tone.
"He was fine when he got back," he repeated tersely.
Yassen scoffed.
"Has he? Has he really ?"
"Yes! He's been fine! Matthews and Jones both let him check himself out of the hospital. He's been attending the briefs like he's been ordered to. He's just been losing a bit of time here and there. But he's tired and stressed. It's to be expected."
"Rider hasn't been 'fine' in months. Matthews knows that, and so does Jones. Why do you think they were so ruthless this time? So hostile? "
Ben froze, hit with a sudden chilling feeling of Deja Vous.
" There's a reason Matthews is getting hostile. And for good reason"...
"He's done something, hasn't he...?"
Ben inhaled sharply, recalling the conversation in his head.
"Because I messed up really bad this time around."
"But he's got some sort of intel. And it's important-" he stared pointedly down at his hands, suddenly very interested in the small scars and scratches.
"But he can't remember it all."
Yassen nodded.
"They requested a trade two months ago in Samarra. Your file for a window of five hours."
"They sent a joint SAS-SRR team. I remember."
"And they failed because Matthews got cocky. Four total casualties. Three from SRR and one from the SAS."
"They got bombed."
"Officially, yes."
"Unofficially?"
"Unofficially, they sent in unknown faces to grab the hostage, and the hostage panicked, and then ran."
Ben felt his blood run cold.
"Did you know it wouldn't work...?"
Yassen shrugged.
"It was a possibility."
"But nothing else happened in Samarra. I got away."
"Barely."
"So you're saying-"