Authors Notes: See prologue for full notes & disclaimers




Lost and Found

Chapter Two




When Ivan had first entered the quiet house he had not thought anything was amiss. He assumed that Giovanni was as he had been left, sleeping peacefully. He was wrong. He entered the bedroom expecting to see the other man lying there, but was met with an empty bed. With some alarm he spun around and strode down the hall. He could feel the other Immortal but could not find him. That is until he stepped into the bathroom and beheld the site of the Italian curled into a ball of sorts weeping softly and rocking as he murmured to people unseen.

"Giovanni?" he inquired softly as he settled himself on the floor a frown marring his handsome face. The Italian made no sign that he had noticed the other man's presence. Gently he reached out to place a hand on the pale flesh of an arm. – Nothing.


"Talk to me Giovanni… let me help you," he murmured as he edged closer to the other man. He took one trembling hand into his and then snaked his free arm around the huddled form pulling the younger man into his lap. The Italians head tucked under his chin and he simply sat there, hugging him. After many minutes the murmuring stopped. It was even longer before the Italian spoke.


"What happened?" Giovanni finally inquired his voice sounding lost and far away.


"I am not certain," came the Russian's reply. "I found you in the corner when I returned. You might have had a panic attack or a flashback… it seems we are prone to those."


"Sorry," he replied. "I should have stayed in bed perhaps. I do not wish to be a burden."


"You are not a burden," Ivan replied. "I took you in to help you, and that is what I will do." 'Even if I am not totally certain how…' "These things happen... Come on lets get you back to bed." He helped the Italian stand and held his hand as they walked slowly back to the bedroom.



**



The remainder of the day passed uneventfully; Ivan tutoring Giovanni in Russian and honing his own knowledge in Italian. The newly Immortal man was an apt pupil, picking up the basics in a relatively short amount of time. Dinner was a quiet, yet momentous affair with Giovanni finally eating a more healthily proportionate amount of food than he had in years; and more than he had eaten during his short time with the Russian.


"There are as many recipes for Borscht as there are people in Russia," Ivan had said with a grin when he served the traditional soup to the young man. "This recipe here has been in my family for generations. When I was young my mother would make it herself and serve it to me in bed as I am now for you."


"What was she like? Your mother?" he asked quietly. Ivan did not respond at first, his eyes distant caught up in a memory.



**** St. Petersburg Russia – 1904 ****



"If you fuss over the collar any longer mother I shall look like a peacock," an eighteen-year-old Ivan said. Alexandr, who was seated off to the side, snorted with laughter as he poured a cup of tea.


"I am just making sure you look your best," Nastya Osipova, his mother and the mistress of the house replied smoothing out his dark hair. She took a step back, admiring her work, though in all honesty it didn't matter what clothing he wore - her son was always perfect in her eyes. Ivan looked wonderful, regal and dignified as one befit his position. He had his father's looks and her eyes - and was one of the most sought after bachelors in St. Petersburg not only for his looks but for his position. He would be a Duke one day, like his father before him. "You look perfect," she finally said taking the offered tea from Alexandr.


"As do you," he replied taking in the vision of his mother, resplendent in a blue gown that set off her eyes. "Shall we make our entrance before father comes looking for us?"


"Yes of course," she replied holding her arm out to him. "I look forward to tasting what you and your father have prepared," she said to Alexandr as they neared the door to the Manor's Dining Room.


"We hope it lives up to your expectations m'lady," the young man replied with a smile as he set the teacups back on their tray.


"It always does my dear," she said before the door opened.


There was a soft fanfare and then the crowd fell into a hush as Ivan and his mother entered. All eyes were on them, from the nobles to the servants. His father Alexei, seated at the head of the table, looked on with pride as the pair received murmurs of appreciation.


This was the annual Winter Ball, the banquet and dance that every noble man and woman, every dignitary, every 'very important person' in St. Petersburg, and even a few from Moscow, came to. Some years even the Tsar himself came.


Ivan pressed a kiss to either cheek then seated his mother at the table before taking up his place to his father's right. Seated across from him was a fair looking young woman whose father undoubtedly wished her to marry well. He exchanged a knowing look with his mother before launching into polite conversation with her until the feast began.



****Present****



"She was... beautiful, kind... talented... a wonderful person. I loved her dearly." He said haltingly, unsure how to voice what he felt. "I still miss her."


Giovanni gave him a bittersweet smile. "I do not think I will ever get over the loss of my parents...my family...my faith."


"Your faith?" Ivan's tone clearly showed his confusion over this. "You are free now; free to believe in whatever you wish, to practice your religion. You shall never again be persecuted for your faith."


"What faith? What religion? What God? What good did our beliefs do us? We are 'the chosen' of God and yet when we are taken, when we are *killed*, he does nothing, there is no saving grace. Everyone I knew, everything I held dear, was killed and stripped away - and all simply because of my religion. There is nothing left." Giovanni replied tiredly, his face bitter. "And now I am Immortal... How does that fit into God's grand scheme? From what you have told me he does not govern us in any way. And so you see, I have nothing to believe in now; things can never be as they were before."


For one of the few times in his life Ivan was left speechless, quite unsure what to say or if he should reply at all. 'How do you reply to something like that? I would not know where to begin.'


"I am sorry," he said finally. "It would be foolish of me to say I understand for our pasts are vastly different and I was not made to suffer as you were. Still..." he paused searching for the right words. "I came into Immortality during a time of great upheaval and change in my country. You are right; things can never be as they were before. And I cannot promise they will ever be anywhere near it, nor hold much joy." 'I know mine isn't and does not.' "But at least you are alive and have been given a second chance."


The Italian merely nodded and sank lower under the covers. "I wish to rest now." he said and so Ivan collected the dishes and left the room.



****



He wasn't sure why, but it bothered him deeply to see the younger man bitter about something that once must have been very dear to him. Ivan was not a religious man; he too had lost his faith after his death and the destruction of the world as he knew it. The fact that the Soviet Leaders had outlawed religious practices of any kind in Russia made it all the easier for him to stop believing.


He had never known many people of the Jewish faith, he had been a noble after all, and just didn't travel in the same circles usually. Not to mention the fact that the last few Tsars had forced many Jews to leave the country.


During his years in Siberia with Sergei he had met some, and a more devoted and close knit group he had never seen. Despite the prohibitions set down by the government, despite the forced deportations, they remained deeply religious, devoted to their ways - and he had admired them for that.


He supposed it was a miracle that Giovanni was able to come out of such an abominable situation as he had been in with his sanity intact. That he should feel that -that- fact alone was good enough and anything else was secondary.


But he couldn't.


And he had no idea why.


'Perhaps I do not wish to see another as disaffected of life as I am.' He rolled over readjusting the pillows. 'He has been left with nothing and he no longer believes in anything... How am I to convince him life is worthwhile when I do not feel that way myself?'


"I do not think I can do it Sergei..." he murmured. 'It should have been me beheaded by the shrapnel not you. You are a far better man than I - you would know what to do.' Sleep eventually came to him but it was light and troubled.



**



Despite his exhaustion, sleep did not come easily to Giovanni either. He kept replaying his own words over and over in his head. 'Father would be ashamed of me, of what I said, for giving up.' His eyes wandered the strange room looking at things but not really seeing them. 'But then again father is dead, dead because of what he believed in. He and so many others... all of us innocent. Why? Why do they hate us so? Why did this happen? And why did God not try to stop it?'


No answer would come to him though and when sleep finally claimed him it was fitful and restless and in the morning his pillow was wet with tears.



****



"A friend of mine may stop by today," Ivan said while Giovanni ate his breakfast. "Sofi Karpova Falipov, I've known her for a very long time and her husband even longer." He watched the Italian eating for a minute before continuing. "And she is a much better cook than I – though you seem to enjoy my meager skills." A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Of course we still need to keep your meals small until you are better used to eating again. Still, you seem much improved already." He glanced out the window then watching fat snowflakes drift past on their way to the ground. A normal winter's day outside by all appearances – yet in that house it was far from it. "She will also be bringing some groceries I hope. It has been a long time since I was last here and many things have changed. I would not know where to go or what to do myself," he confessed.


"What do you mean?" Giovanni asked.


"I was born and raised here in St. Petersburg." Ivan started. "That I use that name should give away something. I have not been back here since 1917 when I took leave. By that time a year later I had died my first death and was wandering the wilderness lost and confused. I do not know how the system operates in every day life in the Soviet Union. When I did manage to return to city life I pretty much immediately joined the army again. Sergei took care of most things back then as well. Of course raised as a noble I probably would not have been self sufficient on my own in the old country either." He gave a wry grin at that. "Such is life."


"Sergei?"


"My teacher," he replied softly.


"Where is he now?"


"He died, four years ago." A shadow passed over his face and his eyes looked pained as he said this. 'And it was my fault...' he added to himself. Both were silent until Ivan cleared his throat and offered to take the tray.


'Obviously speaking of his past is difficult for him, certain parts anyway.' Giovanni mused while the Russian was away. 'He must have been close to his teacher. I wonder what happened...'


"Do you want or need anything?" Ivan asked when he came back in.


"No, thank you. I'm fine."


The Russian nodded and then retreated from the room. He ran a hand through his hair as he walked down the hall and then descended the stairs to the first floor. He didn't know what to do, for the first time since he had emerged from the dark months following his first death he had no one to turn to and nothing to lose himself in. Had he been alone this wouldn't be that bad. He would have no problem fading away, giving up and giving into the misery his life had become. But he had pulled another person into his life. Taken on the responsibility to care for and protect him.


"What the hell was I thinking..." he muttered. 'Can't handle my own life and now I am trying to teach someone else...' "He might have been better off had I left him with the aid workers." He sighed and downed a shot of vodka, savoring the warmth of it trickling down his throat and spreading through his stomach. Despite his misgivings he knew in his heart that he had done the right thing in taking Giovanni with him. Had he stayed someone surely would have found out what he was...


'He escaped experimentation once... I do not think he would have a second time.' He grimaced and downed another shot trying to burn the images of skeletal victims horridly disfigured in the 'hospitals' of the camps from his mind. The Nazis were being pushed back; soon they would no longer be able to do such things. But somehow he knew his own government wouldn't hesitate long over trying to figure out what made an Immortal tick, figure out how they could be used. The nameless faces and bodies of his gruesome mental slide show were suddenly replaced by the visage of the Italian upstairs. He downed a third shot then let out a hissing sigh. 'No...no this was for the best. I just hope I can do right by him.'


He had no sooner banished his negative thoughts and made himself comfortable in the living room than a knock at the door roused him. The young man he met at it was nearly the image of his father in his youth.


"Ganya," they clasped arms and exchanged kisses. "You look well," he said stepping aside to let him in and then turning to greet his mother.


Sofi was a small woman, no more than 5'3" at the most, with a stern yet kind face. She looked older than her fifty five years. Well worn lines marking her weathered face, each an echo of a joyous or grief filled moment in her life. He leaned down and pulled her into a hug. Deceptively strong arms encircled him as well and he felt as though a weight was lifted from his shoulders.


"Still so very handsome," she said cradling his face in her hands after kissing his cheeks. "But your eyes are so sad... what is wrong Ivanushka?"


"I'm just tired," he said closing the door. "But it is good to see you both. When I heard the Germans had the city under siege..." he trailed off for a bit.


"It was not easy but somehow we managed," Ganya replied. "The fighting was fierce, many of my friends died. Luckily a Kraut bullet tagged me in the best possible place," he grinned and tapped his butt. "Immediate discharge."


"Share your war stories later," Sofi said shushing the two men. She had removed her coat and shawl and was looking around the house. "Bring in the supplies dear," she said to her son. "And you," she turned to Ivan, "You tell me of your guest."


"He is young," Ivan began leading her into the kitchen. "Probably not much older than Ganya, if he is older at all. I do not know much about him to be honest. A majority of the time he has been with me he has been resting. He looks better than he did when I first found him, though he is still not fully well – and still so thin..."


"We shall soon rectify that," she said with a warm smile as she moved about the kitchen, clearly in her element. "What is his name?"


"Giovanni."


"A good name." She readily accepted the groceries Ganya brought in and began to sort through them, passing some to Ivan to be stored and keeping some out to be used for dinner. "I have never prepared a kosher meal," she said. "When he is well he shall have to explain it better to me but for now I will try my best. And we will just concentrate on getting him healthy." She looked over to Ivan briefly and raised a brow at his expression. "I have never known you not to speak your mind. Out with it."


"I... do not know if you will have to worry on that much. He has, as far as I know, turned his back on his religion and its practices." Sofi said nothing; a simple arching of one brow indicated she had heard what he said. "What will you be preparing?" he asked changing the subject.


"Draniki, and Pirozhki with cabbage," she replied. "I do not wish to tax him with anything too rich." Ganya returned once again, with a large sack of potatoes. "And we have a surplus of potatoes. We ask the Allies to send help to us – they give us potatoes."


"He seems rather fond of Rye bread," Ivan said as Ganya took a spot beside him.


"Than we shall make some of that as well in time." She took Ivan's hands into her tiny ones. "Do not worry, Babushka is here and will take care of you."


"I am older than you dear," he replied with a genuine smile. She merely smiled to him in return.


"Ganya, would you begin peeling some of those potatoes for me? I wish to meet your charge Ivan."



****



"Ya ga-varYOO, vwee ga-va-REE-t'yeh, ah ga-va-REET."* Giovanni hoped his pronunciations were correct. It was fairly easy getting his mouth around the strange words but making sure he recognized the alphabet well enough... "Ya ga-var YOO..."

"Verb conjugation already?" an unfamiliar female voice said. The book dropped to his lap with a soft thud and he watched a tiny graying woman move to the side to let Ivan enter. She said something then in Russian again but he couldn't catch all the words, they spoke so fast...


"She said your pronunciation is very good for someone new to the language," Ivan explained. "Giovanni this is Sofi Falipov, Sofi - Giovanni Bassani."


The tiny woman sat next to him on the bed and took his hand. Her eyes twinkled kindly but held a sorrowful light as they flitted over him. She murmured softly and brushed a hand over his shaved head and trailed a finger down his jaw line. He recognized the expression on her face - motherly concern.


'I miss you mother...' Suddenly the urge to weep was strong as images of his own mother came to mind; but somehow he managed to keep composed. She spoke again to Ivan and Giovanni turned to him, hoping for a translation as the woman rose and left the room.


"She said she thought it might be good for you to bathe and get dressed and eat dinner in the dining room with us in a few hours. You can wear some of my clothing if you want to. They won't fit you perfectly but it will be better than your pajamas I imagine."


"How... how many people will there be?"


"Sofi, her son Ganya, and myself. You and Ganya are of like ages I believe."


"And they... know what we are?"


"Yes, I tried to keep contact with their family as much as possible. In my old life they were my family's servants. And Alexandr, Sofi's husband, and I were good friends also."


The offer was so very tempting. Eating dinner at a table with friends and family like a normal person... But could he stand the looks of pity in their faces and eyes? The hollow yet well intentioned statements of "I understand how you feel..." or "you poor dear..."


"I don't know..." he began.


"They are good people," Ivan said. "They will not look down upon you if that is what is worrying you."


"That is not it," the Italian replied. "I... I don't want any pity." he said glancing down. "I appreciate the fact that they feel badly for what has happened to me but still... It is hard to see it in their faces all the time. A constant reminder in a way - if my body wasn't one already."


'He still has his pride.' This realization pleased the Russian Immortal to no end. 'There is hope for him yet.'


"I do not think it will be as bad as you fear." he said. "We are a proud people and have been through far too many hardships ourselves. There will be sympathy yes. But pity? No. For they would ask the same of you." The reply seemed to please the Italian, or at least dissuaded some of his concerns. "I will find you something to wear and set out a towel for you as well for whenever you are ready for your bath." Then with a bow of his head he was gone.


Giovanni shook his head a bit then reopened the book and began his studies again. 'I hope this is not a bad idea…'



****



"You do not look so bad." Ivan said several hours later as he helped Giovanni down the stairs. The clothing the Italian wore was indeed baggy on him and hung loosely off of his small frame. But it was not as bad as he had feared.


"It is lucky I am not much taller than you." He said as Ivan let go of his arm at the bottom of the steps. "Else it would have looked worse. I myself do not like looking at my boney wrists and ankles; I would not like to force that upon anyone else."


"A few days of Sofi's cooking and I shall have to roll you around the house you will be so big." The joke elicited a smile and slight laugh from the Italian as they entered the room. Giovanni smiled politely, if not a little nervously, as a tall man who looked to be around his age came up to greet him.


"Ganya Alexandrevich Falipov, pleasure to meet you." He greeted him in Italian. "Ivan schooled us some," he explained haltingly.


The young Immortal glanced to his teacher with a rare hint of pleasure on his face. It had been a kind, and totally unneeded gesture yet he had done it; tried his best to make this just a little easier for him. The smile that graced his lips finally reached his eyes for the first time in years.


Sofi had come up to him in the meantime and took his hand into hers, greeting him then guiding him over to his seat. The table was covered with several dishes, some of the food looked familiar some not, but all of it smelled wonderful.


He had been hungry for three years. It had become a constant, conscious, feeling for that entire time. First it had been easy enough to ignore – a gnawing feeling ever present but able to be pushed aside. Then there had been the pain… hunger pangs so strong they would double you over. For a time after that he had been so hungry that he no longer felt it, in fact his appetite had disappeared entirely. It was as if his stomach had given up on ever getting anything. He had felt that way for most of the last year, occasionally it felt like there was a great empty pit inside him but for the most part he had almost truly forgotten to eat at all.


The site of so much food before him, though surely it was less than at a meal before the war, was daunting. He almost found himself asking permission to take some… If the others noticed his hesitation they said nothing.


In fact while he had been marveling over the meal the three Russians had launched into a rapid moving discussion. It was interesting to watch really, so much to take in. Giovanni had always been an inquisitive person; he had also enjoyed watching people – learning more about them through their actions or expressions. It was something he had not done often in the camp; everyone acted the same there anyway – lost, defeated, dead to the world. There had been nothing to see.


But here, here suddenly there was a veritable explosion of things to take in.


They were fairly animated as they spoke; not the same way as his own, Italian, family had been of course. His father had joked that if one was not careful at the dinner table they might have an eye poked out they gestured so much.


Ganya, who was seated across from him, used his hands the most. He also nodded a fair bit. He was the youngest and so often would defer to either Ivan or his mother. He had no trouble speaking up when he disagreed though it seemed. He had a tendency to lean towards whoever he was making his point to as well and the more excited he became the more his hands would fly.


Sofi, though female and also the smallest in stature at the table, commanded a great deal of respect from the two men. She spoke softly, often with little to no movement. Ivan and Ganya would fall silent respectively whenever the woman had a point to make or comment to add. She was also the easiest for Giovanni, with his limited knowledge of Russian, to understand. Speaking a little more slowly and carefully.


His father would have liked her, he determined. There are some, who speak only to hear their own voice; and there are others, more quiet people, who speak rarely but when they do it is very important. He had told his son. Sofi by all appearances was one of the latter.


And then of course there was Ivan. He had yet to see the Russian in a more social environment, though they had only known each other for a short time of course. The change in his demeanor was palpable.


Here, among old friends, he appeared; lighter, happier, almost a little carefree even. The worries and demons he seemed to carry did not have as strong a hold over him. He was smiling, not tense or forced but open and happily. His eyes lit up as he spoke and his expressions were quite animated. The small glimpses into the person his teacher was or perhaps still could be somehow made up for the fact that he had almost no clue as to what was being said.


Ivan had of course engaged him in conversation, encouraged more of it even but he had simply smiled and replied that he was content for now to just sit and enjoy everything around him.



****



"You were quiet during dinner," Ivan commented after Ganya and Sofi had left. "Were you all right? I hope you did not feel left out."


"No, no.. I was - am fine. It was nice just to be able to watch a normal dinner conversation.." Ivan offered a smile to this. "You seemed much freer tonight - during dinner." He continued. "They make you happy - the people, the links to your former life. You hold yourself differently in their presence..." he caught the Russian's eyes with his own steady gaze. "Fewer burdens." Shock briefly registered in the blue eyes before Ivan could smother it, pull the walls back up and avert his gaze. He was about to speak, apologize for going too far - overstepping boundaries - when Ivan raised his eyes back up.


"My life before was a good one, it held purpose, a future. It no longer does." he said cooly. "At times I somehow fool myself into forgetting that or believing otherwise." His face was cold, closed off; no hint of the man from dinner remained. "If you do not require anything else I shall leave you to sleep now."


The Italian shook his head quietly then watched him retreat from the room. 'Too soon - I spoke on it too soon. He does not trust me, perhaps now he never will.' With that particular thought foremost on his mind he readied himself for bed.



**



'For someone so damn young he is perceptive, more perceptive than I ever was.' "Or am now," he finished out loud. In less than two weeks, and most of that time spent almost completely silent or in sleep, the newly Immortal man had managed to discover a few of Ivan's hang ups. Hang ups he thought he hid fairly well.


"He's getting to you," he could almost hear Sergei's voice speaking to him. "Messing with your idea of normalcy. This is good for you."


"No it is not," he muttered. "I was rather happy being miserable in a bleak and war torn life." he paused, glancing around the room before groaning. 'And now I am talking to myself, or the imaginary voice of my dead teacher. I must be going insane...' His eyes went to the wall where three rooms away the Italian lay sleeping. 'And you are the cause of it.'








Trans (Russian):

Babushka: Grandmother



* English phonetic pronunciations of the Russian phrases:


I speak

You speak

He speaks