Author notes: I must thank JP for her support and feedback, and Jeanne for the Beta. Translations of foreign languages will be listed at the bottom of the page. See prologue for full notes and disclaimer.




Lost and Found
Chapter Three


It was night. At least, he thought it was night. The stifling heat in the car had lessened some and the weak light that had been filtering in through a few cracks was no longer present. Some people shifted restlessly in the cramped space; however most were too tired and weak to think about moving. The train suddenly began to slow and then finally, with a sickening lurch, it stopped.

A hand on his arm made Giovanni look up, and he met his father's steady gaze. His eyes... they were different. Where before there had been fear there was now a calm acceptance.

"Papa?" He bit his lip, not liking what he saw in his father; not wanting to see it.

"You're a good boy, Giovanni, you've grown into a good man, I am proud of you."

The finality of his tone... was he saying goodbye?

"I want you to promise me something. You must never give up. Do you hear me Giovanni? Do not give up, nor give in. Hold the truth and your faith here." He tapped him on the chest, above his heart. "Remember, Giovanni, you must remember everything."

"Papa? What do..." The doors to the car swung open, stalling his question on his lips as the harsh environment outside invaded the black box. People near the front of the car began to move out, not fast enough apparently, for the imposing guards began shouting, loudly, angrily, in German and their nightsticks were swung freely... Dogs pulled at leashes snarling and biting at them as they filed out - out into a living nightmare.

Smoke spiraled out of columns off to one side; a sick pungent odor permeated the air. Ghostly figures dressed in striped pajamas seemed to float past as they lined up. He looked at them only briefly before his mother took his arm in a vice-like grip. She was sobbing as she hugged him, then passed a hand through the dark curls on his head and finally cupped his cheek in her hand. She was saying something... it sounded like a farewell...

"Y'simcha elohim k'efrayim v'chim'nasheh." His father was blessing him... why on Earth would he be doing that now? "Y'varech'cha adonai v'yishm'recha. Ya'eir adonai panav eilecha vihuneka. Yisa adonai panav eilecha..." His father was being pulled away. The guard struck him, shouted something... and then his father was led off... His mother was weeping, clinging to him. She too was pulled away. Two guards half-carried her as she struggled, reaching back for him, screaming his name...

"Mother? Mother no..." he broke from the line, started towards her, then cried out in pain as he was struck in the side by another guard.

"Get back in the line!" The guard spat shoving Giovanni roughly back into the line as it passed under the gate. They stumbled along in bewilderment, whips and canes striking those who fell back too far or strayed from the line. The dogs continuing to jump and snap at them, their expressions equal in ferocity to their masters.

They were led into a large brick building and told to strip and hang their clothing on a peg behind them. Giovanni did so mechanically. He did not flinch as the barber at the next table over shaved his head, the thick curls of hair his mother had so recently touched falling to the floor, then the rest of his body. He was seated at a table, there was the smell of alcohol briefly and then pain lanced up and down his arm. They were tattooing him. Once that was done they were ushered into another room and given their camp uniforms. His arm still hurt; a dull throbbing pain and, after dressing, all he could do was stare at the number '150862.' A guard noticed his inattentiveness and raised his club to strike Giovanni.

**

Giovanni jerked awake with a small cry, glancing wildly about. Slowly his breathing and pulse began to return to normal as his eyes met nothing but a pleasantly furnished, modest sized, bedroom. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and absently rubbed his arm. It did not hurt him but the ghostly echo of pain from the dream still lingered.

He rose from the bed and made his way quietly down the hall. His agitations in the dream and his waking had not been loud enough to wake the Russian and he did not want to do so now. He ran water in the sink briefly then cupped some in his hands to run over his face. The cool liquid seemed to ease some of the tension from the dream, for which he was grateful.

His eyes strayed to the tattoo on his arm as he reached out for a towel to dry his face. Then as he was bringing the towel up to his face he spied the razor on the edge of the sink.

**

His sleep had been deep and dreamless for most of the night, something that had not been happening of late. So when Ivan awoke and heard a noise in the hall he simply turned over and tried to fall asleep again. However when he heard a clatter and the loud thud of someone falling in the bathroom he was up and out of the room before his mind even had time to comprehend what was going on.

He swore aloud at the sight that greeted him. The floor of the bathroom was covered in blood – and he didn't want to identify what the thicker, solid looking substances were. Giovanni was half-sitting, half-lying on the floor crying and clutching something in his hand; blood flowed from a cut on his other arm and Ivan's stomach lurched. 'He did this to himself?'

Once again he found himself kneeling next to the younger man, putting an arm around him and using the other to remove whatever it was he held. The Italian let out an anguished cry when Ivan managed to pull the razor blade from his grasp, lancing his own fingers in the process, his blood mingling seamlessly with that already splattered on each of them. His cuts healed rather quickly though and, after tossing the blade into the trash, he pulled the younger man into a tight embrace. The twisted thought that these breakdowns in the bathroom were becoming far too much of a routine came to mind and was subsequently dismissed.

"It won't come off… I want it off, I want it gone! Why won't it come off?" Giovanni choked out between sobs. The most recent cut to his flesh had finally healed over and Ivan noticed it had been on the tattoo. "I don't want it, I don't want to remember. Make it go away. Please... make it go away..." His voice hitched on the last word as great heaving sobs overtook him, shaking his entire body even in Ivan's embrace.

"Shhh... it's okay... it's okay..." Ivan ran his hand over the other man's back in soothing circles. "I'm so sorry..." He shut his eyes to block out the sight of the blood on the floor, on Giovanni, and on him now. 'I don't know what to do... I don't know what the hell to do...' he thought over and over, the words becoming a mantra. 'Dear God help me... What do I do? How do I help him?'

The crying did not cease. In fact, if possible, Giovanni became more hysterical, struggling to loosen Ivan's grip, reaching for the trashcan, pummeling the Russian weakly as he made noises of frustration and anger. And all the while Ivan simply sat and held him, taking the hits soundlessly, ignoring the angry and frustrated exclamations and the harsh words that spilled out from the Italian's mouth.

Slowly the struggling began to stop. It was then that he realized he was singing, trying to soothe the young man with a comforting melody. He didn't know when he started or why, only that he was. It took a bit to recognize what it was that he was singing, but once he did he had to smile. It was a lullaby, one his mother had sung to him as a child when nightmares had awoken him and sent him running into his parents' bedroom. Hot tears splashed on his collarbone as Giovanni turned into him, fingers clenching and unclenching convulsively around the hem of Ivan's shirt.

"I cut... I cut it off - I cut it out... it grew back. It just kept growing back." The heaving sobs started anew and shook both men as they sat on the bloody floor.

"Shhh..." He soothed, hugging the younger man a little more tightly. He should have thought of this, he should have prepared for it, told him more things about Immortality – explained… but he hadn't. Yet again he had failed.

"Any mark we bear on our flesh before death will remain with us in our new lives," he said his voice low. 'I should have told you that – prevented this.' Giovanni's hands fisted against him as he let out another strangled noise. "In turn no mark can be put upon us in Immortal life, save for where we are vulnerable - the neck. I'm so sorry... I should have explained that earlier. I wish I could do something more; and if I could, I would take it away from you. But I can't."

"Why?" Giovanni asked against his shoulder. "Why did I have to live? Why couldn't I just die?"

Ivan had not often felt as helpless in his life as he did upon hearing those words. 'Why indeed?' he echoed in his mind. 'Why did I live when others more deserving of life died?'

"I don't want to live, not like this, not in this world. I want my parents back, I want to be with them, I want to be dead."

"You don't mean that," Ivan whispered.

"Yes I do. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be alone. Everyone's gone."

"Not alone. You're not alone." He pulled back then raised the Italian's face to eye level. His cheek was tear-streaked and damp under his hand from the continuing flow of tears. "You've got me." He offered a crooked smile. "I'm not much and I can never replace your family but I'm here if and when you need me, remember?"

"You'll not leave? Not even after all of this?" Ivan shook his head. "Promise? Do you promise nothing will take you away? That you won't leave? No one has been able to for the last three years..." His eyes were bloodshot, wide and pleading.

"I promise Giovanni, I'll not leave you."

Something close to a smile graced the younger man's features and his hands released their grip on Ivan's shirt then slid around his back to embrace him in a desperate hug.

"Spasiba."

"You're welcome," he replied. 'I hope I didn't just make an impossible promise.'


****

Ivan had cleaned the floor as best he could while Giovanni took a short bath. It was almost 4 am by the time he helped the Italian back into bed. His own legs still carried faint traces of blood and he was still wearing the same t-shirt from earlier, the clean white cotton now marked with vivid reddish brown imprints. He had been walking away, intent upon cleaning himself up and changing, when a hand gripped his arm.

"Don't go..." Giovanni said softly. "Stay, please?" His eyes were pleading again. "Until I fall asleep?" Ivan sighed - he really should go he knew, make sure the blood did not linger on anything in the bathroom, throw out the stained clothing... He took another look at the large brown eyes and nodded.

"Until you fall asleep." He went to pull away, to grab a chair to sit in, but the hand on his wrist did not let go. He turned with a raised brow.

"You can sit on the bed," the other man said in the same soft tone. Ivan gave an almost exasperated sigh and then the hand fell away. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean... you can go." Giovanni's eyes were downcast and he pulled his arms in against his body and turned over.

'You asshole,' he berated himself. 'He is going to keep pulling himself into that shell and never get better at this rate. You're doing more harm than good.' Wordlessly he sat on the bed then lay back resting his head on the edge of the pillow. The Italian shifted under the covers, turning over and Ivan felt eyes upon himself.

"You do not have to stay if you do not want to. It was a foolish request anyway." The brown eyes dipped down again in embarrassment. "I am far too old to be running to someone after a bad dream."

"No, no it was not foolish, I'm just an insensitive ass at times." He smiled ruefully. "And there is nothing wrong with needing comfort after a dream, especially the ones we get." The Italian gave him a grateful smile. "Now, sleep. No more bad dreams." With that Ivan reached over and shut off the lamp beside the bed, plunging the room into darkness.

Giovanni was ashamed and utterly baffled by what had happened, his crazed actions earlier. One minute he had been fine and the next... the next he was trying to mutilate himself. He trailed his fingers over the bandage Ivan had placed on his arm. Not to cover any cut, but rather to conceal the tattoo in the hopes that if Giovanni could not see it he would not be spurred on to such actions again.

'And his opinion of me grows even worse...' His eyes traveled over the profile of the man lying on the edge of the bed. 'I will make it up to you somehow…'


****

Sunlight danced over the frost upon the window, twinkling merrily, when Giovanni awoke the next morning. True to his word Ivan had stayed until he had fallen asleep. He could not recall hearing or seeing the Russian leave, and his sleep had been dreamless the remainder of the night.

He was apprehensive when he opened the bathroom door, expecting to see blood, expecting the rush and dread of a flashback. Nothing happened. The floor was once more a pristine white. There were no traces of last night's incident and no flashback.

'Why did I do it?' He stood at the sink after washing and drying his hands, waiting to see if the madness would take him again.

It didn't, and it left Giovanni all the more confused.

Continuing down the hall he pushed open the door and peered into Ivan's room. He was still asleep, sprawled unceremoniously on the bed as if he had just collapsed upon entering the room. 'Which might not be far from what happened.' Dark rings were trying to form under his eyes and his expression was troubled. 'He scowls even in his sleep.'

Giovanni backed quietly out of the room, not wanting to wake the other man, not again anyway. He shut the door and made his way back down the hall then descended the stairs. If memory served the kitchen was on the other side of the dining room...

It was modestly sized; and had an odd mixture of new up-to-date appliances and older, more archaic, ones. After a few minutes of searching he found what he was looking for, a vacuum coffee brewer. His hands automatically knew what they were doing and soon enough water began to rise within the glass housing soaking the coffee grinds, filling the air with a rich aroma. Leaving the pot to itself he wandered back through the dining room into the entrance hall. There was a door in the wall, near the stairs. He hadn't noticed it before. His natural curiosity took over once more and he went to the door. Trying the handle he was pleasantly surprised it was open. If it was not locked then Ivan perhaps would not mind if he looked in the room...

It opened inward into a darkly painted room. Sunlight peeked in through the curtains but didn't do much to illuminate his surroundings. He flipped a wall switch, half expecting it not to work. It did work though, and a simple candelabra chandelier came alive above him, bringing a warm glow to the room. There were books, lots of books; a desk, a piano, shelves and cases with several kinds of heirlooms on display.

"I can give you the grand tour later if you like," Ivan said from behind, causing Giovanni to jump and whirl around.

"I... I didn't mean to..." His face was apologetic. The Russian waved a hand dismissing the apology.

"I figured eventually you would stumble onto this room, didn't think it would be so soon though," he said leading the other man out and heading back for the kitchen. "You can go wherever you like in the house, it is your home too now." He ran a hand through sleep-mussed hair. "I thought I smelled coffee."

"I was hungry but didn't want to wake you," the Italian explained. "What was that room?" he asked grabbing a roll as Ivan filled two cups of coffee.

"If you like we could eat in there this morning. Give me a chance to explain."

**

"This is the library; though you could probably call it a study if you prefer," Ivan said as they sat on a sofa. "My family had three different homes. Our main one, the manor house, is in the palace district, a little outside of town. Then we had this one, in town; and finally a dacha in the Caucasus, where my grandmother lived. After the revolution Alexandr and Sofi lived here for a time. They moved out eventually, got their own place, but somehow Alexandr kept this place out of the government's hands. I won't even guess as to how he gives them the runaround but I am glad for it."

"So all this stuff has been here since then?"

"Not quite," Ivan replied. "There was far less than this last I lived here. Not all of this belonged to my family either," he said gesturing around the room. "The Soviets, they 'cleaned out' many of the palaces and manor homes in the years after the Revolution. Some of the things they kept in them and the rest, whatever they didn't want, was simply thrown out without any regard for what any of it meant to anyone. Alexandr grabbed some of this from the garbage, saved it. At the time he simply wanted to keep a remembrance of the past, he did not know I was still alive. After he found that out he kept this all for me. Hoping I might move back here eventually."

Giovanni sipped his coffee while he took in what the Russian said. He understood, only vaguely, what had transpired during the time Ivan spoke of. Knew even less on how different the new government and the monarchy had been. This country, and much of its history, was as much an enigma to him as the man before him was.

"If... if you do not like the government, what they are doing, the changes they have made, why don't you leave? Go to another country?"

"This is my home. It is where I belong. My beloved 'Mother Russia.' I cannot leave her, for she will never leave me, no matter how she changes. There is nothing like her anywhere in the world." There was a note of pride and deep affection in his voice. "The Urals and Siberia with their wild beauty, the Tundra - crystalline whiteness as far as you can see, nothing looks so pure; the Taiga, so dense with trees you could be lost for years in them. The Black Sea to the south, the rolling fields of the Ukraine to the west... And then there is my home, here, St. Petersburg. They change her name but still the feel of the city is the same, old and new, vibrant yet calm; her heart has not changed. Here I still feel a connection to the past, to my life." He felt eyes upon him again and briefly he met the Italian's bold gaze; then ducked his eyes away and cleared his throat. Perhaps he had said too much.

'He speaks with such passion and yet acts so defeated so often. What happened to change him so? It couldn't have been simply becoming Immortal, could it? Two wars... two wars and a revolution and God knows what else in between them all.'

"Perhaps one day you could show me some of these places?"

Ivan raised his head at the question, expression mildly curious, then smiled.

"Perhaps," he replied. "When it gets warmer, I will show you around the city at least. St. Petersburg is especially nice in the summer, when it finally does arrive anyway. I think you will enjoy the White Nights."

"What are they?"

"Because we are so far north, every summer, for about a month the sun sets, but darkness does not take hold. The dusk lasts the night. The sky has a white cast to it – it feels… magical almost. At least it did when I was young."

"It sounds beautiful."

"It is," he said as Giovanni smiled.

They sat in silence for a time, the ticking of a clock on the mantle creating a pleasant noise in the background. "How do you feel today?" Ivan finally asked.

"I… better, I guess. I do not know what came over me last night. My actions-"

"Were no worse than some of mine have been over the years," Ivan cut in.

"Do you play?" the Italian asked. Ivan raised a brow. "Any of the instruments in here, do you play them?"

"Ah." He rose from the sofa then seated himself at the piano. "I had many tutors as a child. Tutors for arithmetic, geography, languages - the normal academics. I also had tutors for more aesthetic pursuits, dancing, music, painting... all things a good noble should be able to do. They tried me on many instruments; the only one I seemed to have aptitude for was the piano." He rested his fingers over they keys, debating whether to play or not. "What about you? Are you musically inclined or do you just enjoy listening?"

"I am afraid I do not play any instruments. We sang a lot though, in my family. At the synagogue and at home," Giovanni replied. "I would have loved to learn the violin - but - never had the chance. My mother was quite good though..." He trailed off. It was no use opening that part of his memory, it would only lead to more pain. Pain he wanted to forget, even if it meant forgetting some of the good memories as well.

Soft notes began to swirl through the room as Ivan finally decided to let his fingers walk over the keys of the piano. It was a simple, familiar song. Beethoven. Für Elise. 'A trip to the symphony could not be better than this,' Giovanni thought with a smile. The Russian indeed had some talent, albeit a bit rusty. But he could be playing the most dissonant of notes and Giovanni would enjoy it. It was the first real music he had heard in over three years.

"That was lovely," he commented as the last notes faded from the air.

"Thank you. It was the first song I ever learned, and my mother's favorite. I memorized it when I was fifteen so I could play it for her on her birthday." He spun around to face Giovanni again. "I haven't played in thirty years; I am surprised I still remember it."

"I guess some things you never forget totally, no matter what happens or how much time passes." The minute Giovanni said it he felt like a hypocrite. Hadn't he just told himself it was best to forget some things? That it would be better to do so... He had to stop this train of thought - change the subject...

"When will we be starting my training?"

"Are you eager to start?" Ivan inquired raising a brow at the abrupt question.

"Well, somewhat." Giovanni sighed internally. "I want to be active in some way. I feel rested, much better now. These slow days are wonderful and all but… I am becoming bored, restless." Ivan smiled at this.

"I guess my inherent laziness has not rubbed off on you. Probably a good thing." He studied the younger man's face, gauging his seriousness.

"Okay, we will begin your training tomorrow."











Translations in order of appearance and indexed via language.

Hebrew:

"Y'simcha elohim k'efrayim v'chim'nasheh"
May God make you like Ephraim and Menasseh.
-This is a Blessing used on male children on the Sabbath

"Y'varech'cha adonai v'yishm'recha. Ya'eir adonai panav eilecha vihuneka. Yisa adonai panav eilecha..."
May God bless you and keep you. May God's presence radiate upon you and grant you graciousness. May God's presence be with you.

The complete blessing ends with (v'yaseim l'cha shalom = and grant you peace) this is used on children of both gender on Sabbath.

It was not Sabbath that night obviously, however Giovanni's father simply wanted to bless his son one last time and those came to mind first.

The blessing and its translation were taken from:

Russian:
Spasiba
Thank you