Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.

Summary: Fraying at the edges, but still holding it together.

Date: Jan. 2nd - 3 pm, between Cat and Tears (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

Edited: 19.12.10

24. No Time

Alex was getting sick of driving.

He had swallowed a few painkillers and finally eaten something, but now he was becoming increasingly aware of the state he was in. He was dirty, sticky and sweaty. He hadn't managed to get all of the blood off, especially not from under his nails. He had gotten most of the blood on his face off at least, but he could still feel it clinging to his face.

Simply put, he needed a shower, badly.

"When are we going to stop?" He tried not to sound whiny, but it still came out like a complaint, making him wince. Furthermore, his question was wasted anyway, seeing as there was no reply. He sighed, sinking low into his seat. He had learned by now that silence was about the equivalent to 'You're being annoying, shut up.' He supposed that he should just be grateful that Yassen put up with him at all.

Alex went back to staring out of the window, resigning himself to waiting until the assassin thought they could take a break.

To his surprise, not even half an hour passed before Yassen left the street and turned onto the parking lot of a motel. The teen threw the man a questioning look, but the Russian appeared to be ignoring him. A little bewildered, he watched as Yassen took his bag from the backseat and got out of the car. What, where they staying here?

Hesitantly, he unbuckled his seatbelt, but before he could open his door the assassin already ordered, "Stay in the car."

"Geez, somebody's in a bad mood," he muttered to himself, miffed. He sunk back into his seat and watched as the man went into the motel. 'Stay in the car' was fast becoming the Russian's favourite phrase, wasn't it? If he thought he could spend the night in the motel while Alex waited in the car like an obedient dog he had better think again. The spy had slept in more uncomfortable places than this, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't choose a nice comfy motel bed over a car.

Over the next fifteen minutes his mood grew progressively worse until he was seriously contemplating following Yassen into the building. Or maybe hijacking the car and driving away. Wouldn't that piss the assassin off if he came back and Alex and the car were gone? Though he preferred not to think about what the man could do to him in revenge. The Russian was seriously intimidating most of the time.

But damn, just how long did that prick plan to make him wait here? And he hadn't even told Alex what he was going to do. For all the teen knew he could be in there murdering everyone to make sure they wouldn't be recognized.

Alex snorted at himself.

Yassen was a contract killer, but the teen didn't think that the man went around randomly killing people. Unless he got paid to or had a good reason he didn't get anything out of murdering someone, after all. The young spy wondered what kind of life that was, always traveling from one place to the next, leaving a trail of corpses behind...

He shuddered as he remembered the frozen expression of fear and surprise on Frank's face. How could the Russian do this regularly and not feel anything?

It was getting cold in the car, so he tugged the sleeves of the sweater over his hands and the collar up over his nose. It still smelled like Yassen, some kind of aftershave with an undefinable underlying hint of something. Whatever it was, it was nice. The scent was quickly becoming a piece of familiarity in the mess his life had become recently, and wasn't that just a scary thought?

He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew Yassen was knocking against his window, startling him awake. He straightened up and opened the door.

"Wha-" He stopped to clear his throat. "What is it?"

The Russian nodded in the direction of the motel. "We have a room for the next two hours."

Alex nodded and got out, making a face as he had to put his naked feet into the dirty snow-slush. He had lost his shoes before and each time it happened he appreciated anew just how useful they were. The assassin had already turned around and was walking towards the motel in groundeating strides. It was kind of fascinating how Yassen could move so fast and still look like he wasn't hurrying at all.

Unfortunately, the same didn't apply to Alex and he definitely had to hurry as he followed the man across the parking lot, a disgruntled frown on his face. The lobby was empty when they came in, but in the hallway a young woman came in their direction.

The teen averted his face and walked a little closer to the Russian, who didn't seem happy about unexpectedly having a witness there at all. Hopefully she wouldn't notice his lack of shoes and dishevelled clothes and the blood and... everything, really. He tensed when he felt her eyes on him, scrutinizing him closely, and he quickly glanced at her to gauge her reaction. At first she looked a little surprised, then shocked, and then she directed a positively furious glare at Yassen. Fuck.

He walked a little faster and averted his face, hoping she wouldn't call the police on them or something. The way he looked she must have thought Yassen was beating him.

It was barely noticable, but the Russian hurried as well as he unlocked the door to room number seven, probably because the woman had actually stopped at the end of the corridor and was watching them. Alex really hoped that she'd just forget about them. Someone giving a description of the pair of them traveling together was the last thing either of them needed.

The room was small and only had one bed, but it wasn't like they were planning to sleep here, so it didn't matter. What did matter were the pile of medical supplies on the bed and the bathroom with a shower cubicle inside. He went straight for it, desperate to get warm and clean.

"I'm going to take a shower," he called over his shoulder, only just catching the other's nod as he closed the door behind himself. He checked twice that it was locked.

He undressed quickly, unwound the bandage and then stepped into the shower. For what felt like the first time in days he relaxed completely, the tension falling off of his shoulders as the warm water chased the cold out of his limbs. His shoulder and wrist were stinging, but he didn't pay it much heed, instead busying himself with getting all the filth off of him.

He would have loved to stay in there for the whole two hours or even longer, but he knew that there was no time. Reluctantly he got out of the small shower and dried himself off with one of the small towels, feeling infinitely better than just twenty minutes earlier. He caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink and grimaced.

Half his face was black and blue where Frank had hit him and while he had noticed the pain, he hadn't thought it was quite this bad. No wonder the woman had reacted like she had; if Alex had known he would have made more of an effort to hide his state.

A little worried that he had missed an injury in his earlier self-assessment he checked himself over thoroughly; he wasn't doing himself any favours if he neglected taking care of his wounds. The bruises littering his chest and thighs had gotten darker over the last few hours, but he knew that they were the kind that would heal in a few days. The hand-shaped bruises on his hip and inner thigh were worse, the kind of purple-black that told him that they'd likely stay with him for weeks. His stomach lurched at the thought.

His right wrist was swollen and the torn skin looked rather ugly, while his left wrist clearly showed were Frank's fingers had dug into his flesh. Seemed like the bastard had left quite the impression on him.

He averted his eyes and looked back up at the mirror, starting to feel rather ill. Was there a single part of him Frank hadn't marked somehow? He braced himself on the sink and looked into his fever-bright eyes. He was so sick of seeing that vulnerable expression on his own face.

He clenched his hands into fists and closed his eyes, barely keeping himself in check. He wanted to hit something, but at this point he'd only injure himself further.

Needing to distract himself he pushed off the sink and bent down to pick up his - well, Yassen's - clothes. When he straightened up again he caught sight of the side of his neck in the mirror. There was a hickey just beneath the edge of his jaw.

In a flash he was bent over the toilet and throwing up what little food he had eaten that day.

Fuck. Just... fuck.

He heaved again, his stomach clenching painfully, and closed his burning eyes. This wasn't supposed to happen. This whole thing... it just- hadn't been supposed to happen. He could deal with being shot at, hunted by crazy murderers, standing next to atomic bombs and even dying just didn't seem such a big deal after all the times he had come close to it. But he wasn't supposed to have to be able to deal with this.

A tear slowly slipped down his face and dropped onto the toilet seat, his shoulders tense and trembling with the effort of holding back. Why was it always him? Why did this shit always happen to him?

Suddenly there was a knock at the door, startling him badly.

Yassen's voice came from the other side of the wood. "Will you be done soon?"

He swallowed thickly, grimacing at the taste. Right, now was not the time to wallow in self-pity. "Yeah," he called back and hastily rubbed at his face. "I'll be right out!"

He hurried through getting dressed and cleaning up the bathroom, then reluctantly unlocked the door and stepped out. He hadn't put on a shirt because the graze on his shoulder needed to be re-dressed and he met Yassen's thoughtful gaze, feeling both exposed and secure in the knowledge that the assassin had no reason to hurt him.

"Bathroom's free," the teen muttered.

Yassen nodded and went to get cleaned up.