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

Warnings: I got a bit trigger-happy with the italics.

Summary: It's amazing what you can make yourself forget if only you want it badly enough.

Author's Note: Surprise! Life has thrown me a curve ball or two, or three, or maybe just hit me with the bat, so it took me a while to get back to this. But back I am, and I bring you a new chapter and a completely revised story to boot. Some chapters only have miniscule changes, some chapters had more than half their content rewritten. It might be worth a re-read. Anyway, I'm glad I'm back and I'm even gladder that a lot of you people want to see this continued. :) Thanks, guys.

Oh, and Happy New Year! :D

Date: Jan. 3rd, 9.30 am, between Night and Trouble Lurking (Timeline: http :/ shiruy. livejournal. com/ 3602. html)

35. Hold My Hand

He woke up because someone was jostling him, the source of warmth he was pressed up against pulling away from him. He made a small noise of protest and burrowed deeper under his blanket, sleep cloying his thoughts. According to his heavy limbs it was way too early to get up and he was inclined to agree. A tentative glimpse showed that there wasn't even any sun yet, the room was completely dark, and without thinking about it much more he curled up on the warm side of the bed and went back to sleep.

The next time he woke up the room was still dark, but this time he was coherent enough to recognize that this was due to the heavy curtains keeping out the sunlight. Moving slowly because of his stiff limbs, he rolled out of bed, blearily looking around the room once he stood on his feet. Obviously Yassen had already gotten up – Alex wouldn't be surprised to find out that the man hadn't gone back to sleep at all after the… incident last night.

He carefully rotated his right wrist, noting the residual twinges of pain. Still mostly useless.

Noticing the cough medicine on the cupboard next to the bed he took a couple of the pills, then gingerly made his way to the empty kitchen. It was strange to be moving around in someone else's home. Where was Yassen? The flat was completely silent and Alex was half-tempted to go looking for him, but instead he just ended up slumping down at the kitchen table and contemplating the potential awesomeness of breakfast versus the awkwardness of being caught rifling through the cupboards. He didn't want to get on the assassin's bad side after everything that had happened, but for once he was actually kind of hungry after several days of barely eating anything.

He grumbled in annoyance and rested his forehead on the cool wood, feeling a headache coming on. Man, this was so stupid. Why was he even still here? Shouldn't he be trying to get to the airport and the first flight home instead of wallowing in self-pity here? But he'd need money for that. And his own clothes. But they were in the bathroom, which meant that he'd have to get up again. He moaned quietly and folded his arms over his head, pressing his cheek against the smooth surface. This all sucked.

Suddenly there was a muffled thump from the adjacent room and Alex perked up. Was Yassen home after all? Pushing himself up, he wandered back into the hallway and to the closed door on the left from where the sound had come. Pushing it open a bit, he peered through the gap.

The Russian was on the far side of the room, in the middle of doing crunches, his sleeveless white shirt damp with sweat and sticking to him. The teen stared, wondering how many of those the man had already done and just how strong he really was. The assassin wasn't overly bulky, but he was extremely toned, his whole body built for flexibility and speed. Alex's eyes trailed along the muscled upper arms, the defined chest, the shirt clinging to tight abs…

"Yes?"

He startled and his gaze snapped up, freezing like a deer in the headlights as he met the other's ice blue stare.

"I, uh…" What did he want again?

The Russian raised an eyebrow, an amused light entering his eyes, and rolled to his feet in one fluid motion. "I organized your papers. There's a flight you can take tomorrow."

"That… that's great. Thank you." The other's sweatpants had ridden down and revealed a sliver of pale skin. It was alarmingly distracting. "I…" He swallowed and finally managed to look off to the side. "I wanted to ask about breakfast. Is it alright if I just take something?"

The man nodded, a small smile playing around his lips. Alex had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being laughed at. "Just don't make a mess."

The teen nodded and beat a hasty retreat, confused and irritated at himself. Why had that been so awkward? Yassen had been downright nice, so there was no reason for him to be such a stuttering mess. Geez, he didn't want to know what the Russian was thinking of him by now. Probably marveling at the fact that Alex hadn't managed to get himself killed yet.

Back in the kitchen he found himself a bowl of oatmeal with milk, not in the mood to go to the effort of a warm breakfast. The fridge only had the bare necessities and yet things like the milk were fresh, which meant that the Russian had already gone out this morning. Aimlessly stirring his spoon around in his bowl, he smiled. The mental image of Yassen standing in an aisle in a grocery store, trying to decide which brand of milk to buy, was still incredibly amusing to him. The very thought was just so weird, the world of spies and assassin's suddenly clashing with domestic chores.

After finishing his meal and washing the bowl he slumped back down at the table, at a loss as to what to do now. He was too awake to go back to sleep, he didn't want to bother Yassen again, his headache kept him from reading anything and he hadn't seen a TV anywhere so far…

He stretched his arms out before him and started fiddling with the bandage on his right wrist, his chin on the table. It felt a lot better than yesterday, though the accident last night certainly hadn't helped. Had the Russian's fingers left any marks? Morbidly curious, he started peeling the bandage off in earnest, slowly revealing skin in all the colours of the rainbow beneath it.

The cuts and abrasions caused by the handcuffs were healing, only a few of them looking like they had been torn open again recently, but they were framed by a set of dark blue bruises, their edges green and yellow. All in all it was quite an ugly sight and Alex grimaced, poking one of the dark splotches with his finger. If the assassin had wanted to he could probably have broken his wrists – hell, he could have broken his neck without any trouble.

The thought was scary and the teen started bending his wrist this way and that to test his range of movement once more, the accompanying sharp stinging a welcome distraction.

"You shouldn't move it so much."

His heart leapt into his throat and he whipped around, almost falling off his chair in the process.

Yassen was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and still in his workout clothes, the picture of relaxed contentment. The corner of his mouth quirked up just a fraction and a bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

Alex stared, his mouth open with half-formed words and his pulse racing. What the - what… what? The Russian's expression didn't really change, only a strange light creeping into his eyes [laughing at him?] and the teen blinked, a wave of embarrassment and annoyance flooding him. Without thinking, he snapped, "Someone should put a bell on you."

"And I suppose you'll be the one to do that?" The other asked, one eyebrow rising up in question, and now Alex was definitely being mocked.

Knowing full well that it was childish and not caring in the slightest he let his bottom lip jut out. "If you don't stop sneaking up on me, yeah."

Yassen huffed under his breath, almost a chuckle, and slid into the chair on the other side of the table. "You won't have to put up with it for much longer," the Russian reminded him and held out his hand. "Let me see your wrist."

The younger blond smiled to himself, amused at how the man kept trying to pass off his demands as requests. Maybe it was simply impossible for Yassen to not sound commanding for once? He held out his arm obligingly, expecting the other to just take a quick look. Accordingly surprised was he when Yassen actually took his hand and tugged it closer to inspect the scrapes and bruises, his thumb lightly rubbing at the edge of the dark blotches.

Alex blinked, feeling himself freeze up in stunned silence. After several seconds he stuttered, "It- it's fine. Really."

The assassin kept hold of him for another couple of seconds - it was hard to miss the way the other's fingers covered the fresh bruises on Alex's skin perfectly - then he let go and leaned back, folding his arms over his chest.

The teen quickly drew his arm back, unable to meet the Russian's eyes and his face feeling hot. Why was everything with Yassen always so awkward?

"It's not healing cleanly. There will be scars."

Alex glanced up, catching sight of the assassin's pensive frown. He shrugged, unable to make himself care about yet another couple of white lines on his skin. They wouldn't be the first and they would hardly be the last. "So?"

Yassen's frown deepened. "You are remarkably unconcerned about your own health."

The teen pursed his lips. "Well, it's not like I got shot. And if anyone at school sees this-" He briefly waved his hand around, "then they'll just make up some new rumour about me being a cutter or something."

The Russian didn't look convinced. "Your friends won't be curious?"

Alex shook his head. "Hardly." Then, noticing the man's raised eyebrow, he hastily tacked on, "Well, Tom and Sabina know about all this stuff. They're the only ones I really talk to, so..." He trailed off, not sure how much more he should say. Yassen probably wasn't very interested in hearing about his friends.

"You should quit working for MI6."

Alex couldn't help but snort. "Yeah, because it's that easy. I'll just walk up to Blunt and say 'Hey, turns out getting shot at isn't as much fun as it sounds. How about you find someone else for the job?' " He shook his head, his lips pressed together into a thin line. "As long as they have anything on me they'll never let me go."

The Russian's gave a thoughtful hum. "Is there anyone else who could take over your guardianship? Some relative or godparent?"

Alex's brain stuttered to a halt and he blinked slowly, feeling the blood drain from his face. Some... relative? Didn't Yassen- no, of course he had to know. And still... he could ask this just like that? Without the slightest hint of - of anything?

There was a bitter taste in his mouth and he couldn't swallow, his throat feeling too tight. Yassen didn't care, had probably already forgotten, and to Alex the memory was still so very-

[A burst window, the seat riddled with holes, a dark stain soaked into the fabric and they really told him the truth, it's over, he'll never be late for dinner again, never say 'see you later' again, never come home again]

There was a small, vindictive voice whispering just beneath his thoughts, a quiet litany filled with all the uncertainty and anger he had never quite managed to get rid off; taunting him, mocking him, reminding him of how helpless he really was in this whole mess. Wasn't it amazing what humans were capable of? Wasn't it incredible how he had managed to make himself forget?

"Alex?"

His gaze snapped back into focus and he stared at Yassen. "No." He almost didn't recognize the voice as his own. "There's no one."

Because of MI6. Because of Sayle. Because of Yassen.

Alex shoved himself to his feet, almost tripping in his hurry to get away from the table and - and that man. His stomach was churning, a bitter, vicious tangle of emotions twisting themselves up more and more. Oh god, what was he doing here? What was he doing here?

"Alex-" Yassen had half-risen and suddenly all the teen wanted to do was run away.

"I'm- I'm tired." He backed away, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. "I'm gonna lie down."

He stumbled from the room, the assassin's [shit, assassin, how could he forget?] gaze burning into his back. Oh god. What the hell was he doing here? Had he completely lost his mind?

For a second his eyes fixed on the door and he thought that he could just run away, put on his shoes and leave. Yassen wouldn't follow him. They'd never meet again. It would all be over, as easy as that.

Swallowing thickly, he turned to walk towards the bedroom.