Disclaimer: I'm so, so proud of this one. Cheers!
He had seriously had enough with this whole, 'being confused for another person' thing.
Matthew was just visiting Russia for a business trip. Hell, in one day he'd be back on the flight to Alaska and driving home to Canada. He didn't want to stay here in nasty politics, freezing-his-ass off Russia.
So of course he steps two feet out of the airport, and a bunch of guys in black suits come and force him into the black, tank-like car on the side of the road. Of course, the citizens ignore it, though the tourists don't like it much.
So after an agonizingly long car ride with a cloth bag over his head and handcuffs around his wrists, and asking the other people in the car where the hell they were going, he was tied to a chair, wondering what the hell was going on.
Suddenly, the bag came off, and the lights flashed on at the exact same moment. Matthew hissed at the sudden change, squeezing his eyelids shut, all the while trying to force them back open. He heard rather than saw the person who walked in; big, booming, heavy steps, like the abominable snowman or something.
The man said something in Russian, which Matthew only spoke a smattering of. He finally managed to pry his eyes open and see who he was looking at.
Two pairs of violet eyes met. Matthew reeled back as best he could when tied to a chair, surprised by the hulking figure in front of him, while the other just stared at him for a few seconds, before whipping around and heading back out of the door.
"Wait!" Matthew called, suddenly scared. "What's going on?"
There was no response—but after a few seconds, even Matthew himself could hear the Russian being shouted at the poor people inside.
There was a loud crash, and a high-pitched, girly shriek. Matthew shivered, and decided he was better off ignorant.
Then, the door slowly creaked open, and the smiling face of his captor appeared in the threshold—except the smile was less than friendly and looked more like he was trying not to kill someone.
"привет. I am sorry for the inconvenience. We have made a terrible mistake, da?"
Matthew jumped when he spoke, and nodded slowly. "What is this all about? What's going on?"
"извините, again. Me and an American friend of ours like to play a little game. It is called, 'He will infiltrate the country, and I will try and catch him.' It is a fun little game. I am sorry you got involved…?"
He trailed off, an invitation for Matthew's name. Honestly, he didn't know whether or not to be suspicious; the giant Russian seemed honest enough.
"Matthew. And you are…?"
The Russian smiled creepily. "Ivan, Matthew. Это удовольствие."
"Sounds like an interesting game." Matthew decided he wanted to change the subject. Abruptly.
"Da, is it not? My little American friend came up with it. He thought it was most amusing." Ivan's eyes were distant, as though remembering something that had happened a long time ago. "Alfred is…an interesting person."
Matthew froze.
No, it couldn't be.
Alfred was dead.
"Alfred?" Matthew laughed shakily. "Was that his name? I used to have a brother called Alfred, but he died. We were twins, you know? We looked exactly alike."
Ivan froze too, staring at Matthew with big violet eyes. His lips parted in shock. "Matthew Williams? You are— Canadian, da?"
"Yes. But how did you know that…?" Matthew stared up at Ivan, with just a bit of hope. They never found his brother's body, so perhaps he was still alive…?
"Your brother lived in Alaska when he was little. I was a Russian immigrant, and did not speak a word of English. He did not care where I came from, or who my people were…he simply looked at a person and saw them for who they were. He looked at me, and he told me that I was very…cool, both figuratively and literally. He said we were both cool, and that meant we should stick together." Ivan smiled softly at the memory. "He often talked of a little Canadian boy that he visited every weekend, who was his brother. You are him, da?"
"Ivan Braginski?" Matthew asked breathlessly. "You are Ivan Braginski? Alfred used to talk about you all the time! You two were best friends until—" He trailed off, suddenly sad.
Until Alfred died.
Matthew looked up to see Ivan staring at him curiously. For some reason, when Matthew looked at him, he saw an enormous child.
"You think that Alfred is…dead?" Ivan asked slowly, blinking.
"Of course he's dead!" Matthew began softly, but began building in volume—and even he could not help the tears that began to spill from his eyes. "He died three years ago! I saw his car, dammit! He's dead!"
Ivan suddenly looked uncomfortable as Matthew choked out a sob. "He's dead…" Matthew whispered one last time, and suddenly the ropes were gone from his legs and arms and Ivan was hugging Matthew, whispering to him in Russian. Then, he switched to English.
"Your brother is alive."
I loooove this chapter. I love Ivan. I love Matthew. Now all we need is Alfred, and the party is complete. Anyway, so I left it at a cliffy. There will be two parts, though, I can guarantee it.
IceEckos12