A Cold Day in Hell
Chapter VI: A Not-So-Grand Entrance (Because Spies Shouldn't Make Grand Entrances, It's Counterproductive)
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the vague storyline and any OC's I've decided to mire in the muck.
AN: This story is predominately based on the book series, as when I started it, the only film on it was the Stormbreaker movie (which I somewhat enjoyed by itself, but hated in comparison to the books). I have yet to read Alex's most recent escapade, so Jack is unfortunately still dead in this fic.
Formal wear makes everything distinctly worse, Alex decided, surveying the overly large ballroom as he sipped at a glass of, unfortunately, nonalcoholic juice. He'd much rather be attempting to look into the pen-drive at their apartment, at least then he'd feel more useful. But, alas, his "father" insisted he attend to cement their cover, as they would hopefully be leaving for England in the next couple days and didn't want to attract attention.
As Alex gazed around the room, he had a difficult time reconciling the grandness of the room with the fact that the venue was privately owned by some bigwig in Russian politics. The ballroom, and the building itself, were more akin to a small private palace. And perhaps it was, once upon a time, realized Alex, once more taking note of the architecture.
A series of large crystal chandeliers glimmered and sparkled overhead, illuminating the highly polished marble floor and the domed, gilded ceiling above. Security cameras were tucked discretely into the molding by professionals, surveilling the entire room from various angles. Prior experience and common sense told Alex the monitors for those particular cameras were nearby, perhaps on the floor above.
Faux gold columns stood between arched French doors, lining one side of the ballroom and framed with heavy velvet curtains. Alex slid away from the halting conversation he'd been attempting to have with a child his "age" in clumsy Russian, making a beeline for one of the doors, feeling too warm and too twitchy due to the amount of people crowded into the room. The noise faded as he slipped through one of the doors and closed the curtains behind him, the cacophony of too many voices and the strains of classical music leaving a ringing in his ears that echoed in the sudden quiet.
Ever since he'd been shrunk, Alex found that most things were overwhelming. People were too tall, noises too loud, places too big. Things that should have been normal and easy to deal with suddenly weren't. He felt like a giant exposed nerve, and vulnerable in a way he hadn't been since he'd been a kid and too young (too protected) to know better.
Back then, he'd had Ian. And Jack. He hadn't been alone and trying to deal with a world not meant to be navigated by children.
With a sigh, Alex dumped his juice over the balcony and placed the glass on the ground. He released another sigh and slumped back against the railing, debating how pissed Kingsley would be if he ditched the party. Images of flashing red lights and exploding volcanos came to mind.
He smiled wryly, deciding he didn't have the energy to defuse a DEFCON three situation with his "father".
"Guess I'll just wait here," he thought, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips.
His breath clouded before him and he turned his gaze to the night sky, noticing the temperature drop only as snowflakes began drifting lazily down. Alex remained there, his neck craned upwards, watching the flakes gradually grow larger. He only snapped out of his daze when a particularly large snowflake caught on his eyelashes and blurred his vision. Blinking rapidly, Alex rubbed at his eyes, the ice melting into cold tears that pricked at his skin.
He shivered and decided perhaps it would be better if he went back inside and found a dark corner to hide himself in, rather than freezing himself in the cold Russian snow that showed no sign of abating. Alex stepped away from the stone railing and, just as he was about to slip through the curtain, his pocket vibrated and the faint strains of the Mission Impossible theme reached his ears. The eight year old blinked down at the offending pocket, nonplussed.
"Smithers certainly has a warped sense of humor," thought Alex, the eight year old fishing the mobile phone out of his trouser pocket, swiping the screen and raising it to his ear.
"Alex, where are you?" came Kingsley's voice, a forced casualness in his tone that sent Alex's alarm bells ringing.
"A balcony off the ballroom. Why?" he asked warily, backing away from the curtain and turning to surveil his surroundings, the cold now forgotten.
"Perfect. Don't go back inside. Head into the garden and slip round to the front. I'll meet you there. If anyone stops you, just say you're lost and trying to find your father, got it?" Kingsley ordered, his voice sounding rushed, as though walking briskly.
"Alright," said Alex, saving his questions for later, recognizing the urgency of the situation.
Hearing the boy's affirmative and calm response, Kingsley ended the call. Alex slid the phone back into his pocket and once more checked his surroundings; still alone, no one watching. The boy hopped the railing, dropping a short meter to land in the grass, now lightly dusted with snow. Alex took note, knowing if he needed to run, the footing would be slippery and uncertain, particularly in dress shoes.
He kept his pace measured, only a slight hurry to his movements that could easily be explained away as a child's unease in an unfamiliar place. The garden spread out before him, lines of hedges framing delicate swirls of flowers planted in the grass, shadowy statuary standing as sentinels and guarding the premises.
The boy followed a winding stone path that circled the sprawling building for a few minutes, making his way around until he reached the veranda that stood offside the building's entrance. He peered around the corner and saw that the sweeping stone steps were mostly empty, aside from the pair of security guards stationed at the front doors.
However, there was no sign of Kingsley. Alex frowned in thought, wondering if he should call or message the man. Before he could make a decision, a large hand dropped onto his shoulder. Alex flinched violently, knocking the hand away and whirling around in the same movement.
"Bay! Полегче, малыш! ¹"
A wall of black fabric met Alex's gaze and he blinked, gaze travelling up and up. Stern grey eyes stared back out of young face, a recent scar twisting up from his jaw to his ear, tapering into dark hair.
The man's voice startled Alex from his stupor.
"Why didn't I pick Russian as my elective?" sighed Alex internally.
He stared up at the security guard in obvious confusion, tilting his head with a frown. The guard took in Alex's form before sighing himself.
"English?" he asked, voice moderately accented.
"Yes. I'm looking for my father," replied Alex, "He was supposed to meet me at the front so we could leave…"
A strange look crossed the guard's face, the expression lasting barely an instant, but Alex noticed and tensed.
"Kingsley, yes? I will take you to him. He was delayed. Politicians," he laughed, shaking his head ruefully, taking Alex's arm in a firm grip and heading back around from where Alex came.
"It's alright, I'll just wait near the stairs for him," Alex responded, trying to pull his arm free. The guard simply tightened his grip.
"I don't think your father would appreciate you catching a cold. The snow will keep falling for the next few days. I will take you to him."
Unable to pull away or convince the guard to leave him alone, Alex tried to keep up with the giant's stride. They rounded the building, the guard confident in where he was taking Alex.
The snow was beginning to pile up. Alex found himself needing to flick his feet slightly to rid his trousers of dampening snow. As they passed one of the statues, Alex slipped, his knee twisting uncomfortably as he attempted to catch himself. The guard helped steady him and asked if he was alright. Alex nodded, concealing a grimace by looking down and brushing snow from his leg.
The guard's grip returned and they resumed their walk. A minute or so later, the guard pulled Alex to a stop in front of a small set of stairs that led up to a side door tucked discretely into the wall.
"Go up the stairs and someone will take you to your father."
The man released Alex's arm and gave a small nudge. Alex frowned, but made his way carefully up the slick steps. He reached the door and made to open it, turning to look back. The guard stood there, still watching. Alex took a breath and opened the door. He didn't even get to step inside before the door was being pulled open the rest of the way and a man dragged him inside, the door thudding shut and locking automatically behind him.
"This way, please, Alex," smiled the man, his easy grin belying the bruising grip on the boy's shoulder.
"You seem to know my name, though I didn't catch yours," replied Alex cautiously, the man's voice oddly familiar and missing the accent most native Russian's had when speaking English.
"I didn't offer it," the man said, guiding Alex further into the servant's passage and out of sight from the rest of the guests.
"Well, do you mind telling me who you are?" the boy asked, irritation welling up in an oddly familiar way.
"I'm…" the man paused, thoughtful, "In management and damage control," he smirked, settling on the right words.
"Marvelous," Alex said dryly, "Where are you taking me?"
"You'll know when we get there."
"Well, at least you're not being cryptic or anything," Alex muttered sotto voce, glancing back at the still smiling man.
Again, that strange feeling of familiarity and the semi-unreal movement of his features... It gave off uncanny valley vibes, and yet Alex could see nothing particularly off about the man's features.
"Perhaps he had plastic surgery?" wondered Alex, eyes flicking around the off-white hallway for potential exits.
There were a few empty doorways that seemed to lead off to different halls or places in the palace, but the strange man led him past those to the end of the hallway.
Which had no door at all that Alex could see.
"Right, then. Time to go dark, kid."
"What—?"
Alex didn't have time to fully express his confusion, a black hood dropping swiftly over his head and blocking his sight. Hands caught his wrists and yanked them behind his back, a zip-tie locking them in place. Alex tugged at them, but couldn't gain any leverage to get free. He sighed, turning his focus to the distinct click and displacement of air that shifted the material of his trousers.
"Hidden door?" he wondered briefly, startled from his thoughts when his "companion" took his shoulder and steered him through the presumed doorway.
The walk took both longer and shorter than Alex expected, herded down narrow corridors that his shoulders bumped frequently and up flights of stairs, stumbling and banging his shins on what felt like wood or tile steps. And with each stumble, his knee reminded him sharply that a doctor's advice should not be ignored.
On his sixth misstep, the hand guiding him let him fall with a chuckle. Hands tied behind him, Alex couldn't catch himself and he fell heavily. The bridge of his nose collided harshly with what Alex now knew to be tile. He lay, stunned and breathing threw the hit as the cold seeped through the black cloth covering his face and reflex tears built in his eyes.
"Fuck," the child hissed, awkwardly dragging himself upwards into a precarious kneeling position on one of the steps.
"Sounded like that hurt," the man said noncommittally, reaching down and dragging Alex to his feet.
The boy rolled his eyes, but remained silent.
A few minutes later (and, thankfully, no more stairs), Alex found himself stopped, the man's hand squeezing his shoulder painfully to ensure he stayed put. He heard a click and the sound of a door opening before the hood was dragged unceremoniously from his head and he was shoved stumbling inside. Blinking at the sudden light, Alex glanced around the room he found himself in.
Ornate wooden bookcases reached up to the ceiling, antique books and expensive trinkets lined the shelves in a way that spoke of expensive taste and actual use. Comfortable, slightly worn Victorian-style furniture sat around the room. An overly large desk dominated the space in front of a curtained window.
"Wait in here," said the man, tossing an insincere smile at the bound boy as he stepped back and began to close the heavy door.
"I'll just catch up on my reading, then," Alex commented sardonically.
The door shutting and locking caused the boy to frown, shoulders dropping and tension falling away. He likely only had a few minutes before someone would arrive. Alex took a deep breath and immediately walked to the desk, scanning its surface for scissors, a letter opener, anything he could feasibly use to cut the zip-tie trapping his wrists.
No dice. And all the drawers were locked.
"Guess I'll have to try the other option," he thought, moving away from the desk and sitting on the floor.
He rolled onto his back and tucked his legs tightly to his chest, carefully maneuvering his feet and legs through the loop of his arms as he brought them forward and away from his back. A little awkward, but he succeeded. He grinned and climbed to his feet, the ache in his shoulders fading now that they were no longer pulled behind him.
"Time for the tricky part," he thought, unsure if the technique would work for him now that he was… smaller.
Deciding not to think about it, Alex raised his arms and tightened his hands into fists in order to add tension to the plastic restraint and then raised his knee. In a quick, forceful movement, he brought his elbows down, his knee sliding between his arms and slamming into the space between his wrists.
The zip tie snapped and fell away. Alex shook out his hands, wrists stinging and welted. The whole process took perhaps two minutes. The child-spy did a quick search of the room, but found no exits other than the window and the door. Alex checked the window, pulling the curtain aside. It was a newer window, locked from the inside and thick, possibly bulletproof. And if not for the lack of light and the swirling snow, it would have been a viable option for escape, despite being on the third floor; Alex wouldn't risk it unless there was no other choice.
He shook out his wrists again, the ache lingering. His eyes fell on his watch.
"I'm an idiot," he said, staring at the Smithers-made gadget watch and wanting to smack himself. A single anesthetic dart could be shot from the watch. He could have (and should have) used it on the guard who first found him.
Shaking his head at himself, Alex returned his attention to re-inspecting the room. One of the shelves caught his eye. A large selection of books were braced with a small bronze statue of Aristotle, the entire space distinctly lacking in the light amount of dust accumulated on the other shelves nearby.
Alex reached up with a cautious hand and tried to pick up the statue. It didn't move. Frowning, Alex tried again, pulling harder, and the statue tipped over, exposing a mechanism. A loud thunk startled Alex into letting go, leaving the statue to fall back into place as the bookcase shuddered and slid open with an ominous lack of sound. The child-teen couldn't help the grin that spread across his face; secret bookcase doors were cool, no matter where you found them.
Alex took a step forward and peered through the now exposed doorway. A set of stairs led straight down, baseboard lighting illuminating the steps with soft white light. Frowning, Alex glanced back around the room, debating between the possibility of being found or going to explore and (hopefully) not being found.
"Not found would be preferable," thought Alex, stepping through and scanning the walls for the apparatus to shut the door behind him.
He found it quickly, a small single button on a silver panel. He pressed it and the door slid closed silently behind him. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Alex quickly made his way down the stairs, unsure of what lay ahead as the lighting didn't do much of anything other than to light each step.
The stairway continued down for roughly a story and a half, deeper than Alex thought it would go, and mercifully empty. A continuous drone of filtered air swept past him, ruffling his hair; at least the air underground wouldn't be completely stale.
At the bottom of the stairs, a metal door waited, industrial and heavy with a glowing keypad next to it. Brown eyes stared at the keypad, thinking. He could feasibly try to crack open the housing and hack the wires (he knew what to do, theoretically, but he'd never put it to practice). However, it would make it immediately noticeable to anyone that came after him. And, upon closer examination, Alex noticed a wear-pattern on certain keys, slight but still present.
"Zero, five, nine, and one…" Alex thought, considering. Most people, when making a four digit password, use dates they're familiar with or that are memorable to them in some way. And the books next to the statue mechanism to open the bookcase had looked like old historical texts… "1905," murmured Alex, hoping he wasn't wrong as he typed the numbers into the keypad.
A small green light blinked on and the door unlocked with a quiet thunk. Alex grinned and tugged the door open, struggling slightly against its weight. He slipped through, allowing the door to close gently behind him. The loud clunk as the lock reengaged caused Alex to wince; he froze for a moment, waiting with bated breath for something to happen.
When no alarms or the sound of running guards reached his ears, Alex breathed a cautious sigh of relief and turned his attention to the branching hallway before him. With no indication or signs for what lay either way, Alex chose the leftmost hallway and moved quickly down it, trying any unlocked door he came across.
"I'm glad this place is on energy-conservation mode. Dim lighting is much better for sneaking," Alex thought, eyeing the last door of the hallway.
He could hear soft humming, the faint sound of electrical equipment, and what Alex guessed to be appliances and an air filtration system. Most of the rooms he'd entered were testing labs with specialized equipment for examining and isolating matter. Another room had housed glass-front refrigerators filled with carefully labelled samples.
And all of it with the potent, nose burning scent of chemicals.
Alex took a slow breath, ignoring the faint burn, and tried the door. It swung open on silent hinges and the child-teen crept inside. Dim lighting flickered on, softly illuminating the large room. A large L-shaped counter spanned one wall, covered in lab tech paraphernalia. X-ray machines and large black monitors spanned another wall, and the rest were covered in crowded shelves.
"Why are these places always in shades of white?" wondered Alex, stepping further into the room.
A table at the far end of the room caught the boy's eye, a humanoid shape covered in a white sheet lying atop it. Alex felt his stomach drop, but approached it all the same.
"Please don't be a dead body," he prayed silently, reaching out a wary hand to tug away the cloth.
As the sheet fell away, Alex's brown eyes widened and he stumbled back.
"Shit," he whispered, "Shitshitshitshit. No. I take it back. A dead body's fine." Alex could feel his heart thudding in his chest, his pulse a physical thing trying the escape his skin. "Yassen?" he asked, voice hoarse and cracking.
Because of course it was. Ice blue eyes stared at Alex calmly, his familiar face expressionless except for the wry twitch of the man's mouth. Except, the "man" Alex knew appeared to be a boy in his late teens. And he didn't look well. Rather, he looked like what Alex would expect to see after days of little food and captivity. The assassin's normally healthy physique lacked color and weight, Yassen's cheeks hollowed and cheekbones prominent, and his hair had grown out longer than Alex had seen before.
And yet, despite all the differences, Yassen was still Yassen. Alex's fingers ached with phantom, remembered pain, his knee chiming in with a displeased throb. Yassen remained silent and unmoving, watching as Alex processed the assassin's presence.
"How— Why are you here?" Alex finally managed to say, brown eyes flicking over Yassen's obviously restrained form beneath the sheet.
Yassen remained silent for a long moment, seemingly debating over what to tell Alex. The boy stayed still, waiting and projecting a patience he didn't truly feel, acutely aware of time trickling by and his likely captured "father".
"The doctor realized what his drug did to you, and decided to resume with his experiment. He decided I would make a good test subject, as he believes you are related to me," Yassen spoke, each syllable carefully pronounced.
Despite the hoarseness of his voice, the quietly controlled anger came through clearly to Alex, and he stared at the bound assassin for a moment as shock registered on his face.
"He… He believes you and I are related? Why?" Alex choked out, "We're nothing alike!"
He gritted his teeth, fists clenched as indignant anger coursed through him. It took a minute and a few deep breaths before calm rationality returned. Through that time, Yassen stayed quiet and patient. Alex turned away from the man's blue eyes, wrestling with his conscience for a drawn out minute.
The boy whirled back around with an angry curse, reaching for the straps binding Yassen to the table. Before he could talk himself out of it, Alex undid the first strap restraining Yassen's right arm.
"I know. I know I'm going to regret this," the boy muttered, the grumpy child-like tone giving the assassin an ambiguous sense of amusement as Alex continued his muttering while undoing the next strap.
"Then why are you?" Yassen finally asked, sitting up now that his arms were free and beginning to lightly stretch as Alex freed Yassen's legs.
Alex paused at the question, his hands slowing for a moment as they struggled with the last restraint on Yassen's ankle before quickly resuming. He frowned, avoiding looking at Yassen's face.
"Because you protected me from this," he finally said, reluctant to reveal his thoughts to the now young assassin, "You kept me away from Roswell when it would have been easier to just let him have me." Alex sighed, stepping away from the table once Yassen began to get up, "Nobody would have known and you'd have been rid of the complication known as Alex Rider," he explained simply, childish voice disturbingly blunt for the subject matter.
Yassen stared down at the boy, once again surprised at Alex's fairness and borderline naiveté despite all that life had taken from him and done to him. Alex returned the stare, taking in Yassen's new appearance as the former adult stood up, moving and stretching experimentally as the scrub-like clothes sagged around his form. The man's height remained, and he could have easily passed for his own son, except for the very Yassen-like gaze and mannerisms.
"How old are you now?" Alex finally asked, breaking the silence.
"Eighteen or nineteen, according to Roswell," replied Yassen, turning his attention to the rest of the room and making an unerring line for the computer at the other end of the lab.
"Did he give you multiple doses or something?" Alex asked, trailing after the now teenaged assassin.
"Yes."
Alex winced, correctly interpreting the closed line of inquiry as Yassen flicked the mouse and woke the monitor. He couldn't imagine going through the pain of the injection more than once. The spy wondered how Yassen withstood it, and almost asked if he'd been given pain relievers before realizing it to be highly unlikely.
Minutes passed in silence, Yassen continuing to fiddle with the computer. Alex couldn't tell what the assassin was doing, Yassen keeping his body between Alex's gaze and the screen.
"How did you get down here, little Alex?" the assassin asked, finally turning away from the monitor.
Alex tried to catch a glimpse, but the screen showed nothing, not even the login screen.
"Alex," repeated Yassen, a distinct warning in his voice.
"A secret door," answered Alex, backing up hurriedly, having only just realized how close he'd been to the assassin.
The noise of a generator kicking on and bright light outside the door startled Alex badly, though not so much as Yassen abruptly bodily grabbing him and darting out into the now well-lit hall. The teen's long stride ate the ground and they were soon in a different hallway. Yassen stopped outside a door, pausing for a moment to shift Alex's weight more securely before opening the door and ducking inside. He dropped Alex to the floor and the boy realized they'd taken shelter in a large supply closet. Yassen flicked on the light.
"What are you doing?" Alex whispered, watching Yassen begin searching the shelves from his position on the floor.
Yassen turned around, holding what appeared to be a long sleeved adult dressing gown for patients. He approached Alex, who quickly scrambled to his feet and backed away warily. The boy quickly found himself trapped against the back shelving unit, almost tripping over a folded wheelchair.
"Put your arms out, Alex," stated Yassen.
"No," Alex shook his head, an inkling of what Yassen had in mind causing him to frown rebelliously and consider using his watch. He disregarded the idea almost immediately; Yassen wouldn't stand still to be hit, and aiming the watch would be a dead giveaway that it was actually an MI6 gadget.
"I need to ensure you don't go running around," said the teen assassin, "Either hold out your arms or I will re-break your fingers. Your choice, little Alex."
Alex clenched his hands, memory bringing back the phantom ache and the fear from before. He let out a slow breath, trying to exhale his anxiety as Yassen waited patiently for Alex to capitulate.
"Bastard," the boy bit out finally, shakily lifting his arms and struggling to remain calm, "I shouldn't have released you, should I?" he asked wearily.
"Probably not. Though I am thankful, Alex," said Yassen, sliding the too-large dressing gown sleeves onto Alex's arms and up to his shoulders, "Turn around."
Alex complied, biting the inside of his cheek as Yassen tied the dressing gown closed at his neck and back, repressing an uncomfortable shiver when the assassin's fingers brushed against his neck. Next, Yassen grabbed Alex's arms and crossed them over his chest, taking the sleeves and tying them together behind him. In effect, Alex was wearing what amounted to a straightjacket. Alex gave an experimental tug. It gave a little, perhaps enough he could slip out with a bit of time…
The hope was dashed when another dressing gown was wrapped around him in the opposite direction, tightening everything further. Alex struggled with the rising panic that came with being unable to move in such a restricted way.
Yassen noticed, eyeing Alex before taking the folded wheelchair and opening it. He sat the boy down and checked that Alex's breathing wasn't too restrained. He found no problems and turned back to the shelves, searching briefly again before pulling down a small plastic box. Alex watched with wide eyes when Yassen pulled out a set of scalpels and a couple empty syringes. He struggled against the fabric restraining him.
"Yassen, please! You don't need to—"
"I'll be back in a short while, Alex," he stated coolly, giving Alex a quelling look before turning off the light, "Don't make any noise. You don't want anyone here to find you," he added quietly, slipping out the door and letting it shut and lock behind him.
Left bound and in the dark closet, Alex took a few deep breaths to calm himself and set aside the knowledge Yassen likely intended to kill all those involved in his "detainment". As calm as he would get for the moment, the boy shifted, wriggling his arms and shoulders in an attempt to loosen the restraining gowns. Minutes ticked by with no success, and Alex contemplated trying to dislocate his shoulder.
"That's how Houdini did it, right?" Alex thought, recalling the surprisingly interesting documentary he'd watched with Sabina the year before, "Though the doctor told me to be careful. Frequent dislocations risk nerve damage and other issues…"
Alex decided to attempt it, but quickly realized that with his arms restrained as they were, he couldn't safely pop out his shoulder. Dropping back into the wheelchair, Alex heaved a quiet sigh and resigned himself to wait for Yassen's return.
"If he returns," thought Alex, wishing he knew how much time had passed.
The boy shook his head and yawned, the crashing adrenaline leaving him more exhausted than he should be. He dropped his head back and shifted, unable to get comfortable. Eventually, after a few minutes, he found a decent position to slump into.
Just as Alex fell into an inadvertent light doze, the child spy heard footsteps outside the door. He jerked into wakefulness, heart thudding in his chest. Sliding quickly out of the wheelchair, Alex dodged to the side and wedged himself into a small gap between the shelves in the furthermost corner, hoping to remain unnoticed.
When the door opened, revealing Yassen's thin silhouette, Alex didn't know whether to be relieved or alarmed. That changed when Alex got a good look at the now-teenaged assassin.
Yassen's hands were still damp with blood, and more of it appeared splattered across the male's scrub-like shirt and pants. The sight caused Alex to make an involuntary sound, and slight though it was, Yassen located Alex immediately.
The boy's breath hitched, catching in his throat as Yassen's measured, near silent footsteps approached his hiding space. Alex could feel himself trembling, his fight or flight instinct warring with the knowledge that being tied up and wedged into a corner made both instincts infeasible.
"Come out, little Alex."
Alex really didn't want to.
"Now," stated Yassen, his voice flinty and glacial.
"He's genuinely angry, isn't he?" Alex realized, with no small amount of shock and fear, "Not at me, specifically, but maybe the situation?"
That realization spurred Alex into movement, and he clumsily crawled out of the space he'd wedged himself into, nearly collapsing onto his face at Yassen's feet as he couldn't use his hands. Alex struggled onto his feet until he stood in front of the assassin. Alex lifted his chin and glared at Yassen, brown eyes simmering with anger in an attempt to mask his unease.
"What now?" Alex bit out quietly, noticing with mild curiosity the small case gripped in Yassen's bloodied hand.
That curiosity was quickly forgotten when Yassen's free hand, still bloody, dropped onto Alex's shoulder; the teen roughly steered Alex out of the closet. The boy noticed immediately that Yassen was guiding him back to the hallway Alex initially entered the labs from. Almost worse than that, Alex could see small patches of blood on certain walls, doors, and bits of the tiled floor. Smears of bloody handprints on doorknobs and parallel streaks of red on the floortiles told a story Alex didn't want to hear.
Brown eyes glanced up at Yassen, gaze lingering uncomfortably on a trace of blood on the assassin's neck; Alex couldn't tell if it belonged to Yassen or someone else.
"Are you… okay?" Alex found himself asking, wondering in the back of his mind what caused him to bother asking.
Yassen glanced down at him, mild curiosity in his expression and likely wondering why Alex asked, as well.
"I'm fine," the teen replied quietly, turning his attention to the door they were quickly approaching.
Alex watched with trepidation as Yassen input the code, the door unlocking once more with a quiet thunk. The assassin herded Alex through the door, still maintaining a solid grip on the child's restrained form. When Alex balked at the stairs leading back to the office, Yassen nudged him forward.
"I'm getting real tired of being forced up sets of stairs," Alex thought sullenly, his knee mildly protesting the upwards climb.
If Yassen noticed Alex's reticence and drawn expression at each step, he didn't comment. Alex wasn't sure if he'd be able to restrain himself if the assassin commented on the damage he himself had caused.
At the top of the stairs, Yassen tightened his grip on Alex's shoulder and paused. A beat of silence passed, and Alex glanced back at Yassen's face unsuccessfully. He flinched slightly when the teen's arm brushed past his head and pressed the button for the secret door. It slid open quietly and Yassen pushed Alex forward into the dimly lit room, stepping in immediately after him. A mild, deep voice came from their right and Alex looked over, blinking in surprise.
"Oh?" the voice resonated, speaking in lightly accented English, "Is that you, Gregorovich? And with our uninvited guest's son, it seems."
The voice came from the direction of the window and desk. Alex kept his eyes trained on the shadowed figure, Yassen guiding him forward despite Alex's obvious hesitation. The man behind the desk snapped his fingers and the room flooded with light. Alex winced, partially blinded for a moment in the stunned silence left in the wake of Yassen's revealed appearance.
A murmured swear in Russian finally broke the silence after a long drawn out moment.
"There have been… complications," stated Yassen neutrally.
"And that is a massive understatement," thought Alex grimly, finally getting a look at the man behind the desk and fighting a mad urge to giggle.
End Chapter
AN:
(Very) Rough Translation via Google: "Whoa/Wow! Take it easy kid/baby/child!" 1