Story Title: I Can See You in My Fate
Author's Note:
I've loved reading the Alex Rider series since I was a kid. I'm in my early 30's now. I loved the character of Yassen in the book series as I recently watched the Alex Rider Freeve series and just knew I had to make a story based off the book series after Eagle Strike for an AU where Yassen survived. I liked his character arc in the TV series and even in the original books, he had this allure to him. Anthony Horowitz humanized him.
In Stormbreaker, Yassen is described as a Russian man with light, closely cropped hair, hooded, blue eyes, a dancer's body, and an expressionless face. He's often described as having pale skin. He hates the smell of cigar smoke. Alex assumes he is in his late 20's in Stormbreaker when he is shown a photo by Mrs. Jones, during Eagle Strike we learn he is actually 35. When Alex steals the flash drive from Cray in Eagle Strike, Yassen, though he provides a plan to retrieve the drive by kidnapping Sabina, is uncomfortable with possibly going against his own morals (he avoids Alex's eyes when Alex arrives with the drive at Cray's house; he is silent during tea until Cray motions at him to speak; Alex picks up his discomfort; and later we knew he regrets working for Cray). In Eagle Strike he's described as Cossack at age 19 on mission with John Rider; the mission was to be his first kill. He's described as "moving like spilled oil"; like a ballet dancer; possessing wonderful balance; appearing almost inhuman; and being extremely watchful. He does not sleep longer than 4 hours; he exercises by running or going to the gym, listens to classical music, and knows up to 9 languages. We learn that he has a scar which runs horizontally across his neck related to when John Rider saved his life by shooting a black widow on his neck while on a SCORPIA mission in the jungle. He worked with John Rider when he was 19; if Alex was 14 and his father died when he was 8 weeks old, that means he's closer to his mid-30's.
While the TV series of course changes Yassen's story, looks, and actions, I still enjoyed the series a lot and appreciated Thomas Levin's portrayal. Here is my version of events at the end of Eagle Strike. As always, disclaimer, Alex Rider belongs to the author Anthony Horowitz.
CHAPTER 1: IN THE DARK
"…recently, something inside him had changed. Perhaps it was meeting Alex again that had done it; perhaps it was his age…He was getting too old…He was beginning to think it was time to stop.
And that was why he now decided not to murder Damian Cray. Eagle Strike was only two days away. It would make him richer than he could have dreamed and it would allow him to return, at last, to his homeland, Russia. He would buy a house in St. Petersburg and live comfortably, perhaps doing business with the Russian Mafia. The city was teeming with criminal activity and for a man with his wealth and influence, anything would be possible."
The last thing Yassen Gregorovich thought of, was utter regret as his eyes closed. Moments later, he felt Alex slip down onto the floor of the plane next to him. He knew the boy was passing out from the injuries and exertion of the last hour.
Yassen's blood was gently dripping out of his body from the wound in his chest. The pain was incredible but somehow he felt light, and started to feel a tug of hilarity on his mind; here he was, one of the best assassins in the world, taken down by a single bullet from Damian Cray. A man he only felt disgust for. He should have killed Damian Cray in his house when Cray blamed Yassen for Alex stealing the drive. He regretted ever taking the job for Eagle Strike. SCORPIA assignments had never gone this awry for him. Except of course that time in the jungle, when John…a spider had climbed on his neck, while they were in the middle of a mission. John had shot the spider and left Yassen with a straight, thin scar on his neck. And here he was, about to die.
All went black.
Yassen would surely have given up the ghost, if not for Sabina.
After pressing the self-destruction button on the operations room console on Air Force 1 and seeing the confirmation on the screen that the missiles were in self-destruction mode, she immediately returned to the main cabin, with some difficulty. The plane had lilted onto its side as it slid off the tarmac when Henryk had aborted takeoff.
She saw Alex, lying on his back, his chest gently rising and falling with his breath. He had multiple cuts that had clotted and otherwise seemed fine. The man lying next to him, did not.
She felt fear sweep over her as she looked at Yassen. This was the man who had nearly killed her father, had kidnapped her, and held scissors to her hand. But he hadn't harmed her. He had not killed her even when ordered to. Instead he had said, "I do not kill children." And for that, Cray had shot him. He was deathly pale, more so than usual. She did not think he was long for this world.
She rushed over to Alex and checked for a pulse. He was going to be okay, she was certain of it. She looked again at Yassen, and grabbing linen napkins from the cart he was slumped against, she pressed them against his wound. He had lost quite a bit of blood but it was possible stemming the flow would help. He did not move. She held the cloths to his chest tightly, and put her arm under his shoulders to lower him to the floor next to Alex to lay flat. She continued holding the cloths tight to his chest, sobbing as she did so. To be near him was the last thing she wanted to do.
She heard sirens nearing as paramedics arrived. Immediately she felt relief. As the paramedics and police piled in, she screamed over and over, "Here! We're over here!"
As the medics clambered in asking questions, she stuttered through them. She sobbed out, "I'm alright…this man has been shot…that's Alex Rider…". She couldn't think straight as they wrapped a blanket around her and helped her get down from the plane. They whisked her away to an ambulance as she told a policeman briefly what had happened – being kidnapped, and Damian Cray being evil, about him falling into the engine, and about the missiles. The policeman's face was pure shock, he was incredulous. Damian Cray? The philanthropist, the singer?
The medics had done their job as quickly as they could, putting Yassen onto a board, stabilizing him, administering oxygen, and putting him in an ambulance on the way to the nearest hospital.
-Break-
Something cold dripped onto Yassen's face.
He felt the sensation, but remained still. He could feel straps around his body, and could feel something being taped to his chest. Right over the wound. His shirt had been cut off and he could feel goosebumps erupting across his skin as his body reacted to the temperature.
"Hand me the…okay, right there…"
A voice was speaking near his right ear. Someone was swabbing his hand with something cold and seconds later he felt a pinch in his hand as an IV was placed.
He remained motionless, eyes shut, taking in his surroundings as quietly as possible. Breathing was difficult, but not as bad as he thought would have been. He must not have been shot in the lung otherwise he would be suffocating right now. He didn't taste any blood. Another good sign.
He could sense another presence on his left side. He was in some kind of moving vehicle and he could hear the whine of a siren. So, he was alive. He was being taken for treatment it seemed. Or maybe he was being taken somewhere else by MI6. Who knew what was in his future now.
The ambulance passed over a bump and he saw black again.
-Break-
The next time he woke, he could feel something in his nose, the crisp feel of clothes on his body, something taped to his chest, and the cold steel of handcuffs on his wrist.
Ah, well, he thought, I can't pretend to be unconscious anymore. He opened his eyes.
He saw white. Stark, cold, bright lights above him. His brain jogged with strain to keep up with what his eyes were telling him.
He was in a hospital room. A vitals machine hummed near his head. He must have supplemental oxygen in his nose. An IV was still attached to him, on the hand that wasn't manacled to the bed. He felt something reminiscent of pantyhose on his lower legs.
A man sat in a corner of the room, dressed in a suit, wearing an earpiece and an inscrutable expression. He was clearly a guard, here to watch over Yassen and ensure…that he didn't leave.
Yassen took his surroundings in. His mind was foggy. He felt like he had run 100 miles and eaten nothing. His chest throbbed, and he could tell his senses were dulled from some type of pain medication. His breath quickened. He felt out of control. He hadn't felt this in years…
The guard watched him opening and closing his eyes for a minute, and then went to the doorway. His eyes never left Yassen until he opened the door and spoke briefly with another guard waiting outside. The words were muffled and Yassen did not hear what he had said. He waited at the door until three medical persons arrived in several minutes. One appeared to be a doctor, wearing a lab coat and scrubs, a stethoscope around his neck, and carrying a clipboard. He had short brown hair and was wearing a green mask. And there were two nurses in scrubs, a male and a female, both wearing masks as well. The male had curly brown hair, and was tall, with a beefy build. Perhaps he was there to hold Yassen down if he did anything. The female was smaller, short, with a golden brown complexion and possibly South Asian, and had her dark hair in a ponytail tied at the nape of her neck. As they entered, the guard stepped out.
The doctor approached him, pulling on gloves and wearing a mask. "Well, how are you feeling?", he said conversationally.
Yassen attempted to respond, but his voice betrayed him and came out as a rasp. "Ti-he-d…"
The doctor nodded sagely, and responded "Yeah, I bet you are. That's how most people feel after surgery. Well, your stats are looking good. You don't have infection. The surgical team removed the bullet, it bounced off a rib and lodged in your liver. Miraculously it avoided your lungs." He shook his head. "It's been about 4 days since. In a few more days we will have you do physical therapy and then…" he trailed off, looking at the door. He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. "We will do our best to get you as healed up as we can while you are here with us."
Yassen nodded in understanding, and the movement felt stiff. Like his neck needed oil.
The doctor and his assistants checked the machines, and the male nurse drew his blood. As the female nurse checked his bandages, she met Yassen's blue eyes and gave two miniscule winks with her right eye as she leaned back. Neither the doctor or the other nurse witnessed this happen.
He carefully kept his face as neutral as he could. The female nurse positioned his bed to keep him slightly upright and brought a straw to his mouth. He sipped water and she put the cup on a table where he could reach it with his free hand.
The doctor announced, "We will have some food brought up so that you can begin solids again. Pull the call string or press this button if you need assistance to go to the bathroom." He furtively looked at the handcuff on Yassen's wrist, chaining him to the bed.
The doctor and the two nurses trooped out. The guard did not return, but he was likely outside the door.
Yassen was left alone with his thoughts.
If life was fair, he thought to himself, I should be dead.
I wish I was. His thoughts came desolate, and an overwhelming sense of grief rose from a place he couldn't identify.
He drifted back off to sleep, and his last thought was a tender one.
Alex.
END OF CHAPTER ONE: IN THE DARK