Divergence, chapter 3
Title: Divergence
Rating: K+ (PG) for minor violence and language.
Summary: It is the smallest of decisions that have the greatest impact. Somewhere along the line, something changed. The world will never be the same. Written for The Firm's May prompt challenge.
AN: Written for the prompt accusation, this started out small and kept growing. As you will soon see, the end result has very little to do with the prompt, but it was what started me off. In total I'm thinking there will be about five chapters.
Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.
“Mr Gregorovitch, here are the papers. We have agreed not to persecute you for past crimes. In exchange, you agree to a five-year tenure with us and formally renounce your ties with Scorpia. Of course, you also agree to go undercover back in Scorpia as if nothing has gone amiss, to assist us in the dismantling of the organization.”
Yassen took the grey man’s pen and signed without fanfare.
The terms were agreeable enough. And a small part of him-a part so small that he had been surprised to discover that it even existed-was satisfied. He was finally on the right side.
The woman-Jones, he thought-spoke up from her seat next to him. “Sir, when should he leave?”
The man pushed his square-framed glasses back up his nose. “As soon as possible. Scorpia cannot-must not-suspect a thing. Take him down to Smithers and then escort him to the briefing room. After that, he’s on his own.”
Jones nodded and stood. Yassen parroted her and followed the woman down several flights of stairs-ignoring the confused stares that they attracted-at which point they caught an elevator.
Yassen stood with his hands folded and stared straight ahead, ignoring the other man in the elevator. Some unknown emotion flickered across his face, and Yassen wondered briefly if the agent had recognized him. The thought brought an unexpected flare of pleasure. People already knew who he was.
The man’s eyes darted down to Yassen’s hands, as if he expected an attack. “Jones,” he ventured, “what is he doing in our elevator?”
Jones, who had been watching the exchange with a sort of patronising amusement, smiled briefly. “None of your business, Crawley. I assure you that you’ll find out soon enough.”
With that, the elevator arrived softly at its stop. It made no noise. Yassen gestured for Jones to go first, which she did. The elevator door started to close softly behind them. Yassen turned and gave Crawley a slow and feral grin, enjoying the look on his face as the blood seemed to vanish from it.
In front of him, Jones looked to be hiding a grin. “Come on. We’ve got to see Smithers.”
-:-
John woke suddenly. It took him several seconds to register the gentle beeps of a heart monitor, and several more to remember what had happened. He turned his head, his eyelids half shut, and saw that someone was holding his hand.
Helen. His heart beat painfully. She was asleep, her head resting on his bed. Even in dreams she looked tired, pained. He ran his thumb over her fingers.
It seemed that getting shot was a good way to end marital spats. He would have to remember that. The thought-it sounded like something Ian would say-made him snort. The movement seemed to irritate his chest, though, so he calmed down. Wouldn’t do to break stitches or anything of that sort.
Next to him, Helen stirred. He ran his thumb over her fingers again; watching as she gradually opened her eyes and blinked the sleep out of them.
“John! You’re awake!”
Suddenly she was crawling into the small hospital bed next to him, doing her best to squeeze between him and the bars. He scooted over to the opposite side, making room and smiling.
She turned her head to him. Her eyes seemed bigger; coated with unshed tears. “John, forgive me. I was wrong to say that to you. It’s not true.”
He leaned to give her a kiss. The angle made it sort of difficult, but he managed. “I already have. I love you.”
She squeezed his hand. “Really, John. I’m so sorry. I...I just couldn’t let things end like that. Thinking that the last words we had together could have been a fight....” She took a deep and trembling breath before burrowing her face into his shoulder. “I already lost Alex. I can’t lose you too.”
John put an arm around his wife, her tears spotting his hospital gown. He had to swallow before he could speak. “Helen.” His voice was low, and he could feel his chest vibrating underneath her. “Those bastards don’t stand a chance. I’m going to find who did this to us, and I’m going to kill them.”
Helen stiffened next to him. It seemed like a very long time before she said anything. Finally, though, she responded. Her voice was soft, but John could detect an undertone of steel. “Whatever you do, John, be careful. I can’t lose you.”
-:-
He and Jones had not spoken since his briefing, but Yassen had a feeling that told him where they were headed-and it wasn’t the airport.
It wasn’t long before they pulled up to a hospital, which, Yassen noted, seemed a good deal nicer than the rest in London. He wasn’t surprised. Only the best for government employees, after all.
He wasn’t nervous. His palms were a bit sweaty, yes. But he wasn’t nervous.
Jones only had to flash a badge at the receptionist before the woman stammered out a room number. And then they were in another elevator, this one graciously empty. Jones started speaking, keeping her eyes on the panel of buttons.
“I’m going to ask you stay outside while I explain the situation. It will be easier for him to take that way, I think.”
Yassen nodded. The two stood in silence until a question forced its way past his lips. “Why are you doing this?”
She kept her eyes straight ahead. “This man is the reason you changed sides. I thought you deserved the chance to speak with him before you left.”
To apologize, Yassen thought briefly. To tell him the truth. However surprising, he welcomed the opportunity.
They emerged from the elevator onto a deserted hallway. After a few twisting turns, they found themselves facing a single room-413. Two burly men in suits stood on either side of the door, equipped with earpieces and the telltale bulge of guns.
Yassen stopped several feet before the door. Jones turned to him, her eyes questioning. He nodded, answering the unspoken query.
He was ready.
Jones pursed her lips and took a deep breath, flashing her badge at the guards before leaning close and whispering to them. Yassen could see the eyes of one of the guards flick toward him uneasily. Jones huffed and barked something out-from where he stood, it sounded like “get over it”-and the guards both frowned, but relaxed.
He watched her disappear into the room, closing the door softly behind her before he could see anything more than the foot of the bed. The guards never took their eyes off of him as he stood opposite them, hands locked behind his back.
Yassen could hear faint murmurings from behind the door, but he didn’t strain his ears. He saw the taller guard with the clean-shaven head gesture to his partner down the hallway. Yassen let his eyes drift over to where they were pointing, and was surprised to see a man, walking toward them with a slight limp. He frowned as the man approached them, recognizing him.
It struck him quickly, and for the first time in recent memory, he could think of nothing to do; no action that would prevent the confrontation that was sure now to come. There was nowhere to hide, and any attempts to run would attract far too much attention. So instead he stood as still and silent as a statue, hoping that he would go unrecognized.
But it was not to be. The man from Malta flicked his eyes once, briefly, at the guards before turning to Yassen. For a moment he stood, just blinking. Then his mouth closed with a snap and he was rushing forward, his eyes mad. A primal sound escaped his throat as he and Yassen collided.
The man was surprisingly strong for looking so lanky; getting a punch to his shoulder, but it wasn’t difficult for Yassen to quickly gain the upper hand. The man from Malta aimed a fist at his face, but Yassen grabbed it before it could do any damage and spun the man so that his arms were trapped behind his back.
“Let me go, you slimy bastard!” He writhed, but Yassen did not loosen his grip. The guards finally approached, grim-faced.
“Howell,” said the one without hair, “he’s with us. Stop struggling or I’ll have to report this.”
“Oh, I think it’s getting reported.” The sudden voice was loud and terse. It reminded him of a scolding parent. Yassen turned his head to see Jones standing in the doorway, her expression livid. She marched over to where Yassen held the man from Malta-Howell, presumably-and wrenched Yassen’s arms off of him. He did not fight her.
Howell looked like a surly teenager in front of Jones, though she surely could not have been much older than he was.
“Howell, what the hell was that?”
“This is the one that stabbed me, Tulip. Forgive me for acting logically.”
Jones-Tulip?-reached out an arm and cuffed his ear. “Ash, stop being an idiot for a moment and consider the situation. He was bloody standing there, with two of our own right across from him. Is it possible for you to just think for a moment?”
The frown did not leave Howell’s face as he rubbed his ear. “So he’s a turncoat, then?” He glared at Yassen, who gazed back coolly in response.
Jones let out a huff of air. “He’s on our side now, yes. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t go around attacking one of our greatest assets, thank you very much.” She paused, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. “And aren’t you supposed to be in a bed of your own right now?” she asked suddenly.
Howell looked suddenly guilty. “I heard about John. I wanted to make sure he was okay.”
Jones glared at him again before turning to one of the guards. “Escort Agent Howell back to his room, if you will? He can come back when he’s allowed out of bed.” She directed her final words to Howell, who had resumed his glare. “I mean it, Ash. You need those wounds to heal.”
No one spoke until they had disappeared down the hall. Jones closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Yassen watched Howell leave with interest. “These wounds...are they ones that I caused on Malta?”
Jones didn’t open her eyes. “Yes, they are from where you stabbed him.”
She let out a gust of air and took a long pause. “He shouldn’t have found out about you,” she finally said, shaking her head. “It was a mistake telling him. Something has been...off with Agent Howell ever since his return.”
“You do not trust him?”
She took another long pause. “I can’t know for sure. But I’ve got a feeling.”
He nodded, and she straightened. “All right,” she said, seemingly collecting herself. “All right. It’s time to do what we came for. Are you ready?”
Yassen nodded, not trusting his voice. Jones led him to the door and paused with her hand on the knob.
“Good luck,” she said finally.
With that, Yassen entered John Rider’s hospital room.
Rating: K+ (PG) for minor violence and language.
Summary: It is the smallest of decisions that have the greatest impact. Somewhere along the line, something changed. The world will never be the same. Written for The Firm's May prompt challenge.
AN: Written for the prompt accusation, this started out small and kept growing. As you will soon see, the end result has very little to do with the prompt, but it was what started me off. In total I'm thinking there will be about five chapters.
Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider.
“Mr Gregorovitch, here are the papers. We have agreed not to persecute you for past crimes. In exchange, you agree to a five-year tenure with us and formally renounce your ties with Scorpia. Of course, you also agree to go undercover back in Scorpia as if nothing has gone amiss, to assist us in the dismantling of the organization.”
Yassen took the grey man’s pen and signed without fanfare.
The terms were agreeable enough. And a small part of him-a part so small that he had been surprised to discover that it even existed-was satisfied. He was finally on the right side.
The woman-Jones, he thought-spoke up from her seat next to him. “Sir, when should he leave?”
The man pushed his square-framed glasses back up his nose. “As soon as possible. Scorpia cannot-must not-suspect a thing. Take him down to Smithers and then escort him to the briefing room. After that, he’s on his own.”
Jones nodded and stood. Yassen parroted her and followed the woman down several flights of stairs-ignoring the confused stares that they attracted-at which point they caught an elevator.
Yassen stood with his hands folded and stared straight ahead, ignoring the other man in the elevator. Some unknown emotion flickered across his face, and Yassen wondered briefly if the agent had recognized him. The thought brought an unexpected flare of pleasure. People already knew who he was.
The man’s eyes darted down to Yassen’s hands, as if he expected an attack. “Jones,” he ventured, “what is he doing in our elevator?”
Jones, who had been watching the exchange with a sort of patronising amusement, smiled briefly. “None of your business, Crawley. I assure you that you’ll find out soon enough.”
With that, the elevator arrived softly at its stop. It made no noise. Yassen gestured for Jones to go first, which she did. The elevator door started to close softly behind them. Yassen turned and gave Crawley a slow and feral grin, enjoying the look on his face as the blood seemed to vanish from it.
In front of him, Jones looked to be hiding a grin. “Come on. We’ve got to see Smithers.”
-:-
John woke suddenly. It took him several seconds to register the gentle beeps of a heart monitor, and several more to remember what had happened. He turned his head, his eyelids half shut, and saw that someone was holding his hand.
Helen. His heart beat painfully. She was asleep, her head resting on his bed. Even in dreams she looked tired, pained. He ran his thumb over her fingers.
It seemed that getting shot was a good way to end marital spats. He would have to remember that. The thought-it sounded like something Ian would say-made him snort. The movement seemed to irritate his chest, though, so he calmed down. Wouldn’t do to break stitches or anything of that sort.
Next to him, Helen stirred. He ran his thumb over her fingers again; watching as she gradually opened her eyes and blinked the sleep out of them.
“John! You’re awake!”
Suddenly she was crawling into the small hospital bed next to him, doing her best to squeeze between him and the bars. He scooted over to the opposite side, making room and smiling.
She turned her head to him. Her eyes seemed bigger; coated with unshed tears. “John, forgive me. I was wrong to say that to you. It’s not true.”
He leaned to give her a kiss. The angle made it sort of difficult, but he managed. “I already have. I love you.”
She squeezed his hand. “Really, John. I’m so sorry. I...I just couldn’t let things end like that. Thinking that the last words we had together could have been a fight....” She took a deep and trembling breath before burrowing her face into his shoulder. “I already lost Alex. I can’t lose you too.”
John put an arm around his wife, her tears spotting his hospital gown. He had to swallow before he could speak. “Helen.” His voice was low, and he could feel his chest vibrating underneath her. “Those bastards don’t stand a chance. I’m going to find who did this to us, and I’m going to kill them.”
Helen stiffened next to him. It seemed like a very long time before she said anything. Finally, though, she responded. Her voice was soft, but John could detect an undertone of steel. “Whatever you do, John, be careful. I can’t lose you.”
-:-
He and Jones had not spoken since his briefing, but Yassen had a feeling that told him where they were headed-and it wasn’t the airport.
It wasn’t long before they pulled up to a hospital, which, Yassen noted, seemed a good deal nicer than the rest in London. He wasn’t surprised. Only the best for government employees, after all.
He wasn’t nervous. His palms were a bit sweaty, yes. But he wasn’t nervous.
Jones only had to flash a badge at the receptionist before the woman stammered out a room number. And then they were in another elevator, this one graciously empty. Jones started speaking, keeping her eyes on the panel of buttons.
“I’m going to ask you stay outside while I explain the situation. It will be easier for him to take that way, I think.”
Yassen nodded. The two stood in silence until a question forced its way past his lips. “Why are you doing this?”
She kept her eyes straight ahead. “This man is the reason you changed sides. I thought you deserved the chance to speak with him before you left.”
To apologize, Yassen thought briefly. To tell him the truth. However surprising, he welcomed the opportunity.
They emerged from the elevator onto a deserted hallway. After a few twisting turns, they found themselves facing a single room-413. Two burly men in suits stood on either side of the door, equipped with earpieces and the telltale bulge of guns.
Yassen stopped several feet before the door. Jones turned to him, her eyes questioning. He nodded, answering the unspoken query.
He was ready.
Jones pursed her lips and took a deep breath, flashing her badge at the guards before leaning close and whispering to them. Yassen could see the eyes of one of the guards flick toward him uneasily. Jones huffed and barked something out-from where he stood, it sounded like “get over it”-and the guards both frowned, but relaxed.
He watched her disappear into the room, closing the door softly behind her before he could see anything more than the foot of the bed. The guards never took their eyes off of him as he stood opposite them, hands locked behind his back.
Yassen could hear faint murmurings from behind the door, but he didn’t strain his ears. He saw the taller guard with the clean-shaven head gesture to his partner down the hallway. Yassen let his eyes drift over to where they were pointing, and was surprised to see a man, walking toward them with a slight limp. He frowned as the man approached them, recognizing him.
It struck him quickly, and for the first time in recent memory, he could think of nothing to do; no action that would prevent the confrontation that was sure now to come. There was nowhere to hide, and any attempts to run would attract far too much attention. So instead he stood as still and silent as a statue, hoping that he would go unrecognized.
But it was not to be. The man from Malta flicked his eyes once, briefly, at the guards before turning to Yassen. For a moment he stood, just blinking. Then his mouth closed with a snap and he was rushing forward, his eyes mad. A primal sound escaped his throat as he and Yassen collided.
The man was surprisingly strong for looking so lanky; getting a punch to his shoulder, but it wasn’t difficult for Yassen to quickly gain the upper hand. The man from Malta aimed a fist at his face, but Yassen grabbed it before it could do any damage and spun the man so that his arms were trapped behind his back.
“Let me go, you slimy bastard!” He writhed, but Yassen did not loosen his grip. The guards finally approached, grim-faced.
“Howell,” said the one without hair, “he’s with us. Stop struggling or I’ll have to report this.”
“Oh, I think it’s getting reported.” The sudden voice was loud and terse. It reminded him of a scolding parent. Yassen turned his head to see Jones standing in the doorway, her expression livid. She marched over to where Yassen held the man from Malta-Howell, presumably-and wrenched Yassen’s arms off of him. He did not fight her.
Howell looked like a surly teenager in front of Jones, though she surely could not have been much older than he was.
“Howell, what the hell was that?”
“This is the one that stabbed me, Tulip. Forgive me for acting logically.”
Jones-Tulip?-reached out an arm and cuffed his ear. “Ash, stop being an idiot for a moment and consider the situation. He was bloody standing there, with two of our own right across from him. Is it possible for you to just think for a moment?”
The frown did not leave Howell’s face as he rubbed his ear. “So he’s a turncoat, then?” He glared at Yassen, who gazed back coolly in response.
Jones let out a huff of air. “He’s on our side now, yes. And I would appreciate it if you didn’t go around attacking one of our greatest assets, thank you very much.” She paused, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples. “And aren’t you supposed to be in a bed of your own right now?” she asked suddenly.
Howell looked suddenly guilty. “I heard about John. I wanted to make sure he was okay.”
Jones glared at him again before turning to one of the guards. “Escort Agent Howell back to his room, if you will? He can come back when he’s allowed out of bed.” She directed her final words to Howell, who had resumed his glare. “I mean it, Ash. You need those wounds to heal.”
No one spoke until they had disappeared down the hall. Jones closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Yassen watched Howell leave with interest. “These wounds...are they ones that I caused on Malta?”
Jones didn’t open her eyes. “Yes, they are from where you stabbed him.”
She let out a gust of air and took a long pause. “He shouldn’t have found out about you,” she finally said, shaking her head. “It was a mistake telling him. Something has been...off with Agent Howell ever since his return.”
“You do not trust him?”
She took another long pause. “I can’t know for sure. But I’ve got a feeling.”
He nodded, and she straightened. “All right,” she said, seemingly collecting herself. “All right. It’s time to do what we came for. Are you ready?”
Yassen nodded, not trusting his voice. Jones led him to the door and paused with her hand on the knob.
“Good luck,” she said finally.
With that, Yassen entered John Rider’s hospital room.