Divergence, chapter 4
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.
The guard watched in a sort of horrible fascination as his boss cooed over the mahogany and rosewood cradle. Fit for a little prince, she had said. The guard shivered. Rothman was frightening enough when she was doling out orders to murder or steal. Watching her face fill with something that looked suspiciously like love was more than a little disconcerting.
He made his face carefully blank as she stood, the maternal smile fading from her face. By the time she turned to her guest, her expression was as he remembered it-calculating and cold.
“I trust that this will remain our secret.”
The dark man nodded, leaning heavily on his cane though he looked to be quite young. “As I trust that you will use the information I have divulged.”
Another smile spread across Rothman’s face, this one decidedly more sinister. “Absolutely. Scorpia does not take kindly to traitors. It goes without saying that he will be killed.”
The dark man nodded once, satisfied. “And Jo-Rider? What will you do with him?”
Her head turned sharply to him. “He is a traitor as well, my little spy. He will be dealt with accordingly.”
The guard couldn’t see the dark man’s face in the flickering firelight, but when he spoke his voice was quiet. “If I could ask one favor?”
Rothman sat between the fire and the cradle, rocking the latter absentmindedly. Her face seemed to glow in the light, illuminating her dark red lips and even darker eyes. One eyebrow lifted.
It took the dark man another moment to speak. “Please-spare Helen?”
Rothman looked away, one hand still on the cradle that the guard knew contained this woman Helen’s son.
“Perhaps,” was all she said.
Helen sat stiffly in the uncomfortable hospital chair, watching emotions flash across her husband’s face before he suppressed them-unconsciously, she supposed. In his line of work you couldn’t afford to be read like an open book.
The young man that entered the room moments later wasn’t at all what she had been expecting. Truthfully, she wasn’t even sure what she had been expecting. But this young, blond, attractive man wasn’t it.
Neither of the two men made a sound until Gregorovitch-Yassen-Cossack-pulled the other chair out of the corner. He seemed to be unable to stop himself from watching John, who was staring at him with the same intent. Neither of them seemed to notice her, though she knew they both had.
After a moment, John cleared his throat. “Cossack.”
Cossack nodded. “Hunter.”
Helen frowned. “If I may…” she began, trying her hardest to keep her voice from wavering.
The two men looked in her direction with raised eyebrows. It struck Helen suddenly that they could have been brothers; the two blond, blue-eyed men. It seemed that Gregorovitch even had some of the same mannerisms as her husband.
“I don’t think you should refer to one another by the code names you used at Scorpia. You want to move past that stage in your life. Neither of you needs to pretend any more.”
John nodded slowly, and Helen watched Gregorovitch’s eyes on her husband. “Very well.” He spoke with only a hint of an accent. “Hello, John.”
John’s sudden grin broke the mounting silence. “Yassen, mate, it is good to see you. How have you been?”
Yassen seemed to falter. Helen got the impression that this young man was not used to losing his calm. But she didn’t blame him in the slightest. This was a situation beyond the normal.
“I have been…well, under the circumstances.”
John’s grin tightened. He sighed. “I wanted to tell you,” he said, voice low. “But…it just couldn’t be done.”
Yassen nodded once. “I understand. It is not my well-being we should be curious about, in any case.”
The unspoken question lingered in the air.
“I should be fine soon, the doctors are saying.”
Yassen nodded again, and Helen-who was no spy, simply a mother-could see some of the tension leave his shoulders.
“I apologise,” the young man began. “I suppose Rothman thought it would be…entertaining to send me out without informing as to the target’s identity.”
John’s face darkened. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like her.” He gripped Helen’s hand.
Yassen spoke again, his eyes wandering around the small room. “But I seem to remember stories, Hunt-John-of a son. Is he well?”
Helen felt her chin wobble and her eyes began to burn. “Excuse me,” she said, standing. She was lucky that John’s room had a private loo-it meant she wouldn’t need to go into the halls, where the pity would suffocate her. She could feel their eyes on her back even as the tears started to drip.
Her baby was gone. Every time she thought she understood that; thought she might be able to accept it, the knowledge returned to smack her in the face, bringing along the same burning pain as the night of his death.
It hadn’t gotten any easier.
Her heart ached for him in a way that made her feel ill. Every new tear felt like the first. A sudden procession of images popped into her head-Alex at three, sleeping on John’s lap; Alex at seven, playing his first real game of football and winning; Alex at twelve, getting an award for the best science project; Alex at fourteen, going on his first date; Alex at eighteen, getting ready to depart for university and giving her a small, sad kiss.
She would never get any of it.
She had to fight back a wail; instead settled for a small sob, muffled with her hands. She felt herself biting her fingers, as if a physical release would stop the emotional pain. Helen didn’t hear the door open, but she could sense someone entering.
Yassen stood at the doorway, looking completely lost. “John…John said that he would get out to speak with you himself, but he thinks that the doctor might add another ten days onto his stay if he did so. Could…could I do anything for you?”
Helen waved him off, not looking up. “No, n-no, j-just leave m-me here. I’ll b-be f-f-fine.” A fresh wave of sobs flooded through her.
Would Alex and Yassen have been friends, she wondered? Yassen could have been an uncle, or perhaps a much-older brother. What had her boy missed out on?
She felt Yassen sit next to her and willed him away. He made no attempt to comfort her physically, but after a moment he began speaking.
“My mother and father both died when I was small. For years, I blamed it on myself, though I see the futility in that argument now. I thought that living with their deaths would grow easier with time-and it does. Only not in the way that I expected.” Here he paused, listened to Helen sniffing for a moment, and unrolled a wad of toilet paper to hand to her.
She took it gratefully as he continued. “Time did not numb the wound, but it gave me new memories as a sort of…bandage, I guess.” He suddenly looked embarrassed-the most relatable emotion she’d yet seen cross his face. When he resumed speaking, it was in a lower tone. “To be honest, your husband was a…great help when I first began training. He was like an older brother to me, and soon I could see more happiness in my life.”
He stood. “I know that you do not want advice, so I will not try to give it to you. I can only offer you my most sincere condolences for the loss of your son.” Here his eyes gained a faraway quality. “I believe I should have liked to meet him.”
When Helen emerged from the loo several minutes later, after having splashed water on her face and wiped the tear marks from her cheeks, the two men were deep in conversation. Her husband had the rolling desk placed over his chest, and was drawing on a napkin. Yassen was watching intently, pointing at the diagram every few moments. A nervous shudder stole through Helen. She wasn’t dense-she knew what they were planning.
That didn’t mean she had to like it.
Yassen’s eyes flicked to her as she returned, and he paused in his speech. John gave him a tired smile. “Go on. We needn’t hide anything from Helen.”
Helen sat in the chair by the rain-streaked window, only vaguely listening as they plotted the downfall of the organization that had taken so much from them. The two men never raised their voices, but Helen detected every now and then a tense quality to their words. They seemed to be disagreeing about something.
A sharp noise startled her sometime later from a sort of half-sleep, and she straightened, blinking. John and Gregorovitch had stopped speaking to watch the Jones woman enter the room. Helen turned her head groggily to the door.
Jones was standing ramrod straight, observing the room with interest. “Gregorovitch, are you ready?”
The younger man nodded once. Her husband’s mouth was tight, a sure sign that he was displeased about something or another. Yassen stood in a fluid motion and walked toward Jones. He turned back to John briefly, and the two seemed to have a wordless conversation. Then his gaze fell on Helen. She forced a smile at him, and he nodded.
Then, to Jones: “It is time.”
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.
The guard watched in a sort of horrible fascination as his boss cooed over the mahogany and rosewood cradle. Fit for a little prince, she had said. The guard shivered. Rothman was frightening enough when she was doling out orders to murder or steal. Watching her face fill with something that looked suspiciously like love was more than a little disconcerting.
He made his face carefully blank as she stood, the maternal smile fading from her face. By the time she turned to her guest, her expression was as he remembered it-calculating and cold.
“I trust that this will remain our secret.”
The dark man nodded, leaning heavily on his cane though he looked to be quite young. “As I trust that you will use the information I have divulged.”
Another smile spread across Rothman’s face, this one decidedly more sinister. “Absolutely. Scorpia does not take kindly to traitors. It goes without saying that he will be killed.”
The dark man nodded once, satisfied. “And Jo-Rider? What will you do with him?”
Her head turned sharply to him. “He is a traitor as well, my little spy. He will be dealt with accordingly.”
The guard couldn’t see the dark man’s face in the flickering firelight, but when he spoke his voice was quiet. “If I could ask one favor?”
Rothman sat between the fire and the cradle, rocking the latter absentmindedly. Her face seemed to glow in the light, illuminating her dark red lips and even darker eyes. One eyebrow lifted.
It took the dark man another moment to speak. “Please-spare Helen?”
Rothman looked away, one hand still on the cradle that the guard knew contained this woman Helen’s son.
“Perhaps,” was all she said.
Helen sat stiffly in the uncomfortable hospital chair, watching emotions flash across her husband’s face before he suppressed them-unconsciously, she supposed. In his line of work you couldn’t afford to be read like an open book.
The young man that entered the room moments later wasn’t at all what she had been expecting. Truthfully, she wasn’t even sure what she had been expecting. But this young, blond, attractive man wasn’t it.
Neither of the two men made a sound until Gregorovitch-Yassen-Cossack-pulled the other chair out of the corner. He seemed to be unable to stop himself from watching John, who was staring at him with the same intent. Neither of them seemed to notice her, though she knew they both had.
After a moment, John cleared his throat. “Cossack.”
Cossack nodded. “Hunter.”
Helen frowned. “If I may…” she began, trying her hardest to keep her voice from wavering.
The two men looked in her direction with raised eyebrows. It struck Helen suddenly that they could have been brothers; the two blond, blue-eyed men. It seemed that Gregorovitch even had some of the same mannerisms as her husband.
“I don’t think you should refer to one another by the code names you used at Scorpia. You want to move past that stage in your life. Neither of you needs to pretend any more.”
John nodded slowly, and Helen watched Gregorovitch’s eyes on her husband. “Very well.” He spoke with only a hint of an accent. “Hello, John.”
John’s sudden grin broke the mounting silence. “Yassen, mate, it is good to see you. How have you been?”
Yassen seemed to falter. Helen got the impression that this young man was not used to losing his calm. But she didn’t blame him in the slightest. This was a situation beyond the normal.
“I have been…well, under the circumstances.”
John’s grin tightened. He sighed. “I wanted to tell you,” he said, voice low. “But…it just couldn’t be done.”
Yassen nodded once. “I understand. It is not my well-being we should be curious about, in any case.”
The unspoken question lingered in the air.
“I should be fine soon, the doctors are saying.”
Yassen nodded again, and Helen-who was no spy, simply a mother-could see some of the tension leave his shoulders.
“I apologise,” the young man began. “I suppose Rothman thought it would be…entertaining to send me out without informing as to the target’s identity.”
John’s face darkened. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like her.” He gripped Helen’s hand.
Yassen spoke again, his eyes wandering around the small room. “But I seem to remember stories, Hunt-John-of a son. Is he well?”
Helen felt her chin wobble and her eyes began to burn. “Excuse me,” she said, standing. She was lucky that John’s room had a private loo-it meant she wouldn’t need to go into the halls, where the pity would suffocate her. She could feel their eyes on her back even as the tears started to drip.
Her baby was gone. Every time she thought she understood that; thought she might be able to accept it, the knowledge returned to smack her in the face, bringing along the same burning pain as the night of his death.
It hadn’t gotten any easier.
Her heart ached for him in a way that made her feel ill. Every new tear felt like the first. A sudden procession of images popped into her head-Alex at three, sleeping on John’s lap; Alex at seven, playing his first real game of football and winning; Alex at twelve, getting an award for the best science project; Alex at fourteen, going on his first date; Alex at eighteen, getting ready to depart for university and giving her a small, sad kiss.
She would never get any of it.
She had to fight back a wail; instead settled for a small sob, muffled with her hands. She felt herself biting her fingers, as if a physical release would stop the emotional pain. Helen didn’t hear the door open, but she could sense someone entering.
Yassen stood at the doorway, looking completely lost. “John…John said that he would get out to speak with you himself, but he thinks that the doctor might add another ten days onto his stay if he did so. Could…could I do anything for you?”
Helen waved him off, not looking up. “No, n-no, j-just leave m-me here. I’ll b-be f-f-fine.” A fresh wave of sobs flooded through her.
Would Alex and Yassen have been friends, she wondered? Yassen could have been an uncle, or perhaps a much-older brother. What had her boy missed out on?
She felt Yassen sit next to her and willed him away. He made no attempt to comfort her physically, but after a moment he began speaking.
“My mother and father both died when I was small. For years, I blamed it on myself, though I see the futility in that argument now. I thought that living with their deaths would grow easier with time-and it does. Only not in the way that I expected.” Here he paused, listened to Helen sniffing for a moment, and unrolled a wad of toilet paper to hand to her.
She took it gratefully as he continued. “Time did not numb the wound, but it gave me new memories as a sort of…bandage, I guess.” He suddenly looked embarrassed-the most relatable emotion she’d yet seen cross his face. When he resumed speaking, it was in a lower tone. “To be honest, your husband was a…great help when I first began training. He was like an older brother to me, and soon I could see more happiness in my life.”
He stood. “I know that you do not want advice, so I will not try to give it to you. I can only offer you my most sincere condolences for the loss of your son.” Here his eyes gained a faraway quality. “I believe I should have liked to meet him.”
When Helen emerged from the loo several minutes later, after having splashed water on her face and wiped the tear marks from her cheeks, the two men were deep in conversation. Her husband had the rolling desk placed over his chest, and was drawing on a napkin. Yassen was watching intently, pointing at the diagram every few moments. A nervous shudder stole through Helen. She wasn’t dense-she knew what they were planning.
That didn’t mean she had to like it.
Yassen’s eyes flicked to her as she returned, and he paused in his speech. John gave him a tired smile. “Go on. We needn’t hide anything from Helen.”
Helen sat in the chair by the rain-streaked window, only vaguely listening as they plotted the downfall of the organization that had taken so much from them. The two men never raised their voices, but Helen detected every now and then a tense quality to their words. They seemed to be disagreeing about something.
A sharp noise startled her sometime later from a sort of half-sleep, and she straightened, blinking. John and Gregorovitch had stopped speaking to watch the Jones woman enter the room. Helen turned her head groggily to the door.
Jones was standing ramrod straight, observing the room with interest. “Gregorovitch, are you ready?”
The younger man nodded once. Her husband’s mouth was tight, a sure sign that he was displeased about something or another. Yassen stood in a fluid motion and walked toward Jones. He turned back to John briefly, and the two seemed to have a wordless conversation. Then his gaze fell on Helen. She forced a smile at him, and he nodded.
Then, to Jones: “It is time.”