Chapter Text
22nd of September 2014
“Are you Linda?”
Lin’s head jerked upwards, eyes darting from her coffee cup to a man with a soft smile and dark eyes. He took her silence as an answer, sitting on the garden chair opposite her. She stared at him as he watched the people walking by them, the hustle and bustle of the cars driving past them. He was well-dressed, she noted. Simple trousers and a plain shirt and jacket in earthy tones.
“You are Linda, aren’t you? Linda Keegan-Schlimme?” He asked again, turning back to her.
She felt like an insect under a microscope as his gaze pinned her to her seat. She nodded slowly, “Yeah, yeah, I am. Are you from…?”
He let out a deep chuckle, saving her from having to finish the question. “Yes. I’m just here to pick you up.” He leaned back in his seat, the early autumn sunlight playing over his olive skin. “Don’t worry. There’s no rush. I’ll let you finish your coffee.”
Lin nodded gratefully, hands wrapped around the mug. “Am I allowed to ask who you are?”
His eyes flitted back to her face, tracing her features. Lin could feel herself flushing.
“Not here. Later maybe.” He shrugged. “You know how it is.”
She hummed, taking her first sip of coffee. Cringing, she realised they’d burnt it. Her face must have betrayed her disgust.
“Bad coffee?” He asked sympathetically.
“Yeah, worst coffee I’ve ever had,” She laughed. “What a way to start my new life.” She drawled sarcastically.
“Oh, really?” His eyebrows creased with surprise. “Worst coffee I ever had was when I was back home. My mother used to let it brew for so long that it’d go thick like syrup. It-” He devolved into laughter. “It was honestly the most disgusting thing I’ve had in my entire life.”
Lin winced sympathetically. “That sounds pretty bad.”
The man shared a conspiratorial grin with her. “Should we get going then?”
In lieu of an answer, Lin stood up, taking a moment to straighten her long woollen coat. The man towered above her, tall and sturdy like a tree trunk. He led her at a brisk pace, a quiet confidence about him as he guided them to a quieter district of town. He only spoke when they reached a small silver car.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to blindfold you for the journey.” He informed her, a sympathetic expression on his face. “But seeing as though the coffee was undrinkable, you might as well have a nap. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.”
She climbed into the car obediently. The upholstery was uncomfortably warm, the car must have been sitting in the sun like this for quite a while. She wasn’t best pleased with having to be treated like a kidnap victim but she wouldn’t complain. It wasn’t this man’s fault after all. He was just following orders.
He clambered into the seat beside her, putting the key in the ignition to free his hands up. He fished the blindfold out of the glovebox in front of Lin. He tied it slowly, taking care not to pull at Lin’s hair as he knotted the dark cotton. Lin felt disorientated in the darkness but thankful that all she had to do was sit still now.
“I’m Lion, Commander of Team Crater by the way.” He started the engine. “Most people just call me Kasabian.”
Yelena
6th of December 2008
“Sashenka?”
I nod, frustration already building. I should have known that the police would be frequenting that area. It had been a reckless thing to do but I’ve made my peace with it. It had been nothing short of foolish to pick a target so quickly without checking for police. That is something that I won’t forgive myself for.
“Tell me this, did you really think you wouldn’t get caught pick-pocketing?” Asks Semyonov. He eyes me with suspicion. Understandable. I can hardly blame him for that. I am a street rat in his eyes. No better than any of the other illiterate folk in the slums.
“Well,” I say, pausing to look up at the officer innocently. “The man is gone. He didn’t call you. You can’t arrest me for not watching where I’m walking.”
Semyonov pauses a beat before continuing, making an obvious effort to keep his annoyance out of his voice, “Can you just confirm for me one last time what your full name and age are?”
“Sashenka Diminicha Mikhailovna. I am 13. I’ve already told you that. Three times.”
Semyonov scowls at me and shouts to his comrades, “Take her back to her cell, maybe rough her up a bit, see whether it knocks the attitude out of her.”
I am grabbed viciously from behind, two sets of hands snatching hold of my thin arms and dragging me towards the cell. I realise just before they throw me onto the concrete just how hard the floor is. So at the last second, I relax all my muscles, going limp as a rag doll, dulling the impact ever so slightly. But it is enough, I’d prefer livid bruises over broken bones any day.
The first boot connects with my ribs and I grunt in pain, curling around the already tender spot and covering my head with my arms but still the kicks kept coming. When they finally tire, I feel as though there isn’t a spot on me that doesn’t ache from the steel-capped boots. It is nothing worse than bruises and grazes but I definitely won’t feel good in the morning. Or within the next week.
I’ve had far worse before, I remind myself in consolation.
They leave me there on the floor to stew, I know they’ll probably leave me here for a few hours. I reach into the small pouch strapped to my inner thigh and extract my lock picks. The idiot who’d arrested me had been too nervous to do more than a half-hearted pat down before he’d brought me in. He’d only found 2 of my knives.
I finesse the locks with little effort, I’ve had more than enough practice over the years and slipped out of the cell on socked feet. I’d picked far more complex locks in conditions that were about as far from optimum as you could get.
The police station is still, the only sound being the pages of the night watcher’s book turning every few minutes. He clearly isn’t watching as attentively as he is supposed to be.
I search around for my shoes as silently as I can manage, I can hardly go wandering around in the middle of the night in early autumn with no shoes. I barely have enough money to feed myself, I can’t afford to buy myself a new pair. I find them eventually, the supple leather comforting as I pull them on hastily. I’m in the process of walking out of the back door when a cloth is held fast over my nose and mouth.
The sharp tang of chemicals makes my eyes water as I kick and thrash against their grips, trying not to breathe in whatever concoction the cloth has been doused in.
Eventually I have to breathe, my vision going dark and I go limp in the arms of the two black-clad figures holding me tightly.
7th of December 2008
I wake up with a sharp headache feeling distinctly nauseous. I am tied to a chair with rope in an empty room. The knots are tight, cutting into my skin and leaving barely an inch of wiggle room. Before long, I’ll probably loose feeling in my fingers because of the bindings. I’ll need to make my move quickly.
This is not good, not good at all. I’d been kidnapped while in the process of acquiring some money for food. I am completely at the mercy of whoever had grabbed me.
I reach down, trying to grasp the small dagger in my boot.
“I wouldn’t bother with that, it’s not in your boot any more,” a booming voice from behind me says.
I hear footsteps to my left and a man comes into view, dark haired, with glowing green eyes. He holds my meagre weapon in his hands, fiddling with it absent-mindedly.
“What is your name, girl?” He asks.
“Sashenka Diminicha Mikhailovna,” I reply, putting on my best scared innocent schoolgirl face and voice.
“Do not lie to me girl, I know you are anything but innocent,” he procures a set of photographs, seemingly from thin air. I know I’ve seen that kind of sleight of hand trick before on the streets, heck I’d even performed it myself on street corners in return for a few kopeks. “What do you know about Zima Morozova?”
I shrug in faux confusion and he continues, “Morozova is quite closely associated with Mr Timur whom I assume you know, given the area you were pick-pocketing in.”
I don’t even blink at this but I feel a small swell of pride at my work as he adds, “Morozova has done impressive work, not too shabby at all. I’d very much like to have a word with this individual and yet here I am having to drag truths out of some street urchin.”
He moves too quickly for me to see and before I know it, the tip of my dagger is under my chin, forcing my head upwards to look him in the eye.
“I’ll ask you again. What. Is. Your. Name?” He spits each word, searching my face.
Searching for what? Some weakness? I can barely remember what it feels like to be a child. He’ll have trouble trying to find a soft spot to prod at. My time on the unforgiving streets of Chelyabinsk had hardened my soul and sharpened my edges.
I glare at him, keeping my eyes fixed on him. I shuffle my hands discreetly behind my back, using the sharpened chain of my bracelet to saw through the rope. Just a few more seconds now. Before the ropes even hit the floor, I have managed to strike him, the knife-like blade on the bracelet dragging along his face from hairline to chin.
He pulls away reflexively and I feel almost victorious before someone grabs me from behind, dragging me back down to the chair, pinning one hand behind my back and holding out the one with the bracelet towards the man I’d cut. He wipes the blood from his face with his dark sleeve, though more continues to trickle out and steps forward. He snatches my wrist roughly as he crouches down in front of me.
He has taken me by surprise and I don’t have time to stop myself flinching at his firm touch. I tense, my breath catching in my throat as I ready myself for the blow that will surely follow. Readying myself to be face to face with my father’s cold grey eyes and feel the all too familiar fear begin rising in me.
“Azam?” I murmur, voice shaken with fear and almost pleading. Whether for mercy or for a swift punishment, I’m not sure. The word is out of my mouth before I can stop it. I shake my head, trying to bring my thoughts back onto the path of logic and reason. “Azam is dead.” I remind myself, muttering the words quietly with a shake of my head.
I feel the man’s grip loosen as he takes in the terror on my face. I quickly school my features as the world comes back into focus, trying to control my breathing which had sped up considerably.
He gently takes my wrist in both hands, turning it over thoughtfully. He unclasps the bracelet and examines it, keeping one hand firmly clamped on my wrist.
“Impressive,” he whispers to himself. He turns his eyes back to mine and I see my reflection in his eyes. The furrow between my brows as I try to hold onto the present, not allowing the past to drag me back.
He looks at me as though trying to work out a puzzle. I can almost hear the questions he is trying to answer in his head. ‘Why did this girl not even flinch at having a knife held under her chin? How is that same girl trembling in fear at me holding her wrist?’
He lets go of my wrist, whatever conclusion he’d come to causing him discomfort if his facial expression is any indication. He nods to the person behind me and I feel them release my hand from behind my back. I hold my hands in my lap, rubbing my thumb along the long scar on the palm of my hand. Despite the haunting memories of the evening I’d received it, the motion itself is quite comforting.
The man with green eyes kneels now. He rests his hands on his thighs. I track their slow movements with my eyes and I know he notices the way I do this.
“Little girl, look at me,” he says, voice softer now. “Who is Azam?” I look into his eyes, searching for some hint as to what he will do to me.
“I am not a little girl,” I growl at him instead. I refuse to show this man any weakness, at least no more than I already had.
“Okay, my name is Konstantin Alekseev. What is yours?” He asks gently. For all I know, the name might be pure fiction. Something about the way he says it tells me otherwise though. I shake my head. No, I will not utter my name in the presence of another person.
“I understand, your fear child. I saw the look in your eyes when I brought up that name. They call you Zima Morozova on the streets, a slippery thief no one can catch. No lock is unpick-able for Morozova. I thought you’d be older.” He says almost sadly. “I will not call you Zima Morozova. It is not your real name so what is it?”
His tone is so gentle. I take a shaky breath and say before I can think better of it, “My name is Yelena Azamatovna Iskändärova..”
“Azamatovna. Azamat. Azam. Is Azam your father?”
I look away now, I can’t stand the intensity of his stare. The kind of thinly veiled anger I’d learned from experience only meant pain for me.
“Okay, Yelena. Where is your family?”
“My family is dead to me,” I say, the words out of my mouth before I can think better of them.
“Tell me about what happened to them,” he demands, though his voice is still gentle.
“My mother died when I was born,” I say quietly.
“Really?” He inquires. I nod.
“My older sister Nadya and I. We’ve always been opposites.” I look at the bracelet with a frown. “I am the bad one, Azam hated me. He loved my sister and most of the time she stood and watched when he started drinking…” I trail off, feeling fear rising in me but I force it down. “Azam started drinking too much after mother died. It made him It made him angry. So, so angry, he blamed me for her death. He demanded respect. He was particularly angry one evening, he sliced my hand with a plate, nearly broke my ribs and I pushed him. I didn’t even mean to. He fell down the stairs, I killed him.”
I close my eyes against the memory, not wanting to see his broken body at the bottom of the stairs. I open my eyes slowly. Alekseev is looking at me, his eyes saying, Go on, finish the story.
“My sister hated me. I couldn’t stay in Orenburg so I ran away. That’s all.”
He nods, mulling over the story. “You impress me, Yelena. You are so young and yet you have shown more grit and steel than many of the young adults I know. You will come with us and train. You will learn to defend yourself so no one can hurt you again.”
I hesitate, remembering some old advice.
Отмерьте семь раз, один раз отрежьте.
Measure seven times, cut once.
I glance at the man, trying to gauge my options. Agree or be disposed of. There is only one viable option.
I nod and that is that. Deal sealed.
“So… What do you think Cygnus?” Alekseev asks, his eyes focused somewhere behind me.
A man moves into my line of sight, drifting along the uneven floor boards with a grace that reminded me of the late Rudolf Nureyev. I had seen old footage of him, spent hours poring over the precise movements in amazement. The man before me moves in much the same manner . He is tall, blond and looks about as friendly as an iceberg. He examines me closely and I quash the urge to shift uncomfortably under his stare. I’d shown too much vulnerability already.
I look him in the eye, summoning all the confidence that earned me the name Zima Morozova. Winter Frost. My eyes are cold and sharp.
“She will be acceptable,” he says slowly, each syllable carefully measured.
From the look on Alekseev’s face this is high praise from Cygnus.
23rd of September 2014
“Remind me again how I wound up getting dragged into babysitting?”
Lena rolled her eyes, she’d rather be anywhere else but here. She was too senior to get saddled with minding a newbie. She ran a hand through her hair, sneaking a glance at Birdy as she shot back, “Still paying my dues for that mess in South America, I’d wager. Thought I might as well have a bit of entertainment and drag you along with me.”
Birdy punched her in the shoulder, before pitching a childish wail that she knew grated on Lena. “Don’t be a meanie!”
Lena rolled her eyes again. Funny, she seemed to be doing an awful lot of that lately. “I’m sure you’ll be glad to know you’re not the only one I’m forcing my suffering on.”
Birdy let out a startled laugh, “Wowza! You really have a death wish, don’t ya?”
Lena didn’t dignify that with a response, opting to grab Birdy by the arm, earning a startled yelp, and drag her towards the sound of tyres crunching over the gravel track. The dusty old hatchback was grinding to a halt by the time the pair reached the small group gathered on a grassy verge.
“Fresh meat, huh?” One of the men joked, earning himself a chuckle from a few of his teammates. Lena paid them no mind, as she watched a blindfolded girl step out of the passenger seat, followed by Ari only seconds behind as he clambered out of the driver’s seat.
“I smell blood in the water,” One of the male voices behind Lena whispered, shortly followed by an exaggerated gasp of pain as one of his teammates retaliated against his words.
Lena ignored Birdy’s irritated retort, clocking only the fact that it had something to do with sharks, as she watched the slip of a girl standing beside the car. All she could think was that this girl was going to die faster than she could sing the NATO alphabet. In spite of her best attempts to cease her staring, Lena found her eyes drawn to the girl like a moth to a flame. She didn’t even look away when she sensed Lion’s presence at her side.
“Uneventful journey, I take it?” Lena muttered under her breath.
Ari ‘Lion’ Kasabian hummed in confirmation, “Quiet as a church mouse, that one. I think she must have slept for at least some of the journey.”
“Hey,” The girl shouted awkwardly. “Can I take this blind fold off yet?”
“Go ahead,” Lena called back trying to keep her voice level enough to give off a false air of patience.
With barely a second of hesitation, the girl removed the blindfold, squinting at the sudden brightness of the midday sun. She spotted the group of people watching her almost immediately, beginning to cross the gravel path and join them on the grass.
Lena felt a sharp elbow in her side when the girl made it over to them, examining the group with critical eyes.
“Introductions remember,” prompted Ari in a low whisper.
Lena once again threw her eyes up. They’d wind up stuck there permanently if she carried on the way she was going. “I’m sure you know why you’re here. You’re one of Ara’s now, one of us. Try not to get yourself killed too quickly.”
The new girl raised her eyebrows, clearly she hadn’t anticipated the bluntness. She’d best get used to it if she planned on sticking around.
“I’m Corvus. Unfortunately for you, I’ll be helping with your training when I’m not working. This here-” Lena got cut off by Birdy pushing forwards.
“Hi, I’m Virgil but everyone calls me Birdy ‘cos… well that’s my name… well not really it’s actually Bridie.” She cleared her throat, ending the nervous ramble. “I’m this grouch’s friend for some reason,” Birdy announced, elbowing Lena in the side. Or at least attempting to as Lena gracefully danced out of her reach. “Don’t be fooled by the attitude, she’s like a kicked puppy really.”
That wrenched a chuckle from the group as Lena scowled at the side of Birdy’s head before finally deciding to move on, “These idiots here are some of Team Crater, the rest are busy working. You’ll probably be seeing an awful lot of them over the course of your training.”
“Civet, I’m the one that bosses all these feckin’ eejits around as 2nd in Command and Covert Ops Specialist.” One of them said with a strong Irish brogue.
“The name’s Tiger and as the Medic I get the joy of patching up these blockheads.” the driver of the car said with a broad American accent, New York maybe.
“Leopard and Linsang are in the Hub right now.” Lion explained.
“I’m Jaguar,” A man with a German accent said, wiggling his eyebrows as he continued, “But all the ladies call me Jag.” That remark earned him a swift slap on the head from Civet much to the amusement of the rest of the group.
“Well, hi everyone. I’m Lin, Linda Keegan-Schlimme.” The small girl replied, eyes still flitting over the rather intimidating gaggle of people before her. They were a ragtag group definitely.
Ari smiled at her kindly, “Don’t let Corvus scare you, she’s just in a bad mood. You can call her Lena by the way, no one really bothers with the whole ‘Corvus’ thing when we’re not on a job.”
The frantic thrumming of Lin’s heart against her ribs was loud in her ears. Her knees were weak, the realisation she was now safe, the sudden lack of danger nearly flooring her.
She’d done it! She was alive and ready to leave her old life behind.
Lin had waited for this for so many months. Ever since she’d been approached by Ara agents, she’d been waiting patiently for the faked illness that would allow her to disappear from university and the rest of her life for good.
She wouldn’t allow her relief to be quashed by the mild hostility of the grey-eyed woman leading her away from the gaggle of people and towards a squat rectangular building with a seemingly permanent scowl gracing her delicate features. Corvus. That was the woman’s name apparently. Or Lena if she decided to listen to Lion.
“So… how is this going to work exactly?” Lin asked, the question quiet and unsure. For a long moment, she thought that Corvus wasn’t going to answer, just keep her eyes determinedly fixed directly ahead of her.
“You’re my responsibility now.” Corvus said, her voice grim with obvious displeasure. For someone who’d -according to Lion’s simplified explanation- had fought tooth and nail to keep Lin alive, Lena looked extremely unhappy about her mere existence. “You will do what I tell you when I tell you to. I don’t care if you’re tired. I don’t care if you’re rethinking your decision to come here. I don’t give a damn if you’re about to throw up from exhaustion. There will be no mercy here, no concessions given. You will be held to the same standards that I was. If I tell you to jump, I expect you to ask how far. Are we clear, Miss Keegan-Schlimme?”
Lin swallowed, running her tongue over her chapped lips. “Crystal.”
Corvus gave her a short nod before pushing open one of the many doors to the building.
Great, Lin thought. Her new boss already hated her.