Twisting, Turning, Tumbling
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me and I make no money with it.
Spoilers: Up to and including Snakehead.
Summary: Alex had a bad feeling about this.
A/N: I've been having some difficulties with my writing lately - namely, not getting anything done. I've decided to try myself against the 100 Themes Challenge to get the creative juices flowing again. I'm trying for one theme per day, but let's see whether I can keep that up. (I bet I won't make it. XD)
Date: Dec. 29th - 4.30 pm, between Heaven and Dark (Timeline: shiruy. livejournal 3602. html)
Alex had a bad feeling about this.
Not that he ever had a good feeling about any of the missions he was forced to go on, but this time it was especially bad. In the briefing Mrs. Jones had given him it had all sounded so straightforward - a German pharmaceutical company with some suspicious ties, a new drug suddenly being sold in the streets of every major city, a big company gala he and his partner were supposed to sneak into.
'Just talk to some of the people and have fun, Alex,' she had said.
'Agent Barner is very experienced, he'll do all the work, you don't have to worry about anything, Alex,' she had said.
'We just need you to serve as cover, you won't be in any danger, Alex,' she had promised.
Now, being dragged through the crowds of people by an overenthusiastic young man who was eager to introduce Alex to his father, the teen couldn't help but wonder why he even tried to give Jones the benefit of the doubt anymore. This was going to end badly somehow, he just knew it.
"Father, can I introduce you to this remarkable young man I just met?"
A tall man, maybe around fifty, with short salt-and-pepper hair turned around from the group of people and smiled at them. Behind him, the conversation kept flowing.
"Of course, Simon."
The grip on his shoulder tightened and drew him forward. Alex smiled, allowing himself to pick at the hem of his (ridiculously expensive) Armani shirt. It fit his assumed character to appear a little nervous.
"This is Lloyd Williams, the son of the acting director of the Greyson group, Shaun Williams."
The man's smile widened. Alex's bad feeling got worse.
"Hello, Lloyd. My name is Christian Weller, I'm the chairman of the LC Lux group. It's a pleasure to meet you."
They shook hands and Alex returned the greeting courteously. Besides them, Simon Weller beamed happily and launched into an explanation of how he had gotten to know Alex just an hour ago.
The next fifteen minutes dragged on at snail's pace, filled with small talk, bad jokes and questions about his background. He recounted all the little facts he had learned by rote just last night, sometimes throwing in a detail only the real Lloyd Williams could know, sometimes stuttering and appearing a little shy, because that was the fact most people had heard about Williams' son.
Just when their conversation was drawing to a close and Alex was starting to relax a bit, a man stepped up to them and laid a hand on Mr. Weller's shoulder.
"Sir, there's a..." The voice trailed off, but Alex didn't look up, his gaze transfixed on that hand and his stomach feeling like it had dropped down into his knees. The last time he had seen those carefully manicured fingers they had been weakly grasping at a bloodied chest.
"There's a phone call for you on line 2," the voice picked up again. Flawless English, without the slightest hint of an accent.
"Thank you, Mihailov. I'm sorry, Lloyd, but I have to take that call. It was nice to meet you."
Alex knew that he answered something, but later he couldn't have said what. His eyes stayed fixed on that hand as it slid off the older man's shoulder and came to rest at a slim body's waist. Beside him, Simon was talking again.
"Lloyd, this is Kirill Mihailov, my father's assistant. Kirill, this is Lloyd Williams."
Slowly, oh so slowly, he forced himself to look up, dragging his gaze over the familiar-and-not chest, hoping so desperately that he was wrong, that this was just a coincidence, that he was just paranoid...
There was a dead straight line drawn across the side of the man's neck, a slightly discolored scar. Alex thought he was going to start hyperventilating any second now.
[They had told him he was dead.]
Dark brown instead of whitish blond. Clear ice blue eyes hidden behind murky brown contact lenses. Dark circles under the eyes and a slightly pinched look. But there were the same sharp cheekbones. The same even, handsome face. The same curved lips, twisted into a welcoming smile.
"It is nice to meet you," Yassen Gregorovich said.