[identity profile] zabytsya.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] groznyj_grad
David was getting restless.

He had always been quick to heal from injury or recover from illness, even as a child, rarely sick longer than a couple of days at the most. He'd broken his leg in high school, tibia snap, bad fall on the football field, and was out for six weeks, then another six weeks of PT and he was good as new, even better.

It had been three days since he'd been brought in from the cold, poisoned. Suffering from exposure and hypothermia and other things, and now, he felt almost like normal. Maybe a little more tired, but that could just as easily have been attributed to being stuck in the infirmary with little exercise.

Three days.

He'd been able to keep up the amnesia ruse, and so far, the nurse hadn't found his tactical knife hidden between the mattress and bedframe. No one had come to haul him away for interrogation under suspicion of being an American spy.

So far so good, as they said, but David knew it wouldn't last.

He brushed a hand over his dark hair, which was cut in a simple soldier's crop, universal military. It wouldn't give him away, not like the thousand other things that could cause him to slip up - an idiom he didn't know, a joke, a concept. He might know the language and speak it with his father's muscovite accent, but that didn't make him Soviet.

David Petrovich Kerensky bled red, white and blue.

His time was running out, the mission had gone wrong, and now he was pretty sure the CIA had given up on him, sent the self-terminate signal to his CODEC, cut him free like a kite on a string.

He'd gotten caught in a tree branch, disavowed.

Thing was, if he didn't have the mission, he didn't have anything.

So mission it still was. He needed to come up with a plan of action, find Snake, figure out what to do about the Boss, stay alive, and get out of Russia, somehow.

David sighed, and lay back in the infirmary bed.

He supposed he had better get started on that.
Page 1 of 3 << [1] [2] [3] >>

Date: 2008-04-30 07:19 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com
The nurse on duty was one Rakitin didn't recognize. Once he'd stated his business she waved him through into their domain.

It had been a while since he had given the soldier the antidote to one wound and exacerbated another. Surely in that time he had remembered something, or someone had been found who could identify him.

Polya had some experience with unidentified people, but they weren't the kind who minded much.

How could someone be alive without knowing who he was?

It was an unbearably lonely idea. Polya could never say he was altogether satisfied with his own holdings, but they were his, and known, and merited a certain affection for that. He couldn't concieve of waking in a stranger's skin.

He knocked on the door before he realized he had no name to call, and settled for the nearest alternative.

"Comrade? Are you awake? It's Rakitin."

Date: 2008-05-01 02:20 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com
"Kharasho," Rakitin said automatically, entering the room. The door clicked shut softly behind him. "I meant to come by before, but circumstances have been...a little messy."

He came closer. The nameless man was sitting straight-spined, his grey eyes sharp and alert, expression guarded. He was the living image of a good soldier in the camp of an unknown enemy, all the more trapped for that it was his home.

Assuming that he hadn't dredged up some clue to who he was.

Rakitin condensed everything he wanted to ask into,

"How are you feeling?"

Date: 2008-05-02 03:59 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com
"It's not so bad," Rakitin said wryly, taking the proferred seat. "You shouldd see the poor bastard they had on guard duty. Looked like he'd been pulling double shifts since the world began."

Weariness was a buzz in the back of his head, like crickets on a summer's day. He was getting used to it.

Rakitin broke into a genuine smile.

"That's good news. Any residual effects from the poison? It was a strange one. Think you'll be out of here soon, then?"

And to where?

The undercurrent of the soldier's words, and the muted insistence of his affirmation, sank in. Rakitin's smile faded.

He leaned forward, arms resting on his knees, fingers clasped into a loose birdcage in the middle.

"Has anything come back?" he asked softly.

Date: 2008-05-02 09:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com
Rakitin watched the young soldier take visible control of himself. For a moment, a great, wounded anger had shown, the was oushed back like shutting off a tap.

That ability itself could be a clue to the man's identity.

"Da," he answered, knowing the value of distraction. "There haven't been any new ones in a while, thank God for small favors."

Every time the door to the lab opened he half expected it to be someone with a grim expression and a description of what parts were missing.

"Now we're dealing with the living human element. It's the Major who does most of that. That's the side where the real complications arise. Everyone has comrades, and nothing happens to a vaccuum. That's what we rely on, but it works against us, too."

That is to say, our prime suspect is not only untouchable but has everyone convinced he ejaculates butterflies.

The thought was self-indulgent and unfair. God, he must be tired.

Rakitin fell silent. He looked down at the bottom of the bed, where the sheets were tucked in, perfect, neat corners. Too much white.

"You should be angry," he said, suddenly.

A lump of anger sat at the center of his own stomach, a reactor pulsing cold energy.

"I don't know why this happened to you. Maybe there is no why beyond timing and luck and all the other stupid, unforgiveable things. One thing I can tell you."

Rakitin's gaze lifted to meet the soldier's grey eyes. He had landed inadvertantly on a plateau rife with clear, thin air, where anything that could be seen was in reach.

"When I find the man who did this, I will kill him."

Date: 2008-05-02 08:29 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com
Rakitin considered the soldier's questions, as well as his apparent surprise. Had he said something strange? It seemed an obvious conclusion.

"Yes," he concluded.

His fingers steepled, tall and ashen.

"The commander here is a reliable man. I don't think he would be angry. Really, I think he would do it himself, if he had the chance."

The Colonel must have been doing better, as he was no longer in the infirmary. No shock if he recovered quickly. Someone like that could hardly be felled for long by ordinary mortal means. Not up to spectacularly frying anyone yet, maybe, but that would return as well.

"As to anyone else, what does it matter?"

There was little sound here at this hour. Rakitin realized he was listening for the periodic clockwork tap of a guard's tread.

"Justice may be hamstrung, but it can be carried."

Polya shook his head.

"You don't let rabid dogs run free in the park."

His eyes flicked to the ceiling and back again.

"That's just a manner of speaking. I couldn't shoot a dog."

Date: 2008-05-02 10:36 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com
Rakitin took a long, careful look at the soldier, who wouldn't meet his eyes.

It wasn't about revenge, or even for that matter justice. He couldn't say exactly what, but that it was necessary.

Maybe he was only trying to force meaning onto suffering by assigning some element of it an endpoint.

Maybe that was what "revenge" meant.

Quietly, Polya said,

"Don't you?"

Date: 2008-05-03 02:52 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lydia-solovyeva.livejournal.com
Lydia Solovyeva had lost track of time.

Her office in the Main Wing lay in disorder, as though a flock of manila folders took flight and decided to migrate somewhere warmer for the winter. Something instinctual made them stop for the night in her office, and light on every flat surface, three, sometimes four deep.

By her best estimate, she was less than a quarter of the way finished pulling files and checking blood types as per Major Liadov’s orders. A thin stack of files had become to accumulate at the corner of her desk, marked on the front with a stripe of red tape.

She would have still been asleep at her desk if the recently-appointed Lieutenant Colonel Savitskiy hadn’t noticed her light was still on, and checked on her out of concern.

Lydia had forgotten all about Captain Ushakov’s request that she check in on the amnesiac soldier in the infirmary, in some hope that she might recognize him. After all, she knew everyone, Ushakov had reasoned.

It was late, nearing midnight, and she halfway hoped that the man was fast asleep.

As she knocked on the door, the other half of her hoped that the impression of the spiral-bound notebook that was her makeshift pillow had worn off her forehead on her walk over from the Main Wing.

Date: 2008-05-03 06:30 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com
"No," Rakitin admitted.

He smiled wanly, his own irrationality catching up to him.

You don't go murdering people, Lieutenant, he imagined Liadov explaining with vast patience. It's not socially acceptable.

"That would be ridiculous."

Not to mention that, if the killer was in fact Isaev, Rakitin would be dead before he finished the thought. If it wasn't, then there was no problem.

It was notable, he thought, what difference a few days made. The cornered, half-panicked man who had grabbed him by the wrist on waking had barely any relation to the measured and self-possessed one studying him now. The look of quarantined desperation was all but gone.

"I don't know, either," he confessed.

Still, the resolve failed to dissipate into shame.

Rakitin went on before the soldier could notice that he hadn't revoked his promise.

"Right now, what matters is the present. Even if you don't remember right away, we have a few clues. Once we find out who you are-"

Polya broke off and looked up at the sound of a knock on the door.

Date: 2008-05-04 04:11 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lydia-solovyeva.livejournal.com
Lydia hesitated at the doorway, a step into the room, and her free hand still resting on the knob.

“Oh, Lieutenant Rakitin! Well, I assume you’re Lieutenant Rakitin.” She gave a nervous laugh, and a shrug.

“If I’ve picked a bad time, I could come back tomorrow, maybe. Captain Ushakov sent me…” Her eyes settled on the nameless soldier, and she offered a warm smile. “…to talk to you. He thought I might know you, since I …kind of know everybody around here.”

There were no names that sprang to mind, no click of recognition, but Lydia forced a smile. The soldier was as lost to her as a paperclip behind a filing cabinet.

Date: 2008-05-04 04:26 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com
"That's right," Rakitin said, nodding to the woman, wondering how she knew his name.

He was sure he would have remembered if he had seen her before. Her hair was a distinct, almost unnatural red. It stood out against the white walls like a dove on fire.

Polya found himself oddly put off by the interruption. But, though she showed no immediate signs of recognition, if she knew anything at all, that was important.

"Now is fine," Rakitin said. He looked to the soldier. "If that's all right with you."

Date: 2008-05-04 04:43 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lydia-solovyeva.livejournal.com
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Her laugh was constricted and nervous. “Lydia Solovyeva. With Personnel. Record keeping, mostly, I mean.”

The man, whoever he was, had the most gorgeous slate-gray eyes. She would have remembered something like that, and that idea put her at ill ease.

“So it’s really no stretch of the imagination to say that I know everyone, at least on vital statistics. Eye color, blood type, birthplace.”

Lydia was sure that her transparent smile betrayed her, sure that it was obvious she didn’t recognize him in the way her brows furrowed together, in the way she kept fidgeting with the edge of the folder clutched in her arms.

That, and Rakitin’s cold, reptilian indifference made her feel like retreating to the hallway.

The bandages that crossed the soldier’s chest and his subtle aura of hopelessness and helplessness made her want to stay and somehow make everything alright for him.

A name, at least. He wasn’t even really a person without a name.

She crept past the pathologist, as if movement would make him strike, and stood at the edge of the hospital bed.

“I…thought you might be getting tired of infirmary food…” With a sheepish smile, and a hushed tone, Lydia pulled the bag of smuggled spice cookies from her file. “Just a little… something to help you feel better."

She was compelled to turn back to Rakitin, and at least try to win him over with confectionary sweets.

“You too, Lieutenant. Help yourself. I have plenty more in my office…”

She trailed off, and realized they both probably thought she was insane, rambling on and on about nothing.

Date: 2008-05-04 10:42 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com
"Oh." Rakitin blinked, taking the bag. Pretty girls offering him cookies was a strange idea that required a moment of parsing. "Thank you, Miss Solovyeva."

The poor girl looked terribly nervous as he handed the bag back to her. He wondered what was wrong. He smiled reassuringly as he stood and gestured to the room's lone chair.

"Please, sit down."

It turned genuine as he tasted the morsel.

"They're very good."

The soldier's face had lit up as soon as Miss Solovyeva had appeared. Rakitin had never seen him smile like that before. Ten years vanished from him in an instant.

There was something that had been bothering Polya. It rose a little closer to the surface. Something unusual about this man, a certain subtle but essential difference. He had, he thought, put it down to the stranger's understandably shaken condition, but it was more permeative than that. If he could just look closely enough to name it...

Rakitin's train of thought leapt offcourse as something the redhaired woman had said sank in.

He looked to her with interest.

"Blood type, did you say?"

Date: 2008-05-04 11:16 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] lydia-solovyeva.livejournal.com
“Oh, well, I…” Her cheeks flushed as vivid crimson as her hair, and Lydia found a sudden fascination with the blank folder in her hands. “I’m… actually, I’m not married, but thank you.”

Not even seeing anyone.

The soldiers at Groznyj Grad were a strange, strange sort.

Poor guy must have hit his head pretty hard, if he was calling her pretty, instead of batting his gorgeous slate eyes Lieutenant Rakitin.

Thank God for the pathologist’s convenient diversion.

“Yes, blood type.” Lydia answered enthusiastically. “Orders came this afternoon to pull all of the files with type AB. That’s why I didn’t stop by sooner…”

They didn’t need to know that she fell asleep at her desk half way through the letter C.

“So while I’m pulling files, it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye out for someone who matches your description, right?” She offered a warm smile to the nameless soldier, and resisted the impulse to pat his hand with reassurance.

“Groznyj Grad isn’t that big of a base. One of your comrades will notice you’re missing from your unit, and report it, and in no time at all they’ll be calling you by your name, and you’ll remember who you are.”

Apprehensively, she leaned against the edge of his bed.

“So there’s no need to worry about a thing. Everything will turn out fine, I promise.”

Date: 2008-05-05 04:33 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com
"It's about the murder," said Rakitin.

If a murderer was extremely clever and well-prepared, what more perfect defense than feigning or somehow even manufacteuring a loss of the memory of the crime...

It wasn't the stupidest thought Polya had ever had, but it fell within the top twenty.

"Every contact leaves a trace, they say."
Page 1 of 3 << [1] [2] [3] >>


groznyj_grad: (Default)
The Groznyj Grad Living Novel

December 2010

192021 22232425

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 26th, 2017 02:31 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios