Revenant [February 24, 1964 11:25 pm]
Apr. 29th, 2008 10:53 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
zabytsya.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
groznyj_gradDavid 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.
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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-05-03 12:35 am (UTC)It didn't help that he knew who his attacker was, had the whole thing explained to him by the Boss, who had stood by his bed and looked at him expectantly, as if she'd wanted him to say something rational about it. He didn't have anything rational to say, not really, and he still didn't now.
David couldn't remember what had happened, exactly, and if that was due to an aftereffect of the poison, or simply his mind's own defense system wanting to shield him from trauma by removing his ability to remember it, he didn't know.
He thought it might be better that way, regardless.
"Honestly...I don't know anymore."
It was honest, which surprised him a little. David brushed his thumb and fingers together. He could almost feel the weight of his knife in his hand, light, and perfectly balanced.
"Turn the other cheek? An eye for an eye? Repayment, with interest?"
David shook his head.
"I don't know, but I suppose at least I have the luxury of being able to decide."
He let out breath in a long sigh, and looked at Rakitin, sidelong, frowning and suddenly intent.
"What about this murderer of yours? What are you going to do when you find him? Is that what you're planning?"