Not Meant to Be.

A Lili and Dragunov Fan Fiction

Disclaimer: No, I do not own Tekken, Russia, or Monaco. If I did, though…

Summary: Sergei Dragunov is tasked to protect the Rochefort family for two months, along with another Spetsnaz operative, Nikolai. Slightly humourous and minutely romantic, mostly narrative. [It gets better when you read it.] PS: Please read and review!

Author's Note: Man, it's been long since I've last written anything fanfiction-y. Sorry if it's kinda sloppy. Sorry if the plot's kind of slow, too. I promise it'll get better, because my first chapters are usually slow. And this will only last for about 3-5 chapters, cause I can't commit to writing a piece for long. :]

Anyways, here's the Prologue and first Chapter! Hope you guys like it. Please read and review!

Prologue

It isn't possible. Or is it? I've been questioning myself. Was it possible… for her to… love me? I doubt it. I, a Spetsnaz, and she, a Monegasque princess, only have in common our love for the fight. Without that, neither of us would have a fighting chance to survive in the same room for less than a half-second.

Yet the harsh, unforgiving Siberian Blizzards had taught me to savor warmth while I had it. It was the one thing we, Spetnaz operatives, were allowed to have. We were not our own, we were trained to have ever-Stoic expressions on our faces wherever and whenever. We were trained to fight, to do our job, and to do it well. We have no leisure time, we don't hop on planes and decide to go to Hawaii. Our job was dangerous, and we were never safe, even if we were some of the top dogs, on a global military scale.

Three weeks ago, I was assigned to safeguard a Monegasque family. They made a very good choice for picking my squad mate Nikolai and I, as we were the best hand-to-hand combaters on the frontlines of Russian Infiltrative services.

We were sent over immediately—after Nikolai and I had our basic things packed—on a military jet. Hours later, we arrived in the strange land that was Monaco. It was bright and sunny, with numerous infrastructure to be admired by your average tourist, but we weren't. We didn't go through any immigration or customs, but were dragged into a heavily armored Maserati. We were told not to look out the windows, and to pay attention to the description of the task at hand.

Chapter I

We were to protect after the Rocheforts, a wealthy family that was being targeted by the Mishimas. The reason why they were specifically summoned was not mentioned by the man in a black suit that came to pick us up. He gave the impression of an undercover agent, but was obviously just a lawyer.

We arrived on the estate, and as soon as we got out of the Maserati, I stretched my legs. It had been a long while since I'd been on my feet for longer than ten minutes.

We were ushered into the house. We walked up a grandeuse staircase that led to the commanding, old-moneyed white house's entrance.

If the façade of the house was great, the interior was exquisite. It could be seen, the quality that went into the details. Carefully hand-carved baseboards, classic Venetian show-couches, never to be sat on, and large windows that allowed the viewer to see the vast expanse of the estate.

The owner of the house came down from yet another grandeuse staircase I hadn't noticed. It had two sides, and they both descended to face the clear glass that shielded them all.

"Mr. Sergei, Mr. Nikolai. I am Mr. Rochefort, the owner of this house and of my company. I will brief you on why you are here. Would you like to take a seat?" He said, politely. He was your typical Monegasque businessman: tall, well built, good posture, with an air of luxury and omnipotence about him, even though he was well over fifty.

Nikolai and I sat down in a plush, velvet couch, piped with gold fabric, which could have been real gold thread, for all I cared, as Mr. Rochefort had told us to. He took a seat in front of us, observing us as we sat down almost robotically. I, the man who looked like he'd never seen the sun, eyes so lightly tinged with a blue pigment that separated them from the whites of them, with chin-length black hair, half of it swept up into a half-ponytail, some wisps that were shorter graced his all too young, already scarred face. Nikolai was the complete opposite, I knew Mr. Rochefort was thinking. Nikolai had the same build as I, but he took advantage of his last mission in Brazil, and therefore was tan, with a blond crewcut, and defined, almond shaped brown eyes. Any way you put us, we were completely out of place, out of sync.

He paused, gathering his thoughts. "You must be wondering why I have you here."

I nodded.

"Well, I have reason to believe that operatives from the Mishima Zaibatsu have come to my home office and taken several important files from my computer. They've been… demanding with what they want from me. I have no security cameras on the estate, and have, therefore, no proof that they were ever even here. Just a keen-eyed butler who noted that my office's chair was set lower than it was, a mess of business magazines by the visitors' side of the table, and I saw that my computer was still turned on. I'm very obsessive about what I want, so I can work faster and more efficiently: I always turn my things off, and like my chairs elevated as high as possible since it helps my back." He paused, and looked me straight in the eye. "I have a daughter."

I lifted my eyes to meet his almost-stare, and saw worry, and something else I still can't put my finger on, in his eyes.

"She is my everything. My wife, she doesn't mind me. But Lili… she is my all. I don't want to see her get hurt. I would rather die than have anything happen to her, again." His tone was grave, and I barely even heard him say 'again.' His voice cracked as he said it, and I could tell that he really did love her.

I realized that neither Nikolai or I had spoken at all within the past 10 or so hours, so I summed up some courage to say, "You can trust us, sir. We will not let you down." Nikolai nodded.

"We are the best in our field. We will take care of this." Nikolai added.

Mr. Rochefort nodded. "I need you to patrol the estate at night, for two months. My butler will show you the grounds. I will give you anything you need. Guns, guard dogs, extra men. I hear you are both forces to be reckoned with. I hope you understand." He stood up, as did we. We shook hands.

He snapped his fingers. "Sebastian, show them the perimeter."

An old man, well over eighty, dressed in a penguin suit with his thinning white hair worn very neatly, appeared to Nikolai's right. "Right this way, sirs."

We were led out to an extravagant balcony, filled with exquisite furniture from places like Bali, the Philippines, and Japan. A staircase led us down to the garden, which was more like a well-tended field, filled with flower beds, gravel paths, and a great pond that reflected the age-old house. About a quarter of a kilometer away was a stable that, Sebastian explained, housed thoroughbreds.

"Mademoiselle Emilie has her horse in there. She's a very good rider, but she is not here today. She went to stay with her friends for the week," Sebastian said, obviously lying. I caught the trace of uneasiness in his voice. "She will come back soon. You must meet her, she is truly a lovely girl."

I wondered whether to trust him or not on that one, but for a man his age to stick with a family surrounded by intrigue and all, she really must've been nice.

The old man toured us around the estate, pointing out the main parts of the field-like expanse: The pond, where you go only at night to see the stars, the flowerbeds, that Sebastian had tended to since he had started working for the family sixty years ago, the riding area, the infinity pool parallel to the perimeter wall on the other side of the estate, which looked more like a coastline than a pool, as it spanned the estate widely and almost incessantly. The perimeter was a little ways away from the major parcels of land, perhaps 20 meters away from the pool, and 30 meters away from the adjacent sides. The front side of the perimeter was much farther away than I had originally noted, probably 60 meters from the house itself.

"Now that you know where to go, you must know this. You are to be on foot patrol from the hours of 10 pm until 7 am. You may do anything you wish in the hours prior, but I strongly oblige you to start duty at 10 pm sharp." The old man said quite sternly, and he turned to face the house again. He started walking. "Now I will show you your living quarters, if you don't mind."

We entered the house through the magnificent front doors again, and went up the grandeuse main staircase. Odd, I thought. Was he taking us to guest rooms?

He opened a double door, and light spilled from inside to the hallways. It was bright, with large windows and all-white furnishings. The bed was quite high-set, with many full pillows on it, and a cushiony white comforter on it. I noticed a small gray bag in the corner of the room, and immediately knew it was Nikolai's. I totally forgot we even had bags; we were whisked away on a mission less than 12 hours ago.

"Wow," I heard Nikolai say as he exhaled. This was the greatest room he'd had since… ever. His parents were always moving around, always finding places to settle into, then move away from. Always farther and farther away. It drove him to enlist, to hone his skills and find permanence. The former was done, the latter, partially. At least he had a sense of routine, even if it changed every once in a while.

Sebastian turned and led me to my room, shutting the door to Nikolai's as we left. Mine was further down the hall, marked by a large window with live fuchsia candy-striped Dendrobiums on a table before it. Sickeningly girly, but very nice. I'd get used to it, seeing it every day for two months, till my time here was done.

It had to die sometime, though, didn't it?

Pushing a single door open, Sebastian introduced me to a grandeuse hotel suite-like room, with the same furniture as Nikolai's, but larger, and with a step-out balcony which had a panoramic view of the backside of the estate. I could get used to this.

"Mr. Rochefort knows you to be a skilled fighter and soldier. He acknowledges the fact that you are very dedicated in your work. In the hope that you will capture the blasted Zaibatsu infiltrators, he has given you the best room for relaxation in the house." Sebastian said in a breath. "Your bag is in the corner. Breakfast will be served to you by the maids, at your time of liking. Tea with Mr. Rochefort at 11 am, Lunch at 12:30 pm. Dinner depends on the kitchen's schedule, but most likely at a constant 7 pm. Do you have any allergies, digestive intolerances?"

I tried to remember. Ah, yes. "Mint," I said, quietly. "I am allergic to mint. Mostly in its emulsified or leaf form."

"That shouldn't be a bother then." Said the older man. "I'll inform the kitchen straight away."

I found it odd how he called the cooks or chefs or anyone who worked in the kitchen 'the kitchen.' Mostly, in our unit, we didn't bother to meddle in food business. We took what we got, but this place seemed to want to taper itself to me, so might as well get a good fit in there.

I admired the view from the balcony, and didn't notice how Sebastian quietly slipped out of the room to let me settle in. I walked back inside, savoring the freshness of the warm air. I felt a rush of tiredness run through me, and suddenly unpacking seemed like a torturous affair. I pawed through the contents of my ill-equipped duffel, and realized I had only taken four sets of fatigues, two undershirts, lots of underwear, and a set of my formal wear, a.k.a. worn out Spetsnaz coat, with same-color pants, a formal-looking (at least to me) collared shirt, an old red tie, and black, sleeker looking boots. Nonetheless they were kind of chunky.

I picked up an undershirt and fatigue pants, thankfully not the ones with embarrassing looking camouflage prints, like those ones Americans wear. I'd be looking downright ridiculous if I wore those.

I walked into what I thought would be a bathroom, but in place of it was a walk in closet, filled with what I assume are Mr. Rochefort's formalwear. Penguin suits and waiter-vests, to plaid tuxedos to cherry-red suits with a locker-like cabinet for custom made Italian leather shoes. I was starting to get jealous so I left, for the door adjacent to it.

The bathroom was immaculate—pure white marbled floors and walls, six foot square tub by the east wall, and a secluded looking shower parallel to it on the west wall. A large portion of the area was graced by the presence of a long chair in the center of it all, which tapered off on one end into a simple chair. The shower looked so inviting, but there was a tub, and he was given this room… might as well. I hadn't noticed the mirror until after I stripped myself of the layers of clothes I hadn't realized I was wearing, and seen the scar which formed a large x on the center of my chest. It gleamed in the light, a different shade from my alabaster skin, and also practically engraved into my chest. I looked away quickly and stepped methodically into the tub. I turned the knobs equally, hoping for a warm soak… not really. It was piping hot, but felt so much better than the ice-cold water I had to deal with daily back at home. I lingered for a while like this, waiting for the water to reach midway up the tub so I could make it warmer, or at least stop the flow of water, because I realized that if I left it at this temperature, I could either get scalded or evaporate. I didn't care, though, so I savored every second that I was submerged in this water. I yawned.

Glancing at the clock above the mirror, which read 5:48 pm, I realized how long it had been since I had been rested properly. Before we left, I had just finished a triple shift of watchtower duty. I wondered how the troop was doing back at home, the gravity of the situation beginning to sink in. I'd be here for two months. In a strange land, with weather other than blizzards and sunny blizzards. Protecting a family from the Mishima Zaibatsu.

Sinking my body in the almost simmering water, I closed my eyes and breathed, thriving in the heat of the gentle water.

End of Chapter I, 3.9.10

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-Cami