On the morning of June 22nd, Yassen arrived in Canterbury.

A taxi had driven him from the airport to a dingy motel room inland from the Channel. He stayed there one night, getting everything in order.

An associate of his had gone to the Ipswich shipyard the previous week. A couple of American contacts had spoken to all three Pleasures, and assured Yassen that everything was in order.

Another contact in London had spoken to Tom Harris and assured the same thing. An agent, a mole in MI6, had confirmed that Director Jones planned on sending Alex to the Rockway Hotel.

At 6:00 on June 23rd, Yassen Gregorovich hailed a cab, giving the address of an innocent sounding seaside hotel.

The taxi driver didn't give a second glance at the athletic looking blond, wearing dark thermal clothing with a high class camera dangling from his neck. The young man looked like one of the dozen landscape photographers that Ipswich saw during the warmer summer months.

They pulled into the parking lot of the Rockway. Yassen payed with a fake card, naming him Adam Bryce. He tipped the cabbie, and went to climb out into the shaky grey drizzle.

"You be careful out on those rocks, ye hear?" the elderly cabbie warned, "slippery with the sea, they are!"

"I'll keep that in mind," Yassen smiled pleasantly, "thank you very much."

"Yer mighty welcome, young 'un, good luck with them pictures taking," the cabbie nodded smartly and Yassen took the cue to close the car door.

Hitching his hood up against the light rain (and against any watching cameras) Yassen made his way into the hotel. Water pooled in the multiple pot holes on the path to the hotel, forcing Yassen to dance around them.

The young concierge welcomed him into the lobby in an automatic kind of way with a forced smile - clearly it was nearing the end of her shift, and she was struggling against encroaching boredom. Her smile was tight, and Yassen thought if you keep making that face it'll get stuck like that. A family of four had just checked out, the youngest child giving him a toothy grin as they passed by. There was also an elderly couple sitting on the couches by a dying fire, reading yesterday's newspaper.

He signed in with the same card as he'd given the taxi driver, and went upstairs to claim his room on the second floor. Once out of sight, he snapped his ID and credit card in half, tossing them in a nearby bin. Once he reached his room, he gave it a swift once over - checking for any hidden bugs or surveillance, but coming up empty handed. He didn't bother removing his shoes or coat, he wouldn't be staying for the three nights he had booked.

Yassen strolled over to the window, the ocean view was pleasant and gave him a good look at the small dock behind the hotel. Just a single jut of old planks sticking out into the small harbour.

There were a few little dinghies and fisherman boats moored on the rickety dock. The sun was blocked with rain clouds, but the Channel water had calmed considerably; the boats bobbed lightly on the waves. He also examined the window itself - thin glass that barely kept the chill at bay, a simple latch holding it shut. He stepped back from his inspection, glancing at his phone for the exact time.

The note had said 7:00, but he had predicted a margin for error. It was six and a half minutes after seven o'clock. If his intel. was correct (and it usually was) Alex should be here any moment.

As if summoned by the thought, Yassen heard a ding signalling the arrival of the lift, followed by the light tread of Alex's unconcealed footsteps in the hallway. He listened closely for any foreign noises, but quickly deduced that Alex was alone. Moving silently across the room, he placed a hand on the door handle.

He opened the door with a soft creek, and Alex stepped into view. The spy looked nervous, like he wasn't sure exactly what he had gotten himself into. Two weeks after their last encounter, Yassen couldn't decide if Alex looked better, or worse for wear.

The lesions he had left on Alex's face had faded from what was a bright and angry red last he had seen, to the pale yellows and greens he saw now. Alex's skin had a fading tan, and he was starting to look pale and ghostly; the clear lack of sun Alex was receiving made his bruises stand out in some places, but fade in others. A few more days would see them gone altogether - and maybe a little sunshine would do the kid some good... but he could worry about that later.

The bags under Alex's eyes, which he had taken note of previously, seemed to have lessened slightly; though that might just be a trick of the rooms poor lighting.

Yassen reached out a hand to Alex's face. Alex backed off, eyeing him wearily. Defensively. He probably deserved that. Clearly, their last encounter had not been forgiven or forgotten.

Persistently, he stepped forward, eventually succeeding in capturing Alex's face. Alex surrendered (albeit reluctantly) to his inspection, glaring through narrowed eyes; only the slightest sliver of brown showing through his lashes. He ran his hand across the bruises that matched his fingers oh so perfectly.

"Let me see your wrist," he demanded, rather than asked.

The younger blond smiled slightly, ruefully handing over his bandaged wrists for inspection. Yassen turned them over, running his thumbs on Alex's inner wrists. He found the ends of the wraps and unraveled them. Vivid red scabs were revealed, but there was no bleeding.

"Why am I here, Yassen?" Alex asked softly.

Yassen frowned. The smudges under Alex's eyes may have lessened, but everything about him screamed tired. He wondered about what kind of medical treatment Alex had received; probably minimal, knowing MI6. He quickly discarded the thought: worry about sentiments later.

"I looked into your problem, I thought it the least I could do," Yassen answered, eyeing Alex's bruised face meaningfully.

Alex snorted disdainfully. "Oh yeah, Mr. Anger Management Problems? And what did you find?" Alex was still speaking in barely more than a whisper, though he sounded haughty now.

He paused before answering (for dramatic effect). "I found the research Julia Rothman had during her last assignment."

"Invisible sword?" Alex's eyes widened comically. Yassen refrained from smiling.

Yassen nodded, almost smuggly. "It seems, that when Rothman decided to inject you with the same nanoshells as all of the other kids, the other board members asked her to first develop an antidote, or self destruct. It seems some of the board members believed you would be useful if they didn't alienate you. They didn't want you killed unless you turned out untrustworthy." Alex had turned out untrustworthy in the most spectacular way.

"There's an antidote?" A spark of hope lit in Alex's eyes. He didn't seem like he wanted to believe Yassen, maybe afraid of being disappointed.

Yassen dispelled those worries when he nodded and grabbed the camera from around his neck. He unscrewed the lens covering, revealing that the inside of the camera was hollow and battery free.

In fact, the only thing inside the camera was a small hypodermic syringe, a cotton ball and a small roll of medical tape. Yassen pulled it out and handed it to Alex for inspection, then returned his hands to their resting place on Alex's cheeks. He could feel Alex's muscles twitch as the boy tried not to smile.

Alex held the glass cylinder delicatly. He turned the needle in his hands, staring unblinkingly at the one inch cubed of pale blue liquid. Bits of light refracted around the tube.

"It'll work? On whatever it is MI6 gave me?" Alex seemed to be trying hard to be skeptical, but Yassen could tell that the boy believed it would work.

"Yes," Yassen was positive. His man inside SO had tested it.

Alex smiled, then hesitated. "Tom? And the Pleasure's..." he drifted off. Obviously Alex wouldn't do anything if it left his friends vulnerable to '6. Yassen had known that.

"Taken care of," Yassen assured.

Alex looked at him sharply. "How do you mean? If the nano shells had been deactivated, '6 would know."

Yassen shook his head, "They haven't been deactivated yet. They will be in exactly..." he looked at his watch, "five minutes and forty eight seconds."

"How?"

"A few colleagues of mine are at each of their respective houses. The situation has been explained to your friends, and we've agreed that at precisely 7:15pm, 11:15am California time, they will each take the injection simultaneously. As will you." Alex smiled at Yassen, "there is approximately sixty seconds margin for error, but all our clocks have been synced. We should have the timing down to the second."

Alex's smile widened. "Why are you doing all this for me?" The boy seemed unable to comprehend someone doing something to help him, as opposed to hurt him.

"Because, Sasha, you deserve better than your country has given you. MI6 has done you a disservice. I just want to right a wrong." Mostly the truth, anyway.

"You've committed a lot of wrongs yourself," Alex pointed out.

Yassen smirked slightly, "Point taken. And the good things I do won't make up for all the bad. But equally, the bad things don't have to tarnish the good. The world is not black or white, I like to live in the grey."

"Alright," Alex reached up, laying delicate fingers over Yassen's, which were still cradling Alex's beat up face.

"We've got four minutes left, what do you want to do with them?" Alex cocked his head in a mockingly flirtatious way. Teasing Yassen for his past treatment.

Yassen laughed, propelling Alex gently towards the single bed in the room. Alex leaned back, smiling up at Yassen with laughter in his eyes. He thunked down on the springy mattress next to Alex, vividly remembering the last time they had been in a bed together. Neither that time, nor this time, would turn out the way MI6 planned.

"Give me your arm?" Alex dropped the playful smirk, shifting to sit cross legged. He held out his left arm for Yassen to take.

Yassen wrapped his fingers around Alex's slender wrist, noticing again the newly scabbed wounds layered upon old scars that circled Alex's wrists like bracelets. He pulled Alex's arm straight, rubbing at a vein on his forearm until it rose slightly. He passed his phone to Alex, having him use his free arm to hold it up.

A countdown had taken up the vast majority of the screen. Bright neon numbers flashing over a black background. Yassen watched it creep towards zero. At sixty seconds, Yassen placed the steralized point of the needle over Alex's blue vein.

At ten seconds, Yassen broke the skin; Alex didn't even flinch. At zero, he plunged the contents of the syringe into Alex's bloodstream. One boy in London and a girl and her parents in San Francisco received the same.

Yassen pulled the needle away, quickly taping a prepared cotton ball onto the small well of blood. He pushed his thumb against the tape covered cotton, trying to prevent bruising.

"Is there anything on you?" He questioned Alex. He doubted it, but it never hurt to ask. Anything MI6 could track would have to be left behind.

"No, guess they didn't think it was necessary." Alex pushed Yassen's thumb away with his own, applying pressure to the puncture site.

Yassen nodded, satisfied. "Let's go then." He got off the bed, pulling Alex up by the elbow.

"Where?" Alex's natural curiosity shone through.

"You've trusted me this far," he pointed out, "let me lead a little longer?"

Alex hesitated, but common sense won out. MI6 would realize that the connection was cut any second, and would hasten to capture them both. They needed to be in the wind.

"Okay, you lead."

Yassen led the way to the window, it was two floors from the ground, but in the low built seaside hotel, the fall wasn't far. He was confident that both him and Alex could handle it easily. Both of them had handled worse, after all.

He unhooked the latch and shoved the window up. He swung out onto the window sill, glancing back once to be sure that Alex would follow, then dropped to the pavement. He took a step away, then tilted his head up.

Splashes of rain water fell from the grey sky into his eyes, but he could still make out the silhouette of Alex sliding out the window. Alex dropped swiftly, landing legs bent like a cat. Then the boy rose to his full height.

Yassen reached out and wrapped his arm around Alex's shoulders. Alex tilted his head up against the rain to look at him. The question was evident on his face, but he said nothing.

Yassen led the way to the small dock at the the back of the hotel. The pair passed the dinghies and fisherman boats and stopped at the end of the pier. A familiar boat awaited, bobbing rhythmically in the water.

The Fer de Lance.

The small ship named after a venomous pit viper. One of Yassens personal favourite modes of transportation. It was the ship Alex had spotted Yassen on over a year ago, which had led to one of their earlier encounters. He recalled a raging bull and an ill fitting matadors outfit.

Later, and more recently, it had narrowed down Yassen's presence to a few kilometres of coast, inciting their less than pleasant reunion.

Now, it would carry them away from English shores. Sail them away from a country that hadn't been particularly kind to either of them. Not, Yassen thought, that they (mostly him) had been much kinder to it. England would probably be glad to see the back of him.

Alex smiled wryly up at him, rainwater dripping down his face and into the collar of his shirt. Yassen reached over and tugged the hood of Alex's jacket up, shielding him from the precipitation.

Together, the spy and the assassin climbed on board the small but steady ship. Yassen led the way to the roofed captains area, passing the room that Alex had once tried to shoot him in, and started the engines and routers. Alex watched, eyes skimming over the machinery with fascination.

"Where to now?" Alex asked.

"Well, we are just a hop skip and a jump away from Belgium and France," the most logical plan would be to cross the Channel as fast as humanly possible. Put Britain behind them as efficiently as possible.

Alex nodded agreeably. "Two countries that I know well, we could easily disappear there."

"My thoughts exactly, however-"

"MI6 would expect it."

"So naturally-"

"We'll go anywhere but there."

"Precisely." Alex always was a clever kid. Too capable for the spy life for his own good.

Alex laughed. It seemed like a sound he hadn't made in a while. "So really then, where to?"

"I was thinking, circle up north east for a bit. Spend a quick layover in Scotland and figure out where MI6 think we are. Then maybe up to Iceland. Or over to Norway. If we make our way up the North Sea to the Baltic Sea, we could find our way to Russia." Yes, he had put quite a bit of thought into their next move. This had all been assuming that Alex had wanted to stay with him, but that had seemed to go without question.

"Where I'm sure you have plenty of contacts and resources to disappear?"

"That would be convenient." Yassen tried to keep a straight face. Like Alex, he wasn't used to spending any amount of time smiling, laughing or joking. He found the change of pace was something he could get used to.

Alex nodded, looking out at the dark horizon. The waves bled into dark, open sky. "So, second star to the right, and on until morning?"

"To live will be an awfully big adventure," he quoted back.

Alex stepped forward, coming to stand next to him at the wheel. Yassen felt Alex's body heat through the thin army jacket.

Alex pushed back his hood, looking out upon the clear, endless sea. The clouds, which were concentrated over the mainland, were few and far between out at sea. He could see the nights full moon starting to light their way.

In the rising moonlight, the bruises and shadows of Alex's face seemed nonexistent. His face looked clear and determined, bathed in the white light. All the years that MI6 had given him seemed to fade away, and for the first time since Yassen had known him, Alex looked his age. Forever young.

Behind them, Yassen heard a vague commotion. Glancing in a rear-view mirror, he spied a group of Rockway patrons standing in the drizzle of rain that was steadily becoming a downpour. They wore robes and pyjamas, and were generally ill prepared for the forced outing.

Mingling among them were a few black clad agents and green clad soldiers. Yassen turned the wheel, leaving the confusion of the shore behind. The storm blew rapidly inland, leaving the water ahead beautifully cloudless.

Alex pointed to the sky ahead; following his line of sight, Yassen found himself gazing at a star. The first star of the night. A wishing star.

He pointed the nose of the boat in that direction, determined to sail until the sun came up.

AN:

The End!

As always, leave your thoughts in the reviews. I look forward to reading what you thought and any constructive criticism you have for me.

I might come back to this story to edit or add to it in the future.