Prompt: Yassen gets injured and loses his memory, he believes that it's still the time period he worked with John

He didn't really register what woke him, there wasn't a touch or a sound just a feeling of being watched. It was enough to have him moving to lash out only to be quickly stopped with a snap of metal and the tug of restraints. His thoughts raced - Handcuffs? He had been arrested, then? But why were they padded? He methodically catalogued the room, taking quick note of the exits - a single door and window, another door likely to an en suite and a petite woman standing in the doorway in scrubs, stethoscope wrapped around her neck. A hospital, he allowed himself to relax slightly. Not ideal, but certainly better than a jail cell.

His brain finally caught up. How had he gotten here? The last thing he remembered was sitting in his hotel room in Paris...a small cough brought his attention back to the door. The nurse. Right. His French wasn't the best but he needed to at least try and fit in. "Bonjour"

"Bonjour," she returned in kind "I'm sorry for the restraints but with your reflexes..." She trailed off and he settled for nodding in understanding, unsure how to respond and unwilling to offer any information.

"Do you remember your name?"

He wasn't sure how to answer that either, at least not without potentially incriminating himself. None of his prior identities were safe to use and he didn't know what they had found him with since he didn't remember how he got here in the first place. Though, if she was asking she probably didn't know for sure either. A fake name it was then "Marcus Collette."

She pursed her lips in slight irritation. "That would be the 9th name you've given us, Mr. Collette. None of them have shown up in the system. We can't get you in touch with your family if you do not cooperate."

9 times? Who knows what he had said. Obviously not enough to get him arrested for killing Vosque or at the very least assisting with it no matter how useless he had been.

"I'm sorry, I really don't remember. That name feels familiar, though." He said placatingly.

A look of sympathy crossed her face "We'll look it up and see if it might be a friend or someone you know but I'm not sure what country to look in. I take it you don't remember where you might be from?"

He shook his head and instantly regretted it, as a dull pain shot through him. What had happened?

His confusion must have registered on his face because she continued "We've had to get a translator for you a few times…" she began

He immediately apologized "I'm sorry, my French is terrible."

The woman shot him a confused glance "Your French is flawless. You spoke several other languages quite fluently too."

It was only then that he realized he hadn't stumbled over a single word. That wasn't right. Hunter had just been smirking at him as he struggled to hold a conversation with the waitress in the cafe….wait where was Hunter?

"Was there anyone else with me?"

"No, you came in alone. You were in a bad car crash. It's a miracle you made it here, they found the car 3 kilometers away."

That would explain the neck pain. But nothing else, the last thing he remembered was waiting for Hunter to finish his run so they could head to the airport. Had they gotten in a wreck on the way? Hunter had gotten away then. Or maybe hadn't been with him at all. Something easily could have changed, maybe their covers had been blown or SCORPIA had discovered their plans. "Oh, was there anything found in the wreck that could help?" Or rephrased - was there anything incriminating.

"We found a wallet on you but there was no ID. No cell either. Just a keycard for a hotel and some cash. And a few knives…" she trailed off, hoping that it would trigger something.

"I think...maybe I was in the military?" At least that would keep them away from thinking he was a criminal.

She seemed to accept the explanation "That would make sense. I'll tell the officers to check for missing servicemen then. They'd like to talk to you again but I doubt you remember much more than the last time."

He shook his head ruefully "I wish I did."

"Do you remember your date of birth, that could help us narrow it down."

Did he? It'd been years since anyone had mentioned it. Sharkovsky hadn't cared and the fact that he was such a blank slate was what attracted SCORPIA in the first place. She would expect a date, though. "March 9th 1978"

"33 then, a little older than we guessed you at." She mused writing on the chart.

33? He was 19. Had he lost that much time? A coma? But she spoke as if it had been recent. He looked at his hands as if expecting to find answers. There were more creases but they looked the same, a few more scars, maybe thicker callouses on his pointer fingers. Both fingers, he noted. No preference, Hunter had told him. He didn't used to be ambidextrous, had he followed the man's advice?

"It'll come back." She said softly "You got a pretty serious concussion when your head hit the steering wheel. Memory loss can occur but usually temporary. The doctor can explain it better. I'll let him know you're awake." She hesitated at the door "Can you speak English? Some of the more technical terms are above me but if not I can get a translator."

So they were somewhere English speaking, probably Britain but he couldn't rule anywhere else out.

"I probably wouldn't understand them in either language." He switched to unaccented English and smiled easily, putting all of the Countess' lessons in charm to use. "Is there any way I can get my wallet, it might help me remember more."

"Sure, I'll bring it in with the doctor."

England then. He wasn't familiar enough to be able to tell much more than that based on her accent, Hunter would be able to but there was no way the man would come back to this country. Even after so many years. But then Hunter may not care. His last memories with the man were discussing how he could get away from SCORPIA. But that didn't seem right, not with his reaction to her touching him or the lack of anything substantial in his wallet. The knives and callouses could just be caution from his time at Malogosto but something seemed off. Maybe he was still with them or at least on the run. Probably not from SCORPIA, if they wanted him found they would have caught him 15 years ago. He needed answers, maybe his wallet would help. He would be able to tell if it was one of Ross' and if it was then he would have the lock pick he needed to get out of these cuffs if he couldn't convince her to at least let him out of one.

A plan formed in his mind. Get a car. Find the hotel. Try and figure out what he was doing here and if he was hiding from someone. Get in contact with Hunter if he could. They had left on good terms last he remembered and he didn't have anyone else that he trusted. Well, not that he remembered. It would have to be Hunter.

He looked up when the doctor walked into the room, wincing slightly as his neck twinged in pain.

"Mr. Collette?" The man's bearing and tone reminded him a little of Dr. Steiner. Yassen took an immediate disliking to him. "My name is Dr. Henderson. We've chatted before but I doubt you remember?" He gingerly shook his head and the man continued "We'll go through it again, then. You had quite the accident. You have some contusions across your chest where the seat belt was. Thank God you were wearing it or you wouldn't be here right now. They're healing well and should be mostly gone in another week or two. Same with your whiplash, how is it feeling today?"

"Still sore, but manageable."

"You said the same two days ago." The man smiled "I'm thinking you were right about being a soldier. They're the only ones stubborn like that." Yassen looked accusingly at the nurse who just returned his gaze evenly. He supposed that discussing him with the doctor was part of her job. "Your head took the worst of it. You have a pretty nasty cut where you impacted the steering wheel. We put 6 stitches in that but they should be ready to come out in the next day or so. Outside of your immediate injuries you came to us in excellent health so your healing time should be pretty quick for your physical injuries. Your memory might take more time."

Not good. Time was not a luxury he had right now. "How much time?"

"It varies from person to person." The man shrugged, unapologetically unhelpful "Based on our interactions we believe you have a mix of anterograde and retrograde amnesia. Both are caused by damage to the memory storage area of the brain. They can be permanent but most cases resolve over time. The anterograde amnesia means you have difficulty forming new memories which would be why we're having this conversation again and will likely have it a few more times."

Not if he had anything to say about it. He felt coherent, surely that was a good sign. Maybe he had felt that way before, hence the cuffs? But he doubted it. If he had tried to escape, some civilian hospital in England wasn't going to stop him.

"It can be helpful to write out the basics so you can avoid repeating but your notes tended to confuse you more so we agreed to skip that for now until you're on more even footing. According to Angela you've been more responsive and cooperative this time which is a promising sign." He turned to the nurse again who had the decency to flush this time.

"We originally thought your amnesia was complete but with remembering your date of birth and possible occupation it appears to be resolving into retrograde amnesia. Memories from childhood and adolescence usually come back first, since those are the most ingrained. Most of the time the first to manifest are traumatic events so the process will not be easy and it might take several years to get all of your memories back if you get them back at all."

That explained why he was stuck at 19 - just out of adolescence and with his life about to change after failing as an assassin, facing death and a potential life on the run. Traumatic might be an understatement but it was how Dr. Steiner would no doubt describe it. "So where do we go from here?"

"We'll get you referred to an occupational therapist to help with the anterograde amnesia and psychotherapist to help you cope until you, hopefully, get your memories back. Until then we'll keep working with the police to locate your family and friends. Interacting with familiar people tends to help bring the memories back more quickly. The other bit of good news is amnesia usually involves facts rather than skills, that's why you've been able to speak in so many different languages."

"So I'll still be able to drive. I just won't remember how I learned it?"

"Yes, but you shouldn't be behind the wheel with your anterograde amnesia, not to mention your track record."

He really did not like this man. "I'm not too keen myself." A lie. As soon as they left him alone he would be gone. Maybe not that soon, he would have to get a change of clothes first, a hospital gown would not help his chance of escape. Actually...he sized up the doctor, the man was slightly heavier than him but it could work….

"Do you have any questions?"

"Not right now but if I think of any will you be around?"

"Of course, I'm on shift for another few hours. Just press the call button and Angela'll grab me. If not, I'm sure we'll talk again soon, likely about the same things." The man joked.

He would not regret knocking him out at the very least, "Thank you, Dr. Henderson."

The man smiled and he was out of the room.

Angela approached, releasing the cuff on one of his wrists and handed him the wallet. "I hope it helps, if you need anything just buzz."

"Thank you. For this too." He said with a grateful smile, holding up the wallet.

"Of course" she smiled and then she was out of the room.

He studied the wallet. It was new, there were worn edges to try and age it but the fold was still sharply pressed and it didn't have the wrinkles around it that would suggest he opened it frequently. Italian leather suggested he was either well off or, more likely, it was from SCORPIA. His thoughts were confirmed when he felt a tell tale metal rod near the stitching at the bottom by the stiff plastic holder where his ID should have been. He forced it through the leather to confirm. A lock pick. He certainly owed Gordon Ross or whoever was responsible for that idea now.

He sat back heavily, he was still with SCORPIA then. Unless he had wrecked trying to get away from them. They would have found him, though, and he had obviously been here a while. A set of scrubs and an empty needle would have taken care of him long ago. So still with SCORPIA but off their radar or on assignment because they hadn't sent anyone to find him yet.

Maybe Hunter had helped him find a position that wasn't an assassin? SCORPIA was a large enough organization that the skills from Malogosto would still be useful in other areas. Yassen hadn't been entirely hopeless, just incapable of pulling the trigger. A glance at his hands suggested that had resolved. Maybe the rest of his appearance could give him some more answers.

He carefully pulled out the IV with movements more confident than he should have given that the only hospital he had been in was the clinic at Malagosto. He waited a minute to see if there was any reaction from the hospital staff but when no one came he unfastened the rest of the cuffs and slowly stood. His muscles were stiff from laying in bed but lacked the weakness that an extended time laying prone would have caused. He must have been allowed up at some point. A quick set of stretches relieved some of the achiness then he made his way to the en-suite. Oddly, the first thing he focused on was the razor straight scar on his neck. It had scarred like Hunter had predicted but it was thin and white, not too great a contrast against his pale skin as to be identifying for anyone other than himself and likely Hunter. The rest of him was littered with scars that were far more noticeable - a bullet hole in his calf, knife wound to his lower back, what could only be lash marks on his back and chest suggested he had been captured. A closer check of his nails showed scar tissue, they had been removed at least once. He would add that to the list of memories he did not want to get back along with the stories behind most of is other injuries. He was sure there were internal ones as well. If he had broken less than 5 bones he would be surprised. Satisfied that there was nothing else he could learn, he redressed himself.

So what did he know so far? He was 33. In England. Had been in a car accident that was serious enough to merit hospitalization and give him amnesia but not so serious that anyone else had been killed or injured or he would be under arrest and they would have mentioned that or at least left an officer with him. Likely on some form of mission with SCORPIA. Probably as an assassin, possibly something else. No one had visited which meant he was likely solo or assumed dead.

'Likely'

'Possibly'

He would have to get used to that. He got the feeling there would be a lot of guesswork in his future. Still, it was a good start for 30 minutes of awareness. If he wanted more answers he wouldn't find them here.

He headed to the window. 4th floor so no jumping but every room had a fire exit map. A trip to the door and a quick glance at it revealed three possible avenues of escape depending on what he encountered outside the doors. He doubted it would be much but it never hurt to be prepared. There were plenty of cars in the parking lot that he could hotwire. Some were newer models but he recognized a few from his time too. He would go for those. Escape planned, he slipped back into bed, clasping the other cuff back on in case Angela returned. They likely wouldn't notice but the element of surprise would only make his escape easier. He grabbed the wallet again. 300 pounds in various notes. Not enough to be remarkable but enough to get him around in an emergency. Nothing written on the notes, no clues from those. He thumbed out the only other thing in the wallet - the hotel key. Travelers Inn. A chain. Depending on what city they were in there might be a few of them. If he was even still in the same city. If he couldn't find it here he would head to the next largest. SCORPIA operations likely wouldn't take place in small towns. No room number, but if he was still in the business he could hazard a guess - second floor, overlooking the drive up to the front doors which would face the street, blinds open, do not disturb sign up. No specific room number - too predictable, but it would be enough of a start. Most hotels had their cleaning service close the blinds so he could narrow it down from that alone, the sign would only confirm it.

He was ready to go. He pressed the call button and Angela was there after a minute. "Any luck?" She smiled

"Maybe? Can I talk to Dr. Henderson? I think he might be able to help."

"Sure, I'll grab him." She darted out again.

He slipped out of the cuff and moved to stand next to the door, closing it most of the way. Not enough to be suspicious but enough to give him cover.

Three minutes later there was a crisp knock "Mr. Collette, Ange…" He was cut off abruptly as Yassen wrapped a strong arm around his throat and dragged him into his chest, forcing his head further into the arm with his right hand. With his windpipe cut off the man could do little other than thrash and scratch at his arm until the lack of oxygen took him under seconds later. Yassen quietly lowered him to the floor and softly shut the door.

Undressing the man was its own challenge but a few minutes later he was an outfit and a set of keys richer. He dumped the body on the bed, not bothering to dress him, just pulling up the bedding to his neck and arranging him in a sleeping position facing away from the door. It wouldn't hold up to any amount of scrutiny but it would pass a cursory look and give him more time. He indulged himself in a small bit of spite, clipping the cuffs on and moving the call button out of reach. Then he grabbed his chart and after a glance back to check the room, he was gone.