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There is a boy in the ice and they study the impossibility of him under the shining domes of St. Petersburg.
SCORPIA doesn’t try to take the block of ice out of the country. Yassen knows better than to try and bribe border guards in Mother Russia, so he flies a helicopter with their precious cargo into the taiga, then leads the way on snow scooters to an abandoned military base in the snowy depths of Siberia.
The boy in the ice won’t know gold from white, anyway.
Miraculously preserved and seemingly older than humanity as they know it, the discovery of the boy could have changed the world. Of course, SCORPIA couldn’t let it happen, although Yassen is not privy as to why, exactly, the organisation found an interest in the boy — Project IceX.
He doesn’t ask questions.
The lab buried in the snow looks much more modern than the rest of the base and the broken up wooden deck a little further down. The floating pier will do should Yassen need to exfiltrate Project IceX, but he doubts it will come down to this.
He watches over his men through the protective window as they set the block of ice down on an examination table, all clad in bright red protective suits to avoid any risk of contamination. Not so much for themselves as for the boy in the ice. They run a battery of tests to determine the risks, all the while leaving heat lamps over the ice to release the boy from the block, and Yassen crosses his arms as it starts to melt.
A couple of hours or so later, the boy’s fingers break free of the ice.
None of the tools goes awry upon inspecting the slowly emerging hand, and someone gestures that Yassen is free to come in without the full suit. He snaps gloves on and a surgical mask for good measure, striding into the room to take a closer look. Realistically, there isn’t much for Yassen to do inside, and no need for him to supervise, but he finds himself… intrigued.
Usually, when people say impossible, they mean improbable; but this is a scientific mystery.
More of the body breaks free from the ice as it melts down in bigger chunks now, and Yassen reaches out instinctively to brush some of the ice off the boy’s face, revealing blond hair and grey eyes, wide open. Someone shines a light in them, and the pupils constrict abruptly, making the paramedic jump and the light swing over the boy’s too pale face and blueish lips.
“He’s breathing,” Yassen comments, two fingers pressed to the boy’s pulse point.
The ice breaks further down the boy’s chest, only leaving his legs trapped in the block. Yassen doesn’t wait for the scientists to determine the best course of action. He reaches out for a sharp, sturdy tool to hammer at the block of ice and free the boy’s legs.
“Get another table ready, spread a comforter on it and grab another one to wrap around the boy. I’ll lift him and you switch the table,” he commands.
Yassen forces his hands through the mushy mess underneath the boy’s knees and shoulders and pulls him forcefully out of the melted ice. He lays the boy down much more gently on the new table, covering his naked body with the nearest plaid, and the heat lamps bear down on them as the boy remains frozen still, too cold to move.
“Is he alright?” Yassen asks the paramedic upon finding blood on his gloves.
“A small wound to the chest,” they reply, already pulling the plaid to the side to disinfect the cut over the boy’s heart.
It’s shallow, shaped like a bullet hole, and Yassen makes an aborted move to brush the very same scar he sports in the same place even though he wouldn’t feel it through the heavy layers he wears to fend off the cold. Still, his heart constricts oddly at the thought that he may have hurt the boy in his hast to remove the ice.
Yassen shakes off his outer layers of down coat and insulated jacket, cheeks flushed with the warmth emanating from the heat lamps, and the boy’s eyes snap to him upon catching the movement in their peripheral vision. Yassen sets the clothes down on a stool slowly and deliberately, but the boy remains warily focused on his masked face.
“Is it safe to remove the mask?” Yassen asks pointedly.
A flurry of scrawny, bald scientists hurry over with yet another machine to run tests around the boy. Eventually, the paramedic, a muscular man with a receding hairline, gives a thumbs up even though no one makes a move to act on it and Yassen sighs warily as he pulls the mask down to reveal his face, forcing a smile for the boy’s benefit.
“You’re safe,” Yassen says, surprised to mean it.
At least, he thinks so.
The boy smiles back, tentative and oh so young despite the eternity he spent trapped in ice.
They find some clothes for him to wear, hanging loosely off his nimble figure, but it will have to do. It takes a while for the boy to warm up enough to regain a semblance of mobility, and Yassen finds himself lost in contemplation. He falls into a torpor, watching over the boy long after the scientists give up their battery of tests to regroup and figure out the next step in their investigation.
The first thing the boy does once he can move by himself is sit up and attempt to remove the compress patched to his chest. Yassen stands up from the stool to reach out and stop him, bumping their hands together, and despite the cold feel of the boy’s skin, a jolt of electricity — barely a tickle — courses through Yassen’s fingers. Still, it makes him pause as the boy looks up and locks eyes with him, wide and inquiring.
“You should leave it, it will take a little time to heal,” Yassen tells him even though the boy can’t understand him.
The boy pulls the compress off and reveals smooth skin underneath.
No muscle atrophy, and an uncanny ability to heal. Yassen is no scientist, but even he wonders at the miracle of project IceX. He nods, for lack of anything to say that the boy could process, and stands to leave the room and let the scientists study the boy in the ice, when said boy makes a noise of distress, reaching out for Yassen.
Too pale fingers linger between them as the boy stares earnestly at Yassen.
He whines again.
The plaid slides off the boy’s shoulder and Yassen steps closer to wrap it tighter around him now that they turned the heat lamps off. They can’t afford to use the generators any longer than necessary and already, the chill of the lab worms its way under Yassen’s thick turtleneck. He shrugs his insulated jacket on as he lingers by the boy’s side, finding himself somehow unable to leave, at least not with those grey eyes following his every move.
“You need a name,” Yassen whispers more to himself than anyone else.
The boy watches him, seemingly riveted with the sight of Yassen much like Yassen lost himself in contemplation of the boy earlier. Project IceX, he muses, and eventually settles for something close enough that it won’t leave room for confusion. This is just a mission, and Yassen is here to ensure it goes according to plan. He can’t afford to be fond of the boy and yet, Yassen remains by his side.
“Alex,” he settles, for, pointing at the boy and repeating the name. Then, he points at himself, “Yassen.”
Alex nods, and mimics Yassen’s forced, non-threatening smile like it comes naturally to him. Yassen’s face feels weird from the unusual expression. It works though, and soon enough, he finds himself watching over the boy near constantly, as Alex doesn’t care much for the paramedics and scientists moving about them to study the miracle of his existence.
He does pick up a peculiar liking for coke despite refusing to eat any of the rations available at the lab. The scientists report that he watches a surprising amount of cassettes on the small TV they put at his disposal every time Yassen leaves for his customary five hours of sleep.
By the third day, Alex sneaks out of the examination room and Yassen wakes up early to find the blond sitting on the side of his bed, watching over him.
“Good morning,” the boy says.
As it turns out, Alex can talk now.
“How did you get in here? How do you talk?” Yassen asks, tense.
“The technological advances of your world are simple, as are the mechanics of your linguistics.”
Yassen reluctantly releases his grip on the Glock hidden underneath his pillow. In the dim light of the dormitory, everything appears in shades of grey except for Alex’s blond hair and his eyes, eerie pools of silver in the spartan decor of the military base. Yassen sits up as he takes his surroundings in, only now noticing the crick in his neck and the unusual stiffness in his back.
He doesn’t feel rested at all.
Abandoning his line of questioning for now, Yassen pushes at Alex’s thighs, cold even through the fabric of his sweatpants, until the blond stands up, giving him enough room to swing his legs off the bed. Getting up isn’t that simple and he sways on his feet for a second, holding onto the bunk bed for balance. Alex frowns upon noticing his sudden weakness, but Yassen doesn’t give him a chance to ask questions of his own.
“Let’s get back to the examination room.”
Alex follows dutifully. The base is quiet and if Yassen didn’t know any better, empty. Scientists fell asleep at their computers and the paramedic passed out over the examination table. Yassen knocks their chairs over to wake them up, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks down on the confused and dare he say lethargic men under his command.
“What is the meaning of this?”
The answer takes a while to come as they gather their wits — and their chairs.
“We must be coming down with a sickness?” the paramedic offers eventually, and Yassen must admit that he does look pale.
“Some kind of virus we released when we melted the ice block,” a scientist with a green pen in the front pocket of his white coat agrees.
“Find a cure, yes?” Yassen adds, arching an eyebrow, and they scramble to get back to work. “The boy talks, also.”
“That can’t be right,” another scientist — this one with a red pen — replies, frowning.
“You’re the last of your kind, born millennia before our time,” the paramedic says, addressing the boy directly.
“I’m not. I’m the first of yours,” Alex chirps in, smiling earnestly.
The third scientist, with a blue pen tucked in his white coat Yassen notes distantly, falters and falls back in his chair. Yassen sighs, but gestures for Alex to go back inside the examination room and the boy complies easily enough, sitting cross-legged on the makeshift bed there. He watches Yassen eagerly, and Yassen stares back, overcome with a sense of bone deep tiredness he only experienced a couple of times before in his life.
“What’s your name?” he asks warily.
“Alex, and you’re Yassen, right?”
Yassen nods reluctantly as he tries to find the right words and eventually settles for, “I named you Alex.”
“And I thank you.”
Alex smiles again and it makes no sense, but Yassen needs to sit down on the edge of the bed, too exhausted to think. He passes out by Alex’s side a moment later.
~
Yassen awakes by increments, first his mind jumping into consciousness and instantly assessing his immediate surroundings for threats. He finds none. Next comes his body, heavy limbed and aching. He tries to sit up only for a cold yet nimble hand to fall on his chest and push him back down, Alex’s face appearing above him.
“You’re sick. The scientists and the paramedic, they couldn’t find a cure before they grew too lethargic to be of any use,” Alex explains quietly.
He struggles to breathe indeed, and his eyelids keep dropping despite Yassen’s best attempt at opening his eyes wide.
The boy fiddles with a pillow on his lap as he speaks and Yassen groans, rubbing his forehead slowly and painfully. The symptoms remind him of a bad case of flu, but he hasn’t been ill in decades and with the scientists out of commission, Yassen doesn’t hold much hope for survival. It must show on his face, because Alex looks down at his lap, tugging so hard the fabric of the pillow rips and a feather flutters out of the pillow.
Yassen makes a feeble attempt at catching it and misses by a wild margin, but the feather veers abruptly to land in the palm of his hand anyway and he stares as it levitates, brushing gently over his fingers. Glancing up, he finds Alex focusing intently on the white feather, biting his lips with his brow furrowed as he somehow displays telekinesis powers. All the blood soon drains from his face though, and the blond falters as the feather falls back in Yassen’s hand.
“Alex,” Yassen whispers, “what other powers do you have? Are you the one making us sick?”
“I don’t mean to,” Alex replies, breathless and a little offended.
“Can you stop it?”
Even as he asks, Yassen comes to the damning conclusion that it might cost Alex his own life. Making the feather levitate tired Alex out already, what damage could actual healing do?
Alex doesn’t stop to consider the risk though, he places his ever cold hand over Yassen’s chest once again, and pushes, or perhaps he pulls. Yassen can’t quite tell as some kind of light shines through Alex’s fingers, almost like the glow of the sun, and the bone deep tiredness that plagues Yassen seemingly seeps out of him altogether.
Alex sags down and Yassen catches him before he falls off the bed, scooting over to lean the boy down by his side.
“Alright, no more healing powers for you,” Yassen says, wrapping Alex in a plaid.
He stands up, surprised to find his bearings immediately, and rummages through the paramedic’s bag until he finds epinephrine injections and some pills for vitamins. It will have to do, Yassen mutters to himself. That ought to give the scientists a little boost, and a chance to save their own lives. Yassen can’t let Alex exert himself too much and risk losing Project IceX altogether.
“Thank you,” he tells Alex like an afterthought.
Yassen firmly pushes thoughts of Alex’s well-being to the back of his mind as he goes around the lab to give each scientist an adrenaline shot and a couple of pills to swallow. He even helps them up and back to their computers, and drags the paramedic into the dormitory to lay him down on a bed. He searches for a pulse and only finds a faint heartbeat, but he can’t afford to waste more supplies on his men, especially one as expendable as this one. Yassen’s first aid knowledge and field experience can make up for the loss of the paramedic.
“Find a cure, or we all die,” he tells the scientists. “Him first.”
If that isn’t motivation enough, he doesn’t know what is. The three bald men top up their cocktail of vitamin pills with energy drinks and get to work. Yassen leaves them to it, heading back into the examination room to check on Alex. The blond rolls over to his side, watching Yassen as he hugs the ripped pillow to his chest.
“I’m sorry,” Alex whispers.
“Don’t be,” Yassen replies, and the blond closes off.
This is just a mission, Yassen reminds himself, and he must see it through. Whatever abilities Alex possesses, SCORPIA laid a claim on them and Yassen will deliver. Outside the examination room, the scientist with the green pen collapses again, but the other two barely spare him a look, frantically working with a microscope and a centrifuge. Yassen turns to the side, watching them through the window as they hurriedly check the contents of their test tubes, and seemingly satisfied, chug them down.
Nothing happens for the longest time, and they decidedly look paler now that the shot of adrenaline wears off, but they don’t stagger as much. For lack of immediate side effects to deter them, the two scientists make some more of the cure and offer the first tube to Yassen, then feed the rest to their colleague and finally the paramedic.
Yassen waits for them to be out of sight before sealing the tube and hiding it away in one of the fridges.
“It will only postpone the inevitable,” Alex comments from his bed.
“Good enough for me.”
Yassen turns towards Alex and assesses the boy with a long look. Let’s give it three days, he eventually decides. After that, he’ll cut his losses and let one of the higher ups deal with the fall out. With his mind made up, Yassen strides out of the room and informs the scientists of the advanced deadlines, not leaving any room for arguments.
He spends the rest of the day working on his report for SCORPIA.
That night, the scientists won’t go near Alex, interviewing him from the other side of the window, and the paramedic only gives the boy a cursory look to check his vitals before hurrying out of the room. Yassen sighs, and brings his ration with him to sit at the examination table, pushing the last coke towards the blond. Alex beams, skipping over to pop the can open and sip the sparkling, overly sugary drink.
Off to the side, some of the ice and snow from the newly discovered cavern they found Alex in awaits further investigation from the scientists. Yassen studies it distantly as he eats, and the blond follows his gaze, not saying anything.
“You should eat,” Yassen eventually comments, but Alex shakes his head.
“I don’t need to.”
He walks over the countertop and gathers some snow into the palm of his hand, turning to Yassen to show his closed fist. As he opens it though, a green sprout spurts out of the ice. The blood drains from his face once again, but he doesn’t falter like he did earlier after healing Yassen.
“I’m meant to give life, not take it,” Alex explains.
He looks terribly sad. Yassen swallows painfully and pushes his plate away, but the knot in his throat won’t fall to the pit of his stomach to be forgotten like most of the ailments Yassen had to deal with in his life. Alex will end up dead and dissected so that SCORPIA can make sense of his abilities, Yassen knows, and somehow, that doesn’t sit right with him.
The boy saved Yassen’s life just because he could, after all.
Alex would have killed himself trying to save Yassen’s men too. The scientists fear him, the paramedic most of all, but looking at the blond now, all Yassen can see is a boy. A preternatural one perhaps, but not one that deserves to die for the sake of science.
The very idea rouses painful memories.
Yassen can’t leave him.
Alex takes another, noisy sip of his coke, brushing his thumb along the tiny leaves of the sprout in his other hand. What is there for him to do in this world? Modern to Yassen yet primitive to Alex, a threat to the blond either way, a world that doesn’t deserve the miracle of the boy’s existence.
“What are you doing here?” Yassen asks before he can’t stop himself.
“You brought me here,” Alex reminds him evenly.
Yassen wants to argue, ask the question again, from a different angle perhaps, but the steel gaze Alex sends his way makes him pause. This isn’t the first time the blond gives a straightforward answer that seems to fall far off, but perhaps it is Yassen’s questions that don’t land right.
He took over the block of ice and named the boy they found inside, but perhaps Alex wasn’t meant to be found, only to exist so that humans could too? The first of their kind. It sends Yassen’s mind reeling, and he rubs his temples as he tries to make sense of it all, only to fall short.
It only makes it more obvious that he can’t complete this mission.
A lesser man than Yassen would say that it’s not right, and that he should do right by Alex, but Yassen doesn’t let such beliefs hinder him. He trusts his gut, always has, and that’s enough.
That night, when the scientists and the paramedic are fast asleep, Yassen steps out of the dormitory to open the door to the examination room. Alex doesn’t need him to do so, but the blond awaits on the bed all the same, sitting with his back ramrod straight. He stands to join Yassen outside and they sneak out of the lab to walk out and into the immaculate snow.
Alex doesn’t wear shoes and his bare feet leave neat imprints on the ground like he can barely feel the burning bite of the cold. Still, Yassen hurries back inside to grab thick socks and another insulated jacket and down coat for the blond, if only to avoid attracting unwanted attention later down the line.
They find the floating pier covered in snow, with the masthead light of an incoming ship, fiery red in the wake of the distant morning sun. Alex ignores Yassen’s command to put the damn clothes on, instead walking off the wooden deck to step barefoot onto the water.
It ripples beneath him, but bears his weight as he moves further into the thick fog permeating the area. Yassen stares as Alex raises one arm, gathering light into the palm of his hand, brighter and purer than the sun, to clear the sky and reveal the calving end of a glacier on the other side of the fjord.
“Alex,” Yassen calls again.
Finally, the boy comes back to his side, shrugging the clothes on like it never bothered him in the first place. Alex remains quiet as they board the ship and settle in a cabin, but as they start moving, leaving the military base and Project IceX behind, the boy locks eyes with Yassen, commanding his full attention.
“Where are we going?”
“Anywhere in the world. Wherever you want,” Yassen replies after a beat, taken aback.
Somehow, he expected Alex to vanish overnight. Yassen imagined he would wake up in the morning, alone in the narrow cabin with a crick in his neck from a shitty mattress and perhaps a death sentence of his own, if not from the sickness returning now that Alex is gone, then from SCORPIA as retribution for his defection.
It’s still very much on the table as far as SCORPIA is concerned, but he can’t say that he minds this new development. In the dim, yellow light of the cabin, Alex doesn’t look so pale and his eyes take on a stronger hue of blue. He’ll need a brand new identity, papers and everything, but it’s nothing Yassen hasn’t done before.
He nods resolutely, and Alex smiles, reaching out to cup Yassen’s face.
Warmth seeps from the palm of his hand to Yassen’s cheek.