He was trudging through a snow covered forest, it was dusk and there was not a sound around him, there was seemingly no other life to the woods he wandered through.
The only sound he heard was the slow pace of his feet crunching into the packed powder, leaving a trail behind him. His chest and abdomen hurt, as did his upper right shoulder, yet there was no wound, only a powerful searing heat. He was exhausted, each step was excruciating and he longed to rest against one of the trees lining his path to catch his breath.
But he knew if he stopped, he would never get up again. The thought chilled him to the bone, feeding his fear.
So he staggered on, his body fighting the cold that was seeping into him as the shadows of night began to sweep over the woodland.
And then, a movement caught his eye, a blur of red and brown, small and wiry.
A fox.
“Lisa” he mumbled in Russian. Was he dreaming? He only ever dreamed in his mother tongue.
The fox paused mid-step, hearing the word, gave a bright jump in delight and bounced in front of him cautiously before bolting around a bush. It trailed him in one breath and in the next, danced around the trees nearest to him, amber eyes fixed on him, unblinking, but full of life, as if encouraging him to continue.
Soon they came to a clearing and nearby, a shimmering, impossibly blue lake. By the snow on the ground, the chill in the air and the brittle ice on nearby shrubs, the lake should be frozen over, but it wasn’t. The cerulean color was inviting and he drew towards it, a sudden need filling him.
He approached it, parched and needing to drink, but the fox bounded in front of him, blocking his path. Frowning, he waved it away, but it bore down, a low growl emanating from its tiny frame.
He moved forward once more and the fox snapped its sharp teeth, making him stop.
It was here that he usually faded into darkness, staring at the unrelenting gaze of the fox, the little beast that refused to let him near the water.
But not this time.
Holding up his arms, despite the pain that tore through him, he gave a shout, startling the smaller animal. He picked up a nearby rock and flung it at the spry creature, only to have it dart away, the rock landing in the water, the ripples reflecting off the last of the evening sun. His throat screamed for relief and with another cry he ran towards the water. The fox snarled, but he didn’t care, he ran blindingly to the water’s edge, his body craving the endlessness of it.
The next moment, he was on his back, the wind knocked from him, the fox on his chest. He stared up at its eyes, and the fight sagged from him.
The fox titled its head. “Ronan,” it said calmly.
He frowned. Was that who he was? He honestly couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember anything.
“Ronan!” The voice was louder, more insistent and clearly female. He knew this impatient tone. He felt his lips curve into a smile as he gazed up at the fox still hovering over him. Impish eyes glittered back at him.
Oh yes, he knew this vixen.
Soon, another animal appeared next to the fox, casting a shadow over both. It was a large, grey coated wolf, its dark eyes glowering down at him.
“Wake up boy,” it demanded gruffly.
*~*
Kristina peered closely at Ronan’s immobile body, the wires and tubes that helped keep him alive still protruding out from under the blankets that covered him. He was pale, as always, his face pinched slightly as though he were in deep concentration.
Kristina held her breath as she watched him for any signs of waking up. Something had happened; a flutter of his eyelids, a twitch in his mouth, and the clutch of his fingers as they lay nestled in her warm hand.
Precious seconds ticked by in silence and while she had hope, there was no change, nothing of what she’d noticed only moments earlier. She let out a breath, rubbed Ronan’s forearm and relaxed her frame.
“Don’t think I didn’t see that,” she admonished him gently. “I did and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll do it again. Then you’ll wake up, smile at me and I’ll know everything is okay. Then I can go home and have a shower.”
She straightened in her seat, feeling her back muscles complain as she gently rolled her head from one side to the other and gazed up at the clock. She’d been by his side from the moment Sabrina allowed her into the ICU private room. The hours had ticked by and his condition was still serious, still grave.
“He’s not out of the woods yet,” Sabrina had told her before leaving to confer with her colleagues.
Kristina gazed at him once more, the broken body of a man she admittedly barely knew but had been drawn to from the moment she laid eyes on him. Still, the facts had been hard to ignore.
He’d been in a sexual relationship with Helena. She had undoubtedly shot him and had flung him from her ship, one of the many rejected paramours she had over the years. Through sheer luck and perhaps, government training, he’d survived long enough to be found.
She wasn’t disgusted by his relationship with Helena.
Well.
Alright, she was, but not because of Helena’s age and the lengthy gap to Ronan’s, but rather to the reputation Helena carried with her and bore with pride. He should have known better.
But maybe he did know better.
Which meant he had either been working for Helena and displeased her or he’d been working to get something from her and she had, as she always did, discovered his treachery.
“Who are you?” she asked softly, brushing her fingers over his. “Who are you really?”
Only the soft hiss of the machines that breathed air into his lungs responded to her query. Kristina shifted her chair closer and lay her head down near his hip, careful to not disturb the tubes nearby. With the hand she had been holding, virtually the only part of him that was not hooked up to wires or tubes or bandaged or covered with blanket, she gently placed it against the side of her face, relishing the warmth of his touch against her skin.
It fit perfectly.
Her other hand covered his and she closed her eyes.
*~*
He moved through the halls of GH with authority and precise movements. It didn’t matter that he already knew his destination, all that mattered was that he would not stop and there would be not a single person who could get in his way.
He glanced at his phone and grimaced. Still no word.
Up the three flights of stairs and into the hallway he saw the first level of resistance. Cassadine security, already narrowing their gaze at him and speaking abruptly into their hidden microphones. He had one man with him and 12 more on the main level. If they put up any roadblock, he wouldn’t hesitate using them.
“Stop,” one Cassadine guard said, holding out his hand, but he was ignored, as was the other guard who straightened his shoulders and moved to grab the outsider.
“No,” the man replied and flung his wallet at them. The guard caught the small item awkwardly and flipped it open. He held up his hand to the other guard, muttered a word and allowed the man to pass.
Outside the hospital door, this time there was no resistance. Two more guards stepped aside and out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Marcus Taggert and Alexis Davis.
He pushed open the door and stilled at the sight before him. A young woman rose from beside the bed, her eyes wide with shock, and her hand clutching the hand of the younger, unconscious man in the bed.
“Gods,” he whispered in horror. His heart leapt into his throat and he bit back the cry that rushed from deep within.
Kristina regained her composure and stood straight. “Who are you?” she demanded, possessively clutching the younger man’s hand.
He ignored her and moved to the other side of the bed, taking note of the wires and bandages and tubes, his lips pressed tight with emotion. With a slight tremor in his weathered hand, his stroked the pale face of the one he’d come to see.
Kristina watched the display, her alarm receding. “Who are you?” she asked again, her voice gentle this time.
“I’m the one in charge of this man,” came a gruff, impatient reply. He tore his eyes away from Ronan to glare at her and Kristina shrank back ever so slightly. Was he a Cassadine she didn’t know? He certainly acted like one.
Marcus and Alexis appeared in the doorway. Marcus’ eyes widened with surprise.
“Robert!”
Robert Scorpio turned and flicked a look to Marcus. “I want his doctors here. Now.”
Marcus didn’t move, but a realization hit him. “Ronan is an agent of yours?” Why had he not been told? His jaw clenched. “What the hell is going on here?”
Kristina’s eyes flew down on Ronan. An agent for the WSB?
Robert ignored their surprise and questions, focusing only on Ronan. “It’s alright boy,” he murmured, stroking Ronan’s crown with a feathery touch. “You bloody fool,” he added with a weary frown.
Marcus took two steps into the room as Alexis relayed instruction to the guards behind her. Marcus mentally ticked off everything that was wrong with this situation. Another agent on his territory, in obviously an undercover operation without notification, amusing himself with his daughter. Anger bubbled through his veins. Mentor or not, Robert Scorpio would be answering questions and soon.
Alexis stepped back into the room, clutching onto Marcus’ arm. “Well, that explains why you thought you knew Ronan,” she stated, but Marcus shook his head.
“I’ve never met him before, Lex. Never trained with him, heard of him, never saw him in any reports of any kind. That’s not why he looks so damned familiar to me.”
It was then that the truth of the matter dawned on Alexis.
“Oh,” she said softly, her voice sad, her eyes curved with sympathy towards the older man.
Kristina and Marcus turned to her as Sabrina, Stefan and Faith entered the room.
Robert glared at the group and shook his head. “Bloody hell,” he rumbled.
Alexis placed her hand on Kristina’s shoulder, drawing her child closer.
“Ronan is Robert’s son.”
*~*
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