STANDARD PROCEDURE (LERA)

[MICHAEL WEDDINGTON]

digging through his suitcase, michael huffed irritably and slammed the palm of his hand down on the bed in frustration. he knew there was one file missing from the set he'd brought with him about v, and he couldn't find the missing file anywhere. it wasn't necessarily the most important file out of the lot, but any missing file was a bad omen. he'd thought perhaps he'd forgotten it back in his office at interpol headquarters, but he'd discretely contacted his assistant, and she hadn't found anything amiss. that meant he'd either left it in his flat in london before flying to the states, or he'd lost it since arriving in the us.

this was bad. this was very bad.

he kept getting the worst feeling that he was missing something, like some clue was right underneath his nose and he couldn't see it. he had a sneaking suspicion that he had not lost the file, but it had grown legs and walked away. as in, he was getting closer to v and the mysterious criminal had somehow managed to snag a piece of michael's evidence from him. and that thought infuriated him. however, he had gotten good at hiding his anger over the years. it was a trait he attributed to his father, and he'd written the man off many years ago. he strove every day to be more like his adoptive father (the man he would swear was actually his father if asked). stephen would never let anger get the better of him. the man had been a lawyer for years, and he had a cool head and easy demeanor. he wasn't easily angered, and michael had actually never seen him irritated. on the contrary, even his wife claimed she'd never seen him angry enough to hurt a hair on a fly's head. michael wished he was like the man. unfortunately, he and his sister both had inherited their biological father's temper, and michael couldn't run from it no matter how hard he tried. so he made himself forget.

and that reminded him of athena... closing his eyes, he slumped onto his bed and his head sank into his hands as he propped his elbows on his knees. he was jet lagged from flying across the ocean and then the united states, and the exhaustion and time difference had him thinking about things he was usually strong enough to block out. his sister had been dead for two years now, but he missed her every day. if he thought about the loss hard enough, he would still feel his throat constrict with emotion. athena had been the only good thing in his life for years, and now she was gone. he was the last lekochka (although his father was still alive in prison in belarus, the man was dead to him), and subconsciously, he felt that loneliness every day.

deciding to leave his worry about the file for another day (or at least another hour since he surely wouldn't be able to forget about it long considering he would have to check in with his superiors before the day was out), michael rose from the bed and headed for the door. opening it and stepping swiftly into the hallway of the expensive hotel, he almost ran full body into a petite female outside. backing away apologetically, he turned to face her. "i'm sorry, i wasn't watching where i was going!" he apologized, offering her a smile.

[LERA GORBUNOV]

I blink, what time is it? My laptop across from me and I smile like it is my fondest lover. I fell asleep on anonymous web chatter in my forums last night. Today, what day is it? I shift to prop myself up and squint until I can see my alarm clock. Monday, my least favorite day and it is seven am. Not a bad time I think, but I know if I lay back down I will fall asleep. I slide my legs over the edge of my bed and I sit, I’m not so awake right yet. My sheets are red. A color I loathe and love. I love it’s vibrant and bold attack on the eyes, but I hate it for reasons I don’t wish to remember anymore. I don’t wish to remember my parent’s death, their killer, and the people I was surrounded with when that day happened. I don’t want ever see Ksenya or Mikhail. We never spoke after that day so what would I say to them if we did see each other? I wouldn’t know what to say besides hello and seeing as I am a chicken; I would just run away and hide. What do they look like? Like their parents? Their mother was beautiful so Ksenya must be beautiful and Mikhail would look like Otto… I would be scared – I would be next. After all, he is still alive. That man could somehow bust out and get me. I don’t want to die; I have things to do, but not as many as other people. I just run a five star hotel, that’s all. All of my life savings rest in this place. I took no loans, just all money I had. This is all I have. There’s no one to give it to if I die.

I force myself to get up and go to the bathroom, the urge to pee being stronger than wanting to keep dwelling on my past. I step into the show and turn it off; the warm water hits my face and body. I watch the planes of my skin form rivers of water. I am mesmerized by them as they take me away into a state of blank thoughts, just breathing and relaxing. Hot water does this to me, it calms me down. All my nightmares, all the rough days I’ve endured since I’ve moved here – this hot water is the only thing I have to soothe me. This shower and bath tub are my two best friends. I thank them for being so kind, generous, and providing to me. I snap out of it and get to scrubbing down before I wash all the suds away and step out of the shower. I’m the kind of the girl that loves to tousle dry her hair and then drip until she’s dry. There is something strangely liberating to walking around your apartment naked with only a towel around you. I dress and put minimal make-up on. My apartment slash suite slash living quarters are two hotel suites combined so that I truly never leave my place of business. I renovated the two worse suites the ritz customers would complain about and made them into my own space. I have everything I want and sometimes I never leave.

However everyway I had to leave – staying put makes me remember, it makes me think. It reminds me of Dad and Mum. It’s funny how I don’t look much like Mum. Vlad looked an awful lot alike to Dad, but I look more like my mother’s sister. That’s why living with her was feasible; people thought I was her daughter. My mother was round and curvy, beautiful but I am a tiny woman in built, very frail, dainty. Although I am not short…. I suppose “willowy” is the correct term one would use. Today I have nothing to do, but I will let it be an adventure as I often prefer the company of Cary Grant and the internet, but not today. Leaving my room I lock it and turn down the hall. I allowed myself to zone out and that is how I ran into this man. Blinking as I stumble backwards, I can’t seem to catch myself and in an effort to feel less pain, I just fall back on my bottom. Before anyone can help or see my underwear, I should have worn nylons, I stand back up and straighten out my clothes.

“Oh, dear sir it is quite alright.” My voice sounds so quiet, but I can be loud. I’ve always been this way since I was little. They used to make me wear hearing aids, but nothing changed. I’m just quiet. “I allowed myself to…uh… the word is day dream, I suppose.” I always do this? So lengthy in words! Just get to the point, no one likes my accent. “I’m sorry for bumping into you... If you need anything, call the front desk and tell them Lera allows it…” Advert my eyes, don’t look, just proceed. He seems oddly familiar, but I know no one. Maybe a frequent customer.. “Have a good day.”

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