by Clara Wake
Nickolai swallows the pressure in his throat and instantly snaps his head to see where she’s pointing to, seeing the increase of pedestrians flooding the pathways and exiting the main doors. His hands start to tremble, but he holds it in and turns back to meet the elderly woman with a small smile. “Thank you,” he softly speaks and starts towards the train station.
Standing there, he stares at the large white door. His feet are at the bottom of the stairs as the puddle of doubt and hesitation begins to flood his thoughts. Staring at the door, he is unsure of what to expect.
The silence drills in his mind before the heavy, hasten shuffles of the familiar sounding military boots are heard from behind. His ear flicks, and in that moment, he’s fast on his heels to turn and dash away from the house.
They’ve found him again, and he’s running and using everything in his way to his advantage. Being as agile as he is, he’s able to launch himself up and swing his way up to someone’s balcony. Just to take a second to access what is happening and where they are. He has the team in the area, what sounds like five of them. He can hear Syrus yelling and claiming he’ll be the one to finish him off. The idiot is still delusional. More bigheaded this time, though. He’s in charge.
Nickolai can’t help himself sometimes when they are below, turning their heads and trying to find him. How often had this happened, while he sat above and watched their movements with a smirk on his face. Haven’t they learned by now? He guesses being so unloved and underappreciated, means they didn’t pay enough attention, nor did they care – their loss. He is once again, at an advantage.
Nickolai continues to move further and further away from his destination, forcing them to follow. Although, he is having fun with it. It is something he can familiarize himself with for once in so long. It is somewhat refreshing in a very odd way.
Having gained their attention by throwing a canned bin at one of the soldiers and shooting one in the leg, he’s cackling with each gasp and groan of irritation that escapes their lips. It is exhilarating to have them struggle and fail miserably, five against one.
This has happened on more than one occasion, and it never gets old, and they never learn from their mistakes.
Steering them well away from his destination, he’s adamant to make sure they lose his tail and would impatiently wait for them to regroup and rethink their strategy. Even if it takes all night, he is going to suck up every bit of his bitterness and impatient manner to ensure his safety and make his mark.
Sitting on the top of a fire escape out the back of an apartment complex, he listens out carefully. Eyes closed, and ears focused, he shuts out the city sounds and does his best to listen to what he knows best.
The heavy boots and the clicks and clacks of their weapons, the unsteady breathing, and sudden movements.
“Listening out for me?” The voice is harsh and deep before a swift smack to the back of his head throws him forward and almost smacks his face into the nearest wall.
However, he bounces off it and struggles to react . The Captain knows of his weakness and uses it against him. Recovering after being struck first was never Nickolai’s strong suit.
Unsteady on his feet, Nickolai just manages to remain standing before another crack with the butt of the Captain’s gun collides with the left side, smacking his ribs.
With a harsh breath, Nickolai inhales and grasps The Captain’s machine gun, holding onto it as he attempts to swing it at him again. Nickolai growls and charges forwards, forcing the captain to stumble and stagger backward with the sheer force Nickolai pushes and rams into him.
Smacking the Captain’s back against the brick wall, Nickolai becomes rapid, and The Captain knows he’s in trouble as the swift, and very hard hits come swarming in, one after another as quick as the first. His dominant right-hand balls up so tightly into a fist. His knuckles flash white from the pressure, until the red surfaces and paints his knuckles – The Captain’s blood – as it split and oozed from his nose, and the corners of his mouth. He doesn’t stop there, No. He’s wanted this moment ever since he was instructed to murder a man in front of his own family.
The Captain has already lost his weapon; it’s sliding and skidding across the floor, out of reach as Nickolai pins him against the wall and cracks his face with his fist. It’s not long before The Captain feels his knees buckling, and he’s unable to remain upright. A loud pained gasp escapes his lips. He is whining and trying to breathe, hoping to catch a breath before another hit collides with his face. Bone-crunching hits are heard, and there’s no stopping him. Why should he?
Nickolai doesn’t have to answer to him anymore. He doesn’t have to turn a blind eye or make sure he doesn’t talk back. He is finally free, and he isn’t going to take that from him. No, he deserves this. After every single day of his life, suffering, taking orders, and being the puppet. This man was always second on his list.
Releasing his hand from holding and pinning the Captain up against the wall, Nickolai lets The Captain fall to the ground with a rather slow thud before he throws his feet into The Captain’s sides. How many times had this happened to him, and he never stopped it?
“Stop!” The Captain manages to growl aloud, as he attempts to breathe, but Nickolai doesn’t listen.
He murdered Desmond, executed him, and he has the balls to beg? Nickolai shakes his head, as he pants - anger so heavy in his heart - as his hands continue to curl into tight fists. His body shakes from pure adrenaline and bloodlust; he wants The Captain to suffer.
It’s not long before he can feel the tears begin to sting; he’s riddled and taken over by sheer rage, and he doesn’t think he can even stop. He never wanted to hurt anyone, but they made him, they forced and manipulated him to get him to do as they pleased. They created a monster, so angry he can barely control his own emotions once anger taps and pushes him too far.
“You did this,” Nickolai whispers as he finally brings himself to step away. His knees weaken, and his steps are feeble, as he backs off and leans against the nearest wall for balance. His hands, legs, and lips are quivering. Sweat drenches his brow and trails down his temple. He releases a very broken and heavy breath. Nickolai shakes violently, before he finally steps to the side, and continues to lean against the wall. He then turns his back, hearing the Captain struggling to breathe and gurgling from the blood that pools in his mouth.
The Captain is practically staring at the backside of Death, as he walks away. Lucky to breathe.
Carefully and slowly, Nickolai staggers and pulls himself away from The Captain as he struggles and lies desperate for help, help that he won’t receive. At least, that’s what Nickolai presumes.
The overlay of adrenaline is still driving him and keeping him alert. Waiting for another attack, he attempts to keep moving until a familiar voice is heard and he’s once again running.
As fast as usual, Nickolai does his best to get away from The Captain and leave them once and for all.
Darting through and over people’s backyards and narrowly escaping very vicious and aggressive dogs as they bark and charge at him – he is in their territory after all.
He’s swift to leap up and land into the next backyard, and the second his sharp eyes capture the open window, he swoops in and ducks, catching his breath and colliding his back against the wall. Out of sight.
Acting on impulse, he’s leapt into someone’s house, in someone’s room without truly realizing the consequences and repercussions of his actions. Carefully, he closes the window, as silently as he can and lowers himself.
Not even taking notice, as he regulates his breathing and takes a moment to catch his breath and hope he’s lost them.
His eyes close. He throws the hoodie over his head – blinding the light from the window, feeling the aftershock of the adrenaline sinking in fast until he hears the sharp click and lock of a loaded shotgun. His eyes instantly snapping open, before turning to the tall man, aiming the shotgun at him. His eyes flash brightly, staring down the barrel.
He has lost his breathing once again as he freezes.
“Don’t you move,” the man orders, growling and clearly pissed off that Nickolai decided to take a nap in his house.
Nickolai does just that; he’s immobile and still as the hoodie creates a shadow to flood his face.
“Get up, hands up!” The man barks. He carries so much anger in his tone, and Nickolai hears it loud and clear. He knew if he doesn’t the man will paint the walls with his brain. “Slowly,” he adds on, stepping back and keeping the weapon close.
Nickolai grinds his teeth and clenches his jaw. Taking a second, he slowly picks himself up and raised his hands – still slightly shaking from the shock and adrenaline. He continues to keep his head down, but his eyes narrow on the weapon within the man’s grasp.
“Get the fuck out of my son’s room,” he orders, loud and clear as he continues to step backwards, his eyes never leaving the supposed criminal’s physique.
Nickolai’s eyes suddenly wander the room, taking notice of the bright blue walls and the soft carpet. The small drawers beneath the window he’s darted through and narrowly missed. Slowly, he soon sees a dark wooden cot to his left. He scans it before his eyes freeze.
“I said get out!” The man yells, stepping forwards and attempting to make himself clear, as he grabs hold of Nickolai’s arm and shoves him forward but Nickolai is quick to snap his arm back, and step away from him, still never letting his eyes slip from the wall.
Until he slowly and carefully, he places his palm on his head and pinches the hoodie. Pulling his arm down, he lets the hood fall from his head to expose his vibrant crimson hair and long elven ears. His shoulders drop with his ears as he timidly turns to take a closer look at the man before him.
The man’s lips are parted, and words are unsaid. Eyes are glazed, and hearts are pounding. Blinking slowly, he can’t look away. Those eyes, those unique and beautiful eyes. Is this a dream? He can’t even breathe; his mind is racing and shaking.
Shuddering his head, it’s easier to feed the denial he’s held onto for so long— that he is gone – but his heart contracts. He can’t believe it.
His palm smacks his lips as tears begin to roll down his cheeks. Disbelief and despair flood him. Overwhelmed and finding himself so shocked, he can’t speak – God, does he want to – He can’t move – but he wants to – He just stands there in a state of pure shock, as he stares at those eyes. Those eyes that he’d never forget: the eyes of his sons.
“N-Nickolai?” He finally manages, but he’s sobbing. His name, everything about him is running and flooding his mind; he can’t grasp anything. He’s far too speechless, too taken back by what is happening. Who he sees right before him in his own bedroom.
As the stranger speaks his name, the tone is drenched in pure love and loss. Nickolai’s never heard anyone speak his name with so much emotion and care, so much love.
As stunned as the man before him, his eyes watch him carefully. He doesn’t know who he is; he’s never met his father before, but he did hold a striking resemblance to the man he saw in the news article. Zeke.
“Please...please tell me your name is Nickolai?” Zeke finally manages to speak. He pleads for this to be real, and he’s not swimming in denial, or ready to wake up from a dream – he’s had many like these before.
Nickolai’s heart is in his throat, unable to speak himself as his words become jumbled and scattered across his tongue, tied and unsure what to say, or do. He can’t wrap his mind around it, as a strong and deep breath leaves his chest. Nickolai nods slowly as he swallows hard, “Y-yeah,” he replies, feeling the rise and fall of his heart.
He’s alive. He’s right there. Standing in his own room.
Zeke can’t believe it, shaking his head, he lets out another gasp. He can’t take his eyes off him; He’s so tall – so handsome – and so strong. He can’t even stop the slight chuckle that erupts from his lips as he notices the patch at the back left of his head, longer and taller than the other pieces of hair. That stubborn bit of hair never faded.
He doesn’t want to blink, he doesn’t want to move or leave, but he must. He should inform his beloved. He can feel his body starting to hyperventilate from the overload of emotions at once.
“I-I…” Zeke stammers, shaking his head before steps forward and wraps his arms around him, holding him closely. He can’t say anything else, but he has to hold him; he has to feel his heartbeat, his breathing – he’s right there – he’s real.
Standing there with possibly his father’s arms around him, Nickolai becomes tense. He has no idea how to handle it or deal with it.
His entire life was built on a lie – that he was unloved – that his own parents took one look at him and threw him away. Yet, here he is with his father so ecstatic and thrilled to see him, holding him close, sobbing and crying. Eighteen years, he believed in a lie, and he is soon feeling what it truly means to be loved as his father’s arms hold him closely, never wanting to let him go.
“Babe, you’ve been in the bathroom far too long—
The petite elven beauty scoffs before she’s cut off by seeing him in their son’s room, hugging a stranger. “Hunni…” She starts before her eyes connect and lock with Nickolai’s as they widen in response to hearing her voice and seeing her.
Her chest caves in, and she’s holding her breath as tears ripple across her eyes, finally able to blink and seeing those eyes.
She can’t believe what she’s seeing. She can no longer speak, her cheerful attitude has dropped dramatically as she stares into her son’s beautiful and unique eyes.
“Nickolai!” She exclaims. She doesn’t need confirmation. She knows, and she’s fast, almost too fast to run her small hand over his face just to feel his skin and validate that this is real.
Her hair is the same colour as his, and like him she’s aged much slower than humans. Her eyes are bright and full of love as she watches him, much like his father’s so bright and finally filled with a happiness that has vanished the second he was taken from them.
“You're so beautiful,” she whispers to him, between sobs of pure joy, finally holding both of her boys tightly, never wanting to let them go. She’s never felt so much happiness like this, at least the last time was after she’d given birth to Nickolai.
Taking in everything, Nickolai can feel the flood of emotion attack him, starting at his chest as his heart throbs so heavily at the realization that he’s finally found his parents, and they’ve been missing and yearning for his return since he was born. Unaware of where he’s been or how he was. If he was even alive.
They finally got the one thing they stayed up at night and prayed for. The safe return of their son.
However, they are unaware of the underlying struggles he’s been through and what they made him become. Whether Nickolai will inform them is up to him; he is afraid if he tells them too much, they’ll see and call him the monster he believes he is.
Everything is so raw and real and the more he realizes just how real this is, the more it pushes him and breaks him at the same time. It doesn’t matter how hard he tries to trap the sobs or hold back the tears; the emotions get the better of him. His heart is finally free – he can breathe – and he can finally learn who he truly is. This is his beginning, this is his life.
They learn about Nickolai’s past eighteen years, and it leaves them shredded and gutted to learn that their son was trained from the age of six to be a soldier, to murder people. Let alone, the abuse, both mentally and physically. The torture – it tears t them apart, specifically Zeke. His father still harbours so much guilt over what happened, and this information only tips him further.
After many hours of just silence and taking everything in and enjoying each other’s presence, it wasn’t long before the questions flood in, and Nickolai does his best to explain to them and open up.
Sure, he is their son, but he doesn’t know them, and they don’t know him. It is a learning curve for everyone involved, but a very breathable o
ne.
One of the many things that makes Pia proud is seeing that he’s held onto the blanket she made him. He’s had it this entire time, close to him. Even at night, he’d have it beside him, just as she imagined and hoped. Her face beams every time she sees him wearing it. She was always with him.
Nickolai tries to put his last eighteen years as lightly as he can to them, but there is never a soft and pleasing way to explain how he’s lived his life.
Nickolai can see the guilt tracing his father’s eyes, every time Zeke narrowed his eyes on his scar. Even though Nickolai hasn’t explained how it happened, Zeke has been too afraid to ask. Hell, he is the one who remains silent when Pia asks questions as carefully and gently as she can.
It sometimes hard to try and think positively, not when they notice the scars, the traumatic state he is in from time to time. They’ve damaged him, broken him. Emotionally scarred and trained so brutally, he’s still waking up at the early hours of the morning and forcing himself to train every day. It’s the only lifestyle he knows and can accept.
Sometimes, Nickolai wonders if he could even live a real, positive and satisfying life, filled with love and happiness because so far, it’s only proved to fail and fall. So far, he can barely pick himself up again.
“I’m so sorry.” The words spread across so broken and painted with sorrow as Nickolai turns, looking over his shoulder to see Zeke sobbing as he watches him from afar. He finally comes down and takes a seat before Nickolai on the dining table and takes a deeper look into Nickolai’s eyes.
“Why are you sorry?” Nickolai questions, tilting his head slightly as his ear twitches.
“I should have been watching you. If I hadn’t looked away…” He sobs softly and tries to hold in the cries, but the guilt is too heavy and carves so deeply into his chest. He’s held onto the guilt for so long, it trembles in his throat. He wants so much to let it go.