This is my first published fic ever, so constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. It was supposed part of a whole RusAme astronaut AU, but I'm sure that's already been done before. So have this I guess.

Ivan Braginsky couldn't speak. Instead he just stared blankly.

Only three people had ever died of asphyxiation in space, right? And that was long ago. The space program was far too competent to allow something like this to happen. The was one of the most advanced rockets ever made, it couldn't have had any slip-ups like this. And surely his intelligent sister couldn't have made this mistake. There must have been a misunderstanding.

Right?

But he had heard Ludwig loud and clear, and there was no other explanation for the photo of his sister's lifeless eyes and blue-splotched skin, unless he was hallucinating (which was unlikely because naturally, as an astronaut, his health was impeccable) or dreaming (which was also unlikely because he wasn't asleep).

"Every camera was suddenly disabled not long before the crew was supposed to exit the spacecraft. Mission control had no clue what was happening. The entire crew was later found like this." Ludwig gestured to the photograph of Katya's condition on the table. "We don't know how it happened. All of the safety protocols were met prior to takeoff." Ludwig cleared his throat. "Because of that, we're lead to believe that this was deliberate, probably the work of someone on board."

"Do you have any idea who?" Ivan asked, trying to remain calm.

Ludwig hesitated- something that he rarely did. "We, um… We don't know yet."

Ivan felt himself beginning to panic. For the first time ever, the prospect of going into space scared him. His job scared him.

"Dr. Braginsky?" Beilschmidt said, trying to make his robust, German-accented voice sound soft, as he put a hand on Ivan's shoulder.

Ivan knocked Ludwig's hand away with more aggression than he meant. "Thank you, Dr. Beilschmidt." he said quietly, with a forced smile, and left the building.

Ivan sat in his hotel room in a grief-induced trance, cleaning out his liquor cooler. His near-catatonic behavior was punctuated by fits of rage, and shattered glass littered the ratty old carpet.

There was a knock on the door. "No one is home," Ivan shouted caustically.

"Dr. Braginsky-" Him.

"No."

"Please, man, just open the door."

Ivan begrudgingly arose from his comfortable position on the bed, which creaked when he stood up, just as the door creaked when he opened it.

"If it isn't Mr. American Hero. Have you come to save your cosmonaut in distress?"

"Uh, it's… it's Dr. American Hero," Alfred said, then cleared his throat, deciding that it wasn't the time for jokes. "But for real, man. I heard about Katya… I'm sorry."

"Oh, you're sorry? Dear Dr. Jones, that means so very much to me! If I get a hundred more 'sorries,' maybe my sister will stop being dead!"

"Okay, I'm-" Alfred started, before glancing at the broken glass and empty bottles on the floor. "How much have you had to drink?"

"That does not concern you."

"Look, I know-"

"No, you don't know. Get out."

Alfred took a deep breath. "Just listen to me. Do you know who my dad was?"

"I have no idea."

"Does the name Arthur Kirkland ring a bell?!"

Ivan opened his mouth to retort, but then paused. "Really?" Now that he thought of it, he could see some resemblance between the two.

"I wouldn't lie about that. I wouldn't even be able to come up with a lie like that."

Arthur Kirkland was the commander of the Sagittarius spacecraft. The shuttle was bound for Mars, but it used unstable fuels in dangerous volumes, and exploded before it even left the Earth's atmosphere.

"I know how you feel, Braginsky, believe me," Alfred said. "I know you're upset- of course- and I also know how pissed you must be at the whole system. How can the space program be so careless, right?"

Ivan laughed humorlessly. Alfred was right.

"Listen," Alfred continued, "This is gonna sound really bad, but incidents like these… they prevent people from making the same mistakes in the future, you know?"

Never mind, Alfred was wrong. Ivan scowled. "You see? You don't really know how I feel. The Sagittarius explosion did teach us something, and you've clearly made peace with your father's death because of that. My sister died of asphyxiation, which is something we already know how to avoid. If I learned anything from this, it was 'don't trust anyone who was on board that spaceship,' which isn't a very useful moral, seeing as they're already dead." He grew angrier with every word.

"I haven't made peace with his death! Are you fucking kidding me?" Alfred shouted. "That's not the kind of thing that you can just 'make peace' with."

"So you're teaching me how to cope when you haven't even-"

"That's not what I'm saying."

"Then what are you saying?"

Alfred swallowed and looked him in the eyes. "I don't know how to cope. Neither do you. Maybe we can try to cope together."

Ivan stared down at the empty vodka bottle in his broad hands. He almost nodded his head in agreement, but instead was interrupted by another surge of anger and threw the bottle at the wall. "Get the fuck out!" He shouted.

Alfred looked startled, and began to walk to the door.

"Wait," Ivan said in a thick voice.

"What?" Alfred snapped.

"I'm sorry."

There was a pause.

"Can you…" Ivan swallowed hard. "Can you stay?"

Alfred walked back over to Ivan wordlessly and sat beside him on the bed. Ivan reached for another bottle of vodka, but Alfred smacked his shaking hand away. "That's enough for tonight," he said.

Alfred thought it was eerie to see him this broken. Sure, Ivan could be annoying, but he much preferred that weird, absentminded smile to whatever this was.

Alfred tentatively put his arm around Ivan, and took it as a good sign that he didn't push him away. Ivan buried his face in his hands. He couldn't take it anymore. For the first time since Katya died, he started to cry. He wiped his eyes furiously, trying not to seem any more vulnerable in front of Alfred than he already did.

Alfred was taken aback. "Hey, you don't have to… you can, um… you can cry in front of me. If you want to."

Ivan was about to say something, but gave up and just buried his face in Alfred's shoulder.

He really did look wretched now. His ice blonde hair was all messed up. His face was flushed, his eyes were red, and his teeth were clenched. He was trembling all over. Alfred didn't know what to say, and he wasn't sure how Ivan would react if he said anything, so he just held him.

Soon, Ivan had calmed down some.

"Ah, Alfred," he said, still stuttering a bit. "You can… you can leave now if you want. I mean, I'm fine. I'm okay." It wasn't true, but it was slightly truer than before.

"You sure?" Alfred said, eyeing the liquor bottles on the floor.

"I'm already out of vodka."

Alfred awkwardly started to walk out the door. "Yeah. Okay, well…"

"Thank you, Alfred."

The American turned around and nodded his head in affirmation. He didn't say anything like "you're welcome" or "no problem." That would sound kind of cocky. It was one of those rare occasions where Alfred was helping someone just to help them, without heroism even coming into play. "Goodnight, Ivan," he said.

"Goodnight Alfred," Ivan replied. His voice was still sad and grim, but otherwise back to normal. He was nowhere near as violent and angry as he was before.

The door creaked as Alfred exited the room, leaving Ivan alone once again.

Although the encounter lifted a weight from his chest, his grief was far from gone.