Right! This is the next in my series, the previous fics being 'Surviving' and 'Alliances'. I hope you all enjoy it!
Sasha hated computers. They always shut down without warning, hid documents in files that he didn't remember creating, would never connect to the internet… And now, the ridiculous machine had crashed without warning, wiping every trace of the reports that he had been writing for the last six hours from the hard drive. He resisted the urge to throw it against the wall; Mrs Rogers in the flat next door would set her cat on him if he dared make any noise. She already distrusted him because of his Russian accent. Mrs Rogers was in her eighties and still held grudges for the Cold War. She also hated Germans.
He stabbed at random keys, hoping that one of them would be the secret techie's key that they always used to fix a computer, the act of which was always followed by a condescending stare.
"Come on," he muttered. "Work, you stupid piece of American crap. And they have the nerve to say Russian build standards are shit."
He was interrupted in his mutterings by a knock on the door. He glared at it. If this was Mrs Rogers telling him to keep the noise down, he'd put rat poison in her cat food. He yanked the door open, ready to engage in a shouting match.
His father stared back at him, one eyebrow raised. "Everything going well, Sasha?"
Sasha folded his arms. "Oh good. It's you."
"Was that sarcasm? I would have thought you'd be glad of the company."
At that point, Mrs Rogers decided to poke her head around her front door. She glared at Sasha. "Keep the noise down, young man. If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times. You know that Howard takes his nap at this time of day."
Sasha forced a smile. "Of course. Do send my apologies to Howard."
"Don't take that tone with me, boy. And don't loiter in the corridor, what will people think? You look as though you've been brawling again, though I don't expect any better from your sort."
"Yes, ma'am." Go away you hideous old bat. "We'll go inside." Now fuck off and feed your bloody cat.
He ushered his father into the flat and closed the door under Mrs Rogers' watchful eye.
"What a pleasant woman," Ilya remarked sarcastically.
Sasha rolled his eyes. "That was my lovely next door neighbour. She's convinced that I'm plotting to murder her and her cat. Which I am."
"Her cat?"
"Harold. She named it after her husband." His father raised his eyebrows. "I know, she needs to be sectioned. You didn't come here to talk about my mad neighbours."
"I just wanted to see how you were getting on."
"I'll tell you how I'm getting on. I've been placed under house arrest by my own father, I'm buried under a mountain of paperwork, my computer is broken and I've lost all the work that I've done today! And all of that is your fault!"
Gavrik stared at his son. He replied with great caution. "You are on medical leave, not house arrest."
"Same difference!" Sasha snapped.
"Which you need. You didn't have time to properly recover from being shot before you got involved with this latest case. And now you have even more injuries. You need to rest."
"I'd get as much rest at work!"
"Sasha, please! Just listen for once in your life! You shouldn't even be doing paperwork, you should be resting properly. You're still hurt."
The concern in his father's voice took Sasha by surprise. The events of the last few weeks had affected his father more than him, he knew that, but the pleading tone shocked him. "I'm sorry, father. I know you're worried. I won't do any more work, I'll just rest, okay?"
His father sighed. "Thank you. I didn't mean to shout, but I do worry. You almost died, Sasha, and although you might not have listened to the doctors, but I did, and, frankly, it scared me to death. I'd just feel better if I knew you were resting and recovering properly."
"Okay, father. I'll stay here and rest. And plot the murders of Mrs Rogers and her feral cat." Sasha grinned. "And meanwhile, I'll call Callum and ask him how to fix my computer."
Ilya smiled. "Try to make the murders subtle. I don't want to have to stage a cover up. Are you going to Harry and Ruth's wedding?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not if you don't want Ruth to plot your murder."
"Joy. Don't you have to get back to your office?"
"Yes, I do. Do you promise not to do any more work?"
"Yes, father. Go, I'll be fine." Sasha opened the door for his father. Ilya embraced his son briefly and left. Sasha closed the door and headed to the sofa. He picked up his phone from the table, dialling Callum's number. "Callum, I need your help. My computer's crashed and I can't turn it on."
"What did you do to it?"
"Nothing! I'm not a complete idiot, you know. I might not be an Oxford graduate but I can use a computer."
"I'll come over. The poor machine needs a professional touch. Don't do anything to make it worse."
Callum disconnected the call and Sasha frowned at the phone. He put the phone and laptop on the table and reached for the newspaper. After a quick glance at the headlines, he turned to the sports pages.
Callum knocked on his door half an hour later. Sasha opened the door and dragged Callum inside before Mrs Rogers could materialise.
"Okay, where's this poor mistreated computer?"
"Hello to you too," Sasha said sourly. "Over here."
"What's up with you?" Callum asked.
"Medical leave," Sasha explained. "And Spartak lost. Again."
"Is that a football team?"
Sasha rolled his eyes. "Can you fix the damn computer?"
"You need to have a bit of patience, mate." Callum frowned at the laptop. "What has the nasty Russian done to you?"
"I didn't do anything! It just crashed."
Callum pressed a button on the keyboard and looked up at Sasha as the screen lit up. The Russian threw up his hands. "I knew it."
I hope you enjoyed this first chapter; please review! Au revoir! Also, follow me on Twitter: Hawkslayer3