A/N: The ideas just keep coming, I can't stop them! ;) So we're three months after The Sunday mission and five years after Red Smokescreen. Please enjoy, and leave a review!

Chapter 1

Kestrel was calmly walking along the alley of the Mount Olivet cemetery, a bunch of white roses in his arms, ignoring the rumbling sky and the dark clouds that were announcing a thunderstorm. He sensed he had about half an hour before the rain started to fall, and he needed every minute of it. He soon reached Alpha's grave, smiled as he laid down the roses and spoke softly:

_ Hi, my love! Sorry to be late, we've just landed at the airport. I wish we arrived yesterday, but the mission had a little complication. Sam was furious, but he couldn't do anything about it or he would've provoked a diplomatic incident. You can imagine the mess.

He smiled wider, remembering his boss' face constricted with fury, wanting to punch their contact in South Africa. But Grim had saved the day, as usual, and smoothed things out. But they still had had to wait one more day for the end of the mission, and Kestrel had missed Alpha's seventh anniversary of death. But he wasn't upset. Alpha would've understood perfectly, and even shaken her head in amusement. He went on:

_ So I'm a day late, my love. But I needed to be here, I need to talk to you.

He braced himself, and exhaled deeply. He had so much to tell her, and so little self-assurance. But he said nevertheless:

_ I wanted to tell you that I'm ready to move on at last. You told me five years ago when I saw you when I was about to die that you gave me your blessing to start a family of my own. Well, I'm ready, my love.

He was shaking slightly, not certain that it was a good choice, but after seven years of mourning and grief, he had felt for some time a growing desire deep in his heart to love again and maybe have children someday. He still deeply loved Alpha, and would always will, but she was dead and he alive. He needed to live fully, and not like a shadow. And he was certain that she would approve him. He said:

_ I haven't met anyone yet, and I really don't know if I will be able to, with my job. But like you used to say, we can never know what will happen. I hope you'll understand and still watch over me.

He took a deep breath, and said more calmly:

_ I have good news. Molly is pregnant again, she'll give birth in December if all goes well. Briggs is delighted, and so is Rachel. They want to keep the surprise, we'll know if it's a boy or a girl at the very last moment.

He smiled, remembering Briggs' elated face when he had told his best friend about it, and Kestrel had rejoiced, warmly congratulating his teammate.

_ Sarah and Ben are all right, so are the twins. They grow up at alarming speed, but they're cute. James loves soccer, and I think it's thanks to me. It drives Sam and Briggs crazy, they would've preferred him playing baseball.

He smirked, imagining Alpha's laugh in his mind, and felt better. He went on:

_ Mary likes dancing, she's very gifted. She danced for her father's birthday, it was awesome. And about the team, everybody's all right. But I find Grim a little stressed lately, I don't know why. I hope everything's all right between her and Sam. They do have strong arguments since a couple of months. I hope it's just the seven years' milestone and nothing more serious.

He frowned, a little worried. It had destabilized the team hearing their leaders often arguing and disagreeing on everything, even jeopardizing one of his missions and almost getting him killed. Sam and Grim had apologized, but the problem hadn't been solved. He was dying to have a serious conversation with Sam since the first disastrous argument the couple had had in June in front of the whole team but his boss had shunned every attempt, saying that everything was all right. And Kestrel knew that Briggs and Charlie were also concerned by the situation. He sighed and said aloud:

_ Sometimes, in cases like that, I would've welcomed your advice, my love. You've always been so insightful and smart. But don't worry, I'll manage.

He sighed again, and talked calmly about the little nothings of his life, it was so important for him. But he knew that speaking with a tombstone wasn't enough anymore, he wanted to talk to somebody. He still felt guilty about it, but he knew that Alpha would've scowled at him and he heard her words in his mind as if she was right beside him:

_ Misha, don't be stupid! I'm dead and I told you to live on. So do it! Come on, find a woman and start a family! Don't be a coward!

_ I'm not a coward, my love, he murmured. And I really want to love and be loved again, and have children. I'm so sorry it can't be with you. I love you, I'll always love you, but I have room for somebody else in my heart without forgetting you.

He sent a light kiss to the tombstone and said:

_ I'll be back soon, my love.

Then he went back to his pickup, hurrying as the first drops of rain were falling and thunder was booming in the distance. He drove to his apartment in Shipley Hill under the heavy curtain of rain, dying to go into his bed and have a long night's sleep. It was dinnertime, but he was so tired he wasn't hungry, a truly exceptional fact.

He parked the pickup on its usual spot and noticed a large van full of furniture and trinkets at the foot of the building. Visibly the empty apartment across his landing had found some new tenant at last. He just hoped it wouldn't be some party maniac with loud music playing at night. With a huge sigh he grabbed his bag and checked his mailbox. It was full to bursting with bills and ads which had accumulated since three months and he scooped up the lot. Then he made his way to the third floor, only thinking about his exhaustion.

But when he reached his landing, a blurred tiny thing ran head-first into his stomach, and he almost toppled over in surprise, not having expected anything like that. He exclaimed loudly:

_ Hey, there! Be careful!

He looked down and saw a small brown-haired boy of about three years old, looking up at him in confusion and a little fear, having run out of the apartment across his own. He softened and said, kneeling down in front of the suddenly timid-looking boy:

_ Hi! So you're my new neighbour? What's your name?

The boy backed two steps, and he heard hurried footsteps coming towards them. A beautiful thirty-something woman was coming out of the apartment, quite disheveled and looking upset, and she said in halting English with a thick Slavic accent:

_ Hello! I sorry! My boy hurt you?

_ No, it's okay, he said calmly with a faint smile. I'm your neighbour, my apartment is right there.

_ Okay, she said, looking shy and ill at ease. Well, good night!

_ Good night, he said simply, a little startled by her attitude.

She steered her son to their apartment, hastily closing the door behind them, and Kestrel frowned. He wasn't the most talkative tenant in the building and avoided the other people living there like a plague, but at least he wasn't shy or completely unsociable. But this family intrigued him. And this woman...

He shook his head, taking out his keys, and opened his door. He dropped his bag and the mail inside and bolted the door behind him, heading straight towards his bedroom. He quickly put out his clothes and collapsed on his bed, wanting to fall asleep straight away. But it seemed that this unexpected encounter had troubled him more than he had thought. The image of the black-haired woman kept popping up before his closed eyes, her grey eyes full of shyness and anxiety, and her small son. He lay awake for a few minutes, wondering why he was so interested in them, but came with nothing. So he shrugged, turned on his side and forced himself to sleep, a goal he could achieve sometimes when he was really tired. And soon, he drifted into sleep.

The rising sun through his window woke him up, and he slowly got up, taking his time. Sam had given the team a month of holidays after the three nightmarish months they had spent in Africa, travelling to every country of the continent, following the terrorist group they had had to neutralize. And they had succeeded at last, but now the whole team needed rest and well-earned holidays.

He rubbed his face, feeling his beard far too long under his fingers, and made his way to the bathroom. He had a long and blissful shower, then took his time to cut his beard neatly. Feeling far better, he casually dressed and went to his kitchen, starving. But his cupboards were empty, and he groaned. He would have to go shopping, and hated that. But right now he wanted breakfast, so he took his wallet and exited his apartment, wanting to go to the French bakery a hundred meters away from his building.

As he closed his door, he heard shouts in the apartment across his own, and frowned. The woman was obviously crying and yelling in pain, and a male voice was saying in Russian:

_ You deserved it! I hope you'll think twice before speaking to somebody without my consent again! And the boy must stay away from the children in the building, do you hear me?

Kestrel heard a pitiful answer, and hesitated. He knew his new neighbour was probably beating his wife up, and he couldn't stand scumbags like that. But on the other hand, he wasn't supposed to listen to it. Only his extraordinary hearing enabled him to hear far away sounds, like now. And he couldn't break their front door and interfere like that.

His fists clenching in rage, he forced himself to walk away, hating himself, and went to the bakery. He raided it, buying ten "croissants" and a dozen bagels, three baguettes and two homemade pizzas. Then he made his way back to his apartment, thinking that it would be a nice day. In the lobby, he saw the woman and a brutal-looking man he assumed was her husband, carrying a cupboard up the stairs. He said hello, and only the man answered him darkly, the woman avoiding his gaze. He saw with growing fury that she had a bruise on her right cheek and across her eye, and in spite of his ability to master his nerves, this time he let his anger boiling to the surface.

He hastily went to his apartment to put down his food, then waited on the landing. They soon arrived, the woman staggering under the weight of the cupboard, and the man shot him an evil glare. But he advanced and told him calmly:

_ Excuse me, but I think you should take more care of this woman.

The man put down the cupboard, not caring about his partner, and eyed Kestrel with a malevolent look. He spat in Russian, probably wanting to unsettle him:

_ Не твоё дело, ублюдок! (That's none of your business, bastard!)

_ I'm afraid it becomes my business when a son of a bitch like you beats a woman up, he answered in perfect Russian, his cold stare on.

The man, clearly surprised and a little apprehensive before Kestrel's determined expression and harsh glare, hesitated, but he regained composure and said, still in Russian:

_ So you speak Russian. Good for you. But now, you'll leave us alone or believe me you'll regret it. I do what I want with my sister.

Kestrel smirked, oblivious to the terrorized look on the woman's face and the man's arrogant one. He took a step forward and swiftly grabbed the man's left arm, twisting it in a lock behind his back. Then he slammed the guy on the wall of the landing, and his prey cried in pain. He said very calmly in Russian:

_ Maybe you don't understand how things are here. You're in the USA, and women have rights, the same rights than men. Nobody is to hit them, no husband, no brother, nobody. And for my part, I can't stand assholes like you who beat people up, even their own family. So you'd better behave, bastard, or I'll take care of you. Bullies like you don't scare me.

He held on a few more seconds, then let the man go. He was holding his shoulder, clearly in pain, and his nose was bleeding. He shot a murderous stare at Kestrel and spat:

_ You don't know who you're talking to. You're gonna pay for that, bastard!

_ If you say so, Kestrel said calmly but with a hard expression.

The man, utterly destabilized, took a step back then turned towards the cowering woman, saying:

_ I'm done here. You'll manage yourself for the rest.

_ Pavel... she started timidly.

_ Enough!

He stormed down the stairs, ignoring the pleading look on the woman's face, and she started to cry. Kestrel picked up the cupboard and, lifting it quite easily alone, asked her in Russian, deciding to speak it to make her more at ease:

_ Where do I put it?

Startled, she stared at him for a few seconds with a blank look, and he said with a faint smile:

_ I can hold it alone, but not for hours. So, where do I put it?

_ Oh! she blushed, trying to regain composure. Follow me, please.

He entered the apartment, which looked exactly the same as his own but with one more room, and she led him to a small bedroom where a single bed was already in.

_ Here, she indicated a spot in front of the western wall.

He laid down the cupboard where she indicated him, and asked her:

_ Have you got more furniture to carry?

_ Yes, she said, her eyes filling with tears.

_ Show me, he simply said.

Wiping her cheeks and inhaling deeply, she led him to the street, where the van was still parked in front of the building. He saw that it was still full of things, so he loaded himself with heavy pieces of furniture and went up the stairs. In an hour the two of them had emptied the van, and she looked better but still hadn't said a word.

Looking at the pieces and cardboard boxes around him, he saw that she would be able to manage alone for the rest, but a wooden wardrobe was in pieces, waiting to be assembled. He asked her:

_ Do you need help with the wardrobe?

She nodded, and he went back to his apartment, fetching his toolbox. Then he brought the pieces to her bedroom and set to work. The wardrobe was beautiful but very heavy, and he thought that she would've had real trouble with it alone. He took his time with it, and in half an hour the wardrobe was standing in the bedroom, ready to host clothes. He picked up his toolbox and went back to the living room, where the woman was busy assembling a small bookshelf.

She rose at his sight and said:

_ Thank you. You've helped me so much.

_ My honour, he said calmly, looking at her beautiful and unsettling eyes.

But they were filling with tears again, and he saw she was devastated. So he asked her gently:

_ Did you have breakfast? I've bought some French bakeries, and I have too much. Would you like to share them with me?

She hesitated, staring intently at him, and he waited patiently. It was her call. He was ready to help her, and most of all he was willing to. But he couldn't do so without her consent. And at long last she nodded and said:

_ Yes, please. I'm quite hungry.

He led them next door, and laid down his toolbox next to his bag. Then he went to the kitchen and prepared a coffee, and offered her a croissant and a bagel. She chose a croissant, and ate it like it was candy, but really fast, clearly starving. He wolfed down his usual eight bagels and offered her the bag of croissants, and she helped herself twice more. He poured them some coffee, and after a mug of it and three bakeries she looked better at last. She said with a timid voice:

_ Thank you. I was really hungry.

_ My pleasure, he said calmly. I'm Mikhail.

_ Elena, she said, blushing.

_ You're Russian? he asked.

_ Yes, she nodded. From Krasnodar. And you're Russian too?

_ I was. I'm American now. I was born in Novgorod.

She smiled faintly, then seemed to realize she was talking to a stranger. She abruptly rose and stammered:

_ Thank you. But I must leave.

He rose too and escorted her to the door, and simply said, locking eyes with her:

_ I'm not always around, but if you need me, just knock on my door. Your brother won't hit you anymore if I can help it.

She nodded and hastily retreated to her apartment. He stayed there, on the threshold of his own flat, for a few more seconds before going inside too. He closed the door and leaned on it, breathing deeply. A strange feeling was growing in his guts, a dim sensation he remembered having felt while in love with Alpha, and he wondered if he was falling in love again. But it's crazy, he told himself. You don't know her, мой друг (my friend), you've just met her, and she seems to have serious problems.

But his heart was rebelling, and he felt concern and happiness at the same time. Maybe she would bring him problems, maybe she wouldn't feel anything towards him, maybe he would regret having her and her son next door, but right now hope was filling him, warming him and making him smile.

His smartphone rang, and he picked up the line.

_ Yes?

_ Hi, mate, Briggs' voice rang. Sleep well?

_ Yes, мой друг. I needed it, and so did you.

_ I slept like an anvil, Molly told me I built a log cabin last night.

He chuckled, not surprised. The two of them had been on their knees at the end of their mission, Sam had pushed them pretty far. He said lightly:

_ So, what can I do for you?

_ Oh, but you're gonna tell me first why you have this delighted voice, mate! Briggs said maliciously. What happened to you?

Kestrel cursed inwardly, but his smile stayed on. He was feeling so good! He said:

_ I'll tell you in front of a large soda, мой друг. What about you?

_ Something's bothering me, Briggs said more seriously. Could we meet somewhere?

_ Wherever you want, Kestrel said, eyebrows furrowing.

_ The Limerick?

_ Okay. When?

_ As soon as possible.

_ Uh oh.

Kestrel felt concern growing in his chest. If his best friend wanted to talk in a bar and not at home, and so quickly after a mission, then it had to be very serious.

_ I'm on my way, he told his teammate while picking up his keys. See you in fifteen minutes.

_ Thanks, mate.

Briggs hung up and Kestrel hastily left his apartment, wondering what had happened in the short space of time for his friend to sound so worried.