VODKA AND ICE

by Yorgi'sBitch

Disclaimer: Sony and Revolution Studios own everything. Except Yorgi. I'm stealing him. Haha! :D Just kidding.

A/N: This is the second last chapter. NC-17 fics aren't allowed anymore. Sorry, I've had to edit this. This chapter kind of explains Yorgi's path in life. Contains some bad language. Thanks to Katya for spellchecking my Russian!

Yelena did not leave Yorgi's side all day. It was true, what FSB was preaching: he was not an easy man to avoid. She must stick with him or risk losing vital information. Perhaps she only wanted to be near him. During the day the whores vanished, escorted back to Praque where they would re-emerge with the rest of the club night-life. Yorgi obviously didn't practise favouritism, because security scrutinised her thoroughly, surprised by her presence. Granted, she had brothers, she was comfortable around the all-male clique, but Yorgi's presence was stifling.

Viktor was sent to fetch her things. In fact she was expecting Yorgi to pursue his mistrust of her. During the day Yelena was careful to conceal her spy gadgets behind a cracked skirting board panel the ran along the wall behind the gas stove in her shitty little kitchen. All she had was a camera and a transmitting device. Lousy government cutbacks. But she remained edgy until Viktor came back. Later she would return from them.

"Excel is piece of shit." Yelena was seated beside Yorgi in the black Audi squeezing through the narrow streets of Praque. Glaring purposefully at Kirill – his brother's bodyguard, minding his own business in the passenger seat except to glance innocently at her in the rear-view every once in a while, she said, "I have better suggestion. Is system in bank I work for, available in Russia to banks. You get me copy?" An expectant look found Yorgi's mysterious eyes.

Somewhat taken aback by her matter-of-fact demand, Yorgi managed a smile. "I am happy to ask Alexi." I am happy to rip my heart out and serve it to you on platter, he thought sarcastically. Because you ask so nicely.

"Who is scientist?" Yelena sensed his thoughts and pulled a tight unappreciative smile.

"Dimitri Pelenov. He is chemist."

"What? Are you planning to sell nuclear bomb?" As this was not unheard of among Russian opportunists, Yelena thought she might get away with the tease, but Yorgi frowned just a little.

"What makes you think I was in army?" Only armed forces personnel would have access to black market Cold War weapons in the first place.

"Your tattoo." Yelena's voice came calm and ready, but her heart skipped a beat. The slip of the tongue had almost cost her. She was beginning to fear every step forward she took to earn Yorgi's trust, she took two steps back. For effect, therefore, she touched the ink-injected skin peaking out of his shirt collar. Suspicions were tweaked, but the unfamiliar physical contact initiated by a woman with every intention of using brains above pussy surprised him. His hand caught hers and he raised to his lips. Yelena smiled and bit her lip as he kissed her fingers. "My brother has a tattoo like that. He is in army." Yelena snorted. "Also your brother has shitty army haircut. If he was in army, you were in army."

Kirill had to smile at her derisive remark. The more it cut the more he loved her. Of course, what Yorgi felt was none of his business.

"Your brother is in army?" Yorgi was suddenly interested. Yelena's left hand remained clasped in his.

She drop-kicked her eyes uncomfortably towards the tinted window. The smell of her cooked-up story might be easier to conceal behind false pain. "Yes," she answered sharply, wishing the matter to be discontinued. Yes, she really did have a brother in the Russian army, but he was a medical intern in Moscow.

"What detachment?"

"I don't know. They do not tell us. Only that he is in the Bolsoj Kavkaz." The mountains south of Grozny.

"What is your brother's name?" Yorgi pried gently, remembering the times he had told mothers and sisters and young wives that their sons and brothers and husbands had died because of Yeltsin's fucking popularity politics.

"What do you care?!" Yelena snapped viciously. "You left army, didn't you?" She plucked her hand from Yorgi's and folded it across her other, tucking them under her breasts. She sighed deeply and turned away from Kirill and Yorgi's almost empathetic eyes. "My brother was an idiot. He is dead now. That is what I beLieve. Is easier for all of us."

Yelena was bound to that lie now. It was nowhere near the one she had planned to spin Yorgi. The less people she was linked to the better, that way it would be more difficult to prove her story counterfeit. But if anything it only endeared her more to Anarchy 99's mastermind. Yorgi unwound his arm along the leather-finish seat and clasped it around Yelena, coercing her rigid body against his. "Yelena, my sweet darling." He pressed his lips to her head. No emotion, only thinly-masked anger aimed at false ideals he could do nothing about. Not yet. "Dimitri will change all that," he said aloud.

The undercover agent sulked. For show, and also because she was miserable. It was no longer necessary to win Yorgi's trust. Her slip of the tongue had won her that much and endeared her to him in more ways than she cared for. And on top of it she was about to have dinner with Georgians. They were pigs! They would gorge themselves and drink and swear all night! And what does scientist have to do with Anarchy 99 anyway?



Dimitri Pelenov was a tall, padded man in his early thirties. His wife, Lilana, was a few years older, even taller and very beautiful. Yelena learnt that she had been an export model in the late 70s. She was cheerful and talkative, and lonely. The result of which meant that the Russian agent felt the need to maintain her precarious cover by making idle female chit-chat at the dinner table and try and listen with half an ear to the male conversation. When that proved futile, she grit her teeth, forced a red-lipped grin and listened.

The couple was indeed from Georgia, a republic that had once been a part of Mother Russia's unity. Awarded independence in 1992, the Soviet loyalists who could afford to make a run for it had fled the dawning economic nightmare. Many of the most respected inhabitants were scientists. For decades the Politburo had paid their salaries and asked nothing except that they work diligently in their labs to combat the American threat. Post-Cold War, there was no use for their services. Capitalist markets were not looking for engineers of death and destruction. They wanted cures and GM foods and clean fuels.

Desperate, Dimitri dismissed the moral indecency of his actions. Starving was no fun. Yorgi had gone out of his way, even seeming to be more interested in their well-being than what Dimitri was offering to sell. So he had sold it and agreed to show Yorgi how to manufacture it, and use it. If be.

"What was he selling?" Yelena asked with casual disinterest, lighting up one of Lilana's menthol cigarette's.

Lilana shrugged. "I don't know. My husband is good lover, but boring man. He does not tell me what he works on and I do not ask. Clever."

Yelena choked up a laugh and glanced over her shoulder towards the living room where the non-synchronised ululation of a Georgian drinking song was taking horrible shape. Maybe is worse than FSB thinks.



Sucking in her cheeks and leaning impatiently against the car door, Yelena watched Yorgi saying good night to his dinner hosts. Giving a half-hearted wave to Dimitri and Lilana, she reached two fingers inside her mouth and drew out a tiny white sphere. "They gave us mints. What kind of people give people mints?"

"You don't like them?" Yorgi approached her with the intention of opening the door.

"His wife is boring. And the food was shitty!" Turning on her heel, Yelena blocked Yorgi's extended hand and opened the door herself. "I thought you said this is business interest."

"Must everything always be business with you, Yelena?"

Pleased with what intelligence she had wheedled from Lilana, it was Yelena's turn to play the grumpy, dissatisfied anarchist that had made her Yorgi's new best friend. Tired and eager to report back to Moscow, it was not very difficult to fall into character. With a disgruntled snort at Yorgi's question, she closed her door and waited. Kirill emerged from the shadows, having lit a cigarette out of the chill draft. When he saw his brother leaning forward, arms folded across the roof of the Audi, he stopped short. "Kakoi?" What?

"You get ride with Neo."

The younger brother nodded, inhaling more deeply than usual on his cigarette. His nail-bitten hands shook just a little. Yelena was out of the question.

The ice princess watched him retreat into the streetlamp's penumbra. A moment later Yorgi slid inside the car beside her, but she pretended to ignore him. With the driver present at least the atmosphere wasn't all that unbearable, but Yorgi's intense, searching eyes were on her. And she couldn't stand it.

"What? So now we fuck?" The question came as they hit the country-side, leaving the European glitter of the Czech capital behind. Come on, it is what we both know you are thinking. "You pay me much money. I am your girl."

"Don't you ever shut up?" Yorgi bit off harshly. "You have cute mouth, Yelena, but not so cute." It chaffed, because he had let a woman he knew less intimately than anyone of those prostitutes get to him. For a moment he had let his feelings read too clearly. Of course he had underestimated her! Yorgi wasn't used to dealing with someone of his calibre, someone who would twist the knife just to see how long it would take the wound to heal. "You are a ho."

Yelena burst into raucous laughter and slouched against her seat, turning her head from left to right as she cackled. The Americanism was hilarious in itself, but coming from Yorgi … There was no reason to care for his name-calling, because he had started it and Yelena didn't want to get angry and show him she had been hurt too. I cannot care for person I don't know or love. He is criminal, evil man who destroys lives for money. He disgusts me. When Yelena calmed down, she sighed and stared serenely out the window. There was nothing to see except her own reflection. Kirill is right. I am just girl from Moscow, down on my luck. "You don't really mean that."

But her quarry wasn't going to corroborate her assumption and the drive back seemed drawn out.



Within the castle, the festivities of the Russian prince's subjects waxed furious. That everyone else was having a good time with one exception, pissed Yorgi off almost as much as Yelena's rebuff. All women are bitches! He thought absurdly and barked at Viktor, "Clear the whores out! Take them home!"

"But, Yorgi, we –"

"Do it!" He yelled, sending two daring flirts scampering back to their drugged-out flatmates lounging on the sofas. Behind him, Yelena stepped onto the cool marble of the wide cathedral-ceilinged hall. Frowning, his brown eyes tried to intimidate her confidence. And failed miserably. Stupid bitch. "Fucking bitch!"

"Pig! Fuck you!" Yelena shouted right back. Jesus, she was losing the upper hand. If he suspected for one minute that she was untouchable he would go cold, cut her off except where business was concerned. How long would it take her to discover his secrets then? She may as well go back to her superiors in Moscow and tell them it was over. That she had nothing, would never have anything!

Kolya cracked a smile and pointed accusingly at Viktor busying himself herding the Czech girls towards the door. "See, what I tell you? You owe me money, comrade. Is not just quick fuck with him. He is in love with her."

Yorgi pushed the double, carved oak doors to the bedroom open forcibly. They swung, creaking, and thumped against the symmetrical table décor. Let her come or go to hell! Ia dav't ne artikl' sovokuiltiat'sia! I don't give a fuck! When he turned, Yelena was leaning patiently against the frame.

"You are frog, you know this?"

"I thought you said I am pig."

"I change my mind."

Yorgi sneered. "Leave. I'm not interested."

"I give you kiss." Yelena cut him her side of the deal and maintained an approachable vulnerability to be on the safe side. "Maybe you turn into prince." Reaching out with both arms, she closed the doors behind her with a simultaneous click and moved towards his stand-offish figure, radiating seductive intent. Her dark bangs slipped over her right eye.

Shaking his head, Yorgi pushed it back behind her ear. He only had one question and he asked it quietly, "Because I pay you?"

Rogue strands remained stuck to Yelena's lipstick. Brushing them away, she revealed, "I don't want your money, only you." And if nothing else about what you think you know about me is true, then at least this is. That is why she must save her tears for later. They send female agent for this reason. I will get over it.

Immune to her secret agent plot, trusting her whether she wanted it or not, Yorgi lowered his mouth to hers and captured her lips in a tender kiss, evolving passionately as Yelena stepped out of her shoes and pulled him to the bed with her.



Lying on his back, idly stroking Yelena's tousled hair as she traced the outline of his tattoo down his torso, Yorgi asked, "What is your brother's name?"

The tracery stopped and Yelena groaned into his shoulder. With a frustrated sigh the agent leaned on his chest and looked him squarely in the eyes, a testing smile playing on the corners of her pouting lips. "What is it with you and my brother? Why do you care?"

"Because." The answer sounded ridiculous even in Yorgi's mind because he had never entertained the possibility. "I love you. I want to know everything about you. What is favourite food? What is favourite colour? What is brother's name?"

The agent laughed. "Favourite food is chocolate, favourite colour is red." She paused, weighing the possibility that – at least if he still mistrusted her – he might use her brother against her. "And brother's name is Liev." Yelena leaned over and kissed him. It was a lie, of course. Another one, not important. If Yorgi was trying to recall if he'd served with a Liev Saransk he'd never get it right. The name didn't exist. "Now is my turn to ask questions!" The enthusiastic declaration subsided and she snuggled back down beside her. "Tell me about your family."

"Kiri is little brother," Yorgi explained the obvious, using Kirill's childhood nickname. "Mother was Marta. Father was Yorgevny."

"Was?"

"They are dead."

Yelena glanced at Yorgi when he mentioned it; his voice choked with bitter pain. Seeing the concern pooling in her beautiful brown eyes, he would only say, "Is long time ago. Is why everyone calls me Yorgi. Is why I join army. Is long story, you understand?"

Not really, Yelena thought and promptly felt the poison of guilt work its way into her system. Try as she might to flush it out, she remained awake long after Yorgi had dozed off.



In an attempt to scathe as much as shed the stifled jealously, Kirill greeted his brother as he entered the caged in security control room. "How did you sleep?" With my love.

Yorgi chuckled appreciatively at the double-edged sword Kirill intended to thrust through him, but the euphoria of the previous night was still on him and he wasn't upset. The cheerful demeanour had given him an idea. He wanted to do something for Yelena. Flowers and chocolates he wouldn't buy and she wouldn't accept. How she would laugh in his face! But there was something else he could do for her. Even better, and she would appreciate it beyond words. "Alexi!"

The computer geek coughed involuntarily as Yorgi clapped him on the back and straightened his glasses, looking from the porno-site-displaying monitor to his employer. "Dah?"

"What is this shit?" Yorgi leaned over the young Russian's shoulder. "I want you to hack into Russian army database. Search for Liev Saransk. He is serving in Chechnya."

"What's so important about him?"

"Don't ask questions, Alexi," Yorgi warned with a satisfied grin. "Only call me when you find something."

Kolya's eyes met his as Anarchy 99's ringleader approached him. "What's up?"

"Is present, for Yelena. Her brother is fighting fucking Chechens." Yorgi spat. "She thinks he's dead. I don't think so, I have a feeling. I find him, get him out …" A casual shrug of shoulders and lips. The beefy East German nodded, appreciating Yorgi's plan. "He lives in Prague and everything is taken care of. It will make her happy. Is what I want for her." Looking harder at comrade, he asked, "Why are you smiling? You and Viktor make bet again?"

Hearing their deep, male laughter, Yelena closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cool wall of the hallway leading into the castle-sized room. Just a few more months of this charade, a few more months of faking it for Yorgi. And maybe she would hate herself forever.

THE END

A/N: I checked. Yorgi's not a real Russian name, so I guess it was a nickname or something. Yorgevny was about the closet I could get. Kolya is a Russian name, but I figure he looked more German in the movie :P