Warnings: slash

Rated: T

Everyone please raise your glass to Niamh x, who gave me the idea for this chapter! Cheers!

Alex had never been overly fond of his childhood home. Not since Jack. The halls felt haunted with the tortured memories of that year. Every good memory was tainted with loss. The loss of Ian, the loss of Jack, the loss of his innocence.

But - out of sentimentality alone - he had kept the house. Jack and Ians rooms had thus far remained untouched - doors closed and the lights off. Beds still perfectly made, clothes still hung, as if their owners were simply away, and not gone. Alex was not sure he would ever have the courage to go back into those forbidden rooms.

The rest of the house though… it could have been a whole other place. In an attempt to distance himself from the painful memories, he had completely renovated and redone the rest of his house. Ripped out flooring, repainted walls, sold old furniture and bought whole new sets.

Of course, he had other places in London. The flat with Yassen, and a safehouse on the outskirts of the city. But still, he found himself unable to leave this house completely. Like a part of him was - and always would be - fused with this building. These halls and rooms.

So with the flat under repair, and the safehouse so far from MI6, he and Yassen had decided to stay in the house in Chelsea. They stayed in Alex's old room, which awkwardly only had a single bed, not that either of them complained about the forced close proximity.

Everything was exactly as he had left it - which should have been Alex's first hint that something was off.

It was only just late evening on their second night in the house, but him and Yassen were already getting ready for bed. It had been such a typically English day; drizzling and cold, with wind just sharp enough to bite. Dew clinging to everything, and not a ray of sunshine in sight.

The dreary weather had put the pair of them in a sleepy mood - and with nothing more important to do than keep up with the news, they had readily agreed to turn in early.

So they were curled up together in bed, limbs interlocking in a complicated set of knots, when the alarm bells started ringing. The mental ones as well as the physical ones.

Alex had set the alarm system before they had gone to bed, and now it loudly blared throughout the house. The spy launched himself out of bed, upsetting the assassin lying curled around him and sending his partner tumbling to the floor with less than his usual grace.

Yassen regained his composure in an instant. From the look in his eye, Alex knew the man was about to tell Alex to stay put while he went to check it out; but this was Alex's house, Alex's responsibility, and Alex beat him to it. He snatched up the gun from their bedside table.

"Stay here," he ordered, a pointed finger punctuating, receiving a slightly stunned look from Yassen. Alex did not usually give such sharp orders. Alex was grateful: if Yassen had not been surprised, he likely would have followed Alex as he dashed out the door, making for downstairs.

Alex crept to the bottom of the staircase, gun extended in a loose grip in front of him. It hovered there, a lethal guard from any attacks.

The front door was ajar - as if someone had hastily thrown it shut, only for it to rebound again. But whoever that someone was, they were out of sight.

There were a surprising amount of hiding places in the house - especially for someone like Alex who had grown up here playing hide and seek with Jack and Tom. He would have to do a sweep of the entire floor.

First things first, though. Alex stopped at the panel by the door, punching in the code that would silence the incessant beeping. It had been going over for barely longer than a minute - which meant less than two minutes before MI6 agents (and likely K unit as well) were busting through his front door, guns blazing.

The house went eerily silent. Alex strained his ears, hoping to catch-

-a creak. Alex had just connected the sound with the squeaky tile in the kitchen, and had begun to turn that way.

His gun arm fell just in time for him to be tackled to the ground. A dull thud signified his gun falling to the ground. The hardwood floor did nothing to cushion his own crash, and Alex landed with an audible oof. He tumbled over, body loose and his limbs getting tangled with his attackers as easily as headphone wires at the bottom of a bag.

When they finally skidded to a stop, Alex had a moment of respite to catch a breath. The moment was quickly broken by his assailant yelling in his face.

"Alex!"

"Ugh," he mumbled in reply, "Tom."

"Is that any way to greet your best mate?" Tom asked in false indignation.

"It is when they're crushing me."

Tom - who was indeed kneeling on Alex's chest, pinning the spy with his full body weight - made a noise of surprise. As if he had just noticed the position they were in. The smaller boy climbed awkwardly to his feet and offered a hand to help his poor abused friend.

After successfully levering himself to his feet, Alex asked: "What are you doing here?"

His friend, who Alex had not seen in ages now, was dressed in pressed black dress pants and a matching formal shirt. Under his unzipped jacket, Alex could see a name tag saying: Hi, my name is Tom.

"I always come here after work."

"Why?" Alex asked before he had even bothered to think. He knew Tom was not living with his parents anymore. That he had found a flat with some mates on his football team. So then, what reason did he have for hiding out at Alex's old house?

In way of answering, Tom waved a hand around them. A puzzle piece slipped in place just a second before Tom said it.

"Who do you think has been taking care of the house?" Tom snorted at his friend. "You didn't hire any cleaners."

And of course, now Alex saw it. He had noted when he had first arrived that everything was exactly as he had left it, which should have been impossible. The house plants should be dead. A layer of dust would be expected on every surface. The air should have been musty from the lack of airflow.

Instead, the plants were green and happy. The counters had obviously been dusted - hastily, sure, but still clean. The air was fresh as if someone had cracked the windows on a regular basis.

Alex smiled. Some spy he was, if Tom was still getting one over on him. At least he was skilled enough to note the footsteps above him. Glancing behind him, he saw Yassen descending the stairs.

"Everything alright?" The man asked, but his demeanour told Alex that Yassen had already decided nothing was wrong.

Alex caught Yassen's eyes briefly, shrugging to signal that everything was fine. Then he glanced back at Tom - and was startled to see his friend with wide, round eyes and a gaping mouth, looking at Yassen like he had just descended from space.

Unsure what to make of the reaction, his eyes slid back to Yassen. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

Then it hit him.

Tom had never met Yassen. Did not even know about the man, really. Alex had told him about his relationship with an unnamed assassin, ages ago now, but the reality was a bit more shocking. Alex realized that he had even carefully kept the fact that this unnamed assassin was a man to himself. Now, there was a middle-aged man standing in his living room. Shirtless. Having obviously just exited Alex's own bedroom. When there were three other unused rooms in the house.

He supposed Toms shock might be warranted.

Alex felt a blush creep across his cheeks, he bit his bottom lip and turned away briefly, willing the redness to go down.

"Tom," Alex said hesitantly, eyes flicking between the two of them - as if they were bombs and Alex was trying to figure out which one would go off first. "This is-"

"Yassen Gregorovich?" Tom asked incredulously, raising a sharp black eyebrow. "The assassin that killed Ian?"

Alex winced. That had always been a sore spot between them. He had forgotten that he had told Tom about Yassen before… well, before.

Alex went to answer, but was cut off as Tom plowed on.

"The man that put you in a bullfight? And threatened to chop off Sabina's fingers? And sent you to a terrorist group to be killed?"

"Ye-"

"And died?" Tom gasped for breath, having forgone oxygen in favour of his run-on questions.

"Yes, Tom," Alex finally got to answer. He knew he sounded more exasperated than he had a right to be. Tom's reaction was pretty mild, really.

"Huh." All the disbelief and shock and surprise seemed to drain out of Tom. He stared at Yassen, then at Alex, then Yassen again. Seeming to follow the path of an invisible tennis match. His expression was uncharacteristically a mask.

Neither Alex nor Yassen dared to move, stuck like microscope specimens under Tom's critical eye.

"I didn't even know you were gay," was how his mate finally decided to break the standoff.

Alex blinked. Glanced quickly over his shoulder at Yassen, who merely gave a slight shrug. Thanks, Yassen, you are a huge help.

"I'm…" Alex frowned, realizing with a degree of shock that he had never explicitly said he was gay, or bisexual, or anything really. He wasn't even sure that he was gay, or bisexual, or anything really - and that thought made his frown deepen, a deep crevice.

At fourteen, he had fancied himself in love with Sabina; but that had been little more than a passing crush, and Alex did not have a clue at fourteen what romantic love felt like.

He had quickly gotten over any feelings he had for Sabina, and considered her more a sister than anything else.

After her though… there had not been anyone. No one he had connected with emotionally until Yassen. Sure, he had been with people. More often than not, though, that was in the name of a mission or survival. Rarely did he ever choose the people he slept with, and never had he actually enjoyed it.

Until Yassen. He had never really felt attracted to anyone, man or woman or other, until Yassen.

Alex wondered why that was. It was understandable enough that his first year or two with MI6 had not left him with much downtime for dating. Also, any peers of his either thought he was on drugs, in a gang, or perpetually sick. They would not have understood, Alex knew. Even Sabina, though Alex had told her the truth, could never understand him the way Yassen could.

Alex realized that he had been standing there, a buffer between Tom's wide blue eyes and Yassen's icy ones, for altogether too long. Blinking as if he had stared into the sun, Alex tried to regain his bearings.

"Yassen is my…" Whatever he is. Boyfriend? Assassin with benefits? "Significant other…"

Alex could not help cringing a bit. Neither he nor Yassen ever had to worry about the 'introducing the boyfriend to the parents' thing, (aside from the initial K Unit introduction, and that had been more about the 'assassin' thing than the 'male' thing), but Alex imagined it would be similarly awkward to this conversation.

(Or maybe not, since Alex's own father had guns and knew how to use them. But that's beside the point.)

"And Yassen," Alex continued. "This is Tom Harris."

Tom ran a hand through his gelled back hair, black strands coming loose to frame his face. His hair was longer than Alex remembered.

"Nice to meet you?" Tom phrased it as more of a question than anything else.

"Indeed," Yassen replied, as unphased as ever. Alex cursed the unshakable bastard under his breath. "Perhaps I should leave the two of you to catch up, hmm?"

Yassen smiled at Alex - like a wolf, all teeth - and disappeared upstairs without waiting for a reply. Shamelessly, Yassen waltzed right into Alex's bedroom. Tom's sharp eyes watch him go.

"We used to have sleepovers in that bed," Tom told him, as if Alex needed the reminder. Before Yassen, that bedroom had been solely for sleeping, eating crisps, and watching TV.

"Now you have sleepovers with assassins."

Alex flushed again, feeling heat spread across his face and even down his neck.

Tom eyed Alex's rapidly colouring face. "I haven't seen you blush this much since Jack explained the Birds and the Bees to us," Tom remarked.

"Yes, Tom," Alex gritted out through clenched teeth, desperately willing his face to cool. "Thank you for the reminder."

Tom gave his signature impish grin. "Do you need a reminder? I'm sure I could find those notes I took, some diagrams maybe? Jack gave us a lot of good information… I'm sure you could benefit from a refresher course."

"I think you should go," Alex told his mate, holding back a flustered smile. He gestured to the door behind Tom, still wobbling in the wind, but his friend made no move to leave. Outside, he could see black cars rolling up in sequence.

Instead, Tom put on a mock indignant look. "I only want to make sure you're being safe, Alex!"

"You are the one walking into dangerous territory, Tom," Alex warned his friend. Tom just smiled, and Alex realized his beet-red face probably undercut his threats.

Alex shook his head in a last-ditch attempt to return to his normal colouration. He could feel the magma under his skin recede marginally.

"Alright," Tom relented, clapping Alex on the shoulder. "I'll leave you to it! But you had better contact me before you get swept away on another mission, understood?"

Alex nodded, already ushering Tom out the door. Agents were eyeing him in question. One covered up a laugh when Tom waved like the Queen. "Yes, Tom."

"And you!" Tom called up the stairs, loud enough to wake the neighbourhood. "If you even think about hurting Alex, I don't care if you're an assassin! I will hunt you down, and you'll be answering to me! Got it?"

"I think he got it, Tom, thank you for that." It was a bit ridiculous, but Alex knew Tom meant well. That's what counted.

He tried to remember that after the door slammed shut and he heard Yassen's deep laugh emit from upstairs.

Spooned together on the slim mattress, Alex watches his own too-long hair billow around as Yassen's breath stirred it.

"You know," Yassen whispered in his ear, voice tinged with mischievousness. "You can call me your boyfriend."

Alex shakes his head, barely. "I am not calling you my boyfriend."

"Why not?" Yassen's innocent voice tells Alex that the man already knows exactly why not. "Am I not boyfriend material?"

Alex grunted, turning closer to the bedspread in hopes of hiding his returning flush. "It just sounds so-"

Pretentious? Juvenile? Very much not them?

"Well," Yassen plants a sloppy kiss on Alex's neck, making him squirm and turn to look back. "I have some other ideas of things you could call me."

"Mhmm?" Alex hummed, unable to form words now with Yassen's mouth tracing lower.

"Mhmm," Yassen agreed.

The coffee shop is busy this early in the morning, which suits Alex just fine. Everyone is so engrossed in going about their day, they do not even notice the two boys sat in the back corner booth, sipping whip cream topped espressos.

Tom has listened to Alex relating everything that has happened since they last caught up with each other - and he had done it with a smile and a few well-timed jokes. But now, he sits stunned, finally caught off guard.

Alex takes a deep sip of his drink, hiding his satisfaction in melting cream.

"You're giving me the house?" Tom's incredulous voice barely reaches Alex's ear.

Alex nodded. "Yes, I am. It will have to be cleaned out first, personal things put in storage, but then it is all yours."

Something had jarred Alex, seeing Tom again in the house in Chelsea. Like a happy memory that could, not replace, but aid in restoring the tarnished ones. He thought with Tom and Yassen's help, it might just be time to box up his, Ian's, and Jack's things.

That had then got him thinking about what to do with the house. He could keep it, for the two or three times a year he might need it, or he could give it to the other person that had grown up there.

Tom had maybe just as many good memories of the house as Alex. All those days and nights escaping his own home. The playdates and sleepovers and hangouts. The sneaking in and sneaking out. Jack, who had been like a fun older sister to Tom. Ian, who has been a kind of aloof and absent father figure. Alex, who has always told Tom that what is mine is yours.

Those memories weren't ruined for Tom. Alex would much rather fill the house with good memories than bitter ones.