A/N: Psst... I'm going on vacation this week and I can't assume I'll have an internet connection. In the interest of not holding you guys up, you get this chapter just a wee bit early but normal posting will resume next Monday. Enjoy! :D

O

Alex considered the open door of the motel room pensively, debating whether or not to join Yassen on the porch. A headache licked at his temples. Despite the winter month and the late hour, the desertous air that breathed through the open entry was on the warm side. Alex found himself wrapped up in the duvet from his bed anyway. The town they stopped in was small, vaguely mountainous community, mostly empty in the face of the tourism and outdoors sports' off season. With minimal levels of light pollution, the small snatches of dark sky he could see between the trees were illuminated with thousands of brilliant little stars.

It would be nice if he could relax enough to enjoy it.

Swapping cars twice, Yassen had seemingly taken the highway at random while Alex had swallowed another cannabis gummy and tried his best to steady his heart rate. It was tougher than normal. Alex wasn't certain if it was the stress of the car chase, a generalized panic attack, or the fact that Yassen was clearly a ball of simmering rage.
On second thought, it was probably that last one.

Alex hadn't realized how nice it had been that Yassen's moods had been relatively stable up until now. It had removed a lot of stress anyway, leaving Alex to ride out his own upset without having to worry about the other man's response to it. Yassen's had yet to unclench his jaw from it's rigid, angry set of the night; from their improvised carjacking all the way to the man returning to the motel room with fresh cigarettes and a bottle of vodka. He'd since taken up residence on the long, empty porch that ran behind the rooms and looked out at the nearest mountain slope; just drinking and staring out into the dark. Alex doubted that his sudden shift had anything to do with the events of that night (Yassen was eerily calm through most life and death situations, to the point that Alex was half convinced the man was immortal and somehow knew it) but rather had more to do with what Ferri's betrayal meant.

Russia was out.

Alex swallowed and shifted on his feet, listening to the blanket rustle around him as he moved. This was a strange side to Yassen, at least as far as Alex had known him. It was hard to tell exactly what this was. Alex had seen Yassen angry, frustrated, and a whole host of other things, but tonight didn't seem to fall into any of those categories. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to disturb him, though he didn't know when the mood (if that's what it was) would pass.

In the end, his headache won. Alex padded over to the open door and poked his head out.

Yassen sat on the wooden boards of the darkened porch with his back up against the wall of their room, conveniently out of the field of the light that streamed out through the doorway Alex currently occupied. He hadn't bothered turning on the porchlight and Alex saw no reason to change that. The smell of vodka hung heavy in the air, though Alex couldn't actually see the bottle. He hadn't said a word since they had checked in, hadn't seemed to move at all in the time since he'd gone outside to sit. An unmoving statue or still shot. Well, not quite unmoving: occasionally, the ember of his lit cigarette would move with Yassen's hand, providing the only source of illumination that reached his face. Stone would have been more expressive.

Alex wasn't sure how long he stood there staring at Yassen in silence. It couldn't have been more than a minute or two before Yassen exhaled a small plume of smoke. "Evening dose?"

The boy started and nodded. "I've got a headache."

Yassen didn't move. "It's in my jacket. On the bed."

Alex hesitated for a long second, before returning inside. Going through Yassen's jacket pockets felt oddly invasive, like he was stealing, even though he'd been instructed to. His hands paused over the plastic bottles, but he didn't open them.

What did it mean? Yassen insisted on monitoring Alex's usage, to the point where Alex hadn't bothered trying to withhold the pills he'd collected at the pharmacy. Too troublesome. While Yassen might try to talk him out of certain dosages, he rarely said no, so there was no point in rocking the boat by digging his heels in about holding the bottles himself. Was Yassen so upset that he didn't care anymore? Alex supposed it might be a good thing instead; perhaps Yassen simply trusted him not to take too much.

Grimacing, he decided it was probably the upset. Alex regularly got higher than intended; he doubted that would inspire much confidence in his ability to safely self-medicate. Considering the bottle, Alex shoved down the temptation to take a little bit extra (just to be on the safe side) and swallowed his regular dose. Returned the bottle firmly before he could change his mind. He was already beginning to regret it.

Biting his lip, Alex looked back at the open door. Yassen had certainly made no move to interact with him beyond the basic necessities, but somehow Alex couldn't quite find it in himself to leave him alone. Turning on the telly would provide distraction, but Alex knew he wouldn't stop thinking about what was going on in the Russian's head. It was just too weird to see Yassen like this, though outwardly his demeanor hadn't changed drastically. He was just… blanker, than usual.

His own anxiety threatened to rise through the chemical haze he'd already established. Now what? Alex hadn't been looking forward to living in Russia, per se, though he'd taken comfort in at least knowing what was coming. In hoping things worked out at least a little bit for him. While nothing about the place sounded especially thrilling, at least it was a destination to move towards. Without it hovering on the horizon, the world seemed so big and nebulous.

Swallowing down the fresh surge of panic, Alex decided to just bite the bullet. A few quick stomps and Alex dropped to sit on the porch next to the older man. "What are we doing now?"

Yassen didn't answer for a few seconds. "Sitting in a motel room."

"You know what I mean," Alex huffed, though he was tentatively hopeful. That was a shade closer to what passed as Yassen's sense of humor. Alex's eyes flicked to the bottle of vodka on the other side of the man. It was only half obscured by his thigh, but Alex couldn't see the level of the liquid.

Yikes. That wasn't a good sign.

Alex still wasn't sure he knew what to do if Yassen passed out one of these days. Call an ambulance? Give him CPR? Alex shoved the thought away. It was probably fine. Yassen had been careful since the last time. Even if a worrying amount of vodka was gone, so far, his accent wasn't more than a hint around some of his consonants; he couldn't be that drunk.

The lit end of his cigarette bobbed. "I'm not certain."

Alex's stomach sank. He'd been secretly hoping that Yassen had already come up with another plan that Alex could pester him with all sorts of questions about. Damn. "Can we still go to Russia? It is rather big ..."

"No."

"Why?" Alex shifted, getting comfortable on the hard wood of the porch. There were lawn chairs stacked on the other side of the porch, but he supposed it wasn't worth getting cross over. "Ferri might have told someone what country we were headed to, but I don't see how that's any worse than before. You're Russian. It's been an obvious guess since the beginning."

Yassen switched hands to tap his cigarette away from Alex. "Actually, it wasn't. I have no ties to Russia except my rumored nationality. No property. No associates. No relatives. I haven't lived there in over a decade and I speak enough languages that I could relocate most places without difficulty. Russia would have been one of many possible destinations but wouldn't have even been the most likely one. The authorities' net would have been too wide to properly explore in any real depth."

Alex chewed on that thought, staring out into the dark. "So why go back to Russia in the first place? It sounds like there's nothing there for you."

Yassen shrugged and stubbed out his cigarette on the ground, already reaching for his pack. It was his second for the day. Alex was tempted to tease him about lung cancer, given the man's personal conviction that the sun hovered above them in the sky purely to give Alex melanoma, but thought better of it. Yassen hadn't criticized Alex's need for opiates in some time, the least he could do was let the man enjoy his own vices in peace.

Alex fidgeted, accepting that no answer was forthcoming. "It's alright. I still think about going home too sometimes, even if MI6 has probably sold my house and Tom doesn't want to be friends with me anymore. I still miss London."

"I don't miss Russia," Yassen scoffed. "I miss the way things seemed there."

"Seemed?"

Yassen waved an impatient hand, lighting up again. "Clearer. It was the last place where I knew who I was supposed to be." He seemed to think about that statement a little further and added, "Apart from Malagosto, but I can hardly return there. It's foolish, but I thought perhaps if I went back, I could figure it out again."

Alex studied him. Yassen was probably drunker than he let on, which meant he'd keep answering questions if Alex kept asking them. "What were you supposed to be in Russia before?"

"A servant and before that a pesticide factory worker, but that's not the point. It's not about liking what I'm supposed to be, it's about knowing what it is."

A servant? Alex assumed the pesticide factory worker thing had to do with his parents, but this threw him for a loop. In fact, every time Yassen offhandedly mentioned the past it was weird. One of these days, Alex was going to have to hook up Yassen to a vodka IV and get his whole life story. Right now, though, Alex wanted to figure out what the fuck they were supposed to do tomorrow morning.

Furrowing his brows, Alex tapped his fingers against his duvet-swaddled knee. "So in Russia you were supposed to be a servant and in Malagosto you were supposed to be an assassin. Now you don't know what you're supposed to be." Alex made a face. "Just pick something then. Whatever you want."

"I don't know what it is," Yassen snapped. "It's about supposed to, not want to."

"So someone else has to pick?"

Yassen groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You don't get it. Of course, you don't get it."

Alex gave him a peeved look, before glancing away. "Actually I think I do. My whole life, I was supposed to be a spy even when I didn't know it. I didn't like it when I found out, but it just was. Now that's gone and I don't know what else to be or if I even can be anything else."

"Don't be stupid," Yassen said. "You're a schoolboy now and you're going to be a schoolboy."

"I don't actually go to school, so I'm not a schoolboy now," Alex pointed out. "And even if I do go back eventually, what happens after?"

"You don't have to pick yet," Yassen told him, accidentally dropping ash on his shirt. He brushed it away sloppily. "You're not supposed to know anything yet."

"But I knew before what the world wanted me to be, even if I wasn't supposed to," Alex insisted. "And that's gone now. It doesn't feel like a good thing. If I don't have to pick yet, why do you?"

"Because you're in school- or will be soon. At the end of school or before university is when you figure out what it's supposed to be the first time. Otherwise, you get stuck with the wrong ones and fate picks for you."

Alex snorted. "Fate? Now I know you're just drunk. People pick wrong all the time when they're in school. It's not destiny, it's just how this stuff works. I bet you didn't pick assassin or servant when you were my age."

"I didn't go to school when I was your age, I was a servant." Yassen groaned. "I didn't get to pick then and it ruined everything else for me by the time I had a choice. You still have time to mess it up a few times before it matters."

Alex stared. It had never actually occurred to him that maybe Yassen hadn't wanted to be an assassin. That his life might have just thrown it at him the way Alex's life had being a spy. He was just so good at it, he had always assumed Yassen had been an enthusiastic student. "But why can't you pick yours now? Who else is going to do it?"

"I have to figure it out, of course, I just have no idea where to start," Yassen snapped.

"Start with tomorrow," Alex said. His old nightly ritual of contemplating permanent doneness by sleeping pills materialized clearly in his mind. One day at a time. "Just the one day. What do you want and where should we be to get it?"

Yassen shrugged and unscrewed the bottle. Taking a swig, he grimaced. "Not in prison."

"Great. How do we make that happen?"

Yassen sighed, but actually seemed to apply coherent thought to the question. "We keep moving. Find a good place to lay low and figure out where to get more passports. Wait for your stomach to fix itself." He set down the bottle, accidentally knocking it over and sloshing sharp smelling vodka all over the porch.

Alex watched him fumble with the open bottle and mutter curses under his breath. He grimaced, but otherwise felt himself calm properly for the first time that night. It wasn't necessarily critical for him to understand why, but Yassen was obviously having some sort of breakdown. He hardly begrudged him for it- Alex had at least six of those a week. Suddenly he was glad he'd decided against taking an extra dose when he'd had the chance, especially if he was going to have to do the minding for the both of them until Yassen dealt with whatever fun new aspect of his midlife crisis this was. "What kind of place?"

Yassen huffed, examining the ounce of remaining alcohol with annoyance. Glanced back out at the street in a clear signal that he was considering getting more. Alex sincerely hoped he wouldn't. "Quiet. Small. With an internet connection."

"Such as?"

"I don't care. You pick."

This picking thing again. Alex sighed. Two years ago, he would have never guessed he would find himself on the run and debating the philosophy of life choices with the drunk ex-assassin who'd taken out Ian. Then again, two years ago he'd been perfectly comfortable not knowing exactly what his future held. Thirteen seemed like such a simpler age. It had been easier to trust that things would just work themselves out. Whether or not Yassen agreed, Alex thought he understood what the Russian meant by wanting to go back to the place where he'd known what things were supposed to be like. Hoping that same certainty would be waiting for him there. A big part of him wished he could go back to some part of the past too, back before he had been a spy, back before he'd even known what Ian had been up to. Back when all he wanted was decent school marks, football practice, and a fun holiday once in a while.

Actually…

"Have you ever been to Gunpoint, Colorado, Yassen?"