A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! I'm back from vacation and ready to resume the old schedule. Today's chapter is a bit on the short side (for verbose little me) but I would highly recommend that if anyone isn't familiar with the short story Christmas at Gunpoint, that they read it this week or next. It'll be a bit relevant down the road and it's best to be prepared. I'm pretty sure it's floating around online for free, so no excuses. ;)

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Yassen nursed his hangover by starting the day with two shots of vodka and a pack of cigarettes. It was less than ideal and would probably just contribute more to his headache than literally anything else he could do, but by this point, he didn't care. Dragging himself out of the creaky twin bed he'd collapsed in the night before had been hard enough. Alex had seemed a little startled when he'd eventually risen, but hadn't said anything remotely critical, even though Yassen hadn't even waited a half hour after the shots to shuffle him into the car and hit the road.

Fifteen minutes later, Yassen snapped out of it.

Regret flooded him at once, followed quickly on its heels by anger.

He furiously stubbed out the cigarette he'd been smoking with the windows up. What was he thinking? On top of having spent the night getting wasted and drunkenly whining at an emotionally fragile teenager, he had spent the morning sulking and priming himself for a repeat performance. His stupidity overwhelmed him. Neither of them would have been sober if Scorpia or the CIA caught up to them. Something serious could have gone wrong with Alex's health and Yassen would have been unable to assist. Alex couldn't be expected to drive them anywhere in the event of an emergency: the boy had maybe a twenty minute window per day in which he wasn't under the influence of some kind of mind-altering chemical and his absence seizures could easily cause a collision.

He'd known that it was a terrible idea, and somehow gotten drunk anyway. It defied logic. His emotions had gotten the better of him in utterly spectacular fashion.

A small well of shame took residence in his stomach. What would Hunter say if he could see him now? Yassen couldn't possibly imagine how he'd justify his behavior. Not only was he allowing his idiocy to get the better of him on a purely professional level, he was allowing it to affect Alex, up to and including driving him drunk.

Buzzed was probably more accurate. Still. Yassen wasn't in the habit of going easy on himself and, given the way he'd been acting the last few weeks, saw no reason to start now. With an angry shake of his head, Yassen took the next exit and followed the signs for services. He had to sober up before they went any farther.

Alex raised an eyebrow at him. "We're another hour or so away, I think. This is Grand Junction."

Yassen pressed his lips into a thin line. "We should stop and eat."

"We already ate," Alex pointed out. "I brought donuts, remember?"

Yassen let out a ragged breath with as much control as he could manage. Now that the boy mentioned it, he did have vague memories of him leaving the room for about fifteen minutes and returning. He been too wrapped up in his self-pity and throbbing skull to pay much more attention than that. Another drop in the bucket. "I need to sober up," he said through gritted teeth.

"Okay." Alex glanced at the signs he could see from the freeway exit, oddly unbothered by Yassen's admission. Did the brat really have no sense of self-preservation? "Isn't greasy food supposed to help with hangovers? I've heard that coffee is supposed to help with the sober thing. Maybe we can skip the randomizer and find a diner or something."

Much to their misfortune, there didn't seem to be any diners in easy reach of the freeway, though they did end up settling for a nearby cafe. It was a small, yellow bricked thing squashed onto a busy road and jammed between an extreme sports store and a nail salon. A sleepy host with a pierced nose handed them menus and mumbled something about picking a table before disappearing into the back. Fortunately, the food service was a little more animated. They ended up sitting at one of the wrought iron tables outside, stationed below a gas heater, while Yassen did his level best to sip his coffee and eat around the pounding in his temples.

Alex picked at his sandwich, making slow but steady progress in his quest to finish it. Despite his usual reluctance around food, he didn't seem to be actively feeling ill with every bite.

"You're in a good mood," Yassen observed, just a touch sourly.

Alex shrugged. "Actually, I feel like shit." Brandy colored eyes studied Yassen for another second. "Feeling better?"

Yassen grimaced. "You don't have to worry about me drunk driving anymore, if that's what you're asking."

"It's not." Alex went back to nibbling his sandwich. "And I wasn't worried. You're a pretty good drunk driver if that's what that was."

"Don't." Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose.

That got a reaction. Alex started and paused. "Don't what?"

"Make excuses for me."

"I'm not," Alex said, glancing around the street. Snow clung to the grass lining the sidewalks, but the rest of the light fall had melted by midday. The winter had been painfully dry and worryingly warm, according to the news report flashing on the flat screen inside. Only a handful of pedestrians seemed up for the walk regardless. "It's not a big deal, you know."

Yassen gave him an annoyed look and went back to his coffee.

"What?" Alex rolled his eyes. "It's not. I bet you twenty dollars you were under the legal limit anyway."

"That's not the point," Yassen snapped. "I shouldn't have done it in the first place."

"What? Drink?" Alex sighed. "I can't think of any reason why you shouldn't. I'm pretty sure most people would be closet alcoholics after dealing with me this long. Once or twice a month isn't so bad."

"What would you know? You haven't been clear headed in months. You have no idea what a proper amount of inebriated is." Yassen froze as the last words left his lips.

Chert poberi. Now he was speaking without thinking. That had to stop. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and glanced through the window. Sleepy Waiter didn't seem like the type to get confrontational over however many feet Yassen was legally required to be from the building. Besides, he was outside.

Alex scowled at him and ripped off a corner of his sandwich. "I'm sober now."

"What?" Yassen studied him carefully. While the boy had dark circles under his eyes, he'd been far too tranquil all morning for the Russian to believe it. The prickle of sweat across his brow was probably just from being so close to the heater. If anything, the boy had likely taken too much: his opiate highs made him annoyingly affectionate and trusting. He was lucky enough already that Alex wasn't actively trying to touch him. "That can't be true. You know where the pills are and I was too hungover to notice you take them. Don't lie just to make a point, little Alex."

"I'm not." Alex's eyes flared as he pushed away his food. "I've got a throbbing headache, my body aches all over, and I am frustratingly aware of where I am right now. The stomach pills are the only thing I've had all day- I didn't even have any of the gummies. Check the bottles if you don't believe me. I know you count them."

With a hard look, Yassen dug into his jacket pocket and did as prompted. He didn't exactly want to catch Alex in a lie, but he wanted to discourage dishonesty altogether. It was important Alex tell him everything about his drug use. In fact, he thought Alex had until now. Perhaps his recent drinking binge had damaged the boy's trust in him somehow. Gathering his tattered sense of self-control, he promised himself he wouldn't display any more anger when he proved to the boy that-

Yassen's thoughts screeched to a halt. He counted a second time. A third.

The dose from last night was gone, but the pills were otherwise untouched.

Alex had gone out for donuts this morning, but Yassen was fairly certain he'd only been gone for fifteen minutes. It was unlikely he'd chanced upon painkillers in that time frame. Besides, Alex had been awake for some time by that point in the morning- Yassen had just been in too much pain to want to get out of bed or otherwise interact with him. If he'd planned to deceive Yassen, he would have had to know that he would find other pills in advance in order to plan on skipping his normal dose. There were too many barriers and considerations for this to be an easy ruse.

Alex was sober.

The teen folded his arms. "I told you."

Yassen's brain nearly rejected the information. "Aren't you in pain?"

"Yeah, it's bloody awful." Alex grimaced and broke off another piece of bread from his sandwich, his earlier ire fading. "But it's your turn today. It's only fair."

"My turn for what?"

Alex shrugged. "To have a freakout. I have twenty a day, so I'm never sober and you always have to be. You only go crazy once or twice a month. It occurred to me this morning that means it's my turn to keep an eye out for trouble." He raised his eyebrows. "I'm still getting the better end of this deal, you know. Your freakouts only last twelve hours max. Thank god."

Yassen stared at him, struggling to digest that. It made a kind of sense, when he thought about it from Alex's perspective. It just required far more self control that Yassen had dreamed him capable of. Considering how many times Alex had risked them both for a fix, it seemed unbelievable that he would willingly forgo his expected amount. Yassen had already accepted that this was simply a reality he could not change in the near future. Forgetting the boy was a drug addict had already shown severe consequences before, so what the hell was he supposed to do with this new information?

Some part of him churned, though Yassen had yet to identify the nebulous emotion. It wasn't gratitude. It wasn't happiness. Something warm, though.

He pressed his palms against his eye sockets, willing himself back to rationality. It was good information. Good news, perhaps. Alex's drug addiction could be… interrupted. Maybe not resolved or thwarted, but stalled temporarily. Unfortunately, it seemed that all Yassen had to do was drink himself into oblivion every time he wanted Alex to go off his pills. That was hardly practical. On this see-saw of chemical abuse, one of their livers would give out eventually.

"I appreciate that," he said at last, lowering his hands away from his face. There was so much more behind it- regret that this his emotions were so out of control that his judgement had lapsed so severely, frustration that Alex was on drugs to begin with, the weird warmth that Alex would put himself aside- but it was impossible to convey all that. He didn't try.

Alex smiled. Now that Yassen looked, he could see the small signs of physical discomfort in the boy's posture. "You're welcome."

Yassen stared down at his food for another moment, struggling to do an internal inventory. With a grimace, he looked back up and said, "I'm probably fine to drive now, but I don't think I'll be completely sober for another hour or so."

Glancing around, Alex shrugged. His eyes alighted on the building directly across the street. Yassen stifled a groan. "In that case, let's kill an hour experiencing the wonders of community theatre. It looks like there's a show starting in fifteen minutes," he said, gesturing to the small marquee. Squinting at the posters, he grinned and stood. "Ooh, it's called Gangland Chicago: Hamlet Retold. That looks hangover friendly."