A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! I hope everyone is staying safe and hydrated. :D Also, a big thanks to everyone who comments on Mondays before I've posted- the push notifications to my email help remind me to post before midnight. You guys are the best!

Yassen fumbled with his house keys, tapping the fob against the pad as he input the code. What had been a fairly active day was now coming to an end; apart from his less than ideal meeting with Smithers, he'd gone to the business tower to confirm the success of the Malaga job with Dima and to ensure he was prepared to make his report to Sergey. It hadn't taken more than a few hours to sort out the actual details, but of course nothing with Dima was ever brief. Before Yassen knew it, the man was parading him through his office floor and introducing him as his new interpreter to what felt like every single damn employee in the building.

He half rolled his eyes at the memory. Dima was almost certainly doing it for show, though he'd seemed to take a small dose of personal delight in Yassen's annoyance at being shown off like a puppy at a preschool. Not for the first time, he wondered if Dima had once had a younger sibling; it would certainly explain the persistent soft spot he'd grown for the lost fourteen year old he'd grifted at a train station a few decades back. It was consistent with the impression Dima wanted to give to the rest of the bratva, anyway: vague nepotism as an excuse to not just hire him, but to keep Yassen at his side for no real reason. Of course, Yassen would need some time to explore the rift between Dima and his father in law that necessitated Dima wanting to circle the wagons with such an obscure friend as Yassen, but he'd have to shore up more intimacy between himself and Dima before he could expect the man not to give him half-truths and other reassuring lies.

Yassen needed answers, not bravado.

Shoving open the front door, he froze. His first instinct was to draw his weapon or check for whatever civilian was nearby, waiting for Yassen to realize he'd walked into the wrong apartment, but the logical part of his brain was perfectly aware that he'd not only recognized his flat number but had also used a very unique code-

It was just too clean.

Well, mostly. Dressed in his pajamas, Alex perched on the couch in front of the coffee table which was now littered with shiny foil wrappers and half finished candies. MTV blared in the background. The boy munched pensively on a bit of rolled cake and stared at the contract killer, a tiny, untidy ponytail gathered atop his head and sticking out in all directions like one of those horrible Troll dolls. He hummed around his mouthful. "Close the door. You're letting out the heat."

Yassen did as urged, glancing around at the gleaming surfaces again. For a split second, he was tempted to scold Alex for hiring someone who undoubtedly had to enter the apartment without alerting him, but the scattered bottles of cleaner near the boy and the yellow plastic gloves tossed casually over his shoulder clued him in. "Did you clean?"

Alex nodded, his awful little ponytail bobbing with the motion. "A bit."

"You can clean?"

"I'm not that spoiled."

"Is this a new hobby of yours?" Yassen asked him, tugging off his coat slowly and raising an eyebrow. "High cleaning?"

The boy stuck out a chocolate smeared tongue and glanced back at the telly. "Maybe. It needed to get done. Getting high made it less boring."

"And the candies?" Yassen asked, amused.

"Made sure I finished what I was doing even though I was high. I know how I get," Alex admitted sheepishly. The television drew his attention again for a split second, though he held up his handful of cake. "Want a bite? It's pretty nice."

Yassen shook his head and went over to the counter to rifle through their ever growing stash of takeaway menus. At least this little round of bizarre inebriation behaviors was convenient and probably harmless; Yassen was neither confident in his ability nor willing to try and indulge any cowboy fantasies in the heart of Moscow. "Assuming you haven't spoiled your appetite, we should order dinner. Any opinions?"

"Everything sounds amazing," Alex assured him without pause, taking another bite of his cake.

Yassen didn't doubt it. At least Alex would gain weight if he kept this up. The contract killer hunted about for the cordless telephone before remembering it was probably in the office. He stepped into the hallway and halted. "What is this?"

He heard a snicker before Alex's feet thudded against the floor behind him. The boy skidded to a halt in front of him, throwing up his arms as though introducing a grand exhibit. Definitely high. He gestured to the pantry, where a steady bouncing hum emanated from the appliances within. "Look what I found! It's this magic machine that washes things-"

"I gathered that," Yassen told him, flicking the brat's stupid little ponytail in an effort to appease the part of himself that wanted to chop it off every time he laid eyes on it.

Alex batted his hand away. "If you're asking about the baskets, that's our clean laundry. My powers of domestication don't extend to folding. It's not that I can't do it, I'm just too lazy. Our sheets are still washing, though. Last thing. I just got impatient and started in on my sweets anyway."

Yassen looked again at his basket of laundry. "Why didn't you just tell me you were out of clothes? I can buy you more."

Alex gave him a look Yassen couldn't quite decipher before it was quickly replaced with an amused one. "I'm not out of clean clothes, I'm out of floor space for dirty ones. You can wash them instead of throwing them away, you know. It's kind of the plan. What they're made for. What the magic machine is made for," he said, gesturing grandly at it again. He contemplated the bare shelves of the pantry above the appliances for a second or so. "We should also get groceries soon."

"Groceries."

"Yes, Yassen. Food that can sit for more than a day or two without tasting like it's passed through Satan's arsehole and into the perishables afterlife." Alex shrugged at his baffled look. "I would have picked them up myself when I was out, but I couldn't carry that much so I focused on the cleaning supplies. It was getting gross in here."

Yassen looked at the piles of washing again, still struggling internally. "So you cleaned."

Alex squinted at him. "That's usually how you solve that problem." He snorted suddenly. "Don't tell me we were going to switch apartments when this one got dirty enough. That can't have been your plan."

Yassn didn't answer. He didn't have one.

It was just something he hadn't really considered. Apart from the steadily growing pile in his room that he kept meaning to dispose of, he hadn't really stopped to think about… domestic upkeep? He paid people for that, usually. If he wasn't trekking through uninhabited terrain, moving between an endless sea of rented rooms, or stuck in prison, he would be at a Scorpia facility where such things were provided for automatically anyway. When was the last time he'd had to clean anything other than a firearm? Or remember to track the state of his environment in regards to how much scrubbing it would take to return it to normal? Probably at Sharkovsky's dacha, but that had little to do with his own needs nor did it rely on Yassen's assessment; it had just been tasks assigned to fill his time and avoid a beating. Living with Dima had been short and he'd only ever bathed once during that time, much less considered laundry or tidying. He'd once helped his mother with those chores, of course, but that was back when he was younger than Alex was now. All he could really remember was the breeze cooling his damp hands as he handed his mother clothes to hang on the line, the sun warm on his back...

Alex patted his shoulder. "It's okay. I'll do the housework, you do the other stuff that keeps us alive."

Yassen had to suppress the urge to kick his laundry basket of clean clothes down the hallway.

He was such an idiot.

Of all the basic, simple things to forget about- of all the problems to stare him right in the face- this was probably the most infuriating. What had his plan been? Just let the garbage pile up until there were rats and cockroaches milling about? Let Alex live in squalor, especially when his living situation was inevitably going to face scrutiny when he testified against MI6?

Oh, god. He was not looking forward to that conversation, not after having already fucked up something as simple as sanitary living conditions. Alex hadn't sounded upset or resentful at having to do it all by himself, despite recovering from his injuries and the added stress of school, but that was probably just the cannabis cushioning the boy from realizing just how much Yassen had neglected his basic needs.

Not that Yassen had any more of a plan than he did a minute ago. Housekeeping was such a small thing but their current situation made it next to impossible for him to outsource. On the road, it hadn't mattered since Yassen never selected hotel rooms in advance or took obvious routes. In such obscurity, a random maid entering their room posed little threat. Stuck in the city and known to multiple powerful forces, it was unlikely he could even trust an independently hired housekeeper to avoid being compromised long-term, but rotating them was just as impractical considering how much work had to be done to vet each one. Hiring even a well-reputed service would just give an assassin a feasible form of access to their abode. It was always the hired help or the unexpected friend that brought down home security: Yassen had taken advantage of the same weakness dozens of times.

He would just have to figure something else out. He'd spent his entire teens cleaning; surely, he could pick it up again. God help him, he'd launch them both into the heart of the sun before he allowed Alex's teen years resemble Yassen's own. Even if he didn't really have the time, he'd have to find a way to figure out this cleaning stuff again around his working schedule that he'd just cemented with Dima today and whatever the SVR wanted and looking after-

Alex nudged him, brows knit in something like concern. "Alright there?"

"I need a drink." Yassen grabbed a quarter full clear bottle off the top shelf of the pantry, ironically one of the only things filling it, and strode back into the living room. A smoke and a drink would help him settle his internal roiling and evaluate what it is he had to do and if there was any way to get around it. He shoved open the balcony door and stepped into the biting cold, grabbed the glass cigarette dish he'd left on the snow covered patio table and stared at it.

It was also clean, now free of the ash and butts that had built up in it over the last few weeks.

Great. Just how much time and effort had Alex had to waste today? Yassen unscrewed the bottle and drank from it directly. Surely there had to be some sort of liquor store that would do deliveries-

He turned his head and caught Alex's reflection. The boy looked visibly upset. It was probably the dawning realization that Yassen was just winging it, really.

Something inside of him cringed. He hadn't really allowed himself to ponder too long on just how Alex's Assassin Batman commentary had affected him, but he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he'd been reassured that Alex obviously found him capable. A little pleased. That attitude was surely taking a hit tonight. It was kind of a miracle that child-like belief in Alex had survived so long; in fact, it was probably reckless of Yassen to have let it go on without a stern correction, but he didn't want Alex to waste effort worrying or hesitate to come to Yassen with his problems…

And it had felt nice. Flattering.

Inner self-flagellation obviously wasn't doing anything to wipe that look off the boy's face. With a sigh, Yassen set his cigarette in the tray and waved the boy over. "What's on your mind?" he asked as Alex tugged open the door, not entirely sure how to start the conversation without resorting to something as pathetic as an apology.

Alex chewed on the inside of his cheek, leaning against the frame. "Are you mad that I cleaned?"

"No."

"But you're upset that I did."

"I didn't realize it was such a problem," Yassen ground out. He grimaced. "Don't worry about it. I'll figure it out."

Alex's eyes narrowed. "Why? It's not that big a deal. I only realized how bad it was today. It got messy, you said you didn't want strangers coming into the flat, so I spent a few hours cleaning."

"You shouldn't have to worry about this stuff."

"Oh, is that what this is?" Alex groaned, but some of the tension left him, oddly enough. His tone took on an exasperated edge that made Yassen grit his teeth. "This not worrying thing again. You worry about stupid stuff sometimes, including me worrying. I'm not that fragile or weak, you know. You can ask me to do things. I don't mind cleaning. It's not hard. I'll keep doing it."

"Don't. You should focus on your schoolwork. On getting healthy."

Alex studied him from underneath his mop of hair. "You know I had chores and things while I was in school, right? I also had football and karate and a load of other extracurriculars. Even after MI6, I still helped Jack out. I have the time, trust me."

"You didn't have to do extra schoolwork then," Yassen countered.

He doubted Alex would have the hours or energy to spare once he had to start testifying. It could easily consume their schedules and would undoubtedly rock the stability of the boy's mental health. Tears felt inevitable.

Yassen felt a small hollow in his chest. How best could he bridge that conversation?

"I don't have to do extra schoolwork now. Not all at once. I tested high enough in most things that I only have to do a bit of summer term to catch up. I don't even have to since most students stay until they're eighteen here, plus loads of students my age at Goldstone are a year behind because of curriculum differences anyway. I'm only half of one." Alex gave him an uncertain, half-smile. "Those math problems you made me do might have helped. Maybe. School is going to be fine. Lada introduced me to someone in one of my weaker subject classes so I've already got someone to study with. It'll be okay."

Yassen chewed that over, well aware of how closely Alex was watching him. "It's better that you not have anything in your way. It'll only take one bad semester-"

Alex rolled his eyes so hard it looked like it nearly caused him pain. "Cleaning's so easy, Yassen. It's a normal thing to expect me to do. I don't mind it. It won't hurt me. If it's too much, I'll say something, but I don't think it will be until exams and then only maybe. Why are you fighting me on this? Am I that useless? Do you think I'll mess everything up?"

"Of course not."

"Then why?"

Yassen scowled at the city lights. "I should have accounted for this already. It shouldn't be your problem."

"I'm making at least half of the mess, so yes, it should be my problem." Alex dragged in a breath, wrapping his arms around himself from the cold. Yassen was about to scold him for not grabbing his coat when he went on. "Forgetting about something as mundane as cleaning is a stupid thing to get hung up on. It really is. Besides, when was the last time in the last decade you had to think about running a house?"

Yassen blinked. "That's not the point."

"No, it's not your point. It's my point." Alex began dancing on his feet in the doorway, ignoring Yassen's waving motions trying to send him further inside to warm up. "On top of it being a stupid, random thing you haven't had to think about in ages, it's also another annoying thing to add to your gridlock pile and mafia job. I don't love cleaning, but I'm happy to do it if it makes things easier for you. Christ. I know this stuff with the SVR, Scorpia, and Dima gets complicated, so at least let me be a little bit useful."

Something jogged Yassen's memory. Let him be useful.

Chert. Briar's advice ages ago.

Yassen could have kicked himself. Weeks ago he'd gotten the advice to make Alex feel like he could contribute value in order to keep him calm and happy. It had worked, in a way: coming up with their food system and looking after the coyote pup had both provided Alex some distraction from his constant anxiety. Since arriving in Moscow it was obvious that the boy still obviously craved it. Yassen hadn't replaced it with everything else that was going on, but it seemed like Alex was invested enough in his current situation to go searching for opportunities.

Perhaps it was a good sign?

He studied the still shivering boy out of the corner of his eye. If Alex was telling the truth about his coursework, it might not be the worst thing to have him push a broom around once in a while. Yassen could certainly try to produce less clutter to keep the boy's work burden low. Set limits on the amount of time he could invest on the task. He would have to monitor the situation, of course, but for now it would do.

And it wasn't exactly a crippling reminder of his life as a slave laborer if it was a light, strategic, and carefully presented choice designed to keep Alex occupied.

"Fine." Yassen stubbed out his cigarette and waved Alex inside, stepping forward to force the boy in the right direction. "Tell me more about school and how justified I was in making you study..."