A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! Hope everyone is having a good week. :D
Alex glared at the bags he set on the counter, listening to Yassen pad around the apartment doing his security checks before they were allowed to speak freely. It was a new quirk the man had now that the days of anonymous hotel rooms were past. Now, when they'd both been gone for any real period of time, the integrity of the apartment would have to be verified by one of them (usually Yassen) before they could settle in, but at least it went much faster with Smithers' gift.
Not that Alex was in the mood to talk. He glanced at the shining wrappers. Or eat.
With a sigh, he set about putting away the ice cream and other perishable treats. If he wanted to be left alone tonight, he'd have to go through the motions of pretending everything was fine. If he stormed to his room the way he wanted, Yassen would notice the sudden withdrawal and look into it. It was almost a shame his mood swings had lessened and robbed him of a convenient excuse to put distance between them. Alex found himself torn, anyway; he half wanted to shove the man into a chair where he could see him at all times and half wanted to fling open the front door, hurry down the hallway, and never look back.
Leave before he could be left.
That hadn't worked last time either. Besides, Alex wasn't remotely confident he could make his way across Russia without being picked up by any of the various agencies eager to play nice with the assassin. He might even encounter MI6.
Actually, with his luck, he was almost guaranteed to encounter MI6.
Alex dragged his palms across his eyes. Physical escape was out. Getting high it was.
Clutching one of the paper bags to his chest, Alex ducked into the pantry and quickly spilled it's contents onto the shelves haphazardly. His trusty bottle of weed drops was still in his pocket. It was his only real option, since he'd given Yassen the Vicodin he'd stolen. It wasn't what he really wanted, but it'd have to do. He pulled it out and checked the level- maybe a tenth of the liquid was left. Unscrewing the lid, instead of relying on the dropper to deposit his usual few drops, he knocked back the rest of the bottle in one go before turning around.
Yassen's eyes narrowed on him, iPod still raised, midscan. "That was excessive."
Alex scowled at him. Of course timing would work out exactly against his favor. It was just his luck. "That was the point."
With a flick of his wrist, Yassen wound the headphones around the device and shoved it away. "You need to warn me. Not only are you going to be ridiculously high for the rest of tonight, I'll need to get you another bottle before school on Monday. Was Werner really that unpleasant?"
It wasn't his conversation with Werner Alex was worried about. It certainly hadn't been pleasant to essentially be called a drug addict (true, but not pleasant) or to have the man pry into his life. Even so, Alex had known that was the old man's job and he was even more considerate about it than most. No, what Alex couldn't help replaying over and over in his head was Yassen's conversation with his therapist. He'd listened to the entire thing, even pretending to get up and stretch his legs to ensure he was in range of every word. It had seemed fine enough until the end, when Yassen got to ask his own questions of the doctor.
It had all been of one track. When was Alex going to be better already? What medications could he be taking right now and how much would they help? How soon could Alex be independant?
Yassen was still waiting for a direct answer so Alex shrugged and tossed the empty bottle in the trash.
His stomach had spent the night in his toes, regardless of how hard Alex tried to distract himself in the shop. Shining, brightly colored packages with the promise of treats couldn't hold his attention for more than a few seconds at a time, though he'd put on a bit of a show to avoid questions from either adult. At least Dima showing up had bought him some interference so that Yassen wouldn't pick up on anything amiss, though it had also lengthened the amount of time they'd spent in the shop. Even doing his best to pick out words from Dima and Yassen's conversation hadn't been enough to take his mind off of things. He hadn't followed much, but he had heard a lot about Scorpia and 'contract'.
Two years. That was the length of the contract and in about that much time, Alex would legally be an adult both in the UK and in Russia. That was probably when Yassen was going to leave him.
"Nothing. It was fine," Alex muttered.
Yassen didn't budge. "Then why are you so upset?"
"I'm not upset," Alex snapped, before realizing he'd essentially made the man's point for him as the assassin folded his arms with a pointed look. He groaned, pushing past Yassen and heading for his room. "God, I miss heroin."
That was the wrong thing to say.
Yassen's gaze sharpened as he kept pace with Alex and stepped into his bedroom before Alex could shut the door on him. "What is that supposed to mean?"
Damn it. "I don't want to talk about it."
Two years would go by fast, he knew it. He trusted Yassen to keep his word and stay with him, but that deal had always been dependent on being in Moscow under protection. It certainly wasn't forever. Once the contract was up, Yassen could disappear without consequence to himself, while Alex would finally be old enough for the man to not feel bad about abandoning him. That's what all of this emphasis on Alex's recovery really was, on him being trusted to dose himself, of all the little things he'd noticed as the man had begun to pull away. All this time, Alex had been banking on trying to make Yassen's life easier by doing more for himself in an effort to get him to stay, but only now did he realize that had been the other man's plan all along to leave. As soon as the teen was sober-ish and old enough to look after himself, he'd be on his own.
Alex was such an idiot. Deluding himself into thinking there was anything he could do. His life was a black hole that just kept sucking in others. Why blame Yassen for trying to escape the vortex when he'd already sacrificed so much already to keep it fed as long as he could? He was even trying to prepare him, to make sure that Alex was in a good place before he went. Of course even Yassen would go above and beyond.
"Did you steal anything else today?" Yassen demanded.
It was a fair question. "No," Alex said miserably, turning out his pockets to prove it. His bag was still in the entryway where he'd dropped it, full of textbooks and worksheets he couldn't even fathom existing at the moment. There was no point in retrieving it. He sank onto his bed. "Calm down. I don't even know where to get heroin."
"You don't know where to get it," Yassen repeated slowly. "Not that you wouldn't do it."
"Can we not?" Alex moaned, burying his face in his hands.
Yassen set his jaw. "What have you taken today?"
"I already texted you when I took my dose and you saw me take the last of my drops. There's nothing else."
Fantastic. All he'd managed to accomplish was making Yassen even more worried about him. The tincture was starting to hit, spreading across him in slow branches of lightning. It certainly didn't lighten his mood; it didn't really work like that for him unless he was already in a good enough place. How much more unhappiness could the man handle before he took flight out of self-defense? Probably a lot, actually. He'd already made it this far. A bolt of fear stabbed it's way through his chest, a bit fuzzy now. If Yassen kept pushing or decided to search Alex's room, he'd find the adderall and sleeping pills.
Fuck.
Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just tell me what's gotten you like this. Did Werner say something to you? Did anything happen at school?"
"Nothing happened. No one said anything to me." Alex flopped back onto his bed and shut his eyes. "Stop worrying about me. You're always worrying. It'll only make it harder for you."
That earned him a startled pause. "Harder for me to what?"
"To go."
"What?"
"Go smoke," Alex mumbled and rolled onto his side. "Everything's fine. Just go smoke and don't worry about me."
Yassen paced the length of his own bedroom, staring at the screen of his iPod. The infrared fucntion was on, showing him the teen's rough heat signature, meaning that Alex could have the solitude he obviously craved and Yassen could ensure the little brat didn't do anything stupid while high. It was the best he could do for himself since he'd already had three cigarettes once he realized he wasn't going to get anything terribly useful out of Alex. He hadn't really gotten any answers out of the brat sober, which was both odd and par for the course. Alex hated talking about the things that upset him, unless he managed to find enough anger to shout them at him. Maybe Yassen should have needled him a little before he'd become incoherent, to invoke the brat's ire so that at least he'd get an honest answer before they settled in for the night.
As much as he wanted to shrug it off, Yassen hadn't just spent weeks getting good at keeping the little idiot alive just to abandon the fruits of his experience doing so now. Something was going on with Alex, something that had immediately resulted in him taking the biggest dose of cannabis Yassen had ever seen him take and then express a desire for heroin.
Heroin.
How had he made it there already? It was a such a leap, considering Alex had only done it once before going to prison. He hadn't really mentioned it since so the contract killer had let it fall from the forefront of his concerns months ago. Yassen had been so certain that if he maintained Alex's use at comparatively safe level he could prevent Alex from spiralling into a needle, but it seemed almost destined to happen whether he liked it or not.
Over what? What could have possibly upset him this much?
Yassen hadn't anticipated this. He'd expected their first evening that ended before the entire day was over to mirror those they'd had before the litany of assessments, with Alex eating a truly deplorable amount of sweets and talking Yassen into his terrible choice in television programs. What had prompted this?
It had been remiss of him not to listen into Alex's entire session, he realized. Privacy was overrated. That had to be where the problem stemmed from. It was the only thing he couldn't account for, that and school. Alex had been fine just after school when he'd met him at the subway station, though- annoyed and grumpy, but this hopelessness hadn't been there. There'd certainly been nothing in his own conversation with the doctor to trip these flags, Yassen was positive. Neither of them had said anything particularly critical of the child and had focused on the relatively optimistic outlook of his condition. That was, of course, not accounting for Alex's superhuman ability to take things the worst way possible without telling him-
The answer was somewhere in this mess. It had to be. Alex didn't really invent new problems, thank christ, though he was shockingly good at hoarding and complicating existing ones. Something set the boy off tonight. Maybe it was the odd conversation he'd had with Dima that had put Yassen in such a sharing mood, but he suddenly found himself switching screens and initiating the call function.
Dr. Wood picked up on the fourth ring. "Hey! I wondered if you were going to-"
"Be quiet and listen to me complain for an hour. Can you do that?"
"Alex again, I take it." Some soft sounds of shuffling, of a television being muted. "There's really nothing good on, so yes. Yes, I can."
Yassen gave her the abbreviated version of everything. It took a shockingly long time. When he'd initiated the call, he'd assumed offhandedly that it would only take about twenty minutes to get her up to speed on Alex's weird mood tonight, but the more he talked, the more he realized that explaining that also necessitated her understand what had transpired over the last month or so. She hadn't been updated since⦠Colorado, actually. It was a lot of ground to cover, even though his explanation was aided by whatever major tidbits she'd picked up from Smithers.
An hour later, Yassen trailed off, somehow more stressed out than before. Saying it out loud reminded him of just how many balls he was juggling.
"Damn," she said, after a moment. She didn't sound particularly angry or upset.
Yassen grimaced and pressed a hand to the back of his neck, grateful to be unobserved. He needed a cigarette. "You sound like you have some terrible advice to offer. Get on with it."
"I always do," she responded. Some sounds of fidgeting. A sigh. "I really wish I had a whiteboard one of these times. I could diagram-"
"I doubt it would do much good," Yassen informed her. "You have terrible handwriting."
"Wow, you're just dishing out the compliments tonight," she muttered. Yassen was nearly about to apologize, realizing it was rather rude of him to needle her about her shortcomings when she'd just spent close to an hour listening to his inability to look after an unusually autonomous teenager, but she cut him off before he could start. "Here's a spoiler for you: the solution involves talking to him."
"I've already tried," Yassen snapped. "He refused."
"This is a tricky one, for sure," Briar said. Yassen could hear her wince. "Understanding what it comes from is the most important part, so let's start there. Okay, a few things are going on. Remember how I told you about those weapons grade abandonment issues?"
"You passingly mentioned them, yes."
"Well, I think that's the biggest factor in tonight's melodrama. I'd tackle that first."
Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why? How? I haven't said anything to indicate I'm going to leave. A week ago that I promised him that we'd live together if he testified. On his terms."
"Doesn't matter. I think it's just the name of the game for him. He's definitely got an anxious attachment style, so I really think it's ingrained in him at this point. While it's defnitely going to fuck with his life long term, it's probably not his biggest problem at the moment, so I'd recommend just not agitating his constant fear of abandonment until there's room on his plate to focus on that in therapy."
"Constant fear of abandonment," Yassen repeated, hand drifting down to his pack of cigarettes in his pocket.
"Well, yeah. I don't think he can even wrap his mind around having a permanent, stable relationship with a caregiving adult, even if he obviously wants one with you. Attachment is a really, really core thing and will definitely make things harder for him. I shudder to imagine this kid in a romantic relationship one day. Hot, cold, and clingy probably won't begin to cover it."
Yassen shut his eyes, refusing to let his mind go down the rabbit hole. "That can't be true. He had his nanny before. Just because she died didn't mean she abandoned him."
"Are you talking about those weird ghost comments where he thinks that she visited him?"
"No." Yassen felt his chest clench. "Is that what you think-?"
"Nope. You just reminded me of that. Anyway, I don't think Jack counted as 'permanent', really. As far as I can tell from my talks with him in the prison, she was very good to him and he loved her very much, but he seemed very conscious that she was being paid to 'deal with him' and would one day go back to America without him. He also never really relied on her as much as he wanted to, even if he trusted her. Your relationship with him is a lot more nebulous, so even if it's going well, he doesn't know what to do with it."
"That makes two of us," Yassen sighed. "How do I fix this?"
"You can't fix his abandonment issues for him, but by knowing that he has them, you can reassure him more effectively when they become a problem. In this case, I'd make your plans concrete for him. Like before, when you were on the run. Set his expectations."
Yassen felt his eyes narrow. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what will happen to us tomorrow. I won't lie to him."
Briar huffed. "Don't promise him outcomes. That's different. His bullshit meters will go off the charts. He's sensitive to that stuff. Give him statements of where your intent meets your expectations. Spell it out."
Yassen took a minute to process that. Still nothing. "What expectations? I don't have any."
"Yes, you do. You've consulted with all those psychologists and made all sorts of intangible half-plans that are prone to change and depend on other factors right, right?" Briar sighed as Yassen fell silent. "Here's what I'd do personally: give him a time frame. A week. A year. A decade. Just set his expectations so that however long you intend to stay with him isn't one of the many, many terrifying uncertainties on his mind at the moment. Tell him all the things you plan to do for him and what choices he might have. He doesn't even have to really like the answer, you just have to give him one. You can even include all of your weird caveats."
"Weird caveats?" Yassen asked, chewing that over.
"You know. The way you refuse to speak with anything resembling complete certainty about the future. 'Caveat one: that I don't die, caveat two: that you don't die', etc., etc."
Yassen scowled. "People speak with too much surety."
"I'm only teasing you a little. As much as Alex says he hates it, I'm sure he also loves it. He hates feeling lied to, so when you admit uncertainty, it helps him trust you." Dr. Wood sighed a little. Yassen could hear bed springs compress and a few steps. "Anyways, I think that's the biggest issue to address tonight. The drug escalation is probably tied to that and all that other unavoidable stress in his life right now. Just tell him how permanent you'll be in his life and he should calm down a bit. Otherwise, keep making him go to therapy. This Werner guy sounds like he knows what he's doing. Just know that it's normal for people to switch therapists a lot until they find one they like. Tell Alex that. If this SVR guy doesn't work out, make sure he finds another one right away."
"The therapist isn't SVR, he's a contractor for them."
"Same thing."
"Right. Because you're proper CIA."
"Fair enough," Briar groaned. "Though I sincerely hope he's more experienced than I am at this stuff. I kind of snuck in through the back door, you know."
Yassen snorted, already planning how to approach Alex. "I think you overestimate the overall competence of government agencies. You're not the first to do so and you'll never be the last. That, I can say with complete certainty."
That actually got a startled laugh. "Fantastic. Well, at least there's that." A short pause. "You should call me back in a week or so. I've got a couple working theories on how to frame some other problems. I want to do some research first, though."
He felt his eyes narrow. "Research?"
"I mentioned attachment styles, right?"
"Right." Yassen paused, rifling through his memories. "That's the theory about how your parents treat you as infant influencing the way you behave in relationships as an adult, yes?"
"Damn." Briar sounded impressed, despite the expletive. "I didn't realize you'd studied psychology."
"I don't remember the specifics, just the name of theory," Yassen admitted. "My Seduction and Romantic Manipulation training was over a decade ago."
"Wait, you're trained in that?" Briar barely paused. "Okay, you've got to give me details-"
"I didn't specialize in it, if that's what you're asking." Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose, for the briefest of moments, regretting everything. Especially not making this call on the balcony where he could take a smoke break. "We're not talking about me, Wood. Get back on track. You have theories."
"Ugh, fine. Attachment style is one of them. You can look it up yourself for a quick refresher, if you like, but I plan to poke around myself." The sound of scribbling over the line. Yassen was tempted to worry about the security risks of her leaving notes on either of them, but quickly quelled it. It wasn't like anyone would be able to read most of it anyway. "Give me at least a week and I'll tell you what I've got. You're even welcome to run them by whatever licensed professional you've got access to."
Yassen rolled his eyes. "I don't have the time to keep explaining these things over and over just to get someone up to speed. I don't know where you find any for me, to be honest."
Dr. Wood scoffed at that. "Yassen, I've got nothing but time. I thought being on the run would be more Jason Bourne action-adventure stuff, but leaving with Smithers has meant a lot of sitting in hotel rooms, laying low, while he runs around doing god knows what to get everyone else ready. No one has shot at me even once. I'm mostly just staying out of trouble so I won't be arrested or murdered before I can testify. A project will be really good for me, actually."
Yassen felt a teensy, unexpected flicker of guilt. He hadn't even asked how she was out of politeness. "I take it you've been watching a lot of TV."
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't rewatching a few series, yes." Her voice took on an aggravated quality. "I don't go out much, not since I got here over a week ago. Even though Smithers showed me how to not stand out in public places and I've got vague memories of my academy training, it's still more trouble than it's worth. I don't speak any Russian and it's cold as fuck here and the food is-"
"You're in Russia?" Yassen shoved his surprise aside. Likely, Smithers wanted her close to himself, and he'd been in the area a mere week ago to meet with Yassen. Still. With all of the focus shifting towards them, it wouldn't be safe to keep another key witness so close to Moscow. Surely Smithers knew better.
"Ugh, yes. I know it's your homeland or whatever, but so far, I'd take Gibraltar. St. Petersburg is the worst-"
Yassen was rendered mute. His silence did not survive for long. "You get to be in St. Petersburg? You? Who can't even appreciate a single thing about the most international and culturally appealing city in the whole of this country while I'm stuck in the human cesspool that is Moscow?"
"What?" Briar sounded incredulous and also a touch amused. "Moscow's supposed to be way better. All the tourist blogs say so-"
"I'll talk to you in a week," Yassen snapped. "Try not to let your utter lack of cultural taste crush you in the meantime."
"Oh, I'll do my best," she drawled. Definitely amused. "Oh, before you go! Do more self-defense stuff with Alex. Or judo. Or just wrestle with him. I don't know a ton about that stuff, but just try to do it every day and tell me if he gets any better about talking to you."
"What does that have to do with him talking to me?" he said, at length. Was this some sort of weird misdirect? His cigarettes were calling him with their siren song and he was not in the mood to puzzle out her oddities tonight.
"Just part of my theories. I could be totally wrong. Anyhow, next week. Call me."
Yassen hung up and yanked the tiny white earbuds out. As surprisingly powerful as the urge to sulk was, he knew he needed to push past it and deal with Alex immediately. It was already late, but at least it was the weekend. Hopefully, the boy would be coherent enough to hold and remember the conversation, but either way, he was loathe to let it sit any longer. If this matter was contributing to the escalation in his drug use, it needed to be sorted out before Alex sobered up enough to leave the apartment. It would take the brat mere minutes to find a way to steal yet another source of opiates, much less find heroin from a shady street dealer. Yassen had learned not to underestimate the boy's resourcefulness nor willingness to recklessly endanger himself unnecessarily.
After a quick cigarette, of course.
