Trigger warning: this chapter delves into the backstory of Dima and Lada, so it deals heavily with trans issues, specifically those of a parent being openly hostile to their trans child when confronted with the topic.


The restaurant was a nice one, Yassen assured Dima as the man proudly gave him the tour of yet another one of his properties. It wasn't even a polite lie. The handsome two story brick and steel building had once been an old aluminum foundry in the thirties and forties. Only the brick and the rows of casement windows remained, though Dima seemed to have gone to great trouble in his renovations to preserve them. The interior was now all gleaming natural woods and industrial chic decor, modern yet comfortable. Planters had been built into the dividers between dining areas, boasting a surprising amount of live foliage that seemed at odds with the overcast sky glowering at them through the windows beyond.

Dima gestured to him to take a seat at their table on the second floor. It was quiet for a Wednesday afternoon, since according to the mobster, they only made the first level available during weekday lunch hours. His bodyguards had taken up their post at the bottom of the stairwell to ensure no wanderers interrupted them. "The plants are a nice touch, right?" Dima flicked the edge of a bright green leaf, smirking a little as it bobbed. "Expensive as hell to maintain-" he pointed to the hanging metal light fixtures. "-those are special grow lights, when winter is not feeling friendly with the sun, and don't even get me started on the watering system- but I can't help it. I've grown fond of my little urban jungle. They've done studies, you know. It's good for the air. The mind, too."

Somehow Yassen wasn't surprised. A few minutes later, once a server dressed all in black had delivered their food and left, the contract killer turned to his old friend. "I suppose I can offer you some peace of mind myself. The surveillance is up and running."

Dima grinned at him. "That fast? I expected longer. I hear his security is quite good."

Yassen shrugged. "For a lawyer with their own building to manage, yes. It was hardly world class."

"How did you do it? Unless that is a trade secret."

"Your wife's lawyer likes to display his awards behind his desk, according to a photo on his website. I simply arranged for a duplicate to be made and replaced the original." Yassen speared a vegetable on his fork and gave Dima a wry look. "The audio device is in the base, while the camera is the same color as the etching. No one second guesses what appears to be clear and empty glass; they are more likely to search and break open opaque items first. As for the speed at which it was installed, I must confess I got lucky."

"How so?" Dima asked, starting in on his own lunch. Yassen had to suppress the urge to watch Dima chew- it was one of the specific motions in which the halves of his face didn't quite move in sync.

"The office upgraded to a wireless printing system just over two weeks ago. It's still glitchy with their operating systems and they're constantly reinstalling drivers. The usual new tech problems. Fortunately for us, it simply offered an opening to disguise our connection within their own. Any increase in the amount of bandwidth it uses will be blamed on the constant fiddling required to keep the print queue working. Their technical specialist's credentials are in network security; he's used to maintaining firewalls, not troubleshooting office equipment. So long as it works, he won't risk digging around and upsetting whatever balance keeps the printers going. I found a lot of angry post-it notes between him and the secretary over the issue."

Dima raised an eyebrow. "You figured that out in four days?"

Yassen shrugged again. Truthfully, Smithers iPod had been a big help: he'd spent a good forty minutes yesterday listening to a secretary gripe to her coworkers about the backed up print jobs and how lazy the specialist must be. "I've done similar things."

"How do I access the feeds?"

Yassen pulled a slip of paper from his jacket's inner pocket and handed it over. "Web interface. Go to that address and use those login credentials. Only on a secure computer, of course." He waited until Dima tucked the information away before he gave the man a pointed look. "I imagine your desire to listen in on your wife's lawyer is related to the larger problems you face at the office?"

Dima's lips twisted. "You would be correct. It really is a headache, but I did promise to explain. I'm not sure where to start." He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text with a sigh. "If we're going to get into that, we are going to need alcohol."

As soon as the same waiter had dropped off a bottle at their table and made himself scarce, Yassen shrugged, more or less ignoring his glass. While the last few months had sent him on his way to becoming a regular drinker, he would technically consider himself on the job. Not that Dima would appreciate that distinction. "Start wherever you like. Complication is nothing new to me."

"Very well. Perhaps I should start as far back as I can." Dima took a long, pensive sip of his glass. "Sergey didn't like me much before I married Katya. At the time, I was just a low level foot soldier who barely made it into the organization. I wasn't unusually skilled, nor particularly cunning. He also considered me uncouth among other things, not that he was wrong. He wasn't wealthy or important himself at the time- our bratva was smaller then and was much less sophisticated. He was only a captain but he had that old money attitude anyway, with those old money expectations. Katya wasn't supposed to get knocked up at seventeen by worthless street trash like myself, yet there we were.

"I think he was begrudgingly impressed when I came forward. I didn't apologize for the pregnancy, only for the manner by which it troubled him. Assured him that I'd marry her and make an honest woman of her to the best of my abilities. I might be twenty and penniless, but if he would allow it, I would work hard to be whatever kind of son in law he wanted. She hardly had any better suitors and honestly, I think he knew perfectly well what kind of woman she was. Most people did," Dima said with a grimace, though it was only a light one. "Katya marrying me was only slightly better than giving birth to a bastard out of wedlock, but at least I was willing to be moulded so he reluctantly gave us his blessing. At any rate, I kept my word to him and did whatever he asked. Breaking legs and killing traitors wasn't really my forte, but it proved my loyalty just the same. He might not have chosen me under different circumstances, but he was satisfied.

"When Timofey was born, he was overjoyed. He couldn't help it, I think. We named him for Sergey's father. Sergey might not like me, but he always wanted a son; they'd barely managed to have Katya without them both nearly dying in the process and for whatever reason it left Svetlana infertile. But now he had a grandson to be his legacy. I think it was one of his biggest motivators in helping me, truthfully; paving the way for Timofey. He bought us a small apartment and paid for my surgery. He rose in rank until he eventually took over and I was along for the ride. You know I've always been more of a talker than a fighter anyway and by the time the twins were born, I was off the streets and doing what I do best; twisting people's arms over the phone and managing negotiations. Everything was working perfectly. Beyond my wildest dreams, actually."

Dima shrugged and glanced out the window then. "When I'd offered to marry Katya, I was hoping for a roof over my head and food in my stomach three times a day. Paradise, no? Grigory had just gone to prison and I was completely alone. I had nothing to lose. Sergey rising as high as he did was a surprise. It almost didn't seem real. Here I was, having started life with less value than an empty bottle of shoe polish and suddenly I was Obschak, living in my nice apartment with my three children and pretty wife."

"Were you proud?" Yassen asked him at length when Dima kept staring out the window without saying anything. He almost didn't ask. It certainly wasn't relevant. It didn't stop him from wondering, though.

Or for a small part of him to feel proud on his friend's behalf. Just a tiny bit.

Dima considered his half full plate, but made no move to pick up his fork. "Sometimes. A little. Mostly I just felt lucky. Sometimes I would wake in the middle of the night, expecting a gust of wind to have blown my life down like a tower of cards." Dima took another sip, glancing up at Yassen and shrugging. "I wouldn't even say I was happy, necessarily. Just far less miserable than expected. Katya was still running around behind my back- it wasn't a surprise, but it was frustrating how little she hid it- and my kids were unholy terrors. I avoided being home, though when I was, I went straight to my study. I wasn't a bad husband and father, per se. Not like mine was. I never raged or got drunk in front of them, never beat my family. I just avoided them so that we could all pretend everything was perfect."

Yassen considered his old friend, who'd again fallen silent. Studied his face. "But children aren't always good at pretending. Not for long."

Dima toasted him with his glass, acknowledging his guess as correct. "I would say that Timofey rather got tired of it after a time. Katya was home even less than I was once the girls turned four or five, but we both noticed it then and we both decided to ignore it. To hope he grew out of it. He helped us with that, at first. When I caught him wearing his mother's clothes or makeup, he'd make an excuse: he was just playing, he was doing a dare, etc. etc. One of us might scold him, but neither of us wanted to deal with it. It was better to just encourage him to hide it. For the love of god, to do whatever it took to hide it."

"He was thirteen when his patience wore thin. Starting getting snappish about how he was supposed to wear his hair and clothes, about what should be expected of a boy or not. Complained that he didn't get to choose what standards he was held to. I would scold him for starting fights with his sisters, but I still wanted to pretend. Then one day, Katya calls me furious. Said I hadn't corrected him enough as the man of the house. The school had summoned her because he'd arrived as normal, then quickly ran into the bathroom and changed into a girls uniform. He was sent to the headmaster's office immediately.

"Katya was calling because she was in Greece with a 'friend' and obviously I was failing as a husband and father to have not handled this already and let it ruin her vacation. I made my excuses to Sergey and retrieved my son from school. He was quiet the whole drive home. Wouldn't even look at me. When he finally mustered up the courage, he asked me if I was angry and I went off. I shouted at him, I said every furious, horrible thing I could think of to shame him, I even slapped him across the head." Dima took a stiff swallow and twisted his lips. "I'd given myself so much credit for never being as bad as my old man, but all it took was me being embarrassed to suddenly become him. I might not have disfigured him physically, but I can't pretend that what I did to him wasn't equal. I ripped apart his room, made him burn all of his girl things, and repeat that he was a boy over and over until I was sick of hearing his voice. Here was the wind coming to blow my life away, it had just come disguised as my son.

"As you might imagine, my methods were less than effective."

Yassen inclined his head. After a second, he took a sip of his own drink.

"To give him credit, it had taken a long time for him to work up the nerve to do that at school in the first place. My fury netted six more months of silence before he tried again. And again. Every time, I'd pick him up, scream at him, try to figure out the meanest thing I could do to him to get him to just stop. To try harder to be normal. Why wasn't he just trying harder? Instead, he just withdrew until he could try again, while I would struggle to figure out how to stop it the next time without drawing attention to the problem. It was probably the fourth time I had to bribe the headmaster into not contacting Katya that it finally got through to me. Through all my raging, I'd been trying to fix this part of him, when in reality, he was trying to fix what was wrong too. There just was no defective part- this was him. All of him. The only defective part of the whole equation was me."

"All I wanted from my own father, as a child, was to be left alone. He would come home drunk and every night I'd pray he'd pass out quickly. The nights that happened were the good ones and I'd live in dread of the next time he didn't. That fourth time I brought Timofey home in a skirt, his head down, obviously praying that I'd take my rage out on him fast, I realized that not only was I not a good parent, I hadn't even give him the ambivalence I'd craved of my own father."

The mobster fished out his pack of cigarettes from his coat, passing Yassen one without preamble and lighting up. "So that's what I did that night. I left him alone. I locked myself in my home office and drank until I could accept reality, then I looked at the studies."

Yassene couldn't quite help his snort.

Dima gave him a small, rueful smile. "Of course I did. How could I not? Actually, it was the first time in a long time that I had. I'd studied parenting when he'd first been born, but once my children had gotten old enough that when they fell over it wasn't as hilarious, I took a step back. Now, I was trying to understand him for the first time in years. It wasn't exactly reassuring, because all the research papers and published journals- the reputable ones, anyway- confirmed what I feared: this probably was how he was going to be forever, until he either died of natural causes or killed himself. I couldn't pick whether he was supposed to be a boy or girl, but I could help pick his cause of death.

"It didn't matter anymore what we'd done wrong raising him or if this was just some genetic proclivity," Dima went on, taking a slow, long pull of his cigarette. He exhaled and flicked it to the side. "The fact of the matter was that he couldn't change what he was, so I was going to have to change what kind of father I was. Honestly, it was for the best. By all measures, he'd spent most of his life trying not be what he is and couldn't, yet here I had been trying to berate him into pretending otherwise, all to defend the image of a life that didn't even make me happy.

"I didn't sober up enough to handle this until about four AM, at which point I shambled to his room and woke him up. He was upset, terrified of what fresh hell of a punishment I was going to subject him to this time. Didn't seem to know what to do when I told him that I finally understood that he was a girl on the inside and that I would help him as much as I could, but that he was going to have to listen to me and be a boy sometimes on the outside until he was an adult. I don't know why he even listened to me: I was obviously a drunken mess, but he did."

"I won't say it went perfectly, because it didn't. I was still very new at parenting properly and still dealing with a teenager. We'd make one agreement and suddenly he'd push the limits and try to argue technicalities in order to do as he pleased. Even showed up to school as Lada once or twice more. The twins were less than gracious about it. Explaining didn't help them because at eleven they thought they knew what the world ought to be and finally complained to their mother in enough detail that she realized I wasn't punishing his behavior anymore. I wasn't trying to lie to her, per se, I just didn't want to involve her. She would only make it worse and there was little I could do to stop her."

Yassen considered his own empty glass. When had that happened? He'd only meant to have a sip. Ah well. He glanced back up at his friend. "Based on the timing, I surmise that's when the divorce talks began?"

"A little before, actually." Dima shrugged and stubbed out what little remained of his cigarette. "Katya and I weren't ever really in love, so our marriage was more of a contract anyway. She liked how I didn't give her much trouble over her ways, and I had only married her for the life I hoped to have. She was furious about Lada, but our marriage wasn't the issue. I don't think she even cares to end it now. It was when she complained to Sergey that this got out of hand." Dima grimaced and poured himself another drink.

Yassen let him refill his glass. "I take it he was less understanding than his daughter."

"You would be correct." Dima sipped his drink. "Only he didn't rage as I did. The disdain was there, certainly, but he has always had iron self control. It's what got him to the top. Instead, he sat me down to discuss the matter of his legacy. I'd hoped to reason with him, to persuade him that his grandson didn't have to follow him into the business, even if he's smart enough and has a head for it. It did no good. It's not what Sergey hopes for, and his hopes don't have any room for Lada to exist at all. What he wanted to do was to send him for treatment, to a special camp that calls itself a 'reformation center'. He'd already selected one and gotten Katya to sign the release forms. All it needed was my signature."

"How bad?" Yassen asked.

"Awful. Even the website doesn't bother dressing it up. They are going to torture him into behaving as desired, essentially. It's not like performing surgery, about trying to cut away an unwanted part. It's a sledgehammer of coercion, designed to break him down so they can rebuild him into whatever they are paid to." Dima shook his head and poured himself another drink. "I couldn't do that to him. I refused to sign. It requires both guardian's signatures, given the severe nature of their methods."

"Hence the divorce." Yassen nodded. His cup was half empty again. He was nowhere near drunk, though he should probably slow down. "Katya wants full custody, I suppose. Your signature would cease to be necessary."

"Indeed. Unfortunately for her, her indiscretion has played wildly in my favor. Once I realized which way the wind was blowing, I started talking to my own lawyers. Documented everything. How often she's home, how little involvement she's had in the children's lives. I dug up text messages in which she consistently got their nanny's name wrong. I even documented how her contact information at the school and their doctor was years out of date- that's how rarely she contacted either of them. The courts may favor the mother and I will probably lose if I fight it, but there's no way Sergey will let it go that far. Not with the amount of embarrassment I can dish out to him through her in a public custody hearing."

Yassen contemplated his old friend. "You do realize that leaves only the option of killing you to make the problem go away."

"Of course." Dima took another drink. "But I think I have some time before that. It would not look good for him to kill me over something comparatively trivial and the relationships I've established are what keep us out of trouble with the other bratva and government officials. Neither Vasily nor Igor are ready to take over my responsibilities yet, though the latter is certainly trying. In less than a year, Timofey comes of age and my opinion will not matter. He can be compelled to sign the consent forms himself or declared unfit to make his own decisions; Sergey will no doubt try, but I am already planning. Caution and timing are most important. If I make my move too early, I risk making myself seem unfit and Katya being granted full custody by default."

Yassen met his friend's gaze. There was something considering there. Dima was offering his old friend a lot of trust, obviously hoping for something in return. "Just ask," he said, taking another drink.

Dima gave him a thin, tired smile. "If I fail to spirit him away in time, or if I've miscalculated and Sergey disposes of me before the moment is right, will you ensure he escapes? Please. I ask as a friend. You've heard him. His English is excellent and he can speak French well too. He will do well in most countries that will treat him well for what he is, he just needs someone to ensure he gets there and that no one finds him. I have already set up accounts for his needs, I can grant you custodial access-"

Yassen nodded. "Sure."

His friend's eyes narrowed. "I don't ask lightly. If you need to consider it, just-"

Yassen gave him a weary look. "Dima. Really. You've seen what my life has become because of Alex. You know I'm soft on kids these days. What's one more? Spiriting him away is comparatively simple, unless Timofey is also a former super spy waging legal war on various foreign agencies." Yassen downed the rest of his drink and exhaled lightly. "If you doubt I'm sincere, there's a simple solution: don't die and you won't have to find out."

Dima lit himself another cigarette. "Perhaps I should take your advice."

"I'd recommend it." Yassen realized that he'd neglected his own cigarette, allowing it to turn to ash straight down to the filter. With a grimace, he set it on the side of his plate and glanced around the restaurant. Still empty, though he supposed the staff would be up to prepare the level for dinner service sooner or later. Their conversation had been well over an hour long. He was tempted to just accept that he wouldn't be getting anything productive done with his day. He turned back to Dima. "This is why you fought so hard to get me on the international contract, isn't it? So you would have someone who wasn't loyal to Sergey to look after Lada."

Dima inclined his head. "Caught. I didn't lie about wanting to know what became of you, though. That was a big part of it, other than my selfish desire to keep my damn teenager alive."

"Fear not. If I were to fail to help yours, there's another damn teenager who would never let me hear the end of it." Yassen accepted the proffered replacement cigarette, determined to actually smoke it this time. "He's already on my case about referring to Lada by her proper pronouns when it's just us. The British are unflinchingly considerate about these things even in private, apparently."

That tugged a grin from the man opposite him. "Why am I not surprised? I've talked your ear off with my sorrows long enough. How is he doing? Hopefully not causing too much trouble before you go to trial over that spy nonsense."

Yassen raised an eyebrow. "Better than I expected, it's MI6 that has me annoyed. They've more or less gotten our exact address and will no doubt send people to try and get Alex to drop out of testifying, as kidnapping him would be too troublesome at the moment. I'm a little tempted to send him to school with an armed guard just to deter them. He's certainly not pleased. I wouldn't be surprised if he started getting high out of irritation alone."

"That is annoying." Dima pursed his lips. "If you like, you can have him come here after school. It is between your apartment and Goldstone, yes? My manager will set him up with snacks and a quiet corner to study, with plenty of people watching to ensure no one bothers him. My children do the same occasionally, when their after school lessons are canceled and they don't want to go home to fight amongst themselves."

Yassen exhaled neatly. "That's not a bad idea. I'd rather have him supervised than sitting at our apartment. It's a rather dangerous thing, allowing him the luxury of being bored."