A/N: Another Happy Monday, everyone! I hope everyone is keeping warm and staying safe. :)


Alex straightened as he heard footsteps approaching, quickly flushing the toilet and hurrying out of his stall to wash his hands in order to maintain the fiction that he'd actually come to use the loo. Damn, he hadn't had a chance to take his tincture yet. Frankly, it was the only place out of the range of the cameras where Alex could pull out his drops without being seen by the hundreds of other Goldstone Academy students. Not that it seemed to have done him many favors in keeping his habits secret from his friends.

He'd thought lunch would be the ideal time to take the tincture, but since so many other students were running back and forth during the hour, it made it less than convenient to try and find a quiet place to go unobserved. While part of him had resigned himself to being one of the druggie kids in the eyes of the school, he didn't want to get in the habit of dosing himself in front of others in case somebody decided to be an asshole later in the school year. On the other hand, his free study hour in the library was turning out to be a bad choice for taking them too: Mr. Avilov was quickly losing his patience for Alex's near ritualistic need to use the loo, having just come from lunch period, when he should have addressed the issue. Unless Alex felt up to faking a bladder problem (he wasn't), he was just going to have to figure something out.

Unfortunately, this was just the two hour range in which Alex's dose at home wore down to the point that things got more difficult to deal with. Louder. Harsher. Difficult to focus on. Yassen said the drops were safer than the Xanax, so Alex had been leaning harder on them and taking half-doses of the other. He wasn't sure it was an equal trade in efficacy, but it had made one of the stress lines in the man's forehead ease a little when Alex agreed to try it. He really didn't want it to return.

Maybe he should actually consider switching to some of the medications Werner suggested.

Someday. Not soon.

The footsteps paused as they rounded the corner into the bathroom. Misha nodded to Alex, dressed in a gym uniform, as he stepped up to a urinal and quickly went about his own business. Annoyed, Alex took his own sweet time washing his hands, pretending to be engrossed in being thorough around his nails. Couldn't Misha just hurry up and leave? It was weird enough having to hang around while his physics lab partner took what seemed to be a needlessly long piss, but Alex still needed to take his drops before he went back to the library.

Why had he just stood there in the stall and not hurried with his own business when he'd arrived? Perhaps he'd had an absence seizure, but it couldn't have lasted very long.

Alex grimaced at his reflection. Maybe he was turning into a space cadet. A burn out. It was inevitable, he supposed.

Misha drifted over to the sinks, washing his own hands and glancing at Alex curiously. Running water echoed off the tile walls. "Do you need something?"

Alex sighed. His druggie reputation was earned, to be perfectly fair. He'd just have to find a way to avoid patterns. "Just don't tell anyone, alright?" he grumbled, and pulled out the bottle. He knocked back a quick couple of drops- the barest of minimums- and before glancing at Misha, who was watching him in bemusement.

"What are you doing?" Mr. Avilov demanded.

Alex turned around, tucking his bottle into his pocket in a smooth motion. "Just using the restroom, sir. Sorry, I lost track of time."

The librarian folded his arms. He was only in his late twenties, but the way he regarded his supervisory responsibilities over the eight or so students who used the study hour for their medical exemptions reminded Alex more of a crotchety old school marm. His flinty eyes didn't even try to conceal their suspicion. "And what do you have?"

Alex paused, as though confused. His heart beat in his chest, thundering in his ears. What happened to the teachers not bothering him about it? Either Seamus had lied or Avilov was taking it upon himself to be even more exacting than the general teaching body. "Study hour?"

"No. Just now. In your pocket."

"Eye drops," Alex said, heart sinking. It was the best lie he could think of, given the way he'd been holding it over his head. "Mine get dry sometimes. Medication side effect."

Misha sidled up to them, snatching a paper towel from the metal dispenser and nodding politely to Avilov. "I saw him," he said. Alex felt his fists clench- he had been hoping his lab partner wouldn't be such a snitch. "Same eye drops my mother uses. Has the new catalogue come in yet, Mr. Avilov? Have they confirmed the sequel will be available?"

Avilov seemed to soften just a pinch before jerking his head at Alex to get a move on. "Back to studying." Turning back to Misha, he shook his head. "It is still delayed. Usually around the New Years, the inventory system changes-"

Alex didn't stick around to hear it, sparing only a quick glance and a grateful smile to Misha as he hurried away. The other boy gave him a long glance Alex couldn't identify, but he could worry about that later. For now, he needed to try to catch up on his physics problems and hopefully stash his bottle somewhere deep in his bag where it wouldn't be found.


Yassen frowned at the screen of his phone before he silenced its vibration sharply and turned back to the client. His contractor in Spain could wait. It took him only half a second to mentally reorder the sounds he'd just heard while not paying attention and refocused quickly. "Mr. Nikuluv's concerns mirror Mr. Kiriyev's," Yassen relayed quickly in Spanish. "It is not the nature of your casino that concerns them, Mr. Vazquez. It is the nature of the forms you provided them with. It is a priority that their investments and ownership remain as discreet as possible."

Across the planet, Mr. Vazquez's translator nodded once to confirm Yassen's translation was correct to his boss. Vazquez himself responded, seated at his desk in full view of the camera, with a polite nod to Sergey, Dima, Vasily, and Igor seated around their conference table in Moscow. "While we certainly wish to keep names as private as possible, the fact remains that recent changes to Panamanian law prohibits such an obfuscation. We cannot omit it from the paperwork entirely and expect to avoid the attention of the authorities."

Releasing the microphone, Yassen relayed the information swiftly.

Igor frowned, leaning towards his uncle and keeping his voice low enough that the men on the other side of the screen could not hear it. Yassen was tempted to point out that they were muted, but opted not to waste his breath. "I told you this wasn't the best direction moving forward. We should be keeping things in our own city, on our own soil. This feels like an unnecessary risk."

"There's too much crossfire in Moscow," Dima countered, on the other side of his father in law. "Stepping on the toes of our fellow bratvas only increases the odds that we are made weak by infighting. Besides, he did not say it is impossible. Be patient. He is opening the door to a proposed solution."

"I would consider that most likely," Yassen said, turning his head enough that his lips could not be read via the camera.

Sergey frowned and adjusted his glasses. "Ask him then what he proposes we do."

It took less than a minute for Yassen to listen to the needlessly roundabout manner in which the businessman presented the idea. Even though it was professionally discouraged to summarize rather than directly translate as a general rule, the concept of presenting the information exactly as communicated set his teeth on edge. He could not bear the idea of rambling even on behalf of another. "In essence, he suggests that you provide a middle man. One who's name and information is formally entered, who can then represent your will in any way you wish. The issue of routing the money through such a party would be ours, but he wishes to assure you that there will be no issues in feeding your money through the actual casino."

Igor's lips twisted in what neither committed to a scowl nor a smug smile. "I told you, Sergey, that we would arrive at something like this. This will get too complicated to be practical. It is one thing to trust our men here to follow orders, but to play international telephone as a permanent and critical fixture in our cash flow is another. Every adjustment will need to be relayed through a third party-"

"Of our choosing," Dima interjected. "I can think of four of our men off the top of my head that we can trust to act swiftly and with discretion. Ones with no arrest records or obvious ties to us on paper."

Sergey raised his fingers to silence them both and flicked a glance at Vasily. "Your thoughts?"

The man gave a light shrug. He was only slightly past thirty and had features so average that somewhere a statistician was wetting themselves, but Yassen had immediately understood Dima's assumptions that he would pick up his slack upon being introduced to the man: Vasily was a man of capability. Whatever was asked of him would be done, and if not, his reasoning explained. Not overly committed to any opinion, much less his own. The perfect mid-level underling. His mild brown eyes didn't so much as flicker as he shrugged. "I could see it go either way, I think. It would depend on who is trusted with the responsibility more than anything else."

Sergey turned to Yassen. "We will need time to consider it. Thank Mr. Vazquez for his time and assure him we'll be in touch shortly." As soon as Yassen had done just that and ended the call, the head of the bratva shut his laptop computer and gestured for his assistant to take it. He stood. "I do not like this. We have no one currently installed in Panama that I trust with this much responsibility."

Dima's face stiffened only enough to slightly misalign the work of the surgeons. "It is less than you think," he said levelly. "Besides, it should not be too difficult to install someone ourselves. Even if it takes a year, we still profit enough to make it worth our while in the long term."

"I will consider it," Sergey said, in a tone that made Yassen doubt he'd even bothered doing so during the meeting itself. "Igor, we have another engagement." He paused at the door. "And Gregorovich- leave your phone off next time. It's unprofessional to be so distracted in front of clients."

Yassen didn't allow his expression to tighten nor his fists to clench. Sergey was quite middle aged, in great shape physically, but the body could not entirely repel the test of time no matter one's commitment. His neck would snap like a glow stick- all that satisfying internal wet crunching paired with a neat and tidy exterior. It wasn't meant to be; Scorpia would rather bomb Moscow than lose this client because Yassen couldn't manage his temper.

It was still tempting. They both likely continued to breathe by the sheer fortune that they interacted only two or three times a week.

He inclined his head. "My apologies for seeming rude, but I must be available to Shackall at all times, as was outlined in our contract."

Sergey's eyes grew even colder, if such a thing were possible. They reminded Yassen faintly of dry-ice- somehow cold and capable of burning at the same time. Contradicting the man even in private would have done him no favors, but Yassen had fulfilled enough contracts to know the danger of being too accommodating. Part of him suspected he'd catered to Cray just a hair too much and look where that had gotten him. "Do not forget you are also our representative. I do not wish to see it again."

"Understood," Yassen responded as they left, trailed by their respective security teams.

He had understood; it just didn't mean he wouldn't answer his phone if Scorpia called him during another meeting. Understanding wasn't a promise by any stretch.

Frankly, he doubted there was anything he could do to avoid Sergey's ire. Yassen certainly seemed to require no respect as the semi-disgraced assassin of a semi-disgraced terrorist organization. The longer the contract went on, the more Yassen became convinced that he'd been hired only as an opportunity to either cow or compromise Dima somehow. Sabotaging the contract killer might even offer some sort of situation where his son-in-law's demotion or demise could be justified to those bratva underlings or government contacts still loyal to Dima specifically. The Scorpia terrorist's utter lack of mistakes on the job was inconvenient, but not an actual problem to his friend's father in law. Whatever he was planning to do would get done at some point, it seemed, despite Dima's efforts to please and Yassen's careful deliverance of the contract's promises.

Yassen would have to manage this carefully.

Vasily glanced at Dima and stood, pushing in his chair as he did so. "Well, that was a productive use of my afternoon. Anyway, I'm going to review this month's bookkeeping before I leave for the night. Anything else you want handled while I'm at it?"

Dima shook his head, not bothering to wait for the other man to be out of the room before beginning his grumbling. "There is being resistant to change and there is acting too rashly. Somehow, Sergey manages to accomplish both." (Yassen caught a small grimace of agreement on Vasily's face as the door shut behind him.) Dima yanked out his pack of cigarettes, hand digging sharply after it for his lighter. He couldn't find it. After a few seconds of struggle, Yassen fished out his own and tossed it to him. He lit up and took a quick drag, jaw set. Glanced at Yassen. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

"My idea. Sergey. All of it."

Yassen glanced around pointedly. They were in Sergey and Igor's territory, on their floor and monitored by security personnel that reported directly to them. He'd already confirmed that the room itself wasn't bugged via the iPod- which, since a lot of clandestine deals went on in here, made perfect sense in terms of not leaving incriminating records- but that didn't mean it was entirely safe to speak freely. "While my experience is based more on facilitating than implementing, I think your reasoning is sound. There is plenty of demand for money laundering among your allied bratvas which your current casino isn't quite able to keep up with even at full capacity. Offering more methods to accomplish it would go a long way towards insulating your interests from their territorial whims. Forging alliances."

"Thank you." Dima stabbed the air with his smoking cigarette, seemingly forgetting about it's actual purpose. "And the rest?"

Yassen took in a slow inhale and stretched out his back, shrugging. Dr. Wood's willingness to listen to him complain for a few hours had done much to endear the woman to him, as much as that were possible; he suspected doing the same would work with Dima. "Why don't we talk over drinks?"