A/N: Happy Monday, y'all! I've been looking forward to these next few chapters for some time, so please enjoy. :D :D :D


Yassen stared at the endless, gleaming rows of glass bottles as warm artificial light winked off of them like a thousand starry twinkle lights. Blinking, it took him a minute to realize he'd been staring at the aisle without real purpose for at least a minute. Or was it more? Possibly. He couldn't quite remember. At any rate, gaping at the shelves of Laszlo's wasn't what he came here to do. Just because things were louder and brighter and stronger smelling than normal, didn't mean he should allow himself to get so distracted. Alex was probably loading up a shopping cart while he stood here like an idiot and it was time to get a move on.

Striding carefully to the next aisle, Yassen glanced down it quickly, eyes searching for the hideous little ponytail pulled high on the brat's head. Nothing but jars and packaging. Yassen took a step forward, eyes picking out the actual details of the gold label closest to him. Pickled watermelon. An old favorite- at least, back when he'd allowed himself to have favorites.

He paused. It had been years since he'd had any and now it sounded amazing. He couldn't imagine wanting to eat anything else as perfect as-

His eyes lit upon the bottle beside it: pickled tomatoes.

Nevermind.

Yassen wasn't consciously aware of grabbing a shopping basket from the stack beside the aisle entrance, yet here he was, propping it against his hip while he yanked jars off of the shelf. They'd have dinner in tonight. Instead of a hot meal, they could just have snacks. Snacks sounded wonderful. Like tapas, only Yassen had to exert zero effort in preparing them himself or dealing with the wait of a restaurant. Really, if you thought about it, meals were just collections of different snacks, all served together and many of which just took longer to prepare than others. Complicated snacks. Eating straight from a jar or a package wasn't any different, really, when one considered the concept of a meal. In fact, it was simply more efficient. Less waiting. No dishes. Yassen marveled at the straightforwardness of the process. Whoever invented little snacks in packages understood food a lot better than whoever had come up with big, overwrought meals.

The scent of the bakery drew him like a bee to a freshly unfurled flower. Even at the end of the day when the ovens were cold and empty, the soft, floury, and butter laden smell of pastries filled the air from the other side of the store. The cart's wheels squeaked softly as he changed directions. He paused only to snatch a bottle of kvass from an endcap.

Blinking, he found himself on the other side of the store, just beside a woven basket display of plyushka, with a bag of the sugar dipped pastries in hand.

He drew in a sharp breath and glanced around. It felt like he was missing chunks of time. How long had he even been here? It could have been five minutes or it could have been five hours. Yassen would believe either with the state of his memory right now. He glanced down at his basket, full to the brim.

What was wrong with him? And where was Alex?

An employee wearing a dark blue apron was watching him out of the corner of his eye, hands folded in front of himself. An older gentleman with salt and pepper hair trimmed ever so neatly.

Self-consciousness flooded the assassin. Did he himself look a mess? Probably. Damn. He was supposed to avoid drawing attention to himself as a general rule, but Yassen couldn't even remember what he was wearing right now. He didn't belong in a store like this, surely. The man had to know that something was wrong with Yassen, that Yassen shouldn't be here. That he was probably up to something. He'd be approached soon, maybe even by security.

Yassen's stomach clenched before he could help himself. The best thing to do would be to just go straight to the registers, pay for his items, and get out before things could escalate.

He strode carefully to the register, trying his best not to look like there was anything going on with him. Passing the man took more effort than he expected, even though he avoided real eye contact. The instinct to lash out and bolt rose in him, but he plowed forward until he was standing in line behind a middle aged woman while a teenager with a tall blonde ponytail collected her change from the cashier. Or was trying to, except that she kept dropping it and giggling.

Stupid teenagers.

Right. He was supposed to be looking for Alex. Yassen glanced back at the aisles, wishing he could search them again but he already probably looked so suspicious he should really just get out of here and go. Absently, checking for his wallet in his pocket (how frustrating it would be to forget it), he realized again that time was moving oddly. Maybe it wasn't time. Maybe it was Yassen himself. He was oddly conscious of his hands.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

First, being unable to track time accurately was not a problem he had ever had. Precise estimation and presence of mind was what he'd been paid to do for years, apart from committing murder or faciliating it for others. Was it fair to say he was a murder coordinator? A murder supervisor? No. He had to do a lot of the work himself and there were often strange requests. (Designer murders, by Yassen. He snorted softly to himself.)

Second, he kept getting so damn distracted, which was possibly the worst thing he could do. Nowhere was ever completely safe and he was supposed to stay alert to any problems that might develop in under the space of a minute. It took far less for someone to pull out a gun and start shooting, or make them in a crowd, or slip a tracking device into a pocket. Vigilance wasn't optional. His life depended on it. Alex's life depended on it.

Where was Alex?

Third, why were things so…. Riveting? Potent? Loud? All of his senses felt like they'd been dialed up to the point where it was hard to hear his own thoughts-

"Are you ready, sir?" the woman at the till asked him.

Yassen blinked and realized the middle aged woman in front of him had already finished paying for her groceries and was gathering her bags from the belt. With a nod, he stepped forward and dropped his own basket on the conveyor, trying not to let on to any of his own nerves. Most people weren't stressed out when they shopped, were they? Perhaps they were. Perhaps he did not look so odd.

He was never that lucky, though.

The young cashier- dark haired, cut short, barely a few years older than Alex with a bright pink smear of lipstick that reminded Yassen of an eraser- began ringing him up, but he was certain that she was watching him and wondering why he was acting so strange. So obviously odd.

What the hell was happening to him? He wasn't drunk. Or at least, he couldn't remember drinking. Perhaps he'd forgotten taking a shot before he'd left the flat? Unlikely. Drinking didn't make him feel like this, though- usually it made him feel warm, sleepy, and a little bit chatty. Yassen would never consider recreational drugs, and he would definitely never take any of Alex's, so forgetting he'd taken any opiates was certainly out. It wasn't like he kept anything else around, so he was out of likely chemical candidates, unless he'd been poisoned somehow. Not that any of the likely candidates had any reason to poison him.

A terrifying thought struck him. It was so mundane it hopped the fence of doubt and struck him as most likely.

Dementia.

He was getting older, but he wasn't that old. Then again, his grandmother had only been in her late fifties, and his mother had said her confusion had started around the time he was born. While he wouldn't call himself elderly, he was suddenly struck with how much closer he was to forty than thirty.

It felt like his chest cavity was filling with ice. Had it finally come for him? Had the complicated warren of synapses in his brain finally failed him as they were programmed to do? Was this what having your mind slip away felt like? He didn't think it was supposed to happen all at once, but perhaps it hadn't and he'd just forgotten the parts in between already.

"Sir? Sir, your phone."

Yassen came back to himself and looked at the cashier. "Pardon. What?"

"Your phone," she said emphatically, gesturing to his empty red basket where only his little silver flip phone rested.

Strange. He didn't remember dropping it in there, but then again, he last remembered pulling it out when he arrived, intending to text Alex…

"Yes, of course." He retrieved the phone and opened it. Twelve missed calls from Alex. Damn. Yanking out his wallet, he quickly paid in cash and gathered his bag, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. It took a monumental amount of effort, but after one tiny eternity, he found himself outside the store, holding his large bag and wondering just how he should go about getting home. There were so many steps to that, between here and there.

He chuckled. Literally. There were a lot of steps.

Alex loved puns. Maybe he'd tell him this one, when he saw him. If he remembered.

A familiar figure hurried up to him, that annoying little bun bouncing as he ran. "There you are!" Alex said, throwing his arms around him.

Yassen blinked down at him. Right. Alex had called him. They were supposed to meet here. Why didn't they just meet inside the store like Yassen intended? And now he was being hugged. Lots of things were happening today. Why did it all feel important?

"Here I am," was all he could think to say, patting Alex on the back with his free hand.

"I hurried as fast as I could, but you weren't answering and I got worried. I'm so glad you're still here." Alex glanced up at him and bit his lip. "Prepare to be cross with me, Yassen."

Yassen nodded. "Okay. Sure."

Alex studied him and stepped back. "You can feel it already, can't you?"

Yassen's heart sank. "I didn't know you could feel dementia. How can you tell? I'm so-"

"What? No. No, Yassen, you don't have dementia. It's just-" Alex broke off and stared down at the oversized plastic bag in Yassen's hand. "What's that?"

"Snacks."

"Oh."

"Everything looked really good," Yassen offered, by way of explanation.

"Yeah, it'll do that," Alex muttered. "Okay, I know it's really tricky to focus right now, but I need you to listen to me. Let me preface this with my promise to get better at texting and at not doing stupid things. And maybe labeling the things I leave in the kitchen. Alright, the first thing you need to know is that the brownie you ate was full of pot. A lot of pot. More than I'm supposed to take."

Yassen stared at him, unblinking. He almost couldn't process the words and apply them to himself. "Hm?"

"It's fine," Alex added. "You're going to be just fine. It'll wear off. Just- have you done pot before?"

"No." Yassen rubbed his face with his free hand and let out a frustrated huff. "I'm high? That's what this is? Alex, I don't want to be high. I don't want it. This is stupid. Why do people do this? It's not nice. I feel like my confused grandmother."

Chert. His thoughts were spilling out of his mouth. Like brain drool. How embarrassing. He needed to stop immediately.

"Don't worry," Alex said quickly, wrapping his hands around Yassen's arm and towing him gently through the small concrete courtyard separating the store from the main street. "It'll wear off. Maybe even be a little fun as the night wears on. You'll go back to normal no matter what, so just relax. I know you're paranoid enough as it is, but for a lot of people, weed can make it a lot worse. Remember, it's just all in your head."

"I'm not paranoid, I'm cautious and practical," Yassen informed him, allowing Alex to steer him in the direction of the closest metro station.

He groaned. The metro made sense, as did maybe catching a bus, but it just… it would take forever. And he'd be surrounded by people. And now he'd have to pretend very hard that he wasn't high. Why couldn't Moscow have more cabs? He groaned again and tipped his head back, thoroughly sick of the entire evening.

It would be fine. They'd go home and he'd smoke. And eat snacks.

"What was the other thing?"

"Hm?"

"You said the pot brownie thing was first." Righting his head, Yassen scowled at the brat. "And that you did a stupid thing. What was the stupid thing?"


Of all the times for weed's distractibility to fail, this would have to be the moment. Alex sighed as he released Yassen's arm, trusting the man to amble after him in a straight line. Of course Yassen would pick one intellectual thread to follow for more than ten seconds, and it would be the one that Alex really didn't want to explain the most. Or conveniently pick this particular moment to start regaining his ability to focus.

It was just Alex's luck. Of course.

"I'm not sure I should right now," Alex admitted.

"Why not?"

"It's kind of complicated and I don't want you to worry about it."

That deepened the older man's scowl. "Well now I'm just worrying even more. Just tell me."

"You know," Alex mused, as they approached the steps that led down into the station. No sign of K-Unit. Good. They were probably still settling in for their mission and otherwise distracted. A problem for later. He could explain the whole situation to Yassen tomorrow morning, when he woke up hungover but with significantly better information retention. The last thing he needed was Yassen deciding to proactively solve the problem, especially not in this state. "There's a lesson in here somewhere for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. I just have these vague memories of someone telling me all the damn time that I shouldn't worry about the things he didn't want to explain to me, only I did anyway, so it was just a lot of pointless stress on both of our parts." Alex tilted his head to look back at him, widening his eyes with every ounce of false innocence he could channel. "Any ideas of to whom I'm referring?"

Yassen huffed again as Alex looked forward and resumed walking. "Well, if I had to guess, I'd say you're actually talking about this kid I know. Tiny and impulsive? With horrible hair? Does the worst possible thing out of sheer stubbornness?" The man paused, obviously thinking something over. Hopefully, a revelation about the dangers of withholding information.

Not that Alex was one to talk.

In retrospect, Alex should have never trusted that silent pause. When he turned around, Yassen was gone.

Alex stood there, wide eyed for a complete second. "Yassen?"

Where could he have gone? The darkened street was empty except for a young couple holding hands and a trickle of people leaving the metro, none of which remotely resembled the contract killer. Most businesses were closed due to the cold and the hour, their lights dark and edifices lit mainly by the glow of street lamps and stylish backlighting of their signs. He hadn't even heard the man take off, and with the amount of loose snow salt sprinkled along the walking areas, he should have made some noise.

What. The. Hell.

"Come on, Yassen," Alex called. "It's not funny."

No answering call. Shit. Where had he gone off to? No one could have possibly snatched him in so short a time. If they had, why they'd left Alex behind was baffling in and of itself, since he'd consider himself the riper target for a kidnapping than a 180 pound assassin with violent reflexes and significantly reduced impulse control. Nope. Yassen had just taken off for no particular reason, at the worst possible time, with no understanding of the situation involving K-Unit, who were likely surveilling the apartment and hoping for something just like this to happen.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Alex darted forward in the direction they'd come, but didn't see anyone on the street. It was unlikely the man had slipped past him into the station, so that was out. He hoped. Obviously, if the apartment was being surveilled from the exterior, he needed to intercept the man before he made it home.

If beating him home were his goal. If Yassen even had a goal.

Fuck.

On instinct, Alex turned into a sidestreet, a little bigger than an alley and followed it down; the closest option that wasn't returning to the grocery store. It hadn't snowed recently enough for him to tell if anyone had stepped through in the last minute and the solar salt was scant enough that it didn't provide many clues either.

Fortunately, his search didn't last long. As soon as he emerged onto the next street over, he spotted a familiar figure standing in front of a large glass building, peering into the unlit interior, a needlessly large shopping bag swinging at his side.

Alex exhaled with relief and jogged across the street to join him.

"What was that for?" he demanded, as soon as he was close enough to speak.

Yassen blinked at him. "Hm? Oh, that was because there might be a lesson in there for you. About how stressful it is to have someone run away from you unexpectedly. A lesson on worrying." Before Alex could really parse the fact that Yassen obviously still had hurt feelings on his long-forgotten runaway attempt in Probably Texas, the man gestured at the window. "But never mind. Look at that."

Alex looked, squinting. The modern glass building appeared to house a children's museum on the lower levels, based on the bright coloring of the walls, seating, and hands-on displays surrounding the front desk and entrance. A bright green vintage military jeep, complete with a canvas top, took up the main space, with a small set of stairs to aid children in climbing inside it to have their pictures taken. A sign beside it said something about a military museum, from what he could make out. Likely on loan for cross promotion.

"It's a jeep," he said, a little amused as he watched Yassen stare happily at it through the window.

"No," Yassen corrected him without glancing away. "It's a GAZ-69. Completely different. This model was used as the basis for the 2P26 tank destroyer. Had two fuel tanks."

Alex looked back and forth between them. "I'm surprised you can tell it apart from other models in the dark."

"The fog lamp placement is different than in the GAZ-67. That's how I can tell. We used to have a picture of my grandfather in his, from back during the war."

"Really? We should go to the museum they borrowed this from sometime," Alex said, after a minute. "I bet you they'll have helicopters and-"

Ben Daniels appeared around the corner suddenly, maybe two hundred feet up the street from them. Unmistakable by his walk and the way he glanced around: there was just something so distinctive about the way spies carried themselves to Alex, something about the way they kept their cores relaxed and ready without obvious purpose, yet this stride was oddly straight backed too. Military-esque. Fox was the only he'd ever met that blended the two. For a minute, Alex hoped it was a wild coincidence of gait, that some other half spook, half military man had chosen this particular moment to stroll down this particular empty street, but the man stiffened as he saw them and slowed.

Nope. He was definitely looking for them.

Ben pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed. Obviously trying to keep them in sight while he called for backup, since it was a safe (and correct) assumption that Yassen was armed.

Time to go.

"Yassen, you're right, and I should have explained things sooner even if you might not understand it all at once," Alex said, grabbing his arm and steering him around the side of the children's museum. The side street Alex had taken before continued further west, hopefully leading to another major road. "And I will fix that soon, but we need to go home right now."

"What?" Yassen obliged Alex's towing, while turning his head to look where Alex had been staring just a moment ago. His eyes narrowed on the MI6 agent, quickly joined by another thick coated figure with a more obviously military stance than Ben's. Too short to be Eagle, so maybe Snake or Wolf? "Who is that? MI6?"

Alex shook his head, refusing to let Yassen retract his hand as they hurried away. No doubt the assassin was aiming to check the firearm he kept in the small of his back. "Not exactly. It's K-unit."

"Oh. Bullies." He muttered something else under his breath.

"No, the team I trained with ages ago," Alex said. Their feet pounded the pavement softly. "Wait. What did you just say?"

"It means 'fuck off'," Yassen informed him.

"I heard 'go to'," Alex muttered, eyes darting along the street for any good paths off the street. Nothing yet, given the sheer size of the museum, but they were almost to the corner. They would be out of K-unit's line of sight in seconds.

Yassen snorted. "They know where to go."

"Hell?"

"Ass. It's 'go to ass.' That's why it's Russian for 'fuck off', not 'go to hell', little Alex."

They rounded the corner. Finally. They had to use every second of this time while they had it. Yanking on Yassen's hand in warning, Alex picked up speed, glancing around and cursing.

Everything nearby was closed and dark. The road ended with a small parking area visible in the near-distance; the obvious entrance to one of the many, small wooded parks in the area. While it would be a decent option to hide in during good weather earlier in the year, the snow that had been left undisturbed would surely give them away if they tried to leave the shoveled paths and evade their pursuers. There was one other sidewalk that led behind the buildings across the street and away from the immediate area, but that would ultimately lead them further away from the nearest metro station and offered no immediate cover. He wasn't sure they could move fast enough to avoid being followed.

"Are the bullies still following?"

Alex hissed through his teeth. "I told you, they're not bullies chasing us, it's K-unit."

"I know," Yassen snapped, eyes dark. "The ones who bullied you in training."

"I wasn't bullied," Alex huffed. "They were just assholes. It's different."

"I hate bullies," was all Yassen said in return.

It was absolutely time to go.

Alex glanced to the other side of the road. There was another paved courtyard- almost like an open patio- tucked behind the museum, well cleared of snow and salted, with plenty of outdoor seating and some bronze play statues. Smack in the center of it all was a camouflaged colored tank. From this angle it was hard to tell, but Alex thought he saw something that resembled the stairs leading into the jeep. It was their best chance- not just at evading immediate detection, but also at buying them time. Alex might be semi-functional while high as balls, but Yassen had no experience with weed, had taken four times the max dosage Alex was allowed (or possibly even eight), and possessed a skillset that was quite a bit more lethal than Alex's. Now was not the time to see if he could sustain enough focus to bolt without doing something drastic.

"Come on, hurry," Alex said, gripping Yassen's sleeve and taking off as quickly as he could. Yassen broke into a jog, keeping pace with him easily. Alex took a moment to let the petty envy that Yassen could stay so fit and be high wash over him as they approached the tank and swung around it. He shoved Yassen at the stairs, only partially shielded from view. "Go, go, go. Get in. Quick."

Yassen scoffed, but went along with it. Thank christ he'd gotten so used to humoring him that he didn't bother questioning it. "They won't leave it unlocked at night, little Alex," he chided, testing the hatch. It swung open. "Oh, never mind," he said, climbing in. Alex scrambled after him and eased the hatch shut behind himself, twisting it until he heard it lock. "Someone's going to get fired."

It was pitch black. Knobs and square boxes and cold metal plates jabbed Alex all over. He wriggled, trying to find space for himself without sight to guide him. Truthfully, he'd expected it to be empty and stripped down, maybe with a platform installed so that children could pop their torsos out just enough for a quick photo. But, no, just his luck- this seemed to be at least a mostly historically accurate cockpit- or whatever the tank equivalent of a cockpit was called. He muttered a curse, frigid fingers probing and bumping into more sharp angles.

Honestly, who would let children in these? He'd gotten at least four scrapes already.

A dim glow of light erupted around him. Wincing, he saw Yassen holding open his flip phone to offer him light, already in the driver's seat and gesturing Alex to another spot off to the side. A gunner or a commander's place maybe, based on the controls in front of it.

With a grunt, Alex climbed into the chair indicated and heaved a sigh. It was pretty cramped, though to be fair, Yassen was a lot taller than he was and not complaining. "Okay, I think we've bought some time-" he began in a low voice.

Yassen wasn't even listening. "Look at this," he enthused, pulling off his gloves with his teeth to run his fingers over the controls. He shifted in his seat suddenly, now obviously playing with the pedals and levers. "I like this."

Alex rolled his eyes, pulling out his iPod. He couldn't help a small smile. "You're into tanks, too?"

"No, I've never been in one." Yassen's lips curved into a grin as he studied the dark readouts and switches hanging above him, leaning closer with his phone to see better. "It wasn't practical for work, but now I think I should learn to drive one too."

Smither's tech was a dream, of course. Alex turned on the infrared/x-ray function and while it had a tough time with the thick metal exterior of the tank, it did give him the faint outlines of Ben and Snake/Eagle cautiously passing the tank as they approached the park.

Little flares of added light illuminated at odd parts on their person. Odd. A puzzle for another day.

"That would be very fun," Alex said diplomatically to Yassen, tracking their searchers' progress. Great. Now they had paused and were gesturing to one another. Likely debating their direction and how quickly they disappeared. "Maybe we can find a range that will let us rent one or give us a lesson."

It wasn't a bad idea in the least. If Alex were less focused on transporting this oddly delighted and incredibly high assassin back to the safety of their flat, he'd probably be pulling levers and poking buttons alongside him. He'd never got to sit in one either.

Admittedly, it was a very cool tank, if cramped and ice cold.

"I bet I can get it to start." Yassen began flicking switches.

Alex actually snorted at that. "Sure. It was already pressing our luck that this thing was open, but maybe they've left us the keys? This thing is ancient. I'm surprised it even has seats."

"Don't be silly," Yassen scoffed, still flicking every switch, knob, and dial he could get his hands on. "Look at the readouts. This is eighties tech at the latest. Besides, artillery vehicles didn't usually have keys then, little Alex. What if the driver was captured or killed? Any member of the crew needed to be able to at least attempt to save the team or keep the tank out of enemy hands."

Alex propped his chin in his hand, glancing back down at his iPod. Ben and Snake/Wolf had yet to move, still arguing. They had some time to kill before they had to slip away. "I don't think they'd let children play in this thing if there was a chance it could do anything."

"Children would be supervised. The combinations are complicated, from what I understand."

"Who told you that?"

"I saw it in a documentary. Actually, a few," Yassen amended. The admission only slowed him down a second or two before he was back at his little puzzle.

He was a little tempted to let Yassen keep chasing this flight of fancy. Frankly, it was a little endearing watching the hopefulness at which he was trying every combination known to man. A small grin worked its way across Alex's face. "Okay. So if this ancient eighties tank somehow managed to retain functionality-"

"The eighties is not ancient. I was there," Yassen insisted. His offense was interrupted by the discovery of one of the operator's helmets, which he pulled on without hesitation despite the way it forced him to crane his head to fit without hitting the ceiling.

Alex snickered and plowed on. "So if this ancient tank still works by some miracle, you're hoping you'll just stumble upon the exact right combination of-"

The interior powered on suddenly, washing both of their faces in a soft blue digital glow. Red, green, and orange switches flickered to life. With a delighted laugh, Yassen tapped a small black button beside his chair and the engine turned over.

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

Yassen peered through the periscope/eye slot thing and grabbed a lever at the same time he stomped on the gas. The tank rocked, but didn't lurch forward more than a foot. "There's a brake. Give me a minute. I can figure this out. I think this is the gear shift and this-"

Ben and Wolf/Snake's forms turned towards the tank.

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

"Yassen, no," Alex hissed, swatting at the man's shoulder. "Stop that. Turn it off. They've heard-"

"Where are they?" Yassen swiveled the periscope to the side, locking on them quicker than Alex would have thought possible. "Oh, I see."

Without warning, the tank jerked sharply and began moving forward as Yassen evidently found the parking brake. Abruptly, they picked up speed, followed by a slight impact. It didn't do much more than rock them, though the loud showering sounds of broken glass clued him in to the fact that they'd likely struck the side of the children's museum.

Alex was rooted in place with horror. Vankin was going to kill the both of them.

"I want to see if I can hit them," Yassen muttered under his breath.

It was just Alex's fucking luck.

"Yassen, no," Alex snapped. There was barely room to move, but he managed to lean far enough out of his seat with just enough room to smack Yassen upside the head. The helmet absorbed all of the impact. "Stop. Now. I'm serious. Turn it off!"

"Bullies," Yassen countered, giving Alex a stung look for the blow that in no way discouraged him from his smacking. He snickered. "Squished bullies soon. Bully patĕ? Just don't look out. Less trauma."

Alex showered his head in ineffectual smacks as they suddenly changed directions. "No! Stop! You can't hit them! We're supposed to be sneaking away not-!"

"Technically," Yassen pointed out. "They don't know it's us. It could be anyone in this tank."

"That's not the fucking point, Yassen, and you know it."

"Check if there are any rounds in the cannon."

"Absolutely not. Pull over."

Yassen sighed. "Yeah, there probably aren't any. That would be crazy. Running them over it is."

"NO." Alex resumed his hitting, keeping an eye on his iPod screen to confirm that Ben and the other member of K-unit had scattered as they watched the tank approach. Smart. They'd headed into the park, where there was less open space and the tank would struggle to navigate around the trees and fountains and raised brick flower beds. As they reached diverging paths beside the large fountain towards the center, they split up in opposite directions. "DON'T! Do not! Stop right now!"

Yassen squinted into the periscope. "Oh, I think I see one of them." He gunned the tank, rocking them both as it picked up speed suddenly and bounced over a curb.

Or at least Alex hoped it was a curb. He swiveled his own limited gunner's periscope and used his iPod to confirm that indeed there were no bodies lying in the street or stray heat signatures half crushed in their wake. He let out a sharp exhale as the tank suddenly impacted something hard, tossing them around but quickly scaling the impediment.

One of the thick metal bollards that prevented cars from attempting to drive into the park's foot entrance, from what Alex could discern.

"Yassen," Alex said, grabbing the man's shoulder. "We need to leave the tank and run. You hit the children's museum and someone is going to call the police. We need to go, right now."

"Sure, sure," Yassen muttered, shifting levers without so much as a pause. "In a minute. I'll be fast."

"Yassen."

"I'll just hit one of them. How about that? One. A warning to the others."

Alex shoved his fists against his eye sockets. "Why?"

"They were pricks at camp. You said it yourself." Yassen scowled. "Besides, they were very condescending. I heard them over the phone in Kingman."

"Well, yes, but-" Alex gave up. It seemed that Yassen had more secret talents the teen was only just now becoming privy to: antique vehicle identification, improvised tank driving, and holding other people's grudges, to name a few. He blew a gust of air out of his lips. He doubted an ethical debate on what crimes against him were worthy of murder would not be particularly productive with the contract killer even were he sober.

A stray shape caught his eye on the iPod's tiny screen. "Yassen, turn! Don't hit the dog!"

The tank pivoted sharply, slamming into something and bouncing upwards as it absorbed the impact and tried to scale the problem. They came to a halt suddenly, half in the air. Yassen grumbled and shifted the levers; they jerked slightly in response and Alex could feel the traction half grab the ground, but the tank refused to move.

Yassen groaned. "Hold on. We're stuck on a stone fountain. I think I can get us free-"

"Your minute is up. Please, we need to hurry before the police arrive," Alex said, shaking his shoulder. Before Yassen could argue, he twisted open the hatch and climbed out. The wind picked up, throwing loose snow in his face. Shielding his eyes, Alex climbed onto the external surface of the tank and glanced around at the empty park, lit dimly by only a smattering of decorative street lamps. Well, empty apart from the tan and black colored mutt high-tailing it through the snow into the brush.

No sign of K-unit, thank god. Police sirens wailed in the distance.

Grumbling, Yassen followed him onto the surface of the tank exterior, still wearing the operator's helmet. "Fine, little Alex. It's probably just a stray, but they live in packs here. If we keep going, I'll probably hit one eventually. No crying. Just don't cry."

Alex reached up and yanked the helmet off the man's head, tossing it back inside. The last thing they needed was more evidence connecting them to any unusual crimes, even if it would make a neat souvenir and he kind of wished he'd gotten a chance to wear it himself. Fucking Hell. Why did he have to be the responsible adult this time? This was so much less fun than drunk toddler. He pulled out his keys and unhooked the small football player keychain.

Yassen held out an arm, before kneeling by the hatch and reaching in. "Wait."

The police sirens grew louder. The park wasn't overly large, but they were in the center area, furthest from the road best suited to escape, and with a very clear path of damage carved into the landscape like a giant arrow for law enforcement saying "tank thieves this way."

Alex hissed. "Yassen, we don't have time-"

Yassen pulled out the giant plastic bag he'd brought from the store. Alex stared. He hadn't even realized the man had managed to bring it with him this far and keep track of it as they ran, much less store it somewhere in the claustrophobically small tank.

"Dinner is snacks tonight," the assassin said. "And I'm starving."

The ex-spy let out a laugh, shoulders heaving as he twisted the little player's plastic head and activated the detonator. He dropped it in the hatch and shut it before easing himself down the length of the tank and onto the shoveled walkway below. The tank rocked from the force of the internal explosion as Yassen followed him. "Okay, Mum. Let's go home and have dinner."