Yassen inhaled sharply through his nose, forcing his eyes open to face the faint lines of pale early morning light creeping through the blinds of the office window. God, he felt awful. Not only did the world feel fluttery around the edges, suggesting that the cannabis brownie hadn't entirely run it's course, but his stomach felt like someone had sprayed it full of expanding foam insulation. Chert. How much had he eaten? He really, really didn't want to think about it, already a little tempted to force himself to throw up to relieve the pressure. His shoulders and spine made their irritable presences known as well, the little knots winding through his muscles screaming for attention as he shifted in place. Falling asleep on the edge of the couch with his body at a strange angle and his gun digging into his back had obviously been a poor choice to make last night.

Among many, many others.

Somewhere in the kitchen, the phone rang. Probably what woke him. Alex must have left it there last night.

Yassen let out a soft groan, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Alex's face creased and he muttered something, cracking open his own eyes before shutting them just as quickly. He'd fallen asleep on the older man's shoulder, legs spread across the couch and taking up most of the space. No wonder Yassen's back was killing him.

Gently moving Alex's head to the arm of the couch to free himself, Yassen glanced back at the computer screen with a grimace. Neither of them had thought to pause their video from last night, so autoplay had taken them down some bizarre rabbit hole. Instead of an endlessly array of fail videos, an Italian grandmother was demonstrating proper pasta shaping technique. Yassen closed the window with a grimace and took a cursory glance at the camera feeds. Empty as expected. He went to shut off the monitor when he noticed a small email icon on the bottom of the screen.

Odd. It should only be linked to the account he'd registered with the apartment complex, though he'd had to jump through some technological hoops in order to make the video feeds truly private from the rest of the complex (it was provided as part of a private security package). That email address was hardly known to more than two or three entities and they rarely sent him direct messages, especially at- he checked the message receipt- two in the morning.

He clicked it open cautiously, ready for any hint of a virus.

Instead, he found an email advert for an Australian politician's pet legal reformation project, something to do with emergency funds for foreign victims of war crimes. It looked very real, to the point where Yassen was confident there probably was an actual politician with this exact cause; though he doubted this was a case of a mistyped address. CALL YOUR REPRESENTATIVE NOW was listed in all caps across the header of the email, though the text itself stood out from the rest of the email for another reason. Primarily, because it had been overly enlarged, in comic sans, and was flashing rainbow colors.

There was only one operative Yassen knew who was that inappropriately cheerful.

Chert. The thought brought his brain back to reality. He was going to be stuck making a lot of phone calls today, the least aggravating of which would be to the bizarre gadget man.

Alex groaned aloud as Yassen tugged open the door, rolling off the couch and rubbing his forearm across his eyes with a yawn. His overgrown hair stuck out in all directions, half of which had escaped the loose little bun sometime in the night. "What time is it?"

"Nearly six."

"Fuck." Alex staggered to his feet, trailing Yassen to the kitchen. "How do you feel?"

"I can function, if that's what you're asking," Yassen muttered, glancing at the container of brownies on the counter. Frustration mingled with embarrassment. He didn't want Alex to ever see him that inebriated again, to have to be the one responsible for the both of them in more than passing. To see him weak. On the other hand, none of his situation last night had been due to Yassen's choices, beyond stealing a brownie. Of all the damn things. Of all the damn choices he'd ever made in his life- this would be the one to bite him in the ass. He was torn between being angry with the child and wanting to apologize profusely to him. Neither were particularly appropriate. "Where's my phone?"

Alex fished it out of his pocket to hand to him before collapsing onto the closest chair and folding his torso over the counter. "God, I'm so tired. What time did we fall asleep?"

"One or two in the morning, I imagine," Yassen told him, shooting him an amused look. While he wouldn't say his own four hours had been particularly restful, it hadn't left him a yawning pool of crankiness as it did the teen puddling on the counter. Yassen flicked through his call history- it showed only a few calls between Vankin and no one else, as he'd expected. He checked the caller ID of the cordless phone on the counter: just the front office of the complex. Probably following up on Alex's complaint call last night. "Go back to sleep. I can handle things from here."

Alex yawned again in lieu of a proper answer, but shook his head. "Gotta update you."

Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose again. That was true enough. Seeing how out of it the teen was, he'd been planning on just pumping Vankin for details of their phone conversation and leaving it at that. While part of him felt like his spirit was leaving his body when he allowed himself to actually ponder his actions last night, he felt that his recollections were fairly accurate. Unless Alex had contacted anyone else on his own last night (unlikely if Sithers had reached out to him directly), Yassen was confident his phone conversation with their handler was the only thing he'd missed. "Very well."

"I called Vankin," Alex mumbled, propping his chin on his palm. "And told him what had happened. He tried to brush me off, so I led with the whole tank bit. He wasn't happy, but from what I understand from our second conversation last night, he'd gotten a hold of all of the footage and was going to get rid of it. Dealt with the police too."

Yassen nodded tersely. So that was handled then. "Good. If that fire has been put out, that leaves us only with the SAS to contend with."

Alex shook his head. "Yes and no. Vankin mentioned that this whole thing would make you look bad internally so I made him pin it on me. If anyone asks, I got upset when I realized who had been sent to Moscow to spy on me, got high, and crashed a tank into a bunch of stuff before you got control of the situation. Vankin's the hero who killed the evidence, which he can't show anyone because it's destroyed. I'm the unstable drug addict with a history of dramatic temper tantrums. You're the reliable babysitter who talked me down. Everyone wins."

Yassen clenched his fists, not exactly trusting himself to speak as he busied himself with shoving the dishes from last night into the sink and hurling the fish tins into the trash. So it had been more than just running around and dealing with the SAS that Alex had been forced to do for him- taking responsibility for Yassen in more ways than one.

It probably didn't matter, Yassen forced himself to repeat in his head. The SVR wouldn't share evidence they'd already destroyed, so the odds of this hurting either of their cases were low. Alex especially was insulated from the internal politics of the SVR. While it would have seriously impacted Yassen's standing with the agency to be accused of this, with Alex it would likely be swept irritably under the rug by anyone who'd read his file. Alex was merely a smokescreen for the agency when he wasn't a token indulgence to the assassin, so his bizarre behavior would be tolerated if at all possible, provided he didn't compromise their true intent or cost them more than he was worth. Beyond Vankin being told to keep a tighter leash on the pint-sized ex-spy, it was entirely possible that nothing would come of this other than a few vague warnings and some internal calculations on exactly how much damage they would accept from the boy in the future. So long as this didn't happen every weekend, the costs would likely stay acceptably low and the evidence thin. A palatable narrative.

Unless the SAS had any evidence of last night. That could be a problem.

Yassen was careful to keep his face neutral as he rinsed the frying pan he'd half burnt sugar in last night. His stomach lurched at the smell. If they did manage to get any footage, there was little he could do about it now. If they had only their testimony to rely on, that was a problem he could solve. Right now, he had to shuffle Alex back into bed, perhaps phone in to his school to excuse his absence, and then get ahold of his handler. Once he could determine exactly the ramifications of the SAS team meeting with an unfortunate accident, Yassen could go about arranging said accident. Vankin might be able to assist if the agency was amenable, but regardless, Yassen was comfortable eliminating the men on his own.

He might even enjoy it a little, Yassen realized, wiping his hands on a small towel. Just a tiny bit.

"So here's the less fun part of the story." Alex sighed and grimaced, glancing quickly at Yassen's face. "Remember when I met up with you at the store and I told you to prepare to be cross with me?"

Yassen folded his arms. "Now that you mention it, I do."

"Well…." The boy considered the counter he was still slumped across, before he began to speak. It only took the brat a couple of minutes to run Yassen through the basics of the previous day. Almost getting caught with his tincture at school, going to the restaurant, his hopes that the weed brownies would be more discreet. His paranoid not quite panic attack and his decision to investigate the odd glare he never identified. Finding K-unit and the conversation he'd overheard.

The lies over text message.

Alex quailed under his gaze. "It's not that I didn't want to tell you, it's that it didn't feel like I could. As soon as I left to go check out the complex, I thought to text you to tell you where I was going like I normally do, but... I don't know. It felt stupid. I knew you wouldn't want me to go alone, but I just wanted to stop worrying about it as soon as possible. Figured if I just took a look to prove to myself it was nothing, I could push it aside and go on with my night." Alex shrugged helplessly. "I really thought it was going to be nothing. Meant to tell you all about it when you got home."

"That doesn't explain why you lied about where you were," Yassen said, crossing his arms.

"No, that was different," Alex admitted. He fidgeted, now a lot more alert. "Once I realized they were talking about their mission, I realized it would be good intel. Well, I thought it would be; I guess you already knew they were aiming to find evidence you're unfit. Anyway, when I realized you were waiting and that they were on high alert, I didn't want to risk you coming over to get me. Not only would I lose the chance to eavesdrop, if they spotted you at their complex, I was afraid things would get ugly. There wasn't really enough time to explain all that to you, so I lied just enough to keep you at the flat while I finished up. I really did plan on telling you as soon as I got back, but you were gone when I got here."

Yassen let out a slightly harsh breath. It wasn't exactly a surprise, but it was unpleasant. Alex's independent personality might have made some compromises in the last few months, but it was clear he hadn't lost his tendency to wander off and risk himself without warning. As much as he wanted to be reassured by the boy's initial instinct to reach out, Yassen knew better than relying on that. Alex had preferred lying to involving him.

Alex was studying him, chewing on his lip. "You cross with me?"

"Yes."

"Because I lied."

"That's correct."

Alex sighed, staring at his hands. "I'm not lying about wanting to tell you. Mostly, there just wasn't time to explain the whole thing to you right then."

"You could have texted that."

"I guess," Alex agreed. "But I think you would have worried. Don't tell me you would have been happy sitting here wondering."

Yassen gave him a flat look. "Alex, you were alone in what amounts to enemy territory. Worrying would be the correct response, but I couldn't even provide you backup because I went to look for you somewhere you never were."

"Yeah," Alex muttered. "That's pretty obvious now. Sorry."

Yassen's hand drifted onto his cigarette pack, stuffed into his pocket at some point last night. Fantastic. There was really no way around it, was there? A fundamental incompatibility of theirs. Alex was right in his assumption that Yassen would have gone over to the apartment immediately had he known, even if it added to the risk. Knowing the correct tactical response wasn't exactly the same as knowing himself.

That didn't mean this whole thing wasn't a massive problem if it was going to keep happening.

What could Yassen possibly do? Tagging the little brat with a GPS tracker was certainly tempting, but problematic for several reasons. Anything technological posed the risk of being hackable, so it could just easily become a boon to everyone else who wanted to make their lives hell. Alex would surely balk. It would definitely cut down on his independence: Yassen didn't particularly want to micromanage the boy's life, but he also wanted the little idiot to survive to adulthood. Assigning followers or minders to the boy fell into that same category of again offering someone else a vantage point in the brat's day-to-day. Not only that, but they would be more obvious; Alex was no doubt spot them and do everything in his power to render them worthless, even if he knew who they were and what their purpose was. Yassen couldn't handhold Alex every single minute of his life for obvious reasons-

"Are there codes you use for this sort of thing?"

Yassen blinked and looked back at the boy. "What?"

"Like police codes or radio codes. I learnt some at Brecon Beacons, but I don't recall them anymore." Alex straightened in his seat and frowned at his flip phone. "Did Scorpia train you on any that we can use? Things that mean "hold on, I'm looking into something so please don't do anything yet but there might be trouble though probably not" or "might need backup, please wait for more details but don't worry and stay put" or "everything's fine, wait for me to explain". I mean, I guess I could get better at texting just those things, but there's just, a lot of context that could be going on and I really was worried about time. I think we should just come up with codes."

"There are some." Yassen twisted his lips. "Hardly will do us any good if you keep lying."

Alex gave him an exasperated look, though Yassen detected a hint of hurt. It wasn't exactly undeserved. "Only because I didn't have time to explain properly. I was going to tell you. That was the plan. 'When' was the only problem."

"That and your tendency to run headfirst into danger."

Alex sighed. "Alright, that too, I suppose. I'm not sure I can help that, though." Another furtive glance. "That was another thing I wanted to ask you, actually. What do you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're the most paranoid person I know," Alex told him plainly. He considered him. "What do you do to feel better when you've got a feeling you just can't shake off?"

It was a fair question. Yassen just didn't want to answer truthfully, but did anyway. "I usually just look into it," he grumbled. "Or make contingency plans if I can't."

"Oh." Alex pursed his lips. He drummed his fingers gently on the countertop. "Maybe we should focus more on the codes then. Sounds like we'll need them. A new phone might help too, maybe with a slide out keyboard like Dr. Wood had. I'm faster on those. Cycling through the letters on a dialpad is much harder for me. I don't know how you're so fast on them. With one of those, I can explain more in a shorter amount of time."

Yassen stared at him in surprise, internally calling himself an idiot and unable to stop the small flickers of warmth spreading through him. Here he'd been, brainstorming every idea he had to solve the problem himself, trying to account for Alex's behavior rather than incorporate it. Meanwhile, Alex was busy trying to figure out a system they could both use, something voluntary on his part that would help the both of them share responsibility without necessarily conflicting with either of their natures.

Perhaps he was right to be surprised. Alex hadn't really offered solutions like this before- Yassen usually had to adapt around him or press him to agree with any proposed solutions, like holding the pills for him or going to the restaurant to study. Compared to the many surprises that sprung up, Alex offering his own ideas transparently was certainly a nicer one.

Perhaps the boy was maturing, just a little. Becoming more trustworthy, should Yassen dare to dream.

"That's not a bad idea. I'll look into getting you another phone. We can discuss a few codes later." The contract killer rested his hand on Alex's shoulder and shook him gently as the boy yawned again. "You did very well last night as well, little Alex. Go lay down. I'll phone your school to excuse your absence."

Alex yawned again, seemingly pleased with the idea and relaxing. "What are you going to do?"

Yassen grimaced. "Make an ungodly amount of phone calls, I expect."

"Okay." Alex rubbed his face and straightened in his seat, but didn't leave it for his room. "One last thing."

"Hm?"

"Promise you won't do anything to K-unit? They're prats, but they are sort of my prats, if that makes sense."

Damn. He'd hoped to avoid this conversation altogether. Just one of the many instances in which it would have been more convenient if Alex hadn't gotten used to dealing with spies and criminals all the time. Obviously, the universe simply couldn't cut Yassen a single break today. Perhaps he ought not delay the inevitable.

Yassen pressed his lips together. "No."

Suddenly Alex's gaze sharpened. "What do you mean no?"

"I don't lie to you and I won't start now. If they pose a real threat, I will handle it as I see fit." Yassen pressed a hand to his stomach. Big mistake. He really might just vomit. Pickled watermelon really wasn't sitting well with the smoked fish or improvised donut toast. "I will take your feelings into account if I can," he offered.

Alex hopped off his stool and scowled at him. "Don't! They're barely a threat. We've got a good lie prepared already for last night and we can spot their surveillance with our iPods now, so we can just avoid them altogether. That is, if they didn't end up getting arrested for fighting with prostitutes on the street and deported anyway. Yassen, you can't."

Yassen gave him a deliberate expressionless look. Alex's assumptions and blind faith in him had to come to an end sometime. It just wasn't practical to allow him to harbor them long term, even if it made other things easier. Was more pleasant. To be fair to the boy, sometimes they both seemed to forget exactly who Yassen was. "I assure you, I can. Now, go rest."

"No, you can't-"

"It's not a negotiation."

Their landline rang. Tempted to ignore it, Yassen realized the caller ID listed the concierge desk and snatched it up before Alex's startled anger could morphe into an actual response. "Yes?" he answered. Hopefully they weren't calling to reference his odd behavior the night before, nor the incident in front of the complex. Either way, it was best to know what they wanted.

"My apologies, Mr. Lebedev, but an urgent message has been posted for a Ms.-" the woman at the desk hesitated slightly. A pensive clicking, as though she were double checking a computer window. "Ash Madre? I'm sorry, sir. We don't have anyone listed at your apartment by that name, but I've double checked the address."

"It must be some sort of error, thank you," Yassen told her calmly as he hung up. Wonderful. It seemed the gadget man urgently wanted his attention. Ash was an obvious reference to Yassen's name, which translated directly to 'ash tree', while the spanish word for mother was an obvious dig at Alex's habit of calling him mum. Or of Yassen's embarrassing admission to the man. No one else would bother with such a roundabout way of getting his attention. Smithers must have decided that Yassen was ignoring his email as opposed to just busy.

As if he didn't have enough to do today anyway.

Alex had apparently had more than enough time to collect himself, though he was pressing his palms against his forehead. Clearly this fight was far from over. "They don't deserve to die just for this. They don't really have a choice about what their missions are. They barely like me, so I don't think they even want to be here. What do I have to do to convince you? What is it that you want from me?"

"Nothing," Yassen snapped, pulling out his iPod. He began the connection process. "I'm not doing this to coerce you into doing what I want. I assure you, if I was, I would have made that clear. Just go to sleep and let me handle this."

Eyebrows drawing sharply down, Alex stared at the device in his hands and put his hands on his hips. "Who are you calling?"

"Oh, I thought this would be the perfect chance to chat with Wood. You know, discuss her thoughts on the X-files and whatever else is on her mind this week." Yassen scowled and lightly brandished the silver music player. "Obviously, I'm calling Smithers. He's been quite aggressive in attempting to garner my attention since the early hours of the morning, so I'd much rather call him now before he hires a skywriter."

Alex sighed and held out two pinched fingers in a quiet request.

Yassen hesitated, studying the boy. He obviously wasn't done with the argument about the SAS men, but he'd clearly gauged the effectiveness of continuing to protest at this very second. Weariness tugged at the circles under his serious brown eyes. He really should be getting more sleep, not that Yassen had any hope that he'd persuade the boy of that, now probably too riled up to properly wind down even if the boy wanted to. To be fair, Alex could be pitching a bigger tantrum and wasn't: Yassen was tentatively hopeful about that. He'd even tried to offer Yassen solutions to the problems he'd caused. Instead of balking at the mere idea that Yassen might kill, here he was, asking to be included and trusted, the way he'd once done for Yassen in prison.

It probably wouldn't hurt anything. He'd need the collateral with the boy and his hit-and-miss morality later. With a grimace, Yassen handed over one of the earbuds, tucking the other in his own.