A/N: Happy Monday, everyone! I hope everyone is doing well. I just wanted to drop a quick line out there to thank all of my diligent commenters- I know I respond at about the same rate as us Americans get stimulus checks, but despite that, I promise you I DO read them the same day I get them, I DO swoon like a Victorian maiden onto the nearest chaise lounge, and I DO re-read them when life's feeling wretched and writing feels hard. You guys are the best and I certainly don't tell y'all that often enough.
Alex flopped backwards onto his pillow pile, munching happily on his biscuit. It had taken a while, but he'd dug his way past Yassen's appallingly poor snack choices and come up with some winners. The lemon and ginger biscuits he'd found were tasty, if somewhat dry. An acceptable compromise.
On screen, a bicyclist toppled over face first into a pile of leaves.
Yassen burst into laughter, choking as he struggled not to spray the last swallow of kvass anywhere.
The final verdict was in after exhaustively thorough testing: Yassen had only so-so taste in funny Youtube videos. Silly animals did nothing for him, neither did the more ridiculous choices like keyboard cat and a skateboarding bulldog. Autotune anything actively earned a scowl from the man, so Alex quickly ruled that entire category out. Reaction videos were generally a dud and prank videos overall seemed to annoy him. Children doing stupid things was nebulous; Charlie Bit My Finger got only a snort, but children falling over in general seemed to genuinely entertain the man. Standup comedian clips were hit and miss regardless of how witty they actually were.
Overwhelmingly, and surprisingly, Yassen's favorite videos were physical to the point of bordering on slapstick. Whether it was a casual trip on the tennis court or an outright faceplant by a skateboarder trying to flip off the camera, the man burst into laughter almost every single time. Alex had chalked it up to mean-spirited schadenfreude at first, but the longer it went on, the more it seemed wholly unrelated to the level of injury or the physical aptitude of the victim.
Yassen just thought it was hilarious to see people fall over.
It was so basic and unrefined it boggled Alex's mind. Maybe it was because Yassen was so nimble that it seemed odd to him, these clumsy apes he inhabited the world with; unable to navigate the safe-by-design environment of a children's bouncy castle without somehow managing to wind up on the ground, thrashing in undignified confusion. Only experiencing the most mild amounts of resentment at the reminder of the man's superhuman ability to maintain his balance, Alex quickly settled on a channel made up of Funniest Home Videos and FailArmy and settled in for the night.
Fortunately for them both, Alex also thought it was funny to watch people faceplant ambitiously, so at long last, a safe overlap had been reached.
Four hours passed fairly quickly. It only took Yassen about twenty or thirty minutes before eating shifted his high again. Alex was ready to thank whatever capricious god had taken pity on them when Yassen's next phase took him back to that relaxed, ready to be entertained state. At least now he wasn't constantly returning his gaze to the security feeds. The man's high had been all over the place, though in retrospect, a lot more interesting than Alex had bargained for. Not that he'd ever devoted any thought to what a high Yassen would be like to encounter before tonight, but he'd rather suspected Yassen would be the type to space out in front of the TV and eat voraciously. Alex had assumed most people were. The emotional highs and lows were exhausting- not even considering Yassen's random impulsiveness ranging from stealing tanks to hiring prostitutes to harass their targets. Thoroughly disenchanted with the night of babysitting, Alex was very, very ready to coast on whatever fumes they had left.
Christ, the man was a powder-keg. It was so much easier when he was just drunk. Cranky was much simpler to deal with than volatile.
Not for the first time, Alex thought of the brownies in the kitchen and had to talk himself out of coming up with an excuse to pilfer one for himself. Just a nibble. Just enough to help him relax.
He shoved another biscuit in his mouth, chewing it hard in the hopes it would distract him. There would be time later to take a reality nap. Right now, it was still Yassen's turn.
A buzzing jarred his hip. Frowning, Alex glanced up at the clock above the door before he fished out the flip phone he'd confiscated earlier. Vankin again. He'd tried calling about an hour ago, but Alex had missed the call over the sound of the speakers and hadn't bothered trying to ring him back. Besides being thoroughly not in the mood himself, he didn't want to remind Yassen of the real world until he was sober enough to deal with it.
It could be important, though. He should probably answer.
Alex declined the call and turned to Yassen. "It's almost one and I have to take a leak. Should we pause for a break?"
Yassen glanced up at the clock in surprise and shrugged. "Sounds fine," he yawned.
Unlocking the door swiftly, Alex gave the security screens a quick glance before giving Yassen a furtive look. He'd better not say anything. If the contract killer wasn't already worried about it, Alex certainly didn't want to suggest the idea he get paranoid and panicky again.
As soon as he was discreetly locked in the loo, Alex pulled out the phone with a small sigh before hitting dial.
"Took you long enough," Vankin snapped in Russian in lieu of a greeting.
"Still Alex," the boy informed him in English, half ready to hang up on the man.
Their SVR handler groaned. "Don't tell me he's still high. I've been cleaning up this mess all night."
"I told you," Alex snapped. "He's had four times too much. At least. We'll be lucky if he's sober in the morning. What do you want?"
"You both are ridiculous." The distant sound of chatter cut off, as though Vankin had stepped into a quieter room. "Do you know how much damage there is? I barely managed to contain the police before they spoke to anyone else about the tank. Are you sure he only had weed tonight? Nothing else?"
Alex rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I know, it's odd. He's such an excellent drunk driver, too."
Vankin heaved a massive sigh. Oops. Perhaps Alex should mind his phrasing a bit more. He shot the clock in his bathroom a baleful glance and rubbed his eyes. Maybe Yassen was in the mood for a nap? "I'll keep that in mind. I need to confirm a few things before I call it a night. First, the SAS men are the only direct witnesses to the tank incident, yes?"
"They didn't see us climb in it, I don't think, but I'd say it would be reasonable that they'd assume it was us, yes."
"And you didn't speak to anyone at the metro?"
"No. We used a machine to buy our tickets, so it was just Fox and Wolf who saw us when we locked them in."
"And the desk attendant at your apartment is the only other person you spoke to?"
"Yes, on the phone." Alex sighed. "Yassen was the one who talked to the… massage… boss lady. I guess. Or whatever her official title is."
A small thread of amusement wound its way into the man's tired voice. "Do you even know what a brothel madam does?"
"Of course I do," Alex grumbled, staring at the floor and pinking. Good thing the other man couldn't see him. "She manages the other ladies' schedules."
"Close enough," Vankin snorted. A car beeped somewhere on the other end of the line. "And no one else spoke with either of you?"
"Yassen bought food before I found him, so he interacted with a cashier, I guess," Alex said, pacing the length of his small private bathroom. Thank god he'd spent so much time digging around mulishly in the bag for treats he liked. "But his receipt said he paid in cash so there shouldn't be a proper record."
"Good. At least he had some sense in him, not that I'll be able to make a great case for that."
"What do you mean?"
Vankin took in a sharp inhale. "I suppose it's not exactly information I'm supposed to tell you, but obviously I'm going to have to tell my superiors what led to tonight's little crisis. They've invested a lot of time and effort on the Estrov case. Obviously, if our star witness suddenly develops a drug problem and begins making our intervention in his life public knowledge, that's going to be a factor in how they evaluate whether or not Yassen's cooperation does us more harm than good. Drawing attention is bad enough. Unpredictable behavior from him is a confidence killer."
Fuck. Alex pressed his clenched fist to his forehead. "He doesn't have a drug problem and his behavior isn't going to be any different than it always is. Vankin, you have to explain the situation to them. It's just this one time. This was all my-"
"Good luck convincing them of that. I'm sure they'll take your assurances at face value. Even my word won't do him much good once my report is complete." Vankin sighed. "Tonight is not something I particularly want my boss's boss to think of whenever Yassen's name is mentioned. Or mine, by extension"
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This was all his fault. Yassen's reputation was going to tank beside Alex's. Despite being Assassin Batman and more than capable of handling almost any situation known to man (including spontaneous tank operation), just being near Alex was destroying his credibility. Oh god. Their security here relied on so many things- chiefly, the SVR's willingness to play ball with them. Fuck. Yassen had worked so hard to make all these deals and gridlock them into safety; in the space of one night, Alex had managed to do something stupid and nearly ruin all of it.
He forced his thoughts to steady. Panicking wasn't going to help anyone and it was Alex's turn to be mum tonight.
Alex took in a quick, short breath. "Did you get all of the video evidence?"
"By some combination of a small miracle and my own sheer competency, yes, I think I have."
"Did you tell any of your bosses the full story yet?"
Vankin hesitated. "Not yet. They know there was a situation relating to the tank and that I'm responding to it personally, but I have yet to relay any concrete information. What are you suggesting?"
"That you destroy all the video evidence and lie. Aren't you supposed to be good at that?" Alex resumed his pacing. "From now on, the story is that I drove a tank across Moscow and damaged a park. Yassen intervened and stopped me before things could go any further, because I only really listen to him. Emphasize that last part, please. That's why we were seen together."
Vankin was quiet for a long few seconds.
"It makes more sense, doesn't it?" Alex demanded, setting his jaw as he glared at his shower curtain. "I'm an unstable drug addict with a history of erratic behavior and property damage. Let's just say I saw the observation team in Moscow and I got so upset that I did a load of drugs and made a mess. I've done far crazier things in the last two years. They don't even have to read my whole file to believe it. Feel free to paint yourself the hero who got control of the flow of the information before anyone could find out about it, just make sure you sell them on Yassen stopping me and him not being the instigator."
Vankin took a deep breath and let it out in a slow hiss. "If I play my cards right, I can make that the official story. As noble as it is for you to take the fall like this, you do realize that this will likely hurt your case instead should someone leak the information."
"I don't give a damn about my case," Alex snapped. "I'm only testifying because Yassen says I have to. Everyone knows I'm a drug addict. Don't bullshit me, Vankin. I know you've got this suppressed already. You're not going to fork over whatever footage you've still got to MI6 or the UN, so it's our word against K-unit's. Even if it does become public knowledge and it hurts my credibility, what does it really matter? We don't have to win the case against MI6, we just have to drag it out until you guys can do whatever the fuck you plan to do about Estrov. Don't act like this is extra trouble for you. It's the best option for both of us."
Vankin seemed annoyingly unphased. "Agreed. Now put Yassen on the phone."
Alex wanted to huck the phone at the wall. "Not happening."
"I'm not joking. Listen to me, Alex-"
"No, you listen," Alex snarled. "I just spent the entire bloody night babysitting an upset, disoriented hitman with no impulse control in downtown Moscow, while dodging special forces trained soldiers and making sure nobody got shot OR run over by a tank- and I did it all while frustratingly sober. Not only is this going to go in my file for the rest of forever, but I didn't even get to enjoy being high for any of it. I'm not letting you make tonight any harder for me. It's your turn to be the grown up. You're our handler. Fucking handle it."
Alex pressed his palms to his eye socket for a good minute after hanging up, dragging in breaths and counting to four. Once he was confident his anger was no longer obvious, he splashed water on his face before leaving his bathroom and padding over to the office.
Empty.
Christ. If Yassen had left the apartment while Alex was busy haranguing Vankin into lying for them-
The contract killer glanced up at him from the kitchen stove, where he was busy tipping something out of the frying pan and on to a plate. Alex paused, staring at the odd misshapen lumps that seemed half caramelized and half crisped. "Look, Alex. Toast."
Alex looked between the half burnt donut pastries and the pleased assassin now wrestling open the kippers tin. He couldn't help the slow grin in spite of himself. "Brilliant. Make me one?"