They kiss outside the station before Ethan gets on the train, a quick, gentle peck on the lips in the shadow of the buildings before Sidorov finds the breath to wish him luck and Ethan swallows his reluctance and leaves him there.

He doesn't hear from the American for another six months, and even then it's just a postcard from Cuba to let Sidorov know he's alive and thanking him for the safehouse in the slightly smudged, messy Russian of someone unused to writing the figures. He's relieved, but a few weeks later he hears about some American military operation going on in Havana. He hopes it didn't even involve Ethan, that he's long gone by now, but six months is a long time to spend on the run and anyone would have an excuse to be tired, maybe become a little sloppy, after so long.

He tries (and mostly fails) to put Ethan out of his mind after that, until it has been another few months and he comes home one night to find his apartment has been broken into.

A normal person would never have even noticed, but Sidorov has been in this line of work too long, and the second he opens his door he knows someone else is in the apartment. Myshka doesn't rush to greet him and something in the air feels… wrong.

He draws his gun before he even takes a step through the door, but shuts it behind him normally; whoever is here is bound to have heard him rattling with his keys to get in. There are any number of terrorist organisations he's stopped, criminals he's arrested, all dangerous people who bear grudges. Although Sidorov hasn't received any death threats recently, there are a lot of people who could potentially be waiting for him.

He checks the bedroom first, throws his bag and coat onto the bed so he's freer to fight if he has to, then heads to the main room of his apartment, ready to shoot at a moment's notice.

He lowers his gun when he sees Ethan stretched out on his sofa with Myshka on his chest. He looks terrible, bags under his eyes as dark as bruises, like he hasn't slept in days, skin pale.

Sidorov puts his gun back in its holster and drops onto the edge of the sofa next to him. Myshka stirs, meows at him grumpily. That's enough to wake Ethan too, who smiles at him, albeit a little sheepishly.

"Hey," he says. "I'd stand up to greet you but…" he trails off and gestures to Myshka who is doing her best to get comfortable on his chest again.

"I thought you were someone else," he says.

"Sorry for dropping by without calling first, I just didn't think our governments would approve if they knew I was coming," he frowns for a second. "And I'm sorry I left last time."

"Don't be, American. You weren't safe here. The CIA requested our help the day after you left." He offers Ethan a sharp-toothed grin. "I stalled them a little. I don't think your new boss will ask me for assistance in the future."

When it becomes clear to her that they're going to keep talking and keeping her awake, Myshka jumps from Ethan's chest to the floor. The fact that he can even stand having that weight on his body is enough that Sidorov knows that he isn't as badly injured as the last couple of times they've met. If anything, he just seems tired. He sits up carefully, and he doesn't wince this time. He shifts across the sofa towards Sidorov.

"Thanks," he says. "For that and for helping me out last time I was here. I wouldn't have made it without you."

Sidorov wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him into his side. "You needed my help. You are a good man; you would do the same for me."

"Always," he agrees, leans against Sidorov's shoulder.

"So," Sidorov says, voice quieter this time, almost nervous. "Instead of apologising, how about we pick up where we left off the last time I saw you?"

Ethan smiles up at him, and there's a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that Sidorov hasn't seen before. "And where was that?"

"Here?" Sidorov whispers, cupping Ethan's cheek and kissing him on the forehead. "Or was it here?" He kisses him again, on the jaw this time.

"I think it was here," Ethan breathes, closes the distance between them and kisses him on the lips, running one hand over the back of his head. Sidorov leans into him, deepens the kiss and feels Ethan smiling.

Sidorov wraps his other arm around him and keeps hold, even as they pull apart.

"Was this worth waiting for?" Ethan breathes, resting his forehead against Sidorov's.

"I think so, but perhaps we should try again, just to make sure."

Later, Sidorov will ask questions. Later, Ethan will reluctantly start to tell him what has been happening for the last six months and he'll see all the scars that weren't there the last time they met and hear the story for each one. For now, he can just hold Ethan close and reassure himself that this man he met in such different circumstances is really here, really alive.

For now, they can just kiss again, and hope that this might last.