Ivan breathed in through his nose. He breathed back out quickly, because boy it was hot and he had been walking through the city for what seemed like an eternity now and he was barely running on fumes of adrenaline left over from yesterday. He only had a day to do what he was about to do, clearing himself for the weekend. Also it was almost lunch and he was famished. Which led him to this idea.

"Bowl, please. Lo mein and orange chicken. No chopsticks."

"Oops, sorry," mused the man in the truck as he bustled about, securing his long, dark ponytail through the hole in the company-labeled baseball hat. He did not sound sorry. Then again, he was barely audible over the blasting of foreign rap music. "I already put in the chopsticks."

Ivan offered up a friendly smile. "Oh. That is okay!"

The man paused to stare Ivan down. Ivan stilled and returned the look. Yao Wang was menacing, he decided, but only because he moved so fast and talked so loud and, due to the height granted by the truck, was a few inches taller than Ivan. Yao squinted through the tinge of soy sauce hanging in the air. Ivan smiled wider. Yes, this was a man who didn't mess around. Just what he needed.

"What you smiling at me for," Yao sneered finally. "Throw them away if you don't want them. I don't give no crap. You owe seventeen thirty-five."

Ivan nodded. He slapped a few bills on the counter. "Keep the change."

Yao squinted at Ivan, squinted at the money, then did a double take. His eyes went as wide as the fake lanterns strung from the Wok & Roll ceiling. Then, in a flash, he scraped up the bills and lowered both his brow and his voice. "This is way too much, you stupid. Even for tips. I never get tips."

"Consider it a bonus for a favor," Ivan said, carefully. Before Yao could move, he pulled a slender black case from out of his work bag and set it atop the counter. "You will keep this for the weekend, and you will meet me here next Monday and I will pick it up. You will not look at it, you will not let anyone see it, and you will forget who gave it to you. If I am not here next Monday, you will break it into small pieces and throw them into the river." He smiled again, taking his bag of food. "Okay? I hope there is a fortune cookie in this."

For a few drawn-out seconds, Yao looked absolutely disgusted as he stared at the case holding Ivan's secret laptop. Then, he shut his mouth, and without blinking, stuffed the money in the register and swiped the laptop out of sight. He swallowed and met Ivan's eyes evenly. "Of course there is a fortune cookie."

Ivan smiled for real. "Great!"

This time, Alfred had come somewhat prepared.

Ivan's last phone usage: texting his sister at 7:03. Ivan's morning shift end time: 11:30. Ivan's current location: Constitution Gardens. Ivan was sitting in picnic fashion in the shade of a tree next to the pond, eating...what was that...Chinese? Eating Chinese, and wearing boots, overalls, and the scarf—what a fashion statement. He was alone, like normal, and blissfully unaware.

Alfred began his approach. He did this slowly, for he didn't want to alarm Ivan, of course. He had moved fast across the city in order to keep this excursion within the allotted time of his lunch break, so he was sweaty, and also it was like a bajillion degrees Fahrenheit, which made the sweatiness extra Satanic, and Alfred was lil' nervous, and he sweated when he was nervous. (Alfred did his best to deny the nerves on both the physical and mental scales. Nerves made people unsteady and uncomfortable, and when you were unsteady and uncomfortable you couldn't function at the highest degrees of lyfe, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Much akin to, say, the government.)

How to introduce himself? Alfred considered a "Howdy, partner," then a "Yo wassup," then a "Greetings, Earthling," and finally decided on "Oh, hey, it's you again!" He cleared his throat to begin, and Ivan turned around at hearing the sound.

For a second neither of them spoke. Ivan perked up in surprise. Alfred turned his clearing-of-throat into a hacking cough. And then Ivan was saying "How did you find me?" at the same time Alfred started in with a weak "So, hi!" and it was basically a trainwreck.

They winced in unison, and then Ivan started doing his polite giggle laugh thing. Alfred rolled his eyes, not so glad anymore that he had decided to take off his sunglasses before approaching. They concealed an important part of his face that was bright red at the moment. "I meant to say 'Oh, hey, it's you again!'" he clarified flatly.

Ivan set his jaw. "And—how did you find me?"

Alfred put his hands into the pockets of his stupid FBI code-mandated pants and clenched them into fists. "Is 'pleasantly stumbled upon you' not a good answer or something?"

Apparently it was a decent enough answer, for it made Ivan smile brightly. "Maybe I found you! You didn't walk by the Washington Monument again. I missed you. I decided to eat here instead."

Alfred felt like a guilty bastard for knowing just how much Ivan had missed him, but was still a lil nervous. His eyes darted around and found the familiar food bag logo next to Ivan. "Hey, that's Yao's!"

Ivan looked down at his lo mein noodles as if noticing them for the first time. "Oh. Yes, I went by just a few minutes ago." He smiled wider. "He was very nice. I gave him a tip."

Alfred whistled. "Shoot, I never give him tips." He cleared his throat again and gestured to the ground next to Ivan. "Um. Can I, uh, sit with you?"

Ivan paused and blinked, expression unchanging. Alfred was initially alarmed by this, and began to doubt if he had misjudged Ivan, until he realized that it was the face of a man about to make a sick reference. "Actually, Meghan, you can't sit anywhere. You have—"

They were both on the ground laughing well before he even said "hemorrhoids."

"I do like to eat in this place a lot," Ivan admitted, waving at a cluster of birds who had ventured from the pond to check out the picnic food. "The ducks here can be nicer than the people. Not that you are not nice. I think you are...nice. You work near this place?"

Alfred leaned back on his hands and deftly dodged the bait. "It sure is beautiful here. One of my favorite places in DC, too. I mean, the monuments are cool and all, but I think a lot of people here can be not nice because they're not really from here, cuz it's tiny. Like, they just work here. Like politicians. Tourists." He sat up. "Actually, in fact, where I work I'm like the only real American. Isn't that weird? You know what, now that I think about it, that's heckin' weird."

"I am from Russia."

"Oh." Alfred tried to react as if he didn't already know this. "Um, interesting."

"Is it weird to have Russians in Washington?" Ivan continued, gazing directly at Alfred, the clouds reflecting on his purple eyes.

It was another test. Alfred ignored a chill, the back of his mind wishing that the sun would come back and that they weren't under a tree. "Well. Not really, I guess. Diplomats and stuff, right? I don't—I don't know." He tried for a light laugh. "You're not a spy or anything…are you?"

"No."

"Oh," Alfred deadpanned once more. "Interesting."

Ivan scooted suddenly forward, breaking back into a grin. "You said that two times. That is suspicious. Maybe you are the spy."

Alfred felt the chill crawl down his spine, and he put on a crazy grin of his own. He laughed. "I'm not a spy. I told you, Ivan. I'm a businessman!"

Ivan smirked, narrowing his eyes. "It is a lie and I do not believe you, Alfred. What if you're not a businessman? What if you're not even American? What are you?"

Alfred, in a semi-desperate attempt to make sure they were still both playfully joking, grabbed Ivan's arm and wailed, "What are we?"

They held each other's gazes for a very tense second, until finally, the Russian leaned back. His grin fell lopsided into a small, disapproving frown. "That was not dank."

Alfred threw his hands up, effectively letting go of Ivan and expressing himself at the same time. "Okay, fine. But no one says 'dank' out loud, you know."

Ivan shook his head. "You have much to learn." Then he turned around and began digging around in his work bag.

Alfred tried to look at anything but Ivan. The ducks, the scenery, the clouds. But he couldn't believe his eyes. Ivan was pulling out his cell phone and turning it on. Alfred had never seen Ivan's cell phone irl, and was instantly drawn to it. This was how he watched Ivan. He knew that back at headquarters, his empty cubicle was lighting up with the notification from his computer logging Ivan's use of his phone.

"Here," Ivan said. "This is my meme page. Follow me."

"Whoa." Now Alfred had it—a reason to follow Ivan other than the fact that he was paid to. But he couldn't follow Ivan either way, because then Ivan would be alerted to Alfred's profile, which was hidden, and a big no-no. So he said, "Um, I don't have that media."

He subsequently felt bad, for Ivan's face fell. "But I want to have some way of contacting you other than your lunch break times. My sisters are visiting for the weekend, so I will not see you."

And speaking of lunch break, Alfred's was near finished. Damn, I have to actually get lunch, too! "Uh...okay. Um. Why don't we open up your fortune cookie, first, and see what it says."

Ivan was justly perplexed as he turned to look back at his food bag. "Okay…"

Just like before, they broke open the waxy wafer together. "You will soon receive unexpected help from an unexpected source, aru," Alfred read aloud. "And our numbers are...wait. This looks wrong."

"What?" Ivan peered in to see.

Alfred whisked the tiny slip of paper away. "No. I've got this." He opened his jacket and pulled out an FBI code-mandated pen. "Let's fix this."

Ivan continued to watch on in confusion as Alfred hunched over to scribble on the paper. "What are you doing?" He leaned closer. "What are the words on that pen?"

"Nothing," Alfred muttered. He clicked the pen away and folded the paper back up. "Hold out your hand."

Ivan hesitantly did so. His hand was soft and cold; Alfred plopped the paper on his palm, then curled Ivan's fingers around it. Then he stood up. "Open when you're ready."

Ivan was already tearing into the slip. His eyes crossed over the "magic numbers" twice and flashed back up to Alfred. "This is a phone number."

Alfred shrugged, putting his sunglasses back on. It was a feat to keep his grin subdued.

"Who is this phone number?" Ivan questioned, growing impatient.

"Idk. Guess you'll have to text it and find out."

"No." Ivan was frowning. "Tell me who this is."

Alfred fell into a squat, laughing. "Take a chill pill, dude. It's mine, okay? But—I'm not supposed to use my phone for this, so keep it on the down-low." He winked. Then he remembered Ivan couldn't see him winking behind the shades, so he awkwardly reached out and patted Ivan on the shoulder, his hand just barely grazing Ivan's scarf. It was impossibly smooth and cottony.

And Ivan's frown done did turn upside down. "Oh! Okay!"

"Okay?" Alfred stood up again. "Okay. Cool. That's…that's cool, then? Uh. I gotta go."

"Thank you," Ivan said with so much sincerity it made Alfred pause. "I hope we can talk more very soon."

"Yeah, man. I mean—uh—yeah. Definitely." Alfred nodded. "See ya."

He wasn't wearing a huge navy windbreaker emblazoned with a huge yellow "FBI" on the back, but he still felt Ivan's eyes on him when he turned. Something about that guy… Alfred liked him. What was wrong with them sharing phone numbers anyway? It wasn't like Ivan was actually a threat. Of course not. Definitely. Well, he was a tad creepy and all, but Alfred still liked him. Alfred just had to keep his cover in check, because pretending he didn't already know the guy was turning out to be difficult. Ivan was already catching on. But this was just research. Yes. That's what it was. Now Alfred could get to know Ivan better, on a different level.

Kiku had warned him of this.

Alfred and Kiku had had a nice conversation the night before, in which Kiku described his day at work and Alfred described his. Kiku was one of Alfred's best friends, so he knew Alfred worked in the FBI; he just didn't know about the black division. Kiku had told Alfred about how strange people at the museums were, and described an awkward incident in the elevator and computer room. Alfred had said he would be glad to check it out, if only he weren't so busy already with an "ongoing assignment" (Alfred had been having "ongoing assignments" for years now). Kiku had sighed and said he understood, but that Alfred bargained too much. Alfred had said I don't know what you're talking about. Kiku had said to forget about it, and yes, we should get together sometime and play games, and it would be a good distraction. Alfred had said from what? Kiku had said, well, from our busy work lives, I suppose; I could be wrong and I mean this in the lightest of ways, but I have noticed you seem slightly...absorbed. Alfred had said uhhhhhhhh yeah, okay, right, yeah, duh, that sounds awesome, my dude, we should totally hang out. Kiku had said good. Great. Alfred had said goodbye.

And now, walking down the street on a hot summer day, looking for a train to take, Alfred realized he didn't know how far he would go with the Ivan thing. Nor did he know what he would do if he discovered Ivan actually was a spy. If Ivan was found out, Alfred would have to do...his job…

He strolled into headquarters fifteen minutes late with Starbucks. What he saw out front, however, made him decide to quicken his pace. "Is that…?" A tall Ford F-150 with a set of lights stuck on top. Alfred gulped and dashed through security.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he mumbled to himself, jamming the button in the elevator. He could have done his laundry in the time it took to reach the negative two-hundredth floor. He wished someone would install a fire pole already—or even better—a slide. Just as expected, when Alfred finally arrived at the bottom, the gray division was in chaos.

"A lead!" Elizabeta Héderváry and Ludwig Beilschmidt were practically jumping up and down, waving a paper around. Arthur Kirkland stood to the side, looking like he wanted to join in, but finding it too inelegant to do so. And standing next to him was none other than renowned District of Columbia police chief Matthew Williams. Alfred's bro.

"Matt!" Alfred exclaimed, setting his Starbucks down on the nearest table and jogging over.

"Al!" Matthew called, lifting a hand in greeting. Matt had lived his early life in Canada when their parents had divorced, but went to college in the States and decided to work there, too. Their parents had remained partners in business, so Alfred and Matthew had stayed close.

"You," Arthur grumbled as he watched Alfred approach.

"What's cooking?" Alfred asked, glancing around after giving Matthew a classic bro-hug.

"You'll never guess," Matthew informed excitedly in the familiar slight accent Alfred loved to make fun of. His voice was quieter than everyone else's. "Last night someone called in as a witness to the disappearance of Francis Bonnefoy, the most recent disappearance from Chief Héderváry's gray division." When Arthur nodded, he continued. "We have a sketch of what we think could be a suspect, and a brief description. And thanks to the investigative work done here"—he gestured to Ludwig's and Héderváry's party—"we'll be interviewing the very man tomorrow."

"Oh." Alfred had long since lost interest in the drama going down in the gray division, and had to admit he wasn't caught up. "That's great, man. You really know how to do your job. You go, Glen Coco. You go and you catch that Mafia."

Matthew adjusted his glasses. "Well, it isn't proven there's a connection with the Mafia just yet. So far it's only speculation—"

"Gilbert's coming home!" Chief Héderváry sang, punching the air. "Finally. What a weak."

Arthur picked up again. "It's just like Francis to let a bunch of Italians distract him, too. When he gets back, I'm going to kick his arse. But first, I need to speak with you." He pointed at Alfred, and it wasn't a happy, I'm-proud-of-you sort of point.

"Me?" On instinct Alfred feigned stupidity and pointed at himself.

Matthew sighed, sensed their short conversation was coming to a close, and said quieter, "Yes, you. Anyway, good to see ya! I hope your work is going well. Sorry to—"

"Oh, it's great!" informed Alfred. "It's just—"

"He'll have a lot to say about his work indeed." Arthur began to march, probably with the suggestion that Alfred should follow. "Very glad you could be with us, Matthew. I'm looking forward to—"

"It's just fine," Alfred finished with a big smile. "In fact, it's more than fine. It's dank."

Matthew was left looking confused and a little put-out as Alfred was dragged away. Alfred was about to complain to Arthur about this, about ruining the reunion, until he saw where they were headed: Alfred's cubicle. Inside of it, Alfred's laptop was already up and running.

"How'd you…" Alfred trailed off. "The log."

Arthur about near exploded. "Yes, the log, you idiot! Do you have any idea what a position you've put us in? Two unreported suspicious instances, two days in a row!"

Oh, great. Nothing filled Alfred's stomach better than dread. He rushed to defend himself. "Hey, Ivan told me he was working late! And his sisters are coming over soon, so I assumed he could have been, like, calling them or something!"

The Chief crossed his arms, trying to maintain a deadly calm. "He 'told you?'"

Alfred put a hand over his eyes in a subtle attempt to conceal the blush. "He—god—he does this thing—"

"And his sisters are coming over? Alfred F. Jones! While that may not be directly suspicious, it's still a potentially major event and needs to be reported!"

"Why? It's just a family visit! Do I have to write down every time he takes a piss, too?"

But Kirkland was cross. "You can discern what's important and what's not, Agent. Or at least I hope you can. Do we have to have Toris cover for you again?"

They both glanced over to Toris. "Please no," he muttered.

"When will you learn?" Arthur went on. "When will you learn—"

"That my actions have consequences, I know, I know." Alfred crossed his own arms. For a fleeting second, he considered telling Arthur about the luncheons and the phone number exchange. He really did. He opened his mouth, ready for the information to just fall out like it normally did, but then nothing happened. He tried again. Maybe Arthur would be proud he was taking an initiative. Nothing. It would be so easy. I've talked to Ivan, and he's not as scary as he seems. Zilch. Kirkland was still staring at him.

"You best be on your guard, boy," Kirkland dictated. "Tonight. I want you to report everything that happens, no matter how minuscule, or I'm going to sit here and watch over your shoulder. It's almost treason."

"Alright, fine," Alfred grumbled, the dread balling up his throat and spilling out. "But just so you know, he calls me 'Mr. FBI.'"

The house was clean. The laptop was gone. The sunflower was watered. The meme account was bustling. But Ivan needed to do one more thing before his sisters arrived.

He climbed into bed, opened up his cell phone, and plugged in the number. He prepared to type.

Good evening, Alfred. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Sent. He stared at the screen and waited one minute. Two. Three.

Read at 10:44 PM.

toxic - britney

Wow lol that was ominous. And yes I really should be doing homework but here I am woohoo yay. I'm also very impressed with myself for keeping this secure weekly update schedule, and it's thanks to all the support from you guys! So keep it comin' and stay tuned, because next chapter's got something a little different and very special planned...