Chief Arthur Kirkland's shadow loomed over Alfred and his tiny cubicle. "Anywhere else?"

Alfred flipped through the log he had been instructed to keep. He had done all the weekend from memory at one o'clock that Monday morning, so his notes were appropriately vague and sloppy. "Yeah, just a sec. Wait, no. No; on Sunday they stayed at Braginsky's apartment. They were still there this morning when I logged on, and are still there now."

Kirkland jotted something down. "Good. What are his sisters like? You did watch them, I presume?"

Alfred had not watched Ivan's sisters, but it was good he and Ivan had talked anyway, for he had gleaned enough about them to pretend he had. "The older one—Yekaterina, but they call her Katya for short—is silly, nice, and kinda simple. The younger one, Natalya, is a lot more serious and high-maintenance. From what I observed, none of them really seemed suspicious, and none of their interactions with Ivan were suspicious." The more he dealt in half-truths and white lies, the easier it became. Like fibbing to a teacher.

"Brilliant. Just one more question, then." Arthur tucked the clipboard under his arms and crossed them. "Does Braginsky still...talk to his phone like you described? 'Mr. FBI?'"

Alfred was barely able to mask the blush behind his glasses. "Not—not that much anymore." His first truth of the day. The more Ivan was talking to Alfred, the less Ivan was talking to Mr. FBI. "I think the meme is dead."

Kirkland nodded slowly, as if he understood perfectly. Alfred almost laughed. "Right. Okay. Well, then. It seems you're being competent."

"I try." Alfred grinned loudly.

But Arthur appeared too weary to take any of it from anyone at the moment. He looked away and sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I'm just glad someone around here other than me is sticking to a solid plan." He leaned away. "No, I didn't mean you, Toris, sorry, Toris." He leaned back. "It's been a rough weekend. The gray division seems to think that throwing Beilschmidt—Ludwig—into the belly of the beast is a good idea. Of course, because monitoring someone in person will be so much easier and definitely doesn't hold the potential to compromise the whole mission." He was ranting sarcasm to himself at this point, not even looking at Alfred but at some shape seemingly hovering over his left shoulder, which was how Alfred understood just how bad it was. "No disrespect to Ms. Chief Héderváry, of course."

Alfred kicked back and propped his hands over his head. His and Ludwig's situations were similar. "So, he's, like, living with the Mafia now? Is that even, like, legal if y'all don't know if the Mafia is really the Mafia?"

Kirkland straightened up. "It's legal."

Alfred squinted. "I took AP Gov. Amendment...three."

Kirkland slouched again. "Okay, well, technically this entire division force operates under...special terms."

"Huh." Alfred rolled his eyes and turned around in his chair. "Can't argue with that." Something had reminded him of something, and now he wanted this interrogation to be over so he could focus on it.

"Sometimes I question why I'm even here," Arthur admitted darkly to unlistening ears after the passing of a few silent seconds. "Could you imagine...if the public actually knew...but no mind. It is all for necessary protection. Or so they tell us. Good day, Alfred. Keep...doing what you're doing."

"K," Alfred mumbled, already pulling out his computer. Ivan was online. The second the Chief left, he pulled up a visual. But he didn't intend to watch for long.

Ivan's thumbs were flying as he typed, and Alfred didn't need to access the screen visual to know Ivan was texting him. In the background, the Russian's apartment swam in a lukewarm light; the kitchen window curtains were pulled taut over the insistent morning sun, and the stovelight gleamed onto the sunflower on the sill. Ivan's sisters were probably still asleep, so he was sneaking out of the house to prepare for their date. Noon wasn't for another hour and a half, though. So why…

Ivan's screen went blank. He had turned his phone off. And then, right on cue, Alfred's own phone buzzed. Ivan's text flashed over the lock screen.

Good morning! ;) i can not wait to see u ❤︎

Alfred didn't open it, but covered his mouth with his hand so his goofy grin wasn't visible. Ivan had used a fucking heart emoji.

He set his phone face-down on his desk and wheeled over in his wheely chair to the stack of file cabinets below a photo of Times Square he had taken eons ago. The cabinets weren't overflowing. Ivan's file was the only one Alfred ever used, and he even had to blow cobwebs from it.

Under MISDEMEANORS there was just a single sentence. Just one line of text keeping Ivan condemned and Alfred employed. The words came back to Alfred as he scanned them again: "Purchased black market laptop and malware-loaded access cable from known illegal circle of tech distributors, transaction confirmed by their records when exposed." Dated approximately ago.

And for all the time Ivan spent alone, for all the time Alfred had watched him spend alone, Alfred had never seen this laptop once. He laughed to himself. What did the FBI think they were doing?

Ivan had realized, to some dismay, that so far Alfred had only seen him in his gardener uniform. He stared down at his legs and arms, pitifully pale, a little chubby, and tinged pink from spending most of Saturday under the sun. An anticlimactic glo-up from the overalls and gloves, perhaps, but nonetheless, the dress shirt and khakis were much cooler, even under the shade of the tree in the Constitutional Gardens. His scarf was freshly washed.

Natalya and Yekaterina had taken a day for themselves to recuperate. Ivan had left them a post-it note with a list of all the public pools and spas he knew of (or could find on Google Maps). They planned to meet up to go out for dinner later, but for now, Ivan had the day to himself. They...didn't know about the date. He had told them he was going to get groceries and gifts, which wasn't really a lie; next to him on the picnic blanket was a recycled tote bag full of fruits and vegetables he had picked from a local market that morning. It also contained the soup from last night he meant to give to Alfred. After this, Ivan only had one last errand to run. He was really developing his skills at multitasking and keeping secrets!

All grievances were blurred over by his mind when he saw Alfred making his way across the park toward him, however. The man was wearing his typical black uniform pants paired with a light blue button-up short-sleeved shirt. As always, he looked professional, but walked and talked casual. In his hands was a large square Tupperware, the contents of which were undeterminable. Ivan perked up and waved.

"Alrighty, so. Minor issue," began Alfred as he plopped down on the blanket, kicking his feet out to the side and dumping his workbag behind him. He whipped off his shades, placed the Tupperware between he and Ivan, and stared at it with disdain.

Ivan scooted closer and smiled. "How are you?"

Alfred looked up, and a sliver of sun glinting off his glasses flashed Ivan in the eyes. "Me? Mighty fine. Dandy. But my nachos...no son buenos."

But this was Ivan's first authentic American date and he wasn't going to let it be sullied by pessimism. He blinked slowly. He couldn't discern the state of the nachos through the Tupperware lid. "Um. I am sure your food is very good! Can I see?"

"At first I didn't know what to make for you, since I'm not really that huge of a cook except for holidays and the Super Bowl and stuff," Alfred explained, popping the lid off. "So I went with something kinda fast. I put chicken and olives and pico in it and stuff, but then I realized I'd have to keep it all. So I tried to heat it back up this morning, but the office microwave made the cheese all wonky and probably gave me cancer. For some reason I thought that maybe the sun out here would help it stay hot, and that obviously didn't happen. So here." He gestured to the contents of the messy plastic tub. "Have some gross cold nachos."

Ivan examined the dish. It didn't look too horrible. It was colorful and smelled pleasant. The most obvious problem was that the presentation was all over the place, and Alfred had visibly not brought along a fork. This was another food Americans ate with their hands. "More like Hurricane tortilla."

Alfred snorted loud enough to cause a few of the nearby ducks to flee, but—was that—he was blushing! Ivan held back the urge to point it out for fear Alfred would stop. Instead, he turned and extracted his own food from the grocery bag.

"Well, I have also brought something cold, so you are not alone," he said, digging around for a spoon. "This is Katya's borscht. Last night it was very good. Very good. Very...great." Ivan nodded to stress the point.

Alfred took the spoon tentatively, his gaze leaving Ivan to examine the meal. "It's supposed to be cold? Huh. I can't remember if I've had borscht before. I only eat beets at Thanksgiving."

"You have not had Katya's before," Ivan teased. "I will get her recipe and make it for you again if you like it."

"In that case, let's dig in," Alfred grinned, dripping liquid from the spoon as he toasted, though it looked more like a salute. He truly was adorable.

Ivan tested the waters with one nacho, scooping up a heap of cheese and tomato. He was pleasantly surprised at the taste, having expecting it to be soggy and sad. The toppings were still lukewarm, and the parts of the chip that weren't so saturated were salty and crisp. And spicy. The spiciness was unexpected. Ivan crunched, swallowed, and reached for his water bottle.

"Hey, this is good!" Alfred blurted out, quickly grabbing another spoonful.

"I told you." Ivan shifted, carefully matching his sitting posture with Alfred's. It was magical how being with Alfred made the rest of the world fade away. On this blanket, under this tree, in this heat, surrounded by a bustling world capital, Ivan felt completely at ease.

"The way to my heart is through food, and you, sir, have the map." Alfred was waxing poetic. "That may have made no sense, but whatever. Hey—how are the gross cold nachos?"

Ivan had just been about to eat another one. "Oh, yes. They are not bad as you said. I would enjoy you making more warm ones." Would a wink be a good addition to the statement? Ivan winked.

Alfred laughed and threw a hand into the air. "Oh, thank goodness. You better not be lying. I need to prove I'm not as bad of a cook as my boss. He once—"

"The 'fire you' boss? The English one?" Ivan tried not to look too eager to be hearing this fresh news about Alfred's elusive job.

"Yeah. One time a couple months ago he brought scones or something—maybe it was muffins—into work for some special occasion, and this French guy had to leave sick. It was hilarious. He pretended to barf in this lady's recycling bin and this other guy got, like, offended. They were all shouting at each other and then I tried to start a Nerf gun war. That didn't go well."

Ivan put his hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles. "That is wild—with a Y. If that happened at my old job in Russia, they would start a true war."

"Haha, damn. Where did you work?"

"A florist." He crunched his nacho. "It was a...critical business."

To Ivan's glee (and confusion), Alfred laughed again. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the leaf-threaded sky. "Oh my God, of course. That makes so much sense. I can see how it would fit you."

Ivan could never tell him how much he missed it. Since they were on the topic, and Alfred was quite reposed, he decided to return the question. "And what about you? If we are on a date to know each other I have to know what 'business' you work." After a millisecond he added, "So you can take more lunch breaks."

"Right." Ivan studied Alfred's face closely. It wasn't grinning anymore, just smiling. He wanted Alfred to look him in the eyes. Alfred kept staring the sky. "Well, I work at NASA."

"What?" Ivan was taken very off-guard by that. He had expected Alfred to say he was a prized, secret artifact collector in a museum, or the head of some wealthy private corporation, or a gambling casino boss, or even, admittedly, a politician. He couldn't stop his mouth from spitting out, "You work at NASA? Then—why don't you have a cool Facebook, or Snapchat? Everyone who works at NASA puts cool stuff on social media."

"Facebook is dead, Ivan."

Ivan shook his head and waved his hand swiftly. "Ah, I know, I know. It was a test. But you work at NASA? So do you get to see rockets? Do you do math and build computers?" He gasped and covered his mouth again. "Alfred. Are you...are you...are you an astronaut? Do you getting to go into space?"

Alfred flopped over onto his stomach and propped his head up with his hands, his cheeks smushing the smile in his eyes. "You're literally the cutest thing ever. But no. I'm just...tech support, I guess. So far."

Ivan felt a warmth grow in his chest and had the urge to touch his scarf. He had finally said it out loud in the real. Cute. "When you go to space will you take me?"

"Well, heck yeah." He pounded a dedicated fist against the picnic blanket. "Have to have at least one witness present when we find out if the Earth is really flat or not. It ain't true until you see it for yourself."

Ivan nodded. "And the stars cannot be seen in the city. I would love that." He didn't realize he was whispering.

And then, Alfred didn't say anything in return. He just smiled.

They stayed like that for a few glorious moments, just staring at each other and smiling. Ivan looked back at the nachos when the pounding of his heart became unbearable. He wondered if Alfred felt the same; he heard the spoon click against the borscht container. Ivan knew that if he truly wanted to be intimate with Alfred, he would have to make some major life changes. Namely, the fact that he was a poor immigrant gardner, and also, of course, a Russian spy. And he wasn't sure if he could do that yet. He knew he was still in debt. But he also knew that right here, right now, he was beginning to want Alfred more than he had when texting him that morning.

Ivan ate another nacho. A small breeze blew threw the park, toying with the leaves and ruffling the ducks' feathers. He wondered if it was possible to hate himself and love someone else at the same time.

"Do you like movies?" Alfred asked out of the blue. Ivan looked up and was flattered to find he had finished the soup and was now sitting up. There was red juice on the side of his mouth.

"I do like movies," Ivan replied eagerly. Was Alfred going to propose something? "My sisters and I watched a lot of movies last weekend."

"I was sorta thinking, um, if we wanted to do this again. I may be too busy to actually go somewhere this week, but if you have a computer or laptop, we could, like, FaceTime and watch together."

Ivan told the tensed muscles inside him to calm down. "I do not have a computer," he stressed. "Would it not be much easier to see a movie together? But you would need to come to my house because I can't leave my sisters."

Alfred's eyes flickered to his shoes. "Ah, right; I'm stupid. I wouldn't want to, er, intrude on you and your sisters. You're probably very busy too right now anyways."

Ivan despised that ambiguous statement, but let it slide. Alfred had shown an interest in another date, which was the important part. He squeezed his scarf. There was still red juice on the side of Alfred's mouth. "When does your lunch break end today, Alfred?"

He snorted. "About seven minutes ago."

"Oh."

"It's chill." Alfred tucked his legs beneath him, as if in preparation to stand up again. "I have the car today from my brother, so I can zoom. And as of this morning I think I'm back on my boss's good side. I know I'm his favorite."

"You would be my favorite, too," Ivan commented. "I bet you have a very fun job. Do you like it?"

Alfred straightened his glasses and said without any hesitation, "I love it."

"I must let you go back to it, then," Ivan declared. "Also, there is—"

"It's chill, really," Alfred promised, standing up anyway and dusting off his pants. He combed a hand through his hair. "Listen, the date was awesome. You can keep the nachos if you want, but you're definitely getting that soup recipe for me, please."

There was still red juice on the side of Alfred's mouth. "There is red juice on the side of your mouth," Ivan notified.

"Oh, oops. Thanks." Alfred swiped the stain away with the back of his hand. It was silent for a second. The wind picked up again. Ivan stared. Then Alfred blurted out, "Please tell me you weren't inclining to, like, kiss and suck it off of me."

Ivan covered his face to keep from laughing out loud. "No, I...I don't know, I do not know, I did not mean..." He was getting used to getting flustered.

Alfred grinned and crossed his arms. "Yeah, no offense, but that's pretty sketch."

Ivan sighed and folded his hands. "I don't want to kiss your food, but maybe I just want to kiss you."

Alfred's eyebrows shot up. "Oh."

Was that a positive reaction? Ivan stepped forward anyway, and was rewarded by Alfred not backing away in terror. He cautiously set his hands on Alfred's shoulders. Alfred straightened up, accentuating their height difference. "Can I kiss you?" Ivan asked softly.

Alfre blinked once. His blue eyes had stars in them. For a fleeting second Ivan worried Alfred would unintentionally ruin the feeble mood by responding with some pop culture reference, or even be turned-off by the question and shake his head with a dumb utterance of no homo. But he only nodded, with a steady voice said, "You can," and closed his eyes.

So Ivan kissed him on the cheek. The alternate cheek from the food spill. He had determined he wasn't ready for a lips-kiss—not yet, at least. A cheek kiss felt sweeter and more reminiscent of their young relationship, or whatever it was. And besides, he still got to be close to Alfred, and that felt really good. Alfred smelled like Old Spice. Alfred kissed Ivan back on his opposite cheek, and the temples of his glasses brushed against Ivan's hair.

They pulled away and Alfred was beaming, which made Ivan feel beautiful things inside. "I like the date too," Ivan admitted.

When Alfred was gone, disappearing back into life and D.C., Ivan cleaned up the picnic. He was in a haze of happiness. How could he have doubted what they were doing? Being with Alfred was obviously the right solution, the only solution, no matter what illicit activity Ivan practiced in his own time. Whatever happened, Ivan would let happen. There was no way he could neglect Alfred. Alfred was funny and charismatic and hot and loud and smart and dumb and amazing and Ivan was falling in…

Ivan was in…

Ivan was in a crowded metro car, traveling north a few blocks. He bounced his leg to the beat coming from the teenager's earbuds next to him and held his groceries and picnic basket tightly to himself. He would eventually have a third piece of luggage before making it back home.

The street above looked no different than it had last Friday, which was to say, Wang Yao's food truck was there, waiting, like a faithful servant. Ivan waited for a few moments for the lunch line to die down, and then approached.

"You," the man hissed at first sight. Maybe he was hissing. Maybe that was just the fryers in the background, or the Chinese rap coming from the speakers. "Here to pick up an order?"

"I am." Ivan tilted his head in delight. Yao was so boisterous it was almost terrifying. "No chopsticks."

Yao rolled his eyes and spat something completely cheerful and optimistic about the kind, hardworking, taxpaying citizens of Washington. He disappeared into the bowels of the truck for a few seconds and emerged with a familiar black bag. Ivan's computer.

"Thank you," said Ivan, taking it gratefully. "Is it...fresh...and, um healthy?"

"You keep using food metaphor and I will stab you with your damn chopsticks." Yao smiled brightly.

"You keep up the good business and I will tip you even more." Ivan smiled brighter. He put both his hands on the counter and pushed himself up. "Tell me: is it good?"

Yao backed away, outwardly disgusted, but Ivan could tell there was just the smallest tinge of fear in his eyes. He wondered if the man had ever taken a bribe before. "It is good."

"Good." Ivan set down. "If it is not, I will know, and I will come back. But for now, I would like one fortune cookie, please!"

Matthew hauled himself up into the cabin and inspected the fuel. "Oh! It's almost on empty."

"Sorry," Alfred sighed. "I, uh, kinda sat in front of NASA headquarters for thirty minutes with full air conditioning and radio just to make sure I wasn't being followed, and traffic, as always, is hell. The whale-savers were out again."

Matt bumped him in the shoulder. "Wait a second—making sure you weren't being followed? Your job is real strange. You okay?"

Alfred fidgeted in the Ford's leather seating like a little kid. "How do you know if you like-like someone, like, too much to be, like, like-like?" he rushed out.

Matthew turned the engine off and got quiet—quieter than usual. "Eh...do you mean, like...love?"

"No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know. Sure."

"Okay, whoa. Al, really." Matt leaned forward, forcing Alfred to look at him with his trained police cop charm skills. "Are you okay?"

Alfred flashed a double thumbs-up. "Oh, I'm fine." They ask you how you are and you just have to say that you're fine when you're not really fine…

His brother let the statement sit just long enough for it to be awkward. Then he inquired, "Who do you...like?"

"Me? No one. I'm asking for a friend."

Matthew nodded very slowly. "I understand."

"You do? Thanks, I knew you would."

They waited for the passage of another seconds.

When it became clear Alfred wasn't going to start spouting another nonsense, Matt cleared his throat and offered, "I say, if your friend suspects they're in love, they probably are, or are at least becoming. And there's nothing wrong with being wrong, either, if they realize later. Love is a powerful, essential trait to have these days, so it's good to accept it when it happens, so the sooner they can let it grow."

Alfred kicked himself beneath the seat. "Okay. Okay, um, that totally sounded like something from a children's novel, but thanks. I'll tell my friend a less cheesy version. I am asking for a friend. Thanks a lot."

"You good?"

"Yeah. I think. Yeah." Alfred opened the door and stepped out into the cool night.

Matt started the engine back up. "If you ever want to talk more, I'm here, you know. Drop by the station whenever you need."

"Yeah, we'll get donuts sometime!" Alfred promised. "Adios!"

"Au revoir!" Matthew called. He and the truck roared away.

poker face - gaga

Hey, everyone! It's that time of year where schedules get hectic, so I wasn't able to update last week, and I'll be in the big city this weekend, and testing and more travel and everything, so be warned there might be a few more delays in updates. But hey this chapter's pretty long so that's cool.

In other news, I have made a loose playlist for this thing because why the hell not. Songs are posted at the end of chapters.