When they found him, he was knitting.

It was a little past midnight when the knock on the door came. He was sitting in the tiny kitchen, Yekaterina fast asleep on the sofa, Natalya using his bed. His hands shook the needles when he heard a rough, Spanish-accented voice say through the wood, "Open up. This is the police."

With all the remaining calm he could muster, he set down his yarn and rose. He stared at the door, frozen, feeling a wave of cold sweat wash over him. "Open up now, please." He took one step forward, his legs feeling like jelly, his heart not quite sure if it was supposed to be beating or not at this moment. "We will use force to enter if you do not comply." He moved.

Four officers were standing on his doorstep. The dreadlocked one in the middle was smoking a fat cigar, like something out of a movie. When he took it out to speak, he sounded friendly, despite the gravity his words held. "Ivan Braginsky, you are under arrest for the probable cause of hacking the United States government. Step on back inside, please, and get your hands where I can see them. We don't wanna make this difficult, okay?"

He took a step back as the officers entered. "No," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. His hands were forced into cuffs behind his back, and then he was being instructed to stand against the wall so he could be patted down. In his panicked state he struggled a little and got pushed and yelled at. When he heard an officer shout, "There's a woman in here!" from the living room, and then a yelp from Katya, he began to hyperventilate.

He didn't want to get caught. He didn't want to wear handcuffs or go to court or to prison. But most of all, he didn't want it to happen to his sisters. He tried to turn around and see what was going on.

Yekaterina was helpless, frightened, and confused. She shouted in her best broken English as the officer slowly led her into the kitchen, still in her pajamas, her hands in the air and her face streaked with grief as she saw Ivan. "What the hell is going on?" she whispered to him in Russian.

He didn't answer—only tried to swallow his stiffening tongue. Where was Natalya?

"Search the rest of the apartment," the cigar-smoking cop advised his friends. "The FBI guys will sweep by later, but if we find that computer…"

An officer flung open the bedroom door, and there stood his youngest sister, already posed with her hands in the air and her face giving away no fear. "He's innocent," she declared boldly. She was led out, as well.

Then they waited a few moments for the bedroom and bathroom to be searched. He knew he was done for. He hadn't hidden the laptop safely at all last night, and it could be easily seen if one only opened the cabinet under the sink. But low and behold, the officer emerged with a grim expression and a shake of his head, empty-handed. What did it mean?

The cigar-smoking cop finally faced him, scanning him up and down, and then nodding once. "All right. Listen up, Mr. Braginsky. The name's Carlos Machado. We're gonna take you down to the station now, and these ladies will come, too. Are they related to you?"

He didn't move. "They're innocent," he stated in Russian.

Carlos let out a little laugh. "Okay, okay, you're playing this game with me. I get it. Been there many times before. And don't worry; I hate Americans anyway. But there are some guys there that wanna see ya. Big guys. Important; you've caused quite a stir. So don't give us no trouble, okay, man? Okay. You have the right to remain silent, and anything you say can be used against you…"

Toris picked Alfred up at six, and they drove through early morning traffic to the police station in a semi-awkward semi-silence.

"How's Felicks?" Alfred coughed out when it grew too unbearable. He was restless; he could never stand the silence. He knew Arthur Kirkland would be at the station, and Kiku, and that they had found the hacker(s) responsible for the breach. But after getting four hours of sleep the night before, he had worked himself up into a frenzy about why they hadn't yet told him anything. And what Matthew had to do with it. His own brother—turned against him.

Toris's face went red and his hands on the steering wheel went white. "Um. Felicks is fine, I guess."

Alfred fiddled with his belt buckle. It got jammed and he cursed, leaning back and running his hands through his hair. Finally: "You've been working here for a long time. Longer than me. Does he ever, like, talk to you?"

He caught Toris's glance in the mirror as he gulped. "No. Um. Do you mean that he...talks to himself?"

"Sure. Sure I mean that." Alfred stared ahead, willing the cars to go faster. His stomach was acting up again—that was how he knew it was bad. He knew that whatever lay ahead at the station wasn't gonna boost his rep. "Good golly. This is just hell, dude."

Toris nodded solemnly. "This job is very problematic. That is the reasoning it is top secret, I think. I think...I think that if Felicks really is a dealer on the—on the black market, at this point, there is nothing the US government or any other coalition of governments could do to defend ourselves if we tried to prosecute him. For one, he would probably be too powerful. And we would be having trouble to explain ourselves—explain how we know. There would be outrage all around everywhere, and a fight. He is unethical; we are unethical. It is a circle with no end."

Alfred hadn't thought that deeply into it—their job situation—and felt a little stunned at the sudden revelation from a quiet coworker and a quiet friend he had known for so long. "Uh. You're not wrong, I guess, but, uh. I was actually talking about the road work ahead of us." He coughed. Now he looked dumb. "You know, like, 'I sure hope it does?'" Alfred almost gave him a friendly nudge to diffuse the tension but held off at the last second. "Like, 'I sure hope the road works? Ahead of us? Road...work?' Get it?"

Toris bit his lip. "The road is seeming fine to me."

"Yeah. Yeah, you know, it really is." He closed his eyes and let out a long, shuddering sigh through his nose. "Probably just the whale people. Your magnet, y'know." Alfred opened his eyes just in time to make more awkward eye contact with Toris in the mirror again, and at hearing about SAVE THE WHALES, he cringed away.

"Are you okay, Alfred?"

Alfred fidgeted again. All his words came out in the next breath: "Yeah, sorry, I'm just kind of fearing for my life? I have this gnawing, horrible dread that Arthur Kirkland is going to actually murder me and I hardly know why—I mean I kinda do know why, or at least suspect why—and all I wanted to do was help catch this hacker, but no, so now I'm here."

"But...Arthur likes you. You are his favorite," Toris claimed. And then he looked curious. "What exactly have you...done?"

The unnerving feeling that had been growing on Alfred perked to attention. He decided to not answer the question. "I'm just...anxious."

Toris nodded once. "I understand. It will pass; don't worry. It will be okay."

But, alas, it would not be okay.

They made it to the station. Alfred spotted the shared Ford in the parking lot and knew Matthew must indeed be here, carrying through with his promise from yesterday that maybe we can talk again tomorrow morning at the station. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He pretended to be here for only that reason. "I'm just here to see my brother," he breathed to himself as he and Toris slid into their FBI jackets. "Just here for Matt."

Toris tried to give him an encouraging smile as he held open the door and Alfred was hit with the AC and a cold sweat rush at the same time.

He tried to visit on a normal schedule, so he knew his way to Matt's office, but it turned out he didn't have to follow it. He spotted Matthew right there in the hallway, talking to another familiar-looking cop, and waved himself over.

"Hey! How's it goin'?" Alfred rushed out, putting on a smile. "I forgot the donuts."

Matthew perked up, and then laughed nervously. "Oh, hah. Hi. You—You did, eh?"

The other officer, the big Cuban named Carlos, let out an exasperated groan and slapped his hands over his face. "Oh, come on! You again? Could ya at least not stand next to him? It gets even harder to tell you two apart that way."

Alfred laughed good-naturedly, but not without injecting nerves into it, as well. Why was Matthew looking at Alfred like Alfred had just brought an olden-day pioneer curse upon the family name? "I'm wearing this huge-ass jacket, man! It says FBI in, like, neon yellow size one thousand font!"

Carlos shook his dreadlocks. "Well, don't go shovin' it in our faces now, big shot."

"Hey, if anyone, he's the big shot!" Alfred pointed at Matthew, who flinched. "Mr. Sheriff Supreme of DC and all, right?"

"He is police. Not sheriff," Carlos argued back.

"Oh yeah? Is there really a difference?"

Before it could escalate into a larger disaster, Matthew put his foot down. (He exhaled with slightly more force than normal and the conversation ground to a halt.) Slowly, he gave Carlos a polite nod, and Toris one as well. Then, cautiously, he turned to Alfred. In the smallest voice manageable he said, "I think that you are needed elsewhere at the moment."

Alfred's stomach dropped at the same time Carlos turned away and scoffed, "That's about right. Tell him."

"Tell him what, Matt?" Alfred questioned, laughing nervously again. "I thought I came to…"

He trailed off as Matthew gave him a tense smile and pointed behind him, down the hall. Therein lay Chief Arthur Kirkland of the black division.

"Top of the morning, Alfred!" he exclaimed, in a more jovial tone than normal, but Alfred could spot the murder in his eyes from a mile away. "How are you? And good day, Toris."

Toris looked unsure if nodding back was the correct option. "Hello."

"Hello indeed." Kirkland's smile was razor sharp. "Have you done any work so far this morning?"

"Just a few minutes," Toris answered obediently. "Everything looks normal."

"Oh, but let's be reasonable. I was referring to him." Arthur extended a palm to Alfred. "Our trusted young Agent Jones here. Alfred, have you done any work?"

Normally Alfred had no problems with being the sudden center of attention. But here, right now, today, in this economy? He was faltering. "I. Have not yet."

"Right." Arthur Kirkland kept nodding and nodding. "Right. And I'm going to correctly assume you hadn't done any work late last night, either."

"But you caught the hacker, didn't you," Alfred interrupted. "I figured that out at least. And they're...here?"

"Yes, we caught our bloody hacker." The chief turned to Carlos and Matthew. "And, by the way, he's still not talking. Hasn't even mentioned about wanting lawyer. The women are still unstable; they won't leave the side of the cell and tell me they don't speak English."

Carlos tsked. "Can't blame 'em."

Alfred shifted. "Who is it? The hacker? Is Kiku here?"

Arthur turned back to face Alfred fully. "Yes, Mr. Honda is here. He's already identified the subject in question, so now it's your turn. Maybe you can help him find his words for us."

"Wait, what? How can I…" He let the sentence hang, staring at everyone and coming to the full realization that he was right. Everyone knew what was going on except for him. "Fine. I wanna see."

Kirkland nodded cheerily. "Oh, you don't have a choice. You're going to see. Come."

Alfred considered whether he should disobey and make a run for it. Obviously he was in trouble, but Arthur insinuating Alfred could somehow help the hacker "find his words for us?" Something didn't add up, and whatever that something was scared him. He squeezed his hands and followed his boss down the corridor, Toris and Matt behind him.

"Right this way," Arthur said, holding open a door when they arrived in the holding cell area. He was no longer wearing a pretend smile or speaking mirthfully. "Go in and see for yourself."

And so Alfred went in, and he saw.

He had watched years of movies where the slow-motion effect was used, but hadn't felt it himself quite like this. Everything was sluggish. First he saw the floor, and the metal bars stretching between it and the ceiling, and then he saw the two ladies whispering in the corner, and then he saw what he was meant to see, standing in the cell. The man looked utterly defeated: his broad shoulders slumped, his downy blond hair falling into his face, his eyes—those beautiful purple-blue eyes—downcast. Until they were rising, and rising, and meeting Alfred's own.

For just one moment things didn't quite connect and Alfred excitedly blurted out, "Ivan!"

For just one moment—"Alfred!"

And then time stood still.

Those eyes of Ivan's eyes went wide, and he slapped a hand over his mouth at the same time Alfred took a step back. The tide of realization swept over them and washed them out. Alfred forgot to breathe. This was the reason Matthew looked afraid of him, and the reason Kiku hadn't said a word to him, and the reason Arthur was going to actually murder him. Ivan was the Russian spy. And Alfred—Alfred in his suit and jacket and glasses—Alfred was the FBI spy.

He could see the dots connecting in Ivan's own mind as well, as the man seemed to begin to shudder as he pointed a single accusatory finger through the cell bars. Alfred hadn't realized he had been pointing, himself. He turned quickly back to Arthur, looking for an explanation, or assurance that this was just a dream, but the chief was silent and frowning. Alfred met Ivan's eyes again and whispered, "How?"

Ivan's features twisted into an expression Alfred had not once seen him wear before. Nothing like the soft smiles in the park or even the complacent face he wore when scrolling through his phone in the late afternoon or early morning. "Ty solgal mne."

But Alfred had to be defensive. "You lied to me, too! What...what is this?"

Ivan surged forward, clutching the bars between his fists. "Ty govorish' po-russki! Ya znal eto!"

"What's he saying," uttered Kirkland.

Alfred ignored him. He felt hot all over, and not the good kind of hot he used to feel in Ivan's presence. It was a frustrated, embarrassed, confused and angry kind of hot. A hot that made part of him want to forget this was happening, grab Ivan, move to Alaska, and become humble fishermen...and the other part of him want to walk away now, leave Ivan behind bars, and see him later in court. It was what a hacker deserved. A Russian spy. An enemy of the FBI, of the United States. A criminal. A liar. Alfred shook his head, trying to clear it.

"Why did you do it?" he interrogated, stepping forward. His voice was trembling and rising in volume, but he had no control. "Why in hell did you think you could… How did you do it?"

"How did you learn Russian?" Ivan countered, in Russian. "All this time you were behind my back? Against me?" He snarled. "Why did you do it?"

Alfred shook out his shoulders. "Cut it out, man! You're a traitor!"

Ivan squeezed the bars. "No! You're the traitor! You did this to me! I trusted you!"

"Bullshit! You're a—you're a crook! A felon! And you went into this knowing that!" Why, oh, why did this have to happen to them? Why couldn't they just be normal people?

Arthur stepped forward. "Jones, will you—"

Alfred hadn't known what he had been about to say, but cut him off anyway, moving closer to the cell. The rest of the world had faded away. "Hell yeah I will! Ivan, what the fuck? You should be sent back home! Back to Russia for this! Holy— That's the reason you came, isn't it? Isn't it!"

"You don't know anything about me." Ivan's eyes narrowed. "You never knew anything, did you? Is that why you approached me? I just thought you were cute and wanted to talk to you, but you wanted to destroy me! I never wanted to target you! I didn't know! You took advantage of that!"

Alfred couldn't process this all at once. He fell back, waving his hands. The things he had felt about Ivan, all of the wonderful emotions, were frozen in place like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do now. "I can't believe you on this! You realize that, right? You realize what you've done? I can't believe anything you say, or ever said! You're sick and manipulative! For all I know, this was your plan the whole time!"

"Shut up, you stupid American! You never shut up! You're wrong and corrupt and you keep secrets and you hurt! These things you are saying hurt!" Ivan shook the bars, his face growing crimson. God, it hurt just looking at him.

Alfred was almost at a loss for words. He winced. "You're the one who's wrong. I never tried to hurt you or take advantage of you, Ivan."

Ivan let go of the bars, but his fists stayed clenched. "I was prepared to leave my house in the middle of the night to come hug you. I was so scared, but I was prepared to take you to meet my sisters just so we could watch the movie together. I was prepared to do all these things for you. I was even going to tell you that I lo—"

He closed his eyes, knowing he had to interrupt. "None of that means anything anymore. You have to realize that." This was hard, so hard to say. Alfred wished he was in Alaska. "You did something bad, Ivan, so now you're going to have to—"

His world turned on a dime. Alfred had forgotten that he was in a room surrounded by people and witnesses who had been listening to the entire half-Russian, half-English conversation, and now his glasses were on the floor and a bright red pain was flaring across his cheek. Alfred looked up. Ivan's youngest sister stood there—Natalya was her name? And she had slapped him.

There was a second of silence just like before, and then everyone was shouting and moving. Alfred felt someone drag him backwards, and then Matthew had a hand on his chest and was stepping in front of him, barking out, "Everybody please be calm!" Natalya was screaming at Arthur in no discernable language, Yekaterina was pressing her arms through the prison cell bars in an attempt to hold her brother, and Carlos had one hand on where his gun rested.

"Stop this," Alfred muttered dizzily. He was only watching Ivan. Ivan had begun to cry. Alfred's heart fractured.

Toris, surprisingly but not surprisingly, was the first to raise his voice and come to a clear conclusion. "I think it would be best if we separate."

Arthur Kirkland turned and threw Alfred a look. "Do you see now, Jones?"

Alfred cursed at him.

The Chief didn't like that. "That's it. Toris is right. We're leaving. If you have any more words to say to your conniving 'gardener' boyfriend, well, they might be your last."

"Get you a man who can do both, I guess," Alfred scoffed pathetically. Albeit...he couldn't bring himself to want to leave Ivan. There was still so much they hadn't covered. Alfred was confused and lightheaded, and he wanted more of an explanation before Ivan was sent off to who knew where. Seeing Ivan sniffling made Alfred feel terrible shame, but he didn't think he was the one to blame. Ivan had betrayed him, and could have been using him all along. Though it didn't seem that way and was never supposed to seem that way, Ivan was...dangerous.

Matthew led him carefully out of the room, and Alfred felt his heart break.

Carlos stayed to calm the sisters, but the moment the rest of the party made it to Matt's office, Alfred's interrogation began. Arthur had even snagged a recording device, and positioned it on the desk as he directed Alfred to a chair.

"I ain't sayin' nothing," Alfred stubbornly relayed at first, hunkering down into a little ball of sadness.

Kirkland opened his mouth. "Agent Alfred F. Jones, I will fire you if—" And he was halted by a knock on the door. He slammed his fist against the table. "Damn these repeating intrusions!"

"My sincerest apologies," Kiku said, lightly pushing the door open. "I was looking for Alfred, and I saw...hello, Alfred."

A wheeze. "Hey, man."

Arthur ushered Kiku in with some hand waving, and then locked the door behind them. "He's about to have the shit questioned out of him, so we're glad you could join us."

Kiku looked from one man to the other, nodded a bit shakily, and sat down next to Toris with his hands folded.

Matthew was murmuring to himself. "Chief, I don't know if we can do this now according to the law."

But Arthur Kirkland was a force unstoppable. "We are the law! Even if, I don't really care. I want to hear the truth, and I want it from him." He directed his piercing gaze toward Alfred. If Alfred had thought he looked menacing before, that was nothing compared to this. "Start from the beginning."

Alfred readjusted his position, sighing once, and then again, his throat dry and his brain running wild. His stomach felt like it was bouncing, but he was sitting still. It was too hot in this room. Ivan was locked in a cell crying somewhere down the hall. "I can't. It's too much."

"You can and you will," Arthur stated, but less bold this time.

Alfred's glasses had been picked up and given to him before leaving the holding room, but he hadn't yet put them on because his head hurt too much. He set them on the desk and leaned back, staring at the ground. "We've met before, okay? Is that what you want? Saw him at the park a couple of times. We've texted and stuff. That's it."

Matthew's voice was soft. "You were talking about him when I picked up the truck that one time, weren't you."

Alfred nodded, but said nothing more about the romantic side of his and Ivan's relationship. It seemed like a happy, faraway dream he couldn't bear to think of yet.

Kiku leaned forward and gave him a gentle look. "And were you going to tell someone about it?"

Alfred let his shrug fall all the way down to the armrests. "Maybe."

"What kinds of things did you tell Ivan?" Arthur asked.

He felt his face burning pink. It seemed like he couldn't get enough air to breathe to speak with, but having his friends there being nice did help. He tapped his fingers against his thighs, staring at the nature photos of beavers and polar bears tacked to the wall. "I don't know. Memes and stuff. He—he thought I worked at NASA."

Arthur raised his eyebrows at that. "So that's what that was in there? He didn't know who you really were?"

Alfred nodded, rubbing his eyes. "I did lie to him. God, I'm horrible."

Toris asked in a meeker voice, "So you didn't give away any government secrets to him."

"No," Alfred answered. "Never, not that I'm aware of." He felt his legs going weak and looked at Matt pleadingly. He needed out of here now or he was going to fall apart.

Chief Kirkland set his jaw and came to a more level tone. "That's better to hear. And you're sure of this? But you don't know if he ever took advantage of you. We could still be compromised. What else happened...between...you and him?"

Matthew came to the rescue. "Let's save the rest of the questions for later, okay?" He sent a knowing look at Arthur. "We'll have plenty of time once we figure out Mr. Braginsky's charges and organize some lawyers, and his apartment needs to be searched. The laptop computer and cable he's alleged to own weren't found."

So there was a computer. Alfred, in the midst of an anxiety overflow, now wondered how he had never seen it during all those times he watched Ivan. Was it dumb luck, or had Ivan known Alfred was watching him and had purposefully not used his laptop in the presence of his phone? Would that explain the "Mr. FBI" dilemma? He fumbled around for his glasses and sent a grateful glance to his brother.

"So be it." Arthur didn't set his eyes in Alfred's direction again. He pressed STOP on the recording device. "I'm going to work now and will investigate further into the situation. Thank you for your time, gentlemen." He gave each of them a handshake, skipping Agent Jones, and left the room.

Toris soon reluctantly followed, but Kiku and Matthew stayed. Matthew gave a long exhale, and folded over some papers before meeting Alfred's gaze. "Let's get you home, then. We'll take the truck."

"We will help you through this," Kiku put in, leaning forward. "I know you are not the type to betray your country. Mr. Braginsky will be put to justice."

Alfred gulped down a sob. "Thanks, you guys." But he didn't feel as grateful as he should have been. If someone as close and kind and thoughtful as Ivan could be a liar and a traitor, anyone could be.

"It was an accident," Ivan managed over the tears. "I fell in a hole, and now I owe so much to them. I would never have done it myself. I promise. I love the both of you so much, and...and…"

"Shhh," Yekaterina was saying, combing through his hair from behind the bars. "It will be okay." But there was fear in her eyes, just like there had been fear in Alfred's eyes and in Ivan's own eyes. Trust didn't exist anymore.

"I believe you," Natalya stated, holding his hand. "It is not your fault."

"It is my fault," Ivan whispered, then choked on another gasp.

"No! It's that FBI man's fault, isn't it?" she continued, determined. "Whoever he is, he's to blame. Not you. I just know it. Don't worry at all, Ivan. We'll get you out of here, right Katya?"

"Yes," said Katya, distantly. "You'll come home safe and sound." She placed a kiss on Ivan's forehead.

The door opened, and the police officer from before placed his hands on his hips. "I need the two women for questioning now."

"He says they need to speak to you," Ivan relayed.

Natalya and Yekaterina dragged themselves to their feet. "We're going to fight this," Natalya stated. "When we're done, we'll make sure the FBI will pay for it."

Ivan gulped, and then they were gone.

It was easier to cry with no one watching, so Ivan compressed himself onto the tiny holding cell cot and bawled into the pillow. He was ashamed of himself, angry at the police, furious at Alfred, scared for his sisters, and terrified for the future. He had no backup now, and barely a clue how this justice system worked. He was completely alone once more. Home, safe and sound, was now both literally and metaphorically hundreds of miles away.

liar - britney

what up punks did you miss me