So yeah, another new character. Sorry. But he is important to the story and also the last important character I'll be introducing. As with BMO I used a chunk of artistic licence here, because I needed Petya Bolshakov to be important in the family but since he's based on Peppermint Butler he's really supposed to be closer to Bonnie but there wasn't really a way to make that happen in the boundaries of this story. And it's not cannon established if he even knows Ash but like I said, artistic licence.

The quoted lines in French are lyrics from the original Édith Piaf version of La Vie En Rose, the line of poetry is from a beautiful poem called "Death," by Rainer Maria Rilke.

Content Warning: confessions, descriptions of historical character death.

Petya Bolshakov was enjoying his life as a newly freed man and wasn't terribly happy to hear that his son was still involved with that backstabbing bastard Abadeer's daughter, no matter that he was her godfather and her uncle's friend. But he supposed that when he saw them together at least they made a handsome couple. Her dark brooding stare contrasted nicely with Ash's pale beauty. And he supposed it was good they were still in touch after all those years, it never hurt to have the Petrikov heir on his side. When he opened the front door to her he was struck by how much she looked like her mother. She was all Claudia and barely any Hunson. That was encouraging; Petya had always had more time from Marceline's sweet tempered mother than for her father. He hoped the same was true of her personality.

"Marceline, it has been a long time." he murmured as he greeted her. He noticed the way she winced when he brushed his lips against her cheekbone in greeting and had to repress another disapproving frown. Hunson was still treating his women like they were his personal punch bags then. He could just see the faint outline of a bruise flowering across her cheek under her make-up, similar to the ones Claudia had often sported. Petya made a mental note to make sure Hunson was the victim of a violent mugging sometime soon. She may be a stranger now but she was still his goddaughter.

Fifteen years in jail had changed Petya Bolshakov. He wanted no more of Hunson's stupid turf wars or power trips. Petya was determined that the family would move in a more subtle direction. The world had changed around them and there was no more space for a thug like Hunson,; he was going to drag them all down with him if someone didn't do something about it. Petya Bolshakov had resolved to be that someone. He would begin by finding out what kind of woman his little goddaughter had grown into and then turning her against her father if he could. Having Marceline in his corner was more symbolic than practical but if the last Petrikov supported him then Petya knew the rest of the family wouldn't be far behind. Hunson had never been popular, even less now since his time in prison.

"Papa Bolshakov." the girl replied quietly, returning the kiss briefly and backing away as quickly as good manners would allow. Petya nodded to her to take a seat on the sofa in his cluttered lounge and poured her some peppermint tea into a small glass. He was not a good man but he at least prided himself on being more respectful than her father. Ash had told him she was vegan and he was certain Hunson would be taking a sadistic delight in forcing her to eat as many animal products as possible. Petya had opted to serve a tea that was taken without milk; he hoped she would appreciate the subtlety.

"So Hunson is restarting the business, yes? And he wants me to allow my only son to be dragged into this insanity." Petya started.

"He wants to regain his empire." Marceline confirmed. "He wants me and Ash to run a shell business that he can channel his dirty money through."

Petya nodded, that was what he'd expected to happen. It was Hunson's style; try to do everything all at once instead of working subtly and taking care not to act suspiciously. Marceline's name was as clean as a Petrikov ever got, so far as he'd been able to discover her criminal record was limited to a few minor juvenile offences and some recurring problems with truancy from school years ago when her uncle had first started to get sick. Ash didn't have a criminal record; instead he had a quite promising career as a male model. Petya would move heaven and earth to keep it that way. He was already spreading his subtle influence in Ash's professional world to ensure his boy's success.

"Begin whatever company your father demands if that will bring you peace but keep my Ash out of it. He is doing just fine without Hunson's involvement."

The girl frowned and nodded, Petya was relieved. Likely she was no more keen on dragging her boyfriend's name through the mud than he himself was. Petya had his worries about his son, he suspected every parent worried for their children. Well probably not Hunson but most parents. Ash had grown up alone with his mother and Petya had missed the best years of his boy's childhood because Hunson had named him in a failed plea bargain for reduced sentencing. Despite Hunson's recent success in having their convictions quashed Petya still harboured resentment towards the other man for that. No amount of bribing judges and buying juries could give him back the time he'd lost watching his son grow.

Ashar was a stranger now, tall and statuesque like his mother and far more handsome than Petya could really take credit for. And when he watched them closely from the cover of pouring the tea Petya noticed that there was a well-defined wall of physical distance between him and the girl he'd claimed to be in a relationship with when they sat together on the sofa. Petya was not blind; he could see that they were a little uncomfortable in each other's company. He nodded to himself, resolved. Things were not as they appeared. He was almost certain he already knew what Ash was keeping from him but he would let it surface whenever his son felt able to tell him. He would not mess up his boy's life any more than he already had by getting mixed up with Hunson and his craziness.

Until recently Ash had shared an apartment with another handsome up and coming male model and then a couple of days before his father had been released from prison he'd moved without warning back into his childhood bedroom. His father suspected he already knew what Ash's secret was but he would be damned before he'd do anything to make his boy's coming out any more traumatic than it had to be. Briefly Petya wondered what Hunson's pretty daughter was getting from their pretend relationship but he disregarded it; that was none of his concern. They'd been childhood friends so no doubt she was doing it as a favour to him.

"Hey, I'm sitting right here you know." Ash broke into Petya's musings with a scowl.

"And do you want to be part of Hunson's next insanity?" his father asked softly. Ash flushed and looked down at his hands.

"No."

"Then what are you complaining about?"

Ash shrugged and scowled out of the window instead, avoiding the older man's eyes. He didn't want anything to do with Hunson or with the fat little man his father had become. He missed Anton and he missed his carefree life of hedonism and partying, missed not having to deal with any of the Old Moscow crowd or their stupid old fashioned prejudices. Ash knew he wasn't the only one suffering. Marcy's face was bruised with Hunson's hand print and her eyes were shadowed and vacant like she'd pushed all of her emotions into a mental vault and switched off from them. He sympathised with that completely. Ash reached out and took Marceline's hand, giving her a brief squeeze of solidarity. He figured that he would at least pretend to be a decent boyfriend for her. He hoped she understood that he shared her pain.

...

Upstairs in Ash's childhood bedroom that night Marcy huddled awkwardly in the wicker chair by the window. She hadn't been to the Bolshakov house in years. The last time she'd been in that room they were about fourteen and checking each other's French homework. Ash had shyly confessed that he didn't really like girls and she'd carefully replied that she might, she wasn't completely sure yet. They'd lost touch for a while after that, gone to different schools and only seen each other every few months for a coffee or whenever Ash needed a date for some family party or other. She was distantly glad he was still her friend after everything, even years later.

"Your father seems happy to see me." she mumbled after a while, staring out of the window at the dark rain spattered roof terraces and perfectly manicured yards Ash's neighbours kept.

"He's just glad you're not forcing me to join in with your Dad's craziness. I am too, not that anyone bothered to ask my opinion." Ash replied with a shrug.

Marceline didn't reply. She was quiet for so long Ash thought perhaps she hadn't heard him.

"I miss Bonnie so much it hurts." she murmured softly after a long silence. "This must be killing her. She doesn't deal well with abandonment, she's had some bad experiences and this... she must be feeling terrible. I just want to talk to her, tell her I'm sorry. Or just, just curl up with her. Close my eyes and rest together and not have to deal with any of this for a while. I feel like I'm trapped in a nightmare I can't wake up from. Every time I think about how badly she must be hurting it's like something ripping open in my chest. I just want to explain, I don't want her to be hurt because of me. I wish I'd never met her if this is how it's gonna be. Wish I'd just stayed away from her that day at the museum."

Ash nodded. He understood how that felt.

"Anton will be home tomorrow. I can just see the way he'll burst into our apartment all flustered and excited. The soppy idiot's probably bought me a whole new wardrobe. I can picture how his face is gonna crumple up when he reads the letter I left for him. He'll cry, ruin the careful hint of mascara he denies wearing that's so obvious. He'll curl up on the floor like he's in pain and probably pull his pretty hair out in fistfuls and scream about it. Hope he doesn't do something stupid."

"Hope Bonnie doesn't either. She doesn't seem the type though; she's probably just lying in bed having a massive anxiety attack and refusing to talk to anyone." Marcy muttered. She couldn't meet his eyes. Couldn't see the trapped panic that perfectly reflected her own looking back at her because if she did she might just crack and do something really dumb like let herself cry about it or try to call her girlfriend. She had Bonnie's number memorised, just in case. It would be an incredibly easy and stupid thing to call her.

"He's got a big drag competition coming up; he was really excited about it." Ash continued. "I told him that drag queening was stupid and weird but even I have to admit that when he's Tiffany he can dance better in heels than most women I've met. I hope this doesn't stop him competing. He's the favourite to win the Queen of Hearts this year. I just don't want to ruin everything he enjoys just because my family are fucking crazy. I- I just… just…"

The blonde man put his head in his hands and let his shoulders shake with something alarmingly similar to a sob.

"Hey now," Marcy said, overcome with sympathy. "Don't you start crying or you'll set me off too. We're doing the right thing, yeah? We're giving up the people we care about to keep them safe. Because we love them. Right?"

"Yeah. Yeah I know. But I never told him, he said he loved me one time and I just laughed and told him not to be such an emotional queen. What if he never knows?" Ash asked quietly around the sobs that still forced their way up his throat. She slid out of the chair and came across to the bed, running her hand comfortingly across his shoulders.

"It doesn't matter if he ever knows, not anymore. It matters that he's safe. You know what the family are like. Unless you want to leave roses on his grave then just do the right thing and stay as far away from him as you can. If you really love him then forget he exists."

Ash gulped and nodded, wiping his eyes on the corner of his sleeve.

"I know. I do, I know I can't see him now. I just... it's hard. I wish I'd told him."

"Yeah, I know. I never told Bonnie either. It was too soon, we'd only spent a weekend together and I didn't want to scare her off by being too clingy. Least I don't have to worry about that now."

They sat in miserable silence for a while longer, Marcy still rubbing his shoulders comfortingly and Ash trying to master his sobs and push them back down. It was a bleak kind of comfort that they had each other but it was better than being alone at least. Marceline hadn't wanted to stay in the same house as her father. He'd been out when they'd gotten back from the police station the night before and that morning when she'd apologised for causing a scene and getting arrested he'd just shrugged and said he assumed the bastards had deserved it. That'd he'd done much worse to people who'd crossed him in the past. Ash had taken her to lunch and they'd both awkwardly pushed their food around their plates for a while before giving up and going to his Dad's place. They decided to stay until morning because neither of them could face being stuck with Hunson.

They passed a sleepless night lying as far apart as possible on Ash's narrow bed and occasionally asking each other in low voices if they were still awake. By the morning Marceline had more to distract herself with anyway. She had to get to the shops first thing and get an unobtrusive piece of tech then hurry home feeling like it was burning a hole in her pocket the whole way.

…...

Heart hammering in her throat Marceline pinned the tiny concealed microphone under the collar of Hunson's coat and tapped the receiver to check it worked. She could hear the corresponding tap clearly in her own subtle earpiece; if she was lucky she'd be able to record every word her father said the minute she thought he was about to incriminate himself. She flattened her hair nervously over her ear and then added a hat for good measure; paranoid that he'd somehow see it and know what it was.

"Marceline! Hurry up, girl. We're going now!"

She thought back for a second over everything she'd learnt from her childhood travels with Simon as she hurried towards the door carrying his bugged coat. Things had worked out well that morning and Simon had taught her to be thankful for small coincidences that made her life easier. It had become a peculiar habit between the two of them. She was grateful and wanted to know who she should direct her thoughts to as well as trying to distract herself from what she was about to do.

Asiaq, the Inuit weather goddess, was probably most appropriate to offer a prayer to for sending a steady stream of cold rain and giving her the perfect opportunity to hide the microphone on the coat. If it had been good weather he wouldn't have worn it. The Norse goddess Freyja for departed family, to honour her brother and mother and to give thanks that she had the opportunity to get justice for them at last. Freyja was the goddess of sexuality and love too; she should be honoured for allowing Marceline to cross paths with Bonnie no matter how briefly. And Artemis, the ancient Greek goddess of the hunt. She would need the skills of a master hunter to snare Hunson at his own game, the patience and detachment of a predator stalking an easily alerted deer. Three goddesses. Marcy repeated their names over and over in her head like a mantra as she helped her father into his coat.

Asiaq. Freyja. Artemis.

Marceline didn't believe in gods or goddesses of any kind but it helped focus her mind and keep her from thinking about what would happen to her if Hunson found the microphone. He'd already proven that he had no problem murdering his own family for perceived betrayals. She didn't want to know what he'd do to her if he had direct evidence that she was working against him.

She hadn't been back to visit her family's graves in a long time. Not since Simon had been taken into care and had stopped being able to go and speak to Betty. But she'd needed the excuse to get her father talking, needed to prompt him to talk about the past. They rode the underground in tense silence together and then emerged onto the grey rainy street. Hunson strode along imperiously and Marcy scurried after him, struggling to keep up. When they reached the cemetery gates Hunson was forced to let her lead the way. He'd already been in jail when the funerals took place and he didn't know where his wife and son were buried.

Marceline threaded her way carefully between the graves, up the well-worn path to the headstones that had been a constant part of her childhood. She finally stopped before the slab of marble with her mother's name carved into it and had to repress a shiver of nostalgia. She bitterly wished Simon was there to hold her hand again.

Claudia Valentina Petrikova

Beloved Mother and Sister

"Les ennuis, les chagrins s'effacent

Heureux, heureux à en mourir"

Death bows his head and weeps

"Hey again, Mum. Sorry I had to bring him." Marcy whispered to the cold stone. "I'm trying to get rid of him again. You'll see."

Then Hunson was beside her and she had to shut up or risk him overhearing.

"Do you want a moment?" she asked him, pretending for the look of it that she believed his bullshit about having nothing to do with the fire. Pretending right along with him that he could possibly feel grief as deeply as her. It was like a whole ocean of loss was pouring onto her shoulders every time she remembered the ragged hole in her life where her mother and brother should have been.

"Please. Go wait by the gates, I'll be back soon."

Marceline nodded and strode off towards the main gates again, pressing the slim remote in her pocket to activate the earpiece and concealed microphone. It was tiny but powerful. The man in the tech shop had said it would have no problem picking up a human voice even if it was wrapped up and put in a few layers of cloth. That was lucky; Marceline was desperate to get the evidence as quickly as possible before something happened to ruin her plans. The longer it took the greater the chances were that something would go wrong. She wished there was a goddess to thank for it but it seemed there wasn't a single deity in any culture who was tasked with making sure the shops in London had every gadget imaginable available at a reasonable price twenty four hours a day. She was still incredibly thankful for it though.

"Hello Claudia." her father's rough voice spoke in her ear as she made her way back through the graveyard. "I'd say 'lovely weather for it' but no doubt you'd just stare at me with that stupid look on your pretty face. You never did get my sense of humour did you, girl?"

Marceline ground her teeth together, anger replacing the raw grief of a moment before. She'd forgotten that her father had always spoken to her mother like she was a dog that'd learned a clever trick, forgotten how furious it made her. But she forced herself to relax as much as she could and listen to what he was saying.

"I suppose I should say I'm sorry. Sorry for Marshall at least, he wasn't supposed to be there. But sorry for you? No, you earned it and you knew how I would react. I gave you everything and you were a faithless bitch. But I'm walking and breathing and you're buried in the ground now. So I guess that means I won, if it was ever a game. Who was he, Claudia? Was he as good as me, did he make you come, tell you he loved you? Or were you just fucking anyone you could get your hands on?"

He paused for a long minute and Marceline was forced to listen to the dull thudding of her own livid pulse in her ears, anger making her heart race. She wanted to scream at him, hit him, make him apologise. Make him hurt like she was hurting.

"Don't think this is over, Claudia. That girl you left me is wild and every bit as stupid and useless as her cheating whore of a mother. And your dear sweet Simon, always so overprotective, you want to know what I'm going to do to him? Wait and see. I'll make those burns on his arms look like a fucking massage. I spent fifteen years behind bars because he was too fucking stupid to follow simple instructions and move a bag of coke. I'll take a lot of pleasure in choking the life out of him with my own hands."

Marceline clenched her fists and dug her nails into her palms. It was harder to listen to than she'd thought it would be.

Asiaq. Freyja. Artemis.

She chanted their names over and over in her head but it wasn't enough.

Mum. Marshall. Betty.

That worked. Do it for her Mum, for Marshall, for Aunt Betty. Listen to Hunson slowly hang himself with his gloating. For them. And once he was behind bars again she could find Bonnie and apologise, try to fix things. Do it for the people she loved.

"You know I didn't mean for Marshall to get hurt though. He was my heir, my boy. My wonderful son. Look what you and your idiot brother did, Claudia. You killed him just as much as I did. I ordered the hit but you kept him there. You're the reason he was in the house when the fire started. Marceline could have fucking burned for as much use as she turned out to be, but Marshall? I could have used a son like him. He was the best thing I ever created. You're as guilty as I am, girl. Did you ever wonder in your last moments what had happened? I hope you did, Claudia. I hope you cried bitter tears over your lover whoever that idiot was. Hope you knew that you were going to fucking die and that it was me who killed you. I knew you were faithless, see, I arranged it all. Couldn't let you just make a fool out of me like that. Couldn't let some other man put his hands on you, you w-were mine. Y-you were my wife, you were only supposed to love me. I- I hope you knew that it was me who set the fire, Claudia. Hope you suffered, you ch-cheating bitch."

There, that was as cast iron a confession as she could ever have hoped for. But Marcy paused, listening to her father's voice, listening to the way he said the words and not the awful things he was admitting to. His voice shook and it was heartbreak not anger that forced the confession out. She could hear tears in his words, regret and grief every bit as strong as her own.

"I wasn't enough for you, was I? Gave you everything I had, girl, everything you wanted and more. You could have owned my heart forever, could have had anything that it was in my power to give you. And you still strayed. Did you ever fucking love me the way I loved you? See I don't think you did, Claudia. I think you loved my money. Loved the lifestyle I offered you. But me? You never loved me, never even tried. And now you're dead, you stupid bitch. You made me do it. Made me kill you. I wish it wasn't too late to tell you I'm sorry, that I regret it. That I m-miss you, every fucking minute of every day. Wish I could just take it back, b-bring you back... Cl-Claudia..."

The recording dissolved into wordless sobbing. From her distance by the cemetery gates Marceline could see her father was leaning forward over the grave. He was holding the top of her mother's headstone with both hands and shaking with tears. She was suddenly filled with an emotion she hadn't been at all prepared to deal with. It was a strange feeling, foreign when applied to Hunson. She hated him still and wished he had died instead of her mother. But underneath all that, underneath the seething anger and loathing there was a spark of pity for him. She couldn't begin to understand how it must feel to live with the knowledge that she had killed the only person she really loved in a jealous rage. She shivered at the depth of crippling sorrow that thinking about it opened up in her heart as she tried to repress the image of how much it would hurt to be in the same situation. To stand over Bonnie's grave crying bitterly and telling her she was sorry, that she didn't mean to kill her. That she wished it wasn't too late. Knowing that no amount of remorse would ever bring her lover back; nothing and nobody could undo what she'd done. But that was what would happen if Hunson found out about them, Marceline knew it instinctively.

She pushed the mental image and the unwanted sympathy to one side. Bonnie was alive and safe, nobody would hurt her because nobody would even know she existed. Marceline would rather kill herself than let anything happen to Bonnie if that's what it came to. She might not always have been the most moral person but she wouldn't let the innocent redhead suffer just because Marceline had had the misfortune to fall in love with her. And Hunson was still a selfish bastard and still deserved to pay. She refused to let his remorse change the way she felt about him. Her back hadn't stopped burning in remembered agony since he'd turned up in her apartment and she despised him intensely, more than ever. Just because he had a heart after all didn't mean she could forgive him. It didn't mean he deserved anyone to forgive him or show him any sort of kindness ever again. What had Mo called the worst kind of sin that night after the gig? Dhanb. What Hunson had done was dhanb, she didn't have to be a Muslim to know that and she wasn't devout enough in any faith to turn the other cheek or forgive him his trespasses. Instead she slid her phone out of her pocket and dialled the emergency number DCI Earle had given her from memory. He picked up almost immediately.

"I've got your evidence." Marceline murmured quietly down the line.