CHAPTER 8
After almost half a year in service, Ivan's coffee machine broke. It sat on his kitchen counter and sputtered its last breath before refusing to make coffee, no matter how much Ivan gently encouraged it. After giving it one final smack, he gave up and turned to his tea cabinet. At least it was an excuse to buy himself a bigger machine, maybe something that could make lattes.
Cradling a mug of substitute earl grey, Ivan had just plopped onto his sofa when he heard a text message arrive. It was Ludwig. He was pleasantly surprised that the man had texted him first.
Good morning, read the notification bar. I hope I'm not bothering you so early.
Good morning! Ivan replied. It was very early indeed. But if they both weren't the type to be awake at such ungodly hours, they'd have never met to begin with. Of course not. How are you doing?
I'm well, thanks. What about you? Ever so polite, Ludwig returned the pleasantries.
My Keurig just died, so I was about to be very sad. How will I get my instant caffeine fix? :'(
Oh no, Keurigs. Those things are terrible. There was a pause, and then the same teary-eyed emoji popped up underneath. Ivan grinned.
It's okay, I can survive without it. And I'm also talking to you now, so it's all good.
Ludwig seemed to be typing a response and deleting it several times, judging by the constant appearance and disappearance of the three jumping dots in the chat. It was adorable, but eventually Ivan decided to rescue him. What are you going to do today?
I'm not sure. I don't have anything planned.
It's going to be a nice day today, Ivan informed him. Not too much rain. I wonder if I should visit the library and see if there's anything interesting.
Actually, speaking of books. I was wondering when you'd have time to exchange my book for a coffee. My treat as always.
Ivan stared down at his phone, the beginnings of another smile pulling at his mouth. Ludwig was explicitly laying down the conditions of their coffee date as another 'exchange'—a simple business interaction, nothing else. Ivan had to be careful not to read too much into it. At the very least, the other man had initiated the conversation.
I'd like that very much. Same place sometime today?
Actually, that shop is a little far from where I live. Could we do here instead?
The Google Maps link that followed was a generic Starbucks a whopping 21-minute drive away from Ivan's house. It was nowhere near walking distance, despite the three other locations that were in his neighborhood.
Oh no! I'm sorry for calling you all the way out here last time. I thought you lived around the area.
No it's okay, came the quick reply. I just have some errands to run later, so I can't walk too far.
Walk?
Ivan frowned. He thought he misread the text, but that really was what Ludwig sent. He opened up Google Maps again and looked at the time printed beside the little walking man icon.
2 hr 27 min
Have you been walking this whole time? Wouldn't it be faster to drive or take the bus?
Even by bus, it would have taken Ivan almost an hour to get there. And this was assuming the man lived at Starbucks—in reality, it may have taken even longer to get to and from their little hole-in-the-wall shop. But—Ivan's concerns be damned—it might have been the wrong thing to ask. For almost ten minutes Ludwig failed to reply, and in that time Ivan became increasingly annoyed at himself. Of course he didn't know anything about Ludwig's lifestyle and his circumstances. Even if the man didn't look like he was struggling to make ends meet, he shouldn't have assumed.
As he sat there wondering if he should apologize for thoughtlessly prying, Ludwig texted him back.
I'm being mindful of the current state of carbon emissions. I try to avoid using vehicular transportation where I can.
Ivan huffed, in part due to the absurdity of the response that felt so natural coming from Ludwig, but largely due to relief at not crossing any lines. Even so, to think anyone would willingly travel so far to a coffee shop... It was the one thing you could find littered on every corner of any street. Ivan shook his head to dispel this train of thought, as it would lead him nowhere productive.
That's very commendable! he replied. I hope you don't mind too much if I show up in my 06 Toyota.
I'll try to keep it together.
Ivan thought he could hear Ludwig's voice in the text, the deliberate flat tone he seemed to use to hide his amusement with. See you in a bit then?
Yes. What time do you prefer?
How about 10, since we're both awake already?
Sounds good.
Ivan noticed his palms were slightly damp. Standing double guard on high alert night operations had made Ivan less nervous than the few odd minutes where he thought he'd offended Ludwig. He needed to calm down. The date was already set in place (but it wasn't a date, Ivan reminded himself mournfully) and it was useless worrying about what he could have done better in their short online interaction.
When he woke today, the first thing he saw upon sitting up was the bookshelf standing barren across his room, displaying nothing but a watch and some cufflinks. Only recently had these items been joined by Ludwig's book, tucked into a lonely corner with no other friends to lean on.
He was not an avid reader by any means. And yet, for the first time Ivan had felt the need to see that bookshelf filled.
A quick search into Google showed him a list of bookstores in the area. Ludwig could pick out recommendations, and Ivan would ask to see what some of his other favourites were. Even better, this perfect excuse to spend more time with Ludwig was only a fifteen minute walk away from their Starbucks.
The unexpected knock on his door sounded mid-gargle. Ivan hastily dried his face and secured the knot of his bathrobe before he went downstairs to answer it. Upon checking the camera, Ivan's cheer from his earlier conversation with Ludwig got shoved to the back burner. He suddenly regretted not taking the extra ten seconds to throw on some decent clothes.
It was too late, anyway. His visitor must have heard his footsteps. Glaring pointedly into the camera lens, the man raised his knuckles to knock thrice in slow succession.
The door swung open, and granite eyes scraped across Ivan from head to toe. The visitor's beard twitched into a derisive sneer. "Do you know what time it is?"
"It's barely seven," Ivan replied in monotonous Russian. "Civilians don't visit each other this early unannounced."
"We are not civilians. Is this how you greeted all your American superiors?"
Ivan reluctantly pushed himself off the door frame and straightened his back into a military salute. "General Winter. Is this better, sir?" he asked sarcastically, in English to further agitate the man.
Winter scowled. "Hold the cheek, boy. Go make yourself presentable. And a pot of coffee too, before this breeze knocks you off your dainty feet."
"The coffee machine is broken," Ivan announced proudly, though he stepped aside to let Winter in. "You'll have to make do with tea."
Immediately upon entering, Winter stomped around his living room and began inspecting the windows, the TV, the desk lamp, and everything else in Ivan's home like he was determined to find the place bugged to hell and back. Ivan ignored him and went upstairs to pull on a pair of workout slacks and an old shirt.
Aside from a few new scars, the man still looked as he did on the day Ivan first met him. It had been the season to match the name of the news bearer—Winter was the one to deliver word of his father's death. His hair and beard was white as the snow that had blanketed the forest behind their house. He had cold, uncaring eyes the color of frozen river stones.
Ivan's fingers brushed against a black box in the shadows of his closet, where his ceremonial uniform was folded away. He studied it for some moments. Eventually, he threw clean towels over the box so that it would be completely hidden from view.
Despite ordering Ivan to do the job, Winter had already prepared two cups of bagged chamomile when Ivan returned fully dressed. He sat looking entirely out of place at the small kitchen table, rough hands folded across the floral print tablecloth.
"I said to make yourself presentable," growled Winter. "Did you take shrapnel to the ears?"
"I'm retired," Ivan emphasized. "I don't have to present myself to anyone."
Winter looked Ivan up and down again. "Rest has made you lazy. Unguarded." He spat the words into Ivan's face like they tasted foul.
"I was dying in the hospital," Ivan reminded him. "I didn't have a choice."
"And now you are standing again, on two feet no less. While you were upstairs I discovered four holes a rat could dig through on this floor alone. It only takes one to lose your life."
Ivan scoffed. "That's just your paranoia. There are no rats here."
"Wrong," said Winter. "You are never safe, should the people I know want you dead. So will you die out there, fighting for what's right? Or will it be in here, too slow and fat to fight back when a knife is held at your throat?"
"They wouldn't come at me with a knife," said Ivan coldly. "They know better than that."
Winter stared down the younger man like a predator measuring up its prey, except Ivan was no cornered shrew. He kept his arms folded, leaning into his IKEA chair and watched the scars distort on Winter's leathery face. They sipped their tea for a while in silence, listening to the loud ticking of the clock that needed new batteries. Ivan's wall was adamantine. He refused to budge, and it took almost two full revolutions of the irregular second hand for his guest to understand that fact.
"You have nothing in your fridge," Winter grunted at last. "Don't tell me you're only living off that greasy American junk."
"It's a little difficult to avoid, seeing as we are in America," Ivan said dryly. "And as I too, am an American."
"I see in these past years you've picked up nothing but their disrespect," Winter snapped.
"I have plenty of it to spare for those who come into my home with unsolicited criticism of how I live my life."
"You little shit." The sudden switch out of Russian was jarring, but Winter's English was perfect. Not a syllable out of his mouth was broken nor out of place. "I didn't waive your sorry ass through the system just so you can freeload off your pension."
"I am retired," Ivan repeated with emphasis. "And pardon my asking, but isn't that what pensions are made for? Unless you're implying that I got shot on purpose."
"Did you get shot on purpose, boy?"
"No," said Ivan politely. "I can't prove it though, so you'll just have to believe me."
If looks could kill, Ivan would be getting flown into the ICU for the second time in his life.
"You were so eager to fight as a child. You would have died rather than rot away in a place like this."
Ivan smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. "I sure would have, wouldn't I?"
"Well?" prompted Winter. "What changed?"
"I don't know," said Ivan, beginning to grow impatient. "Why are you even here, sir? You saw my hospital scans. I'm useless to you now."
"Useless, you say," mused Winter.
"I'm old and crippled," said Ivan. "I'd be a liability."
"I don't leave useless old tools around to take up space. They are forged into new weapons. Taken apart, melted down..."
"If you're here to kill me, then you shouldn't have knocked on the door."
Both then and now, General Winter was a spectre. His name was malediction, haunting lives as turbulent and unpredictable as Ivan's. The weight of his presence had been a constant companion, crushing Ivan's shoulders more fiercely than the eighty pound kits he'd carry on foot across small mountains and desert plains.
"Idiot boy," snapped Winter. "I'm not here to kill you. I'm telling you to get off your ass and be something better. It won't be right away but I can make it happen. Get back to working again."
"Working again," Ivan repeated. "For you, you mean."
"For the greater good," Winter corrected. "For what you think should be done."
"Why?" said Ivan. "Did you run out of young boys to groom into bullet magnets?"
Winter's eyes were just as cold and unforgiving as his namesake, and so were the next words out of his mouth. "Let us not forget the facts before we get too spiteful. Given the state of your childhood... sure, I get it. You had no choice. But your sister did, and she made hers. She ran from me, and from common sense. You wouldn't have had to endure such misery had your family accepted my help. You know this."
Ivan did. His earliest days were nothing to look back on fondly. There was nothing from those times he wished to associate with himself in the present. Begging on the streets of Saint Petersburg... hiding from authorities along the rural Siberian outskirts... the brutal years in Yakutsk...
His expression must have changed, because Winter nodded as if his point was proven by whatever he saw. Maybe it was the fight he longed to see. The rage that had fueled a small child into becoming a bitter military man.
"I don't shoot guns anymore," Ivan said quietly.
"Fine. You can give the orders and never touch one again. Or not—plenty of agencies would die for you to shuffle their papers or stare at their screens. Either stay here or go back home. I can send you anywhere you want to go. Make you into what you want to be."
Ivan stared. "Why keep going that far for me? Like I said, I'm old and no longer of any use to you."
"Broken tools are to be repurposed for other means," Winter reiterated darkly. "Is this really how you want to spend the rest of your days? I know how you live, wasting your time doing nothing but pointless things."
Ivan didn't like hearing the truth coming from Winter's mouth. Pointless was fine. Aimless was good. Seeing his staff sergeant's bloodied face in the copter had been his only chance to eject from the flaming jet he called his life from its inevitable spiral towards doom. He wasn't about to explain how he stopped entertaining something as childish as revenge. Maybe if somebody to blame had existed in the first place... Even so, that wouldn't mean he was thirteen again, ready to sharpen his teeth for anyone who would grant him a chance to get back at the world.
"Think about it," Winter said, when Ivan didn't move to respond. "And don't give me that old bullshit, thirty one is still young. Retirement doesn't suit you."
He rose from his seat, drained his tea. Ivan didn't bother standing up to salute his leave, but the General didn't comment on it. Just as abruptly as he arrived, the man marched out the door and quietly shut it behind him.
Ivan stood up and cleared the table. He washed his cup (still full) and Winter's (empty), dried his hands, and checked the clock. It was past nine already. If he left now, he would be just in time for his date (not a date) with Ludwig.
He glanced toward the door in which Winter had walked through. The air felt different, as if the man himself had carried in the breeze of shorter days. Even as Ivan stood before the mirror, satisfied with his grooming, he couldn't shake the chill that lingered deep under his skin. Before heading out to his car, Ivan switched out his light hoodie for a proper jacket.
~0~
Ivan noticed just how busier this part of the city was compared to his neighborhood. He had to park three blocks away from the Starbucks as there was no street parking available nearby. He texted Ludwig that he was on his way, but received no response by the time he arrived. Ivan ordered a caramel macchiato and sat by a window, sipping leisurely while he waited.
The people here walked and talked a lot faster than those around his area. Ivan supposed his house was situated in a typical retirement suburb. It was no wonder the General had looked so off-put. He must have arrived, taken in the sights, and immediately gagged at the quaintness of it all.
Ivan doubted the man would willingly set foot into such an aggressively peaceful neighborhood again. That meant nothing, however. If he changed his mind and decided old tools were better off being disposed of, then it didn't matter where he was in the world. Ivan had learned very quickly that he'd never outplay the General. Whether it be in Russia or the USA, Winter was always two steps ahead.
He thought of the times he'd joked with Wang about going back. Baseless jokes, meant only to encourage the old veteran's nagging and exasperation. He wondered what would happen if he walked into the restaurant for the last time, wearing five stars like he said he would. Would the old man roll his eyes and congratulate him? Would he fall to his brittle knees and weep?
Ivan was so engrossed in imagining different reactions from the spry restaurant owner that he didn't hear the commotion from the store entrance being yanked open. He didn't see Ludwig come in until he all but collapsed into the seat in front of him. Jerking out of his daze, Ivan found himself face to face with a very sweaty, pink-faced Ludwig, who looked like he just ran a marathon.
"I'm," gasped Ludwig, "so, sorry! Was running late, I made you wait so long, oh God—"
Ivan felt like he'd barely sat down, but was surprised his phone read almost ten forty. "No, no," he said. "I didn't wait long."
"We agreed on ten o'clock sharp. It's my fault." Ludwig pressed his hands into his forehead and caught his breath. "I made you come all the way out here and kept you waiting. I am so sorry—"
"Not at all," Ivan said hurriedly. "Lots of things came up for me too. I didn't even realize what time it was, seriously."
"I sent you a text before and after I was on my way but you didn't reply. I didn't know if you decided to go home, but I had to come anyway..."
"You sent a text?" Ivan checked his phone again, and sure enough, he had. Three, in fact. "Oh, I completely missed them. It's so loud in here." It was loud, but in reality Ivan was so lost in thought, he hadn't even heard his phone ping three times in a row.
Leave it to that damned General to throw a wrench into Ivan's carefully developing rhythm in life. Well, Winter could dangle his entire history and life debt in his face for as long as he liked. Ivan was tired of playing carrot-and-stick. He wanted to focus on what was in front of him, both figuratively and literally.
"It's all good," Ivan assured again, smiling. "Trust me, I'm not mad. I actually got here pretty late too. I parked too far away and got lost."
It was a lie, of course. Ludwig seemed a little placated, if only slightly. "Okay," he said. The crease between his brows remained, as if he sensed that Ivan wasn't in the best of moods. Which wasn't true—Ivan was in a good mood, he just had a lot of things to think about. "I'm still really sorry. I'll make it up to you. Whatever you want, anything you need."
"Anything?" said Ivan, playfully raising an eyebrow. "You sure you're ready to handle whatever I come up with?"
"Anything," Ludwig repeated, looking like he expected Ivan to tell him to jump into oncoming traffic.
"All right then," said Ivan lightly. "Go to The Cozy Cat with me."
"I—... what?" asked Ludwig, confused.
"It's a used bookshop fifteen minutes away from here," Ivan continued. "If you pick something out for me to read, I might feel generous enough to exchange your book for it."
Ludwig continued to gawk at him some moments longer, before clamping his mouth shut in embarrassment. "That's what you want in return for me inconveniencing you in every way possible?"
"Well," Ivan said, shrugging, "I'm sure those aren't the only ways. You could have ghosted me, for one."
All the color drained from Ludwig's face at once. "I would never—"
"Exactly," Ivan interrupted, smiling. "Because if you did, I would have to ask for your next available appointment."
Ludwig was now properly staring at him as if he'd said something unhinged. Ivan didn't think he'd ever been on the receiving end of so many consecutive looks of bewilderment before.
Smiling even wider, he drained the last of his cold macchiato, catching nothing but the syrup that had sunk to the bottom of the cup. "Did you want something to drink or should we go now?"
~0~
The Cozy Cat failed to live up to its name only by its disappointing lack of cats, but it was still very cozy. The walls were packed floor to ceiling with books of all colors and sizes. The owner was a tiny old woman who was busy watering her plants that surrounded the crowded till. Periodic sunlight peeked out from small windows hidden behind stacks of magazines and old vinyl cases. Given the depressing downpour yesterday, it was a welcome change of scenery.
"I still think I should have given you gas money instead," Ludwig muttered behind Ivan as they entered the shop with a tinkle of the door chime. "What are you even expecting to find?"
"Books, obviously," Ivan replied, greeting the old woman with a smile as they passed by. "There are too many to choose from, so I require your expert opinion. Which to me is more valuable than gas money."
"I'm not a librarian," Ludwig half-said, half-complained. "I don't know what all these books are. You could have just Googled a recommendation list and ordered it online."
Ivan merely chuckled and led the way down the narrow aisle.
The shop was loosely divided by genre, but nothing was organized alphabetically. At first Ludwig had actually tried to find things he had already read. Realizing the impossibility of the feat, he'd given up fairly quickly. The two of them proceeded to get lost in a game of pulling random titles off the shelf to see who held the more ridiculous synopsis in their hands. It was fun, and Ivan's complicated train of Winter-related thoughts were long forgotten.
"Check this one out: The Soldier's Maiden." Ludwig held up a ghastly thick paperback made of at least a thousand pages. The cover brandished a shirtless man, posing sensually with an equally shirtless woman against a backdrop of thorny rose bushes. "In the steamy melodramatic world of historical fantasy, we follow the captivating journey of Isabella Rosewood, a headstrong yet innocent young woman, and Captain Sebastian Steele, a ruggedly handsome and irresistibly seductive soldier with a mysterious past. When fate brings them together during a tumultuous war between rival kingdoms, their initial animosity transforms into a sizzling desire that cannot be ignored. From high-stakes battlefield encounters to scandalous trysts, Isabella and her entourage embarks on an indulgent, erotic escapade that will leave readers breathless in the night."
"Not the most effective bedtime story," Ivan commented. "'High-stakes battlefield encounters'? I'd be far from relaxed."
"They couldn't have edited it down to half the pages?" wondered Ludwig, weighing the book in his hands.
"How about this one? Celestial Love." Ivan began reading from the back of a smaller novel. Flying saucers and galaxies decorated the background. "Lily Moonflower, a resident of the town of Stardust Meadows, is an eccentric artist with an affinity for space unicorns. One fateful night—"
"You win," Ludwig sighed, tossing his absolute brick of a find back on the floor where it must have sat for years.
Ivan grinned crookedly. "What's the score now?"
Ludwig cleared his throat. Ivan thought he imagined the way his stare lingered on his mouth, a split second before he turned away. "I'm still ahead by a point." The man continued his excavation at the bottom of the corner in the Romance aisle, his back to Ivan.
"Better make this one good, I'm catching up." He shuffled further down the aisle, nearly tripping over Ludwig's ankles as he leaned towards a line of hardcovers against the wall. Balancing his weight on a fist against the wall above Ludwig's head, Ivan squinted at the letters. "Does that say Chronicles of Archibald and The Space Harem?"
"Why are you ending up with all the weird sci-fi crap?" Ludwig sounded muffled from where he was struggling to pull out yet another massive tome without knocking over the haphazard stacks nearby.
"I suppose I..." Ivan heard himself trailing off. His eyes had wandered from the Archibald Chronicles to the curve of Ludwig's neck, which was very close now that Ivan was practically bent over him. Even through the thick air of old pages and dust, Ludwig smelled in a way that could only be described as... mouthwatering. He was no expert on perfumes but the scent was almost sweet, unnoticeable at any respectable distance. Ivan couldn't stop looking at the way his hair curled slightly at the ends. The delicate skin stretched across the bumps of his spine. The strain of his awkward position raising lines and tendons almost sensually.
A section of his collar had bunched down and gathered around his shoulders. Parts of his neck, normally hidden by clothing, were now exposed. Ivan's gaze continued its downward track until he saw...
What the hell...?
"What happened?" Without thinking, Ivan brushed his finger across Ludwig's nape. The man jerked away like he'd been burned. He shot up from where he kneeled, very narrowly missing a collision with Ivan's chin. "Why do you have this?"
"It's nothing." Ludwig yanked his collar back into place and held it there. "Just an accident."
"Those are man-made," said Ivan, frowning. The pattern of bruising, though old, was unmistakable. He had seen them multiple times over—on dead bodies. They had no business marking the skin of someone alive.
"I got into a fight," amended Ludwig. He tried to slip past the broad figure, but Ivan refused to step aside. In the incredibly cramped space, there was nowhere to escape. His hand holding up the collar began trembling very slightly, as if conceding to the knowledge that Ivan had trapped him in. "Um. Got mugged."
"Why?" Ivan demanded. A stupid question to ask, but he couldn't understand. Knives and guns were common threats. No thief in their right mind would attempt a quick robbery by choking out their victims, much less someone as tall and heavy as Ludwig.
"I... left my wallet out in a bar. Someone took it and I tried to stop them."
"That was careless," Ivan scolded. "You should have known better."
"I know," said Ludwig quietly. He looked very pale, almost nauseated.
"To not leave your wallet unattended. And to not chase after them! What if they had a weapon?"
"I wasn't thinking," said Ludwig, barely audible. Ivan shook his head, but he moved out of the way. Ludwig scrambled out like an animal seizing its chance to escape the slaughterhouse.
"It could have ended very differently. You are lucky to be alive."
He didn't need to tell that to a grown man, of course. Ivan wondered when this had happened. Definitely not within the past day or two. More likely at least a week ago, or earlier. Did the man get into bar brawls often? He didn't seem like the type. Ivan stood facing the wall until the sharp tendrils of... whatever he was feeling... settled in his belly. He couldn't imagine Ludwig kicking someone's ass on a dirty bar floor. He could, however, picture the fading but distinguishable shape of human fingers as clear as day. Fingers that had at some point dug into the man's throat with the intent to kill.
They both kept to themselves while they each calmed their nerves. Ivan was already regretting the way he cornered Ludwig, like a rat. He'd been so caught up in his need to find out that he hadn't considered how much he'd overstepped his boundaries.
"You must be thinking of how stupid I am," came Ludwig's gloomy voice after a while. Their little game had lost steam. He was still keeping distance at arm's length, but the look of near-terror he'd displayed in the moments where Ivan stood over him had dissipated.
"Not at all," Ivan said immediately. "I am thinking of how impressive it is that you managed to escape a chokehold like that."
"We just tumbled a little... it wasn't anything serious."
"Maybe for you, but not for him. Most people would have passed out."
"You can tell just by the marks?" asked Ludwig, voice hesitant.
"Not really," said Ivan. "I've been in fights myself, I know what it's like to have hands around my throat. If the bruises last that long, I know the other person really meant what they did."
Ludwig stayed silent, head buried in some biography neither of them cared about.
"That's why I'm glad you got out unscathed," Ivan continued. "Please be more careful from now on."
"...Thank you," whispered Ludwig. "I'll try to be."
Ivan smiled. "And I'm sorry for touching you, I didn't mean to startle. Can I make up for it this time by asking first?" He turned and held out his hand, as if he were offering to shake. Ludwig looked down at it, ears crimson.
"It's okay," he muttered. "You don't need to ask." But he slowly took the hand in his own. Ivan grasped it gently. They stood like that side by side for some moments in the crowded aisle, until Ludwig's tension eased. Ivan enjoyed his cool touch, strong fingers still quivering slightly in his grip.
Without letting go, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out the worn copy of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. Still smiling, he replaced his hand in the warm grasp with Ludwig's book.