Chapter Text
Fyodor smiles up at the barman bringing him yet another glass of expensive champagne for him to dump into the artfully placed potted plant next to his seat at the bar. All courtesy of the oblivious man eyeing him up like a vulture circling a carcass- his target.
He shoots the man a sidelong look, keeping a more flirtatious air to the way he twirls the flute between his fingers. There’s a slight cloudiness to the brilliant amber. It’s been tampered with. Nonetheless, he lifts it to his lips, keeping them firmly pressed together until the man looks back towards his card game briefly and tosses it aside when he gets the clear.
Dabbing his lips with a napkin, he shuts his eyes to review the details.
This man is no petty drug ring leader or mafioso, but something much more dangerous. It’s been rumoured that he has been running a sort of…experiment on none other than his own son.
Yumeno Akira is nothing to look at- an older man with thinning dark brown hair and a pair of rectangular glasses perched over the bridge of his nose. In fact, if Sigma hadn’t explicitly ordered Fyodor to memorize his profile, he’s sure he’d have lost sight of him in this room of thirty other old, filthy rich men.
The man’s son, however, is what he’s here to collect. Nothing has been claimed officially yet, but it seems as though the boy is being put through a sort of mental strain. They have photo evidence about the acclaimed “sickly” child leaving their mansion with chunks of his hair falling out, bruises on his knees and, upon sending an undercover agent to the boy’s school for a check up, needle scars all over his back.
Yumeno Kyuusaku. The name makes the boy’s horrible medical file flash past the darkness of his eyelids and leaves him to open them to stare blankly at his empty glass.
Despite being a strictly professional man, part of him finds his once bleeding heart reawakening. This is a boy who’s been discreetly tested and found to be perfectly healthy. He should be living the kind of life a perfectly normal boy like him should live- a small suburban house, plain noodles for dinner because he’s too picky to eat anything else, his biggest concern being that he needs to go to school the next day.
Composure, he reminds himself. If he were to sympathise for every broken child he runs into in his line of work, he’d be mourning every second of his day.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky is a spy for the government. One that specialises in discreet search, observe, and rescue missions. Unfortunately, acting has never been his strong suit.
This is why this mission in particular is a challenge- it is to attend a party being hosted at the old fuck’s house and parade himself around like eye candy until he catches the man’s attention. Considering that the last two out of the five drinks he’s been bought have been spiked, he’d consider that a sure fire touchdown.
He stands up gracefully, throwing the man watching him a “come hither” look over his shoulder as he makes his way to what the blueprint he received said is a direct path towards Yumeno Akira’s bedroom and next to it, eerily enough, his son’s.
He knows he’s been followed when he hears his own footsteps echo despite the ground being carpeted by a thick, expensive and artfully crafted affair. The crowd thins near the end of the main hall and suddenly there are two much larger and broader men in front of him.
Yeah, he could take them, but he isn’t here to cause a scene.
“Let us through.” He tries his best to hide a shudder and his look of scorn when a hand presses to the small of his back. The man’s voice is gruff and impatient. Disgusting. “And do not bother us for the rest of the night.”
God, he’s going to throw up.
Fyodor would say he’s indifferent to sex. He’s used it in a few missions in the past to disarm a target (you’d be surprised just how many millionaires are into handcuffs. It’s definitely a statistic due for a thorough analysis) but hardly indulges in the act on his own.
Well, there was Dazai Osamu from the fifth division but that was more a matter of convenience. They were already in bed and undressed so why not indulge in a game of chess while they were at it?
But this man. This wretched man and his deep blue eyes so much like his son’s. It makes him feel sick just looking at him because all he can think about is those sad, doleful eyes looking up at the camera like he isn’t even sure he’s allowed to do so.
It’s fine, he reminds himself. Get to the bedroom, knock him out and take the little boy out of this remote facility of a house.
“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” The man’s lips are damp against his ear and he pulls a face, cursing internally before attempting to fix his composure. “Playin’ hard to get, huh? I like that.”
As they enter the room, he notices that there are a pair of guards in front of the little boy’s room too. That makes things difficult for a good second before he figures out a plan.
When the doors shut behind them, the man’s hand slips down to cup his ass and he decides that’s all he can take before he’s grabbing the pen looking item from his lapel, pressing it to the area he recalls as the man’s pulse and silently tasing him until he falls to the ground with a heavy thump.
Oh, thank god the guards are assuming they’re having sex in this room.
Fyodor takes a moment to compose himself, shaking the feeling of the man’s sweaty palms from his back. God, he hates the feeling of being touched.
After a moment, he puts on a worried face, hoping he looks tearful enough as he scurries out of the room and stammers a short story of how they were just getting into things when Akira mysteriously passed out. They exchange looks and head inside the room, leaving him outside.
He rolls his eyes, turning on his heel and slowly opening the bedroom door before taking an expandable metallic device and shoving it behind the door handles to keep it closed.
A sigh of relief later, he turns to find the silhouette boy he’s after in front of his bedroom window.
“Ota-san?” The boy stammers, almost fearfully. Shit.
He came to this mission with a full and thorough understanding of the Japanese language. His speaking skills, however, are up for debate.
“I’m a doctor.” Fyodor replies quietly, walking towards the boy. Kyuusaku flinches and steps back.
“Are you one of my dad’s friends?” He asks in a such a petrified tone, Fyodor has half the mind to walk back to the room and stomp on the old fuck’s body. “He didn’t tell me he was gonna let them-”
“No, no, I don’t know your dad.” He explains, scrambling around until he finds a lamp on the boy’s bedside table and turns it on, letting the pale orange light fill the room.
The boy’s hair is almost buzzed to his head now and his chubby cheeks are considerably sunken since the month old photo he’s seen was taken. Fyodor purses his lips at the teary eyed boy and slowly sits down on his knees on the floor of the room.
“I’m here to take you away.” He explains gently, hands on his thighs. “My…friends told me there have been some bad things going on with your health. And I want to help treat you.”
“My dad hasn’t done anything to me.” The boy deadpans in such a heavy monotone, it almost strikes fear in Fyodor’s heart. How deeply conditioned is this boy? “He makes sure I’m safe and that I eat every night and that I get all the toys I could ask for. I never want to leave him.”
Christ almighty.
“Okay. That’s fine.” It’s only a matter of time until the guards notice him missing. “But we need to get you out of here and into a hospital, okay? Your dad has told you you’re sick, hasn’t he?”
A small nod. “He says that I can’t go outside on my own because I’m allergic to a lot of things.”
“Exactly. I just need you to come with me so we can get you proper medication, okay?” Fyodor tells him flinching when the doorknob is turned loudly. “I just need you to take my hand and let me take you away from here.”
“I-” The boy squeals when Fyodor stands up, covering his head and curling into himself.
“I’m sorry.” He lifts a hand in apology, the nausea building every second he speaks to this child. “I just need to open the window so we can take you out of here.”
“What if Ota-san gets mad at me?” The boy whispers, fists grabbing his hair. Ah. That explains the patches. “H-He says I’m not allowed to leave him.”
“This is for your health, Kyuusaku.” Fyodor walks over, gently opens the tinted window’s latch and lifts it up. With how strong the metal barricader is, the guards will likely never be able to break it. The door, however…
There’s another loud bang, followed by yelling and the sound of wood cracking. Yeah, that.
“Kyuusaku.” Fyodor reaches out a hand towards the boy. “Will you trust me with your safety?”
The boy’s eyes shine as he looks outside the window, the greedy little things soaking in the moon, the trees and the grass of the estate. He’s holding a stuffed toy, Fyodor notices even if he can’t make out what exactly it is. “Your little friend can come with us.”
This time, the boy nods eagerly, practically hopping towards him. A damaged child really is still a child.
“I’ll need to carry you, okay?” He explains calmly despite the fact that he knows that the door will only last three more hits. Unfortunately, that means they have only three more seconds.
One.
Fyodor scoops the boy into his arms, shuddering at how bony he is and tucking his head securely into the crook of his shoulder.
Two.
The boy’s little fist holds onto his purple button up as he shakes with him in what seems to be both excitement and fear. Fyodor steps onto the windowsill.
Three.
The door bursts open just as he jumps. The boy in his arms screams while he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a grappling hook, aiming swiftly for one of the mansion’s window barricades and effectively stopping their fall before they hit the ground.
He clicks the button of it again sending yer rope reeling back into the gun as he bolts towards where he knows their car is waiting. Kyuusaku has untucked himself from his shoulder and is gaping at him. “I’ve never seen a doctor like you, mister.”
He tries his hardest not to laugh. “Thank you, I try my best.”
The deafening sound of a gunshot echoes around them and he picks up the pace despite his awful stamina. Search and rescue, he cackles internally. He’s in the wrong line of work.
The car is parked securely next to one of the estate’s trees and is an automated vehicle designed to take them to the helicopter that will really be rescuing them.
They make it to the car unscathed, but the gunshots are growing louder. He opens the backseat door, practically shoving the child inside before sitting down himself and beginning to reach under the seat as the car begins moving.
Kyuusaku blinks at him. “So what do you specialise in?”
Fyodor pulls out the sniper rifle with an air of deadpan. “Dermatology.”
He leans out the window, levelling the gun higher and aligning it with his eye. The first man who comes into view is met with a clean headshot. The second is only disarmed, but falls back as well. There are more approaching.
He pulls in to reload, scrambling for the ammunition…only to find it clutched in small, frail hands. He smiles softly. “Thank you, Kyuusaku.”
And then he leans out and gets another headshot. His aim is his pride and joy.
The car slows down with a loud beep, startling the boy before he raises a hand. “That’s our signal.”
He takes the boy’s hand again, leading him out of the car where the helicopter’s propellers are roaring loudly. Fyodor picks him up, covering his ears and hurrying into the open doors.
Just as he shuts it, a bullet hits his seat- but misses his side narrowly. Just like that, the helicopter is rising up, a few stray bullets hitting the titanium lining like stones as Fyodor leans back and sighs.
The intercom buzzes alive. “Fyodor? Have you retrieved-”
“Yes, Sigma. He’s with me here.” He curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair. No amount of adrenaline will ever be worth the fear.
Next to him, Kyuusaku is clutching his little toy, looking around in fear.
“That’s the intercom, little boy.” Fyodor tells him, massaging his temple. “Sigma is waiting for us back at headquarters.”
He nods slowly, unsure and visibly distrusting. Fyodor understands it. He really does.
________
“According to our diagnostics,” Sigma begins, dressed in one of her fresh pastel pink suits, leading Fyodor down the hall of a medical ward he’s never entered before. This is a facility for mentally challenged children, apparently. That’s not a good sign. “Kyuusaku has received a number of gashes and bruises, particularly on his legs. It seems as though his ability to walk right now is a privilege, not a matter of common action.”
Fyodor nods quietly, following the taller woman without hesitation. Sigma is less his boss and more of a supervisor. Every division has an “in charge” of sorts and where she doesn’t get a special office or the privilege to sit on her ass all day, the other agents in the unit meet her with the respect she’s due with how well she runs the place.
“Additionally, the state of his…private areas were not that of any normal child.” The taller woman pauses as if this all is hard for her to get out and that fills Fyodor with absolute dread. She’s seen the worst of things and is still halted by her own words. “Upon questioning, the child answered that his punishment for wetting the bed usually entailed threats to…burn the source. There have been a few incidents where those threats were called upon.”
The words make lift a hand to his mouth, partially because he’s sure he’s about to throw up. “My god.”
“On top of that, there were visual signs of sexual assault.” Sigma stops, lifts a lacquered fingernails to the space between her brows to compose herself and continues. “On the lighter side of things, we’ve identified the injections he’s received as saline solutions. Simply water and salt.”
Fyodor sighs in relief. “Those must have only been to convince the little boy that there’s something wrong with him.
“Not exactly.” Sigma replies softly, stopping in front of a pair of double doors. “He’s been diagnosed with autism, which was more evident from his mannerisms but we’ve also caught wind of a minor case of Tourette’s syndrome. He has a few motor tics, most of which include facial flinching. He’s still being tested for schizophrenia, however.”
“I see.” God, that’s…
“It’s a lot, I know.” Sigma puts a hand over his shoulder, not quite touching it. “He’s been asking about you, though. So I’d suggest his hero pay him a visit.”
He looks up at her coldly. “I’m no hero. A real hero is someone who would be able to fix that poor child.”
“He admires you, Fyodor.” Sigma hums, adjusting his tie. She’s always been a perfectionist. “He hasn’t talked at all outside of the questioning, so it would be nice for you to drop by and show him you care.”
He nods slowly, clearing his throat before walking towards the double door. Sigma follows him inside, keeping her distance as Fyodor’s eyes find the bed.
Kyuusaku’s wide eyes move to him…and sparkle. “Mister!”
Composure. Fyodor steps towards the bed slowly. “How are you doing, Kyuusaku?”
“I- I’m okay!” He practically beams up at him, effectively squeezing his heart. Fyodor kneels by the bed, a hand on the little boy’s head. “Are you okay too?”
“I am, little boy.” He hums, a smile fighting his way to his features. God, curse his soft spot for children. “Now, do tell me how your day has been.”
This time, he notices it. When Kyuusaku is afraid, his tics are more prominent. The little boy’s eyes shift to Sigma, then back to Fyodor. “I don’t know who this is.”
“My name is Sigma, sweetheart.” The taller woman hums, keeping her distance. “I’m…”
“My boss. Do you remember the lady on the intercom?” Kyuusaku nods, almost looking proud of himself for doing so. “This is her. She made sure the doctors were treating you better.”
Shyly, the little boy lifts his head as he avoids her eyes. “Thank you, miss.”
“Don’t thank me, sweetheart.” Her voice is clear as a bell as she places her hand in the gurney. “I hope you don’t mind all the check ups. We’re just making sure our newest patient is okay.”
The gears visibly turn in the little boy’s head. “But…Fyodor said he’s a doctor. Why isn’t he treating me too?”
“Well…” Sigma pauses, making a show of adjusting her earrings before continuing. “Fyodor works in um…a different department, is all.”
“Oh, okay.” Fyodor shoots Sigma a brief thumbs up for her quick lie and stands again. “I’ll see you again soon, Kyuusaku.”
“You’re leaving?” Kyuusaku pouts, the sparkle in his eyes dying. “But…you just came here.”
“I know, little boy, but I promise to see you…often.” He settles, for polite deadpan and pats his head again. “This is not goodbye.”
“Okay…bye for now, then…” But the boy is so visibly disappointed that his heart feels heavy all the way until they leave the room, shutting it behind them.
“Fyodor.” Sigma begins, taking in a small breath. “That was…the first time he’s looked up at all.”
“Was it?” He gapes up at her as she steps ahead of him clearly thinking about something.
“Yes. And it seems like he’s rather fond of you as well. Nothing, and I mean nothing, has gotten him to look so…alive this past day and…that’s why I have to ask the world of you.”
He pauses. “The world?”
“The world.” Another breath, slow and deep. “We will need someone to go undercover for two months or possibly more. Kyuusaku is being hunted for by Yumeno’s men. Our plan was to treat him and have him taken to a remote area to be adopted by a trusted and wealthy family. But…this child is so deeply traumatised that it feels like he needs to be…taken care of first and…”
She raises her eyes. Fyodor blanches. “No.”
“Fyodor Dostoyevsky-”
“Sigma Ian Fleming, I forbid you to-”
“Your mission is to go undercover for a few months as a father to Kyuusaku. To monitor him and keep him safe while also helping him heal because you and I both know there isn’t a single person in this organisation that knows how he must be feeling like you.” She finishes and Fyodor curses aloud.
“No. No, I cannot. I can’t even speak his language properly.” He hisses. “I don’t have a nurturing bone in my body, Sigma. And you expect me to raise him? Keep up facades when we both know I can’t act for shit?”
“That is why…” She looks away, avoiding his piercing gaze. “We’ve decided you will be going undercover as a married man. With one of the unit’s top assassins.”
He feels his jaw drop. “Married-!?”
“His strengths are all your weaknesses.” Sigma explains calmly and he almost strangles her right there. “Where your physical profile is weak, he can snap a neck with his bare hands. Where you can’t “act for shit”, as you so eloquently put it, his acting skills are so seamless, no one has been able to gauge his real personality as of yet. You said that you can’t barely speak Japanese but he’s a fluent speaker. You are intelligent, he is strong. You both combined will provide the little boy the protection he needs.”
“How dare you plan this out behind my back-”
“You have the freedom to reject this offer, he has already accepted to be paired with anyone.” She puts in with a shrug. “But with all the information you have on Kyuusaku, is that what you want?”
He thinks of the boy. His bruised knees, his torn out hair, his sparkling eyes. God fucking damnit.
“Who is this man that accepted the offer so quickly?” He questions, glaring up at her.
“Well, how about we head over to the main building and meet him ourselves?” She offers and fights the urge to curse again.
“You really have decided all of this behind my back.” He mutters, following her to the exit.
“It’s part of the job, sweetheart, keep up.” Sigma hums, hands knotted together. “Although, I am curious as well. All he had to do was look at Kyuusaku’s file to accept the offer, so maybe he’s just that nice of a guy.”
“I doubt that.” He replies, rolling his eyes. “What’s his name, anyways?”
“Nikolai. Nikolai Gogol.”