Chapter Text
The goal was to be as quiet as humanly possible.
Alex put the key in the lock and turned it painfully slowly, and even so when the deadbolt slid it was like a gun going off. He winced and pushed the door open, creeping into the silent dark. He took off his shoes and padded to the kitchen - he was starving. The clock on the stove read 3:14.
He put his hand on the fridge handle and exhaled, bracing himself for the noise. The same moment he opened it the kitchen light flicked on, and Alex jumped back, clutching his heart.
He looked over at his uncle, who was standing in the doorway, his fingers on the light switch, his expression blank. Alex took a few startled breaths.
“Was that necessary?” Alex asked. Ian didn’t say anything but crossed his arms. Alex turned back to the fridge and rummaged around.
“It’s the middle of the night, Alex.”
“There’s never any food here.”
“This is the third weeknight in a row.”
Alex took some orange juice out of the fridge. He considered drinking it straight from the carton but saw the look Ian was giving him and reached for a glass instead.
“I’m home, aren’t I?”
“You’re working too much.” Ian said. Alex wasn’t looking at him anymore, just busying himself with the orange juice. Once the glass was poured and the carton back in the fridge he went straight to drinking it. “Alex.”
Alex set the empty glass in the sink.
“I’m getting enough sleep, I’m attending my classes. It’s not a big deal.” He finally said.
“Are you injured?” Ian asked, and Alex shook his head.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m surprised they’ve found this much for you to do. I've been bored out of my mind.”
Alex shrugged, but his pulse quickened. Things were confidential between them when it came to MI6, despite being family - it was what kept the lies easy - but not having any work was not confidential. He just hoped Ian wouldn’t ask The Department any questions.
“You should get to sleep.” Ian said, snapping him from his thoughts.
“Yeah. Sorry if I woke you.” Alex said quietly, but Ian shook his head.
“I was up.”
Alex nodded at him and scooched past awkwardly, his stomach growling on the way to his room. When he was settled in bed he closed his eyes, his hand drifting towards himself, as the memory of Yassen deep inside him overwhelmed his thoughts.
~
Alex was sitting next to Yassen on the couch, flipping through cable channels.
Yassen, who’d been in London for a couple of months now working undercover, and whose flat had gone from empty safehouse to somewhat cozy home in that time. Alex liked to think that it was partially thanks to him, as Yassen had slowly filled the space with the things he’d mentioned he liked - Twinings, Monster Munch, Coca-Cola - the appearance of each item leaving an impression on Alex like charms on a bracelet.
Right now they were eating ice cream, sharing the bowl and the spoon, since the safehouse was sparse on cooking utensils. Both Yassen and Alex’s favorite flavors were present, salted praline and coffee respectively.
Alex settled on an NFL game in the fourth quarter, then took the spoon from Yassen’s hand.
“You like this sport?” Yassen asked.
“Not really,” Alex said through a mouthful of ice cream, “but Jack used to put the games on when she lived with us.”
“She doesn’t anymore?”
Alex handed the spoon back to Yassen. “Nope, she’s a lawyer now.”
“Mm.” Yassen said, his mouth full of ice cream. He passed the spoon back to Alex, who scooped up the last bit, emptying out the bowl. “Do you want more?”
“Yes, please.” Alex said, dragging out the please.
Yassen went to fetch more, and Alex watched him go, a smile on his face.
~
“You look happy.”
Alex started. He’d been stirring milk into his tea and thinking about, well, Yassen. His uncle came to stand beside him, flicking on the kettle.
“Yeah, I dunno. Just in a good mood.” He said, keeping his voice even.
“Right.” Ian said, his tone skeptical. “And is the reason a secret?”
“Um…”
“Did they give you a raise?”
Alex laughed.
“Yes, and in fact they told me I’m making more than you now.” Alex teased.
“Some would say that’s nepotism.” Ian said, a small smile on his lips.
“So, did they find something for you to do yet?”
Ian gave him a look, but his smile was still present.
“Yes, actually. I think there’s something on the horizon, not that I can spare the details.”
“Here’s hoping they send you somewhere warm.”
Ian grabbed a mug and a teabag from the cupboard, raising it in mock cheers. The kettle started to steam.
“Are you home for dinner?” Ian asked.
Alex shook his head. “Not tonight.”
“Christ. You should get overtime.”
Alex laughed nervously, stirring his tea into a typhoon.
~
Whatever else you could say about Yassen Gregorovich, he knew how to make a safehouse bed luxurious. Alex reluctantly dragged himself out of a pile of soft sheets and into the bathroom, stripping out of his boxers and leaving them on the tiled floor.
He pulled back the curtain and stepped into the shower, the steam and hot water enveloping him in a relaxing warmth. Yassen was already waiting for him. They faced each other, and Alex let his eyes rove over Yassen’s body, blinking away the water droplets.
“Nice of you to finally join me.” Yassen teased, and Alex smiled.
“I could have happily never moved again.”
Yassen reached out and pulled Alex into him, their warm, wet skin pressing together. Alex let out a shaky breath as Yassen’s face dipped to kiss his collar bones. Alex ghosted his fingertips over Yassen’s shoulder blades, watching the water form in rivulets down his back.
Alex pulled back slightly and began slowly to sink to his knees, looking up at Yassen through his eyelashes.
“Can I?” He asked, and Yassen nodded in response.
Alex parted his lips and put his hands on Yassen’s hips, guiding him to his mouth.
Yassen’s hands came up to hold his head, sweeping his wet hair back. Alex’s senses were overtaken by the taste of clean skin and water. He moaned around the growing weight in his mouth, and Yassen gripped tight and pushed forwards in response.
Eventually, Yassen’s breathing became shallower, his movements faster, until he was drawing off, taking himself in hand. Alex tilted his head back, his eyes closed and mouth open.
When he was finished, Yassen shifted slightly to let the water wash over Alex, rinsing off his face. He drew him up from the floor of the shower and kissed him deeply, the water filling their open mouths as they drank from each other.
~
“Have you sent in any applications?”
Alex’s eyes shot up from his phone, his mouth full of cereal. Ian was making himself a pourover, which he usually reserved for when work got stressful.
“For university?” He asked, his words barely intelligible.
“For God’s sake, Alex, swallow your food.” Ian said, and Alex did.
“For university?” He asked again.
“What else?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t sure you wanted me to go.”
Ian took his coffee and came and sat at the table with Alex, who raised an eyebrow in response. They didn’t often do table chats.
“I think…” Ian started, and he sounded awkward, which was a new one, “that you might be dating.”
“Oh God,” Alex started, “listen-”
“It’s alright, I’m not mad. Whoever she is, I’m sure she’s lovely.”
“Ian-”
“But. It’s not smart, you know it isn’t. You’re a very unique asset to MI6 and it could be disastrous for you both. Worse, it could be dangerous-”
“Totally. You’re right, I’ll break it off.” Alex said, desperate for this conversation to end.
“Alex, just hold on. I know we never talk about this, and I understand with everything that’s happened it would be hard but…you could stop.”
“Stop?” Alex asked incredulously. “Working for MI6?”
“You’re nineteen, your grades have gotten back up, you’ve got a girlfriend.”
“I don’t-”
“You could quit. And you could apply to university, and you could.. I don’t know.”
“Work at a bank?” Alex asked sarcastically.
Ian let out a sigh.
“Your dad would have been better at this.” He said, and he stood up from the table, taking his coffee with him.
Alex let his head fall back, his gaze on the ceiling and his thoughts racing.
~
“I think we need to not see each other for a bit.” Alex said, forcing the words out.
His head was on Yassen’s chest, and Yassen was carding his fingers through Alex’s hair. His movements faltered for a moment but didn’t stop.
“Your uncle?”
Alex nodded against him.
“I think he definitely knows.” Alex said, and Yassen tensed slightly. “Not that it’s you,” he tacked on quickly, “just that…”
“That you’re seeing somebody?” Yassen finished for him, and Alex felt his stomach clench. They’d never actually discussed this before. He sat up in bed and looked down at Yassen.
“Yeah. If you can call it that. Is it that?” He couldn’t quite keep the uncertainty from his voice.
Yassen raised an eyebrow at him.
“You eat all my food, you sleep in my bed, you use my shampoo…” He said, and Alex blushed. “I think we can call it that, yes.”
Alex curled the bedsheets in his hand.
“Okay…do you want it to be that?” He asked, not quite meeting Yassen’s eyes.
Yassen sat up and put his hands on Alex, one stilling his anxious twisting and the other raising his chin to look at him.
“Yes, Alex. That’s what I want.”
He pressed forward and kissed the worry from Alex’s lips, dragging them back down together.
~
They managed to stop for three whole days.
Earlier, Alex had checked his phone at the dinner table to find a missed call from Yassen. He’d excused himself, his uncle’s raised eyebrows following him out, but when he’d tried calling back there was no answer. He’d told Ian it was urgent, work related, and now here he was on Yassen’s front step.
He rang the doorbell for a second time. It was raining outside, and Alex hadn’t brought his umbrella. He stood under the narrow awning getting soaked on one side. He checked his phone, but Yassen hadn’t called or texted back, so he rang the doorbell again - it never took Yassen three rings to let him in. He pounded his fist against the door, sudden anxiety keeping him from calling out.
Something was off. He’d sensed it from the jump, but now he was sure. He pounded on the door again, and heard a faint moan from inside. His heart started racing.
He left the cover of the awning and ran down the block, turning into the alley. At the back of the row of flats were several mismatched fences, and he found Yassen’s before vaulting it with ease, adrenaline fueling his movements.
Once in the yard he tried the back door first, which was locked, then pressed his face to the window. The curtains were drawn but they were sheer, and Alex could make out a shape lying on the kitchen floor.
“Fuck.” He muttered, pressing up on the window to find it latched.
He yanked his hoodie over his head and wrapped it around his fist, then punched through the bottom pane, shattering the glass. He unwrapped his hand, which was shaking, and unlocked the window. He shoved it open and climbed in, falling onto the kitchen floor.
“Yassen.” He said, breathless, crawling over to him. He was soaking wet - they both were - and his jacket had been stripped, his shirt rucked up halfway. He had one hand pressed weakly to his lower abdomen, which was bleeding, his other hand sprawled out to the side.
Alex took his face in both hands. He looked into Yassen’s eyes, which were worryingly unfocused, and patted him on the cheek.
“Look at me, Yassen.”
Yassen seemed to focus for just a second on Alex, his mouth slack.
“John..” He said weakly, and Alex felt his stomach clench at the name, his brow furrowing.
He blinked hard, then switched his attention to the wound, gently placing Yassen’s hand to the side. It was clearly from a gunshot. He jimmied his hand under Yassen, who groaned in pain.
“Fuck, sorry.” He muttered, but he found what he was hoping for, which was an exit wound. He leapt to his feet and ran to the bathroom, returning with the first aid kit and a towel.
The sight of Yassen bleeding on the ground sent him back to Air Force One, and he forced himself to keep calm. The wound was eerily similar - Alex wouldn’t be surprised to find the previous scar obliterated.
He sank to the ground and uncapped a disinfectant, pouring it over the wound. Yassen arched off the ground in pain and said something in Russian, probably a string of curses, but he seemed slightly more lucid.
“You with me?” Alex asked, briefly meeting Yassen’s gaze.
“Alex…”
“You got it right this time.” Alex said cynically, mostly to himself, as he pressed the towel to the wound. Yassen let his head thump back against the floor, his breathing shallow.
Alex continued working, cleaning and packing the wound with gauze to staunch the bleeding. When he was done he wrapped Yassen’s torso as tight as he could with bandages and sat back on the floor.
After a few minutes, Yassen gingerly rolled onto his side and looked over at him.
“Are you alive?” Alex asked.
“Yes.” His voice came out soft, his face pale.
“You’re welcome.” Alex said, and even as he said it he wasn’t sure why he was being so mean.
“Thank you, Alex.”
Alex frowned. So what, he thought, he called you John. He was barely conscious, let it go.
But still, he found himself frozen in place, his eyes locked on Yassen and his thoughts racing for the second time that week.
~
Alex unlocked the front door and slipped inside. He was soaking wet, covered in blood, and (predictably) he was starving. He made a beeline for the fridge, unsurprised this time to find the light on and Ian waiting for him at the kitchen table. He ignored him, opened the fridge to find nothing, then shut it and turned to the cupboards.
“Are you hurt?” Ian asked from behind him, his voice even.
“It’s not my blood.” Alex answered, still looking for food.
“You should wash it off before you eat, then.”
“Nothing to eat.” Alex said. He heard his uncle stand up and turned to face him. “You didn’t save my leftovers?”
“Tell me what happened.” Ian said firmly.
“You know I can’t.”
Ian sighed and took out his cellphone. Alex went to the kitchen sink and started to wash the blood off his hands. Yassen’s blood. Alex had eventually got him up and into the bed, made him take some painkillers and antibiotics. He’d passed out after, and Alex had secured the flat before leaving.
He wouldn’t be able to go back for a while. He couldn’t risk being followed and leading whoever’d shot Yassen straight to him. He watched the water turn red and slip down the drain.
“I’ve ordered you a pizza.” Ian said, and Alex whipped his head around.
“What?”
“It’ll be here in twenty minutes. I’m going to bed.” He said, leaving Alex alone in the kitchen with his thoughts.
Yassen hadn’t mentioned John Rider since SCORPIA had been dismantled, and Alex had never asked again. Maybe because deep in his gut he suspected something between them. And now, with everything they’d been doing, and with the way Yassen had said his father’s name…
Alex stared straight ahead, gnawing his bottom lip right up until the pizza arrived. He brought it up to his room and opened the box - it had his favorite toppings - but he left it on the desk, his appetite gone.
~
Alex was about to see Yassen again for the first time in eight days. They’d texted once, just to confirm that he hadn’t succumbed to his injuries, but other than that Alex’s week had been rather uneventful.
Things had been less awkward with Ian, possibly because he’d been preparing for an assignment, and there hadn’t been time to continue their conversation about Alex quitting MI6 (which he had no intention of doing).
He waited in a laneway and checked the time on his phone. He was nervous to see Yassen again, for a multitude of reasons. He wanted to make sure he was okay, wanted to ask about his father and, frustratingly, he really wanted to fall back into bed with him.
Yassen rounded the corner and Alex straightened up, wiping his palms on his jeans, relieved to see that he looked no worse for wear. Alex must have done at least a half decent first aid job.
“Hi.” Alex said nervously, as Yassen closed the distance between them.
He pressed a hand to Alex’s stomach, pushing him gently until his back hit the cool stone wall behind him.
Yassen didn’t say anything, just kissed him immediately, and hungrily. His hands came up to frame Alex’s face, carding through the sides of his hair, as Alex’s hands attached themselves to Yassen’s jacket, drawing him in closer.
Yassen toed his feet apart, pressing a thigh between Alex’s legs. Alex let out a gasp, and Yassen pressed a few open mouth kisses to the spot just under his jaw.
“Jesus, Yassen, we’re in public.”
Yassen kissed him gently on the mouth and pulled back. Alex felt the absence immediately.
“I missed you.” Yassen said, which made Alex blush. He’d never heard Yassen say that he missed him before.
“I missed you too.” Alex said shyly.
Yassen tilted his head to the left.
“Follow me.”
He led Alex a couple of blocks away to a secluded cafe with a terrace. They took a table outside, the early fall sunshine warming their faces. Yassen went and ordered for them, coming back with a milky tea for Alex and a black coffee for himself. Yassen seemed relaxed, but Alex could tell that he was fully alert to their surroundings.
“I thought you might be leaving London.” Alex said, as Yassen settled in and took a sip of his drink.
“Why is that?” Yassen asked.
“Because your cover’s been blown?”
Yassen shrugged. “You can still finish the job if your cover has been blown.”
He looked pointedly at Alex as he said it, who smiled. The statement applied to a majority of Alex’s own missions.
“I’m surprised that someone got the jump on you.” He said, his tone somewhat teasing, but he was surprised.
“Not someone. Remi Dumond, head of the French mafia. He is good. I'm lucky you knew where to find me.”
“Mm.” Alex took a nervous sip of his tea. “So.. how much do you remember? From when I found you?”
“Very little. Why?”
“Well, after you were shot, you looked at me…and you said my father’s name.”
Yassen’s face went blank.
“Did I?”
Alex nodded once. “You did. And I know he was your friend but I just need to ask-”
“Alex-”
“Did you ever do this? With my dad?”
“Do what? Go to a cafe?”
“Yassen.” Alex pressed, but his voice was calm. “You know what I mean.”
Yassen let out a sigh through his nose. “Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters. How could it not matter?”
“Because you’re not him.”
“I’m his son.”
Yassen stared at him but said nothing. Alex stared back.
“Listen,” Alex went on, “I really like you. Really. But I don’t want to be…just some ghost that you’re chasing.”
Yassen leaned forward intently.
“You’re not.” He said firmly.
They stared at each other, the only sound between them the wind ruffling the dry leaves. Alex wished Yassen would say more but he didn’t. He let out a sigh.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Yassen rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.
“If I had done this,” Yassen said, gesturing between them, “or something similar. Would it make a difference?”
Alex opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He looked around, as if for an answer.
“I don’t know. It…depends, I guess.”
“On what?”
“On if you look at me and see him.” Alex said desperately, losing his composure. Yassen sat forward again.
“You have a passing resemblance, Alex, but I was losing blood. I was in danger. That is what my subconscious associates with your father.”
Alex stared at him, frowning, until he went on.
“What your father and I shared…you are right, it mattered. But truthfully? It was nothing like this. This is brand new to me, Alex.”
“So you don’t wish that I was him?”
Yassen frowned and shook his head. “No. I never have.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.”
Yassen took one of Alex’s hands in his own and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.
“Is there anything else I need to know?” Alex asked, searching Yassen’s face.
Yassen shook his head.
“No.”
~
Alex was at a Tesco Express.
They’d ended up having sex, for better or for worse. Afterwards, Yassen had tried to make them dinner, only to find there was nothing in the fridge but Coca-Cola (story of Alex’s life). Yassen had been laying low all week, recovering, and the kitchen floor had still been littered with blood and broken glass. They’d resolved to send Alex to the shop while Yassen cleaned up.
His basket was filled with the ingredients for cheese toasties, and he was looking for tomato soup when he heard a startled yell.
His head shot toward the noise and he stopped to listen. There were some muffled voices followed by more yells, then footsteps running and the slide of the shop doors opening. Alex placed his basket quietly on the floor.
He crept into the next aisle, then the next, on high alert.
A man rounded the corner into his view, a gleam of metal in his hand, and Alex crouched down and around the corner just in time, pressing his back to the shelf.
He glanced around for something he could use as a weapon, listening as the man came down the aisle. Behind him on the shelf were glass bottles of wine. He closed his hand around the neck of one, readying it in his fist, then held his breath and waited.
The gap between them closed steadily, Alex estimating the length in his mind, and at the last second he launched to the right, swinging the bottle. It hit home with a dull thud, sending the man sprawling backwards, clutching his face. Alex wasted no time, and swung again, grasping it with both hands this time and aiming up. It collided with the man’s jaw, and he slumped backwards against the shelf, unconscious.
There was barely time to think before a new set of footsteps approached him from behind, and Alex spun around to see another man charging him.
He threw the bottle of wine towards his head, then rushed him to follow up. While the man raised his arms to shield his face, Alex went for his stomach, delivering a blow as the bottle bounced to the floor and shattered. The man keeled over, winded. Alex grabbed his head and brought it down hard on his knee, then let him sag to the floor.
He took a few steadying breaths, his nerves still on edge, then turned and came face-to-face with the barrel of a gun. He looked up at the man holding it. He towered over Alex, and his expression was amused, as if he’d enjoyed watching Alex fight.
There was no doubt in Alex’s mind that this was Remi Dumond, the same man who had got the jump on Yassen. Alex hadn’t even seen or heard him until they were inches apart.
“Turn around.”
Alex distantly registered the sound of police sirens as he slowly turned away from Dumond, who pressed the gun into the small of his back.
“Now move.”
He pushed him forwards and out the back door, directly into the dark maw of a waiting van.
~
Yassen rang the bell to the Rider residence.
As far as plans went it wasn’t ideal, but he had no one else to turn to, and he couldn’t get Alex on his own. Not while he was still injured, and not while Dumond was still alive.
The door opened and Ian Rider stared out at him. He looked positively bewildered.
“Yassen.”
“Hello, Ian.”
“What the hell is this?”
“Can I come in?”
“That depends, are you going to shoot me?”
Yassen pushed past Ian and inside, shutting the door behind them. They stood facing each other in the foyer.
“What are you doing here, Yas?” Ian asked.
“I need your help.”
Ian smiled cynically. “You need my help? Right. With what.”
“Alex has been kidnapped.”
There was a moment of silence as the words sank in. Ian frowned, shaking his head.
“Kidnapped? By who?”
“Le Milieu.”
“That’s impossible,” Ian said, crossing his arms, “if they were in London I would know about it. The Department would know.”
Yassen resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Ian. We don’t have time for this.”
“Do you really expect me to just take you at your word? How do you know they’ve got Alex?”
“Because I was just with him.”
Ian tilted his head like he’d heard wrong. “With Alex?”
Yassen nodded.
“Are you working with him?”
Yassen shook his head.
“Then why-” Ian cut himself off as Yassen dragged a hand over his mouth. They looked each other in the eye, and Yassen watched as it hit him.
“...Oh my God, you absolute bastard!" Ian hissed. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you?! He’s my nephew, for Christ’s sake, he’s John’s son!”
Yassen stayed quiet as Ian went on.
“You know, I never thought I’d see you again, after that night-”
“I never planned to.”
“-and now this? I can’t believe you’d show your face here, it’s bad enough you dragged him to SCORPIA-”
“Ian.” Yassen said firmly.
Ian stopped talking and took a few heaving breaths, then walked away, leaving Yassen by the door. He came back a moment later with a USP-S.
“If it’s really the French then I need to call it in.” He said as he loaded a clip.
“The Department? No.” Yassen said.
Ian tucked the gun into his waistband and took out his phone. Yassen snatched it out of his hand and tossed it to the floor. Ian let out a frustrated sigh.
“We need backup.”
“Yes,” Yassen said, “you’re back-up.”
They stared at each other, the air between them tense as a bowstring, before Ian snatched his car keys from the entrance table and flung the door open.
“Get in the bloody car, Yassen.”
~
Alex had seen better days.
He was taped to a chair in the middle of a freezing cold warehouse, as the second scariest man he’d ever seen twirled a bat in his hand like he was about to step up to the plate.
There were several other Frenchmen around, some seemingly working while others played cards and smoked. They all acted as if it were perfectly normal to have a tied up torture victim in their midst.
Dumond swung the bat up and over his shoulder.
“You know him well, yes?" He asked, a suggestive note to his voice. "Very well, I think."
“Who?”
The bat came down into his stomach without warning, knocking the breath from him. Alex clenched his eyes shut and let his head fall forwards in pain.
“The killer. The one with the scar.”
“I don’t know.” Alex wheezed, still struggling to get air back into his lungs.
“You don’t? I should warn you then, he is dangerous. But maybe you like it.”
“Fuck you.”
Dumond brought the bat down again in the same place, and this time Alex was sure he felt a rib snap. As soon as he got his breath back he yelled out in pain.
“I want to know about him. You will tell me.”
“He’s dangerous,” Alex said, his voice weak, “did you get that bit yet?”
Dumond placed the bat down on the ground and took a knife from his waist, flicking it open. He grabbed Alex by the hair and yanked his head back, bringing the knife tip to his neck, then began dragging the point shallowly from his chin down to his collar bone. Alex struggled against his binds, his teeth clenched to keep from crying out.
“Tell me something.” He said again, a note of frustration entering his voice.
“He’s really good in bed.” Alex said, smiling up at him.
Dumond switched the knife to his other hand, wound up and backhanded him viciously. Alex let his head loll back, his mouth filling with blood, then spat at the man’s feet.
Dumond raised the knife again, slicing through his shirt this time. When Alex’s chest was laid bare he put one hand on Alex’s shoulder and pressed the blade to his sternum. Alex cried out as it dragged its way down, just as a bullet ricocheted off the ceiling.
It was like sensing a ghost in the room - the bullet could have belonged to any gun, an accidental discharge - but Alex knew instantly that Yassen had come. It pierced one of the overhead lights in a shower of sparks, sending the warehouse into patchy darkness. Men began yelling, drawing their weapons and scrambling to find cover.
Dumond let out a noise of frustration and pocketed the knife, then took off. A man to Alex’s right grunted and fell, picked off with a silenced weapon, and less than a second later another man fell, this one behind and to his left. Alex frowned in confusion. He was pretty sure that even Yassen Gregorovich couldn’t hit both those shots from one angle.
Two more bodies hit the floor, causing someone to panic and loose off a barrage from an SMG, filling the space with thunder and lightning. Several men followed suit, firing blindly, so that Alex was now trapped in the middle of a shootout.
He ducked his head as best he could, the next few moments passing in a blur of chaos. Bullets flew past him, and one grazed his shoulder, making him cry out in pain. Eventually the air cleared and it went quiet.
Alex raised his head tentatively. The warehouse was filled with gunsmoke, and the few lights that hadn’t been destroyed were swinging wildly, casting shadows on the walls. There were bodies everywhere, leaking blood. He looked down at his left shoulder, which was bleeding but intact.
Alex heard a noise as in front of him the smoke cleared and a dark figure emerged. It was Yassen, his silenced pistol in hand, moving casually about his carnage.
The expression on his face was familiar to Alex, it was one that had terrified him in the past - and even now it was unsettling - but knowing it was directed at the people who had hurt him stirred up something inside Alex that made him feel almost drunk.
As Yassen came closer, Alex could see the moment he got a good look at him, at the blood and the fresh bruises. He tucked his gun away and crouched in front of Alex, putting both hands on his face.
“Alex.” Yassen said, his voice filled with concern.
“It’s okay, I’m okay.”
He gently tilted Alex’s head back to look at the wound on his neck.
“It’s fine, it’s not deep.” Alex said, wincing. "Did you get Dumond?"
The sound of a hammer being set back echoed in the empty space. Alex turned his head to see Dumond, who’d appeared as if from nowhere. He was pointing a heavy silver deagle at Yassen.
“Stand up.” He said to Yassen, who obeyed, raising his hands in surrender. He backed away from Alex. “I did not think you would come for the little whore.”
Yassen gestured slightly to the violent scene around them.
“Seems like that was your mistake.”
“Maybe. But it looks like it is yours now too.”
“Don’t kill him.” Alex said, though he wasn’t even sure where the words came from.
“Alex.” Yassen didn’t take his eyes off Dumond as he said it, and Alex wondered what he meant. It’ll be okay, or maybe shut up and stop talking.
“He is tough,” Dumond said with a smile, meaning Alex, “and you are good. But you are not better than me.”
Yassen tilted his head to the side as if in consideration, and half a second later a bullet went through Dumond’s neck. His body dropped to the ground.
Alex craned his neck to see where the shot had come from, and watched as his uncle came out of cover, his gun still trained on Dumond. He looked from Ian, back to Yassen, then back to Ian again, confusion written all over his face. Ian checked the body for a pulse, then rushed to Alex.
“Alex, are you alright?” He asked, but Alex was too stunned to speak. “Give me your knife, Yas.”
Yas?!
Yassen pulled a switchblade from his pocket and tossed it to Ian, who snatched it out of the air and flicked it open. He began cutting the tape away from Alex’s wrists.
“Where are you injured?” Ian asked.
It took Alex a few seconds to find his voice. He was stunned into silence by this exchange between Yassen and his uncle, by the ease between them. Yassen had never made out like they knew each other at all.
“Um.. I’ve probably got a few broken ribs.” He said, and saw Yassen’s eyes flick down to the baseball bat on the floor. “And I was hit. In the shoulder.”
Ian was still working on the binds, but he glanced at Yassen.
“That was extremely reckless.” He said.
“Which part exactly?” Yassen asked.
“All of it. Using yourself as bait to get Dumond.”
“Well, I knew you would shoot him.”
“Well, I would have preferred not to. We could have taken him in.”
Alex narrowed his eyes, glancing between the two of them.
“I prefer him dead.” Yassen said, his tone cold.
Ian was finished with the tape, and he tossed Yassen’s knife back without a word. Yassen caught it effortlessly.
Ian made to put his arm around Alex to help him up, but Alex batted his hands away.
“What’s wrong?” Ian asked.
Alex looked directly at him and then back to Yassen, his chest tight.
“What’s going on?” Alex asked.
“What do you mean?” Ian asked, shaking his head.
“This.” Alex lifted his hand and pointed at the two of them. “What is this?”
“What?” Ian laughed nervously, while Yassen shifted and put his hands in his pockets. Alex frowned deeply.
“You two know each other?”
“Hardly,” Ian said, “just in passing.”
“Why aren’t you saying anything?” Alex asked, this time to Yassen. He tried to stand up and grimaced, a hand going to his ribcage. Ian put a hand on Alex’s arm, and Yassen took a reflexive step forwards, but he still didn’t say anything.
And then Ian glanced back, and the two of them shared a look.
“Jesus Christ,” He pushed Ian off of him, “have you slept with him before?” He asked Ian, while pointing at Yassen.
“No!” Ian said with a scoff at the same time as Yassen said:
“Once.”
Alex let the word sink in, deep to the pit of his stomach. He felt like he might throw up.
“Are you serious?” He was addressing Yassen now. “Is this some kind of sick game for you? Where you collect the whole set?”
“No-” Yassen started, but Ian interrupted.
“Now is really not the time for this, Alex.”
Alex stood up fully and started walking, his teeth gritted in pain. They both moved to help him, but he held up a hand.
“Don’t.” He hissed.
“You’re injured, Alex.” Ian said.
“I don’t care. Don’t touch me, either of you.” Alex said, as he walked past Yassen, staring straight ahead.
~
The three of them were in the Rider residence, three untouched mugs of tea between them on the sitting room table. It looked like a bad intervention.
Alex was sitting back on the couch, clutching his ribs, a pained expression on his face. He’d performed first aid on himself, refusing their help.
Ian was in the armchair, his fingertips steepled, looking at the ground. Yassen was like always, leaning against the wall, infuriatingly casual. His eyes were locked on Alex.
“So we need to talk, obviously.” Ian started, and Alex instantly rolled his eyes.
“The last thing I want to do is talk about my uncle fucking my boyfriend-”
Both Ian and Yassen’s expressions changed.
“He’s not your boyfriend.” Ian snapped and Alex blushed. Yassen said nothing. “How long has this been going on, Alex?”
Alex pulled a face and shook his head.
“I don’t think I’m the one who’s in trouble here. You two clearly have some unresolved something-”
“No we don’t.” Yassen said.
“And you,” He turned to face Yassen, “you lied to me. Beyond everything else.”
“I didn’t lie to you-” Yassen started.
“I asked you if there was anything else I needed to know, and you said no.”
“Well, I didn’t think you needed to know this.”
“Really,” Alex said, incredulous, “you didn’t think it was important that after sleeping with my dad you then slept with my uncle? And then me?”
“Jesus.” Ian muttered.
“It’s not important.” Yassen insisted.
“Well-” Ian said, his brows raised, which caused both Alex and Yassen to turn to him with shocked expressions.
“This is so fucked up.” Alex put his face in his hands.
“Alex,” Yassen said, “we need to talk about this alone.”
“You can forget that.” Ian said simply.
Alex dragged his head up to look at Yassen. He knew the hurt was written all over his face, and saw it reflected.
“I don’t want to be alone with you right now.” He choked out.
A heavy silence filled the room, as Yassen stared back at him and Alex fought the overwhelming urge to run away.
After a moment, Yassen left the room, sparing one last glance at Alex. They heard the front door open and shut.
There was quiet for a time, Alex and Ian both frozen in place.
“He’s hurt us all, Alex.” Ian said softly.
Alex stood up from the couch, wincing, and turned to face Ian. He knew he had tears in his eyes, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.
“I don’t even want to hear that.”
He left the room, leaving his uncle sitting alone.
~
After Ian left for his assignment, Alex went to Yassen’s flat to find it already empty. He went to the back, scaled the fence and let himself in through the window. He walked past the kitchen and up the stairs to the bedroom. The sheets were gone from the bed, but Alex laid down in it anyways.