Author: RikkuRiddle

Title: Moscow

Disclaimer: I neither own Yassen Gregorovich nor Alex Rider (or any other characters from the Alex Rider books). I'm not making any money with this. It's purely for fun. I do however own the characters I introduce throughout the drabbles that I came up with. :)

Rating: M (Jup, the rating went up for that chapter. XD)

Warnings: male/male, language, violence, blood, death

Spoiler: (potentially all AR books)

Author's comment: I know this update took ages. . And I'm really sorry for that but it was the end of the semester and all my exams + learning for them kept me busy. I was too scared to take some time off in between to write. So, I had to wait until it was over.

I hope to update once a month from now on. Cause I'm writing other AR stuff (that happens later in the storyline) too, and while I want to keep updating 'Moscow' I really also want to get on with the whole plot. And since I'm going to post all of that in good time, I'm sure/hope you won't mind too much. XD

Other than that: Thanks to Anne Phoenix and Shiruy for betaing! (Shi, I know you need a longer thank-you note for all the awesome stuff you do to help me with my story and my constant pestering of proof-reading every damn paragraph I just wrote! XD Buuut, you also get to read the whole story before everybody else AND so much background knowledge and let's not forget all the things that happen waaaay later. *hugs*)

Also THANKS SOOOO MUCH! To all your lovely comments. ;_; Gosh, can you believe how many comments I got for the last chapter! I wanted to cry! XD I was super happy! Thanks to you all, you don't know how happy it makes me that you like the story!

Research: Okay, people, I SWEAR I meant to do more research on that sound a gun makes when a silencer/suppressor is attached. But then I was immersed in the whole field of subsonic and supersonic bullets, the ballistic crack or "sonic boom" and, yeah…. My friend told me I should stop, cause otherwise I would've gone off becoming an expert in the field and it would've taken me another month to finish that chapter. XD

So, sorry to all you weapons experts if I got it wrong. I'll probably go back at some point and correct this part of the chapter. Hopefully, after I've been too the shooting range instead of just reading stuff. My dad wanted to take me and I CANNOT wait…*so excited* Anyways… sorry for the useless ramble.

Finally now, enjoy! ^_^

Oh god, I should've known.

Petrified, Alex couldn't obey his body's instinctive reaction to recoil as he found himself rendered completely immobile with shock. A new surge of adrenaline crashed down on him and for a moment he contemplated whether it was true that people could get addicted to that 'kick' and the exhilaration that followed after. He'd become so used to these situations of hyper-awareness, the way his thinking narrowed down to the simple task of staying alive. Since the party last night, he'd hardly had time to sit down and take stock of his situation.

His heart thudded heavily in his chest as he stared at Yassen and there was an unexpected flicker of disbelief in the Russian's eyes as he looked back at him. Somehow, Alex expected to be seized any second.

He could kill me. Right here, right now and I wouldn't even be able to move a finger.

The frightening train of thought made him feel light-headed and his knees trembled. Blood was rushing in his ears and he couldn't understand a word of what the assassin was saying. But Yassen wasn't talking to him.

He dared to glance at Katarina next to him and watched the ensuing argument between them. They were speaking in Russian.

"Что за чёрт? Ты с ума сошла, женщина?"

Alex flinched at the assassin's harsh words even though they held no meaning to him. The unrestrained display of anger on Yassen's face took him by surprise – he'd never seen the Russian so… expressive.

This was bad. However close the relationship between Katarina and Yassen was, he'd obviously not expected her to bring Alex. Maybe he had a chance of reaching the lift while the assassin's attention was still focused on Katarina. It was worth a try…

Almost imperceptibly, Alex moved his left foot back a few centimetres. If he could whirl around and dash over, Katarina would be in Yassen's way. The doors to the lift were still open. How fast would they close after he'd pushed the button? Wasn't there a staircase? What if the Russian had a gun?

His eyes landed on the assassin again as he took in his appearance, the dark blue t-shirt and black sweatpants; his bare feet and the towel around his neck that Alex hadn't noticed before made him stop. He'd just… got out of the shower? That would also explain why he hadn't checked who was at the door before opening up. Apparently he'd trusted Katarina enough not to… bring a surprise.

Alex deemed it unlikely that Yassen might have a gun tugged into the waistband of those sweatpants but he couldn't put it beyond him.

He'd only been involved in the whole spy-assassin business for a year and the paranoia that would overcome him now and again was already maddening, no doubt the Russian would take it to a whole other level. If his situation hadn't been so serious, Alex would have snorted.

The lift. Alex clenched his fists, coming back to his original intent and trying to calm his breathing. Yassen wasn't looking at him. I can do it. It's not that far.

But he was wrong.

In fact, he didn't even manage to bring his body the whole way around. His first step towards the lift was cut short as his left upper arm was caught in an iron grip that made him yelp, the pressure on his graze wound sending a sharp pain through his arm.

And suddenly Yassen was very close behind him, warm breath tickling his ear. "I don't think so."

The underlying warning in the Russian's voice, the dangerous edge to it and the fingers curling tighter around his upper arm, making him wince, gave Alex goose bumps. His heart was racing again.

"Yassen, really!" Katarina stepped up to them, her face worried and she reached out to pull the assassin's hand away from him, but something made her falter mid-motion and she withdrew again. "This is ridiculous," she exclaimed, though her voice was a little uncertain now as she gave Alex a confused look. "I'm sure there's no need for you to-"

Yassen cut across her, talking in Russian again and Alex saw her narrowing her eyes, throwing him another glance. "Я не понимаю. Что…?" Katarina trailed off when the assassin spoke again before turning to Alex, her expression apologetic.

He didn't like where this was going. What were they talking about?

"I think you're wrong," she said to the Russian and shook her head. Not taking her eyes off Alex, she walked over to the lift, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm sorry, Alex."

He struggled against Yassen's hold but it was useless and the pain in his arm as the assassin tugged him back to the door made him involuntarily follow the Russian, if only to keep the strain on his wound to a minimum. "Let go of me."

Behind them the doors to the lift swished shut and bitter realisation turned his stomach. He bit his lip, using his free hand to push against Yassen's shoulder with little result. Panic was creeping up on him and it was all he could do to refrain from begging the assassin to spare his life.

The Russian pushed him into the flat and he stumbled, immediately cradling his injured arm as he backed up, watching as Yassen slammed the door shut. The loud bang, full of dark promises made him jump and back up further when the assassin rounded in on him.

He was cornered, in a flat alone with the Russian. His chances of survival by jumping out of the window on the tenth floor were probably higher than if he stayed where he was.

"I swear if anything happens to her, you and your friends will be very sorry."

Alex froze. "Wha- what?"

Oh god, bad mistake. Before he knew it, Yassen had closed the last bit of distance between them and hauled him around, grabbing both of his arms and wrenching them up behind his back. Alex cried out in pain and shock and doubled over as much as possible with the assassin holding him.

Gritting his teeth, he tried to concentrate on anything but the acute, throbbing ache that started in his left upper arm and seemed to pulse through the rest of his body. What did the Russian mean? His friends... MI6 had no idea where he was!

"I can rip your clothes off or you can tell me where the bug is. What is it going to be?" Yassen hissed dangerously.

"I- I don't know what you're talking about!" Alex exclaimed, horrified, and made the futile attempt to wriggle out of the assassin's hold. What bug? What the-

"Fine."

The Russian touched his left wrist, his fingers curling slightly under the strap of his watch and suddenly he ripped it off, yanking Alex' arm back in the process. It felt as if the force of it would dislocate his shoulder and he cried out again, his voice cracking. He fell forward when Yassen let go of him and managed to turn around, hastily moving away from the man.

His wrist was bleeding from where the strap had cut into his skin and he was starting to shake from pain and fear, his breathing so erratic it changed all the time; it was fast and shallow until he forced himself to take a deep breath but his nerves were getting the better of him.

Alex saw the assassin examine the watch before he let it drop to the ground and stepped on it; it broke with a dull crack and Yassen's eyes returned to him. A cold smile twisted his lips. "Looks like you were lucky."

All colour had drained from Alex' face as it slowly dawned on him what was being played here. Had this whole mission been a set-up? Had MI6 known from the start that the Russian was involved in whatever was going on in Moscow? Was that why they'd sent him in? To get to Yassen? But why, that was-

The tunnel.

He saved my life. So they thought...

No, Alex wanted to argue. This was all wrong. "I had no idea..." he said quietly. "I swear, I-"

His legs wouldn't obey him even as the assassin came closer again. The realisation of in just how much trouble he was practically paralysed him. He must think I convinced Katarina to take me here. That I knew about the bug that I was deliberately trying to get to him.

And it all made sense. Only that it wasn't true...

He'd never seen the Russian's face so cold, so completely devoid of all emotion. His eyes were like chips of ice, boring into him and the tension in his body showed that he'd probably kill Alex if he so much as twitched.

"Of course you did not," Yassen sneered as he came to a halt in front of Alex, towering over him.

He still couldn't move. He couldn't even speak.

"Tell me, how did you convince them to keep you on the mission after I nearly strangled you?" His gaze had dropped down to Alex' neck, around which Aleksander's scarf was still wrapped.

Strang-

Alex' eyes widened. He did that to get me off the mission? "I didn't... tell them."The moment the words were out, he knew he'd made a mistake.

"I see." The assassin's lips quirked up just a little.

"But I didn't do it so they would keep me on the mission!" He added hastily, doubting that it would have any effect at all. "I didn't know they'd set me up to-"

The gun that was suddenly pointing at his chest made him stop.

"No." Alex shook his head, staring at the muzzle and took a few steps back, coldness crawling up his back and through his limbs. He began to shake again and flinched when he bumped into a wall. "Please don't. I swear I had no idea that they- I wouldn't..."

"That is what they all say, Alex." Yassen's face was a mask.

"No! I- I didn't..." But he couldn't think of anything to say that would miraculously turn this whole situation around. It was all wrong. Sweat was trickling down his nape and his fingers felt numb. The gun that was still trained at him was like a time bomb that could go off any second and he had no means of stopping it.

The helplessness, together with the Russian's unforgiving, cold gaze was tearing down the last bits of composure he'd still managed to hold onto until now. I don't want to die.

Pressing back against the wall, Alex shook his head again. There had to be something. Wasn't there anything he could do? Why wouldn't the assassin listen? "Please don't kill me," he said in a choked whisper, his eyes flickering between the gun and Yassen's face.

He didn't care anymore. He would beg, he would get down on his knees and cry. Anything, as long as the Russian would take pity on him and spare his life.

The assassin made a low hushing noise. "Relax."

"No." Alex bit his tongue, his vision becoming blurry. "No, please..."

"Close your eyes, Alex. It will be okay."

Things were escalating. He could practically feel it just from the way Yassen was looking at him. And what the hell was the Russian even talking about? Did he really expect him to keep quiet and-

I've already survived too many things that should've killed me. If he really was going to die what was there to regret? I'm not going to give up, not- not that easily. Clutching at the wall, he blinked his tears away. "You don't want to kill me. Katarina told me-"

"Alex." The assassin said in warning.

"She told me you couldn't!" He was clutching at straws and he knew it. What if Yassen had changed his mind about all these things? But it didn't matter; he would do whatever it took to stay alive. It was strange; fighting for his life had always been an instinct, a logical reaction. Nobody would just sit and let it happen, would they? But now... he refused to accept death because of a goddamn set-up! Because of all the distrust and suspicion. Because nobody would believe him in this world if all he could do was talk about his innocence. "I know you don't want to kill me! You saved my life before, why-"

The Russian grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, pushing him up against the wall, the gun digging into his lower back. "Shut up," he snarled threateningly, holding Alex in place with one leg shoved between his thighs and his still free hand pressing against Alex' nape.

He paid no heed to Yassen's words. "Please..." His injured arm hurt terribly and he was sure the Russian could hear his heart thudding almost painfully against his chest. Biting the inside of his cheek, Alex clenched his eyes shut for a second. "Please, don't kill me," he sounded scared. "I- I'll do whatever you want. Just don't..."

That made the assassin pause. The gun eased off a little and a moment later he heard Yassen chuckle. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean it!" Alex swallowed, his legs were still shaking and he tried to clamp down on the tiny spark of hope. The Russian was unpredictable. He wouldn't be safe until he was out of the building and as far away from the man as possible. "What- whatever you want. I- Just... Please don't kill me." Things started to turn surreal. What was he doing? What did he even mean?

What could he possibly offer Yassen that would make him change his mind and decide not to kill him? He turned up blank. He was just a 15-year-old boy, a nuisance to the Russian at best. I don't care... I have to try.

The feeling of Yassen's hand brushing over his bum made him jump and turn his head but he couldn't see the man's face. "What...?"

He could hear the assassin chuckle again and the touch grew more pronounced until that hand squeezed and-

Alex' breath caught and his cheeks grew hot. Wha- what?

The Russian leaned in, taking the gun away and Alex went rigid as hot breath fanned over his ear and nape, giving him goose bumps. "Some advice for the future: do not make promises you are not prepared to keep. Some people may take you up on it."

Alex' head was spinning. Advice for the future? Did that mean he wasn't going to die after all? And what was Yassen doing grabbing his bum? The thought made him blush even harder as memories of events from two months ago flickered through his mind. Oh god, does he think I offered...?

A dull bang from the ceiling drew the attention of both of them.

The assassin said something, but it was too low for him to understand as if he was swearing under his breath, probably in Russian too. Before he knew it, Yassen had pulled his arms behind his back, ignoring Alex' pained hiss, and dragged him into the next room. The gun was pressing against his back again.

"What's going on?" he asked quietly, not daring to struggle anymore.

Instead of getting an answer, the Russian threw him onto the bed, face first and when he brought his hands up to cushion his fall, cold metal was pushing at his nape. "Move and I will kill you."

Alex swallowed, trying to look over his shoulder but did nothing to aggravate Yassen otherwise. He couldn't see what the assassin was doing. A long zipper was pulled open and there was a short moment of what sounded as if the Russian was rifling through a bag.

Then his arms were yanked back again and Alex gritted his teeth as hard as he could. There was nothing he could do as rope was wound around his wrists and then he was pulled to his feet, brought back into what looked like the living room. The same room they'd been in just a minute before. He wanted to know what was going to happen to him but was too afraid to ask again.

"Sit down," Yassen ordered curtly, gesturing with the gun.

Alex tried to, but it was awkward and difficult with his hands tied behind his back. Next to him was a heater and he could guess what the assassin had in mind; sure enough, just a second later, handcuffs clicked and when he tugged slightly, there was a dull clank from the metal of the handcuffs against the pipe of the heater.

The Russian had crouched down in front of him, tying his legs together as well and a small part of him wanted to kick out, but the gun was lying on the floor beside Yassen. Making that move would be petulant and incredibly stupid to say the least. So he sat still, watching as the assassin finished and stood up, eyeing him contemplatively.

He vanished into the adjacent room and re-emerged a moment later with a roll of duct tape in his hand. Once again, Alex felt like protesting but bit his tongue eventually, only giving the Russian a baleful glare as he pulled the tape across his mouth.

"For your own safety," Yassen said, the corners of his lips quirking up ever so slightly; there was a hint of amusement in his voice. "We know how easily you always get into trouble."

The assassin got to his feet, looking Alex over once more before walking off to the entrance, gun in hand. It wasn't until now that Alex noticed that the Russian had attached a silencer to the muzzle and suddenly it dawned on him what was happening outside.

If he'd been carrying a bug, then he'd led MI6 straight to Yassen's place.

"I will deal with you later," the Russian promised and gave him a last glance.

Ignoring the brief surge of anxiety as the door fell shut, Alex immediately scanned the room. It was furnished to the bare minimum, with a black leather couch and two matched armchairs and in the middle sat a small glass table. To his right was a passage to the kitchen that seemed fully equipped from what he could see. Other than that there was only a cabinet with glass doors that stood against the wall right next to him. Left from the heater were two ceiling-to-floor sliding doors that led out to the balcony. The floor was made of parquet.

He kept looking around while rattling the handcuffs, desperately searching for a way out. How long would it take Yassen to come back? Would he even come back?

Alex considered. They'd captured the Russian once and he'd escaped, they probably weren't going to take any chances this time. So how many men would MI6 have sent to take out the assassin? And was that even their task? Killing Yassen? Or would they want to get him alive?

It didn't matter. He couldn't sit around, waiting for somebody to come and rescue him. What if the Russian managed to kill them all? No, if he had any say in it, he certainly wouldn't stick around.

Shifting on the floor, Alex tried moving his legs; the rope was too tight to wriggle free but that didn't surprise him. It was the same with his wrists. And there was nothing in close proximity that he could use to-

He paused and eyed the cabinet. It was empty. There was nothing in this damn flat that would-

No. No, he couldn't think like that. Fighting down the rising fear again, Alex forced himself to calm down, resisting the urge to just yank madly at his manacles. It wouldn't do any good. He'd only hurt himself more and his arm already felt like it was on fire.

The cabinet. He looked at it again. It was the only thing in reach. And suddenly he had an idea. Pulling himself away from the heater with his feet, he leaned down on his arms behind his back, instantly being rewarding with another excruciating jab of pain shooting up his arm and through the rest of his body.

Alex gritted his teeth and pulled himself a little further away from the heater, as far as the ropes would allow before lifting his feet up and bracing them against the cabinet. He could even bend his knees. It was close enough for him to gain enough momentum and-

Pulling his legs up, he rolled back as far as he could before rocking forth and slamming his feet against the glass doors of the cabinet. It didn't break yet, but there was an ominous crack and Alex knew it wouldn't take much more. He repeated the motion, rolling back and using the momentum to kick against the cabinet. This time he could already see the long, white cracks running through the glass from where his feet had impacted with it.

On the third try the doors burst and he clenched his eyes shut and turned his head away.

Catching his breath, Alex blinked and looked at the shards lying around everywhere. Carefully he shifted into a sitting position and searched the ground for a relatively big piece of glass. He pushed his feet out as soon as he found one and pulled it closer with them, twisting to his side and trying to lift himself up a little, so he could get the shard close enough to his hands to grab it.

There was a dull noise from outside that made him flinch and stop, his eyes fixed on the door for a few tense seconds. His heart was hammering as he stared at the doorknob as if willing it not to move.

Nothing happened.

Alex turned back to his task at hand and finally succeeded, by half rolling onto his side and bringing his feet up as close to his bum as possible that he could grab the shard. The handcuffs also gave him a few centimetres of leeway, enough to reach down and take the shard.

Breathing heavily, he closed his eyes for a moment as he fumbled blindly with the little glass fragment behind his back and hissed as it cut into his fingers. The throbbing in his arm was worse than ever and he started to lose feeling in his fingers of his left hand. Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter, I can still do it. He pushed another wave of fear away, concentrating on cutting through the ropes with the shard instead.

It was a slow process and half the time he felt as if he was cutting into his fingers more often than into the robe. The blood made everything slippery and the piece of glass slipped from his hands again and again but he remained determined.

Fortunately, Yassen had attached the handcuffs only to the rope and not to one of his wrists, otherwise he really wouldn't have been able to out of this without cutting off his hand or something. And he'd rather not consider that option.

Hours seemed to pass before he finally felt the ropes fall away. Dropping the shard, he looked at his bloody hands and the abrasion on his wrists before bending down to untie his legs. It took too long and his patience was running out. The knots were horribly complicated and the cords twisted together and around and-

"Damnit," cursing lowly, Alex grabbed the shard again and cut through his bonds instead. He jumped up as soon as he was free and looked around, for a moment contemplating whether he should search for a weapon. Surely Yassen would have another gun, maybe in the bag in the bedroom. But he decided against it. He didn't plan on getting himself into some sort of shoot-out and apart from that he was just too scared to stick around any longer.

He made his way over to the door, squinted into the peephole before he opened it and stared out into the empty corridor. There was no sound. His first thought was the lift but as soon as he'd turned to it, his attention was caught by a small red light and a little panel next to it with Russian writing.

Hurrying over, he pushed a few buttons, but when nothing happened, his suspicion of what that little panel said was confirmed: Out of order.

Great.

There had to be another way down. Alex went to the other side of the corridor and found a small hallway at the end of it that led off to the left. Walking to its end, he pushed the glass door open after checking whether somebody was coming.

A second later, he found himself in the stairwell and staggered back, clapping his hand over his nose at the sudden smell of blood. Leaning over the handrail, he was prepared to see several dead bodies but there was nothing. Alex swallowed, breathing through his mouth as he climbed down the first set of stairs slowly, careful not to make any noise.

As he descended, the smell in the air grew stronger and he suddenly had to think of Blunt. Had the man, even for a moment, considered the consequences of Yassen finding out about the bug? Anger was bubbling up inside of him. Yes, he most likely had and not given a damn.

The Russian wasn't stupid. He'd undoubtedly expected a transparent move like this after he'd just saved Alex's life. But he felt angry at himself too. Why hadn't he thought of it earlier? It should've occurred to him the second he'd seen Yassen on the streets. If anything, meeting the assassin was never a coincidence.

He remembered Blunt's words about how he was only to serve as cover and that it would probably be the last mission they'd sent him on too after the Prime Minister had got wind of everything while Alex had been kidnapped and brought to Kenya, and the whole business with Desmond McCain. Apparently there had been quite a few investigations. But most of the things had probably been hushed up and as long as there wasn't some political scandal about how MI6 was using a teenage boy to do their dirty work nobody really cared.

My last mission.

Alex smiled grimly at the irony.

His thoughts came to a screeching halt when he saw a figure lying at the bottom of the second flight of stairs and Alex felt his heartbeat accelerating almost instantly. Yassen?

He took a few more steps, noticing the splatters of blood on the wall and his stomach churned.

The person on the ground wore a black combat suit. An agent. Averting his eyes, Alex crept over to the glass door that connected to the ninth floor but there was nothing behind it; just an identical corridor to the one on the tenth floor and two doors leading off to apartments.

Straining his ears, he tried to pick up on any noise before carrying on but it was still deadly quiet. He knew he had to hurry up. If the lift wasn't working then the only way Yassen could come back up was the stairwell and he really didn't feel like bumping into the assassin again. One encounter a day was really as much as he could handle.

Shortly after, Alex reached the eighth floor and found another dead agent, this time behind the glass door. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes. A straight head shot.

Alex had to turn away. This was horrible. His nerves were starting to get the better of him again and he balled his fists, immediately regretting that careless move as his injured arm and cut up fingers protested. Cradling his arm, he continued on his way down.

From time to time, he dared to peek over the chrome banister in the middle of the stairwell, but there seemed to be nobody else here beside him. The silence was eerie.

He passed the seventh floor and encountered the third dead body between the sixth and the fifth, sprawled on the steps, the blood trickling down from the hole in his neck. Pressed against the handrail, Alex moved passed him, trying to avoid stepping into the puddle of blood. His stomach heaved and he swallowed thickly.

That was when he caught sight of the agent's gun lying at the bottom of the stairs. He had decided against searching for a weapon in Yassen's apartment, but now... with one lying so conveniently in his reach. And after what he'd seen... Carrying a gun would at least calm his nerves if nothing else.

Alex picked it up and was relieved to find it without any blood splatters. That was, until he'd touched it. Some of the cuts on his fingers were still bleeding and he dabbed his hands against his trousers to get a better grip on the gun. A suppressor was attached to it. He checked for the safety catch and enabled it, before tugging the gun into the side of his trousers.

After another flight of stairs, he'd reached the end of the stairwell. The only way ahead was a door with frosted glass that obscured the view to what lay behind it. Slowly, Alex pushed the door open and peered inside, only to see another white corridor like all the others before. The whole building was made of chrome and marble, white walls and glass and he wasn't sure if it looked like a hospital or just like a very clean, high-end apartment building. Maybe a bit of both.

The dead agents and their blood on the stairs and the wall had looked worse in these otherwise clean and untainted surroundings.

Quietly, he slipped into the corridor, closing the door and pressing himself against the wall. About three metres ahead of him was a turn to the right. He inched forward and still everything was completely silent.

When he reached the corner, he saw a cleaning cart just around the bend and a smaller corridor a few metres down the hall that led off to the left. And-

Fuck, Yassen.

Alex ducked behind the cart and winced as he very nearly bumped into it, which would have drawn the Russian's attention for sure. Chances were that the man would've just fired at the cart without even checking who was behind it. He took a silent, shaky breath and stared at his trembling and blood-stained hands.

What was he supposed to do? Wait here? Hope that the assassin wouldn't notice him when he came back to return to his apartment? Alex nearly scoffed.

Shifting slightly, he was able to see through a little gap between the brooms and buckets on the cart.

Yassen stood with his back flush against the wall, his gun levelled and his head turned away from Alex. There was something inhuman about the calmness that was radiating from him. As if he was comfortable, completely at ease with the situation he was in. Agents were probably swarming the building; he'd already killed three or more in less than fifteen minutes and would probably continue to up that count.

The thought was... terrifying.

For a moment, Alex was confused when the Russian didn't move even after several seconds; that was when he caught sight of a dark shape behind the frosted glass of the door at the end of the corridor. Another agent.

Suddenly, he felt cold all over. The assassin was going to kill that agent and he had to do, or at least try to do, something to prevent that.

Alex automatically pulled the gun from his trousers when he picked up on a little motion in the corner of his eyes and turned his head. There was a door in the little hall that led off to the left. A small, silver sign of a bucket and a broom showed that it was probably the room with all the cleaning equipment. And the door to it had just opened a fraction.

Tensing, he moved a little farther behind the cart and watched as the door opened wider, revealing a man in black combat clothes. Another agent. Alex' gaze flickered over to Yassen who didn't seem to have noticed and who was now slowly moving closer to the door at the end of the corridor.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers, careful not to tear open the cuts on his fingers that had only just stopped bleeding, before releasing the safety catch noiselessly.

What was he supposed to do? Sit back and see if they would just kill each other off?

Yassen saved your life. Several times already, his conscience piped up and he bit his lip, looking at the Russian again; studying his profile for a few, short seconds. The even rise and fall of his chest, his short blonde hair and the cold blue eyes. Hardly twenty minutes ago the assassin had come very close to killing him again but hadn't gone through with it. Yet.

/Do you know... that he's only ever once hesitated to kill someone?/

God, why do I have to remember this now? I don't get it. Why does he keep sa-

The sudden realisation was like a punch in the gut. Because of my dad. Because of their friendship, but... His mouth went dry. That was all a lie. Yassen doesn't know the truth. He doesn't...

Alex stared at the Russian; dread was crawling up his back. If he ever finds out he'll kill me.

By now, the other agent had moved closer to the corner of the wall and probably had a clear shot at the assassin. He brought his gun up and Alex watched as the man disabled the safety catch.

Anxiety and panic were churning in his stomach and he could taste the adrenaline at the back of his throat, his mind screaming at him to make a do something. Now! His breathing and pulse must've been loud enough to hear through the entire building and Alex thought that his vision was starting to blur around the edges.

His hands were shaking so badly he doubted that he'd be able to do anything even if he wanted to. Anything he'd be aiming at right now, he'd probably miss by a margin of approximately ten metres.

No, you won't, a small voice at the back of his mind whispered, reminding him of his training on Malagosto. He'd done fairly well. But I can't shoot at people, I just... can't.

The gun felt heavy, too heavy a burden for him to carry. During all his missions he'd wanted to have a lethal weapon, had asked Smithers for one time and again, and had been disappointed when it had been denied to him. But now...

They were right. He wasn't ready for this.

I may be able to save Yassen's life. Alex hesitated and closed his eyes for a brief moment. Do I even want that? He killed Ian and countless other people in cold blood.

And he won't hesitate a second to kill me too if he finds out the truth about my father. If I just stay here Yassen will be injured and captured or killed. It's what he deserves, isn't it?

He could see the agent lowering his gun, taking aim at the Russian and Alex gripped the gun harder. There was no strength in his legs, his knees were trembling but somehow he still managed to push himself up against the wall, only moving as far as the cart would still conceal him.

What am I going to do? Oh god, what am I going to do?

His hands seemed to have a mind of their own as his finger slipped into the trigger guard. The blood coursing through his body and thrumming in his ears was deafening.

Yassen saved my life so many times. If I- if I help him now we're even, right? I just have to distract the guy; I don't even have to aim at him. I don't have to hurt anybody...

The agent's finger was curling around the trigger.

Alex jumped to his feet, bringing his own gun up when he remembered what Gordon Ross, the instructor on the shooting range on Malagosto, had taught him about instinctive firing.

/Shoot instantly, don't stop to aim. If you believe that you can hit the target, you will hit the tar-/

No!

But it was already too late. He'd pulled the trigger.

There was only the small crack of the recoil and a sharp whizzing sound before the agent's head snapped to the side; followed by a short gush of blood, something wet hitting the wall and a dull thud as the man tipped to the side and collapsed on the floor, his gun cluttering loudly as it fell from his hand.

No. No, no, no...

Alex thought the corridor had tilted, turning. More gunshots whizzed through the air and then, another low thud. Footsteps. He was grabbed by the shoulders; his arms that he'd wrapped protectively around his head were pulled away.

He looked up and stared at Yassen with wide eyes.

The Russian was saying something, but his voice was so far away, like hearing it through a long tunnel. He didn't understand. A frown was creasing the man's brows as he eyed Alex for a moment. The assassin pulled him up onto his feet and Alex saw the other agent on the floor just behind the door, a puddle of blood slowly growing beneath him.

I killed somebody.

His eyes flickered over to the agent he'd shot and he swayed dangerously, already expecting to fall when there was nothing in reach to hold him upright. But then his right arm was caught by the assassin, steadying him.

Alex found his footing again and took a step back, feeling the wall with his hands, his eyes meeting Yassen's who scrutinised him with a doubtful expression. Letting go of Alex, the assassin picked up the gun Alex had used, shoved it into his sweatpants and pulled him along, out of the corridor. They were back in the stairwell and he had the vague impression that the Russian was speaking to him.

I killed an innocent person.

They passed several dead bodies, the stench of blood and death turning his stomach.

Seconds blurred together and the next thing he knew they were back in the assassin's apartment. Cold sweat was running down his back and he had trouble breathing properly. The air seemed to get stuck halfway down his throat and he tried to breathe faster, shorter. Just to somehow...

"Alex!"

Flinching, he looked at Yassen again, startled by the man's loud voice. What was happening? Why was he back in the Russian's apartment? He'd meant to get away.

"Alex, look at me." The assassin was holding him by the shoulders, he seemed concerned.

Well, that was strange.

I'm okay, Alex wanted to say, but somehow the words wouldn't come. Am I? Okay? It didn't feel as if he was. "I killed that man," he blurted out instead and regretted it almost instantly.Saying it out loud, hearing it out loud made everything... worse.

It wasn't the first time he had killed somebody, he tried to reason with himself.

But this time...

...the man was innocent; he'd just been doing his job. He wasn't some egomaniacal lunatic trying to take over the world by killing hundreds of thousands of people. He hadn't threatened Alex' life. In fact, he had probably been here to get him out.

"Listen," Yassen implored.

But he didn't, couldn't. "I didn't even mean to... I just- I..." Alex stuttered and shook his head. What if that agent had had family? The sharp stab of guilt made him wince, the memory of Ian clear in his mind. Was there a kid out there somewhere that was going to be told his dad had died in a car crash too? A wife that never knew about her husband's job?

"Then why did you do it?" Yassen demanded, a hint of frustration in his voice.

"Wha- what?" Hesitating, he blinked, confused by the Russian's question. Why did I...? For a long moment, he couldn't wrap his mind around what to say, his thoughts going in circles. I did it because... because I... "He could've killed you," he answered before he could think better of it.

The assassin's reaction was as unexpected as it was short, the surprised rise of his brows and the shift of something behind those cold blue eyes gone too fast to tell if Alex had only imagined it.

"Alex..."

"But I only meant to distract him! I never- I would never..." Closing his eyes, he reached up and covered them with a hand; a dull throbbing had started in his temples. That was when he noticed that he was shaking again and sudden panic gripped him. There wasn't a single, coherent thought he could get hold of.

I'm not a murderer.

Images of the dead agent, of all the blood, the way his head had snapped almost unnaturally wide to the side kept repeating themselves, mixing with his memories of the night the police had come to his house in Chelsea to tell him about his uncle's death. Pictures of nameless people, a possible family. Who would tell them? This is my fault.

The ground beneath his feet felt unsteady but in truth it was his knees that had given out. He stared at Yassen in bewilderment as he sat on the floor. "I'm- I'm not... not a..."

I didn't mean to kill him. I didn't, please...

"You need to stop thinking about what happened." The Russian had crouched down in front of him, his expression caught between irritation and... helplessness?

Looking into the assassin's clear blue eyes was unsettling. There was no emotion in them, no horror of what had just happened, no concern about the consequences. He's so calm. His vision started to swim and he blinked the tears away. That didn't feel right. He wasn't... sad.

"I can't..." Alex whispered hoarsely. Part of him wanted to run away. Deny anything ever happened. "How could I?" He accused, still looking at Yassen and once again he couldn't get any air into his lungs. "I'm not like you!"

I'm not a killer. Not like you. I'm not...

The Russian pressed his lips into a thin line and it was hard to tell if Alex' words had any effect at all. "I did not say you were. But you need to calm down." He touched Alex' right arm, squeezing it reassuringly as if wanting to distract him from concentrating too much on what was going on inside his head. "Take a deep breath and stop thinking about it."

"I can't!" Alex' voice had a high pitch to it, the words scratching down his dry throat when he realised he really couldn't... stop thinking about. The armchair at his back and the assassin in front of him made him feel claustrophobic and he reached out, grabbing Yassen's arms to push him away but suddenly he was holding on to them, his fingers digging into the Russian's arms. "What if he had family?"

The pictures kept flashing through his mind over and over. Please, I didn't mean to...

"Alex-"

"What if there's someone waiting for him to come ho-"

Alex froze, looking at Yassen in quiet astonishment, his grip on the assassin's arms loosening a fraction as colour rose into his cheeks, and his initial reaction was to pull back. But he found himself glued to the spot, even unable to avert his eyes to avoid the Russian's calm gaze that made him feel almost bashful, although he hadn't even been the one to initiate the...

He's kissing me.

His skin prickled as the realisation sunk in and he couldn't suppress the small shiver that ran up his spine. Blinking slowly, he tried to make sense of what was happening and why it was happening. But Yassen's lips, soft and warm against his, made it rather difficult to concentrate on anything at all.

When the Russian's hand on Alex' shoulder moved to the nape of his neck, his fingers pressing lightly into his skin just below his ear and where his hairline began, the tension drained out of him and it became hard to hold his eyes open as he slumped against the armchair.

What's he... doing?

The assassin nudged his tongue lightly against Alex' lower lip, licking over it enticingly and there was a nervous tingling in his stomach at how familiar it felt. His mind clouded from the sensation of having his personal space so thoroughly invaded by Yassen.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Alex opened his mouth and shuddered as the Russian's tongue slipped past his lips. A quiet sound was caught in the back of his throat and he drew a shaky breath as much as the assassin's mouth on his would allow it. The silly thought that they were sharing the same air crossed his mind.

Tentatively, Alex wrapped his arms around Yassen's neck, ignoring the protesting twinge in his left arm and his stinging fingers as he buried them in the soft, dark fabric of the assassin's shirt. They were so close he could smell the Russian and was surprised by the absence of anything that would have made him think of all the blood still out in the stairwell. Much to the contrary, Yassen's scent was a mix of something clean and citrus-y, maybe a shampoo, and something fresh but incredibly sultry that could've been an aftershave. It was very subtle and hadn't he been as close as he was, he probably would never have picked up on it.

He was horribly tempted to lean in and bury his nose in the assassin's neck, inhaling that scent that gave him goose bumps. Compared to their first kiss, however, he felt awfully shy about it this time, his obvious inexperience a constant reminder that he hardly knew what to do.

But the Russian didn't seem to mind as he coaxed Alex into responding, running his tongue along Alex' and teasing the top of his mouth. His lids fluttered at the skilled ministration before sliding shut and he pushed his fear to make a mistake aside, finally kissing back.

A tremor ran up his spine as Yassen's other hand brushed his thigh briefly.

Their tongues tangled and the press of the assassin's mouth turned more demanding, his fingers playing with the short strands of Alex' hair.

Alex couldn't tell anymore why the Russian was kissing him or how they'd even gotten into this situation. This was so many kinds of wrong that just thinking about all the possibilities, the things Yassen had done to him two months ago and how awfully good it had felt, shouldn't be so exhilarating. All his attempts to ban those illicit memories from his mind were rendered obsolete.

How often had he struggled with himself to forget about it, to stop wondering whether it had meant anything to the assassin?

Please.

Alex' legs fell open as he pulled the assassin closer and a moment later he was lying flat on the floor. One of Yassen's hands at his lower back and the other on his hips, half holding him down and he arched up as the Russian's fingers dug into a sensitive spot just above his bum.

They were still kissing and he was running out of air.

Pulling at the assassin's shirt, his hands trailed over strong shoulder blades and he felt Yassen's muscles shifting beneath the surface as the Russian's weight partially settled on top of him. The assassin's intimidating strength was an incredible turn-on, the thought that he wouldn't be able to get away even if he wanted to just making it worse. Two months...

One of Yassen's hands dipped under his jacket and sweatshirt, the touch hot and unexpected against Alex' side and his stomach tensed involuntarily as calloused fingers brushed over it, ghosting up his side and-

Arching off the ground, Alex clutched at the assassin's shoulders, his moan muffled between their lips as Yassen thumbed over a nipple.

They were both panting when the Russian pulled back, but he didn't leave Alex any time to catch his breath as he ripped Aleksander's scarf off, flinging it aside. He inclined his head and mouthed a trail of scorching kisses along Alex' neck.

Alex bit his lip, barely stifling another moan as he scratched up the assassin's back, bucking his hips. A deep blush coloured his cheeks when Yassen's clothed erection rubbed against his own. Inevitable memories of how it had felt to touch it, to feel it inside of him flooded his mind and worsened the dull, aching need in the pit of his stomach.

By now they were practically grinding against each other, the Russian's hand back on Alex' hips as he yanked him closer. Yassen's breath was hot on his neck, mingling with the feeling of his tongue and lips. The onslaught was quickly becoming too much, the assassin's alteration between licks and kisses and occasional bites making Alex tremble. A desperate whimper escaped him.

"Yassen." His plea was choked, his voice cracking.

And just like that it ended.

The Russian was gone and Alex snapped his eyes open in surprise, blinking, disoriented when he saw Yassen standing in front of him with clenched fists, his chest rising and falling rapidly and he had his face turned away from Alex.

"Wha- what are you... doing?" Alex stuttered and noticed a first wave of embarrassment catching up with him. He tried to get his breathing back under control and sat up with shaking arms, wincing at yet another painful jab from his injuries.

Yassen pinched the bridge of his nose, his jaw clenched but he didn't answer. Instead he turned on his heels and vanished into the adjacent bedroom.

Still aroused and by now completely confused, Alex watched him leave. What's... going on? I don't...

He glanced down at the obvious distension in his trousers and felt his cheeks heat up some more. Shifting uncomfortably, he got to his feet, standing on unsteady legs and supported himself against the armchair before gingerly sitting down on its armrest.

His eyes flickered to the broken glass doors of the cabinet. Yassen hadn't said anything about it. Would he be angry? Even more than before? Alex thought uneasily and contemplated making a run for it but decided against it. He tugged at his clothes, blushing at the reason why he was in such a ruffled state.

What the hell just happened?

The assassin emerged again, having changed into a black turtleneck, black slacks and a pair of equally black sneakers. He looked at Alex with slightly narrowed eyes as if displeased by his presence; a dark duffle bag in his right hand. "We need to leave."

Alright, as always: Lemme know what you think. ^^ (criticism is welcome as long as it's constructive)

Russian lines:

Что за чёрт? Ты с ума сошла, женщина? – What the hell/fuck? Have you lost your mind, woman? (Let me comment on this for a second, чёрт really means „devil" but I think the saying „What the devil?" doesn't really exist in English or at least I've never heard it used. In German, however, the same as in Russian they use "devil") (And another comment: Yassen would NEVER say any of that in English. XD Like. Never. There are just a few idiosyncrasies about him when it comes to Russian which I think make sense. It's his mother tongue, he grew up with it and I think since he's a person that has learned many languages, Russian still holds something more personal to him. English for example is after all the language he's learned when he became a killer. Well, that's how it's in my universe anyways…XD)

Я не понимаю. Что…? – I don't understand. What...?

XDD Sorry, for all my ramblings/rants in between. I'm sure you all just skipped that and I can't really blame you.