It began on a windy plain in Russia.

Alex tilted his head back slightly, scanning the modern buildings, evaluating the work as a brisk wind tossed his uncovered blonde curls.

A big complex had grown out of the ground, enough kilometers from Moscow that there was no reason for curiosity, but it was also generally accessible. Alex had been involved in its planning from the very beginning, and he was proud to see it now.

It contained a lot of his dreams for the future.

He no longer wanted to be under anyone's thumb, and would never work for anyone's interests but his own.

"Alex?"

A voice rang out, and Alex turned his head slightly to the side and smiled.

Well, he thought, and maybe Yassen's.

He watched the blonde man approach, appropriately bundled up against the cold spring wind, but still moving surprisingly smoothly and silently.

"Yes?" He asked, marvelling yet again at how far they had come in under a year.

"Are you quite finished? We need to see the rest of the perimeter." The Russian sounded impatient, but Alex knew better now. He was merely excited to keep going, and to get out of the wind at some point. Yassen disliked how his eyes watered in a strong wind like this, Alex knew.

"Of course," Alex answered, joining the man to walk along the line of the fence towards a car. It was not a heavily fortified fence, but there were cameras and sensors covering every inch, making it virtually impossible to trespass without being noticed.

As he reached Yassen, the man held out his hand, delivering a black object to Alex.

Smirking, Alex put on the knit hat he had left behind in the car that was driving them around, and commented teasingly, "Why, Yassen, I didn't know you cared that much about my wellbeing."

That was not true, however. He knew quite well.

"Oh, shut it," Yassen muttered as they approached the vehicle, and if Alex wasn't mistaken, it was followed by a, "Can't have you freezing your pretty ears off."

It could of course have been just the slam of the car door twisting things.

The year since his well planned disappearance had been quite a journey.

First, as they met up, Yassen had tossed his baggage into the trunk of a silver Volvo without a word and gotten out of London as quick as possible without seeming rushed.

After a few hours of intense concentration and acertaining there was no tail on them, Yassen had dumped the car at one of his associates' junkyard, and they had settled in a van instead. It had advertisements for a company selling old tractor parts.

"This one runs regularly between here and Scotland," Yassen explained, features loosening up a bit as they were back on the road. "They have many exclusive clients there, who need specific parts for old machines that are no longer manufactured."

Alex, having watched the man's tense shoulders and silently mourning the fate of the muscles the following morning, was relieved.

He had been worried that Yassen would not relax at all. Now, as he felt relatively assured that they were on good ground, he asked,

"So we are going to Scotland?"

Indeed they were. They laid low for two months - enough for M16 to think Alex had long since fled - and planned.

The business idea had grown, they had planned the complex and discussed rules and ethics until they came to a mutal agreement of relative disagreement. Yassen would be allowed to run his part the way he wanted to, as long as Alex didn't need to know, they decided.

But on a few rules Alex was unflinching.

No children. Not in front of the victim's family.

He would not back down, and Yassen admitted defeat to the stubborn teenager with blazing eyes. The assassin rarely killed children anyway, and didn't mind familial witnesses if it made the job easier, but Alex could have it his way.

Alex never understood what a victory he had gained.

My fondness for him will be the end of me some day, Yassen decided as he watched the teenager struggle through extensive reading material on computers and coding.

He found he did not mind as much as he should.

There were bad days.

The first time Alex woke screaming - in a safe house in Dumfries - there was a half-naked Russian armed to the teeth by his bedside, efficiently scanning the situation.

When he finally concluded there was no threat, Alex had already crawled out of bed and was heading to the shower.

A hand around his upper arm stopped him in his tracks.

They met, brown eyes and blue eyes, one pair defensive and another searching.

"It is nothing to be ashamed of," Yassen said. "Yet you are."

Alex said nothing.

Yassen stepped back, leaving the room, and Alex ripped his gaze away from the rippling muscles on the man's back and entered the bathroom.

He was always left in a cold sweat after nightmares, and he had a feeling Yassen would not let all this slide without discussing it.

It took another two weeks before Yassen broached the subject.

"It is not healthy," he said casually over dinner one evening. "Supressing one's emotions."

Taken by surprise, Alex hesitated. He could deny everything, but there had been a few cases of a highly armed but underdressed Russian in his room in the middle of the night. It would not help to deny it. He chose to go with a normal teenager phrase instead.

"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered, turning his eyes to the pasta that was suddenly less appetizing.

"You will need to, otherwise you can not go forward." The Russian was steadily watching him, and it made Alex feel like he was completely see-through and had no defenses whatsoever. "You will either talk to me now, or you will see a professional once we've settled."

"You said I would have freedom." It was a sullen tone, so teenagerish and atypical for Alex that he almost didn't understand he had spoken.

"I will not compromise on your health, Alex," Yassen said, a strange look on his face, and the matter was decided.

They drove back down to London and boarded a train to Paris in heavy disguise, with fake id's that were of mediocre quality at best, but Yassen had not wanted to spend time in London to get them through his usual contacts.

Instead, they were from a more northern source, and not as good, but they worked fine.

In Paris, Alex explored for a few days, melting in perfectly with the locals with his flawless accent, while Yassen finished up details and got them better passports.

They were now French citizens, brothers travelling to Stockholm, Sweden. There was someone there Yassen needed to meet, and besides, they were headed for Finland anyway.

The airport security was nerve-wracking.

For the first time, Alex let himself consider what would happen if MI6 caught up to him.

Yassen would likely be executed on the spot, and Alex as well, unless they wanted to lock him up somewhere and continue using him.

They will not get me alive, Alex promised himself. He knew MI6 hade barely shown their hand in cruelty towards him, and he was sure eventual consequences would be horrifying.

It didn't happen, however.

They boarded normally, and the flight passed. In Stockholm, they headed to a hotel, and Alex discovered a completely new country. He had not visited Scandinavia - nor Fennoscandia, to which the next destination belonged - and the wellfare society was baffling.

People left their trams with babies sleeping in them outside cafés, watching them idly through the window and trusting that nothing would happen. There was help given to those in need, advertisements on how to contact social services and a steady but non-threathening prescence of local authorities.

It was a city of many wonders, though Alex stuck to the safer and more peaceful parts of it, while Yassen took care of his business in less safe suburbs.

There was a guy there, one who ran a big part of the IT projects in the underworld, and Yassen was trying to get him on board. They - Yassen - had decided that if he seemed uninterested, he would be motivated by a rumor that he was sought after and his identity was discovered.

In fact, Yassen had let it slip in France to a man who really didn't need much motivation to sell out information, but that part was left out, of course.

It turned out the man, Elias Andersson, was genuinely interested from the start, and even more once the rumors were mentioned.

"He's a bright young guy," Yassen said one night as they walked through the city after dinner to speak without possible listeners. "You'll get along nicely."

Once Yassen and this Elias had discussed how the latter would go underground until they were ready to start up properly, they were on the move again. They had only been in Stockholm for a few weeks.

"I was just starting to pick up some words and phrases," Alex complained. "It even resembles German somewhat."

"There'll be Swedish-speaking Finns where we're going," Yassen said dismissively. "And anyway, you'll have to focus on learning Finnish."

They took a ferry over to a coastal city in Finland and a train to the capital.

Helsinki reminded Alex somewhat of Stockholm, and Yassen revealed they would be settling here for half a year.

"It is conveniently close to Russia, I will need to visit the building site sometimes to oversee."

But that was not the only reason.

"We'll try to get our hands on some Finnish passports, or at the very least good fakes. They are well respected almost worldwide, and passing for a Finn can lend one a certain sort of credibility. Of course we'll get some Russian ones too, for when the building complex is ready."

Yassen sounded so very excited under his attempt to be logical, that Alex smiled. The man was very invested in their new business. It was adorable, though he'd never say that to the blonde assassin.

So Alex settled in for intensive language studies.

Swedish was put on the backburner as he tackled Finnish head on, passing for a French youth who was dreaming of applying to study here. The evening classes were fast paced and covered a lot, and he took a few easy IT courses at an open university during daytime - mostly in English - to pass the time.

Whenever he was "home", Yassen tutored him extensively in Russian. He was supposed to master both languages - at least relatively well - to create solid identities for the passports, and he quite enjoyed the challenge, as both Russian and Finnish were complicated languages.

There was also time for various sports, and Helsinki was pretty in the early autumn, and offered everything from climbing to megazone to floorball, a popular Nordic sport. Alex even played some soccer with a few guys from the open university.

In October, Yassen headed more to Russia and left Alex to his own devices. The Finnish law enforcement was particularily good, but they were searching for a teenager, not a "university student", so Alex encountered no trouble. He had no trouble melting in besides, since the Finns were quiet and reserved people, and nobody thought his need for privacy was unusual.

December brought a cold winter with more snow (and slush) than Alex had lived in before, and Yassen and Alex spent the holidays quietly, eating good food and playfully debating different subjects.

Yassen being home was a highlight that Alex had never thought he would wish for, but he did, as spring came and Yassen oversaw the constructions work near Moscow.

Then, finally, he was invited to come along.

"The exterior is quite finished," Yassen commented in the car as they were driven around the perimeter, "but the inside still needs some work, especially our house."

Their house.

It struck a chord somewhere deep inside Alex, to hear Yassen mention it so casually.

Their house, to decorate and share and live in.

Like it was obvious and a complete no-brainer that they would live together.

Is this what it's like to have a family? Alex wondered to himself, and then, without thinking asked out loud.

Shocked, he stared at Yassen, waiting for the whole thing to crumble around him, but the Russian flashed him a rare full smile.

"I believe I don't know what you're referring to, Alex, but I wouldn't mind being considered family."

He probably would have been my Godfather, Alex realized, if things had been differently. Or at least a family friend.

They left the subject at that.

Decorating their house - a nice, modern detached house on one side of the complex - proved to be fun.

Alex and Yassen both enjoyed a modern style, and Alex had picked up on Scandinavian simplicity during the last six months. There was a lot of natural light, neutral colors and sharp, long lines. It was very peaceful, and as Alex was flipping through catalogues, deciding on how big a bed he wanted, he realized it was very domestic.

Two people buying their first home together and decorating it. Yassen had even admitted to never settling enough to call a place "home".

Is this what I want? he panicked. To play house with a contract killer for the rest of my life?

It would not be too bad, Alex thought once he calmed down, if he enjoyed his work and he and Yassen continued to get along. He felt like he had aged a decade in the last few years, and peace and quiet was high on his list of priorities. It would be good to plan and prepare for the eventuality that something went wrong, though. Yassen would not live forever in his line of work.

That saddened Alex, and he briefly considered if the man would ever retire.

Probably not.

Slowly, the building complex came to life.

An assortment of guards and personnel - handpicked, of course - settled in the apartments in the west wing, some with their families. They were not tied to any illegal acitivities, and would keep up the cover of this being nothing but a millionare's relaxment complex. Yassen certainly had enough money to play the part, and from the air the complex really looked like a reclusive millionare who appreciated his privacy had built it.

There was an outdoor swimming pool and a covered one, the detached house along with the big complex that offered everything from saunas to conference rooms to training facilities.

In fact, everything above ground was perfectly innocent.

Below ground ran tunnels and there were large working spaces, computers and equipment to run a complex network. That was what they wanted to build up to - they wanted to control and moderate most of the activity that happened under official radars.

Alex had a big part in the overground complex. It featured a small society of it's own, which would be in the use of the employees, both above and below ground. There was a school - a guard's wife was a teacher - and a small convenience store that provided for the complex as well as a big collective kitchen where lunch and dinner was served for a low price every day, courtesy of two cooks. Deliveries would run from Moscow with anything ordered online from the communal computers, and there were employee discounts on clothing that suited their respective work positions.

What he was most proud of, though, was the entertainment space. It was set in the middle of the complex, easily accessible. It was huge, with sofas and pool tables and board games and TV's, designed to bring the whole complex together. It would hopefully strengthen the community into one big family, and therefore any concerns raised if someone noticed unusual activity would be brought up to Yassen or Alex, who were wonderful and accomodating employers and surely had an explanation. It also decreased the chance of spies infiltrating, as everyone kept tabs on everyone.

Upstairs filled relatively quickly, but downstairs was another matter.

Yassen's phone rang, the signal interrupting Alex's reading, and with a nonchalant movement the Russian answered, putting the phone on speaker.

Alex appreciated the gesture, as Yassen was careful to involve him and not leave him out as if he was a child.

"Mr. Stepanov," came a guard's voice in Russian - Mikahilov, Alex suspected - "Mr. Andersson is here, and he has a companion with him that is not on our list for today."

"Is that so," Yassen answered, and reached over to his laptop, opening it and finding the right video feed. A young woman stood beside who Alex suspected was Elias Andersson. "See them to the secure foyer. We will be there shortly, Mikahilov."

The guard disconnected with a prompt, "Yes, sir."

Yassen sighed, and immediately went to change into a crisp white shirt and slacks, as Alex adopted more youthful but clearly expensive clothing.

"It is not like Elias to bring surprises," the Russian muttered. "He is very careful. I do not like this. He must have a good reason, but we play to full capacity."

They had discussed their covers before: a Russian millionare, Yashka Stepanov, and his nephew, Alexei Stepanov, who Yashka had adopted. Now it was time to put them to the test and make sure to pull aside Elias to explain.

Crossing to the secure foyer through the tunnels, Yassen and Alex entered the room to find Mikahilov and the two young adults.

Elias Andersson was nondescript, a tall and gangly young man in his twenties, but he as he greeted Yassen and smiled, the dimples in his cheeks made him look pleasant.

"Mr. Stepanov, how nice to see you. Thank you so much for the invite to discuss your online prescence and advertising."

The man adressed them by covers, and made no indication that the young woman knew anything.

"Indeed, Mr. Andersson, it is an urgent matter that requires your expertise. We will have to discuss it promptly," Yassen answered, posture stiff and face carefully arranged into an expression of slight worry. "Who is this lovely young lady with you?"

Elias swept out a hand towards the woman, who took a step forward to his side. "This is my cousin Lilja Wik," he said. "She needed a little break and joined my travels."

The woman was pretty, with big brown eyes, and brown hair. She did not look too frightened or worried, mostly exhausted and resigned.

"Welcome, Miss Wik," Yassen said. "My name is Yashka Stepanov, and this is my nephew Alexei. You must be weary after your travels, maybe we can offer you a room and the use of our spa facilities while we discuss business with your cousin."

"That would be very appreciated," Lilja nodded tiredly, and Alex saw her hand ghost over her stomach as she readjusted her coat.

"Alexei, if you would?" Yassen suggested, and Alex took the cue, leading the woman from the room towards the luxurious guest rooms. They were close to the spa and swimming areas, and as they walked Alex called for Alina, one of the women who worked as general helpers.

Lilja was quiet and compliant, thanking him as he showed her the room and told her Alina would be along to guide her and provide what she needed.

"I will run along to the meeting now, uncle Yasha likes me to be present and learn," he said and hurried to where Yassen and Elias were, already discussing Lilja. Yassen was calm, but that was his most dangerous state, and Elias was visibly nervous.

Lilja's father was apparently a big guy in a Swedish criminal network, and he had been killed two days ago. Elias had been in hiding, but had arranged to meet up with Lilja and quietly taken her away. The father was apparently not very interested in his children, and Lilja had worked in his escort services for years already.

"Children?" Alex asked. "And you hide only Lilja?"

Elias shook his head, his mouth a thin line. "Lilja's older brothers aren't worth saving. Her son is though. He is three years old, and in hiding with a relative in Norway. Lilja's brothers might come sniffing now, wanting to use her for a drug courier, so I thought it best to extract her. If you can find her a place here, it would be great, otherwise I'll set her up somewhere else. She does not know of my line of work, and is oblivious to who you are. But she is well aware of her father's business dealings, and has never shied from gathering information."

"And what cover is better than a young expecting mother," Alex snorted.

"Then I realize why she might be very vulnerable right now," Yassen said politely. "I'll have to run background checks, of course, and I don't appreciate you bringing her here without warning, but she can stay." The Russian fingered his cuff, where a sharp blade could be extracted, and sent the Swede a cold gaze. "Do not displease me again."

They picked up more contacts and employees during the next few months.

An older American military man, who had dealings in weapon transports and military goods. Yassen flew to meet him in New York and they set up communication.

An assassin of Italian descent, in his thirties, one of Yassen's old colleagues who had retired after an accident left his right hand severly disfigured. In spite of that, he was a good instructor on martial arts and in general an agreeable fellow who still liked to do low level assignments.

An older, experienced woman, a spy, came along with her apprentice, a girl in her early twenties, to look for a steady contract and good base.

Lilja was also quickly integrated into the network, and she took the shock quite well, with a shrug and a glare at Elias.

"Well, it is not as if I haven't been in risky situations all my life," she said, and started hashing out a possible role in the network. Efficiently, she established herself as a mother figure to all, making sure they ate and organising things they forgot. Her son joined her a few weeks later, a chubby child who was understandably withdrawn and careful, but blossomed under his mother's care.

On top of these people who came in person, Yassen established contact with many old "friends," and the network grew, some of them under Alex's emply for less sordid affairs, other's under Yassen's for the necessary dirty work.

"Elias, pass me the newspapers, would you?" Alex requested. He had been scanning social media and several sites of interest, and now it was time to tackle some newspapers. It was always good to keep up to date on what was happening.

"Sure," the Swede said, and tossed them towards Alex without a glance, missing him and instead hitting Lilja, who sat by her screen, monitoring video footage from a few bugs that had been placed earlier that week in a big law firm in Moscow.

The woman turned around and directed a whithering glare towards her cousin.

"Men," she said, and Alex refrained from commenting on how she must have liked them at some point since she had one child and another one on the way. It was none of his business.

But seconds later, Elias said what Alex had thought, and then they were all engaged in a playful fight about the weaknesses and faults of the other sex.

After that, the ice was forever broken between them.

"Alex?" The quiet voice startled Alex from his half-sleeping state, and he lifted his head to meet Yassen's eyes.

"Yeah," he mumbled sleepily, noticing that the clock on the wall said two in the morning.

"Were you waiting up for me?" Yassen asked, his voice full of emotion Alex couldn't place, and Alex denied it immediately. He wouldn't say that the house felt safer with Yassen there as well, and that he had missed talking with the Russian while Yassen was in Berlin for a week.

"No, of course not. I was just watching this movie that Lilja and Elias were talking about..." He trailed off, noticing the movie had stopped a while ago and a mindless fashion show was now playing.

"Well then." The assassin smiled knowingly from the doorway. It seemed Alex was not yet too jaded to form attachments - both to him and others. It was exactly what Alex needed right now. "Goodnight, Alex."

Hope you've enjoyed! Thanks for all the comments and follows/favourites on the last chapter! I'll be very happy if you leave comments or constructive criticism on this as well.