Summary: inspired to do this after reading a recent fandom secret over on lj, about Ivan Drago and how misunderstood/manipulated he is. I kind of agree, so this is what comes out. It takes place not very long after Rocky IV. Is also inspired by a pretty depressing insight Sylvester Stallone had on the future of Ivan Drago's character; basically becomes a drunk and commits suicide.

This will probably have some hints of Drago/Rocky, but in a borderline sense. This is friendship first and foremost, and there will be warnings if it is taken further in any chapter. So if you don't like, maybe don't read! ;)

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Lost In Translation

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Chapter 1

A Shame

Ivan wipes his mouth and looks with disinterest at the red line splitting across his hand.

It's not especially painful, and he has been expecting it anyway.

"Want me to add another one to that?" Balboa asks. He isn't taunting him. Well, so far as Ivan can tell. He isn't very good at reading people.

Isn't very good with people anyway.

Maybe Balboa is taunting him.

Ivan wipes his mouth again. He's been standing in Balboa's doorway for about two minutes, attempting to say something useful. It has been an excruciating effort so far, since he can barely hold Balboa's gaze for more than a few seconds.

"Why're you here?" Balboa asks the obvious question.

Ivan isn't sure. He hasn't thought about that. Well he has, but not why.

There's a difference.

He wants to say something, but his mouth is too dry and his throat feels like it might be closing in. This always happens.

He looks at Balboa's hands. They don't look very extraordinary out of their gloves. Neither does anything else about him. That's what's so amazing though.

Sometimes he wonders if it was all a dream.

He opens his mouth, and still he's a mute.

Balboa makes a snorting sound, and Ivan recognises it easily as derision. The sort which he finds too often these days, but for some reason it's much worse coming from Balboa.

"I guess you forgot to pack your tongue again," Balboa says.

Ivan tries again;

"I come to see you," he begins, and his voice breaks a bit at the end.

"Yeah, I can see that," there is mild sarcasm there, but at least Balboa is looking at him now, like he might be kind of interested. "What is it? Somethin' about the fight? You lookin' for another?" he looks Ivan up and down. "I'm done with that. I fought for Apollo. You know that."

Ivan physically recoils. His stomach tightens with the name, and even though he tries to ignore it, it's actually impossible.

It forces the words from his mouth. A soft, cracked sound. He's not even sure if he's spoken them;

"I am sorry," there it is.

There isn't so much a relief residing over him now, as there is a weight moving past his chest. Not gone, but shifting anyway.

Balboa stares at him, like he's looking at him for the first time. Ivan's not sure what it's supposed to mean, but his heart is a hammer, like it's going to burst out of him.

Balboa turns away. "I don't need no apology. It's not gonna change nothin' now, is it?"

Ivan swallows, and looks at the ground. In a way, he's furious Balboa hasn't punched him yet. He's braced for it, he's expecting it, he wants it.

It's so disappointing.

"Who did that, anyway?" Balboa gestures to his lip. "some crazy drunk?"

Ivan shakes his head. "Someone. I don't know."

"They were probably crazy," Balboa's mouth curves something like a vague smile. "Well. Thanks anyway. For apologisin' and stuff. Guess it's appreciated."

There is nothing in his eyes.

The weight in Ivan's chest settles again, like a stubborn throb. It's not going to leave him, he understands that now. He feels dizzy.

Balboa's face draws into something like concern, and then his voice, matching it;

"You okay?..."

He's not. Definitely not.

They've told him it's normal. Beads of sweat turning red, ache in the gut, till it comes up again, and then ragged breathing.

Cold sweats.

It happens sometimes. He's been told not to worry about it, so he tries not to, but it's harder to deal with like this. When he's standing in Rocky Balboa's doorway, and Balboa is watching him like that.

"Hey,"

Balboa is suddenly much closer. Ivan wonders how that happened, and then wonders how he has found the floor. And his body is shaking, even though he's not cold at all.

A hand reaches his own, and then fingers curl together and Ivan does not want to let go.

"Okay, it's okay," says Balboa.

Ivan blinks up at the other man, and there is a strange moment of clarity. Then nothing else exists in his mind for a little while.

8

When he wakes, Balboa is cradling his head, like he might be something too fragile. It is almost funny.

"Wake up," Balboa says, rocking him a bit.

It's soothing, Ivan doesn't want it to stop.

"You hear me? Drago?"

It's a chore to keep his eyes open, they feel heavy. But Balboa is very close, and Ivan wants to look at him.

"I called a doctor. They're coming right now."

Ivan tries to nod, since his mouth isn't working again for some reason. His head aches and there is something warm sliding down his cheek.

"You cut yourself," Balboa explains. "When you fell,"

Ivan rolls his head to the side and closes his eyes. He doesn't even remember falling, but it doesn't matter now.

There's a hand sweeping over his face, very carefully.

He feels safe.

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~thanks for reading, more to come.