fredbassett

Title : Complicated, Part 3 of 8
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Alex Rider
Rating : 15
Characters : Alex/Yassen
Word Count: 24,400
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Against his better judgment, Alex agrees to do a job for MI6. A nice, simple job that doesn’t include power-crazed billionaires. Just righting a wrong that affects tens of thousands of teenagers. What could possibly go wrong? Then things get complicated. They always do where Alex is concerned.

Alex lay awake in his own bed, listening to the sound of Yassen Gregorovich coughing his guts up in the bed of the man he’d murdered. With a sick sensation in his stomach, Alex wondered if he’d ever be able to leave his old life behind.

Yassen’s reappearance had rocked him more than he’d cared to admit. He’d been certain the man had died in his arms, but at that stage in his life, Alex hadn’t been so well versed in the brutal reality of death in all its many guises. Now, he might have checked more carefully but then as a terrified 14-year-old in the wreckage of Air Force One, he’d been certain that Yassen had died. The declaration of love had been unexpected and downright weird, but Alex had tried not to think too much about that in the intervening years. It had made more sense when he’d learned that his father had been Yassen’s mentor, but it had still be unexpected and weird. But for years he’d wished he’d had the chance to ask all the questions he’d never felt able to ask Ian.

He still wanted to ask those questions, which is why he’d ended up with his uncle’s killer coughing and spluttering in the spare bedroom.

By 4am, Alex had managed nothing more than an uneasy catnap, punctuated by yet more coughs from the spare bedroom. Fifteen minutes later, he rolled out of bed, pulled on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and went downstairs to put the kettle on. Plying Yassen with more whisky would probably be medically unsound, but the man was due for more painkillers. Some of the mint tea he kept for Jack’s visits would probably mix well with honey and lemon.

Balancing that and a coffee for himself, he rapped loudly on the partially open door.

Yassen mumbled something unintelligible that might have been come in, but which could just as easily have been fuck off.

Sweat glistened on the contract killer’s face in the dim light of the bedside lamp. He was propped up on the pillows and still had one clutched to his chest. The washing up bowl was beside him on the bed – unused.

Alex set the drinks down on the bedside table and went into the bathroom to run a face flannel under the cold tap. The glare Yassen directed at him as he sat on the bed and reached out to mop the sweat from his forehead was half-hearted at best and he allowed Alex to wipe the cool cloth over his hot face.

Alex held out the painkillers. “Open wide.”

The look he got would have frozen hell, but Yassen obediently opened his mouth and swallowed the two capsules.

“Apologies for disturbing your sleep,” he croaked, with a pronounced resemblance to something usually found in a pond.

“I’ve had quieter houseguests. I made you some mint tea. It might help your throat.”

As Yassen sipped the tea, Alex pointedly didn’t make any remark on the tremor in the long-fingered hands. Yassen equally pointedly ignored Alex ignoring the tremor. Alex counted their mutual pointed ignoring as a score draw.

Eventually, Yassen set the empty mug down. “Thank you. That was good.” His voice sounded marginally less like a colony of bullfrogs had taken up residence in his vocal cords. Alex awarded himself additional points for his ability to improvise where covid-related hot drinks were concerned.

“Could you taste it?”

“Mint, honey and lemon.”

“Taste or smell?”

“Both.”

“I’ll make you another in a couple of hours. Do you need a piss?”

Yassen started to shake his head then sighed. “Yes. But I have no intention of using your family heirloom for that purpose.”

Alex laid the back of his fingers on Yassen’s forehead. “You’ve got a hell of a temperature. I’ll run you a cool shower and you can kill two birds with one stone and take a piss in there.”

Yassen grimaced. “Your student flat must be delightful.”

“Mr Fussy Pants.” Alex sauntered into the bathroom, set the shower to lukewarm, and then did his best to get Yassen vertical. With his arms around the man’s naked – and rather sweaty – waist, Alex supported his weight as much as he could as Yassen made his way slowly into the shower. “Can you stand up unsupported?”

A violent cough provided all the answer he needed. With a resigned eyeroll, Alex pushed his sweatpants down and kicked them off, standing behind Yassen, equally naked and equally unselfconscious, and carefully manoeuvred them both into the shower. As the cool water cascaded over their bodies, Yassen gave up the attempt to maintain control over his bladder and simply let the water swirl the piss around their feet and then down the drain. Alex noted from the colour that at least he’d managed to keep Yassen suitably hydrated.

“Stop marking my piss out of ten.”

“Six. Keep drinking the water. I’ll expect a seven next time, but I’m still not holding your dick for you.”

“And plastering yours up against my arse is less problematic?”

Alex reached for the shower gel and squeezed a dollop into Yassen’s hand. “Yes. Now wash your own cock and balls while I get the sweat out of your hair.”

Yassen half-laughed, half-coughed, but did as he’d been instructed, while Alex tried hard not to watch. Yassen’s uncircumcised cock was as well-proportioned as the rest of his lithe body. Alex knew the man was probably just on the wrong side of 40 but would have no difficulty in passing himself off as anything from his early to mid-thirties. The numerous scars on his smoothly muscled body told their own story, but there was one in particular that Alex had always been curious about …

He trailed fingers slick with citrus shower gel along the thin scar on the side of Yassen’s neck and felt the man tense at the touch. “How did you get this?”

In the silence that greeted his words, Alex went back to running his hand over Yassen’s short hair, kneading his scalp with his fingers. Yassen coughed hard, doubling over as he fought to stay on his feet. Alex tightened his grip on the slender waist.

When the wheezing subsided, to Alex’s surprise Yassen said, “Your father saved a life and took a life with one bullet.”

Alex tensed and fought the urge to pull away.

“Do not ask a question if you do not want to hear the answer.”

Alex squirted more gel into Yassen’s hand. “Armpits.”

Yassen complied.

“What happened?”

“Jungle. Black widow spider on my neck. Hunter – your father – had a split second to make a decision. He took the shot.”

“You lived. Someone else died.”

“Don’t waste your pity. If anyone deserved death, he did.”

Alex grabbed the smaller shower head and used it to wash the gel from Yassen’s hair and body. “Have you read The Lord of the Rings?”

“No.”

“‘Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends,’” Alex quoted Gandalf’s words from memory. Although Blunt and Jones were unlikely to believe him, those words were one of the reasons he’d finally walked away from MI6.”

“I kill because I’m paid to,” Yassen said. “I leave the judgments to others. Your father taught me that lesson – and others.”

Alex abruptly turned off the water and reached out for a towel. Without speaking, he quickly towelled the water from Yassen’s body, trying hard to ignore the lean lines of a body honed by long hours of relentless combat practice, before he swiped the damp towel over his own limbs then helped Yassen back to bed, the short walk punctuated by two severe coughing fits.

With Yassen propped up again on newly plumped up pillows, Alex reunited himself with his sweatpants and settled down in the armchair in the corner of the room. He desperately wanted to keep asking questions, but even his insatiable curiosity about his father – Hunter – had to take a backseat to Yassen’s now drastically reduced lung capacity and the pain from his broken ribs. And he wasn’t sure he was quite ready to hear more about what his father had taught Yassen while he was undercover with Scorpia.

He sat for ten minutes, listening to Yassen’s laboured breathing. The virus was progressing at an alarming rate. “Can you manage to get some sleep?”

“Unlikely.”

“Then I’ll read to you.”

Yassen’s long eyelashes fluttered open. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Alex retrieved the book he wanted from his bedroom and settled back down in the armchair, propping his feet up on the bed. He opened the well-thumbed pages of a book he’d first read as an eight-year-old. “‘In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit …’”

Yassen coughed and wheezed through the first three chapters of Bilbo Baggins’ adventures. By the time Bilbo and the dwarves had left the Last Homely House behind, Yassen had drifted into an uneasy sleep, still clutching the pillow like a favourite toy. Alex closed the book and padded silently out of the room. A cold coke slaked his thirst and a couple of bacon rolls stopped his stomach rumbling. Armed with a mug of coffee, he wandered back to his bedroom and sprawled out with his iPad, scanning the news sites for any mentions of his activities the previous day.

The press was whipping itself up into a frenzy, not quite sure which story to run with.

Headlines that screamed U-TURN ON LEVEL RESULTS alternated with PM’S ADVISOR RESIGNS IN CHILD PORN SCANDAL

Alex turned on the BBC news channel as his phone bleeped with an incoming message.

Dude wot you been up to?

He grinned, and WhatsApped Tom back. Retired mate.

A moment later, a gif of a dog rolling around on the floor laughing its arse off pinged onto his screen.

From what Alec learned while watching the news and chatting with his friends by WhatsApp, it looked very much like two birds had been taken out with one well aimed RPG. His guess was that the compromising images had been on the flash drive that Yassen had stuck in the laptop, but he didn’t entirely rule out MI6’s hand in that, either. On this occasion, it looked very much like Yassen had been telling the truth when he said that MI6’s interests aligned with Russia’s.

Even the PM hadn’t been able to hang onto his favourite teddy bear after the story had been leaked simultaneously by someone to every police force in the country as well as all major news outlets. Breaking covid guidelines was survivable. Kiddie porn wasn’t.

Just like Blake’s 7! Tom gloated. Sweet man really sweet. best way to discredit anyone

Alex WhatsApped Smithers’ number. Us or them?

How’s the patient?

Coughing. And you didn’t answer the question.

Official Secrets, dear boy. You know the drill. Can I get you anything?

Earplugs?

Smithers replied with a smiley face.

Alex settled down to dick around on the internet and enjoy the news reports. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep, his tablet still in his hands.

Three hours later, the sound of coughing from the spare room told Alex that his houseguest was awake again. Feeling muzzy headed from a sleep that was simultaneously not enough and too much, he levered himself off the bed, glanced at the 15 messages he’d missed from Tom, Jake, Dani and a couple of other friends, and went off to make another mint tea for Yassen and a coffee for himself.

The doorbell buzzed and a slim package dropped onto the mat. Alex couldn’t remember ordering anything from Amazon …

He ripped open the padded envelope. Twenty pairs of soft yellow foam earplugs.

Thanks Smithers

You’re welcome, dear boy.

When he delivered the tea, Yassen looked up at him blearily under long eyelashes that would have been the envy of most of Alex’s female friends – and quite a few of his male ones as well.

Alex set the drinks down and held his iPad up, flipping through a selection of headlines. “Your lot or mine?”

“As I said, their interests were aligned for once.”

“Was it true?”

The ghost of smile quirked Yassen’s lips. “Does it matter?”

“Probably not.” Alex settled down in the chair, stuck his bare feet on the bed and picked up the book. “‘Chapter 4. Over Hill and Under Hill. There were many paths that led up into the mountains, and many passes over them. But most of the paths were cheats and deceptions and led nowhere or to bad ends; and most of the passes were infested by evil things and dreadful dangers.’”

“I warned you about MI6,” Yassen said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You sent me to Scorpia.”

“They gave you the skills to survive.”

“They trained me to kill.”

“As your father trained me.”

“Would he be proud of what you’ve become?”

“He taught me to survive.” Yassen coughed again, struggling for breath. “Hunter was the best instructor that Malagosto ever had.”

“He killed for Scorpia.”

Yassen shook his head even though the movement clearly pained him. “He killed for MI6, to preserve his cover. His kills were never for Scorpia.”

“Semantics. He trained killers for them.” And that was something that neither Blunt nor Jones had been able to deny. His father – John Rider – had trained one of the best assassins in the world, along with numerous other world-class operatives.

“He set me up to fail my graduation assignment.” The words were hard won, precipitating a coughing fit that made Yassen double over, clutching his chest with one arm whilst groping blindly for the washing up bowl with his other hand.

Alex grabbed the bowl and stuck it under Yassen’s chin as he spat out bloody phlegm. After wiping the man’s lips with a handful of tissues, Alex cradled Yassen’s head against his bare shoulder and helped him take a few mouthfuls of mint tea to ease his throat.

“You can tell me the rest of that story later.” When he was satisfied Yassen could hold the mug without spilling it, he washed out the bowl and set it down on the bed again. “OK, where were we?” He took a long, slow breath, forcing thoughts of his father out of his head for now and started to read again: “‘The dwarves and the hobbit, helped by the wise advice of Elrond and the knowledge and memory of Gandalf, took the right road to the right pass.’”

Eyes closed, Yassen sipped his drink, listening as Alex continued with the story.

Three hours later, Alex’s voice was as raspy as Yassen’s. The dwarves and a thoroughly unhappy hobbit had left Lake Town behind, their faces turned towards the Lonely Mountain.

Whenever Yassen drifted into sleep, Alex had stopped reading and gone back to dicking around on his phone or his tablet. By unspoken agreement, whenever a racking cough dragged Yassen out of sleep, Alex started reading again. He had no idea if Yassen was enjoying the story or not, but whenever Alex lost his place, the Russian was able to quote the last line back to him.

Alex had known worse ways of passing the time and reading stopped him dwelling too much on thoughts of his father and Scorpia.

There was still so much he wanted to know. But still so much he didn’t dare ask.