Fic, Home to Roost, Wolf/Yassen, Alex, 15
Jul. 17th, 2021 02:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : Home to Roost
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Alex Rider
Rating : 15
Characters : Wolf/Yassen, Major Peters, Alex Rider
Disclaimer : Not mine (except Major Peters), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : An unexpected arrival causes a stir at the SAS base and Wolf considers the merits of calling in an air strike.
A/N : Follows Playing Chicken and Speed Dating
“What part of ‘I don’t want to see Cossack on his base, ever’ was hard to understand, Wolf?” demanded Major Charlie Peters, completely ignoring the contract killer watching their exchange with barely disguised amusement.
“I dunno, boss. Seemed clear enough to me. Maybe Mr Blunt missed the memo?” Wolf’s attempt at innocence earned him an eye roll, as he’d expected. “Post’s been rubbish recently or maybe the email went into spam.”
“Probably too busy pimping out his teenage spy to notice. Man’s a total cunt.” Peters nodded to Yassen. “Gregorovich.”
“Major Peters.”
“You can bond over a mutual dislike of Blunt.” That earned Wolf another eyeroll.
“I need a fucking drink,” Peters declared. “Come on.”
Ten minutes later, settled in a corner of the officers’ mess with three very large single malts in front of them, Peters looked marginally less irritated. Yassen – to his credit – had done nothing more outrageous than simply continuing to exist and, as a result, Wolf was finally starting to relax.
“So, Blunt thinks you can further our education on the subject of the world’s terrorist organisations.” Peters raised a sceptical eyebrow.
“Apparently so. Would you like my CV to assess my teaching qualifications?” Yassen enquired mildly.
“No. I’d rather not have to assess your creative writing qualifications at the same time. What will this do for your future employment prospects?”
Yassen shrugged. “Since the demise of Scorpia, I prefer freelancing to long-term contracts. And I’ve been considering retirement for a while.”
“Megalomaniacs not what they used to be?”
“I find fools don’t suffer me gladly. And I would rather not suffer them at all.”
“Cray certainly didn’t turn out to be a model employer. Why did you take a bullet for the kid?”
“You’re well informed.”
“You’re evasive.”
“His father saved my life.”
“And you’re the sentimental type?”
“If you say so.”
“Are we going to require an entire bottle of Scotch to oil the wheels of social intercourse or are we just going to relax and start acting like normal people united in the face of a common foe?”
“Alan Blunt?”
“Quite.”
Yassen grinned, leaning back in the leather armchair and crossing one ankle over his knee. “MI6 will keep using the child until they get him killed. Two weeks on a Selection course is not enough to keep him alive. I was sloppy where Cray was concerned. I should have terminated him earlier. Sending Alex to Scorpia was another mistake. I’d hoped they would give him the skills he’d need to survive. In my defence, I was suffering from severe blood loss.”
“Tends to impair rational thought,” Peters acknowledged. “So, what do you propose to do about it?”
“If by ‘it’ you mean Alex Rider, I would like the opportunity to both train him and provide support on missions, something Blunt has not seen fit to arrange.”
“Like you said, boss, man’s a total cunt,” Wolf muttered.
“Something we can all agree on.” Peters reached for the bottle and refilled their glasses. “How do you feel about giving some advanced weapons’ training to my mob as well as lecturing on Terrorism for Pleasure and Profit?”
“Practical demonstrations will need to wait, but I can cover theory and assess competence.”
“I’ll add it to the curriculum. Most of them are bored spitless whenever they’re not in theatre, so having a celebrity around the place will liven things up. It’ll make a change from royal visits, crappy, ghost-written authors and posturing politicians, all of whom still think they’re welcome in the mess.”
“I refuse all requests for autographs.”
“Fair enough. I’ll arrange a visitor’s pass for you. I’m working on the basis that you could get in here whether we liked it or not, so giving you a pass you can steal will make fuck all difference to security.”
To Wolf’s amusement, Yassen looked faintly affronted. “I’ll throw in a security review for free.”
“They need it,” said a fresh voice. “The muppets on the gate were half asleep when I came in.”
Three heads swivelled as one to look at the blond teenager slouching in the doorway, wearing a grey hoodie, ripped jeans and a blank expression.
“Armed police! Down on the ground!” The familiar yell came from the black clad security guards who manned the gate checkpoint. The aforementioned muppets were probably as annoyed by that crack as they were by the flagrant breach of camp security.
Wolf’s reaction was forestalled by a sharp hand movement from Major Peters. “Stand down!” he ordered, in a voice used to making itself heard in the rowdiest circumstances, as well as on an orderly parade ground.
To their credit, the armed officers pulled themselves up mid run and skidded to a halt, rifles now held across their chests.
“It’s Bring your Kid to Work day,” Peters said crisply. “Didn’t you get the memo?”
“No, sir,”
“I’ll resend it. Alex, I’ll expect your security review on my desk by 9am tomorrow morning.” Peters nodded his dismissal to the two officers, both of whom had the sense to withdraw without even shooting Alex so much as a dirty look, let alone a 5.56mm bullet.
The teen let his carefully cultivated mask of indifference slip slightly as he focussed the full force of his very obviously angry brown eyes on Yassen. “When were you going to tell me you were alive?”
“I wasn’t.”
“You didn’t even send me a Valentine’s Day card. So much for dying declarations of love.”
“And add suspected grooming to my long list of crimes? Hardly wise.”
“Sending teenagers to terrorist organisations? Hardly wise.”
Peters waved his hand at the whisky bottle on the table and called for another glass. “Sit down and pour yourself a drink, Alex.”
“He’s 15,” Yassen said dryly.
Peters rolled his eyes. “I hate to break this to you, Cossack, but drinking alcohol is probably the least of his unsavoury habits. He’ll have watched internet porn, jerked off with his best friend and got shit-faced at parties. That’s what teenagers do.”
Alex sat down, clearly fighting to keep the ghost of a grin off his face. “I don’t like whisky. Have you got any decent red wine?”
“This is the officers’ mess at Stirling Lines, of course we’ve got decent red wine. We only feed the drain cleaner to people we don’t like.”
A moment later, a bottle of wine and a glass appeared on the table. The young, ginger-haired civilian who’d been polishing glasses behind the bar grinned at Alex and said, “Would you like to taste the wine, sir?”
“No, thanks. I’ll take your word for it.”
The man poured him a large glassful then retired to a discreet distance again, leaving the bottle on the table.
Alex took a mouthful, nodded approvingly, then set the glass down and glared at both Yassen and Wolf.
The silence dragged on, a physical thing stretching between them like an invisible, unbreakable spider’s web. No one rushed to fill it. They’d all done the training. Name, rank and number. Don’t fill the silences. In other words, shut the fuck up and let the other bugger speak first.
Wolf felt – and knew he probably looked – supremely uncomfortable. Alex had no reason whatsoever to like him, despite their interaction on the Point Blank mission. Wolf had been an absolute shit to the kid during their brief time in the Brecon Beacons. Point Blank wasn’t likely to have been much of a redemption. As for the French fiasco, Alex shouldn’t even have known he’d been there. Not unless someone had opened their big mouth, and the most likely someone was Fox… and if that was the case, Wolf would be having words. Most of them ones with no more than four letters.
Yassen was doing his best to remain impassive and – to Wolf’s amusement – was failing spectacularly. The only one even remotely at ease was Charlie Peters. It took a lot more than an irate 15-year-old spy breaking into the Regiment’s HQ to rattle the major.
“Well, this is nice, isn’t it?” Peters said, pouring himself another drink. “I suggest we just get hammered, gentlemen. It might make this touching reunion easier. So, Alex, how did you find out that the lovely Mr Gregorovich wasn’t pushing up the proverbial daisies?”
“I broke into Blunt’s office and read the mission reports.”
“Nice. I’d appreciate a review of MI6’s lack of security.”
“I’ll add it as a footnote to your security review.”
“A 15-year-old who knows about footnotes? I’m impressed. Maybe there’s something to be said for the British education system, after all.”
Alex made a rude gesture. “We don’t all spend our time getting hammered and wanking over porn.”
“Wish I could say the same for my two,” Peters said heavily. “Does Blunt know you’re here?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m not answerable to him. And if he threatens to deport my housekeeper again, I’m going to the press.”
“Ever heard of DA notices?”
“Defence Advisory Notices, otherwise known as government gagging orders. Ever heard of the internet? I’ve got social media accounts on all major channels in the name of I_Spy. Tom Harris is my media manager. I also took copies of all Blunt’ss files on my missions. Their security sucks frogs.” Alex poured himself another glass of wine and allowed just a hint of a smug grin to show on his face. A heartbeat later, a pair of long-lashed brown eyes were turned on Wolf. “And speaking of security, yours is just as bad. It took me precisely six seconds to pick your front door locks and 24 seconds to disarm your burglar alarm.” Alex allowed a theatrical frown of confusion to settls on his face. “You and Yassen certainly have an odd idea of foreplay, by the way. Have you been hanging around on some dodgy websites?”
Wolf promptly choked on a mouthful of beer and Yassen developed two small but very pronounced pink spots high on his cheeks.
“Reverse dating,” Peters observed. “It’s all the rage, so I’m told.”
“Not dating!” Wolf managed to splutter.
Alex leaned back in the chair and crossed his ankles, looking deceptively relaxed. “His toothbrush is in your bathroom and he’s got his own side of the bed.”
Wolf opened his mouth then promptly closed it again. This was a lose, lose situation. No point in digging himself any deeper into that particular hole. Drawing Alex’s attention to the lack of a second bed in the cottage almost certainly wouldn’t help.
“And your problem with that is…? Yassen drawled, dragging what remained of his composure around him like much-needed body armour. “I thought teenagers were more broadminded about same-sex relationships these days?”
Alex smiled sweetly. “I’m very happy for you both. Send me a wedding invite when you get round to it.”
“You can be maid of honour.”
Wolf cast his CO an imploring look. “Can I shoot the pair of them, boss?”
“Permission denied, and I’m not having a kid here overnight, so he’s sleeping on your floor while he’s up here.”
“I’ll book him into the Travel Lodge and call a taxi.”
“As Cossack pointed out, he’s an unattended minor. So the pair of you can consider yourselves in loco parentis.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?” Alex demanded.
“No.” Peters stood up. “I’ve got work to do. The three of you can fuck off home now. You’re making the place look untidy.”
Alex folded his arms, a mutinous look on his face. “They’re drunk.”
“Bollocks. Wolf’s Regiment and Cossack’s Russian. They’re not even what your gran would call mildly tipsy.”
“I haven’t got a gran.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, now fuck off, all three of you. I expect you all back at 8am. Cub, I’ve changed my mind, I want that security review by 7.30. Wolf, sort out a visitor’s pass for him. Cossack, try not to kill either of them.”
“Do I have to pinky swear?” Yassen drawled.
“You’ve been watching too much American telly.”
The assassin stood up, all lazy feline grace, despite the sling holding his arm to his chest. “I strongly suspect the major’s subtle hints mean that he would prefer us to leave by the front entrance. And leave with moderate alacrity.”
Alex slung the rest of his wine down his throat in two gulps and stood up. “I’m not sleeping on the fucking sofa.”
“Then check a camp bed out of stores. I doubt the bed’s big enough for three of you.”
To Wolf’s amusement, Alex looked faintly scandalised at the thought.
Without waiting to see if he was being followed, Yassen strolled out of the mess and made his way over to the quartermaster’s stores, leaving Wolf wondering how he’d come to be so familiar with the layout of the Stirling Lines camp, probably the most secretive of all the UK’s military bases, then he decided he didn’t want to know.
Ten minutes later, Wolf had checked out a standard army issue camp bed and bedding and they were walking back to his cottage, a silently mutinous Alex in tow. The kid was clearly seething but unwilling to let them out of his sight.
Alex’s unauthorised entry had left no trace. Wolf passed no comment on his undoubted breaking and entering skills and simply stuck his key in the lock and opened the door. The little shit had even reset the burglar alarm.
Once inside, Yassen promptly put the kettle on.
“Tea or coffee?” Wolf asked, his voice studiously neutral.
“Tea, milk, no sugar,” Alex said, a moment later adding, “thanks.”
Wolf tried to ignore the awkward silence by rummaging in the fridge, wondering what the hell he could cook.
“I can do a spaghetti Bolognese,” Yassen said. “We have the ingredients for that.”
“We?” Alex sounded incredulous. “What the hell is it with you two?”
Wolf slammed the fridge door shut and rounded on Alex, his temper spilling over. “You don’t get to judge, Cub.”
“He’s a killer!”
“So am I! And he’s killed to keep you alive.”
“And he’s nearly killed me!”
“If he’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
“He made me fight a bull.”
“You survived. So did the bull,” Yassen interjected. “I really object to animal cruelty and I had every confidence in your ability to avoid the creature.”
“You sent me to Scorpia!”
“I admit that was a mistake.”
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
“That I was dying and that I didn’t want you to die the same way, bleeding out with no one there who cares, which seemed the most likely end to your career as a spy, given MI6’s utter lack of interest in equipping you with either the skills you need to survive or providing reliable back-up for you on missions. The provision of both at the same time was – and still is – clearly a pipe-dream.”
“You said you loved my father.” Alex’s brown eyes were suspiciously bright. The boy was coiled as tight as an over-wound spring, threatening to snap at any moment. The questions and statements were being fired at Yassen with machine gun rapidity.
“I did.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
For the first time in the quick-fire exchange, Yassen hesitated for a fraction of a second, unnoticeable to most people, but neither Wolf nor Alex Rider were ‘most people.’
Alex’s eyes widened in shock. “He cheated on my mum? With you?”
“Your father was the best undercover operative MI6 has ever had. There were times when his role demanded infidelity.”
“And you were part of that role?”
“I worked with him for a long time. Scorpia does not approve of its operatives having permanent attachments. So far as they were concerned, your father worked for them and your mother did not exist, and that was for the best. And yes, if you must know, I slept with him.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying. My father wouldn’t do that.”
“You asked me a question, Alex. I’ve answered it truthfully. I’m sorry if the answer is not to your liking.”
“You said you loved me.” Alex’s rapid changes of direction were in danger of giving Wolf whiplash as he tried to follow the exchanges. And Alex’s attempt to keep his emotions under control was failing abysmally. The sharp, sarcastic teen’s composure was now no more than skin deep. “And now you tell me my dad cheated on my mum with you, and you’re cheating on me with Wolf!” The boy’s bottom lip wobbled, and one lone tear tracked unheeded down his pale cheek.
Wolf wondered if he was owed any favours by the fly boys. Calling in an air strike was about the only way he could think of to put a stop to this torture-by-teen.
Yassen looked profoundly uncomfortable. “Alex, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean my words like that. You are the son of the man I regarded as my closest friend, as well as my lover. Of course I have feelings for you, but they are not of a sexual nature.”
“You said you loved me and then I watched you die!” Tears spilled from Alex’s eyes. “Then I found out you were still alive, and I came up here to be with you and now you’re…” He gestured speechlessly to Wolf. ”I thought we could finally be together… but,,,”
Yassen Gregorovich, for well over a decade Scorpia’s most celebrated operative and the world’s most feared assassin, looked like nothing short of being nuked from orbit would put him out of his inexorably mounting misery. “Alex, I’m 20 years older than you. I don’t kill children and I certainly don’t have sex with them.”
“Cub…” Wolf didn’t know what he could say to diffuse this, but he had to try.
“Don’t call me that!” Tears were running unchecked down Alex’s cheeks.
“Cub… Alex…”
A sudden laughter burst of laughter from the teen took Wolf completely by surprise, then his brain finally caught up with the evidence before his eyes. Alex’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed amusement and the tears running down his face were from laughter, not unrequited young love.
“Christ on a bike, the look on your faces is fucking priceless,” Alex spluttered. “Thanks, I needed a good laugh.”
Yassen recovered his composure quicker than Wolf. “You little shit,” he said admiringly. “You broke in and planted bugs here as well, didn’t you?”
Alex wore a grin that would have put the Cheshire Cat to shame. “Yep, and it’s all been uploaded to a secure cloud server. The pair of you are so screwed.”
Wolf conducted a brief but intense internal debate on the merits of eviscerating Alex and strangling the boy with his own entrails.
“Tea,” Yassen said firmly, making it clear that evisceration was – unfortunately – not an option.
Alex smiled sweetly. “Thank you. And yes, spaghetti Bolognese would be great. Any garlic bread?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Yassen said dryly. “Do I take it from your unbridled mirth that you don’t actually have a problem with same-sex relationships?”
Alex looked genuinely affronted. “Of course not. OK, the whole rape-as-foreplay thing is a bit weird, but I’m not going all Judgy McJudgeFace on you.”
“Good.”
“And for the record, we’re not in a relationship,” Wolf added.
To his irritation, Alex and Yassen executed two perfectly timed synchronous eye-rolls.
“Like I said before, I’ll explain how these things work when you’ve had a few more drinks, Wolf,” Alex said with the air of condescension teenagers usually reserved for showing an adult how to programme any electrical device more complicated than an egg-timer.
“It’s not too late to call a taxi to dump you at the Travel Lodge in Hereford.” Wolf grabbed a can of beer from the fridge. More alcohol wasn’t a luxury, it was a fucking necessity.
“He promised me spag bol.” Alex perched on one of the high stools in the kitchen and cradled the tea mug in his hands. “And garlic bread. Besides, the pair of you are in loco parentis, Major Peters said so.”
“Alex, does Jack know where you are?” Yassen asked, his voice once again perfectly neutral.
“Yes. I can show you the texts if you don’t trust me.”
“I trust you. And what does Alan Blunt think of your breaking and entering escapade?”
“He doesn’t know yet. But he will do soon. He really ought to have his office swept for bugs more often, as well.”
A slow smile spread over Wolf’s face. “Cub, you can have my share of the garlic bread if you agree to share the footage.”
“Deal. I’ve set it up so the footage will come to my spare phone as it’s uploading.”
“What if he doesn’t notice you’ve read his files?” Yassen asked.
“He’ll notice. I left him a message on his computer.”
Yassen raised one eyebrow.
“It says why didn’t you tell me he was alive?”
“Perhaps touching reunions embarrass him.”
“Blunt doesn’t do emotion. Just manipulation.”
“He certainly needs no lessons in that.” For just a heartbeat, Wolf thought he detected the barest hint of ruefulness on Yassen’s face before the assassin turned away to open the fridge.
Alex’s eyes narrowed to sniperscope accuracy. “Explain.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. Blunt’s record speaks for itself.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you fucking know it.”
“You’ve had quite enough to contend with today, little Alex.”
“Stop trying to annoy me. It won’t work. Or rather it will, but it won’t make me lose focus. Malagosto trained, remember?”
“I remember. I sent you there, I’m glad you learned something from the experience.”
“Nice try. Three out of ten. So now tell me how you’ve had direct experience of Blunt’s manipulation…”
“It was either work for MI6 or spend the rest of my life in a very secure prison.”
“Let me think about that for a microsecond… nope, don’t buy it. Try again. Tom always says I’m a good listener.”
Yassen sighed, an almost imperceptible exhale. “What was the first thing Blunt or his minion told you about me?”
Alex’s eyes narrowed even further. “That you killed my uncle.”
“That was a lie.”
“You admitted it!”
“Did I?”
Wolf watched as Alex re-ran the relevant conversation in his head. “You said you’d killed a lot of people.”
“And that was true. Just not your uncle.”
“Why should I believe you?”
Yassen gave a one-shouldered shrug. “You can believe me or disbelieve me, that is up to you. But before taking a decision, ask yourself whether I have ever directly lied to you.” While Alex digested his words, Yassen removed a carton of mince from the fridge and started to prepare the meal, seemingly oblivious of the ripples spreading around them from around the stone he’d so casually thrown into the not-so-still waters of Wolf’s kitchen.
“Iff you didn’t kill him, who did?”
“A mid-range Scorpia operative. It seems Ian had no idea there was a kill order out on him. If it’s any consolation, I dealt with the man responsible for his death six months later.”
“It isn’t any consolation. So why did Jones lie to me?”
“It suited their purposes. They knew my history with John, and they didn’t want me anywhere near his son. They made sure you had no reason to trust me.”
Wolf watched as Alex turned the information over in his head, weighing Yassen’s words, evaluating them against what he knew of the assassin and what he knew of Blunt and Jones.
The next question came more slowly. “Why did Scorpia want Ian dead?”
“Because someone paid them.”
“Do you know who?”
“I have my suspicions, but I have not yet been able to prove them.”
“Yet implies you’re still trying. Why does it matter to you?”
“Because your uncle mattered to me.”
A silence, almost choking in its intensity, fell after Yassen delivered that line.
Alex stared at him and, for once, Yassen broke first, turning away to peel and chop a large onion.
For the second time since they’d entered the cottage, time seemed to stretch to breaking point, then instead of snapping, it shifted and reformed around the protagonists, as Alex’s perceptions changed to accommodate new information. Left feeling like an unwanted bystander in someone else’s drama, all Wolf could do was stand there, a beer bottle gripped tightly in his hand, watching Yassen dice an onion with wholly unnecessary force.
“Fucking hell. You shagged my uncle as well as my dad, didn’t you? That’s taking keeping it in the family to extremes.” The boy hesitated, then the next question slipped out, almost of its own accord, if the look on Alex’s face was anything to go by. “Don’t tell me you went for the fucking hat trick? Not my mum, as well…”
Yassen tried – and failed – to smother a laugh and the tension abruptly shattered into icy shards. “No. I saw your mother once, from a distance, that is all.”
“Thank fuck for that. So why my uncle? Were you on the rebound, or something?”
“Or something,” Yassen agreed. “We ran into each other on missions and … reached an understanding.”
“That involved sex.”
“Yes, Alex. The understanding involved sex. Now would it make this questioning simpler if I just submit a list of my sexual partners in triplicate to stop this turning into game of Twenty Questions?”
“Is it a long list?”
“No.”
“Then no need to bother. I’m not nosy.”
Yassen allowed a look of mild incredulity to settle on his face as he tipped the hapless onion – suitably sliced and diced –into the frying pan.
“You slept with my dad and my uncle.” Alex rolled the concept around in his mind then gave a slight nod. “Can I have another drink? And I don’t mean Coke.”
“I think we all need another fucking drink,” Wolf muttered. “Cub, is this going to be a problem?”
“I’ll probably need therapy for the rest of my life.”
****
“He’s not the only one that’s going to need fucking therapy,” Wolf said, pulling on the soft cotton shorts he’d taken to sleeping in since he’d ended up sharing a bed with Yassen Gregorovich.
“Spending time with a teenager is certainly the most effective method of contraception in the world.” Yassen, wearing only a pair of black cotton pyjama bottoms, lay spawled out on his side of the bed, propped up on pillows, with his bandaged arm resting on his stomach, a glass of decent cognac in his hand.
Wolf grimaced. “I’m thinking of taking a vow of celibacy. To be fair to the kid, it was a lot to take in. You do appear to have a bit of a thing for Riders.”
Yassen grimaced. “Don’t you start. That’s the most personal detail I’ve divulged in the past 15 years.” He closed his eyes for a moment, long eyelashes resting on lightly tanned skin. “If you call a therapist, book a session for me.”
“Who was Scorpia’s client for the hit on Ian Rider?”
“As I told Alex, I can’t prove anything.”
“You said you can’t prove anything – yet.” Wolf flopped down on the bed and snagged the glass from Yassen’s hand. “So, who do you suspect?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Wouldn’t fuckin’ ask if I didn’t.”
“Alan Blunt.”
Wolf promptly choked on a mouthful of brandy.
Yassen equally promptly relieved him of the glass before the amber liquid ended up all over the bed.
“Why?” Wolf spluttered when he regained the use of his vocal chords.
“I strongly suspect he decided a teenage spy was a more valuable asset. Ian was a good operative, but he was never in John’s league. And he was also becoming disillusioned with Blunt’s methods and was considering retirement.”
“Did you get anything useful out of his killer?”
“A lot of screaming and some very satisfactory revenge. But all he knew was that the orders came from Scorpia. He had no idea who the actual client was.”
“If you could prove that Blunt was the client, Alex would never work for him again.”
“If I can prove that Blunt was the client, I fully intend to make Dr Three look like an angel of mercy by comparison.” Yassen’s voice was as cold and deadly as a winter blizzard.
Wolf knew perfectly well who Dr Three was and he had no doubt whatsoever about Yassen’s ability to make good that threat. “Will you tell Alex?”
“Not until I have proof. And even then not until after Blunt is dead. I’m not going to lay that on the child.”
“I’m not sure he’s much of a child any more,” Wolf said heavily.
“Maybe not, but I don’t have to make things worse.”
“Apart from the whole bull-fighting thing.”
“I’m not going to be allowed to forget that, am I?”
“Probably not.” Wolf settled down comfortably and took another drink of the cognac before passing it back to Yassen. “You cared about Ian Rider, didn’t you?”
Yassen sighed. “Yes, and not because he was a substitute for his brother. John Rider was easily the most deadly individual I have ever met. He taught me how to survive in a dangerous profession and he did his best to prevent me from following in his footsteps. Ian was clever, competent and had a very profound sense of duty. And like his brother, he was damned good back up in a fight. They were very different men, and I loved them both in very different ways.”
The intensity of longing and depth of loss in those quiet words was all the explanation Wolf needed for why Yassen had taken a bullet for Alex and risked his life to save him in Germany. And if Alan Blunt did have a hand in Ian Rider’s death, then he was certain no power on earth would be enough to keep the spymaster from a painful death.
They passed the glass between them in silence for a few minutes, before turning off the bedside lights. On an impulse he barely understood – or wanted to acknowledge – Wolf slipped his arm around Yassen’s shoulders. The Russian pillowed his head on Wolf’s shoulder and rested his good arm on his chest.
Wolf fell asleep listening to the quiet sound of Yassen Gregorovich’s breathing.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Alex Rider
Rating : 15
Characters : Wolf/Yassen, Major Peters, Alex Rider
Disclaimer : Not mine (except Major Peters), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : An unexpected arrival causes a stir at the SAS base and Wolf considers the merits of calling in an air strike.
A/N : Follows Playing Chicken and Speed Dating
“What part of ‘I don’t want to see Cossack on his base, ever’ was hard to understand, Wolf?” demanded Major Charlie Peters, completely ignoring the contract killer watching their exchange with barely disguised amusement.
“I dunno, boss. Seemed clear enough to me. Maybe Mr Blunt missed the memo?” Wolf’s attempt at innocence earned him an eye roll, as he’d expected. “Post’s been rubbish recently or maybe the email went into spam.”
“Probably too busy pimping out his teenage spy to notice. Man’s a total cunt.” Peters nodded to Yassen. “Gregorovich.”
“Major Peters.”
“You can bond over a mutual dislike of Blunt.” That earned Wolf another eyeroll.
“I need a fucking drink,” Peters declared. “Come on.”
Ten minutes later, settled in a corner of the officers’ mess with three very large single malts in front of them, Peters looked marginally less irritated. Yassen – to his credit – had done nothing more outrageous than simply continuing to exist and, as a result, Wolf was finally starting to relax.
“So, Blunt thinks you can further our education on the subject of the world’s terrorist organisations.” Peters raised a sceptical eyebrow.
“Apparently so. Would you like my CV to assess my teaching qualifications?” Yassen enquired mildly.
“No. I’d rather not have to assess your creative writing qualifications at the same time. What will this do for your future employment prospects?”
Yassen shrugged. “Since the demise of Scorpia, I prefer freelancing to long-term contracts. And I’ve been considering retirement for a while.”
“Megalomaniacs not what they used to be?”
“I find fools don’t suffer me gladly. And I would rather not suffer them at all.”
“Cray certainly didn’t turn out to be a model employer. Why did you take a bullet for the kid?”
“You’re well informed.”
“You’re evasive.”
“His father saved my life.”
“And you’re the sentimental type?”
“If you say so.”
“Are we going to require an entire bottle of Scotch to oil the wheels of social intercourse or are we just going to relax and start acting like normal people united in the face of a common foe?”
“Alan Blunt?”
“Quite.”
Yassen grinned, leaning back in the leather armchair and crossing one ankle over his knee. “MI6 will keep using the child until they get him killed. Two weeks on a Selection course is not enough to keep him alive. I was sloppy where Cray was concerned. I should have terminated him earlier. Sending Alex to Scorpia was another mistake. I’d hoped they would give him the skills he’d need to survive. In my defence, I was suffering from severe blood loss.”
“Tends to impair rational thought,” Peters acknowledged. “So, what do you propose to do about it?”
“If by ‘it’ you mean Alex Rider, I would like the opportunity to both train him and provide support on missions, something Blunt has not seen fit to arrange.”
“Like you said, boss, man’s a total cunt,” Wolf muttered.
“Something we can all agree on.” Peters reached for the bottle and refilled their glasses. “How do you feel about giving some advanced weapons’ training to my mob as well as lecturing on Terrorism for Pleasure and Profit?”
“Practical demonstrations will need to wait, but I can cover theory and assess competence.”
“I’ll add it to the curriculum. Most of them are bored spitless whenever they’re not in theatre, so having a celebrity around the place will liven things up. It’ll make a change from royal visits, crappy, ghost-written authors and posturing politicians, all of whom still think they’re welcome in the mess.”
“I refuse all requests for autographs.”
“Fair enough. I’ll arrange a visitor’s pass for you. I’m working on the basis that you could get in here whether we liked it or not, so giving you a pass you can steal will make fuck all difference to security.”
To Wolf’s amusement, Yassen looked faintly affronted. “I’ll throw in a security review for free.”
“They need it,” said a fresh voice. “The muppets on the gate were half asleep when I came in.”
Three heads swivelled as one to look at the blond teenager slouching in the doorway, wearing a grey hoodie, ripped jeans and a blank expression.
“Armed police! Down on the ground!” The familiar yell came from the black clad security guards who manned the gate checkpoint. The aforementioned muppets were probably as annoyed by that crack as they were by the flagrant breach of camp security.
Wolf’s reaction was forestalled by a sharp hand movement from Major Peters. “Stand down!” he ordered, in a voice used to making itself heard in the rowdiest circumstances, as well as on an orderly parade ground.
To their credit, the armed officers pulled themselves up mid run and skidded to a halt, rifles now held across their chests.
“It’s Bring your Kid to Work day,” Peters said crisply. “Didn’t you get the memo?”
“No, sir,”
“I’ll resend it. Alex, I’ll expect your security review on my desk by 9am tomorrow morning.” Peters nodded his dismissal to the two officers, both of whom had the sense to withdraw without even shooting Alex so much as a dirty look, let alone a 5.56mm bullet.
The teen let his carefully cultivated mask of indifference slip slightly as he focussed the full force of his very obviously angry brown eyes on Yassen. “When were you going to tell me you were alive?”
“I wasn’t.”
“You didn’t even send me a Valentine’s Day card. So much for dying declarations of love.”
“And add suspected grooming to my long list of crimes? Hardly wise.”
“Sending teenagers to terrorist organisations? Hardly wise.”
Peters waved his hand at the whisky bottle on the table and called for another glass. “Sit down and pour yourself a drink, Alex.”
“He’s 15,” Yassen said dryly.
Peters rolled his eyes. “I hate to break this to you, Cossack, but drinking alcohol is probably the least of his unsavoury habits. He’ll have watched internet porn, jerked off with his best friend and got shit-faced at parties. That’s what teenagers do.”
Alex sat down, clearly fighting to keep the ghost of a grin off his face. “I don’t like whisky. Have you got any decent red wine?”
“This is the officers’ mess at Stirling Lines, of course we’ve got decent red wine. We only feed the drain cleaner to people we don’t like.”
A moment later, a bottle of wine and a glass appeared on the table. The young, ginger-haired civilian who’d been polishing glasses behind the bar grinned at Alex and said, “Would you like to taste the wine, sir?”
“No, thanks. I’ll take your word for it.”
The man poured him a large glassful then retired to a discreet distance again, leaving the bottle on the table.
Alex took a mouthful, nodded approvingly, then set the glass down and glared at both Yassen and Wolf.
The silence dragged on, a physical thing stretching between them like an invisible, unbreakable spider’s web. No one rushed to fill it. They’d all done the training. Name, rank and number. Don’t fill the silences. In other words, shut the fuck up and let the other bugger speak first.
Wolf felt – and knew he probably looked – supremely uncomfortable. Alex had no reason whatsoever to like him, despite their interaction on the Point Blank mission. Wolf had been an absolute shit to the kid during their brief time in the Brecon Beacons. Point Blank wasn’t likely to have been much of a redemption. As for the French fiasco, Alex shouldn’t even have known he’d been there. Not unless someone had opened their big mouth, and the most likely someone was Fox… and if that was the case, Wolf would be having words. Most of them ones with no more than four letters.
Yassen was doing his best to remain impassive and – to Wolf’s amusement – was failing spectacularly. The only one even remotely at ease was Charlie Peters. It took a lot more than an irate 15-year-old spy breaking into the Regiment’s HQ to rattle the major.
“Well, this is nice, isn’t it?” Peters said, pouring himself another drink. “I suggest we just get hammered, gentlemen. It might make this touching reunion easier. So, Alex, how did you find out that the lovely Mr Gregorovich wasn’t pushing up the proverbial daisies?”
“I broke into Blunt’s office and read the mission reports.”
“Nice. I’d appreciate a review of MI6’s lack of security.”
“I’ll add it as a footnote to your security review.”
“A 15-year-old who knows about footnotes? I’m impressed. Maybe there’s something to be said for the British education system, after all.”
Alex made a rude gesture. “We don’t all spend our time getting hammered and wanking over porn.”
“Wish I could say the same for my two,” Peters said heavily. “Does Blunt know you’re here?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. I’m not answerable to him. And if he threatens to deport my housekeeper again, I’m going to the press.”
“Ever heard of DA notices?”
“Defence Advisory Notices, otherwise known as government gagging orders. Ever heard of the internet? I’ve got social media accounts on all major channels in the name of I_Spy. Tom Harris is my media manager. I also took copies of all Blunt’ss files on my missions. Their security sucks frogs.” Alex poured himself another glass of wine and allowed just a hint of a smug grin to show on his face. A heartbeat later, a pair of long-lashed brown eyes were turned on Wolf. “And speaking of security, yours is just as bad. It took me precisely six seconds to pick your front door locks and 24 seconds to disarm your burglar alarm.” Alex allowed a theatrical frown of confusion to settls on his face. “You and Yassen certainly have an odd idea of foreplay, by the way. Have you been hanging around on some dodgy websites?”
Wolf promptly choked on a mouthful of beer and Yassen developed two small but very pronounced pink spots high on his cheeks.
“Reverse dating,” Peters observed. “It’s all the rage, so I’m told.”
“Not dating!” Wolf managed to splutter.
Alex leaned back in the chair and crossed his ankles, looking deceptively relaxed. “His toothbrush is in your bathroom and he’s got his own side of the bed.”
Wolf opened his mouth then promptly closed it again. This was a lose, lose situation. No point in digging himself any deeper into that particular hole. Drawing Alex’s attention to the lack of a second bed in the cottage almost certainly wouldn’t help.
“And your problem with that is…? Yassen drawled, dragging what remained of his composure around him like much-needed body armour. “I thought teenagers were more broadminded about same-sex relationships these days?”
Alex smiled sweetly. “I’m very happy for you both. Send me a wedding invite when you get round to it.”
“You can be maid of honour.”
Wolf cast his CO an imploring look. “Can I shoot the pair of them, boss?”
“Permission denied, and I’m not having a kid here overnight, so he’s sleeping on your floor while he’s up here.”
“I’ll book him into the Travel Lodge and call a taxi.”
“As Cossack pointed out, he’s an unattended minor. So the pair of you can consider yourselves in loco parentis.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?” Alex demanded.
“No.” Peters stood up. “I’ve got work to do. The three of you can fuck off home now. You’re making the place look untidy.”
Alex folded his arms, a mutinous look on his face. “They’re drunk.”
“Bollocks. Wolf’s Regiment and Cossack’s Russian. They’re not even what your gran would call mildly tipsy.”
“I haven’t got a gran.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, now fuck off, all three of you. I expect you all back at 8am. Cub, I’ve changed my mind, I want that security review by 7.30. Wolf, sort out a visitor’s pass for him. Cossack, try not to kill either of them.”
“Do I have to pinky swear?” Yassen drawled.
“You’ve been watching too much American telly.”
The assassin stood up, all lazy feline grace, despite the sling holding his arm to his chest. “I strongly suspect the major’s subtle hints mean that he would prefer us to leave by the front entrance. And leave with moderate alacrity.”
Alex slung the rest of his wine down his throat in two gulps and stood up. “I’m not sleeping on the fucking sofa.”
“Then check a camp bed out of stores. I doubt the bed’s big enough for three of you.”
To Wolf’s amusement, Alex looked faintly scandalised at the thought.
Without waiting to see if he was being followed, Yassen strolled out of the mess and made his way over to the quartermaster’s stores, leaving Wolf wondering how he’d come to be so familiar with the layout of the Stirling Lines camp, probably the most secretive of all the UK’s military bases, then he decided he didn’t want to know.
Ten minutes later, Wolf had checked out a standard army issue camp bed and bedding and they were walking back to his cottage, a silently mutinous Alex in tow. The kid was clearly seething but unwilling to let them out of his sight.
Alex’s unauthorised entry had left no trace. Wolf passed no comment on his undoubted breaking and entering skills and simply stuck his key in the lock and opened the door. The little shit had even reset the burglar alarm.
Once inside, Yassen promptly put the kettle on.
“Tea or coffee?” Wolf asked, his voice studiously neutral.
“Tea, milk, no sugar,” Alex said, a moment later adding, “thanks.”
Wolf tried to ignore the awkward silence by rummaging in the fridge, wondering what the hell he could cook.
“I can do a spaghetti Bolognese,” Yassen said. “We have the ingredients for that.”
“We?” Alex sounded incredulous. “What the hell is it with you two?”
Wolf slammed the fridge door shut and rounded on Alex, his temper spilling over. “You don’t get to judge, Cub.”
“He’s a killer!”
“So am I! And he’s killed to keep you alive.”
“And he’s nearly killed me!”
“If he’d wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
“He made me fight a bull.”
“You survived. So did the bull,” Yassen interjected. “I really object to animal cruelty and I had every confidence in your ability to avoid the creature.”
“You sent me to Scorpia!”
“I admit that was a mistake.”
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
“That I was dying and that I didn’t want you to die the same way, bleeding out with no one there who cares, which seemed the most likely end to your career as a spy, given MI6’s utter lack of interest in equipping you with either the skills you need to survive or providing reliable back-up for you on missions. The provision of both at the same time was – and still is – clearly a pipe-dream.”
“You said you loved my father.” Alex’s brown eyes were suspiciously bright. The boy was coiled as tight as an over-wound spring, threatening to snap at any moment. The questions and statements were being fired at Yassen with machine gun rapidity.
“I did.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
For the first time in the quick-fire exchange, Yassen hesitated for a fraction of a second, unnoticeable to most people, but neither Wolf nor Alex Rider were ‘most people.’
Alex’s eyes widened in shock. “He cheated on my mum? With you?”
“Your father was the best undercover operative MI6 has ever had. There were times when his role demanded infidelity.”
“And you were part of that role?”
“I worked with him for a long time. Scorpia does not approve of its operatives having permanent attachments. So far as they were concerned, your father worked for them and your mother did not exist, and that was for the best. And yes, if you must know, I slept with him.”
Alex’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying. My father wouldn’t do that.”
“You asked me a question, Alex. I’ve answered it truthfully. I’m sorry if the answer is not to your liking.”
“You said you loved me.” Alex’s rapid changes of direction were in danger of giving Wolf whiplash as he tried to follow the exchanges. And Alex’s attempt to keep his emotions under control was failing abysmally. The sharp, sarcastic teen’s composure was now no more than skin deep. “And now you tell me my dad cheated on my mum with you, and you’re cheating on me with Wolf!” The boy’s bottom lip wobbled, and one lone tear tracked unheeded down his pale cheek.
Wolf wondered if he was owed any favours by the fly boys. Calling in an air strike was about the only way he could think of to put a stop to this torture-by-teen.
Yassen looked profoundly uncomfortable. “Alex, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean my words like that. You are the son of the man I regarded as my closest friend, as well as my lover. Of course I have feelings for you, but they are not of a sexual nature.”
“You said you loved me and then I watched you die!” Tears spilled from Alex’s eyes. “Then I found out you were still alive, and I came up here to be with you and now you’re…” He gestured speechlessly to Wolf. ”I thought we could finally be together… but,,,”
Yassen Gregorovich, for well over a decade Scorpia’s most celebrated operative and the world’s most feared assassin, looked like nothing short of being nuked from orbit would put him out of his inexorably mounting misery. “Alex, I’m 20 years older than you. I don’t kill children and I certainly don’t have sex with them.”
“Cub…” Wolf didn’t know what he could say to diffuse this, but he had to try.
“Don’t call me that!” Tears were running unchecked down Alex’s cheeks.
“Cub… Alex…”
A sudden laughter burst of laughter from the teen took Wolf completely by surprise, then his brain finally caught up with the evidence before his eyes. Alex’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed amusement and the tears running down his face were from laughter, not unrequited young love.
“Christ on a bike, the look on your faces is fucking priceless,” Alex spluttered. “Thanks, I needed a good laugh.”
Yassen recovered his composure quicker than Wolf. “You little shit,” he said admiringly. “You broke in and planted bugs here as well, didn’t you?”
Alex wore a grin that would have put the Cheshire Cat to shame. “Yep, and it’s all been uploaded to a secure cloud server. The pair of you are so screwed.”
Wolf conducted a brief but intense internal debate on the merits of eviscerating Alex and strangling the boy with his own entrails.
“Tea,” Yassen said firmly, making it clear that evisceration was – unfortunately – not an option.
Alex smiled sweetly. “Thank you. And yes, spaghetti Bolognese would be great. Any garlic bread?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Yassen said dryly. “Do I take it from your unbridled mirth that you don’t actually have a problem with same-sex relationships?”
Alex looked genuinely affronted. “Of course not. OK, the whole rape-as-foreplay thing is a bit weird, but I’m not going all Judgy McJudgeFace on you.”
“Good.”
“And for the record, we’re not in a relationship,” Wolf added.
To his irritation, Alex and Yassen executed two perfectly timed synchronous eye-rolls.
“Like I said before, I’ll explain how these things work when you’ve had a few more drinks, Wolf,” Alex said with the air of condescension teenagers usually reserved for showing an adult how to programme any electrical device more complicated than an egg-timer.
“It’s not too late to call a taxi to dump you at the Travel Lodge in Hereford.” Wolf grabbed a can of beer from the fridge. More alcohol wasn’t a luxury, it was a fucking necessity.
“He promised me spag bol.” Alex perched on one of the high stools in the kitchen and cradled the tea mug in his hands. “And garlic bread. Besides, the pair of you are in loco parentis, Major Peters said so.”
“Alex, does Jack know where you are?” Yassen asked, his voice once again perfectly neutral.
“Yes. I can show you the texts if you don’t trust me.”
“I trust you. And what does Alan Blunt think of your breaking and entering escapade?”
“He doesn’t know yet. But he will do soon. He really ought to have his office swept for bugs more often, as well.”
A slow smile spread over Wolf’s face. “Cub, you can have my share of the garlic bread if you agree to share the footage.”
“Deal. I’ve set it up so the footage will come to my spare phone as it’s uploading.”
“What if he doesn’t notice you’ve read his files?” Yassen asked.
“He’ll notice. I left him a message on his computer.”
Yassen raised one eyebrow.
“It says why didn’t you tell me he was alive?”
“Perhaps touching reunions embarrass him.”
“Blunt doesn’t do emotion. Just manipulation.”
“He certainly needs no lessons in that.” For just a heartbeat, Wolf thought he detected the barest hint of ruefulness on Yassen’s face before the assassin turned away to open the fridge.
Alex’s eyes narrowed to sniperscope accuracy. “Explain.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. Blunt’s record speaks for itself.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you fucking know it.”
“You’ve had quite enough to contend with today, little Alex.”
“Stop trying to annoy me. It won’t work. Or rather it will, but it won’t make me lose focus. Malagosto trained, remember?”
“I remember. I sent you there, I’m glad you learned something from the experience.”
“Nice try. Three out of ten. So now tell me how you’ve had direct experience of Blunt’s manipulation…”
“It was either work for MI6 or spend the rest of my life in a very secure prison.”
“Let me think about that for a microsecond… nope, don’t buy it. Try again. Tom always says I’m a good listener.”
Yassen sighed, an almost imperceptible exhale. “What was the first thing Blunt or his minion told you about me?”
Alex’s eyes narrowed even further. “That you killed my uncle.”
“That was a lie.”
“You admitted it!”
“Did I?”
Wolf watched as Alex re-ran the relevant conversation in his head. “You said you’d killed a lot of people.”
“And that was true. Just not your uncle.”
“Why should I believe you?”
Yassen gave a one-shouldered shrug. “You can believe me or disbelieve me, that is up to you. But before taking a decision, ask yourself whether I have ever directly lied to you.” While Alex digested his words, Yassen removed a carton of mince from the fridge and started to prepare the meal, seemingly oblivious of the ripples spreading around them from around the stone he’d so casually thrown into the not-so-still waters of Wolf’s kitchen.
“Iff you didn’t kill him, who did?”
“A mid-range Scorpia operative. It seems Ian had no idea there was a kill order out on him. If it’s any consolation, I dealt with the man responsible for his death six months later.”
“It isn’t any consolation. So why did Jones lie to me?”
“It suited their purposes. They knew my history with John, and they didn’t want me anywhere near his son. They made sure you had no reason to trust me.”
Wolf watched as Alex turned the information over in his head, weighing Yassen’s words, evaluating them against what he knew of the assassin and what he knew of Blunt and Jones.
The next question came more slowly. “Why did Scorpia want Ian dead?”
“Because someone paid them.”
“Do you know who?”
“I have my suspicions, but I have not yet been able to prove them.”
“Yet implies you’re still trying. Why does it matter to you?”
“Because your uncle mattered to me.”
A silence, almost choking in its intensity, fell after Yassen delivered that line.
Alex stared at him and, for once, Yassen broke first, turning away to peel and chop a large onion.
For the second time since they’d entered the cottage, time seemed to stretch to breaking point, then instead of snapping, it shifted and reformed around the protagonists, as Alex’s perceptions changed to accommodate new information. Left feeling like an unwanted bystander in someone else’s drama, all Wolf could do was stand there, a beer bottle gripped tightly in his hand, watching Yassen dice an onion with wholly unnecessary force.
“Fucking hell. You shagged my uncle as well as my dad, didn’t you? That’s taking keeping it in the family to extremes.” The boy hesitated, then the next question slipped out, almost of its own accord, if the look on Alex’s face was anything to go by. “Don’t tell me you went for the fucking hat trick? Not my mum, as well…”
Yassen tried – and failed – to smother a laugh and the tension abruptly shattered into icy shards. “No. I saw your mother once, from a distance, that is all.”
“Thank fuck for that. So why my uncle? Were you on the rebound, or something?”
“Or something,” Yassen agreed. “We ran into each other on missions and … reached an understanding.”
“That involved sex.”
“Yes, Alex. The understanding involved sex. Now would it make this questioning simpler if I just submit a list of my sexual partners in triplicate to stop this turning into game of Twenty Questions?”
“Is it a long list?”
“No.”
“Then no need to bother. I’m not nosy.”
Yassen allowed a look of mild incredulity to settle on his face as he tipped the hapless onion – suitably sliced and diced –into the frying pan.
“You slept with my dad and my uncle.” Alex rolled the concept around in his mind then gave a slight nod. “Can I have another drink? And I don’t mean Coke.”
“I think we all need another fucking drink,” Wolf muttered. “Cub, is this going to be a problem?”
“I’ll probably need therapy for the rest of my life.”
****
“He’s not the only one that’s going to need fucking therapy,” Wolf said, pulling on the soft cotton shorts he’d taken to sleeping in since he’d ended up sharing a bed with Yassen Gregorovich.
“Spending time with a teenager is certainly the most effective method of contraception in the world.” Yassen, wearing only a pair of black cotton pyjama bottoms, lay spawled out on his side of the bed, propped up on pillows, with his bandaged arm resting on his stomach, a glass of decent cognac in his hand.
Wolf grimaced. “I’m thinking of taking a vow of celibacy. To be fair to the kid, it was a lot to take in. You do appear to have a bit of a thing for Riders.”
Yassen grimaced. “Don’t you start. That’s the most personal detail I’ve divulged in the past 15 years.” He closed his eyes for a moment, long eyelashes resting on lightly tanned skin. “If you call a therapist, book a session for me.”
“Who was Scorpia’s client for the hit on Ian Rider?”
“As I told Alex, I can’t prove anything.”
“You said you can’t prove anything – yet.” Wolf flopped down on the bed and snagged the glass from Yassen’s hand. “So, who do you suspect?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Wouldn’t fuckin’ ask if I didn’t.”
“Alan Blunt.”
Wolf promptly choked on a mouthful of brandy.
Yassen equally promptly relieved him of the glass before the amber liquid ended up all over the bed.
“Why?” Wolf spluttered when he regained the use of his vocal chords.
“I strongly suspect he decided a teenage spy was a more valuable asset. Ian was a good operative, but he was never in John’s league. And he was also becoming disillusioned with Blunt’s methods and was considering retirement.”
“Did you get anything useful out of his killer?”
“A lot of screaming and some very satisfactory revenge. But all he knew was that the orders came from Scorpia. He had no idea who the actual client was.”
“If you could prove that Blunt was the client, Alex would never work for him again.”
“If I can prove that Blunt was the client, I fully intend to make Dr Three look like an angel of mercy by comparison.” Yassen’s voice was as cold and deadly as a winter blizzard.
Wolf knew perfectly well who Dr Three was and he had no doubt whatsoever about Yassen’s ability to make good that threat. “Will you tell Alex?”
“Not until I have proof. And even then not until after Blunt is dead. I’m not going to lay that on the child.”
“I’m not sure he’s much of a child any more,” Wolf said heavily.
“Maybe not, but I don’t have to make things worse.”
“Apart from the whole bull-fighting thing.”
“I’m not going to be allowed to forget that, am I?”
“Probably not.” Wolf settled down comfortably and took another drink of the cognac before passing it back to Yassen. “You cared about Ian Rider, didn’t you?”
Yassen sighed. “Yes, and not because he was a substitute for his brother. John Rider was easily the most deadly individual I have ever met. He taught me how to survive in a dangerous profession and he did his best to prevent me from following in his footsteps. Ian was clever, competent and had a very profound sense of duty. And like his brother, he was damned good back up in a fight. They were very different men, and I loved them both in very different ways.”
The intensity of longing and depth of loss in those quiet words was all the explanation Wolf needed for why Yassen had taken a bullet for Alex and risked his life to save him in Germany. And if Alan Blunt did have a hand in Ian Rider’s death, then he was certain no power on earth would be enough to keep the spymaster from a painful death.
They passed the glass between them in silence for a few minutes, before turning off the bedside lights. On an impulse he barely understood – or wanted to acknowledge – Wolf slipped his arm around Yassen’s shoulders. The Russian pillowed his head on Wolf’s shoulder and rested his good arm on his chest.
Wolf fell asleep listening to the quiet sound of Yassen Gregorovich’s breathing.
no subject
Date: 2021-08-10 06:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-08-10 11:27 am (UTC)