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Chapter Text

I'm going to try expanding on Makarov's nonverbal moments as well as his tremors when he gets too stressed :') thankfully Yura's there to help hehe. And you get to see him in caretaker mode :D!! (set in the early 2000's) - description from me tumblr

When Yuri looks at the clock again, it's nearly two in the morning. He looks at Makarov, still at the desk and working on a report.

Or attempting to. He slammed the pen down around five minutes ago and put his head on the desk, and his fidgeting is turning into trembling; every now and then he'll almost convulse. Yuri gave him a few minutes just in case a rage episode was coming, but he thinks he needs to step in now.

He moves to stand beside his husband, gently rubbing his back. "Volodya, can you look at me for a second?" He asks gently. "Let's go to bed."

Makarov doesn't respond, but he does slowly stand up, holding onto Yuri's hand as they make their way to the bedroom. After changing, Makarov clings to Yuri in the bed. He's still shaking.

Yuri hugs him closely, gently running fingers through his hair. "It's alright. You want me to hold you for a while?"

His husband nods; he's nonverbal right now due to stress. The two of them had to work separately more often, and Sasha had been staying with Makarov's mother for quite a while to keep her safe. As much as Makarov enjoys his job, separation from his loved ones takes a heavy toll on him. Having to bottle up his stress often resulted in moments like these.

"I can do that, darling." Yuri kisses his forehead. "I'll sit here, with my arms wrapped around you, all night. I promise."

Makarov looks up at that, giving Yuri a little smile before he kisses him, briefly breaking his silence once they part to whisper to his husband: "I love you."

Yuri smiles back, holding him as he pulls the blanket up around them. "I love you too."

He waits for Makarov's tremors to stop—and for him to fall asleep—before he falls asleep as well.

Both of them need more time like this.

Chapter Text

"You're sure Zakhaev is alright with you taking a break?" Yuri asks for what feels like the millionth time.

Four days ago, he and Makarov had been sent on a mission that went awry, resulting in Yuri getting shot in the knee and the stomach as well as leaving him with a long gash on his upper right arm that needed stitches. He hadn't expected his lover to request some time off to help take care of him, but he certainly won't complain. Though he does feel guilty.

Makarov just nods as always as he changes the bandages on Yuri's arm. The medics took care of the other injuries, but they let the dark-haired man help in this way. "He understood. And even if he didn't, I really don't care. I would have stayed with you regardless."

Yuri chuckles at his bluntness, and also at the interested look in his lover's eyes as he inspects the wound. Makarov always had a morbid fascination with injuries and wounds; Yuri often joked that he should've been a pathologist. "Thank you. How is it looking?" He asks about the wound.

"Seems to be healing," Makarov answers as he gently cleans it.

As Yuri watches him get clean bandages, he says, "Luckily I recover pretty quickly. We'll be back on the front lines in no time."

Oddly, Makarov frowns at that, now looking at Yuri. The injured man gets worried at first until the other tilts his head to the side as a way of asking why his lover feels this anxious to fight again.

So he explains. "… I feel guilty. Like I'm halting progress for us, and holding you back. I know how much the Ultranationalists succeeding means to you, and—"

"Yura." Makarov stops him, putting both his hands on his lover's cheeks. "You are what's important right now. You're injured and you need help, so Zakhaev can wait, because I want to be the one to help you."

"Volodya…" Yuri grins, feeling so much gratitude and love after hearing Makarov's words. "Thank you so much."

Makarov smiles back; he would've kissed him but unfortunately they were still in a public space and Yuri didn't need more injuries. "Of course. You've always been there for me."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Yuri chuckles. "By the way, I still need bandages."

"Sorry about that," Makarov laughs, picking them back up and wrapping them around Yuri's arm. "Is that too tight?" He asks before he finishes.

Yuri shakes his head. "Thank you again," he says when Makarov secures the bandages.

"Any time, Yura."

As the two share another smile, Yuri feels much better than he has in a few days.

Chapter Text

Sasha has been holed up in the library nearly all day; not for any particular reason except she's been going through old records of the 141 that Yuri had stolen. Naturally she would be given full access to the files, and she hasn't put them down in hours. When Amalia told her girlfriend she was going to get something to eat, she only received a nod since Sasha was completely focused.

She always liked that about Sasha. The world could explode and the Russian girl wouldn't even notice if she was focused on something.

And when Amalia gets back, Sasha has barely moved. She chuckles, sitting beside her. "Who are you reading about?"

It takes a few seconds for her to respond. "Uh… Roach," she answers, showing her girlfriend the file. "Apparently he was burned alive with another one: Ghost. Shepherd did it, but he's dead too. Stabbed in the eye last year by Soap."

"Shepherd worked with your dad, too, didn't he?"

Sasha nods. "But Papa didn't like him, so good riddance, I guess."

Amalia laughs at that; both of them are quite morbid people. This is a typical conversation. "I bet he made it obvious."

"Of course he did!" She giggles. "Not to his face as far as I know, but I had to hear the phrase 'that miserable bastard' so many times it lost meaning."

The two share a laugh, and a hug after Sasha puts the files down.

"Oh, I made you dinner," Amalia tells her. "If you're hungry."

"I am now realizing I am." The Russian grins, and the two clean up the files before they go eat together.

With more odd conversations in-between.

Chapter Text

"So what happens now?"

Lucero, who's driving the car, glances over at Bell before focusing back on the road. The two had been driving in silence for a while; Lucero knew something was bothering her girlfriend but didn't know how to go about asking. She tries to think of a reply before the blonde continues.

"We've left the Collective. Adler's dead; I can't go back to the CIA even if I wanted to. No offence," she adds, looking at Lucero with a half-smile.

"None taken," the CIA agent laughs. "More importantly, what is it that you would want to do? You're a free woman now."

Bell sighs. "Doesn't feel like it. I still have this codename."

'Bell'. The name Adler had given her—Irina Vlasenko was her real name. The name she had stolen from her.

Lucero puts a hand on her lover's thigh before she continues. "So, we start over. Officially." She gives the other woman a smile. "Irina. What do you want to do from now on?"

"… I'm not sure, Lucy." Irina does look grateful that she can be called by her true name now. "Wouldn't you have to leave? I killed one of your colleagues."

"Yeah, but I didn't like him anyway." The other shrugs, chuckling. "So I'll stay, no matter what you choose."

Irina, stone-faced Irina, grins wide and kisses her girlfriend's cheek. "I love you so much, Lucy. And I think I have an idea."

Lucero grins back at her. "I love you too. What is it?"

"Why don't we speak to Zakhaev?"

Chapter Text

"Victor called you Fetus Man the other day."

Makarov gives a weird look to Al-Asad as he puts the toy block down from where he was going to stack it; he's playing with his daughter on the floor of the safehouse. Sasha takes it and puts it on the little tower, patting his hand.

Internally, Makarov is making some sort of mental flowchart to figure out why he would be given such a name. Obviously Sasha is involved somehow, but how? She's clearly been born; she's three years old.

Did Victor figure out his secret..? No. He's too stupid for that. So why—

"Vladimir?"

The Arabian man's voice jolts him back. "Why?" Makarov asks bluntly in response to the first statement.

Al-Asad chuckles a little nervously at the look the Russian is giving him. "I think it's mainly because… well, you do take her everywhere." He gestures to Sasha.

"I'm her father. I'm not going to leave her at home." Makarov notices the cold edge creeping into his voice and tries desperately to stay calm. "And what does 'mainly' mean?"

"Papa, angy," Sasha comments, gently taking his thumb in one hand and pointing at the block tower with the other, looking at him with her big blue eyes. "Make fall down? Go boom?"

Both adults smile at her; Sasha was good at helping her father calm down. "Okay, Sashenka," Makarov chuckles as he moves his hand to knock it down. "Ready? One, two…"

On three, he pushes a block out and it falls on the carpet to Sasha's excited giggling and clapping. Al-Asad claps too, laughing and moving to sit on the floor beside the girl and her father. "Well done!"

It does get a laugh out of Makarov, luckily. He hugs Sasha, who eagerly hugs him back. "Thank you," he chuckles. "Why don't you teach Uncle Khaled how to build a tower? I have to go… talk to Victor."

The Arabian raises an eyebrow, but Sasha's too innocent to know what's going on. "Okay!" She giggles, and Makarov kisses her forehead before giving Al-Asad a customary 'if you hurt her I'll gut you' look as he leaves.

Makarov stalks through the halls as he searches for Victor, already pissed off again. He doesn't know what he's going to do when he finds him and gets the explanation for his new nickname, but he does know it will involve violence.

"The hell's got you so angry?"

And speak of the devil. Makarov's eye twitches as he stops, turning towards Victor and—as always—looking up slightly. "Would you care to explain to me just what the fuck Fetus Man is supposed to mean?" He asks, his voice surprisingly still calm. For now.

Victor starts laughing, and it takes a few minutes before he can answer. "Dude, you cry so much. You're like a kid, for god's sake; remember when you couldn't find Yuri and you br—"

Before he can finish, he receives a punch in the throat from Makarov. As Victor coughs and chokes, Makarov goes back to see what Sasha and Al-Asad have built with the blocks.

Chapter Text

"You're one of them, now," she whispered softly. "You never have to feel alone again, and they and I will always welcome you and protect you."

Irina holds her adoptive daughter, Amalia, close to her, comforting the girl. Amalia had told Irina what led to their involvement with the Inner Circle, eventually tearing up a little as Amalia explains how she feels like an outcast no matter where she is.

"But how do you know..?"

"Because I was once in your shoes, dear."

It's not going to be a good day. Sasha can tell.

Between Yuri being busy with something, Zakhaev being in a bad mood, and their new intern who's supposed to meet with all three, the girl's father is positively furious. Vladimir's fidgeting in his chair, angrily sighing every now and then. He hasn't said a word, either, so instead of asking him if he's okay, she pulls on his sleeve and hugs him.

When Vladimir picks her up and hugs her tightly, Sasha knows more office supplies are going to be used as weapons today.

Chapter Text

The two had the day to themselves; Sasha was out with Amalia, and Irina offered to handle paperwork and meetings today, not taking no for an answer. It's nice for a break, but Vladimir's a little lost with nothing to do. He's still not used to not having to worry so much all the time, and he feels like he needs to do something.

He's standing in front of the bookshelf, alphabetizing the books to pass the time when Yuri comes up behind him and wraps his arms around him. Vladimir jumps, making a little squeak that embarrasses him and gets a soft laugh out of his husband.

"Don't scare me like that!" He scolds lightly, turning around to kiss Yuri.

Yuri kisses him back, sharing the grin. "Sorry, Volodenka. Are you doing alright?"

"I have to admit I'm a little bored. I don't miss the constant anxiety, but… I have nothing to do today."

"My schedule's free too. But I can think of something we can do together."

Vladimir smiles. "Do tell, Yurochka."

Instead of a verbal response, Yuri takes him by the hand and pulls him into a dance.

Vladimir's pleasantly surprised, a smile still on his face as he wraps his free arm around his lover, resting his head on Yuri's shoulder as they slow dance around the living room. Music isn't needed; only the peaceful and loving ambience the couple is surrounded in. They don't often get the opportunity to dance together and their synced-up day off is the perfect opportunity.

The shorter man moves his head to kiss his husband. "I love you so much," he murmurs.

"I love you too, darling," Yuri responds in the same soft tone, kissing him again as they continue their dance.

Chapter Text

Vladimir already knows he's going to give himself a migraine from gritting his teeth for so long. But he knows if he stops, he's going to break down, and there's no way in hell he can let his intimidating persona slip right now.

He sits in one of the safehouse rooms with Vasily, who's being incredibly patient with him. The blonde had observed his boss and the way Yuri helped him, and is learning what to do in these situations. Vladimir's grateful he's not being pushed to talk.

Vasily looks at him when he lets out a huffy sigh through his nose, and decides to speak. "Sir, would you like to write it down?" He asks. "You can nod or shake your head."

Vladimir nods, and Vasily hands him a marker and a little whiteboard before he continues. "May I ask what's bothering you? It's okay to say no."

"BORODIN", the terrorist's response reads. Vladimir's writing is even messier than usual, a sign he's upset.

The bodyguard nods. "You do not trust him," he says. "I don't really, either. Something seems… off about him."

"BECAUSE HE'S A FUCKING TRAITOR, VASYA. I KNOW HE'S AMERICAN."

All capital letters, each more rushed than the last. Not a good sign.

However, Vasily knows to stay calm and not challenge Vladimir. His eyebrows do raise, though, but in hindsight it does makes sense. "Come to think of it, his accent is very strange. It makes sense that it's fake."

Vladimir nods, making a sarcastic 'no shit' expression at the floor before settling back into the scowl. His hands are starting to shake, and he grits his teeth harder.

Vasily thinks carefully about what he's going to say next. "So, you're worried Borodin is going to betray us, and…" He trails off.

Vladimir hesitates before writing a response, showing the barely legible message to his bodyguard without looking at him: "HEK NOWS TO MUCH HES GOINGTOGE T YURA ANDS ASHA KILLD"

"He won't, sir, I promise—"

Vasily's cut off by Vladimir throwing the board and the marker on the floor and finally turning to him, breathing quicker. "How the fuck do you know?!" Vladimir demands, sounding like he's on the verge of tears. His teeth are chattering.

But the bodyguard still remains calm. "Because I will kill him if he gets too close to either of them," he answers. "Sasha is staying with Daria Sergeyevna right now; she is safe. Yuri Grigorievich can easily overpower Borodin as well. And everyone on this mission is already watching him carefully for if and when he slips up."

Luckily, Vasily's slow reminders do help lessen Vladimir's agitation. The blonde continues: "I will help escort Yuri Grigorievich when the time comes, and I will be keeping an even closer eye on Borodin. No harm will come to neither you nor your family. I promise."

Vladimir's still upset, but he knows Vasily keeps his word. The blonde never makes empty promises, and the two men know that Vasily would slit his throat in an instant if he ever let Vladimir down. It's reassuring.

"So what do we do when the time comes?" Vladimir asks, his voice slightly more stable now. His tone is quiet and cold.

"Well… he is American. You could kill two birds with one stone: at the end of the mission, you could finally kill him. Then you're both rid of him, and if we leave his body at the scene, it can be pinned on him, can't it?"

"You're suggesting a false flag operation," Vladimir says slowly. He mulls it over before nodding. "… It works. Beautifully."

"Especially after all he's put you through," Vasily replies, smiling a little. "He and the west."

The gears in Vladimir's head are starting to turn rapidly. His mind then shifts to a lust for vengeance. Blind rage. Anger kicks in. Yes, this will do. Anything is better than showing weakness at the worst time.

He stands up, a small, sadistic smile on his face as he turns to Vasily. "Get the others," he tells him. "I believe we'll be going to war very soon."

Chapter Text

There's a new intern at the office today. Joseph Allen, he says his name is; he's here to help Shepherd and the other higher-ups. Allen is tall, exactly six feet, with short brown hair and blue eyes. Vera, the receptionist, comments that "he seems nice enough" to the others as they watch the intern head down the hall; she'd recommended he speak to Yuri in HR as well.

As he walks down the hall, he feels a sudden tug on his jacket. Oddly, it feels like a child's hand, and it is: when Allen turns around he sees a little girl staring at him. She has short, platinum blonde hair tied into little pigtails and wears a black overall dress over a collared white shirt. The girl stares at him in silence, her pale blue eyes oddly intimidating.

Who the hell is this kid? Allen wonders, but he asks instead as he gets down to her height: "Hi, sweetie. I'm Joseph Allen. Can you tell me your name?"

She nods. "Sasha." The girl has a Russian accent.

"Nice to meet you, Sasha," the man responds with a little smile. "What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" Sasha shoots back, still with that intense look on her otherwise cute face.

Allen's caught off guard. Usually children aren't like… this. But he tries to remain polite. "I'm starting work here. Did someone bring you here?"

"Papa did. Do you wanna meet Papa, Mr Allen?"

So she is capable of being polite. "Sure."

Sasha grabs his hand and pulls him further down the hall. On the way, Allen spots the HR office; Sasha takes him to the one directly next to it, letting go of Allen's hand and running up to the man working at the desk. He looks down at her, a smile on his face as he picks his daughter up to sit on his lap.

There's a definite resemblance: both are extremely pale with piercing eyes, but her father has black hair and heterochromia. His gentle smile looks incredibly out of place on him, but Allen can't figure out why.

"Papa, someone new is here," Sasha tells him, giggling as she hugs her father.

"Is there?" He chuckles, then looks at Allen. His face changes completely, and the intern thinks that the cold, distrustful glare suits Sasha's father much better. "Who are you?"

The kindest way Allen can describe the other man is 'unkempt'. His short black hair appears slightly greasy, and he has stubble as well as a scar through his right eyebrow. But despite his appearance, he's dressed nicely. He has an accent like his daughter.

"Uh, Joseph Allen," he introduces himself. "I'm a new intern."

"Mhm. For whom, exactly?"

"For Shepherd, mostly. But I'm also supposed to be helping the other managers."

"I see." He keeps staring at Allen, like he's sizing him up. Like a cat looks at a mouse, or perhaps like a cornered animal at its pursuer. Oddly, not at the American's eyes anymore.

Allen just nods, shifting his feet, before he tries to carry on the conversation. "So… What's your name?"

"… Vladimir Makarov." He seems to hesitate before he answers for some reason.

Sasha cuts in, evidently bored with the latest person trying—and failing—to befriend her father. "Papa, can I go play with Anya in Otyets' room?"

Vladimir's face turns soft again. "Of course, Sashenka. Tell him I said hi."

She giggles as she runs off, waving at Allen with a grin. Vladimir's face changes a third time as he shifts in his chair, now looking boredly at the intern. He seems to be daring the taller to speak.

Allen is uncomfortable, and also confused. "Who are Anya and… odd-yets?" He tries to repeat the word.

Vladimir cringes at the way this stupid American butchers his native language. "Anya is my pet snake. She doesn't bite, so don't look so worried," he adds, raising an eyebrow. "And Otyets—" he puts emphasis on the word as he pronounces it correctly "—means 'father' in Russian."

Allen forgets about this weirdo having a snake in the office, because now he's even more confused. "But…" he starts. "I thought you were Sasha's father?"

Vladimir nods, the first calm reaction Allen has gotten from the man. "I am; Yura and I are her parents."

"… Oh." Allen can't help the way he cringes at this new information. Of course there's nothing normal about him, he thinks as he frowns, hoping the other doesn't see it.

Apparently his reaction is visible, because Vladimir's now giving him a death glare. "What?" He demands. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"W-well…" He tries to stay calm; he doesn't know how the Russian will react. "Why doesn't Sasha, y'know, have a mom..?"

"Because she doesn't need a mother," Vladimir hisses. Allen didn't think it was possible for Vladimir to look any more pissed off than he assumed the Russian usually does, but apparently he's full of surprises. "My husband and I do a very good job of raising of our daughter, and if you have a problem with things that do not concern you, then get it out now or shut the fuck up."

Allen's slightly terrified, but he's more disgusted than anything. "B-but that's unnatural!" He protests. "Two men can't raise a family together, it's going to mess her up! Besides, marriage should only be between—what are you doing?"

It's a valid question of the scumbag; Vladimir appeared to completely tune out as soon as he heard the word 'unnatural', and proceeded to calmly open his desk drawer and slowly pull out a stapler, examining it like a gun. He then pushes his chair out a little, carefully pulling the top and bottom of the stapler apart as he stands up. He is short. Much shorter than Allen.

Nothing prepares the intern for what comes next.

Vladimir, quick as a viper, reaches out and grabs Allen's wrist in a vice grip before slamming the other's hand on the desk and… stapling it. Allen screams in pain as the staples stab through his skin.

He gets three in before someone finally intervenes, pulling Allen free and releasing his wrist without directly touching Vladimir for some reason. "Vladimir, enough! I've told you this already!"

"What the hell is your problem, you psycho?!" Allen shouts at Vladimir, who's breathing heavily and looking at Allen with murder in his eyes. The Russian's hands are twitching.

The man who saves Allen is another Russian: Imran Zakhaev, according to his name tag. He's older, and missing an arm; his suit is tailored around that. "Vladimir, HR. Stay in there. You," he says to Allen, "Come with me."

As Zakhaev makes sure Vladimir gets into the HR office and closes the door, Allen holds his bleeding hand to his chest, wincing in pain.

Great first day.

Chapter Text

It's lunchtime in the office. Roach sits in the break room with Soap and Ghost, the three eating and talking about whatever comes to mind as they try to ignore the elephant in the room.

The elephant is actually a certain 5'6" Russian that seems to have several bones to pick with Price, and Soap by association. Luckily for the three across the room, he hasn't acknowledged them at all; Vladimir's sitting in the corner by himself, slowly and quietly eating something and intently staring at something on his phone. Whatever it is, it's got his attention and actually appears to have something of a calming effect on him.

"Okay, I can't stand this anymore," Soap murmurs suddenly to the other two. "What the fuck is he doing?"

Ghost puts his hand over his mouth to hide the snicker that's still muffled by the mask he always wears. "Looks like he's watching something. Does it really matter?"

"It… kinda does to me. What do ye think it is?"

"Probably not porn, given he's eating and in public," Roach jokes, and the other two laugh quietly.

It doesn't get Vladimir's attention at all. Weird.

"And he's got a kid and a husband," Ghost chuckles.

"Neither are with him, though," Soap points it out. "Odd to see him by himself."

Roach is starting to get curious too. "Where do you think they are? Think he's waiting for 'em?"

"And that gives me an idea." Coming from Ghost, the idea is probably not good. "Bug. You ever seen his stapler in person?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Great. Go find out." Ghost pats him on the shoulder as a send-off, and then Roach is on his way.

Hopefully not to my death, he can't help but think.

When Roach stops in front of the table, Vladimir finally acknowledges his existence. He taps the 'pause' button on the video and looks at the other man in silence, his piercing, two-toned eyes daring Roach to speak.

"Uh…" Roach takes a few seconds to get into his customer service mode; the Russian can't be any worse than an unruly caller. "Sorry to bug you. Just noticed Sasha's not around; is she okay?"

"She's fine. She's at school." Vladimir isn't looking him in the eye anymore, but he's still studying Roach.

"Well, that's good." About a minute of awkward silence ensues before Roach asks, "so, what are you watching? It seems… interesting."

Vladimir seems to be in a non-aggressive mood today, but the answer still shocks the other man. "Brain tumour removal."

What the fuck, man.

Roach takes a few seconds to think of a response that won't get him beaten up. He can see a bit of the screen and he really wishes he couldn't. How the hell can you eat while watching that? is what Roach wants to say, but luckily he thinks of a more appropriate response.

"… Wow. I wouldn't be able to watch that," Roach chuckles, trying his damnedest to still be friendly. "Hope the person's okay."

Vladimir just shrugs, because of course. If one wasn't Yuri, related to Vladimir, a friend (if the man had any), or Zakhaev, he didn't care about their wellbeing.

"Alright, well… let me know if they get it out. You have my email, right?" Please for the love of all that is holy do NOT email me.

"Yes."

"Grrrreat. I'll get out of your hair now." Roach can't resist the awkward finger guns.

Vladimir's already back to ignoring him. Thankfully. Roach leaves back to Soap and Ghost and starts putting his lunch away.

Soap starts snickering. "That bad?"

"He's eating borsch and watching surgery videos," Roach reports. "I think I need a vacation."

That effectively silences the other two.

Roach later receives an email informing him the tumour was removed and the patient is fine. He quickly deletes it and tries to forget the encounter.

Chapter Text

It's almost a calming activity. One he can focus on, like sewing or painting. Repeating line after line until most of his inner pain is out.

Vladimir repeats the motion like clockwork, dragging the little blade over his thighs in uneven cuts, feeling the sting and watching the beads of blood rise up. His face is blank as he stares at the lines; almost resembling tally marks. He sees the faded scars from fuck knows how long ago and wonders if he'd reopened any.

Instead of dwelling on it, he slices another line into his skin. The last one for the night, Vladimir decides.

Yuri's going to hate me when he sees.

Or maybe Yuri will understand Vladimir relapsing. The younger man never handled his stress well, anyway, and being apart made it even worse.

Sighing through his nose, Vladimir gently cleans his cuts with a wipe and bandages his thighs before standing up slowly from the floor and heading to bed, almost burying himself in the blankets and shutting his eyes.

Alone once more. How many more nights?

You deserve better than me, Yurochka, Vladimir thinks, but I wish you were here.

Chapter Text

When Yuri gets home, he's still ruminating. That fucking Scottish bastard just couldn't leave him alone, having to shit-talk both Yuri and his relationship under the guise of concern.

Yuri knows it's bullshit. But now that it's over, he should at least… let it go and not bring his stress home, if he can help it.

His dear Volodenka doesn't need that.

But Yuri doesn't get a chance to hide it: as soon as he shuts the door, Vladimir's clinging to him and kissing his cheek with a knowing look of concern.

"What happened, Yurochka?" The shorter asks, lightly tugging Yuri's sleeve to lead him further inside their apartment.

Yuri kisses Vladimir's forehead, pulling his lover into his arms as soon as they reach their bed. "MacTavish happened," he sighs. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't make you hear about it…"

Vladimir silences Yuri with a kiss. "Yes, you should," he replies. Gently but firmly. "You listen to me all the time. But are… are you okay to talk about it?"

The younger man struggled with empathy and comforting people, but Yuri always appreciates Vladimir's efforts. They're always genuine, if a little awkward.

"Thank you, myshka." Yuri returns the kiss, pulling Vladimir closer and playing with his hair. Holding the smaller man often helped him. He then continues, "and… it was the usual. You know how he is; being so fucking two-faced all the time… I don't know how he still finds me."

"I'm sorry, zolottse…" Vladimir kisses Yuri's cheeks, wrapping his arms a little tighter around the older. "I'm here now, it'll be okay. You're safe with me."

The younger is repeating words Yuri often said to him, and Yuri can't help but smile a bit as he hears them. He really is trying for me…

"And anything he says isn't worth listening to," Vladimir continues, "because none of it is true. You deserve much better, Yurochka, and I'd beat him up for you if the occasion presents itself. Maybe even if it doesn't."

Yuri laughs at Vladimir's bluntness, knowing he means every word of what he's saying. Somehow, it always helps.

He kisses Vladimir, hugging the younger man and gently rubbing his back. "I love you so much, Volodenka," Yuri replies in a much happier tone, and Vladimir smiles wide as he hears it.

"I love you too, my Yurochka. I'll always be here for you."

Chapter Text

When Yuri hears the soft click of the door unlocking, he opens it as quickly yet carefully as he can. Vladimir is sitting on the edge of the tub, staring at the bath mat with a hollow look on his face. Several fresh cuts litter his thighs, blood slowly trickling out on his skin. Miraculously, none of it lands on the floor.

Yuri doesn't berate him. He knows that won't help in this situation. Instead, he opens the cupboard and pulls out the first-aid kit and a small container of wipes.

"Give me the blade, Volodenka," the older man gently requests, holding his open hand out to his lover. Vladimir, without looking up, slowly places it in Yuri's hand. His own is shaking.

Placing the blade in the sink to be washed and thrown out later, Yuri then opens the wipes and carefully cleans Vladimir's wounds. The younger doesn't move, just watching Yuri's tattooed hands move across his thighs, then throw the bloodied cloth into the trash.

The older man hears a quiet sniffle as he opens the first-aid kit next. Yuri presses a kiss to Vladimir's forehead and begins slowly wrapping bandages around one thigh, then the other, asking after he's finished if either are too tight.

"Why haven't you left me yet?" is all Vladimir responds with, his voice quiet and shaky.

"Because I love you," Yuri answers in a soft voice, pulling the younger man into his arms, "and because you need me."

Vladimir bursts into tears at Yuri's words, clinging tightly to him and burying his face in the other's neck. Yuri picks him up, then carries him into their bedroom as he soothes his lover, placing both of them in the bed.

The older man pulls the blankets over them, rubbing Vladimir's back as he sobs into Yuri's neck. Vladimir's still trembling, and Yuri hugs him closer.

"Let it out, myshka," Yuri whispers, kissing the top of Vladimir's head and gently stroking his hair. "I'm not going anywhere, don't worry. You're safe with me, my Volodenka."

Vladimir nods, gripping Yuri's sweater a little tighter as he lets himself cry. It helps—especially as his husband so easily comforts him without a second thought.

A few more minutes pass, and the younger man wipes his eyes, resting his head on Yuri's chest. "I'm sorry," Vladimir whispers.

"You don't have to apologize, darling." Yuri's voice is just as quiet, and he keeps rubbing Vladimir's back as he speaks. "I'm glad I could help you… try to sleep now, alright? I'll be right here with you."

Vladimir nods, sniffling quietly and settling further into Yuri's arms. Yuri holds him as close as possible, kissing his forehead and continuing to soothe his husband.

He waits for sleep to finally claim the younger man before Yuri lets himself sleep as well, hoping he can keep protecting Vladimir in both of their dreams.

Chapter Text

"I killed him for you."

Vladimir's eyes are wide and slightly manic, but his tone is completely calm. He's covered in blood, his clothes completely stained, and Yuri thinks he can see some in the younger's hair too. Vladimir grips a machete tightly—only the gods know where he found it—and it's obvious it was used to butcher the Scotsman.

MacTavish's body is… almost unrecognizable, hacked and slashed to shit. Yuri doesn't spare the corpse a second glance. His eyes are immediately on his lover, who's breathing heavily from the exertion of his previous task and staring intently at Yuri.

Yuri knows exactly what Vladimir wants, and he smiles, walking to him. "You did this for me?" He asks, and at his lover's quick nod, Yuri praises him without hesitation. "Good boy, myshka."

Vladimir smiles at the praise. "Now he won't bother you anymore, Yurochka," he giggles, swaying a little. High off the adrenaline, and the fact Yuri's pleased with what he's done.

"Aren't you sweet?" Yuri laughs, kissing Vladimir's forehead and pulling him close, not minding the mess. "Why don't you drop that for now—" he gestures to the younger's weapon "—and then we can get you cleaned up, darling?"

Vladimir drops the machete on the ground in an instant, clinging to Yuri with another giggle. "Do you mind washing my hair, zolottse? It got dirty…"

Maybe the sudden change in Vladimir's demeanor would be alarming to most people, but Yuri is not most people. He knows his lover inside and out—and quite frankly, finds him adorable no matter what.

"I wouldn't mind at all!" Yuri giggles too, picking Vladimir up and carrying him off. "You're so cute, my Volodenka… let's go, now."

Someone else will deal with the mess. Right now, Vladimir and Yuri are the only things that matter to each other.

Chapter Text

"Can I get you anything, my lord?"

Yuri briefly stops stirring the soup, looking at Vladimir with a bemused smile. The younger had been watching him cook, a reverent look on his face, before he got up and tugged Yuri's sleeve to ask the question.

"Your lord?" Yuri can't help but repeat the title. He leans down a bit to kiss Vladimir's forehead before he continues with a grin, "would my favourite worshipper mind slicing the carrot?"

Vladimir returns the grin with a kiss to Yuri's cheek, wiggling a little—something that means the younger is overjoyed, especially to assist his lover. "Of course, Yurochka."

He then washes his hands before taking his place beside Yuri and beginning his task. Vladimir has a little smile on his face as he chops the carrot into small, uniform pieces, making sure it's perfect for the dish. For his god.

And as Vladimir presents his work to Yuri, the older man puts the ingredients into the pot with another loving smile. "Good boy, myshka," Yuri praises in an instant, pulling his husband into a kiss.

With the joy of knowing he'd worshipped his god well, Vladimir clings to Yuri, making a soft and happy sound into their kiss.

Chapter Text

An overfilled cup. A kettle on the stove. A pot boiling over.

One can only keep these urges under control for so long, he supposes. Before the water overflows, the kettle burns the house down, and the boiling pot only exacerbates the problem.

The book flies from Vladimir's hand, hitting the door with a loud sound. A chair is thrown to the ground next, crashing into the floor, the pillow flying somewhere his mind doesn't register. The glass of water is hurled at the wall, shattering and sending the liquid everywhere. Something else thrown, this or that broken. Scared whimpers begin to rise in his throat—

—Before he's screaming. Taking a short breath in, only for the anguished sound to rip from his lungs again. And again. Again and again and again. Footsteps are heard, but Vladimir barely registers them over the sound of his own voice.

He collapses on the floor, rocking himself back and forth, hyperventilating between banshee shrieks. Ilya is beside him now, asking what happened after sending the others who were drawn in by the sounds away. Vladimir screams again.

The doctor doesn't touch him. Vladimir tries to shut himself up, only resulting in broken sobs and pathetic "I don't know"'s to each of Ilya's questions.

So Ilya doesn't ask any more, instead trying to provide gentle reminders. He carefully pulls Vladimir's hands away from scratching at his limbs and his face. Vladimir lets him; the doctor is safe. He allows himself to be hugged and guided into the medical room of the safehouse. He lies down on the bed, sniffling, curled up in a ball, and staring at his fingers.

He wishes Yuri was there.