Chapter Text
When Nikolai woke the next morning, the first thing his mind registered was an oddly familiar floral scent, followed by the soft breathing of someone beside him. His eyes still closed, he found his half-asleep self smiling as he pressed closer to its source. Warmth immediately spread throughout his skin. He had always been an early-riser, but sleeping in didn’t sound too bad now that he was feeling more comfortable than ever.
It took him a few precious moments to fully wake up.
His eyes snapped open.
Another moment passed as his brain tried to reboot and make sense of the unfamiliar surroundings. Then the details started to rush back in. New job. World catastrophe. Paris. Hotel room.
Nikolai blinked. Oh .
He tried to rub his eyes, but there was something weighing down his left arm. The scent of wildflowers registered in his mind before he noticed the mess of ebony hair that tickled his cheek when he turned to the side.
The gears of his mind spun again. Zoya Nazyalensky. Deadly Russian spy. In his bed.
Your wife, apparently, his mind supplied unhelpfully.
Oh.
All saints, she was going to murder him as soon as she woke up. What had happened to the line of pillows she had put between them?
He glanced at her sleeping form again. A brief intrusive thought flitted through his mind. He could kill her now, slit her throat with the knife under her pillow without her waking up. There wouldn’t be any struggle. And it would make his life significantly easier. But then he caught a glimpse of her face, her eyebrows still slightly furrowed even in sleep, her lips slightly parted as she drew in soft breaths.
For the first time, Zoya looked at ease. A nagging sense of wrong plagued him.
What’s wrong, Lantsov? She wouldn’t hesitate if she were in your place, a voice in his mind asked, and he stubbornly shoved it away.
What an inconvenient time to develop morals.
Nikolai tried his best to detangle himself from her. Waking her up was the last thing he wanted to do, not when he was still this close to her. He swore under his breath as he moved too quickly and she shifted, muttering a curse sleepily before her eyes fluttered open. Brilliant blue eyes stared up at him.
Nikolai suddenly couldn’t remember how to breathe.
Zoya recoiled, her guarded look reappearing as the last hints of sleep disappeared from her face. He tried not to wince at her reaction.
“Morning,” he greeted, his tone wary. Color rose in her cheeks. Perhaps he’d gone too far this time. He did her a favor and moved to the far edge of the bed. “I can sleep on the couch starting tonight if you want,” he offered. “I didn’t mean—”
“Do what you want,” she said dismissively. She threw the covers off and stood up. There was a stunted rush to her movements as if she was trying to get as far away as she could from him as quickly as possible. “I’ll go get us some breakfast.” Then she was bolting out of the room, only stopping to throw on a coat over her nightgown.
Nikolai watched her figure disappear through the doorway as he sat on the edge of the bed. Guilt clawed at his chest. As much as he liked teasing Zoya, he didn’t want her to think he was taking advantage of her. He’d never do that to her. Or at least he’d never take advantage of her a second time. Maybe he should have just slept on the couch instead of insisting they share the bed. She’d agreed to the idea so quickly, after all.
But still, he didn’t think he was imagining that what had once been between them was still there, no matter how faint. He’d caught her staring at him more times than he could count, and she only looked like she was plotting how to best dispose of his body half those times. And that was still nothing compared to the way he’d catch himself staring sometimes when the light caught her hair a certain way, or when her lips pursed in concentration.
It didn’t make any sense.
He sighed and shook his head. Why was he even wasting his time on this? They didn’t owe each other anything. He had more important things to worry about.
The ringing of bells outside snapped Nikolai out of his thoughts. He looked up at the clock on the wall and sighed again. They should have woken up earlier.
He reached for the glasses he’d left on the nightstand, but swore as he only succeeded in knocking them to the carpet. Maybe he wasn’t as awake as he thought he was.
“Great work, Lantsov,” he muttered as got onto his knees to fish out the glasses from under the nightstand. But just as his fingers closed around the wireframes, his eyes caught on a small black square stuck to the foot of the table. A bug that hadn’t been there the night before.
He removed the device and examined it closely. It was much more subtle than the ones he had planted last night, and if he were anyone else, he wouldn’t have recognized it at first glance.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Nikolai remarked to no one in particular. “Not bad, comrade.” He tucked the bug into his pocket as he swept around the room.
In the next ten minutes, he was able to uncover what was hopefully the rest of the bugs around their suite. Most of them were stuck in his belongings, with several tucked behind his ties. She made a good effort, he’d give her that. He flopped onto the couch and studied the bug he’d pulled out of the heel of his shoe.
KGB’s best agent, indeed.
The door opened after a moment, revealing Zoya carrying a tray of pastries and a pot of hot coffee. Nikolai could have kissed her right there, but then he remembered the bugs in his hand. Perhaps another time.
He gave her his most charming smile, the one that always made her bristle. “How was your little trip, darling?” he asked.
Zoya didn’t deign him with an answer and brushed past him. He followed her out to the balcony, lured by the promise of food and another opportunity to needle her.
The morning breeze of Paris blew gently as Nikolai stepped outside. He felt freer than he had in years as his gaze wandered past the orderly buildings and the people bustling in the streets.
But the real cherry on top was the sight of the scowl on his wife’s face. He watched her as she set down the tray on the table, then took a seat across from her. She was about to sit as well when he clicked his tongue. She raised an eyebrow.
Nikolai grinned cheekily. “These” —he tossed a bug at her, which she caught with ease— “are” —he tossed another— “Russian made.” The last few were tossed to her all at once and the ones she couldn’t catch skittered across the balcony floor.
Zoya stared at her hand with casual ease, as if she had already been expecting that. She looked up at him after a moment. There was a challenging look in her eyes that made him uneasy. “Give me a second, cowboy.”
She disappeared through the balcony doors, and Nikolai turned to their tray of breakfast with a sigh. He reached for the pot and poured himself some coffee. Maybe she was planting more bugs and the thought made him laugh. She could play spy all she wanted, but he’d still find them in no time.
He wasn't Juris’ best agent for nothing.
But when she came back a minute later just as he started sipping on his coffee, he didn’t even notice that she had thrown something at him until it hit him on the forehead.
Nikolai almost dropped his mug as he choked on his coffee.
“These” —Zoya threw another bug at him and he barely caught it with his hand— “are” —she tossed him another— “American made.” She tossed the remaining devices on the ground, letting them scatter near his feet. There was a look of pity in her eyes. “And very outdated.”
“They are most certainly not—”
“—new. I know, cowboy. No need to state the obvious,” said Zoya with a smirk as she sat down on the seat across from him. She reached for the pot of coffee and poured some into her own mug. “They were quite easy to find, by the way.”
Nikolai couldn’t find it in him to be too upset. Their banter felt natural, easy even, like they had known each other for years. On this balcony in Paris, it was almost too easy for him to believe that they were more than temporary, grudging allies. It was during times like these he let himself wonder.
What would they be in another world?
He sipped his coffee and tried his hardest to not glance over at Zoya who was lounging in her chair, her eyes closed in a rare moment of bliss. He stared pointedly at the contents of his mug.
She was barely an ally.
And she clearly wasn’t his friend.
It would be foolish to forget that.
Nikolai examined himself critically in the mirror, turning this way and that to make sure not a thread was out of place. Today was the first time they would meet their targets at a party celebrating a company anniversary of theirs. A good first impression was everything when it came to establishing a cover.
He fussed with his suit jacket again, trying to get the lapels to lie just right. This suit had been custom made for him for a rather obscene amount of money, but then again, it wasn’t like it had been his money. Juris was always telling him off for his expensive taste, but hey, Nikolai got the job done, didn’t he? The old man had no reason to complain.
Nikolai was considering changing into a different jacket when the door to the bathroom finally opened. “Zoya darling,” he drawled as he decided to leave the jacket be, “Does it really take an hour…”
His question died in his throat as he turned around. Zoya wore a sleeveless white dress that left the smooth skin of her shoulders exposed. She’d left her hair down as usual and it cascaded past her shoulders in loose curls. Diamonds sparkled at her ears and throat. The Romanov ring sat snugly on her finger.
Nikolai had always been aware Zoya was a beautiful woman. Hell, she’d caught his eye in Berlin long before he’d known she was a target. But he was now very, very conscious of what a horrible idea this cover story was.
Zoya played with the ring on her finger. “Passable?”
“You look…fine,” Nikolai managed. He cleared his throat and straightened his lapels again.
“So do you.” Zoya paused, a smirk twisting her lips. “Your tie is crooked.”
Nikolai scowled and yanked it straight. “Let’s go.”
Letting Zoya drive had been a mistake. Nikolai’s stomach was still somewhere in his throat as he stumbled out of the car and opened Zoya’s door for her. She looked like she was holding in a laugh as she took his offered hand and tossed the keys of their agency-provided car to the valet. Saints, he wished they’d been stingy like they usually were and provided them with a junkier car.
“Shall we?” she asked as she threaded her arm through his. Nikolai would have liked to say he hated her proximity, but he realized it was something he had missed. She fit perfectly into his side, the warmth of her bare arm permeating through his suit jacket and silk shirt. He pulled her a little closer. Then he felt a telltale pressure at his side and sighed. Zoya obviously wasn’t as affected by their proximity like he was. He closed his hand around her fingers dipping into his jacket pocket.
“Can’t steal from a thief, Nazyalensky.” He pulled out his wallet and moved it into his breast pocket. Really, he ought to thank her. Having his wallet in the outer pocket was probably ruining the lines of his suit.
Zoya huffed and pulled away a few inches. “I’ll get it one of these days,” she threatened.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling.” He gave her his best encouraging smile. She scowled. Nikolai elected to ignore the unspoken threats in her eyes as he slipped on his sunglasses and surveyed the building before him.
The party they were hosting was being hosted in a restored chateau, three floors of white stone and large windows. Flowering vines climbed up trellises attached to the front of the house, and Nikolai marked them as a possible method of entry if necessary. Several acres of manicured gardens still stood between them and the entrance where people were streaming in and out. The smell of freshly cut grass tickled Nikolai’s nose and made him want to sneeze. A quick escape was out of the question if things went south.
Nikolai glanced over at Zoya as they set off on a gravel path that led to the main entrance. No doubt she had assessed the environment in the same way he had, and he wondered if she had noticed anything he might have missed. Not that that was likely, of course. He poked her in the side with his elbow and she retaliated by stepping on his toes and leaving a smear of dirt on his freshly shined shoes. He summoned what little self control he had to not retaliate further lest this escalate into a childish fight. But he would be lying if he said he wasn’t sorely tempted to do just that.
A uniformed man took their coats at the door and they're ushered into an open pavilion in the back of the house, all vaulting steel arches and marble columns. Bright sunlight filtered through colored glass panels suspended from the arches and cast the partygoers in hues of multicolored light. Old photographs depicting the Bouchers’ various businesses throughout the years were displayed on tables scattered across the venue. Nikolai snagged a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and took a big gulp. At least the Bouchers had good taste in alcohol.
Zoya’s grip on his arm tightened. “There,” she said tersely, her gaze directed at the center of the pavilion. There was a cluster of people concentrated there, all clearly trying to get into the good graces of the woman basking in the attention.
Camille Boucher was beautiful in the way a frozen lake was before it pulled you under and stole the air from your lungs. Her cornsilk hair was pulled back into an elaborate updo and exposed the diamonds dangling from her ears. She wore a pale green silk dress that draped elegantly over her shoulder, the skirt swaying gently in the breeze. Even though there was a whole room of people between them, she seemed to sense Nikolai’s gaze. Her blue eyes stared into his, the corner of her mouth lifted into either a smile or a smirk. Nikolai felt like a fly stuck in a spider’s web.
“Remember the plan?” Zoya muttered as she pulled them forward into the crowd. Somewhere between the car and here, she’d lost her Russian accent and replaced it with a rather convincing American one.
“Of course I remember the plan,” Nikolai insisted, hoping he sounded more confident than he actually was. “Do you?”
“I remember it better than you.”
Their childish bickering drew some strange looks, but Nikolai was feeling better by the time they separated. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zoya make her way to the front of the cluster of admirers with some well placed elbows. She introduced herself to Camille, a bright smile on her face. He’d never seen her smile like that when she was with him, and even when he knew it was all an act for the sake of their targets, he couldn’t stop his gaze from lingering on the way her face lit up with warmth. After another few moments, it was clear she was doing fine with her half of their scheme and Nikolai forced himself to look away. He had his own tasks.
Unlike his wife, Louis Boucher did not prefer being in the center of attention. Nikolai found him smoking a cigarette by a tower of champagne glasses in a smart white suit that was practically begging for someone to spill a glass of wine on it. Every so often, his eyes swept the room and met the gaze of the guards stationed by the door. Paranoid? Or smart?
Either way, it was Nikolai’s job to make himself known. He straightened his cuffs and put on his most charming smile.
A bummed cigarette and three flutes of champagne later, Louis was introduced to Nick Carter, an American businessman who may or may not secretly be an arms dealer. Nikolai made sure to laugh loudly at the man’s jokes, all the while counting down the minutes until he could leave this party once and for all. Louis wasn’t a particularly unpleasant man to be around; he was intelligent and handsome, and even if he was a target, Nikolai could admire the tailoring of his suit. But like his wife, there was something lurking beneath the surface that put Nikolai on edge.
“Is that your wife?” Louis asked, gesturing at Zoya with a half-empty glass of champagne. “She’s beautiful. How on earth did you get her to agree to marry you?”
Nikolai laughed, ignoring a small stab of irritation. “A great deal of begging and a very pricey ring.”
Louis took another long, assessing glance at Zoya. Nikolai’s grip on his flute of champagne tightened until he could feel the delicate stem threatening to crack. Relax , he told himself. Stay in the act .
“She has expensive taste,” Louis finally said. “How do you manage?”
“War is a profitable business, my friend. You know how it is.”
There was a gleam of interest in Louis’ eyes that he quickly concealed again. But that was all Nikolai needed to know his job was done.
“I do. Say, how about you and your wife join us for something later? If you’re only in Paris for a short time, then it would only be proper as a good host to ensure both of you have a good time.”
“That sounds lovely,” Nikolai lied. “Zoe will be delighted.”
“Wonderful. Your wife—”
A waiter brushed up behind Nikolai and he pretended to stumble forward, emptying his glass onto Louis’ suit. His initial hypothesis had been correct; he felt much better once he had ruined the suit. He summoned his most apologetic expression and called several waiters over to assist him before quickly excusing himself.
Even in the crowded pavilion, Zoya stood out as if a spotlight had been placed on her. She was still with Camille, the two of them laughing over something Nikolai had missed on his way over to her. Honestly, he felt relieved just having her at his side again. As an ally, of course. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and to her credit, she only stiffened for the briefest of seconds before relaxing.
“Time to go, darling,” he said into her ear as he slid an arm around her waist. Zoya cut him a look that would have sent lesser men running.
“It’s only been an hour.”
Camille wasn’t looking at them, but she was clearly listening in. Nikolai leaned in closer, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear.
“Best to keep them intrigued.”
Zoya relented at last and both of them bid Camille a farewell.
But from the poisonous smile on Camille’s face, Nikolai doubted it’d be the last they saw of her.
It was late afternoon by the time they’d managed to untangle themselves from the whole affair and set out on the road again, this time with Nikolai behind the wheel. His fingers flexed on the steering wheel as he made another hairpin turn at a very reasonable speed.
“You should let me drive,” Zoya scoffed. “At this speed, we’ll never get back to the hotel.”
“I’d prefer not to die today, thank you.”
Zoya snorted and turned to look out the window. She’d shed the American accent, Nikolai realized. Did she not feel the need to pretend around him? He snuck another glance at her and admired the way the sun made her skin glow. Then he jerked his head forward. KGB spy , he reminded himself. Very scary. Wants to kill you .
“I think Camille likes me,” Zoya announced, oblivious to his inner conflict. “She told me about a few properties and companies they own in the vicinity that could be fronts. We should investigate them when we have the chance.”
Louis had pretty much confirmed what Zoya had heard, mentioning a winery and shipping port in his conversation with Nikolai. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Agreed. If you have any favors to call in, now would be a good time. Or we could be searching for weeks without even knowing what we’re looking for.”
Zoya nodded. “I still have some contacts. You?”
“Of course, comrade. More than you, probably.”
“Don’t be a brat.”
“You’re a brat.”
The quiet of the French countryside was soon broken with the sound of their bickering, with Zoya switching to Russian and Nikolai switching to French after they ran out of insults in their common language. Nikolai felt lighter than he had in weeks, even as Zoya very creatively cursed the last seven generations of his family. It was a good thing he wasn’t particularly attached to them.
“Do you even know where you’re going?” Zoya snarled after he made a jab about how Elizaveta resembled a ghost.
“Absolutely not, no,” he admitted. He’d been too busy trying to keep his breakfast in his stomach to pay attention to the route she’d taken to get to the chateau this morning. But the landscape was nice, and the company tolerable, so he didn’t see any problems with taking a scenic route. What a shame Zoya felt differently.
She wrestled a map out of the glove compartment and stared at it, brows furrowed. Nikolai laughed.
“It’s in French, isn’t it?”
“It’s in French,” she confirmed sullenly. “You read the map and I drive.”
“Not a chance in hell.”
After the sun dipped below the horizon and they’ve finally turned onto the road that would take them back to Paris, Nikolai voiced the thought that had been brewing in the back of his mind. He kept his gaze trained on the road ahead.
“Louis was…interested in you. If you can get closer to him, you can have a chance at more information further down the line.”
“Alright.”
Zoya agreed much too quickly for his liking. He glanced over at her. At some point, she’d stolen his suit jacket for warmth and the oversized sleeves almost covered her hands. He tried not to think about how he liked seeing her in his clothes.
“You sure you’re up for this, comrade?”
“Don’t get soft on me now.”
Nikolai laughed at that, and the corners of Zoya’s mouth tugged upwards.