Chapter Text
“You've got to be fucking kidding me!”
Alexsandr’s voice seemed to resound throughout the entire base, at least from where Maxim was sitting. He couldn't say he didn't expect it, but he wasn't thrilled that he'd put himself in this situation.
“Nothing's for certain, it's just what I've noticed. I haven't had the time to properly talk to him yet, and it seems neither has Timur.”
“Then you make time. As I am, now.” Alexsandr was on his feet in a flash, leaving Maxim to scramble behind him while trying to shoot a text to Timur.
Timur didn't need the heads up, he'd heard his footsteps the moment he walked out into the hall. He shoved a few things into his pockets and peeked out the door, jogging to the two when he'd spotted them.
“Alexsandr, as I-”
“Why are you trying to specify- do you think I am mad? I am not mad, not yet. We will go clear this up.” He said.
The two followed behind the larger man like anxious children, passing each other concerned glances. While they also wanted answers, more turmoil was best to be avoided, but maybe that was too naïve. Realistically, at any time, discussing it later could be removed from the options on the table.
Alexsandr didn't need to look for Shuhrat, nor knock on his door, walking straight into an expectant stare.
“What are you being loud for, Senaviev?”
He cut straight to the chase, as any of these four frequently did with each other, “Your discussion with Kali, when you trained with them. Tell me about that.”
Internally, Shuhrat groaned. Who'd seen that? After this much time, explaining was sure to be even more of a pain in the ass, the light shining on him was putrid.
“You mean on the field, when she asked why I didn't shoot. I informed her Aruni was in my line of fire, she told me that's an acceptable risk during training with Nighthaven. I told her that was refreshing.”
Maxim held his breath, and Timur massaged his eye with his knuckles. Alexsandr didn't look greatly happy either, and Shuhrat got up to close the door. Nothing had to be said to get across how they were feeling, and nothing was as he sat back down in his chair.
Looking between the three of them, his eyes softened, “You think that of me? That I'm that type of person? Truly?”
“Then what, you were playing her?” Timur’s word choice contrasted his tone, which only begged for the truth. No malice, no disbelief, though maybe a bit of exhaustion.
“I brought a shield and my GSh on that training mission. I was in the back, they had rushed ahead of me. My hesitation was spent observing in bewilderment. A sniper on the front lines, a woman with access to a DMR but instead wielding a pistol between us. I wanted to know more, so I twisted my opinion. In exchange, she showed me her mindset, newest tech, and motivations; isn't that a heavy tradeoff, especially for someone like her? That- if she hadn't just mentioned it herself- would have been enough to let me intelligently assume what she intends to do.”
Timur pressed his thumb into the corner of his eye, sighing and dragging it down, against his nose, “I wish we’d spoken sooner.”
“My door is never locked.”
“I'm sorry for my aggression,” Alexsandr gripped Shuhrat’s shoulder, biting back the rest of his sentence. An excuse would null the apology.
“I understand, don't worry.” He placed his hand atop the other mans’, “I would've been offended if you’d left it out.”
He gave Alexsandr a small nod as they broke contact. The man was loud because he was passionate- a perfect embodiment of the color red, Timur had told him. His rage was fueled by love, and his warmth was converted from leftover aggression.
“Come on,” Maxim was quiet, having to look to the ceiling as he blinked, “You're gonna make the old man cry.”