Chapter Text
Fagin was used to dealing with a wide variety of criminals, and he never particularly cared what would happen with the information he provided as long as he got a cut.
The man standing before him did not look like any of his usual clients. Too well dressed and moving with the confidence of a dangerous man without any of the bravado that always got those types killed in the end.
What he asked of him wasn’t a usual request either.
“You know the apartment owned by Vladimir Sharkovsky near Gorky Park?”
“What about it? You want me to find out when it’s empty?”
“No. Next time someone asks for that address, give them this one instead,” the man handed him a slip of paper, “and contact me when someone asks for it.”
Fagin tried to read the man before him, but his face and body language revealed nothing. Must be some kind of professional, he thought before turning his eyes to the paper. The address on it indicated that it was the same building as Sharkovsky’s, on the same floor. It was possibly even the neighbouring apartment.
“And why would I do that for you?”
His answer came in the form of a large wad of cash dropped in front of him, probably equal if not more of what he would make if he sent anyone to rob the place. He snatched and pocketed the rubles before adding the slip of paper to his notebook. The man knew how to be convincing.
“I’ll be in touch then.” The man nodded and left without making a sound.
Less than a week later, Dimitry and his group of brats came knocking. He was just as surprised as Dimitry when the smallest boy insisted on going to Sharkovsky’s apartment. Fagin grinned, showing all his yellowed teeth as he told the boy the false address. He didn’t care how the man knew this would happen or what his plans were. Once the group had left the apartment, nervous but excited about dipping their toes into proper burglary, Fagin sent a message to the man as requested.
Whatever happened after that wasn’t his problem.
Yassen sat in the dark apartment in silence, one that had once belonged to a wealthy bachelor with a long list of shady friends and an even longer list of substances he loved to abuse. It would be a while before anyone realised he hadn’t disappeared on another one of his benders.
He wondered what it was about Moscow air that made him take leave of his senses. The city seemed determined to exhume every memory he’d long since buried. Was that what had possessed him to go to Fagin or acquire the apartment next to Sharkovsky’s? The place wasn’t as opulent, but that wouldn’t make a difference to the thief who was about to break in.
He itched at the thought of his old tormentor being so close. Just move one apartment over and leave the thief, the one he refused to name, to his burglary.
But he knew he couldn’t do that.
Sharkovsky’s sudden death would draw more attention than he could afford right now. And it was only a matter of time before the thief ran into some other trouble, possibly worse than what Yassen had endured. Destiny had never let him down in that aspect before.
As if on cue, he heard scrabbling right outside the window. He watched the thief wriggle through the window and held back a twitch as he thudded onto the soft carpet. It was like seeing Alex stumbling through the Stormbreaker factory all over again, except this was somehow worse.
The thief didn’t notice the shadow in the living room corner. Instead, he moved towards the kitchen, too overwhelmed by riches and guided by his empty stomach. Yassen had made sure to stock the fridge beforehand. This way, he wouldn’t have to feed him later.
It was a strange experience seeing the little thief that would, no could, become him, someone so small and dirty, with ragged clothes that hung loosely over his scrawny frame. That had been him once . He squashed the thoughts about their similarity before they could get out of hand. No one in their right mind would believe that this tiny street rat would become a world-class assassin, and he wouldn’t if Yassen had anything to say about it.
Perhaps Alex had more of an influence over him than he thought.
There were footsteps in the hallway. Yassen heard them a few seconds before the thief froze mid-chew.
There was the low rumbling of a man’s voice, a woman’s laugh in response and keys rattling in a lock. The thief sighed with relief when it wasn’t their front door that opened. Then, feeling more secure, he scarfed down the rest of the food, not noticing the shadow moving as the fridge door closed, killing the last bit of light in the apartment.
The little thief had barely registered the movement at the edge of his vision when Yassen’s hand clamped down over his mouth, and an arm over his throat cut off his air. He tried to bite the hand but only got a mouthful of leather.
Yassen closed his eyes at the panicked yelps coming from the boy. No one could hear him, and no one would care if they could. The boy’s frantic struggling quickly subsided, and he slumped in his arms. Yassen gently put him on the tile to properly restrain him. While there were other methods to maintain a longer period of unconsciousness, he didn’t have the time or resources for them. He just needed the boy to be out cold just long enough to get him secured in the car, and knowing the boy ( himself, a voice in the back of his mind reminded him), he’d put up too much of a fight if there was even a slight chance he could escape during transport. As he bundled up the boy, a strange feeling settled in his stomach when he lifted him with ease.
A car was waiting for Yassen outside with a grumpy blond spy in the driver’s seat, silently cursing the Russian weather and a certain Russian assassin.
Usually, Alex ignored Yassen’s suspicious comings and goings, knowing that he wouldn’t like how he got the money to support them. But he could hardly complain when Yassen kept them both alive and in relative comfort while they were displaced in time. But that didn’t do anything to the unease he felt whenever Yassen left the confines of their hideout.
However, this once, he had insisted on coming along; Yassen had been on edge for several days before a message arrived.
Alex was regretting his decision now. He was cold, hungry and bored from waiting in the car while they should be back at their apartment figuring out how to get back to their own timeline, preferably with dinner and a hot cup of tea.
Instead, time ticked by slowly as anxiety coiled in his stomach. What the hell was Yassen doing at a fancy apartment complex that took so long?
The only distraction he’d had was some teenagers skulking around the place, eventually approaching him hoping to bum a cigarette. Alex had given them his best Yassen stare, seeing as he didn’t have any and definitely didn’t want to assist them in their quest for lung cancer. It seemed to have scared most of them off, except for the one wearing a leather jacket, who kept lurking near the entrance of the building but just out of sight for anyone coming out.
Then Yassen finally arrived, and Alex was about to launch into a long list of complaints. However, all thoughts ground to a halt as the assassin produced a restrained and unconscious boy to bundle into the backseat.
His first thought was that it might have something to do with how Yassen got his money, ransoming the children of the wealthy. But the boy’s appearance, and smell, quickly dispelled that notion.
“Yassen, what the fuck?”
“Just drive.”
“Are you not going to explain,” Alex vaguely gestured to the homeless child the assassin had just kidnapped and dumped in their car, “well, this?”
“Perhaps, if you drive.”
Alex cursed under his breath but complied anyway. He glanced out the window once more, but Leather Jacket had disappeared.
“Shouldn’t he be in the boot?” he asked. His personal experiences with the assassin and others had led him to believe that one should always put their kidnapping victims in the boot.
Yassen was quiet for a second; an expression flickered over his face too fast for Alex to recognise before it settled back on cold indifference. Somehow the assassin’s eyes never seemed to leave the boy.
“He’s not as troublesome as you.”
“You’re not planning on replacing me, are you?” Alex briefly considered the absurdity of Yassen running into another child spy and deciding that he might as well start collecting them.
“He is also not as chatty.”
Alex was about to open his mouth for a snarky retort when movement caught his attention in the rearview mirror.
Shit, the kid was awake.
He stared at his captors with impossibly large eyes that made Alex’s heart ache. There was the urge to slam the breaks and free the kid, but he stood no chance against Yassen. And while Alex was reasonably sure he wouldn’t hurt him, the boy may not be so lucky. The assassin always had a plan, and none of them ever included charity.
So he drove on and hoped he could protect him from the worst of it.