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It was in between meetings that he could hope to see him. In flashes and glimpses that were so brief, it hurt. His presence, the potential for a reunion, all dangled in front of him only for it to be cruelly snatched back. Leaving him just as hungry, just as mournful. Ice clinked against the glass, and Munkhbat leaned against the cold concrete. He sighs against it, his back sighing with him. Tense muscle and rubbing bone kept him from relaxing.
Yao rarely brought any of his territories along on his diplomatic travels. After centuries of living under him, he knew the man's habits. So when he did, it was to send a message of sorts. To prove something, he knew it had been nearly a decade since Munkhbat last saw him. So Munkhbat had placed some kind of internal bet, that Yao was going to bring him along for the 22nd Soviet congress. For the sole purpose of causing Munkhbat sorrow. So close, but it might as be miles apart.
Tshering.
Tshering, soft-spoken but with a deep, rich voice. Like the thick froth in his butter tea, at that moment Munkhbat can picture him. Bent over churning tea, hair shorn close to his scalp, those warm brown eyes lit up by the dying remains of a retreating sun. Flushed cheeks a fiery red adorning those lovely peaked cheekbones. Tshering, forlorn with a steady gaze and a soft smile. Munkhbat often felt that he thought too much, for there was always a melancholic atmosphere with him. At times he could be silent and withdrawn. He would look out at the rolling grasslands of the steppe in thought for hours at a time. Sometimes engrossed for so long Munkhbat would find him chilled, ears flushed and fingers stiff before dragging him back inside to be wrapped in his fur blankets. Tshering, with his steady arms that could hover in place for hours. Delivering deposits of sand where they needed to go. Laboring on a mandala only to wipe it all away in the end. He could admit that at first, he didn’t understand the man, but his affection for him came slowly and silently until all at once it seized his heart. He drives his heart around like a stock hand and Munkhbat is helpless to comply. The most selfless man he knows.
A man who at first glance seemed to have an easy disposition, but Munkhbat knew and that knowledge alone made him go mad. He knew how turbulent his mind must be now and yet he was powerless to console him. Munkbat so desperately wished to be at his side that it made him gnash his teeth in hopeless frustration. So there he stood, in a room thick with tension as the attendees began filing out of the meeting room and into the massive hall he stood in. He could spot Albania sticking to the far end avoiding Russia as the plague and Cuba tagged with his people near the front. Munkhbat began swishing the liquor in his cup, trying his best to discreetly swivel his head around like an owl on the lookout for a certain man. It took him pestering Russia without a moment's rest for months to even get here, pestering should be considered a form of hunting. It was an art and he was a master at it, it takes skill to be annoying in a resourceful manner. He reminds himself to bother Enkhbatyn about that later.
The Congress had ended, and with the number of men pouring out of its doors, Munkhbat was afraid he’d missed him. Right then he felt a massive hand glomp on his shoulder, and for a moment a series of very violent actions flashed out in front of him before ultimately concluding in a simple twitch of his muscles. Latent instincts die hard, and Munkhbat was very proud of himself for not smashing his glass cup at the stranger behind him because it turned out to be Ivan. He could almost hear Tshering's voice scolding him for very nearly making a massive mistake. Ivan smiled, or attempted to, and pulled Munkhbat in close. Pine along with the faint smell of alcohol invaded his nose, at least he didn’t smell hammered yet. That was a good sign.
“Comrade, you’ve been turning your head around like a cat. What is it you’re looking for?”
Munkhbat tenses slightly, but enough to know Ivan can feel it, but he is no coward. “Never smile with all your teeth like that, you look constipated.”
He smiles wider and his gloved hand moves up closer to his neck, rubbing his thumb gently along his jugular. This is when Munkhbat knows something is up. He’s often been told he lacks survival instinct, but he disagrees. Munkhbat is a hunter before all, his whole life has felt like the taunt pull of a bowstring. It’s just that sometimes he forgets the feeling of being hunted. Nothing good comes from a beaming smile like that from Ivan of all people, but the boy forgets he does not fear him.
Ivan bends his head just slightly, just enough that Munkhbat can feel his heated breath on his neck. “Perhaps you are looking for someone, hm? I was wondering, this insistence to come to congress, asking me to tell China to bring a gift for you, and now swiveling your head like a clock. Tell me the truth comrade, who is it you seek?”
Now Munkhbat is no Yao, he cannot bare his teeth and balance shifting alliances. Speaking in innuendos and flowery words that conceal very real threats all with a calm face. Like the calm surface of a frozen lake concealing thrashing fish underneath. Munkhbat has always been honest, mostly because it’s a hell of a lot easier, but also because he finds he does not like the court-hardened version of himself, with the tongue of a snake. He hated court life and fled back to the familiarity of the steppe the moment he had the chance. He knows this is a stupid tactic, but he doesn't care and he knows Ivan. He recognizes he’s rusty, and that combined with desperation has led him to foolishly act like a rabbit tonight. Leaving a trail of suspicious behavior around him. However Ivan is nothing like Yao, this he is certain of.
“I’m looking for Tibet, that bastard has him under lock and key and I know if he knew I was coming he’d bring him along. Probably to taunt me or something. You got a cigarette?”
Ivan blinks, and his villainous ministrations along his neck have paused. Munkhbat takes this as an opportunity to sneak a look back toward the crowd. Green, green, green, and there he is. His hair is much shorter; something Munkhbat was still getting used to. His head is violently yanked before he can get a glimpse of Yao’s entourage. Now he’s faced to face with Ivan’s pale skin and light eyes, not the sight he wanted to see tonight. Ivan peers into Munkbats eyes unblinking and unwavering so he stares back. Gaze taunt and steady. The two of them locked in a staring match. Munkhbat almost feels a little proud. The silent, pale-skinned Rus kid has grown into a world power of his own. He remembers the state he was in when he first met the boy, a tiny little thing shivering despite the fur cap and coat he wore. Shaking in fear and stiff with terror. Though his eyes betrayed latent determination, destined to be a survivor. Ivan suddenly pulls back and laughs. It’s clear and a little raspy and Munkhbat is pretty sure multiple surrounding attendees have turned to look.
“I’ve always liked you Munkhbat, you are an honest man. No games with you.” His smile is much more relaxed now. Munkhbat files that away as useful information, and in turn relaxes his grip on his cup.
“When you don’t have a stick up your ass; you have a nice smile.”
“Comrade there are limits.”
“Yeah yeah and you too, now did you see him?”
Ivan tilts his head comically in mock recall and if Munkhbat hadn’t been so sick with grief and longing he would've slapped him tight across the face for doing that, but then his boss would rage at him about it later. Then he’d be forced on the first flight back to Moscow for “reconciliation”. Once he starts tapping his chin though, Munkhbat is starting to seriously consider doing just that until he points.
Munkhbat follows his finger.
And follows…
Follows until it points across the room. To Yao in a civil conversation with a representative, to the single shadow tightly following behind him. Its ear-length dark hair and blank eyes have him doing a double take and his hurt sinks. Munkkbats hands turn cold as he takes Tsherings condition in, his hands limp at his sides and as he nears closer he can see they tremble just slightly. When he started jutting across the room he does not remember but he’s moving now, close enough to really take him in. His cheeks have lost their color, and his face is bloodless. The only color adorning him now is a vicious shade of purple peeking out from just right under his collar. Munkhbats heart sinks and his chest seizes. Overcome with the overwhelming feeling of helplessness, something he hates so much. For once, Munkhbant feels he is at the other end of a drawn bowstring. Watching but unable to escape his fate. Tshering’s eyes are anchored toward the floor and he doesn’t even look up when Munkhbat calls out to him. But he can tell he knows he’s there because he freezes up. Yao snaps out of his conversation to look Munkhbat up and down. There’s a haughty look in his eyes before it falls away to a diplomatic shell and this flares Munkhbats anger up.
He starts speaking but Munkhbat’s ears are buzzing and his eyes can only memorize that blooming bruise. Behind him he can feel Ivan planting his hand on his shoulder again, maybe to guide him back to reality, but Munkhbat is too far gone. He watches Tshering wring his uniform in between his hands and Munkhbat can only beg Buddha for him to look up just once. To grace him with those eyes. He could fall away and die right there and then after, but one glance. Just as he means to reach out to this apparition, right when he was about to confirm him real, Yao steps between his line of sight. He turns to him and his eyes shine with mirth but display mock pity to all.
“Mongolia, what is wrong you look sick. Has Russia been neglecting you? I have the tea you wanted, it’s Pu’er straight from Yunnan. Oh, you’ll love it, and she misses you. They all do, and so does your brother! You must come over to visit.”
He rattles on and Munkhbat is so furious, shaking in anger so violently that even his toes buzz and his hands fly faster than his mind can keep up. One moment Yao is speaking and the next his face is snapped to the left and peeking from out behind him is the sight of Tshering, eyes brimming with tears.
It dissolves very quickly from there, and Munkhbat makes sure it’s messy. He is a hunter first yes, but a wrestler second and he knows Yao isn’t going to fight back. Ivan will take a few seconds to enjoy the shit show before he intervenes. In the eyes of many nations, Mongolia is a name that only brings up memories of terror and conquest. Fiery mounds of rotting flesh, the bodies of thousands stack on walls made of teeth and bone. Tonight they get to see the performance of a lifetime. By the time security personnel finally build the courage to drag him away, the whole hall is in disarray. Yao recovers quickly and is upright immediately, even in his current state he heals quickly. Munkhbat notes that for later confrontations.
In the end, he is tight-lipped as he’s escorted from the hall. Yao’s laughs follow alongside him, an unwelcome companion in his head. He‘s not stupid and knows Yao is a competent fighter; he wanted this. To drop the bait and watch him jump towards it in anger, but Munkhbat is not naive to this. He knows Ivan allowed this, they're falling out in real time after all. Two security personnel grip his arms tightly, still Munkhbat looks back. Ivan is looking Yao over in a sympathetic gesture and Yao is playing the unshaken but thankful recipient but behind their charade. Too engulfed to notice; Tshering looks up, and Munkbats stomach leaps happily. In between his hands is a crumpled piece of paper and it disappears in between folds of stiff fabric. He takes his face in, and it’s as lovely as the day he first saw it all those centuries ago. He drinks it in, and Tshering delivers to him what he’s been longing for years. His soft smile, and Munkhbat grins back stupidly in return.
Satisfied with the fact that they’ll now have future correspondence, Munkhbat feels something bubbling in his chest, moving up his throat a mystery, only to reveal itself as gleeful laughter after escaping into the air. He throws his head back and laughs freely and it booms off the walls only to float in the air in bliss. Let them lie to themselves, plot and plan, bare masks to each other. He can play the role they wish for him to be for eternity if it means reunion. For Tshering, he’d be a fool forever. For him, anything.