Work Text:
❝ why is it easier to burn
than it is to heal? ❞
-
THE MAN KNEW he had fucked up the second he opened the door. "Mr. Fowler, I am presuming?" the blond man at the door asked, looking almost bored.
"Uh, can I help you?" Fowler replied nervously, feigning ignorance. Sweat dripped down his face. It was hot that day, so he hoped he hadn't given himself away before he'd begun.
He had.
"Right. You know who I am and why I am here. Let us make things easy, yes? I would hate to have to make my friend here make things difficult." He gestured vaguely to the man behind him who looked decidedly less than friendly.
"Listen Mr. Plisetsky-" Fowler started, "I'm not quite sure why-"
Plisetsky sighed. "He is going to be difficult. Grab him, Beka." The silent man behind him moved before Fowler could even think about running.
+++
A splash of cold water woke Fowler with a start. He gasped and tried to glance around, realizing in seconds he'd been blindfolded-- a safety precaution, no doubt, in case he woke before they arrived at their destination. Judging by the throbbing in the back of his skull where "Beka" had basically tried to brain him again the door of his own house, there was no chance he was going to wake up before precisely when they meant him to, but you could never be too careful with these types of people.
"Now that you have had time to, uh, think about things," the man's voice said from right behind his head. "Why don't we try again? What exactly were you doing two days ago? Think hard, yes?"
"I was at work, I swear. Nothing else. I was at work, then I went home," Fowler said, whipping his head around to try and locate where the man was.
"Nothing else? No little detours when you went home? No little stops? To ... police, per say?" the thickly accented voice murmured quietly.
"What? No! Of course not!" Fowler was sure he'd soaked through his shirt by now. The room felt like it was a thousand degrees and the fact that he still couldn't see anything made everything so many times worse.
"Neh? Now that's funny because I have two people coming to me saying 'Yuri, why was that Fowler guy talking with the police yesterday?' So possibly explain to me why you are going to police? You have friend maybe? Gonna have a little chat, go out to eat?"
Fowler didn't say anything, gnawing at his lower lip.
Plisetsky sighed. "Why do they never make things easy? I mean, I was going to let him keep his fingers and everything if he confessed. Maybe."
Fowler let out a tiny noise of fear. The blindfold was ripped off his eyes and Fowler blinked against the sudden light. Plisetsky was standing against the wall, arms crossed. He looked displeased. He sighed and flipped his long, blond ponytail over his shoulder. He reached out a hand. "Beka, can you get me my tools. He is clearly not going to talk without encouragement."
"Wait, what?" Fowler squeaked.
"Whatever you want, Yura," Beka said quietly, the man moving like a shadow from Plisetsky's side. His hand was barely on the doorknob when it was flung open. Beka moved backward as a silver-haired man almost waltzed into the room followed by a shorter, dark-haired man with thick glasses.
"Boss," Plisetsky said, pushing off the wall and giving a short, slight bow. "Why are you here?"
The silver-haired man turned and smiled. "Yu~ri~o! We came to see how you were doing." He turned to Fowler. His bright blue eyes narrowed slightly and his sweet, heart-shaped smile took on a slightly malicious twist. "And who would this be?"
"He is leak," Plisetsky said with a wave of his slender hand. "I was just about to make him confess. Or scream. Whichever came first, really."
"Leak, you say?" the man said. Fowler registered somewhere in the part of his brain that wasn't utterly frozen with fear that the two men had the same accent. He knelt down in front of Fowler and tilted his chin up with one finger, gazing into his eyes and tilting his head. "This man?"
Fowler was pretty sure he'd just been insulted.
"Yes, this man. Haven't you learned not to underestimate someone based on their looks, Victor?" Plisetsky said. "And where is Georgi?"
Victor waved him off. "Him? I ditched him long ago. He probably still hasn't noticed. He'd started waxing poetic about Anya when I shook him."
Plisetsky ran a hand down his face, "Oi, Victor. Are you wanting to be killed, because if you are, all you have to do is ask. I will do it for you, you suicidal bastard."
"I knew you cared about me, Yurio," Victor said happily.
"My name is Yuri, stupid old man," Plisetsky snapped.
"Okay, Yurio."
"What do you mean, leak?" the silent newcomer suddenly asked. Fowler had completely forgotten about him. He'd been quiet and non-invading, so Fowler had thought nothing of him and focused on the boss.
Victor jumped like he'd been electrocuted and let go of Fowler's chin. "Nothing to worry about, Yuuri," he said sweetly, heart-shaped smile back and blazing.
"That's not what I asked, Vitya," the man said, pulling his hand out of his pocket and pushing back his hair. "I asked, what do you mean, there's a leak?"
Victor looked down. "Yurio came to me a couple days ago with some information regarding a possible leak. I didn't think it was worth your time."
Yuuri bent down and lifted Victor's chin with his fingers, the exact same move Victor had just pulled on Fowler moments before. "And who are you to be deciding what information is relevant and what is not?"
"Of course, Yuuri. I'm sorry. I won't do it again," Victor said earnestly.
Yuuri smiled and rubbed a finger over Victor's lips. "Thank you, Vitya." He straightened up and focused on the now terrified Fowler, who'd just come to the conclusion that he'd made a terrible mistake.
Victor was not in charge here.
"How rude of me," Yuuri said, looking down on Fowler with dead eyes and an evil smile. "I never introduced myself, did I? I'm Yuuri Katsuki, but most people around here call me Boss. What's this about you leaking my information?"