#so his name is General winter LM A O

[shepherd-of-the-stars]

(Don't) Return to Vegas

Hi @emeraldsage98 ! Thank you for your immense patience. I had to redo this several times over. Anyways, here’s your secret santa gift, finally! I hope you like it!

Word Count: 13,756

Published: Sep 16, 2019

Edited: June 16, 2023

Summary: A night of drinking led to a marriage Alfred and Ivan don’t quite remember. But it isn’t about that night, it’s about the time they spent after. One is the son of the Kirkland Clan’s head, and the other, the leader of their enemy, the Russian Bratva. But the two lovers turned their eyes away and covered their ears as they faced their trials together. RusAme, Mafia AU. Rated M for murder 

Warnings: non-graphic murder, drinking, implied mafia and hitman stuff, injury with a gun, angst(with fluff)

Rating: M

Also available on FFnet and ao3

Prompts inspired: 

2. "M, angst with a happy ending? (Mafia AU):

After five years, in his mid twenties, finishing up his dissertation for his phD while working full time with NASA, Alfred's finally settling into a life without the paranoia of constantly looking over his shoulder for someone to come and drag him back to the home he'd fled.  Of course, that's when his husband pops back up to do just that.  (could be an angsty ending or a happy ending, surprise me!!!)"

3. "M, humor/romance (Mafia AU):

The Kirkland Clan is a mafia family,  and Arthur's oldest son Matthew stands to inherit.  His youngest son, Alfred, is thought of as too kind hearted to get involved with the business, so they've kept him out of the underground for his entire life. What they don't know, is that he's World Class Assassin, Siren, who made a huge name for himself initially for the sheer success of the honeypot assassinations he'd pulled off. World Class Assassin Siren...who just got accidentally drunken married in Las Vegas to his number one rival World Class Assassin, General Winter, after they'd both tried to off the same target.  Winter, who was also the head of Russia's Bratva.  And then, they find out."

And:

1. Cross-dressing Alfred

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pride. 

It was the only reasonable explanation as to why he was here—alone—on a beautiful spring evening. The smoke from his cigarettes was so thick that he could push through it with his hands. Yet he didn’t open a window, and he didn't turn on the bathroom fan. 

Instead, he chose to sit silently in a dark hotel room—his only source of light was from the moon above and the city life below, streaming through the thin, closed curtains. Occasionally, he would stand and walk to the gap between them to look down at the building across the street, but when he saw the dark room of his target, he sighed and sat back down. 

Hours had gone by and he swore his sniper—aimed at the room—had collected a thin layer of dust on its metal body. He was on his last cigarette, but he didn't dare leave the room to buy another pack in fear that his target would appear and he would miss his only opportunity.  

Ivan Braginsky—head of the Russian Bratva—had no reason to waste this kind of time. With a wave of his hand, he could have this man eliminated without having to leave his house. But he was here, in Las Vegas, thousands of miles from his home, doing the work of a soldier, because he had something to prove. 

The gunshot wound on his shoulder had long since healed, but the scar it left behind reminded him daily that he had lost his touch. After he had assumed his role as the Bratva’s leader, the title he had fought tooth and nail to earn—World Class Assassin: General Winter—slipped through his fingers like sand. Head honchos like him shouldn’t dirty their hands doing assassinations; it increased their risk of getting caught. So he “retired”—forcefully—and his lack of field work had caused him to become uncoordinated, careless, and feeble. 

It was something he simply wouldn’t accept. 

And that brought him here, sitting alone in a hotel room instead of enjoying the night like every other poor soul that traveled to this dump. Gambling, spending, fucking—those things were not on his to-do list. He was here for one thing, and one thing only: to take out the bastard that dared cheat him in a deal. It had taken him weeks to track him down, when in the past, he could have done it in days. It was another stab at his pride. And if the man didn’t show up in the hotel room Ivan planned for him to be in, then he would return home in a very, very foul mood. 

But at last, the lights in the room turned on just as he took the final drag from his cigarette. He pressed the butt into the full ashtray and checked that his weapon was loaded before looking down through his scope. What he saw made him scowl deeply. 

His target was there, but in his arms was a blonde woman who pressed so closely to him that if Ivan were to take the shot, she would be taken out as well. In all his years of work, Ivan had never hurt a civilian. Willingly, at least. That fact wouldn’t change today. 

Ivan watched in disgust as the woman pushed his target onto the bed and crawled on top of him—twisting and rolling her body. He tried his hardest not to gag as they kissed, then pulled away from his scope for a moment just to rub his eyes. If only that woman knew what he had done. She wouldn’t want to touch him with a ten-foot pole. 

As he returned to his scope, he groaned in annoyance to see his target in a blindfold. If they were going to do that, Ivan didn’t want to watch for much longer. He could get the job done in the morning after the woman left. But if she stayed behind, he could take—

Wait. 

He furrowed his brows as he watched the woman’s face turn from seduction to malice. Her lips moved as she spoke, and her hips continued to grind against the man under him, but her hands had reached for her purse and pulled out, not a condom or handcuffs, but a syringe. 

Heroin? No. Her face would not be so twisted with disgust if that were the case. And that vial that she loaded the needle with, it was much too… neat. He watched as the contents were injected into his neck. There was a struggle, but the woman held him down with a venomous look on her face. Frozen in curiosity, he could do nothing but watch as the woman climbed off of him and let him rise for mere moments before he fell to the ground where he flailed then fell limp. 

The woman walked up the window then, letting Ivan see her in full view. The red dress she wore was form-fitting and it matched the ruby color of her lips. And her eyes, they were such a vibrant shade of blue that they sparkled even in the dim light. A look of satisfaction crossed her face as she breathed in deeply and scanned the windows of the building Ivan was in. For a brief moment, he thought she spotted him. Their eyes locked for only a click, then she smirked, and the curtains were closed. 

It was over in seconds. 

He cursed and stepped back from the scope, his hand pressed against his eyes. "Siren," he muttered, cursing the name. It had been years since he had faced his rival. So long that he had almost forgotten the name. 

Siren—known for their honeypot assassinations—had risen in rank faster than Ivan, and the Russian hated them for it. It had taken him years to earn that title, and he was bested by a rookie. Siren was flawless and fierce, never once failing to get their target. While others kept their distance to keep from getting caught, Siren never shied away and faced every target head on. And never once did they get caught. 

And there was another thing: Siren always left their mark. They wanted people to know they had done the job. It was almost a game to them. After they seduced and killed their target, they threw the body into a filled tub and doused them with chemicals until their body was almost unrecognizable. Then they decorated the water with flowers on top, making it look as if they died a beautiful watery death; it was what earned them their name. Siren blurred the line between assassin and serial killer; it was an insult to their profession.

He cursed the name over and over as he packed away his weapon. Hours upon hours of waiting and all of it wasted. He now knew why his target had taken so long to return to the hotel; the bastard had spent the night frolicking with Ivan’s rival. 

Sliding his gun case under the bed, he washed up and hurried to the building across the street, hoping to catch Siren in the act. This would be the closest he’s even been to his rival, and he would not waste this opportunity. He knew which room they were in. It would be so simple to burst in and take them down, but it would make Ivan a suspect once they found the body. Unlike Siren, he didn’t have a disguise and it would be over for him once he was caught. 

Not wanting to take the risk, he could do nothing but sit in the lobby and wait. 

(x.x)

Rage clouds judgment. Ivan Braginsky knew that. Yet he still fell for it like a young child who didn't know any better. He had waited in the lobby, flipping mindlessly through fashion magazines as he scanned each passerby, looking for those vibrant blue eyes. Siren, Siren, Siren, he chanted in his mind. Waiting and waiting for the woman in red to appear. Siren, Siren… sirens. 

Police sirens. The wail of an ambulance. A crying maid and a frantic manager. “There’s a body in the tub,” she whispered through her tears. The policeman had sushed her, but Ivan had already heard. 

He stood with his stomach boiling in anger. They had found the body and Siren was long gone. It was stupid—idiotic—to think that Siren would just walk out the front door. And yet Ivan sat there like an abandoned dog waiting for his owner. 

With a headache beginning to form, he made his way to the bar down the road. He needed a drink—desperately so. When he stepped in, he was instantly hit with the drunken howls of young patrons and the heavy bass of club music. It was loud, and it didn’t help the aching in his head, but the noise drowned out his maddening thoughts. 

He slid into the bar stool and waited. And he waited and waited. Dear God, he was so sick of waiting. He glared daggers at the bartender who was spending more time chatting up a young man than doing his job. But in his defense, the man was tall, blond, handsome, quite charming, with soft blue eyes hidden behind a pair of red glasses. He thought about bringing him back to the hotel for one night, but that would have to be after he had gotten his drink. 

Perhaps he should throw something at the barkeep. His eyes drifted over to the ashtray in front of him. Mischievous fingers circled the glass rim—it was an action he regretted instantly. His fingers were gray with ash and he didn’t even have a napkin to wipe it off with. 

Rolling his eyes, he looked back over at the bartender who had finally returned to doing his job. But he still had not come over to take Ivan’s order, and Ivan continued to wait. 

“Here.” A voice sounded beside him and a wet napkin was thrust into his vision. His eyes flickered up to the young man—the one who had been chatting with the barkeep earlier—then down to the napkin. “It’s not chloroform, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he laughed. It was an infectious and delightful sound. “Saw you get your hands dirty. Thought you might need it.” 

Ivan hesitated for a moment more before he finally took the napkin from the man. “Thank you,” he said smoothly, looking into the man’s soft eyes. They were blue, like Siren’s, but the vibrancy was not the same. 

“My name is Alfred, by the way.” The young man shot him a flirtatious wink. 

"Alfred," he greeted instead of giving him his name. His decision made the young man pout. 

He caught movement in the corner of his eye—the bartender coming his way—but before he could speak, a drink was set in front of him. "Here’s your whiskey sour. Courtesy of the young man to your left." 

His eyes followed the bartender’s line of sight until they landed on the young man. Alfred raised his glass with a sly smile before downing the rest of its contents. “You looked like you needed one. Don’t worry, it’s on me.” He sent Ivan another wink, and Ivan felt the corners of his lips turn upwards, just the slightest.

Perhaps this night would not have to be a complete failure after all. Just because he wasn’t able to get his target didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to enjoy the rest of his night. Besides, it wasn’t like he could bring his target back and kill him again. He would simply have to move on.

“Barkeep,” he called, holding up his two fingers. As the man came over, Ivan handed him his credit card. “Open a tab for me, if you will. The name is Braginsky, Ivan. And…” he paused as he glanced over at Alfred who had made a face like he enjoyed the sound of his name. Then he leaned over the bar so he could whisper something to the bartender. With a nod, the man left, tapping away at his computer before turning to prepare a drink. 

“So it’s ‘Ivan’ then?” 

“Braginsky,” he finished for him. 

Alfred smiled and added, “Jones.” 

“Braginsky-Jones?” Ivan teased. 

The man laughed, tucking his hair behind his ear as his eyes sparkled behind his lenses. “Only if you want it to be.” His cheeks held a delicate pink color—perhaps from embarrassment, perhaps from his drink. But the more Ivan stared at the young man, the more he took a liking to it. 

Picking up his glass, he toasted it in Alfred’s direction before taking a short sip. The whiskey burned down his throat—sliding like fiery silk. Its bitterness mixed with the sour of the lime and the sweet of the syrup, complementing the whiskey beautifully. It was a perfect blend—skillfully balanced—and he reminded himself to leave a large tip later. Alfred had been right; it was just what he needed. 

"So, Ivan, if I tried to guess what's bothering you, would you turn that anger on me?” Alfred had settled into the barstool next to him and was playing with his empty glass mindlessly. 

Ivan glanced up at him while taking another sip and made a silent hand gesture that said, “go for it.” 

The man turned in his seat to face him, then looked Ivan from head to toe with eyes that reminded Ivan of a detective. He was silent for a moment before he gave a nod and crossed his arms. “Someone stole your business,” he said confidently.

His answer caused Ivan to chuckle—the sound of his voice rumbling in his chest. It was close enough to the truth that Ivan set down his glass to clap slowly. “I’m impressed. How did you figure that out?”

“I can read minds,” the young man laughed, wiggling his fingers around in the air. “No, I’m kidding. I’ve just been through a lot of guys. Shit that sounds weird. I’m not like that, I promise. I just mean that I work with a lot of men. No! Oh that sounds worse. I’m around men all day? Fuck.” He buried his face in his hands. “I’ll shut up now.” 

He laughed again—something that came as easily as breathing around Alfred. Even with his hands covering his face, Ivan could see the man’s ears turning red with embarrassment. There was something about him—that unrestrained bliss—that made Ivan gravitate towards him, and he made no attempt to stop it. 

The bartender returned as Alfred was lifting his face from his hands, just in time to see a glass being placed in front of him. “Here’s your cosmo,” the bartender—David, his nametag informed him. “Courtesy of the man to your right.” 

Alfred turned to Ivan, and Ivan returned the wink Alfred had given to him earlier as he pocketed his card. “Trying to say something?” Alfred picked up the delicate martini glass and looked at Ivan with a teasing look. The liquid was a light pink and decorated with a thin orange twist on the rim. It was strong, but it was also sweet and… fruity. 

“I simply don’t like owing people things,” Ivan answered, clinking his glass against Alfred's when the young man seemed to be frozen in place. 

"You know that's not what I'm referring to."

"What is it you are referring to, then?" 

"You ordered me a cosmo."

"It was the first thing that came to mind." 

"Yeah right." Alfred lifted the thin glass to his lips and took a sip to hide his amused grin. As much as he hated its girly appearance, it was a good drink. The taste of alcohol was masked by the sweet cranberry and orange, but it held enough kick to make his soft cheekbones flush. Blue eyes flickered over to glance at his new companion as he enjoyed his drink, then they crinkled in a smile before he turned away to enjoy his own. 

The silence that followed was a comfortable one, and it was one Ivan was content with. Yet he still yearned for more. Ivan found the need to hear the man speak again. To see that smile on his face, and to hear that infectious laugh. He didn’t understand the urges, but he didn’t try to deny them either. “What about you?" he asked, setting down his glass. 

"Huh?" 

"You. Why are you here? You don’t seem to be here for the engagement party." He paused to gesture over to the group of partiers that were so wild with their festivities that the entire bar knew.

"Oh. You wanna try and guess?" Alfred turned towards him and struck a pose, presenting himself to Ivan. Ivan laughed, and Alfred's laugh soon mingled with his. 

"No,” he finally answered. “I would prefer you tell me."

"Aw come on. Where's the fun in that?" A small pout formed on his lips and Ivan resisted the urge to lean forward and—

"I'm not a fan of guessing games,” he said, cutting off his own thoughts. 

"Just this once?"

Ivan locked their gazes, his dark, violet eyes hooded and demanding. "You will tell me." 

Alfred sat with his mouth slightly agape, then timidly looked down at the counter. "Jeez" —he kicked his legs childishly—"when you got an accent like that, I guess I can't say no." 

"Go on, then." He watched him with curious eyes—only leaving him for a moment as he tipped his head back to finish his drink. 

“Well,” Alfred paused to run his hands through his soft hair and his expression turning slightly smug, “I don’t wanna brag or anything, but I’m here to celebrate a job well done. I did my homework, put in the work, won over the client, and bam!” —his fist shot up into the air—“sealed the deal. Now daddy’s got some change in his pockets.” He patted his pockets then, indicating he was talking about himself. 

“Congratulations, I suppose you have achieved what I could not.” Ivan held no venom in his voice. It would be petty of him to spit on this man’s success simply because he had failed his own. But it didn’t mean he didn’t feel that tinge of jealousy in his gut from not being able to say the same. 

“If you had tried guessing, I would have said ‘yes’ to whatever answer you gave me. Like, you could have said I’m just looking for a hookup and I would have said ‘yeah’.” 

“Well, are you?” 

"Hey" —he shrugged—"two birds, one stone." Keeping his smug expression, he took another sip of his sweet drink but grunted softly as a bit of the liquid escaped his mouth. His eyes locked with Ivan’s, then his tongue swiped across his lips in a way that was much too sultry to be an innocent act. 

Ivan felt his gut twist in need and he reached for his drink to distract himself. But when he brought the glass to his lips and tipped it back, he realized it was empty, and he had no object to divert his attention to. He was forced to focus only on Alfred, yet he found that it wasn’t a bad thing. 

"Hey, David," Alfred called out to the bartender, "get this man another one. On my tab.” After getting the bartender’s confirmation, he turned to Ivan with a smile and hopped off the stool. “Well, enjoy your night. I won’t bother you anymore. Thanks for the drink.” Downing the rest of his drink, he sent Ivan another wink before he blended back into the sea of people. 

Alfred had left so suddenly that it had left Ivan’s mind reeling. Had he misinterpreted their interaction? Sure he was a bit rusty when it came to the romance department, but he was absolutely sure Alfred had been flirting with him. And yet he had left him alone at the bar after buying him a drink. 

That thought made Ivan pause. He had told Alfred earlier that he was a man that didn’t like owing people things. Either Alfred was insistent on getting Ivan a free drink, or he expected to be chased. One glance across the bar indicated that the second option was the correct one. Even through the crowd of people, Ivan could still spot those blue eyes on him as he settled in a seat at the other end of the club. 

Well, if Alfred insisted on playing hard to get, then Ivan would just have to play along. He ordered another drink and waited for it to be prepared before he stood and waltzed over to the corner that Alfred had settled himself in. A woman from the party had situated herself in an empty spot next to him, but with one quick, “leave,” from Ivan, she scurried off like a frightened mouse. 

“Well”—Alfred set the beer in his hand aside and folded his hands on his lap—“that was kinda rude.” But from the smug look on his face, Ivan knew that it wasn’t a move he disliked. 

He set the drink down on the table and took the seat the woman had just vacated, then slid the glass towards Alfred. “I owe you a drink,” he said simply.

Alfred eyed the glass then reached over and plucked Ivan’s drink right out of his hand. He looked him straight in the eye as he took a sip of the whiskey that Ivan had already drank some of. “Don’t know if you drugged it. Just to be safe,” he hummed with a light shrug. 

“I assure you, if that had been my intention, you would already be tied up in the back of my van.” It was a joke, and it was clear Alfred knew it, but before he could even reply, a chorus of excited shouts from the engagement party drowned out all the conversations in the bar. 

Ivan breathed out a sigh and reached out to take a sip from Alfred’s drink before flagging down one of the employees. “Are any of your private rooms open?”

The employee hummed under her breath in thought as she tapped through her tablet then nodded her head. “Yes, sir. Looks like we have one of them open. Would you like me to—”

Ivan was already standing before she could finish. At his standing height, he was almost a head taller than her. “Lead the way.” He took one step before pausing and turning back to Alfred. “You are invited to join if that is what you wish.” 

With a smirk, Alfred threw back the rest of Ivan’s drink before following them down the dark hall. 

[-w-]

Two hours, a couple appetizers, and a forgotten number of drinks later, Alfred was crying over the wedding scene in a romance comedy. Though the private room may have sounded like something much more dirty, it was really just a room where people could drink privately and choose what they wanted to watch on the television. 

The two had gotten bored of channel surfing and neither of them had wanted to watch sports, so eventually, they settled on a film being shown after a funny scene had caught their eye. And now, at the film’s end, Alfred was drunkenly crying over the two main characters finally walking down the aisle while clinging to Ivan’s head and hugging it like a pillow. 

“It’s so beautiful!” he sobbed, wiping his tears with the back of his arm, “They’re so lucky to have each other. I’m never going to be like them!” Out of jealousy, Alfred grabbed the nearest thing and chucked it at the TV. Luckily, it turned out to be a balled up tissue which didn’t make it very far. 

This caused him to cry out even louder, the noise beginning to make Ivan’s ears ring. “Shhhh.” He wiggled out from his hold to shush him, his finger completely missing his lips and sliding across the side of his face. “You… shhh! You are beautiful. You will make very pretty husband.” his voice was slurred and he could barely keep his head from swaying. 

“I can’t!” he wailed, “My dad won’t let me! I wanna be a pretty bride and wear a dress! Suits are so yucky! I wanna be big and pretty!” The drunk couldn’t find the word for stuffy and he eventually ended up pressing his tear and snot-covered face against Ivan’s shirt. 

He cried there for a good minute without Ivan prying him off, mostly because Ivan was too wasted to notice his shirt was getting soaked. “No, listen,” he said a bit too loudly as he peeled Alfred off of him, “today is follow dreams day. Is good day! Is do what you want day! You are going to be pretty bride because you deserve happy!” 

It took a moment or two for the words to even register in Alfred’s mind, and when they did, he stood up abruptly and threw up his hands. “You’re right!” The motion made him stumble but he, shockingly, did not topple over. “Today is my day! I did a big job today and I deserve it!” 

“Yeah!” Ivan mimicked his pose, the disorientation from standing making him hit his shin on the table and knock a couple glasses onto the floor. But he didn’t pay any attention to them. “Today, you get married!” 

“Yeah!” Alfred laughed and headed to the door but suddenly stopped, making Ivan bump into him and practically flatten him against the door. “Wait wait wait…” He turned around, holding a finger up. “I don’t have a husband.” 

The two stood at the door for a minute, their eyes squinted as they tried to figure out what seemed like the hardest question they were ever asked. Alfred, much too drunk to stroke his chin, began stroking his neck and his face. 

“I have idea!” Ivan piped and pointed to the ceiling. He almost fell back because of it but managed to catch himself. “I will be husband!” He pointed a finger at his own chest and smiled triumphantly at being able to come up with such an amazing solution. 

Alfred made a dramatic gasp, even putting his hands to his face. “Yeees! My handsome husband!” Out of glee, he hopped his way over to Ivan's open arms and embraced him. “I have a husband! Alfred Jones-Bag-, uh… Bagkin… Skis…”

“Braginsky.” Ivan finished for him, laying his head on Alfred’s. “Alfredo Jone-Braginsky.” He giggled at the name. 

“I like your accent.” Alfred purred. He reached up to pat Ivan’s cheek and to try and kiss him on the lips but had missed completely and ended up somewhere on his chin. “Come on. Let’s make me Alfred Jones-Bragkinsky.” And Ivan was too drunk to correct him again. 

[-w-]

“Now get out!” 

Ivan barely had the time to stuff his wallet back into his suit pants before the wedding shop’s security had shoved the two out the door for trying to have sex on their couches while they were waiting for the payment to process. With them being so drunk, it was only due to Ivan flashing his Black Card that they were even allowed into the shop in the first place.

Alfred, now dressed in an expensive and layered wedding dress, was having a lot more trouble walking than he had before. He still wore his pants and sneakers underneath since heels would have led to broken ankles, but with Alfred’s state of mind, even sneakers couldn’t save him from stumbling. 

Next on the list was getting to the chapel. They had skipped the step for getting a certificate but with their one track minds, issues with the law were the least of their concerns. Waving down a taxi was an easy task since it was a busy street, so soon, the two were one step closer to living Alfred’s dream.

“Hey, Ivan.” Alfred turned to Ivan who was almost buried in the frills of Alfred’s dress that had been stuffed into the back seat. Ivan gave a grunt in reply. “I think,” Alfred paused and took a minute to take the veil off of his head and put it on Ivan’s, “I think you should wear this! You look so nice.”

Ivan didn’t object at all. He just giggled and helped Alfred adjust the tiara on his head. “Of course I look nice! You’re not only one who can be pretty. We’re pretty pair.” He leaned in to kiss Alfred but only managed to land one on the nose with the veil blocking the touch, yet he didn’t seem to notice. 

The ride there had only taken two minutes with it being so close to the shop. Ivan, who couldn’t really see what bills he was holding in his hand, gave the driver a hundred dollar bill and told him to keep the change. 

Getting out of the car resulted in Alfred falling on the sidewalk. The layers of the dress saved his knees from being scraped. But with Ivan’s big tip, the driver was more than happy to help the two get out and on their way to the chapel. 

With their incredible luck, another couple had just finished their ceremony. All the rose petals, rice, and decorations had already been scattered around and set up, and even though it looked like a mess, the only thought that went through Alfred’s head was, “This is perfect. This was meant to be.”

“Hey!” Alfred called out to a man who must have been the priest and stopped him. “I need you to marry us.” 

The priest let out a nervous laugh, seeing the two were obviously drunk. “I’m going to need a certificate. And you need to book 24 hours in advance.”

Alfred frowned and took a minute to pull up his entire dress to get to his pants pockets underneath. There, he pulled out his phone and took some time to get to his bank app. “Look,” he showed the man his phone, the amount in the 6th digits and almost to the 7th, “do the thing and you’ll never have to work here again. I will transfer it right now.” 

The priest’s change in attitude was immediate. It had taken only a few minutes for them to do the payment and afterwards, the priest guided Ivan to the altar while calling another man to stand in as Alfred’s father and walk him down the aisle. 

Ivan had refused to take off the veil that Alfred had given him so he was the one wearing it at the altar as Alfred staggered over to him. Even Ivan was having some trouble standing still. Another man had been called to just stand behind him and make sure the big man didn’t fall over. 

But standing still was the least of Ivan’s concerns. All he cared about was how magnificent Alfred looked as he came down the aisle. And for Alfred, all he cared for was the almost godly image of the man who was going to set him free of the burdens of marrying someone he didn’t want. He was going to marry Ivan because he wanted to, but mostly because his father wasn’t there to stop him. 

The rings they exchanged were ones Ivan wore as a necklace. The rings of his parents, killed in cold blood in front of him, their bodies left to rot, and Ivan, still young, forced to be in the same room as their decaying bodies until the authorities found them. It was the reason for his line of work and a reminder of what was most important in life: family.

And now, Ivan and Alfred wore them on their fingers. The sizes were not a perfect fit but they fit well enough. They were simple silver bands, the original owners’ names and their dates of marriage engraved on the inside. They were not perfect, but to the two being wedded, there was nothing else better in the world. 

They exchanged kisses next, the priest having to move the veil out of the way for Ivan since he didn’t have the ability to do it himself being preoccupied with trying to kiss his new husband. And with a little help, they found their way to each other’s lips, sealing their union. 

[-w-]

The first thing Alfred registered when he was harshly dragged back into the waking world was the immense pain in his head that prevented him from doing the simplest tasks. He couldn’t even remember the date without heaving out in pain. 

Even trying to remember the events of last night was a struggle and made it feel as if someone was stabbing knives into his skull and twisting the blades. And there was no way in hell he was going to open his eyes anytime soon either. He could see the sunlight through his eyelids and it was already blinding him. Opening his eyes would mean the end of his days being able to see. 

So he laid there quietly, perfectly still, and let the memories slowly come back to him at their own pace. He remembered Vegas, he was here for an assassination job, but what had happened from there? 

Breathing out a heavy breath, he curled inwards and moved his hands up to grip his head. But feeling the bedsheets against his legs, his bare and naked legs, made him freeze. Then one by one, little details began popping into his head: he was naked, he was in bed, and someone was in the bed with him, someone big, and that someone was naked as well. 

Oh fuck. Did I sleep with my target again? Alfred questioned in his head. But after some time, he reasoned with himself that he did not. He remembered seducing and luring his target back to the room. He had tricked him into wearing a blindfold with promises of “a kinky surprise,” but in the end, that surprise turned out to be a syringe needle through the neck with an injection that would force him into a cardiac arrest. 

There was no way Alfred had slept with his target because Alfred had watched him die. He had sneered and laughed at his target as the bastard writhed on the floor, and while he died, Alfred told him every little thing he had done wrong that led to this event. The memory of his pained face made Alfred smile as a chill of satisfaction shot down his spine. 

The body behind him moved, bringing his mind back to the present and he tried a little harder to recall what had happened after. Dropping the body into the tub and filling it with acid and flowers, going back to his own room to change out of his feminine costume, going out to the bar to celebrate, and meeting—

Alfred breathed in a sharp breath. The person at the bar. It was Ivan. The charismatic man who had wiggled his way into Alfred’s heart faster than anyone he’d ever met. Not only had he wiggled into it, he had stolen it and managed to put it under his name. 

Alfred Jones-Braginsky

Or was it “Braginsky-Jones”? He couldn’t remember. Either way, it had a nice ring to it. 

“These are my parents’ rings.” The drunken Ivan took the chain off his neck and handed it to the priest. “I have never taken them off, but now I give them to you.”

Alfred now felt that ring on his finger. It was too small—barely made it past the knuckle—and he knew that if he were to take it off, it would leave a purple print on his finger for being too tight. But instead of trying to pry it off, he rubbed his thumb against the warm metal and memorized every dent and groove. It was his wedding ring, and he’d never take it off. 

His thumb stopped moving when he felt Ivan stir. The man was waking up from his slumber and returning to Alfred’s world. Alfred didn’t move. He wanted to see how Ivan would react when he was asleep and knowing he was unconscious. 

Alfred had expected Ivan to pull him close, to kiss his neck and gently tell him to wake up, but he didn’t. Instead, Ivan slowly pulled away in a way that wouldn’t wake Alfred, if he were still asleep. 

He lifted Alfred’s body up just enough to pull his arm out, then Alfred felt the bed shift as Ivan sat up. He heard what felt like a small struggle before there was a small jolt then the quiet ‘clack’ of metal on wood. 

Ivan had taken off his ring. 

Alfred’s body grew cold when he felt the bed shift again, then Ivan’s hand grabbed hold of Alfred’s left, and investigated the ring on his finger. The man cursed under his breath when he realized chances were low that he’d take it off without Alfred waking but he had to try it anyway. 

The flesh of his finger twisted as Ivan tried to wiggle the ring off, but still, Alfred feigned sleep. Ivan twiddled and tugged, and with each motion, Alfred could almost feel Ivan growing desperate to get the ring off as if Alfred had stolen it from him 

Ivan—who he thought was his Prince Charming, his knight in shining armor, his Romeo—was taking back the ring without even saying a word. His heart wrenched, feeling like a snake had wrapped around the organ and was squeezing every last ounce of life he had left. A lump had already formed in his throat and he was scared that if he were to open his mouth, his feelings would spill out. 

As Alfred felt the ring go past his knuckle and slowly began leaving his finger, he clasped his hand over Ivan’s, stopping him from taking back the symbol of their marriage. He didn’t care what the consequences were; all he wanted in this moment was for Ivan to stay. 

Ivan tried again to slowly pull away, thinking that perhaps Alfred was just grabbing him in his sleep, but Alfred tightened his grip and curled his other hand into a fist so that Ivan would have to pry it open in order to get the ring. He expected Ivan to do just that, and perhaps try to fight it off his hand, but Ivan had tricked him yet again with his actions. 

Ivan’s free hand reached towards Alfred’s face and brushed the hair out of his still closed eyes, a chaste kiss on his forehead following. “Alfred,” his tone was neutral, but soft, “do you think it was a mistake?” 

Alfred couldn’t read his tone and it was driving him insane. If it wasn’t for his eyelids twitching as he tried to keep his eyes shut, Ivan might have believed that Alfred was still asleep. But after his long silence, Alfred shook his head ‘no.’ 

He heard Ivan let out a sigh, feeling the warm breath on his cheek. Then he was rolled over so his back was resting on the bed and his face angled at Ivan. But still, he kept his eyes closed.

“Trust me, love.” 

Alfred’s hands were brought up to Ivan’s lips and kissed until Alfred caved and released Ivan’s hand. He didn’t stop Ivan from removing the ring, trusting him, and then Ivan stayed silent after placing the ring on the nightstand. Alfred had to clench his jaw and steady his breathing to keep his emotions in check. 

“Alfred, will you look at me?” 

He didn’t want to, immediately, but Ivan was patient and waited until finally, Alfred opened his eyes to the blinding sun and looked at him. What Alfred expected to see was Ivan sneering at him, waiting to make fun of him for clinging to what was possibly a one night stand, but after Ivan had wiped away the tears that had welled up in Alfred’s eyes, Alfred was met with a gentle smile. 

His own hand was brought into his line of vision and Ivan gestured for him to look at the finger the ring was previously on. It was purple and dented under his knuckle and he didn’t feel the tingling until now. 

“If you kept that ring on, doctors are going to have to amputate your finger, silly. I’ll get you a new one, one that fits, I promise you.” 

With the light bouncing off his hair and his eyelashes, and his kind eyes, and his caring smile, Alfred believed that Ivan was an angel. Ivan kissed his finger until the tingling was gone and warmth filled his body; the entire time, all Alfred could do was stare. 

This moment he wished would last forever seemed to end in an instant. Ivan had managed to kiss from his finger to his lips leaving Alfred pink from his neck to his ears. He was so sweet, so soft, making Alfred love him even more than he already did. 

“You’re real, right?” he found himself saying, and he was met with the sound of Ivan giggling at the funny words. 

“Yes, I’m real. Don’t think you can get rid of me that easily. I’m here to stay.” 

Keeping true to his words, Ivan had stayed with Alfred. 

The two rescheduled their flights in order to give them enough time to spend the day together and to purchase promise rings. They were a lot more awkward with each other being sober but were still a very fitted match. And with one last kiss at the airport, they exchanged contact information and parted ways. 

In the first year, the two kept the relationship long distance, getting to know each other through texts and calls. And more and more, they grew closer even though they were so far away. 

In the second year, they began to visit one another on trips, occasionally. Sometimes Alfred would visit Ivan, and sometimes, Ivan to Alfred, always giving a week or a month’s notice because of their schedules. 

In the third year, those trips grew less frequent. Their schedules didn’t line up like they used to and there was never any time. 

And in the fourth year, the two grew tired. Not of each other, but of the situation. They grew tired of the heart-breaking news of “I’m busy that weekend” and had to cancel plans. They grew tired of lonely nights where the other was too busy to pick up calls. And they grew tired of cold and empty beds after the other left to return to their home. 

So in the fifth year, during one of Ivan’s visits, Ivan broke the news to Alfred that he had bought a house in Alfred’s city. He proposed to Alfred again and they remarried, officially this time. They moved in together, decorated the house together, and let their love grow and flourish in their new warm home. 

The paintings of flowers with skulls and other mundane things were Ivan’s choice. “It’s art.” he said when Alfred gawked at the price tags. As for Alfred, he chose real plants over painted ones. While Ivan argued that it would increase the amount of bugs in the house, Alfred reasoned that the plants would help clean the air. And even though Ivan had agreed to let him fill the house with plants, it sometimes irked him when Alfred would name the plants and call them his children. And sometimes he would kiss the plants more often than he would kiss Ivan. 

“I think we should put Henry on the table in front of your sock painting.” Alfred said, pointing to Ivan’s painting on the wall. 

“First of all, it is not a sock painting. It is abstract and only you think it looks like a sock. Second, which is Henry?” Though it seemed like an argument, Ivan was smiling. It was just another one of their play fights, no harm was ever done. 

“It’s a sock and you can’t change my mind. But anyways, Henry is the snake plant,” After silence and Ivan’s stare, he continued, “the green one with the leaves that stand straight up and have a yellow edge?” A slow blink, and a sigh from Alfred. “The one I put on the toilet seat.”

Finally, Ivan grunted in recognition and draped an arm over Alfred’s shoulder. “The govno plant stays where govno belongs.” 

“If that word means ‘shit’, I will choke you.” As Ivan smirked and tilted his head up to expose his neck, Alfred gave Ivan’s thigh a playful punch. “Henry is a good kid and he’s cleaning the bathroom air.” 

“Then he stays there. He has a job to do.” 

“...You’re right.” Alfred huffed, leaning on Ivan’s shoulder. The two took a couple seconds to just relax and enjoy being in the same room together, knowing they would still be here the next day. But Alfred soon grew bored of the quiet and turned to Ivan. “Okay, what about Antoinette?” he waited. “She’s the purple hydrangea plant.” 

Ivan hummed in thought and then nodded. “Acceptable.” 

In a flash, Alfred had jumped off the couch and hurried to the second floor to get the plant. He was eager to put his plant into a new place, and to possibly cover up Ivan’s painting. It wasn’t that he hated it, it just looked a lot like a sock and he didn’t want guests asking why they had a painting of a sock. 

Antoinette was currently placed in Ivan's office. The room was meant to be the house’s second bedroom but since they didn’t plan to have children anytime soon; were going to sleep in the same bedroom; and didn’t anticipate any stay-over guests, ever, their second bedroom became Ivan's office. From the beginning, Ivan had made it very clear that Alfred was never to touch any of Ivan's files in the room claiming it contained the personal information of clients that, by contract, could never be seen by the eyes of anyone outside of the company by threat of a lawsuit. 

That threat had made Alfred even more curious. Being naturally nosy, he had wanted to see if what Ivan said was true, but every time he had tried to pick the locks on the file cabinets or hack into Ivan's computer, something in his mind convinced him that doing so was wrong. 

As he made his way into the room, he brushed his hand over Ivan’s metal filing cabinets, seeing if he could read them with his mind. He wondered what information was so important that Ivan had to lock the door every time he worked. But every time he asked, the answer was always the same. 

"It's confidential, Alfred. I don't want you getting in trouble."

He had just picked up the plant when his phone began to vibrate in his back pocket. Putting the plant back down, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone to see that the caller was his father, Arthur; the image of a green dragon breathing fire and a caller ID of “Mr. Always Mad” told him so. 

Letting out a soft groan, he waited before answering, “Hey, dad. What’s-”

“That scoundrel is the head of Russia's Bratva.” The silence that followed lasted so long that Arthur had to call out Alfred’s name to see if he was still there.

“Who?” Alfred asked with a nervous chuckle that made his voice shake. But he knew exactly who and Arthur knew he knew as well. Being the one to live with Ivan, Alfred knew the man had many things to hide. He heard the hushed phone calls, smelled the scent of gun polish, was wary of Ivan’s long trips away from home, but Alfred never questioned them. Or he didn’t want to. 

That shining image of Ivan, his perfect husband, the love of his life, he wanted to keep it, but that image was beginning to fade. 

“I have evidence, Alfred. That man is dangerous and I need you to leave him right now. He’s not who you think he is. He’s probably using you and you know exactly why.” 

As my son, you must trust no one. Every person you meet may be someone who is trying to use you to get to me. 

Arthur had told him that when Alfred had fucked up the first time and dated someone he shouldn’t. After that, all of Alfred’s lovers needed Arthur’s approval, but Ivan had come up clean in all of Arthur’s background checks. Until now. 

“You hated him from the beginning. You have a bias against Russians and you know it. How do I know this isn’t just another one of your little tricks to break us up?” 

A heavy sigh was heard through the phone. “I know I have been very harsh on him but this time, I do have evidence. I’m going to send you DNA tests. One was taken from an encounter with their head. One of my men had shot him and he left his blood behind. We took samples so we’d have the proof if we would one day need it and turns out, we did. I stole a hair from your bathroom, Alfred. The samples match.” 

Alfred was laughing loudly but his hands had begun to grow clammy. His grip on his phone tightened so much that he was afraid the screen would crack. “Yeah okay. Anyone can print out a DNA test. You’re going to have to try harder than that.” And with that, he ended the call, muted his phone, and grabbed the plant. 

“Gotta be a joke, right?” Alfred whispered to Antoinette, his only way of reassurance. He rubbed his cheek against the cool petals and made his way downstairs. Halfway down, he paused and looked at his husband through the balusters. They framed him as if he was behind the bars of a jail cell and Alfred had to tear his eyes away from the sight. But the picture was still burned in his mind and followed his vision like an afterimage. 

“What was so funny?” 

Alfred flinched just slightly but he made it look like he was just adjusting his hold on the plant. “Oh nothing. My dad called and he said he’d volunteer to cook Thanksgiving dinner. Can you imagine? He’d burn the entire house down!” His voice didn’t flatter even the slightest as he lied straight through his teeth. Ivan had fallen for it. He was laughing too and had gotten up to stand behind Alfred as he adjusted the plant’s position on the table. 

As Alfred busied himself with the plant, he felt Ivan lean in and leave kisses on the back of his neck. Kisses this light and innocent couldn’t be ones of someone as demonous and horrid as the Bratva head, he told himself. Someone with this much blood on his hands can’t live with themselves this easily. But Alfred was not one to talk. With his body count, he still lived as if he had never hurt a fly. Perhaps they were more alike than Alfred first thought. 

“Ivan,” Alfred reached his arm back so he could thread his fingers through Ivan’s hair and keep his husband’s head on his shoulder, “would you ever lie to me?” 

Ivan breathed out heavily, his breath making the flower petals sway, and his arms wrapped around Alfred’s torso. “Yes, I would.” 

Alfred hesitated a little, “About what?” 

Ivan was silent for a while before letting out a soft groan, “I lie about not knowing the names of your plants. I know all of them and when you’re not home, I talk to them too because I get lonely.” 

The unexpectedness of his answer made Alfred chuckle. “And what else?” 

Ivan made an annoyed noise and slumped against Alfred. “Okay okay, you caught me. Your cooking is almost as bad as your father’s but I don’t want to hurt your feelings so I choke it down.”

“Excuse me!?” 

“Sometimes I eat before coming home. Especially when you make chicken. You never season it and it’s always so dry.” 

“Amazing. After two years, tonight's going to be your first night sleeping on the couch.” 

“You asked for the truth so I gave it.” 

“And as punishment, I get to top tonight.”

“I don’t like it when you top because you always finish so soon.”

“Okay, Ivan. We’re done with the confessions.” Letting go of Ivan’s hair, Alfred gave his husband a light smack on the forehead and turned around to kiss him. Even when their kiss ended, he stayed close, enjoying the warmth of his breathing. 

It was Ivan that broke their peace. “Would you ever lie to me?” he asked, returning Alfred’s question. 

Alfred took a while to answer, taking his sweet time caressing Ivan’s face and admiring every one of his features while he became lost in thought. And the more he thought, the more he realized that it was unfair of him to ask Ivan that question. His own life was full of secrets he kept from Ivan and he lied so often that he sometimes forgot what was a lie and what was the truth. Who was he to expect the whole truth out of Ivan when he himself was lying about almost everything? 

Perhaps some things would be better kept secret. Alfred didn’t really care that Ivan was the head of the Russian Bratva. The Bratva was the Kirkland Clan’s sworn enemy, not Alfred’s. That was business, and this was Alfred’s own life. 

“Yes, I would,” he finally echoed. And before Ivan could continue, Alfred placed his finger on Ivan’s lips. “But some things are better kept as lies. You keep your secrets and I keep mine. But I swear on my life that I will never hurt you or betray you.” 

Ivan smiled and kissed Alfred’s finger and then took hold of his hand to kiss his knuckles. “I too swear to never hurt you or betray you. And that’s a promise I will hold forever. Please know that I don’t want to lie to you, but there are things you shouldn’t know.” 

“I know.” And in his eyes, Alfred knew that Ivan knew what he meant. The two weren’t idiots. Both were master liars and knew how to spot one a mile away. They knew all the signs of someone working for the underground; they just didn’t want to face the truth. So they kept lying, even though the truth was already told. 

[-w-]

“Are you listening to me?” Alfred leaned his body forward so he was facing his father who was sitting in the front seat of the car and driving at an accelerated speed. The younger had been dragged out of his home and stuffed into the car without any explanation, and the only reason he didn’t fight back was because he didn’t want to punch his dad or his brother. “I asked what the hell is going on!”

When his father didn’t respond and held his stoic face, Alfred turned to his brother and punched him in the arm. “Tell me right now or I’m selling your bear sanctuary to the lumber company.” And when Matthew didn’t respond either, Alfred sat back down and pulled out his phone. 

Putting it on speaker, he speed-dialed the number going to the company’s head and waited, glaring at Matthew through the rear-view mirror. It was the threat Alfred used often and came in handy a lot so he had placed the number on speed-dial. 

Matthew had begun to grow nervous and kept glancing back at Alfred then over to Arthur and back again. 

The phone clicked. “Alfred?”

“Vik! Been a while since I heard your voice.” His own voice sounded cheerful and carefree but on his face, his eyes were wide with anger, staring straight at Matthew. 

“Yes, it has been a while. Why are you calling?”

“Yeah, so I heard you’ve had your eyes on one of our reserves?” 

Matthew reached out to grip Arthur’s arm but he shook it until his hands detached. “Alfred, please.” he whispered, reaching behind the seat to try and grab the phone. 

The man on the phone laughed and continued, “Your brother’s bear reserve? Yes. I’m guessing you two are having a fight again?”

“Yes, we are. But he doesn’t seem to be giving in. I might get to sell it to you this time!” Alfred smiled wide at his brother, showing all his teeth. 

As the man grunted and waited for their fight to settle, Matthew tried desperately to get the phone but Alfred plastered himself against the door so his brother couldn’t reach. 

“Name the price, Vik. He ain’t giving in.” 

Vik on the other end made a long, exaggerated thinking noise, knowing Alfred would never sell the land, but he’d still play along. “How’s ten dollars a square acre sound?” 

“Oh ten dollars a square acre! That’s so generous! I can’t accept that!” At this point, Matthew had taken off his seatbelt and was trying to climb into the back seat but Alfred held him off with his feet. “I can sell you the whole reserve for uuuuuh…” he looked straight into Matthew’s eyes, “one peanut butter cup.” 

“One peanut butter cup? I can’t afford that. All I have is a single chocolate chip I dropped from my cookie.” Vik and Alfred were close. He knew this game. 

“Perfect!” Alfred looked at Matthew as he backed off and tried to beg Arthur but the man was stubborn, something Alfred clearly inherited. “I’ll come by your office at 11am tomorrow with the papers. Don’t forget the payment!”

“Stop! I give! Don’t touch my reserve, asshole!” 

Alfred made a smug face before pretending to pout. “Aw, sorry, Vik. Maybe next time.” 

Vik gave a dramatic sigh and groaned, “Yes, next time. Goodbye, Alfred.” 

Alfred hung up and leaned forward, “Talk.”

“Don’t you da-” 

“It’s Ivan.” Matthew cut off his father and tightened his fist. “The authorities finally pinned him and they’re on their way to your house to arrest him. I wiped your name from the records so it says that Ivan lived alone. If you were in that house when the police arrived, they’ll accuse you of harboring a criminal or being a partner in crime. We needed to get you out before they got there.”

“I warned you, Alfred. I told you to leave that man, but you didn’t listen to me. This is for your own good.” Arthur never took his eyes off the road when he spoke and his voice stayed calm and emotionless. “You’re better without him.” 

“You’re wrong.” Without waiting for the car to stop, Alfred popped the lock and threw himself out of the car. It was only because of his fast reflexes that he had managed to quickly roll away from incoming traffic and make his way onto the sidewalk. 

“Alfred!” Arthur stuck his head out of the car window to shout at his son. His threats were quickly silenced by the cars behind him honking for him to move. 

Alfred paid him no attention and instead gave the car one last look before sprinting back towards his house. The aches in his body from his scratched and bleeding limbs didn’t bother him one bit. All he cared about was getting back to the house before it was too late. 

[-w-]

After scaling a couple six-foot fences, stealing a bike, and paying someone to park their van in the middle of the road so Arthur couldn’t get through, Alfred had made it back to his neighborhood drenched in sweat. He prayed to any deity that would listen to grant him one wish: that Ivan was home safe and the police had not arrived.

But his prayers fell on deaf ears. As he turned the corner, he saw a hoard of bright blue and red lights from the crowd of squad cars surrounding his house. He hit the brakes on the bike so hard that he lost control and plummeted onto the concrete. 

The noise had alerted one of his neighbors who was being interviewed by an officer. She quickly looked up and pointed her crooked little finger at him. Alfred could read off her lips that she had said, "that's him" with a sinister face as if she had waited so long to see him jailed. Before he could even get back on his feet, the officer had shouted for backup and was charging towards Alfred. 

Alfred scrambled to get back up and took off running with the enemy hot on his heels. They shouted orders for him to stop or they would shoot. But that wouldn't happen, right? 

He tried to reason with himself that they wouldn't. His heart pounded in his ears and his shoes beat against the pavement as he cursed under his breath. He shouldn't have ran. He practically proved his own guilt and admitted himself to prison. 

Shots rang out behind him with the bullets ricocheting off the concrete below. They were actually doing it. They were shooting him. The situation was more dire than he thought. They really thought he was a criminal.

A piercing pain shot through his leg as one of the bullets had hit their mark. He shrieked as his leg failed to support him and sent him tumbling into the ground once again. His breathing was ragged and his leg burned with pain he couldn't describe. All he knew was that the bullet had gone straight through him and it took only seconds for the ones chasing him to pin him to the ground. 

He was cuffed and dragged to the squad car, his wound leaving a trail of blood on his way there. They didn't care for the wound at all and some had even cursed at him, saying he didn't deserve the treatment. Some even taunted him and made the pain worse by grabbing his injured leg as he was forced into the back seat. With his hands restrained, all he could do was writhe in pain as they drove off. 

"Don't get your fucking blood in my car, bitch." the cop driving growled at him, "I'll make you lick off every last stain." 

"Fuck you." Alfred snarled back, kicking his good leg against the divider separating them. He hated that his voice shook and tears burned in his eyes. His pant leg was already drenched and his head was light from the loss of blood. 

More than ever he wanted to be free and fight this man for destroying his life, but he was only doing injury to himself as he left marks on his wrists from the struggle against the metal cuffs. He clenched his teeth, black spots clouded his vision and his body felt cold. And before he knew it, he was slumped on the seat, lost in a dark sea of numbness.

[-w-]

A single gunshot through his leg wasn't enough to kill him, but with the trials that had followed his arrest, Alfred had wished that the bullet had gone through his head and not his thigh. Not only had it left him with a slight limp and two scars, it forced him to sit through months of courtroom battles with trips back and forth from court to prison. 

Sometimes he wouldn’t even appear in court, but he was still forced to sit through every painful second via a camera and a screen. Arthur had connections strong enough to get Alfred into a private cell, but in the daytime, he was forced to be with the other prisoners. Some had thought he was just a pretty boy to be messed with, but after just the first day, everyone knew not to touch him. And if they did, then by the time Alfred is through with them, they would have at least one permanent injury. 

Most fights had been started by Alfred himself. He had so much anger pent up inside of him and all this stress weighing on his shoulders. The trials had forced him to say cruel and insulting things about Ivan as his crocodile tears spilled in buckets at each confession. He had been painted as a victim of Ivan’s schemes, “used as a cover to pretend to be a normal civilian,” his lawyer had told him to say, and Alfred had hated every moment of it. 

The stories tainted his mind. They had been made to sound so true that Alfred had almost begun to believe it as well. But he knew, deep in his heart, that not a single word of it was fact. He had loved Ivan, and he knew that Ivan loved him. He was never used, never assaulted, and Ivan had never forced him to do anything he didn’t want. 

Outside of the trials when he was alone with his lawyer, he always asked if he had word of Ivan, but the man always told him no. His husband had seemingly vanished off the face of the earth and no one knew where he had gone. 

He had planned to search the entire planet for Ivan the second he was freed, but at the end of the trials, he had been put under police watch for five years but that was all. Alfred had gotten off with a slap on the wrist. The judge, the jury, the lawyers, and most of the press attending the trials had all been bought off by Arthur, by threat or by cash. Without his father’s influence, Alfred faced decades in jail. 

Ungrateful brat or not, Alfred was still a Kirkland, and Arthur would rather die than have Alfred deface his name. To have his own son be the traitorous whore that slept with the enemy would be such an insult that Arthur would kill Alfred himself if the electric chair didn’t claim him first. 

But by some miracle, not only did the media and the city’s people believe the story, but so did the people of the underground. The Kirkland Clan’s hatred for the Russian Bratva grew tenfold hearing how their leader’s son was used, and the Russian Bratva cheered on their former head for being able to infiltrate their enemy in such an insulting manner. 

Alfred had been caught in between the sugar-coated words of pity and the sexual taunts from both sides that he could only bear for so long. After just a month, he had decided to move to another state where Arthur’s business didn’t reach, but with his police watch still in effect, he was denied at the state border.

Five years trapped in this state was hell. Alfred had grown accustomed to his twice-a-month trips, and being unable to leave made it feel like a prison of its own kind. 

In time, the story of Alfred had faded. People had stopped talking about it and quickly moved on to the next celebrity scandal, and for that, Alfred was grateful. With his assassin gear and costumes destroyed in “an unfortunate electrical failure that sparked a fire in the storage unit,” Alfred was forced to live a normal life under the watchful eyes of the authorities. 

Now with nothing exciting to do, Alfred fell back on his first life plan: to get a PhD and work for NASA. His father had been opposed to it because he wanted Alfred to help run the organization beside Matthew, but now that Alfred was being watched like a mouse in an owl den, Arthur had no choice but to grit his teeth and wish him luck. 

It had taken him all five years of his sentence to earn that degree. Five years of sleepless nights, full days spent at the library, crying over math with classmates, and of course, a little bit of partying, had rewarded him with a PhD in aerospace engineering, and with his internships in between school, a full-time job at NASA. 

He had given his speech as valedictorian, gone to court to have his police watch officially removed, and a day later, packed his bags and left for Vegas. Unlike his trip there years ago, the hotel room was lively with his fellow graduates there to keep him company. And when night came, the four headed out into the hot streets of Vegas for an evening of fun. 

The men easily became overwhelmed by the many things to do in the bright city. It was Mathias, an architecture graduate, that spoke up first. “We can’t keep walking around like this with our hands in our pockets! What do you want to do, guys?” 

“Fuck I know.” Sadik, a graduate in biology, scoffed and took his hands out of his pockets.

Gilbert, an engineering graduate who knew no shame, had thrown his hands into the air and shouted, “Strip! Club!” And as if magically created with Gilbert’s fantasies, the flashy neon sign of a woman on a pole had appeared at the corner of the street. 

Gilbert looked at his friends with pleading eyes, and with a couple of indifferent shrugs, Mathias and Sadik had agreed to go. They turned to look at Alfred who had held his hands up and taken a step back. 

“Hey, whoa, um, I’m not going. You guys have fun but I got somewhere else to be. Besides, if I’m there, you guys won’t stand a chance against me.” Alfred smirked and laughed as his friends jumped on him with playful punches and noogies, but in the end, they weren’t going to pressure him to go and had gone to the club after making sure that Alfred was okay being alone. 

He stood at the corner of the street watching his friends disobey road rules for the sake of getting to the club faster and rolled his eyes with a chuckle when he saw them shout at a car that had honked at them. Only when they were inside did Alfred finally unplant his feet from the ground. 

Everything here was new and remodeled, but even if it wasn’t, the last time he had walked these streets, he had done so while piss drunk. But with the help of a map and directions from a taxi driver, Alfred had finally made it to where he wanted to be. 

A wedding reception had just ended, it seemed, and two brides, one tall and beautiful and the other like a ball of sunshine, came out of the chapel with bells ringing and flower petals showering their loving kiss. 

The scene made Alfred ache with jealousy and his hand went to unconsciously clutch the ring he wore on a chain underneath his shirt. His wedding ring—the one Arthur had told him to toss out—had never left his side. He kept the ring with him for five years in hopes that one day, Ivan would return and put the ring back on his finger. But the harsh reality was that Ivan never did. Even so, Alfred’s heart never strayed and he turned down the many relationship offers he'd received in Ivan’s absence. 

But at one point, he had to accept that he would never see Ivan again. He needed to take his own advice given during the valedictorian speech and move on from the darkness of the past to see the light of a new future. 

With a deep breath, Alfred took the chain off his neck and unclasped it to slide the ring into his palm. He pocketed the chain then held the silver band up to the neon green lights of the sign, watching the flashes of color dance across the metal. 

“Well,” he muttered, “guess it’s time to say goodbye.” With his parting words said, he slipped the ring onto the branch of the tree beside him. If someone found it, then he hoped that the ring would be given to someone who would live a marriage happier than his own. 

Without looking back, he left, his steps feeling lighter as if he had been freed. Not of Ivan, but of the pain of waiting for his impossible return. He turned his head to the sky to breathe the air, and even though it reeked of gasoline and sewage, it was the freshest air Alfred had ever breathed. 

He had his hands stuffed in his pocket, his steps crossing one another as he bounced to the tune of his own humming, when a shout interrupted his peace. 

Over the sound of cars and Vegas life, he heard the sound of someone shouting, “Sir!” He thought nothing of it at first, his humming resuming its made up tune, but then the shouts drew closer to him. 

The man’s voice made Alfred’s heart sting with pain. It was a voice he had known so well, but instead of turning around to meet the source of the cries, he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and quickened his pace. 

Heart beating faster, he willed the voice to disappear, to stop calling out, but it only came closer until Alfred broke out into a run. The voice chased him, calling out for him to stop, but Alfred didn’t listen nor did he turn around. It had called him out by his name and the familiar sound threw him into the wind, making him forget how to move his legs and trip over his own feet. 

The sidewalk left scratches on his palms, but he ignored the pain, more concerned about getting away from who was following him. But Alfred’s stumble had given the pursuer enough time to catch up. Large hands helped Alfred into a sitting position and quickly examined his hands to see the injuries. 

“Oh, God. Alfred, it is you. Why did you run?” the voice spoke. The face of the voice haunted Alfred’s memories but he kept his eyes tightly closed and shoved away the man in front of him. “Alfred please. What’s wrong? It’s me! Ivan! Did you forget?” 

Alfred’s eyes snapped open and he had only glanced at the face for a split second before he slapped it so hard it fell out of his vision. “Why the fuck are you here!” he screamed, his voice sounding small in the empty streets. He had run so far that the two were alone on the quiet residential streets. “You’re supposed to be dead!” 

He grabbed Ivan’s collar and pulled him up again so they were eye to eye. His mouth opened to speak but shock halted his voice. It wasn’t the Ivan he remembered. This man had hair that was dark black and eyes that looked to be dark brown. It couldn’t be Ivan. This man wasn’t Ivan. It was a joke. 

But when the man groaned and rubbed his sore cheek and then muttered a soft, “ow…” Alfred’s heart couldn’t stop speeding at seeing the familiar face. It had to be Ivan. Who else would it be? He had even said it was his name. 

“That is not what I expected your first gesture to be…” He moved his face muscles around, testing out the pain. “I expected something more like a hug.” 

As the man spoke, Alfred could only sit there in silence, analyzing every part of the man’s face. Besides the hair and eyes, this man also had a short beard, light wrinkles, and a beauty mark next to his right eye. 

“You don't know how long I've waited for you, Alf-”

“You’re not Ivan.” he cut him off. “Don’t say my name.” 

“Al-... Mr… Kirkland…” he said the name slowly, using Alfred’s real surname and not the one he had taken. “Please. I know I don’t look like I used to, but I am Ivan. I needed to change my face because the police are still looking for me. It’s me, my love.” Ivan reached out for Alfred’s hand but Alfred snatched it away from him and scooted back farther until his back was against a shrub.

“No! I don’t care. I came here to toss out that stupid ring because you never came back for me. Do you know how much it hurts to feel like you’ve been abandoned? Huh?” When Ivan stayed silent, Alfred continued. “I hate you. I fucking hate you. You left me alone to deal with all the pity and all the shame while you were here living a new life in Vegas. You were here drinking martinis every night and I was at home being watched by the fuzz for five years. 

“You left me alone in an empty house where every night I would sit at the bedroom window waiting for your stupid head to pop up and take me away. But you never fucking came and it hurt so much that I had to move back in with my dad!

“I thought that I could give you up by burying myself with work and books, but every single day, I looked at my flowers and all I could think about was you!” His voice rose at each line and soon his eyes welled up with tears. “You-” he paused, voice breaking, “I was alone and everyone told me you were a monster. They told me you never had it in your cold heart to love me. And I believed them because it was easier than waiting for you to come back to me.” 

His last words died into a whisper as he sobbed into his hands. All his pain pent up from the years since Ivan had left him spilled out of his heart. Even if it pained him to get the words out, once they were out, he felt a sense of relief. 

Warmth surrounded him when Ivan’s arms pulled him into his chest. This warmth he had missed so much had finally returned. For the longest time, Alfred wailed into Ivan’s shoulder, making the shirt messy and wet, but Ivan held him close the whole time, whispering apologies into his ear as he cried too from hearing Alfred’s suffering. 

“I never wanted to leave you,” Ivan croaked, “I’m so sorry that you were alone. I’m so sorry.” He pulled away and wiped the tears from his lover’s eyes, then held his face in his hands so tenderly that Alfred feared he’d cry for another reason. 

“I waited for you everyday too, Alfred. I came here because I knew that fate would one day bring us back together. I knew you were under police watch so I couldn’t go back to you because I knew that the second I stepped foot into our home, they’d kill me. I didn’t want you to see me die, Alfred. I waited. I waited so long and watched so many weddings and all I could think about was you.” He reached out for Alfred’s hand then moved it so Alfred’s fingers touched the ring on Ivan’s finger. “I never took it off. Never.” 

Ivan reached into his pocket and pulled out Alfred’s ring. He had taken it off the branch and was now offering it back to Alfred. It was his choice. If he really hated Ivan and wanted to move on, then he could refuse the ring. But if he still loved him, then the object that bound them was his to take. 

Alfred sat in silence for a while. So long that Ivan had begun to think that Alfred had truly given up on him. Perhaps he had waited too long and their love had faded. And perhaps the pain was just too much to be forgiven. 

But as Ivan slowly lowered his hand in defeat, Alfred reached out, gently plucking the ring from his palm. He sniffed and wiped off the mess on his face aggressively with his sleeves before holding the ring out to Ivan. When Ivan didn’t respond, Alfred snatched his hand and pressed the ring back into his hand and then held out his left, fingers spread and palm facing down. 

“If you want me back,” he sniffed again, voice wavering, “then you put a ring on it yourself.” He couldn’t keep a straight face. His frown had spread into a wide smile even as his lip trembled. 

Ivan didn’t waste a single second, quickly sliding the ring back onto his husband’s finger before pulling him into an embrace. The crying had started once again, but this time they were tears of joy. 

“I’ve missed holding you like this, dorogoy. You make my heart burst!” Ivan laughed, his crying making his words sound muddled. 

“Me too.” Alfred cried into his shirt. “Me too...” 

The sob fest went on until their tears ran out and their knees ached from being on the concrete for so long. So after a bit of a struggle to get back up with their wobbly legs, they headed back to the chapel, hand in hand. 

“I’m still mad at you, you know.” Alfred spoke, his voice hoarse from crying. 

“That’s alright.” 

“I’m serious.” 

“I know. Oh! I forgot!” 

Ivan brought Alfred’s hand up to remove the ring, but just like the first time he had attempted to do so, Alfred’s hand clasped around his wrist and stopped him. 

“Alfred. Trust me.” he whispered with the same softness as Alfred remembered. 

Putting all his trust into Ivan, Alfred let go and let him remove the ring. He watched as Ivan got down on one knee and held the ring out to him as if it were the first time. 

“Alfred Kirkland, will you marry me? As Alyosha Morozov?” 

Alfred snorted at hearing the name and swiped at his wet eyes. “Alyosha Morozov? Really?” 

“I had to change it to start over. Will you start over with me? Be Alfred Morozov-Kirkland?” 

Alfred chuckled and shook his head. “No.” He smirked at Ivan’s shocked face. “But I will be Alfred Jones-Morozov.” Then he held out his hand for the ring. For the second time tonight, a ring was put on his finger, but this time it was for the sake of new beginnings, not old bonds. 

He pulled Ivan back onto his feet so he could cup his face and kiss him until he was out of breath, then he kissed him some more until their crying made them so short of breath that they could only press their foreheads together and feel the heat of each others’ breath on their lips. 

But it was enough. As long as they had each other again, it was enough. Alfred’s hands were scratched, their knees hurt, their faces were a mess of tears and snot, but in their hearts, nothing was better than this. 

Nothing.