#you have to fucking wait until you become 18 years old to get citizenship

[banfan2]

Where is the "depends on the region" option

[ilgaksu]

So @badacts and I came up with this ridiculous spy au and idk lads here’s a preview of the fic for it I’m working on, hopefully it’ll keep you warm whilst I’m crying over finals (cw: graphic depictions of violence - stay safe kids!) 

*

Agent #10-03-18: Josten, Neil Abram.

Aliases: Nathaniel Abram Wesninski, Michael Hatford, Stefan Bernard, Alex Vidakovic, Chris Rey (see attached notes for further)

Status: ACTIVE DUTY

Security Clearance: Delta

Assignment: Fox Division

Gender: M

D.O.B: 19/03/1991

Citizenship status: American, British

Identifying characteristics: Caucasian, blue eyes, notable facial and bodily scarring (see attached notes for further)

Languages: English (Birth), French (Fluent), Spanish (Fluent), German (Fluent), Russian (Fluent)

Specialisms: Stealth and Infiltration, Mafia (National and Overseas), Interrogation

Service History: #77267, #90568, #22110, #45999 (see attached notes for further)

Deployment Precautions: unstable attachment, previous insubordination, pyrophobia, evidence of further masked neuroatypicality (see attached notes for further)

Family Background:

Birth Father: Nathan Wesninski (deceased)

Birth Mother: Mary Hatford (deceased)

Spouse: Minyard, Andrew Joseph (#03-19-10, Active Duty)

Spouse to be informed fully in the event of MIA/KIA: Yes

Body to be released to spouse in the event of MIA/KIA: Yes

Spouse to be in receipt of full pension benefit: Yes

*

Agent #03-19-10: Minyard, Andrew Joseph.

Aliases: (see attached notes for further)

Status: ACTIVE DUTY (RESTRICTED)

Security Clearance: Delta

Assignment: Fox Division

Gender: M

D.O.B: 04/11/1990

Citizenship status: American

Identifying characteristics: Caucasian, blond, bodily scarring (see attached notes for further)

Languages: English (Birth), German (Fluent), Russian (Fluent)

Specialisms: Extraction, Support

Service History: #77267, #90568, #52019, #41734 (see attached notes for further)

Deployment Precautions: previous repeated insubordination, previous high impact collateral damage (high risk), evidence of profound Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder; diagnosed Bipolar Disorder (Type 2)  (see attached notes for further)

NOT TO BE DEPLOYED OUTSIDE OF EMERGENCY PROTOCOL #4I80

Family Background:

Birth Father: Unknown

Birth Mother: Tilda Minyard (deceased, see attached notes for further)

Other:

Minyard, Aaron Michael (#05-19-03, Active Duty (Medical), Sibling)

Hemmick, Nicholas Esteban (#08-05-03, Active Duty, Cousin)  

Spouse: Josten, Neil Abram (#10-03-18, Active Duty)

Spouse to be informed fully in the event of MIA/KIA: Yes

Body to be released to spouse in the event of MIA/KIA: Yes

Spouse to be in receipt of full pension benefit: Yes

*

“Where’s he from?” Lebedev asks, dealing Andrew in. He doesn’t gesture to Neil, but it’s clear who he’s referring to: everyone’s pretending not to stare. Apparently Markov isn’t the first member of the new generation of the Bratva’s bright young things to bring along a boy, but he’s the first to parade him around the shop floor.

“New York,” Andrew replies. Beside him, Neil stirs a little, acting as though he’s been made sleepy with boredom, scrolling through his phone and slung across Andrew’s lap.

After the averted disaster of last month’s introductions, they figured Neil had made them unforgettable as a pair: might as well make use of it. Nikolai Vidakovic was born in the poorest town in Russia, emigrated to America five years ago, and made a living off working for multiple escort agencies in rotation until he was introduced to Markov a year and a half ago. Within six months, he’d moved into Markov’s apartment. Within nine, he’d had his face slashed open by a rival. The story goes that Markov spent forty thousand dollars a head on bounty money, and then dragged the ones who held the knife behind his car. The story goes they had to replace the gravel on the racetrack, since by the fourth man it had become impossible to clean.

The best liars always tell some kind of truth, Neil had said once. Andrew doesn’t have that kind of money, but he knows if something had taken a wrong turn, with everything that has happened to Neil, he wouldn’t have slept until no one could get the blood back out either. After all, Andrei Markov is an obsessive man.

Under the weight of Lebedev’s eyes, Neil shifts on Andrew’s lap, glancing away from his phone and at the table. He scowls, as though registering the new splay of cards for the first time and taking it as a personal insult.  

“Baby,” Neil whines, as if on cue, “Baby, I’m tired.”

“Then go to bed,” Andrew tells him. “Katya will take you.” At the mention of her current name, Renee - sat a few metres away from Andrew and Neil, ever watchful - rises to her feet.

“You haven’t paid attention to me all night,” Neil continues, voice laced with complaint. He slides his hand between the buttons of Andrew’s shirt, curving his fingertips familiar against Andrew’s ribcage, the splay of his body around Andrew’s petulant. As though tugged by a string, Lebedev drops his eyes back to the cards, his own hand twitching in its hold on his glass.

“There’s a lot of night left,” Andrew replies, with a kind of savage amusement. Neil flops against him again, sulky, and Andrew catches Renee’s eye and shakes his head. She sits back down in her chair, hands folded deceptively still.

Lebedev says, “He’s very American.”   

“He’s from Tolyatti,” Andrew says, brusque with it, Neil’s breath hot against his neck. Neil moves and presses his face against Andrew’s collarbone for a moment before leaning up and pressing a kiss against the bare skin over Andrew’s pulse. Andrew grits his teeth, swallows down on a shiver, and doesn’t look at him. After a few seconds, Neil sighs and pulls his hand back out of Andrew’s shirt, flopping back and returning to his phone. Andrew knows the bones of Neil better than his own; he can imagine how the scar tissue glints, dull and shiny, under the dimmed lights with the way Neil tilts his head; can see it in how people’s eyes catch and then tear away when faced with the weight of Andrei Markov’s notice.

“You like them difficult,” Lebedev says. His smile never gets close to his eyes. “Where I’m from we save that for our wives. Your action.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Andrew says coldly, “I’m not married. I’ll hold.” He holds Lebedev’s gaze, noticing the tension in the way he holds himself in the chair. He is more than aware that Lebedev works for Steiner, and that Steiner himself is stood within earshot, leaning against the bar and gilt-eyed to match.

He nods at Andrew. Andrew nods back. And the thing is, Andrew was transient long before he picked up a collection of new names, long before his own tongue fell out of his head; back when his mouth had been sewn up and he picked out each stitch with his bare fucking hands, fingertips nerveless and bloody with effort. Andrew Minyard has been in the process of becoming Andrew Minyard for over twenty five years now, and a large part of that process has been learning the rarity of a better nature in people. Andrew is commended, time and time over, on his ability to anticipate a perpetrator’s future actions, carving them out in a streamlined, sequential fashion for people who have all the required imagination for it but still lack that basic instinct to know - because nine times of ten, people behave on instinct, people are motivated for reasons old as and older than gold, people can be predicted because they fall victim to their own human condition.

Some people can’t live with believing the worst of people; Andrew’s turned it into a career. The point being, Andrew’s been waiting for Alexei Steiner to pull a stunt like this ever since Neil first fell into Andrei Markov’s lap with the word baby clinging to the breath on his lips. For Steiner, finding a weakness so seemingly by accident, a ready-made pressure point waiting for the cooker, has blinded him from looking for anything else. He’s too busy itching to test the limits; of how precious Andrei Markov’s toy is, of how far Andrei Markov will go to keep Nikolai Vidakovic leashed to him. How easy it would be to unravel Markov if someone cut the leash before he could reel it back in.  

“Of course not,” Lebedev says, “Don’t. The fighting, the guilting, the always fucking with the lights out. It’s a waste.” He shrugs, eyes flitting to Neil, who looks at him with lovely, blank eyes, and then back to his phone. With the sleeves of his silk shirt pushed up and the large patches of skin visible through the rips in acid-wash jeans, Neil doesn’t just look the picture of a boy dragged out from the gutter; it’s noticeable that the scars go all the way down. The sense-memory of them under Andrew’s hands has been making the back of his neck prickle every time he sees a flash of thigh all evening.

“Then again,” Lebedev adds, faintly mocking, “Sometimes it’s better if you can’t see what you’re touching, isn’t it? We are not similar men, of course - but I think on that, perhaps, we can relate.”

And there it is. There’s a brief silence as the others in the room eye Andrew and Lebedev; Steiner’s interest is a particular and separate weight. How far are you willing to go?

Internally, Andrew sighs. He has made a career out of predictability, but sometimes, it would be nice to be proved wrong. Neil, for all his ridiculous mouth and Bambi eyes, isn’t as stupid as Nikolai: he knew this was coming, so he merely blinks boredly at Lebedev until Andrew squeezes the hand on Neil’s hip and says, “Get up, Nikolenka.”

“Are we going now?” Neil asks, brightening immediately.

“Soon,” Andrew promises, and lifts Neil off his lap. Neil sighs but lets himself be manhandled, tucking his feet under himself on the sofa. Everyone is watching, Lebedev including, as Andrew, very carefully, choreographing, reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out one of the sixteen credit cards listed under Markov’s name. He places it on the table, making pointed eye contact with Steiner, and pushes it towards him slightly. Gestures to where it lies on the table.

“I’m good for your damages,” Andrew says. Steiner’s mouth quirks upwards.

“That’s very considerate. You didn’t have to.”

“Call it a business expense,” Andrew tells him, and then grabs the nearest empty chair and swings it directly into Lebedev’s face. He feels the bones give the first time, but the sound isn’t distinct until after the third swing; he moves so fast that he gets in that third hit before Lebedev falls off his own chair, scrambling backwards, all insect, as Andrew drops the chair and follows him slowly. He looks at everyone else, on their feet, hands to their guns, and smiles.

“Don’t bother getting up,” Andrew says, gesturing back to the discarded splay of his cards. The fact it’s blatantly a winning hand makes the display all the better. “I’ll fold.”

“I didn’t mean -” Lebedev starts, Andrew hauling him upright.

“I don’t care what you meant,” Andrew tells him, “You’re not supposed to be looking at him,” and kicks Lebedev back to the floor.

Somewhere between breaking Lebedev’s leg and the feel of blood on his face, Neil stands in Andrew’s periphery. Andrew, who for all anyone’s watching knows, is consumed with the habit of violence (repetitive, boring, Andrew is capable of more than a reversal of biology) watches Neil slip his phone into his jeans pocket and saunter towards the bar, looking bored out of his mind. As he passes Andrew, he reaches out and drifts fingertips across the bow of shoulders. It is both for show and for grounding.

“You want me to get you anything, baby?” Neil asks. The biggest tell that he’s Nikolai right now is that he lets Andrew ignore him; just sighs, a little resigned, and heads to the bar. Neil Josten would never let Andrew Minyard ignore the question of what Andrew wants. Over Lebedev, Andrew can hear Nikolai ordering another drink - something with amaretto, sickly-sweet and with cyanide, perfect and perfectly in character.

tbc