Aleksei: Meeting

For eighteen years, Aleksei put Mishka out of his mind. Occasionally, he heard little rumors and updates: An elven thief who stole the face of a trickster goddess. A pirate captain who scuttled ships with a snap of his fingers.

Then he heard a new rumor. Mishka was in Skyport. The Alabasti ambassador saw him there-- talking to the Skyport Prince and Warmaster. Hanging around at court, going to court functions, talking the nobility into things.

Representing some group. The Graverunners.

He was really… really fucking curious about that. Couldn’t resist, knowing exactly where Mishka was. So this time, when Aleksei heard the rumor, he went to Skyport.

--

He caught Mishka at the tail end of a party. Aleksei used some minor magic to disguise himself-- change his hair color, his nose. And once Mishka turned to leave the party, Aleksei followed him out.

Mikhail stopped alone in the garden, which was empty at this hour. He went to an abandoned corner by himself, then took something out of his pocket (green chalk?) and began drawing a circle on the pavement.

Aleks checked around to make sure they were both alone. Then he dropped the magical disguise. And, softly, he called, “Mikhail.”

Mishka froze. His eyes widened, but he didn’t move, didn’t turn around, like he was fucking paralyzed. His eyes shifted to where Aleksei stood.

Mishka skittered away like a startled rat. He instinctively put his back to a hedge, but he didn’t run away, not yet, fixed on Aleksei.

“Aleks,” he stammered.

It came out half a question, like Mishka was checking. He studied Aleks intently, checking his face, his ears, his nose, the shape of his body, the scars on his arms the mole on the side of his neck, like it was fucking impossible this was Aleks and he needed to keep checking until he found an inconsistency.

Aleks kept his voice soft. “Hey, Mishka.”

It really was Mishka, Aleks thought.

Thirty years ago, Mishka was a barefoot kid carrying a clumsy sword, dressed in a simple tunic and breeches. Running around raiding tombs and doing odd jobs for cash.

He looked different now. Older.

His freckles were darker, like he spent a lot of time in the sun nowadays. It looked like he’d developed a taste for expensive clothing: a soft white tunic with green and gold embroidery, black breeches, and high-heeled black boots. And his hair-- had his hair been that color before?

He carried a jeweled rapier, and he wore several pieces of jewelry, any of which could be his focus. Aleksei’s eyes lingered on the black pendant around Mishka’s throat. It was black and silver, Mishka’s favorite type of jewelry. That was likely it.

“It’s okay,” Aleksei said, slowly raising his hands.

--

Aleksei didn’t come any closer. Fucking suspicious. This was a fucking nightmare. He’d fallen asleep at home, and he was having a bad dream.

Aleks started talking quietly. “God, I’ve missed you. Are you okay? I can see you checking the exits, my love. I can see you doing all those little things you do when you’re nervous. It’s okay, honestly. I’ll stay over here, alright? I’m not angry at you.”

*Angry at me?*

 Why would Aleksei be angry at him? Aleksei was the one who--

Oh. Angry for killing him.

Mishka didn’t respond, just flattened himself against the wall harder. “This is a bad dream,” he said slowly. “I’m asleep on my couch.”

“Mm. That’s okay. It can be a dream, I suppose. Doesn’t have to be a bad dream. I want to say some things to you. That’s all.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

That was a fucking lie. Mishka burned to talk to him. He wanted to know why the fuck Aleks altered his memories. He wanted Aleksei to explain why he thought it was okay, and Mishka wanted to convince him it was wrong. He wanted Aleksei to feel bad and apologize. Or-- he wanted Aleks to… have a fucking explanation. Say something to make it better. Mishka ground his teeth.

“Take your time,” Aleksei said. “It’s okay. I just… I heard you were in Skyport. The elven ambassador mentioned she saw you here--”

“The Alabasti ambassador. Not the elven ambassador. There are other elves.”

“The Alabasti ambassador,” Aleksei said after a pause. “Sure. Anyway, I wanted to see you.” He deflated, like his feelings were hurt.

Mishka felt like he was going to throw up. He never thought he’d have to confront this. Never thought he’d have to talk to anyone. He should’ve realized he couldn’t just fucking… lock shit away and not deal with it.

He needed to calm down. He was fucking dying to run away, but if he ran away, he might never seek Aleks again. That felt too permanent. He wanted to talk. He wanted to be here.

But what if it was a trap?

What if there were guards getting in position to ambush him, arrest him, and take him back to Alabaster? What if Aleks was about to modify his memories again?

Aleks was staring at him, almost as though sizing him up. Mishka wasn’t sure, but it felt like Aleks’s eyes lingered on the black obsidian pendant. His focus.

“Stay… stay there,” Mishka said.

That didn’t usually work on Aleks. Aleks wanted to touch him (“I love you so much,” Aleks would always say). It was startling to realize that. Mishka suddenly missed Hansel, who always read him carefully without saying a word, without ever complaining or making excuses— (“I love you so much.”). And Goro. He missed Goro, who was fucking vicious, like a cat with all his claws out-- touching him so fucking carefully that first night, careful not to even breathe on him. He missed Joan.

Aleks seemed to have changed, though, because he didn’t come closer. Instead, he nodded. “It’s okay,” he said again. “It’s really me. Ask me questions.”

Mishka was surprised. “That’s not—“ That wasn’t the reason he was freaked out. He was afraid it was Aleksei, not that it wasn’t.

Aleksei would find that pretty fucking confusing, though. The last thing Aleksei knew, they were having a good time, and then the dragon forced Mishka to kill him.

Aleksei seemed to pick up on this. “Are you afraid of me?” He sounded shocked.

Mishka said nothing. He rubbed his hand on his thigh where a dagger was concealed, comforting himself without giving himself away. Nervous tic.

“Little one,” Aleksei cajoled. “It’s okay. You can leave if you need to. I won’t call the guards. I won’t have you arrested. I’m on your side. This isn’t a trick. I just want to talk to you, my love. It’s okay.”

“You’ve alive,” Mishka said.

“Mhm.” Aleksei didn’t say anything else, like he was enjoying Mishka’s confusion.

Mishka wanted Hansel. Or Roddy, who would get nervous and de-escalate. Or Goro, who would blandly tell Aleksei to fuck off. Or Joan. She’d handle it without being asked.He wanted to step back behind Joan and let her patiently work out why Aleksei was here and how he was alive.

But mostly, he just wanted Hansel. He wanted to crawl into Hansel’s arms and hide there, inside his coat. He wanted Hansel to sink his trident into Aleksei’s gut and pin him to the ground, then bend over him and explain in a low voice, detail by detail, how he was going to rip Aleksei’s arms off, and then his legs-- but not before ripping his tongue out so he couldn’t cast and breaking his jaw so he couldn’t scream.

That wasn’t going to fucking work, though. Hansel wasn’t here.

Okay. Deep breaths. He’d keep this conversation short, and then he’d go get Hansel.

Mishka switched tactics instead. “What do you want?” He could find out how Aleksei was alive later.

Aleksei just looked confused. “Because I wanted to talk to you. Mishka, what are you talking about? You killed me. We haven’t seen each other in thirty years. It was a terrible tragedy, but I missed you.”

Mishka edged away.

“What’s wrong?” Aleksei said.

“You-- you altered my memories.”

“I what?”

“If my husband finds out you’re alive, he’ll kill you.”

“Husband?” Aleksei said. He sat on a bench and crossed his legs idly.

“Aye.”

Aleksei’s eyes flickered to the ring on Mishka’s finger. The orc writing. Flickered back up to Mishka’s face. Regarded him. “What’s his name?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Nonsense. Mishka, is he a sensible and intelligent man? Give me ten minutes with him. I’m no threat to him and no threat to you, and I can explain that to him.”

“No,” Mishka said.

“Oh, come on--”

“I mean, no, he is not a sensible man. You can meet him if you like, I just wouldn’t recommend it. He’s not going to listen to you fucking talk, Aleks. He. Is. Going. To. *Kill*. You. I'm going to walk away from this little chitchat, and I'm going to go straight to him and tell him you're alive, because I love him very much and I trust his instincts, and then I'm probably going to cry for a bit, and then he and I are going to come back here and he's going to hold you down while I cut your fucking throat. Am I clear? And if you don't want that to happen, scat. Shoo. Git. I don't want to fucking deal with you."

Aleksei arched his eyebrows.

“I’m not kidding,” Mishka said. “I once saw him rip out a man’s throat with his bare teeth in the middle of a bar fight. I told him--” I told him you probably hurt me. “I told him…”

Aleksei’s eyes narrowed, just a tiny bit, as Mishka trailed off. He titled his head. “You told him I hurt you.”

Mishka wet his lips. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

Mishka kept his back to the wall. “Because you did.”

Aleksei examined him like he was sizing Mishka up. Recalculating the situation. Mishka’s skin crawled. Something felt very fucking wrong here, but he couldn’t tell what it was: Aleksei hadn’t done anything wrong, yet, he was just being… patient, and nice. And yet, for some reason, the situation felt-- tense, like standing next to a bomb ready to go off.

Aleks rose to his feet. “Mishka,” he said idly. “I can see you’re very upset.” He moved forward, a little.

Mishka drew the knife at his side. He gave Aleks a look that said *I will fucking cut you.*

 Aleks stopped, and raised his hands. “I can see you’re very upset,” he said again. “I want to explain everything, but I don’t think you’re in the right state of mind.”

“Right state of mind? Oh, fuck you.”

Aleks took another step forward, and this time, he kept moving. Mishka gritted his teeth and didn’t move. He could run. He should run. He should vanish right fucking now. But his pride was a little too great for that, and even though he itched to snap his fingers and disappear, he didn’t quite dare. He wanted to see what would happen.

Aleksei stopped a foot in front of him. He reached to touch Mishka’s face, lightly.

Mishka caught his wrist. Gripped it, fingernails digging in. He bared his teeth. He refused to avert his eyes, even though they were watering.

Mishka spit on his face.

Aleks winced, then distastefully wiped it off with a handkerchief. “Mishka,” he said quietly. “That’s not very nice.” And then he backed away, waving his hand. “I’ll see you some other time, alright?”

--

This hadn’t gone well, Aleks thought, mildly disappointed. Mishka was pissed.

Aleks… simmered, a bit. He’d done everything right. Mishka killed him. And Aleks had been patient, and kind, and understanding, and gently asked Mishka to come back to him, and Mishka was scampering away like Aleks was some kind of monster. It was fucking insulting.

He reached out, and, very gently, touched Mishka’s mind, reading his surface thoughts.

He wasn’t even thinking about Aleksei. He was thinking about his fucking husband.

Mishka turned his back on Aleks and started to walk back towards the party. No doubt Mishka figured it’d be safer there, around people.

That was all the time Aleks needed. He hummed the bars of a song and said, “Mikhail Haeth. Stop right there.”

He felt his magic sink into Mishka and grab hold. Mishka wavered and held still, as if in a trance.

“Turn around,” Aleks said.

Mishka turned around. He had a vague, dazed look on his face.

“So, this is what happened in the past fifteen minutes,” Aleksei said, and he touched Mishka’s face, just because he could. “You didn’t meet me. We never spoke. You don’t know I’m alive. You had a bad day at court. You sat here a while on your own, and you decided you don’t really like court. It’s stuffy. Bureaucratic. You think you’re going to start avoiding court and spending more time with your family.”

Mishka made a faint, puzzled sound.

*There*, Aleksei thought, satisfied. That should keep Mishka away for a little while. And now Aleksei didn’t have to worry about people coming to kill him.

Aleksei dropped his hand, then kissed Mishka on the nose. “I really do love you, little one,” Aleksei said. “And I know this little meeting is just going to distress you. So forget about it, eh? Much easier.”

Mishka wavered, so Aleksei gently guided him down onto the bench and left him there.

He kissed Mishka briefly on the mouth, and Mishka made a vague protesting sound. “I know,” Aleksei said. “I know.”

And then he left, whistling to himself. Manipulating people was like picking a lock. You needed to exert gentle pressure on the right areas. Too much force, and the picks snapped or the lock broke.

Aleksei could wait until the next time they ran into each other. He was good at waiting.