It was supposedly the party of the century, and yet Tatiana would have gladly been anywhere else in the world if it meant that she wasn’t alone. She had never been meant for solitude - up until now, she had been bright and beaming and filled to the brim with sunshine and smiles, but ever since she had been taken away from the Irish and brought back home, something inside of her had been irrevocably torn apart. Dimitri and Viktor were her brothers, of course, and the rest of the Bratva was her family as well, but - Alexander and so much of the Irish mafia had become to mean the world to her, and she was every bit as lost without them as she had been without the Russians during her first few weeks of being kidnapped. She was torn between the two families and hated the amount of tension between them to begin with; was it really so much to ask for both of them to set aside their differences and work together instead of on opposing sides?
She was drawn out of her reverie by the sound of a voice - low, soothing, and a little gravelly, it was one that she would have recognized anywhere. It reminded her of hot cocoa and soda bread before bed; it reminded her of warm hugs and a comforting shoulder to cry on whenever she missed her older brothers far too much to bear. It was…Idris, the owner of Flanagan’s Tavern, and the man who might as well have been Tatiana’s surrogate father during her time spent with the Irish. “Papa medved’!” One of many favored petnames for him tumbled breathlessly past her lips as she very clumsily spun around in shock to face him; there, on the moonlit cobblestone path, was the bear-like gentleman in question, full beard, kind eyes, and all.Â
It didn’t matter that they were alone - the walkway could have been filled entirely with other partygoers, and that still wouldn’t have stopped Tatiana from rushing forward and flinging herself at the older Irishman, tiny little arms winding helplessly around his midsection as she buried her face in the reassuring warmth of his chest. He smelled like stout and old-fashioned cologne, and it reminded her of home. “Tatia - Tatia being much better now,” she said weakly into the jacket of his suit; a glossy sheen of tears washed over her crystalline blue eyes and she sniffled softly, looking up at the man that had all but raised her while she had been away with a tentative smile. “I coming look for old friends tonight, and I finding you first. Has - has been such long time, da?”
Idris wanted to protest. She should be at home. She's not safe. If she tries to run away back to Alexander the Russia will burn the city to the ground to find her. If she sees Alexander and rejects him, well, he's seen men fall to pieces in battle. He's seen men succumb to their wounds and others run rampant in rage. He's not sure he could handle a heart broken Alexander. He's not sure any of them would survive it.Â
Still, he caught Tatiana in his arms, pressing his face into her blonde hair. It was funny, he had two children of his own. Two daughters he loved dearly and would do anything for. However, he had immediately been drawn to Tatiana. Like she was his third daughter who was lost due to a mix up at the hospital. Or perhaps a mix up in Heaven. Not that he would have let either of his own daughters date Alexander for a second.Â
He smiled gently at her, wiping the tears away from her cheeks. He wanted to shush her and tell her not to cry. Instead, he chuckled a little. "Yes, it has been a while but you're at home with your family now, yes? You're safe?" Safe with her own brothers. He was sure she was but he wanted to check. He was always checking. "I'm glad I found you. What are you doing out here?" Idris asked, his tone gentle and he took off his suit jacket, draping it over the girl's delicate shoulders.Â