Et tu--?

“Da, ya znayu,” he repeats under his breath, looking down at he slowly tried to match the tempo of Boris’s voice. This was a new one, one he had yet to understand, but if there’s anything Hector loved, it was learning. Which, initially, is one of the first things that drew him to Boris. He felt like there was a lot for him to learn, if not traditionally, then untraditionally. He leaned back a bit on the couch, so his feet were almost touching Boris’s thigh, then looked up at the ceiling. “You never told me what that one means,” he says, biting the inside of his cheek and tilting his head to the side only slightly. Around Boris, he was never ashamed to admit he didn’t know things, was never afraid of looking dumb or simple. Because, while he might tease him sometimes, he knows it’s always from a place of love, and not from anywhere malicious. 

He listened to him tell him what it was he had just been coming from, and nodded, his own mind already starting to work on what it was he would have to do for his mission. He knew it was an important one, probably one of the most important ones he’d gotten recently, and he could only hope he had the individual strength to pull it off. Or the talent. Or the charisma. He quickly shook those thoughts out of his head, he knew he was good at this, knew he was trusted for a reason. So, he looked down at Boris to distract himself, trying his best not to listen to the sinking feeling in his chest. 

“Thought so,” he said, resting his head back down on the couch. “Seems like everyone’s got something to do after…what happened.” He doesn’t know if he can talk about it, or if he even wants to talk about it. That night was mostly a blur anyway. That was when his phone rang, and Hector jumped off of the couch to meet the delivery man at the door, then brought the pizza back and gave Boris’s box to him, and kept his box for himself. “How are you gonna fight people off if you’re living off of crumbs?” He teased. 

   Boris couldn’t help the twitch of his lips as he nodded, and simply replied, “Da, ya znayu.”  A play on words that perhaps only he would be able to understand with the language barrier, but one that made him chuckle softly in response to Hector’s words. Taking pity on the man’s curiosity he grinned slightly and patted his leg where it rested near his thigh and replied, “Yes, I know.” Raising a brow to make sure that Hector got the connection between the two translations, he then reached out for the control to the TV. Intent on finding something for them to watch while they waited for the food to arrive.

   He had to hand it to the delivery nearby, they certainly didn’t waste their time, and he watched Hector scurry away with a soft snort. Only to return with the food, and for the first time in over a week Boris felt his stomach rumble with hunger. He opened his offered box with a soft hum and instantly started to devour the monstrosity he called pizza. In quick order he devoured the slice and then reached in for more, before turning to Hector with a raised brow, “Are you going to end up sleeping here tonight?” 

   Boris didn’t understand everything that went on with Hammish and Hector’s friendship, or whatever it was, and he didn’t pretend to, but he could, from time to time, be called on to offer an empty couch, or somewhat empty fridge to the other man. It wasn’t a lot, but it seemed to be enough for Hector on the few times he’d found himself at a loss, and in Boris’s apartment unannounced.

          With eyes rolling in her head, Val knew a lie when she heard one especially when it was a common one uttered from her own lips whenever anyone else wanted to know why she wasn’t responding to them as quickly as they expected. It had much to do with her double life, making it next to impossible to be in two places at once but she did it anyways — at least until the other night. 

The gala had been her first fumble, stumbling over her own feet and tongue when it came to seeing her brother in a position where he needed help rather than keeping to herself in hopes of making sure that no one saw her waver from their line of sight. Or their loyalty. Val had failed, miserably, and eventually would pay the price even as she shut the doors between herself and her brother — nothing would come between them, not fully, even if her lies were enough to create some distance.

          “He’ll live.” She spoke bluntly, eyes anywhere but on her brother inside that would have questions for her later but Val couldn’t think about that now. Not yet. Not without revealing much of what she was trying to accomplish for both their sake with a touch of enjoyment that coursed through her veins when her plans succeeded. Wringing her hands once before letting them rest on the edge of the fence that circled around the small veranda that was one of her favorite places in their home, Val took a deep breath. “Orpheus knows.” She paused for a moment, to let it settle in while her own thoughts ran rampant with what it could mean for her eventually. “Not everything, but enough. He knows about Santino. He now knows that I have a tie to the Montagues, but he doesn’t know how much that is true or why I work for the Capulets when I have someone.. but if he starts to ask questions. It won’t be long before others do the same.”

   “Good to hear it, can’t imagine what a nightmare you would be without him.” Boris may have grown up without any siblings, but he’d seen over the years how that bond could create something in people that was awe-inspiring, while simultaneously their greatest weakness. Damiano thought he was doing the smart thing in splitting up the twins, using their safety against each other to dig out the information he so sought among the Capulets, but Boris could see the man’s folly. Just as easily now, as he had for years since he’d stripped the wool from his eyes. What Damiano refused to see with the Gallo twins was that when one of them was in danger--nothing else in the world mattered. No Montague or Capulet could get in the middle of that, and it would be their savior--or their downfall.

   Orpheus. Shifting around, he lent back against the railing so he could look back towards the inside of the house where Santino was healing from wounds inflicted upon him at an event that was meant to be ‘safe’.  “That’s not good.”  His tone was light, barely an ounce of stress or frustration within the syllables as his mind already whirled through with the implications of what she said. “What do your instincts say to do?”

   Boris had his own ideas, thoughts, concerns. Things he could do to keep Orpheus silent, or perhaps drag Santino in the mud. He didn’t have much hope that Damiano’s plan with Valentina would come to fruition, but he had his own thoughts for the twin and what he wanted to do with her. And having Orpheus flap his mouth about things he didn’t understand wasn’t part of it. “You’re turning into a regular Montague now, what does your guilt say to do when something like this happens?”

The small sliver of time before the sun fully appeared above the eastern horizon appeared to be a time made for people like Regina. The sky was still an deep, inky sort of color in the west, despite the tinges of orange and blue beginning to radiate from the east. It was too early for most to rise for work, too late for those who stayed up late to still be awake. The perfect hour where no one would hear you scream. Too early of an hour to twist its way into stories that claimed one was killed in the middle of the night; too late of an hour for an obituary to claim one died in one’s sleep. This hour was a perfect time to complete the assignments Regina had been sent, and Boris counted on that. 

Seeing her as she walked along the outskirts of the city, one wouldn’t think much of her. They certainly wouldn’t assume the correct answer, not with any evidence to show for it, save for trace specks of blood droplets beneath a fingernail or two, the likes of which were unseen even by Regina. The sunrise cast a gentle glow across her face, an angelic touch to someone who was very much not blessed with such a quality. A voice called out to her as she walked, that which she certainly did not expect, for who could notice a shadow cast along the cobblestone? Who could not mistake it for that cast by a tree or a bird? Someone who knew that shadow, that’s who. 

“Is it night? I believe it is technically morning,” mused Regina, looking up at the sky as the inkiness began to fade. The voice was familiar, the man was familiar, but she could not distinguish it all just yet. “As much as I can enjoy anything.” Oh, she very much enjoyed her night, thanks to him, but it was not that which stuck in her mind, but the knowing sort of tone he took in his question that didn’t seem like it was looking for much of an answer in the first place. “What makes you ask such a thing?”

   In another life, Boris might’ve been able to see the beauty in the early morning light surrounding him. Verona may have been tainted by the darkness in her alleyways, but she still towered over the rest of the world with her ancient buildings and beauty that ached for a world long gone. He’d been in enough cities, and seen enough of the many ways the people who lived tin them have destroyed them from the inside out, to know that nowhere is as beautiful as it may seem on the outside.

   He wasn’t surprised she didn’t see him at first, he’d had plenty of practice going unnoticed in plain sight, and the faintest of grins curled on his lips as he shifted a page of his paper, “Well, you’re neither stumbling like a late night drunk attempting to find their way home, or surrounded in an air of shame like so many young people when they do something they regret. Which leads me to believe that you had a rather enjoyable night, am I wrong?”

   Boris had sent her out here specifically because he knew what type of a person Regina was, and what she could be used to do. He’d given her enough ‘opportunities’ in the past that it was time to up the ante, somewhat, and see what she really was capable of. 

   Fire was a tricky thing. It seemed simple at first, only requiring two things: Fuel and a catalyst, but when not put into a controlled environment, it was chaos. Boris typically steered clear of such a thing, considering how volatile fire could be, he preferred to use other means to get his point across. It was far easier to use a knife or a gun to instill fear in someone, and without the added worry of unnecessary casualties. 

   And yet, here he was.

   He’d heard the name Borisov whispered through the voices of those whose English was just as abysmal as their Italian. At an early age he’d learned that knowing more than one language was always going to be an asset and set out to learn as many as his brain could manage. Years he’d spent living with the Montagues, Italian, Russian, English, and all manner of languages falling on his tongue, and still not one of them had thought to learn his native tongue. It was their loss, and his gain, he supposed.

   It lead him here, to a man he’d heard talked about in the whispers of the streets both in Verona and outside. Of a man whose love affair with fire was something to be revered...and feared, and Boris couldn’t help but put two and two together in his mind. He didn’t have any evidence that Borisov was responsible, but he’d learned to listen to whispers over the years, and when interpreted correctly they were rarely wrong. 

   Boris had followed a man with Borisov’s description to the library, and stationed himself outside as he walked inside, amused despite himself. In all the places he’d expected to find the fire-lover, it hadn’t been a library, the irony of so many flammable objects in the man’s hands made a low chuckle leave Boris as he settled on the bench nearby with his own book. If he had to wait outside all day, he would, and when the man finally emerged, Boris couldn’t help but call out playfully as he passed, “Find anything interesting?”

It was odd, that in the most recent months, Hector hadn’t been able to feel at home anywhere. It was like he was lost, trapped between wanting to be with someone, and missing who they used to be, stuck going over his pain over and over, his traumas, and unable to get out of it. He felt differently than Hassan did. Hassan was methodical, brought his emotions to his mind, felt them throughout his entire body, and tried to rationalize them away. Hector felt with all of himself, and refused to compromise that, refused to allow anyone to tell him he wasn’t allowed to. He supposed that was why he gravitated to people who couldn’t, so he could feel for them, so he could show them it was alright. Boris was one of those people, but he also made him feel safe. Made him feel comfortable in a time where his comfort wasn’t his priority, and for that, he would be eternally grateful. 

Not grateful enough to try his pizza, though. 

“You know, I think I’m good. I don’t really feel like throwing up today,” he said with a half grin, reaching his foot over to nudge his thigh, then bringing it back to hold him up, and to keep his knees pressed against his chest. It was times like these, when he felt like he needed to hold himself together in any way he could, that he would make himself small. As small as he could possibly be. 

“I can come to the shops with you tomorrow,” he said as he laid back a bit on the couch, letting himself relax if only for a moment. “I love grocery shopping,” he added honestly, looking up at the ceiling as he thought of too many things all at once. “Were you working?” 

   Chuckling softly he stretched his arms out in front of him, muscles tight with overuse from the last few days, but he relished it. He’d done a job for Damiano, and also gotten the chance to test out a slew of concoctions he might not have gotten the opportunity to experiment with before. In another time he might’ve simply gone there and roughed the man up a bit, make an old man regret pissing off one of the strongest men in Italy, but Boris had had other plans. For himself, and Salvatore.

   “Da, ya znayu.” How many times had he dragged the other man to the grocery and ended up with far more food than he would normally get by himself. Though he be small, Hector could pack away food when he was inclined, and Boris couldn’t honestly say he disliked have the company on occasion. He hadn’t made many friends since his return to the Montagues, and even more enemies, so he could count on one hand the number of people who were in his apartment regularly.

   Boris considered briefly glossing over what he’d been doing, and where he’d been, but he’d never felt the need to lie to Hector right out. Gloss over the truth, perhaps, but Hector had never been one to ask something that Boris wasn’t prepared to tell him some semblance  of what really happened. “I received a job from Damiano himself.” He’d done what the boss had asked, but he was fairly certain the man hadn’t expected exactly what Boris had done. Though, the only thing he’d really know was that Salvatore was dead, and no one would really know  how or why until much, much, later. “It was fairly simple, considering some of the things I’ve had to do for the Family.”

and so being young and dipped in folly, i fell in love with melancholy

He held her against his chest and she let herself remember: the familiar shape of the muscles beneath the fabric that separated skin from skin, the smell of him that she could still faintly make out through the smoke (maybe it was the ghost of her memories, maybe, maybe — Dio, had she missed him so?). Once, he only had to touch her to set her on fire.

And look where they were now: standing amidst a burning building, reunited by fate’s cruel and mocking hand. Despite her best efforts to shake him off completely, Boris would not let go — and before she could forbid the thought, it came to the tip of her tongue: leave me as you did all those years ago.

“Lucky for you, the world is falling to shit,” Halcyon said, moving to keep pace with Boris so he couldn’t lead her. Lead her, as if she was a woman who needed leading. As if she was a woman who needed to be saved, as if she was still the same Halcyon he once knew, maybe even cared for: a wife, a trophy to be polished, a pretty jewel on a shelf.

No longer. They reached the exit and she immediately pulled away from him, sliding a knife out from her stockings so he could not dare come closer. “Don’t think I’ll return the favor,” she said, “I would never stop to even consider your life. Not for a Montague.” And before she could help it: “And especially not after you disappeared without so much as a goodbye.”

   There was so much about her was different, but so much that was the same. Fire filled her gaze, as much as it surrounded them, and he was reminded of the countless times he’d seen it flare up within her eyes so long ago. She walked beside him, never behind, though he was never one to ask her to. He’d always been the one to walk two feet behind and one to the left. Hired as her husband’s bodyguard, it’d been her he slowly, but surely, came to protect more. The man had been cocky enough to think having a number of bodyguards would mean he was somehow important enough to protect, but it was never him Boris had been there for. At least, not after he’d gotten to know her.

   Boris held on tight to her until they reached the exit, able to finally take a deep breath of fresh air and become distracted enough to have her rip away from him. In the next moment she had a knife pulled out from somewhere, and Boris couldn’t help but be quietly proud. It seemed her time out from under the shadow of her husband had made the fire in her ignite, and he was almost sad that he’d missed the transition. Though, he really only had himself to blame for that.

    If he’d been anyone else, the acid in her voice would’ve made him flinch, but instead he bared his teeth in the semblance of a smile in response he leaned closer to her, “Hate me all you want, principessa, but not because I’m a Montague.” Months. They’d had months to get to know each other, and find the things that made each other tick in a situation that wasn’t the ideal, but he’d left. He’d made his decision, just as she had made her own, but she didn’t get to hold that over his head. Not when she’d been so close to being burnt to a crisp. Not when that part of him inside that hadn’t ever really forgotten about her wanted to grab onto her and never let go.  “Now, are you angry for me leaving? Or saving your life. Because you can’t have it both ways.”

Boris, you’ve yet another chance to prove yourself. Don’t take this one lightly. Do you know of Salvatore Verro? A government witness and former member from before your time. He had my father, the former boss, imprisoned and ensured he died behind bars. Murdered countless but lives calmly in the country after years of protection and peace. Go to him. Remind him that we do not forget. - Damiano

   The words played over and over in his head as he had prepared for his trip into the country. Seen as any number of his other Emissary missions, with a stack of paperwork, and his trademark smirk, Boris had made sure no one else was aware of his true reasons for leaving. Only a select few, namely Damiano himself, would know where he was going, and what he was really doing, the rest would just think he was off dropping trade agreements. When in actuality, he was going to kill a man.

   Any other time Boris might seem out of place, but with the sky on the verge of daybreak and a newspaper in his hand, the only other thing he’d need to complete the picture was a cup of coffee. Unfortunately, he’d never been a fan of the stuff, and had forgone it, for a simple thermos filled with tea. Just enough to keep him company while he waited for the object of his attention that morning.

   Boris didn’t have any reason to believe that she’d pass by him in this particular courtyard, other than his own research and intuition. He’d been watching her long enough, and studying her methods, to know the way she preferred to get in to find her current assignment, and how she left. And if he was right, she’d be passing by his position any minute.

   Almost counting down the seconds in his head, he turned a page of the newspaper he wasn’t quite reading, and to the very last second, there she was. Looking as put together as she always did, none the wiser that there was one less person in the world thanks to her hands. And with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips he called out to her, without taking his eyes away from the paper, “Enjoy yourself tonight?”

“What’ve you been eating then?” He teases, grabbing his phone from his pocket, and already scrolling through different meal options for them. When they were together, they ate. That was just a part of it. He sat beside him on the couch without looking at where he was, putting his feet up so his knees were pressed to his chest, his eyes focused on the restaurants nearby. He ended up on a pizza place they both liked, and ordered two pizzas without consulting Boris at all. He knew his grotesque pizza taste, and didn’t ever want to hear him say it ever again. 

Meat lovers, anchovies, pineapple and mozzarella. Disgusting. 

He ordered his own, then put his phone down beside him, avoiding all of the texts and calls he had been ignoring for the past few hours. “I ordered us pizzas. Don’t worry, I included your abomination of favorites.” He clenched his jaw in response to his question, not looking up at him, knowing he would be able to see the change in his expression if he did. There was something about working with someone, especially the way he and Boris worked together, that made you attuned to what the other was feeling. He could always tell when there was something wrong with him, and vice versa. Though it wasn’t like he problem was new. “Uhm,” he hummed, trying to figure out how to word the things he was going through right then. How Hassan was getting worse, how his home slowly stopped feeling like home, and more like work, how he felt like he was betraying him by even thinking those things. “I didn’t want to go home, and you did always say the door was always open for me,” he teased. “Even though I had to open it myself.” 

   “Crumbs.” Boris let his head fall back to the edge of the couch with a low chuckle, the high tension of the last week finally leaving him now that he was safe, and secure, in his apartment. Even having Hector there didn’t take away from the feeling of security, they’d done enough jobs together, and had each other’s back, that he’d come to depend on the other man, and trust him, in some manner. How many times had he walked in to have Hector already there, having made himself at home, with a grin and vague air of loss surrounding him. How many times had Boris simply accepted his presence, and waited for Hector to either talk, or leave of his own accord.

   “It’s only an abomination, because you refuse to even try it, zaichik.” Legs kicked up on the coffee table, he spared a brief thought to his bag still resting by the door. He should unload the weapons in there, and put his laundry away, and a whole slew of other things he needed to do now that he was home, but he didn’t move. There’d be plenty of time to get settled in later, preferably after he’d gorged himself on the first full meal in nearly a week, and maybe watched a movie or two without having to move from this spot.

   That faint hum of indecision had Boris’s eyes snapping open and his head turning to look at Hector with a raised brow. There was more there in what Hector wasn’t saying, in the curve of his brow and the way he sat nearly curled in on himself. There was more Hector probably wouldn’t tell him, and he wouldn’t ask, but at the end of it all, Boris wouldn’t kick him out, and they’d eat pizza, watch movies, and in that they’d find some form of normalcy, “In that case, you know where the spare sheets are.” He’d learned early on, that Hector had his own reasons for not wanting to go home, and even if Boris didn’t know why, he’d never felt the need to ask. He had his own secrets to keep, but he never had to worry that Hector would push him to share them, so he offered him the same courtesy. “And you’re coming to the shops with me in the morning. I could use the extra set of arms.”

there’s the melody of some child’s tune in his whistle as quick fingers work with the wires set out before him, paying no mind to his companion nor his gruff words, no notice to the quick beeping of the counter before him sending out warnings in minutes, seconds.

“have a little faith, boris. pray, if it’ll make you feel better.” he turns back to look at him just to throw in a cheeky wink, some plier in between teeth leaving words muffled, laugh still clear despite it. “my personal favourite’s hail mary, if we’re taking requests here. throw in a little bit of an apostle’s creed if you’re feeling a bit unlucky while you’re at it, hm?”

he fiddles with the wires for a moment more before turning fully to meet boris’ figure again, ever-familiar even in some unknown place. it is almost comforting, if such a thing existed for him

“you can try, but you’ve got windows, so… “ he trails off, shrugging with a grin. “oh, by the way - we should probably run. got like…. half a minute on the clock?”

   “Whatever gods I may pray to, Pavel, are too far away to hear it.” Boris didn’t need to keep an eye on him to know Pavel was making quick work of the wires connected to an unnatural amount of explosives, but that didn’t mean his skin didn’t itch with the need to double check. It was both his asset and his curse to be brutally

   Boris didn’t even bother with a reply, though countless curses were echoing through his mind as he immediately grabbed for Pavel’s arm and ran. This was what he’d been waiting for. What had been keeping him on edge since he’d woken with Pavel’s grinning face above his own. Never once had he done a job with the other man without his life coming thirty seconds away from ending because of his antics.

    Thankfully, because Boris was always aware of how Pavel’s operations usually ended, he’d scoped out an escape route the second they entered the area. The seconds counted down in the back of his mind, and with three seconds to spare, he ducked down behind the building next to inevitable explosion. Prepared to drag Pavel down with him into safety if the man chose to try and cheat death, once again, “Idiot.”

            Valentina knew who it was walking in before they even stepped through the door, eyes cast towards the phone in her hands that was her connection to both parts of her life. Eventually it would buzz with word from one side or the other, dragging her back into the fold soon enough that her respite back in the one place where she could be herself would be over — a telling sign of how easy it all could be taken away from her. The night of the gala was fresh on her mind, her gaze shifting over to her brother’s form that hadn’t done much in the way of healing as fast as she would have liked ( he was no longer the superhero in her childhood mind, but a part of her that needed to be protected ) as a thin smile formed on her lips. “I’ve been busy.”

Busy between the Capulets and Montagues, running interference as much as possible with one eye always on her brother in the other room as she pocketed her phone and gestured for Boris to follow her out onto the veranda. At least there, they could talk. Though it wasn’t as if Boris was a secret from Santino but some of what she did for him — it was better off kept between the two rather than spread out among the three. The less he knew, the better things would be for them in the end as she swiftly shut the door behind them both. “They do have this crazy new contraption where when you miss someone, you can type it out and send it wirelessly. It eliminates any need for person to person contact,” she brushed out smoothly even though she had a feeling that wasn’t his style.

   “I can see that.” Between caring for a brother that shouldn’t exist, and keeping both her Montague and Capulet counterparts happy--he could imagine that Valentina’s life had been rather hectic in the last few days, but he wasn’t here because of that. 

   Boris’s expression remained pleasantly amused as he followed Valentina out to the veranda, not bothering to spare the other Gallo another glance, despite the very obvious eyes that tracked their movement outside. If Valentina wanted to keep pretending she had some semblance of privacy, he was willing to give it to her, considering just how many secrets she had to keep on a daily basis. “I lost my phone.”

   It wasn’t necessarily a lie, but it also wasn’t the full truth in that Boris was there because he’d been, somewhat...worried. Valentina was a job, as any other jobs he’d had before, but somewhere along the line he’d come to give a shit or two about the fire-cracker twins, and wasn’t willing to see them be hurt unnecessarily. “Regardless, I bet you’ve been kept busy enough, you wouldn’t have even given me the time of day if I hadn’t come by.” Shifting he moved to lean forward against the railing, looking out over the yard that was nearly as large as the house they were in, “How bad is he?”