Not a single one of his teammates approve, but they each understand, so when 0530 comes around the next morning, all four of them are in the car on the way towards the café across the street from St. John the Baptist Orthodox Church.

It's a small building. They circle around the block twice. The disturbed-pond appearance of the rippled glass in every window of the café makes it apparent to Tim that they're in the right place. The location must be a place where his father, or maybe just Sasha, frequently conducts business.

They park a couple blocks away and walk in two-by-two formation on the other side of the street from the restaurant. Tim's most frequently paired with Tony when they walk or work in twos—maybe because of their comparable physical size or perhaps due to their complementary strengths. Then again, maybe it's just because Tony's accustomed to having his Probie's six after so long of teaching Tim the ropes. Today, though, it's Ziva at Tim's side. Boss decreed the arrangement with a flick of his chin when the four of them left the car. Boss didn't say why, but he didn't have to, either. If anything goes wrong inside the café, Ziva can get Tim off American soil and away from complications from the Bratva or the FBI or both inside of fifteen minutes by taking him to the Israeli embassy.

As they walk towards the café, they don't have a single cell phone among them, but they each have their service weapons, not to mention whatever personal arsenal Tim's teammates each deigned to wear. Tim's only got his knife and a single spare clip on him. He can see the bulge at Boss's ankle where he's got his old thirty-eight, though. He knows Tony's wearing his double holster with a 9 mil under each arm. He can't tell what Ziva's carrying beyond the sig at her hip, but Ziva doesn't need a weapon to be dangerous anyway.

The oddity is, Tim knows that the four of them are unlikely to be stripped of their weapons because the people in the Bratva understand that the real danger that law enforcement poses to the Bratva is not in its weaponry, but in its legalities. That's why none of them, not even Tim, would ever be permitted to take an electronic device of any kind into a conversation with Pakhan.

He tried to describe some of the critical mechanics of the Bratva's mindset to his team last night. He knows they understand what he told them on an intellectual level, but Tim also realizes that the Brotherhood's way of life is too foreign for him to try to explain to his team without some sort of reference for them to help them comprehend. He doesn't know if he could ever really explain the sorts of politics that he grew up with and the way he's had to fight how that thinking has colored his world.

Whether or not his team gets why Tim needs to guide them through this meeting, he hopes he emphasized enough just how critical it is that they not interfere with his dialogue with Sasha and whoever else may show up today. Tim bites his lip, wondering if Papa might be one of the people behind that rippled glass.

He's not at all certain whether this meeting is actually Sasha's own initiative or a way for the Brotherhood as a whole to try to determine Toli's potential threat level to the organization. There's even a small chance that MCRT will find the FBI behind the door of that café, although Tim seriously doubts that the Muscovite he met yesterday could be a mole for the feds.

As the team approaches the café, a figure sits on the black-painted metal patio furniture reading a newspaper as a steaming hot cup of coffee sits on the table beside him. He hadn't been there five minutes ago when the team had driven by. The man keeps the paper low, making his face visible.

"It's Pyotor," Boss declares once his eagle eyes are close enough to distinguish the man's features.

Pyotor waits until the team gets closer, waits even until they are practically standing in front of him before he rises to greet them. "Dobroye utro."

"Good morning to you," Tim nods back, certain Pyotor is familiar with at least that much English and not willing to speak Russian in public without knowing who might be listening. "Yurok?" he inquires.

Pyotor smiles so widely he doesn't need to say, "Ochen Horoshow. Spasiba." Very good. Thank you. Pyotor sweeps one thick arm towards the door, inviting them inside without another word.

Tim nods, returning the smile, but it's Ziva who returns their thanks, "Spasiba." She smiles at Pyotor as well, exaggerating the sway of her hips. Pyotor's grin widens, his focus narrowing to Ziva alone as the team walks past.

Tim glances up at Boss to note Gibbs uses Pyotor's distraction to surreptitiously get a closer look at what the Russian is carrying—Pyotor's got the same Glock on his hip as he did yesterday. No wonder he's a bad shot, Tim muses about what Sasha told him the day before. No control when you're learning on a Glock. As a driver, though, Pyotor would probably be more concerned with the rapid fire the Glock allows in order to clear people from his path rather than the accuracy a semi-automatic might better yield.

The café is well lit as they step inside, and another man walks into view from the kitchen within seconds of their entrance. "Dyadya!" Toli doesn't mean to speak the appellation aloud—he's grown now, and he hasn't seen his 'Uncle' in over 20 years, regardless. Not only that, but there's just a single door between anything Toli says and a possible laser microphone from the FBI. It's just that he's almost overwhelmed to recognize Alyosha right away, even with the passage of time written across his face in ink. Alyosha had been Papa's second in the Bratva for longer than Toli's been alive. Alyosha's presence at this meeting almost indisputably means that this conference was sanctioned by Pakhan himself. Additionally, it exponentially increases the possibility that Papa may be here as well. Toli takes a moment to glance around before his eyes go back to Dyadya.

Alyosha grins, his still-black eyebrows raise beneath his greying hair, "Malcheska!" he speaks to the boy Toli once was, but then when they walk closely enough to touch, he claps his hand on Toli's back instead of gathering Toli to him as he often had when Toli was a child. By reflex, Toli copies the motion. It's odd for him to realize that his arm on Alyosha's shoulder is angled downward: Toli's taller than Dyadya now. A moment later, their hands still clasped onto one another's shoulders, the two men embrace. It is a gesture of equality as much as affection between them. His uncle is acknowledging Toli as a man of the Bratva. Moreover, he is welcoming Toli as such.

Alyosha smiles at Toli as they part. He keeps a heavy hand on Toli's shoulder and looks up at him when he says, "Nikolai Mikhailovich refused to retire to the hotel last night," Dyadya drops his chin, confidingly. "He demanded to have everything Sasha found out from his surveillance of you," Alyosha watches Toli closely as he speaks, trying to determine what Toli knows about the situation, judging his cleverness, and, perhaps, Toli's potential uses to the Bratva.

This is the Alyosha Toli remembers watching as a boy—always calculating, always pushing or cajoling or simply taking information. It's one of the traits that made Alyosha such a good councilor to Papa, good enough that Toli doubts Papa ever considered anyone else to be his Sovietnik.

Toli smiles back at Alyosha, feeling Papa's blood coursing through his veins when he returns, "I am certain that anyone would have difficulty reporting anything interesting of my visible life in these last several months of following me," Toli's not certain how many months, but 'several' should be vague enough to satisfy the timeline. "Even a former agent of FSB," he continues, offering the information he has on Sasha because there is no conceivable way that Alyosha does not already know of Sasha's past. Moreover, Alyosha should know that Toli is not without his own resources.

"Of course," Toli continues, narrowing his eyes, realizing mere seconds before he speaks that, "Sasha knew that electronic surveillance could garner too much attention and potential complications," as a part of the Russian state security agency, Sasha would have realized that Tim's major weakness would have been physical surveillance, a fact that he effectively exploited for who knows how long before Tim caught on. Tim would have discovered any electronic reconnaissance exponentially more quickly than a physical shadow—just as he did last night. "Unlike others, Sasha only watched me, he did not try to listen." The words are at dig at Alyosha, though the smirk Toli offers afterward makes his phrasing too friendly for the Sovietnik to take exception. It was Alyosha's men observing him in Gibbs' basement last night, Tim now has no doubt. He's also fairly certain that the surveillance was as much to protect Toli as it was to ensure Pakhan's safety.

Alyosha chuffs, more approvingly than anything else. His voice is almost inaudibly low when he speaks again, "Like his father before him, Sasha excels at keeping many secrets," again Alyosha studies Toli's features, watching for a reaction. "But not, I think, all secrets," Alyosha adds, squeezing Tim's shoulder a touch too hard as he does.

Toli holds Alyosha's stare, hearing his warning as clearly as the new day breaks outside the shuttered windows of the café. It is not until this moment, with Alyosha pressing against family secrets that Toli's only just learned that Toli realizes how very precious the information Sasha gave him last night truly is. Sasha's paternity is not simply a secret within the Bratva, it is a secret from the Bratva. Toli wonders how many of the Brotherhood know who Sasha is to their Pakhan. With the way Alyosha's thumb digs just beneath his shoulder blade, Toli would bet Ilya and Alyosha are the only ones that know. Toli wonders how many, nonetheless, suspect the relationship, how many would hate the Muscovite blood in Sasha's veins more than they respect the way it mixes with the blood of their Pakhan.

"Any secret of Pakhan's," Toli speaks slowly, ensuring that Alyosha cannot misunderstand him, "is not mine to speak," Tim shakes his head and doesn't look at his team, he doesn't have to, "not to anyone."

Alyosha's grin becomes more broad. After a moment of Dyadya beaming at him so, Toli realizes he's grinning because Toli has inadvertently pledged allegiance, not only to his Papa, but to his father's position as Pakhan.

"Mmm," Alyosha hums approvingly, once more squeezing Toli's shoulder, though lightly this time, before he drops his hand to his side. "It is good to see Sasha is not the only man here who is his father's son," Alyosha's switch to English is deliberate. As obscure as his actions are, it is the first time Alyosha even nominally acknowledges Tim's team.

Toli narrows his eyes at Alyosha. As Sovietnik, Alyosha has been his father's most trusted advisor for as long as Toli can remember. Papa almost always spoke with Alyosha prior to making major decisions for the Bratva. Alyosha's apparent but contradictorily unspoken, disapproval at the presence of Tim's team likely means that Papa realized they would try to accompany Toli to see Papa today. Further, Papa must have already approved their presence because Alyosha certainly does not agree with MCRT being here, but he's also permitting their entry.

Papa once told Toli that your highest potential could only be achieved when you could trust someone to tell you when you were wrong. For the last ten years or so, recalling his father's words has made Tim think of Tony.

Tim's eye goes to Tony now. His friend's shoulders are slightly hunched, as if Tony is preparing to duck and take cover at a moment's warning. Tim wouldn't have even noticed the minute change in posture except that he's watched Tony's shoulders tense up in this same way for dozens—if not hundreds—of take downs over the years.

Tim purses his lips, wondering if he's made a mistake by asking or maybe letting his team come with him today. Alyosha's response to him merely confirms to Toli that whatever Papa's reasoning for not acknowledging him yesterday, the Bratva does not see him as predatil. As such, by allowing Tim's team into the building with him, the old rules of the Bratva demand that the team be considered Toli's guests, and as his guests, they cannot be touched unless they first show hostility to the Bratva.

At the moment, though, there's no way for Tim to convey to Tony the Bratva's etiquette on hospitality. He cannot let Tony know they are safe, and at this point, despite Alyosha's unspoken disapproval of the presence of the rest of MCRT, neither can Tim offer his team a way out of this room. Any suggestion that Toli might make about his team retreating to the car or staying here while the Bratva takes him farther into this safe house would be a declaration of no confidence in his team. If Toli shows a lack of confidence in his team, then the Bratva will assume that his fellow MCRT members do not have his trust. The Bratva will imagine that Tim's team is a risk to Toli and to Pakhan and possibly to the organization. No, the only way through this is wherever the Bratva leads.

Of course, on the other side of that equation, Tim's equally as certain that his team would refuse to leave this building without him. They might even put their hands on Tim to try to force him to come with them. Toli nearly shudders at the thought. The Bratva would never permit anyone to put their hands on their Pakhan's son. Alyosha may be the only member of the Bratva that Tim's team can see, but this is a Bratva safe house, and Alyosha would never travel alone regardless. Just because Toli cannot see the eyes on them, doesn't mean he doesn't realize they are there.

Tim's eyes go back to Alyosha's, "And where is my father?" Tim asks because Papa has to be here. Papa's the only person whom Alyosha might disagree with yet still obey. Surely Papa must be in the building. Since the Bratva does not consider him a traitor, then Papa can't either. Papa really is the heart of the Brotherhood after all. If Papa sees that Toli did not betray the Bratva, then surely Alyosha is right and he still is his father's son.

"He waits for you," Alyosha tilts his head towards the kitchen. Immediately, the swinging door opens and a man too young for Toli to recognize waits until Toli catches his eye, then glances to an open stairwell with a narrow entry.

Toli breathes in roughly, feeling a heavy and welcome warmth spread through his chest. He nearly takes a step forward, but then Tim looks back at Alyosha. He hesitates but then decides it best to ask, "The men who shot at me yesterday in the warehouse district?" If Alyosha or Papa were considering consequences to those men, Alyosha wouldn't tell him in front of the rest of MCRT, regardless, but Tim can at least know how severe the situation is, whether his life is in immediate danger and from whom.

Alyosha narrows his eyes, "A misunderstanding," he permits. His voice is hard, and Toli knows he disagrees with the decree he was given when Alyosha continues, "Your father is willing to accept their apologies on your behalf, unless you are offended by them."

A misunderstanding, Tim breathes, swallows hard in his relief. He wonders if Alyosha sees his misgivings, imagines that his uncle likely does. Tim shakes his head, feeling the gratitude for his father's mercy. "I am not offended."

Alyosha nods, as though he expected as much.

"It's good to see you, Uncle," Tim nods to the older man.

"It's good you are here," Alyosha nods back and then hesitates for a bare moment, "Anatoli Nikolaievich."

Toli licks his lips, but then he smiles. It seems that his own identity is not nearly as closely kept a secret as that of his brother. Still, Alyosha's hesitation means something. Toli wastes no more time. He jerks his chin to his team and leads them all past the swinging doors of the kitchen and down the stairs.

Sasha waits for them past the bottom of the narrow stairwell. He smiles broadly at Toli, slapping him on the back as Alyosha did, then leaving his arm there on Tim's shoulders as if in afterthought. The Muscovian accent that was so apparent yesterday is non-existent in his English this morning, "It's good to see you again, Tolyan." The diminutive slips from Sasha's lips as if he and Toli were familiar and not just barely introduced.

Toli blinks, trying not to enjoy receiving the familiar sort of address that he'd heard between the gangsters he'd known growing up. He can't hold back his grin. He looks to Sasha and wonders whether his newly discovered brother—moy brata!—is as sincere as he appears to be in pursuing this connection between them, or if, instead, his apparent offer of brotherhood is the start of some elaborate ploy. His mind cannot help but to remember Ari and the way he'd manipulated Ziva. Of course, Tim never doubted that, even as much as Ari used Ziva, he loved her and tried to protect her, too.

"It's good to be here, Sashko," Toli answers, nearly in kind, if a little less gangster and a little more polite.

Sasha merely grins more broadly, squeezes Tim's shoulders once more and chuckles. Deliberately, Sasha twists and looks back at Tim's team. Tim uses Sasha's distraction to glance more thoroughly about the room, noting how completely empty it is—not a window or a scrap of furniture to be had—nothing but the now closed door leading up to the staircase they just shuffled down and the open door fifteen more feet in front of them and the small room beyond it.

Sasha doesn't speak again immediately, just shifts back around to face Tim more completely once more.

"They're my team," Tim explains to Sasha's raised eyebrow even as he can practically feel his team fanning out behind him, scanning for false walls or holes in the ceiling.

Sasha leans in against him a little more, and Tim realizes that the other man is about Tony's height. "They are feds," Sasha mock whispers.

"So am I," McGee points out.

Sasha only smiles more broadly at that, switching to Russian when he declares, "You are Bratva."

Tim wants to duck his head, let himself feel the simple but pure pleasure flowering within him at this inclusion—to be told he is still considered part of this Brotherhood he was born to. Instead, Tim halts their progress, knowing Sasha and his team will stop as he does. Tim shakes his head, "But I'm not Bratva," his mouth can't help but to pronounce the word properly. "I'm a federal agent with responsibilities. They," Tim points towards his team with an extended arm, "they are federal agents and Pakhan should know that none of us take that lightly," Tim swallows hard. "I am not Bratva," he reconfirms. "And they definitely aren't either."

"If you were not Bratva," Sasha begins anew in Russian, Moscovian accent thick and hard against Toli's ears, "Then Pakhan would be in prison even now," he steps closer and closer to Toli, getting directly into his face, and Tim feels like he's breathing in danger itself by sharing his breath with Sasha, but Tim doesn't back away. "Alyosha would be in prison," Sasha continues, nearly spitting now, "The Muscovites would still be fighting the Trincallos and the street gangs for dominance of Chicago, and more than half of the current Bratva would be dead, in jail, or destitute."

Out of the corner of his eye, Tim just barely notes how stiffly his team stands beside them—Tony with his fingers on his gun, Ziva with her knife in her hand, and Boss with his feet set apart and his eyes narrowed to Sasha alone.

"You are Bratva, Tolyan," Sasha stays in his face, forcing his opinion onto Tim, practically trying to stuff it down Tim's throat. "It is in your blood as much as it's in mine, this is true, but even more than this, you are Bratva because of what you could have done and did not."

By the time Sasha leans away, quietly furious, Tim's breath is coming almost as fast as his thoughts. It's true what Sasha says. If he'd gone to the FBI 23 years ago, ten years ago, even just a few years ago—even yesterday—Tim could have broken the Bratva. He could still break it. He could absolutely desiccate it, and he could either stay anonymous through the whole thing or he could make himself a hero in law enforcement. He wouldn't have even had to reveal his heritage either way in order to make it happen. Tim had never even considered breaking the Bratva as a possibility. Despite the fact that he didn't want to do the things a man in the Bratva would have to do, he'd never actually wanted to hurt it. Tim's not certain how the contradiction can possibly exist within him. How can he love the law and justice, yet so staunchly support and protect the Bratva?

Sasha's breathing just as harsh as his own, Tim notes when he looks back up at the other man. "He wants to see you," Sasha doesn't have to name Papa for Tim to know who he's talking about. "He doesn't care whether you consider yourself Bratva or not."

But you do, Tim thinks, his own green eyes keeping with the blackness of Sasha's. Tim nods after a moment, wondering even more about Sasha and feeling almost desperate to hear Papa confirm Sasha's claim that they really are brothers in blood. Tim wants Sasha to be his brother. It looks like maybe Sasha wants that, too.

Squinting at him, Sasha backs up three steps, back towards the open door and the small room Tim glimpsed before. Tim's brow furrows as he enters the room. He knows it's not the same place where he'd witnessed Papa killing Vasha 23 years before, but it looks much the same—a soundproofed room with a table and six chairs but no other furniture. There's one other door on the other side of the small room. Tim's eyes go for it right away, knowing Papa must be right behind it.

Once the rest of Tim's team is in the small room as well, Sasha closes the doors behind them. A red light blinks briefly while the overhead lights dim. When the lights come back on, Sasha tells the team. "It is best to turn over any recording devices or cell phones now. Counter surveillance is constant, and the signals will not simply be blocked," he warns, "they will be found, and you will be discovered, and then you will no longer be considered relevant to the conversation. Do you understand?" Sasha demands of McGee's team.

"We left our cell phones elsewhere," Tim continues to speak for his team, grateful that they trust him well enough to let the Bratva's focus and even Sasha's still angry words to remain on Tim alone. "We didn't bring anything else," Toli finishes, his eyes locking with Sasha's.

Sasha doesn't blink, merely keeps Toli's gaze for a long moment. Toli wonders who Sasha's mother is, whether she's still alive, and if his own mother had ever known about her. If Sasha and he had grown up together in Papa's home, knowing they were brothers, Toli doesn't believe he and Mama ever would have left. For a long aching moment, his eyes not moving from Sasha's, Toli wonders how different his life might have been. If he'd known he was a second son and not considered himself the firstborn, he thinks he could he have remained in his home. The pressure to take their father's position one day would have been Sasha's, not Toli's. While law enforcement would have been out of the question for him had he stayed, Toli can't imagine a life where he didn't love the law. Boss would cringe at the thought and Papa likely would, too, but Tim could picture himself as a lawyer if he'd grown up as Anatoli Markov. He wonders if he would have been permitted to be a prosecuting attorney, but he probably would have had to settle for being legal representation for the defense. Tim bites his lip as he considers. Actually, Tim doubts he would have been able to have been a part of the criminal legal system at all. He doesn't think anyone facing prosecution would want a son of the Russian mafia to stand beside them and taint their reputation in court. In fact, with his inherited ties to organized crime, he probably would have been lucky to get a job in family court. Most likely, Toli would have ended up chasing ambulances or the technical equivalent thereof. It never would have been satisfying for Tim, but it would have been the closest to the life he wanted that Toli Markov might conceivably achieve.

Tim blinks downward for just a moment. When he looks back up, Sasha tilts his head in Tim's direction, but he doesn't speak another word. Instead, he crosses the small room and knocks four times on the far door, offering an enormous show of trust by taking Toli's word for it and forgoing pat downs for not just Toli himself, but his three teammates as well.

Toli's not ready for it when it happens, but the second that the heavy metal door opens, Papa pushes his way into the room by himself, not even Ilya accompanies him. Papa halts when he's two feet in front of Toli.

"Tolik," Toli can't remember a word ever coming from Papa's mouth so brokenly before.

"Nechevo neznayou, Pakhan," Toli lowers his chin and immediately swears—I know nothing—the promise he gives to his Pakhan is old, predating Toli's birth by decades, but it's the best way he can think of to be certain that Papa understands that Toli has never and would never speak a word against him.

Papa shakes his head, his whole face seeming to pinch around his nose. "Tebya znayou," Papa counters right away—I know you. "I know my boy," Papa says again in their first tongue. "We will not speak of it again," he commands sharply.

Toli cannot raise his head to meet his father's eyes, but he can still feel it when Papa slowly moves towards him.

Heavy hands—hands Toli's seen destroy so much—gently cup his face. Papa's thumbs draw wide half circles along his cheeks until once more, Toli opens his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Papa," he can barely keep his Pakhan's gaze.

Papa just shakes his head. His mouth just barely remains open as he looks at Toli. His lips quiver as if he wishes to speak but can't find the words. Eventually, Papa squeezes his eyes shut and leans forward to press a kiss to Toli's forehead. Toli immediately drops his chin to welcome the gesture, to let Papa reach him without stretching. It startles him to realize it, but Toli's taller than his father now. Papa pulls Toli against him a long moment later.

The sensation is so difficult to trust—his father's arms around him, holding him steady and still for the first time in nearly 23 years. Papa doesn't smell of cigar smoke any longer. There's a pepperminty flavor on his breath, along with that woodsy sort of cologne that Tim could never find at any perfumer shop, despite hunting for that particular scent for nearly twenty years. Tim concluded some time ago that Papa had it specially made from some indescribably rare ingredients. There's also a faint floral odor underneath his father's scent and Tim realizes he has no idea if Papa's remarried. Maybe he even has other children.

Sasha, Tim thinks. He wonders. He needs to know, but, in this moment, instead of opening his mouth to ask, he pulls his arms out from between Papa and him and wraps them around Papa's back.

Papa pulls him in more closely, squeezes him more tightly. "Tolik," his voice comes out just as brokenly as when he spoke Tim's name a moment ago.

Long moments pass before Papa pulls away to look at him again. Once more, he kisses Toli's forehead, a wide smile spanning his face. Then Papa looks past Tim, beyond his shoulder. Tim turns, Papa's hand still broad and steady on his neck.

Sasha, Tim meets his eye just as Sasha seems to shift his gaze from Papa to Toli.

Papa holds out his hand to Sasha, beckoning him closer while maintaining his right palm on Toli's neck. Sasha obeys immediately. The instant he's close enough, Papa places his left hand on Sasha's neck, a mirror to how he still holds Toli.

"Sasha has told you already," Papa acknowledges in barely accented English, "But you must hear the truth from me."

Toli blinks at Papa's deliberate use of English. Papa never spoke to him in English before unless Toli was not the only person he was addressing. His use of the language now indicates that Papa is allowing Tim to include his team in family matters.

"I have two sons, Tolik," Papa's eyes stay level as he continues to explain. "Sasha is your brother," Papa confirms even as Toli swallows hard at the weighted knowledge Papa gives to his team. "He is Muscovite," Papa readjusts his broad hand to squeeze high on Toli's shoulder, near his collarbone. "The situation with the Muscovites is different now than what it was, which is why Sasha can openly be in my house."

Toli feels a wave of bitterness for that cultural rivalry that nearly killed him so long ago, "Only as your lieutenant, though," Toli recognizes the truth before his father can point out the potential danger to both Papa and to Sasha if their true relationship were known. "There are too many long memories in the Bratva, too many people who lost someone in the war with the Muscovites. There's no way you could acknowledge him as your son." Tim knows his team are listening. He only hopes that, in their silence, they really understand how dangerous this information is.

Sasha chuckles unhappily beside him and Papa, "Agent McGee," Sasha startles Toli with his title, "Pakhan can't claim you as his son, either."

Tim blinks at Sasha, feeling his breath coming quicker as he recognizes the truth in his brother's words. As a federal agent, any association with an individual with organized crime would make him suspect, but as the son of a Pakhan, Tim may as well just turn in his badge. However, while much of the Bratva would accept a simple declaration from their Pakhan acknowledging a federal agent as his son, a large sect of Papa's business associates would see Toli as predatil for as long as Toli remained in law enforcement. Papa's position as Pakhan would be challenged, and whether Papa held or lost his rightful place as head of the consortium, the battle would be vicious and bloody, and Tim would once more be the first target for his father's enemies.

Tim thinks of the last several months and the dozen or so people rotating on his tail, the way Sasha and his team saved him yesterday. Toli shuts his eyes and thinks of his own face, plastered across countless covers of Deep Six and looking so very much like a mirror to Papa's own features. Suddenly, everything makes a horrible sort of sense—the fact that Papa's known where he was for seven years, yet hadn't made the first move towards him; Papa's anger and contrasting resignation regarding Sasha's actions; the way Papa wouldn't even glance in his direction in the hospital yesterday. Tim purses his lips. He drops his gaze and shifts his chin, but doesn't quite look at his team, who are unnaturally silent behind him—all of them still honoring Tim with the sheer magnitude of their trust in him.

Tim swallows hard and redirects his gaze to look at Papa dead on. "How much time do I have?"

"No," Gibbs' voice is low and harsh behind Tim.

Tim drops his eyes and very slightly angles his head in Gibbs' direction, not far enough to look at the man, but enough for Toli to keep his gaze from meeting his father's for a moment. "Boss, it's okay. I'm not going to have to run. It's just…" Toli knows that once he's under the protection of Pakhan, he'll be untouchable, but in order to be under his father's protection—

"What?" Tony breaks into Tim's thoughts, "You won't have to run, you'll just have to quit?" His partner's inflection is high, full of angry and ready resentment for this family he never knew Tim had. Tony moves up on Tim's side, though Tim wouldn't have thought there'd even be room for Tony to insinuate himself between him and Sasha. "You love being a federal agent, Tim," Tony grabs at his arm and creates a greater space between Tim and his newly discovered brother. "You haven't even seen this man in how many years, but he still gets to dictate your life?"

Sasha bristles at Tony's disrespect of Pakhan. Tim just has time to worry about how the former FSB agent is going to react when he sees Papa tighten his grip at Sasha's neck, quieting him before he can combat Tony's words. Papa looks to Toli then. He glances to Tony for a fraction of a second, but his gaze once again lands on his younger son, permitting Toli to handle Tony himself.

Tim's palm moves up to cup Tony's shoulder, and he guides his partner away from Sasha, tries to give Tony a little more space from the situation. Papa's hand drops from his neck to allow him better movement before he's two steps away.

"Tony," Tim leans into his partner, doing his best to track Ziva and Boss with his peripheral vision even as he says, "I know this situation seems incredible in the truest sense of that word, but the truth is, this has always been my life, and the fact that I was able to become a federal agent at all," Tim stalls, not wanting to cause further insult to Papa, but not knowing how to communicate his love for his job and the utter impossibility of him keeping it if a war broke out amongst the ranks of the Bratva, without also slighting Papa as the reason for why such was incompatible.

"I love my job," the words seem so mild coming from Tim's mouth. "I love being a part of MCRT," Tim shakes his head, "but even if I could keep my association with the Bratva a secret from law enforcement, after yesterday, there's no way Papa would be able to maintain the illusion among his associates that I was still lost to him."

Tony shakes his head and pushes back into Tim's space, "That is not your problem!" Tony's jaw remains locked—as hard as Tim's ever seen it. "This is your life we're talking about!" His partner insists, gripping both of Tim's biceps as he does. "You can't give up your whole life for a man you haven't seen in over twenty years!"

Tim blinks in the small space between them, wishing that were true, wishing there were some other option available to him that would allow him to remain at NCIS and still regain his place at his father's side. Tim knows Ziva understands, can feel it in her continued silence from three feet away. He thinks Boss probably gets it, too, the fact that sometimes you're caught up in a situation and all your good choices no longer belong to you, and maybe they never did. Tony, though—Tony's always been one of the most optimistic people Tim knows, and Tim's not sure how to describe the politics of the Bratva to him. Even the hard blue line of law enforcement would have more give than the unforgiving Bratva.

"Tony, I have to," he begins, feeling the smallness of his voice. "There's no other way the Bratva will accept this situation."

"Toli is correct," Papa begins before anyone else can speak again. "The peace is too young, and while I am Pakhan, there is no possibility for avoiding a war if it became known that I had two sons whom the Bratva would consider enemies—a federal agent and a Muscovite."

Tim squeezes his eyes shut, pinching his whole face. Geez, Tony doesn't even know it yet, but Tim's not just going to have to leave NCIS, he's going to have to leave his friends in law enforcement behind, too. There'd be no other way to keep them safe. Then, of course, all the relationships he's built over the years in the various agencies would likely turn on him anyway—everyone would have to consider him suspect. No one would believe that he hadn't been triggered by his father to do the bidding of the Bratva while he was in law enforcement. Gibbs' reputation, maybe even Ziva's could stand a mild association with him in the future, but Tony's? No, Tony is too much of a federal officer—right through to the bone—and having to deal with the stain of a teammate, let alone a close friend, as an enemy to law enforcement would be a major hit on Tony's reputation. Tony would act like he wouldn't care, but it would eat at him, affect how he did his job and perhaps even whether he could do his job—maybe even his safety. Tim purses his lips, eyes still pinched as he imagines leaving his whole life behind. He'll have to push the people who don't understand away from him, so they won't become targets to either the Bratva or the suspicions of law enforcement. He'll probably have to push at Tony the most to make sure his best friend doesn't try to continue their friendship and thus put himself at risk. Tim swallows hard, not sure how he can make himself do it, but knowing that he will. He has to.

"That," Papa continues, "is why the change must be mine."

Blinking his lids open in bewilderment, Toli's gaze shoots to Papa, noticing when he does that Sasha's black eyes appear just as stunned as his.

"Pakhan?" Sasha's voice comes out roughly, as if fighting its way over hot coals.

Papa shifts his attention to Sasha, meets his gaze, "You are my son, and I wish to acknowledge this fact to the world." Looking back to Toli, Papa asserts, "You are both my sons, and I have been making arrangements for this moment for many years."

Toli can barely breathe, remembers the arguments between his parents, the way his mother had begged him, pleaded over and over for Papa to please step away from the Bratva and establish a reputable business or trade. He recalls the way Mama had hollered through her fears and her anger for years until it transformed into grief, and even then, Toli had known Papa would never step down from the power and privilege of what it meant to rise so high and control so much.

"You cannot!" Sasha takes a step back, so not to yell his Muscovite-painted speech in Papa's face. "You'll put yourself and the entire Bratva at risk, and for what? To have something that is already yours?" Sasha vehemently shakes his head. He raises an arm to Tim, just glances at him as if to confirm before he claims, "Toli understands who we are!" Shifting on his feet, Sasha pushes back into Papa's space, "I understand!" He pulls his hands up to chest level, and they immediately fist for his anger. "You have told his closest compatriots! It is a gift from you! Who else needs to know what we are to you?"

A weighted silence follows Sasha's words. Ziva's not quite as fluent in Russian as Boss, but Tim's certain she follows Sasha's angry words. Tim's even certain that Tony, who knows not a bit of Russian at all, got the gist of the situation, the reason for Sasha's anger because his partner's grip eases up just above his elbows.

Papa moves forward and grabs Sasha's hands, still fisted at his gut, "Everyone, Sashinka," his level voice pushes back. "Everyone needs to know who you and Toli are to me."

Sasha holds Papa's gaze for a long moment, but then his lips purse, and he ducks his head, seemingly trying to keep his features from crumpling any further. Tim takes a step towards Sasha and Papa, and Tony allows him to move from his grip.

Tim tentatively places a hand on Sasha's shoulder. A second later, he feels Papa's fingers wrap around the back of his neck.

"Is this not a better brotherhood?" Papa whispers in the small space between the three men.

Tim feels his own mouth pinch shut. He leans his head forward, thinks of Alyosha upstairs, and suddenly the Sovietnik's unease and concern makes perfect sense. Papa would never trust anyone else but Alyosha to take over the Bratva, after all. He wonders how long it will take for Alyosha to transition into the full leadership role. Even over twenty years ago, Alyosha knew all the ends and outs of Papa's business, every secret Papa ever had. The fact that Alyosha will be taking over as Papa steps away means that the two men will rarely see each other in the future—they can't—not if Papa intends to acknowledge his two sons.

"How much time do we have?" Tim asks again, though this time his words carry an entirely different meaning than before.

Sasha glances up at him, blinking in disbelief. Papa merely smiles and tells them both, "We have all the time in the world."

END