Author: RikkuRiddle

Title: Moscow

Disclaimer: I neither own Yassen Gregorovich nor Alex Rider (or any other characters from the Alex Rider books). I'm not making any money with this. It's purely for fun. I do however own the characters I introduce throughout the drabbles that I came up with. :)

Rating: PG-13 (for now)

Warnings: male/male, language, some violence

Spoiler: (potentially all AR books)

Author's comment: Soo... *huff* I finally managed to type out a bit of the beginning of my Moscow Arc. It's really, really long...XD and I'll try to type out a bit every day, so I can update the story at least once a week. Very important! It is kinda important to have read "Drowning" cause Moscow connects to that drabble. (in general: all my drabbles are going to be connected)

Also, a cry for help from me. XD My beta has vanished off to America for three months... if anybody feels like they'd like to help me out during that time I'd be really, really grateful. ^^ I have MSN and facebook and can also send the parts of the story via e-mail.

Right, I'll let you read now! ^^

Alex strolled aimlessly through Moscow's crowded streets. It was early May and still considerably cold for that time of the year. Temperatures had still been below freezing point last night and the young spy could've sworn they had sent Anthony and him to Siberia instead of Moscow.

Frowning, Alex looked up at the high-rising, red walls and towers of the Kremlin and sighed begrudgingly. Right, so they were in Moscow but wasn't it supposed to be spring? Why couldn't MI6 send him off to the Caribbean for a change?

He pushed his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket and pulled up his shoulders to bury his nose in the tightly wound scarf around his neck, carrying on on his way as he rounded another corner and reached a narrow street that was lined by little booths. People were bustling back and forth, merchants praising their wares loudly, housewives bargaining with steadily rising voices and it all amounted to an incredibly obnoxious clamour. Constant and annoying.

Worst of all, Alex didn't understand a word of the whole ruckus and it was starting to frustrate him. Why the hell would MI6 sent him on a mission to fucking Russia if he didn't speak a word of the damn language? It really was beyond him.

Well, at least Anthony was fluent and had taught him one or the other thing on their flight. But except for easy stuff like: Я не говою по русский. Не. Да. Спасибо, he didn't remember much. Not that he'd planned to do anything spectacular but he supposed he shouldn't be picky.

More or less successfully, Alex squeezed through the masses of people blocking his way into just about every direction. Briefly, he considered turning around but the hotel was just at the end of this street and around another corner. So going back would only mean he'd have to make a huge detour. Besides, he had to keep an eye on the time. Anthony had said they would leave for the dinner party at eight o'clock.

Alex groaned inwardly. Why was it again that he always had to pose as cover? Oh right, because he was a fifteen year-old kid and nobody would suspect a little boy to work for MI6. Way to feel important.

He remembered Blunt saying something like 'everybody has to play the part they're most suited for'. Come to think of it, the Chief of Special Operations had sounded more secretive than usual this time anyway.

Shaking his head as if to clear his mind, Alex kept pushing past tourists, students, shoppers and whoever was blocking the way. So completely surrounded by people he almost didn't feel the cold anymore.

Suddenly he froze mid-motion, his eyes fixed on a familiar head in the crowd.

"Fucking impossible," Alex breathed in disbelief. But right that moment the person turned slightly into his direction, enabling the teen to see his face.

Yassen Gregorovich.

And then he was gone.

Blinking, Alex elbowed his way through the people, determined not to lose the contract killer. The fact that Yassen was here caused an uncomfortable knot to form in his stomach. It could be a coincidence but he really doubted that. Alex knew for a fact that he'd probably never run into someone like Yassen accidentally.

It always meant something. And that was what worried him.

What if the Russian had something to do with the mission they were involved in right now? He really didn't want to think about that possibility.

Panting, the young spy supported himself on his knees for a moment when he reached a little side alley and caught sight of Yassen in the distance. He threw a glance back over his shoulder and maybe it was his imagination but it seemed that street he'd just managed to get through alive was even more packed than before.

Fucking lunatics, all of them.

Straightening back up, he hurried after the assassin, carefully avoiding discovery. It was just a narrow alley and only a few homeless people were sitting at the side. What the hell was he getting himself into? What if he'd end up in some red light district in Moscow and lost track of Yassen? It would be hard to find his way back.

The Russian turned into another street and Alex waited at the corner, until the other was far enough away for him to follow. The street was a lot wider and he watched as Yassen entered a-

Confused, Alex stopped at the huge sign of the establishment. He couldn't read it but it was flashy and mainly red, making it look a lot like a brothel.

Ugh, like he hadn't predicted something like that.

Slowly, the teen walked closer, examining the façade. The building seemed newly renovated, a huge contrast compared to the other decrepit, run-down houses adjacent to it.

He looked around undecidedly. There were two thugs blocking the door apparently only granting entrance if you had some golden card that every guy flashed and got an approving nod in return. Although… Alex doubted that he'd be let in, gold card or not.

The average customer seemed to be wearing expensive, tailored suits, golden necklaces and – to his great surprise – was reasonably attractive. No fat, greasy looking men in their sixties. Maybe this was some establishment designed rather for upper-class men searching for variety in the bedroom that their wives may not provide.

Alex walked up a little closer but made sure he wasn't drawing any attention to himself.

How the hell was he supposed to get into this place?

The thought made him stop and reconsider. Frowning, he folded his arms. Did he even need to get in? If it was indeed a brothel and there was every indication of that, then maybe Yassen was-

He blushed slightly and bit the inside of his cheek.

That was really none of his business and it was doubtful to say the least that he'd acquire any useful information if the Russian had come here to-

Maybe he should go back to the hotel and pretend he'd never seen the assassin.

Sighing, Alex rubbed his forehead. Why was he just so bad at leaving well enough alone? Might have something to do with the fact that it was Yassen he'd run after.

So he stayed put and continued to watch the people entering and leaving the house for another few minutes. At the corner was a group of women with flamboyant dresses and heavy make-up, their hair done up with an alarmingly high amount of glittering clips and pins. They were chatting animatedly in Russian, voices loud and penetrating.

Everybody in this country seemed to be completely at ease with broadcasting the topic of their conversation to the people ten streets over.

The teen made a small, frustrated sound, wondering if he should go to find a side entrance that might not be barred or otherwise guarded. Since he wouldn't suddenly be offered to enter through the front door, looking for another option to enter the building was his best bet.

Scanning his surroundings, he spotted a tiny alley just behind a few overflowing trash cans and was about to walk over when the group of women caught sight of him and turned into his direction.

One of them called out for him and he cringed, already searching for a good excuse why he was loitering in front of a brothel when he realized (for the billionth time) that he spoke no Russian and didn't understand what the woman was saying either.

"Uh, excuse me- I don't-" Alex stuttered, trying to remembered the few bits of Russian Anthony had taught him. "Я нет… говорю, uh… русский," he winced at how scratchy and awkward everything sounded. If he was sure of something then it was that he'd never be able to speak Russian.

Not ever.

The women were giggling, probably thinking it was adorable how he made an idiot of himself. One of them walked over to him, smiling brightly. "Ah, English, da?"

Alex nodded.

Turning back to her friends, she talked rapidly and unintelligibly for a few moments but judging from how the women were suddenly all looking at him and nodding, he was obviously the subject.

Shifting from one foot to the other, the teen glanced around, wondering how he'd get out of this situation again when the whole group sauntered over and he had to refrain from stepping back instinctively.

"Can I help you?" The woman that had spoken to him first asked.

Hesitating, Alex glanced at the entrance and she must've caught his look because she started giggling again. "Oh, нет , нет. You much too young!"

Alex flushed and shook his head. "That's not- I- A friend of mine just went in but he uh-," floundering, he sought for a plausible story. "He forgot his wallet," to emphasize his words, he took out his own and showed it to the women.

"Oh! He go in but no money?" She nodded, understandingly.

"Exactly!"

And then the whole pack was laughing again; it was beginning to go on the teen's nerves.

"That no problem," she waved her hand dismissively before flicking a stray lock of long blonde hair back over her shoulder, flashing Alex an encouraging smile.

"Huh?"

"You have Golden Card, you need no money."

Great. His shoulders slumped. What now? Why was he even still here? He really should be leaving. "But I really need to talk to him!"

The blonde eyed him, looking contemplative as she tapped a manicured finger against her plum lower lip. "What his name?"

Alex hesitated again. "Yassen Gregorovich."

Suddenly the atmosphere seemed to change. The woman shared a meaningful glance with her friends before they put their heads together, whispering frantically, gesturing with their arms. And while some shook their heads with a closed-off expression, some others nodded or shrugged.

The teen was left to fidget uncomfortably once again.

"Mr. Gregorovich, you say?"

"Yeah," he nodded slowly.

"He is friend of yours?" The blonde narrowed her eyes a little as she seized him up, sounding just a little suspicious.

"Uh, yeah."

"Hm," folding her arms, she pursed her lips and stayed quiet but then suddenly took his hand and pulled him along. "Come on then." They walked straight over to the entrance and Alex couldn't help the uneasiness growing inside of him. Just what had he gotten himself into?

The woman spoke fast and hushed as they came to stand in front of the two big and intimidating looking thugs that threw the teen displeased stares, and the only thing he could make out was 'Gregorovich'. The doorman seemed skeptical but a moment later they stepped aside to Alex great surprise.

He stumbled forward when the blonde gave him a little shove and turning around, he threw her a bewildered look.

She smiled and waved. "I still have break. Good luck, my boy!"

For some reason that did nothing to reassure him.

Please let me know what you think! ^^ (and please if anybody has too much time..XD be my beta!)

Russian lines:
Я не говою по русский. Не. Да. Спасибо - I don't speak Russian, No, Yes, Thanks
Я нет... говорю, uh... русский. - I not... speak... Russian (as you will notice, I had him make a few mistakes XD)