for aleistercrowleysbitch on Tumblr!

Also thanks to jupiterra on discord for talking to me about this and giving me ideas and whatnot, and @Princess_FlameYT and @Hipster_Cicero for yelling at me to get my shit posted finally

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It was that time of year again- the holiday season- all across the world. The most wonderful time of the year, as the songs keep telling him.

He typed away at one of the computer modules, sleves of his suit brushing against the keys every so often. The clacking of each key at he tapped away grated against his ears, echoing through the cold, white chamber. Slowly, his incessant typing fell silent. He pressed his head against the monitor still flashing the lifeless curser, and let out a shakey breath against the glass.

-

He struggled helplessly against the men holding him against the brick wall of the alley. Three more people surrounded his two sisters, both of whom were on their knees on the gravel. One of them was hysteric, begging and pleading with them to stop and just leave the trio alone. Then, the other one cried out, sharp and sudden, and the first's voice fell to a choked, muffled sob. His own struggles ceased and he fell slack against the brick, horrified.

He heard a pathetic sound, and it shattered his heart. He cried out to his sisters, but was cut off by the bang of a gunshot, bouncing around the partially enclosed space. Everything went silent for a moment, save for the ringing in his hears. The painful silence was cut through by harsh laughter from one of the men still holding him to the wall.

Someone kicked his sisters' bodies before they abandon them in the wet, filthy dead end.

-

Ivan felt the burn of tears in the corners of his eyes, and it took everything he had to force them back. He thought, he was so sure, that if he could just get as much distance between him and that god forsaken place, then it would be okay. Then he would be okay. That he'd stop living through this memory every time someone mentioned this stupid holiday.

He'd moved to the States, on the complete opposite side of the world, to try to start over. He'd cut all contacts, and tried to busy himself with his work as much as he possibly could so he couldn't even think about it again, but none of that had worked. Nothing. So he'd taken it a step further. He'd left earth entirely.

But even now the cheer that was almost tangible in the artificial air had the power to send him right back to the dark night with the damp ground and the cold, twinkling lights and-

He had a sudden moment of clarity rip through his mind, throwing a blanket over his thoughts to muffle them. Everything calmed, time slowed, and he no longer felt the painful tug at the back of his throat. He was an engineer. A master of mechanics and pyrotechnics. No one would stop him if he decided that, here and now, he would end his torment. No one would be able to.

They were hurtling around the earth, four hundred thousand meters up, seven thousand six hundred meters per second. The closest people were completely clueless to them on the surface down below. There was no one that would know before it was completely too late.

He looked around the room, eyes unfocused. The uninviting round walls and cold mechanical devices returned his watchful eye. He let himself drift to the center of the room. Something soft brushed against his face. His scarf. The last thing his sister gave him, earlier that day.

He was jolted from his reminiscent reverie by the crack of plastic on plastic. A soft "Ouch," bounced over to him through he entrance way, followed closely by the blond American astrophysicist that seemed hell bent on getting as close to him as humanly possible through the course of their stay in the station.

"Hey, Ivan," he greeted, coming to a stop next to him. Ivan's gaze stayed fixed forward, refusing to turn his attention ti the younger. "Ivan, you good?"

"No." His answer was short and barely audible, voice rasping out in a rough tone.

"Oh... What's wrong?" Ivan closed his eyes, scrubbing at them with the heels of his palms. He knew he should answer. He knew that he should be feeling something. But neither of those things was about to happen for him.

Alfred moved himself around until he was face to face with the Russian, forcing their eyes to meet. Alfred but his lip, and his eyes darkened with concern and an alien seriousness that definitely didn't belong on that sunny, youthful face. "I know that look," he said, "I know that look far better than I'd like to admit." He held Ivan's face in his hands gently. "There's a word for this in your language, isn't there? One of those words that doesn't have an actual translation?"

"Toska," he whispered, "Is the word I think you're looking for."

"Yeah, yeah, that one. Now, can you tell me what's wrong?" He averted his gaze, muted. "Ivan, honey, I need you to talk to me."

"No... No, I don't want to talk. Not to you."

"Well-" he struggled for some kind of idea, "Who would you be willing to talk to?"

"My sisters," he mumbled. He still made no effort to move out of the other's hold, but he could feel the drowning sadness trying to claw it's way back up. "But that's not possible."

"Why isn't it?" 

"Because- because-" Ivan grit his teeth against the constricting in his throat, "Because I can't, okay?" He grabbed Alfred's wrists, making to wretch his hands from his face, push him away, do something to get rid of this man and this feeling that he'd managed to dag back out of him. But he couldn't do it.

He couldn't do it.

Instead, he let his head fall against the blond's chest. He felt them both shake in the zero gravity as he let his anguished tears spill over, finally.

Alfred wrapped him in his arms, protectively bordering on uncomfortably, tightly. "Hey," his voice was tender, and it wavered just barely, "It's okay, it's okay. Promise. Will you tell me now?"

Ivan took a minute to breath, trying desperately to pull himself back together so he'd be able to speak. 

"Okay..."