A silly little ficlet I wrote yesterday
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
my love will gold on
No one would ever call Yassen Gregorovich a romantic. And yet, he is a perfectly loving partner to his better half. Not many know of the depth of their relationship, but that doesn’t stop him from taking her to fancy outings, her glittering silks a stark contrast to his plainer clothes.
“It’s just business,” he tells clients when her gilded fingers brush against his arm.
When he’s on a job, it’s the memory of her fragrance that drives him on, the fresh and earthy scent he looks forward to feeling again.
“Sorry, I have a prior engagement,” he tells his targets as they fall, “I can’t stay for too long or she’ll be upset.”
He keeps her safe and hidden when he’s gone on long assignments, out of reach from anyone who would dare to hurt him. They meet through encrypted channels until he comes home, her pixel laden face flickering on the screen of his phone. He cherishes these stolen moments, committing them to his memory, before destroying his burner phone and slipping back into the Scorpia operative he is.
But sometimes she comes with him, and he shows her the world — the tropical jungles of Asia and the frozen cities of Russia, the deserts of the Sahara and the cliffs of western America. They tour the more romantic spots too, Venice and Paris and Rome. She has outfits for every occasion, sheer purple chiffon, luxurious wheat coloured linen, modern emeralds that reflect in the sun, and the evergreen golds and silvers.
She is the envy of everyone they meet. It makes him glad that she is his to hold.
—
When Alex boards the Fer de Lance, the last thing he expects is for Yassen Gregorovich to be asleep. He creeps closer, peering through the door, and hears the man mumbling something.
He strains his ears, and — it sounds like Yassen is not alone in the room. It sounds like he just said, “I love you, honey.”
But that couldn’t be right! Who would willingly be with the assassin? Now, Alex feels a wave of righteous anger rush over him, and he pushes his way inside, ready to save whichever poor girl is trapped here.
He raises the gun in his hand, only to stop short at the bed. The assassin looks up, snatching his hand back from where it had been resting, and his normally stony expression melts into an embarrassed blush.
“Alex, what a surprise,” he says.
Alex looks at him, then at the other pillow on the bed.
Piles of money rest in a cozy nest at the assassin’s side. Gold coins and sparkling diamonds decorate the mix of currencies, some purple, some green, others red.
Yassen draws the covers up, hiding them from view.
“Um,” says Alex.
“It’s not what it looks like,” says Yassen.
“Well. I was going to try to kill you, but I think...I should leave you two alone.”
No, Yassen hadn’t said I love you, honey. But what he had said was much more believable: *I love you, Money*.
(thanks to @afewbulbsshortofatanningbed for the title!!)
