Thirty-Six #2
“You can come through,” he says. “They’re ready.”
That’s it. No buildup. Just a door opening and something changing forever.
The corridor beyond is quieter. I can hear Niko’s voice; it’s quiet and threaded with disbelief. He’s sitting beside the bed, leaning forward like he’s afraid to breathe too hard.
Cassie is asleep, looking all kinds of exhausted. He looks up when he sees me, and his face does something strange. I see relief, panic, and awe, all stacked on top of each other like he doesn’t know which emotion to feel.
“You took your time,” he says weakly.
I snort. “He took his time.”
He laughs once, then gestures helplessly with his chin. “They... uh. He’s...” I step closer before he can finish. Then the nurse places something in my arms without even asking anyone.
He’s smaller than I expected. His face is scrunched up, red and indignant, and his fists are curled tight like he’s already got opinions.
“Vladimir Zigfried Zakirov,” Niko says quietly.
The weight of the situation hits me all at once. A responsibility I didn’t agree to but would bleed for anyway. I stare down at him, my brain stalling completely. “Well,” I murmur. “You look angry.”
Niko lets out a wet laugh, and Vladimir shifts, making a tiny sound that punches straight through my ribs.
My grip tightens instinctively. I’ve held weapons, explosives and men bleeding out in my arms — but this?
This terrifies me. “He’s perfect,” Niko says.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that. ”
“You protect it,” I say automatically. “You adapt.”
“You’re good at that,” he says, after watching me for a minute.
I look down at the baby again. The way his fingers twitch, searching for something to hold onto.
“I’m good at being where I’m needed,” I say.
Vladimir’s eyes flutter open briefly. He doesn’t see me, not really, but something in his tiny body settles anyway, like he’s decided I’m not a threat.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “Welcome to the mess.”
Niko wipes at his face, nodding. “You’re his godfather, by the way.”
I stiffen. “You didn’t ask.”
“You would’ve said no,” I laugh because he isn’t wrong. I adjust Vladimir slightly, feeling his warm, tiny body through the layers of cloth and inevitability.
The world doesn’t stop. Caiden is still out there. Orders are still posted. Time is still running. But right now, there’s this small, furious, breathing thing in my arms. And for the first time in my life, the future doesn’t feel like a threat. It feels like something I might actually stay for.
A little while later, he falls asleep against my chest. One minute, he’s red-faced and furious about the injustice of being born; the next, he’s warm, heavy and slack, his breath puffing softly against my collarbone.
Niko watches me from the other side of the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees. He hasn’t said anything for a while. “You’re doing the thing,” Niko says eventually.
“What thing?”
“The one where you pretend you’re not feeling something enormous.”
“I’m not pretending,” I say, glancing back at him.
He snorts quietly. “Liar.”
I look back down at Vladimir, his face is still scrunched like he’s suspicious of the universe. Smart kid. “I don’t hate it,” I admit.
Niko’s eyebrows lift. “High praise.”
“He’s loud,” I add. “Demanding. Inconvenient.”
“Sounds familiar,” Niko teases, and I huff. Vladimir shifts, and my arm adjusts without conscious thought. I lay him down in the tiny crib next to a sleeping Cassie and walk over to the window. Niko joins me, and we both stand there with cigarettes we’re not allowed to smoke.
“Are you going to tell me what’s actually eating you, or do I need to guess badly until you snap?” he asks as I stare out at the car park, at the cars, the snow, the stupid, normal world that keeps existing.
“I’m in trouble,” I admit.
He doesn’t joke this time. “What kind?”
“The kind I won’t survive.” That sentence gets his full attention. I rub my thumb against the side of my lighter. “I’m in love with him.” There. Out. Done. The room doesn’t explode. The ceiling doesn’t cave in. The world keeps turning, irritatingly intact.
Niko exhales slowly. “Okay.”
“That’s it?”
“What did you want me to do?” he asks mildly. “Scream? Shoot you? Pretend I didn’t see this coming?”
“I hid it,” I mutter.
“You hid nothing,” he replies.
“I don’t know how this happened. He sees me,” I say quietly. “Not the version that works. The one that breaks things.”
“And?”
“And he still stays.”
Niko nods. “Yeah. That’ll do it.”
“He’s leaving,” I whisper, scrubbing a hand over my face.
“I know.” Niko steps closer, lowering his voice. “Listen to me. You’re not weak for wanting him. You’re not stupid for loving him. And you’re not doomed because of it.”
“That’s optimistic,” I scoff.
“That’s factual,” he counters. “The doom part comes from pretending it doesn’t matter.” I lean my head back against the wall, closing my eyes, and I let myself feel it fully — Caiden’s laugh, his hands, the way he looks at me.
It hurts.
“I don’t know what to do,” I admit. I glance back toward the bed. Toward Vladimir, the future I didn’t plan, but I will defend anyway. “I’m terrified,” I say.
Niko claps a hand on my shoulder. “Welcome to being human.” I let out a quiet breath, and for once, I don’t argue. I stay quiet, staring at the floor, waiting for the feeling to pass. But it doesn’t.
Niko exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s lining something up in his head.
When he speaks again, it’s not gentle. “You’ve got a little time left,” he says.
“Not a lot, but some, depending on how things shift. After that? He goes. And odds are you don’t see him again.
It’s not like you can leave and visit the UK.
You know exactly what that looks like. You leave Russia without a good reason, and that’s it — you’re deserting. You can never come back.”
I already knew that, obviously. Hearing it said out loud still feels like a gut punch.
“So,” Niko goes on, “you have two choices. You spend that time pretending it didn’t happen.
Lock it down. Be professional. Be empty.
” He tilts his head at me. “You’re very good at that.
” I don’t argue. “Or,” he says, “you use the time.”
“For what?” I ask.
“For whatever you need to live with after.”
“He’s leaving,” I say. “Not going to a different unit. Not rotating back in three months. He’s gone.”
“Yes.”
“And I still have to be here.”
“Yes.” Niko’s voice doesn’t soften, but it steadies. “Which means this isn’t about keeping him. It’s about not hollowing yourself out pretending he didn’t matter.”
“If I let myself have it, really have it, it’s going to kill me,” I say, scrubbing another hand over my face.
Niko shakes his head once. “No. Losing him is going to hurt no matter what.” He meets my eyes. “The only thing you get to choose is whether you make it worth it.”
I think about the way he looks at me, like he sees something other than a weapon wearing skin. The way he said “I love you too” back. Like it was simple. “And when it’s over?” I ask.
“Then you come back to being who you were,” he says. “Just with at least one thing you don’t regret.”
I nod slowly. There’s no fixing this. No avoiding it. No clean ending waiting for me if I behave correctly.
But there is time.
And I’m not wasting it pretending I don’t love him.