Chapter 17 Muddy Paws #2
Apollo returned with the rope, dropped it at Viktor's feet again. Sat. Waited.
Viktor stared at him. “No.”
Apollo's tail swept the floor.
“I said no.”
Sweep. Sweep. Sweep.
“You are manipulating me.”
Apollo tilted his head. Ears perked. The picture of innocent hope.
“Fine.” Viktor threw the rope again. Apollo charged after it with the same enthusiasm as the first time, like this was the greatest game ever invented and Viktor was the world's best playmate. “This is ridiculous.”
“This is you being soft.”
“I am not soft.” But he threw the rope a third time when Apollo brought it back. “I am humoring the dog.”
“Right. Humoring.”
“Yes.”
Apollo returned. Dropped the rope. Sat so close to Viktor his tail was brushing Viktor's boot.
“He's in love with you,” I said.
“He is dog. Dogs do not love. They perform learned behaviors for treats.”
“You don't even give him treats.”
“Which makes this even more stupid.” Viktor threw the rope again anyway. “Why does he keep coming back.”
“Because you keep throwing it.”
“I throw it so he will leave.”
“Terrible strategy. You're rewarding the behavior you want to stop.”
Viktor glared at me. I grinned back. Apollo returned with the rope, panting happily, and dropped it directly on Viktor's foot this time.
“No more,” Viktor said firmly.
Apollo whined. Not sad. Just persistent. Like he knew Viktor's resolve was crumbling.
“We could take him out,” I said. “The gardens. Fresh air. He's been cooped up all day.”
Viktor looked at Apollo. At the rope. At me. Something in his expression softened, just slightly, just enough to show through the cracks in his armor. “Is that what you want?”
“Yeah. I need to get out of my head for a while.”
“Then we go.”
The gardens were quiet at this hour. Most of the staff had retreated inside for dinner. The sky was bleeding orange and pink, sunset painting everything gold. Apollo ran ahead of us down the gravel path, nose to the ground, investigating every smell like it held the secrets of the universe.
Viktor walked beside me. Close enough that our shoulders almost touched. Far enough to maintain deniability if anyone saw.
“He is going to eat something disgusting,” Viktor said, watching Apollo snuffle through the hedge.
“Probably.”
“Then he will be sick. Then I will have to clean it up.”
“You don't have to clean up after my dog.”
“Someone has to. You would just stare at it and feel guilty.”
I laughed. “That's fair.”
Apollo found a stick. Not the rope we'd brought. A stick. A regular, dirty, probably bug-infested stick from the ground. He picked it up like he'd discovered treasure and trotted over to Viktor with it.
“No,” Viktor said immediately.
Apollo dropped it at his feet.
“I am not throwing that. It is covered in dirt and probably disease.”
Apollo sat. Tail wagging.
“You have perfectly good rope. Use the rope.”
Apollo nudged the stick with his nose. Looked up at Viktor. Whined softly.
“This is emotional manipulation.”
Tail wagging intensified.
“Sebastian. Control your dog.”
“He's your dog now. You're the one he's in love with.”
“I did not sign up for this.”
“You signed up to protect me. He comes with the package.”
Viktor stared at the stick. At Apollo. At me. Then he picked up the stick and threw it. Apollo bolted after it like Viktor had just thrown a winning lottery ticket.
“You are the worst bodyguard,” I said, grinning.
“I am excellent bodyguard.”
“The job description didn't include playing fetch.”
“Job description did not include many things.” He watched Apollo return with the stick, mouth open in a panting grin that looked suspiciously like laughter. “But here we are.”
Apollo dropped the stick. Viktor threw it again without being asked. Some kind of détente had been reached. Apollo had won. Viktor was pretending he hadn't lost.
“You're smiling,” I said.
“I am not smiling.”
“The corner of your mouth is up. That's a smile in Viktor language.”
“That is facial muscle spasm.”
“Right. Spasm.”
He threw the stick again. Apollo disappeared into the hedge after it, tail wagging so hard his whole back end wiggled.
“He is ridiculous,” Viktor said.
“He's happy.”
“Happiness is inefficient.”
“Is it?” I moved closer, just slightly. Testing. “Because you look pretty happy right now.”
Viktor's jaw tightened. “I am maintaining operational readiness while engaging in approved recreational activity.”
“That's a long way of saying you're playing with my dog.”
“I am not playing.”
Apollo returned. Dropped the stick on Viktor's boot. Sat so close he was practically leaning against Viktor's leg. Viktor threw the stick without comment.
We walked further into the gardens, following Apollo as he bounded between flower beds and hedges. The evening air was cool. Perfect. The kind of weather that made you forget, for a moment, that the world was full of people who wanted you dead.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
Viktor glanced at me. “For what.”
“For this. For throwing the stick. For coming out here even though you probably have a dozen more important things to do.”
“There is nothing more important than this.”
The way he said it. Simple. Final. Like it was obvious.
Something warm bloomed in my chest. Dangerous and sweet and terrifying.
Apollo found a puddle. Immediately stepped in it. Splashed. Looked delighted with himself.
“No,” Viktor said.
Apollo splashed again.
“Sebastian. Your dog is being stupid.”
“He's being a dog.”
“He is going to be wet. And muddy. And then want to come inside.”
“Probably.”
Apollo chose that moment to shake, spraying muddy water everywhere. Including on Viktor's perfectly pressed pants.
The silence was profound.
I bit my lip. Tried not to laugh. Failed completely.
Viktor looked down at the mud. At Apollo, who sat panting happily, completely unaware he'd just committed a cardinal sin. At me, doubled over laughing.
“This is unacceptable,” Viktor said.
“Your face right now is priceless.”
“I am going to have conversation with this dog about proper behavior.”
“Good luck. He doesn't speak Russian.”
“He will learn.”
Apollo, sensing he might be in trouble, deployed his secret weapon. He rolled over. Exposed his belly. Tail wagging. The universal dog signal for 'I'm adorable, please don't be mad.'
Viktor stared at him. “This is not going to work.”
Apollo's tail wagged harder.
“I am immune to manipulation.”
More wagging.
“Fine.” Viktor knelt. Scratched Apollo's belly with the kind of gentle precision he brought to everything. “But you are getting bath when we go inside. And you will not enjoy it.”
Apollo made a noise that sounded suspiciously like contentment. His back leg kicked. His eyes went half-closed with bliss.
I watched Viktor kneel in the dirt, perfectly pressed suit forgotten, scratching my ridiculous dog's belly while Apollo made happy groaning sounds. Watched the way Viktor's shoulders relaxed. The way his face softened. The way he looked almost, almost peaceful.
“You love him,” I said.
“I tolerate him.”
“You're scratching his belly in the dirt.”
“I am maintaining operational rapport with a key asset.”
“You're petting my dog because you like him.”
Viktor looked up at me. Something in his eyes went soft. Vulnerable. “I like many things I should not like.”
The weight of those words. The meaning underneath.
Apollo rolled over, climbed to his feet, and immediately tried to lick Viktor's face. Viktor caught him, held him at arm's length with both hands. “No. We do not do this.”
Apollo's tail wagged harder.
“I said no.”
Apollo squirmed. Got one lick in. Right across Viktor's cheek.
Viktor's face went through several expressions. Disgust. Resignation. Something that might've been amusement if he'd allow it. “Your dog has no respect for boundaries.”
“He learned from the best.”
“I have excellent boundaries.”
“You're covered in mud, holding my dog, in the middle of a garden, throwing sticks. Your boundaries are shot.”
Viktor stood, setting Apollo down carefully. Apollo immediately went to find another stick. “This is your fault.”
“How is this my fault?”
“You and your dog. You make me do things I would not normally do.”
“Like play?”
“Like compromise operational protocol for emotional satisfaction.”
“That's a really complicated way of saying you're having fun.”
“I am not having fun.”
But he was. I could see it in the way he tracked Apollo with his eyes. In the way he'd already picked up another stick before Apollo even brought one back. In the way his whole body had relaxed, tension bleeding out into the evening air.
We walked slower now. Apollo ranging ahead and circling back, checking on us like we might disappear if he didn't keep watch. Viktor threw sticks. Apollo retrieved them. I watched both of them and felt something settle in my chest that had been restless for weeks.
Peace. Not the absence of danger. Just this moment, carved out of time, where nothing else mattered except a man, a dog, and a garden painted gold by dying light.
“I needed this,” I said quietly.
Viktor didn't answer. Just reached out and squeezed my shoulder. Brief. Warm. Gone before anyone could see. But the touch lingered.
Apollo found a particularly good stick. Brought it to Viktor. Sat.
Viktor threw it without being asked.
“You're in love with my dog,” I said.
“Tolerate. I tolerate him.”
“Right. Tolerate.”
Apollo returned. Viktor threw the stick again. His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But close. Closer than I'd seen in days.
“He is growing on me,” Viktor admitted finally. “Like fungus.”
I burst out laughing. Apollo heard it and came running, thinking something exciting was happening. He jumped at Viktor, paws muddy, tail wagging so hard his whole body curved.
Viktor caught him. Held him steady. “You are terrible dog.”
Apollo licked his chin.
“No discipline. No training. No respect.”
Another lick.
“Sebastian. Control your animal.”
“He's your animal now. You're the chosen one.”
Viktor looked at me over Apollo's head. His eyes were soft. Warm. Human in a way that stole my breath. “I did not choose this.”
“None of us did.”
“No.” He set Apollo down. Straightened. “But here we are.”
Here we were. Covered in mud and dog hair and the last light of day. Broken and healing and choosing each other anyway.
Apollo found another puddle. Viktor didn't stop him this time. Just watched him splash with something that looked suspiciously like fondness.
“We should go in,” I said eventually. “Before it gets dark.”
“Da. Before Apollo finds something worse to get into.”
“Thank you,” I said again. “For this. For being here. For throwing sticks and tolerating my dog and just. Being.”
Viktor's hand found mine. Brief squeeze. “Always.”
One word. But it held everything.
We walked back toward the palace, Apollo trotting ahead, muddy and happy and completely oblivious to the fact that he'd just won over the most dangerous man I'd ever met.
“He still needs bath,” Viktor said.
“You volunteering?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You love him. You're going to help.”
“I will supervise.”
“That's what I thought.”
Viktor's mouth twitched again. Almost a smile. Close enough.
Apollo barked once. Happy. Free. In love with a man who claimed not to feel anything but kept throwing sticks anyway.
We were all hopeless.
But for tonight, in this moment, walking through gardens turned gold by dying light, it didn't feel hopeless at all.
It felt like coming home.