nothin' but a tin man [tommas]

[nikolai ivanovich harkov]

Cold. Numb. Tired. Nikolai leaned against the railing, looking down at the water, but not seeing it. He had a light jacket on, but the weather warranted something much heavier. He'd been standing there long enough now, though, that there was no longer any discomfort. He'd set out that morning on a stroll through the city, trying to clear his mind, but time had gotten away from him. By the time he was crossing the bridge, it was afternoon. He had paused to look over the edge... and time had escaped yet again. It was evening now, the temperature had dropped accordingly, and he was still staring pensively at the water.

Empty. Rigid. Lost. His forearms rested on the cold metal railing as he twirled his aviators in his hands. His head was bowed, his expression blank. Cars and people passed behind him, boats passed below him, but nothing registered. He gave an involuntary shiver, but the attempt at warming up didn't stir him from his thoughts. Nikolai looked like shit. His clothes and hair looked as neat as usual, but there was something off about his face. After he had busted out of his little prison, only to hear that Lexin was already dead, he had tried to brush it off. He had lost friends before, and it had been hard, but it was just part of his lifestyle. Losing a brother, though? One he had sworn to save from this entire fucked up situation? There was no brushing that off. For a while he had maintained his front, trying to deal with things behind a mask of apathy. Now, the mask he had worn was sporting some massive cracks. Dark shadows circled his eyes, stark against his ashy white skin, his cheekbones stood out prominently, and his eyes were dark and empty. He hadn't shaved for a couple of days, hadn't slept or eaten much in a few more than that. He was a shell, practically dead on his feet with bone-deep exhaustion. He wasn't talking to anyone, had even taken time off from the lab. He would venture outside like a ghost, invisible to the world by his own choice.

He didn't want anyone to see him like this. He had always felt so under control, so capable. Now he couldn't even finish crossing this fucking bridge. The frigid waters below were looking more and more welcoming by the minute. Niko was a good swimmer, but he knew with certainty that at that moment he wouldn't be able to find the strength to keep himself up. Foot traffic had subsided considerably. There wouldn't be anyone to stop him if he swung up and over this railing. If the impact didn't do the trick then the water would take over. Freezing tons of the stuff, dragging him down, rendering his limbs useless. He didn't have anything to go back to, after all. He wasn't scheduled to go back to Russia for a while, so his family wouldn't even miss him for months.

No, he had been instructed to stay in Paris to keep tabs on some of the cartels as they passed through the country. His father trusted him absolutely, since no one knew that he had planned on abandoning his mission in order to help his brother. No, in the old man's eyes he had succeeded with flying colors. Of course, no one had informed him that Niko had been kidnapped, and that the child had gone missing before anyone could get to him and finish the hit. But those were details that wouldn't interest the boss. Niko clenched his jaw, at the same time opening his hands and letting his sunglasses tumble down, out of sight, before inevitably being swallowed by the water.

The cracks were growing. The crushing weight of recent events was bearing down with full force on the man's shoulders; there was no way he could keep up appearances any longer. His mask shattered. His expression changed, or rather, he acquired an expression. Pain. All there was was pain. So strong it was nearly palpable, filling the air, choking him. Nikolai never cried. Even as a child, he had been silent, thoughtful. Withdrawal was his go-to solution for dealing with things, escaping the pain of the world. But there was nowhere else to hide, now. His very soul had receded as far as it could go, but the pain of loss, emptiness and complete failure was too great. Now, after hours of standing on this bridge, it had dragged his soul from its hiding place and was tearing at it from all sides.

Nikolai hunched his shoulders and sobbed.

[tommas ugo renda]

Too many people were dead. Students, teachers... and their target. That was supposed to be a good thing, but Tom couldn't bring himself to think of it in that way. Lexin was supposed to die; there had been orders to kill him, parts of the mafia had been specifically called to Paris for the sole reason to take him out, and he'd done something to deserve it. Hadn't he? He'd had a child with some Yakuza lady that wasn't supposed to be fooling around with Russians, but was that really bad enough to kill him, of all things? Tommas didn't think so, but then again, since when had his opinion mattered? His job had been to kill Lexin, and Lexin was dead. But even so, he still felt.. guilty. There was the word for it. He hadn't killed Lexin himself, of course, but he still felt as if he'd done something wrong. Was it because he hadn't tried to protect Lexin, to save him from the other members of the mafia that were hunting him down? The bigger question was why he would put his life on the line for someone like Lexin, though. Lexin Tower had been his dance teacher, but Tom was too selfish to try and protect any old teacher. He'd been part of the mafia, and Tom liked other members more than civilians for some reason, but he'd been an enemy. He was Russian.. and Nikolai's brother.

There was the reason for all of his guilt, plain as day now that he thought about it. Tom considered Nikolai to be his friend; he was there to cry on, provided alcohol like the good Russian he was, and was able to slap sense into Tommas when it was needed. And sometimes when it wasn't needed, but hey, he could overlook that. Nikolai was a good person – for a mafia member – and Tom liked him. Killing his brother just... seemed a bit like betrayal. Of course, protecting him would really be betrayal, and his family would probably have to do something to Tom himself, but just standing there while his friend's brother was killed? It didn't seem right, but whatever. It was over and done now, and Tom had more pressing matters than the man who died. Like, you know, the other man who died? Nikolai wasn't the only member of the team who'd lost a loved one, after all. Maybe the person Tom had lost wasn't as close as Lexin had been to Nikolai, but having his boyfriend commit suicide was taxing enough on his emotions. He normally would have gone to Nikolai and cried, but the man was still missing, and Tom had no clue of where he might be. Anyway, Tom still had Castor and Minoru to cry to... though things were getting a little too complicated with Castor.

That was why he'd taken a break and decided to take a walk. Okay, so sure, it was below freezing outside, but he was wearing a jacket. A thick jacket and a sweater under it, but Tom was still shivering when he reached the bridge over the Seine River. Maybe this wasn't the best day to be taking a walk, but Tom didn't think that he could deal with being shut up inside for any longer. Wesley was dead, he couldn't figure out what he thought about Castor... this just wasn't a good week for anyone, was it? Leaning against the railing, Tom put an arm over his eyes, not sure what to do now that he was here. He could keep walking, but it was all city from here on. At least the bridge had some open air, right? That was what he'd been looking for when he'd escaped from his stuffy apartment, and now he was simply too lazy to continue walking. After a minute, though, people stopped walking by. There was a break in the traffic, and Tom took that opportunity to look around at the few people that, like him, were stationary on the bridge. Some lady with a kid, a couple, a crying man... A crying man who looked very familiar. Oh god.

Tom couldn't decide if this was extremely good luck or luck sent straight from hell. He'd just been on a walk to clear his thoughts, and here he'd found the guy that had been missing for oh so long. Maybe there was no luck involved at all, and it was just fate. Well, whatever it was, Tom wasn't depressed enough to stop being his usual annoying self. ”Nikolai!” he called, jogging over to the sobbing man and trying to get a good look at his face. ”Where the fuck have you been all this time?!” If his friend hadn't been crying so hard, Tommas probably would have punched him in the gut, but he couldn't bring himself to do that to someone who was so... pathetic. He'd never seen Nikolai like this before, and that worried him, so instead of punching him, Tom just wrapped an arm around his shoulders and shut his mouth. The Russian obviously wasn't okay, and Tom wasn't stupid enough to bother asking if he was. People often told Tom that he would be a lot more bearable to be around if he just stayed quiet, and that was what he did as he stood by Nikolai. Talking was his life, but hey, he could give that up for a while if his friend was obviously upset... even if Tom still wanted to know where the fuck he'd been when Tom had needed him.

[nikolai ivanovich harkov]

Nikolai had a vague sense that he should wrap up this whole crying thing pretty soon. He was completely baffled by it. Honestly, he had no conscious memory of crying, and he didn't know how this was supposed to work. He'd seen other people cry, so he had a pretty good idea that he looked terrible, but the emotional side was alarming. Things were playing out like a time line in his mind, starting from the moment his brother's actions had come to light, and running all the way up to the present. The person he had been closest to growing up, the one he could trust, the one who understood... that person was gone. There was no one else. His father would have some of his henchmen beat him to a pulp if he even considered whining about his life. His mother stayed separate from the entire business and was the last person he'd want to drag into his issues. He had friends, but it was hard trusting people or being trusted by people when you were the son of a mafia king. No, he was alone, and he had been alone since Lexin had fled but at least he had know he was alive. There was some comfort in that. Now...

Nikolai nearly jumped out of his skin when someone called his name. It came out looking more like a massive flinch away from the noise and the approaching stranger. But then... he turned to look at the man, his hand unconsciously drifting to his hip where a handgun was hidden. As soon as the towering figure of Tommas registered, though, he flung his arm back over the railing and slumped once again. There was no threat in Tommy, and if there was he didn't have the energy to deal with it. He heard the question directed at him, but couldn't clear the fog in his mind quickly enough to respond in a timely manner. Before he could finish piecing together an answer he felt an arm encircle his shoulders.

Nikolai was a proud man, but he had never felt so low in his life. He didn't jerk away, didn't pull it together right away, didn't move. He was nearly done anyway, feeling completely wrung out. Tommas was a comfortable presence, and he seemed okay with giving Nikolai a minute. After one deep, shaky breath, he straightened up. ”Sorry,” he said to Tommy, although what he was apologizing for wasn't clear. Disappearing? Crying? Showing emotion in public? All were frowned upon in his circles. Slowly and methodically he began composing himself. He rubbed his face and was surprised at how stiff his movements were. When he considered it, though, was it really that shocking? He'd been in the same position for hours. In the cold. He glanced at his hands, then held one up for Tommy to see. The back was covered in healing lacerations. ”I was locked in a basement. I had to break through a window. Several, actually, until I found one without bars.” Explanation finished, his expression shut down, like a door closing on the pain. It was more from the sheer drain of crying than from any effort on his part. He had bared his soul enough for the day; it was time to retreat and recover.

But the crushing weight had lightened, he could handle this. He stood and stared up at Tom, remembering that he had something to say to him. What was it? Something to do with... ”Wesley.” He watched Tom's expression, reading there what he needed to: the man already knew. Niko had heard the news from the man he'd hired, but he'd been so deep in his own world that the importance didn't register. Looking at Tommy now he felt angry at himself for disregarding his friend and what he would be going through. ”I'm so sorry,” he repeated. ”By the time I heard there was nothing I could do... I didn't know... I couldn't...” Nikolai closed his mouth and looked to the side, his jaw clenching.

What a fucked up world they lived in. Loved ones yanked away right from under you, never feeling in control no matter how much power you attained. Perhaps that was what drove the particularly successful mafia kings. They needed power for control, control for security, and security for normality. But they couldn't win as long as they walked down the rods that they did. Niko knew he couldn't escape it. As much as he felt like he was born into the wrong world, his code of honor making him reluctant to harm people, he would have to learn.

”You asked me once if I knew how to love.” He turned his bloodshot eyes to look directly at Tommy, his words filled with intensity. ”I lost my brother, and all I can do is stand on this bridge and think about how I failed him. I guess that's your proof.”

[tommas ugo renda]

Once you got to know Tommas, it was kind of impossible to find him intimidating. Sure, he was tall and he had tattoos that were almost always visible, but he wasn't violent unless his life was in danger. Rude, he would admit to when he was in a bad mood, but not violent. Especially not around his friends, which was probably stupid of him, because most of his friends were the type of people that might turn around and try to kill him at any random time of the day. He was just... Tom. There was no threat in him, and there never had been one. In fact, until his family called him back to Italy, there wouldn't be. That much, he could promise anyone. That being said, it still wasn't much of a surprise to Tom when Nikolai flinched. No one expected someone to call their name while they were crying, at least, not in such a public place. Tom himself had been more than surprised to see Nikolai here, so he couldn't imagine how startled Nikolai had been when Tom had called his name. Of course, the man relaxed soon enough, so there was no reason for Tom not to wrap an arm around him in the most comforting way possible. Or maybe Nikolai would have been more comfortable is Tom wasn't touching him... but whatever.

Tom was a naturally touchy person, and Nikolai probably knew that by now. The arm on his friend's shoulder was as much for his own benefit as it was for Nikolai's, because not only would Tom shrivel up and die if he went for too long without physical contact, but he had to feel useful. Feeling useful in this situation meant making an effort to comfort the Russian, which meant touching him. Simple enough, right? In Tom's mind, it really was quite simple. He didn't overthink things unless he was alone, and Tom did everything in his power to make sure that he was rarely alone. Except for days like these, of course, when he just needed a break to actually think about things. But yeah, those were rare, and he'd run into Nikolai, hadn't he? He could think about things like Castor and his family later, when his friend didn't need help. ”You don't have anything to be sorry for,” he said quietly, giving Nikolai the time that he needed to compose himself again.

No, Tom hadn't seen Nikolai this upset before, and he could only guess at how embarrassing it must be for him. To hide his emotions for however long he'd been doing it – Tom didn't have that information, since he'd only known Nikolai for as long as the latter was in Paris – and then suddenly collapsing in emotion like this. That was one of the reasons that Tom himself was so emotional, or at least the reason he presented to people that asked. It was easier to show people what he felt, because he wasn't very good at hiding things. Being who he was, he probably should have been better, but... he wasn't, not really. He could fight when he had to and lie when he felt like it, but he couldn't hide his emotions if the person he was hiding from was stubborn enough. Maybe for a few hours, but Tom's breaking point was oddly early when it came to mental things. Physical matters were another story entirely, but Tom didn't have a very good mental or emotional barrier, and he tended to break down in tears earlier than a lot of people. A whole lot earlier than Nikolai, judging by how many times Tommas had cried on Nikolai's shoulder, and many times Nikolai... hadn't. Hadn't done anything, from crying to acting like he cared. No wonder Tom had labeled him as a robot.

The student stifled his need to look away when Nikolai held up his hand, but he couldn't held but cringe slightly. ”Who..?” he managed to ask, but he already knew. How was it that Nikolai didn't hate his brother for that? Did the family bond really go so deep that the Russian could forgive his brother for... locking him in a basement? Indirectly – or maybe even directly, Tommas didn't know – hurting him? Tom had wrestled with his brother when they'd been younger, but there had never been anything like this in his family. Not that he knew of, at least. ”Are you okay?” he demanded, leaning against the railing and watching Nikolai intently. He was about to ask again, but it was then that Nikolai decided to change the topic to the exact thing that Tommy had been avoiding for the past few days or so. He didn't say anything when Wesley's name came out of Nikolai's mouth, but he looked away, not paying as much attention to his friend.

Wesley was dead. That was the sole reason that Tom had been so tired lately; tired and sad. He hadn't been sleeping because he was afraid of having a nightmare, and when he'd finally fallen asleep, there had been a nightmare. A horrible one. Maybe that was why Tom had attached himself to Castor so tightly, at least during the night. Having another body in his bed helped a bit and gave him someone to cling to, which lessened his bad dreams. Of course, to everyone but Tom, being in someone else's bed actually had a meaning to it. After a while, things that gotten too complicated with Castor, and Tom had needed to take a break and think. That had led to thoughts about Wesley, doubting how much he'd loved the younger man and questioning what the hell he was going with Castor... It wasn't really a pleasant train of thought, but then he'd run into Nikolai, who had provided a distraction and a way to feel needed again. It had been going okay, until the lab technician had brought up Tom's boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend? Did death count as breaking up?

”It's fine,” he said, not able to cut the raw emotion out of his voice. ”You couldn't have done anything in the first place. It was Wesley's choice, and that's...” Tom trailed off, not sure what to say. Was Wesley killing himself really okay? No, not to Tom. It had been his boyfriend's choice to end his life, but Tom was still upset about it. If he'd hated life that much, couldn't he have asked Tommas for help? Hearing about what Wesley had done had just made him feel useless, and if there was one thing that Tommy really hated, it was feeling useless. The fact that he didn't serve a purpose and couldn't help the people that were most important to him was killing him. ”That's fine,” he finished rather lamely, having nothing else to say. No, it wasn't at all fine, but whatever. Too late to change it, right? Wesley wasn't coming back any time in the future, and Tom had to accept that eventually. He only tore his eyes away from the ground beneath him when Nikolai started talking again, and by the time he was finished with that little speech, something was itching behind Tom's eyes. By reflex, he reached up to rub it away, only to discover that he was crying.

Oh, god. This was just a day for pity, wasn't it? ”Well, you're not a robot anymore, so don't jump off the bridge or anything” he mumbled, still not looking at Nikolai as he wrapped his arms around the Russian's neck and cried. Obviously, as soon as his friend managed to stop his own crying, Tom just had to have another burst of unwanted emotions. That was how things went, right?

[nikolai ivanovich harkov]

Oddly enough, Nikolai wasn't embarrassed. Sure, he toned down his feelings all the time, and he seemed to have the emotional range of a salad, but he was still an honest person. Now, overwhelmed with crushing sadness, he wasn't about to start acting like things were hunky-dory. The fact that he couldn't hold out anymore against the swell of emotional pain said a lot more than any words he could come up with. He was proud, yes, but he would not lie about something like this to a person like Tom. No one was that much of a robot.

Niko's brows drew together when he saw Tommas cringe. It made sense, a guy who didn't like violence being queasy about injuries. He could see the effort put out by the guy to not avert his gaze, and he appreciated that. Even that little bit of rejection would have stung at the moment. Honestly though, if Tom could see the rest of the cuts that ran down his upper body from the act of squeezing through a broken window much too narrow for that sort of thing... He wouldn't be able to blame him for looking away, but he was happy for the long-sleeved shirt and jacket he wore to spare Tommy the discomfort.

Again he thought how unfortunate it was for the Italian man to have been born into this lifestyle. Nikolai had been introduced to violence and death early, desensitized to it. His father's men delivered very clear messages to people who pissed off the boss. Often with baseball bats. Or battery acid. Of course it was terrible, but he had grown numb to it. Adapt or die.

Maybe Tommy couldn't understand it, but Nikolai felt absolutely no ill will toward his brother for what had happened to him. He understood Lexin's motives now, or at least he thought he did. Protecting him from the task their father had sent him to Paris for. Had the situation been reversed, Nikolai would have done the same thing for his older brother. Of course he had tried to escape from his make-shift prison. The threat of some lacerations wasn't enough to neutralize Nikolai, and Lexin must have known that. But it was true, their family bond had run very deeply; deep enough to make things like kidnapping and indirect bodily harm seem minor. It was the bigger picture they had been taught to look at. Pain was just a passing thing in between a man and his goal.

Was he okay? Nikolai couldn't bring himself to answer the question. If it was referring to his injuries then yes, he was fine. He wasn't going to die from some stitches and minor cuts. But in the long run? How would his mental state stand up to this recent tragedy? Even with friends to lean on, this was a hard thing for someone to go through. Given Niko's unique circumstances, though? What with his potential involvement and his glaring lack of friends? He had Tommy, but the man clearly had issues of his own to deal with. He couldn't impose on the guy. In fact, Niko would have to get it together quickly so he could be there for him. It was bad enough he'd spent so much time hiding from the world. But things weren't fine. He couldn't just have one attack of sobbing and be over everything. Apparently it didn't work like that. The hollowness was still there, the haunting numbness had returned. He had a lid on things once again for Tommy's benefit, but he wasn't fine at all. Sadness strong enough to breach his emotional floodgates took time to pass.

In the end, Nikolai would be changed by this loss. He had thought that he understood his world and had come to terms with it, but it still had some surprises left, apparently. This knowledge had shaken him to his core. Being an heir to a crime empire put some unique strains on a person, but he was prepared to deal with that. He couldn't run from it; fat lot of good it had done for his brother to try. He would just bide his time until he could get out from under his father's heel, building strength in the meantime.

That was what they always said, wasn't it? What doesn't kill you will only make you stronger. He felt like the tidal wave of pain had crashed and receded, and there was another one brewing out there in the sea of his emotions, but he would be better prepared next time. He wouldn't be standing on a bridge, for one thing. He should probably clear the bullets from his gun, too.

He turned his head stiffly to look at Tommas from the corner of his eye as he started talking about Wesley. Was it fine? Was it ever okay for someone to take the easy way out like that? Sure, he had just been considering suicide, but this was different. He hadn't followed through, and Wesley had. As if reading his thoughts, Tom mentioned just that. ”I was never a robot,” he muttered under his breath, staring down at the water. It didn't look so welcoming anymore, now that he had been snapped back to reality. ”All the same, thanks for that. I've never been o close to... never mind.” He noticed his friend was crying just as the towering giant stooped slightly to wrap his arms around his neck. Niko, being nearly frozen and insanely stiff, staggered under the weight for a moment before recovering and straightening. He patted Tom's shoulder, bowing his head in commiseration.

Nikolai was starting to feel the effects of the day... fuck, of the past couple of weeks actually. Now that his thoughts weren't a million miles away he could feel the cold. Several sleepless night in a row had leeched the strength from his bones. He had locked his knees to keep them from buckling. He would not allow himself to show that level of weakness. Dropping his arms back to his sides, Niko looked up and down the bridge, surprised at the reduced number of pedestrians. ”What time... how long have I been here?” He rubbed the back of his neck, a weary smile playing across his face. ”I guess I'm more fucked up than I thought...”