Chapter Text
Despite the noise, the clanking, the power tools, the people talking over the power tools, Nikolai vastly preferred a busy garage or hangar to the bright sun outdoors. The hangar had shade, which was doing wonders to keep him marginally cooler, although not cool enough. His jacket was draped over the work bench beside his helicopter, leaving him in cargos and a long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. He sat in the pilot’s seat of his helicopter, running diagnostics for the (hopefully) final time. He expected good results. The task force had places to be, and he needed to make sure they all arrived in the same condition in which they had departed. Lifting himself up, he stepped out of the cockpit to take a circuit around his bird, double checking that her chronic rattle hadn’t reappeared on her left side.
From the other side, the helicopter’s bulk blocked most of the hangar from his view, leaving behind the metallic noises of finicky machines being coaxed back into usefulness. Power tools were good at that.
Funny thing. Power tools were good for coaxing a lot of things, not just out of machines.
With all the usual noise, he didn’t notice anyone approaching his little corner of the hangar, since there wasn’t even sunlight to cast shadows ahead of someone. Nikolai was momentarily engrossed in going back over the scribbled notes he’d made for himself after last flight of what needed to be checked over again. So far, he’d completed everything, and was just waiting for diagnostics to finish and prove him right.
Through the haze of mechanical sounds came someone’s voice. “Ah! There you are.”
He knew that voice. Nikolai’s fingers tightened around his pen and notebook, but he made no move. He had a decision to make here.
“I just wanna confirm some things about the drop points,” the voice went on. “I asked around and I found you before I found Price, so.”
He sighed silently, the paper under his thumb crinkling slightly as his grip tightened further. The voice was recognizable, if not familiar. During the short time 141 and Nikolai had been on the ground with their American… partners for this mission, Nikolai had yet to meet the other commanding officer in person. He hadn’t been looking forward to it. Or perhaps he had, on a certain level.
Nikolai was a proud man. He was a good pilot. He was a good friend. He was loyal. Contrary to his own life’s history with choosing sides, he still prided himself on his loyalty to those who had earned it. John had earned it first. Kate had earned it, slowly, but she had. The rest of 141 had followed easily, already vetted by John as they were. Nikolai wore the task force’s patch on his jacket as a show of thanks, of gratitude, that they trusted him in return to offer him their symbol. But it was also a reminder. They were his friends. They were people who meant very much to Nikolai, and he had a duty to himself to help them and protect them in whatever ways he had available to him.
Las Almas had felt like a failure. It had felt catastrophic. Logically, Nikolai recognized that if even John hadn’t known about Shepherd’s plans beforehand, then there would have been no way for Nikolai to have known either. But it had still hurt, to know that his people had been betrayed so callously. After Chicago, they had all been so drained, and that was partially due to the fucking song and dance Shadow Company had forced them to perform just to stay alive, when they could have been preparing themselves for the shitshow that had followed in America.
It had taken an immense display of patience for John to wait through the rant from him about this current mission. Nikolai had gone on about what a horrible idea it all was for several minutes and in two different languages, until he finally had to catch his breath. John had spoken up then, and talked him down, as he always managed to do. Besides, after Las Almas, there was no way in hell Nikolai was leaving 141 alone with Shadow Company—especially not with its commander.
So, Nikolai had a decision to make here. Commander Graves—because of course, it was him who had just walked over—would not be going into the field on this mission; he would be in his plane. That much Nikolai knew. So, realistically, a black eye wouldn’t hinder him from doing his job this time. True, Nikolai had to fly in a few hours, and he didn’t prefer to do that with sore knuckles, but it might be worth it.
“You got a minute?” Graves asked, still trying to get his attention since he hadn’t moved.
Nikolai closed his pen in his notebook, setting it down on the work bench beside his jacket. He finally looked over at the commander. He’d seen the man through a video screen at a less-than-flattering angle, but never in person. Graves was short.
Well, fine. He was probably average. He looked about Soap’s height. His boots probably gave him another inch or so, anyway. How this man was surviving in all-black tac gear was a mystery. Nikolai had also never met a more punch-able face. In more exact terms, Nikolai had met his share of assholes and criminals and murderers and all kinds of horrible people. Many of those people could have done with a few touch-ups around the face involving blunt and/or sharp instruments. But none of them had ever had a visage that just begged for a fist to the jaw the way Graves’ did. Maybe not on the jaw… maybe right on that hairline scar over his cheek.
Decisions, decisions.
When Nikolai still hadn’t said anything in response to either of his queries, Graves took a few slow steps around, never coming much closer to him, but still distancing himself from the noise and hubbub of the rest of the hangar. “I’m just makin’ sure we all know where everyone’s gonna be, y’hear me?” His tone was casual, annoyingly casual. His body language told a different story.
Nikolai made his decision. Surprisingly, what had come to the first-place podium didn’t involve a single use of blunt force. That was old hat in the military. Physical abuse was just part of the charm. No… Nikolai could see Graves had apprehension in approaching him. He was an unknown to him entirely, whereas Nikolai had gotten a small preview in video format. Showing that caution had been a mistake.
“I hear you,” he said at last. As casually as Graves had spoken, Nikolai started rolling down his sleeves.
“Right.” Graves’ blue eyes flicked down to follow the motion for a second before he moved on. “We haven’t been formally introduced,” he went on. He took a few more careful steps, still allowing a generous distance between them. Nikolai picked up his jacket and shrugged it on, turning to face the wall of the hangar nearby. As he had hoped, Graves followed his line of sight, putting himself not quite between Nikolai and the wall. He wasn’t that dumb. “You’re Nik, right?” Graves asked, offering a hand out to shake. “The captain was singin’ your praises earlier. In his own way.”
This man didn’t know the first thing about what that meant. But it was a peace offering, Nikolai recognized. He gave a tight smile for a second, and started taking steps towards Graves, like he intended to shake his hand. When he was two steps away, he let all pretenses fall. For the past few years, Nikolai had been lucky enough to never really need to drop his comfortable, almost carefree outward presentation. Only John and Kate knew how properly terrifying he could be when given incentive.
And this? The prospect of fucking with Graves’ head enough that he never approached him with such blatant put-upon nonchalance again?
That was good incentive.
“My name is Nikolai,” he said, dropping the pitch of his voice slightly, but not slowing his approach. “And let me make something clear.” It was then that Graves realized Nikolai wasn’t slowing down, so either he had to move, or there would be a collision. He did the usual thing, and stepped back. And kept stepping back, because Nikolai wasn’t stopping. “You can see this, yes?” Nikolai went on like nothing was out of the ordinary. He reached up and tapped the 141 patch on his left breast. “You know what it is, do you not?”
Graves stumbled over his words, though, luckily, not his feet. He was slightly preoccupied by looking around for an escape without appearing desperate. Finally, his words came together coherently. “It’s—that’s the task force’s symbol.” The hand that had been outstretched to shake had curled back into his chest, almost protectively. Despite all this, he was still attempting a small smile like it might save him.
“Ah, exactly,” Nikolai said, gesturing with open hands. The brief smile he allowed didn’t reach his eyes. “And what do you think it means that I have this, when I am not an active member in any official military organization?” He was still moving forward, and the commander was still backing up. The wall was only another two meters away.
“You guys are close, I get it,” Graves said, his mask of insouciance starting to slip. His blue eyes were darting everywhere, only occasionally hovering on Nikolai’s face. He knew where the wall was just as well as Nikolai did. “You’re—” he started to add, bringing his other hand up to gesture in front of his chest.
With speed some found uncommon for his height, Nikolai’s left hand flashed out and wrapped around the commander’s right, cutting off further conversation. He needed no readjustment, finding his thumb and first two fingers exactly where he had put them on the webbing between Graves’ thumb and forefinger. He pressed down, hard, to get through the glove. Graves’ face twisted in surprise more than pain, but before he could do anything in response, the back of his vest and his heels hit the wall behind him.
Graves inhaled sharply, all traces of charm or amicability fading as his expression hardened. Nikolai stepped right up into his space, nearly going chest-to-chest, and using the several inches of height he had above the other to his full advantage.
“What that means,” he said, his voice low and even, “is they are my unit. They are my brothers.” He leaned in, enjoying the complete and utter uncertainty and not-quite-panic he could read in Graves’ eyes. “And I don’t like it when they get hurt. I don’t like it when people hurt them. But if there is something to make it worse…” he squeezed down on Graves’ hand to watch him try not to squirm, “it is betrayal,” he finished through gritted teeth. He watched the commander swallow and took in how his eyes couldn’t quite settle on one point on his face. Then, lightening his tone a touch, he went on. “If I am honest, the main reason you are not dead or severely injured is because hiding your body during a mission would be very inconvenient.”
One corner of the commander’s mouth twitched up for a second before his tongue flashed out to wet his lower lip. “Inconvenient?” he repeated. His voice had gone slightly hoarse, which only told Nikolai that what he was doing was working exactly as he had wanted.
He gave another cold smile. “Not impossible,” he said in explanation. He relaxed the pressure on the commander’s hand slightly. “So you will behave, yes?”
Graves stared at him. Despite the poor lighting where they were indoors, Nikolai had his suspicions that the commander’s ears had darkened by a shade. He also didn’t respond right away.
To offer a prompt, Nikolai reached his other hand up and patted the commander’s cheek, just enough to sting a little. “Will you behave, Commander?” he asked as he did.
Graves’ chin lifted up and away slightly, and he tried to press himself further against the wall. His eyes left Nikolai’s face, now appearing to settle anywhere else. “Yes. Yes, I’ll… behave.” The last word was almost a whisper.
“Good. Now radio the captain.” He tapped the radio on Graves’ shoulder strap. “You had questions for him, right?” For a couple seconds, he just got another stare in response, like Graves thought he might be kidding. Nikolai wasn’t in a kidding mood at the moment. He pressed down on the commander’s hand.
He winced slightly and swallowed again, then reached for his radio. After clearing his throat, he spoke. “Bravo Zero-Six, this is Shadow One. You got a minute?”
A second or so later, John’s voice came through the speaker. He sounded rightfully confused as to why Graves was using his radio on-base. “Bravo Six: I hear you. What the hell do you want that you can’t come find me to talk about, Graves?”
Before the commander could give his own answer, Nikolai reached up to cover Graves’ hand, pinning it to his radio. Releasing the other hand, he hooked two fingers under the band of Graves’ throat mic and flipped the sensor so it faced outwards. It wasn’t the optimal use for the device, but it would pick up enough of his voice to get the message across. He pressed onto the commander’s thumb, clicking the radio on to receive transit.
“Captain, I seem to have an uninvited guest in my part of the hangar,” he said, leaning in slightly to be heard better.
After a pause to process, John’s voice was back. “Well, he sounded alive just now, so I appreciate the restraint, Nik.”
“Thank you. Would you inform him I don’t want anything to do with him that isn’t part of our job?” he asked, emphasizing his point to the commander by tugging lightly on the band around his neck.
“Point of advice, Commander,” John said, his smile audible. “Don’t poke the bear.”
Nikolai withdrew slightly, letting the microphone slip from his fingers. It snapped back into place on Graves’ neck.
“Ow, shit—” he hissed with a flinch.
Nikolai then released the transmission button, ensuring the reaction had been heard loud and clear on the other end.
“Yeah, he pokes back,” John’s voice added in response. “Come find me in the briefing room if you still need a chat. Out.”
One last time, Nikolai leaned in and dropped his voice low. “Behave,” he warned. Then, he lifted his hand, freeing Graves from his radio, and finally stepped back.
His work was done here, and he wanted the commander out. He didn’t regret putting on the jacket for the theatrics, but he could feel sweat dripping down his back already. The sooner Graves left, the sooner he could get it off again. With that, he turned back to his helicopter and his work bench, picking up his notebook and dutifully ignoring Graves a few meters away. In his periphery, he saw the commander rub his neck and shake his head as if to clear it. Without another word, he slipped back around the nose of the aircraft and disappeared from sight.