The Coldest Night || Ivan

[Aoife O'Neill]

There were times when Aoife O’Neill really hated her job. It was dangerous, it ruined any type of social life she would have wanted outside of work, and Aoife always found that she was underpaid and overworked. Overworked was probably what applied to this case, though. No sooner had she arrived from her previous mission in Paris, MI6 had informed the Irish agent that she would be infiltrating another group – the Russian Bratva. She had hardly been given a week’s break before getting thrown right in at the deep again once more. Everything had been arranged; Aoife was to take up the identity of a British-Russian weapons specialist named Anastasia Taylor and join a group led by Ivan Braginsky. She would go in, make herself part of the group, then when they were least expecting it, Aoife would give the word and MI6 would arrest them. So far, the mission had been going well. “Anastasia” had been a member of the mafia for just under a month, and had instantly become a popular, well-liked member. Ivan had even given her a pet name of “Krasnayachka” not long after she had joined. The group didn’t even suspect that she wasn’t on their side. The mission probably would have been completely successful, had it not been for that one, cold night in late January. The vodka had been flowing freely that evening, and laughter did crescendo throughout the base as more and more alcohol was consumed. “Krasnayachka” and Braginsky, along with a couple of other thugs (ironically nicknamed Fluffles and Kittyboo, despite their less than cuddly appearances and attitudes), had been joking over the bottle of Russian Standard when it came out. “Those bastards MI6 won’t know what hit them!” Fluffles had slurred proudly as he draped an arm around Aoife’s shoulders with a laugh. Of course, she had made sure to laugh along with him, but her face did not display what she was truly feeling at the mention of MI6. Panic, concern. But keeping that slightly tipsy smile stuck on her face, she had giggled again and simply turned to face Ivan. “What’s going on~?” The question sounded more amused than genuinely curious, but that was the idea. Aoife did not want them to get any clue that she was, in fact, worried about what had been said. It was Kittyboo who answered, however, and Aoife could only listen with a growing sense of dread inside her to his whisperings of rumours which had been circulating in the underworld. War was coming, he had said, a turf war against anyone on the side of the law. The Bratva and other lawless planned to crush MI6 before they even had a chance to retaliate. Her concern was soon blossoming into fear now. She would have to warn M of what she had discovered. Finally, after about ten minutes or so of masking her dread and socialising with her “comrades”, the redhead eventually stood up and excused herself from the gathering with “I’m heading to bed. Don’t want to be too hung-over tomorrow. Спокойной ночи.” Of course, that had been a lie. The moment she had left their sights, Aoife had grabbed her coat and disappeared out of the base, into the fading light of the winter eve, and back towards the SIS Building. ~~~ By the time Aoife had returned to the Isle of Dogs, the night had closed in. Outside it was pitch black and bitterly cold, with a heavy fog hanging over the water of the Thames. On eerie nights like these, she would have preferred to have been curled up in her own bed with a hot cup of coffee and a good book. Shivering in the chill, the redhead pulled her coat around her body tightly and increased the speed of her step. She was practically running back to the base, eager to return to the warmth inside. M had given her the instructions to continue with her mission when Aoife had arrived to MI6’s Headquarters with her warning. They would have to speed things along, yes, so realistically speaking Aoife estimated she would only been given a couple of days now to bring down the group. It was going to be tricky, but it could be done. She wasn’t too nervous, and hopefully this would nip any more talks of this “Turf War” in the bud, once and for all. Letting out a sigh of relief, Aoife finally reached the door and pushed it open, finally stepping into the warmth once again. She was not particularly fond of winter, that was for sure. Closing the door over with a satisfied smile, Aoife span on her heels with the intention of heading back to her room and actually getting some sleep in a nice, warm bed… But the moment she turned around and saw Ivan standing there, Fluffles and Kittyboo behind him, with the leader smiling at her in a not-so-welcoming way, Aoife felt a gasp get caught in her throat. Almost jumping back in surprise, she was hardly able to retain her composure as a nervous laugh escaped her. “Ivan! You scared me,” she spoke to him lightly, teasingly, as though she was his friend. “You’d better be careful – don’t want to end up giving people a heart attack, do you?” Despite her cheery exterior, though, Aoife could sense there was something very wrong with this scene. God, she hoped she was just over-thinking this. It was probably nothing, and everything would be all right… …right?

Tag: Ivan

CODED BY ELECTRIC OF GS

[Ivan Petrovich Braginsky]

Ivan Braginsky always did have a love for alcohol.

Many knew him as the man with a bottomless stomach for one particular alcoholic beverage in particular, but while vodka was his favorite, he did have appreciation for all kinds and the different situations they best suited. There was nothing quite like warming up with a sip of vodka on a cold winter's day, or relaxing with a beer after a hard day's work, or sipping a glass of healthy red wine over a meal in a fancy restaurant in downtown London. The surroundings and the type of liquor consumed might have varied, but they were all equally enjoyable in their own way.

But, no matter the time, place or taste, there was always one constant that made a drinking experience that much more enjoyable to the Russian; and that was good company. Sad men drank alone to drown their sorrows - happy men drank with others to share their joys. Drinking with friends was, without the shadow of a doubt, Ivan's favorite past time, whether it involved vodka or not.

And yet, as with all things, there was an exception to the rule - and tonight was it.

Ivan had tried not to think about it as he'd opened the heavy door to one of the many hideouts he had scattered throughout the city with a newly bought bottle in hand and his usual smile in place. He'd tried to ignore it as they'd all sat down and the room, previously so cold and lonely, had slowly filled up with smoke, the smell of alcohol and the loud chatter of drunk men and women enjoying a cold Saturday night in the confines of a fairly well heated room. But no matter how much alcohol he poured down his throat and no matter how many times he allowed himself to laugh at the stories and jokes being thrown about, he could not shake the disbelief, the suspicion, the sadness that lurked in the back of his mind and rekindled every time his eyes happened upon one of his newest - and dare he say one of his dearest - recruits; an Irish woman he'd so affectionately named Krasnayachka for her trademark ginger hair.

Because, despite what it might have looked like to those not in the know, this was not an evening to unwind and enjoy at all. No, this was a trap to lure out a traitor, to expose an enemy and end a farce that had been going on for far too long - at least, if Ivan's informant was to be trusted. The Romanian hadn't stated it outright, after all - the man never did. He seemed to very much enjoy his little mind games, his little riddles to leave the Russian having to do some of the brainstorming - and in some cases, guesswork - on his own. It was a quiet rebellion, a small show of power in an otherwise hopeless situation for the man, Ivan supposed, and so he tolerated it. That, and he always did have a certain fascination with the mysterious.

Regardless, the hints Mihai'd given had, when pursued, all led to one single woman in Ivan's immediate vicinity, and it was indeed the very woman sitting across from him now, laughing so radiantly Ivan almost regretted not giving her a nickname that had to do with the sun instead. It felt almost impossible a concept for her to have deceived him all this time, and not one Ivan was willing to believe without witnessing some form of proof on his own. And hence, he'd invited his best here tonight - to find out if she truly was the one who had sold him out, or if there was someone else he'd not thought of to suspect.

And with that thought heavy in his mind, Ivan figured they had all drank enough to get started on their actual plan of action before his closest comrades got too drunk to work - and before his chest burst from the pain of uncertainty. He'd rather deal with the pain of betrayal than the pain of the fear of it, even if he absolutely loathed either option.

The plan had been set among the few the Russian knew he could trust, and a simple nod from Ivan pushed that plan into motion so seamlessly that the 'slip up' from Kittyboo seemed nothing more than an accident to all those present. It was a simple, careless mention of impending danger to Krasnaychka's supposed superiors and colleagues, and if it did not push the woman into some kind of action she was either not a spy - or she was one seasoned enough to abandon all feelings in her line of work and cast the fear of loss aside for the sake of keeping in-character. Ivan believed that if anything, she would be the former. Her eyes weren't quite cold enough to fit the latter description.

Krasnayachka's immediate reaction was hardly anything suspicious; she merely laughed with the rest of the group, her smile never twitching, body never freezing on the spot or eyes darting to find an escape route should she be suspected of something. And for the shortest moment a small spark of relief lit within the Russian's chest. It was hope, a possibility for him to have been wrong.

But then her laughter died down and she turned to face him, and although Ivan saw no fear in her eyes nor heard panic in her question, something about the uncertainty, the way she turned to ask him and not the man who'd presented the concept made his stomach turn in worry. He might have not noticed it had he not been already tipped off about a spy, but with that information biasing his observations, it almost seemed ridiculously clear; she wanted to ask him, because he would be able to tell her the details better than anyone else. He would be able to give her information, and it was information she was after.

Ivan couldn't reply. His throat felt dry and the words were stuck. So this is what it felt like to look a traitor in the eye.

Kittyboo answered for him. It wasn't anything they'd particularly agreed on in advance, but he knew his boss well enough to understand when it was his time to take over and advance the plan. And so he did - he told her in vague enough terms of the incoming war and in a matter of minutes, the subject was dropped and they started to discuss their individual displeasures over London's weather instead. Krasnayachka's facade continued like it had never been breached at all.

And before Ivan knew it, before he could gather his thoughts she was gone, amusingly off-pronounced Russian the last thing Ivan heard before she closed the door of the common room for the very last time.

Ivan brought the half-empty bottle to his lips and emptied it all down his throat.

----

Needless to say, Krasnayachka was not in her bed that night.

Ivan would know; he'd spent the next hour or so constantly checking her room in case she'd just taken a particularly long bathroom break or grabbed a snack from the common kitchen before heading off to sleep. But as minutes ticked and the sheets on her bed remained untouched, Ivan had no choice but to eventually cut off the last shreds of hope he'd clung onto and turn to his comrades with an expression colder than the winters of his homeland.

There was no need for words. Even the thickest members of the organization understood what the frozen, sorrowful smile and eerily focused eyes indicated; on this chilly night, a certain someone out there would see a nightmare they could not awake from.

Ivan wasn't aware of the amount of time that lapsed between Krasnayachka leaving and the heavy door of the base opening with a painfully sad creak, but he knew exactly how many seconds it took for her to turn around and the panic of seeing him standing there to settle in. It was barely a full second. A reaction time befitting an agent, to be sure.

“Ivan! You scared me,” she spoke, but her usually beautiful voice was nothing but the sound of dripping poison to the man's ears now. She was no longer the promising new recruit he'd enjoyed teaching Russian to and taking around London. She was an enemy, and although she masked the fear in her voice, Ivan saw it on her face. She must have known it too. Known that this was the end.

“You’d better be careful – don’t want to end up giving people a heart attack, do you?”

Ivan smiled, his lips curled upwards in a fashion so utterly peaceful, that the words that flowed past them seemed nothing short of unnatural. Dangerous. Twisted.

"Ah, but of course not. That'd be such a waste," he commented in a dragging voice, as he slowly pushed himself to stand from the stairs he'd been sitting on, back still bent to allow him to straighten the hem of his coat. His movements were slow, peaceful, perfectly in tone with the calm of his voice. It was strange, distant, in a way; he seemed to be more interested in dusting himself off than looking at her, and despite the heavy weight his words carried, his manner of speech made the matter sound mundane as if he were talking about the weather.

"Death by a heart attack wouldn't be much fun at all."

He shook his head, smile never faltering as he finally allowed his gaze to lock with hers. His two men had already circled their way from behind their boss to stand a little ways to the Irish woman's left and right, ready to grab her should she attempt a sudden escape through the door. Not that there weren't men outside already prepared to handle that.

"Mmh, no..." The Russian pondered out loud with a shake of his head. "I'd prefer a method that'd make it last a little longer," he mused lightheartedly, not bothering to clear up the exact meaning of his words. She undoubtedly already knew what he was implying. Krasnayachka was never slow to catch on and even if she were, the look in the Russian's eyes as he continued barely louder than a whisper would have made his intentions very clear regardless: "This... is our last time seeing each other, after all."

His eyes closed. He couldn't bear looking at her anymore. It hurt too much. So much he wanted to hurt her back. And that was bad. That'd be premature.

"So, any suggestions?"He asked, polite, calm, the way he always was, except completely different. And when his eyes opened once more, they seemed to be almost alit with disgust as the next set of words slithered out of his mouth like they'd left a bad taste behind:

"... Agent O'Neill?"

[Aoife O'Neill]

The tension was thick that night. Overbearing and oppressive, the atmosphere felt as though it was pushing down on everything, weighing her down. Despite how her composure was remaining firmly in tact, just as she was trained to do, it had not taken long for Aoife to realise that this situation did not bode well. She wasn't stupid, and the threatening nature of the scene playing out in front of her was too obvious not to pick up on. Braginsky's smile had given it away. The way he was watching her, with such a serene yet such... cold eyes... It sent a threatening shiver down her spine, and made her skin crawl unpleasantly like a biting chill was creeping through her flesh. Tonight wasn't going to end well; Aoife already knew it.

There was not much she could do now without digging herself an even deeper grave except watch Ivan wordlessly as he slowly stood up, suddenly towering over her at his full and intimidating height. The words which he spoke as well, despite the perfectly average tone he spoke with, were just as threatening.

"Ah, but of course not. That'd be such a waste. Death by a heart attack wouldn't be much fun at all."

Their eyes met, piercing violet locking in on bright emerald. Her gaze didn't dare waver, Aoife projecting the little confidence she could in the situation, keeping a level-head. Stand tall, she thought to herself. Don't let him think that you're anything but poised. Even so, it was hard not to shrink back instinctively. The Irishwoman had caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and was well aware that Ivan's men already had her surrounded. Assessing the situation calmly, she allowed the scene to mull over in her head as she tried to formulate a way out. Knowing how this group worked, they had probably already planned in advance. Most likely, Braginsky already had men situated outside should she try to make a quick get-away now. Even if that wasn't the case, those two men right beside her wouldn't exactly make it easy to get out now. Somehow, Aoife knew she had to get out of here and send a distress signal to MI6. How she could, though?

Her best bet was to act oblivious, innocent. She would try keep up the façade for as long as she possibly could. If she could convince these guys that she wasn't an agent, Aoife still had a chance. Maybe she was grabbing at loose ends and the risk was high, but it was a risk she was willing to take.

"Mmh, no..."

Ivan's voice once more pulled her away from her train of thought, bringing her right back to the present. Instantly, her expression became confused, like a rabbit in the headlights. To an outsider, it would have been the look of an innocent; someone who had no idea about what was truly going on. If Ivan could fall for it, Aoife was sure she would be getting away from here tonight.

"I'd prefer a method that'd make it last a little longer."

"Ivan, what are you--?"

"This... is our last time seeing each other, after all."

Aoife swallowed, the colour slowly draining from her face. She couldn't say she was too surprised by the response, yet hearing it still made something in her stomach drop. This wasn't the first time she had been in a close situation, oh no. But, it was the first time where Aoife could see her chances growing smaller and smaller with each passing breath.

"So, any suggestions? ... Agent O'Neill?"

That was it. In that moment, it felt as though something had just been ripped out from underneath her. Her breath caught in her throat momentarily as she tried to work out how... how did he know?
A painfully long silence hung in the frigid air as the tension grew thicker. Despite all her training for every eventuality, Aoife found she could not get her brain to process properly.

Eventually, the woman allowed herself to laugh awkwardly, nervously. One small step was taken backwards so her back was pressed up against the door, her hidden left hand already making it's way to the door nob and wrapping around the cool metal. The other, also hidden from the eyes of the men surrounding her, was reaching for the watch on her left wrist. Whilst it may have looked like an ordinary piece of jewellery, the item was actually a gadget from the Q division. Just by touching the crown of the watch, a distress signal would instantly be sent to MI6.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ivan," her words were laced with that nervous laugh, as though "Krasnayachka" honestly was confused by everything which was unfolding. "Me? An agent? That doesn't even make any sense!"

Her grip on the door handle tightened when she glanced to the side, noticing the two men taking another step towards her. Keep calm, O'Neill. At that point, her finger lightly touched the piece of the watch, which caused a tiny red light to begin softly pulsing on the clock face. Luckily, her hands were still hidden behind her back. Hopefully the bratva members hadn't noticed her movements or the blinking red dot.

"If this is a joke, it really isn't funny." Her gaze flickered back to Ivan as she spoke, and she offered the man her best attempt at a smile. Slowly, though, she was pulling at the door, trying to hide the fact she was opening up the only way out. "And if you were wondering where I was, it wasn't anything serious, I promise. Just got notification that a broker wanted to meet with me." Lies. All of it. "Sorry not to let anyone know, but you were all having so much fun and it wasn't exactly anything serious."

Another laugh; one which was much more natural this time round. The door was open a crack now, so much so that Aoife could feel the cool breeze from the night outside prickling the back of her neck. Should all else fail and Braginsky not believe her, she now had more of an opening to escape. Even if there were people outside, she could either out-run them, or fight them off. Still, none of this was an ideal situation. How had it even come to this? 

Please, God, don't let this be the end. I'm begging you, help me get out of this one.