Beautiful Archangel

Ivan Stanislav growled to himself and cursed in Russian.

“Fuck…”

He winced to himself and peered over his shoulder into his mother’s living room, and at the far door which led to the small hallway to the bedrooms.

No sound.

The last thing he wanted to do was wake his recuperating mother. He shifted in the oversized chair and peered through his glasses at the papers arrayed on his family table. He took a moment and glanced at the empty seats. His brother’s. His father’s.

Before him lay a chaotic mess of handwritten charts, filled with the names of the War Games teams. Lines criss-crossed the pages, connecting members and predicting their moves as if in a complex game of chess. It was a puzzle with no clear solution, a tangled web that seemed impossible to unravel.

And yet, he poured over it tirelessly, his brow furrowed in concentration, determined to find any glimmer of insight amidst the chaos. Who would enter first? Who would enter last? Who would work best together? Who wouldn’t?

It was important to Ivan. He took his responsibility as leader of his team seriously. He did believe he was a leader of men. Despite how chaotic their team was, he truly wanted to succeed. Not just for himself, but for them. Rob Williams, Max, Kerry, even Jonathan-Christopher. He knew Kenny and Arthur would pull their weight. But in the end, it often felt like a fruitless endeavor, trying to make sense of something that was designed to be constantly changing and unpredictable.

But keeping his mind busy instead of worrying about his mother was a worthwhile endeavor.

She was healing, but Lenin was she cranky, and rightfully so. If he heard, one last time, that she was in more pain now than before he would pull his own hair out. But believe it or not, The Russian Bear could exercise patience at times. Especially for his mother.

Arina was entrusted with the responsibility of caring for her while Ivan embarked on his trip to Wales. She had always been an obedient and quiet girl, never once complaining about her duties. However, Ivan decided to give her a rare night off so that she could unwind and enjoy herself.

He smirked and shook his head.

Rather than leave her charge, she insisted she sleep in the guest room.

“Just in case any of you need my help, Starshy Praporshchik,” she had said.

Not like there was much to do in Arkhangelsk anyway.

Despite his most fervent hopes, he knew even at this early morning, it would happen. His phone rang.

Alexei.

He closed his eyes before answering the phone and bringing it to his ear. “Yes?”

Ruslan’s voice was frantic and annoyed. “What the hell was all that about?”

Ivan slowly pushed himself out of the old, worn chair and trudged over to the sliding glass door and gently opened it, stepping onto the small concrete balcony. The crisp air stung his nose and he could feel goosebumps emerge on his thick arms. Thankfully, his beard did most of the work keeping his face warm.

Still, Ivan didn’t mind. In fact, despite just wearing a white undershirt and pants, he relished the frigid temperature. It was a refreshing change from the stuffy apartment. He stared out at the vast forest that spread for miles behind the apartment, and he yanked his black suspenders from his sides and secured them over his shoulders with a satisfying snap.

“What do you mean, what was that about?” Ivan growled, his voice dripping with fury. His hand clenched into a tight fist as he hissed into the phone. “She baited you and your big mouth got you in trouble. Got us in trouble!”

“What else could I have done, Vanya?” Alexei’s voice may have been transmitting from Moscow, but his desperation could be heard.

Stanislav gazed up at the moon, its cold light reflecting off the treetops. He longed to see the Dvina River, to escape the tense conversation and the questions that hung around him like hammers and sickles.

Clenching his jaw, he leaned against the rusted railing and shook his head. “I don’t know, Alexei. Maybe you are right.”

Ruslan replied with determination. “She would have continued to attack us, Ivan. Our reputation, our pride…” a pause, “...our people. So would her daughter. Her son. And all the others? They would have laughed and done the same.”

Ivan nodded slowly and exhaled. “Alexei, she is going to hurt you.”

“What does it matter?” Alexei replied defiantly. “Let her try. I’ve survived worse.”

Say what you will about Alexei’s small stature, but there was something to be said about his patriotic zeal. No pain or hardship wasn’t worth defending Russia and her interests.

Despite the unsettling feeling in Ivan’s stomach as he considered just how true of a friend Alexei was, he still cared for the man. Loved him. It wasn’t a feeling that Ivan could turn off. Even if most people thought he was an unfeeling, heartless monster.

He was worried for him.

“Alexei, she could seriously harm you. She’ll give all those vultures exactly what they want, and she’ll be all the more popular for it.”

But frustration boiled inside the Russian Bear as he continued. “Everyone in PRIME is just waiting for you to get hurt. They’re like bloodthirsty jackals at the feet of their Queen. And if I step in and take down her boyfriend, or even worse, stop her, any goodwill I’ve built with her will be…”

But Alexei interrupted him, his tone laced with bitterness. “Why do you even care? PWA-02. The Lifetime Contract. Now this? Why do you keep giving a shit about Lindsay-fucking-Troy?”

Ivan gazed through the window, past his mother’s living room and to the door which led to her bedroom, where she rested after her surgery. He tightened his jaw and let out a frustrated sigh, thinking about how Troy, of all people, paid for his mother’s surgery.

Alexei must not have known.

Ivan’s voice trembled. “I… I don’t know, Alyosha. I just feel so tired.”

“Tired?” Ruslan couldn’t hide the shock in his voice.

“I know it is stupid and you wouldn’t understand.” He went silent, leaning on the railing as if it was the only thing keeping the big man upright. He thought again about the River, yet all he could see was the weight of his own thoughts.

The two friends fell into a heavy silence that stretched from Moscow to Arkhangelsk. It was rare for them to have nothing to say, but now there was an unspoken tension between them and both men hated it, yet didn’t know how to deal with it.

Finally, Alexei broke the silence, his words hesitant. “Ivan… is something wrong? You’ve been acting differently for weeks, maybe even months.”

“You’ve asked me this before, Alexei,” Ivan grunted in frustration. “Nothing is wrong. I’m not acting any differently.”

But deep down, Ivan knew he was lying.

Another tense pause passed between them before Alexei spoke once more. “Ivan? Vanya? Please, talk to me.”

Ivan turned and leaned against the railing. Despite his enormous bulk and the state of the railing, he knew it wouldn’t break. He was the one who tended to it, after all. If his workmanship gave out, he would deserve the fatal fall.

“I know our methods are forceful. I know this. And it is the correct way to do things. They deserve it. They cannot best me in the ring, so they say hurtful things. To me. To you. To our people.” Ivan said and trailed off. Alexei, usually so quick to speak, instead allowed Ivan the time to think and process his words. “I let Winters get under my skin. Despite his own atrocious behavior from time to time, they clamber around to protect him.”

"But when I speak of our work in Afghanistan, trying to bring good to those people, they say nothing," Ivan said bitterly. "Can they not acknowledge that what we did was noble? We wanted to give those people food, education, and a chance to make a better life for themselves. To help those poor oppressed women in children..."

Alexei let out a heavy sigh. "Their silence speaks volumes. You’re just not listening."

Ivan pursed his lips and shook his head. “It still hurts, Alexei.”

“I know, Ivan,” Alexei said, his voice laced with sorrow.

“I just wish we could have helped those people. Instead they’re dead, enslaved, or worse…” Ivan’s fist clenched at the thought.

“I know,” Alexei repeated.

Ivan stared at the swaying treetops. Memories of chopping firewood with his father and playing games with his brother flooded his mind. His mind's eye watched his mother, young and spry, dancing amongst the trees while they prepared a picnic.

“I shouldn’t have called Winters an addict,” Ivan muttered into the phone.

“Why not? He is one. Or was one. Don’t let him get away with it,” Alexei replied fiercely.

“I’ve had my own demons in that regard, Alexei…” Ivan whispered.

“That was in the past, after the war. Anyone who witnessed what you saw would struggle to overcome. And you overcame, Ivan. Besides, no one else knows.” Alexei’s tone softened.

“Yes, but I know, Alexei.” Ivan said quietly. “Besides, it hurt RIA. I never intended for her to be insulted.”

Ruslan spat into the phone. “You don’t ever see her come to your defense, does she? Nor does she ever apologize to you. You’ve been tiptoeing around that girl for months. For what? For her to turn around and disrespect me? Disrespect you? For such a straight shooter, she didn’t stand up and say that saving those oppressed people in Afghanistan was a good cause. She’s a coward, and an opportunist.”

“She’s young and has had a difficult life, Alexei,” Ivan replied with surprising calm, to counteract Alexei’s heightened state.

“I don’t care,” Alexei retorted. “You don’t want to apologize to her, do you?”

After a moment of consideration, Ivan replied, “Yes, I do.”

"You need to get some sleep, Vanya," Alexei said with a hint of concern in his voice. "We have a big day ahead of us with The Luchador and War Games afterwards. I am sorry I allowed Troy to cause all this chaos."

"It doesn't matter," Ivan growled. "She is probably just trying to distract us anyway." He looked up at the starry sky. "How is the weather in Moscow?"

A pause followed while Ruslan no doubt was checking his window. “Clear skies, but the city lights make it hard to see the stars. And in Arkhangelsk?”

A small smile finally crept onto Ivan’s face. “Beautiful.”

"Vanya, give your mother my love before you leave," Alexei said softly. "And then I'll see you at the airport in a few hours."

Ivan nodded slowly. "Okay, Alyosha."

Just as Ivan was about to end the call, Alexei spoke up again. "Vanya?"

"Hm?" Ivan replied, already feeling mentally exhausted.

"Would apologizing to RIA even do anything? Or would any of them just continue to ignore your good qualities and focus on hating you?"

Ivan didn’t respond.

Alexei continued. “The death toll is up to one hundred and forty three Russians. Did a single one of them offer condolences to either of us?”

Ivan let out a sigh. “No.”

“They hate us, Ivan,” Alexei said with sincere honesty. “No matter how much you think your actions may somehow endear yourself to them, it’s just how it is. We cannot change their hatred, Ivan, but we can prevent it from consuming us.”

After a moment, Ivan finally replied. “Goodnight, Alyosha.”

“Goodnight, Vanya.”

Finally, the chill was getting to Ivan as he walked back into the warmth of the apartment. He settled back down at the table and stared at all the names before him. It was true. So many of them did claim to be good people, and yet was Alexei correct? Not one of them mourned the loss of all those Russian lives. It would have been the humane thing to do.

Lindsay Troy had kicked Alexei while he was down. Didn’t she think about what the two men were dealing with?

He leaned back in his chair and stared at a picture of his fallen father on the wall, holding his younger brother. Both gone too early. Both gone for so long. His eyes burned with unshed tears as he blinked several times.

With trembling hands, he pushed aside the War Games papers and reached for his phone. He produced a list of every fallen Russian in the attack and stared at them.

“So many…” he muttered somberly.

Exhausted and emotionally drained, Ivan Stanislav refused to sleep. With blurry eyes, he read each and every name of those who lost their lives and only when he read all of them, did he finally turn his phone off and go to bed.

His rage simmered, and he would unleash it in less than twenty-four hours.