Page 33 of Marked by the Demigod

He nods. "Katya. Long time no see." His voice is...different. Warm, like something was missing and...with a heavy accent.

"I thought you didn't come over to the States." The conversation is casual, but her tone is anything but.

He shrugs, and pain seems to bleed directly to the pressure in the back of Aimes's rib cage. "Not on any passports you track."

Katya stalks over to Aimes, the gun never wavering. "Can you stand up?"

For the first time, Jake's eyes snap over to Aimes. It's like a chord is struck, like the moment one first hears a note of a favorite song, and it's hard to breathe again. "Um. Um, yeah, I think."

Careful, Katya fits the pistol back into the side holster, leaving it unclasped, and grips Aimes around her elbows, hauling her up and guiding her to the ratty armchair. Jake watches, eyes sharp and hooded. "Okay, you okay?" She asks, feeling her forehead, maternal. "Hard to breathe?"

Aimes nods.

Katya spins and faces Jake. "Someone shoot you?" She asks, matter of fact, the government practice slamming over her face like a mask. "Bronze or Silver bullet?"

He shrugs, and the pain echoes back. "Bronze."

"Jesus Christ, this was not what I was expecting on my Thursday." Katya mutters, before abruptly crossing to the kitchen and pouring a glass of water. "Aimes, his name is Iakov Khovanski, not Jake." Her voice is weary.

He nods. "Jake is a nice Westernization." His accent is thick, and Aimes just stares.

"You got shot?" She blurts out, shrinking back into her ratty armchair. "Like, shot shot?"

He sits up straighter for a second, flicks open his jacket. A stark white bandage, with an obvious large bloodstain, wraps around his torso. "They were...unhappy I didn't die."

"Aimes," Katya starts, her voice low, as if he wasn't just feet away, "Aimes, he's dangerous." She brings the glass of water to Aimes, her motions quick, decisive. It's only the months of knowing her that Aimes can see the near panic bleed through each movement.

Jake - Iakov - waves his hand, and settles back into the couch, dismissive. "Not right now I'm not," he grumbles.

Katya ignores him. "Remember how I told you he can't die because of you?" At her nod, she continues. "This is what happens when someone tries to kill him."

"Tries," he repeats. "And would've succeeded, may I add."

Katya briefly closes her eyes, then stands up straight. "I need to report this," she pulls out her cell phone and --

--And with a wave of his hand, the phone crumples in Katya's hand, glass crunching to dust. "Nope." He pops the 'p' sound.

Aimes jumps back then winces at the weight. Iakov winces with her.

"No one should know I'm here, not in your little government...thing." He rasps, pressing a hand into where the wound is, which is...right where the weight sits behind Aimes's rib cage. He locks eyes with her again. "I have...vested interest that no one finds out who she is."

Katya stares at him, then deliberately sets the ruined phone on the dining room table.

Faced with the reason her life's been such a clusterfuck lately, her mouth is dry. Like all the things she wanted to say withered and died in the face of his gaze. "Why didn't you call me?" She blurts out, sudden, after the moment stretches on far too long.

He blinks, like that was the last thing he thought he'd hear. "What?"

"I gave you my number," she whispers, cause talking is fucking hard. "You could've texted something."

Confusion briefly flits across his face before he molds it back. "Didn't think you'd figure out what happened," he says, soft, and his voice flows over her, soothing despite the bullshit. "I wasn't exactly expecting you to meet up with Little Miss Government Oversight here." He nods at Katya without breaking his gaze.

"For fucks sake, she lives in one of the biggest centers of not-normal beings in the nation, someone was gonna find her." Katya snaps. "Aimes, drink the water, you'll feel better."

Out of the lack of anything else to do, Aimes sips, and a briefly tender look crosses Iakov's face. "One could hope, though," he says, leaning back with a suppressed grimace of pain. "If I let you go, Katya, will you leave me out of the report?"

"No," she says, immediate.

"Can you leave out my name, at least?" He complains, voice almost petulant. "There are people in your department who want me dead, and so they'll want her gone."

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