Rumors move fast in the underground. It's as if with no open air to dissipate into, they linger, bouncing off of the people of the metro, the rangers of Polis, in through a man's ear and out his mouth to carry on down the tunnels.

Today, the whisper starts that back in Hanza territory, while in quarantine, someone had managed to get Anna in the sack. Not just someone, but Artyom. Someone heard it from someone else who heard it from--well, you wouldn't know the guy, so don't worry about it...

It's pure folly, not true at all. But this rumor moves through the Order for hours before it reaches Artyom. He wakes up to Damir shaking his shoulder, rousing him for a mission. Miller is pissed at him, apparently, and intends to send him on a grunt mission to rub his nose in it. What did he do wrong, anyway? It depends on if you ask Duke, Alyosha, or someone else.

Regardless of who tells the story, what the rumor might be, or how the gossip even began, Artyom knows it's not true. He and Miller are grown men, they respect one another. And Miller would just say something if he was mad.

So he thought, until he arrived to be briefed. Miller paces his office angrily, glaring at him in his seat. His new metal legs clink ominously with every step. A marvel of metro technology. Clink clink clink.

"You have really stepped in the shit now, you dense little fucker," Miller informs him. Artyom struggles not to look away, down at the surface of the desk. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? Well?!"

Artyom opens his mouth to ask what Miller's talking about, and shuts it quickly as Miller continues. "I don't see how I'm supposed to trust you now. You're going to have to earn it back."

"Colonel--"

"Keep your mouth shut, Artyom."

"Yes sir."

"I have a mission for you. Near your home station--don't get too excited, you're not going to have time to stop in and say hi. We've received reports of heavy bandit activity between Riga and the Ring Line. Naturally, Hanza isn't doing anything about it. We have little intel about the bandits in that area, so normally I'd send in a recon squad first..."

But I'm being punished,Artyom gathers.

"We have only a vague idea of where their hideout might be. It's up to you to find it, infiltrate it, and take them out. And if you manage not to fuck this up, maybe we can talk about the other thing. Get ready. You're heading out in an hour."

Artyom leaves feeling more than a little confused. What exactly had he done to piss Miller off? Alyosha meets up with him at the armory and leans against the wall, watching him gear up in amusement.

"He's sending you for grunt work, huh?" Alyosha laughs. Artyom nods and sighs, pocketing his medkit.

"I don't know how I pissed him off."

"Really? You don't know?" Alyosha claps him on the shoulder good naturedly, steering him down the hall. "If that's the case, I'd watch out for Anna. She's pretty mad at you too, now."

Artyom furrows his brow and groans, putting two and two together. Alyosha laughs again as he buries his head in his gloved hands.

"The quarantine..."

"There, now you get it!"

"But we didn't do anything," Artyom complains, dragging his hands down his face.

"Well, that's not what the rumors say. But hey, you say nothing happened, then I guess nothing happened. Just steer clear of Anna." Alyosha pats him on the back once more and heads off down the hall.

Artyom sighs and makes for the motorized cart. He gets almost halfway there before Anna spots him and grabs him by the arm.

"You want to explain yourself?"

"I didn't say anything about--"

"The word on the street is--well, I'm sure you're tired of reliving it by now."

"I didn't tell anyone!" Artyom protests in a hiss. "Why would I?"

"To win some machismo bragging rights? I don't know, why do you do anything?" Artyom rubs his face with a groan. Anna taps her foot.

"You're lucky dad didn't kill you, you know," Anna chides him. Artyom wilts under her gaze, feeling smaller and smaller. She sighs, finally releasing his arm and stepping away. "Good luck on your mission, rabbit."

He has plenty of time to feel like shit about it as he travels from Polis, up through the Ring Line, into his home station's line. The rumors are all false, of course. He has a feeling one of the guys started it, maybe even Alyosha, to get a laugh or a rise out of him--but either way, Anna's going to be mad about it for a while it seems, and Miller...

Well, Miller's probably hoping he gets shot and doesn't come back.

Artyom sighs, looking up to the high point of the tunnel as he passes through Prospekt Mira. He'll have to figure out how to make things right. At the same time, it's not like he started it, so why he should have to settle up with Anna is beyond his understanding...

Behind him, a light goes out--then down the line, the rest follow. Artyom doesn't freeze up or panic, just moves to the side of the tunnel and pulls his night vision goggles down to his eyes. He moves his kalash from his back to his front in a fluid motion, ready to shoot if need be.

Three men, moving stealthily along the tunnel in the darkness. Not stealthily enough, though. One of them keeps stumbling on the tracks, the other two are muttering to one another about their easy mark. He lifts his kalash, takes aim at the stumbler, and squeezes the trigger once. The shot is suppressed, and barely a sound escapes, other than the bandit's body hitting the ground.

The other two freeze, and one makes the mistake of turning on his headlamp to investigate. Artyom takes him out next.

"H-hey! Please, whoever you are, don't shoot!" the third cries, putting his hands up. "Come on, man, we're just trying to make a living!" Artyom hesitates, and the bandit grabs his gun, fires a spray of bullets in his general direction, and disappears into a maintenance door. Artyom gives chase.

Through the maintenance room, through a vent, into another corridor, then another vent. The bandit knows this area well, much better than Artyom does. He's lagging behind, even as he rushes after the bastard. He thinks he's about to catch up, when the vent groans, sags, and drops him suddenly into a den of vipers.

Not literally, but some dozen men turn to stare at him, hands going to their rifles. Artyom knows when he's outgunned. He sits up slowly and puts his hands up.

"Th--that's the guy!" cries the bandit he'd been chasing. "He shot Pyotr, and Saul!"

The bandits mutter amongst themselves, as three of them approach to disarm Artyom. "What an idiot," one of them says, yanking his kalash away from him. "Everyone knows we own these tunnels."

"You could've just paid up, man, we would've let you pass."

"Someone get the boss."

"Nah, he's busy... Let's just put this rat down." One of them presses the cold barrel of a rifle against the side of his head. Artyom swallows hard. Well, it looks like he won't need to worry about apologizing to Anna. Or anyone else, ever again.

"Any last words?" the bandit with the rifle asks.

"No."

"Nothing? Not even a prayer, or a plea? You could at least ask us to do it quickly."

Spartans don't beg, though, nor do they pray for forgiveness in the final moments. Artyom stares dead ahead, waiting for the squeeze of the trigger. And then something peculiar happens: a familiar voice reaches him.

"What the hell is going on here? You guys caught someone?"

He jerks his head up, startling the gunman, who whacks him in the head with the butt of his rifle. Artyom groans. There's no way he heard correctly, because the last time he saw that guy, he'd been shot...

"Artyom?"

He struggles to lift his head again, because now the room is swimming--but the bandits' boss is nice enough to cup his jaw and lift his chin to look him in the eyes. It's been--what, just over a year?

"What should we do with him, boss?" One of the bandits asks, and Bourbon hesitates for just a moment, as if he's unsure how to handle this.

"Bring him to my room. I'll take care of it."

The bandits here seem to respect Bourbon, which is an absolute first. They haul Artyom to his feet and drag him to a room in the back, sit him down and tie his hands behind the back of the chair. They hit him upside the head a few more times, for good measure. This is bad, Artyom tries to remind himself, bad, because he's been caught by bandits.

But he can't shake the elation at seeing Bourbon alive again. How he'd survived at Dry station, after being shot...

Bourbon enters, shuts and bolts the door behind himself. He has Artyom's backpack and kalash. "Looks like you got a lot of use out of my AK," he says, setting Artyom's stuff down and crossing the room. He stops at a counter with some bottles on it and pours two drinks. "Kind of surprised you still use it."

"I thought you were dead," Artyom says softly, and Bourbon glances back at him. He picks up both glasses and carries them over to the table, then draws a knife to saw through the ropes binding Artyom's wrists.

"Yeah, but did you even check me for a pulse before you booked it out of there?"

Of course he hadn't. Artyom bites his tongue.

"Look," Bourbon sighs. "You shot two of my guys, was it? I can't very well just let you go with a warning. The rest of them won't respect that."

"Why are you working with the bandits?" Artyom asks, as Bourbon picks up his drink and takes a swig.

"Well, a man's got to eat."

"You used to go up to the surface, like a stalker..."

"What, are you judging me? You just shot two of my guys, you little fuck."

"They must not have been very good if a little fuck could shoot them."

Bourbon bursts into surprised laughter. Artyom picks up his glass and takes a drink, watching him. "Fuck!" Bourbon laughs, "I forgot how cute you were."

Artyom flushes, hiding behind his glass as Bourbon chuckles to himself. "What were you doing down here, anyway?" he asks after a minute. "Heading home?"

"I was sent by the Order to deal with the bandit problem." Artyom takes another drink, feeling the heat of the liquor blossom in his belly and his mind. Whatever Bourbon is serving him, it's good. Barely even burns his throat and eyes.

"The Order? Those Spartan fucks, huh..." Bourbon mulls it over a moment."You joined them?"

"Yes," Artyom confirms."After I... destroyed the Dark Ones, at the botanical gardens... They made me a ranger."

"Good for you, completing your quest," Bourbon says, and leans forward to clink his glass with Artyom's."What have you been doing since then?"

And as if a floodgate has been opened, Artyom spills. He tells Bourbon everything, starting with meeting Khan, being caught by the nazis, trekking to Polis; he tells him about the Dark Ones and how he'd heard them, atop Ostankino Tower, he'd heard them call out peacefully and had ignored it; he tells Bourbon how badly he'd wanted to die afterwards, how he'd fantasized for a year about killing himself; the elation at learning one had survived, going to find it, only to be caught by nazis again; escaping with Pavel, and the journey to Teatralnaya. And his voice quakes when he tells Bourbon that Pavel had drugged him to hand him over to the Reds to be tortured. He tells Bourbon about his escape, his journey back to Sparta base, the bioweaponry the Reds stole, and quarantine."I had to quarantine with Miller's daughter, Anna," he says, then admits,"and now there's a rumor that we slept together then."

Bourbon, silent this whole time, laughs."Did you though?"

"No, I... she came onto me, but I turned her down."

"That's even worse!" Bourbon howls with laughter, face red from the liquor. Artyom chuckles, equally as red.

"I couldn't go along with it, I mean..." He lets the rest of that thought die in his throat, still too shy to tell Bourbon why.

When he tells Bourbon that he had forgiven and saved Pavel, he scowls, but doesn't say anything. The rest of the story is a drunken rush; he doesn't want to think too hard about the war, or the battle for D6. The people he'd lost there.

"And then you got sent on a boot boy mission to come clear us out," Bourbon surmises.

"Yep," Artyom laughs breathily."Yeah, Miller hates me right now."

"He thinks you fucked his daughter!"

"He should know better," Artyom says with a wry smile. He stands to fill his glass again. Bourbon, leaning against the counter, starts laughing again.

"I forgot how damn short you are, Artyomychka!

"Not that short," Artyom hiccups."I'm--about average."

"You could use a few inches to get there!"

"Put some inches in me then," Artyom laughs, and Bourbon chokes and stops, goes silent. Artyom chuckles nervously, sipping at his drink."I meant on," he says in a soft voice, backpedaling.

"No you didn't," Bourbon says, and Artyom swallows, suddenly nervous, like he's about to be scolded, or worse. Bourbon is a bandit now, he reminds himself, and steels himself for a fight.

Bourbon sets his glass down, and Artyom carefully does the same. Is this it? Bourbon's done humoring his visit now. He'll call his boys in to kill Artyom, any second.

Bourbon closes the space between them and kisses him, and Artyom is a little too drunk to figure out why. Bourbon is drunk too, he reminds himself quickly, which is probably why he's doing this. His tongue is hot in Artyom's mouth, and his hands are hot on his body, pulling him closer so that they're flush against one another. Artyom moans into Bourbon's mouth, and the older man nibbles on his lip, sliding a hand into his Order uniform--and his hand is so much hotter against Artyom's skin.

"So, you wanna do this?" Bourbon asks, and Artyom has a rather vague idea of what Bourbon means, but he agrees to it anyway, panting out an affirmative as Bourbon's hand feels its way up his chest to tease his nipple. He's being backed towards Bourbon's bed, an honest to God mattress on a metal frame. The mattress hits the back of his knees and Artyom topples over, taking Bourbon with him.

A knee slotted between his thighs offers Artyom something to grind against, his hands fisted in Bourbon's flannel shirt. You're drunk, he informs himself, Bourbon's drunk, you're both going to regret this. He can't find it in himself to care, not when Bourbon hisses out a swear and leans down to kiss and bite at his throat.

"So you didn't fuck that girl? Miller's daughter?"

"No," Artyom groans, rutting against Bourbon's leg.

"Are you a virgin then?"

Artyom nods, vision hazy. Bourbon curses again, a low fuuuuck.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll change that." And then he's back to kissing Artyom, slipping his tongue into the younger man's mouth to make his head spin. He pulls away to let Artyom breathe and kisses down his neck, unzips his jumpsuit to bite at his collarbone and kiss his way down to a nipple. Artyom's erection throbs in his shorts, straining at the fabric, and his only relief comes from humping Bourbon's knee, pressed firmly against him on the bed.

It's too much. He's going to cum, and then it'll be over before they've even begun."Bourbon," Artyom whines, watching through half lidded eyes a Bourbon unzips him down to his groin."Bourbon, I'm too close."

Bourbon doesn't stop, just slips his hand into Artyom's underwear and grasps him, finger and thumb circling tight around the base of his cock. The shock of having another person's hand on him is nearly enough to push Artyom over the edge and he bucks uselessly, gasping hard.

"You really are a virgin," Bourbon chuckles, stroking Artyom with his other hand. Artyom cries out noisily, head tipped back."Careful. My men are going to hear you, and then what? They'll get jealous; they're all going to want a turn with you."

Artyom yelps wordlessly as he cums hard, and Bourbon looks briefly shocked to have had that effect on him, but recovers quickly."You like that idea? You want all my guys to come take a turn fucking you?"

Artyom shakes, reaching a feeble hand to try and stop Bourbon from pumping him. Bourbon leans over to kiss him again, and Artyom forgets all about stopping him, just bucks his hips uselessly once more.

Bourbon pulls away after a minute to grab something out of a drawer, and Artyom lays there, propped up on his elbows and shaking. He watches Bourbon come back with a little bottle of something clear and pour it liberally over his fingers.

"Like I'd let those assholes have a piece of you. You're just for me. Take this off," Bourbon says, and Artyom hurriedly complies. He kicks his boots off, letting them hit the floor with a thud, then another. He wriggles out of his jumpsuit without losing steam and sits bare on the bed, shivering with excitement.

"Turn around," comes the next order. Artyom complies, turning to face the headboard, lifting his hips at Bourbon's request. He's just about to ask a question when Bourbon's slick, wet fingers rub at his asshole, making him jolt and gasp. An electrical current activates, running sharp bursts of energy up and down his body, starting in his navel and running the length of his cock.

"You, ah.... Ever fingered yourself, Artyom?" Bourbon asks casually, and he shakes his head, face burning. Bourbon doesn't say anything else, just hisses in response and rubs insistently at his ass. It feels good, Artyom thinks, as Bourbon slides a digit into him.

Oh. He hadn't expected that, somehow, but now it does make sense. He must be holding his breath, because Bourbon has to tell him to keep breathing and relax.

Which is easier said than done. The pressure in his backside is hard to ignore, until Bourbon starts jerking him off again, hand slicked up with lube from the bottle. He can feel Bourbon's breath on his bare back, then his face presses in there to breathe Artyom in, stubble tickling the junction where his neck meets his shoulder. His mouth is hot but the room is as frigid as the rest of the metro, and Artyom shakes as Bourbon fingers him, trying not to whine too much. He presses his cheek against the cold, dull metal of the headboard as Bourbon scissors him open. His breath escapes him in ragged panting, bursts of hot air in the cold.

Bourbon slides his fingers out once he's satisfied, and Artyom looks back over his shoulder at him. He undresses, peeling his flannel over his head and tossing it aside, kicking off his boots and pants. Artyom shifts his hips, waiting, and Bourbon groans and grabs onto his waist, pulling him back to sit on his lap on the edge of the bed. They kiss again, Bourbon rubbing circles in Artyom's asscheeks with his thumbs, spreading him apart.

"Tell me how you want it, Artyomka," Bourbon groans, and Artyom kisses him again and again, until Bourbon plants a hand on his chest to stop him. "Tell me."

"I want you," Artyom groans, glancing down between them at Bourbon's dick.

"How."

"Fuck me."

Bourbon shudders hard and pushes him over onto the mattress, spreading his thighs and crawling between them. He's kissing at Artyom's chest again, sucking at his nipple, when a voice comes through the door.

"Ah... ahem! Boss, if there's--"

"Fuck off, I'm busy!" Bourbon shouts back.

"It's just taking a long--"

"You'll know when I'm done," Bourbon calls, and the man outside retreats, evidenced by the sound of his footsteps moving away. Artyom laughs, and Bourbon catches him in another kiss as he lubes himself up, preparing to enter.

And then he does, and Artyom breaks the kiss with a desperate, ragged moan, watching Bourbon's cock push into him. Bourbon grins to himself, sliding in at a slow pace as Artyom adjusts.

All Artyom can manage as Bourbon bottoms out inside him is another low groan. He can't focus his eyes to look at the other man, just stares past him at a point on the ceiling. "You like this, Artyom?" Bourbon asks, and he nods slowly, jolting at Bourbon's hand landing on his hip. "Tell Uncle Bourbon how you want it."

"Rough," Artyom says, and a nasty grin works its way onto Bourbon's face.

"You want me to be rough?"

"Yeah."

Bourbon snaps his hips forward and Artyom gasps, grabbing onto the headboard. "Are you sure about that?" Bourbon chuckles, and he nods eagerly.

Still, Bourbon starts out going slow and gentle, as if testing the waters. Artyom can appreciate his concern, but if he's only going to get this once, he doesn't want it to be slow and gentle. He's about to complain when Bourbon clears his throat.

"I'm gonna pull out for a minute. Turn around."

Artyom shivers at the feeling as Bourbon pulls out, then does as he's told, kneeling facing the wall. Bourbon strokes his hair for a moment, pauses, and grabs him forcefully by the head, shoving him face-down into the mattress. He plows back in and Artyom yelps, not quick enough to bite back the noise.

"Quiet," Bourbon warns him, and Artyom nods into the sheets, breathing hard. He's moving now, snapping his hips against Artyom's backside, and Artyom rocks back to meet him, cock dripping untouched.

He doesn't expect the strike that comes down on his ass, and he can't keep quiet about that either; he yells, and Bourbon fists a hand in his hair, pushing his face into the sheets. "That's for shooting one of my guys," he informs Artyom, and then slaps him again, harder. "That's for the other one."

"Sorry," Artyom whines meekly.

"Huh? What was that? Uncle Bourbon can't hear you."

"I'm sorry," Artyom groans, hand going to his prick to jerk himself off. Bourbon grabs his wrist and pulls it away, spanks him again--several harsh staccato blows.

"Who said you get to touch yourself, huh? Bad boy. You already came once."

"Oh fuck, Bourbon, please..." His hands curl into fists, gripping the sheets so tightly he might tear them apart.

"Please what?" Bourbon barks, and Artyom lifts his head a bit, gasping with every thrust of his hips.

"Cum in me, please, make me yours."

"Hough... say it again," Bourbon says breathlessly, and Artyom repeats himself, stumbling over his words.

"M-make me yours, cum inside, Bourbon..."

"Fuck," Bourbon hisses, "you little whore. You like this that much, huh? You wanna stay here and be my little bitch?"

Artyom nods, too stupid to decline the offer, and gasps when Bourbon yanks him up by the hair. "Yeah--yeah, I'll be your bitch."

"Good boy," Bourbon groans, pressing his face into Artyom's shoulder again. "You gonna cum for me, good boy?"

"I thought I was a bad boy," Artyom says, and Bourbon growls curses in his ear.

"I'm gonna fuck that smart mouth of yours, Artyom," he warns, and Artyom shudders, dropping his face back into the sheets. Bourbon presses into something inside him that makes him see white for just a moment, and Artyom cries out, lifting his head again. "Oh, right there, huh?" Bourbon chuckles, pounding into that spot again. Artyom nods desperately, aware that he's drooling as Bourbon fucks him to completion, dragging all sorts of noises out of him.

Bourbon leans against him as he follows suit, and Artyom can feel him finishing inside. "Fuck," Bourbon sighs after a bit, pulling out and pulling Artyom back to lie down on the bed with him. Artyom doesn't fight him, just leans into his chest and watches Bourbon roll a joint. He offers it to Artyom, who hesitates.

"Miller would be mad."

"Miller's not here," Bourbon says, taking the lighter Artyom hands over to him. "But do what you want. Let me smoke a bit, alright? I'll fuck you again in a minute." Artyom reaches for the joint and Bourbon hands it to him, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"So. You gonna stay here with me?" Bourbon jokes, and Artyom smiles, coughing out the harsh smoke. His eyes burn.

"Maybe we should run for it," Artyom suggests, as Bourbon plucks the joint from his fingertips to take another drag off it.

"You run. I'm too fucking old."

"You're not that old," Artyom says softly, rolling closer to kiss him. Bourbon reaches back to set the joint in an ashtray. He drapes his arm over the ranger and pulls him closer with a hand on his hip: chest to chest, skin to skin.

"Or you could come back with me," Artyom says, feeling weak. Bourbon chuckles, shakes his head.

"That's not happening."

"Why not?" Artyom presses, and Bourbon considers it.

"Your Order wouldn't want me."

"So? I... want you."

"You're young and cumbrained. You'll get past that."

"I'm saying that I want you. I want you to come with me."

"I'm saying no," Bourbon says, and Artyom deflates, vulnerable and empty. He feels like starting a fight, riling Bourbon up so that he'll at least fuck him again.

Bourbon reaches for the joint again, then stands to go pour himself another drink. "Get some rest," he suggests. "I'll tell my men you paid up, they'll leave you alone."

"Can you stay with me?" Artyom asks, and Bourbon pauses in pulling on his pants to look back at him.

"I'll be right back. Okay?"

Artyom tries to wait for him, but a few minutes later, he's out like a light.