Tony was furious and without a beard to hide the way he clenched his jaw, there was literally no way to hide that anger growing in the pit of his stomach. James wasn’t his by any right, but they’d come to the understanding that they’d hold hands and play video games sometimes. There was no covenant with any pretty blond boy for hair washing that Tony was aware of and the desire to just shoot the kid in the face was pretty much through the roof.

It made the soldier get to his feet and ask again in a louder voice what Tony wanted.

He used that to his advantage. “I’ve come for the Asset,” Tony said, his Russian far from perfect but it was good enough. He lowered the pitch and the timbre, letting it vibrate through his throat. “What are you doing? There were no orders to give him a handler. I don’t care how accurate your hair color is, you’re breaking protocol. I’ll have this in your file. Soldier—“

And this time, Tony addressed James with authority, pushing down the heartbreak.

“You will come with me. Immediately. There is a mission. Your target was spotted in the area. Where are his clothes? Why is he bruised?”

It was obvious that the kid hardly understood what he was saying and so Tony switched to English, but made sure to affect the proper Russian accent. “His clothing! This is not play time. We are at war!”