The Gallagher residence was emptied most days. Between August Gallagher's extra-curriculum to Felix's tight schedule managing both ANVIL's and Rocket's affairs, there were little hours the two spent sleeping beneath the old wooden roof of the apartment.

Today was different in that way.

August had been assigned a decently large end-of-the-year type project, and with his older brother being as dedicated as he was, he took off an early day to spend some time helping out. They were in the living room, sucking on Caprisun pouches, taking a break after long tedious hours at work, when a knock sounds on the door.

"I'll get it," he told his brother. Kicking off from the couch, Felix took long heavy steps toward the door before twisting it's knob open. On the other side was a man.

"Can I help you?"

Nikolaj Volosenkov

His name is spun back to him, foreign on another man's tongue. It drew out a level of caution that straightened out his back, forcing his broad shoulders hunched in guarded preparedness.

His hand left the knob of the door, choosing to hover by his hip instead, where not only his pokeballs were kept, but the hilt of his pistole.

"Who are you?"

Nikolaj Volosenkov

One would think, after revealing themselves to be their late father's close friend, the child of said father would immediately be ready to accept the other into their home, arms wide open.

One would think.

Felix, on the other hand, reacted in stark contrast to this expectation.

It started when his blood ran cold and his body grew rigid. Arms moving into a cross over his chest, he squared his shoulders, taking up more space than he naturally should.

"It's fine, but thank you," He assured the stranger, jaw set tight. "Is that all?"

Nikolaj Volosenkov

He was doing fine.

More than that, Felix would consider their situation -- his and August Gallagher 's -- far better off than it had been before. Now, without the burden of their father's ghost peering over their shoulders, they knew the taste of freedom. And that was a memory he would never want to return, no matter the circumstances.

Still, when the stranger turned around, something in his chest twitched. Was it yearning? The same yearning he'd experienced with Elisabeth Fiorelli , when the news first came in.  Dried lips smacked into each other.

Something weighed on his mind.

"How did you know him?"

His father was a man of many friends. Some good, some bad. He wondered which side this one fell under.

Nikolaj Volosenkov

Felix wasn't a man to pry. The concealment of half-built sentences or cherry picked words would be enough to drive someone as simpleminded as him mad if given the time of day.

So he didn't. Rather, he kept to what he knew.

But, this time, following that prescendent felt impossible. Wrong, even.

His eyes narrowed.

"Must've been rough. He wasn't an easy guy to deal with."

Nikolaj Volosenkov

There was little amusement in Felix's cold gaze. There was little amusement in the way he leaned against the door frame, broad shoulders balancing against the wood, bitterness dulling the further Nikolaj Volosenkov stayed, hovering like a ghost of past he never wanted to claim.

"Got it."

Was there anything else to say to that?

To a stranger offering more than anything his parents ever offered to him or his brother? There was never a 'we're just one call away'. Hell, only relief marked their estranged conversations.

"I'll let August Gallagher know, too."

Nikolaj Volosenkov