Spades

As the deafening sounds of the chopper and the gush of dry wind and dust came to a halt, Vikhor looked up to the warm orange skies one last time before turning away towards the man he despised the most. But he wasn't going to let that ruin his admiration towards the brief moment of tranquillity he got. Probably the last angelic hush he would ever get. It was nice, almost like a fully finished circle. The first time he ever got to enjoy such a serene evening was when he was a newly married man. Well, a few seconds, freshly married man. The skies were orange too then, but with more joy and laughter and kisses. (Y/N) . A small ghostly smile appeared on Viktor's lips briefly, vanishing just as fast as he finally turned towards his arch-nemesis: Russell Adler. Capitalist dog. A monster. Killer. Spawn of the devil destined to burn and rot in hell.

And the killer of Vikhor's wife.

And as a cherry-on-top of his grim horrendous situation, Adler never even knew that he was the one who killed (Y/N). In fact, he was never even aware of her existence.

She was just another chess-pawn that he destroyed ruthlessly.

When Vikhor was taken in by the CIA for interrogation, he bit his tongue harshly. He resisted that strong urge to spit in Adler's face, telling him about the death of his wife, telling him that his hands were dripping with the blood of his lover. But Adler was a man devoid of emotions when it came to his enemies. Especially the Soviets. He didn't care for whoever he killed- be it man, woman or child. They were all the same to him: A threat to their way of life. A typical progeny of the McCarthy Era. Vikhor knew very well that the death of his woman would hardly shake a man like Adler. In fact, he would be satisfied, and that is something Vikhor vehemently refused to give him. And so, he swallowed it down.

As Adler kept throwing curses and harmless threats at Vikhor, his mind could hardly process whatever Adler was shooting at him. His mind was still stuck with the soft evening glow of the skies and his lover's giggles that sounded like the gentle chiming of the wind-bells during the first spring: Warm and cheery. It was a perfect day. It was one of the many memories that kept him alive during his vile and gruesome time in the Gulag. As he lay on the cold, wet, dirty floors infested with bugs and mice, he imagined (Y/N)'s loving hugs and kisses engulfing him as he buried his face deep in her soft breasts, his hair and face caressed by her dainty hands and her sweet voice telling him, "Shhh...I am here." On days he would be battered and beaten by the other inmates in the Gulag, he terribly missed her delicate hands tending to his wounds and his festering infectious injuries. But it was all a distant, broken memory. He had no one as he lay on the floor curled, vulnerable and cold. Betrayed and shattered. Humiliated. All day, he would pray to the heavens begging them to end his suffering. To let him see his girl again, somewhere in the afterlife. Sitting by a riverbank, her legs in the water, splashing it with her feet as she played with the little fishes. She would be in her little white dress, her hair let loose and the wisps of stray hair flying with the sudden gush of cold wind. But fate had abandoned him. Or perhaps, it had different plans.

After joining Perseus, Vikhor's first impulsive decision was to kill Adler, not show him the mercy he showed him. But then killing him would mean letting Adler have an easy way out. No. He had to suffer in agony, and he had to hate every moment of his life, and he had to regret every choice he ever made.

Adler was a man run by a deep passionate hatred towards one person- The leader of Perseus, who he believed was...Perseus. Typical American logic. After his leader's died in '83, Vikhor took the perfect opportunity to start his new game- one where he would run the show and leave Adler be the man who lost everything. It was like a game of dominos- one event to another, Adler lost everything one by one. First his sanity, next his honour and finally, his ultimate life goal: Perseus. It was a success.

Vikhor looked at Adler, and he was still barking like a dumb dog, not knowing what he had just lost.

"Where is Perseus?!"

They never learn.

"Here. Cancer took him in '83" Vikhor pointed to a tombstone. Adler's face darkened. A wave of shame and despair washed over him as he felt his throat tightening. Adler lost his mission. He lost the sails that helped him navigate through the uncharted, unforgiving waters of his Project Perseus. Vikhor smirked. Victory. His wish had been fulfilled. And now, there was just one last wish he wanted and one he knew he was close to getting: Death.

Death's sweet embrace. But for Vikhor, it was going to be (Y/N)'s sweet embrace.

Vikhor turned to the evening skies one more time. He wanted it to be ingrained deeply in his soul- the chill, the vanilla orange swirls of the sky, the trees and his vivid imagination of (Y/N) hopping somewhere amid the woods, smiling brightly at him. He shut his eyes gently, ready to be reunited with her.

The shots were fired.

His eyes never opened again. To others, it would have been a brutal murder, a war crime. But to Vikhor, it was a peaceful death. Peace . One thing he never had. Maybe the closest thing he achieved to being peaceful was with (Y/N). But it was short-lived. However, that day, he earned his eternal peace. A small pleasant smile curled on his lips as he gave his last breath, his body going numb and cold with the last brassy rays of the evening sunshine.

I am coming home, my love.