Russian Santa

The bright morning rays of sunshine pierced through the window and harshly shined over Luther's eyes. They were slow to wake up and attempted to roll over away from the sunlight. Jack was over at the kitchen table with Luca eating breakfast. Luca was observing Jack as he took apart and cleaned his weapon.

"How often do you clean your gun?" asked Luca.

Jack was polishing the barrell of his revolver as he spoke, "Considering the usage, as much as humanly possible."

Luther pulled the comforter from the bed over their face as a shield from the light in the room, wanting to remain in darkness for a few more minutes. Luca glanced over at Luther's movement before refocusing his attention back to Jack.

"So, why does she look like that?" Luca asked Jack whispering.

Jack set the barrel down on the table and took a sip from his coffee.

"They, refuse to elaborate too much. It's not our place to ask on someone's past. Despite their, rough, exterior; I think Luther is more human than they believe." Jack looked over at Luther to see if they were still sleeping, "whether they want to acknowledge it or not."

Luther was, in fact, awake under the comforter; making an attempt to now eavesdrop on the conversation.

"So, they used to be human?"

Under the covers Luther looked down at their body. The covering of scars and fur. The horns that petruded their natural hair. The claws that they constantly had to be careful about.

"They still are." Jack said.

Luther looked back up, they were ready to get out of bed now before the conversation continued anymore. Luca is holding the barrel of the revolver now while Jack began to reassemble the firearm.

"How did you two meet?"

Jack laughed, "Don't ask someone about their past, remember?"

Jack reached his hand out for the barrel and Luca placed it in his palm. Luther rose out of bed and walked towards the table in their bra and underwear. Luca's eyes dart downwards and Jack blushes.

"Go to my closet and throw some clothes on. You know you have some spares still." Jack ordered while pointing towards his closet.

Luther walked over and put on some clothes. A black pair of pants to pair with a black buttoned shirt and red leather jacket.

"He doesn't like to tell stories where he has to be saved." Luther said to Luca as they put their arms through the jacket.

Luca laughed while Jack rolled his eyes.

"And Luther likes to claim that they never need saving."

"I don't. Remember Croatia?" Luther smirked as they returned to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee for themselves.

"It's always about Croatia. That was your own fault. If you didn't pick a fight at every opportunity."

"I pick fights I can win though." Luther scoffed.

"I pick fights I can win," Jack mockingly mimicked. "The guy I had to fight had at least a foot and forty kilos on me."

"Sounds like an excuse."

Luther took a sip from their coffee. Luca smiled as he continued to eat from his cereal bowl and enjoy the banter. Jack turned back to Luca.

"It was this small space on a train, and even though I was outsized, I handled my own–"

"–Until he threw you off the train," Luther interjected.

Jack leaned over to Luca. "I've been through worse," he whispered.

Luther broke off from the conversation and made their way back over to the phone.

"I'm going to shoot Volkov a call. Time to cash in a favor."

Luther's phone call traveled all the way to Russia. In a well-lit mechanical garage, there was a plethora of spare parts and broken-down cars. A Russian Flag could be seen displayed on the wall above a worker's bench with neatly organized wrenches. Underneath a lifted vehicle in the center of the room was Aaron Volkov. A late 50's veteran soldier for the Red Army. He was covered in soot and an unkempt beard that offset the shine of his balding head. In his shop, he felt at home in his natural state. If you were to pass him on the street, you'd find yourself questioning if he was a Russian Santa or a prisoner of war.

Beyond the walls of the garage. a muffled voice can be heard, "Aaron! Phone is ringing!"

The voice is drowned out by the cranking of Aaron's wrench underneath the vehicle, as well as the classical music that blasted from the radio.

The voice yelled out once again, but it remained undistinguishable to the grizzled mechanic. Suddenly, a tool beside Aaron's head shook with the ground. Aaron took notice of the sudden vibration, and a drop of oil splashed his face; it wasn't originating from his work.

The door to the garage broke open thanks to the blunt for of Aaron's wife, Nina Volkov. Nina was a no-nonsense wall of intimidation and undisputed champion of ass-whooping that was often dished out to her husband and son. She stormed her way through the entrance and over to Aaron, who was still under the vehicle; fearful of what would transpire.

"Aaron!" shouted Nina.

Aaron jolted his head up while trying to slide out from under the vehicle. He banged his head on the iron as he rolled out.

"My darling Рыпка [Rypka: fishlet/sweetie], what is it?" Aaron said as he rubbed the newly formed bruise on his head.

Nina looked down upon her raggedy husband.

"Phone. It rings for you." she told.

Aaron rose up to his feet and brushed himself off. He walked out of the garage and into his office where the phone was awaiting him. He took a seat at his desk.

"Volkov's mechanics. We make it our mission to fix your transmission. This is Aaron." he said answering the phone in a tired but slightly cheerful tone.

Luther laughed on the other end of the line, "Cute slogan. You retired and fat now старик [starik: old man/greybeard]."

Aaron squinted before coming to a realization and recognizing the voice on the other end. "Luther! You Бяка [byaka: misbehaving person]. Last I heard you were in Italy. How are things?"

"That's actually why I'm calling you. Jack and I need some assistance getting out of Italy and into France."

Aaron pauses for a moment in confusion before responding, "France is a warzone right now, especially in the east. Why go there? Just sneak through like you usually do."

"Not this time," Luther responded.

"What happened?" laughed Aaron. "You make an enemy out of Mussolini?"

There was a further silence between the two parties after Aaron's joke. Aaron was the first to speak again, "Jesus, Luther. What did you do?"

Luther didn't respond. Word of Italy's decree and Marshall Balero's stepping down from his position had already spread like wildfire. Volkov with his military and government connections had heard the news, but didn't expect Luther to be tied to it.

"You're why Marshall Balero stepped down, aren't you. You know, I heard they executed his family and took everything from his home.

"They didn't execute his kid, yet."

Aaron pinched his fingers together and rubbed his eyes, "Don't tell me you–"

"–Look, Jack and I need help getting across the border. I wouldn't be calling you if it wasn't serious," interrupted Luther.

Aaron was torn on what to do, "I don't know."

"You owe me"

Aaron glanced at a photo on his desk of his family. It consisted of himself, Nina, and their son Viktor.

"I know I do, but I'm also retired. I'm out of that kind of game. Older people such as myself, we don't move like we used to. And when we don't move quickly, it makes it a whole lot easier for us to be shot."

Luther knew they were asking for a lot, "Please Aaron. We just need help across the border. Even if I can't drag you here, there has to be someone you know."

Aaron pondered for a moment, "One second." He stood up and walked over the entrance of his office. He looked out into the hallway to see if Nina was close by. With the coast clear, he closed the door for privacy and returned to the phone. "My son Viktor. I can have him assist you through the old war tunnels. That will get you across. But Luther."

"Yeah?"

"If it has to come down to you or my boy in any way. I expect him to be the one that comes home. Or else–"

"–I know Aaron. You'll drag me down to the gates of hell yourself."

"Good. I'm glad we have understanding."

On both ends of the line, Aaron and Luther gave a warm smile; even though they weren't face to face.

"Take the train to Bardonecchia. It's a small town near the border. From there, Viktor will meet you in the outskirts. I'll give him instructions on where to take you" Aaron instructed.

"Thanks старик. After everything that has happened, I knew I could depend on you."

"Just don't stop by my place anytime soon. Nina might kill you if she doesn't get to me first." Aaron said, falling into a hearty laugh.

"Oh yeah? What did I do this time."

"She blames you for the way Viktor acts. All those Leblanc stories you would read him. Filling his head with all the shenanigans you and I did in our younger years. It wound him up to yearn for some adventures of his own."

"You can't put all of that on me."

"The hell I can't. I have to live with the woman. So the blame is going to fall onto the person who isn't around for her daily wrath.

"Fair enough. I need to get going Aaron. I'll make sure your son makes it home safely, and I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon my friend."

"I hope so comrade, I hope so."

The two hung up the phone simultaneously. Back at Jack's apartment, Luther turns back to Jack.

"Why do you have a shit eating grin?" asked Jack with a sense of worry for his own safety.

"There's a lot of land to cover and we don't have much time." Luther responded.

Jack thought for a moment. Luca smiled in excitement.

"Are we going to take a train?" he said with excitement.

Jack looked sick to his stomach. The last train he took ended with a unscheduled flight, a tumble down a jagged hillside, and a few broken ribs.

Jack gave a sigh of frustration, "Shit."