Mikhail Loganovich Romanov

This is a test of the Emergency Misha System. This is only a test. If this were an actual Misha, the voice you just heard would have been followed by official information, news or instructions. This is only a test. Thank you for your cooperation. Please leave a message at the tone.

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Grand Duke Mikhail Loganovich.

Of Russia, no less. He'd looked it up. He'd been Google'ing since he'd gotten the news and trying to absorb it all so he wasn't so uninformed the next time. Probably a useless exercise, but he had to do something.

American boys didn't grow up wanting to be king of anything but the ( baseball diamond. )

With life trying to find a balance, Misha decided the community college would be a good way to get his feet wet after two years off from any sort of school schedule. Sure, Mom could get him admittance to ESU by throwing around the Stark name, but he did think he could manage it on his own for the next fall. A few classes to get himself back into the swing, see what the summer offered while he prepared his applications, and then check where he stood on his list of what needed to be done over the next year.

College? Check. First week survived. Enrolled in an English class and a math class. High school grades had been good, damned good in fact, but a brush up was never wasted. Only two classes because he was hoping Stark's promise of training would come through and he needed to get a handle on the stealth suit capabilities. It was the same as using a weapon in his mind, and he always made sure he could expertly use his weapons.

SHIELD's summer cadet program? He'd already filled out an application and submitted it under the cover of Michael Roman. Hopefully that would buy a little time before Mom and Dad heard about it.

A change of scenery? In the planning stage. He'd thought about it, and it was time he had some space to himself. It would take months, but he checked his bank account, both of them, and decided he could think about an apartment of his own soon. Something of his own, without Mom or Dad looking over his shoulder.

Coaching baseball? Also in the planning stage. Once he decided where to live, he would contact the local kids' club and offer his services. He had references, he liked kids, and he loved the game.

All he had left for the next year's list was to find a way to forget he was being followed. Because of the real possibility he could revert to Red Room's incomplete programming. It wasn't a pleasant thing to know you could become your very own boogeyman.

Last day of the student exchange, and Misha was just as happy to be going back to the institute. His bag was backed and he was returning the room back to the condition it had been in when he arrived. Minus Little Sister's pranks.

To that end, he was cleaning the bathroom. Jarvis hadn't quite dropped his jaw, but a second's worth of silence seemed to suggest that no one around here did their own cleaning. He did direct Misha to the cleaning supplies and let him take what he needed.

The smell of disinfectant and the sounds of scrubbing were in the air.

( Week One Breakfast Menu )

With everything happening, Misha almost forgot a promise he made, and one made in return. He could use a real break for a few hours.

'Hana, it's Misha. Did you still want to see a movie tomorrow? Give me a call when you have a chance.'

The long drive didn't make falling asleep any easier the second night. Once again, he managed to drop off, and wake up with a damp pillow, a headache, and an arm around his shoulders with a warm body against his back. He didn't have much of a memory after drinking the entire bottle of vodka he bought with his Michael Roman ID, either. He hated vodka. It tasted like medicine.

He rolled back against the warm body and closed his eyes again.

The party was starting to wind down when Misha looked at his watch. Nearly two am. He'd danced with the birthday girl and Mom - the important dances, and Sammy when he could catch her. He recognized the expression on his best friend's face as one of quiet triumph, which matched the possessive look on her date. He didn't tease her about it but he did make arrangements for the following weekend with Marcus to get together for a game of pool and guy talk. Misha would exchange Sammy stories for Marcus' polite attention to the Big Brother speech.

His other promised dances were a lot of fun. Hana's fancy steps were easy to follow and they made a good team. He heard a whisper in the crowd that speculated on whether or not they were professional dancers hired as part of the entertainment and to keep people dancing, draw out the more reluctant guests.

He looked around for Hana to let her know he was ready to go. They'd stay if she wanted to dance longer; he didn't have it in him to keep a pretty girl from enjoying her big night.

The first full day in SHIELD medical was spent in bed, mostly sleeping doped up on some concoction of painkillers and smiling idiotically at the nurses when they checked his vital signs and changed IV bags. Mom and Dad took turns sitting with him and he thought he might've rambled on to them but he couldn't be sure. In the rare moments he was both alone and awake, Misha checked and deleted messages in the new phone. Becky hadn’t been kidding about the number of times she’d called and texted, although the count she gave was far less than the actual number she’d left. He did save the angry cussing ones. They made him smile.

( By the second evening... )

When Logan arrived at the Avengers Mansion, Misha knew two things.

Dad wasn't going to yell. He didn't need to yell. The look in Logan's eyes said that Misha was in Deep Shit. Capital D. Capital S. ( Bottomless hole. )

His cell phone was practically ringing non-stop with the peculiar little tune that belonged to Dad's number. It was insistent, almost growling with the anger Misha imagine pouring out of the tiny device.

He didn't answer it. He was doing Dad a favor. Dad would order him back to the mansion and Misha would ignore the order. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right? He wasn't going back to the mansion just yet. Sooner or later they would have realize he was an adult and didn't have to respond to their demands.

When Dad's ring tone got on his nerves, he set the phone to vibrate. His pocket buzzed and hummed with a beat you could almost dance to, if you danced. After awhile, Dad's number stopped coming in and a couple of other numbers came and went, all from Xavier's. He didn't answer those either.

He hadn't slept well in days. Food was hit or miss if he was hungry enough for it. Aimless wandering was hard work so he hit the usual places he enjoyed, ones with plenty of people around. Pool, cold beer that seemed to settle his stomach just fine, pretty waitresses to flirt with to pass the time and take his mind off what he had in his veins and why he did it. And maybe some small part of him thought he saw the fine hand of Fate in all this.

That's when he switched to vodka. He could drink a lot of vodka. Served warm, it was a punishment for existing at all.

It was probably his moody, fatalistic Russian half that wanted to see meaning in what was happening to them and accept it as due. The Hand using him against his father was just another reason why Mikhail Loganovich Romanov never should have been born. He owed his father everything. No Mikey to torture, Dad wouldn't have this special kind of hell now.

If he didn't survive this, it would only be the universe correcting an error.

( Hey, Misha, I think I ratted on you and it wasn't on purpose. )

( Always an early riser... )

( Flat on his back and underneath the body of his baby love... )