OOM: Moscow, USSR, January 1947

[redintheledger]

Natasha should be in her room, studying. Unlike her fellow students at the Moscow State University, her semester breaks are spent back at the Red Room, where she has little time for her textbooks. Today is the first day she's been back in Moscow in (once she added up the hours) four days.

Four days spent in the nearest approximation to wilderness that geography had to offer near Moscow, which in the middle of winter was no joke. She is glad to be back in the warm and dry, with hot water and no need to try and melt the ice from her eyelashes. Not to mention the ability to wear a civilian girl's clothes, instead of a soldier's layers.

But after four days with the company of Comrade Winter, her room with a bed just for her seems too much like a cell for her to be comfortable in it.

So Natasha is in the common room, newly outfitted with amenities such as some sofas, tables, and a wireless. There is also a piano, old like the sofas but kept in good condition. Despite herself, she gravitates towards it, and walks her fingers across the keys. It reminds her of Papa, and today isn't a very good day for that.

Natasha sits down, and tries to play anyway. She can't remember any of the music Papa taught her, but she can stumble her way through some chords. It's better than sitting in her room and wallowing.

Comments

[redintheledger]

There are many things that Nataliya Alianovna doesn't know.

What she does know is that she has not been allowed to know his name; not when they are throwing each other around a gymnasium, not when they are on day two of a four day training mission in a forest, not when they are discussing what the cooks have served up for dinner this time: not ever.

"I am Natasha out here, not Nataliya."

Her nickname. Not Talya, not Nata, not Natusik but Natasha.

She rise up on her toes, as if she is going to kiss his cheek, and asks, "Are you a Lyosha, or an Alex?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Alex."

He smiles, and gently tucks a lock of red hair back under her hat. To anyone watching them, they should appear to be nothing more nor less than a couple caught up in each other for a moment.

"Natasha," he murmurs. "A lovely name."

[redintheledger]

"Thank you," she says, actually startled for a moment. It is a very ordinary name, but he - Alex - spoke like he meant it.

Part of her thinks: we're agents and spies. But the rest of her weighs up the cost of his name, and she smiles back.

She lowers herself back down onto the street, and touches her head against his shoulder as they start to walk again. She's used to his metal arm by now, but different circumstances breed a different awareness of how it feels under the heavy layers he's wearing.

"Do please tell me, Alex, that our bosses have let you ride the Metro before."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Of course!"

He turns his head, scanning the street, then adds, wryly,

"Just not here."

[redintheledger]

"Then you're in for a treat, the station here is utterly beautiful."

In the daylight, Moscow still shows the scars of war, even two years on - but underneath the ground, everything is beautiful and whole as it ever was.

It is, though, far more crowded than the streets above, and she takes care to keep close to his arm. They've gotten this far without any suspicious looks, no need to break their streak because someone bumps into him and feels sculpted metal instead of flesh.

[nerves_of_ice]

"It truly is," he breathes, trying to take in every nuance of the arched and well-lit ceilings and the wealth of art that surrounds them - and to do so without appearing the 'country cousin' he had joked about earlier.

Alex gives Natasha a quick glance as she draws closer to him while they move with the crowd. Realizing the protection she's offering him, he smiles at her once again.

"I like your plans for this evening - so far," he teases.

[redintheledger]

Loftily, "I always have the best plans."

She has other plans, too (mostly involving ice-cream, if the vendor is still open), but if he plays the role he's chosen as her young man too well...

Well, she'll cross that bridge when she comes to it. Hopefully, he won't.

"Once we get on the train, it's the third stop" she says, thanking her luck that her university friends were the outgoing kind. She was good at maps, but nothing like socializing to familiarize yourself with the landmarks of a city.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Of course you do."

He sounds amused, even as he scans the crowd once again.

"The third stop? Not so very far, then."

[redintheledger]

"No-o-o-o, but-" she stops herself as the train arrives, and the crowds start to move. The way she moved as well, worming her way through the crowd with him along, showed that she wasn't any stranger to the crush - once a city-girl, always a city-girl.

"The trick," Natasha continues once they found two seats by the window, "is fighting our way out after the second stop fills up the car. Ready for the battle?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"More than you know."

For an instant, there's a flicker of grimness to his tone.

(It says something that he doesn't try to hide it from her.)

[redintheledger]

Natasha regards him for a moment, and then squeezes his elbow briefly. She has no idea if he can feel it through the layers and the sensors under the metal, but it's a gesture nonetheless.

"I might have an idea," she says, because it is - as far as she can understand his meaning - the truth.

Then she rests her head against his shoulder, and while she could just playing her part for their cover, the impulse is both honest, and far younger than the role she is playing.

(She did not really want to be alone today)

[nerves_of_ice]

He looks down at her, startled out of his inward-turning thoughts, and something in his expression softens as he does.

Alex shifts just enough to slip his left arm free and put it gently around her shoulders - not restraining her in any way, of course not, but instead offering silent, shared comfort.

[redintheledger]

She doesn't say anything, and neither does she snuggle in closer, but something in her relaxes as the comfortable silence stretches.

It lasts until after the second stop, when she shakes her head slightly and sits up.

"We should move closer to the doors, otherwise we're going to be stuck here until we reach Red Square," she says with a quick smile at her own exaggeration. "Ready for the crowd?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"You bet."

He suits actions to words, getting to his feet and positioning himself to give her room to rise, too.

[redintheledger]

Well, if he's being helpful, Alex is going to find himself being used as leverage as she gets up just as the train goes around a corner. Then she grabs his left elbow again, and pulls him through the crowd to the doors just in time for them to open.

The resulting crush isn't anything worse than normal for a commuter-population in an incredibly busy station, but it's very different from how Department X runs things. And despite all of Alex's confidence, Natasha is fairly certain it's been a while since he's had to navigate all of this, so she keeps a tight hold of him until they are in the clear.

"Having fun?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"How could I not?"

He feels at home in the city crowds for some reason, but he's appreciative of her efforts all the same. She may be small, but she's not delicate, oh no - Nataliya, no, Natasha is as fierce as her hair is bright.

"This was a good idea."

[redintheledger]

Natasha glances up at him, and huffs a laugh.

"We haven't even got to the circus yet," she points out, but she's pleased and it shows. "Obviously, you need ride the Metro more often."

[nerves_of_ice]

He glances back at her, with a small answering smile.

"I've missed it," is all he says.

[redintheledger]

Her smile falters a little before she smooths her expression over.

"It's...good to be back in a city," she agrees, and then lets out an oddly long breath. "Now, this bit, is the bit I hate," she adds quickly, as they walk up the stairs towards the night-time street above.

Moscow seems doubly-cold after the warmth of the underground, and she's fairly certain that no one appreciates the blast of cold air. Get resigned to it, yes, but appreciate it?

Hell no.

[nerves_of_ice]

Evidently Alex agrees with her, to judge from his muffled curse as he hunches his shoulders a bit against the sharp wind.

"I can see why."

[redintheledger]

Natasha smirks a bit as she leads him down the street.

"Maybe we could be assigned to Sochi, and stay there over winter," she says with another quick laugh, adjusting her scarf. "We'd even be able to miss everyone taking their summer holiday that way."

[nerves_of_ice]

He flashes her a grin, reminded of their previous similar conversations at the end of long training days.

"I wouldn't object at all," he replies, blandly. "Much more comfortable than, say, Paris."

[redintheledger]

Had they been at the end of one of those training days, she would have replied in French herself. As it is, she just smiles quickly back.

Paris sounds...interesting.

When they reach the Circus on Tsvetnoy Boulevard, Natasha glances at the queue, and then back up at Alex.

"I know a man who works here," she says, casually. Unspoken, I can pull in a favour if you're game.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Do you."

He gives the queue a once-over of his own, then turns back to her. A flicker of teasing challenge is clear in his glance.

"Maybe you should see if he's around."

[redintheledger]

"I think I will," Natasha replies, and then rolls her shoulder back. The movement is subtle, but when she starts to walk again, her gait is different. Instead of a fairly normal Muscovite minding her own business, there is now the complete confidence that normally only the children of high officials show in public.

She heads straight to ticket-booth, and the girl selling the tickets isn't quite quick enough to hide the look of resignation on her face. Party brats pushing in is hardly new.

Natasha smiles a little at her. "Please let Fyodor Antonovich know that Nataliya Ivanovna is here to collect her tickets."

The girl looks from Natasha to the queue, and then just nods. "I'll be right back, comrade," she says, and then leaves her seat. There is a tiny bit of grumbling behind Natasha, but she ignores it. Quickly, the girl returns with a man in his forties.

"Ah, Nataliya Ivanovna," he says, and the Volga is still - defiantly, almost - heavy in his voice. "Come right in."

Natasha inclines her head gracefully, and then gestures for Alex to follow her. As soon as the doors shut behind them, Fyodor Antonovich pulls Natasha into a quick hug and kisses her cheek. There is a shrapnel scar clear on his forehead, and he still stands like a solider.

"You're brazen, Natashenka," he says, tone genuinely fond, and she grins at him. "And this your young man?" he continues, glancing at Alex.