Natasha Romanoff (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
redintheledger) wrote2013-06-05 01:55 pm
redintheledger) wrote2013-06-05 01:55 pm
Entry tags:
OOM: Moscow, USSR, January 1947
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.
no subject
"It's my birthday," she says finally. "And...It's...I'm nineteen today. My parents only saw my fourteenth. I didn'twanttobealone."
Some more chocolate ice-cream is clearly called for.
no subject
He taps his spoon lightly against the edge of the cup.
"I didn't know." A heartbeat's pause, and then, quietly,
"But now that I do... I'm doubly glad to have been here."
no subject
(This isn't the place for we're going to get in trouble, but then again, there is no place for that.)
"I don't think we're meant to be alone. Although Moscow could stand to have some better housing," she says with a laugh, partly a genuine sentiment, and partly because it's what a Muscovite would say.
no subject
"To be sure, but we make do, do we not?"
It could be an answer to either of her observations... or both, in fact.
He helps himself to a small bite of chocolate ice cream, savoring the taste.
"Live in the moment," he murmurs, low enough to be intended for her ears alone. "When you can."
no subject
She doesn't say it.
Men, she is finding, like to cast themselves as teachers, as protectors, as mentors passing down life-lessons to the young in their charge. Particularly to wide-eyed girls.
She knows. She's already been living it. Taking a moment to lose herself in translation here, to dance there. She learnt it during the War, when a bomb she could do nothing about might land on her, when a bullet might get lucky - and she learnt it before that, when her parents were alive. Her parents taught her to be careful of the ears in the walls and the eyes in the streets, and they taught her to read. Her father would pick up his violin, and she'd dance with her mother in the safety of their room.
She knows, but to say so could all too easily be taken as a rebuff.
(Her parents taught her to calculate and plan, too.)
So Natasha smiles, a little, and nods. "Go to the circus when you can," is what she says, out loud, where there is always the chance that someone else might overhear.
no subject
"You'll get no argument from me there."
He takes a last bite of ice cream, then sets his spoon down and leans back in his seat. It affords him the opportunity to do a fast scan of the room.
There's no one obviously out of place (including them), no sign that they're being watched (more than anyone else), but he's aware of the unease that's steadily growing within him, given how long they've been gone.
"Although ice cream's a good end to a great evening, too."
no subject
Finding bread might sometimes be interesting, but at least the ice-cream is consistent in peacetime.
"I should probably get back, though," she adds, as if they didn't live in the same building. "Roommates worry."
He's not the only one with a sense of time, and a wariness for punishment.
no subject
Lower, though, before he gets up from the table:
"Happy birthday, Natasha. I had fun."
Mission successful, at least in part.
"I hope you did, too."
no subject
"I did. Thank you, Alex."
(It's going to be, she thinks, a very long trek back to where they are supposed to be.)
no subject
He finds it oddly familiar, for reasons he doesn't care to examine.
After a quick scan of the street and the rooftops, he gives her a tiny nod, and steps out of the shop into the winter's cold.
no subject
"Alex," she says, quietly and very pointedly, "is the length of my degree a problem? With you, with...anyone else?"
no subject
Instantly, without even the slightest hesitation. He looks down at her.
"No, Natasha. It isn't, I promise. I was just ... wondering."
A crooked smile quirks the corner of his mouth.
"Like we were talking about before -- I was thinking we'd make a great team. In the field. If, that is, you were interested."
no subject
"If we had choice of partners...hell, yes, I'm interested." A quick smile. "And I have semester breaks, too. A few months over summer is time enough to do missions."
no subject
"That's good to know."
He looks around again, casually assessing, then turns his attention back to her.
"I don't know if either of us will have that choice," he admits, frankly. "But I do know that I've been asked to turn in my final assessment of your skills."
Ordered, rather than asked, of course; still, here between the two of them, it sounds nicer.
no subject
It's doubtful if the sound of a squadron of German planes coming in fast would make her heart suddenly start beating faster.
"Well, I guess we'll find out soon if I'm in the field, or just...being an office girl with translations."
no subject
no subject
"I know you're just doing your job," she says. "But, thank you for that recommendation, Comrade."
no subject
They've come a good distance while conversing, although there is still some way to go.
A shadow flickers across the street ahead of them, and he tenses.
no subject
The shadow is a woman, her features muffled by coat and the thick scarf over her head, and she quickly crosses the street.
"The Metro should be quieter now," Natasha says, but only once the woman has limped off into the darkness.
no subject
"Less fun that way, but we'll make do."
no subject
"Well, when I said 'quieter', there is still the chance of drunks attempting to make their way through Ruslan and Lyudmila..."
(The Metro itself is mostly empty at this time of night, just enough people around to prevent it from being spooky, even though the trains now seem overly loud.)
no subject
With every step, he grows more tense.
"Nataliya," he murmurs; barely a breath, no louder, then continues in English. "If we are stopped, follow my lead, okay?"
no subject
"Yes, Winter," she replies, in English.
At the very least, for those two words, she sounds perfectly American.
no subject
Carefully, very carefully, he eases the door open and risks a glance inside. All seems quiet, and he lets out a breath, then nods to her and slips through.
no subject
After the dark of outside, the dark of the hallway is practically bright. This doesn't help the tension at all. What would she do if she was their bosses?
Wait until it's harder to run for the door.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)