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]

She just nods, and watches him for a moment longer.

Then her foot stills.

"Have you been the circus here? Or the cinema? They must have you so busy, you don't get much of a chance to...enjoy what Moscow has to offer to her citizens."

(She has, idly and very occasionally, wondered why she is the one who has been allowed to go to university and live most of the year with civilians, while Winter has not.

Very occasionally, because curiosity can be...dangerous.)

[nerves_of_ice]

"I haven't, no."

Try though he does - a thin hint of frustration leaks into the edges of even those few words.

"But like you said, I've been ... busy."

[redintheledger]

Her foot taps slightly to the beat of a popular dance-tune.

"Do you want to?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He blinks, once.

If there's a trap here -- and there very well could be, he knows -- it's not readily apparent.

And it takes all of another half-second's quick consideration for him to realize that right now, he doesn't really care.

"Sure, why not?"

The quick grin that flashes once again gives the lie to the casual tone. He means for it to.

[redintheledger]

She grins back and springs lightly up to her feet.

"I'll go get my coat."

(And her boots. And her scarf, and her gloves, and her hat, because it is the middle of winter.)

"If...you want to go now?" The question is awkward, a belated attempt at something sensible. Of course, given her poise is made up almost entirely of her restraining her desire to run and have fun, 'sensible' is relative.

[nerves_of_ice]

He laughs, just a little, and the sound is low and fond.

"Might as well seize the chance while we have it. I'll meet you back here?"

[redintheledger]

She nods quickly.

"Don't be late," Natasha says, and darts off to the door. By the time she goes through the doorway, though, her gait is measured and the excitement has been firmly pulled back under her skin.

It doesn't take her that long to come back, wearing clothes sturdy enough to withstand the cold and snow. But if her distinctive dark red curls are mostly hidden underneath her fur-hat, her lips are now red as any other girl going out, with a dash of colour over her eyelids.

It makes her look her age, rather than the fresh-faced kid she normally appears.

[nerves_of_ice]

He's not late.

He's leaning against the wall by the door when she returns, black coat pulled close around him, spinning his hat in circles around one gloved finger.

He straightens when she enters, and a flicker of appreciation is clear in his glance as he takes in her appearance.

"Very nice," he approves.

[redintheledger]

She inclines her head at the compliment but instead of a demure blush, when she straightens her head, she looks him straight in the eyes.

"Thank you. You don't clean bad, yourself. So-o-o-o, where am I taking you, and what is our cover?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Why don't you take me somewhere you'd like to go?" he suggests.

"As for our cover, sometimes the simplest is the best."

He gives her a short, abbreviated bow, laughter in his eyes and his smile, and offers her an arm.

[redintheledger]

"How true, darling," she says, her laughter low. She had been thinking older brother, cousin, but she has no objections to playing his sweetheart for the evening.

"To the Circus on Tsvetnoy Boulevard. If we are quick, we should be in time for the evening show."

And she knows someone to trade-off on a favour to get in if the line is too long.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Sounds like fun."

He grins down at her, quick and bright.

"Which was the point, right?"

The corridor to one of the side doors is currently unoccupied, and he nods toward it.

[redintheledger]

"Not to mention that we can't possibly have you without having been to the circus. Particularly not when it's the Moscow State Circus of the Order of Lenin. Everyone should see it."

And should they get caught, she's already preparing the arguments.

The trick with being a spy as opposed to a scout, Natasha is learning, is that 'sneaking' is only one option. The other option is to just walk as if it's the most natural thing in the world for you to be going where you are headed.

Still, she has long since learned how to walk fast while appearing not to, and there is no point in dwadling. While she's making plans, she'd much rather they didn't get caught.

[nerves_of_ice]

The back of his neck itches, as does the spot between his shoulder blades.

He knows it's only due to being aware of how exposed they are until they round the corner.

(He also knows just how easy it would be to take a shot from any number of windows, any number of corners or angles or ledges --

-- but as long as no one's looking, they're safe. Or safe enough, anyway.

Probably.)

"And we can't have me looking like a 'country cousin' or being so uncultured. Of course."

He looks as amused as he sounds, but his glance skips from place to place, checking for any signs of pursuit.

[redintheledger]

"You would stand out," she observes, tone wry. People notice discrepancies, and she has a distinct inability not to dress fashionably as soon as it is moderately safe for her to do so. A fashionable young woman walking out with a man who looked like he'd just arrived from the Urals would attract notice, and notice is a state Natasha tries to avoid.

(She is sure that there is a report about her clothing habits somewhere. But given the amount of lessons she's had in adopting educated accents, even with her native tongue, the only way she would get into trouble over it is if someone wanted her in trouble anyway. And as there has never been much she could do about that, she might as well look nice.)

They turn the corner without anyone running after them, and without shots being fired. Not that she relaxes much; she keeps her hand curled around the crook of his left elbow and walks close enough that they blend in with the other couples on the streets.

"Although I do have to say, I think I would prefer spending an evening with you rather than the boy I saw for a few weeks," Natasha comments once they are closer to the nearest metro entrance. "Took me to the cinema, and they were showing a Hungarian movie? I can't even tell you the plot, Andrei was being so annoying." She glances up at him with an amused smile, to all appearances just a girl entertaining herself.

Except, of course, that her eyes briefly scan the darkness beyond him.

[nerves_of_ice]

"His loss," he informs her, cheerfully, "is my luck."

He notices her quick assessment of their surroundings, and there's approval as well as warmth in his answering smile.

"Although something does occur to me."

[redintheledger]

She glances back at him, and although her arched eyebrows are hard to see thanks to the streetlights and the fur on her hat, her gaze is sharp.

"What kind of a something?"

[nerves_of_ice]

No one's close enough to overhear them, but he lowers his voice to a murmur all the same.

"'Comrade Winter' won't do, not when we're out like this."

There's something wry about the small quirk at the corner of his smile.

"My name is Alexei Stepanovich."

It is, in a very real sense; it's the only cover he's ever chosen for himself, the only name that no one else in this world knows.

Until now.

[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.