OOM: Khabarovsk, Siberia, USSR, 1955

[redintheledger]

Outside the KGB field office in Khabarovsk, the September weather is turning towards winter with a vengeance. Inside, well. Given it's after six on a Saturday, Natasha doesn't quite care what the temperature is doing. The oven's heat will last until she feels up to go back to her apartment. But Izmaylov is back from China, and had stomped around pointedly until she let him fire up the oven.

(He'd wanted her to do it; she had stared at him coolly, taping a letter-opener casually against her fingers until the agent backed off.)

Mostly, the office is nearly silent. Izmaylov is typing up a report at the other end, Natasha is sorting through (and fixing) the filing system, and occasionally Chigrakov the guard pokes his head in from the foyer.

It's much, much better than being in her apartment.

Comments

[nerves_of_ice]

He glances sideways at her face.

"Perhaps they won't," he says, just as lightly. "I didn't bring flowers, after all."

[redintheledger]

She huffs a laugh.

"No, you didn't. But I know them.

And...I might have pissed some of them off in recent months. Nothing gossips as much as a provincial military town."

[nerves_of_ice]

"You had reason."

They walk a few more steps in silence, and then:

"You loved him. Shostakova."

[redintheledger]

"I hate him.




He spends years fighting Nazis in flying pieces of shit, and they finally give him a new plane, and he crashes in the motherfucking Pacific Ocean. He-"

She stops, presses her hand against her mouth, trying to bite it all back.

[nerves_of_ice]

He casts a quick glance up and down the street, but thanks to the rain and the lateness of the hour, no one's around to see it when he puts his hand gently on her shoulder.


"I'm sorry, Natasha."

[redintheledger]

She shrugs him off, the movement angry enough to be almost violent. She's good at biting everything down, swallowing it and not screaming about it anymore.

But it's Alex. Alex, whom she thought dead. Alex who came back, and he had to say, I'm sorry, Natasha.

I'm sorry.

She stumbles back towards him, clinging to his overcoat.

"I can't," she starts, but the rest of her words are swallowed by sudden, harsh sobs.

[nerves_of_ice]

His left hand goes to her waist; his right arm goes around her, drawing her in, sheltering her as best he can from the rain, from the night, from the all-too-cruel world they both know.

He doesn't tell her not to cry; he doesn't reassure her with worthless platitudes. He murmurs quiet, meaningless sounds into the subdued fire of her hair, and stays as he is, holding her while she grieves.

[redintheledger]

It's like flash storm; a whirl of violent weeping, and then nothing but still shaking shoulders and an uneven breath. And Alex, standing steady and not making one comment about the rain.

"I can't...talk about Lyosha. Not yet. I just want to get the fuck out of this damn place."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Okay," he murmurs.

"That, I think we can manage."

[redintheledger]

"Good."

She pulls away, and then offers him a rueful smile.

"If you ever wanted to get drunk, Alex, I have to warn you, that...whatever they did to us? Getting drunk doesn't work so well."

[nerves_of_ice]

He smiles back.

"And here I thought I just had a high tolerance."

[redintheledger]

"Well, you can keep thinking that if it makes you feel better," she says, and starts to walk again.

"I did offer you tea, didn't I."

[nerves_of_ice]

"You did," he agrees, keeping pace.

"I wouldn't mind a towel, either, if you've got one to spare."

The rain still hasn't let up, after all.

[redintheledger]

"...I think I've got a spare towel," she says, after a pause.

"Clothes I can't help you with, but if I'll beg from Daria Baroslavonva if I have to for a towel. She should still be awake."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Or I could drip dry over the tea."

He keeps his tone light.

"I'm adaptable."

[redintheledger]

"What kind of hostess do you think I am?"

Her tone is light, but there is a sharpness there.

Honestly, Alex.

[nerves_of_ice]

He doesn't even hesitate.

"I think I'll gratefully accept both the tea and the towel."

[redintheledger]

"Good."

She's abruptly tired, and what she wants is a bath, warm clothes. Not that she can have the former even when she does get home.

"I'm going to pretend you don't know where I live. Because you were scouting around, yes?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"Yes."

He states it as a matter of fact.

"You would, too, if you were me."

[redintheledger]

"Of course. I just..."

I won't miss not being this paranoid.

"Am annoyed I didn't see you."

[nerves_of_ice]

He chuckles.

"You will next time."

[redintheledger]

"I guess I will," she says. After that, she mostly lapses into silence. A few murmured answers to Alex's attempts at conversation, but then finally he gets the hint.

The silence is easier. It unfortunately leaves her with time to think, but it's easier.

"And here we are," she says eventually, once they reach her building. There are still a few lights on in various windows, even some singing from one part of the building.

"Just be careful of the stairs."

[nerves_of_ice]

"I will," he assures her.

"It seems like a nice enough place."

[redintheledger]

"It is," she agrees, a tad surprised at herself. "I couldn't keep the apartment I lived in before, but it had too much space.

This is...nice." She unlocks the door, and hangs up her coat before taking off her boots. "The kitchen is probably best given we're...dripping. Just down the hall, and first on your right. I'll be back with some towels."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Okay."

He strips out of his own coat and hangs it up with hers, then makes his way down the hallway as directed.

It's a comfortable kitchen, not too large, but with enough space to serve communal needs. He doesn't explore into any cabinets or shelves, but does take a moment or two to mentally run through lines of sight from all the angles in the room, as well as the windows.