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 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.

[redintheledger]

There is some muffled conversation further down in the apartment, and Natasha - her own hair still dripping - returns with a towel.

"Here you go," she says, passing it over. "I'll just put the kettle on, and then sort myself out."

She feels muddled, and somewhat ungracious, but she's rapidly also feeling too tired to care. The kettle on her part of the stove, she quickly bustles out again. This time, her absence is a bit longer, but when she returns, she's wearing slippers and has a dressing gown over a dress that is, in fact, not black.

(Her mourning clothes are too good for hanging around the house on cold, wet nights.)

"Feeling any warmer?" she asks.

[nerves_of_ice]

"Much."

He's passed up the chair in favor of a perch on the edge of one of the tables, one foot flat against the floor for balance and one swinging casually back and forth.

It's evident that he's scrubbed his hair dry with the towel, or tried to, and then finger-combed the results. The towel's now slung around his neck, and his hair is mostly tamed -- save for a few errant locks that are sticking up here and there.

"You?"

[redintheledger]

Firmly stamping on her urge to lend him a comb, she shrugs a little.

"Getting there," she says, sitting at another one of the tables, her posture perhaps overly proper.

"So, are you telling my boss the good news of my new assignment? Or am I doing it."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Which would you prefer?"

[redintheledger]

She smiles, and the edge of it isn't particularly nice.

"Now that depends on how much time I have to pack. I should say you, but...I might admit to a part of me feeling very petty, and wanting to see his face myself.


We could tell him together on Monday? I need to pick up some things from my desk anyway."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Monday it is. We can head back to Moscow after," he suggests.

[redintheledger]

"Monday," she repeats.



"How much am I allowed to take back? My books?"

[nerves_of_ice]

"I wouldn't go packing your furniture or anything, but something like that... yes," he decides. "Take the most important with you, and box the rest. I can help carry, if you want."

[redintheledger]

Cautiously, she smiles. Not for very long, and it's not an obvious expression...

But it's there.

"I appreciate that. Thank you."

Beat.

"Would you mind helping me tomorrow, or are you...busy?"

[nerves_of_ice]

He smiles back.

"You're welcome. And I'd be glad to help."