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 opens his mouth to say she doesn't have to, and then rethinks it at the look on her face.

Wry amusement gleams in his own answering look.

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

[redintheledger]

"Well," she says, taking a sip of tea.

"Reports have been one of the few things I've been able to practice."

She doesn't even want to think about how her English currently sounds, not until they are on a train with very little to do for almost a week.

[nerves_of_ice]

He lowers his voice enough to ensure that any of her roommates - should they be listening, which he doubts, but still - can't make out his words.

"We'll have to make sure Comrade Budanov is aware. He'll find a way to incorporate that skill, I'm sure."

His tone is light and teasing, but knowing Budanov, he'd probably do exactly that.

[redintheledger]

"If there is one thing I've learned here, it's that...actually, everything runs on paperwork.


And I make an excellent secretary."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Better you than me. But it could help, I think."

[redintheledger]

"Much more useful than playing the femme fatale. I'm pretty sure Mata Hari didn't get all that useful information."

Also, she has no desire to end up in front of a firing squad, but, you know, details.

"But I think I'm out of speculation for the night."

[nerves_of_ice]

"Just as well, as it's going to be a long day tomorrow."

After a final taste of tea, he sets the cup aside and gets to his feet. Pulling the towel from around his neck, he makes an effort at folding it - absently, with military-neat precision.

"It's late; I should go."

[redintheledger]

"And I should...start packing."

And sleep, but tired as she is, she knows she won't be able to sleep until she's got at least one bag ready to go.

"So, uh. I'll see you tomorrow."

[nerves_of_ice]

"At ten," he confirms. He sets the towel on the table beside his teacup.

"See you tomorrow, Natasha. Sleep well."

[redintheledger]

"You too, Alex," she says, warmly enough. But despite her tone, she lets him see himself out.

So.

She's going back to Moscow.






She tips out the rest of her tea down the sink, and goes to find where she put her bags. Packing is an excellent substitute for thinking about what she's just let herself get back into.