fallaces sunt rerum species

She had, three days earlier, insisted that she'd take Alex dancing. It's a frivolous wish. They are busy with controlling and taking advantage of the fallout from Quentin's death, and while she thinks they are doing well, it's no time to stop working.

Except...

It's New Year's Eve. Both of them are increasingly tired and while they could use the parties for politicking, equally they could run the risk of being caught. It would not be out of character for James and Nancy to take the time to themselves like the devoted pair they are.

And what better time to finally get Alex to dance than New Year's? Get dressed in something nice and warm, head over to the big street party at Avenue des Champs-Élysées...

Not that she's going to tell him that. There's an element of surprise she's looking forward to. But while she's not going to tell him the details, it'd be the right thing to see how he'd like the idea, and if she should use one of her plans for a smaller celebration instead.

She waits until they are doing the clean-up from lunch (she washes, he dries), and then, with more artful innocence than she'd ever do for a real assignment, asks,

"What are your feelings on large crowds?"

It just turns December by the time they get to Paris; the city is appropriately cold. Beautiful, different, Paris...and cold. As is the small apartment that James and Nancy Rushman are renting from a countess fallen on modern times, and Natasha bites back any complaints she might have over the heating because Nancy never grew up with ovens.

(And yet, the point remains: she was warmer in Siberia.)

Natasha sits at the dressing table, carefully shading her eyelids. The make-up case is new, but she'd done her best to add some scratches and dents to it, so it'd actually look like it belonged to a woman who travelled. She'd done the same with the new wedding ring on her left hand, so it'd look like Nancy and James hadn't been married for less then five minutes. Of course, details like that wouldn't be worth a damn if no one reads them as being an item in the first place. Not for a married couple who are happy and stable, which is needed here. And which Alex has so far...somewhat failed at this aspect of James's life.

She sighs, and then carefully finishes applying her make-up. They have some time before they are due to go out, and she needs to talk to Alex. She slips on her coat, and then walks out into the living room.

"James?"

She thinks he'll listen.

Hopefully he'll listen.

She kisses her husband when he walks through the door to their apartment. This is not an unusual occurrence for the Shostakovs, but instead of her normal light greeting, she's far more thorough.

"Nata," Lyosha says, finally, "is everything...alright?" Unlike her, he's never dropped his Volga accent, and he just sounds like home.

"I can't kiss my own husband in our own living room?"

"Nata."

Natasha looks up at him, studying his face. For a moment, she entertains the thought of explaining things to him.

I spent a week being nine, and tried to start a socialist revolution, and then there was a zombie outbreak where I could have died, and currently I'm hiding a gun from I think the future behind some books, and I never did tell you about Milliways, did I?

Maybe not.

"I had a long day," she says simply. "And I missed you."

His expression turns complicated; he doesn't quite believe her, but there are some things you just don't ask about when your wife is a lieutenant in the NKVD. And, still, she can read in his face how much I missed you means, even after five years of marriage.

I missed you, I love you, I love you.

This time, he kisses her. And if they end up having dinner later than normal, well.

These things happen.