Mess, cont

Jan. 2nd, 2008 08:00 pm
[identity profile] posting in [community profile] groznyj_grad
Rakitin stared at Liadov, his stomach clenched into a ball of ice.

Slowly, as he studied Nika's expression, he realized something.

Someone was striking derision and a wall of cold rejection, someone was where they weren't wanted, and it wasn't Polya.

How strange.

In the wash of relief and something else (acceptance? No, that was absurd), he felt an undercurrent of sympathy for the supply captain.

For the first time, it occured to him that he could play along.

Polya looked met Utrov's eyes and smiled a little, shyly.

The secret was shared, after all.

"You know, I think he does."

Date: 2008-01-03 05:50 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"You can speak!" Utrov marveled. "I was thinking a witch had sewn your lips shut."

Looked like Rakitin had finally woken up.

"But your friend forgot one possibility."

He turned back to the prim-faced MVD.

"Maybe he's a decoy, and it's you I'm gunning for."

He smiled.

"Could be I spotted you from across the hall and fell in love, and I'd risk getting sent to the Zone just to pull on your pigtails a little."

In the part of him where he was honest, Utrov couldn't have said what compelled him to keep goading the most obviously dangerous man in sight. For some reason he felt like he was glad for that.

"Aren't policemen supposed to consider every angle?"

Date: 2008-01-04 08:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Aryol stared at Utrov for a moment.

Then he laughed, once.

He couldn't quite believe the man's audacity, but then again, there were all kinds.

Aryol turned to the MVD major, shaking his head.

"It sounds to me like he just propositioned you, comrade major."

Though he enjoyed the irony, Aryol kept it from his tone.

"Muzhelostvo's still a crime," he said, voice downy and dark.

"...isn't it?"

Date: 2008-01-04 09:17 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Oh yes," said Nika, softly. "Absolutely."

His fingertips tattooed a slow rhythm on the tabletop.

"Very much illegal, and as such, foolish to throw around lightly."

He was actually quietly unsettled by Utrov's cavalier overture, jest or not. It was disquieting, to hear a countryman speak such dangerous words, in front of unknown men, after having been on base for less than an afternoon.

"But stupidity isn't a crime. Sodomy is."

Discretion in matters like that was indigenous to every Russian's bones- and especially to the bones of those that indulged.

There was no way Utrov could know of the strangely tolerant place he'd only just landed- for all intents and purposes, a remote outpost offered even less assurance than Moscow, with its parks and underground anonymous pleasures.

Utrov also could not possibly know that Liadov was inclined that way- in fact, the ring on his finger suggested well otherwise.

So why would a stranger even dare to speak of sodomy and unnatural acts to an officer of the Interior Ministry?

More so, what could possibly lead him to do so in the presence of more than one person? Such assignations resolved themselves in intimate dual discourses, not dinner parties.

Liadov frowned, the expression etching deeper between his sullen lips.

"You are slandering the MVD, Captain, in implying that I am a sodomite."

Date: 2008-01-04 11:20 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Relax," Utrov said carelessly. "I was no more serious than you were, when you suggested I wanted to fuck your funny little friend there."

He motioned with one hand, casting something invisible away.

"What fool would have enough of a death wish to propostition someone holding a stack of invitations North? Probably with very pretty calligraphy, too."

It wasn't guaranteed, even there. Just likely. Never so easy.

He regarded the sour-faced blond, insousience in his eyes.

"You look like handing those out is the most fun you ever get."

Date: 2008-01-05 05:33 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"Possibly the same kind of fool who would broach that manner of joke," Nika replied.

A sardonic comment of that kind might be made by a policeman to a citizen, because the standards of the State were understood- there was no misconstruing his intentions as anything but cynical. But a citizen speaking the same to a secret policeman was frankly beyond the boundaries of sanity.

And that was the fundamental disconnect, he thought, with this man. He apparently had no concept of the world he was living in. Every sentence out of his mouth was enough to get him hung up by his thumbs- but he seemed oblivious to that, as if he believed this were an open society, with free speech.

As if words were protected, and the government needed an actual reason to lock him up and throw away the key.

Gradually, Liadov's irritation was commuted to vague pity.

He wondered how many people had suffered the price for this man's lack of awareness.

It wasn't worth his time to engage this man, on any level. Liadov wasn't here to arrest administrative officers, or take vindictive actions on insignificant citizens simply because he could. He was here to solve a nasty problem.

Nika's eyes took a final glance over the Captain's face. Soft, too-long mouth with undefined edges. Odd. His eyes were so flat and brown, it looked like he had no pupils.

"I rather doubt we have the same idea of fun," he remarked, succinctly.

Date: 2008-01-05 06:48 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Politely, Aryol wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"On that note," he said, and gathered the remains of his meal on his tray, "I think I should be going."

Aryol stood up.

"Major, Lieutenant."

He paused.


He glanced to each man in turn, not letting his gaze linger any longer on the major than the other two, even though he wanted to catch the MVD man's eye, share a moment of irony.

But there was no need to be obvious, especially given the slant of the conversation they'd just had.

Aryol had the feeling that the major would pick up on his meaning, regardless.

Instead, he offered a fleeting smile to those still seated.

"I'll see you later, I'm sure, comrades."

One of those comrades, he'd see quite soon, he was certain.

Date: 2008-01-05 07:36 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Utrov couldn't have said what it was about this prick that got under his skin. Usually he could smooth over anybody, no matter how prickly.

Used to be. Before he'd started getting in fights that he could never remember the cause for. Before he'd started getting in the face of anybody who looked like they'd give back.

Cause and effect, Borya would have called that.

Maybe it was just that cold-eyed look, like Utrov was something stuck to the bottom of his boot that he could reach down and flick away.

And he didn't do it.

Utrov had handed the bastard enough ammunition to off him a dozen times over. Practically primed the fucking pistol.

Why was he holding back now?

Blue blood and fucking blue balls.

"Now that I think of it," Utrov said, voice gone cold at the core, "I do know men like you."

There was a kind of truth that was so simple you never believed it until you found it out for yourself. Like how anger could make anything easy.

When the blast radius was clear, you kept lighting the fuse.

"They wave around their reputation and like threats better than action. They parcel out the dirty work and keep their own hands soft and clean."

Date: 2008-01-05 08:43 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Nika sighed, pausing briefly to shake his head.

Laughing softly.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing."

His finger caressed the cap of his fountain pen fetishistically as he tilted his gaze toward the door.

"But you're right. In this case, its definitely not worth ruining my manicure."

Date: 2008-01-05 09:32 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Utrov stared at the MVD, wanting to want to grab him by the back of the neck and smash his too-pretty face against the table, let him snigger through a mouth full of broken teeth.

Better with a bang, than...

But all he felt was hollow.

Vasily threw his head back and laughed.

"Looks like we've found something to agree on! Never thought I'd see the day."

Date: 2008-01-06 08:01 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"For that declaration to make even a remote amount of sense, we'd need to have known each other longer than fifteen minutes," Liadov remarked, absently, touching his napkin to his lips.

His eyes traveled upward, seeking the clock on the wall.

Rakitin seemed to have turned into a pumpkin, and it wasn't even midnight.

"So, Polya, what are your plans for the evening?"

He paused and glanced at Utrov skeptically, struck by a thought.

"You aren't quartered in the visiting officers' wing, are you?"

It was more likely that he had a temporary quarters assigned; Molokov had, after all- but Nika allowed that they might not have reassigned his rooms. Or they might have. Groznyj Grad Administration was not known for their lingering empathy.

Molokov probably rarely used his assigned quarters anyway, thought Nika, wryly. Krauss seemed to have had a monopoly on the Captain's down time, and his night time.

On the other hand, if Utrov was quartered near them, Liadov would have to watch Polya fret like a schoolgirl every time the beady-eyed Captain crossed his path.

Something was definitely amiss in this situation. Something concerning Rakitin and this random administrative officer.

Whatever it was, it certainly didn't involve or interest him- unless the guy was threatening Rakitin's life or compromising the impartiality of the investigation.

Date: 2008-01-06 07:13 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Nika frowned.

"I don't know," he said slowly, toying with his cup, spinning it slightly in the cage of his fingers. "Perhaps I'll turn in early."

It was certainly a tempting thought. His soul was exhausted.

His eyes sought Polya's with mild curiosity.

"The firing range?" he said, tilting his head. "I had no idea you were so interested in firearms."

He nodded.

"That's good, Rakitin. A man in our neighborhood of work should be adept with a piece, even if he primarily does benchwork."

That the Lieutenant should want to go to the range- at this late hour, after a rigorous interrogation- was unusual, but no more so than the habits of some of his colleagues.

Date: 2008-01-07 07:56 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Nika averted his gaze significantly.

"Indeed," he murmured. "One never knows."

Date: 2008-01-03 06:03 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Krauss recoiled like he was expecting the salt shaker to bite off two more of his fingers. The mere mention of the Colonel’s name sent a cold chill racing down his spine and spreading along his extremities.


There was nothing threatening about Major Lynx’s tone, nothing to suggest what awful things awaited him in the torture room.

He had seen the end result, time and time again. He was the one who made the charred cadavers disappear, effortless as brushing dust from a Ming dynasty vase. He had waited there time and time again, just on the other side of the great steel door, morbidly fixated by pleas for mercy and the hair raising crackle of ten million volts.

The German’s gaze dropped and he stared into his plate. Borscht. Twenty years a Russian citizen, and he still hated borscht. How ironic if it was his last meal?

Thoughtfully, he pursed his lips.

There was a whole desk drawer filled with forged passports safe under lock and key in his office, and if he could catch a flight to Moscow, he could be having tea and Spätzle with Molokova on the Elbe within the week.

“Has…has the Colonel expressed to you just when he would like to have…words with me?”

Krauss smiled and lifted a spoonful of the stew. “Nevermind. It’s nothing. You’re right, comrade. The borscht is quite delicious tonight.”

Date: 2008-01-04 08:34 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
"You hate borscht," deadpanned Alexei, snorting softly.

He dipped his spoon into the jewel-toned broth, raising it to his lips.

"Unless you've changed your ways since I knew you."

It was good. Ukrainian style, full of meat as well as beets.

He'd missed the camaraderie of mess to some extent.

Even eating with hyenas and jackals had its charms.

"As for Volgin, I think he has bigger fish to fry right now."

Lynx paused, raising a dark eyebrow.

"So to speak."

Date: 2008-01-05 05:18 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
“Ach, yes.” Johann found himself smiling now, nodding as his plan took tangible form, and he dropped the soaked napkin into his tea cup with a wet plop.

Motte traveled well. Slept most of the time, cozy in her crate.

Documents were easy enough to forge. Passports and papers and photos.

Germany was beautiful in the spring.

Pilots were in short supply though, and difficult to convince.

“Some things never change.” He drawled with a grin, and his firmament blue eyes flickered briefly to the table where flamethrower wielding lunatics sat gathered in a neat row.

Krauss was one of the things that remained a constant. A friendly parasite: a smiling, laughing remora, a leach with an impeccable taste for the finest, rarest types of blood, a vulture groomed smooth and sleek, with scantly a feather out of place.

The smile drained from his face at once, as Lynx’s brow arched like a curious caterpillar, and the meaning of his words became abundantly clear.

“Ahh. Well. How lovely. I shall surely look forward to the visit then.”

Date: 2008-01-12 07:47 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Alexei snorted brusquely.

"He may think he's going to punish you, and no one knows better than me how much you deserve it."

Lynx's eyes locked onto the German's, neutral and intractable.

"But when it comes down to it, everybody needs a scoundrel."

He swallowed the last of his tea.

"Don't they?" he finished, rheotorically, narrowing his eyes.

Date: 2008-01-04 12:43 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Raikov ignored the exchange going on around him, as much as one could when it buzzed in-and-out of his hearing, concentrating intently on his soup.

It wasn't out of his usual disdainful disregard for anything - more than he was silently brooding.

Misery, as it turned out, didn't love company. The Grad's paperwork had never been so efficient, with Raikov holed up in his office actually working.

Ocelot had been a good comrade and had helped drink away some of his mood, but it was beginning to hit Ivan hard that he fucking missed Volgin, instead of missing fucking him.

He was too proud to admit that aloud - hell, he struggled with admitting it to himself - but the half-rumours and whispers and the stranger suddenly propelled to Major class, in the same way he was, hammered down his doubts too much for him to ignore.

He chanced a glance across at Ocelot, trying to catch his eye.

Date: 2008-01-11 06:14 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
So the weird little guy still had some guts after all.

Consistency, no, but Utrov didn't consider that much of a virtue, anyway.

Rakitin disengaged and took a small step back, seeming not to notice when his back struck the metal container.

“This isn't right,” he said.

Utrov opined, “That's half the fun.”

Muzhelostvo's less-than-legal status hadn't bothered Rakitin before....


Utrov hadn't been the one the MVD's threats were aimed at.

But the look on Rakitin's face was remorse, not recrimination, like he'd remembered that something forgotten had been left far away.

“It's not you I want,” he said, with bluntness that might've irked another man. “It's anyone. That's not right. I- don't even know you, yeah?”

“That can change,” Vasya suggested, more for the sake of argument than anything.

Just as well. Rakitin was already shaking his head. That weird almost-white hair. He looked like a snow sculpture someone'd put in uniform.

Didn't feel like one, though.

“But me, I know too well. I know what I'd do to you. No one should have to bear a dog's devotion.”

He smiled weakly.

“Even if he's a crazy, stupid bastard.”

Vasya laughed quietly.

“Well, I can't pretend to know what you're talking about. But if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah.” Some relief was evident on Rakitin's face. “Just- don't go trying to make trouble, all right? We don't need any more bodies around here, or more paperwork.”

“I'm not making any promises.”

Rakitin rolled his eyes. “I had a feeling you wouldn't.”

“Hell, they could've sent me out here to get rid of me,” Vasya joked. “I've heard the commander here is some big, dumb son of a bitch who gets it up slaughtering bystanders.”

As his voice faded away, he noticed that Rakitin's eyes suddenly looked a lot harder.

The temperature seemed to have dropped suddenly.

“It would be a good idea,” Rakitin said, pitched low, “if you didn't speak to me again.”

“Eh?” Confusion turned Utrov's mouth. “What's wrong with you?”

“Was that too complex?” His voice had risen, with a distinct edge. He stepped forward, looking taller than he had a minute before, semi-permanent slouch vanished. “Then let me simplify; Shut the fuck up and Get out.

Utrov blinked. He glanced around at the empty courtyard. “Out of where?”

“Try my sight. Work from there.”

The sudden change in mood didn't make any sense. Utrov tried again. “What-”

Rakitin's lips were white with rage. “Now.”

It occurred to Utrov, as he turned to walk away, that he'd never really seen this man angry before.

Date: 2008-01-12 06:24 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Dmitry left the warm glow of the mess hall behind and lingered outside the doorway, watching the first twinkling stars of dusk and trying not to think.

Iapetus never looked him in the eye.

He never noticed it before, but it made him feel grotesquely uncomfortable sitting there at the table with Io and Iapetus chatting idly about nothing.

It was easier to excuse himself, and he hadn’t had much of an appetite lately anyway. Not since the night with Liadov, and soft-spoken words that left him in ruin.

Something moved, just beyond the golden halo cast by sodium lamps.

He pushed away from the wall and started forward, even before he was consciously aware that the silhouette was human. Instinct alone drove him, kept him in the shadows, kept him silent as death itself.

The stranger didn’t move right to qualify as female; he lacked grace, carried himself with purpose and urgency, never looked back over his shoulder.

Dmitry hesitated at the corner of the building as the stranger was dragged into the privacy offered by a long shadow. It was dark, but not too dark to see the other man there with his back to the metal crate and his eager hands roaming the stranger’s body.

His black eyes narrowed, and a smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

Deimos doubled back around and emerged from the darkness on the other side of the crate, inching along the end with his back pressed to the door until he was close enough to hear the rustle of clothing, wool against wool, a gasp, a moan.

Casual conversation erupted into an argument at a fever pitch and turned vicious.

A lover’s quarrel. Fucking verbally with curses and threats.

The flame soldier leered closer, gripping at the edge of the steel for support.

His boot struck something, and he cursed under his breath.

It fell onto its side, rolled lazily into the light.

An oil can! A fucking oil can!!

If the quarreling lovers had not heard the noise, they would have surely seen the gleaming metal can roll out from the shadow, spiral, and stop with its red label belly-up towards the starry sky.

Deimos held his ground as a figure rounded the corner, eyes narrowed, hand already at the handle of his flamethrower.

Date: 2008-01-13 05:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
The flame soldier relaxed his grip on his weapon, chuckled and shook his head.

Only a rat. A lab rat. Lieutenant Rakitin, complete with beady black rodent eyes and tousled white hair.

“Just passing through.” Deimos answered with a pleasant smile. “Looked like there was more than conversation going on around the corner. Must be hard to talk with your tongue down another man’s throat.”

Date: 2008-01-13 04:53 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Rakitin’s laughter caught him by surprise, left him off-balance, unguarded, and a bit unhinged.

He was laughing, not condemning Dima's life as useless.

“Whatever you want. I’ll have a five-page formal report on Colonel Volgin’s desk tomorrow morning, then.”

Deimos smirked at the sheer irrationality of his promise. There was no reason he shouldn’t spare the usual insults and cursing, and Polya’s brief fish-eyed look of horror more than made up for the inconvenience.

“Shit. You wouldn’t last ten minutes at Magadan. Maybe a half hour, tops, if you were someone else’s bitch.” Dmitry shrugged a bit, looked Rakitin up and down. “Well. Maybe an hour. You’re kind of pretty.”

Date: 2008-01-14 06:21 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]

His tone turned bitter again, his dark eyes narrowed enough to drill holes in Ippolit soul. Dmitry hesitated, unsure if it was genuine foolish curiosity, or an insult disguised as the former.

He recalled the tall, graceful blonde on that very first day. Too pretty, too frightened. His fear was palpable and delicious.

There were few words in the beginning, only brief impersonal exchanges, fumbling, mumbled orders and secrecy.

And then one day, he thought to ask the man for his name. Iosef Obruchnikov. Also born in Moscow, but from a very different world than Dmitry.

He looked down for a moment, then back up at Polya, pushing away from the metal crate. “No, it’s not. If you --”

The flame soldier stopped suddenly, and became aware of something he had forgotten entirely, up until that moment. Thoughtfully, he pulled something from the pocket of his jumpsuit and turned it over in his hands. He held his breath as he opened the lid of the brass compass.

The black needle wobbled, and settled across the middle of the N. It was pointing due north.

“Listen. You’ll probably take this the wrong way, but I’ve got to say it now. If I were the murderer you’re hunting, you’d be my next victim. You fit the profile. You’re vulnerable. And you fucking wander off from your bodyguards and meet strange men in strange places.”

Deimos traced his fingers over the engraved phoenix on the top of the compass, but did not look up.

“And if I were the murderer… eliminating you would eliminate any risk of getting caught. But I’m not the murderer. Just a murderer.”

Finally, his gaze flickered back to Polya. "You should be more careful."

Date: 2008-01-15 05:19 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
“Maybe you thought wrong.” Dmitry shrugged, turning the compass over and over in his hands as though it were a worry stone. “Or maybe you thought right, and I’m the one who was wrong. I don’t know.”

He was startled to think that such a delicate flower as Ippolit Rakitin could harbor such malicious thoughts. It was macabre and wrong.

“Strange, isn’t it? I never took the time to look at the stars until I came here.”

Maybe Rakitin wasn’t quite as delicate or innocent as he looked.

An awful thought skittered across the surface of his consciousness, like a rock across a still pond.

He pressed the compass into Ippolit’s palm, and his hands lingered.

The pathologist’s skin felt warm and soft, and slightly clammy.

“What was her name? You want to kill me… because I killed someone very close to you. Don’t you? Was she a lover? A sister?”

Where maliciousness typically lay coiled like a venomous snake, there was only curiosity, and a frantic desire to know.

Date: 2008-01-15 11:52 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Dmitry made a small noise of understanding. Sympathy and compassion were still beyond him and his fractured psyche, but he understood in his own way, and nodded.

“Kira. That’s a very pretty name.” A very unusual name too, and he wanted to ask just how young she was, what she looked like, how she wore her hair, but something about it struck him as wrong, in some way.

He shook his head. “No, you should care.”

Dmitry met the pathologist’s gaze, and the man’s curiosity gave him chills, quickened his pulse, set his nerves on edge.

“You ask so many questions.” Deimos smiled, reached out and brushed his fingers over Polya’s cheek, gently, almost lovingly. “Do you really want me to tell you what I imagined as they lay bleeding?”

Date: 2008-01-16 03:47 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
Deimos pocketed the compass and his vicious smile lingered.

“Come a little closer, and I’ll tell you everything.”

Date: 2008-01-16 10:28 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
The rigid steel pressed to his heart drew a ragged gasp from his lips, and he shivered as fire raced along his skin in pinpricks and blossomed at his groin.

“You’ll kill me lovingly, just like this?” His fervid gaze flickered to the gleaming metal against his chest, then back to Polya’s dark eyes. “With a gentle squeeze of the trigger?”

Dmitry pressed closer, his hands seeking out the buttons of Rakitin’s coat.

“Something beautiful is exchanged between murderer and victim. Something spiritual. A dance. Like sex. Better, still. Words do not exist, because words cannot describe the feeling of taking another life…”

He was whispering, low and soft into the pathologist’s ear like the sweet nothings of a dear lover.

“Words like carnal, and erotic… but there are no words for it! The struggling, the screaming, the red blood that flows so easily…and my own rage. The is nothing that could ever extinguish it, and when they are silent, finally, and cold and pale… oh, they’re so beautiful in death.”

Dmitry trembled, rested his head on Polya’s shoulder, pulled the lithe, pale man against him by the coarse wool of his coat. Wool, yes, he smelled sweet like old wool and soap, and the murder shivered again. “You have no idea what you do to me. How you destroy me, only with questions.”

Date: 2008-01-17 12:09 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
“Why do you insult me, when I give nothing but kindness to you?” The charged smile evaporated from his features, and he relaxed his grip on Rakitin’s coat. “To compare what I do to a fetish… you disgust me.”

Dmitry shook his head, and laughter caught in his throat.

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand, and you never will. You, with your fancy words and lifeless insults. You go around picking up broken pieces but you’ll never understand what pleasure there is in destruction. Not even if I showed you…”

At that moment, he wanted to strangle the life from the pathologist, but his hands remained still, one limp at his side, one resting against Rakitin’s raised arm.

“And you’ll never understand what I am, what I do, or what I am becoming. You never should have asked.” Dmitry's tone was even and calm, and it surprised him.

He looked down at the gun between them, but lingered close through an uneasy silence.

Somewhere, a dog barked. An engine rumbled to life in the distance.

He was aware that a peculiar sadness was leaching into him, like the blue shadows that remained in the wake of an extinguished fire. Only little embers remained, dancing just beyond his periphery vision.

Finally, his attention flicked back to Polya and he smiled, very slightly. “You know… you’re warm, and you smell nice.”

Date: 2008-01-17 01:59 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
The world itself was a great, blank canvas though, at least according to Iosef.

And Red Square had seemed both perfect canvas to one, and perfect hunting grounds to the other, and ruination to both.

Dmitry shrugged because it was reflexive, and seemed like the logical thing to do. “I don’t know,” he murmured, averting his eyes. “I don’t know anything any more, and I don’t have any answers for you. I don’t know why I want to make you understand me, or why I want to understand you.”

He flinched away when Polya moved suddenly, wincing, thinking his life was over at last. The was only silence and the pounding of his own heart. No gunshots, no searing pain.

“You don’t want to kill me.” He breathed in the cold night air and held it, letting the rush of adrenaline go with it. “And I don’t want to kill you, really. I don’t think I want to hurt anyone anymore, and I don’t know why. Maybe you can tell me, if you understand men like me so well.”

There was no malice in his tone, only a suggestion, an offer that came out half-hearted at best.

Finally he smirked, in spite of himself. “Maybe there’s really somethin' to the Fury’s theory of purification by fire.”

Date: 2008-01-17 02:53 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
“Maybe if we go around in circles for long enough, we’ll start making sense to one another.” He laughed dryly and shook his head.

Ippolit Rakitin would have to wait in a very long line for his chance, should Dmitry ever slip. There wouldn’t be a lot left to kill by the time Polya’s number came up.

Dmitry finally let go of Rakitin’s coat, but didn’t drift too far. “It’s cold.” He offered, both of the dark night and the pathologist’s unusual disposition. “Where will you go?”

Date: 2008-01-17 05:37 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile]
“There’s no reason I should tell you that either. What if you change your mind?”

It was still possible that he could catch Io and Phobos before they went out on night patrol. If he hurried, he could join them on the mountain with a cup of bitter coffee, huddled around a bonfire. Pulling a double was better than laying in an empty bed tossing and turning all night long, alone with his thoughts.

“Just… be careful. Out there.” Deimos gestured, vaguely. “In the dark. All alone.” He picked up the handle of his flamethrower where it dangled at his side by a fuel line, frowned at it, and waved to the lieutenant.

Something made him want to ask if Rakitin wanted an escort to wherever it was he wasn't going, even though it would be pointless to even offer.

“Oh, one other thing. Could you please tell Nika I said hello?”


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December 2010

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