Crossing the pool of light, she closes the distance between them. He hardly
looks like a deputy commissioner now, just as she barely resembles the
streetsweeper who spent her nights under a bridge. This place has
transported them forward in time and across a universe (or a world) to an
almost American city, where no one expects anything grand from them. There
is no party to serve, to people to serve and rule. She's hardly a grand
duchess. It is just a title, a list of things she used to be along with
dishwasher and assistant nurse. Her feet ache a little in the heels, unused
as she is to such impractical footwear. The girl at the store said they'd
be good for dancing, but she didn't really do much of that. Only a little
and felt the rush of the movement, even if she wasn't dancing with anyone
she cared about.
She laughs softly, amused by his repetition of her self-description. The
way he says it, the gentleness of his smile suggests that he means it as a
complement. It feels a little silly, but she likes it nonetheless. It
reminds her of pet names she heard her father give her mother, gentle words
for simpler times. Whether or not those times were actually simpler is of
little consequence. The memories come tinged with feelings, pieces that fit
in but still leave gaps. It is probably better that she doesn't remember
all of the horrible details, even if she remembers the gunshots and the
screams, the flashes of fire and blood, so much blood. Her family remains
whole as they dance across her memories. Ducking her head almost shyly, she
looks up at him through her eyelashes for a moment, still smiling up at him.
The moment lasts longer than it should, with her just looking at him,
basking in the glow of the entire night. Perhaps sentiment is contagious
and at the party she picked up a bug. Maybe it was already there.
Her heart is still fluttering slightly in her chest. She knows it isn't
nerves, but won't name it.
"I think you will," she agrees breaking her own spell. The instinct to
argue, to point out that she can and has handled herself wells up within
her. That she healed from those bruises and scrapes, learned to fight and
claw her way, has kept herself alive in worse places than quiet streets.
She doesn't say any of that. Just like they don't bring up what likely was
waiting for him when he returned to Russia, she doesn't need to bring up
all the ways she nearly lost her life again that have nothing to do with
him. "Thank you. I'd like that. I've kept myself safe alone with worse,
but..." Pausing, she gestures to her shoes and then to him. "I don't have
to. We can keep each other company tonight."
no subject
Crossing the pool of light, she closes the distance between them. He hardly looks like a deputy commissioner now, just as she barely resembles the streetsweeper who spent her nights under a bridge. This place has transported them forward in time and across a universe (or a world) to an almost American city, where no one expects anything grand from them. There is no party to serve, to people to serve and rule. She's hardly a grand duchess. It is just a title, a list of things she used to be along with dishwasher and assistant nurse. Her feet ache a little in the heels, unused as she is to such impractical footwear. The girl at the store said they'd be good for dancing, but she didn't really do much of that. Only a little and felt the rush of the movement, even if she wasn't dancing with anyone she cared about.
She laughs softly, amused by his repetition of her self-description. The way he says it, the gentleness of his smile suggests that he means it as a complement. It feels a little silly, but she likes it nonetheless. It reminds her of pet names she heard her father give her mother, gentle words for simpler times. Whether or not those times were actually simpler is of little consequence. The memories come tinged with feelings, pieces that fit in but still leave gaps. It is probably better that she doesn't remember all of the horrible details, even if she remembers the gunshots and the screams, the flashes of fire and blood, so much blood. Her family remains whole as they dance across her memories. Ducking her head almost shyly, she looks up at him through her eyelashes for a moment, still smiling up at him.
The moment lasts longer than it should, with her just looking at him, basking in the glow of the entire night. Perhaps sentiment is contagious and at the party she picked up a bug. Maybe it was already there.
Her heart is still fluttering slightly in her chest. She knows it isn't nerves, but won't name it.
"I think you will," she agrees breaking her own spell. The instinct to argue, to point out that she can and has handled herself wells up within her. That she healed from those bruises and scrapes, learned to fight and claw her way, has kept herself alive in worse places than quiet streets. She doesn't say any of that. Just like they don't bring up what likely was waiting for him when he returned to Russia, she doesn't need to bring up all the ways she nearly lost her life again that have nothing to do with him. "Thank you. I'd like that. I've kept myself safe alone with worse, but..." Pausing, she gestures to her shoes and then to him. "I don't have to. We can keep each other company tonight."