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taras_olekseiTaras sat in the leather wing chair in Ilarion's office, paging through a file, waiting.
It was still dark outside, and the MVD building was quiet, save for the distant odd knocks of the radiators.
Taras had found he liked arriving early, unlocking the door, being in the office before anyone else got there. He stalked through building like a burglar, navigating dark halls lit only by the predawn glow that outlined each window he passed.
Isaev seemed to prefer coming into work early as well. The first time Isaev had arrived to find Taras already there he'd seemed almost startled, but had invited Taras into his office to review current files over hot tea.
Now, it had become Taras' habit to skip his office and go straight to Isaev's, leaving the overhead lights alone but turning on the desk lamp to illuminate the room in soft and subtle radiance.
It made the room a small inviting beacon in the dark building. Ilarion's office was always warmer than his, anyway, and had a better view.
He rubbed his jaw idly as he read. The livid black and purple bruises that had graced his jaw all week had finally faded to dull browns and yellows.
Their most current case was a homicide that had all the earmarks of a professional hit. Double tap to the back of the head, execution style. No witnesses, little evidence. The shooter had even picked up the spent bullet casings.
Taras nodded in to himself absently, in approval.
He tossed the file aside. The case wasn't worth their time, in his opinion. Isaev would probably concur.
There was a special section in the file room for cold cases. Taras had amused himself on a slow afternoon by looking up a few of his old hits, the ones he remembered well enough to pinpoint. All unsolved, all with brief, vague notes from the investigating officers, as if they hadn't been bothered to put much effort in, either.
Taras had stood there in front of the file cabinet, laughing quietly until Anya had come upon him and asked if everything was all right. He had told her that she smelled nice, and she had found something else to do.
He picked up the next file, pausing to glance out the window. It was still mostly dark, but Isaev would be arriving shortly, he knew.
It was still dark outside, and the MVD building was quiet, save for the distant odd knocks of the radiators.
Taras had found he liked arriving early, unlocking the door, being in the office before anyone else got there. He stalked through building like a burglar, navigating dark halls lit only by the predawn glow that outlined each window he passed.
Isaev seemed to prefer coming into work early as well. The first time Isaev had arrived to find Taras already there he'd seemed almost startled, but had invited Taras into his office to review current files over hot tea.
Now, it had become Taras' habit to skip his office and go straight to Isaev's, leaving the overhead lights alone but turning on the desk lamp to illuminate the room in soft and subtle radiance.
It made the room a small inviting beacon in the dark building. Ilarion's office was always warmer than his, anyway, and had a better view.
He rubbed his jaw idly as he read. The livid black and purple bruises that had graced his jaw all week had finally faded to dull browns and yellows.
Their most current case was a homicide that had all the earmarks of a professional hit. Double tap to the back of the head, execution style. No witnesses, little evidence. The shooter had even picked up the spent bullet casings.
Taras nodded in to himself absently, in approval.
He tossed the file aside. The case wasn't worth their time, in his opinion. Isaev would probably concur.
There was a special section in the file room for cold cases. Taras had amused himself on a slow afternoon by looking up a few of his old hits, the ones he remembered well enough to pinpoint. All unsolved, all with brief, vague notes from the investigating officers, as if they hadn't been bothered to put much effort in, either.
Taras had stood there in front of the file cabinet, laughing quietly until Anya had come upon him and asked if everything was all right. He had told her that she smelled nice, and she had found something else to do.
He picked up the next file, pausing to glance out the window. It was still mostly dark, but Isaev would be arriving shortly, he knew.
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Date: 2008-02-27 09:22 am (UTC)Taras looked at Isaev a moment.
Isaev seemed distracted, toying with his pen with all the gravity of a man who was about to sign a death warrant, only Taras had seen him sign what amounted to the same on many an occasion, and he did it with far less frost in his regard. Ilarion had no particular vendetta against those he didn't know, no matter what they had done.
Taras approved of the sentiment, or lack thereof.
"Liadov," Taras said, casually.
He pushed himself out of his chair to help himself to some tea. It was all so proper, Taras thought, drinking tea out of fancy cups every morning. Funny, how easy it was to get used to nice things.
"I hear people talking about him. I see his name in old files."
Ilarion even talked about him obliquely, sometimes, Taras was fairly sure. This former colleague of his, never named.
He sat down again with his tea.
"Almost always, with your name on them too. Liadov and Isaev. Isaev and Liadov."
He leaned back, getting comfortable again. Taras let his gaze linger on Isaev's speculatively.
"I guess he used to be something, around here."