The Hunt

[taras_oleksei]

The handwriting was familiar.

That was the thing that seemed the strangest to him, the detail that felt out of place.

Taras knew it from numerous old case files he'd gone through back in Leningrad, neat, organized notes, all written in an elegant hand.

Liadov's writing was distinct, artfully slanted. Not quite regular, but easy enough to read.

It was out of context here, in the darkened office, as he looked through Liadov's notes by penlight. Papers with Liadov's writing belonged in the records room back in the MVD building in Leningrad, testaments to a bygone era.

Except they really did belong here, he supposed, in Liadov's makeshift field office, in the Soviet army base they all now called their temporary home.

The office had not been hard to find, nor to break into.

Taras left the desk and its contents untouched, preferring to study things like the arrangement of objects, how Liadov kept things organized. What the man had brought with him in terms of personal items. How he had decorated, if at all.

He didn't know what compelled him to find out more about Liadov. Maybe because he didn't understand the story Ilarion had told him. Maybe because he didn't understand Liadov at all.

Taras swept the penlight over the desk again, then caught a slight noise from the office door.

He froze.

The sound of a key in the lock.

Comments

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

Taras frowned.

He thought for a while, about what Liadov was asking him, trying to decide what he meant. The question was important. The answer, moreso. Liadov watched him intently.

Finally, Taras shook his head.

"I don't...know if he does. But he gets by."

He hesitated, considering.

"Do you know Merkurii Barshai?"

"The dancer," he added. "I guess he's famous. He's a - "

No, not a comrade, Taras thought.

"...friend of Lasha's. He knows you. Anyway, he got in some trouble and got hurt. Lasha's letting him stay at his flat while he's getting better. Making sure he's okei."

And fucking Barshai in his bed every night. And kissing him. But Taras didn't mention that.

He glanced to the side, brow heavy and furrowed.

"I think Lasha hasn't forgotten his humanity. I think he never will."

[nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com]

Nika's mouth fell open slightly, and his eyes hardened guardedly for a moment as he tried to assimilate that.

"Barshai," he said, slowly, blinking. "Yes, I know him, of course. The danseur from the Kirov. Longer hair, shagged, about six two. Rather a smooth and promiscuous lothario by all reports."

His brow furrowed, conflicted, unsure.

"Ilarion's mother..."

He broke off, realizing he had been about to blithely speak family secrets aloud.

"They have a history of a kind. I know he always kept an eye on him, but that he and Barshai had come to an armistice."

Liadov paused, looking down and to the side, letting his lashes screen his gaze. He remembered well what Lasha had told him on that White Night in Leningrad.

"What kind of trouble does a ballet dancer get into?" he asked, shaking his head.

He paused.

"Unless Aleksandr found him some trouble."

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

Taras shrugged.

"It was a case of mistaken identity. Supposedly. The Ministry picked up Barshai for political crimes. Harboring fugitives. Muzhelostvo. Turned out, it wasn't really him. Just some guy with a similar name. But before we found out, he had already gotten worked over."

Taras left out his part in that. Liadov didn't need to know about that, or that Isaev had ordered it.

He glanced to the side.

"Not too bad, though. But he couldn't go back to the Kirov with bruises. And he'd hurt his leg dancing anyway. So Isaev let him stay at his place. He's still here."

He paused, quiet for a long moment.

"I know about Ilarion's mother."

Taras looked at Liadov steadily, but without challenge.

"I know why she killed herself."

He paused suddenly, frowning. Taras shook his head a little.

"No, I guess I don't know why. But I know that she did, and what happened before that. How Barshai was involved."

[nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com]

Liadov's brows raised in faint incredulity.

"Isaev told you about his mother?"

He crossed his arms. The stricture felt comforting across his panging chest.

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

"No. Barshai did."

Taras pressed his lips together, remembering.

"That's why I don't know why she did it. Aside from the circumstances. But I don't know really why."

Liadov's body language had changed abruptly, in a way that Taras read as aggressive. Arms folded. Shoulders squared. Gaze direct.

Taras studied Liadov for a moment, eyes narrowing.

"What?"

[nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com]

"Nothing at all, comrade," said Liadov, after a moment, with a plasticine smile.

He paused, eyeing Oleksei with vague curiosity.

"Barshai. Are the two of you close?"

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

Taras grimaced.

"No. No. Not like that."

He shifted, rubbing his neck.

"He's...Lasha's houseguest. I was over one night, and Lasha went out, and Barshai told me how they knew each other. That's all."

Taras was aware that Liadov was watching him, gaze quietly evaluating.

"He's not a bad guy. Barshai, that is."

He paused, thinking.

"He knows you."

[nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com]

Nika regarded him quizzically.

"Knows me?" he said. "Yes, I suppose in a manner of speaking. He certainly saw me with Ilarion, on the street, in passing. I don't know that we ever spoke."

Liadov paused.

"He must be all right, if you got cozy enough for him to tell you something so...personal."

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

"I said it's not like that."

Taras' face twisted.

"He's just one of those people who tries to get to you by saying shit."

He gave Liadov a significant look, brows raised.

"You know, people like that," he said, pointedly.

[nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com]

Nika smiled, amused, and a little laugh escaped him.

"Yes, people like that. I know them well."

He sighed, shaking his head and straightening his cuff absently.

"I don't know what you thought I meant, Oleksei. You don't seem like the type to fancy a longhaired danseur with intellectual leanings."

Liadov shrugged.

"Well, to each his own."

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

"I don't - "

Taras broke off, resigned. It was better to quit while he was ahead.

He looked Liadov up and down, aware of his proximity, and his half-dressed state. Liadov had a long, lean body, particularly well-proportioned from what he could see. Fit, under the MVD coat. His pectorals were angled with light muscle, contoured and shaped.

His pants were still unbuttoned, and rode low on his hips.

Taras let his gaze linger on that for a few moments.

"This...wasn't what I was expecting, after you first walked in."

He looked up.

"But it's better this way. It's good we did...this. Like the way we made alliances in the Zone. Worked out differences."

Taras paused, his gaze dipping once more.

Liadov's waistband fell low enough that Taras could easily see the beginning of a thick pelt of hair at his groin, dark gold and wavy.

"...you sure you don't want me to get you off?" he murmured.

[nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com]

Liadov smiled lazily.

"You will. Just not tonight."

He yawned slightly and ruffled his hair with one hand. Sucking off the big thug had made him half-hard and pleasantly hungry, but he could defer that. It was better that he did.

"It's late, and I think we're at a favorable impasse, Captain. We have an understanding."

He paused, meeting Oleksei's eyes.

"I don't expect you to go easy on me, you know, out there. Isaev won't. Come down like thunder, I don't care. You're here to review my work. Just be fair."

Nika paused.

"It won't be hard; my work is good."

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

"Da, I figured."

Taras gave a firm nod, holding Liadov's gaze.

"I know how it works. This is different than that."

He glanced around, looking for his gloves. Earlier, he had pulled them off and tossed them aside haphazardly. Taras spotted them on the floor near the desk. He stepped away to scoop them up.

"Business isn't personal."

Taras tugged on his gloves one at a time, watching Liadov. A slow frown weighted his brow.

"It's not your work that we're really here for, though," he added, quietly.

[nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com]

Liadov studied him for a long pause.

"I know," he said, after a moment. "Although the official order stemmed from Rakitin's lack of decorum, once Lasha got ahold of the task..."

He looked down, so as not to smile. It wasn't the expression he had intended.

Nika forced himself to reconnect with his anger, his resentment.

When he looked up again, his face was impassive, cool.

"He's here to punish me. I accept that. I have no choice, because he is inexorable."

[taras-oleksei.livejournal.com]

"No," Taras said.

He let out a slow breath, and rubbed the back of his neck.

"That's not really why he's here, either."

Taras turned to the door, laying a gloved hand on the knob, pausing to stare at it without seeing. He was quiet for several seconds before he glanced back over his shoulder.

His mismatched eyes focused on Liadov's intently.

"That's what you have to accept."