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taras_olekseiTaras lay in his bed, and thought he could still smell Lasha.
He had woken up alone again that morning.
It had been full dark yet. He'd lain quietly in bed for a moment, groggy and disoriented, listening to the wind hiss between buildings outside, reaching for the cool sheets next to him.
Lasha was sick, he had recalled, almost immediately.
That had given him the impetus to get out of bed. He'd looked at the clock. It was well past three. Taras got dressed, and went looking for Lasha.
He wondered which he was getting more used to: expecting Lasha to be there when he woke, or finding that he was alone instead. He supposed one went with the other.
He'd swung by their office first, then on a strange hunch, Liadov's. Both were empty. The mess hall had been Taras' third or fourth possibility, and it was there that he had found Lasha.
But Lasha had not been alone. He'd been sitting at a table with Liadov.
Isaev and Liadov in their grey uniforms, sitting across from each other, like comrades.
Fancy pricks, both of them, tall and blond haired. Lasha was arctic smooth and sleek while Liadov was more languid and sensual.
The sight of them together had made Taras feel strange inside, and his chest ached with an emotion that was not quite anger, or anything else he had a name for.
Taras had stood in the doorway, watching them for a while, mismatched gaze fixed and ravenous.
Eventually, he had turned away, and left them.
He had seen Lasha, later that day, looking a little pale but carrying himself with unthinking grace, as always. More or less normal. It was the less that worried Taras, but he hadn't seen any sign of Ilarion faltering.
Taras had hit the gym hard that evening, then showered and eaten, like usual.
Now, he lay awake in the darkness, thinking.
Finally he got out of bed, and pulled on his pants, and a clean undershirt, and grabbed a newly-acquired bottle of cognac off the counter.
His door was one down from Lasha's.
Taras knocked on Isaev's door.
"It's me, Lashka."
He had woken up alone again that morning.
It had been full dark yet. He'd lain quietly in bed for a moment, groggy and disoriented, listening to the wind hiss between buildings outside, reaching for the cool sheets next to him.
Lasha was sick, he had recalled, almost immediately.
That had given him the impetus to get out of bed. He'd looked at the clock. It was well past three. Taras got dressed, and went looking for Lasha.
He wondered which he was getting more used to: expecting Lasha to be there when he woke, or finding that he was alone instead. He supposed one went with the other.
He'd swung by their office first, then on a strange hunch, Liadov's. Both were empty. The mess hall had been Taras' third or fourth possibility, and it was there that he had found Lasha.
But Lasha had not been alone. He'd been sitting at a table with Liadov.
Isaev and Liadov in their grey uniforms, sitting across from each other, like comrades.
Fancy pricks, both of them, tall and blond haired. Lasha was arctic smooth and sleek while Liadov was more languid and sensual.
The sight of them together had made Taras feel strange inside, and his chest ached with an emotion that was not quite anger, or anything else he had a name for.
Taras had stood in the doorway, watching them for a while, mismatched gaze fixed and ravenous.
Eventually, he had turned away, and left them.
He had seen Lasha, later that day, looking a little pale but carrying himself with unthinking grace, as always. More or less normal. It was the less that worried Taras, but he hadn't seen any sign of Ilarion faltering.
Taras had hit the gym hard that evening, then showered and eaten, like usual.
Now, he lay awake in the darkness, thinking.
Finally he got out of bed, and pulled on his pants, and a clean undershirt, and grabbed a newly-acquired bottle of cognac off the counter.
His door was one down from Lasha's.
Taras knocked on Isaev's door.
"It's me, Lashka."
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no subject
Date: 2009-09-04 07:30 pm (UTC)Slowly, a few things fell into place. Before, he had only Andrei's perception of Lasha to go on. Now he saw Ilarion's view, not only of Andrei, but his own situation.
There was something to be admired about a man who not only did what he thought best, but also sacrificed himself for his brother, whether his brother thought it was best for him or not.
Kassian nodded tightly, after a moment.
"Andrei doesn't understand that," he said, finally. "He has no idea. And I don't suppose you need him to understand it, either, as long as he has the freedom you didn't."
He held up his hands, conciliatory.
"I'm not going to urge Andrei to do anything. In any case, he'll do what he wants, regardless of what I think."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-04 08:23 pm (UTC)Calm settled like snow.
"He'll change, Irinarhov. If he enters the Ministry. He'll change."
His eyes were colorless and neutral, but the twist of his lip suggested bitter amusement.
"Mark my words."
He thought of Andrei, his nature. Gregarious, affable, passionate.
His mother's nature, in a male vessel.
"That blazing sun will be eclipsed. He'll become me, my father, my grandfather."
Ilarion's voice was cool and deliberate.
"So beyond merely not urging such a thing, Captain, you'd do better to join me in obstructing it."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-04 09:41 pm (UTC)He glanced at Oleksei, who was staring at him balefully, odd eyes narrowed, as if he could enforce Isaev's will by his gaze alone.
It was the very thing Andrei had accused him of the night before. Collaborating with Ilarion to somehow limit him, direct his choices or deliberately block information. Keeping me in the dark, Andrei had called it, and he'd bristled dangerously.
"Da," he said, quietly. "I know he'd change."
He thought of Andrei, detached from passion, cold and without remorse. One who did not love life with irresponsible, irrepressible verve.
That was the side of him that Kassian had seen when Andrei had coolly informed him of his plans to leave the military.
Kassian rubbed his face vigorously, as if chafing it to restore warmth.
"There's darkness in him, but it's not that sort."
He exhaled.
"You're right, Ilarion Aleksandrovich. I'll do what I can. But you know it's a fine line. There's such a thing as making something more attractive by opposing it."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-05 12:24 am (UTC)"You make a valid point," he accorded. "Which is why I prefer to pull strings in the darkness, and not stage elaborate, passionate intercessions."
He tilted his head.
"That's more Nika's style," he said, coolly.
He let his gaze drift over Irinarhov, noting the conflict on his face.
"No one is saying you should lie to him, Irinarhov. I don't lie to him. I divert him from harmful endeavors, with a careful and watchful hand, just as I covered his eyes as a child. He might resent it from time to time, but that isn't my concern."
He paused.
"He's not a man, Irinarhov. He's a young man. There is a difference."
Ilarion smiled faintly.
"And he is also an Isaev. So as you've said, he'll do what he pleases, regardless. I'm under no illusions regarding my influence over him. Still, I will always take care of my own as much as they will allow."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-05 04:06 am (UTC)"Perspective," he said. "Maybe he'll realize it one day, and be grateful, instead. Not everyone is born an Isaev."
He paused.
"Or with an older brother."
He stirred then, feeling the need for a drink, for a shower, for a shave. For sleep, and perhaps a little perspective of his own in the morning.
"I should go, and let you retire for the evening. It's late."
Kassian glanced at Oleksei, to include him, then picked up and shouldered his rifle.
"Oh - one last thing, so you're not surprised when it comes up. There's the matter that Andrei's supposed to be under guard, and that person is supposed to be me. Obviously, I'm not there now. I need to speak to Major Liadov about it. Someone else will have to be assigned to it, unless..."
He trailed off.
"Well, I suppose it depends on how quickly you're going to see about Andrei's...exoneration."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-05 07:31 am (UTC)"Guard? No need for that. I'll keep him here."
His lip curved slightly.
"Plenty of room in these officers' suites."
Lasha weighed Irinarhov carelessly in his gaze.
"Just out of curiosity, Irinarhov. Exactly why are you abandoning your post?"
no subject
Date: 2009-09-05 08:25 am (UTC)Kassian glanced away, mouth compressing.
"We...argued. About this."
He gestured as he sought the words.
"About the future, what's going to happen. He doesn't think I can handle leaving the military."
Kassian's eyes drew back to Ilarion.
"This is one case where I have to prove him wrong. Anyway, the guard duty just...makes it harder. More complicated. It's another thing that - "
He broke off, exhaling.
He felt at a loss, the mixture of emotions too difficult to from into words. Kassian raised his hand to his brow, rubbing it.
"...I don't know if I'm making sense."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-05 08:02 pm (UTC)He sat back in his chair, eyes fixed on Irinarhov.
"Indeed, perhaps you should speak to Major Liadov. You seem to have many things in common."
His lips twisted into a humorless smile.
"No matter, for I agree. It's probably for the best that you divide. As I've said, Andrei is a very young man. He needs to find his own truth."
He shrugged.
"As do you, I imagine."
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Date: 2009-09-05 09:48 pm (UTC)His eyes were tired, tight with strain at the corners.
"Da. I have the feeling it might take me a while."
Maybe not. Had he ever really tried before?
It occurred to him that some men's truths were not so elusive, but instead, deeply ingrained, so much so they could never be changed.
Kassian inclined his head.
"Major. Captain. Have a good evening. Thank you again."
He paused at the doorway, turning to look back.
Kassian glanced between Ilarion and Oleksei, who were opposites in nearly every way. Yet somehow, they balanced, without dissonance.
"No matter what happens, I won't forget this," he said, then left.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-06 03:25 am (UTC)After a beat he leaned to the side, rubbing his fingertips together slowly.
"I'm not sure about that one," he said. "Not sure at all."
He frowned, distractedly, studying his nails. He's maintained them well enough out here in West hell, but he was due for a manicure.
"One more to watch," he murmured. "Like the rest of them."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-06 04:29 am (UTC)Taras pushed away from the wall and went to the door, locking it behind the khokol.
He reclaimed his chair next to Lasha, sitting back. Irinarhov's glass and the bottle of vodka sat on the endtable between them, along with the empty bottle of cognac.
Lasha had thrown his own glass, Taras remembered.
"So what's going to happen with that khokol? He's coming home with us and Andrusha?"
He had missed out on whatever pact they had made, but he had picked up the gist when he'd returned to the room.
"You think maybe he can't handle it."
It was not exactly a question.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-06 05:36 am (UTC)Ilarion shrugged.
"It doesn't matter in the least if he can 'handle' it or not. Like you. Say you'd been a complete fuckup, Taras. Wouldn't have mattered. Better that you're not, of course," he added, wryly.
His eyes narrowed, speculative.
"I didn't mean that I was concerned about his job capability. I meant that I don't trust him. I never trust a man who, given the appropriate occasion, won't articulate his standing. I would more trust a man who lies well about his standing. Even if they're false assertions, knowing enough to speak them shows at least a certain social awareness, a mutability, an adaptable intelligence. A man who declines to express himself is either devious or damaged. Neither is trustworthy in our business."
Lasha glanced at Oleksei obliquely.
"In any case, he wanted to join the Ministry in a capacity similar to yours. I dissuaded him from taking such a major departure and instead offered to find him a place as a weapons instructor with MVD Spetsnaz."
His gaze flitted to the small scattering of glass on the floor below the wall.
"Oh, I suppose it goes without saying that the khokol wants to relocate to Leningrad."
Ilarion paused, delicately.
"If you call inhabiting the same city coming home with us," here Ilarion shot him a vaguely quizzical look, "I suppose the answer is yes."
Sometimes he really wondered about Oleksei's characterization of matters.
"I told him I would bankroll his situation on my brother's behalf. Andrei clearly has some affection for him, and that's fully permissible, although I don't know what kind of common ground they could possibly have outside of the military experience- the age difference alone-"
He glanced at Taras, suddenly, frowning.
"How old would you say he is? The sniper?"
no subject
Date: 2009-09-06 06:44 am (UTC)"Well, he's older than us...but younger than our fathers."
He folded his arms as he thought.
"Cheslav's 53," he added.
Taras didn't know how old Aleksandr was, but he guessed it was around the same. Maybe slightly older. Aleksandr always came off that way to him, but maybe it was just the silence and distance, and icy air of menace. When he walked through the office, conversations faltered.
"So I guess Irinarhov's somewhere in between forty and fifty? Forty-five."
He nodded, still frowning.
"So da, that's a big age difference from Andrusha. Most of my friends are around the same age as me. Or they were."
Most of his friends weren't his friends anymore. Taras had decided not to think about it overmuch, months ago.
"Now there's just you. And we're only a few months apart."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-06 07:12 am (UTC)"I actually have no idea how old my father is," he remarked, negligently.
He tilted his head, considering it in an idle way.
"There are nine years between Andrei and myself. I was born when my mother was seventeen. My father was roughly five years older than my mother. That means my father must have been twenty one."
Already well on his way as a MENT, even then.
"So, that means he must be fifty-four."
He laughed, quietly.
"I laid that out like a story problem, didn't I? From there, you could deduce Andrusha's age, and mine, though I never mentioned them."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-06 08:58 am (UTC)He was silent for a few seconds as he thought about it, isolating the ages Lasha had mentioned, doing the math. It all worked out to be accurate to what he knew as fact.
It pleased him that he had done it correctly. The Siege had interrupted his schooling, and after the war was over, he had not resumed. Story problems were very dim in his memory. He remembered the teachers more.
"Da," he said, nodding. "Da, that's right. I thought our fathers were around the same age."
There was more that Lasha had said, he realized, another number he'd mentioned that let Taras figure out something else.
He opened his mouth, then hesitated, casting a quick glance at Lasha.
Ilarion's mood seemed fairly mild, more idly amused than anything.
Taras did not want to spoil it, or risk Lasha's ire, but at the same time, the thought had taken hold and now had to be obvious on his features.
"Your mother," he said, in a hushed voice. "She was about our age when she died."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-06 09:25 am (UTC)"My age," Ilarion corrected, after a moment, for he was older than Taras.
His gaze cast restlessly about, settling on the vodka. He thought about reaching for the bottle, but didn't. Perhaps it had been enough anaesthesia for one night, and, he reminded himself, the day had been a good one.
"Yes," he resumed, as if he hadn't paused. Then, as if it followed, "She was beautiful."
His mother had been on his mind since last night, on and off. He retained just enough memory of his previous delirium to feel well and truly unsettled.
"And for the rest of time she'll never be anything else."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-06 09:49 am (UTC)"And she loves you," he added, after a moment. "That's why - "
He broke off, realizing that Lasha probably didn't remember those things he had said when he was feverish.
Taras remembered them, well.
He pressed his lips together, looking at Lasha, carefully.
"You know that...right?"
no subject
Date: 2009-09-07 03:33 am (UTC)He gazed at Taras in mild incredulity.
"My mother is dead, Oleksei. Six feet under clover and snow in the Novodevichy Cemetery."
He shook his head, slowly.
"You're an odd one, Taras Oleksei," he said, after a moment, sounding very much like a skeptical sixteen year old version of himself.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-07 04:02 am (UTC)"Sorry," he muttered. "You were talking about her earlier, when you were sick. You said some things."
After a second he looked back at Ilarion, contrite.
"I guess you don't remember. You were pretty feverish."
Lasha, for his part, did not seem angry this time, and Taras was glad of it. He wondered if something about what Lasha had seen the night before had changed something, or if he was just in a better mood.
He gave a small shrug of his broad shoulders.
"Anyway, I didn't mean to bring it up again. I know you don't like talking about it."
no subject
Date: 2009-09-07 05:40 am (UTC)"I said what?" he asked in a low voice.
He felt his lips shudder slightly.
"I talked about my mother."
It was a question, though he said it like a statement.
He closed his eyes tightly, trying to steady himself.
"My god, Oleksei- what did I say?"
no subject
Date: 2009-09-07 07:18 am (UTC)Lasha's face was closed, as if seized with a spasm of pain, and just seeing it made Taras hurt too.
"Lasha - "
Impulsively, Taras leaned forward to touch him, and found the closest part was his knee. His fingers closed around it and he held on, careful not to squeeze too hard.
"It's okei," he whispered.
He pressed his lips together, weighing his words before he began.
"You had a...dream," he said, finally. "A dream about her, that she came to see you. To talk to you, and make you feel better because you were sick."
His eyes skipped away, for a moment. It had seemed like more than a dream to him, but he thought Ilarion might not want to hear that.
"It's normal. To have a dream like that, I mean. You were really feverish."
Taras paused, and glanced back at Ilarion carefully.
"Do you remember anything about that?"
no subject
Date: 2009-09-07 07:40 am (UTC)He was sure of that much.
"That was a hallucination."
He didn't believe it himself, and his hand shook until he clenched it.
"Too much fever. Too much drink the night before. I don't know."
Oleksei was staring at him- with that strange, attentively urgent compassion in his mismatched eyes.
Lasha grimaced under his scrutiny.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-07 08:19 am (UTC)Taras did not think it was really a hallucination, either, but sometimes Lasha needed to hear things a certain way to make him feel better.
He did not know what else to do. He leaned closer, rubbing Lasha's knee. The material of his pants was very soft, and his leg warm underneath.
"It's normal. And it's good that you saw her...in your hallucination."
Taras' brow was low and furrowed.
"It's better than forgetting, right?"
no subject
Date: 2009-09-07 08:49 am (UTC)"Better how?" he spat. "That woman never loved me."
He felt his face whiten with repressed anger, his eyes colorless and pale with mortification.
"If she came- if she came- she came to condemn me, Taras."
His lips parted, as he stared downward, eyes angled to the side and distant.
"To condemn me," he repeated.
His heartbeat seemed to slow and race at alternate moments, fazing him like the rush of a drug. He almost felt himself relapsing, returning to the fever from whence the visions had came.
"It couldn't have been real," he whispered.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-07 06:10 pm (UTC)He was caught off-guard by the bitterness in Lasha's words, dark, like tea that had steeped too long.
"That's not what it sounded like, when you told me about it," he said, eventually. "You said she kissed you and sang to you and - "
He pressed his lips shut, abruptly.
He thought maybe every word he said hurt Lasha in some way, as if the thought of Isaeva condemning him was easier to take than her loving him.
"Sorry," he breathed.
His chest twinged with nameless pain, and his hand tightened on Lasha's knee, maybe a little too hard. He tried not to say anything, or to change the subject, but found he could not.
He could not believe that Lasha's mother never loved him. Or at least, he could not believe that the woman who had come to see Lasha in his hallucination, or whatever it had been, did not love him.
"It's just...you can love someone and still hurt them, Lasha."