Topic: Settling In

Aleksandra Biala

Date: 2018-04-21 09:23 EST
Despite having to wrestle with an unfamiliar car, an unfamiliar road system, an unfamiliar map, and a very unfamiliar GPS, the journey from A.E.G.I.S. H.Q. to the suburb where the newly named Kuryev and Solova were to take ownership of their house was remarkably uneventful. Which was just as well, really. Aleks was a little wide-eyed as she looked out at the surprisingly well-spaced houses, a far cry from the closely-built cities she'd known all her life.

"39, 39 ..." she murmured, studying the numbers as they passed. "Oh! There it is!

"Why do they always name streets after trees?" Maxim murmured as he pulled the car to a stop in front of 39 Cherry Tree Lane. It wasn't a lane at all - at least, not the way he'd imagined one. It was more like a sub-division made up of cookie cutter houses lining freshly-paved streets with names reminiscent of an orchard. He knew it was meant to be quaint, but he was wondering just how people could tell one house from the other in the dark.

"Oh, you mean rather than tsars and the fathers of failed Communism?" Aleks asked in amusement. Her hands were busy closing up the folders on her lap, but her eyes was glued to the house - their house. "How can they afford to have so much space?"

"I am sure they have their fair share of cities and streets named for Presidents and their Founding Fathers," he remarked. Like Washington, for example - the most well-known American hero, as far as the rest of the world was concerned. "It's a big country, Aleks," he replied, though the same could be said for Mother Russia, at least, as far as land mass was concerned.

"I suppose it is," she conceded. "And I have only lived in dense cities. This is not a city, I do not think." She relaxed against the seat, absently undoing her seatbelt, an almost excited glimmer in her eyes as she glanced at him. "Should we go in, do you think?"

"I think that is the idea," he said, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Unless you would rather live in the car," he teased. It was a nice car, but hardly adequate as living quarters.

She snorted with laughter, rolling her eyes. "This car likely cost more than my parents' house in Gdansk," she countered, but she needed no further encouragement to slip out of the car, hugging the folders to her chest protectively as she looked over the property. There were children playing on the lawn next to their own, the sound of families dominant in the area. It was a surprising change from the bustle of Murmansk, but not an unwelcome one.

There didn't seem much reason to be too worried about security when the Director had assured them they were perfectly safe here and that they were living in a complex populated strictly by other A.E.G.I.S. employees and operatives. So long as they trusted them anyway. "Well, at least, it's homey," he said, as he exited the car and drew up beside her to take a look around at their new neighborhood.

"It's so quiet," she murmured, charmed by the contrast between this quiet street and the loud crush of the city they had left not thirty hours before. "We will have to get another key cut."

"I'm sure that will not be a problem, dorogaya," he said, not even realizing that he'd been calling her by that term of endearment for quite some time now. "Shall we?" he asked, gesturing toward the house with the number "39" clearly marked on the front.

Oh, she had noticed the endearment from the first, but Aleks was a reserved sort of person when it came to publically displayed affection. While hearing him call her darling was enough to bring a flush to her cheeks, she had yet to summon the courage to answer in kind. "I think perhaps we should," she agreed. "It is a little too chilly still to stand out here in little but a t-shirt."

"Agreed," he said, reaching for her hand. It didn't much matter if anyone else was watching. As far as anyone else was concerned, they were a couple, and just like them, they were somehow attached to A.E.G.I.S.

Her smaller hand, callused from years of delicate precision work with unique tools, slid easily into his as he reached for her, an almost shy smile on her face as she fell into step with him toward the porch and their front door. "It has been a long time since I have had a home," she commented softly as they went.

"Da, me, too," he told her quietly. He would always have a soft spot in his heart for Mother Russia, but it seemed New York was home, at least for now. It felt strange to have a place to call their own that wasn't an apartment furnished and bugged by Russian Intelligence. Would this place be bugged by A.E.G.I.S." Did they have eyes and ears everywhere, too' He had been assured they would be ensured privacy here, but there was a small part of him that wasn't so sure.

Pausing on the porch, Aleks glanced back at the front lawn. "Do ....do you think they would mind if I planted flowers here?" she asked uncertainly. After all, this wasn't strictly their property to change; at least, not until they signed on the dotted line.

"I do not see why not," he replied, though they had not yet signed on the so-called dotted line. Still, it was a nice thought, and he found himself going one step farther. "It seems like a nice place to raise a family," he found himself musing aloud.

"One step at a time, kochanie," she teased softly. "Unlocking the door would be a very good start to our evening, do you not agree?" He was the one with the keychain, after all.

"Da, I suppose it would," he replied, his thoughts returning to the present, as he stepped up the stairs and fit the key into the lock. With a click of the bolt, he pushed the door open. "Welcome home, dorogaya," he told her, not missing the endearment she'd given him in return.

She peered into the house like a curious child for a long moment, before her curiosity got the better of her. Without fear of anything or anyone being there to trap her, Aleks stepped over the threshold with a wide smile, turning about in the hall to try and decide which way she should go first. "Come in, kochanie," she told him. "I did not turn into an apple tree."

Max followed her into the house and into what appeared to be a foyer or entry way, which led to a dining room on the right and a living room on the left, but what really struck his attention was not only the fact that the entire space had already been decorated and furnished, but the sheer size of it all. "It's very ....big, isn't it?" he asked as he looked around.

Aleks nodded, a little in awe of the sheer amount of space they'd been given. "My apartment in Murmansk, before I moved to the facility, was about the size of these two rooms," she added in a muted tone.

"Da, mine, too," he agreed. "Shall we take a look around?" he asked, curious as to what the rest of the house looked like.

"I think we may have to draw a map to find our way around." As she said this, Aleks let out a slightly overwhelmed giggle. She had never thought that defecting from Russian Intelligence would end up with her being given a home quite so luxuriously large and bright as this one seemed to be.

Though they had been told otherwise, Maxim was pretty sure the house wasn't being given to them with no strings attached, no matter what the Director had said. They had come to America bearing gifts that equated to knowledge and intel, and he had a feeling A.E.G.I.S. had gambled they'd agree to work for them, no matter what they'd been told. Max reached for her hand again, so they could begin exploring their new home, one room at a time.

Aleksandra Biala

Date: 2018-04-21 09:23 EST
"I think you are right," he murmured.

Passing from the foyer left the dining room and the living room behind, but lead them into a wide vaulted room that seemed set up as communal social area of sorts. To their left was a hallway that seemed to lead to other rooms; to their right, another hallway and the first open door showed a kitchen.

"I feel like a child left alone in the house for the first time."

"It is very big," Maxim remarked again. Was it true what the rest of the world said about Americans" That they liked everything big" If the house was anything to go by, perhaps they were right. Or at least, some Americans liked things big. He didn't step into the kitchen, but moved past it, a coat closet and laundry room on the right and doors that led to bedrooms straight ahead.

There were three bedrooms in all, with the largest of the three behind them on the other side of the house - and that was only the first floor. Not all of these bedrooms were furnished, however, as there were only the two of them at present. He found himself muttering in Russian as he pushed open the door to the master bedroom suite. His entire apartment back home would have fit in just this one area of the house.

Following along behind him, Aleks could feel her eyes getting wider - and her cheeks getting redder - as they looked into the master bedroom suite. This room had been made up for both of them, clearly; she had a feeling the clothing provided for them both had been neatly tucked away in the cabinets and closets already in place. This was clearly where A.E.G.I.S. thought they would both be sleeping ....and much as she liked the idea of sleeping next to Max, she wasn't entirely sure he would be so pleased about it. But the bay window was lovely, offering a view of another lawn, this time at the back. Nearest the house was a paved area with a table and chairs, and a grill of some kind, the boundary fenced to make it clear what was theirs.

She couldn't help smiling a little as she looked out through the window. "There's so much light here."

"There is only one bed," Maxim pointed out. At least three bedrooms, but only one bed. Was that an accident, an oversight, or did someone at A.E.G.I.S. assume they a couple - already romantically involved" Whether he was attracted to Aleks or had feelings for her wasn't the problem. The problem was that he felt they were being purposely manipulated into having a relationship, even if Aleks didn't want one. Still, he had promised to protect her and had insisted on being her shadow, and she had not discouraged him.

Her blush deepened as she glanced over her shoulder at said bed. "There is the window seat here," she pointed out. "And the couches. You are too tall for them, but I could sleep on them. If ....if you do not want to share a bed, that is."

They had already shared a bed once, but she'd been too tired to do anything but sleep, while he'd spent most of the time pacing the floor with worry. "It is not about what I want, Aleks," he said. Or was it' Living together had been his idea, after all. He blew out a breath. "We need to sort this out," he said, turning back around, for some reason. "Let us hope there is food in the kitchen. I do not think well on an empty stomach."

"There must be something," she agreed, turning to head back to the door. Well, she'd given him the chance to say whether he wanted to sleep next to her or not, and the lack of answer was as good as a no. Disappointed, she didn't pass comment on it again, venturing across the wide room with the couches and into the kitchen to investigate the contents of cupboards and fridge.

He got there just before her, already searching the cupboards for coffee and puzzling over the appliance, which didn't seem to require a pot. "What is this?" he asked, mostly to himself. He wasn't stupid by any means, but he had never seen a coffee pot quite like this one before. "Why does making coffee have to be so complicated?" he complained.

Aleks paused, leaning back to take a look at what seemed to be a coffee-maker. "There may be instructions somewhere?" she suggested, the engineer in her always ready for a good helpsheet, rather than just trying things at random. She was too methodical for that.

"I do not think so," he said, realizing whoever had furnished this place had probably assumed the occupants would already be familiar with this contraption. He scoured the cupboards in search of something that might help, pulling open a drawer to find little plastic cups, labeled in English to indicate different hot beverage varieties.

"Why do Americans always insist on creating unnecessary inventions to do things new ways" What is wrong with brewing coffee in a pot' If it is not broken, why fix it?" he complained, not yet realizing he was talking to an engineer who probably made a living of concocting new ways of doing things. "It is all about convenience for these Americans," he continued, now that he was on a roll. "They need an appliance to do everything."

"It is not just Americans," Aleks said, her voice warm with unspoken laughter at his grumbling. It was just as well he'd never seen an engineering lab at the start of a project - his complaints were pretty much an apt description of her job. "Would you like some help?"

"Da, please," he said, stepping away from the contraption with the label declaring itself a "Keurig". The name sounded Russian enough, though it was actually Dutch. "Do you think they have a contraption for making sandwiches?" he asked, with mild sarcasm.

"Perhaps you should start by finding the bread," she suggested with a low laugh, turning her attention to studying the odd contraption in front of her. "There must be a reservoir somewhere ....ah." A lid flipped up, and she peered inside. "No, I don't think that's where the water goes ..."

He left her to sort out the coffeemaker, thinking it would have probably been easier to make a cup of tea - if he could find a teapot to boil water in and some teabags - but that was probably done by this new contraption, too. "If I were an American, where would I put a loaf of bread?" he asked, looking around.

"Do they have breadbins in America?" she asked absently, placing one of the little pods into the hole she had just uncovered. Yes, that fitted. But was she supposed to take the foil lid off" Who knew" Leaving it for the time being, she turned her attention back to finding where the water went in.

"How should I know?" he asked, finding the answer to her question when he stumbled on a loaf of bread being stored in a bin in what appeared to be a pantry. "That answers that question," he said, setting the bread on the cupboard and stepping over to the refrigerator to look for sandwich fixings. "What would you like?"

"What is there to have?" she countered, closing the little pod into the machine in front of her and feeling around the back. She glanced over at him. "What are you making?"

"Uh," he replied uncertainly, pulling some packages of what looked uncertainly like sliced sandwich meats and cheeses out of a drawer in the refrigerator. "This?" he asked, unable to identify it precisely. He was pretty sure one package was turkey and the other was ham, and if he took a moment to read the labels, he'd find he was right.

She didn't look too impressed by the packages, but until they could get to a grocery store themselves, they were at the mercy of whoever had stocked their kitchen. "I doubt they would leave anything that will kill us, so why not?" she shrugged, letting out a triumphant "Aha!" as the water reservoir came off the back of the coffee machine in her hands.

Aleksandra Biala

Date: 2018-04-21 09:24 EST
"Do Americans not cook anything from scratch?" he asked, as he continued to peruse the contents of the fridge and pantry. "Everything is in a package. Soup does come from a can, Aleks," he complained further. They were obviously going to have to make some adjustments or do a little shopping of their own. Nevertheless, somehow he managed to scrape together a couple of sandwiches made from coldcuts and cheeses. He'd take a better look at their provisions later and see what they were missing. Back home in Russia, he had learned early on how to cook for himself, more from necessity than desire.

"We will go shopping for proper food when we can," she tried to reassure him, plugging in the coffee machine. "Now, I think I have worked this out ..." She pressed the button, and then realised what was missing. "Where are the cups" Quick!"

"Cups?" he echoed, pointing in the general direction of a cabinet just above her head. He realized a moment later that it might be a little too high for her to reach and came to her rescue, nearly bumping into her as he reached above her head for a couple of ceramic coffee cups.

Turning to see where he was pointing put her face to face with his chest, a closeness she hadn't been expecting and didn't know quite how to deal with. Lifting her head, Aleks managed a shy smile as she reached to take the cups from his hand. "Thank you."

"Pozhaluysta," he told her, as they came face to face, but the moment didn't last very long as he looked over to find coffee dripping from the electric contraption and pooling where there should have been a cup. "Aleks, the coffee!" he exclaimed, grabbing back a cup from her and holding it to catch the stream of dark liquid coming out of the brewer.

She jumped, wincing at the panic of getting a cup under the stream before it overflowed the drip tray. "Sorry," she apologised. "This is a very strange machine."

"Da, everything is ....how do they put it?" he asked, though he had a pretty good handle on the language anyway. "Cutting edge?" he ventured, unsure if that was exactly the right term for new technology. "People are starving, while others spend money on unnecessary contraptions like this one," he remarked. "Do not get me wrong. People starved when the Communists were in power, too. I am tired of corrupt governments who do not care about their people," he said, though he was uncertain if that was the case here.

"It is supposed to be different in the United States," she offered, though she had very little idea of what that meant, exactly. She switched the cups under the stream of coffee, grabbing a cloth to wipe the first dry. "Huh ....no need to add milk."

Like others indoctrinated about the "Evil West", he had been taught that Americans were selfish, greedy, and wasteful, but he wasn't too sure how true that was. He believed there was probably some truth in it, but that it was not the whole truth.

"I suppose we will find out," he said, turning quiet and thoughtful a moment. "I have already decided, Aleks," he confessed. He didn't really need a few days to give the Director his answer, but he did want her to be the first to know. "I am not certain I will ever get used to America, but I am going to join A.E.G.I.S. That is our best chance of getting rid of Hydra."

"I have decided, too," she answered, wiping the second cup dry before turning the machine off and extracting the strange little plastic pod from inside it. "I could find another job, of course, but it would not challenge me. And it would not hurt Hydra. I want them to hurt, and I want to help make it happen. So I will join A.E.G.I.S."

He nodded, not surprised by her decision, which matched his, though they'd be doing entirely different things. "We are agreed, then," he said, moving over to the island where there were a couple of stools so that they could sit and eat their coffee and sandwiches.

"About one thing, anyway," she chuckled, following him with the coffee. Getting onto the stool was more effort for her than it was for him, but she managed it eventually. "We have to, uh ....decide the timeline of our relationship."

"Timeline?" he echoed as he took a bite of his sandwich. It wasn't exactly the kind of sandwich he might have chosen to eat, but it was tasty and filled his stomach and that was all that mattered. "I am not sure what you mean."

She hesitated, chewing her first mouthful to buy time as she tried to work out how to pursue this conversation. "If-if we are to convince people that we have been in a relationship for a year," she said carefully, apparently talking to her plate and coffee cup rather than him, "then ....then we should be telling people the same stories, nyet?"

"Da, I suppose you are right," he admitted, though he wasn't sure what people she thought they had to convince. After all, they would be living and working among other A.E.G.I.S. employees who might have fake back stories of their own. "Well, how did we meet?" he asked, taking another bite of his sandwich.

"Well, I don't know what your story is," she pointed out. "My dossier states that I was a research assistant at the University of Moscow from February 2015. Where do you think we met?"

"It sounds like we met in Moscow," he replied. He'd only skimmed the contents of his dossier, but that seemed the most logical choice. As for how they met, that would take a little imagination.

"Ah, but how did we meet?" she asked. "Was it a blind date, or a chance meeting" Did I stalk you for six months on a dating website before accidentally running into you in person, or did my brother pay you to be my date to a fundraiser?"

"I think it would be best to keep it simple," he said, having had dozens of fake life stories concocted for him over the years. "I was working as a security guard at the university and asked you on a date." If they didn't keep it simple, they were risking forgetting details and telling conflicting stories.

"Oh, I see." Aleks blushed; she knew she'd got a little carried away there. "And I don't have a brother according to the dossier, anyway," she added, saddened by the fact that her family had been wiped clean for something simpler.

He frowned at the mention of her brother and the knowledge that he had been killed. He had a few secrets of his own regarding family, but this was not the time to share them. Instead, he reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze he hoped she'd find comforting. "But we know the truth, Aleks. It does not matter if he is part of your dossier, if he is part of your heart," he told her, showing there was more to him than just a pretty face and a cunning mind.

Her fingers turned beneath his as her face creased into a pained frown. "It was easier to let him go when I thought it was an accident," she admitted. The understanding that her brother had not died, but had been killed was barely 20 hours old, but the shock would take a long time to wear off. "They killed him, and I did not know. I did not even suspect. I am a terrible sister."

"How does that make you a terrible sister?" he asked, confused. "You trusted them and they lied to you. They are to blame for that, not you," he told her. "You did not even know who you were truly working for. What do you think would have happened to you when they no longer needed you? You would have joined your brother. It is not your fault what happened to him. They are evil, and we will make them pay." It was a simple matter of black and white to him, no shades of gray there.

Aleksandra Biala

Date: 2018-04-21 09:24 EST
"I accepted that he fell," she said quietly, tears slipping from her tired eyes. "Andrei never fell. He always landed safely. But I did not question it at all. And the only reason it happened was because I was working for them." She shook her head, drawing in a slow breath. "I am sorry, this is not the conversation you want to have."

He sighed, setting down what remained of his sandwich on the plate and exhaling a soft sigh. "I should not have told you, and for that I am sorry, but I thought you deserved to know the truth," he said, wondering if he had done the right thing. Was ignorance truly bliss" And what would she had thought of him if and when she found out the truth' "I can tell you this ....I had nothing to do with his death. As far as they knew, I was just a security guard, nothing more. I wish I could have saved him, but I found out too late."

"No, I-I understand," she assured him, wiping her cheeks dry. "I do not blame you, Max. It is my fault. I never questioned what happened, and I should have. I never considered that Russian Intelligence would not be working on artificial telepathy. All the clues were there. I did not see them. My brother's death is my fault, no matter what you say. I should never have taken the facility transfer."

He turned to her, seeing the last traces of tears on her face and reaching to brush those tears away with gentle fingers. His heart ached to see her in such pain and was heavy with guilt that he could do nothing to help. He reached over to turn her head toward his so that she could meet his gaze. "Listen to me, Aleks. It is not your fault. You were only doing what you thought was your duty to your country. You had no way of knowing you were being manipulated by Hydra. How could you know such a thing" Nyet, I will not accept you taking the blame for what Hydra has done. We will do everything we can to stop them, to hurt them, to end them. Together. But it was not your fault, and I will not let you blame yourself. You must let go of this guilt and remember your brother as he was. He would not want this for you, and neither do I."

Tearful, she did listen to him, letting him assuage a little of her guilt with his certainty that the blame was not hers to hold onto so tightly. Drawing in a shaking breath, she summoned a small smile from somewhere. "He would have liked you," she told him quietly. "He would have liked you very much." Her expression crumpled for the briefest moment, more tears held back by willpower alone as she slid off her stool to wrap her arms around him, pressing her face to his shoulder. Not crying, but not yet herself, taking comfort in his presence there with her.

"I am sure I would have liked him, too," Maxim assured her, though he had no real way of knowing. He welcomed her into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her to hold her within the warmth and safety of his arms. His heart went out to her, wishing he could take away her pain somehow, knowing he was starting to care for this woman more than he'd realized. It wasn't love, not yet, but it wouldn't take much for those feelings to take root in his heart and grow and thrive. It was a scary feeling caring for someone - scary and dangerous - but for the first time in a long time, he was starting to feel hopeful, not only about his desire to hurt Hydra, but about his own life. If he could only open his heart to her, perhaps neither of them needed to be lonely again.

"I am sorry," she whispered, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder for a moment, almost reminiscent of a child taking comfort but for the fact that she could definitely not be mistaken for a child. "I should not dwell on it. I am sure looking after me is not so much your wish for life, but I am very grateful that you are so clear on letting me stay with you. Everything has changed. I-I need you."

He sighed softly, wishing she didn't feel the need to apologize or that he could say something that might make her feel better. He didn't really realize that just by being there, he might be fulfilling that wish already. "I am not sure what I wish for my life anymore," he admitted quietly, perhaps opening up a little to her for the first time.

She lifted her head from his shoulder, her hand coming to rest with gentle fingers against his neck. "Perhaps you are looking too far ahead," she suggested softly. "What do you wish for tonight, tomorrow, next week" Taking small steps to something more."

He brushed her hair back from her face, smiling softly at her suggestion. He had never really thought too far ahead when it came to the future, going from one assignment to the next without much thought but for doing his job and staying alive - at least, until he had met her. "I wish to finish my sandwich," he teased. "And then, perhaps get to know you better. And sleep. I need some sleep," he said with a bit of a chuckle at his own expense.

Her smile reappeared - not forced this time, but genuine. "Sleeping is definitely high on the list," she agreed, reluctantly easing away to clamber back onto her stool. "But not until it is dark. We will never adjust to the new time zone if we sleep at strange hours."

These were simple things to hope for, nothing too extravagant. It was strange how he'd forgotten what it was like to live an ordinary life, not that his life would ever be ordinary. "You are right, of course. My eyes feel like they are full of grit," he added with another chuckle. He looked over at her plate, seeing what was left of her sandwich. "You need to eat, dorogaya. We will go to the market tomorrow and buy proper food."

"Yes, proper food," she nodded firmly, picking up what was left of her sandwich. She didn't feel as though she had much appetite, but she could tell he wouldn't take that as an excuse not to eat. "Fruit and vegetables, and real meat. This processed poultry is terrible."

"It is, isn't it?" he said, with a hint of a grin. But what choice did they have" It was better than nothing and certainly better than going hungry. "Perhaps we should order a pizza later. I have never had pizza."

"Perhaps there are menus somewhere," she considered thoughtfully. "I thought that Americans ordered their dinner every night from somewhere unhealthy - they must have left us the means to do the same."

"I will look later," he promised. He knew he should be studying his dossier, but there would be time for that later, too. "From what I have heard of America, there are people here from many different places. There are markets and restaurants of all kinds. You can get almost anything you want here. It might be fun to explore."

"It will be nice to live somewhere that has a variety of weather," she commented. They'd both lived in the Arctic Circle for a few years now; no doubt they were going to worry their neighbors by not considering cold weather to be all that cold for a while.

"Da, that too," he agreed with a chuckle, before he finished off his sandwich and washed it down with a swig of coffee. "Not bad," he said with a shrug of broad shoulders. It would do, until he could find better anyway.

"The coffee, I can live with," she agreed. "I will eat that pretend meat rather than let it go to waste, but we will never buy it. Ever." Leaving her plate where it was, she took the cup in hand and slid down to her feet again, turning to investigate a little further. "I do not suppose they would have put paper and pens somewhere here, do you?"

"There must be some here somewhere," Maxim remarked, setting his cup down to help her search the kitchen for paper and pen, though they might be searching the wrong room.

"We should make a timeline for our relationship," she said, rummaging through drawers hopefully. "A few stories we can polish and tell others if they ask."

"Is this what you wish to do now?" he asked, pushing a cupboard closed as he frowned over at her. He knew they would have to get their stories straight, but he could think of better things to do the first night in their new home.

She hesitated, straightening from her rummaging. "I-I ....what else should we do?" she asked, acutely aware that each time she talked about herself, she somehow ended up crying on him. "I, I am not a very interesting person. I don't know how to be entertaining."

"What do you like to do?" he asked, taking a lean against the cupboard and crossing his arms against his chest. They might have to pretend that they'd known each other a while, but in truth, it had only been a few days since he'd introduced himself.

Aleksandra Biala

Date: 2018-04-21 09:24 EST
She bit her lip, leaning against the counter opposite him. "It has been a long time since I have done anything but work," she admitted, forcing herself to speak English. She was going to have to get used to using that language, she might as well start now. "I like to dance, though I do not do it often."

"What kind of dance?" he asked further. Now they were getting somewhere.

"Oh, I-I never learned how to dance properly," she admitted shyly, shaking her head. "I like music, I like to move to music. I have no great skill at it, but I like it." She hesitated, rubbing a hand over her still damp braid. "What of you, what do you like?"

"Me?" he echoed, shrugging his shoulders, as if he wasn't sure. "You mean, besides work." He paused a moment in thought. He had already told her that when he was a boy, he'd wanted to be a cosmonaut, so it went without saying that he was interested in astronomy. "I used to paint a little," he admitted. "I was not very good."

"Perhaps you should take it up again," she suggested softly. "You ....I assume you will have free time, now you are here. I, I do not think they will work us so hard as Rus - as Hydra did."

"Perhaps," he said, shrugging again regarding taking up painting. He wasn't sure he would have as much free time as she seemed to think, but that remained to be seen. "I did not work for Hydra, Aleks," he reminded her. He had only been pretending to work for Hydra; he had really been employed by Russian Intelligence, but she knew this already.

She sobered, nodding in agreement. "No, you did not." Drawing in a breath, she glanced away for a moment. "I am not very good at conversation, am I" It has been a very long time."

"I think you just need to relax," he said. "Why don't you go make yourself comfortable, and I'll-I'll see if I can find something to help us unwind," he suggested. What that something was he didn't say just yet.

"I, um ....that, that may be an idea." Another nod in agreement, and she was turning away, retracing her steps toward the master suite in search of something a little more comfortable to wear than the t-shirt and sweats she had been provided with.

Maxim waited until she was gone before going back to a particular cabinet he'd stumbled on which was full of various bottles of liquor, not a single one of them vodka. He grumbled at that, snagging instead a bottle of rum and two glasses. His goal was not to get her drunk, but to help her relax with the hope of getting to know each other better.

When she returned, it was with her hair loose to let it dry properly, dressed more comfortably for her own sense of style in leggings and a long top that swayed about her thighs. Whoever had stocked their closets had managed to provide clothes that fitted her diminutive stature; it boded well for the clothing provided for him. Bare feet padded almost silently over the thick carpet. "What is that you have?"

"Rum, I think," he replied. At least, that's what the lable on the bottle said. "There was no vodka," he told her with a disappointed frown, but they'd remedy that when they went on their shopping spree, along with some other things that were missing. He looked her over, a pleased smile on his face. "Better. You look much more comfortable."

"We will have to get some," she commented, shaking her black hair over her shoulder. She couldn't quite disguise the blush as he looked her over, but her smile at his smiling approval was totally genuine. "I feel more comfortable," she agreed. "More like myself, if that is sensible."

"I look like I am dressed for combat," he commiserated, indicating the camouflage combat pants he would normally not be caught dead in. Not only were they uncomfortable, but they weren't very stylish. He sank down onto the couch and set the glasses on a table.

"You could change," she suggested, folding herself down onto the couch beside him. "I could help." Tucking her feet beneath her, it took a moment to realise what she had said. "I mean, that is ....I could help you choose, I ....never mind."

He waved a hand dismissively, as if it didn't really bother him. "I will change later," he told her, even if that later wasn't until he turned in. He pushed the thought of their sleeping arrangements out of his head for now. They'd worry about that later. "I am not too familiar with rum, but if it is good enough for Johnny Depp, it is good enough for me," he said, as he poured.

"Who is he, a friend of yours?" she asked, resting her elbow on the back of the couch to push her fingers into her hair as she watched him.

He lifted one glass to hand it to her, arching a brow at her question. "You do not know Johnny Depp?" he asked, looking more than a little surprised, but then, not everyone kept up with pop culture - especially American pop culture.

"Did he work in Murmansk?" she asked, clearly drawing a blank on this pop culture reference as she took the glass from his hand. "It is a very Western name, I think I would remember if I had met someone named Johnny Depp."

"Nyet, dorogaya. He is a very famous movie star," he explained, though that hardly explained the man's connection to rum. "Do you like movies?" he asked, since they were trying to get to know each other better.

"I, um ....I have not seen many movies," she admitted in embarrassment. "I think the last movie I saw was ....was a re-screening of the Star Trek original series movies at a cinema. In, um ....well, in 2002."

"Well, we will start with Johnny Depp then. Pirates of the Caribbean. It is a Disney movie," he told her, lifting his glass of rum to her as though toasting the idea. "Na zdrowie," he told her, in her native Polish.

"Oh, will we?" Despite her embarrassment at not having kept up with popular culture in the last fifteen years, she was smiling as she raised her glass to his. "Na zdrowie," she answered, sipping the rum. It was definitely not as potent as the cognac they had shared the night before, but certainly as potent as vodka. "That is actually rather nice."

"Not bad," he said, once he'd taken a sip. It wasn't vodka, but it would do for the time being. He knocked the rest of the glass back, feeling it warm its way down his throat, before refilling his glass.

Downing what was in her own glass, she held hers out to be refilled, her smile more inviting than challenging. "Do you know, I have only seen the old Disney films," she mused. "The Snow Whites and Sleeping Beauties. Nothing more recent. Isn't that odd?"

"I don't know, is it?" he asked, as he dutifully refilled her glass. He didn't consider himself much of a judge regarding her question. He hadn't seen many himself, but he had seen a few - Pirates being obviously one of them.

"There have been so many made," she shrugged. "It seems as though everyone has seen them all, and I am dreadfully out of date." She paused to take another drink from her now refilled glass. "Why were you so focused on staying with me, Max?"

"Why ....What?" he asked, taken off guard by the question. He paused in his sipping of his rum to regard her curiously. "I am not sure what you are asking me," he said, though he actually had a pretty good idea what she meant.

The rum was hitting her fast, certainly faster than it was hitting him, but then, she had a smaller form and likely a lower tolerance for alcohol than he did. She tilted her head, the slant of her eyes definitely flirtatious over the rim of the glass in her hand. "I think you do," she countered. "You could have insisted on vetting someone else to look after me, or just handed me over to another team, but no, you insisted that you had to be the one to look after me. I am curious. Indulge me."

Aleksandra Biala

Date: 2018-04-21 09:25 EST
He shrugged broad shoulders as he took another swallow of the rum. "I think you know the answer to that," he said, wondering how she'd respond to that. "You do not seem to mind our arrangement. You could have insisted on something else. Why did you not?" he countered.

"But you do not say it, and I have made too many wrong assumptions," she pointed out. "I know why I am here with you. I am here because I want to be; I like you, very much, and I trust you." She took another drink from her glass, not quite disguising the last part of her comment. "I find you very sexy."

Catching wind of that last comment, he arched a single brow. Whether they were attracted to each other or not, this was about keeping her safe - at least, for him - but did he really need to worry so much now that they were on the other side of the ocean' "You are here because you find me sexy?" he asked, trying to hide the smirk from his face.

"Among other reasons, yes," she admitted, the rum loosening her tongue more than she would be pleased about when it wore off. "In what other context can I wear you down into admitting you like me, too?"

"I would not be here if I did not like you," he pointed out, not bothering to deny it. "You are beautiful and intelligent. What is not to like?" he asked, enjoying teasing her a little, though he had a feeling he knew what she wanted to hear.

"Oh no' So there is another reason you do not want to sleep next to me?" she asked, pinpointing the one comment from the last twenty-four hours that was poking at her. "Are you a virgin, Max?" she teased, unfolding one leg to poke his thigh with her toes. "I promise, I will keep my hands to myself. Kisses do not make you pregnant."

He opened his mouth to protest her claim that he didn't want to sleep beside her, but ended up laughing at her next question instead. "I am not sure it is right for men to be called virgins, but no. I have not been a virgin in a very long time," he assured her. "Is that what concerns you? Getting pregnant?"

She snorted with laughter. "I have been working for Hydra without knowing it," she pointed out. "They probably removed my uterus in my sleep years ago."

He frowned at that, finding no humor in it and hoping she was only joking. He would not have put it past Hydra; they were guilty of worse things than even that. "That is not funny," he admonished her gently before draining the rest of his glass.

"It's not the worst they could have done without me knowing it," she pointed out with a sad smile. "Better to accept it, nyet" There's nothing I can do to change the harm I've done for them. Maybe if they did do it, I'll have a proper reason to hate them. They took my past, why not take my future as well?"

His expression darkened, his frown deepening. "Do not say such things, Aleksandra. You should not wish such things on yourself. You did not know who you were working for, and you did not know what they did to Andrei. You must stop blaming yourself for such things, or it will drive you to madness," he told her, speaking like he was one to know.

She looked into her glass, knowing she was bitter and not very good company. She'd meant the comment about being sterilised as a joke, but it was something Hydra would do. And if they had ....well, she didn't know how she would cope with that. But her maudlin attitude was upsetting Max, so she threw on a smile again, toasting him and draining her glass.

"I am going to dance," she informed him, setting her glass on the coffee table. "I would like more rum, please." Standing up was a bit of a minefield, but she made it without falling over, staggering toward what looked like a radio with purpose, if not aplomb.

He thought she already had plenty of reason to hate Hydra, as did he. There was one big difference between them though, and it was a difference he was reluctant to mention as yet, if ever. "I do not think dancing is a good idea," he said, though she was already on her feet and wobbling at that. She'd already had a couple of glasses of rum - enough to make her tipsy - any more and she would regret it in the morning.

"Oh, shhh," she grumped, waving a hand at him as she examined the radio close to. "More rum, please. Aha!" With a snap, she turned the radio on, twisting the tuning knob in search of music she could dance to.

"Suit yourself, but do not say I did not warn you," he said as he refilled both their glasses. He was hardly feeling the rum yet, but he knew the same could not be said for her.

"After the last day and night, I am going to dance to forget about it," she declared, spinning on her heel to face him as the melodious strains of rhythmic sixties American music made itself known from the radio behind her. "You should dance with me."

"I do not dance," he told her bluntly. Of course, it was only an excuse. There was no right or wrong, and anyone could dance to the kind of music she was playing on the radio if they tried.

"Yes, you do," she argued, swaying her hips as her arms waved at shoulder height. She sashayed back toward him, bending slowly with one hand on his knee, nose to nose with a definitely come-hither smile on her face. "I am just as stubborn as you are, sexy man."

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "If I do as you say, will it make you feel better?" he asked, meeting her gaze but not moving a single muscle to get off the chair.

Her smile deepened, her breath warm against his lips for a moment. "You won't know until you try," she cajoled him sweetly. For the merest second, she might have kissed him ....then she was drawing away, both his glass and hers in her hands as she swayed to the music.

He grumbled to himself, mumbling something under his breath in Russian as he pushed to his feet to join her. it wasn't so much that he didn't know how to dance or had never done so, as it had just been a long time since he'd had any reason to do it or anyone to do it with.

True, he had danced with her on their false date, but this was more real than that could be. Aleks was freer, less afraid, waving both glasses in the air as she backed up in sultry time with the music, blowing him kiss after teasing kiss, daring him to claim his drink back from her.

That dance hadn't counted - not really. Maybe this one didn't either. He wasn't sure. Maybe none of this counted. Was any of it real, after all" He'd been playing a part for so long he had almost forgotten where the fake Maxim ended and the real Maxim began. Or maybe it was just the rum. "You are drunk," he accused her as he moved closer, not quite close enough to snag his drink.

"Mildly inebriated," she corrected him, though the relaxed slant of her smile belied her words. She was drunk, but it seemed that drunk was a state of truthfulness for the engineer he had helped to smuggle out of Russia. Drawing the glasses behind her back, she lifted her chin, pursing her lips. "You must pay a toll if you want to join me in my inebriosity. One kiss."

"Bah!" he exclaimed, waving a hand at her. "You forget, I have the bottle," he told her, or at least, he had left it on the table behind him. It wasn't the drink he cared about so much anymore though, so much as the promise of that kiss. But instead of kissing her, he only frowned. He had kissed her before, but it had just been for show, hadn't it' He couldn't deny the fact that he'd enjoyed it. "You should not play with fire, dorogaya," he warned her, taking one step closer, but instead of kissing her, he only reached forward to slowly trace her lips with a fingertip.

Aleksandra Biala

Date: 2018-04-21 09:25 EST
Her tipsy gaze was sultry with a teasing smile, lips parting to let her nip at his fingertip. "I am not playing," she told him. "But since you are so set against paying your toll, you will just have to dance." Turning, she set the glasses down on the nearest surface, arms above her head as she spun back to him. "I need a partner."

He thought she might need someone who was more than a dance partner, but did he dare that someone be him' He couldn't deny that he cared for her and was growing closer to her all the time, but did he dare hope to be that person' He sighed, knowing he wasn't going to win this batter. He'd danced with her once, after all, against his better judgement. "I do not know how to dance to this," he admitted without shame.

"You do not know?" she queried, sliding from one side to the other. "Or you don't want to?" It was a challenge, either way, and she was tipsy enough to be happy to offer that challenge.

"Is there a difference?" he asked, all too aware of the movement of her body so close to where he was standing. Was it his imagination or was she trying to tempt him"

"Always." She didn't elaborate, reaching to catch his hands in hers, bouncing them from side to side in time to the music with that inviting smile playing on her lips all the way.

There wasn't much he could do but follow her lead, though he didn't look very enthusiastic about it. He would have rather slow danced, but that would be holding her in his arms, and that might be dangerous, given their half-inebriated state. "This is not a good idea, Aleks."

"And what is a good idea?" she countered defiantly, dropping his hands with a sigh to spin away. Her hands swayed over her head as she danced to the music, apparently giving up on him as a dance partner since he didn't seem to want her to have fun.

It wasn't about not wanting her to have fun so much as forgetting how to have fun himself. "Another drink. That is a good idea," he replied, snatching up on of the two glasses she'd left on the table and tossing it back.

She snorted with laughter the sound of him downing more rum, whirling back to catch his arm and twirl underneath it, pressing her back to his chest with his arm wrapped firmly about her waist. "Dance with me, kochanie."

He sighed, knowing she wasn't going to give up until he did as she asked - or passed out, whichever came first. "Do not step on my toes, dorogaya," he warned her, leaning sideways to return the glass to the table before turning her to face him, his arms going around her waist.

"You wouldn't notice," she pointed out, her smile bright with triumph as he finally gave in and joined her. As his arms went about her waist, hers reached up to lock her fingers together at the back of his neck - if he wanted to escape, he was going to have to pry her off him.

At least, she was smiling; that was something anyway. "Why do you call me that?" he asked, even though he had fallen into the habit of calling her be a certain term of endearment, as well.

"Why do you call me dorogaya?" she countered sweetly. "I do not think our reasons are so very different ....kochanie." Her arms tensed as she raised herself up onto her toes, pulling him down to boop her nose off his. "Just our languages."

Most men would have smiled at the teasing and the nose bumping, or maybe they'd have taken advantage, but Maxim was not most men. "I do not deny that I like you," he admitted, albeit a little grudgingly. It was hard for him to talk about his feelings, and yet, she'd managed to crack him open a little these past few days.

"You know, you have not actually said it without using a negative," Aleks mused, giving up on dancing in favor of climbing him a little like a tree. "I think I have been very clear about my own feelings on the matter." Her legs settled about his hips as she hung from him. He had a choice - support her where she was, or let her fall.

His arms moved to support her, so that she didn't fall, but he didn't look anymore happy about her hanging from him as he had about her dancing with him. "You are drunk, Aleksandra. You do not know what you are saying," he pointed out.

The smile she had been wearing faded to a frown, hurt by his insistence that she didn't know her own mind and feelings. Her hands unwound from one another at his neck to push at his shoulders as she unhooked her ankles at his back. "Let me down."

Strangely, despite his insistence that she didn't know what she was doing, he looked disappointed that she wanted him to let her down; and yet, it was probably for the best. "Aleks ..." he started, not quite sure what to say or how to explain. "I do not want you to do anything you might regret."

Her expression did not lighten. "Put me down," she told him again, wriggling to be let free. "Do not worry, I will not embarrass you again."

"You are not embarrassing me," he told her, though he let her go, setting her gently down on the floor. Why was he trying so hard to resist her when she seemed to want him so badly"

"Oh, przepraszam, clearly I am offending you," she snapped, backing away from him. She snatched up her glass, turning to look out through the wide window. "Do not worry, Mr. Ivanovich. I will not offend you with my presence any more than you want me to."

"Kuryev. My name is Kuryev now," he corrected her, turning to snatch up his glass and the bottle so he could get another refill. "You make a lot of assumptions, Miss Solova. Incorrect assumptions, I might add. You do not embarrass or offend me. You are wrong about that, as you are wrong about a great many things." He tossed back the refill, finally starting to feel its effects. "For one, the reason I am here is not simply because I feel responsible for you, but because ..." He trailed off, quieting a moment as if he was having trouble finding the right words. He had turned his back on her and was getting ready to refill his glass again as he contemplated.

She didn't answer, didn't offer him any distraction from what he was trying to say. Drunk she may have been, but that didn't mean anything she said didn't have deep meaning, wasn't truthful. His insistence on taking away her own autonomy, on declaring himself to know her mind and intentions better than she could, had cut deep for a person who had nothing but her mind left to her.

"You are not the only one who has lost someone you once loved, Aleks," he said quietly, not much more than a whisper. "Perhaps I am afraid of losing you, too. I do not know. I only know that I am tired of being alone." Why then was he fighting this?

She was quiet for a long moment, finishing her drink before she turned to set the glass down and face him. "But you are not alone," she pointed out to him. "I am sorry for your losses, but anyone who loved you would not want you to hide behind them. You have friends here, people you already know and trust. Until all you have is your own thoughts, and someone you trust tries to tell you those thoughts are wrong, you don't know what being alone is."

He remained quiet, lost in thought a moment before her words seemed to reach him and he realized through the rum fog what it was she was trying to tell him. He slowly turned to face her, looking contrite. "I did not mean that your thoughts are wrong," he told her, unsure how to tell what it was he did mean.

"If you are worried about offending me with a rejection, you needn't be," she told him, just as quiet as him. "I would rather be told outright than have to guess. I am not good at spotting a lie. It is probably because I cannot lie myself."

Aleksandra Biala

Date: 2018-04-21 09:26 EST
"I have never lied to you," he told her, though he might have in the beginning, when he was pretending to be a security guard, but that had just been part of the job. "But I have not told you the whole truth either," he added.

"I am not asking you to tell me every detail of your past and pains," Aleks pointed out. "A straight answer to one question would be enough. I have given you a straight answer, but all you have said to me is that you don't not like me. That you feel responsible for me. And that I do not know what I am saying. Do you truly not see why such evasion hurts?"

He furrowed his brows, his brain feeling a little bit fuzzy. Perhaps if he wasn't feeling fuzzy, he wouldn't dare ask the question that was on the tip of his tongue, but some part of him had to know. "Are you in love with me, Aleks?" he asked, point-blank.

She stared at him for a long moment, biting down her initial response to being asked yet another question that would lay her bare while he remained safe in his shell. "I hardly know you," she reminded him. "But I could love you. I ....I want to love you. But how do you fall in love with a statue?"

"A statue," he echoed, frowning. "Do you think I don't have a heart, the same as you?" he asked, perhaps a little too brusquely, though he hadn't meant it that way. He sighed, dropping onto the couch and rubbing his fingers through his hair. "I am sorry. I am not myself. It must be the rum."

"I think you expect me to stand here and bleed, to show you everything I have in my soul, everything that is mine, and let you pick and choose what you want from it," she answered him. "I think you are so used to protecting yourself that you have forgotten how much silence hurts other people." She sighed, watching him drop down as she shook her head. "I think I want my mother," she added unhappily. "But I will never see her again. All I have is you, and you can't even look me in the eye."

"That is not true," he said, purposely turning to face her and lifting his head to meet her gaze. His eyes flashed with something like anger for a moment before calming again. That was not the emotion he wanted to be feeling right now, but he felt such a turmoil of emotions warring inside him he wasn't sure what exactly it was he was feeling. Maybe he had kept him emotions in check for too long; kept his heart closed for too long. "I ..." He paused again, almost as if it was painful to admit what he was feeling. "I do not want to hurt you."

Aleks held his gaze for a long time, sad and hurt and weary, the rum and the tiredness making her more easily hurt than she might have allowed herself to be another time. But despite that ache at yet another statement that did not truly say anything from him, she couldn't bring herself to challenge it. "You shouldn't feel you have to share anything, just because I am behaving like a child," she told him quietly, absorbing the blame for their little altercation without saying the words aloud. "Perhaps we should go to sleep. We are both tired."

He said nothing for a long moment, just watching her, as if he was once again deciding just what it was that he should say. "You are not behaving like a child, but it has been a long day, and we have both had too much to drink. We should sleep. What is it they say' That things will seem clearer in the morning?"

"Perhaps they will," she murmured, glancing toward the master suite, the only room that had a bed in it. He'd been reluctant enough while sober when it came to sharing a bed; after this conversation, she doubted his mind would be changed much at all. Letting out a low sigh, she rubbed one hand against her neck. "I will find where the spare blankets are."

He was silent a moment once again, as if debating between sharing a bed or sleeping on the couch, but it wasn't really about his comfort or about the temptation sharing a bed would pose. He had insisted on staying here with her and had agreed to pose as a couple. Why' It wasn't just because he liked her or because he was lonely. He'd been alone a long time. It was something more, but he wasn't quite sure how to put a name to it.

"Aleks," he started, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "Would you mind very much if I ....if we ..." He sighed quietly again. "I do not want to sleep on the couch," he said, which was just another way of saying that he didn't want to sleep alone.

She drew in a slow breath, her arms wrapped about herself once again, more reassuring than protective. "I ....I do not want to sleep on the couch, either," she admitted softly. "But you ....I do not want you to have to share such an intimate space if you do not wish to."

"That is the problem, Aleks. I do wish to. More than you can possibly know," he admitted, looking up to her with an anguished expression that betrayed his feelings of guilt and perhaps a little fear.

She raised her eyes to his, her gaze clear. "What is there to be afraid of?" she asked him gently. "I am not asking you for more than to share the bed. Not asking for any more than you are ready to give. I am not ready for more than that. But it does not mean that I will not be ready for it, when we are more used to one another."

How to answer that question' There was so much to be afraid of, so much they had both endured, so many people they had both lost. The thought of losing her, too, was unthinkable. But this was not Russia, and they were no longer under the watchful eyes of either Hydra or Russian Intelligence. Maybe it was the rum, but before he could stop himself, he found himself answering, more honestly than he cared to admit. "I am afraid of losing you."

Aleks stared at him, her smile reappearing with gentle understanding. Her arms fell from about her waist as she moved toward him, courage coming from the alcohol rather than her natural state, fingers gently stroking his cheeks as she bent to kiss the tip of his nose where he sat on the couch. "I know it is a big bed and I am a small woman, but I do not think you can lose me in the sheets in a single night."

He managed to smile at her gentle reassurance, knowing she was trying to reassure him with a little humor. That was not what he meant, and he was pretty sure she knew that, but he didn't want to spoil the moment again by pointing it out. "Are you sure you do not mind?" he asked, though she had made herself perfectly clear.

"I would not ask if I did not want it, kochanie," she assured him softly. Straightening, she held her hand out to him. "Come to bed?"

He didn't bother with the rum or the glasses, leaving them right where they were, and reaching out to take her hand and pull himself to his feet. "Spasibo, Aleks," he told her. Perhaps she hadn't quite forgiven him, but she seemed no longer angry.

With his hand in hers, she drew him into the master suite, patting his hip as she turned to unearth pajamas from a chest of drawers. "There are men's things in there, too," she told him, hugging a small bundle to her chest on her way past to the bathroom.

He followed her wordlessly to the master suite, only arching a brow as she pulled some pajamas out of the chest and indicated that he should do the same. He couldn't help making a smart remark at her statement, fueled only partly by the liquor. "That is a good thing. I do not think I would look very good in women's clothing."

Aleksandra Biala

Date: 2018-04-21 09:26 EST
"Maybe you should model a fashion show in some of the lingerie they've left for me before we make a decision on that," she countered wickedly, pulling the door shut behind her to change.

He chuckled at long last at such a ridiculous idea. "I do not think so, dorogaya." Instead, he rummaged through the chest of drawers for a pair of men's pajamas or at least, something comfortable to wear to bed that might pass for pajamas. He ended up settling on a t-shirt and pair of cotton pajama bottoms, rejecting the button-up cotton shirt that matched the bottoms. He swung a glance at the bathroom to make sure the door was still closed before stripping down and changing, albeit a bit clumsily with the rum going to his head.

It seemed as though Aleks was experiencing the same sort of rum-induced difficulties, if the Polish swearing and occasional thumps were anything to go by. She did, eventually, reappear in one piece, dressed for sleep in short pajamas, the sleeves of which were already rolled to her elbows. Dumping her worn clothing into what she assumed was a laundry bin, she managed to get within a foot of the bed before planting herself on it face first and groaning.

He had already collapsed on the bed, but the movement of her doing the same disturbed the doze he had fallen into and he grunted aloud as she landed on top of him.

Suffice it to say, even drunk, it is not pleasant to suddenly have a crotchful of face. Or a faceful of crotch. Aleks sighed, arms flailing for a moment before she lifted herself off him, and pouted. "This is not a pillow."

"Not a pillow," he echoed, as if to let her know that his crotch might be comfortable for now, but if she remained where she was, it wouldn't stay that way.

She groaned again, drawing her legs up onto the bed to adjust her position. This time, she flopped down onto his chest, loose hair flowing over her arm and his shoulder as she relaxed against him. "This is better."

He grunted again as she flopped down on top of him, but at least this time she wasn't using his crotch as a pillow. "Are you comfortable?" he asked, looking up at her from where he lay against the bed, with her settled on top of him.

"Not yet." She grinned sleepily, letting her arms relax so she slid down to lie on his chest directly, her face nestled in the crook of his neck. One hand slid underneath the pillows as the other teased the hair at his neck. "Now I am."

"Mmm," he murmured somewhat sleepily, his arms automatically going around her waist, though it was hardly necesssary. He was silent a moment, just quietly breathing her in and savoring the silence, before he finally found the courage to speak. "I am sorry ....about before. I am not very good at ....relationships," he admitted, grudgingly.

She was silent for a long moment, fighting not to fall asleep before he was ready for her to do so. It really was lovely, to be lying in his arms, though she hadn't given him much choice about it, really. "We can learn," she murmured. We, not you. She had as much skill in this as he did.

"Da," he replied simply, his sleepy mind slipping back and forth from English to his native Russian. He hadn't really slept well in days, and with the help of the rum, it was starting to catch up with him. He was silent a moment again, unsure if she'd fallen asleep or not yet. Somehow, he was going to have to untangle her from him at some point, but he seemed content for now. "Dobroy nochi, dorogaya," he whispered.

She smiled against his throat, nestling just a little closer as sleep finally began to cloud her mind. "Slodkie sny, kochanie," she murmured back, drifting away in the warm security of his embrace.

He echoed her wishes for sweet dreams back to her in her own language, finally surrendering to the pull of sleep. He wasn't sure what kind of dreams either of them were going to have tonight, but at least, they were safe and they were together. And a long way from Hydra, for the first time in years. In that, at least, there was hope.