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Motherland
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Chapter One
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On the surface they are living the American dream, but as the sun goes down, so does their façade. An Alternative Universe.
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"Did you get the milk last night?" Kate slams the fridge door shut, the crash of the condiments in it silencing the three other members of her family. Great, so much for starting 1981 off on a different foot, and she squeezes the dishcloth, the water bleeding between her fingers.
Чёрт возьми!
"Mom."
Her daughter's glare clashes with hers, the storm in Alexis' eyes turning her usual clear hazel into a murky mud, and the air within the room crackles, until the thirteen year old swings to look at her father. His tongue peeks out, his eyebrows wiggling, and the dark cloud recedes into the corner of the kitchen, their teenager flashing a grin, until the present situation appears to come crashing back down on her.
And Alexis shrinks into her chair.
Throwing the cloth toward the sink, Kate wipes her hands on her pants, her stride swallowing the space between them, and, reaching for the soft, brown curls that hang loose down her daughter's back, she sighs, expelling her irritation.
It works. To a degree.
"Rick? Any milk?" Considering who she is, how often she's forced to act as someone else, play a role, one would think she'd be better at pretending in front of her children, but last night's task had extended well past midnight, the bruise along her back now aching, and her charade cracks, the morning light streaming in.
"Sorry. I'll buy some after the kids get on the bus." His hands clap together, a short, sharp sound and she tightens her lips. Of course, he will. "Let's go guys. It'll be here in twenty. School waits for no one."
Dropping a kiss onto Alexis' forehead, she clings to her oldest, breathes in the scent that no longer lingers on her baby girl, and then taking an extra step to catch Jay as he dashes around her - why do ten year old boys move at such a pace? - she curls him into her body, her mouth finding his cheek.
"Eww. Gross, Mom."
"I have to go to work. But have a good day, okay?"
He darts from her grip, and she shrugs off the weight his rejection creates, crossing the kitchen for her car keys.
Halting her momentum, Rick's arm extends across her abdomen, his fingers bunching her sweater above her hip, his chest pressing hard into her shoulder, and he mimics the hold she'd had on Jay.
Right. She should kiss her husband farewell, too.
His lips are fleeting on her own, a brush that slides right past and she relaxes against his body - it's over in a second - before edging away. Only he chases after her, his head swooping down to the side of her face once more.
She should have known better after fifteen years.
His mouth makes a smacking noise, saliva coating her cheek, and she shoves him aside, the back of her hand swiping to clean the moisture he'd left behind.
"That's disgusting. I am raising three children here. Not two."
"It was kind of funny, Mom." Jay high fives his father, and she laughs - is the sound hollow to them too? - instead of rolling her eyes.
"Don't forget the milk this morning."
Work awaits; the center-appointed bookstore she manages with Rick, a façade that monopolizes her days, giving her - amongst other things: an income, flexible work hours - a cover to receive codes from Russia.
Damn, deciphering them sits first on her to do list this morning.
Although figuring out how to kill her next target also has to be checked off.
And Rick better remember to get the milk.
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"Mom, you forgot your coffee."
Alexis' call stops her by the car, and she turns, smiling at her daughter.
"That's okay, hon. It's black. I'd rather grab one on the way." Maybe she should run back into the house, ask Rick to get a latte for her when he eventually arrives… although, if he forgets that as well, she'll be livid and without caffeine.
"Okay- Oh, new neighbors!"
Twisting, Kate eyes the house across from theirs. The white shutters shift in the wind, sunlight glittering off the windows for the first time in two weeks, the house appearing to shake off its desolation at being between residents.
And her heart trembles.
It's not the moving van that generates shockwaves through her system. Not the boy waving at them from across the street, a skateboard in his hand, pimples dusting his face.
What boils the blood within her veins, her breath coming and going in a wheeze, is the woman unloading a box from the back of a blue Chevy. Their stares meet for a moment before a gruff, "Helen!" sounds from inside the van, and the blond turns away.
Какого чёрта!
They've met before…
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She smoothed the wrinkle on her slacks again, but the blemish reappeared the moment she removed her hand, and Kate huffed quietly. She took pride in how she presented herself, how she wore the cover when on assignment. This annoyance had nothing to do with nervousness though. Her reputation preceded her within the KGB, her assignment in the States almost a year old, and she - and her partner - were becoming the go-to agents on the Upper East Coast.
Except tonight, something was… off.
"I'm sorry you had to wait." Thomas smiled wearily in her direction, his knees creaking as he reclined in the sofa opposite her, a noise such a contrast to his age, and she drummed the tips of her fingers against the material at her thigh. What was supposed to be a get in and get out job was taking far too long.
"No, I am the one who's sorry." Kate stood, picking up one of the many throw pillows that dotted the couch and with a fluency that had been drilled into her at training, she slipped her weapon from where she'd concealed it within her oversized handbag.
With the pillow in front of the gun, she shot twice in quick succession, the sound muffled. Whether the noise was heard didn't matter, she wasn't hanging around to meet any witnesses; she'd taken out the target that had been assigned to her.
Her job was complete.
Tossing the pillow in the direction of the body, she stalked toward the entrance. It wasn't that she didn't feel anything, quite the opposite. God only knew how long she would stand in the shower tonight scrubbing at her skin until the raw pain erased the memory of what she'd done, but this was her life. This was what her country needed from her.
And after what had happened… she would do anything to protect her people. Protect Russia. Do whatever was required from her in the name of the Motherland against her enemies. Against America.
She reached for the front door knob - she was going to need new leather gloves, that small tear along one seam would no doubt extend quickly - when a whimper, barely a sob, broke through the hallway, and Kate stopped, her body motionless as she strained to hear the noise again.
"Oh, god."
Spinning, she snatched at her gun, the strawberry red wig obscuring her vision, before the strands settled on her shoulders and she saw where the whispered prayer had originated.
There, crouched in the angle of two walls was a woman, a heavily pregnant, blond woman, tears streaming down her cheeks, as her lips moved in an almost silent plea.
"Don't kill my baby. Don't kill my baby."
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She scrubbed at her forearms before alternating the sponge down and between all ten fingers, and with a ferocity that scraped at her flesh, she washed away the non-existent blood that coated her hands.
"Please. Please don't kill my baby."
The cry from the woman who had huddled in the corner continued, and Kate closed her eyes on the image. She couldn't close her mind from the sound though, and the chant started from the beginning.
"Oh, god. Don't kill my baby. Don't kill my baby."
Had her own mother pleaded for her life? Had her mother crouched in an alleyway not far from the Belorussky Railway Station in Russia and begged to hold her daughter just one more time?
Had-
"Katya?"
Spinning, she glared at Rick. His exasperation settled in the lines of his face as he peered around the shower curtain, and she retorted in turn, her irritation just as high.
"Don't call me that." There were rules, strict rules, and she had left that name behind the second she'd boarded a plane for the States. It was a mistake, a moment of weakness, that had her confiding in Rick the first week of their arranged marriage. The pressure to be all that she could be as an agent had snowballed with trying to be a happy and in love American couple, and she'd fallen apart one night in his hesitant embrace.
"Sorry, but you weren't responding. I thought maybe you'd drowned in there."
Rolling her eyes, she snapped off the water, and with her shoulders squared, Kate narrowed her eyes as she pushed past him.
"You can't drown in a shower."
"The FBI agent we caught last month would beg to differ." Oh, well. Yes, he had a point. With assistance, a person could indeed drown in a shower. "And speaking of, did tonight go according to plan?"
"Please. Please, don't kill my baby."
She stared into the mirror above the vanity, her eyes examining her reflection for any telltale signs, but nothing marred her skin, no words of shame slashed across her forehead. Nothing but black bags that screamed the need for more sleep and less worry.
"It went as… expected."
Rick's eyebrows lifted, his gaze flickering over her features - were the flaws in her façade large enough to spill her secret? - and shifting, he spooned her from behind.
"Good. I did a dead drop tonight. Saw Ivan afterwards."
Biting down on her tongue, she ignored how their handler had been brought into their conversation, but unfortunately her husband was like a dog with a bone when he set his mind to something.
"He said to say hi."
"I bet he did."
Rick's hand settled on her hip, his fingers depressing her flesh, before he edged them toward her belly button. Here it came.
"He wanted to know if we were trying for a baby yet."
"And?" And how the hell was she meant to do her job with a baby on the way? With a baby at home, waiting for her to return?
Or not.
"And I said we would work on it."
His teeth nipped the shell of her ear as his left hand skated higher, his right drifting down, fingers circling in slow loops, and her hips jutted forward without her permission.
Damn him.
"Will we now?"
She was supposed to become a mother, supposed to achieve the perfect cover, but as she closed her eyes, a low hum vibrating her chest, she knew that motherhood would make her soft. An easy target.
It already was.
After all, she'd lowered her gun, left the unknown woman sobbing in the house as she'd fled, hoping that her stupid, unprofessional choice wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass.
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"Katya?"
Twisting toward Rick's voice, she almost takes his nose off with her forehead. Somehow he has managed to creep up on her, whispering in her ear without her even realizing it.
That's a good way to end up dead.
"I said your name half a dozen times, but you didn't hear me once, did you?" His accusation is in conflict with the way his forehead crinkles, his fingers sliding across her cheek, and she shakes her head in response, swallowing the reprimand for using her- for saying that name.
"I'm sorry. I was…"
His mouth presses against the skin between her eyebrows and she lists into the sensation. She may not love him, isn't sanctioned to have those kinds of emotions, but there is something to be said for the familiarity of fifteen years together.
"Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
No. No, this is something far worse, it's not a ghost she's seen, although the blond woman does have the ability to haunt her.
She has the ability to destroy her.
Expose her for what she really is.
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So... back from my little hiatus. I hope everyone had a lovely holiday season and that this finds you well!
Updates will be every four days, just because I like routine, lol.
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I don't own Castle, or The Americans, clearly, but kudos to them for making my mind go nuts with the possibilities.
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Thank you to fooxoo for checking over my google Russian.
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Thank you to my wonderful betas Jo (also for the amazing cover art) and Jamie, without you I wouldn't have the guts to publish, or the pompoms to keep going. All my love.
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Thank you for reading xoxo