AN: None of these characters/places belong to me.
Well folks it seems I've churned out another one. WARNING character death and femslash-proceed at your own whim
The woman's head hit the headboard of the decrepit hotel room. She growled ferociously and pulled the stranger back onto her. Her movements were erratic and unrestrained. In the moonlight both figures glistened and shone with sweat. Although the stranger moved in closer, his weight pressing into the woman there was no question to who was really in control. Their hips moved in a great frenzy and blue eyes opened triumphantly as the battle reached its climax.
The rising moon's glare illuminated the exhausted stranger's features all too well. Balalaika gave a slight sigh, moving to slide her rumpled skirt back down her thighs and to button up her shirt.
"Say baby, that was pretty good."
Her eyes flitted to the stranger and she let out a hum of disapproval. Her hands found the shotgun embedded inside the pocket of her blazer. She ran her fingers over the cool metal and judged its weight in her hands. She hesitated to pull it out. A Question of moral...honor perhaps?- don't be ridiculous. It was just-for a moment, she thought she'd seen her eyes, honey brown flitted with specks of gold, resting in him. Regarding the stranger now, Balalaika laughed it off as a momentary lapse in judgement. Swiftly, she extracted the gun from her pocket. It too glowed in the moonlight. The stranger coughed a strangled laugh. Balalaika exited the hotel room silently. A strand of silver rose from the barrel of the smoking gun, just recently fired.
Her first clue should've been really a few months ago. Her first clue in fact was cued in on a Tuesday-more truly Wednesday ay morning, a few days later. She couldn't help but notice this change Because Balalaika does not walk down dark alleyways with one shoe, trailing her coat on one shoulder and rolling around in the smell of sex. Balalaika does not climb out of windows after warm and passionate nights- in fact it was safe to assume that Balalaika never had any warm and passionate nights...only cold and senseless fucking-but not really that either. But she had. Despite her best efforts, Balalaika found that a small smirk of satisfaction had formed on her lips. Grateful for the cover of fog, the woman stole away into the early morning. It was only when she spotted the distant look of concern-something so foreign in her sergeant's faithful eyes that Balalaika began to worry. She was grateful for his stoicism when she silently handed him her coat. Boris caught her eye as she walked past and opened his mouth to say something. He thought better of it, closed it, and walked away. Balalaika's lips were pursed as she watched him, the tension between them too thick for her to breath.
By the time the sun peeked over the halfway point in the sky, Balalaika had already lost count of how many bullets she had wasted. She wore her mask of steel firm and proud on her face and noted with very little pleasure how people seemed to shake in her presence. A group of drunkards staggered out into the street, yelling obscenities towards a girl in blue. On any other day Balalaika would of passed them, pale eyes indifferent like she would a cloud of mosquitoes on a humid day. Bodies fell, dropping to concrete like dominoes and stained the ground with blood. She turned to the girl in blue. Her frail form shook violently as Balalaika advanced. A firm hand closed on the sniper's broad shoulders.
"Kapitan."
Her sergeant's voice was clipped, his baritone rang barely a warning.
The woman sneered.
"Run."
She tasted disappointment in the air, pouring off of her men like sweat by the gallon. She glared daring any one of her posse to speak.
That night, dressed down and rid of the suit that made her all business she sensed Boris hovering outside her door. He breath was as loud as the thundering feet of her troops and as damaging as the weapons they hauled on their backs. Her eyes closed, holding a quivering baited breath. His hand on the frosty brass knob like the sharp blade of a guillotine-judgement flying down all at once. His footsteps echoed down the long corridor until even Balalaika's perceptive ears could not hear them ring. She was left alone with only an overbearing feeling of guilt.
The woman let out a sneer, pausing only momentarily to strip the life via bullet from her company. She cleared her throat and turned to her men, struggling to focus on even their bulky figures. Balalaika sighed and turned away. She needed a drink-and a good fuck. She would give anything to be rid of the rambunctious pirate that plagued her sub conscience. If the bags under her eyes were any indication that sleep now haunted her again her men surely would've said something. She took the rest of the day to wandering city. Feet somehow carried the woman unconsciously to a familiar broken apartment complex. Her weary mind was somewhat put to ease when the words
"They're all out"
made it to her ears. Fingers grasped at her neck pulling the sniper into a fierce kiss. Balalaika nearly fainted. For all their encounters the two women's lips had only met a select number of times. She pushed the pirate into the door, molding their figures together and thrusting her hand under the woman's black sports bra. They stumbled into her bedroom, not bothering to close the door. Her back hit the bed, empty gun shells pressing into her shoulder blades uncomfortably. She didn't care. Revy fumbled with the clasp of her skirt, her lips demanding entryway into the sniper's own.
"Revy?"
They froze, one hand shoved frantically down the Russian's underwear.
"Fuck" the pirate snarls.
The hand stills and she lurches off the bed, slamming the door shut. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Balalaika groaned frustrated, biting her lip to keep from screaming. As Revy and the man conversed in nonsense Balalaika slips out the window.
She made it back to Hotel Moscow grumpy and on edge. Even Boris shied away. She finds her fuck in in a back alleyway. Her fingers held a gun to his chest as she rode him. There is nothing beautiful to it. His hand reached for her neck, aching to pull her down and kiss those dark red lip. She thrust hard and his hands stall, drifting back down to her waist, where they left bruising fingerprints. After he finished she forces herself down onto his mouth, breathing heavily as his tongue tickles her core. Balalaika's icy blue eyes clamped shut. If she concentrates hard enough it will be her tongue and her voice telling her how good she tastes. She comes with the image of Revy sparkling in a morning afterglow beneath her eyelids. The man didn't protest when the gun was pressed against his forehead. She didn't give him a chance to.
Months after that man's death Balalaika was desperate. She wanted to call Revy, just to see Revy, she's close to begging. Balalaika does not beg. She finds she doesn't have to. Revy knocked on her study door close to midnight. Balalaika smiled and pulled her inside. Her mind ever faithful to years of military clocks woke before Revy. She traced the tattoo on her lover's shoulder like she's always wanted to. Revy stirred. All pre notions on how the morning-after would proceed were crushed when Revy blearily opened her eyes. The gunman brushed Balalaika away her eyes full of regret. In silence they hunted for their clothes. Balalaika sees Revy to the door. She wanted to say something but her pirate was already long gone down the morning streets of Roanapur.
It was only later that afternoon during a briefing with Dutch when she discovered her pirate's engagement to the timid Japanese businessman. Rock and Revy make a fine couple she says but does not hire out Rock anymore as her overseas translator. Balalaika felt she should shoot him felt he already has through the throbbing pain in her chest. It will never work out Revy does not know how to love. She will repeat that until the day she dies. Miraculously the relationship sustains and Balalaika finds herself at a wedding. It was a small ceremony held at the altar of the Ripon Church. Balalaika realizes when in the crowd of people Rock innocently is the only one dressed up that she could never be what Revy wanted. She confronted the woman outside the chapel. Her eyes are filled with the same regret that had plagued the Ex soldier's dreams for months.
"What would you of done with me?" The gunman asked defeated. Her warm brown eyes picked up on the sorrow swimming in Balalaika's melting gaze. "Fuck Sis, I'm sorry." She wandered away, that was that.
Balalaika saw Revy only a number of times after that. She does her best to avoid The Lagoon Company. When she does see them it's in passing. Revy looks radiant as usual her ragged voice resonating, it carries for miles. When she sees them against her will her eyes zoom in on Rock. He has an expression like a wounded deer and a flying pig wondering just what he did to deserve such a girl. The answer was simple, he didn't deserve her. But Balalaika had fled all notions of a God from her head a long time ago. There was no one left to blame but herself. How foolish of her.
And then it was Boris who found her weeping on that cold Monday morning, after the pirate's body had been recovered from behind a small shop. Her body, drilled in by bullets and stained by blood was almost unrecognizable. His hand on her shoulder was a solemn presence. She was grateful for his steady composure. He stayed even when he men and lovers continued to drop like flies. A tacit understanding fell between them. It was finally over.
They buried Revy on a hill overlooking the bay. Rock was openly crying. Afterwards he came up to thank her-to thank her for paying for the whole damn thing. Guilt wormed its way into the Russian's heart. They shook hands on a hill over a pirate's grave. As the businessmen slowly retreated down the hill Balalaika turns to the grave. She pats the newly planted soil and pulls a solemn black rose from inside the pocket of her coat.
"Dammit woman, I'm not sorry."
/sighs/ If you're going to kill me do it quickly. Reviews are appreciated