No Surprises
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"I was feeling bad, and all I got from you was you -
I was feeling bad, and all I got from you was you
But do you remember, when it used to be you and me
And me and you, and we rose above the rest?
I'm reading your letters, and waiting for this long winter to end
Maybe you said it best, when you said
It's you and me against the world
It's you and me against the world."
- "You and Me Against the World", Her Majesty
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Outside the kitchen window, it was foggy and still dark. Inside, Tala washed his hands, staring out at the fog for a few seconds before shutting the water off and drying meticulously on a clean tea-cloth. The others would be up soon. He crossed to the refrigerator to retrieve two eggs, the milk, and half a packet of butter. Placed them next to the blender and reached into the top cupboard for a box of flour, frowning; there was something on the counter, a thin film of something someone had spilled there and not bothered to shift. He put the flour down to one side of it, grabbed the spray and paper towels, and scrubbed at the mark until it went away, tossing the balled-up paper towel accurately into the garbage - cloths lasted longer, but began to stink after a while and spread bacteria. Rinsing his hands thoughtfully, glancing at the fog again, he was sure they weren't worth the money saved.
A new paper towel over the weighing pan, he went back to the ingredients, methodically weighing out flour. Pausing to wash out the blender before dumping it in there, because the appliance didn't get used often so who knew when it had been cleaned last? He dried it out with the blue gingham tea-cloth he'd used to scrub the water off his hands. Replaced everything. Put the flour in, then the butter, the salt, the milk and water - washing off afterwards, and using a paper towel to turn the tap off. It had to be dirtier than the cupboard handles, by now. He'd have to see about that, soon, and the -
"Shit."
He hadn't been paying attention, and the second egg had burst over his fingers. Most of it slid through into the mixture, but the residue made him shudder as he went to throw the shell away. The tap would be even worse now, he'd have to use two towels to turn it off, but the egg had gone under his bitten-short fingernails anyway, so more disinfectant, more water, scrape the nails under each other and over each finger and between just in case. The fog hung immobile outside. Tala scratched absently at his cuticles.
"The hell are you doing, woman?"
He didn't jump, just scowled at the running water. Bryan didn't usually wake up until five-thirty, but it wasn't twenty past and he was standing there by the counter watching - had been standing by the counter watching, maybe for a while.
"Making your damn breakfast," Tala snapped, turning the tap off with the side of his smallest finger and going for the tea-cloth.
"Huh."
"What do you think you're doing," he added sharply, as Bryan continued to watch him drying off and throwing the tea-cloth spitefully into the garbage.
"Waiting for it."
"Tch." Tala sneered, switching the blender on full. He'd not turned away for five seconds to light the near hob and place a pan over it, and Bryan had circled the table to stand fishing in the garbage can. Teeth gritted together, he shoved the blender's switch to off. Poured mixture into the jug he'd used for milk and water, and turned to see Bryan extracting the blue gingham tea-cloth from the can. "Kuznetsov."
"What?"
The pan needed to heat up more, anyway. He left the mixture next to it, and went to snatch the cloth, pushing it back into the garbage.
"It's covered in crap, idiot. Leave it where it is."
Bryan looked about to stare him down, but turned and shrugged instead.
"Whatever."
"Shut up," he ordered, stalking away to switch the tap on to rinse the blender. And wash the garbage off his hands. And now the pan was hot enough, pour a layer of mixture into it. Bryan had resumed watching, which took some determination to ignore; Tala ignored him determinedly, rummaging in the nearest drawer for a fish-slice to turn the pancakes with. He found it, pushed the drawer shut, and stood glaring at the pan because who knew who had last touched that drawer-handle and when they'd -
"This is disgusting."
"Ch - fuck off, Kuznetsov!"
Bryan disregarded this, twisting the fish-slice away from Tala's hands and turning them over, scratching his own blunt nails across the reddened, peeling skin between the other's fingers.
"Your skin's coming off. It's disgusting."
"Fuck off," Tala repeated, knocking the prying digits away, moving to wash off a new set of garbage-germs. Only the other was interfereing again, hands landing on either side of his midsection this time, holding him at a distance he couldn't reach the sink from. He responded with a semi-automatic elbow to the solar plexus; Bryan hardly twitched.
"Stop it. It's not necessary."
"It won't be when you get off me, idiot."
"I meant cleaning your damn skin off, woman."
This earned him a slightly awkward kick to one kneecap.
"Get off." Tala nodded towards the now smoking pan. "You want the house to burn down, fuckhole?"
The other snorted, releasing his left hand for the smallest possible moment needed to move the pan.
"Tch, now it's burning the counter."
"Fine." Irritated, Bryan stepped back and dropped both arms to his sides, only to pull them back up to fold them a moment later when his team captain made a beeline to the sink. The pan was thrown in carelessly, Tala clearly more interested in cleaning off his hands. Bryan watched him scrubbing at their raw skin without even looking, in fact staring glassily at the fog outside. Prickles of angry red were beginning to show along his knucles and the base of both thumbs.
"Woman."
Between his fingers, what had been peeling was turning raw, and he was reaching for the soap again, blankly.
"Stop it, Ivanov."
Nothing, and he began to push his fingernails into the soap, as he had been doing earlier. It was hardly difficult for Bryan, now scowling, to make a grab for his wrists and pull him, stumbling, away from the faucet.
"What the hell a - "
"Shut up. Stop it."
Bryan had expected to be hit at, and had correspondingly pulled the other into something approaching an armlock. He winced as Tala stamped remorselessly on his instep.
"Fuck off, I need to dry - "
"You're clean. You're dry. Shut up."
There was a pause, and he could almost hear Tala thinking about going for his other foot as well. Then,
"...The faucet's still on."
Bryan considered this, and the fact that his other foot was still not in pain. He adjusted his arms, carefully, to more comfortable places. Ignored Tala wiping both hands on his pajama top.
"Shut up."
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First off, big big big thanks to Keli, without whom this would probably not have happened. That's right, feather-duster is ditching the blame on her. Muahahaha.
Second: get to the front of the class and receive ten housepoints if you correctly guessed that Tala's got OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder) pretty much coming out of his ears, here. feather-duster is pretty strongly convinced that it's a condition our dear angry Russian would be quite susceptible to, as it's often related to control issues. If you're curious/bored/lonely/hungry/want to know more, drop feather-duster a line and oh dear lawd you will not be able to shut her the hell up on the subject.
Speaking of which, yeah the narration is a little fragmented in places. We're tuning in to Radio Tala here, folks. And, bless his neurotic little heart, he does not always finish his sentences.
The solar plexus is the middle of the stomach, and a good place to hit someone who's attacking you. The instep is the middle of the foot, and a very good place to hit someone who's attacking you. Dammit just watch Miss Congeniality already: S. I. N. G.!
Bryan can call Tala "woman" if he wants to. feather-duster thinks it's cute. Tala thinks it's annoying, and is ignoring it in the hope that it will stop.
"You and Me Against the World" is a fantastic YuBo anthem, so go look it up! It's on YouTube, you people have no excuses.
Yeeeeah feather-duster did name this fic after one song and referenced a different one. Whatcha gonna do about it, huh?
Thanks to LaDyFiCtIoN (correctly captialised? o.o) for giving feather-duster's writin' mojo the kick up the ass it needed, and running the Wave. Awesome stuff.
Review and feather-duster will send Tala to clean your kitchen and make you pancakes. Well, he'll probably just curse a lot, but it's the thought that counts.