Chapter 2

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Encounters

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Waking up again is not a relief.

There are machines making whirring sounds.

Ivan is so sick of machines.

He pulls a wire from his wrist and sits up.

"They've told you to take it easy," Ludmilla places a hand on his arm.

He lies back down and stares at the ceiling. He can feel her watching him for a long time, even when he shuts his eyes, and pretends he is not there anymore.

"You can come out in a few days. Nicoli will be there to greet you,"she tells him, and then stands up.

He listens as her footsteps click along the tiled floor and fade away. He doesn't open his eyes again until he hears the door close.

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Nicoli is waiting for him.

There is an unceremonious moment, where a hand grasps his own, and there is a forced smile between them. Maybe Ivan doesn't read people very well, but he knows Nicoli well enough, and he knows when it isn't real.

It doesn't matter anyway. All false pretences disappear when they're out of the hospital, in the dark of a foreign street.

Ivan had almost forgotten he was there.

"Balboa found you," Nicoli states, like he's just swallowed a very hard pill.

Ivan's tight smile falls away and he looks at the ground. It's easier that way.

"What sort of game was that?" Nicoli snaps. "You wanted to go crawling to that american fool for forgiveness? What has he turned you into?"

The voice echoes all about the street, and the slap of skin on skin is even louder, when Nicoli's hand connects with Ivan's face.

It stings like it always does, but Ivan does not react anymore.

He doesn't say anything.

"Ridiculous," Nicoli snorts, and then walks away.

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When he returns home he waits a few minutes outside the house. The curtains are drawn in the front bedroom, and he knows what to expect.

The front door opens then and a man walks out who Ivan does not recognise. There is a tremor of nerves on the stranger's face, but Ivan just walks past him into the house. He closes the door and looks up the stairs to see his wife in her dressing gown with a cup of coffee.

"Hello, dear," she says, with not a trace of regret. "Good flight?"

Ivan has walked in on his wife fucking before, so it isn't anything new.

Before it was Nicoli, but Ivan doesn't particularly care who it happens to be.

The only thing is that they thinks he doesn't know, and they exchange smiles that make him feel ill and like he shouldn't be there. They think he's stupid.

He's...not exactly okay with it, just resigned.

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"I'll be accompanying Nicolai to Rome," Ludmilla tells him one early morning, kisses him briefly on the cheek. She doesn't even bother with reasons anymore.

Ivan looks at her body, naked in the morning light. They haven't had sex for a long time, and Ivan does not miss it with her. But he does miss it.

"Okay," he says, and closes his eyes.

Sometimes he wishes he hadn't come home.

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The phone rings and Ivan hears Balboa's voice on the other end.

He holds the handle a bit tighter.

"Hey. Hope you don't mind I got your number," Balboa says casually, more like a drawl. There is a tiny silence. "Just wonderin' if you're...okay..."

Ivan stares out the window. It's drizzling rain and the sky is grey.

"Yes," he says.

There is another tiny pause, and for a moment Ivan thinks the line is dead. Then;

"I'm here, just checking out the lovely scenery, you know. And I like the snow kinda, you know?"

Ivan feels his mouth turning up a fraction. "You are here?" he wonders out loud. Something strange has happened to his stomach; it feels tight, but not in a terrible way.

"Yeah. So. If you're around. Let me know."

Ivan eventually finds his voice; "yes," and hesitates. "Thank you,"

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There is a knock at the door, and Ivan almost pretends not to hear it.

His english is still quite broken, so he worries about talking, even more than usual.

Balboa looks friendly though. There is something very disarming about him, out of the ring.

Ivan wonders if he looks the same. He doesn't have much of an impression of himself.

"Is your wife around?" Balboa says, like its obligatory.

"She is away,"

"Right," Balboa nods, and then suggests going for a drink.

Ivan doesn't drink too much, which makes Balboa laugh and ask him if he's as Russian as he appears. Balboa drinks for them both, and Ivan mostly just stares at the table, wondering how this strange situation even started.

"You don't talk much, do you," Balboa says after a while, and looks thoughtful. "Is it cos of the language thing?"

He speaks in a gentle voice, like he's trying to coax something from a terrified child. Ivan also notices he has leaned forwards a bit, like he expects Ivan is going to whisper his reply.

Ivan shrugs, then clears his throat. "I'm Russian," he says in explanation.

He is happy to hear Balboa laugh at that, and he manages to look Balboa in the eye. It's not quite as terrible as he thinks it might be. "And...I am not...my english is...still not good."

"You sound fine to me," Balboa tells him, something like a smile on his face. "Anyway, I'm not exactly Shakespeare here, am I?"

Ivan looks at the table. Doesn't know what he's supposed to say.

Balboa sighs. "Let me buy you a drink. C'mon, just one."

Ivan lets him.

"Why did you come here?" he decides to ask after a while.

"Besides all the snow? Same thing as you,"

Ivan is confused.

"To say sorry," Balboa elaborates.

Ivan is even more confused. "I do not...understand..."

"I beat you up pretty good. Don't it deserve an apology?"

Something tugs up at the edges of Ivan's mouth.

"That's the first time I've seen you do that," says Balboa, and he is grinning. "Y'know, it makes a big difference."

Ivan tips his head, embarrassed, and finds himself smiling a bit more.

"Beautiful," Balboa says.

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