She remembered Balalaika standing on a rooftop, focused and deadly, surrounded by her men. Her long hair had billowed in the night breeze, finally let down, her heels exchanged for steady boots. Revy and Shenhua had been crouching bloodied in the street below when Balalaika's soldiers had passed her message along to them and Revy's heart had sunk to the ground once again.
This is not your war. Is it ours alone. Next time we will shoot you in the head.
That image had been at the forefront of Revy's mind ever since, burned into her corneas, the lack of emotion on the woman's face from far above, her stance wide and firm. She knew she was hollow in that moment.
It had driven Revy into a rage, biting into her knuckles at night, how the woman could stand there and issue her cold warning like that and still – still Revy didn't forget about her, still Revy could do nothing but back down, knowing that the Russian would without a doubt go through with her threat if she was disobeyed – yet she had let Revy live that night when she easily could have wiped everything off her path.
The old bullet scar in her upper arm flashed with a phantom ache – a reminder of yet another time where Revy had lived only because the Kapitan had said so, the Kapitan had chosen to spare her life, there among the bright spotlight and the stars littered across a pitch-black sky above her head. Revy had snapped out of the rage, by the sight of Balalaika shoving her gun into Roberta's face.
Revy had been seething both those times, enraged with both herself and Balalaika, and every time she forced her way through to her next targets in the following weeks she had been seeing red in a fever haze, twin guns securely in her hands, blood squeaking underneath her boots and bullets bouncing onto the floor, the blonde woman was at the forefront of her mind. I do this for me and I do this for you.
She sat at the edge of Balalaika's wide bed, feeling the same old bitterness pool deep inside her stomach. She felt like a rotten fruit and sooner or later everyone would see that, once they cared to peel enough and peek inside.
Faint light peeked through the blinds from the streetlights outside far below and she could hear cars in the distance, police sirens even further away, Roanapur at night – the city that never slept. In the apartment, the sounds were subdued as if they came from another world, and this room was underwater. The slow sound of the air conditioner only aggravated her.
Revy stared at the blinds behind their heavy curtains, hands splayed limply in her lap, twitching for her guns. They were placed on a dresser in the living room.
"Rebecca?"
The sound was husky and low from quickly fading sleep, and Balalaika was looking at her from the bed, her eyes boring into the back of her head. Revy clenched her teeth, her body trembling.
"What the fuck am I doing here," she breathed. "You invited me back here only now, when it's convenient for you, when you have no fucking war left to fight. Isn't that right, sis?"
You said you would kill me if I interfered.
There is no fucking logic to this, but I think about you all the time.
As if the previous hours of the night were forgotten after they had fallen asleep – Revy tried to remember, but her mind was hazy with tiredness and rage – she was wearing the same underwear she had before and her tank top, but she remembered Balalaika's hands all over her body, welcoming sharp nails into her, arching her body up, pressing her mouth against the blonde's throat, hands entangling in blonde locks and holding fast until Balalaika retaliated with a harder push of her hips, a quicker pace of her hand.
There had been lust, and a haze of want entangled with a bottomless need to be close to her, to bury her teeth into that flushed skin - Revy remembered it clearly, remembering the taste on her tongue, but now she wanted to tear something apart. Her throat constricted.
"It's late, Revy. Go back to sleep." Balalaika's voice was stern, the shuffling of the covers when she sat up and Revy still refused to look at her, clenching her shaking fists.
"Don't tell me what to do," she said through her teeth, hunching over her lap – everyone who knew her wouldn't dare argue with her then, but the Russian did not seem to care.
"I am telling you." Balalaika sighed, a hint of annoyance leaking into her tone. "We only have these hours."
"I can't fucking sleep. Tell me sis, once you throw me out tomorrow morning, what then? Will you kill me next time I cross you at the wrong moment, huh?"
"Let's not speak of that, tonight. Come back to bed."
"Really? Isn't it?" Revy finally turned to her, directing a glare that didn't reach her face – the dusk made it easier to look at her – holding out her arm, showing the multiple bullet scars - skillfully placed in non-lethal places.
"I am tired, and not in the mood to have this conversation." The Russian's tone of voice was a warning, but Revy felt the rage well up inside, mixed with an emotion she couldn't place, but she moved to stand on shaky legs, turning away from Balalaika and facing the bedroom door.
Her Cutlasses were somewhere in the apartment and she needed to find them now, to go out and do something, shoot something –
Revy headed towards the door, when the blonde's voice grew sharper.
"Do not even think about it."
It was something she knew better than to ignore, but the haze of anger was rising. She tasted blood with every beat of her heart in her ears, wanted to make someone squeal again and to lose herself in the red-hot haze – her shoulders were tense and not even the glass sharp edge of Balalaika's voice was enough to break through it.
I need to kill something I need to kill something I need to kill -
She lunged at the door when she heard steps behind her. Something rose up inside of her, white-edged red. As if on pure, animalistic instinct, Revy spun around and lunged at the other woman with a snarl.
The air was pushed out of her and a sudden pain flared across her stomach. Her head hit the mattress hard. Balalaika had swiftly moved and pinned her down, gripping her wrists hard enough to bruise.
Revy pushed against her, seething. "Let go of me - fucking – bit-" her voice turned into a choked pant as she struggled to regain her breath. Her throat constricted and her head spun and tears threatened to spill out of her eyes. The rage was drowned out by a sense of panic that started creeping up through her stomach when she remembered the dream that had woken her up.
Balalaika straddled her waist without putting her weight on top of her, her knees firmly planted on the mattress on each side of Revy's chest. She still struggled futilely, her teeth bared and her hair matted with sweat, until Balalaika pressed down on her wrists.
"Calm down, Revy." Balalaika stared down at her, a gaze that made a startling sense of fear slip through the haze, quickly dimmed by anger.
The older woman had her wrists in an iron grip, effectively keeping her from using her fists. Balalaika's face was closed off, calculating the resistance, and it almost snapped Revy out of her frenzy to see her look at her like that – as if Revy was simply Two Hands again, a hired mercenary that could be disposed of if she got in the way.
Balalaika looking at her like that made a bitter taste rise in her mouth and she tried to swallow, wanted to draw out that other side of her again. Her pulse rushed in her ears as Balalaika leaned forward.
"Look at me, Revy. Успокойся."
Revy felt her body starting to tremble again, breathing hard, the tips of Balalaika's hair touching her face softly. The blonde was so close, her body soft even with those hard, unrelenting muscles right underneath and the faint scent of her perfume.
"Look at me." This time, the words were not a command, softening at the edges.
Revy breathed harshly, staring at the face above hers. The blue pits of eyes read her every reaction, prepared to counteract before something in them softened ever so slightly.
Revy drew in a breath, tears of frustration burning in the corner of her eyes and threatening to spill over, angry at herself for ending up like this, helpless. Infuriatingly vulnerable. Balalaika could kill her simply by squeezing down on her ribcage long enough or by wrapping those large hands around her throat, choking the life out of her without effort, and one part of Revy wished she would. She wanted Balalaika to hurt her, and hurt her good, more than the newly blooming bruise underneath her rib cage she just acquired. Maybe then she would stop hurting, and she could be lulled to unconsciousness by the soft strokes of her skin.
"You should have spared yourself the fucking trouble and had me killed back then." She bucked her body once, just to test the resistance.
"You know I did not want that." Balalaika leaned closer, her eyes wary, her grip still unrelenting, her hips pressing against hers. She was careful to balance her weight onto her knees, as to not crush Revy's smaller frame.
"Rebecca," she said, her tone unfamiliar. "Take a deep breath." Revy's eyes widened for a second at her change of tone.
The tears started running freely then, but her rage subsided, swallowed up by Balalaika's face above hers, her gaze fixating her and making her blink to see her clearly.
"Fuck, my hands are going fucking numb."
Balalaika's cool, cigar-tinged breath touched her face when she exhaled, as if she was carrying the world on her shoulders.
"Are you going to behave if I release you?" She studied her face, the bite of her accent always present. "Do not test your luck." Revy's stomach coiled with tension at those words, her throat going dry, what would you do if I did – but she scowled nevertheless.
"Y-yes."
Balalaika didn't move, watching her almost expectantly.
"Yes, sis. Fuck, I can't feel my hands."
Balalaika's grip loosened then, but she didn't move away. Revy hissed as she felt the blood return to her bruised hands, but the other woman still leaned over her, and for some strange reason Revy wanted to keep her there, because if Balalaika held her in place, no one else would ever get to her again. She wanted to be swallowed up by Balalaika's body, completely covered by her, the hair draped over her like a shield.
It was a stupid thought, like every other thought that passed through Revy's head in her presence, but it was there.
Balalaika's thighs were still placed on each side of her torso, one hand supported next to Revy's head.
Her large hand moved to stroke Revy's cheek every so slightly, tracing her jawbone and moving up to her cheekbone. "Whatever it is that haunts you, for your own sake you must not act upon it. Do you understand?" There was a clear warning in the sharpness of her eyes.
Revy scowled at her, but not as intensely as she wanted to. "You have your own demons, Sis, don't act like you fucking don't. You act upon it all the time."
Balalaika only watched her, her thumb moving down to graze her lips, effectively shifting her attention.
"I was a fucking kid." Revy's voice was raspy, dry and low, but she felt calmer again, the same numbness settling into place. She looked at the face above in the dusk. It felt like baring her throat to lay those words out there, but she couldn't help it.
"Rebecca," the Russian said, leaning forward, soft blonde curls brushing Revy's sweat-matted hair as she moved her head down, her lips barely grazing her forehead. "It won't happen again. If anyone tried, I would kill them myself."
Revy took a deep breath, and the expression on the other woman's face calmed her pulse.
Balalaika moved off Revy then, her body still tense, and sat at the other edge of the bed. Revy crawled over to her and pressed close against her, wrapping her arms around Balalaika, trying not to press herself too tightly, or hold her too tight.
Balalaika's gaze was lost into the light between the blinds, as if she was that woman on the rooftop again, bitter and unstoppable, frighteningly efficient, watching from above waiting to strike, quick and deadly. Her face was tight and lips pressed together. Her scars seemed deeper in this light, marring her light skin like her memories.
"Hey, Sis," Revy said, quietly, voice still hoarse. As if by its own accord, her hand reached out to brush her arm.
Balalaika didn't turn to look at her. "We both are living ghosts of our past, are we not? Enjoying the killing and violence because we know nothing else."
Revy leaned against her. "It's what we fucking are."
Balalaika's hand moved to stroke her bangs out of her face, almost absent-mindedly. After another moment, she moved to lay down, tugging Revy to follow her. Revy lay next to her, resting her head on her shoulder, allowing herself to be held by those arms. One hand cradled her head.
Revy still felt tense, even as exhaustion started creeping in. Balalaika's body was warm, something tangible and real beside her, her long hair spread across the pillows and Revy turned her head to breathe her in deeply, wanting to take it between her hands and grasp it, to be as close to the blonde as she possibly could.
Balalaika's mouth ghosted her forehead again, lips pressing against it for a moment.
"ты в безопасности." She ran a nail across the scar on Revy's arm, slowly, tracing the bright mark.
"Yeah, what?" Revy tilted her head upwards, sleepily. "Fuck you say?"
Balalaika tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling, her grip tightening around Revy for a moment. "Go to sleep, Rebecca. I have had enough of talking."
Revy molded her body against hers, trying to calm her breathing by following Balalaika's slowing exhales, encased in her arms. The older woman still stared into the dark, and Revy pushed her nose against her skin, inhaling, listening to the sound of a steady heartbeat.
She slipped into a dream of dark blue skies looming above and a woman on a rooftop, watching her with dark, pained eyes.
In her sleep, the woman mumbled words into her hair, fingers digging into her skin as if to keep her there.
.
.
.
Author's note: I would love to know your thoughts about this.