Click. Click.
Masha's heels snapped on the hard linoleum floor in the hallway of the third floor. She took two steps towards the door of 421D, paused, spun around, and walked back to her own door. A sigh escaped her lips. Why was she so nervous? She thought of herself as stronger than this, tougher than this. After all her years, everything she'd seen in her line of work, this was stopping her? Six years working for Dima and she was too afraid to knock on this door? Masha didn't think of herself as that kind of girl.
She closed her eyes, feet planted before her door, clenched her fists tight and took a deep, calming breath. Her face now composed, she turned around, smoothing out her hair and skirt as she walked back to the door of number 421D. She tried to coax a smile to her rouged lips. It felt like it was there, but these days, it was tough to pull it off.
Bracing herself once more, she gave the steel safety door a quick, assertive rap. It sounded too loud in the deserted hallway and she bit back a grimace. As she waited, she couldn't help but notice the three dents in the door, looking very much like they had been made by bullets.
Silence. Perhaps she hadn't knocked hard enough. She was loath to make more sound, already feeling like her nerve was slipping, wondering if she should just run back down the hall to her own apartment. The thought was tempting, but she needed to do this. If there was one thing Masha was good at, it was getting the job done.
Telling herself to get a grip, she delivered three hard knocks to the door. Could he have already left? She'd seen him come in early that morning, passed him on the stairwell as she'd escorted Lev outside to the school bus. The man in 421D hadn't spoken to her, hadn't even really looked at her except for a brief, cursory glance with those hard eyes. Sizing up a skinny woman and her child, before dismissing them as nonthreatening. No recognition of the scene that had occurred outside their flats only two weeks ago…
Still nothing. Should she call through the door? She considered this for a moment before realizing she didn't even know his name. What would she say? And perhaps he was simply ignoring her, regretting the offer he'd made that day and waiting for her to leave.
It was tempting, but Masha could not allow it. Her mother had told her growing up that her stubbornness would be the death of her one day. Maybe it was true. But she hated to give up, and it needed to be done.
"Hello? Excuse me, please. I'm—I'm the woman from across the hall, we, well, met before and, well—"
Suddenly, she heard the sound of locks being disengaged on the other side of the door. Falling silent, she waited, wondering how she hadn't heard him approaching.
After a few more seconds of clinking metal and rattling chains, the door cracked open. It was just far enough to see the outline of a masculine face shrouded in shadows, one eye visible and glinting like gunmetal. Masha swallowed, thought about all the things she'd done and seen in Dima's employ, and spoke.
"Yes, hello. I hope you don't mind. I live just over there—" she pointed down the hall, watching as his eye swooped towards her door—"with my little boy. You, eh, helped us out the other day." She was pleased her voice did not sound frightened, but she could not quite manage to disguise the strain she was feeling.
"I remember," he said. He pulled the door open a little more, and she caught a better glimpse of him. He still had that cold, rigid look in his eyes, but they were sharp and clear, instead of glassy with drink like last time. This was a small relief, and she tried to take some courage from it. His clothing, although the same drab and dark attire, at least looked freshly pressed and tidy.
Masha felt instinctively that this was a man who appreciated bluntness, so she decided to come straight to the point. "Look, I don't know if you really meant it, but you said I could use your car sometime if I asked," she said in a steady voice. The man looked at her with his brutal eyes, face unchanged. Just when she was beginning to think this had been a big mistake, and he was going to slam the door in her face or worse, he nodded, pulled the door wide and stepped aside.
"Come in for a minute. I just need to get my car keys." He did not wait for her to reply but stepped away, somewhere into the dimly lit apartment. Masha took a quick glance in the hallway, wondering how long it would take anyone to notice if she never returned. Probably just until Dima came asking where she was and why she wasn't working. She stepped into the flat, slightly uncomfortable in the semi-darkness. He had all his blinds drawn, even in the late morning. Despite the darkness, it was very clean, although sparsely furnished. She wondered if he kept it up himself or if he paid someone to keep it that way.
Without much warning, he appeared beside her, silent as a cat. His movements reminded her very much of a panther, even more so with his dark clothing. The keys jingled in his hand as he swiftly exited the room. "Where do you want to go?" he asked in a clipped voice, waiting for her to catch up in the hallway. Following, she watched him lock two sets of dead bolts in the steel door, thinking again about the bullet marks.
"The drugstore outside Kolyavna," she said.
"I know it," he replied tersely. With brisk steps, he proceeded down the stairwell, ignoring the elevator at the far end of the hall. Not wanting to be left behind waiting for the lift, Masha hurried after him, although she wondered why he didn't take it like everyone else.
He was several steps ahead of her and reached the bottom first. She caught up to see him standing expectantly, a slightly disgruntled look on his face. Of course, he usually looked like that, the few times she'd stopped to notice.
He led her out a side door into the parking lot, Masha a step behind. He moved quickly to a sleek, black sedan with dark tinted windows. With a tiny shudder, Masha remembered the whispers in the building of mafiya connections. But she had to admit, it was definitely better than Dima's car.
He didn't bother to hold the door open for her, which Masha was glad of. Even after all her experience with men, he made her slightly uncomfortable. Maybe it was his habit of speaking so little, or his icy eyes. Whatever it was, she didn't want him closer to her than he had to be and was suddenly feeling apprehensive about sitting next to him for the entire ride. She reminded herself again that it needed to be done.
Sliding into the driver's seat, he started the engine rumbling. Masha shifted in her seat, pulling down her skirt a little so it covered more of her legs and wishing she had worn something more conservative. She thought about the gun he had pulled those two weeks ago and wondered where it was now. If those whispers were true, he probably carried it with him all the time.
"My name is Masha, by the way. I forgot to tell you," she said as he shifted into reverse.
"Kirill," he said without looking at her, eyes on the rearview mirror as he backed out of the stall.
"Nice to meet you," she murmured automatically, looking out her window. She was already feeling like it was going to be a long ride.
He did indeed seem to know the way to the drugstore. He drove with speed and precision, confidently navigating the congested streets and seeming to know exactly the right routes to avoid the worst of the traffic. They sat in silence for a while, Masha wishing he would turn on the radio or something just to cut through the silence. She was about to ask herself when he broke it first.
"Are you sick?" He kept his eyes on the road, constantly scanning the streets, checking his mirrors without moving his head.
"What?" she asked, caught off guard. "Oh, the drugstore. No, it's for my son, Lev. He has an ear infection. I had the prescription filled yesterday but there are no bus routes for the right time. He needs it when he comes home from school." She stared out the windscreen when the impassive side of his face became too uncomfortable to look at. "I can't use Dima's car anymore—well, you know," she finished quietly.
"Is he his father?" Kirill asked with a quick glance to her face.
"No." Masha was embarrassed to feel her throat closing up. She cleared it to get the next words out. "He's my…boss."
Kirill said nothing, eyes now back on the road. Masha instinctively felt he understood what she didn't say anyway and felt a wave of irrational anger towards him. It was her life, and besides, who was he to judge? The atmosphere in the car became stuffy after their short conversation, Masha counting the streets until they would arrive at their destination.
Finally, the corner where the drugstore was located came into sight. Kirill pulled the car into a space near the front and killed the engine. Masha went for the door handle, but paused and looked back at him. "I do what I have to, to support my son. It's not easy." She stared at him, daring him to challenge her, to pass judgment on her.
"I know. It's never easy," he said. Masha felt her heart tightening, surprised by the sadness in his voice, chilled too by his deadened tone. She held it there for a second, then stepped from the car.
The prescription was ready and waiting for her. She picked it up, paid with several crumpled bills, and went back outside. Kirill was still waiting for her, hunched over the steering wheel, dark eyes scanning the parking lot in a constant, steady motion. Seeing her coming, he started up the car again. "That everything?" he asked, his voice clipped. Masha wondered if she'd offended him, but she couldn't think of anything that would have angered him. He shifted the car into gear and pulled away from the drugstore.
"Thanks for the ride," she said softly, suddenly wondering if she ought to pay him for the effort. But no, he had offered it himself, hadn't he, and besides, with a car like this, he couldn't exactly be hurting for money.
"It's no problem," he said with gritted teeth. Masha raised her eyebrows in dismay. He sounded like he was barely containing his anger, but it was such a sudden turnaround from his previous indifference that she could not understand what she'd done to cause it. She turned towards her own window, frowning. Then, a thought occurred to her. She looked at him, suddenly noticing the rigidness of his spine, how gingerly he set his arms around the steering wheel.
"You're hurt, aren't you?" she asked, eyes wide.
"I'm fine," he said, teeth still gritted. Masha knew exactly his type of man—the kind who would rather bleed to death in an alleyway than admit to anyone else he needed help. "It's your side, isn't it? Let me see—" she made a grab to pull up the side of his shirt, reaching across the space between them. She only managed to expose a couple inches of skin, enough to see deeply bruised flesh from a fresh injury, before he jerked away, lurching the car in the process and almost sending it careening into a street vendor. Masha pulled back quickly.
"It's nothing. A couple of broken ribs. Nothing can be done for it, except let it heal on its own," he growled, voice gruff from pain and irritation.
"You should go to the hospital," she muttered anyway.
"No. Not for me," he said, a strange look on his face. It was part melancholy, part anger. Masha couldn't guess what, or who, he was angry with. He gave her a glance, eyes softened just a fraction. "Life's tough, isn't it? But we do what we have to do," he said, and the icy expression came back to his eyes.
Masha shivered. Lev would be home soon, and she had his medicine. She'd done what she had to do. That's what mattered.
She was surprised when Kirill pulled up to their building. The ride back had felt a lot shorter, although that was probably because they had avoided the awkward silences. They pulled into the same parking space and Kirill turned off the car. He climbed out in a very good show of not being in any pain, a true professional. They went into the building together, and same as before, eschewed the lift to take the three flights of stairs up. In their shared hallway, Kirill paused at her door.
"Tell me if Dima bothers you again," he said.
"What will you do?" Masha asked. From any other man it would have sounded like playful teasing, but from this one, she knew it wasn't.
"I'll think of something," he said. They looked at each other, and after a moment he broke away and went back to his own flat, with the three bullet marks and pair of dead bolts.
A/N: What do you know, it turned into a two-shot. There could be more, although I'm pretty content to leave it like it is. Tell me what you think.