Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy and its characters – it belongs to Leigh Bardugo. I do not own the Shadow & Bone TV series, which was developed by Eric Heisserer for Netflix and based on Leigh Bardugo's books. I don't own the 1938 film Bringing Up Baby. Any recognisable dialogue does not belong to me – some lines may be included verbatim, others in an amended form.
For Darklina Week 2023 Day 7 Rom-com Inspired. Inspired by Bringing Up Baby (1938)
Miss Starkova
Aleksander stares at the bone, trying to figure out where it should go.
"Luda," he calls down to the woman on the ground, "I think this one must belong in the tail."
"Nonsense," she replies, "you tried it in the tail yesterday and it didn't fit."
Ah, yes, he remembers now. He'd been quite disappointed.
"Aleksander," Ivan shouts up – and Aleksander wonders when his colleague had arrived, he was sure the man wasn't due in until noon and it's only … ah, half past two, how the time flies – "it's a telegram for you from the expedition."
He perks up, "open it, please. I'll be right down."
This is it. The moment he has been waiting for. He hopes the news is good.
A moment of silence, and then, as he climbs down the ladder, "they found it, Aleksander!" Luda announces.
"Really," he murmurs, not quite able to believe it, "the intercostal clavicle."
"Yes," she smiles in satisfaction, "it'll be here tomorrow."
"Just think of it," Aleksander grins, throwing an arm around Ivan's shoulder, "the very last bone we need to complete the brontosaurus is arriving tomorrow after four years of hard work."
"Congratulations, Sasha," Ivan doesn't smile (he rarely does, unless it's around Fedyor), but his eyes are bright and he seems genuinely pleased for them.
"Oh, I can hardly believe it," Aleksander gives in to his euphoria and swings Luda around before kissing her soundly.
"Stop it, really, Aleksander," she scolds him, "there's a time and place for everything. What will Professor Kaminsky think?"
"You are getting married tomorrow," his best friend reminds his fiancée.
"We are, aren't we," Aleksander murmurs almost in surprise, "funny, two such important things happening on the same day."
"Calls for a true celebration," Ivan says.
"Yes, we'll be going away directly after the wedding, perhaps to –"
"Going away?" Luda frowns, "whatever are you thinking of, Aleksander? We'll be coming right back here, of course – your work is too important to think of leaving it."
"But I –"
"Nothing must interfere with your work," Luda insists solemnly, "nothing at all. Our marriage must entail no domestic entanglements of any kind."
Aleksander freezes. His work is incredibly important to him, of course, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have other interests and other … urges.
"You mean …" he trails off, hoping he's misunderstood.
"I mean of any kind, Aleksander."
"Luda … I was sort of hoping we might … do you … when you say domestic entanglements, do you mean … do you mean children?"
"Exactly," she says with a prim smile that makes his heart sink, "this," she gestures to the almost-complete brontosaurus, "will be our child. Yes, Aleksander, I see our marriage purely as a dedication to your work."
His stomach sinks. All Aleksander's dreams of the future include the completion of the brontosaurus and other amazing skeletons, but those dreams also involve a wife who looks at him with more than just academic interest and a handful of adorable, bright-eyed children.
"I'm sure we could have a few days –"
"Oh, no," Luda shakes her head severely, "there's no time at all for that."
"But, Luda, just –"
"Now," she reminds him sternly, "you've got an appointment this afternoon, remember?"
Aleksander tries to recall his diary, but all he remembers is the little doodle of brontosaurus he'd sketched in the box for tomorrow's date.
"Hunting Aleksander," Luda sighs, "you're going hunting with Mr Oretsev, an associate of Mrs Kuya-Keramsov, who is considering donating one million dollars to the museum."
"One million dollars!" Aleksander exclaims, "why, that could buy a great deal of bones."
And there could be money left over for an extension to the dinosaur rooms here at the museum, and perhaps room in the budget to hire a proper tour guide for guests – the current volunteer is enthusiastic, but he tends to get the different dinosaurs muddled and then Aleksander is required to take time away from his work to correct the poor man and it really is so frustrating.
"There's no guarantee," Luda reminds him seriously, "you must make a good impression on him."
Aleksander nods enthusiastically – for $1 million and everything they could do with it, he'll endeavour to make the best possible impression, even if he honestly finds the practice of hunting for sport rather abhorrent.
Aleksander isn't a person generally given to hate.
He simply doesn't have the time for it usually, too busy with his project or some museum business. And he prefers not to talk to those outside his small circle of close friends if he doesn't have to – because most people's eyes glaze over in a most disheartening way when he talks for more than five minutes about his work – so he often doesn't get to know another person well enough to discover a reason to hate them.
But he has discovered that it is quite easy – astonishingly so, in fact – to hate Malyen Oretsev on a very short acquaintance.
The man is a boor and a braggart, and he takes a sick kind of pleasure in watching the animals he hunts suffer. He categorically refuses to talk about "the old lady", as he so rudely refers to Mrs Kuya-Keramsov, despite the fact that this appointment was set up specifically so they could discuss the museum's request for funding.
Aleksander thinks there must have been some sort of mistake. Oretsev is a complete idiot and it would be awfully depressing to learn he really had any influence with Mrs Kuya-Keramsov.
An hour into the hunt, Aleksander gives up and heads back to tea room at the edge of the forest.
He hates to do it, especially knowing he might be jeopardising the chance of funding, but he simply cannot spend any more time with Oretsev without wanting to strangle the man.
At the tea room, he orders a coffee (three sugars) and two different cakes, unable to decide between the Medovik and the apple cake and feeling very much like he deserves both for suffering through Oretsev's company for an hour.
He's sat at a table at the window when he sees one of the servers coming towards him with a tray laden with his order. When they are only half-way across the tea room, though, the door opens and a young woman enters.
She can't be more than twenty-five, wearing a high-necked purple floral dress and a hat positively covered in fake flowers. It's rather a strange look for a modest tea room that mostly serves those who have just come from a hunting expedition, but she walks with such confidence that she carries it off.
Aleksander finds himself admiring her for a moment, at least until she plucks the tray right from the server's hands, "oh, Irina, thank you, I think you must be clairvoyant to have realised I was on my way and prepared my favourites."
The server just gapes, stuttering words that the young lady seems to ignore entirely.
Aleksander leaps to his feet and strides over to the young lady, "excuse me, miss, but you can't just –"
She doesn't seem to hear him, settling down at one of the tables and immediately digging the fork into his piece of Medovik.
"Look," he takes a seat opposite her, "this is my order."
She frowns, "I'm sure it's not, sir. Why, it has my two favourite cakes on it, and Irina knows that."
"Yes, yes," it's a fascinating coincidence to be sure, but you have only just arrived and not yet ordered, Miss –?"
"Starkova," she smiles, "Alina Starkova. And I don't need to order, for Irina has clearly remembered my preferences."
"I'm sure she remembers, Miss Starkova, but this is still my order. A slice of Medovik and a slice of apple cake, together with a cup of coffee with three sugars."
"Three sugars! Why, that's ridiculous, Mr –?"
"Morozov. Aleksander Morozov."
"It's quite ridiculous, Mr Morozov. I only have one sugar in my coffee –"
"Yes, but this tray is mine."
"– and Irina knows that quite well, so she would never give me too much."
"Miss Starkova, I say again, this order is mine, not yours."
"It's such a funny coincidence, isn't it," she says blithely, picking up the cup, "us having the same –"
She pauses as she takes a sip of coffee and then grimaces, "oh, this is far too sweet."
"Yes," he says tiredly, "that's because it's mine."
"Well, why didn't you just say that," she exclaims, "it would have saved all this fuss."
Aleksander is completely lost for words. He can think of nothing to say to this bizarre, infuriating young lady, and so he only takes the coffee, leaves the table and asks apologetic Irina if she can send Miss Starkova her preferred coffee and give him some new slices of cake.
He lingers a little in the tea shop, not relishing the idea of going back to Luda and explaining how badly the meeting with Oretsev had gone.
By the time he leaves, Miss Starkova's table is empty too, just a few crumbs remaining on her plate. He does note, however, that she's left a hefty tip for the server, and he thinks that at least no one can accuse her of being stingy.
He's feeling quite cheerful when he exits, thinking of the next day's delivery of the intercostal clavicle, right until he spots Miss Starkova in his car, doing a quite appalling job of getting out of the parking space.
He hurries over with a wince as she nudges the back bumper of the car in front.
"What do you think you're doing, Miss Starkova?"
"I'm trying to un-park my car, Mr Morozov."
"This is my car!"
"Oh, good," she smiles, "would you mind moving it out of the way."
"No," he tries to correct her misunderstanding, pointing to the vehicle she's in, "this is my car."
"Yes, yes," she nods, "if you move it back a little, I'll have the space to get out."
They go back and forth for almost a minute as he tries to make her realise her mistake. For a few moments, he wonders if she's deliberately trying to frustrate him, but she really seems to just be a somewhat scatterbrained little thing.
"I'm in a terrible hurry," she pouts, "if you could just move the car about four feet," she points to the car next to his.
"You want me to move your car?"
"Oh, yes please."
"Well, fine," he says, if only to get things moving, "but please be careful with your driving."
She waves away his worry, "of course, I'll go very slowly."
She does not go slowly.
Not at all.
Who, he thinks as he stares at his battered car, allowed this young woman to be on the road unsupervised?
"I'm insured," she promises.
"I really don't care," he says, his frustration boiling over and taking his manners with it, "just get out and let me drive my car."
"You can't just declare other people's things belong to you, Mr Morozov," she shakes her head.
"That car doesn't belong to someone else, Miss Starkova. It's my car!"
"Now, don't lose your temper, Mr Morozov."
"I am not losing my temper. I merely wish to use my car to drive myself home."
"I think I would know my own car, Mr Morozov. Look, the glove compartment has my –"
She wrinkles her nose in confusion, "where's my sketchbook? These dusty books aren't mine."
"No, they're not, Miss Starkova," Aleksander growls, "they, like this car and everything – barring, thankfully, you – else in it, belong to me."
"Well, isn't it funny that we had the same order in the tea room and we've got the same car, Mr Morozov," she laughs as she finally climbs out of the driver's seat and lets him reclaim his car.
"Absolutely hilarious," he mutters through gritted teeth, "good day, Miss Starkova."
And then he drives off before she can steal or damage any more of his things.
Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
You can find me on Twitter under the username Keira_63. I pretty much just post mini prompt fics.