Hello everyone, hope you are well. FF still seems to be having issues, so hopefully you all have been able to catch the last couple chapters without issue. Enjoy and have a great weekend!
Chapter 11
Snowed in
Katja stirred the unidentified stew in the saucepan, wondering what Adrien was saying to his men. Well, maybe it wasn't important. As long as they got a ride out of here.
Walking to the archway that separated the kitchen from the living room, she called, "Hey, Alexei. Come watch this food. I should go check on their injured man."
Zaitsev got to his feet. "Let me take care of the food. I don't trust him not to start a fire or something."
It was clear Alexei was weighing the realization that he'd been insulted against the fact that he was potentially getting out of a chore. Sitting up in his recliner, he opened his mouth. In the end, laziness won out, and he leaned back again.
Katja handed the spoon to Zaitsev, and then headed to the occupied bedroom.
Inside, a large man lay on the bed. His dark skin was burned and peeling on one side, and Katja crushed her lower lip between her teeth in dismayed sympathy.
She had managed to assist Petrov with his minor burn, but this was way beyond her level of abilities – not to mention supplies. He needed real medical intervention, soon.
The man suddenly opened his eyes. "Hi," he said groggily.
"Hello," she replied. "Can I get you anything?" He probably couldn't have water, but she wished she had some ice chips to give him. Maybe icicles? Snow?
"Are you real?"
"I am," she promised him.
"Oh. Why?"
She had no idea how to answer that. "Because… you're not hallucinating. Because you are on the mend."
He pondered on her words. "Okay." With that, he closed his eyes again. Katja was momentarily worried, until she saw his chest moving up and down.
Backing out of the room quietly, she almost bumped into Preobrazhensky, who had just emerged from the bathroom, back in his fatigues and rubbing at his wet hair with a towel.
"Oh, excuse me, Captain. I'm done. Who's up next?" he asked.
"Either Zaitsev or Petrov. Don't let Alexei in yet," she said, looking around him into the bathroom. To her surprise, she saw a stack of towels on a rack, and shampoo and soap on the rim of the bathtub. "These people sure left a lot of stuff behind. They must have had to move out quickly." The place had obviously been abandoned long before the evacuation; maybe ten years or more.
"I guess so," Preobrazhensky agreed. "Lucky for us. Sure you don't want to go next?"
She did want to, but her guys came first. "I'm going to eat first, while it's warm." Her shoulders and back twinged, a painful reminder of the heavy gear she'd had to carry around all day. She couldn't wait for her turn under the hot water.
Katja went to the kitchen and began serving the food, making sure to leave enough for the Americans. Zaitsev went into the shower while Katja sat down to eat with the others.
"I'm so hungry, I'm not even hungry," Alexei sighed, pushing the contents of his bowl around with a spoon.
"Fine, give me yours," said Preobrazhensky with a full mouth.
"I didn't say I wasn't going to eat it!" Alexei protested, pulling his bowl closer to himself. Stuffing as much as he could into his cheeks, he then mumbled, "Jekaterina, where are the Americans going to take us?"
"I don't know, Alexei," Katja told him, poking at her stew. Even though she was starving, she didn't have much of an appetite. "We might have to take what we can get. Hopefully wherever it is, they have telephones."
"The question is, should we trust him enough to get on a transport with him?" Petrov asked.
"With respect, Sir, you're being paranoid," Preobrazhensky yawned, already scraping the bottom of his bowl. "The American has been helpful today, more than once. And it's not like we have any other options to get out of here."
"He did save my ass…" Zaitsev acknowledged.
"Yes, and that's what I don't like about it," Petrov sighed. "He knows our backs are up against the wall, and that we're going to have to rely on him."
Katja rested her elbow on the table. "I understand what you're saying, Lieutenant. And I happen to agree with you."
"But?" Petrov prompted.
"But you're all I have left, and I'll take any way out I can to save you all," she nearly said. Casting her eyes down at her bowl, she chose her words more carefully. "But we can't walk back to Moscow. Adrien can't do anything to us that's worse than what would happen if we stayed here. Yes, eventually command would wonder why the forward base went radio silent, and send in help. But do you really think we could stay alive that long?"
Do you think the rescue team would even make it in to help? she thought, but didn't voice.
"Nope," said Alexei quickly. "I say, let's get our ride and shut up about it."
"Well, that's a first," commented Preobrazhensky.
There was a knock at the front door, and Adrien's voice called out, "Hey, we're back. Don't shoot us."
He was so informal about military speech. It was confusing. Katja didn't know any other captain who would announce himself in the ways Adrien did. She called him inside, and the Americans trooped in, brushing snow off their uniforms.
"Has the snow gotten worse?" Katja asked with some concern. She didn't want a blizzard to trap them in here, though it might also disrupt the serpents. Maybe it was a question for Alexei.
"A little," said Hornet, who immediately noticed the food. "Oh, that smells good!" He then looked at her. "You smell good, too."
"Stow that shit, Hornet," Adrien barked.
The Americans joined Katja's team at the table. As time went on, and the food disappeared, the shower rotations continued. Even Adrien took his turn.
At last, only Alexei was ahead of Katja in the queue.
"You should go first, Captain," said Zaitsev.
"No, Alexei will be quick. Won't you, Alexei?" she asked him.
Rubbing his hands with anticipation, Alexei said, "Sure, of course," and disappeared into the steamy bathroom.
With nothing to do but wait, Katja began checking the windows to make sure there was nothing lurking outside; though by now, it was too dark to really see anything. Frankly, she wasn't sure which of the two species scared her more.
On the one hand, the serpents were grotesque, and she really felt like death by impregnation would be an awful way to go.
On the other, the hunter was so mysterious that her imagination was desperately trying to fill in the gaps. The fear of the unknown was a terrible thing. Debatably worse than the serpents.
Finally, from behind her, Adrien made a grunt and said, "There's nothing for you to do right now, okay? I know, I know. It's painful. Just chill out and sit down, all right? You're making me anxious."
Reluctantly, Katja joined the others in the living room.
"Hey, let's play 'Never Have I Ever'!" said Hornet suddenly.
"Let's not," said Adrien, who was sitting on the recliner with his legs kicked out in relaxation.
"Yeah, what is this, high school?" Scarecrow chimed in. "Anyway, we don't have any alcohol."
"Oh, right."
"What's 'Never Have I Ever'?" Petrov asked.
"Don't ask, Maksim," she warned him, not wanting to know.
"A potentially humiliating game that teenagers play," Adrien said anyway, closing his eyes.
"See, you ask the group a question," Hornet expounded. "For example. 'Never have I ever… spied on Iron Man for Nick Fury'." For some reason this was directed at Katja, even though she hadn't asked for an explanation. "And then you, Black Widow – or whoever else has actually done the action – would have to take a shot."
Katja snorted. "This sounds like a terrible game." She felt dirty and smelly, and didn't want to be in here goofing off. Especially fresh off the death of Yahontov.
"So..." Zaitsev pondered. "Never have I ever… fired a gun."
Everyone raised a hand, and Hornet made a frustrated noise. "No, my dude, you gotta use more imagination than that!" Clearing his throat, he said, "Never have I ever… stolen something."
Hands raised more slowly, this time. "Wait, does taking and breaking my older brother's toy truck as a kid count?" Preobrazhensky asked.
Hornet leaned back wearily. "I don't know. This is wayyyy more fun with shots."
With nothing else to do, the game continued for a while, until Scarecrow said, "Never have I ever been engaged."
Everyone raised their hands but Petrov and Hornet.
Adrien did a double take. "Wait; you have, Katja?"
Was it that shocking? "Not anymore," she said evasively. Her own men already knew about Alexander; either directly from her or from base rumors, so it wasn't really a secret. But she didn't feel like talking about it with these American strangers.
"Hey. How long has Alexei been in there?" Zaitsev suddenly asked. He was saving her, thank god.
Katja checked her watch. "Fifteen minutes."
"That little sneak," said Preobrazhensky, standing up and crossing over to the bathroom. "Hey! Private! Time to get out!"
"I'm not done yet," came Alexei's muffled reply.
"That's it, I'm dragging him out of there," Preobrazhensky growled, and gave the door a yank.
The handle came off in his hand, and then she could hear the clatter of the second handle on the other side of the door as it hit the tile.
It wasn't much work after that for Preobrazhensky to get the door open, and he marched inside the bathroom with Zaitsev behind him. Alexei was screaming "Occupied!" over and over again in Russian.
Katja then heard a shrill yelp from the shower, and a second later, the men emerged with a soaking, naked Alexei, and tossed him carelessly on the floor.
"Now, you are done," stated Preobrazhensky.
Katja wanted to groan. There had been Adrien at the river earlier, and now she had to see Alexei's scrawny rear end (and more) as he crouched, trying to cover himself. "No, no, no. No more," she said firmly.
Working daily with hundreds of guys in the army, sometimes for days on end in the field, she was no stranger to male nudity. But at the moment, she was very, very much over it. Addressing the whole group, she said, "I don't want to see another one of you naked tonight, do you understand me?"
"Where's the fun in that?" Hornet complained.
"Only tonight? Very poor choice of words," Adrien chuckled.
Katja ignored both of them. "Petrov, get Alexei his clothes. Please. Immediately."
By the time Katja got into the shower, the hot water was completely gone. It felt like ice sliding down her back, and she washed up as quickly as she could. It was a perfect ending to a perfect day, and she felt absolutely miserable.
"As miserable as all the men you lost today?" asked the little voice in her head she'd been trying to suppress since the base.
No.
She had to keep it together, and had to keep moving; for the sake of Preobrazhensky, Zaitsev, and Petrov.
Turning off the water, she stood trembling in the shower for a minute or so, until she was sure she was in control of herself. At least the apartment was broiling, so with any luck she'd warm up soon.
She squeezed as much water out of her hair as she could with a towel, having found to her disappointment that a hair dryer was not among the items left behind by the family who had lived there. Then, she dressed and left the bathroom, sore back twinging all the way.
From his years of being married, Adrien could tell when a woman was ticked off. It was like a sixth sense he'd developed, and it apparently crossed national borders as well.
Katja was not a happy girl when she emerged from the bathroom.
Stalking to her pack, she dug out a comb, and went to work on her hair. Finally free of its braid, her hair was surprisingly long and thick, and the loose look made her appear even younger.
"We need to figure out our sleep shifts before long. Someone has to keep watch," she said, giving one of her knots a tug with the comb.
"Yes, dear," Adrien said carefully. Usually, this had worked with his wife when they were still together.
Apparently, not Katja. She glared spitefully at him. "Don't patronize me!"
He sighed, deciding to try another route. "You're unhappy. How can I make you happy?"
Then Hornet came by, laughing. He was playing with his phone; though exactly what he was doing with it when there was no WiFi or service in general in this wasteland, Adrien couldn't imagine. Knowing Hornet, he was about to take saucy pictures of himself to try and airdrop them to the hot local single queen mother of five hundred back at the forward operating base.
Still hooting noisily, Hornet said, "She's got you totally whipped, Cap. It's cute." He went further into the living room and sat on the arm of the sofa, next to the rest of the men.
Katja watched Hornet, then turned back to Adrien. "There must not be much discipline in the Marine Corp. You let your lieutenant talk to you like that?" she asked incredulously.
Adrien was getting tired of her sanctimoniousness. Thought she was so much better than him, did she?
Of course, his sudden irritability might have had something to do with the increasingly uncomfortable prospect of threatening her into leaving with him tomorrow. But he didn't want to analyze that. He couldn't afford remorse, not anymore.
"Maybe, but at least I'm not banging my lieutenant," he retorted loudly.
To his satisfaction, that shut her up.
Her mouth dropped slightly, and her cheeks went from pink to deep scarlet. Her red hair made the blush all the more noticeable.
It certainly got the attention of the others. Alexei burst out into titters, and while Preobrazhensky's eyes were huge, Zaitsev was trying to hide a smile. Petrov looked about ready to get his gun and murder Adrien where he stood.
To Hornet, Adrien added, "No offense buddy; you're very handsome, and any woman would be lucky to have you."
Hornet gave him an exaggerated wink in return.
"Is that what you think?" Katja asked, her voice alarmingly calm. "That I'm sleeping with Petrov?"
Hornet looked back and forth between the captains like it was a tennis match, deeply intrigued by the whole matter. For his part, Scarecrow was staring at the ceiling, looking like he wished he was anywhere else. Zaitsev looked nervous but slightly gleeful.
"It is, actually. Kind of surprises me; I wouldn't think you'd be the type to risk your career over it. I mean, you're so freakin' uptight." Adrien stared at her challengingly. "Unless you'd like to deny it."
"Uptight, huh?" echoed Katja. "You know what, Adrien? Think what you want. I have more important things to worry about." She spun away, ready to leave the room.
Having to get the last word in, Adrien said, "Like which position to assume for 'Maksim'?"
Her entire body went rigid, and Petrov yelled something in Russian that sounded like 'Mudak' and jumped up from the couch. Preobrazhensky and Zaitsev hastily grabbed him and pulled him back down to the seat, while Alexei cowered against the cushions, obviously afraid of getting in the middle of it all.
Without another word, Katja stomped off to one of the empty bedrooms and closed the door. In a way, he had to admire her restraint. She must have really wanted that evac.
Everyone left in the living room seemed to be holding their breath.
"See, this is why that frat game was a bad idea," Scarecrow said, sounding strained. "People start acting childish."
Nobody laughed, but Zaitsev and Preobrazhensky did relax a fraction. Adrien knew that he'd have to keep one eye open that night, though, in case Petrov – or Katja – tried to stab him in his sleep.
Well, regardless, he had a mess to clean up.
Adrien followed Katja as far as the door and then knocked. He had gone too far, even for him. It was also completely uncalled for – and none of his business.
"I know it's you, Adrien. Go away," Katja ordered.
"We still need to divvy out beds and sleep schedules. I need you present for this. Please," he added cajolingly. There was a pause, and then the door opened to a very pissed-off Russian. He knew he needed to apologize. She was never gonna get on that transport with him acting like this.
"I was out of line. I have no excuse, not even the last seventy-two hours. I am sorry. Sincerely," Adrien offered.
She didn't seem convinced. "Look, we're all in this together, whether we like it or not. And now command will have to be shared, because half of the survivors are mine. So can we at least pretend to get along in front of the kids?" Adrien requested, holding out his hand.
Ultimately, after a long stare at his hand, she took it and spoke. "Fine. I can keep this up for another twelve hours before I never have to see you again."
Well, he wasn't so sure about that, but let her believe what she wanted. "Ok," he answered simply.
She sealed it with a quick shake, then dropped his hand like it was diseased. "What did you have in mind for beds?" she asked, switching subjects. Always eager to work. He was starting to think it was a way for her to not focus on internal problems.
"A raffle," he answered, and she looked confused. "Come on, follow me."
A moment later, they were in front of everyone. "People, we have a problem; we have three bedrooms and therefore three beds – with Viper in one, so that puts us at two, plus one foldout bed in the couch and eight people."
"Your math is blowing my mind," Petrov said sardonically.
Adrien ignored the quip. "Thank you. Now, I do have a solution. Pairing up two people per bed and leaving two on watch, then rotating."
Alexei asked a question, which Katja translated. "Who shares with who?" (Actually, being Katja, she said 'whom'. But he chose to ignore it).
"I call Katja," Hornet piped up.
"Chance will decide. Line up against the wall," Adrien ordered. Katja's men looked to her and she shrugged, waving them on. "You, too," he told Katja. Once against the wall, Adrien began patting shoulders and assigning a one or a two to them. Himself included.
"Ok, ones on my left, twos on my right in a line." Adrien said and they obeyed. He pulled his helmet off and flipped it over. "Ones, put your dogtags into my helmet," Adrien ordered, and dropped his own in there.
With it filled, he turned to the other group. "Twos, pull out a dogtag at random. No peeking. Whichever tag you get, that's your partner for the night," Adrien said, holding it out to the group.
Zaitsev and Preobrazhensky ended up a pair. Next was Hornet and Alexei, followed by Petrov and Scarecrow. Which meant there was only one possible duo left, and Adrien waited in fiendish suspense for Katja's reaction – though she had to have done the math by now and figured it out.
Finally, Katja slowly held up the tag she had taken, as though hoping by some miracle the laws of probability had erred in her favor. They hadn't. It read 'Pierce, Adrien K.'
"It's you and me, honey-bunch," Adrien said from behind her. She quietly groaned in disgust before dropping the tags into his hand.
"Who takes what watch shifts?" Preobrazhensky asked.
Before Adrien could think of a system to decide that, Katja cut in. "David and Maksim first. Me and Adrien next. Zaitsev and Preobrazhensky third. Alexei and Brian last," Katja announced before turning to Adrien. "Sometimes, it's easier just to pick instead of using a complex systems," she stated.
"I thought my way was more fair," Adrien mumbled.
"C'mon, help me unfold this bed." Katja sighed, moving over to the fold-out sofa.
Nearby, Hornet whined, "Wait, we're all going to sleep already? But I'm not tired yet!"
"Yeah, well, the rest of us weren't here napping the day away," Adrien told him. "Besides, you're going to need all the rest you can get, because your watch partner is Alexei, and you'll need to work for the both of you. Go to bed."
He turned back to Katja, who was struggling with the sofa, which gave him another pleasant view of that amazing posterior. But, he was shaken out of his stare when he suddenly realized what he was in for. "Wait, we're taking the fold-out?" Adrien questioned.
"What's wrong with it?" Katja looked at him.
"Do you want to know what would be ironic?" Hornet interjected, but nobody was paying any attention to him.
"Well, we're officers, for one. Two, those fold-outs are death traps." "Three, it's going to kill my back," he continued in his head.
"Getting pregnant on a pull-out bed," Hornet finished. The joke was ignored entirely.
"They need it more than us," Katja argued. "Anyway, we'll have to rotate beds, too, if you think about it. We'll be taking Zaitsev and Preobrazhensky's after our watch because David and Petrov will be using this after their shift. Suck it up for a few hours."
Fine; it was one night, and they'd be out of here. Adrien assisted her with the sofa, and then Katja grabbed the throw pillows and blankets scattered around the living room before tossing them onto the thin mattress.
"Alright, Scarecrow, don't let Petrov kill me. Wake us in three hours," Adrien ordered, taking off his shoes and socks. Petrov snorted at the remark.
"You needn't worry, American," Petrov assured him.
"Why's that?" Adrien asked as he laid back on the fold-out. Katja immediately stole all the blankets off him. Just like his wife used to.
And why'd she have to smell so damn good, anyway? Stupid Hornet, pointing it out earlier. Maybe it was just her shower. Yeah, that was it.
"Because the world needs to be warned, and there's still a chance we won't all make it out of here. Every gun makes the difference," Petrov answered, bringing him back to the conversation. "I'd prefer to survive the night."
Adrien had to agree that was good reasoning. As he shut his eyes, the thought worried him. Their lives ultimately didn't matter. It was the rest of the world he was concerned about.
The serpents were swarming the base. Valiantly, her men fought back, using all their training and bravery. But it wasn't enough. One by one, they fell.
Torn apart by teeth, impaled by tails, burned into nothing by acid.
And she wasn't there to save a single one of them.
Katja woke herself with a small cry, and almost immediately she remembered where she was. Hunching her shoulders and clamping her mouth shut, she glanced over at Adrien, who had woken beside her and lifted himself up on his elbow.
"What's the matter?" asked Scarecrow. He and Petrov were watching her in concern from their spot covering the door, their faces barely visible behind their flashlights
Adrien didn't ask. By the way he was staring at her, head slightly tilted in perception… she almost thought he knew.
"I just – I – this sofa bed has a bad spring. I think it gouged me in my sleep," she said lamely, lying back down. "Sorry."
She tried to fall back asleep. She really did. But Adrien's body was like the surface of a miniature sun, and the apartment was already so hot.
"Could you hold still?" Adrien whispered after the third time her knee bumped him. "Jeez, how does Petrov deal with this all night?"
This time, her knee jab wasn't accidental. "Shut up," she told him. "I'm sorry, okay? But it's about a thousand degrees in here–"
"Fahrenheit?" he asked hopefully.
Did he ever take a break from acting like… himself? "Fahrenheit, Celsius… whatever, I don't care. I'm melting."
"So go outside and jump in the snow. Maybe it's menopause."
"Oh, for love of– How old do you think I am? And you can't tell me you're not hot, too."
"I'm always hot, sweetheart; but thanks for noticing."
There was no point in answering him, so Katja rolled over and faced the other direction. But she really didn't want to sleep again. She didn't want to dream again.
For most of the evening, when she'd thought of her lost unit, she'd successfully been able to redirect her thoughts and throw herself into the role of Captain. But here, in the dark with only the empty night in front of her, she couldn't hide from it anymore. She was just Katja, they were all gone, and she'd failed them.
Her chest suddenly felt constricted, as though she was being crumpled up into a wad like a piece of paper by an unseen power. She knew she had to get up, leave and be on her own, before it crushed her so tight there was nothing left of her.
Swinging her legs over the bed, Katja got up, wondering where, exactly, she could escape. There weren't many options.
"Where are you going?" asked Adrien, his eyes not opening.
Good question.
"I'm going to check my map for some potential evacuation sites for us. I'll be back in a few minutes. Go back to sleep," she instructed.
Stumbling in the darkness, she found her map in her pack and took it into the tiny study off of the living room, closing the door behind her. Now even her throat was tight, caught in the choking grip of her racing mind.
They all crowded in her head, a sea of dead. There was Kaprizov, who was supposed to get married that summer. Nazarov, who was a very talented artist and was raising his nephew. Sushinksy, who told terrible jokes and brought in even more terrible baked goods to share. And so many more. Not to mention Yahontov, who had died right in front of her. How was she going to face their families and tell them what happened? How would she even begin? She hadn't even been able to grab his dogtags…
Katja's face felt hot and itchy, and she realized she was crying without a sound. Her hand was crushing the map.
A soft tap on the door made her jump.
"What?" she snapped.
"It's me," said Petrov in Russian. "May I come in?"
She grimaced. He no doubt meant well, but she didn't want him to see her like this. Weak, and vulnerable. Not the strong leader they needed. "Not now, Petrov."
He hesitated. "Please?" After another pause, as though worried he was overstepping, he added tentatively, "I'm not naked, I promise. Following the rules."
She choked back a small laugh. Leave it to him to try and disarm her by using her earlier stipulation against her. Scrubbing at her wet cheeks with her palm, though knowing it was probably futile to hide it, she said, "Fine. Quickly."
Petrov carefully let himself in, looking around the study. "These people sure had a lot of books on mining," he said.
Smoothing out the crushed map, Katja tossed it onto the desk. "Well, it was a mining town. I guess they took their work home with them. What do you need, Petrov?" She kept her focus on the map, tucking her loose hair behind her ears. If she looked at him, she might break down again.
"Just wanted to know if you needed help picking an evac site." Ha. What a bad liar. He was checking on her.
"No, thank you," she said briskly. "You should probably get back out there. We have enough rumors about us already without adding fuel to the fire." She tried not to sound angry, because she wasn't; at least, not with him.
"…Yeah, I'm… I'm really sorry about that, Captain," he replied, sounding sheepish. "I hope I wasn't… I mean, I didn't mean to…"
She shrugged. What did it really matter at this point, anyway? "I don't want to talk about it. Just forget about it."
For some reason, her response seemed to dishearten him. "Sure, I… I will, Captain." After a second, he spoke again. "Look, before I go, I wanted to tell you to be ready tomorrow when we get on their transport."
Katja wasn't following him. "Ready for what, a window seat?" "Why?"
"Because I think they came here for you."
Skeptically, she finally looked at him. In the faint light of the study's floor lamp, dark shadows were cast across his angular features. It made him look tired and worried. "What? I mean, I know you think he saved me on that hill–"
"And on the APC," Petrov pointed out.
"Okay, and the APC. But it's the bare minimum to do for somebody."
"Except he risked his life. Both times, in fact."
She sat on the desk's chair, thinking about what he'd said. He made interesting points, but even so, the theory was lacking in the most critical department: motivation. "There's absolutely no reason they'd want me, Petrov. You know that."
"You sure about that? You once told me your father was in the KGB."
Barking out a laugh, Katja rested her arms on the desk. "If the US really wants to take me prisoner to get information that's, oh, thirty years out of date, then they have the wrong hostage. They could mail my father all ten of my fingers, and he'd just toss them in the garbage and get back to writing his memoirs," she told him flippantly.
Petrov shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "I'm sure your father cares about you more than that. Listen, just promise me to have a plan ready in case the Americans do try something."
To ease his mind, Katja said, "Okay, I will take it under advisement."
He seemed relieved. "Thank you," he said, and turned to leave. Then, he stopped. "Wait. I forgot. One more thing."
Reaching into his cargo pocket, he took out a slightly squished chocolate lump in a clear plastic wrapper. The lump had a curlicue of white icing running across the top, and the wrapper had English text printed on it. Hostess. It looked disgusting.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Not sure, but I think it's a dessert. I found it on one of the Weyland mercs. Didn't think Alexei needed it. He's annoying enough without sugar. Anyway…" Walking over to her, he placed the treat on the desktop. "…I know this day has been hell. I think we'd both like to forget it. But everyone deserves at least one nice thing on their birthday."
Of course he'd remembered.
Great, now she was going to cry again.
Nodding at the map, he added professionally, "Don't stay up too late, Ma'am. Get some rest." He headed for the door.
She should let him go. It would be for the best to cut off whatever had been happening between them the last two days right now, here, before they returned west to their superiors.
But wrong or right, she wanted him with her, just for another moment.
"Maksim…" She wavered, trying for a smile. "Might as well stay a minute and split my cake with me. You're better at reading maps, anyway."
Adrien watched Katja leave with her map and close herself in the study. She'd had a nightmare; that much was obvious. He'd had enough of his own to know.
A part of him wished he could tell her it would get better, but…
He would have been lying.
It was only moments later that Petrov flipped on the living room light and said, "I'm going to check the map with her. I'll be back in a minute." He was looking at Adrien directly, daring him to say something about it.
"I'm not stopping you," Adrien replied.
The lieutenant moved over to the study door and knocked, saying something in Russian. Adrien threw a look at Scarecrow. "Listen up," he mouthed.
When Katja admitted Petrov, Scarecrow moved over to Adrien and said, "He just asked to go in. She said no, then he said he was wearing clothes… I think. Maybe my Russian isn't as good as I thought."
"Just get up to the door and keep listening."
Scarecrow looked uncomfortable. "Do I have to? Maybe it's, y'know. Private."
"It isn't. She's too upset for anything like that. And we're like fifteen feet away."
"Okay." Sidling up to the door, Scarecrow listened for several minutes, then stepped away.
"Well?" Adrien asked.
Scarecrow rubbed at his chin. "The guy, Petrov? He knows we're going for Katja. He was trying to warn her."
Adrien tensed, glancing over at where his handgun was resting. "What did she say?"
"I don't think she believes him."
Well, that was something, at least. "Good."
"Her father was KGB. That mean anything to you?" asked Scarecrow.
Odd. Hadn't Zaitsev said her family was gone? Or at least, was out of the picture in some way? Mulling that, Adrien said, "Must be Bob's contact? The guy who requested her extraction in the first place?" The man had sounded much too old to be the father of a woman under thirty; but a satellite call in Russia's wilderness? Maybe the connection had just been bad.
"Why would he want to get rid of his own daughter?" Scarecrow wondered.
Before he could reply, the two Russians emerged from the study. Silently, Katja dropped her map back into her pack and slid back into the sofa bed with Adrien, but it was clear she wasn't going to sleep.
Time to do something about it. Just call him the Sandman. "Ok, Petrov, Scarecrow, get some rest. We are taking over," Adrien ordered.
"It's too soon, boss," Scarecrow pointed out,
"Well, it's clear I am not going to get any sleep; so, you guys might as well."