Author's Note: Hello faithful readers, I know I've been away for quite some time. I've been dealing with a lot of personal stress and health issues. My day job is wedding dress alterations and Spring/Summer is always super hectic. I put "Liberation" aside to give my mind and heart a break after I'd put out more than 50,000 words in 6 months once Mikhail stepped in and took everything over!
I've actually been side-tracked on an original fiction novel in which I took the basic ideas of "Liberation" and put Mikhail and Aleks into a contemporary romance plot. I don't want to speak too much about this endeavor because I aim to publish it traditionally when it's finished, so I'm unable to post it anywhere or promote it. I do promise to give information if and when that dream is finally realized. I found I could take this tragic love story I've created and adapt it to almost any universe. Metro: 2033 is obviously quite bleak and stressful, and my new story definitely isn't lacking in heavy themes (amnesia, domestic violence, dangerous secrecy, military trauma, psychological fallout etc.) but it has been a fun and comforting respite from "Liberation."
I still aim to complete this fanfiction, the outline has been plotted and we're about to see everything wrapped up once and for all. I do have ideas for a prequel (more standalone backstory for Aleks, Mikhail, Varnayev, the Red Arrow crew, and possibly Hunter) as well as a sequel (Melnik reporting to Aleks that Hunter came to Polis in 2034 and leading into Artyom leaving on the Aurora and how Aleks/Mikhail/Hunter keep the Order running during their absence). I've also considered re-fitting this entire work into a Metro: 2033 Universe genre in which I don't use any of Glukhovsky's characters. That would require re-casting Artyom, Hunter, and Melnik most notably, and I'm not sure the subplots and tension would come across in quite the same way without them. Anyway, those are further off visions that come after the completion of "Liberation" and after the (hopeful) publishing of my original contemporary thriller/romance.
Thanks for reading, and for sticking with this through my ups and downs. After a freaking decade, I think it's time I finished this thing!
Disclaimer: The characters and story originally created by Dmitri Glukhovsky in the book and video game series "Metro: 2033" and its sequels do not belong to me. Those properties are owned by Glukhovsky, 4A Games, and Deep Silver. This work of fiction is intended for entertainment purposes and is not meant to be canonical, though I tried very hard to make it fit within the parameters. I do retain my rights for the creation of my own original characters and ideas. I do not make any money from writing this story.
Song Recommendation: "Remember Me" – Currents.
Chapter Fifty-Two: I Never Forgot
"Sasha dear, will you eat something?" A soft feminine voice carrying concern echoed through the flimsy door to her little room underneath Chekhovskaya. Her room. Not their room. Not anymore.
She didn't answer.
"I know it hurts honey, but he wouldn't want you to lie here and waste away." The woman attempted to turn the knob but Aleks had locked the door along with her heart.
"Masha…" Aleks sniffled. She could at least acknowledge the sympathetic friend, at least someone was trying to comfort her. No one else would talk about the horrific execution that took place almost a week ago. The room was small enough that she could reach out from the bed to unlock the door without getting up.
"Why don't you come to our place? You'll feel better if you walk around a bit." Masha stooped down and put a hand on Aleks' forehead.
"Mhm," she conceded quietly. She knew Masha was right but she didn't want to move.
"Andrusha will be off shift soon." Masha tried an encouraging voice. Andrei Ivanovich was the only other person Aleks had said anything to in the last few days. Even her mother didn't get a response when she'd attempted to visit, but that wasn't surprising if you knew anything about Irina and Aleksandrya.
Aleks sat up slowly and pulled the quilt over her shoulders, then one side of it over her tear-stained face and took a deep breath.
"Are you bringing that with you?" Masha straightened and asked gently. A simple question but a troubled one.
"It still… smells like him," Aleks' lip quivered but she managed to hold back further tears.
"Okay, it's okay… come on now." Masha put an arm around Aleks and gently coaxed her across the underbelly of the station. She hid a slightly coy smile to celebrate this small victory, thinking to herself that this tender caretaking was good practice for the children she was anticipating.
But picking up the pieces of Aleksandrya's broken heart had been more difficult than Masha's failed attempts at conception. There were no faded books that contained tips and tricks on how to console someone so consumed by sorrow. Masha had combed through the towering public bookshelf for anything on grief or even psychology but the selection was limited both by the apocalypse and the authoritarian regime that controlled these stations. Hopefully Andrei could get the poor widowed girl to eat something tonight.
"Sasha? What are you doing here?" He was surprised, confused, but not angry. Not yet. "This is a restricted area! No civilians."
She glanced behind her; Ivanovich was still around the corner fiddling with the electronics. Aleks carefully drew her hand over her right hip. Could the young soldier tell what she was concealing there?
"I'm leaving, Nikita. I can't stay here any longer. Please… try to understand."
"The hell do you mean? You can't leave. And definitely not on my watch!" His fingers traced along the grip of his ceremonial sidearm, still in the holster. No Honor Guard had ever fired a shot on duty before.
"You don't have to tell them. Please, just let me go! I have to get out of here."
"Fuhrer would have my head if he found out—If I just let you…" Nikita Tarasovich seemed to be examining the possibilities of his own warning but he almost sounded as if he wanted to comply, to agree with her. He saw what happened four years ago, and he had expressed his sympathy to a certain - very limited - degree. "I can't keep a secret like that!"
"Please, Nikita," Aleks begged one more time. Her fingers began to scrunch up the long hem of her shirt. Please, don't make me fight for my freedom again. I won't fail this time.
"Why are you doing this?" He asked, exasperated, but didn't he already know the answer?
"You know why. I can't stand it anymore… not without him."
"You're still hung up on Zakharovich?" Any prior compassion had seemingly been resolved, perhaps just then and there. "He was a fuckin' mutineer and you're lucky you got off so easy!"
"Lucky?! I wish I had died with him!" She said it so sincerely that a flash of empathy crossed the young Honor Guard's face.
"I can't… I can't just let you—" his fingers twitched, then clenched.
"Please… don't…" she warned for a final time, but she couldn't voice any further explanations.
"Aleks," Ivanovich's low tone came from behind her, expressing his need for more time. Indicating that this was their only chance at escape, implying that she had better follow his order. He handed her the Makarov for this very purpose, 'Take this. Watch my back. Don't think too much.'
"Sasha!" Nikita tried to regain her attention. She didn't want anybody to call her that anymore.
Aleks didn't answer either of the men, and she didn't try to hide her weapon any longer. Nikita had only just gotten his fingers around the handle, two centimeters of the barrel shined in the red and yellow light. Was he hesitating? He didn't think she was this desperate. He didn't think she was armed. Maybe he was only drawing out his weapon to threaten her more severely but there was no turning back now.
The barrel of his pistol came loose but Aleks was faster. She slipped her fingers under her shirt and ripped the Makarov out of its holster, taking aim with both hands and displaying a most regretful sneer. So much time was passing in what was actually less than a few seconds. She suppressed the urge to close her eyes.
A breath. A click. A shot. A heavy weight collapsed to the floor and her tears rapidly obscured the view of his petrified pained face. He dropped the gun to clutch at his chest, his mouth was hanging open but he didn't say another word. She wouldn't have been able to understand him over the ringing in her ears. Aleks took two steps backwards, flinching when Ivanovich grabbed her hand and pulled her along the corridor.
"Come on. They will have heard that." He commanded softly yet insistently.
"I'm sorry! I'm s-sorry!" She blubbered against the back of her hand but who was she apologizing to? Nikita? Andrei? Mischa? The smell of gunpowder was still fresh from the barrel right in front of her face and for a fleeting moment she thought of pointing it at herself.
Did she really deserve to live and Nikita to die? Wasn't there any other way? She had just expressed to her victim her own wish for death. If she did it right now, could she see who she missed so much on the other side? He said he would be there. They would wait for each other. Maybe their next lifetime together wouldn't be so painful and so brief.
Nikita had almost seemed to understand her motivations just now, yet nobody had taken her side in the aftermath of Mikhail's execution. Aside from Ivanovich and his late wife, most people wouldn't even speak of the horrifying event at all. But Aleks could hear his last words ring in her head once again as Ivanovich led her away from the Fourth Reich at long last. 'Sasha, I love you! It will be okay!'
But it wasn't okay.
"Hunter? What does it feel like to kill someone?" Her voice squeaked out uncomfortably and broke the heavy silence.
"What?" He turned his head slowly and squinted, certain that he hadn't heard her correctly.
"Not like, what happens right then but what do you... what are you supposed to feel about it? Afterwards, I mean." Aleks was clutching opposite sleeves and avoided his gaze and he understood that she was revealing herself, feeling vulnerable and deciding to confide in him about her fear - or was it guilt? Had she killed someone at some point and was having trouble coming to terms with it? Hunter was silent for a very long minute as his eyes shifted from her to the corner of the wall and back again, deeply contemplating his answer before giving it.
"What makes you think I've killed people?" He scanned back over her suspiciously, wondering if he could successfully evade this. Why was she asking such a thing? He knew she would see straight through the flimsy excuse at dodging her question but he was hoping it would buy him more time to construct the proper response.
"After all this time in the Order...?" She stammered disbelievingly and then looked into his eyes with exasperated annoyance. "You promised you wouldn't lie to me. If you're going to be teaching me what you do, then you answer me right now Ivan Antonovich."
He took a deep breath and held it for a second while he contemplated honestly. Then he let out a long sigh as he shifted closer to her and spoke in a low calm voice.
"There is no 'supposed to'... as if everyone feels the same way about it. Do you think bandits or Reds feel remorse?"
"Then tell me what you feel when you... so I'll know what to compare to." She loosened her grip on herself and leaned over as if desperate to forge some kind of psychological connection with him.
"I don't feel. It's best not to, in general." He said a little too coldly, an unfortunately automatic response, and he felt her tense up without even looking at her. But there was that strange nurturing desire and concerned curiosity that prompted him to keep the conversation going. "If it's justified such as when defending yourself or another worthy soul then there's no reason to feel bad about it. Sometimes things need to be done for the greater good. Sometimes people need to die. Sometimes they need to be killed."
"But who decides who's worthy? And what if it was justified? You could even call it self-defense, but I still feel bad about it." She revealed without fear, gazing out into the distant tunnel with a somber sort of longing, waiting for his response as if she needed him to absolve her somehow.
"So, you've been keeping stories from me as well I see." He tried with difficulty to hide a sarcastic smile, fully sensing the pressure building up inside her and ready to burst out. He genuinely wanted to help her feel better, as well as hear the story of who she had killed and why. "At first, there's fear and guilt, whatever you're feeling now is right for you. After a while, those reactions will dull down."
"But it was a while ago." She was hugging herself uncomfortably again, her eyes growing hollow as she looked back into the past to dredge up the memory.
"Well, are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?" He teased gently, the way she always nagged at him for his secrets, letting a smile show through if only to comfort her with his congeniality.
Aleks turned away from him slightly and dropped her head, trying to hide her face as the muscles in it tensed and contorted through several emotions before she spoke again.
"So, our escape from Reich wasn't exactly clean and quiet," she admitted with a melancholy sigh.
"As I figured when you were telling me about your Makarov when we met. Go on, I'm listening."
"He was an Honor Guard; a division of the station security forces. He tried to stop us from leaving the station. He might not have shot at us but if I didn't, then… he would have told people about our escape and then we wouldn't have had time to… disappear as you say." She had that longing expression again, maybe she was just desperate to get the story out of her own memory.
"Right. Justified." Hunter nodded succinctly.
"I knew his name. He wasn't a bad man but he wasn't good either. He didn't deserve to die but I was so scared and… angry. I had to shoot him, not just wound him but… silence him." She bit her lip and Hunter deduced that she was done with her story, but strangely there were no tears in her eyes.
"And where was your Andrei Ivanovich during all this?" He gestured vaguely with a wave of one hand to keep her attention on the present moment so she wouldn't slip too far back in time.
"He was right there with me. He gave me the gun - the Makarov was his duty weapon, a badge of office in Reich. He told me to watch his back while he unlocked the gate." Aleks gripped the holster on her belt which carried that very pistol.
"Then as a soldier you did as you were ordered, saving not only yourself but your comrade. And you also kept your mission from being compromised. You have nothing to be upset about." Hunter shifted his weight and tried to read her face.
"Sure, that's easy enough for you maybe. 'After a while,' you say. But after which, I wonder? A lot of time or a lot of killing?" Her voice had suddenly grown fierce but she hadn't looked over at him, so perhaps that was also an internal accusation that she didn't mean to voice out loud. Perhaps she believed his responses to be dismissive in some way. But Hunter couldn't be reassuring any longer.
"And where do you get this image of me with such a bloodlust, hm? Have I ever—? In front of you?" Hunter pulled away and then shook his head, certain that he hadn't harmed a soul at any time when she was in his company. It was remarkable that when he was most on guard to protect her, nobody had dared to cross his path or force his hand.
"No, but I feel..." She finally turned her gaze to him and her attention shifted with it. She stared up and studied him carefully as he displayed himself as defensively as he could. "You have the ability, the potential, the occupational opportunity."
Hunter stayed still and seated. Aleks seemed to stare straight through him as she was concentrating on something internal of his. He was absolutely curious as to her impressions of him and waited several full minutes in silence for her to finish her examination. Any reading she could articulate would prove how well his lessons had been sinking in, and he would also gain insight into how she viewed him because he was never sure what she thought about him or even what he wanted her to think.
"There's just... a sort of, I don't know. Hunger. And look, I'm not afraid of you, but... don't you know?"
"I don't," he lied quickly, but remembering their underlying agreement he took a breath and started again. "I don't let it—" But he couldn't finish the idea. How had she caught on so quickly? He suddenly felt embarrassed, defenseless, and sat back against the wall dejectedly, trying to hide his discomfort.
"Someone once told me a story, that there are two wolves in our hearts; one is darkness and evil and the other is light and goodness. The one you feed most is the one that wins control. What actions you take determine the fate of your soul." He had heard the proverb before but had never thought seriously about it.
"This was supposed to be about you…" his voice trailed off as he hoped she would return to the previous segment of the conversation. He crossed his arms and gave her an invasive stare.
"Well, what is it you want to know? I told you what happened." She finally raised her eyes to meet his, shaking away the solemn atmosphere so swiftly, but a sort of unsettled echo rang in his ears. He wouldn't have guessed that anybody could figure out his deepest attributes, ones that he couldn't even quite identify yet. But she had a point, of course, and he had his suspicions. Still, she didn't seem to fear him in the slightest - she had admonished his lack of emotional range at times but there wasn't much he could do about that. Not if he wanted to keep his job, and his life.
"Are you happy where you are right now?" He gestured with one hand but didn't necessarily suggest the physical location.
Aleks glanced around at their surroundings, but then the deeper meaning to the question seemed to sink in and she looked back at him with a hint of amusement.
"More than I have been." Her strongly certain answer implied this very moment in time with him and Hunter looked away. Of course he had meant if she was content with the path of her life and how it was evolving, but she had taken it entirely too literally. But that soaring feeling had already lifted his heart up in his chest and he had to force his mind to stay grounded.
"Then there's no use in dwelling on the past, whatever good or bad you've done all added up and brought you here. So, if you're happy with your life you can just put a little stopper in your mind and keep going from there."
"That makes sense." She blinked a few times and relaxed her posture. "I guess I wouldn't want to change anything, because if I didn't do everything I already did… then I wouldn't be here now. I'd still be stuck in Darwin, or who knows what else could have happened instead? There's got to be millions of possibilities, different futures based on our choices, right? But I ended up here… in this tunnel with you."
"Precisely." He replied after a long minute, stunned by her immediate understanding of the basic concept he had presented. She had taken the notion and run with it, and now even his own mind was consuming itself with the myriad of parallel possibilities. How many futures existed where he never would have met her? It seemed so astronomical that they had ended up here together.
"So, are you happy where you are right now, too?" She pressed gently.
"You could say that." And there was the smile again.
Aleks stepped into the barracks hall and stood straight behind her new Captain. She wasn't sure if her heart had stopped or if it was just beating so fast that she couldn't feel it anymore.
"Listen up, ladies! We've got a new recruit!" Anna yelled into the barren corridor. Shuffling and murmuring was quickly heard from several open doorways and three women of varying appearances emerged. "Aleksandrya Adrianovna will be joining our division as of today. Colonel's orders."
"Ooh, this is exciting!" A blonde-haired young woman exclaimed from a threshold on the righthand side. As Aleks absorbed the rounded, jovial features of the speaker's face, something suddenly connected in her mind and she blurted out of turn.
"Hey, don't I—?"
"Aleks? From Venice?" The girl scrunched up her eyebrows curiously. Then the name came out of the memory file.
"Katya the sniper," Aleks nodded and tried not to grin too warmly in contrast to Anna's cold narrowed eyes.
"Wow! How have you been?" The sniper walked up and embraced her without warning.
"I've been… uh," Aleks swallowed whatever solemn words were brewing on her tongue. She didn't want to ruin a happy moment, or her first impression on the sniper division. And she and the Colonel had already spoken about enough serious and mournful things this evening.
"So, why are you here?" A low voice droned, almost fatigued, but it didn't sound accusatory. The voice belonged to a tall and thin woman with olive skin, long black hair, and heavy-lidded eyes.
"I… um… I'm here because."
"Hunter recruited her." Anna reported flatly and all of the other girls' eyes widened in shock and excitement.
"Oh my God! Wait, really? So, do you know where he—?" Katya began.
"No," Aleks was quick to dispel the collective hope. She knew people would ask once they found out about her association to the missing Ranger, and she hoped if she answered firmly and precisely that nobody would ask her to elaborate.
"Don't start, Katya. You know better." The dark-haired woman spoke lazily again and Katya covered her mouth with both hands as she apologized to Anna with her eyes.
"There's an open bunk room, here," Anna walked on with a straight face as if none of this awkward introduction had happened. As if the other girls weren't there anymore.
Aleks glanced at each of her new comrades regretfully, somehow wanting to tell them her story and yet also wanting to keep it a secret forever. Her gaze lingered on Katya until she retreated into her own room. Perhaps they could talk later. The information, the things about Hunter, about herself and Hunter, weren't classified. At least, Melnik hadn't said anything about keeping it to herself. Maybe telling someone who knew the Veteran Stalker, telling another woman, would unburden some of this pain.
"Are you ready for a bath?" Katya interrupted Aleksandrya's dissociating mind with the gentle question.
"I…" Aleks was still getting used to using her voice again. She'd told Artyom most of what happened in the Second Unit but there were so many things she couldn't say to him. Things she might not ever be able to say to anyone. But perhaps, if she could trace out the right words, Katya could understand or read between the lines.
"I'm here, I'll help you." Katya offered both of her arms and Aleks slowly pushed herself towards the edge of the bed. What was the purpose, though? What was the point of bathing? Nothing could wash away these memories. Nothing could cleanse this pain, not in her body or her mind. But she leaned on her closest friend and limped along to the bathing room at the end of the short hall in the ICU wing.
"They…" Aleks clawed her fingers into the material of her hospital gown nervously as Katya began to untie the strings in the back. "Varnayev…"
"I know, Aleks," Katya sighed softly and paused her progress. "I'm not going to hurt you. I won't touch anywhere you don't want."
"Mhm," Aleks conceded with a tight nod. In her heart she did trust Katya, trusted her hands and her words, but her heart kept pounding anxiously.
"Just… tap my hand, if you can't talk. Okay?" Katya prompted for the signal by giving an example. Aleks simply took Katya's hand and held onto it.
"I miss him." She choked on the tears she was trying to hold back. She could probably take quite a long shower with all the tears she had cried for him. For Mikhail. And now for Hunter.
"Hunter?" Katya asked carefully, as if she'd been told not to talk about the Veteran Ranger.
"Yes, and," Aleks took a deep breath. "Someone else."
"Aleks," Katya whispered, closing in from behind and encircling her with both arms. "I, um…"
"What?" Aleks squeezed Katya's arm. Did she understand who she was really thinking about? There's no way Katya could have heard anything from that far in the past. She hadn't ever told Hunter, or anyone in the Order, anything about her Honor Guard.
"It will… things will get better." Katya stumbled over the words like landmines. "You trust me, right? I promise you. Something good will happen."
"How could—?" How could anything good ever happen again? And if anything good was possible, then how long before it was inevitably ripped away from her like everything else had been? But she wanted to believe. Even if all she had left was the goal of reaching the afterlife to see him again. "I trust you."
Katya was silent but still comforting, making every movement slowly and carefully. Aleks was near to asking Katya if she'd ever experienced anything like… anything… against her will.
"Oh," Katya exclaimed softly. Aleks could feel her friend delicately gathering up her hair and then touching the back of her neck. "What's this?"
"It's—!" Aleks tried to take a step away, forgetting about the damned knee brace and then wincing in pain when she accidentally put her weight on it. "It's nothing!"
"Aleks," Katya assisted Aleks to sit on a tiled outcropping of the shower room, looking at her ponderously as if to say she wouldn't give up on her question until Aleks replied honestly.
"It doesn't…" she was going to say that it didn't have meaning, or not anymore, but of course it did. She was trying to come up with the most basic words to explain it away but all she could find in her mind were glowing images of Mikhail's face. He was happy there, free from pain and worry, calmly watching over her and waiting for her to join him in spirit form.
"It looks like a sparrow." Katya insisted. How had she guessed the exact species from such a generic outline?
"Yes."
But Katya kept staring even after the basic confirmation. She wanted to explain it, just as she'd wanted to explain everything about Hunter. But what good would it do? It would just dredge up more and more broken pieces that couldn't be put back together again.
"It symbolizes… someone I used to know."
"They must have meant a lot to you if you got a tattoo for them."
"I… I miss him so much."
"Not Hunter." Katya's inflection didn't contain a question that time.
"No." Aleks shook her head.
Katya put a hand on her shoulder and then reached for the shower extension hose on the wall. Aleks thought she saw a tear roll down Katya's face but maybe she had splashed herself by accident.
She wanted to tell her friend everything, every last detail about Mikhail that she could recall. Who would remember him so well if something happened to her? No one would know who the young blonde soldier was in the faded photograph tucked away between the pages of the novel they had last read together. No one would hear his voice in their minds, see his playful smile, hear his teasing tone of voice, watch the flicker of the candlelight in his golden-brown eyes. She had to share the beautiful memories with someone, before it was too late. But when Aleks opened her mouth to speak, her voice was dammed up behind the wall of tearful memories.
Aleksandrya couldn't recall if she'd awoken from a good dream or a nightmare. Somehow, she thought it was both. One of those nights where you forced yourself back to reality just to be sure of where you were in it. So much had happened in the last few days and weeks that it didn't always register in a logical order. All manner of thoughts, hopes, and memories flashed out of sequence once her eyes closed and her mind drifted.
It was too dark to make out the confines of the space but she knew they were limited, cozy even. Air was circulating quietly through a small vent on the low ceiling. The bed was soft, there was a thick blanket over her, and something close behind her. Something solid and warm that contoured to her, duplicating her sleeping position. Breathing softly.
Is it… Artyom? No. Then… Hunter? What day was it? What year? Oh, God, that's right, it's...
He squeezed his arm against her just as she realized who it was but her heart sped up anyway. She tried to summon the flashbacks, shuffle through the little slideshow of everything that had been happening even though it felt so surreal. But this wasn't a dream world. He was really here. He was still alive. He was hers again.
So, it's November…fifth? Sixth? 2033. What time was it? She ran her fingers along his arm that was over her until she got to his wrist, to his watch. Even though this was his mission he was accustomed to diligent timekeeping. She pressed the button on the side and its analog face faintly glowed green, it was zero six fifteen.
"Sasha?" He said quietly, likely wanting to ask her what she was concerned about but he was too tired to make the rest of the words. They had both been on their guard, ready to comfort each other when the dreadful memories of their past crept into their reveries.
"I'm here, I'm okay," she promised and pulled his arm tighter over her.
"Good." He kissed the back of her neck and let out a relieved breath against her skin.
"Mmh," she shivered a little bit. She was still getting used to all this. His touch was electric.
She felt a little guilty for mistaking his identity, even though he had no idea of her inner confusion. Hunter wasn't like this at all, even on the rare occasions he had taken the time off from his missions to sleep next to her. And Artyom would never get this close, they had mutually agreed on keeping their friendship exactly as such.
It's Mischa… your Mischa. She confirmed his name again clearly in her mind, trying to convince herself more and more each day that he wasn't going anywhere ever again. He promised.
Mikhail shifted slightly and adjusted the blanket. His other arm that was underneath her neck stretched and flexed and she turned her head and kissed it. He made a quiet little noise, still half asleep. Or was he? He had been vigilant these last two days, looking out for her even though this was probably the safest place that either of them could be.
The medical staff didn't check in on her quite as often during the overnight hours. The last time Nataliya had come by on her rounds, they were half-naked in the midst of another kind of emotional reunion. The kind nurse just laughed softly to herself and figured her patient was doing just fine, closing the door for them as she left. Mikhail hadn't even noticed the momentary intrusion, too wrapped up in his carnal venture to be side-tracked. It was adorable. He missed her so much. He thought she had been killed, too. They had a lot to be thankful for. Every minute of every day would be spent appreciating what they had, what they had lost and thought never to return.
He nudged at her with his nose, breathing softly next to her ear and making every hair stand on end like faint static shocks creeping over her whole body. Was he falling back asleep or doing it on purpose? All she could do was rhythmically rub his forearm and hold one of his hands because she couldn't reach anything else.
His arms constricted her but not uncomfortably. She couldn't move from her half-curled position but she didn't want to be anywhere else. His left hand began to wander, starting at her shoulder but getting bolder as he descended. It made one long meandering journey along one delicate collarbone, between her modest breasts, over her curved waist, her hipbone that stuck out, her pale bare thighs, stopping at the unsightly and cumbersome knee brace. Then the hand started to make its ascending return but caught under the edge of her hospital gown. Yes, he was awake, in every sense of the word. His fingers lined up along her hip and pulled her back against him.
"Mmnh," she couldn't hold in a reaction to this audacious action, he unlocked everything about her.
"Say it again," he whispered amorously, maybe he'd just been dreaming about her.
"Mmmh," she breathed a little louder. Half of her wanted to go back to sleep but another reunion was already in motion. And how could she possibly say no to any of him? His body was magnificent, and somehow he had gotten even more glorious over time.
She fidgeted weakly, shuddering as he kissed the outer edge of her ear. It was hard to focus on his roaming touch. She was aching to caress him all over in return but he wouldn't let her move. Weren't these strong hands meant for coarser things? Things like rifles, sandbags, firewood, machinery. How had he learned to be so gentle? Maybe he'd picked it up from watching her sew every time he came to visit her late at night in the workshop underneath Chekhovskaya. And they had even done this there, once. Did he get that memory back? Or would she have to remind him?
She only had one other boyfriend before she met Mikhail; Tolya had been pushy, selfish, and rough in all the wrong ways. But Mikhail hadn't ever rushed anything, he took his time with each step and skillfully built up to the pinnacle. He communicated with her, acted consciously, and made her feel comfortable and cared for. Interpreting her voiceless responses and earning her trust so she would feel secure enough to relax and steadily discover how enjoyable carnal activities could be for both parties. He set it up like an adventure, something wonderful that they could endeavor towards and achieve together. He guided her through all the things she had been missing out on before, he gave her everything she ever needed. And somehow, in return, she was enough for him even though she had been so reserved and so inexperienced. Maybe he had really only taught her to be exactly what he wanted in a partner but that was entirely acceptable to her because she only wanted him.
Had he really given up such pleasurable interactions the whole time they had been apart? It was sort of nice to think that he had saved himself, even if it was due to the trauma he was carrying. But at the same time, she almost felt bad for the unknown number of women he could have been with who were deprived of his company, because he was so goddamn good at it. Maybe in all his teachings, he had unintentionally molded himself into what she required, too. So, they were a perfect fit, and they didn't match up with anyone else. Did he have anything more to show her? Anything new?
"Sasha, you make me feel like I'm on fire," he admitted softly. His passionate candor sounded like he had retrieved every piece of his fractured personality. He was twenty-three again. Welcome back, Mischa. I'm so happy to see you again.
Nothing hurt at all, not even the broken bones and pounding headache could intrude on this bliss. He was tense, every gorgeous defined muscle was working hard to hold onto her tightly but lovingly. He was completely focused on her like nothing else existed and she felt worshipped and sacred. I don't let anyone else this close. Only you.
It was so easy to give herself over to his control, that feeling of letting go of all fear, all attachment to anything else. The idea of having total trust in someone who wanted you to go on this sensual journey with them, working together to climb to the highest peak of existence, and then suddenly you were free from your Earthly limitations and your souls melded into one entity for just a little bit in another dimension. In those moments he was like a God, powerful and capable of anything yet choosing to spend his ferocious attention only on her. And it made her feel empowered in turn because she made him want her. All she had done was exist as herself and it made him completely obsessed. What did she ever do to deserve this man's love? To be so lucky?
"I love you so much, Sasha," he apparently felt the need to clarify as if it wasn't already overwhelmingly obvious. It was always nice to hear it. She finally forced herself to shift her position, barely feeling the pain in her knee as she turned herself over to embrace him.
"I love you. I missed you," she hoped saying that wouldn't bring up the bad memories again.
He allowed her to settle into his arms and lay her head on his chest, but he was quiet and she mentally kicked herself. They were trying to move forward. Although she had gone through her own agonizing cycle of grief and regret after his execution, his experiences were infinitely worse. She didn't want to admit that she tiptoed around the horrible subjects only because she didn't want him to feel any more pain and guilt than he had already. She truly didn't blame him for anything, only feeling immense empathy and the echoes of their shared aching wishful thoughts for eight long years.
"Did you ever dream about me?" he suddenly asked as if he had been reading her mind. He was good at that, too.
"Of course, I did. I told you." But somehow, she knew he meant more than just the superficial question.
"I mean, did you ever dream of me… like that?" His voice was reflective again but he didn't seem sad, more like pensive. She knew what he was implying.
"Sometimes..." but she unfortunately failed to recall any specific or recent instances. She was certain his answer would be yes but she asked anyway, "Did you?"
"Sometimes," he repeated, hesitating a moment before elaborating. "Sometimes it made me feel worse and sometimes it helped. But I wonder if, now that we know everything, I wonder when it happened… did we ever dream about it at the same time?"
"Like, I was reaching out to you? Like we knew without really knowing?" It was an intriguing idea, and so thoroughly romantic if it turned out to be true. Unconscious yet conscious minds connecting where hearts and bodies couldn't and didn't know the truth yet. They were, and always had been… entangled.
"Yeah, something like that. I was definitely reaching out to you but I thought you were… well, you know." He gently stroked her long hair; she hadn't told him yet that she was thinking of cutting it short. It would probably start falling out soon if the radiation damage had been severe enough, but she didn't want him to worry about that.
"I'm sorry," but she didn't really know why she was apologizing.
"If I'm not allowed to say it anymore, then neither are you," he hugged her tighter.
"What am I allowed to say?" She brought back the sassy tone, she wanted to keep the word games going. He was so adorable when he was joking around, and the laughter would clear out the last of the uncomfortable sadness.
"You can say..." He looked down at her and smiled again, trying to lighten his voice as a half-hearted impression of her. "Mischa, you're the man of my dreams!"
"Well, you are. But better than dreams could ever be," she grinned and stretched up to kiss him again. "Are you going to dream about me now?"
"Shit, how could I not after these last few days? Tell you what… I'll meet you in the dream bed in a few minutes and we'll see what happens." He fixed the blanket over them before returning his arms to her.
"I'll be there," she laid her head down on his chest and closed her eyes. Whether in a dream or reality, she was overjoyed to have him back again. This was their next lifetime together.