| Angry Snow | |||
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Approaching The Plekhanov Residence June 18, 2008, 1149 hours He was angry. No, he was more than that. He was pissed off. He could feel it flowing round his body, being pushed ever upwards each time his feet pressed down on the ground as he made his way home. Seething. Fucking seething. It always fucking happened to him. Always. There always had to be a problem, or a complication in his life. That was one reason why he didn't believe in God; if he did then it meant that he was one mean son of a bitch, and that just went against the whole concept of God. If you do exist then I bet you're having a good fucking laugh, he thought angrily. He picked up his pace, breaking into a jog, and then a sprint. There was no real reason for him to get home so quickly; he'd already missed it., and no amount of running would change that. It wasn't as if he could beat time in a race. He'd already lost; this was just punishment. What a shit way to end a day. It had started out much better. In fact, it hadn't been a bad few days, though he had missed Yelena. His memory of the previous night was now tinged with guilt because he hadn't been able to call her. Instead he'd been out having fun with another woman. Ok, you can stow that mister, his mind told him. Fair enough, he thought. After all, it was nothing like that at all, and he knew it. He just wished that things could have worked out a bit better, but that was just a wish. Paige had insisted that they miss the dinner, and he hadn't put up much of a fight. It just hadn't appealed to him, not after the earlier meeting having nearly bored him to death. So, instead of the dinner she had taken him back to hers for some quick food and a few drinks. He'd chosen vodka, naturally, but was disappointed to find that it was nothing like the true paper vodka back home. That fact hadn't stopped him from drinking it though, and after a few he had started to loosen up. They'd headed for his next, so he could change into a new suit, this one flashier than his previous conservative effort. He liked to dress up when he went out, and that was exactly what Paige had informed him they were doing. The club had been a pleasant surprise; a lot classier than he had expected, though that had suited him given what he'd been wearing. She'd been all dressed up too and, he remembered, went straight to the bar for drinks. She'd knocked back a fair amount that night, more than he had, but even then she'd seemed to have things under control despite dancing non-stop and trying to grope anything vaguely human in her path. He'd laughed at that, they way it just didn't seem to matter to her. As for himself, he'd kept things in check, knowing where his limits where, both drinking and contact- wise, and staying well within them. Afterwards, they'd decided to go back to the hotel; he'd just felt safer in his own mind knowing that Evgraf would know the situation, knowing that the youngster would never do anything improper. Besides, he had had to apologise about missing the dinner. And in keeping with his gallant ways he had offered Paige the bed, taking the couch for himself. He still had to find out what she'd said to her boss about missing the dinner; he'd been on the flight back home when that must have occurred. The debrief upon arriving back at the RGZS hadn't been fun, more a lengthy exercise in remembering as many details about the Americans and their assets as possible. They'd been especially interested in his report on the training facility, which hadn't speeded along his exit to Yelena. The words were still burned in his mind. It'd been less than five minutes ago that Sergei had informed him of the problem with the scan timetabling, and the subsequent realisation that he had missed it still tore through him now as he raced to get home. He'd wanted to be there so much, and Sergei fucking knew that. No, that wasn't fair. It hadn't been his fault, nor the doctor's really. It was just one of those things that happened. Except they always seemed to happen to him, and that was why his anger still burned brightly. Home was much closer now, and he slowed his pace as he approached, suddenly realising that he had no idea what he was going to say. Sorry? It sounded hollow in his mind. Would she be awake, waiting for him with teary eyes? Probably, he judged, just because she'd want to know why he had missed something that he'd promised he'd be there for. He had a bad feeling that her eyes wouldn't be as accusing as he deserved them to be, and that made him feel even worse. The front door loomed in front of him now. He fumbled in his pocket for the key, finding it eventually and unlocking the door as quietly as his anger would allow. If she was asleep he didn't want to disturb her. The interior was dark; he was wrong then, she wasn't awake. The idea of her sitting up crying in the dark didn't bear contemplating. He made his way into the kitchen, seeking out the vodka with the intention of climbing onto the garage roof and drowning his sorrows. Something stopped him though. He couldn't just hide from his problems, he had to face them. Just as he'd faced Odds he'd have to face this. He opened the fridge, opting for milk over vodka and downing the bottle. The anger was still inside him because the milk simply didn't taste as good as it should. He put the empty bottle in the bin and headed up to the bathroom to clean his teeth before taking the steps towards the bedroom and confronting the problem. Anger and guilt now flowed through him easily as his mind imagined her sitting up on the bed with tears streaming down her cheeks. Well, he thought, the only way you'll know is by opening that door. Mercifully she was asleep, though her expression was anything but the picture of serenity he usually saw when he chose to stay up and watch her sleep. She looked pained, and that hurt him. He didn't move any closer, instead removing his clothes at the door. It was going to be a long night, he realised, and sleep probably wouldn't be playing a big part in it, more than likely to be replaced by angry reflection. He made his way round to his side of the bed but stopped cold before he reached it. Snow. It filled his mind, coming back to him from his childhood, surrounding him in the purity of frozen wonders. How it would blanket the neighbourhood overnight without much warning; you fell asleep with the world looking normal, and awoke with everything being white. It wasn't always as simple as that though. There had been blizzards, what he had thought of at that tender age as the snow's angry form, storms of swirling whiteness that engulfed all before it. He'd never really been scared though, because he knew what happened when the sun came out, when the fingers of warmth and light reached down from the sky and touched the product of the blizzard. All the angry snow melted away. Just like his anger now. His fingers tentatively touched the object that lay on his pillow, hoping that he wasn't imagining it, hoping that it wouldn't melt away like his anger, like the snow. It didn't. It was real. He lifted it up to his eyes, thanking Sergei for all the time he'd spent honing in his night vision. Despite the darkness he managed to make out the image, even some features that may have been real or a product of his hope and joy. He didn't care though. Their baby. The scan took pride of place on his bedside cabinet as he slipped into bed and wrapped his arms around his beautiful woman, his hand sliding down and coming to a gentle rest on her stomach. He kissed the back of her neck softly and said goodnight to her, unable to see the small smile that appeared automatically on her sleeping face. His angry snow had melted, and the sun was now shining. Return |
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