#connery

one last look. 

one last look at that damnable inlet.

but, even as he studied his horizons, she was there, ever watchful as she always was. this time, she appeared in the canyon breeze that caused the remnants of ice off of the banks to dance in the water. some would argue that it was the sheer size and force of the submarine and it's accompanying fleet that was causing enough disturbance to make this happen, but Marko knew better - Natalia was here. she was everywhere.

as daunting as the Red October was, it had practically been a gift from heaven - a gift straight from Natalia. a way to bring him out of the world that had taken her from him, the society that had not even allowed him to pray as they sent her into the furnace that would devastate him for the rest of his life. the one woman he would ever thank God for, wasn't allowed that last supplication to the heavens that felt so neglectful.

Marko recalled penning the letter to her uncle, the one that would result in the permanent separation of the Ramius name from the union's good graces. it had taken several drafts, trying to filter through the poison he had been harboring for years. it had surely been Padorin that had a hand in Natalia's untimely departure from the earth, as it was equally the fault of the party. as many drafts as it took, Marko was certain he had remained civil without allowing himself to grant Padorin to escape the wrath he deserved.

the whistle of the tugboat drew his attention from his moment in reminiscence. it was time.

every rung of the ladder in his descent was a step towards freedom. every foot that the submarine dropped was a breath of fresh air. 

inspection went according to routine, courses charted, tests completed. there was something to seeing a ship run so efficiently, something to the constant chatter, blips from the computer, the sound of steps across the tread plate. having been at sea for so many years, Marko could call these sounds comforting. sounds of home.

this gave him pause. what could he call home? while the sea had provided adventure to quench the wandering star in his heart, Marko reflected that the only solace, the only place of warmth, safety, of tranquility, was in the arms of his Natalia. no amount of thrill that the sea could offer could replace the soft hands that even now, plucked at his heartstrings. 

taking his gloves off, Marko's gaze swept over the conn. Vasily was keeping things running, as he always was. as he approached, he could still see that young, eager seaman that had entered Vilnius at the first opportunity. those blue eyes that Natalia had always said would carry a certain melancholy sadness to them, always missing something, always searching until his heart found somewhere safe to land. 

when selecting his officers for the Red October, Vasily had been his first choice. he had been ridiculed for accusing the son of a party official of something inexcusable, and since that day had been wary of anything that came in an order letter. he was always the careful one of Marko's boys, quietly drawing his conclusions by observation. it would be valuable now, especially considering the risks that this mission was taking.

Natalia, be with me, Marko thought as he saw the anxious look behind Vasily's calm expression.

"Time to open the orders, sir. The political officer is in your cabin." Vasily's lips upturned in a small smirk.

"Very well. You have the conn." Marko replied.

now, to deal with the zampolit. he had been yapping on earlier about something that Marko could not recall. the man's voice was aggravating enough, nails on a chalkboard; the words that spilled from his mouth, somehow worse. in him, there was such naive arrogance that could not be excused, not even in exchange for the tears the man had shed at Natalia's funeral.

taking a deep breath, Marko opened the door and saw Natalia's book in the hands of Ivan Putin, sinking his heart into his stomach. the book he had labored to protect, to keep hidden from the hands that had played in her untimely departure.

it had been the theories and conclusions that had led Natalia to mistrust the world she knew. to question everything, taking the puzzle of her ideology apart one piece at a time, until she realized the facade of safety that had been presented to her for the duration of her lifetime.

"Marko, you must listen. It is not safe. Nothing about it is safe."

"You wrote and underlined these passages?"

Marko recalled the endless days and nights that she spent, pouring over so many books at once, annotating, underlining, writing her thoughts in her notebook. Scientists had never worked as hard as Natalia Ramius had at discovering the truth about her country.

"We live in a den of lions, dorogoy." Her fingers flipped through her journal. "Can you believe that there are people across the world who have similar views to our country and still call themselves free? Name it whatever you like, freedom is best achieved by free people. I wish they understood the freedom they had under their constitutions."

Snatching the book from Ivan, Marko found his tone growing sharp. "No. This book belonged to my wife. I keep it, for sentimental value." Now that it was back in his hands, Marko could breathe, knowing the next few pages were damning to the plan if divine providence had not held the hand of Ivan to stay on the pages he did. Her secrets were safe. Not that he had much longer that he had to concern himself with that, the man would soon meet his maker. 

"Your wife was a beautiful woman. Her death was... unfortunate." 

unfortunate? what kind of a sick man was this, calling the murder of the world's loveliest human being, simply unfortunate? there was so much more to it than that, but as usual, men of the party understated tragedy to elevate themselves. it was men like Ivan that were continuing the cause of terror, imposing such a poisonous mindset onto millions of individuals that would likely never have the opportunity to know anything outside of the dome of oppression they had been born under. you live and you die by what you believe, and Marko only hoped that he could give men like Vasily a chance to bring their sweethearts to the land of freedom.

as the orders were read, Marko reflected on his forged papers against his chest. they had been years in the making, and today's anniversary made them burn against his chest. Marko had chosen the date that the submarine would be presented and set to sea, and in the honor of the woman who had given him everything, he had decided that, at the foot of freedom, it was the first anniversary of her death that he would offer his men the chance to have what Natalia had discovered. it also helped that the letter he had sent to Padorin was meant to bite, and that today would, heaven willing, be painful for him. as you took her from me, so I take the motherland's pride, he had inscribed, and so he hoped. 

the October would not be heading north. it would not rendezvous with the Konovalov headed by Captain Viktor Tupolev, of whom Marko had lost respect because of his loyalty to the party. Natalia had said that not all of their boys who had gone through Vilnius would understand, and Viktor had proved her right. Not all of their boys would see the reasoning behind abandoning an ideal that was more convenient than learning and executing morals of the truth.

pouring the tea into their glasses, knowing the man would never get to drink any of it, Marko was reminded that this was Natalia's favorite. every afternoon, without fail, she'd shuffle into the kitchen and boil the water, and when Marko was home, she would make enough for the both of them. it was always consumed in the same armchair by the window, overlooking what she had wanted to be her flower garden, when she "got better". 

oh, if she only had been given the chance to be cured from her fragility and set free from the cage that held the songbird of opportunity for her life. it was only appropriate that this tea would not be shared with Ivan, and even more that it would signal the start of the absconding of the Ramius name in the land that had painted doom on her forehead.

as Marko studied the man in front of him, he considered that this was his last chance to call everything off. to turn back, follow his orders once more as he had for almost 40 years. it was comfortable enough back home, things were taken care of, provided for.

but they weren't. not really.

no, if he turned back, he would be following orders for the rest of his life. the letter to Padorin could be rectified, the man wasn't trusted within his own circles anyways, but Marko would never be fully trusted again. he would likely be kept away from his submarines, kept away from doing what he loved. and, on top of it all, Natalia would have died for nothing. the Ramius home would still be just as empty, just as hauntingly melancholy like a piano that would never be played again.

Marko set his jaw, nodding as the man asked to share the orders with the crew. no, Natalia would fly. this was the beginning of the end.

it all happened so fast after that. just as he'd planned. the zampolit was lying motionless on the ground, tea spilt on the floor, Marko's wedding ring flickering the light of the last orders he would ever receive from Russia, burning on the table in front of him. there was no going back, now. 

while the price of choosing evil had brought Ivan to the Red October, Marko did feel some pity for the man. he hadn't chosen the submarine to be assigned to, but he also wouldn't be surprised if he had - the man had been the son of a party member. but, even with the small amount of remorse that sat in Marko's stomach like a rhinoceros, there was the fate and welfare of the world to consider.

of course, the crew was easy to convince. Marko had learned, over the years, that with the right words, young, impressionable sailors could be led to believe anything like a donkey with a carrot. anything was possible, and his crew proved him right. speaking to them, he felt like Natalia's hand was on his shoulder - a soft, warm feeling in his heart, like the sun coming up to a clear sky after days of grey snow. she was here too, showing him the way. Natalia was everywhere.

she was here, as his crew began to sing their national anthem. it was bittersweet, knowing it might just be the last time he would hear it. but there were new horizons, new songs to learn, new things to make his heart swell with pride like the rolling tide.

now, seated in the officer's meeting room, Marko found it hard to meet the eyes of his officers. All graduates of Vilnius, every one had their part in the plan to defect. however, this was the first time that he had them all together since Natalia had died.

"Come in, boys! The food is ready. You must be so hungry, look at your faces! Don't you eat at home? Let me take your coat." Natalia fussed over each one, kissing each of them on their cheeks - even if she had to be on her tip toes so she could reach them, ensuring they were all greeted properly. 

"Dorogoy, don't smother them too much, they won't want to come back!" Marko chuckled as his wife met each of his students as they filed in, right on time.

"Nonsense, Marko. They need a mama, just look at those faces!"  She watched as they went down the hall. When her eyes met his again, they sparkled like champagne. "What's that look for?"

"Oh, nothing, moy tsvetok. I just love watching you take care of our boys." His arms came around her, kissing her forehead tenderly. "Just promise me you won't overdo it."

"Promise." She whispered back, touch as gentle as rose petals.

having told them about his letter to Padorin, Marko knew they wouldn't all understand, and he wasn't about to explain himself to his officers. they were aware enough of Natalia's departure, aware of the risks of defecting. they just couldn't understand Marko's need to send the letter, and they didn't need to. Marko knew why. he had to admit, however, that their questioning of his purposes was a point of pride. they were still thinking, still challenging their ideals, no matter where the information or orders came from. they would do so well in their new homeland. yes, he and Natalia had taught them well.

when Marko had ensured that the conn was safely in the hands of Vasily, he retreated to his cabin with slow, calculated steps. his hand brushed against the cover of Natalia's book, remembering how she would rub the edges of the leather cover between her fingers when her brows knit in thought, causing the slight discoloration and velvety texture that he adored so much now. he took it with him to his bunk, lying down on his back with Natalia's journal against his chest, and closed his eyes.

as usual, she came to his mind as he was blanketed in the comfortable, heavy blackness of sleep. this time, the voices of his officers from lunch were a soft symphony to back the events that replayed in his mind like the bad record that Natalia had always refused to throw away. she had always said "there are still good songs on a record that is broken".

but this record was painful. the three memories always began the same way, but were never complete, the last one ending with such abruptness that it would jar him awake. there was no way to stop it once it was set in motion. 

the first had happened while he was away. he could still feel her tears on his neck, shaking from head to toe in existential exhaustion.

"It all happened so fast, Marko. I had them. I had them." Natalia sobbed.

"Six weeks? So right before..."

the nod against him broke his heart. while it wasn't planned, the loss of the child was devastating. it wasn't the not having them, it was knowing what it could have been that spread anguish through his veins like an inferno. he would be there, next time. to make sure everything would be alright. to make sure they stayed.

if only it had been that easy.

Marko had carefully timed the departure of his next inspection. She would be further along this time, before he had to set sail. and at first, everything was perfect. happy, even. the doctor had reassured them that many women miscarry their first child, and that there were no apparent problems to prevent a healthy baby from growing. and there she was, pregnant.

but at eight weeks, just a month before Marko had to leave, Natalia bolted upright in the middle of the night. it didn't take any words to be spoken for Marko to call the doctor. 

"Hold on, little one... just hold on..." Marko kissed her stomach. "Hold on for Papa."

"It's just like last time." Natalia whispered, tears painting over her emotionless expression. "It is exactly like last time."

within minutes of the doctor arriving, Natalia lost her second baby. Marko held her, face pressed against hers as the oppressive veil of grief overwhelmed them, reminding him of days spent on rocky waters, the waves coming one after the other against the dark sky. there was no end in sight.

until there was. unexpectedly, just a few months later, racing down the hallway to his office.

"Careful, dorogoy. You could hurt yourself, running around like that." Marko chuckled, holding her elbows in his palms, expression dropping as his eyes landed on the familiar test in her hands. "Natalia..."

"I don't know how. I don't understand." Tone wobbling like a spring, she met his gaze. "It isn't possible, is it?"

a couple weeks later, the doctor confirmed that Natalia was pregnant for the third time. the next several months were stressful, full of fear that something would happen, as it had happened before. but the months passed, and Marko found himself bursting with pride at the bump Natalia was sporting. finally, something was going right.

he could remember the exact time of day that it had all fallen apart. she had been complaining of feeling some odd pains in her abdomen, similar to pains she'd had before she had ever gotten pregnant, but a little different. he took her into the doctor, and they tried checking on the baby with some difficulty. he could recall how tightly she held his hand, her fever forming beads of sweat on her forehead, in those moments trying to find that sweet little heartbeat he had grown to love. 

Marko's world began to spin when the doctor shook his head and called some nurses into the room. no, this wasn't happening. not again. Natalia had been so excited, radiant as the sunshine as she had passed the weeks of her former losses, visualizing her future as a mother with anticipation greater than children at Christmas. she had kept her other issues at bay, her health the best it had been in several years. 

"Marko?" her voice drew him back to that soft hand, those eyes weighed down by fatigue. 

"It will be alright, moy tsvetok." His lips met the back of her hand, and she smiled as she went under anesthesia. 2:37.

he began to utter a silent prayer as the doctor guided him to the hallway so they could perform surgery. if they had to lose the little one, she would shatter. Marko felt the familiar shroud of agonizing misery begin to encircle around him, enough to numb his senses to his cascading tears. she would surely feel failure, just as he did for being unable to protect her, to protect the baby. his mind oscillated, tracking every moment, every appointment they had attended. surely, there must have been signs. why hadn't he seen them?  

"Comrade Captain, she has slipped into a coma. We are doing what we can to revive her." The doctor interrupted, and Marko couldn't help but lunge at the man, balling his fists in the man's collar and throwing him against the wall.

"You better. It's your fault she's in this situation in the first place." realizing what he was doing, Marko set the doctor back down, muttering a disingenuous apology. thankfully, the man seemed to be understanding enough as he slipped back into the room, Marko collapsing back into the chair in the hallway.

why couldn't God have allowed Natalia just this one child? why did she have to endure so much, have almost everything ripped away from her, and now, to be on the brink of life and death? that sweet flower, the light and love of his life, deserved better than that. 

in the commotion his mind caused, his heart ached for the things he could have experienced as a father. to love a little person, half him and half of the woman his heart belonged to. to teach them all about animals, the sea, how to sail. to see a completely unique, special little personality grow and flourish and be refined under the careful direction of Natalia, who had helped Marko refine his own knowledge and skills with her gentle guiding hand. she would have been a fantastic mother.

another hour later, the doctor came out looking much more relieved. "She's asking for you, Comrade Captain."

explaining the loss of the little one, Marko found himself more emotional than she was. she calmly listened to him retell her the events of the afternoon, that she had an underlying, unidentified issue with her appendix that had been part of the cause of the miscarriage, which they supposedly remedied during surgery.

"Dorogoy, you are so calm. What is the matter?" He kissed her hand, weak and trembling in his own.

"I had a dream, Marko." She whispered, a few tears now slipping down her pale cheeks. "The little ones were at school. But they were surrounded by young men, sailors, I think. You were teaching them. It felt like home... or what it could have been." She paused, her hand coming to touch his cheek.

"You're almost home, Marko. Please come home."

Marko was startled awake at the sound of his cabin's phone ringing, hitting his head on the top of the bunk, causing a low grumble of pain as he rubbed at his scalp. the end of his memory was always hazy, but she had never made that last remark about home. 

no, if he remembered correctly, that was the conversation that had brought Vilnius academy into motion. it was what had given Marko drive and purpose, what had given Natalia the children she so desperately wanted but couldn't have on her own. the doctor had given strict instructions that she was not allowed to have children, as her health would not endure another miscarriage. so, instead, she loved his students, and had nurtured them and shepherded them in their studies like the northern star, as any good mother does for her children.

so where had her mention of home come from?

shaking the strange feeling in his chest up and off his shoulders, Marko picked up the phone.

"Passing the twins now, Captain." Vasily told him.

"Very good. You may commence your run. Call me when you get to the first turning."

almost home. what had that meant? there was no place, no person that could replace the feeling of home that Marko had with Natalia. the slow waltz she danced across his heart, the way his heart skipped a beat when she would glance his way; Natalia created a reverie of safety that could not be duplicated. perhaps it was his anticipation to reach America that was translating into his dream. he was taking too long. 

commanding his crew to 26 knots was like forcing vegetables onto a child's plate, but they complied. and while it did work for the first turn, the sudden lurching from beneath, jostling everyone about like popcorn kernels signaled that something was terribly wrong. once the caterpillar was shut down, propellers engaged, Marko's blood simmered in his veins. this wasn't part of the plan.

neither was being chased by a torpedo through a narrow canyon at flank speed, with almost no room to turn. while everyone around him was panicking, the fear spreading like wildfire and clouding their judgement, Marko remained grounded, toes curling in his boots. there was only so much room for error, and he had to be precise. no time to be questioned, no time for alternate opinions. Natalia would have scolded him if she could see the panic and sheer danger he was putting their boys in, what he was placing himself into.

"A few bumps and bruises? I would rather you chose not to seek out the sticks and stones." he could practically hear her say as they narrowly missed the explosion, rocking the submarine as alarms went off. Melekhin reassured his Captain that the damage was minor, but it was now that Marko could see the seeds of mistrust that he was sowing in his crew as they began to silently ask why their comrades were targeting them.

and it didn't stop there. a saboteur was on board, and had been the reason the caterpillar had failed. now, facing the greasy metal in the hands of his chief engineer, no one on the crew could be trusted - and likely, a good part of them were likely starting to doubt him.

the conn was rotated through, Vasily instructed to inform him of the plan, and Marko settled back onto the mattress, rotating his wedding ring on his finger, considering the circumstances that had led him to this moment. how in an instant, his whole world could change, taken into a whirlpool into depths he had never imagined.

as Natalia had learned to accept her role as mother to Marko's students, her health had flourished for almost a decade. their time together became even more precious than it had ever been before, their time apart more distressing. that pleasant, blissful decade was taken for granted. upon learning that her husband's English was hardly perspicuous, one afternoon during tea, Mrs. Ramius dumped several books on the table.

"What's this, Natalia?"

"American and British literature. What I could scour from my collection, that is. They took so much when we came back from Papachka's last tour out." her sigh was nostalgic, frayed with disappointment.

"Why did you bring them to me? I have seen these before."

"You need to learn better English. If we are to accompany Uncle Padorin on his embassy dinner, you need to learn the language of your adversary to be able to defend him." Natalia chuckled. "Although, he could learn some humility. The man's pride knows no bounds."

she was a diligently faithful teacher, Marko learned, but it was her intelligence that entranced him. Natalia had been all over the world since she was ten, her father a party officer of political significance who was sent to represent his country wherever they saw fit. she was raised with children from all over, picking up things that she liked before being uprooted and taken somewhere else. perhaps that was why she was so resilient, even with her health issues - Natalia knew how to adapt, how to allow the sun to rise and the sun to set.

and, as she set out to do, Marko's English became polished, refined, even with his accent that she told him was endearing, which simultaneously made him despise it while also making him love her more, if that was even possible.

it had been right after that embassy dinner that Padorin had given him the plans for the Red October.

the first mistake that was made, had been leaving the plans on his desk at home while he left for a few weeks to go inspect a different submarine. Natalia had a habit of leaving the mail on his desk for him when it had the official seal, and they had been right there. it did not take a Navy captain of almost forty years to see the purpose of this Typhoon class machine, even at a glance, the October was intimidating.

yet again, he came home to find her in tears.

"I'm sorry, I know I wasn't supposed to see them. I feel awful, Marko."

"It's my fault for leaving them out, tsvetok. You've done no harm."

"I know. But that thing most definitely can."

second mistake - letting Natalia go as far as she did with questioning her country. at first, it had been just a few books on history, but it soon amplified into a whole collection of works on nuclear sciences and different classes of government. 

"Natalia, you must rest. You've overdone it, I don't want you getting sick."

"Marko, look." she flipped towards the end of her book as her fingers massaged the bridge of her nose, gesturing to a paragraph taken from a book he had seen earlier that she had held up next to the Bible to compare. "This... this new submarine you are working on - this is its purpose."

he couldn't deny it, eyes flitting over to his desk. sighing, he put his hand on the cover, gently turning the journal closed. "What am I to do with you, dorogoy?"

"What?" her brow knit together for a moment before he picked her up into his arms, making her giggle. 

"It's time to rest, Natalia." with a soft kiss to her forehead, he took her to bed.

third mistake, doing what he thought was right instead of listening to the political officer on the mission right before Natalia's health dived for the last time. the man had suggested something that would have put the whole crew in danger, and Marko, seasoned in his time at sea and lacking the green in his gills that the other man did, made the opposite decision. adding fuel to the fire, he sternly reprimanded several of his crew who were causing mischief, unaware that they were only promoted to their stations for being sons of party members, not for actual experience in which they were so obviously deficient, operating the submarine like children.

Marko had been rebuked by Padorin and the committee, but was allowed to keep his position, as they were acutely aware that there was no one who had Marko's experience and expertise in submarines. He was, at the time, irreplaceable.

so, when Natalia complained of abdominal pain, Marko took her to the same office that she had been to before. 

fourth mistake, not requesting a new doctor the moment he caught vodka on the man's breath as he prepared to wheel her back to surgery. he should have known. one thing he did not regret, was walking with her down the hall towards the operating room, fussing over her and ensuring she knew she was loved.

"You're strong, dorogoy. You will make it through alright. And you'll finally be out of pain, now that they know what's wrong. The boys are so worried for you, I'm worried even more so. But I have been reassured you are in capable hands, even though your regular doctor isn't available."

"I'll be out before you know it. Go on, I'll make sure you are informed the moment I'm awake and alright."

"Are you sure you're comfortable, tsvetok? I can get you another blanket..."

"Marko." That firm, loving tone was forever burned in his memory, the way her tired eyes sparkled as she smiled at him, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I love you. Remember that."

"I love you too, Natalia. I will be waiting." He pressed that last, affectionate kiss to her lips as he finally let go of her hand, already missing her touch, the sound of her breath.

and he had gone. Padorin had already been gracious enough to give him time to see her off to surgery, but he had to go on the first initial three-day sailing inspection of the October. it was long from finished, but if it passed, it would go into the final stages of building, which took about a year.

looking back, he should have stayed. should have demanded that she have her regular doctor, should have... should have... 

should have.

his first time on the October would always be his worst memory. one hundred miles from his love, his heart aching, racing, restless like a stallion against the racing bars. they had the audacity to wait until morning to tell him exactly what had happened. how drunk the doctor had been, how he had been incapable of treating her ruptured appendix and infection, how they had likely had the wrong vials because of the shortage of actual antibiotics - the ones they used on her were never inspected and from testing seemed to just have distilled water, how she had lapsed into shock, then a coma, and had quietly slipped away without her husband there.

damn the healthcare system. damn the government. they had done this to her. they had put Marko over a hundred miles away, in a position where he was unable to do anything, had - upon Marko investigating - sent her regular doctor off on vacation, had made sure the other doctor was drunk, and had used the last of the real antibiotics on test subjects without testing the new vials. 

the doctor should have been courtmartialed, but Marko soon learned that the man was the son of a party member, and the last time he had rained down brimstone on someone like that, this tragedy had followed. Padorin and his comrades and that damned doctor could shed all the tears they wanted at her funeral, but it was their hands that were covered in her blood, blood that no one would be made to pay for. 

Marko sank deep into his grief and bereavement, knowing his heart was taken away from him. He demanded to be taken back to shore, to do the inspection after her funeral. Natalia had been the center of his everything - his reason for breathing, his better half, the only person who knew all of him and still loved him, his only happiness, his pride and joy to return to. his father had died while he was at sea, and it hadn't had any effect. but the loss of his love, his Natalia, was nothing short of a catastrophe, something so devastating the world might as well have heard his heart shatter.

"Every sailor needs someone to return to - and every woman needs someone to wait for. That's why we work so well, my love. You always make sure you return, and I will always be here to catch you."

she was consumed in flames, and Marko, forced to stay silent, uttered his prayer for her from his heart. he had never been particularly religious until Natalia had shown him the beauty of believing, and now more than ever, he wanted to believe he would see her again. that he would be able to hold her again, kiss those rosy cheeks and tell her he loved her.

as if on cue, Vasily made his way into his Captain's cabin, explaining their next heading, suggesting a slight change to the plan, which Marko gently denied, still spinning his wedding ring.

Vasily turned on his heel. "Do you think they will let me live in Montana?"

this caught Marko off guard, pulling him from his thoughts for a moment. "Well, I would think they'll let you live wherever you want."

as Vasily described his dream, Marko could see the young, determined man that he had trained. a man who would have been denied his own command purely because of his report on a party member's son, which had been completely legally justified, purely put away because the man he had accused was in good political standing. in America, he could be married, raise his rabbits, and drive from state to state just as he wanted. as he deserved. as he looked at Vasily, Marko saw his son.

Marko could see his recognition of the tea, that familiar melancholy taking over his expression that Natalia had always described. Vasily, out of all their boys, had been closest to her, and she had loved him, had encouraged everything he put his mind to. He was also one of the few of their boys that she had confided the loss of her own children to, and had expressed that she viewed him as a son, deepening their bond. He missed her, even if he didn't put it into words. She would be so proud of him, and that was something Marko couldn't quite put into words. father and adopted son, both unable to fully express the loss of the woman who had brought their family together as they shared a moment of silence before Vasily continued.

"What about you? What do you look forward to?"

expression falling, and unable to find anything to convey in the moment, Marko sighed. 

"I have no such appetites."

always the curious one, Vasily pressed further. "Well, there must be something... what is it?"

"I miss the peace of fishing - like when I was a boy." eyes growing glassy and distant, Marko could see the soft, guiding hand of his grandmother sending him out to play in the smoky afternoons. those still, pearly waters that he'd watch produce monster sized creatures for fishermen patient enough to stay still for hours, knowing that someday, he would venture into those seas with them, perhaps to never return to that foggy coastline.

"Forty years, I have been at sea. A war at sea. A war with no battles, no monuments, only casualties. I widowed her the day I married her." the fog gave into flame, his mind returning to his Natalia, as it always did. while he knew it wasn't his fault, Marko couldn't help but still place some blame on himself for his sweetheart's premature departure. if he had been able to protect her, bring her to safety, to a doctor who would have been able to help her. if he hadn't given his life to his naval career, left her alone in her last hour-- no one could be made to pay the price that Marko demanded for Natalia Ramius' soul.

"My wife died while I was at sea, you know." no. the state would be made to pay. pay for their sins, the heartache and permanent pain it had caused. oh, they would pay.

Vasily knew only too well, still staring at the tea as if he wanted to disappear into it, his mind elsewhere. it was in these rare, vulnerable and unprofessional and raw moments that he could see past his Captain and instead see Marko Ramius, the man engulfed in grief. 

several hours later, Marko found himself deep in prayer. for Natalia. for their little ones. for his ship. for his crew, to be rescued. for the plan to work. for his officers to have a smooth transition in their new lives. he wasn't sure if anyone was actually listening, but upon finishing his prayer, his phone rang. the message sent adrenaline rushing through his system like torpedos.

within minutes, he was back in the conn, and much to his surprise, found himself communicating with an American submarine. for the first time since the caterpillar drive went down, there was hope sparkling in his eyes. they wanted to help. they were going to rescue his crew. perhaps heaven was listening.

it was going to work.

"Reverify our range to target. One ping only." tone steady, Marko closed the periscope.

"Captain, I-- I just..."

"Give me a ping, Vasily. One ping only, please." he was unable to hide his smile, which seemed to put his junior officer at ease.

soon, his plan was in motion. just twenty hours later, the false radiation leak was enacted, sending the Red October into a frenzy. men evacuated, the aggravating voice of Dr Petrov finally silenced as he stepped into a raft, away from the officers of the October, under the presumption that they would be scuttling the ship to keep it from the Americans.

one by one, every little detail fell into place. and almost an hour later, just as Marko had imagined, he presented his beloved submarine to Captain Mancuso, relief washing over the room like the sunrise after a night of tempests. Natalia's English tutoring served him well, now. and he took pride in his accent that the Americans didn't seem to mind. he observed their officers, seeing that they treated each other as family, just as he did. so many similarities put him at ease - Marko was taking his family to people that would take care of them, give them a place at the table of freedom. finally, there was hope.

until the Konovalov turned up and started sending torpedos their way. using tactics that the American captain was adamant against, they successfully avoided explosive contact with the first torpedo as it bumped against the October, unable to arm itself.

that's when the gunshots began.

it all happened so fast. Vasily took Marko by the shoulder and pushed as hard as he could,  out of the way. out of danger. out of the path of the bullets that brought the room to their knees and to silence.

once the threat had moved, Vasily slumped against the navigation chair, holding as still as his shallow breath, his eyes beginning to grow distant.

Marko knew the moment his mind cleared that this was it. racing to his son's side, he tore open the buttons on his uniform coat and found the blood he was afraid of.

in an instant, their time together culminated into one moment. flashing before Marko's eyes were the application, the interview, coming home to Natalia and the moment she gave her overwhelming approval, how attentive and smart Vasily had been, how quick he had picked up on procedures, discovering his similar negative experience with the party, entrusting him with more and more, the times he had come over to stay at the Ramius estate and just needed someone to listen, the moment he had considered Vasily his son--

it had been raining all morning, and Marko had just brought Natalia home from a procedure. not half an hour after he got her settled with her afternoon tea by the window, Vasily entered the front door.

"Hello? I came in without waiting, just like you asked."

"Oh, Vasily. We weren't expecting you. Natalia just had a procedure done." Marko called from the living room. "Come on in."

"I know. I remember it on the calendar." Vasily appeared from the hall, a satchel full of things slung over his shoulder, and a bouquet of flowers in the other hand. 

Natalia was immediately in tears, and without words, held her arms out. 

Marko watched as Vasily dropped his things next to the chair and hugged her tight. 

"Moy syn." she whispered, over and over. "You will make your wildflower very happy someday."

and it hadn't stopped there. his flowers were placed in a vase in the kitchen, where he put a meal together that he had recalled his mother making on days that he had not felt well. it had been "one of the best meals we've had", Natalia had mused as Vasily had sat down to play for her at the piano. Marko had held her hand, watching Vasily Borodin become so much more than a devoted student to them as the clouds parted, the sweetest rays of afternoon sunshine illuminating the room to create an atmosphere of something almost heavenly. if there was a heaven, Marko reflected, this is one of the moments that had proven it. that day, Vasily had become their son.

now, holding his son, Marko's eyes were wide as he realized he was losing him. those striking, melancholy eyes were meeting his, a silent pleading for a different ending as his father's steady hand held him upright.

"I would like to have seen Montana." he whispered, before his gaze went glassy, unresponsive to Marko's touch to his face as he leaned back and relaxed.

not allowed a moment to grieve over his loss, an alarm went off for the missile bay like a rooster at sunrise. Marko rose slowly. could the heavens not allow him feeling? just a moment, to reflect on people he had loved and those same people that had been so brutally taken from him? all he wanted was a moment to love them, hold onto them just a little longer. another one of his sons, lost to the infuriating villainy of the society he was trying to abandon.

but there were still lives at stake. bottling his grief like poison, he brushed past his new American comrades to go take care of the issue, almost hoping that he would have the opportunity to join Vasily, to be able to see Natalia again, to know if the little ones had made it alright. it was Captain Mancuso that stopped him.

"Captain, wait. You may need this, sir." his hand held out his pistol that had reminded Marko of a cowboy - it was an act of friendship. an act of trust. an act of comradery - perhaps there were still things to fight for. things to live for. Marko thanked him, and descended down the steps.

Ryan followed close behind, and when arriving in the main bay, the gunshots began again, this time, striking Marko in the leg. things from here became more blurry when he tried recalling the events to his memory. all he could remember was Ryan retrieving him after another round of firing continued, revealing the identity of the assailant as the cook, hobbling back up the steps to watch as Captain Mancuso put an end to the tyranny that the Konovalov had been wreaking for the last hour. the sound alone had been enough to make his heart stop. as aggravating as Tupolev had been, he was still a man, leading men. life was life, no matter if he had agreed with their decisions they had made or not.

reuniting with the USS Dallas, the October was taken to a port in the middle of the night, and Marko was rushed off for surgery on his leg. the cast they had to put on was irritating, but lying in recovery, he realized how different this process was in America compared to his homeland. Natalia was right - it was better here.

once he was healed enough, the process to integrate into American society properly was started, with all sorts of paperwork and meetings to attend. while this was absolutely draining, Marko could feel a weight off his shoulders - this was freedom. he was free to dream of home.

six months later, Marko found himself fishing every morning, right off his front doorstep, taking Natalia's favorite tea in the afternoons by the window, setting an extra cup on the table out of habit, becoming more appreciative of the sunsets, more appreciative of his little flower and vegetable garden, more appreciative of the breath in his lungs.

he would often lie awake at night, wondering why he was still here. why he had not been allowed to follow his son, to be reunited with his Natalia and their little ones after their prolonged separation. since before they had begun courting, this was the longest Marko had been without her, and he missed her more than flowers miss the sun when the clouds hide it from view.

one evening, his head sunk deep into his pillow as sleep veiled his mind, much easier than it had ever done.

suddenly, he was watching an empty train station, shrouded in white. he was alone, waiting for a train that he wasn't sure existed.

a man stood in his peripheral view after some time had passed.

"She hasn't come to get you, Captain?" 

Marko couldn't help but laugh softly as he turned and saw Vasily, trying to contain his emotion as his arms came around his son. there was so much to say, so much he wanted to tell him he was proud of, but there were not enough words in any language that could convey what Marko had on his heart. Vasily seemed to understand, hugging him a little tighter.

"I know." his son answered, and within moments, he was gone from his grasp.

afraid that he had done something wrong, Marko grasped at air, turning in circles on his heel to try and find Vasily again.

before he could question, a train pulled into the station, the familiar whistle softened as Marko attempted to make out the shape of someone leaning out of one of the car windows. his eyes widened. he knew that dark hair, knew that wave. it had been the exact same way the day they had met at a train station much like this.

"Marko! You've returned to me!"

his heart could nearly break at the sound of her voice again. her smile was somehow even more angelic as she raced to the door of the train car before it had fully stopped.

"Natalia?" Marko's voice wavered, emotion bubbling in the bottom of his throat like magma as she raced towards him, giggling excitedly as she always did when he would come home from assignments.

when her arms came around him, that soft face against his chest, Marko sobbed, holding her tightly to him, burying his face in the familiar scent of her hair. if this was just a dream, then the heavens were truly cruel. he had waited so long to hold her again, so long to feel her breathing, so long to feel his Natalia pressed against his heart where she belonged, again.

"I am so proud of you, Marko." she whispered, looking up into his eyes with that same trust she always had. "I love you."

"I love you too. I have seen you everywhere, tsvetok. You were always on my mind."

"I have always been with you, Marko. I have never left you."

it had been close to two years since he had last held her like this, so much he wanted to tell her about, so much he wanted to say. but he knew she had always watched over him, and he felt that she already knew what he wanted to convey. Natalia had always known Marko's heart without having to look. he just couldn't find it in him to let her go yet - just in case this was just a dream, in case the soft hand on his bearded jaw was a figment of his imagination.

but when she pulled away, intertwining their fingers, and he felt the cool of her wedding ring against his, his heart skipped a beat. 

"Where are we going, Natalia?"

"Home, dorogoy. The little ones are waiting."

tagging @arcadiafarsoul

Connery was surprised to get the part, because he had heard how Fleming felt about him. Apparently, Dana Broccoli, wife of producer Albert “Cubby” Broccoli, was instrumental in getting Connery the part, as she was convinced he was the right man. Fleming’s girlfriend, Blanche Blackwell, also said he had the right “charisma” for the role.

Fleming’s frustration over the direction his series was being taken was revealed when he confronted first time director Terence Young at a United Artists function in London.

Fleming squared up to the realities of an untested director guiding a half-known ex-labourer star into James Bond’s elegant world.

Mr Fleming vented: “So they’ve decided on you to fuck up my work.”

But Mr Young “was not shaken” and told him: “Let me put it this way, Ian. I don’t think anything you’ve written is immortal as yet.

Ian Fleming wrote relatively little about Bond’s style, sketching in only the briefest of descriptions while devoting pages to the overblown outfits of Bond’s foes. A little goes a long way. Terence Young took Connery to Anthony Sinclair, a tailor on London’s Conduit Street at the northern end of Savile Row. Sinclair was Young’s tailor. He specialised in what he called the “Conduit Cut,” a fitted hourglass shape to the jacket that suited fit, military men. It was deliberately at odds with the boxy fashion suits worn by most young men at the dawn of the swinging sixties. Cutting like that stood out as slightly behind the times but reassuringly expensive.

Next Young took him to Turnbull and Asser, his shirtmaker on Jermyn Street several blocks away south of Piccadilly. There, Connery was fitted with the same pale blue cotton poplin shirts and knitted navy silk ties that Young wore day in day out himself. It was Young who gave Bond his turned back “cocktail” cuffs, a sartorial detail that at the time defined a man as both well-to-do yet rather rakish.

Bond’s style was extremely precise, the spare but expensive, handmade wardrobe of a military man, not overtly fashionable but not fuddy-duddy, either. It met and exceeded accepted standards of dress while remaining deliberately unsensational. Fashion in all its preening frivolity was always reserved for Bond’s vain, egotistical nemeses like Goldfinger, Blofeld, or Largo. As a recipe for worry-free style, Connery’s Bond defined and still defines the clean-cut ideal of a wardrobe that transcends fashion and becomes eternal.

If Bond was the establishment man in town, the exotic and tropical locations around the globe were the backdrop for him to get a bit more experimental with his off-duty wardrobe. It didn’t always work. That said, Connery fares better than all succeeding Bonds as his wardrobe for the beach is still as spare and restrained as his working day clothes. Later Bonds fall prey to the gravitational pull of fashion and pay the price. Roger Moore suffers from this and unfairly, I think. It’s not his fault he got the gig in the hedonistic 1970s. But just about the only thing Connery’s Bond gets wrong is in Goldfinger, where he appears in Miami in a sky-blue terry-cloth onesie. Somehow, he gets away with it.

In the end it was a cocktail: Connery’s suave style with his own rough edges poking through that gave Bond his bite. It resonated with the socially and geographically expanding world of the 1960s; Connery was a forerunner of a whole generation of working-class British actors made good - like Michael Caine and Terence Stamp - who personified a rougher and racier sexuality on screen. In clothing terms, Connery’s Bond gave all young man an easily referenced visual encyclopedia of how to dress well without ever overdoing it.

The two didn’t meet until filming was underway. Connery’s performance won the writer over immediately. In fact, Fleming liked Connery so much that he later gave the spy a Scots heritage to mirror the actor’s own. In his novel, You Only Live Twice, published in March 1964, Fleming wrote that Bond’s father was from Glencoe.