(x) continued from here.
When he least expected it. When he was least prepared. The terse ringing of his phone had him springing up from his deep red, overstuffed chair in his office that he’d been sat in for days filled with blinding fury. Filled with overwhelming sadness. But, mostly, struck with terror that he has lost her to the world; a world they both knew was filled with a brutality that changed a person into small fragments of who they are, or who they could be. He had pounced up from that chair and, clumsily, he threw and shoved stacks of papers being used to locate Freyja aside in attempt to find his phone somewhere buried beneath it all and, when he does finally find it in the mess, he doesn’t look at the caller ID before he speaks. A voice gruff from lack of use as he had lost himself in the search of her, yet hoarse from moments when he yelled at Midus for being so uncaring. “Hello. Freyja? Is that — ”
He is cut off by her voice. The sound of it causing his fingers to grip the edge of his desk so fiercely he swore a chunk of it would break beneath the weight of his rough hand while he sinks to the floor. His back is pressed to the desk then while one hand still grips the edge of it and the other shakily holds the phone to his ear. He tips his head back against the desk with a sigh of relief. Fuck. Fuck, he needed this. Needed the sound of her voice in his ear even if it is filled with a sadness that has him desperate to traverse the whole goddamn earth to find her and hold her. He’d do anything for that voice. He’d do anything just to hold her right now.
He has a million things to talk to her about. All he wants in this world is to talk to her. He wants to see her and talk. But, he doesn’t say that. Instead he finds himself telling her to shutup. “Shutup. Shut your goddamn mouth.” He wants to say fuck your soft words. Because they are not soft beings. Far from it. And he wants to say fuck your opinions. Because she has no idea how much he does need her. She has no idea that he has locked himself up in his office and poured over maps and letters for days for her. He hasn’t moved a goddamn inch from the room despite Catalina’s protests to eat, or Midus ill timed quips on how the room started to reek from his broodiness. He would not be moved until Freyja gave him an inch, and this was the inch. This was the moment he felt his breath finally returning to his lungs. This was the moment he could bring her back to them, to him, and realize what Nikolay had to realize: she had a home in them. She would always have him to lean against when she didn’t think she could stand anymore, even though he knew she was capable of taking on the world on her own. Capable as she was, he would always be right there with her when she needed him to be. Or when she protested that she didn’t need him but they both know she did.
He holds the phone closer to his mouth then and whispers in to the receiver. As if these words were sacred. As if these words were just for her. “I need you. God, I need you.” He takes in a shuddering breath and, fuck, there is so much he wants to say. He wants to spend every minute of every hour conveying to her the depths of his need for her. But, he can’t. There aren’t enough ways for him to say it, and he was never good at speaking like Midus was. Nikolay has only ever been sparse in speech and his words have never flown freely. So he can only struggle to get a semblance of his feelings out to her over the phone. This would be so much easier if she could just see how broken he had become without her here. “You understand me in a way they never can.” And, despite himself, he laughs into the phone. A throaty, exasperated sound. The first laugh he has had in days. “кукла младенец.” The familiar pet name is spoken in the softest way its ever been said. So soft, yet still so guttural as it claws its way out of his throat. “Come home.” The two little words meant to say it all without saying it. Two little words saying this: I’ve always loved you, so please just come back to me.
