#sashashostakov

@sashashostakov​ cont. [x]

Sonya was not the least bit surprised to know he was following her. She’s expected it, though instead of immediately confronting him about it she let him tail her for a little while. She had no specific destination at the moment other than her hotel room, but she wasn’t going to lead him there. Sonya wasn’t here to play games. She was here looking for her mother so she could attempt to make sense of her existence. It had been a stroke of bad luck that Sonya had been taken in by customs because of her nationality. With the way things were happening in the world she wasn’t surprised about that either. 

But Sasha was going to learn very quickly that she wasn’t some damsel in distress. She was dangerous with nothing to lose.

So she purposely lost him so she could get the upper hand, and when he rounded the corner Sonya was ready for him. The feel of her foot connected with his gut, sending him reeling back and she stepped out of the shadows. There was a wicked sort of grin on her face. “I thought you’d be more inconspicuous,” she said. “Disappointing.” 

She swung at him again, though he was quicker to react this time and his grip on her wrist was like a vise. Sonya grunted as her shoved her back against the wall, pinning her there and demanding to know who she worked for.

Sonya laughed, adrenaline coursing through her veins. “If I was working for someone who wanted you dead do you think I wouldn’t have killed you by now?” she asked, raising a brow.

‘did they send you in here to babysit me? either charge me with something or let me go’.

letting go of the edge of the box, sasha held his hands up … caught red-handed. in hindsight, he probably should have shut the door, but he’d assumed the clicking of her heels would warn him - didn’t account for her taking them off.

fuck.

well, he was in a hole now and asking for a hand out of it would be admitting defeat - if he kept digging, he’d tunnel out eventually, right?

‘ c’mooooon … do you seriously expect me to just let it lie? ’

after a revelation like that? a joking comment from one of his mates about the dude in the picture looking like his pops had plucked sasha from his daydreaming - he’d never as much attention in class as he had for that history lesson. skimming past the teacher explaining that his grandfather had left russia after the collapse of the soviet union, the teenager had only had eyes for the laminated photos, newspaper clippings and posters that had been passed around the classroom.

the first picture? yeah, there was a resemblance, but the picture was faded and aged and sasha could brush that one away with a shrug. the others? not so much - and the article from pravda about a test pilot and a ballerina getting engaged? oh, that had named them, clear as day and he was thankful as hell that his classmates couldn’t read russian.

clambering back to his feet, sasha tried a new tact - indignation.

‘ technically, this is your fault - if you’d told me earlier, then i wouldn’t have had to stumble over it in school. and now you’re dodging questions, so what other choice do i have but to go figure it out on my own, huh? ’

      god, he’s such a little shit. when did he grow up? when did he start asking questions and poking around - when did he start going through her stuff without her permission? she has never stopped him from treating her things like his own, has given him whatever he wanted whenever he wanted (alexei keeps him from being spoilt, or so she tells herself), but this is. it’s hers. it is her life and she knows the sort of optimism children have when it comes to asking questions about their lives, about their parents. 

alexei the war hero is stunning. alexei the pilot, who fought and died and rose again is exciting. but alexei’s story is not her story. 

 ❛  what choice do you have? are you kidding? the choice, sasha, is to mind your business and do your fuc-- stupid history project.  ❜

she wants this conversation over with. she wants it gone, she wants every second of her life packed up and burned, she doesn’t want to think about russia or the winters or the parties or the job or the department she fucking hates it she hates itshefuckinghatesit

suddenly, she’s crossing the room and snatching the papers out of his hand. remnants of a very long life not very well lived.

“Shostakov...?” She recognised that name, but she didn’t recognise this person’s face. There was something familiar about him, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

phil sits cross legged at the dining table and clears his throat when sasha creeps past the doorway - sneaking around is a little beneath the two of them, surely, there's a baby crawling around now, the cat's out of the damn bag.

'are you...what is it the young americans say these days...trying to shoot your shot?'

'i'm flattered, красивый'

Repurposing an old gulag had been a stroke of genius. Even if the far-flung locals of the region noticed an increased traffic through the area, the subterranean levels beneath the old labour camp were out of sight, out of mind.

The area itself was ... cruel. Barren. Frigid. It was truly a wonder of humankind that some folks had managed to eke out a living across this frozen thundra.

Two options stood out to Mikhail; head for Magadan or Nizhny Bestyakh. Magadan had a port and an airport, it would afford the best opportunity of them escaping the region. But there was one very big issue standing in their way right now, and that hurdle was called the Lena River.

Which had no bridge. It was July, so the weather wasn't as frigid as it was renowned to be, but the river still flowed from its source in the Baikal Mountains - the waters would be frigid.

Reaching out to grab the boy's shoulder, Mikhail pulled him backwards, away from the banks of Russia's longest river.

"Nyet. What is your plan when you get to the other side? This is not New York — you will be wet, cold and no closer to finding refuge than we are now."

Nizhny Bestyakh was the obvious choice. It ran a ferry across the Lena River to Magadan during the summer months, when the river was free of ice-coverage. But Magadan served as the gateway to Kolyma. It would be crawling with Department personnel by now.

A firm hand on the teenager's shoulder, Mikhail turned him away from the flowing river and back towards the towering trees.

"There are indigenous tribes in this oblast - Evens, they were known as Lamuts when I was a boy - they do not look kindly on what the Department does. We may be safer relying on their hospitality for a night or two."

Against his better judgement, there was a small smile of amusement on the man's face as he watched reality slowly seep in through the teenager's initial shock - from one step to the next, their pause by the banks of the Lena River had been Sasha's only chance to catch up to all that had happened.

This wasn't New York. It wasn't his mother's penthouse suite. It was the truth Mikhail was sure both Alexei and Yelena had tried to keep buried or as far away from the boy as possible. But the Department was nothing if not persistent.

"Come, if we cannot make the trek before nightfall, then we sleep in the forest. You will be safe with me, I promise. I am a little more accustomed to being out here than you might think."