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science-lings · 1 year

Note

Revali desperately wants some kind of reaction from link. Everything he tries fails miserably. After a particular comment about links family, he finally got one! In the form of a punch to the beak

okay I'm combining this one with a very similar prompt: wild gets mad and punches someone in the face hard enough to break their jaw

Link was the very pinnacle of self-control. Even against pricks like Revali. He was an expert in bottling up his petty anger until he was in front of a monster and using it to slice the poor creature into purple dust. He rarely even flinched when confronted with jealous warriors who believed they deserved the sword on his back more than he did.

As if he hadn't spent his whole life with a blade in his hand and an easily verified history of undefeated victory under his belt ever since he was a child. It was that idea that kept him from getting upset when warriors with massive egos tried to taunt him into a fight. He knew his ability and it wasn't his fault that they were threatened by him.

But he wasn't as untouchable as people seemed to think. He wasn't a statue or an idol to be looked upon and prayed to for their salvation, he wasn't a figure from the legends, although, maybe he was. He didn't really feel like one. Behind his well-crafted mask of stone, he was still a person, a teenager.

No matter how perfect he tried to be, he was still just a mortal boy. And he was really dreading the week-long excursion to Rito village to attempt the divine beast's first flight. A whole week spent within earshot of Revali and his constant infuriating squawking.

Unfortunately, the Rito champion had made it his mission to get a reaction out of him, and after hours and hours of endless mocking and fluffing up his feathers, he succeeded.

The princess was off inspecting Vah Medoe for some last-minute checks and had left her personal knight and the divine beasts pilot behind, as neither of them were well-versed in ancient mechanics. Link stayed on his guard while Revali came up with more and more things he could say to bother his fellow champion.

"At this point, I can't even tell if you're simply too stupid to speak or if you have some kind of mental affliction damaging that puny head of yours. I suppose that's what too many moblin clubs to the cranium will get you..." Revali rambled while Link focused on taking even measured breaths.

"Is that why they got rid of you so fast? All those stories about your impossible feats as a toddler were all made up so your parents had a reason to get you out of their sight? I mean, are we supposed to believe that a scrawny four-year-old hylian could even pick up a sword? It's just... too asinine to even consider!" The rito laughed, within the hidden confines of his mouth, the hero clenched his teeth together.

"Well, if that's the case, I don't blame them! Perhaps they were fools for not simply leaving a runt like you to succumb to the elements! I've seen you, you won't even speak to them! I wonder if they regret not leaving you to the beasts as a babe..."

It was then that Link snapped. Before he could break his teeth or let his nails cut into the skin of his palms. After years and years of relentlessly focused control, that was the thing that tossed all his training out the window.

With a swift yank to the bird's champion blue scarf and a satisfying crunch, Link's fist made contact with the side of Revali's beak, sending the rito to the ground causing a heavy thud and a distressed squawk.

"If you wanted me to grace you with my voice so badly you could've just asked, now shut the fuck up for once in your self-obsessed life you overgrown cucco," The hero growled as the rito champion cradled his jaw in his feathery hand and looked up at him with a certain kind of indignant horror.

For the next six days and surely beyond, the mouthy bird had his beak bound by bandages, unable to open it for even the simplest mention of gloating.

The silence was just as sweet as he hoped it would be, and though it was impossible for a single punch to keep Revali's ego at bay, from then on, his insults tended to remain far away from the line he had crossed that day.

Send me prompts?

#i wish i could beat the shit out of revali more often lmao #im tired of link being nice! I think he deserves to go apeshit!#he's living out my dream of shutting that damn bird up #i am a revali disliker and this is the only time I'll write him being this much of an ahole #usually i try to write him with a bit of nuance but this time i thought it was fitting for him to be just plain mean #ask andromeda #writing prompt #botw #this was kinda cathartic for me ngl #i hope no one sends anon hate over this i feel like this is the kind of thing that would get me anon hate #anti revali

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fangirlings-things · 4 years

Text

Burning | Athelstan

(A/N): this is just the one shot full of angst that no one asked for but I had this idea and decided to write it, I love Athelstan and miss this priest!! Let me know what you guys think and if I should write more for this fandom

Fandom: Vikings

Pairing: Athelstan x female reader

Word count: 2K

Warnings: angst

gif is not mine

based on this song

Summary: after Athelstan is gone, she loses her will to live and everything just seems pointless

─━━━━━━⊱❉⊰━━━━━━─

─━━━━━━⊱❉⊰━━━━━━─

"You should eat" Bjorn's tone was serious, full of worry. He had his blue eyes glued to the your face, his fist clenched fiercely around a cup of ale. He had almost forgotten about his drink, since his attention had been instantly and completely drawn to (Y/N) when he was on the other side of the hall. The expression on your face was so empty and hollow, that it made him walk towards you and sit by your side at the wooden bench.

"I am not hungry" you replied simply, not even turning towards him as you answered. Your eyes were fixed on an inexistent point in front of you, ignoring completely the feast, the music and the laughs that were spreaded all across the place. You were the only one there, who wasn't even slightly happy. You were in pain and Bjorn knew why, even though he thought it would be better not to mention it. Everyone was trying not to mention it in your presence, for the best.

"You have to eat something, otherwise you'll fall ill" he tried to get some reason into you, as determined as ever even if you were hardly trying to ignore him and his words. He noticed that you took a deep breath, your hair raising upon your chest as you did so. You seemed not to care at all about what he was saying. Frustrated and mostly worried about his friend, he placed his hand on yours and squeezed it hardly, trying to bring you back from whatever dark place you found herself in. By the way you shuddered under his touch, he knew you were now really listening to him. "Winter is close now and being weak at it is bad, you know that. You could not survive"

"Maybe that is what I want" only then you turned your face to his, and in that moment he was able to see that your eyes were glistening with tears. The pain you were feeling seemed almost tangible, so hard and strong it was. So present he could see it carved into every little detail of your beautiful features. Your words hit him so hard. Harder than many strikes he had taken in battle before. "Perhaps dying will be better than living like this" a tear stremed down your face as you gently took your hand out of his and got up, running away and shutting him down like you had been doing for a while now. Since he had been killed.

"You think Althestan would want for you to die?" Bjorn spoke up as you started to walk away, a certain despair taking a hold of him and making him say that. He feared for your future. And even more for the fact that you seemed to not desire a future at all anymore.

The statement had the expected effect on (Y/N). You turned around, back to Bjorn and he could see the intense horror in you. To hear his name said again, in such a way, made everything worse. As you hadn't already reached your limit of bearable pain. You took what seemed to be an eternity to finally speak, searching inside youself for words. Any words at all, that would take the echo of his name out of the air, that had became heavy and poisoned. Filled with pain.

"He is dead" you repressed a sob, eyes on Bjorn's with so fixation that he felt a shiver running down his spine. You had never given him such a harsh look. "What he would want, will not change reality anymore. Can't change it. Because he is dead." you repeated the initial words, biting so hard at your lower lip to repress a sob that you felt the metalic taste of blood on your mouth.

"(Y/N)..." Bjorn started with a heavy sight, regretting what he had said already. Instead of helping, he had just made it all worse.

As soon as he tried to speak again though you decided to not give him a second chance and turned around, pushing people aside to get out of that hall as soon as possible. You wanted to get away from the feast. Away from Bjorn. Away from everyone, because none of them were him.

None of them was Althestan. Hear and see those people laughing and smiling, hugging each other and enjoying good company only made you think more and more about the fact that you weren't ever going to see his smile again or hear his musical laugh. You would never be hugged by him again or lay by his side at night. He was gone. Just disappeared.

All you wanted, was to disappear as well.

─━━━━━━⊱❉⊰━━━━━━─

"You wanted to see me, King Ragnar?" you had your eyes glued to the floor underneath your feet, analysing all the imperfections and dirt in it, as well as some stains you recognized as ale ones. Now, the hall was completely silent expect for the sound of your and Ragnar's breathing. It didn't seem at all that in the night before, that place had been completely crowded with the people of Kattegat.

"Yes, I wanted to see you (Y/N)" Ragnar was on his feet as well, his muscled arms crossed over his chest and the usual serious expression on his face. It remembered you of Bjorn's own expression at the feast. They were so similar, those too. More than even they could see it. "Bjorn told me you have not been eating properly"

With a heavy sight, you felt anger fill your whole being. You wanted to scream at Bjorn, tell him to leave you be and mind his own problems. Deep down though, what stopped you was the knowledge that he was doing that to help you. He was trying to save you from youself and your self destructive thoughts. Although, you felt already long gone now. No salvation for you left.

"With all the respect my Lord, Bjorn should not have said such things. I have been feeding" you forced the words out after a moment, thinking twice about every single word before mumbling it out.

"Enough to sustain your health?" insisted Ragnar, and the firmess on his voice made you raise your head to stare at him. You saw that he had his eyebrows raised and clearly, hadn't accepted your poor statement. As in response to the questioning you averted your eyes from his quicky, the King squeezed his lips on a thin line, understanding the silent answer. "Bjorn also, said that you talked about not wanting to live anymore. (Y/N)" again, his voice was so firm that you had the obligation to look up and meet his blue eyes with yours. There was compassion on Ragnar's eyes as he took a few steps towards you and then stopped at a short distance. From up close, you could see that the King, as you, had a great pain carved on his face. "You're suffering"

And right there, you fell apart. The tears came crashing down like waves on a boat, running down your cheeks like an unstoppable river. The knot on your throat was so great that you for a second, couldn't even get breath into your lungs. Everything just hurt so much.

Ragnar didn't say anything as he watched you painfully tremble from head to feet. Didn't spoke as he saw the tears falling on his hall. He shared your pain. Closing the rest of the distance between you two he passed his arms around your much smaller body and squeezed you tightly, trying to give you some comfort.

"I miss him too" he whispered in your ear, and that made you sob out loud. So loud you were sure someone on the outside, passing by, would probably be able to hear it. It was an awful sound. The most truly terrible sound Ragnar had ever heard on his troubled life.

"Make this pain go away, Ragnar. Please, make it stop" your hands were grabbing at his shirt firmly, it seeming to be the only thing keeping you from falling. The words were mumbled out through sobs, uncontactable tears still flowing out of your eyes "I can't take it. I'm burning. There's a flame on my chest and I can't..." whatever you were going to say afterwards, was never said. You just sobbed again, even more deeply and painfully now than before.

Feeling tears run down his own face, Ragnar gently pulled away and grabbed your face with both of his hands. His palms were warm and comforting on your wet cheeks. Your eyes were both red and sore from the crying.

"I am not going to let you die" you opened your mouth in a protest, but he silenced you with just a hard look. "I'm not. Althestan is in heaven now, watching us. He would want me to take care of you" his calloused fingers stroke your right cheek slowly, the knot on his own throat threatening to suffocate him. Oh, did he miss his best friend. The person he trusted the most in the whole world. "He loved you so much"

(Y/N) hugged Ragnar again, didn't minding the fact that he was the King. He was just a friend in that moment. The one person who really shared your pain and understood it.

"Why do we have to carry such a burden?" you asked the man, your face resting against his chest and wetting his shirt. His grip on you was firm, keeping you up and alive. Like he had just said he would.

"I suppose this is the work of the gods" Ragnar shut his eyes as he placed his chin on your head, sighting. He smiled when a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Or perhaps, it is the work of Althestan's God. The Christian God.

"Why would he have to take Althestan away so soon? Why?"

"I don't know" Ragnar admitted, having thought the same thing since the got the word of his friend's death. He did not understand. Both of them didn't.

Sighting heavily again you turned your head completely to the side, pressing your ear flat against Ragnar's heart and so being able to hear his heartbeat.

In the corner of the room, close to the doors, you saw a shadow. Someone watching. The thought of getting caught at such a intimate moment with the King filled you with worry, but you didn't had the strength or the will to get out of that embrace. So you blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the blurry vision caused by the tears. With you vision now clear, you saw who was standing there.

Althestan was smiling at you two. At you. He was wearing his monk clothes, although his hair was long like you had gotten used to. All the air left your body, you couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Just looked at him, the tears getting even more insistent.

His smile got wider and you understood what he was trying to say with that kind smile. Take care of each other. As well as I love you. He always had had that look in his eyes when he said he loved you.

And then without saying anything he walked away and pass the doors of the hall, and as much as you wanted to scream for him to stay, you didn't. You knew he didn't belong to you anymore. He belonged to his God. On the outside he disappeared after a few seconds under the sun light, leaving. Gone.

Feeling your heart heavier and yet lighter inside your chest you were able to crack out a painful little smile, deciding that you did not want to die anymore. You wanted to stay alive.

You would live day after day, just waiting for him to pay you a visit again.

#imagine #x reader #fanfic #imagines #athelstan x reader #athelstan imagine #athelstan #vikings fanfic #vikings imagine #vikings #angst imagine #angst

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elenatria · 5 years

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Ok, so before I sleep I have something to say. Thanks to you I have been sucked in the Valoris ship and not only can't get out but also come up with head canons so here is one: How do you imagine Boris(from the series) reacted when the news of Valery's (from the series)death reached him?

Took me long enough to answer that one, didn’t it?… Sigh. Hopefully I’m not off topic. Here it is.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19349599/chapters/47025865

Here.

Here and now.

Boris squeezed one last time the jagged piece of metalthat was getting slippery with sweat between his thumb and index finger. As ifwaking from a trance he shifted his eyes from one end of the half-lit corridorto the other like a burglar weighing his chances; he had been standingmotionless in front of that door for a good five minutes.

Too long.

Inga is waiting.

Taking a sharp breath in he wondered if there was a pointin carrying on with his plan.

Gubarev said “there must have been a tape foryou”. Not “there is”. Valery had “hinted at it” but what did that even mean?What did Valery say? He should have asked Vladimir his exact words but it wastoo late now, the journalist was long gone and Inga was probably freezing, mewingher lungs out in his trunk. He shouldn’t leave her waiting, he reckoned, lockedin the car just because he was too eager to find Valery’s gift on that sameday. She was only a cat.

Another gulp of air, another squeeze of the key. Heclutched his eyes shut.

What if it’s not there? What if the police, the KGBfound it already? What if they heard Gubarev’s tapes and solved the riddlebefore me?

What if I’m here to waste the next three hours of mylife, whatever life is left of me, searching for something that doesn’t exist?Something I wasn’t bound to find?

“B’s gift.”

What did that even mean?

It meant nothing, they never exchanged gifts whenValery was alive, when they still had time.

Time - the one thing Boris always took for granted,the one commodity his high position in the Party couldn’t grant him. And that fuckingnerd was never the sentimental type, never accepted his presents. Besides hedied on him, didn’t he? No second thoughts, no consequences, no Boris. He nevergave a fuck.

“B’s gift.” What a joke. Time was the only giftI wanted from you, Valery, and it was the one thing you couldn’t give me.

You bastard. How could you leave me behind, howcould you—

Boris tightened his fist around the key letting its metalteeth sink into his flesh. The sharp stinging brought him back to reality, backto rational thinking. Back to standing in front of a closed door.

I didn’t leave you behind, Boris. I had no choice.

He snapped his eyes open. There it was again, angergiving way to guilt.

But there was no time for regret.

Inga was freezing. Inga was waiting. Inga was only acat.

Valery was dead but Inga was alive.

He pushed the key into the lock and turned. With one briskclick the door creaked open into the dark apartment.

The smell of mould and dust hit his nostrils like theitch of an old wound, like a long-forgotten memory. He had never been therebefore yet the scent of old furniture felt eerily familiar. Maybe if he openedthe shutters a stream of pale November light would rid this place of its glum otherworldlyair but he didn’t want to make his presence known to people on the street.

Another lie.

It was the thought of sunlight entering this place, thistomb, that he hated the most. The specks of dust dancing in the frozen air,the rustling of feathers coming through the open window… it was all about life.It would feel as if nothing had changed, as if life went on.

But it didn’t.

Not for Valery, not for him.

He tossed his leather gloves on the telephone desk. Ashe took off his ushanka hat to put it on the hanger he caught a glimpse of hisreflection in the mirror above the desk.

Was that really him? The Deputy Minister sent toChernobyl two and a half years ago who would yell at both his superiors and hissubordinates with equal fervour?

Those weren’t his eyes anymore - they were worn,tired, heavy. He had lost weight, he was missing colour from his cheeks. But itcouldn’t be that bad, could it? He probably didn’t look half as bad as Valerydid on the day he took his own life. Maybe Valery had gazed at this very mirrorminutes before tightening the noose around his neck. Maybe he saw exactly whatBoris was seeing now: a pair of vacant eyes looking back at him, filled with amillion accusations, a million regrets.

You didn’t do enough.

All those people, all the innocent lives you sent totheir graves—

and then the one who mattered most.

You did nothing.

He shook the morbid thought away. He had wished athousand times to be with Valery that fateful day, any day. He had wishedhe wasn’t a coward.

And die for me because of a visit? he almost heard afamiliar whisper in the shadows, vibrant and secure. Have me read about yourdeath in the papers? Wouldn’t they love that, Boris. Wouldn’t they gloat overmy despair. “He fell from the stairs of his own house.” “He slipped on snow.” “Hemistook rat poison for salt.” “He died in his sleep because of a gas leak.” Athousand imaginative ways to die in the hands of the KGB, a thousand convenientdeaths to break my heart. And what would I get? A cheap watch instead of amedal. A faceless article instead of a call from your family announcing yourdeath to me. You would have done them a great service had you come here. Andyou still think you should have done it? How magnanimous of you, Boris. Howgloriously naive.

(shut up you’re not here you’re not me you don’t knowwhat it’s like--)

Boris almost collapsed, his pale forehead against thedoor casing being the only thing that kept him still and standing. When the voicecreeped back into the walls he forced his eyes open and squinted around atsilhouettes of objects he still couldn’t discern.

There should be a switch somewhere, he thought, thereshould be some light. Had to be.

How he craved for it now.

He fumbled in the dark for the small plastic square onthe wall like a castaway desperate for a float.

A click and there it was, the sickly light of a lightbulbgiving colours and names to what were shapeless shadows a second before.

“Hesaid he had hidden something for you in the kitchen, ‘B’s gift’ he calledit.”

Toocryptic. But of course. He didn’t want them to find out.

Borispeered through the corridor. The door at the end of it had been lefthalf-opened revealing a kettle on the stove and a used towel hanging from adrawer under the sink. He dragged his steps across the hallway, his eyes fixed onthe opposite wall, on the kettle and the cracked white tiles behind it.

Enteringthe kitchen he realized there was not enough light for his search – and yet he couldn’tstand another bulb hanging above his head faking daytime. He walked around the tablestaring numbly at the tape recorder on it and the ashtray where someone hadleft his final cigarette butts. Laika smokes and their familiar scent.

Hisscent.

Borisopened the window and blinked painfully as the hard white light engulfed him. Thebanging of shutters against the wall startled a couple of pigeons on the ledge causingthem to flutter away.

Heleaned out in the fresh air.

Valery’sapartment was on the fourth floor so he could have easily jumped from there,give his life an instant merciful ending. But it would have been messy,wouldn’t it? It would have alerted the KGB right away. Perhaps he wanted togive Gubarev time to learn about his death from neighbours and find his tapes.

Perhapshe didn’t want to make this public, his death was only meant for those whoknew. Those he blamed.

Borisslammed his fists on the ledge. Squeezing his lips shut he turned back to thekitchen.

B’sgift, B’s gift, B’s gift. He should start somewhere.

Hedragged the drawers open with a clang, pulled them out, emptied their contentson the floor. He pulled the dishes out of the cupboards one by one, stacking bythe sink the ones that escaped his feverish haste, kicking on the side the onesthat got smashed in the process. He emptied every pot, every box big enough tocontain a tape. He removed the strainer from the sink and shoved a hook madeout of a hanger down its depths only to bring up black pulp of rotten food andgreasy strands of red hair. He folded those in a table napkin, carefully pattedthem dry and hid them in his pocket.

After an hour of turning the kitchen upsidedown he was aching from head to toe. He wasn’t a young man anymore; he wasn’t ahealthy man. He collapsed on the chair, his chest heaving as he leaned on thetable, resigned, defeated. There was notone tile on the floor he hadn’t checked, one rug he hadn’t flipped, onecookbook he hadn’t opened in hopes of finding its pages torn and replaced bysomething as small as a tape. He had emptied the cupboards in search of falsebacks. He had traced the inside of the cooker hood, the vent, but those werethe first things any agent would search.

Therewas no hope. There was no tape addressed to him. There never was.

Hishand lay lifeless on the table next to the ashtray. Unconsciously he traced theflower-shaped edge of the cool brown crystal. He fiddled with the butts andrubbed his fingers together, watching idly the ash fall on his lap. He was solost in the deep blackness of his mind that he barely noticed the buzzingintruder flying through the open window.

Theunlikely visitor landed on the back of his hand tickling his skin. Its yellowand black stripes looked so out of place on such a cold day that broke him outof his haze.

Borislifted his hand to take a closer look at the frail lifeform.

“Whatare you doing here?” he mumbled, his eyes watering at the sight of a creatureso fragile and beautiful. “Aren’t you supposed to be hibernating or something?Protecting your queen from the cold? Who brought you here to die?”

Heturned his hand to get a closer look at the insect’s transparent wings.

“You’re doomed away from your hive, you know, awayfrom your queen. You weren’t supposed to be here at all. You were supposed towork, you were supposed to live.”

Thethought of the bee’s fate made him numb.

Heknew he couldn’t protect it, he could only watch it die slowly or let it go. Forgetit ever existed.

Hejust didn’t know which was worse.

“Youmust be hungry,” he muttered, “but there’s no sugar in this apartment, Idropped it all in the sink. Maybe there’s —”

Hislast words dissolved in his drying mouth. He got up slowly like a somnambulist,mesmerized by the insect’s yellow and black stripes.

Heknew now.

Gubarevnever said “Boris’ gift”. He said B’s gift.

Bee’sgift.

Andbees have only one gift to give.

Howcould he ever think it was about him. How selfish, how blind he had been allthis time. It was a riddle. Something the KGB would never suspect, cynicalbastards that they were.

Borisplaced his palm next to the sink letting the bee fly off and then franticallyturned to the cupboard next to the vent. There was one jar left, one jar hehadn’t checked because it was filled with a substance so inconspicuous and denseand sticky nothing could be preserved in it without being ruined.

Heopened the cupboard and grabbed the honey jar. It was big enough. It wastransparent yet dense enough. No one would have guessed.

You’rea genius, Valery. You’re a fucking genius.

Heunscrewed the lid and let the honey drip into the sink.

Thereit was, a heat-sealed bag and a tape with a red cover in it.

There.It. Was.

Heturned on the tap and rinsed the precious find carefully making surethere were no holes on the plastic to let water in. He wiped it with the toweland ripped it open until the tape was safe and dry in his palm. With shakyhands he took it out of the case, turned to the table, pressed the ejectbutton and shoved the tape in.

Click.

Manyseconds dragged by without a single word coming from the recorder.

(hesitance)

Howunlike Valery. He was never afraid to speak his mind, never had second thoughtsabout it. But he was at a loss of words whenever Boris was being a bit too bold,whenever he took their relationship one step further. Valery would turn into alost puppy each time Boris asked for reassurance, each time Boris showedaffection. Each time Boris asked for more.

Thefirst sound from the recording broke Boris out of his reverie.

Aclearing of the throat. A cough. A sigh.

“Thistape belongs to Boris Evdokimovich Shcherbina,” the voice began in an almost formaltone. “I don’t know if he will be Deputy Chairman of the Council of Ministersby the time it reaches him. I don’t even know if he’ll live long enough toreceive it. But there it is… Months of silence condensed into a single tape.”

Borisfelt his stomach clutching as the voice continued.

“Thereason why I’m making this tape now, Boris, is that… you called me thismorning, didn’t you? I knew it was you. And I knew we couldn’t talk. That’swhy I’m talking now.” Valery’s recorded voice drew in a deep breath, preparing hislistener for what was bound to become an unstoppable river of words.

“Ihad been waiting for that call. How long has it been? Six months? A year? I’velost count. To be honest, I thought you’d call earlier. I would lie in bedstaring at the ceiling and imagine the talks we would have you and I, hours of them,and as months went by and I didn’t get to hear from you I would come to imagineour silences instead. The ones we would share after a long tedious day at thepower plant, smoking and drinking and going through endless reports withoutexchanging a single word. The silences that enveloped us each time we found newways to… explore each other. Sometimes you couldn’t stop, sometimes Icouldn’t stop. But there was always silence afterwards. I cherished that asmuch as I cherished watching you come undone in my arms. Losing control. Iloved you the most when you were like that - vulnerable. Digging your nailsinto my ribs, holding on to me for dear life.”

Therewas a pause after that as if Valery was trying to gather his scatteredthoughts.

“Forgiveme, Boris, but I had forgotten how you sounded like, the deep soothing tone ofyour voice. My memory…” He clicked histongue, probably shaking his head in regret. “It must be the medication,getting heavier every week, every day. Sometimes I just refuse to take it becauseI don’t want to forget, you know? Least of all you. But you called.” He laughed.“I knew it was you, I heard your breathing in my ear and it all came back. Theorders you gave, the barking on the phone, the promises that you’d get us… get meeverything I needed.” A pause. Valery giving himself time to think, toremember. “The pleas, the soft whispers when we were alone telling me what todo, the desperate gasps and soft whimpers when you… when you… Oh god…”

Boriswas almost certain he heard a stifled sob. A biting of the fist. “I’m so sorry,Boris, it all comes back to me now… It’s harder than I thought it would be. It’ssavage.”

Anothersob, masked as a sharp intake of breath. “It’s worse than being alone. It’sknowing that I’m still alive and you’re out there, in a phone booth who knowswhere, wasting your coins on me, unable to even say ‘hi’. Because of what Idid. Because of what I said. I wish I could take it all back now...”

Therewas no doubt now, Valery was crying.

“G-giveme one more chance to lie to the world, Boris, and I’ll take it. One horriblelie for one more day with you. I-I think it’s fair...”

Borisheard the clicking of plastic; Valery had removed his glasses and dropped themon the table. “But I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, not when I knew that they werethe reason you were coughing red stains into your handkerchief. Not when I sawyou broken like that, bending over your knees on that miserable bench insteadof enjoying the sunlight, feeling hopeless, worthless. You’re not worthless,Borya, not to me, not to anyone. Not to the millions of people you helped save.”

Borischoked. His vision was getting blurry but he refused to dip his hand into hispocket and bring out the handkerchief – he knew Valery’s hair was still there,soft and fragile, folded in a napkin. He knew the feel of it was going to ruinhim.

Hewiped his cheek with the heel of his palm instead.

Thevoice continued. It was clearer, more composed now. “Do you remember the daywhen we set the lunar rover to motion for the first time? I thought I would neverforgive you for making me blush in front of everyone. I mean how dare you,”Valery chuckled. “That night you made it worse - you kissed me. You made mekiss you. I didn’t know I could do that, Boris. I had forgotten. When the firstrays of sunshine found us together in your bed you traced my lips promising mysmile was yours to protect, forever. I didn’t understand it back then. I didn’tknow why my smile mattered. And you didn’t know ‘forever’ could be awfullyshort.” Valery huffed. “I guess we were both equally ignorant.”

Afaint laugh.

Boriswinced hard against his fist as hot beads slid down the back of his hand.

“I’msmiling now, Boris, I wish you could see it,” Valery sighed happily smothering asniffle. “You may think they won but they didn’t because not a day passeswithout your thought putting a smile on my face.”

Borisblinked again and again trying to get rid of the thick tears blinding him.

Therewas no time for grief. He had to listen to the end. He had to stay focused. Hehad to drink in every single word.

“They’llnever take that, you know,” Valery reassured him, his tone steady and firm likethat day in the court. “It’s that last inch of me they cannot take. The inchthat is you.”

Valery’svoice lowered until it was nothing but a dark whisper. “They turned my worldinto a prison, Boris. They took everything. Except you. You’re that part of methey will never have.”

TheUkrainian was leaning on his elbows, uncaring of the tear stains gathering onthe tape recorder. He didn’t need it anymore. Valery’s words didn’t need a recorderto be remembered.

“Don’tdie before me, Borya,” came the final choked sob from the speaker. “I couldnever live with myself if you did.”

Borisfidgeted with the keys, brushed his hand over the speaker just to feel thevibrations of Valery’s voice.

Justto feel.

Heclosed his eyes waiting for the beloved friend’s last words to pulsate throughhis fingers as if they were together one last time, in bed, feeling each other’slips in the dark.

Thewords finally came. Maybe he had heard them before. Maybe he hadn’t. He didn’tremember. It didn’t matter anymore.

Valerylived. Valery existed. Valery was his.

“Ilove you, Boris. Don’t die.”

…

Thatevening, and for many evenings to come, Inga enjoyed a royal meal - not justthe usual canned pet food, no. She had baked salmon served in a porcelain bowl anda large basket to sleep in in front of the fireplace. However the basket wasonly meant for naps and she’d rather spend her day being petted and purringhappily. When she was done licking herself clean she would hop on her new owner’slap and settle herself between the pages of a Pravda issue and a hot cup oftea.

Shewas never denied the tenderness she deserved even if sometimes the petting wasinterrupted by long intakes of breath and hands stilling on her back as if timehad stopped, as if the world had come to an end. She didn’t know what thatmeant, she was only a cat, but she knew what she wanted and she would consistentlybring her owner back to reality with her soft mewing and the playful blinkingof her big emerald eyes.

Thegrey-haired man’s lost gaze would then turn back to her, his reddened eyessoftening, and he would continue to indulge her with long even strokes alongher back, the ones she loved the most.

Shewas only a cat. Maybe she knew instinctively that her time on this planet waslimited and those displays of affection, those shared moments with someone wholoved her were enough to make life worth living.

Maybeshe was so happy because she didn’t know how long she had.

Butthen again, who does.

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