no_sin_but | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Marlowe stands in the living room, hands in his pockets and studying the ceiling. If he listens, he can hear Aife (or rather, Alisa) and Sascha talking and plotting. Alisa Vladimirevna is too much, really.

Mary Anne?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Picking up on my bad habits, is she?" Marlowe murmurs in amusement. It's a small apartment, really just two rooms plus a bathroom and a kitchen, so the voices are easy enough to be heard - Aife's light chatter with Sascha's lower voice.

Aife's chatter pauses for a significant moment and Mary Anne feels her daughter's shields creep slowly down.

You, me and your father are having a sit-down when we get back. Until then, feel free to keep talking to the nice young man.

There's a mental wince.

Sorry I made you worry, Mom.

Mary Anne smiles. You could have landed in worse company. We'll talk more at home.

And the light chatter resumes with a quick, "Sorry, lost my train of thought. Anyway..."

"Hopefully not all of them," Mary Anne replies to Marlowe.

"How'd you find her?"

"I didn't - she called. Sascha found her in Red Square."

Mary Anne rolls her eyes.

"Good lord...was it the fact that you're here that possessed her to pick that place, or did she just get absurdly lucky?"

"I think a little bit of both - this Russia is hard to find."

She sighs, running a hand through her hair.

"I owe you one."

He shakes his head.

"You owe Sascha. If she wants to come back? She needs to ask first so we can get her the right shit, she has the worst luck for running into guards."

Mary Anne laughs softly (tiredly).

"She's my girl, alright. We'll talk to her tonight, let her know just why she needs to let someone know where she's going. And if--once we think she's ready to travel by herself--she want to come back, I'll give you a heads up."

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Thank you."

"She's a good enough liar, to come back," comes a voice, Sascha's voice, from where the Russian stands in the doorway. Not tall, although taller than Marlowe, with a Slav's blond hair and broadcheekbones and a librarian's wire glasses on his nose.

Mary Anne's laugh is lighter this time.

"That, I think, she gets from her father. He'll be thrilled when I tell him."

"You are not supposed to be encouraging her," Marlowe points out to Sascha. Sascha shrugs, and smiles.

"Don't be a grouch, Nikita. She is a good liar, with the right prompts."

"Brilliant." Marlowe's tone is sour.

"I doubt she takes much encouragement at all."

Beat.

"Nikita."

"I'm more of a Nicholas than a Christof." His soft voice is flat.

She just smiles.

"Never said it didn't suit. It's just...unexpected."

Nicholas Sergeyevich Zoshchenko, otherwise known as Marlowe, just looks at her. Suspiciously, with older brother paranoia.

Sascha hides a laugh with a cough.

Mary Anne turns her smile on Sascha.

"And you're the one I have to thank for helping my daughter."

The smile softens, becomes a touch more serious. "Thank you so very much. I had no idea where she'd gone and...to say I was tearing my hair out is an understatement. I'm in your debt."

Sascha looks at her, and although the kindess and good-humour is still there, he looks more serious now.

"My pleasure, comrade." He doesn't say 'no problem', or 'no need' - he bribed a guard in public, dismissed him in public, and those things do not go unnoticed. But.

Even KGB, he is what he is.

She nods.

"If there comes a time when you need a favor, let me know."

He saved her daughter.

This thing will not go unnoticed.

He nods.

"She is in the kitchen, presumably eavesdropping."

Mary Anne can't help smirking.

"No 'presumably' about it. You alright, honey?" she asks, pitching her voice to carry.

"Fine, Mom," Aife says, peering around Sascha.

"Must run in the family."

Marlowe shoots Sascha an amused glance. "You're a fine one to talk."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only