Fic: Smokescreen (1/1)
Title: Smokescreen
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Victoria/Ivan
Word Count: 210
Summary: If he loves her like she thinks he does, he’ll understand. For rubynye, who requested “RED, Victoria/Ivan, Established Relationships at Turning Points” at the Five Acts Meme. Spoilers for RED (2010).
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: I wish I had the attention span to explore these characters more, but Five Acts let me play with them at least a little.
Smokescreen
There’s no time to think about it, no time for second-guessing or prevarication. They’ve caught her out, plain and simple, and as she casually adjusts the collar of her blouse -- keeps it high enough to hide the place where her pulse might show, stark and hard at the throat -- she knows that there’s no choice in the matter, no way that she can spare him and still get out of this alive, with her reputation in tact.
And the worst thing -- the best thing, the thing she fell in love with -- is that when she looks at him, when she meets his eyes and stares them down, blank and stoic: she can see what they’re both hiding, what they’ve both masked so well, and she knows that he knows, she knows that he’s ready; and while he wouldn’t do the same, could never do the same -- because he’s him and she’s her, and they were were always strange complements, really; never quite a matching pair -- he never expected any less from her, never expected anything else but this.
She chambers a round, and fires. Three times.
If he loves her like she thinks he does, he’ll understand.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Victoria/Ivan
Word Count: 210
Summary: If he loves her like she thinks he does, he’ll understand. For rubynye, who requested “RED, Victoria/Ivan, Established Relationships at Turning Points” at the Five Acts Meme. Spoilers for RED (2010).
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: I wish I had the attention span to explore these characters more, but Five Acts let me play with them at least a little.
Smokescreen
There’s no time to think about it, no time for second-guessing or prevarication. They’ve caught her out, plain and simple, and as she casually adjusts the collar of her blouse -- keeps it high enough to hide the place where her pulse might show, stark and hard at the throat -- she knows that there’s no choice in the matter, no way that she can spare him and still get out of this alive, with her reputation in tact.
And the worst thing -- the best thing, the thing she fell in love with -- is that when she looks at him, when she meets his eyes and stares them down, blank and stoic: she can see what they’re both hiding, what they’ve both masked so well, and she knows that he knows, she knows that he’s ready; and while he wouldn’t do the same, could never do the same -- because he’s him and she’s her, and they were were always strange complements, really; never quite a matching pair -- he never expected any less from her, never expected anything else but this.
She chambers a round, and fires. Three times.
If he loves her like she thinks he does, he’ll understand.