he could fall and she could weep
Beth and Dimitri, in the wake of 9.03; ficlet, 500 words. Epigraph from Laura Marling.
the grey in this city is too much to bear
and I believe we are meant to be seen but not to be understood
we are basic lies
laura marling; alpha shallows
+
The roof is silent this time of night, windy. Tariq told her about it, saw her shaking, and with sympathy in his eyes, said conspiratorially, “It's usually Harry's contemplation zone, but -” his gaze shifted to where the red walls were shadowed, a small smile on his face. “seeing as he's not nursing a scotch and an 'eyes only' file tonight, he'll probably share.”
She'd nodded her thanks; she desperately didn't want to go home to Ruth and moral propriety, (though she could do with her wine).
She fishes out a packet of cigarettes, not opened; for emergencies, stored emotions in a puff of smoke instead of tears. It seems more dignified, somehow; the accelerated mortality doesn't matter.
She has a lighter, buried somewhere. It's too windy for the flame to catch; she gives up and toggles it in her palm, cigarette perched from her fingers. Footsteps come softly from behind.
“Didn't think you smoked.”
“I don't, now. Bad South American habit; calming.”
Dimitri cocks his head, too small an incline to tell if it is amusement or concern. He looks out to the river, contemplative; “I miss the sea,” he says. “Just the ocean, not the SBS.”
Beth turns to him. “I thought I missed the desert, Arabic for a while; that's gone now. We'll get used to this.”
There is a pause, and then Dimitri looks straight at her, eyes bold, “You killed Viktor,” he says, encompassed in a sigh.
She tries again to light the cigarette, hair falling forward. “He was a bastard anyway.” The flame dips and wavers, catches a gust of wind, blows out. She flicks the lighter off. “He deserved it.”
Dimitri watches her for a moment, a lean shape in her periphery; he takes the lighter from her, curves his shoulders away from the wind. The end of the cigarette glows orange against his stooped profile; his cheeks suck in, high cheekbones, and then he flips the cigarette between his fingers and hands it back wordlessly. “You look like you need that,” he says, exhaling breath mixed with smoke residue.
She smiles, looking back at the city. “Drink too, would be nice.”
“There is a reason I came up here.” His eyes are mischievous, reaching into his pocket. Beth takes the scotch, laughs; The burn of alcohol down her throat puts warmth back in her hands. She watches the shadows of his smile furrow his mouth, make lines of his eyes; his jaw shifts, sharp, strong. “Tariq smuggled it from Harry's office,” he says.
“In a water bottle?”
Dimitri raises his eyebrows. “Mmm.”
Beth gestures a toast, wrapping her coat against the cold. “Well done,” she says admirably.
Dimitri smiles again, affectionate, turns to take the bottle from her. His hand is warm against her own; speaking subdued. “Absolutely,” he agrees. “We'll get used to this.”
end.
the grey in this city is too much to bear
and I believe we are meant to be seen but not to be understood
we are basic lies
laura marling; alpha shallows
+
The roof is silent this time of night, windy. Tariq told her about it, saw her shaking, and with sympathy in his eyes, said conspiratorially, “It's usually Harry's contemplation zone, but -” his gaze shifted to where the red walls were shadowed, a small smile on his face. “seeing as he's not nursing a scotch and an 'eyes only' file tonight, he'll probably share.”
She'd nodded her thanks; she desperately didn't want to go home to Ruth and moral propriety, (though she could do with her wine).
She fishes out a packet of cigarettes, not opened; for emergencies, stored emotions in a puff of smoke instead of tears. It seems more dignified, somehow; the accelerated mortality doesn't matter.
She has a lighter, buried somewhere. It's too windy for the flame to catch; she gives up and toggles it in her palm, cigarette perched from her fingers. Footsteps come softly from behind.
“Didn't think you smoked.”
“I don't, now. Bad South American habit; calming.”
Dimitri cocks his head, too small an incline to tell if it is amusement or concern. He looks out to the river, contemplative; “I miss the sea,” he says. “Just the ocean, not the SBS.”
Beth turns to him. “I thought I missed the desert, Arabic for a while; that's gone now. We'll get used to this.”
There is a pause, and then Dimitri looks straight at her, eyes bold, “You killed Viktor,” he says, encompassed in a sigh.
She tries again to light the cigarette, hair falling forward. “He was a bastard anyway.” The flame dips and wavers, catches a gust of wind, blows out. She flicks the lighter off. “He deserved it.”
Dimitri watches her for a moment, a lean shape in her periphery; he takes the lighter from her, curves his shoulders away from the wind. The end of the cigarette glows orange against his stooped profile; his cheeks suck in, high cheekbones, and then he flips the cigarette between his fingers and hands it back wordlessly. “You look like you need that,” he says, exhaling breath mixed with smoke residue.
She smiles, looking back at the city. “Drink too, would be nice.”
“There is a reason I came up here.” His eyes are mischievous, reaching into his pocket. Beth takes the scotch, laughs; The burn of alcohol down her throat puts warmth back in her hands. She watches the shadows of his smile furrow his mouth, make lines of his eyes; his jaw shifts, sharp, strong. “Tariq smuggled it from Harry's office,” he says.
“In a water bottle?”
Dimitri raises his eyebrows. “Mmm.”
Beth gestures a toast, wrapping her coat against the cold. “Well done,” she says admirably.
Dimitri smiles again, affectionate, turns to take the bottle from her. His hand is warm against her own; speaking subdued. “Absolutely,” he agrees. “We'll get used to this.”
end.