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[27_53]

They need to stock up on a few things, eventually.

It is only normal, after all. Even if this is anything but normal, with her here and both of them still having trouble with things that should be normal. He cannot find the bar (he has not really gone looking, not after the other day and how much it drained him to try) and she is nowhere near able to go looking, either.

So they make plans to head to the coastal town a few miles down the road. It will not be a long walk. There will be cigarettes, there. And maybe even lobsters, if they are lucky.

(He hopes they are lucky. The lobsters deserved it.)

He has his coat (as always) and he's gotten the most of the blood out of it. There are a few tears that need mending, still, but they are unimportant.

"We can cut across the field. It is shorter, that way."

Following the roads is for boring people, apparently.

Comments

[27_53]

To those watching, it may seem that the odd man in the dark coat has more interest in feeding the gulls than the drama on the high seas unfolding in the harbor. That is not the case.

Behind his sunglasses, his eyes are focused on the spot where she and the boy disappeared from view. He is reaching for a connection, ignoring the way it bounces and ripples with each muffled slap of the wake chop against the side of the sailboat. He will not lose her, no matter how tired he may be.


The seagull hops up to perch on his shoulder. Skellig hands it up a piece of torn bread, before popping one chunk into his own mouth.

A loud squawk erupts from the bird, protesting.



"Hush, you."


He focuses harder on the glitter on the water. And then he stands.

(If the boy has stopped flailing, he is going to need help.)

"Watch that," he orders to the gull, motioning at the bags of vodka and soup tins, before he begins to walk towards the end of the pier to meet her.

[katyafeline]

The boat is closer, but she strongly suspects that if she tries to haul them up there, either the boat will capsize, the parents will panic, or some unhappy combination of both. So she's pulling back towards shore, following Skellig's connection like the beam from a lighthouse.

(It's more real than anything else around here)

The mother's invictive follows her back to shore, and she doesn't have the energy to try and block it. Wearily she slaps a hand on the end of the pier, gripping hard, and eyes the boy held in the crook of her other arm.

The things she does for lobster.

[27_53]

Skellig reaches for her arm, first, and then for the shoulders of the boy (he really is not a light child, even with the water adding a bit of assistance in keeping him afloat) to haul him up onto the pier. He kneels beside the boy's still form, ignoring the puddle of saltwater that is soaking into his jeans at the knees.

He doesn't check for a pulse.

He doesn't roll him on his side to force him to choke out the water.

(The mother is still yelling, but he tries to block her out as best he can. He needs to focus.)

With his hands on either side of the boy's face, he leans in close. Close enough to let his forehead fall against that of the boy's.

(The onlookers are rushing towards them. He only has a few seconds.)

And Skellig reaches--

and he does not have to reach far, because the boy is not that far gone, yet. he will be in a moment. he is laughing. there is a balloon, blue, bobbing along behind him. there are birds overhead, on the air, rippling in an unnatural rhythm (heartbeat) in time with the (heartbeat) clouds.

"Come on," he grumbles.

the boy turns and looks at him, waving. and then he goes to run away, laughing, but before he can take a step in the opposite direction, he is hit with a wave as he stumbles and falls to the ground. his face crunches into pain and fear. he opens his mouth.

-- the boy screams, and Skellig sits back hard on his heels, almost as if hit by an unseen impact.

(She will notice that he, too, is breathing harder than he should be. His eyes are closed behind the sunglasses, and his lungs are burning with the sting of saltwater. That was harder than it should have been.)

[katyafeline]

She swears, softly and feelingly, as she struggles out of the water. This was supposed to be a relaxing day, a day with vodka and cigarettes and all the lobsters, and somehow they're both draining their reserves again over an idiot boy who would not wear his lifevest.

Dripping wet and ignoring the cold for now (it is still much warmer than the Gloom, much warmer than winter in Moscow), she curls an arm around his shoulder, sharing the strength she has left.

(It's getting easier, the more times she does it, the more she learns him.)

And now she can make a protective gesture against the mother's cursing, and some of the pain goes out of her posture.

[27_53]

The birds overhead are screaming, angry and disturbed by the ripples. Thankfully the one standing guard by their vodka is not upset, or hellbent on destroying what Skellig tasked him on keeping watch over.

"Don't overdo it," he warns, under his breath.

The boy sits up, and is helped to stay upright by another woman who has arrived with her husband. Someone mutters that he is so lucky to have been brought to the surface just in time. Skellig snorts at the idea of that being luck.

[katyafeline]

"Yes, mother." She retorts, in a quiet laugh. "Now try to look heroic." Katya has spotted a fisherman coming in their direction looking fairly impressed, and she has designs on the man's lobster catch.

[27_53]

It takes a bit of strength (his and hers) to focus on 'looking heroic', if only because he does not often play the part.

(Most of the time, he sticks to the shadows. It is easier that way.)

Skellig busies himself with ensuring that the boy is all right. It is best to act like he is actually concerned, if he is to be a hero, right?

[katyafeline]

Katya, honestly, isn't entirely sure how it goes either, but they must have put up a good front - she doesn't even have to say much beyond 'hello' before they are being praised.

It is weird. She resists looking behind her to see who he's talking to.

She also manages to keep the victorious grin off her face when he gets to the part of 'what can we do for you?', which she was certainly hoping for.

"Please sir," She gives him her most winsome grin, the one that earned her the reputation of being able to charm most of Moscow, including a fair amount of the Day Watch (despite her predilection for chewing on Dark Others). "I am visiting my friend here, and he said that I should have the lobster, since it is the best, here. Could we buy some?"

He, of course, will not hear of it. He will not take their money today. And he has many lovely lobsters to give them.

She manages to not look smug either.

[27_53]

He also manages not to look smug - and even accepts the brief offer of thanks from the parents of the boy. They are much too concerned with the safety and well-being of their son to truly focus on his rescuers, but that is often how it goes in situations like this.

They make their way to the fisherman's boat.

(He fetches their bags on the way, thanking the seagull for his dedicated service.)

And once they have another large sack of lobsters to add to their haul (they are going to clearly put some in the freezer to save for later, with such a quality stock they will be eating delicious lobsters for months), and the tourists have all wandered off to find something else to occupy their time, Skellig reaches into his pocket.

He lights two cigarettes, and then passes one to her.

"Perhaps we should find you a towel."

[katyafeline]

"Bah." She snorts, after taking a very-long-awaited drag on her cigarette, "I shall sun on the roof, and you shall boil the lobsters."

Still, right now she could almost wish for a good rainstorm, to wash the salt off herself. She's forgotten how itchy salt is.

[27_53]

"That will work too."

They stop back at the market to buy butter. (He did not want it to completely melt, by the time they walked back up the road towards 'home'. He also was waiting until they had lobsters to drown with said butter.)

He intends to walk out of town along the road, as to not raise any major suspicion. Once they are out of sight, however, he is all about abandoning the small highway and disappearing back into the grass.

"You are much better swimmer," he comments.

[katyafeline]

"There were times it was useful." There are precious few things she was taught that are not, when it comes down to it. "And there is a lake, by my house..."

Is, not was - she still hasn't surrendered, not entirely, the dream that she will get back to her home someday. But her tone is much more wistful than it has been before - someone remembering the Old Country, rather than a simple statement of fact.

It has been so very long.

[27_53]

"You do not live in the city," he says, a half-question and half-statement rolled together.

It would be odd, he decides, to have a house of his own, someplace. He does much better at finding empty ones to put life back into. And if he had his own house, then he would have to stay in one place.

He is not very good at that, either.

[katyafeline]

"Nyet. Well. Some of the time. I take many patrols in Moscow, but sometimes I go to the house. The dogs need attention." And sometimes she just can't stand the politics of the Watches anymore, so she goes somewhere that she doesn't have to listen to it, and she can be safe.

Even Gesar would need a bit of time to break through her defenses there.

[27_53]

"Dogs like me. Not cats. Most, anyway."

Most cats don't know what to make of him, part bird and part predator. Dogs have more faith.

This time, he walks around the end of the worn fence as they approach the barn. He places the lobsters on the ground just inside the door, beside a large metal pot. He will handle them in a minute. First?

Vodka.

[katyafeline]

"Most animals fear Others. We do not behave as the world ought." She shrugs, chain-lighting a new cigarette off the stub off the last before grinding the old one out. She makes good (sort of) on her earlier threat, finding a nice warm sunny spot in front of the doors and camping there, seated on a helpful rock-turned-doorjam.

[27_53]

He grabs two cups (it's classier than drinking straight out of the bottle) out of somewhere, and they do not match, though they do brightly proclaim how much the drinker must love the tiny coastal town they are outside of.

(There is even a seagull on the plastic.)

Skellig cracks the lid and pours two healthy amounts, moving to the doorway to hand one to her.

"To your health," he mutters.

[katyafeline]

"Spasiba." She takes the offered cup and knocks half of hers back, welcoming the burn down the back of her throat (it's warmer than her outsides, despite the way the clothing is drying).

And now she's eying the seagull.

Really.

Seagull.

[27_53]

The tourism board likely thought it was a fun tie-in.

Skellig just likes them because they're unbreakable. And hot pink.

He mimics her in knocking back a good swallow of the liquor, but unlike her, he coughs with the burn, squinting against the fire that sears down his throat and into his belly. That is much stronger (better) than he's used to.

[katyafeline]

She blinks up at him, a touch owlishly, then starts giggling.
"It will put hair on your chest, no?" She asks him cheerfully, "It is good for you."

[27_53]

"Already have that," he grumbles, clearing his throat a few more times to regain his voice. "This would burn it off."

He's had vodka with her before, but in his current state, this stuff is good. He moves to grab a few broken pieces of barn wood, piling them in a spot where there has obviously been a small fire made before, contained by broken stones and concrete blocks.

When he lights the fire, it does not smoke, yet it burns.

(Small tricks he can manage.

Like finding water to fill the pot.)

[katyafeline]

This reply does not stop her snickering at him, not one little bit. The sunshine is helping his cause, however. Sunshine and vodka and the smoke from her cigarette, no matter how frightfully mild it is.

It was a very rare day in Moscow that she was awake for the actual day. Usually she snoozed from just after sun-up to just before sun-down, to recover from the night before.

[27_53]

He keeps relatively quiet, humming to himself as he goes about setting the water to boil. The song is nothing in particular, merely something to distract himself from thinking about the fact that he will soon be plunging the lobsters into a watery grave.

(They deserve it, yes. But it is still death.)

If she falls asleep, he will make an effort to steal her cigarette. It would be impolite to let it go to waste?

[katyafeline]

She's watching him, in the fuzzy, unfocused way of someone who could be asleep if they tried a little harder, but is feeling lazy about it. Her now-empty glass is settled in beside her, just in case she gets thirsty later.

(There's an open bottle of vodka. It'll happen.)

Finally she realizes what's been bugging her, and sits up a bit.

(Her scalp itches. Salt water sucks.)

"Do you want me to do it?"

[27_53]

Had this been the bar, by the lake, with the lobster creatures closing in - there would have been no question as to his actions. The lobsters would have boiled in the lake along with all the things that also died, as the universes ended around them.

But here.

It is different.



"...it would be easier," he agrees, before finishing off the alcohol in his glass.