Chapter Text
They're making it back.
It's fine.
The route went as expected. It was nerve-wracking, rushing out towards the gate, but tame compared to some of the other runs Olga has been on. Yura was excited about getting a successful mission out of the way, and Nikita was rambling off to him about how the mission isn't over until it's really, really over. She doesn't speak, the only sound coming from her being the grass crunching beneath her boots as she jogs along with them towards relative safety, because her mind is somewhere else.
She was bright-eyed like Yura, once upon a time. But after the Grinder, and year after year, the adrenaline and rush... it went away. What she'd give to experience that first time again... ah, maybe she envies him. Maybe it's jealously. That's pretty pathetic, she knows. It's the one exciting part of her life, and she can't even get anything out of it. She has to linger on their right side, keeping them in her line of sight on her left, and it's just a reminder that a chunk was taken out of her life on that fateful day.
Was it worth it?
Her mouth presses into a thin line, and she sighs quietly, breath forming as a small cloud in the cold air. She knows there's no point in letting the weight hang over her head, but it's not like she's ever been good at dealing with that sort of thing. She'll just make it back, and watch Sergei work, if he'll let her. She knows he doesn't like being bothered while he works. He's not very affectionate when he's documenting every little detail of whatever item they bring back, but maybe he'll tolerate her being a bit needy today. She hopes so. They don't get a lot of time together, and it hurts her a bit more each day that she only gets to see him for a few minutes before they have to part again.
The walk back is mostly a blur. It's hard to focus, and Yura and Nikita are caught up in their own conversation, anyways. Whatever they're talking about, it's probably better than whatever she's thinking right now. She's stewing in her thoughts like she always is, pushing herself to move forward step by step until she's standing at the workshop, and it feels like no time has passed at all. She feels like a rat as she and the others scuttle inside, loathe to be seen, and Nikita calls out into the workshop to announce their presence. "You could be less loud," comes Sergei's call back from within, and Nikita and Yura just laugh it off and go to storm the man with details of their adventure and to shove the battery in his face.
Olga doesn't share their enthusiasm. Nikita usually isn't so active, but Yura seems to have given him a second wind. He probably reminds him of Kolya. She tugs at her sleeves, telling the darkness in her head to go away. His death wasn't her fault. It wasn't. But seeing Nikita happy again after so long... she misses it. She misses when they were actually friends, even if he was always kind of snippy with her. But she tends to bog everything down wherever she goes, and she can pretend that she doesn't, but it doesn't change her reality.
In the few times she zones into their conversation, she notices that neither Yura nor Nikita mention the little trinket that they found. He's keeping that, she supposes. Sergei probably wouldn't let him. She won't say anything, because who is she to take away their fun? Olga doesn't say a word, and she's sure Sergei notices, but he draws no attention to her. Nikita says he'll be taking Yura out for a victory lap, and Sergei scolds them to be careful, but after many assurances from the both of them that they'll do nothing irresponsible - hah - they get ready to go.
With Nikita and Yura heading out, it's just her and Sergei. She can't help but be a bit annoying, and she makes her way behind him, gingerly wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face against his back. He's warm. She can't bring herself to say anything, and so she stand there, resting her cheek against his back, and she can hear him let out a soft breath in response. He's smiling, if only she could see that.
"...I'm glad you're safe." Sergei wishes he could reach around and hold her, but his gloves are caked in whatever grime was on that battery. Olga probably wouldn't mind, knowing her, but it's better if he's the only one coming into contact with whatever radioactive dust this thing is coated in. He has trouble knowing what to do when she's depressed like this. Comfort has never been something he's good at - he usually just makes people feel worse, or he doesn't have the time to be a shoulder to lean on.
For Olga, though... he feels he's been too aloof lately. He hates seeing her when she's obviously eating herself up inside. He wonders if it's the stalking that got to her today, or just her memories catching up with her. Whenever she goes out and he can't be there, he worries for her, every time. Stalking is a dangerous job, and they aren't getting any younger, or accumulating any fewer injuries. Especially with her eye gone, he has this eternal fear that she'll get blindsighted one day, but that hasn't happened. Not yet, at least. But it could happen, and the thought of losing her is terrifying.
It's nice to feel her there, tucked against him, but she's holding onto him for a long time. He picks at the battery, and his eyes narrow with a quiet sigh. She's insecure today. More than usual. That's a given, with the way she lets him go after he sighs, but he's not sighing at her; he just wishes there was more he could do. At the very least, he doesn't want her to feel alone right then. "Why'd you let go? It's cold." He peers over his shoulder at Olga with a smile, and at first, she looks stunned, as if surprised he'd even care.
Watching her expression soften into a smile is perfect. He loves her, even if he knows she has her doubts. "...If you don't mind," Olga says, wrapping her arms back around him and giving him a gentle squeeze. Her chest feels warm, and her face does, too. She lets her eye flutter shut, drinking in the closeness that she so craves, and something about holding him there in the flesh makes her feel complete. Even through the fabric of his shirt, she can feel his heart beat against her cheek, and she's happy.
Sergei promises himself that he'll give her some more attention once he's done; he wishes examinations didn't take up so much of his time, but he hopes Olga will forgive him for it later. Having her cuddled up against his back while he works is the sort of calm he wishes he could have every day. Typically, he has a look of pure concentration when he's marking out every abnormality, but with Olga at his back? It's hard not to keep smiling.
It's an hour of documentation that has to be done, and Olga occasionally lets go of Sergei to get some feeling back into her legs, but she always returns soon after to lean against him or peer over his shoulder. Really, he could stay for longer. But even if it would finish things up sooner, he wants to spend time with Olga for a while, since those opportunities are rarer and rarer these days. He knows it bothers her, too, and he'll lift that weight off her, at least for today.
When he moves to stand, Olga makes a surprised noise and takes a second to detach herself from his side, and he exhales an amused breath; she was probably dozing. "You're going so early?" She shakes her head and blinks, waking herself up as Sergei starts to sort and put everything away. "I'll finish up tomorrow," he replies, wandering deeper into his workplace to wash up a bit. The last thing he needs is to touch everything with Zone dust on his hands, even with gloves on. It's already dark out, and usually he's here long into the night, but he can spare those hours for Olga today.
He's out after a minute or so, taking Olga by the hand, and she tenses as he does so. For some reason, she still feels like it's not alright to be so openly lovey, but Sergei squeezes her hand, and she lets out a breath. He loves her. It's okay. He brings her out to his car, and they're off to his house in no time at all. "Sasha is still mad at me," he explains with a sigh, "so she won't come out of her room if I'm there." Olga peers out the car window, mulling it over. She feels bad for her. Even worse, knowing she's doing something of the same caliber at her flat. It's like she's playing unfair, betraying Sergei's trust, and her eye droops just a bit as they pull into his driveway.
She's being a downer again, but the guilt has been clawing at her for a while now. She'll have to tell him eventually, but she'll hold off as long as she can. The thought of him hating her for it makes her feel sick, and she's not ready yet. Maybe she'll never be. She gasps softly when Sergei pokes her side, snapping her out of her thoughts. "You're spacing out," he says, but his tone isn't accusatory. He looks a bit concerned, if anything, undoing his seat belt and stepping out of his side of the car. Olga is quick to unbuckle and hop out of her side, and she passes it off as they approach his door, "...It's just been a long day."
Right before they get in the door, Sergei surprises her with a hug; he feels like she needs one again. And she does. She squeezes him back with too much feeling, and scolds herself once they let go, telling herself that she should be enjoying the time she has with him. When they step inside, she feels a bit better. Getting to come home with Sergei is like reaching a safe haven for Olga. Sometimes it feels oppressive, like she's just trapped there with her own bad decisions... like she doesn't belong there. Admittedly, it's like that most days. But today is okay. It will be okay, as long as she doesn't ruin it with her own insecurities. Sergei is with her, and he smiles at her as he passes by into his room to change into some nightclothes. His enthusiasm makes all the difference. Olga will follow suit in a moment, but opts to flick the TV on first - nice, simple background noise.
She wanders after him to their room, and he's midway through putting on something more comfortable. Olga keeps some clothes of her own here, and she tries to pull them out of the closet without ogling him on the way there. For the most part, she succeeds. She tosses her clothes into a small hamper as she puts on her new ones, and Sergei steals it out of the room after she does so. She figures he's going to wash them. Before leaving the room, she takes a second to fuss with herself in the mirror, because spotting herself in it has suddenly made her paranoid about looking like a mess. Once she's satisfied, she steps out.
Sergei is already settled in on the couch by the time Olga comes back, and she drops down onto the couch next to him with a small bounce. She doesn't even get time to scoot closer before Sergei is pulling her on top of him, grunting softly as he shifts them around on the couch, and she's left in a very comfortable position lying lazily on top of him. She wraps her arms around him and sighs in satisfaction, nuzzling her face into his neck, and she feels butterflies in her stomach.
A hand laces into her hair, petting through it with a tenderness that makes her breath stop for a moment, and she curls her fingers into his shirt. After all the doubt swimming in her head, she feels emotional, like she was silly for ever suspecting he might not like her as much as she'd like to think. She probably should feel silly. "I love you," she says softly, pushing her uncertainly down, and she smiles in such a bright way when Sergei presses a kiss to the top of her head.
"I love you, too." He says it with as much warmth as he can muster, and he means every word. The television is on, but neither of them are paying that much attention to it. Olga occasionally glances at it, but her focus is on her boyfriend. When he pets her like that, she feels loved, and she gives him a small squeeze whenever the emotions pile up. They talk about the little things - how the mission went, his earlier day of work, what they're going to buy for groceries later in the week - and eventually, the topic falls back to them, as a couple.
It's been five years. Olga can't believe he's been able to stand her for so long. "You know, it kind of feels like yesterday, the first time I saw you..." She murmurs, voice slightly muffled against Sergei's neck. "Sometimes it's like no time has passed at all, and other times, I can feel how long it's been... but you're still the same." She has a small smile, but there's melancholy to her face, too. She's changed for the worse, hasn't she? Sergei looks down at her, "Sasha would tell you I've gotten squarer." Olga can hear the smile in his voice, and she chuckles softly. "Well, that's true."
Him being a square is a joke he takes in stride, and honestly, she thinks it's quite funny. She just wishes she could extend the same attitude to her own features. The scarring is something she came to terms with years ago, and for the most part, it doesn't bother her. But when something pops out from her blind side, or Nikita slides her a thinly-veiled barb about how she's lucky she 'only' lost a part of her face, the insecurity digs at the surface of her skin like nails. She's getting lost in thought, and her mind spirals, so she tries to pull back from it. "I'm... sure I've changed, but I'm not sure how."
She knows how. She knows exactly how - the guilt, the weight on her back, the loss of enjoyment of anything in her life. Every way she's changed, it feels like it's been for the worse. Olga feels like she's clawing for validation. She wants Sergei to tell her she's not a complete failure, that she's still worth something, anything, and in the silence that follows her words, she could hear a pin drop if she really tried. The look of depression that had taken over her visage vanishes as quick as it appears when Sergei ruffles her hair and starts speaking.
"You've gotten cooler," he says jokingly, giving her a little pat. "Doesn't Anya always say that about you? She's right. I mean, it's not always easy to keep up that look... but you do inspire her. That's special." Olga deserves to know she's cared about, and if Sergei can slide that implication in while he's complimenting her, then that works out just fine. Olga almost feels embarrassed at the praise, even though it's something she was hoping for. "Eh, so I've shifted into that 'cool mom' look over time, huh... you know, I swear I looked a lot younger five years ago. Aging so fast isn't fair," she laments, and while she's mostly joking, it bothers her in the back of her mind.
Sergei can physically feel her insecurity, and he usually doesn't initiate things - he's quiet, but he doesn't mind his girlfriend's neediness. As long as it's not dragging him out of his work, anyways... but right now, why not give her the reassurance? She's still as wonderful as the day they met, and she should know that. "It's not like you've gotten any less beautiful," he says, ending off with a rare chuckle. He can feel her wiggle a bit at that, and he continues, "It's hard to appreciate on the couch, though. We should wrap up here soon." As someone who rarely gives the innuendo, he wonders if Olga gets it, but by her semi-flustered reaction he sees as he pulls himself back, he's sure that she does.
He's right.
Olga's pulse rises, and color comes to her face. "Well, we can... go to bed. But... maybe not sleep immediately, though...?" Her eye slides to his face, and he smiles at her, matching the faint red on her cheeks and letting out an amused huff. "If you want. Let's go?" He shifts a bit beneath her, and she slides off of him, waiting for him to stand so she can cling to his side. He's accepted all of her affections thus far tonight, so she's going to be as annoying as she can about it, because she doesn't get to show him this much love often. When he kisses her cheek on the way to their room, she knows he feels the same.
She has the rest of the night to show him how much she loves him, and she takes that time gladly.