2007-09-22: Pillow Talking About The Past


Felix_icon.gif Mariska_icon.gif

Summary: Long overdue questions get answers. None of them are good.

Date It Happened: September 22nd, 2007

Pillow Talking About the Past

Queens, NYC - Felix's Apartment

It's later in the evening. Fel, despite his protestations of polymorphous perversity, has (as usual) yielded to the temptation of having a really beautiful woman hanging around his apartment. Read that as you will. So, the pair of them are sprawled on the queen-size bed, fan blowing cool air in from the window. His expression is dreamy, blue eyes heavy-lidded. At least he doesn't smoke in bed.. «I realize… you've never told me anything about yourself. Where you came from, what your family is like…» he prompts, rolling his head to look at her.

When Mariska comes home and finds him in bed with this really beautiful woman, there's probably going to be some trouble on the brew… haha. Just kidding. The Russian woman lounging at Felix's side lifts her pale green eyes up and over to give him a thoughtful sort of stare. «There's not much to tell…» Except for the terrible truth.

Felix rolls lazily on to his side. «Well, what does your family do? Where did you grow up? What were you like as a child?» Man, the 'getting to know you' bit. This is gonna be rough.

There's a fine line between merely skirting the truth and outright bending it over. Mariska desperately tries to do the former without lapsing into the latter, no matter how hard it might be in this particular time and place. «I grew up in Moscow. My mother was a housewife. My father's a…» Motherfucking mobster who would probably fly over in a heartbeat and murder them both if he knew she was fucking a feeb. «…businessman. I have an older brother and a younger sister. I had a little brother but he died when I was still a child. I was…» The question about her childhood, however, draws her expression a little gaunt. It makes her think about Sasha. «…always in the middle.»

As perspicacious as he'd like to think himself - this time, totally snowed. Fel blinks, sleepily. «I'm sorry to hear it. I'm an only child, myself,» he murmurs, reaching up to brush her hair out of her face. «What does your father do?»

He's a vor. He kills people. He's one half of the terrible twosome that maintains a chokehold on Moscow's Red underworld. «He and my uncle…» Say it. God, Misha, please… say it. Say… something. It's taking way too long for her to answer that question. She’s clearly conflicted about something. «We're not close.» Mariska turns her head away and, in fact, rotates her entire body, showing him her bare back as she curls slightly fetal. «I left my family behind when I moved to Petersburg.» Oh, maybe that's it. Estranged. Maybe they know she's a freak. Maybe it's painful. Maybe her father isn't some ruthless, murderous bastard, after all?

It's weird, honestly; because, for a second, you can see the balance shifting in his face. There's the smitten lover battling the cop's instincts, and losing. He strokes the line of her back with his fingertips, tracing the muscles of the spine. How flawless she is, especially when compared to how he has his errors written on the body. «Why?» he says, and though his tone is very gentle. «Do they know they are grandparents? Is your mother still alive?»

The red, curly-ended, Cyrillic 'M' is no longer the only mark gracing the back of Mariska's graceful neck; above it, just below the hairline, is the so-called 'Company snakebite'. Like Felix, his lover also fights a losing internal battle. «Because, we just…» she tries to explain without going into specifics. «…disagree. About too many things.» She's too vague; she's obviously not being entirely truthful. But, before any further cajoling takes place, Mariska's own morals solidify in her spine and she turns her head, putting her bruised cheek against his chest. «Felix, there are things that…» Pale eyes close. «I don't want to lie to you.»

«Then don't,» he says, bluntly, resettling so he can put his arm around her. «Listen, your family's not here. If they're up to illegal stuff, I can't reach out and throw them in the gulag from three thousand miles away. I'm FBI, not CIA. But if we're going to be in this back to back, I gotta know.»

Through slightly parted teeth, Mariska sucks in a heavy breath and then says, «My name isn't Mariska Dmitryeva…» Alright. Let's start there. It'll get the gut-punch out of the way. «It's Mariska Dmitryevna… Mikhailova.» Which means her father's name is Dmitri Mikhailov. Chew on that for a minute. Roll it around.

This is roughly equivalent to find out that you're fucking Don Corleone's daughter. Fel stiffens at that. Lucky they aren't in the middle of anything hot and heavy, or that'd put an end to any proceedings right quick. His gaze searches her face, desperately. «That Dmitri Mikhailov, isn't it? That's what you meant by 'businessman', right?»

«That's what he insists on calling himself,» she says scornfully, wrinkling up her nose with a snort. The incredibly strong implication is that she obviously doesn't share that opinion. «He and papa Sergei, they're no better than the vor. Worse. When the curtain fell, it opened up the floodgates…» And now maybe he understands why she was so derisive all those years ago when they spoke about America and how 'wonderful' democracy was. Democracy ironically elevated her father from thug to tsar.

Well, at least he hasn't hurled himself out of bed to get away from her. Fel mostly just continues to look as if he'd been hit in the face. «Suffering Christ,» he says, shaking his head. «What's the luck, huh? Do they even know you have a child?»

«They do.» The tone of voice she uses to relay those two words suggests that Mariska is not particularly pleased that this is the case. Apparently, Felix isn't the only one she'd been trying to keep it from. She's turned her head back to the pillow now but remains snuggled up against him as tightly as he'll allow. She needs comfort. Snuggles. A shotgun. Something.

«And do they know who the father is? Do they know you're here?» The surreality is starting to pile up impressively. His tone is somewhat calmer now, and he wraps his arms around her with surprising tenderness.

Mariska ducks her chin and confesses to something that might hopefully racket Felix's blood pressure down a point or two. «No. They don't know who you are. I never told anyone,» she says quietly. Odds are it's not even on Sasha's birth certificate. The only clue was nestled in the little girl's name. «They know I'm here. They're how I got here…»

It does, happily. Because honestly, knocking up a Don's daughter and running away? Not done, even in this day and age. «But they don't know the Company has her, and that you've found her?»

Though Mariska replies with another 'nyet', even she doesn't realize that that isn't entirely true. Nor does she realize the depths of how far down the blood betrayal runs. But, one day, she will…

…until then, however, she lays her arms over the ones wrapped around her chest, fingers entangling with fingers and squeezing before she fights to roll over and face Felix. She searches his face quietly; no longer afraid of what his reaction might be, but desperate to see it for herself.

Felix is still quite obviously shocked and bemused, but not ultimately horrified. He just meets her gaze with a rather quizzical expression. «Man. I don't know what to tell you. They let you come here alone?»

Mariska looks a little… affronted. She is an adult, after all; fully-grown freak off the leash. «I was supposed to meet someone,» she says, eyes drifting down from face to throat to shoulder to chest as she tucks herself beneath Felix's chin. He gets three guesses as to who that 'someone' is. The first two don't count. Think hard.

Yeah, but Russians are protective of their daughters. Especially men like Dmitri. «Who— Babenkov.» He says, with a sour little laugh. «Man. Fate has it in for me.»

«He's been avoiding me,» she says with some sick humor laced in her voice. «…can't imagine why.» Ha. Ha. Ha.

Felix snickers a little, despite himself. «Well. Any questions you want to ask me?» he offers, sighing.

«Who do you think would win in a fist-fight: Benjamin… or Doctor Suresh?» HA! Go ahead. Allow yourself a moment or two in order to let that hilarious scenario play out in your head. Misha even breathes a little kiss on Felix's collarbone that suggests she's made herself chuckle. But then, there's an awkward quiet and she pulls back slightly in order to search his face again to ask: «How come you've never asked me anything about Sasha?»

«Benjamin. I don't have a reason, I just do,» he says, grinning at the idea. And then the grin's gone. « I… at first, I didn't want to believe she was mine. And then it seemed like it would hurt you too much. I do want to know, though.»

Okay. Enough looking. Maybe it was too soon to look. Mariska slinks back into Felix's grasp and bows her head against his chest. «…and now? What do you think?»

«I know she's mine,» he allows, very quietly.

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