Chapter Text
Svetlana Sergievskaya was not nervous as she boarded the plane. Molokov sat beside her—that alone should have been enough to make her worried—and she knew that there were two more agents in the row behind them. Still, the only thing that she felt was excitement, at the idea of going to Budapest.
Really, she should have been feeling a whole host of emotions, most of them centered around the fact that she would finally be reunited with her eloping husband, but complex emotions had never been a strong point for Svetlana. She felt one thing at a time, and she felt it so completely that it could be overwhelming. Sometimes, she reckoned that was the only reason why she had ended up with Anatoly—that initial spark of love had sustained. Still, that was all over now. The rest would come out in the wash in Budapest. The only thing remaining solid for certain, the excitement.
‘We’ll drop your things, and then I must go to church.’ Molokov told Svetlana as the taxi made its way into the centre of Budapest, where their hotel would be.
‘Church?’ she had to hold back a laugh. Molokov going to church was just about as believable as his ‘wife’ whom he frequently brought up in conversation. Sometimes she wondered if everyone in the KGB was as bad a liar as he was. She supposed that someone with the state behind them did not need to be subtle with it. Certainly, they had scared her husband into cooperating for long enough, and now they had brought her here—though that second one was not entirely against her will, as the lingering excitement proved.
‘Yes, Svetlana, church.’
Svetlana did not like the way that he used her name so freely, nor the way that he knew everything about her life, or the way he offered his arm to her even though she’d told him she was just fine with her cane as long as he stayed a little in front of her so she could see his outline. Perhaps she ought to start calling him Alexander.
‘What exactly are you going to do there? Surely a man like you wouldn’t go to such a place.’
It was strange, she thought, how quickly the man in the suit had turned from a terrifying presence on her doorstep, to someone she could poke fun at. Svetlana supposed that was what happened when you were useful; she knew that they needed her help to bring Anatoly home more than she needed to stay on their good side.
‘I have matters to attend to,’ Molokov said. Svetlana wondered if she could come too, if she prodded enough, though she supposed she wouldn’t be very good on any kind of secret spy mission. The dim lighting of the church would render her remaining vision totally useless, and she didn’t know any Hungarian to blend into the crowds here. That, and about a hundred other reasons. Svetlana made a good interpreter and a good teacher; she would not make a good agent.
‘Are you going to see Anatoly?’ Svetlana asked, as Molokov turned to walk away from her room. There was a door adjoining it to his of course, but at least she could close it and pretend that she was alone here.
‘I could come.’ Svetlana wasn’t sure if she wanted to see him. She had loved him, and then he had left, and she had grown used to her life alone. Anything beyond that in complexity, she was still struggling to grapple with, but she knew that she wasn’t unhappy these days. It had been a massive shock, but she had adapted, just like people do in new situations.
‘Why don’t you go to the bar, you can put it on the room tab.’
Normally, Svetlana reckoned, he would straight up tell her no. To suggest this, he must really not want her to see Anatoly. Someone more in love with their husband—or perhaps more angry at him for cheating—might insist on coming anyway. Svetlana wasn’t sure she had any kind of emotion that strong towards him. And the bar sounded nice.
Svetlana wasn’t sure if she had expected a bar in Budapest to be drastically different, but she was a little let down at just how much it felt like places she’d been at home. Perhaps there were some more subtle details that she wasn’t noticing, but aside from the gentle chatter of Hungarian in the background, the general impression of everything was rather familiar.
Deciding to do away with that familiarity however, she moved to sit up at the bar itself, instead of at one of the tables dotted around.
A waiter must have noticed her, as immediately someone rushed over.
‘Can I help you?’ he asked, a low voice, speaking rather accented Russian, but Russian nonetheless. The hotel must have been alerted of their arrival, along with the other chess delegations—though Svetlana was unsure if she could really claim to be part of a chess delegation given that Anatoly had left the Soviet Union. Perhaps the Soviet Union had sent more of a chess-adjacent-delegation then.
‘I’m alright,’ Svetlana said, flashing a smile as she carefully sat down, folding her cane up and placing it on the empty chair next to her. ‘I would appreciate some drinks recommendations though.’
‘Of course.’ He rattled off a few options; she wondered if he was a spy. She wouldn’t be surprised. Svetlana had known for a long time that the walls had ears, it would be foolish of her not to have carried that belief with her into Hungary.
If anything, she was sure she would have to be even more careful here. Twice the amount of global powers in the room would surely result in twice the amount of eavesdroppers. Though her husband had been happy to give up everything to the Americans, Svetlana was rather fond of her life, despite everything that had happened in the past year.
‘Here, on your right,’ the waiter placed down the drink, and Svetlana thanked him. She could see it, but the concern was nice regardless. She picked it up and took a sip—thankfully the drink was rather strong.
‘It’s good,’ she told the waiter, though he was already walking away. It seemed that some friendly company was not on the cards for her that night.
No matter, the gentle crackle of the record player in the corner and the blooming music in the air was nice enough. Svetlana supposed she could be content with her own company, just as she’d had to be every night since Anatoly left.
Well, she supposed not every night. There were her colleagues of course, and her neighbours. And on that one occasion that visiting professor from Bulgaria, who had come home to her apartment for rather much longer than just a single evening. Still, the majority of the time it was just her and her thoughts. Luckily, that gave her ample space to think about what had happened, and what she hoped to make of all of this.
At first it had been anger, and then desperation. Finally, it had faded to indifference. Sometimes Svetlana was upset that she didn’t feel more strongly about her own husband of all people. Her colleagues at work remained outraged on her behalf, even after her own anger had long since left. It made her wonder occasionally if she had ever loved him—yes, she thought, but it was hard to put a finger on why she no longer cared the way she knew she ought to.
Really, if nothing else, the main thing she felt was lonely. The apartment was so still. Most of the time she didn’t mind the silence, but sometimes the only thing that she truly longed for was a conversation.
Although she had wanted—and still did want—to have children, Svetlana supposed that if she was never in a relationship again that would be alright. But if she had to spend every other evening of her life with no-one to make idle conversation with, well, that would be a right shame.
Someone sat down, Svetlana heard before she saw, turning her head to see if she recognised them. No use. Even Anatoly, who she had spent most of her adult life living alongside, sometimes appeared a little unfamiliar to her, if she wasn’t expecting him.
‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ he asked, an unfamiliar voice. Svetlana supposed she had nothing better to do.
‘Why not,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I was just thinking I could use a little company.’