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Chris stepped into the safehouse with a sigh, stomping the snow off his boots. Even as the thick door slammed shut, the wind could still clearly be heard outside. A typical Russian winter night, and their third week into learning the joys of such a winter. Hanging the flashlight at it's usual place on the doorknob, the STRATCOM agent spoke.
"No good. Heater's kaput."
His partner sat across the room with a hot plate, a kettle, and half a cup of steaming tea. "How bad?" she asked, pushing a brown lock of hair behind her ear. The sound of boots squeaking across the wet wooden floor nearly drowned her voice out, but evidently she had been heard because Chris turned his head to look at her.
"Pretty damn. I kicked it a couple times--" Jill gave him a reproachful look and he continued. "--after I pried it open and checked for loose wires, packed snow, and animal droppings. Still nothing, doesn't even look like it's getting power." The man scowled, pulling off the thick boots and woolen socks with a grunt.
"Today was the coldest day in a while, and it's already dark out." She bit her lip before sipping idly at her tea. "There's no hope of getting it fixed until tomorrow morning, either." In hindsight, she kind of wished she had been the one to check it out, having more inclination towards mechanics and detail work, but if the thing wasn't even getting power there wasn't much she could do, either.
The sound of heavy winter clothing unzipping halted the conversation for a moment. "Don't see why we should even bother. We're moving safehouses the day after anyway." Chris punctuated his statement by tossing his wet clothes over the now-useless radiator.
"True." Jill mused. As Chris came to sit down on her bed, only one of two pieces of furniture in the dimly lit room, a fresh cup of tea was thrust into his hands. He groaned, but accepted the scalding hot piece of tin, using it to warm his numb hands.
"I miss coffee. So sick of hot leaf water." A pause. Definitely not the way to respond to her kindness, so he amended himself. "Thanks, though."
"If it bugs you that much, we can get coffee next time," She smirked a little, probably knowing he'd drink it anyway, complaining or not. Or at least that he would if she handed it to him.
"Yeah, but you don't like coffee."
"And you don't like tea. But there's still the fact that I like drinking hot things before I go to bed and coffee's a little counterproductive to sleep." Jill smirk widened and Chris sighed, throwing his hands up in mock-surrender.
"All right, all right, you win this round. Going to bed soon, then?"
Jill nodded. “Gonna be a cold one without the heater tonight. Not just uncomfortably cold, probably frostbite cold.” She turned to look Chris in the face, but he finished her thought for her.
“Body heat?”
“Body heat.” she confirmed. “Go get changed, I already am.”
“So bossy...” he muttered, and Jill groaned under her breath. Automatically, she turned away out of courtesy at the sound of his zipper, not that she hadn't seen him in various states of undress by now. Sharing living space tended to lower your modesty standards after a while.
“You know what we need?” he asked.
“What?” she queried, running a hand along the thin wall. Not much, but it should keep the heat in for several more hours, at least.
“Vodka. Real, honest-to-god Russian vodka.” Her partner's entirely serious tone was nearly comical, and Jill caught the sound of a pile of clothing hitting the floor, presumably next to Chris' bag.
“I don't think that'd pass under 'necessary equipment and supplies' ” was her amused reply, although the idea sounded fantastic, especially on a cold night like this.
“Come on, you could up with something. 'Recreational therapy for the stress of living in a country where it's cold as balls and nobody speaks goddamn English.'”
At that, she couldn't help but laugh. Chris broke into snickers as well. At first, being together this much had been awkward but by this point it was almost natural. Normal, in some odd sense. And maybe little breaks of laughter like this were keeping them sane, just a little.
“Somehow, I doubt it.” A sigh, she really did almost wish that rationale would work.
"You don't really wanna go back to the states without having some, do you?” The grin on his face was evident through voice alone, despite his back being turned and he pulled on a sweatshirt.
“Oh, don't talk to me about the states.” she muttered crossly.
“Homesick?” he asked, pulling aside the covers and crawling into his bed, patting the spot next to him. Donning a second pair of socks-- one was normal, two was warm, three tended to cut off circulation-- she shut off the hot plate, then joined him.
“A little. It's hard not to be after being away for so long. But right now I don't want to think about anyplace where going below zero makes the six-o-clock news.” After some jostling and Jill's elbow colliding with Chris' side at lease twice, they managed to get themselves into a position that was, hopefully, mutually comfortable. God forbid either of them have to get up to take a leak.
“You don't miss people who speak English?” He was still grinning, confirmed further by the fact they were talking face to face once more.
She scowled. “Come on, don't pretend like my Russian is any better than yours”
“It is!” he remarked indignantly, as if she was personally insulting him by suggesting he was any good at the language.
“What was the word you pulled off the top of your head? 'Firing pin'?”
“That's just one word though. You talked to that lady the other day like a pro.” Chris shifted his weight onto one of his elbows, then adjusted the bedcover accordingly. Suddenly, he was all business again, talk of vodka forgotten.
“She was asking me if I'd heard about the wolves in that town half hour to the west of here. I had to ask her what three different words meant in a five minute conversation, go through synonyms and try to explain until I understood. And I was still guessing half the time.” Jill rolled her eyes a little, adjusting her own position to better match her partner's.
”What were they?” He looked genuinely curious.
“As best as I can guess? They were 'terrifying', 'pieces', and 'to maul',” she murmured, suddenly becoming very interested in the dots on the ceiling.
A grim silence descended between them.
“Do you think...” Chris started slowly, memories flashing back to skinless Dobermans.
“I don't know.” Jill cut him off, waving a hand. “Let's not think too much into it for now, it could just be aggressive wildlife.”
“Point. And it's not like it's our job to deal with that, even if we want to help.” A long sigh followed, probably trying to distance himself from caring about random civilians in a foreign country.
“It's not as if their government is.” she remarked darkly.
“...you're seriously one of those anti-communist ralliers or something?” And suddenly he was staring at her with a mixture of skepticism and disapproval.
“No, it's just a small town. They're probably last on everybody's priority list.” A pause, then she continued. “Why? Obviously you've got your own opinion on Communism, then?”
“Shoot me, but I don't think it's all that bad of an idea.” His tone was deceptively casual, as if remarking on the weather.
“Seriously? Even after they threatened-- Chris, you've got to remember, didn't you watch the news as a kid?” By now Jill was outright dumbfounded, and more than a little concerned.
“I'm not saying Russia was in the right back then, because they weren't. I'm saying that Communism could work as a system. Probably better than democracy.” He shifted his weight off his elbow and laid flat on his back again, stretching out. One of his bones popped, judging by the sound.
“You're kidding.”
“Nope. Read Carl Marx's stuff, it all makes sense. Everybody prospers together, none of the struggle of capitalism.” The lackadaisical tone continued, and Chris folded his hands behind his head.
“I never took you to be a political science geek.” Jill murmured, raising an eyebrow.
“Guess I wanted to know if I was gonna be in the air force, why I'd be shooting down the other planes, other people. Get inside their heads. Kinda figured out that communists had a good thing going, and that we should've tried to learn from each other instead of building nukes.” A darkness came over his face at the mention of his air force days.
“That... makes sense.” The hesitancy in Jill's tone was apparent. “Sorry, I guess I've just got this knee-jerk reaction to the word 'communism'.”
“Most people do. Cold war scare tactics.” He was entirely serious now, speaking in a quiet tone that was markedly different from his normal roughness.
“Chris, they were planning to turn our country into a smoking crater. The media didn't have any part in that.” Shifting to her side, she frowned a little in obvious disapproval.
“They did in spreading the fear. And you're confusing the Russians with Communism itself again.” Slightly exasperated, he dragged her back to her previous position. It was still cold and she'd moved too far away from him.
“I-- fine. All right, so humor me. If you got to be supreme dictator of the country, how would you do it?” Jill looked as if she might have been considering bopping her partner on the head, between the conversation and being forcibly moved without her consent.
“I'd do a shit job because I don't know anything about economics.” he deadpanned.
Jill chuckled, and the tension in the air dissolved. “Or tact. But seriously, Chris. What would you fix first?”
“I'd set up a system where it's impossible for someone to die of hunger or sickness on the streets. We're a world power. We're better than that.” He ticked 'one' on his fingers, clearly planning to go through a few ideas, but she cut him off before he got a chance to go any further.
“With what money? It's been awhile since I've read a real U.S. newspaper, with all the jumping around Europe, but last I remember we had an impressive debt going, especially with Umbrella's stock crash hitting Wall Street.” Going by the disbelieving look on her face, she wasn't putting much stock in his ideas.
“Tax money. Where else?” Chris, for his part, looked slightly insulted that she's write him off so easily.
“Isn't that just going to create a horrible cycle for low-income families?” she queried.
“You and I both know the tax rate isn't equal across the board. That's all I want to change.”
A slow comprehension dawned across Jill's face as it became clear what he'd want to do. “That'd make you some pretty powerful enemies.” But she looked to at least be considering the idea.
“They can pay up or get the hell out of my country. I'm running this place, remember?” He punctuated his statement by crossing his arms over his chest with a sigh.
Jill snorted at that. “You'd get accused of class warfare and trying to turn the country to communism.”
“Which would be the truth.” came the reply.
“I don't think anybody but the craziest radicals would support you if you called it class warfare.” The skeptical, questioning look returned to her face.
“They deserve it. Who can sleep at night in their Swedish-made mattress with goose-feather pillows when some guy down the street had to beg for coins to fill his stomach?” Given any more room, Chris might have somehow throw his arms to the side to make a point, but as it was he only got a few inches before narrowly avoiding a collision between his elbow and Jill's nose.
She took a moment to pointedly stare at him before she continued the conversation. “A lot of beggars are drunks and mentally ill people who can't function in the workplace, you can't really use them as an example.”
“Damn straight I can. I don't care who they are, they don't deserve to be treated like animals for their whole lives and then die like them!” Anger and indignation began to creep into Chris' tone-- evidently this was sometime he felt quite strongly about.
“Some people would call that naïve and idealistic.” she answered softly, carefully, trying to diffuse the emotion coming off her partner in spades.
“Other people would call that basic human rights lost to a country consumed by greed and corporate agendas.” he growled.
“Now you're against industry?” It took a considerable about of effort for Jill not to go slack-jawed.
“Not directly, but did people have any problems with this kind of thing before the Industrial Revolution? It's when we started thinking of people as replaceable cogs in a machine. As cattle instead of lives.” He seemed tense now, but no longer openly vehement.
“Communism still regards people as cattle.” she pointed out.
“Equal cattle. I'll take what I can get.”
Jill let out a long sigh. “You're nuts.” A silence descended, and a moment later she felt Chris shrug underneath her.
“Maybe. But does it at least make sense?” For half a second he seemed genuinely nervous that she'd say no, that they couldn't be partners for some reason because of his political views.
“Yeah. It does, it's just pretty...” She trailed off, looking for the word.
“Out there?” he filled in, still not taking his wary gaze off of her.
“Definitely. But you're a rebel in everything else, I shouldn't be surprised by this.” He snorted and she felt the tension go out of him like a balloon. Her outwardly brash and devil-may-care partner had been concerned that this conversation had changed her opinion of him. Briefly, she wanted to hug him, but couldn't help the feeling it would be completely inappropriate at present moment.
They fell into a long, comfortable silence after that. Ten minutes, twenty, it was hard to tell without a watch, clock, or daylight.
“Getting colder in here.” Chris reported dutifully, breaking the tranquility like a step in newfallen snow.
“All the more reason to fall asleep soon.” she answered, halfway to dreamland already against him.
“No keeping watch?” he asked.
“If you can keep yourself awake while lying completely motionless in a warm bed, be my guest. Plus, we're going to hear if anything opens to the outside with that wind no matter what, so I don't think there's a point..”
“Good enough for me.” he mumbled, sinking back down into the thin mattress “Night.”
“G'night, Chris.”