Work Text:
It was a rare moment when Alina and Aleksander could just lie in bed and talk. Usually the day began with a flurry of activity–reports and status updates and orders for the General’s signature–and ended with one or both of them falling asleep from exhaustion. And in between, Ivan and Fedyor managed their schedules down to what felt like by the minute.
Ravka wouldn’t reign itself.
It was only coming up on a year since the Lantsov reign had ended; there was still lots to do. Unrest to quiet, loyalties to affirm, allies to reassure.
But this evening, their night’s schedules had been cleared.
Fedyor and Ivan were no help. Ivan gave away too little and Fedyor too much. In fact, Alina was starting to suspect Fedyor was the worst of the two, with his wagging eyebrows and mischievous grins.
What a weird change, that, more and more she'd begun to start preferring Ivan's stony, salty demeanor. My, how much her perception of things had changed.
In any case, to her disappointment, it clearly wasn’t the romantic night Fedyor had insiniated that Aleksander had had in mind. Instead, she found him in their rooms, his demeanor altogether… somber.
Not sad, per se, but there was something pensive, almost apologetic in the way he held himself, certainly in the way he was watching her.
He greeted her with a stiffness-- no, not quite it was tentativeness, an unease, that she hadn’t seen since before they’d come to terms. After he’d removed the Stag from his hand, after he’d made attempts to make up for putting it there in the first place. And then he’d given her the remnant as a security that it’d never be used against her again. Offered her free reign over Kostyk’s abilities to do with it as she wished, including bonding it to her bones so that it could never fall into his hands again.
Their connection had returned to what it once was. Only, now they were both far more attuned to one another than they had been before the Stag. The pulls and tugs at the edges of their connection that she’d felt all along were now familiar to her, made sense.
So it was because of this that she knew tonight did not make sense.
At her inquiry, Aleksander looked at her for a long moment. Considering his words perhaps. Considering her. And then, he said simply, “I thought tonight you might want a break.” Tonight. What was tonight?
She could feel him scan her expression.
A flicker of disappointment across his brow.
She opened her mouth to press him for an explanation, when he added, “Sometimes it’s nice to take time for ourselves is all.”
She narrowed her eyes, she knew him well enough to know that that was him changing course. Whatever it was…
“Sasha–” she began to warn him.
He kissed her. And she let him. Typically, she didn't let herself be so distracted by such an obvious ouverture as sex, but, oh he was so so so good at it. And clearly something was amiss tonight. What she fould feel through their tether, the way he kissed her... It was almost as if he needed the affirmation.
And, only after, lying in bed, did Alina realize what today was.
The anniversary of Mal's death.
Well, that was putting it mildly. One year since Aleksander killed him.
One year today.
Oh. That's why Sasha was being so--
The realization should hit her like a bundle of bricks.
She turned to Sasha, who was lying beside her, his chest bare, the sheet around his hips. He was watching her, in that way that he always did.
It was a rare moment when they could just lie in bed and talk.
Only, this time, she found, nothing much at all needed to be said.
Beneath the sheet, she found his hands and threaded her fingers through his.