I'm a woman...I can be as contrary as I choose.
|Outlander, Sons of Anarchy, Parks and Rec, Jane Austen, Downton Abbey, LOST, Lord of the Rings, reading, travel, food. Scotland.|
Tatiana was bent over him. Alexander’s eyes were closed. They remained this way, not moving and not speaking.
A groan left her. She couldn’t find a single word, a single word when she had thought books, when she had screamed and wept and railed against the unjust fate, when she had grieved and in her sorrow been so lost. Now she pressed her face into his bloodied black head and couldn’t find a word. Groans, yes. Wretched cries, yes. Not much silence, but no actual words.
On her knees by his side, through her barely moving lips, Tatiana whispered, “Oh, Shura…” She put her shaking hands to her face and cried.
"Tania, come on, now."
Doubled over, she took deep breaths, covering her face, hiding it from him in his blood-stained shirt in an effort to get calm.
"How have you been, Tania?" Alexander asked in a rupturing voice.
"Good, good." She clasped his chained hands.
"What about—" he broke off. "What about…the baby?"
"Yes. We have a son."
"A son." Alexander breathed out. "What did you name him?"
"Anthony Alexander. Anthony."
His eyes filled up and he turned his head away.
Tatiana stared at him, her mouth opening and closing. “Is it really you?” she whispered. “Tell me before I break down, tell me it’s you.”
"Before?" he said.
He was more gaunt than she had ever seen him, even during the worst of the Leningrad blockade. “Alexander…” she whispered. Blink. The cheek was unshaven. Foam on his cheeks. And she held the mirror between her breasts. Blink. She ran her fingers over his beard, his lips. He kissed her fingers. “Tatiana…” he whispered. “Tania…”"