#i even searched about vienna and moscow timezones

[cocomoraine]

Vienna

Why would I turn a simple supposed to be a ficlet (about Boris and Valery sharing a croissant in Vienna) into a complicated character introspection, development, and angst? I’ll never know, someone please take away my laptop from me. 

A semi reward to myself for being alive after that grueling finals, and a coping mechanism while waiting for judgment. 

Warnings: unbeta’ed. That's it. And maybe kind of trashy because its created on a whim. Esp while taking a break from studying and awaiting the verdict for Mineral Economics.

Here y’all go!

Vienna 

(maybe I should reconsider this title, idk)

Arriving at Vienna, Boris was a little bit shaken up by the cold, but not as much. Valery was beside him in the car, still reading the technical reports given to him by Ulana before they left Moscow. His forehead is littered up with lines in thought. 

Vienna’s time zone is not far from Moscow. But as soon as the plane started to lower on the runway, Boris adjusted the time on his watch. 

He saw Valery’s watch is still set to Moscow. 

“Valera.”

Valery looked up at him, registering his voice. 

“Yes?”

Boris waited for a moment, then took a breath, willing away the uneasiness. Vienna will not be a disaster, we will all be fine, Valera would be fine. 

“The time.”

Valery looked at his watch, and immediately changed it. He sheepishly looked at Boris, murmuring apologies on the way. Boris looked at him, a mixture of fondness and exasperation on his face. 

“Just make sure you don't trip out when you walk out of this car.”

***

Late at night, and even far away from Chernobyl, Valery still can’t will himself to sleep. He finished his third cigarette of the night, looking out the window.

He was calming his nerves. I can do this. 

He saw the door opening, Boris coming in, probably already finished talking with their entourage for this trip. 

“Everything all right, Valery?”

He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent some smartass reply that would definitely calm his nerves, but may aggravate Boris. He winced instead, then faced Boris. 

“I am fine. Of course, considering all things, maybe this is a tame version of ��fine” for us but not for other people.”

He noticed Boris pacing around the room, like a restless child, trying to figure out the answer to the riddle given to him. 

“KGB was kind enough not to bug our hotel rooms, yet still managed the manpower to send someone to be part of the entourage. Truly, what would they think we would do here in Vienna? We are not here on a vacation, we are sent as representatives of the Soviet Union, and diplomats apparently need agents tailing after them.”

He is still wearing his coat.

In quick steps, he reached Boris, and gently stopped him from his tirade.

“Borja.”

The softly exhaled name calmed Boris, and he gazed into Valery’s eyes.

“What? Do you need anything? Did anything happen?”

Valery smiled. Rueful. Always asking about me.

“Take off your coat, would you? You’re dripping snow all over the carpet.”

***

It's the day of the conference. 

They were given a few hours in the en suite, where they would be called when the program finally starts and it’s time for them to come in. 

Valery was a wreck. If Boris is agitated, he cannot imagine what the other is feeling. The man in question, the man who will tell the world what happened at Chernobyl, the man of the hour, the man the world is keen to hear and watch, is there a foot away from where Boris is sitting, pacing, muttering words Boris will never understand the meaning of, and wringing his hands, it’s a miracle they are not broken already. 

The breakfast croissant served at them a while ago sits on the table at the corner of the room. Valery ate his upon receiving it, a miracle considering the circumstances, because for the time Boris has known Valery, the man never touches food unless his body eventually gives up and needs him to replenish itself. It seems the scientist ate his out of nervousness, and something to do with his hands, instead of just wringing it around. Valery also drank his coffee in a single gulp, did he burn his tongue, how on earth will he be able to speak then? 

Boris’ breakfast croissant and coffee remained untouched. It's getting cold.

Valery keeps on pacing around. Forehead scrunched up in thought. The suit he is wearing is close to wrinkling itself due to the numerous and unceasing movements he is making. 

If back then, Boris would find Valery’s behavior annoying, now, he finds it endearing.

But he needs to calm down.

“Valera.”

Valery didn’t stop pacing.

He stood in the way of the man.

Valery nearly collided with Boris’ chest if he didn’t look up from where he was walking.

 “Boris.”

Boris held out his croissant and coffee. 

“Eat. You look like you will fall over.”

“Boris. This is your food. I cannot possibly--”

Boris divided the croissant into half.

“Half. One for you, then one for me. At least both of our conditions will be met.”

Valery stared at Boris. Then at the offered half croissant. 

Slowly, he took it.

If Boris spent an indeterminate time staring at Valery’s mouth eating the croissant, then the other man doesn’t seem to mind. Or noticed it.

He swallowed. Then looked at Boris demurely.

“I. Thank you.”

“Drink the coffee.”

Valery’s mouth opened in a rehearsed protest.

Boris sighed.

“Fine. You drink the first half, the other half goes to me. Happy?”

***

Vienna was a courteous affair. 

The people around Valery are clapping, some even stood up.

Soon enough, all the people present are giving him a standing ovation.

Valery looked through the audience. Hoping to see a familiar set of eyes that seem to be the one grounding him down when he drifts and forgets the world existing around him. He turned to the side and saw those eyes. 

Proud? Or defeated? What do you think of what I have done, Borja?

In a sea of people clapping, Valery Legasov can only hear the sound of his own heart speeding up when those unreadable eyes continue to stare down at him.

When they got out of the conference room, Valery’s mind is still reeling from all of the things he had said, its consequences, what will become of Chernobyl? Boris is walking alongside him, absently in thought, even when they were led to their car, to be escorted back to the hotel.

As much as Gorbachev wanted them to be back in Moscow as soon as the conference is over, they are forced to stay in Vienna for one more day due to technicalities and reasons only Boris knows. Valery snuck a glance at the older man in his side.

Boris looked miles away. 

As they walked down the hall, ultimately separating toward their own rooms, Valery couldn’t help himself but ask,

“Would you like to have a drink inside?”

The KGB agent was at the end of the hall. He doesn’t need to hear this.

Yet I did say it.

Boris turned to him, his whole body suddenly slack and open. He smiled, albeit little, at Valery. It did somersaults to the scientist, which he valiantly tried to calm down.

“Thought you would never ask.”

***

They were drinking, and talking, the vodka inside the bottle seems to be depleting fast. 

It was a few minutes before midnight when Boris turned from his monologue about who will win between Pikalov and Tarakanov when it comes to strength (the topics they’ve discussed became insane as the night progresses) and saw Valery sleeping in his chair. 

Boris smiled. 

Oh, Valera.

He walked towards him, and gently nudged him awake. 

“Valera.”

“Mhm.”

“Migrate to your bed. You are going to get a crick in the neck for sleeping in there. It will not be a good combination with your impending headache tomorrow morning.”

“Mm.”

Valery didn’t move.

Alright.

Boris half carried, half dragged Valery to his bed. Once he removed his shoes and glasses, he pulled the blankets and laid it up to Valery’s chin.

The man was apparently mumbling something this whole time.

Boris cannot understand most of it. Only one word managed to break into his alcohol-induced head.

“Borja..”

Boris looked at Valery’s sleeping face. Peaceful. Mouth slightly opened, due to saying his name.

A burning sensation filled his chest. He lowered himself until he is eye level with Valery’s sleeping form.

He pressed a light, feather touch kiss upon his forehead.

“Goodnight, my Valera.”

He stood up, downed the last shot Valery left behind, and went out of the room. 

Suddenly, being near Valery Legasov knocked out all of the air in Boris’ lungs.

***

Valery knocked upon Boris’ hotel room door the next morning. He has the phantom feeling of warm lips pressed against his forehead last night. He is not sure if it's just a product of his own head creating delusions because of mixing alcohol and fatigue, or it was real. He decided to think about it later. 

“Come in.”

Valery stepped inside. He saw Boris standing by the window. Coat already worn. 

“Valera.”

“I didn’t see you at breakfast today. Are you, alright?”

“I am fine. The headache just has been too much. But I am doing better now.” 

Boris fully faced him. 

“We’ll be leaving in fifteen minutes. Is there anything else you need before we fly back to Moscow?”

“No. I’m. Fine.”

Valery stared at the button pin in Boris’s suit. The emblem of the Soviet Union. A career Party man.

He noticed it was askew.

Before Valery could register what his feet were doing, he was already closer to Boris than before. He can feel his warm breath caressing his face. 

The somersaults only intensified.

The moment their eyes locked, it's like the whole gravity of the room shifted. Yet, Valery didn’t feel drifting or weightless. He feels grounded. By those eyes. 

“Um. Your. Uh. Your pin. It's not in line.”

Two trembling hands tried to fix the pin in Boris’ suit. It did only take a few minutes, but for both men in the room, it felt like a lifetime.

Eyes met again.

Suddenly, it became clearer. Oh. 

Closer. Dangerously close. 

Yet no one stepped away. They are like two atoms, neutron bullets, set on a course of hitting one another. 

Their lips never met. 

Valery’s lips touched Boris’s nose.

Boris’ lips touched Valery’s cheek. 

Fission.

Breaths on hold. Afraid a slight movement can create a disastrous chain reaction.

The knock on the door was the control rod.

***

When Boris met Valery’s eye in the helicopter, it's like the fissioning began again.

***

Their lips only touched fully when they were safely inside Valery’s apartment 

(Would you like to come up to have a drink? 

Great. The trip gave me a headache, I could use one. 

Send my things up to my home. I’ll call you when it's time to pick me up. 

Do you even know your neighbors? 

I don’t.)

All it took was for their eyes to meet again, in the threshold of his living room, and the door to be locked. Valery felt Boris’ arms circle around him.

Boris felt Valery’s own arms enclose his shoulders. He pulled him close. Closer. Dangerously close. 

How long?

Since when?

What now?

None of these thoughts, but both running on their heads at the same time were said out loud. The only sound inside the apartment was lips touching, breathless names, a soft dripping of water from the faucet, and the steady ticking of the clock.

When Boris started kissing down his jaw and neck, Valery cracked an eye open, and managed through the haze, to glance at the clock and saw the calendar right next to it.

1987. 

5:00 pm.

Four years.

He glanced at his watch. Then closed his eyes to get lost in the sensations. 

It was still set to Vienna. 

***