Work Text:
"Tell me about the American."
Florence's cigarette nearly falls out of her mouth. "Freddie?"
"Yes, Trumper. Frederick. Freddie."
"You're not playing him, it doesn't matter." It shouldn't matter.
"And I can't be curious?" There's some kind of glint in his eye. Like it's funny. He raises an eyebrow. "Were you ever...?" He trails off, opens and closes his mouth before he gives up and looks at Florence pleadingly. Like she's supposed to know what he means.
Unfortunately, she does. "I-- with Freddie?" She almost laughs. "Jesus, w-- hell, no. Freddie doesn't work like that." She snorts. "Neither do I."
"Freddie, then, he does not," he pauses. "He is not interested in the women?"
Florence laughs this time, but there isn't much humor behind it. "Freddie isn't interested in anyone. He doesn't like anything. The only thing he likes is chess, and even that he hates half the time." She lifts the cigarette back to her lips. Anatoly doesn't say anything. "I think he liked me. For a minute there, at least. We were a good team."
She's not looking at him, but Florence can feel Anatoly there waiting for her to keep talking. Against her better judgement, she does. "He had all this shit in his brain, you know? And most of it-- most of it was awful, but some was really good. And I could help him pick those good parts out."
She takes another drag. "It was a lot. It was too much. Too much for him. Too much for me, too. God, that kid is fucked up." She turns back toward Anatoly to offer the cigarette to him. He takes it gently, but doesn't smoke. Just keeps listening. "You know, I think we're a better team."
He smiles, just a little. "Yes?"
Florence hums, and moves back in toward Anatoly's chest. "Yes, we are. Viigand doesn't stand a chance." She nestles close to him. If he notices she's changing the subject, he doesn't mention it. Florence squeezes his hand in silent thanks and he returns it with a kiss on her shoulder.
God, she would stay like this forever if she could. She wishes she could.
Like always, something tugs at her, something pulling from deep in her chest. She can't stay like this forever. She knows that.
But Florence isn't stupid, she tells herself. She's an adult, and she can handle an adult relationship. And whatever happens, she'll survive like she always has. Even if it falls apart.
And of course it's going to fall apart, the man's got a wife at home. A couple of daughters, too. But right now he's here with her, and his body is warm and his arms are around her and God, it feels so good just to be held. So Florence will let herself have this, just this once. Finally, something for her and only her.
She trusts that Anatoly will stub out her cigarette. She falls asleep.