singillatim | Я вернулся в деревню

Sveta knows that the trek is going to take a lot out of her, but at least the oppressive darkness isn’t so all-pervasive any longer. The clinic, Goodsir’s cabin, seems so quiet without the clink and clatter of instruments and bottles. She clears out the cabinets of everything except first aid and lays that out in plain sight for anyone who might need it. Hopefully they won’t need labels for what they find, and she traces his handwriting over the English writing, committing it to memory.

She already split most of the other supplies with Goodsir, but there’s no telling what’s in the other place that he might not recognize. She respects the hell out of the man, but it doesn’t mean that he knows what to look for.

She’d feel better doing it herself.

But there’s still much to do and it leaves her walking between her hut and Goodsir’s, half nervous and half purposeful.

The mine seems so much less strenuous now that it’s already been traversed and the other side isn’t such an unknown.

She holes up in one of the small cabin, grateful for the shelter and a warm place to rest her head. Especially when the fog lays out before her, obscuring her view. Frustrated again with her own lack of magical ability, her lack of access to the Twilight, she sticks to the tracks, never faltering from them.

The odd green fog doesn’t seem to plague her until just before she reaches the resort. It’s odd enough that she hurries, she runs, taking shelter in whatever cabin she can find.

Lakeside itself is - almost a dream. After staring at the same town, the same place, for a month, she’s ready to have something new to draw her attention. Her first instinct is scavenging, collecting any medical or first aid supplies that she can - assisting Goodsir when possible.

Occasionally, she will stay in the Cabin Office, just to rest, sitting on the floor against the wall when she thinks that no one is around. It’s here that she actually lets herself cry. To sit long enough to hear her own thoughts means that she can hear all the ways that this is all crushing in on her.

But she eventually pulls herself together.

It’s lovely to see familiar faces among those who have chosen to be here. But she is unsure if she’s actually going to stay. There aren’t as many options here and she doesn’t want to leave Milton without medical care for long. If there are patterns to go by, then they should have another crop of Interlopers soon, which means that they may need care. She won’t leave them behind.

Her babushka would roll over in her grave to see Svetlana cooking with canned beets. But they were a rare find, something from Milton that had rolled underneath a cabinet, and it gave her an idea. She started gathering the cans she would need, the vegetables and any scraps of beans or spices she can manage. They weigh her down, but it’s worth it.

Over the course of the day, in the little Cabin Office, she makes a big pan of beet soup - borscht. It certainly isn’t perfect, but it comes out delicious and Sveta will offer a bowl to anyone with a hint of a rumbling stomach who comes inside.

But there’s one reserved as a thank you for a friend. It’s been a while since he pulled her out of the ice, but she hasn’t forgotten it. The kindness should be repaid. She goes out to find him, a bowl wrapped a towel causing steam to surround her.

Hickey's returning from a hunting session. He's got a dead rabbit slung over his shoulder as he looks over at Sveta, obviously pacing and obviously worrying. He frowns for a moment, looking her over. That blonde foreigner. She's a doctor, yeah? Better he at least get one of them on his side—Hickey is well aware that Goodsir's professional ethics as a doctor are likely to snap if he's concerned.

"Something's on your mind," he points out, with a little nod. "You're walking like you'll wear a hole in the ground."

She looks over, eyeing the rabbit and then the hunter. Unfamiliar, though she's seen his face around. Not in the clinic, though. No. Strangely, he's stayed away.

"I - I'm preparing to walk to the other place," she tells him. "But I don't want to forget anything."

"That other city, yeah? The one through the mines." Hickey frowns for a moment, thinking to himself before admitting,

"Haven't visited it yet myself. When everybody went off on their expedition, I figured I wasn't going to be one of the ones possibly dying in the mines. But now that the route's clear enough...I dunno. Might go down for a week or so."

"Oh, well, we could possibly journey together?" she suggests. "It might be better with another person."

Goodsir isn't looking for Sveta when he goes by the cabin office—he's just looking around in a general sort of way, exploring and seeing if there's anyone who needs help, or if there's any new information he can gather.

When he hears the weeping, he freezes. His instinct is to find out who it is, to go help, but he does understand that not everyone wants that. There's a few minutes of indecision, which he finally resolves by coughing gently and deliberately stepping with a heavier footfall.

"It probably will be," he muses, with a little chuckle, "but I'd have to check with my housemate first. Bit rude to just up and leave without so much as a warning."

His 'housemate' aka his husband. But though Hickey knows more people here are accepting of that sort of thing, old habits die hard.

Sveta reaches up and rubs her eyes. "Oh!" She steels herself, makes sure that her face is dry, if a little red and splotchy as she stands.

"Doctor Goodsir!" she squeaks out, straightening out her shirt.

"Dr. Nazarova. I—I apologise, I hope I didn't disturb you." A beat. "Are you all right?"

She's certainly not, but he's not going to lead with that.

"Of course," she says, sniffling as she reaches up to try and brush her face again. "Yes, of course. It's been - a long walk. That's all. I'm very happy to see you!"

She puts on a brave face.

Sveta shakes her head. "Oh, of course!" she says, hand on her heart, sincerely apologetic. "Of course. I didn't think - " She drops her hand. "Well, I will be leaving in the next hour to hopefully have enough daylight to see. But I plan on returning."

He's not sure where Diefenbaker's gotten to– ever since they got here to Lakeside, the wolf has taken off almost every day, leaving early in the morning and not returning until late in the never-ending day. It's worrying, with how strange and aggressive the animals here are, but Diefenbaker can take care of himself.

It means he's uncharacteristically alone, sweeping snow off the front porch of the cabin he's taken for the time being, when a familiar figure comes in sight. The Mountie smiles, lifting a hand in greeting. "Svetlana. What a nice surprise!"

His eyebrows lift as he takes in the steam wreathing her face. "What do you have there?"

"Benton Fraser, it is good to see you!" she calls back, stepping to the porch, around the pile of snow that he's seemed to accumulate from his sweeping. She holds up the little package when he asks.

"I hope you are hungry. I made - well, I should not call it borscht, but it is close. It is a thank you for saving my life."

"Well, when you return, I'll have to pick your brain for what's there," he nods. "After all, I plan on visiting that city eventually. Might as well see what you've picked up and learn from that."

Hickey gives Sveta a cavalier little shrug. No problem! This is totally normal and a nice conversation and he is a totally normal man!

She sees absolutely nothing wrong with this perfectly polite man.

"Yes. But - well, it is hardly a city..."

And she's gonna keep seeing nothing wrong, dammit.

"It's more of a city than this place!" he laughs. "But you're right. I don't think we'll ever get a proper city around here."

"A proper city? What is a proper city for you?"

She starts to walk again, but pauses to wait for him if he follows.

Having nothing better to do for the moment, Hickey follows.

"More than a hundred people, I'll tell you that." There's a moment before Hickey decides, "Pubs. A proper city has at least three or four different pubs. Odd metric, I know, but I was never one to measure in churches or the workforce."

"Oh, I would love a proper drink," she agrees. "It isn't so odd to think in those terms. In the places that make people happy and take their troubles away for a little while."

"Certainly gave me more happiness than most things in life did."

He never had any use for the church. Never had any use for the workforce. The pub was where he could relax, have a drink or two, find some poor bastard to fleece and leave his body in a ditch.

"Dunno why nobody here's started one up yet," he points out. "Yeah there's not much in the way of alcohol, but people have a brewing situation starting up. And besides, new cities, new locations, we'll probably find a stash or a bottle of something over there."

She shrugs, reaching her cabin and walking inside, opening the door for him. There's a small fire in the fireplace and she adds a few sticks to it.

"We will. Would you like me to look for some, Mr. - Uh."

"Hickey," he says, with a nod. "Cornelius Hickey. And you are?"

Я вернулся в деревню

I. Milton

II. Along the Way

III. Lakeside - Open to Any

IV. Community Soup in Lakeside! - Fraser + OTA

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