Chapter Text
Fishing was one of the rare things Vladimir enjoyed (and still did, somewhat) in life.
When he was younger, his uncle, a loyal Party member and a man he looked up to, took him on fishing trips now and then. In fact, Vladimir's fondest childhood memories were with his uncle. His parents simply didn't care about him enough to entertain the young boy he was, but his uncle had stepped in to fill that painful void they left. The man would often chat with young Vladimir on how he was doing, but quite often started, whether on purpose or accidentally, singing the Party's praises. Now that Vladimir thought back on it, it was his uncle that had been the first to plant the seed in his head.
He remembers the first fish he caught. His uncle had cheered for him when he reeled in the runt of a fish that had sadly fallen for the bait at the end of the rod.
"Great work, boy," the man had praised, a bright smile on his face as he patted Vladimir on the shoulder. "See what hard work gets you? This is what the party brings for us. The guarantee that our hard work is rewarded, not exploited by greedy capitalist pigs. That the fish we catch is ours to keep."
It was just another of his monologues about the greatness of the Party, but something about it stuck with Vladimir. That moment. That promise. That hard work pays off, that all were equal under the party.
But his uncle was gone now, and so was the Party.
Vladimir wondered if his uncle would feel the same way he does if the man were still around. Perhaps he would be as angry as he was.
And sometimes, his mind would wander to the supply closet in his house, where a pair of fishing rods sat to collect dust in the back.
Waking up in the morning is painful. Vladimir doesn't know when he fell asleep, but it doesn't matter if he turned in at 10 pm or 3 am because he still gets up feeling like shit anyways.
He's lying on the couch. He'd got home absolutely exhausted the previous night, and apparently didn't find the strength to stumble that extra few feet to his room.
Vladimir pulls himself up, blinking away the grogginess. As his vision started clearing, his eyes fell on the door to his study.
Which was open.
He never leaves that door open.
Vladimir got to his feet and nearly dropped back down from the sudden wave of vertigo that hits like a truck. Still, he willed his legs forward and stomped to the room. He got there and took a peek into his study, only to find it way more empty than he left it. Someone had been in his study and had stripped down the posters of the Party he'd kept over the years.
Vladimir knew exactly who the culprit was.
"What the fuck have you done with them?" He yelled into the house.
His father responded with relative haste.
"The what?"
"Don't fucking lie to me! Did you get rid of the flags?"
"That? Listen Vlad, you gotta get over that Party shit!"
"You had no fucking right to do that, old man! Now where the fuck are they?"
"I threw them out! Don't you dare bring that junk back in!"
Vladimir marched over to the front door and wrenched it open, stepped through and made sure to slam the door behind him as hard as possible. He stomped down the driveway and to the bins that sat by the roadside and flipped the top open. Lo and behold, all the Party memorabilia he'd kept over the years were in the bin along with regular trash.
"Fucking animals," he hissed to himself. Vladimir reached in and pulled his stuff out of the bin. As he grabbed a flag and grumbled about how terrible his family was, he suddenly saw something that was neither trash nor Party memorabilia sitting in the bin.
A pair of fishing rods.
From the looks of it, it seemed that his family had gotten about not just clearing his room, but the supply closet too. Vladimir hesitated for a moment before grabbing the rods out of the bin too. With his stuff and the fishing rods in hand, he headed back into the house, announcing his return by once again slamming the door shut as he entered.
"Oh you didn't," his dad moaned as he entered.
"Shut the hell up, old man," Vladimir sneered as he entered his study and closed the door. He dropped the goods onto his bed and leaned the fishing rods against his desk before easing himself onto the ground.
As he sat on the wooden floor, he looked at all the Party memorabilia stacked on his bed. A brief thought of it being junk crossed his mind before he shot it down as irrational. His eyes drifted to the pair of fishing rods.
How many years had it been, since he'd gone by the lake? How many years since he'd caught a fish?
Vladimir missed those days, when his uncle was still around. It made no sense to go alone anyways, as the silence of the lake and the surrounding forests often left him alone with the angry voices that screamed in his head.
Then again, maybe this time he wouldn't have to go alone.
He remembered the two numbers scribbled hastily on a piece of scrap paper that sat on his desk.
Vladimir picked himself up and walked over to his desk. A small phone sat at the corner, something he'd also hadn't bothered using in a while. He picked up the piece of paper and glanced at the numbers written on it. With a deep breath and more courage than he'd ever known, Vladimir dialed the numbers.
Ryman eased the car to a stop before cutting the engine. She exited the vehicle and Vladimir and Alexei followed suit, exiting from the shotgun seat and the rear seat respectfully. Ryman walked to the back of the car and popped the trunk, pulling out three fishing rods while Alexei grabbed two containers, one small one full of bait and another larger one that was empty, from the back seat.
The lake was particularly peaceful all year round. Nobody ever came by the place anymore, and all that was left were a few benches in a man-made clearing intended for campers and a small dock big enough for a few stools. It wasn't a good fishing spot, which was part of the reason why no one came around much anymore, but to Vladimir it felt perfect.
He took a deep breath, savoring the smell of pine and cold water that hung in the air. It felt just like it did, all those years ago.
Ryman set the rods down on the dock before going back to her car to shut the boot.
"Thanks for coming on such short notice by the way," Vladimir voiced, looking back at the two.
"It's fine, I wasn't doing much today anyways," Ryman giggled. She was a lot lighter now, ever since the bonfire they made with the stuff that she wanted to get rid off nearly a week back. "I've been looking to get back to writing. Maybe into the creative writing market. Still testing some ideas out."
She pulls a small pocket-sized notebook out and waves it at them, a grin plastered on her face.
"Well, my dad wants me to get out more, so he didn't really object when I told him a couple of friends wanted to go fishing. In fact, he lent me his old rod and found some bait we could use," Alexei responded.
"You think of us as friends? That's nice, kid," Vladimir chuckled.
"Can't really find a better word to describe us," Alexei mused. "I mean, the two of us literally keyed her ex-boyfriends car 'cause we thought he deserved it."
"Oh my god, stop. I'm so worried Sergiy's gonna call me up any day now and ask 'Hey Ry, do you happen to know who keyed my fucking car?' And I'd have no way of responding to that." Ryman groaned.
A hearty laugh escaped Vladimir.
The trio moved over to the docks and picked up the fishing rods, Alexei grabbing what was presumably his father's rod while Ryman took one of the rods Vladimir had brought. Grabbing a small piece of bait from the container Alexei brought, Vladimir attached it to the end of the rod and cast the line far out.
"So, kid," Vladimir said aloud. "What'd you been up to?"
"Eh, nothing much," Alexei responded half-heartedly, his gaze lingering on the surface of the lake. "Some days I just laze around at home, others I head out and just... walk. And occasionally go down to the firing range and just shoot, I guess."
Vladimir clicked his tongue. "You shoot eh? Well, don't you have school to go to? Kid your age would be in university or college, yeah?"
Alexei nodded softly. "Yeah, I'm enrolled in some courses at the State University. Mechanical Engineering. The school year just started, but if I'm gonna be honest it's kinda... bleak. My classmates are loud and annoying, the professors are old and boring. I just can't click with any of 'em."
"Nah, just give it some time kid. I'm sure you'll find your people soon enough," Vladimir chuckled. "I mean, college's where I met my wife."
"You're married?" Ryman exclaimed incredulously.
"Why're you so surprised?"
"I mean, I didn't think you had a wife. Plus you kinda dress like a... uh..."
"Like what? What's wrong with the way I dress?" Vladimir complained, looking down at his clothes.
"You kinda look like someone who'd be single."
"That's just rude, Ry." Alexei laughed. "But seriously, you dress like someone who's single."
Vladimir scoffed and shook his head.
"Wait, if you're married, why didn't you invite your wife to fish with you? Why us?" Ryman suddenly asked.
"I'm uh... not really on good terms with her right now. Couple of disagreements that've been going for far too long. She and the kids went to stay with her parents so I'm just home with my dad, who's a total work."
"You have- okay, you know what, never mind. How'd it, you know, start? The quarrel, I mean."
Vladimir shrugged.
"It's a, uh, difference of opinion. I've got my beliefs and she just... can't accept them. And it's maddening that she just won't, fuck, she just won't listen. The moment I open my mouth and she hears the words "The Party" or anything related to them, the conversation's already fucked."
"The Party, huh? You mean that coterie of commies and criminals? That's what this is about?" Alexei scoffed.
"Oh come on, kid. Not you too," Vladimir hissed. "What do you even know, huh? You weren't even born when things were going great. All you got to see was the shit that came after the downfall, and since that's all you saw of them you think it's all the Party ever was. Typical."
"No shit that I didn't get to see the good of the Party, because there never was any good there in the first place. My dad's had dealings with them, and they're like every other politician out there: Shitty, cunning, and way out of touch with the people."
"Oh, your dad says so? He's a businessman ain't he? One of those fucking capitalists?" Vladimir snarled. "Well all they do is lie. And you believe those stupid lies. Or worse, you're one of them."
"Me? No. Fuck no. I don't believe in capitalism, or socialism or whatever the fuck political ideology is the front runner," Alexei sneered. "I don't waste time putting my loyalty into political parties and shit. I put my loyalty into more tangible things because if given the chance, those political parties that you're loyal to would turn on you the first chance they fucking get. So what is it, huh? Are you really telling me you're just blindly loyal to that stupid party?"
"You don't know shit."
"I think I do, Vlad," Alexei retorted. "I think you only support the Party because you think your personal beliefs align with theirs. It's how they get you. They pretend they stand for everything you stand for, that you should follow them because they think like you think, talk like you talk, and presto, you're now a fucking commie, or a fascist, or hell, even a capitalist. It's all petty shit, Vlad. I'm surprised they managed to get you."
"That's enough!" Ryman bellowed. Alexei spared her a glance while Vladimir kept his gaze firmly on the boy.
"I did not come all the way out here, to this lake, to fish, just to hear you two bitch about politics," she stated. "Can you both back the fuck down? You're acting so fucking immature."
"I shouldn't have called you all. This was stupid," Vladimir groaned. He turned heel and walked towards the trees, the rod still in his hand.
"Where are you going Vlad?" Ryman called. Vladimir paid her no attention as he walked off the dock and made way for the clearing, following a small dirt path.
"You idiot, what the fuck was that?" Ryman said, turning to Alexei. "Did you have to do that? Was that fucking necessary?"
Alexei paused for a moment.
"I just- I said what I had to say. I wasn't really... thinking."
"And if he doesn't take it well? If he doesn't come back?"
"Then it's my fault. It's none of your concern Ry, this is all me."
Alexei sighed, and turned back to the lake.
"It's all me, Ry. I ruin everything."
Pine. That was what Vladimir smelled as he walked through the forest. With no idea where the dirt path led or what he was going to do wherever he ended up, Vladimir kept moving as long as it took him further away from the dock.
Rage, was it? That was what he was feeling now. Rage because Alexei was just like his wife, tearing into his beliefs, yelling at him, screaming at him over the Party. His beliefs.
Beliefs of what, exactly?
Doubt.
Alexei had done what his wife hadn't done in all those quarrels before. He'd actually asked a question. Instead of throwing statements around, Alexei had given him an actual question to consider as he walked.
Beliefs of what, exactly?
The path opened up. Ahead of him, a small shack and a couple of picnic tables. Vladimir shambled over to the nearest table and sat down, throwing the rod against the table.
Was Alexei right? Was it true, that after all these years and all that time spent, that his loyalty was misplaced?
"Takes a young boy to make an old man finally think," he whispered aloud to the wind.
Was it worth clinging onto that faith? Or was it time to finally let go?
The weight on his belt suddenly felt heavier. Vladimir reached for it. The scimitar. Hung at his waist, covered from the world under his coat. A relic bestowed upon him by the one who set him on this path.
He brushed his fingers across the handle, feeling the family name etched into the wood many years ago by a great man whose laugh Vladimir would never hear again. This was what he kept everyday to remind him of that man. And now, for the first time, it felt foolish.
Guilt. Vladimir felt guilt now. He knew what had to go, but in doing so, wasn't he betraying a good man? How could he throw away his memory just like that? Wasn't this all he had to remember him by?
Or not.
The fishing rod stood leaning against the side of the table. Old, weathered, worn. A relic in its own right.
Maybe he could let go, without throwing away what mattered.
Vladimir stood. Slowly, he grabbed the fishing rod and with a sense of finality, set the scimitar down on the table.
And he turned, walking back where he came, not looking back.
"Vlad!"
Ryman was sitting at a bench with Alexei at her side as Vladimir returned to the docks. She waited patiently for him to walk closer before continuing.
"We were worried, Vlad. Didn't know when you'd return, if you ever did."
"Hey, listen," Alexei spoke up. "What I said, that was... uncalled for. I'm sorry. It's my fault."
"No, kid, that was, uh," Vladimir paused. "I think... I think I needed to hear that. Thanks, kid."
Vladimir looked back at the dock to see 2 fishing rods lying unused. His gaze shifted to the rod in his hand, and he sighed.
"So, uh," he started. "We going to continue fishing or what? We've still got the whole afternoon to go."
"I suppose," Alexei muttered. "Still haven't caught anything though."
"It takes time, kid," Vladimir said. "But trust me, it'll be worth it the second we catch something."
A smile. A laugh. An afternoon spent waiting and talking and to show for it was a sum total of 3 small fish. But every catch felt earned. And as the sun started to retreat, and the equipment kept and packed away, Vladimir spared one last look at the lake.
Peaceful, serene, and sparkling under the orange sky.
He turned and got into the car, and as it drove off, he rolled the window down to smell a familiar scent.
Pine.