Work Text:
Goncharov ran. Later, he would be ashamed of himself. The memories of his cowardice would make him shudder as he tried to rest, but in this moment he had nothing in him but desperation. And fear. He, the great Goncharov who wasn't scared of anything ever. And now he quivered.
Logically, he knew that staying wouldn't have made a difference. That the only thing he would have accomplished was to die as well. But logic is one thing, and it rarely conquers feelings.
The night was black around him as he stumbled through the alleys, only guided by shy stars above. Faint screams echoed from behind and shadows grabbed his cloak by its edges and begged for him to stop, but he couldn't.
The face of Ice Pick Joe danced on front of him each time he blinked. His eyes staring out from a pale face without being able to see. And Katya, standing above his friend with a gun.
He was gone. He was gone.
And Katya was the one who had done it.
Goncharov wanted to scream.
With one hand on his gun, concealed under his coat, he rounded a house corner and stopped with his back towards the brick wall. He didn't know if anyone had followed him, but found that he cared very little. A part of him wished someone had. Before, he had been surrounded and powerless, barely able to escape with his life intact, but here, man against man out in the streets, he could face anyone. His blood boiled and he drew the gun with cold fingers, held it up beside his head. If anyone came, he could take them. He would kill them for what they did to his brothers. To Joe.
Someone came running. He heard their footsteps echoing in the alley, light but approaching fastly. He had time to run away, but stood firmly with his boots on hard ground. There's no way he would run. No way he ever could.
His person ran past him and Goncharov stepped out behind them and raised his arm, ready to fire the gun as soon as the person turned around. As soon as he saw their eyes.
But the person stopped without turning, and Goncharov's breath became stuck in his throat. The long, blonde hair was familiar to him, as well as the elegant robe, neat boots and the firm voice that said his name, somehow knowing his identity without looking.
"Goncharov."
There was only one person who knew him that well.
"Katya."
The night was suddenly ice cold, but Goncharov's gun didn't waver.
"Are you going to kill me," she whispered.
"How can you ask that?" Goncharov spit out the words with all the fury he had. "After what you did? After what you are still trying to do? I'm not naive enough to think you came running after me to apologize. Drop the gun, now, and turn around."
The gun clattered to the ground as she let go of it. Katya was smart. She knew he was a better shot than her. She was smaller of course, more agile, but in a gunfight at this distance she didn't stand a chance. She knew she was at his mercy.
And yet there it was. A smile on her face as she turned, glowed hands behind her head. That damned smile that sometimes made Goncharov wonder if somehow, in another world, their marriage might have been something more than loveless.
"There you are," Goncharov said, voice hard. "Give me one reason not to kill you."
"Not to kill me?" Katya said smoothly. "But why would you ever do such a thing?"
"Don't play dumb with me," Goncharov snarled. "You killed Ice Pick Joe. You're a monster and you betrayed me."
"Am I?" said Katya. She laughed, but it wasn't a happy one. It died out quickly in the air. "How would you know? You haven't asked me the right question yet."
Goncharov didn't move a muscle. "And what question is that?"
Katya stared at him, eyes full of challenge. "Why I did it."
"It doesn't matter!" Goncharov yelled, suddenly not caring about who could hear. "Do you think that reasons matters in this game of blood and betrayal? Everybody has reason to do anything they want but only a lost man would use that to justify murdering a friend."
"So you're not going to kill me?"
Goncharov's grip on the gun hardened. "I am a lost man, my dear. Maybe I have always been. Maybe everything has led to this and there was no way to ever stop it. Killing you leads me closer to ending all of this for good."
"No it doesn't," Katya said softly. "It will only make you feel better for a moment. Trust me, I know. But if you've decided it's the only way, at least let me explain first."
Goncharov nodded stiffly, not sure of what he even wanted to hear. Not sure that it would matter. In his mind she was already dead. He already grieved her.
But he would let her explain. He owed her that much.
As she started to explain, pieces began falling into place. Maybe it was just because Goncharov wanted to believe it, but Katyas story seemingly made sense, and if it was true ... Well, it meant that Katya truly hadn't had a choice.
"Why should I trust you?" Goncharov whispered once she was done.
"Because you know me," Katya said. "I would never kill Ice Pick Joe if I had a choice. I would never betray you if there was another way out."
Goncharov hesitated, but finally lowered the gun a little. "I will have to confirm that what you're saying is true before I trust you fully'" he said. "And I swear that if you're lying you will die screaming." Katya's gaze still didn't waver, but Goncharov knew her well. Her jaw was clenched more than it needed to. She was hurt.
"But I also swear this," he said. "That if you are telling the truth, I will help you out. We can fix this. Together." He drew a deep breath. "You know, we were never good at being married, but we were good at one thing."
"And what's that?" Katya said softly.
"Murder." Goncharov smirked. "As long as we're together, our enemies doesn't stand a chance."