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Natasha has never doubted her own place, has never questioned the irrefutable need for her to be here, in Boulder Town. And the people need her too – for some as a mother, to others as a protector, and to all, as their doctor. It’s become something of a double-edged sword, she realizes. As deeply and widely the flourishing roots of this life she’s built for herself have spread, they also bind her to the Underworld, unable to leave. And yet, the people that Natasha so desperately longs to be with – more than anything else in this wretchedly lovely life of hers – must go.
//
Her first love – had it been medicine, or had it been her brother? Though not biologically related, she loved him as if they had been tied by blood, and Natasha had paid the price. Vache had been her biggest inspiration, the shining paragon of doctorly virtue that she strived for. Pathetically, she had let her love and devotion towards him blind her.
To this day, she is still cleaning up the pieces. A broken vial laying in the snow, half-covered, or a patient teetering on the precipice between life and death. Long after his figure has faded away, step by step into the onslaught of a whirling blizzard, her brother’s ghost still haunts her.
There are days where she goes for long walks in the quietly drifting snow on the outskirts of the city, and feels the bitter cold seeping into her bones. Each time, she wonders if letting the chill soak in deeply enough might help her understand what exactly had driven Vache to madness.
He hadn’t always been mad. His desire to create Blizzard Immunity had always been present, but in the past Natasha could still recognize it as something akin to passion, born out of a fiery desire to help.
In the past, Vache had been gentle.
She can still recall their younger days, when he had been her friend and her teacher. When they still played together – if conducting medical experiments for fun counted as playing. But the point was that she cherished those days. Pure and innocent days, like the delicate petals of First Snow. And equally dearly, she had cherished her brother. Back then, she couldn’t have known that her family would fall apart the way it did. But she had partly cemented its path with her own hands the day she had chosen to go underground, and her brother had done the same.
All her life, she had been chasing after him, struggling to leap from one of his footsteps to another, trying to keep up with his stride. Imagine, then, how excited she had been when Vache had reached out, claiming that he wanted to join her, to follow her. And the terrible, terrible horror that ensued when she finally discovered what he had done.
A burgeoning hatred had consumed her then, and for the first and only time, she had screamed at him, composite rage exploding and shattering her little clinic, her little world. Furious that he had thoughtlessly, irreparably damaged countless lives. Angry that he had tossed away their father’s teachings and his principles as a doctor. Disbelief at how little regard he had for the consequences of his actions.
And above all other emotions, yet the only one she kept hidden away in her heart, was the crushing grief that came coupled with the realization that at some point in the years they had spent, together and apart, on this frozen earth, she had become less important to Vache than he was to her. She had always known, and perhaps turned a blind eye to the fact, that Vache’s dedication to his work probably transcended the value he placed on his interpersonal relationships, but at least she had always been sure that she was his sister.
But the man who stood in front of her that day, wordlessly observing the shuddering that wracked her shoulders, the heaving in her chest as she struggled to calm down, the hoarseness of her throat after screaming – that man was not her brother.
It cut more deeply than she wanted to admit. To know that she had been the only one looking forward to their reunion, while all he really wanted was more test subjects. That being and working alongside her mattered so damn little to Vache that he so easily threw it away for the sake of continuing his experiments.
But what wrecked her the most was how, upon being told of his banishment, Vache had smiled. Until that point, Natasha had still been clutching onto a tiny sliver of hope that he would at least show a little remorse, or at least a sign that he didn’t want to leave the Underworld. That he didn’t want to leave her.
But the bastard had merely smiled, and asked to be dropped off at the snow plains, marching off towards a destiny that Natasha had never been a part of.
//
The thing about being a doctor, Natasha supposes, is that once you become a doctor, you’re stuck with it. You don’t get to have real, uninterrupted breaks from being one even when you really, really need them, and you don’t get to choose your patients. Unconditionally, you are a doctor.
Natasha keeps this in mind even as she meets her mother for the first time in ten years. Instead of catching up, as a daughter or even a friend would do, she gets straight to business.
“There’s an urgent matter that needs your help.”
In some vague corner in the back of her mind, as they discuss supply logistics, she wonders if her mother is proud of her diligence as a doctor, or disappointed over her lack of filial piety as a daughter. She hopes it's the former.
She comes from a family of doctors, after all.
But her mother’s understanding doesn’t help to curb the pang in her heart when they bid farewell, nor does it soothe the sting that comes from feeling like their time together, as the only remnants of their little family, has been wasted. She feels a bit like a young girl again, crying for her mother to stay.
Morosely, she wonders when the next time she’ll see her again is.
Despite the passage between the Overworld and Underworld finally being opened up again, there remains an ever-growing list of things she needs to do. She still can’t afford to spend a lot of time making personal calls above ground, and as it is now, the Underworld isn’t suitable for her elderly mother to spend a prolonged amount of time in, either.
As she crosses the boundary, eyes adjusting to the shadows underground once more, she pockets the thought for another time – her patients are waiting.
It’s only after the clinic closes for the day that Natasha finally gets the chance to breathe. Whatever time she gets to herself has to come in snatches, so in the lonely silence of the afterhours darkness, she mourns her father’s death, three years late.
That night, she dreams of being in her childhood room, in their family home in Belobog, at an earlier time when she didn’t have to worry about patients or wonder medicines or monsters. Her focus is on her mother, reading a bedtime story to her after tucking her securely into bed. The hazy lamplight and the comforting warmth of her mother’s hand, gently carding through her hair, start to lull her to sleep. She tries to stay awake for as long as she can, treasuring this moment as much as possible, but soon the pull of sleep becomes too strong to resist, and before she knows it, her eyes are fluttering shut.
When she wakes, Natasha is back in her house in Boulder Town, alone. Her alarm clock is going off irritatingly on the bedside table. She sighs as she turns it off, momentarily wishing she could fall back asleep and slip into her dream again, returning to simpler times. But she is no longer a little girl, clinging to her mother’s leg.
At one point, she was her mother’s daughter. Today, she is a doctor.
//
There have been a few chasms that Natasha has encountered in her life – both the physical and metaphorical kind – like the chasms in the mining caves, or the chasm that bridged the Over and Underworlds. But none have been quite so daunting as the abyssal chasm of time and space that separates her from the Astral Express, and from Stelle.
From the moment the Astral Expressers had arrived in the Underworld, they had been clear about their goal to find the Stellaron. Natasha had accepted with crystal clarity that their stop on Jarilo VI was only ever temporary. And yet–
She looks out the window of the clinic, spotting Stelle huddling in suspiciously with the Moles and looking adorably out of place as she towers over three times taller than the rest of them. She watches as Stelle, sporting her regular blank expression, nods sagely with great understanding as Hook announces something with even greater urgency, no doubt barking out orders for their newest operation. The Moles glance around furtively before scattering, and Natasha finds a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
–and yet. There are times when it becomes too achingly hard not to imagine what it would be like to have Stelle here with her, forever. Playing along with the Moles, running errands around town, helping out around the clinic. And their more tender, intimate moments, too – shared between only the two of them in the quiet privacy of Natasha’s home.
All this, and more.
The Express comes and goes, seemingly at a whim, and Stelle, without fail, makes sure to stop by every time to see Natasha. Still, it’s never quite enough.
It’s not enough to only see Stelle every so often, to not even be certain when the next time she’ll see her again is. Or if she’ll even see her again. Stelle could leave for five years, or Stelle could return never – and each time Natasha has to say goodbye, see you again , not knowing.
But she understands. She always has. The Astral Express is on a journey to achieve something far grander than what life on Belobog could offer, and Stelle is an integral part of it. There’s no way around it.
So Natasha allows herself a small selfishness. She makes little excuses, drops tiny hints – anything to give Stelle a reason to return. Some days, she says it’s the kids, clamoring to see her, as if Natasha isn’t the one who misses Stelle the most. Other days, almost coquettishly, she deliberately writes prescriptions with ingredients she knows Stelle will have to come back to the clinic to get, to a harmless extent.
All of this sent casually over text, of course, to make it seem a little more nonchalant, a little less committal. All to mask the gnawing doubt and insecurity that invariably come creeping in while her beloved is away.
And despite the charade, Stelle seems to see right through it all. Thankfully, if she has noticed, she hasn’t said anything. Only plays along and responds in kind – making her own excuses to see Natasha any chance she can, coming to the clinic for even the most minor of scrapes and bruises.
Natasha always makes sure to chide her gently, but also always makes sure to dress and bandage as thoroughly as she can, taking her time and savoring every touch, fingers lingering and ghosting over skin.
There are many ways to say I love you , but this is theirs.
The morning of the day Stelle is supposed to leave again, she gifts Natasha flowers – a gorgeous, blooming bouquet of brilliant whites and pinks. It brings back a fond memory of the two of them at the florist, picking out flowers for her mother.
“Do you like them?” There’s an edge of nervousness in Stelle’s voice. It’s endearing, Natasha thinks.
“They’re beautiful,” she breathes. “I love them. Thank you, darling.”
Stelle clears her throat. “I picked out the flowers myself, you know. They’re your favorite.”
“First Snow. You remembered!”
“Of course.” Stelle dips her head, smiling. “And, Ball Peonies. You said they stand for…”
“...a love that knows no end.” Natasha finishes, beaming.
And suddenly her worries seem so small and silly, in the reassuring face of their great, never-ending love. She lets out a laugh, tossing her head back freely before throwing her arms around Stelle to hug her tightly, careful not to crush her flowers.
A pair of strong arms wrap around her. “I have to go soon,” Stelle murmurs.
Natasha presses a slow, gentle kiss to her cheek. “Okay,” she whispers. Fusses over Stelle’s jacket collar for the last time before finally straightening it out. “Come back soon, love. Safely.”
Stelle sighs and leans into her touch, the two of them alone in quiet stillness. Their own little world.
“I will.”