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First time caller, long time listener. This is my first attempt at fan fiction so appreciate any and all feedback - I've been inspired by all the great work I've seen on this fandom site. I know it's been done before, but for whatever reason I had this version of an extended scene from Brazil playing in my head. Think we can, unfortunately, safely call this canon.
Thanks for reading!
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“There is so little time, Margo” he said, just on the edge of frustration, his eyes imploring her to stop prevaricating, to listen, to make a decision.
“I know,” she said, looking down hesitantly. “I just need to see this mission through, first.” She lifted her eyes to meet his, and perhaps for the first time this evening, she really looked at Sergei, looked directly into his eyes, and held his gaze with her own. At first, when Sergei had asked her again about running away with him, she had struggled to answer. She had felt an icy shot of panic surging into her body at the thought of starting all over again, of uprooting her life again - miserable as it was. But now, looking at him, looking at the crinkles around his worried eyes, seeing how much he wanted her to say yes - she felt something tense and knotted inside start to untangle.
As if sensing this, he placed his hand over her hand, gently removing the pen she was clutching between her fingers. She felt the warmth of his skin and looked down at his hand resting atop hers, and suddenly realized that this was the first time they had touched since reconnecting. It was as if for the first time since she saw Sergei in Houston that Margo realized that he was real, that in fact he was right there, and here she was, sitting right in front of him.
They sat like this for a few moments, just holding hands. Neither Sergei nor Margo spoke, but they kept their eye contact steady. Margo could feel her earlier discomfort melting away as she relaxed into his touch; for his part, Sergei seemed content to just sit, quietly holding her hand
It was Margo who broke the silence, sharing a memory. “I remember, way back, a few weeks before you came to the states…and before everything fell apart,” here she closed her eyes and shook her head regretfully. “I imagined that you’d come to Houston, and work at NASA, somehow, and we would be…”
Sergei nodded, knowing exactly how she had meant to finish her sentence. Together. Be together. “I had the same idea. This is what I had wanted too.”
They both sighed, almost at the same time - each remembering how events had overtaken their hopes.
“This is it, Margo.” Sergei said, after a moment, still holding eye contact but his expression now serious, even solemn.
Margo felt tears pooling in her eyes, although she blinked them furiously away. She placed her other hand on top of his, as if to punctuate her silent response.
Sergei continued. “If we want to be together….” He trailed off, closing his eyes and slowly opening them again. “This is it,” he repeated, firmly.
“I know. I know.” she began, looking down at their hands, blinking back more tears. Trying to figure out how to express how she felt to him, when she could barely articulate these feelings to herself. “I’m just …scared.”
He quirked a small smile, squeezing her hand. “I am so terrifying?”
This lightened the mood, and she smiled, even laughed softly, wiping away a tear by lifting her hand from the top of his. She looked at him, considering carefully what to say. “Things have been so hard these last few years. For you too, I’m sure,” she added.
Sergei smiled, somewhat sadly, and shook his head slightly. “For me,” he said, “Not so hard. More…” here Sergei cocked his head to the side for a moment, trying to think of the right word. “More boring, really. But not hard.”
“Boring…” Margo agreed, although that hardly began to cover it. She held his eyes for a moment, and remembered the Pushkin poem that Irina had showed her that day in her office, that day when Margo had briefly felt like she was useful again, that she was contributing. Before she realized that accountability for Kirill also meant the gulag, and the understanding that she too was one misstep away from the same fate. She read and re-read that poem in her small dormitory room, memorizing it, murmuring it at night when she was trying and usually failing to sleep.
She felt slightly abashed and even pretentious quoting a poem, but truly she could think of no better way to describe her life in the USSR. A bit nervously, testing out her Russian for the first time with Sergei, she quoted: “Remote in my darkened exile, the days dragged by so slowly, without grace, without inspiration, without tears, without love.”
He nodded, encouraging. “Pushkin”, he said, with some surprise. He grinned, somewhat out of step with the mood of the poem, but clearly delighted to hear her speak his native tongue. “To hear you speak Russian…Margo, it’s very strange!”
“Many years of practice,” she said in Russian, briefly returning his grin with a shy smile, but then remembering their conversation she turned somber once more. She switched back to English, continuing: “After I arrived, it became clear that there was no use for me there. They gave me a little apartment, and some money for food, a lot of restrictions and…well, that’s it, really,” she continued. “That’s it. Just waiting around to die someday, I guess. I was pretty much almost at the point of welcoming it. And then - well, then I almost did. Died, I mean.”
Sergei looked at her, raising an eyebrow.
“I got caught up in something during the coup, and ended up in jail.”
“Ah,” Sergei said. “I am sorry.”
Margo smiled, sadly, and nodded. “It was…intense.”
Sergei leaned forward, concerned. “What happened?”
“I’m not even sure - it’s a long and confusing story.” She waved her hand, as if explaining away the chaos of that day. But something inside her longed to pour out the entire story to Sergei, to him more than anybody. She hadn’t breathed a word of what happened since that day, aside from having to ask Irina if she could see a doctor about her dislocated shoulders (“It is nothing serious,” Irina had said. “But if you must.”).
“I was locked up in a cell, you know, like this,” she lifted her free hand over her head, miming being cuffed to the ceiling. Sergei winced, knowing well the tactic. “At one point, they brought in this officer, the one who had interrogated me initially. They forced him down to his knees.”
Sergei closed his eyes, imagining what was coming next.
“Then, just…boom.” She mimed a pistol shot. ”And they just left him there, lying on the floor in front of me, for hours and hours and…”
Sergei shook his head, but said nothing. He just listened and clasped her hand as tightly as he could.
“Jesus, Sergei, I’m sorry that I’m telling you all this…” She trailed off, closing her eyes, struggling to continue. Margo shook her head, taking a breath. “I’m sorry. I won’t go into all the details”.
“It’s okay, Margo,” Sergei said, softly. “Believe me, I understand.”
“I know you do.” Her few days in prison had been two years in Lefortovo for Sergei, and she appreciated that her suffering paled compared to his. But still, she thought, looking at him as he listened intently to her story, who else can understand what I’ve been through like he can? “They threw me in a truck with a bag over my head. We drove for what felt like hours, and I was pretty certain that I was getting driven out to, you know, a shallow grave somewhere. And then we stop, and the bag comes off - and there was Director Morozova.”
“Of course,” exclaimed Sergei, his lips now in a tight, angry line. “Of course.”
“She asked me to work for her, at Star City. Said that she had rescued me. I was such a mess.” Margo sighed, remembering the shock of the moment. “I was so grateful.”
Sergei struggled not to raise his voice in anger. “You know, it was certainly Irina Morozova who ordered those terrible things. She wanted you to feel grateful. She wanted you to know what could happen…if you were not.”
Margo paused, considering. “Maybe so. But to work again…it was all I had wanted for years.”
Sergei nodded, understanding, his own dark memories of Lefortovo never too distant. He remembered how grateful he would feel for the smallest acts of kindness from the guards, from the interrogators. How he could have forgiven every funnel of water down his throat, every beating, to be granted just a few hours of sleep or a warm blanket.
“I guess what I’m saying, is that I made this deal in my head back then. That I would just focus on the work - Christ, I was just so happy to finally be doing the work again - and just accept that someday I’d be the one taking the bullet. And maybe at least it would be fast, like it was for him. If I was lucky.”
Sergei chuckled, “A very Soviet way to look at life.”
“Yes,” Margo agreed. “It’s just hard to…to imagine something different. Something better. It doesn’t seem possible. Or real.”
“This is real,” Sergei said, quietly. “I am right here.”
They sat silently for another moment, hands clasped.
“You were married,” Margo said, changing the subject, and surprising herself with her directness. “When you were at the diner, I saw a ring.”
“I was married, yes.” Sergei affirmed, matter of factly. “But it is over.”
Margo began to say something, to protest, but Sergei cut her off, speaking almost sharply in a way he rarely did. “This is the choice I am making.”
Sergei looked at her intently, almost daring her to question his decision. Seeing the conviction in his eyes, Margo just nodded slightly and said, simply: “Okay.”
Sergei smiled. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
They sat quietly for another moment, both now thinking about how too soon, the evening would have to end. Margo stole a quick look at the clock on the kitchen oven, sadly noting how much time had passed since the dinner had ended. She dropped her voice slightly, leaning in to ask Sergei a last question.
“How would we get there?” She asked, looking at him curiously. “To Brazil.”
Sergei beamed, realizing that this was her way of saying yes. Finally. “Leave it with me. I will see what is possible.”
Margo nodded, slowly, imagining scenarios where she might be able to slip away unnoticed from her shadows. A long trip to the washroom, perhaps, or slipping away quietly during the celebrations after the asteroid moved onto its course towards earth. A fire alarm at the hotel, perhaps.
“We need to keep Aleida out of this,” Margo said, firmly. “I don’t want her to get in trouble.”
Sergei nodded, agreeing, and then lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, his eyes meeting hers. Then he leaned in and kissed her just beside her lips, softly. She smiled in return, her cheeks slightly flushed.
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Aleida had been watching them from the other side of the room for several minutes now, silently and undetected. So focused had Sergei and Margo been on each other that they hadn’t noticed her in the room, not even as she approached to warn them that Margo’s time was drawing to a close. She hadn’t wanted to interrupt them; if anything, she was astonished to secretly get a glimpse of this blushing version of Margo. She’d known her for more than thirty years, and yet somehow she had missed this part of her life entirely.
Waiting for the kiss to end, and then taking an extra beat, Aleida quietly cleared her throat and interrupted. Margo startled and withdrew her hand as if a reflex - as if, even now, her feelings for Sergei must be kept secret.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, “But it’s already 10:30. Sergei, they’re going to come knocking soon.” Aleida gestured to a door down the hallway. “I think it’s best if you go into the guest room now. You can leave in a few hours when it’s safe.”
With a sad, small smile, Sergei stood up. Despite Margo’s withdrawal, he reached for her hand and again brought it to his lips, kissing it in almost a courtly way. “Of course,” he said, with a slight bow of his head. “Good night, Margo. I will see you soon.”
Margo nodded. “Please be careful.”
Aleida’s eyes widened slightly in surprise at the kiss, chaste as it was but right in front of her regardless. She could see, right away, how Sergei was more comfortable and open in front of her than Margo - Margo, who even now was still hiding things from her.
She took Sergei by the shoulder and guided him towards Victor, waiting now in the hallway to escort him to his hiding place. Once Victor and Sergei were gone, with the door to the guest room clicking shut, Margo rose to her feet unsteadily, holding onto the back of the chair for support. She felt Aleida’s eyes on her, questioning, and she turned to meet her look. Margo had never been particularly good at sensing how others were feeling, but with Aleida, it was different. She could read Aleida. And Margo could tell that she seemed unsettled, almost uneasy. She remembered times in the past where she knew Aleida had something to say, or a great idea to share, but hesitated, unsure of herself. In those times, Margo had tried to take her aside and encourage her - sometimes gently, sometimes less so. Tonight, she was already feeling overwhelmed from her conversation with Sergei, her emotions overcoming her reserve, and wanted, somehow, to connect with Aleida too.
“Thank you” said Margo, sincerely. “Thank you for having us over tonight.” She patted Aleida on the shoulder softly, and then used the same hand to quickly wipe a tear from her eye. “It means a lot.”
Aleida was at a loss for words, still processing all that she had just seen. When Sergei had first confronted her a few months earlier, he had told her simply that he and Margo had been dear friends for many years. She had wondered, of course, when he mentioned that the KGB had confronted him and Margo in her hotel room in London. Now she understood, she thought - and she felt a strange swirl of anger and sympathy. She took a small step back from Margo. She knew time was short, but she pushed ahead regardless, wondering if this might be the last chance they had to speak alone.
“You’re in love.” Aleida didn’t ask the question, just stated it as if it was an obvious fact. Margo peered at her, as if unsure there was something that she had to say in response - but observing Aleida staring back at her, she felt the need to say something.
“Yes.” She replied, simply. It was a complicated love, certainly, but it was the truth.
Aleida smacked the kitchen table with the palm of her hand in frustration.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Margo. About him and you and…the KGB, or anything. This…” Aleida gestured around the room, “All this could have never happened.” She clenched one of hands into a fist, her next sentence almost exploding out of her in quiet anger. “Why didn’t you just fucking trust me?”
Margo went still for a moment, unsure of how to respond, her mind racing with possible answers. Because I knew what we were doing was wrong. Because it was private. Because I was afraid of how I felt about Sergei. Because I felt like I deserved what I got. Because I loved you too much to get you involved, and to make you an accessory and a co-conspirator. Because…
“I guess I was trying to protect you,” she said softly, finally, looking directly at Aleida as she spoke what was, to her, the absolute truth. “Like I didn’t do when you were a kid.”
Margo paused for a second, then rested her hand on Aleida’s shoulder again, seeing how her fist had unclenched and her shoulders had relaxed, somewhat. “I’m sorry that I hurt you.”
Aleida closed her eyes, nodding to herself. It was enough, she thought. It was an answer that she could live with. She reached up and placed her hand over Margo’s, still resting on her shoulder.
“What are you going to do?” She asked, her eyes now wide with worry. “You can’t go back to Moscow.”
“I can’t stay here, either,” replied Margo, shrugging her shoulders slightly, and also somewhat relieved that Aleida - seemingly - hadn’t heard the last bit of her conversation with Sergei about Brazil. She knew that Aleida would want to know about their plans, and want to help - and instead, would be terribly hurt to find out that once again she had been left in the dark. But Margo was damned if she was going to drag her into another scandal, or have her arrested for helping America’s worst traitor flee the country.
“Moscow isn’t so bad,” she said, unconvincingly. “I’ve still got a few projects left in me, I think. The work is good, and they’ve got some brilliant engineers.”
“There’s more to life than work, Margo.” Aleida looked pointedly towards the guest room, to which Margo looked uncomfortably down at the floor, almost instinctively private. “Plus he seems to think that you’ll get killed if you go back.”
Margo paused as if to reflect on this, then nodded, agreeing with the thought. “Yeah, that’s definitely possible.”
“Oh, that’s a comfort.”
Margo smiled, genuinely. “I’m grateful that you’re still glad I’m alive.”
“Well,” said Aleida, turning away from the emotion. “Yeah. I am.”
Margo smoothed out her jacket, taking in a deep breath and exhaling slowly. She didn’t want to leave this house, and all the few people on this earth that she loved and who also, happily, didn’t despise or distrust her. She steeled herself to walk back out into the hostile, lonely world to which she’d become accustomed.