Work Text:
Every morning for the past twelve years, Margo drifts awake a few minutes before the loud 6 a.m. buzz resounds across the prison cells and the harsh fluorescents shine again above her head. Every morning, she gets a few minutes of quiet and darkness to herself, before the burning pain in her hip flares up, and before the reality of Leavenworth relentlessly sets in.
Today is no exception.
She opens her eyes to the wall adorned with pictures of the moon, of Mars, of launch vehicles. In addition to those, Aleida gathered for her over the years copies from various archives; photographs of her in mission control during the flight of Apollo 12, of the day she ascended to director of JSC, of the Soviet delegation arriving in Houston in 1983, of Danielle and Stepan shaking hands in orbit, of the crowd in MOCR during the Mars landing. There are pictures of the Rosales at Graciana’s graduation ceremony, postcards from Javi’s latest trip halfway across the globe.
Prison has not been so different from what she has known. She is up at 6 in the morning, not earlier than she used to be. Her cell is not much smaller than the office she lived in when she first started at NASA. Albeit shared with other inmates, she has daily access to a shower; a luxury that she did not enjoy fifty years ago.
Just like in Moscow, the first few years were difficult. Her reputation preceded her. The animosity towards her eventually settled. Tutoring the younger inmates in maths and physics – something she actually enjoys – helped, just enough to earn peace and quiet and a semblance of respect.
She does not miss working with space as much as she expected. She is old and tired. Sergei is gone. Ensuring the survival of their legacy, the Mars program, by diverting 2003LC to Mars’ orbit, sufficed. She is content handing it over to younger generations of engineers; engineers who weren’t born when Leonov first set foot on the moon, who would never know what it was like to grasp frantically for the stars that were now in their reach.
It fits her definition of progress. And it is enough.
Today, she wakes up with a sense of peace, instead of the usual weariness.
She suspects the reason for it is the man sitting at the end of her bed.
Margo knows him before she even reaches for the pair of glasses sitting on her bedside table and slips them on her nose.
“Sergei.”
“Hello, Margo.”
She smiles. The sound of his voice, of her name rolling on his tongue, fills her chest with a warmth she has not experienced in years. It was the first thing she was afraid of forgetting; yet she recalls it crystal clear. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
Sergei chuckles softly – bubbles of joy burst in her chest in response. He is clad in a black turtleneck and grey jacket, the same clothes as when she met him – truly met him. His face remains the same as in her last memory of him, lingeringly kissing her goodbye in Aleida’s foyer: his skin creased with aging and smiling, and his gaze warm with tenderness and love. Intact.
Margo manoeuvres around her stiff and uncooperative hip to sit up, but today she does not reach for her painkillers. She may not need them for very long anymore. “So it’s time, then.”
“Yes,” he acquiesces. “Are you surprised?”
Margo shrugs. “I never really thought about my death. Figured I’d cross that bridge when I got to it.”
This could be real. This could be a figment of her imagination. Either option is equally plausible. She had chats with flight surgeons about this, years ago. About how Gene and the eleven other guys had not had time to realise. About how Gordo and Tracy had had plenty. About the storm of neurotransmitters raging in the brain as it shuts down, likely kicking up vivid hallucinations, though no one can tell for sure. Despite the recent technological advances, what happens during death remains a mystery.
“Since it turns out it’s someone coming to get me, I’m not surprised it’s you.” Sergei smiles. “I wonder who decides though. Is it you?”
“No. And neither is it the will of a sentient being, before you ask.” She smirks. She was going to. “It is only biology. Unfortunate chains of events. Some we can help, some we cannot.”
“In my case?” she prods.
“A stroke. You really should take your blood pressure medication, Margo.”
“Sure,” she snickers. “And live many long years, perhaps even serve all 327 years of my prison sentence if I’m lucky. Will it be quick?”
“It is happening right now.”
Margo raises her eyebrows, admittedly impressed. She cannot feel a thing.
“How long do we have?” she asks, glancing towards the door. What if the guards find her before…
“As long as you want. Time is not as linear as we know it, at this point.”
She nods. It does not feel like being torn away, as she would expect. She has time for reminiscing, and for questions. She has many of them.
“When we…” She struggles for an accurate phrasing, but she is not entirely sure what the next minutes will entail. “Cross over,” is what she settles on with a light-heartedness that Sergei responds to with a smile. “Do we get to watch what happens next? To the world? To everyone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I will miss Aleida. And Javi, and Graciana.”
“They will be okay.”
“I know.”
For a moment, they gaze into each other’s eyes with appeased smiles.
“Did you see what we did?” she asks softly. Happy Valley thriving. The discovery of single-cell organisms in Korolev crater. The Jupiter program.
Sergei’s face lights up with a grin – the kind she only witnessed when they docked their cardboard prototypes, or when Sojourner landed. “Yes. What we dreamed of together, Margo.”
“I am curious to see where it goes.”
“Me, too.”
The kind of grin that makes everything they have been through worth it.
“Yours was not biology,” she says softly, hesitant to burst their bubble. Fifteen years later, it still keeps her up every night and haunts her every day.
Sergei shakes his head, more detached than she expected.
Margo swallows around the lump in her throat, pushes past the tightness in her chest. One more regret to add to her seemingly never-ending list. The one that had truly torn her apart. “I’m sorry, Sergei. We should have been more careful.”
“Yes, perhaps. But we would not have been able to see each other again. And I would not have traded you for anything, Margo. I would rather die like I did,” Sergei continues. “Than peacefully, of old age, having never seen you again. This month spent working with you, feeling alive again, meant more than you can imagine.”
Although tears roll down her cheeks, something in her chest lifts, instead of crumbling.
“I never meant to put you in danger.”
“I know, Margo.”
She takes a steadying breath. She has to know. “Did it hurt?”
“It was quick. I did not even realise.” Margo exhales with relief. His face softens. “I was thinking about leaving with you. My only regret is that I did not have time to get you to Brazil.”
“But I would not have wanted to go.”
Sergei gazes at her, his eyes wide with a surprise that she seeks to soothe. Margo slithers from beneath the scratchy blanket – her hip, oddly, lets her – and sits close to him, her thigh brushing his.
“Not without you.”
Margo wipes her tears, takes a moment to gather her thoughts. Out of habit, she inserts a foot into a slipper she tucked under the bed the night before, but realises she is not cold.
“Hiding and looking over my shoulder for eight years, it took a toll. It’s not exactly a vacation here, but at least I’m safe. And I know how the story ends.”
Sergei nods. “It was never in your nature to tolerate uncertainty.”
“Right.”
Margo looks over at him. He understands.
“I want to tell you something.”
“Yes.”
“In Moscow, I had plenty of time to think about what happened to me, to you. And I had even more time here. I got us into that mess.” Sergei frowns. “It was my fault. If I hadn’t warned you about the O-rings to begin with…”
“None of it was your fault, Margo,” Sergei interrupts her. “Irina would have found a way to use us regardless. She made her decision when Roscosmos accepted the Soyuz-Apollo mission. You did what you believed was right, despite the risks it entailed, and I admire you for it. I always have.”
Margo sighs. There are days when she cannot admit this, not even to herself. Still, she gazes into his eyes when she does. “I would do it all over again, Sergei. Everything we did.”
“So would I, Margo.”
The gravity between them borders on unbearable. They had never taken a moment to discuss this alliance between them, the enormous risks they exposed themselves to, the life-changing consequences that befell them.
“There is one thing I would change,” Sergei whispers.
“What?”
“I would find a way to get you off of that elevator in ’91.”
Margo laughs, grateful for the temporary reprieve.
There is one other regret she wants to bring up. “I would fight to get you out of Lefortovo sooner.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
“I wish you had told me, about them. I would have helped you defect before…”
“If you had, I would not have been able to protect you against them. It’s okay, Margo,” he repeats, holding her gaze. ”It’s over.”
Margo reaches out, cupping the side of his face. His skin feels warm, tangible. He seems more real than when she conjures up her memories of him. Sergei’s eyes sparkle and he smiles brightly, in open adoration, like he used to when they were close. It does not intimidate her anymore. “I’ve missed you.”
She presses her lips against his. As his mouth opens to hers, Sergei’s hand caresses her cheek, her neck, her hair. It feels real. The crazy beating of her heart in her chest as they kiss, the slow heat washing over her body – they feel real, too. She feels alive.
If it is a hallucination, it’s a damn good one. She voices this thought.
“Would it matter?”
She smiles. No. It would not. And soon, many other things will not anymore.
She exhales a deep, cathartic breath. She feels lighter than she ever has.
“I’m ready to go,” she says softly.
Sergei holds out his hand. Slowly, she allows her fingertips to caress his palm, before clasping his fingers. An inexplicable urge to turn around seizes her, as though she just dropped something.
She sees her body lying dead in her bed, seemingly asleep.
Margo turns to Sergei. “Just like that, huh?”
He smiles. “Just like that.”
Standing up, Sergei draws her to her feet. Holding her hand, he opens the door of her cell.
Margo walks out.