Work Text:
Night had fallen hours ago. The dying, flickering light of a candle illuminated the study-library amalgamation. Shelves were filled from edge to edge with a mix of files, paperwork, and books.
"Weimar," Soviet's said. His voice was gentle yet scolding. He stood behind her, looking over her as she worked at her desk. "It's late. Come to bed."
She waved her hand dismissively, her wings twitching as she hardly looked at Soviet. "Not now. I'm almost done."
"You said that six pages ago." Soviet slipped the pen out of Weimar's hand, getting a short-lived glare. "It has been hours, and we have to travel for a meeting tomorrow." He clicked the pen closed. "I want you to be sleeping before midnight, at least tonight."
Weimar huffed, then smiled, straightening the papers in front of her. "Alright, alright." She stood, but she held onto the documents. "I have to put these away. I'll be with you soon."
Soviet put the pen back on the desk. "Let me help you. How do you organize these?" He picked up what remained of the stack.
Weimar opened one of the drawers in her desk. Dividers were marked with letters. Shortened German words, Soviet guessed. She pointed to certain dividers as she spoke. "Papers regarding the economy or spending go behind there. Communications go here. Conflicts, external and internal, both go here." She pointed to a small, pencil scribble in the upper right hand corner of the paper on the top of her stack. "There's labels on the papers as well. It makes it easier."
Silently, they slipped the work into their respective places. Soviet went from the top of the stack and organized down. Weimar flipped through her stack, looking for a specific category, and took the papers out until she had cleared the stack. She then put those papers where they belonged.
When they had finished, Weimar quietly closed the drawer. Soviet took her hand, leading her to their room. He didn't seem to care where he stepped, letting the floorboards creak. Weimar shifted from one board to the other, not making much sound. Once their door closed, she gently pulled away. He looked at her strangely.
"I'm going to change before I lay down," Weimar told him, smiling in that soft way that she always did. "I'm not going to run off."
"Knowing your work ethic, that's hard to believe," Soviet muttered, eliciting a laugh out of Weimar.
She placed her hand on his arm. "I promise you. I'll be right there."
Soviet nodded. "I will trust you this once," he mumbled, going to their bed. He slipped under the covers, effortless and habitual. He stared at the ceiling as he thought, tempted to glance at Weimar and to make sure she hadn't left, but the door never creaked, and the rustling of clothes were all reassurances that she was keeping her promise.
Then, there was a new weight on the other side of the bed, and Soviet turned his head to look. Weimar joined him, her usual grace subdued by exhaustion. Her wings were slack, resting behind her in that rare way where they lacked her usual tension or worry.
Weimar laid on her stomach, her wings resting on top of her. She and Soviet stared at each other, eyes tired but no doubt affectionate.
He smiled, something soft and barely visible. "Sleep," he told her. "Tomorrow will be long."
She laughed under her breath. "Yes, it will be for both of us." She closed her eyes, and reached a hand out to him for him to hold. "Goodnight, Sowjet."
Soviet took her hand in his. She was warm compared to him. "Goodnight, Weimar," he whispered, then he closed his eyes and let sleep take him as well.