Chapter Text
December 21st, 1985.
Hot, humid, miserable. Leonid had been sitting in the airport for what felt like an eternity. The plane was supposed to arrive soon. It couldn’t come soon enough. The music coming from his headphones barely offered a reprieve from the chaos around him. Everyone was trying to get home before Christmas. Everyone had somewhere to be. Somewhere that wanted them. Leonid was not so lucky. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. The airport would still be awful—he never liked them in the first place—but he thought that he would be returning home triumphantly. A hero in the eyes of the USSR. Alexander had told him that he was going to be. He clung to every word, every little promise Alexander made. What would he get now as a complete and utter failure? All he could see in front of him now was a ruined career. All because of Anatoly.
Leonid was already humiliated enough to have lost against
their stupid celebrity crush, closest friend, enemy whatever Anatoly was
in such an easily preventable way. No one knew Anatoly’s strategies better than them. Nobody but Anatoly himself, anyway. Leonid was sure that they would have won easily, they should have won easily. Anatoly was edgy, nervous, not thinking straight. But they fumbled at the last minute. They didn’t realize their blunder until it was too late—Anatoly saw it far before they did. No matter how hard they tried to claw back a victory, or even just a draw, they couldn’t. After nearly four hours of play, it was all over in an instant. Their life was over in an instant. (Leonid did not go to the press conference after, not caring how “unsportsmanlike” it was. They had enough press coverage to last them a lifetime). They did not leave their hotel room until they absolutely had to.
And now Leonid had to be around Anatoly again. He decided that he would be returning home with the Soviet delegation. He couldn’t just win. He had to change sides again. Leonid should’ve been happier about it. She wanted him to return home every single day after he defected. She hated to admit how much she missed him. Sitting across from him only reminded her about how pathetically she wanted him back in her life. But she couldn’t be happy. Not like the rest of the delegation, not like Alexander. Not when he ruined her career. Everything she worked for.
Anatoly sat across from Leonid, reading a book they had given him as a gift. Roadside Picnic. One of their favorites. They couldn’t help but to steal glances at him. Even if it made them feel worse. He must’ve been enjoying it. He hadn’t put it down. (Did he remember it was from them?)
Anatoly looked up at the same time Leonid looked at him. He smiled a little.
“Do you need something, Lynonya?”
“Not really, no.”
He kept looking at the book in Anatoly’s hands. Anatoly noticed, of course. It wasn’t like Leonid was being subtle.
“I’m enjoying it a lot. Sci-fi usually isn’t my thing.”
“That’s good.”
She wasn’t sure what else to say. Her head was at odds with her heart. She wanted to gush about the book—gush to Anatoly—but she wouldn’t allow herself to. She would hold onto her anger no matter how childish it made her feel. How could Anatoly act like nothing happened? She didn’t want polite conversation. She even told him. She didn’t like him at all.
But that wasn’t true, was it?
Their heart won over any rational part of their brain. Leonid moved one of the headphones off of their ears and sighed. “What—what do you like about it?”
“The characters, mainly.” Some tension left Anatoly’s shoulders, “I’m only about halfway through, but…”
Listening to him was better than listening to the other noise, as much as Leonid didn’t want it to be. They still weren’t friends. Maybe they wouldn’t be friends for a long time. But the smallest, most selfish part of her was glad to hear him like this again.