Chapter Text
The scent of books and wood filled the room. There were lots of shelves, a table with fancy cloth, with tea and cookies on top, and a bed nearby it. Even the ceiling wasn’t empty, as it conveyed a vast rug with a pattern on it. The room didn’t resemble a prison cell at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. Yet, within it, a captive would soon wake up.
By the table, sat Fyodor. His coat brushed against the floor, his ushanka still sitting neatly atop his head. And his violet eyes focused on the teacup that he held in his hand. Only once he heard a rustle of sheets and a mumble, did his eyes wander towards the bed, and his brown-haired captive laying in it.
“Ah, you’re awake, unsuccessful one.”
He spoke, setting the teacup aside with deliberate slowness before folding his hands together. The edges of his lips quirked up. Not with a pretty, happy smile, but rather, a pitiful grin.
“Easy now, the sedative is still in your system.”
The Russian warned. Though, the shorter one was already in a panic. They looked around the room, which still appeared slightly distorted due to the sedative. Their head was spinning, and their vision was blurry. They sat up abruptly, which only led them to feel dizzy, falling back down on the bed without further grace.
“I warned you. Your body is still weak and recovering.”
Fyodor spoke, but he made no attempt at getting up and rushing to the wounded. He remained seated, sipping from a cup of tea. The captive temporarily removed their glasses, rubbing on their groggy eyes before taking one good look around them. The shelves, the table, and… The man smiling at them from across the room.
They immediately recognized him, and let out a soft gasp. Their eyes widened as they froze in horror. The leader of Rats in the House of the Dead, an underground criminal organization, Fyodor Dostoevsky, was right before their nose.
“You’re confused.”
Fyodor let out plainly, with a low chuckle. His words were clinical, observing. Like he was confirming a mere fact.
“And scared, perhaps.”
He spoke, tilting his head softly, a finger of his running against the edges of his fine ceramics. He didn’t ask, he confirmed.
The captive didn’t say anything back, but the questions were written all over their face. The way they looked around, as if asking where they were, the way they eyed the Russian, as if asking why he was there, and the way their lips parted slightly but made no attempt to speak, as if to demonstrate fear.
Fyodor knew it all too well, reading them like a book even with little effort. Every little breath, every look, every move they made was telling him what he needed to know. But that was not all.
“Let me make things clear. I called you unsuccessful just now. Do you know why? Because you were part of a mission to infiltrate the Rats in the House of the Dead... And, of course, you failed. And now you ended up here. Not in shackles, not in an electric chair or even under a bright light… But in a warm bed, with tea and cookies on the side…”
His eyes briefly wandered around the room, before back at the other.
“You’re welcome.”
Fyodor added, taking a moment to sip his tea before continuing. Tea was a very important cultural priority during negotiations, after all.
“The reason as to why you’re here is simple. I seek information from you. But you don’t suppose that negotiations go much smoother when lacking stress factors, don’t they?”
He let out a low chuckle, watching the other’s facial expression change. They looked much less confused now, as if everything was slowly coming back in their memory. Then, at the mention of information and negotiations, their eyes wandered off towards the door, as if instinctively thinking of escape routes.
“Don’t bother with the door. It’s locked.”
Fyodor simply stated. That’s right, despite the hospitality, the brown-haired individual was still, nevertheless, a captive.
“M-my mission…!”
They suddenly let out, sitting up again, even though they remained unsteady and clearly not ready for getting off the bed soon. And that’s when Fyodor finally intervened. He stood up, not too fast, without hurry, and slowly walked over towards the bed. He didn’t get too close nor used touch, but stayed close enough to be able to step in anytime something happens.
“There it is.”
Fyodor spoke. He saw the determination and stubbornness through them, in both their words and actions. He didn’t stop them, but simply commented on it. It was both impressive, as it was foolish.
“My mission… They’re going to kick my ass once they find out I’m locked up in here… Ahh!”
They spoke, curling up with their knees close to their chest as they nervously bit their lip, looking down.
“How strange. You seem to be more worried about the consequences of your already failed mission more than your current predicament…”
Fyodor spoke, regarding the odd behavior of the captive. He didn’t praise, nor criticize them. He simply spoke in a matter-of-fact.
“But before we get to that… What do they call you?”
He asked, as he watched their behavior, silently conducting an analysis on their recovery. To which, the other one somewhat calmed down, looking up to Fyodor and blinking. They were clearly hesitant.
“…Przygoda…”
They finally let out, looking down whilst tugging at the bedsheets nervously. Their stress didn’t go unnoticed.
“Ah, Przygoda, that’s right.”
Fyodor spoke, giving a nod. He had remembered their name now. And while Przygoda still seemed hesitant, they at the very least had introduced themselves. That was some small progress.
Fyodor briefly looked towards the table with cookies and cups filled with warm liquid.
“Tea? And no, before you ask, it isn’t poisoned.”
The Russian suggested, adding with the softest smile known to man. Definitely not a friendly one, but one that a person already in control of the situation would make.
The captive looked suspiciously at the tea, but eventually leaned towards the table and took the cup.
Fyodor didn’t look surprised, nor disappointed. He simply looked as if he had already predicted their move.
Splash.
The content of the cup ended up on his coat, after Przygoda had spilled it on him. And for a brief second, Fyodor’s smile had disappeared. He didn’t move, but lowered his gaze towards the stain.
“My, my. Someone is feeling rather adventurous today…”
He spoke, his soft grin appearing yet again. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a sigh. Not because he was upset, but simply moved. And after briefly reflecting upon the occurrence in his mind, he looked back at Przygoda, who looked rather proud of themselves.
“I had expected as much from you.”
Fyodor spoke as he removed his coat, holding it in one arm while reaching his hand with the other at Przygoda.
“May I take the cup?”
He asked.
Przygoda looked up to him in shock. He was supposed to get angry, possibly punish them, or anything else a villain would do. Why was he acting so… Gentle? It didn’t add up. They held the cup out with a huff.
Fyodor looked at them, not taking the cup right away, but rather, speaking.
“Ah. I see how it is.”
He simply let out, before taking the cup and walking over to the table. He hung his coat over the chair, allowing it to dry.
“You’re disappointed. Namely, because you expected a different reaction from me. Is that correct?”
Fyodor spoke, then looked back at Przygoda, from where he was standing. He didn’t get angry, nor did he punish them. He simply remained as he was. Unbothered.
Przygoda clenched their fists. They hated it. Everything. The fact that their mission failed, that they got captured, that they were stuck in a room with the anemic jackass, and worst of all… The hospitality. The calm. The absence of anything logical in a situation representing a captive and a criminal.
“This… This doesn’t make any sense. You said you wanted to gather information from me, didn’t you?”
They pointed a finger at him, accusingly, then lowered their hand with a sigh.
“I’m confused. Is this a trick?”
They asked, crossing their arms. They could not believe that Fyodor would simply allow their behavior. That he would simply ask for tea without any ace up his sleeve.
“Firstly, it’s quite a waste. “
Fyodor spoke, eyeing the empty cup of tea.
“Secondly, yes and no.”
He spoke.
How awfully vague he was. It wasn’t a surprise, at least not to Przygoda. But they still wanted to get to the bottom of this whole situation.
“Elaborate.”
They demanded, narrowing their eyes.
Fyodor looked at them, pausing, before closing his eyes briefly and then nodding, as he opened them again.
“Very well.”
He simply let out before sitting down again, folding his hands together as he watched the captive’s face.
“You’re kept in decent conditions. But you didn’t expect that. You expected malice, didn’t you? I’ll get to the point. My hospitality isn’t a trick. How I use it? That’s up to one’s interpretation.”
The Russian spoke, pouring some more tea into his own cup this time.
Przygoda looked down. To one’s own interpretation. That sentence has struck them. So he wasn’t lying when he said the tea wasn’t poisoned. He was being kind on purpose. That dirty rat. He has his ways, and Przygoda knew that they could not outsmart him.
Still, it appeared as if this was beginning to be a mutual information exchange. While Fyodor was analyzing Przygoda, he was answering their questions to gain their trust. And Przygoda, was getting their questions answered.
But soon enough, the thoughts of the captive got quickly interrupted by a growing pain in their abdomen. They grabbed onto it tightly, hissing in pain.
That caused Fyodor to stand up again, and slowly make his way towards the bed, once more.
“You got hurt in the mission… Did you already forget?”
He watched Przygoda let out painful gasps and hisses for a moment longer, before walking up a tiny bit closer than usual. Not looming, but simply closing the distance between them until it was plausible to be able to check up on them.
“May I see the wound?”
Fyodor let out. There was no malice stuck in his words, just an objective question.
However, Przygoda was in disarray. They would either have to suffer in pain, or allow Fyodor to inspect their wound, potentially leading to something bad happening. They were vulnerable, after all.
They were about to say no, before tearing up from the pain. They felt weak. A supposedly infiltrator, who cried from a bit of pain.
“Yes, yes, just… Just do it already!”
Przygoda yelped out, slowly letting go of their stomach.
Fyodor nodded, undoing the bedsheets and then pulling up their shirt. Not too high, just enough to be able to see where the pain has struck. He slowly undid the bandages, with deliberate care, and then looked inside.
And surely enough, there was a stitched up cut in their stomach. Not only did they get captured, but also operated on. Perhaps by one of the doctors or healers from the Rats in the House of the Dead.
Przygoda bit their lip as they looked down at the wound, then averted their sight, not wanting to see it anymore.
The action didn’t go unnoticed by Fyodor, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he stood back up.
“Stay right there, I’ll get the supplies and replace the bandage.”
He spoke, walking towards a small cabinet, otherwise unnoticed, that stood by the bookshelves.
He would replace the bandage. Not an assistant, not a third party, but him. And perhaps that was what has surprised Przygoda the most. The directness of him. They expected to be held imprisoned in way worse conditions, but also, not with the leader of the organization himself.
Soon enough, Fyodor has returned with a fresh bandage, some liquid in a bottle and some cotton. He crouched by the bed, then looked at Przygoda before doing anything.
“May I?”
He asked, still looking at them, the bottle in his hand, the other holding cotton.
“Yes.”
Przygoda let out with a sigh, rubbing their teary eyes.
Fyodor got to work. Firstly, he put a generous amount of the liquid on the cotton, and then slowly tapped it on Przygoda’s belly. That earned a whimper coming from Przygoda. He stopped, then continued again once they had calmed down. And eventually, Fyodor grabbed a brand new bandage, and gently wrapped it around their stomach. He made sure that it wasn’t too tight, but also not too loose.
Przygoda looked down. They didn’t say thank you. They didn’t say I’m sorry. They simply just… Nodded. It wasn’t the first time that they avoided using such words. And Fyodor has definitely taken notice of it.
But he didn’t push them to do so. He simply noted it, nodding in response, and then stood up.
“That should do it for now. I would refrain from moving too much, if I were you.”
He let out, walking back to his seat.
Przygoda felt odd, yet again. And… Their belly grumbled. Hungry. They felt hungry.
“Hungry?”
Fyodor immediately asked.
Przygoda cursed themselves in their head, before sighing. There was no running away from this. But given that Fyodor needed information from them, they were willing to believe the food not to be poisoned.
Their eyes locked on the cookies, then back at Fyodor. And they reached their hand out, the other adjusting their glasses, as they took a cookie and slowly ate it.
For a while, Fyodor didn’t say anything, simply watching. He noticed the brief calm, and decided to finally speak again.
“I noticed something interesting about the case of your mission. In no record of it, does it speak of you using an ability. And yet, you got sent… To the front line of the whole plan.”
Fyodor spoke over tea.
“I’m sure they wouldn’t risk sending a person without an ability to such a great mission. Given you have one, why didn’t you use it? Were you saving it for the last moment? Or… Is it because it’s that dangerous?”
He tilted his head as he spoke, curiously. For once, it was him asking the questions. However, Przygoda seemed to nearly have choked on their cookies, which earned an even more curious stare from Fyodor. So there was something interesting about that ability, after all.
“Well…”
Przygoda chuckled nervously, looking at the window. Fyodor’s first serious question managed to be the most important one. How expectant of him. They gulped before looking down, still, a cookie in their hand, as they began to think on how to properly explain this matter.
“I didn’t want to use it.”
They started with honesty, looking back at him. They did not want to use it. Fyodor was looking at them as well.
“Intriguing.”
The Russian let out. He wanted to learn the truth, and he already knew, that a long story was coming his way…