Chapter Text
One of the camp bullies, a man that all the women in the First Army get warned about has no luck with finding a target. So when a young, lovely Healer walks along alone he's just far enough into his cups to grab her, wrap his hand over her mouth and lift her up, when she struggles he knocks her head against a wall. Dazing her. She swoons and he starts working on her trousers.
She's coming around a little and starts struggling even as she tries to blink the blood out of her eyes. She can feel the cut in her brow, just as clearly as the man pressed up against her from behind. She can smell his fetid liquor breath, panted against her neck as he fumbles with her clothes.
Her struggles are clumsy and uncoordinated, her head too fuzzy to properly recall all the drills she did a hundred times over for just such an occasion as this. The man only grunts as he keeps her pinned to the wall, one hand firmly pressing down on the back of her neck, the other tugging sharply at her belt. Abruptly he freezes and she hears a woman speak.
"Let her go, Yaref." The man doesn't move, only turns his head slightly to look to the source of that voice.
"Shu cunt!" He slurs, "Get lost."
The speaker steps closer and Ilyena can see her more clearly, now. A young woman, Shu heritage clear in her features. She seems tired and worn, dressed in a First Army uniform that looks to be the smallest size but is still baggy on her. She would appear to be even less of a challenge to this brute of a man than she herself had been. Except there was a look in her eye. A flinty look, hinting at a core of Grisha steel hidden within her slim frame. Certainly she was displaying nerves of steel as she steps closer, jabbing something into the man's kidney's that makes him flinch.
"I don't think so," The woman hisses, "Let her go or I'll put this knife between your ribs, Yaref." The man doesn't move immediately, and she jabs him more forcefully, cutting his uniform and nicking the skin. He flinches again and stumbles back, his hand flying to his back, pressing against the wound. The woman immediately steps in front of Ilyena, putting herself between them. The man stares at her.
"Get lost." The girl snaps, "before we scream the whole camp down around your head."
"Shu whore." The man snarls, but clearly this is no longer as easy as he once thought, so after a moment he turns and stumbles away. The First Army soldier watches him go even as Ilyena hurries to sort out her clothes, only to find he tore the waistband of her trousers and she can only hold the fabric together with a trembling hand.
"Are you okay?" The woman asks.
"Yes," Ilyena answers even as she hears her voice break. The woman glances back, and as Ilyena gets a better look at her rescuer she realizes she’s perhaps more of a girl, certainly she can’t be much older than Ilyena herself, younger possibly, given she’s not Grisha.
The girl frowns at her, then nods slowly, then turns and gestures to the other end of the ally, not touching her. For which Ilyena finds herself unaccountably gratefull.
"I'Il walk you back to the Grisha tents." The girl offers, sheathing her knife.
"Thank you," Ilyena offers, finding herself hurrying to the main walkway, which was at least better lit than the ally had been. The young soldier keeps a half a pace distance, but walks alongside, hand still on the knife, Ilyena glances aside, "For everything."
The other woman nods, and murmurs, "Don't mention it.” Then with a little smile, she offers. "Us girls need to look out for one another."
Ilyena finds herself answering with a trembling smile. The young woman walks her to the edge of the Grisha encampment, then stops at the invisible boundary between the two camps. Ilyena found herself stopping too, turning back.
"You'll be safe here." Her rescuer states. But Ilyena finds herself reaching out and taking her wrist, the young woman says nothing, only looking at her for a moment, then nodding and walking with Ilyena as she moves for the healers tent.
It's late and most of her fellow Grisha are in the main pavilion. She's partly glad, not wanting her fellow soldiers to see her in this sorry state. But she also doesn't want to walk alone right now and is glad for the presence of the young woman at her side.
She ducks into the Healer tent, Olga, who is apparently on duty looks up, eyes going wide at the sight of her fellow Healer. Eyes snapping to the girl she's dragging with her and stepping forward.
"She's okay,” Ilyena reassures as Olga starts to raise her hands, the other Healer has a small skill for the affecting others at a distance, as Heartrenders do. Olga frowns but does not argue as she lowers her hands, instead taking Ilyena’s elbow and stearing her over to one of the cots.
Ilyena lets the young woman's wrist go as she sits down, but the girl settles on the edge of the next cot over rather than leave. Watching as Olga settles in to heal the cut on Ilyena’s brow.
The pounding in her head eases and she sighs, leaning back on the cot as Olga does a full check. Ilyena closing her eyes as she feels her fellow healer’s power coursing through her frame. Olga sighs as she finds nothing other than a set of bruises on her arms and hips. The soft glow of her healing touch takes care of those after a moment.
"Ilyena," Olga states, touching her arm which has Ilyena flinch back. Olga frowns and pulls back slowly.
"I'm going to fetch some water and cloth, are you okay here?" She glances at the Otkazat’sya girl as she asks. Ilyena nods.
"Should I get Fedyor?" Olga asks. Ilyena sighs but nods, she doesn't really want to talk with anyone now, but knows it can’t be avoided and Fedyor is at least the best available choice. Olga leaves and Ilyena turns to her rescuer.
"I don't even know your name."
"Alina,"
"Alina." Ilyena repeats. "Fedyor will want to talk to you, I think."
"Okay," Alina answers, frowning. "Are you going to be in trouble?"
Ilyena blinks, "Trouble? No, why would l be in trouble?"
Alina shrugs, but something in her expression catches at Ilyena. She frowns.
Fedyor stays well back when he follows Olga into the tent taking in the young healer sitting on the cot dishevelled and shaken, blood coating half her face still even if the wound is gone. The Otkazat’sya girl Olga spoke of sitting on the next cot looks only a little better. No blood or bruises and well enough put together, though her uniform seems a poor fit and she looks like she could do with a few solid meals and nights of uninterrupted sleep.
He smiles at Ilyena and as Olga sets about cleaning the blood, he listens to llyena explain what happened. He hears out the whole tale before looking to the Otkazat’sya.
"May I ask who you are?"
She looks at him, perhaps a little reserved, but her heart is slow, clearly unafraid and truthful when she answers.
"Alina Starkova, I'm an assistant cartographer with the royal corps of surveyors."
He nods, then offers her a shallow bow.
"Thank you, miss Starkova, for coming to Miss Petrov's aid."
She blushes a little, ducks her gaze, shrugs.
"It's nothing, anyone would do it." She mutters.
"No," Olga interrupts, "They wouldn't."
The girl looks at the grim faced older healer, who offers her a respectful nod in turn.
"Do you know the assailant, Miss Starkova?" Fedyor asks. She nods, expression going grin.
"Yaref Aletsev." She says "He's an assistant to the camp’s quarter master. Wandering hands, and when he gets into his kvas,..." She doesn't finish but the implication is clear. Fedyor nods, looks to Ilyena.
"He'll be dealt with. Ilyena, you’re relieved of your duties for the week but please stay close to the pavilion for the foreseeable future.”
"Yes, Commander," Ilyena accepts. And Fedyor turns to the Otkazat’sya girl again.
"Miss Starkova, shall I walk you out?"
The young cartographer nods, gives Ilyena's hand a squeeze and gets up to follow him out of the tent.
"Would you like me to put in a good word for you with your commanding officer, Miss Starkova?” He asks after they’ve cleared the edge of the Healer’s tent.
"Thank you, Commander, but..." She trails off.
Fedyor sniffs. "But it wouldn't help to have him know you rendered aid to a Grisha."
She glances sideways at him.
"No, sir," She confirms. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He answers, smiling at her. "It's not your fault, clearly."
Fedyor watches her go until she disappears within the drab green tent assigned to the junior cartographers, taking care to stay out of sight himself. He turns and makes his way to the pavilion. The general will want to hear of this.
"Must have been some sight."
The general looks up, eyebrow raised in question.
"Miss Starkova looks like a stiff breeze would bowl her over, smaller even than Ilyena, lighter too by the looks of it. But the way Ilyena tells it she was fearless."
The general frowns. "Starkova, you say?"
"Alina Starkova, an assistant cartographer with the corps."
Yaref was quickly located, the man clearly having decided to drown his disappointment in more kvas. Fedyor took pleasure in dragging the man off his stool, giving the remainder of the men drinking a hard look. No one interfered as he pushed the stumbling man across camp to the First Army's Commander’s tent. Ivan was already waiting, having informed the grim faced commander of his reasons for being there.
"Rape is a capital crime." Ivan stated. Yaref’s complexion went pasty, eyes snapping to lvan.
"I didn't," He protested, turning to his camp commander. "The Grisha bitch is lying, I didn't touch her!"
“There was a witness." Fedyor counts. And Yaref’s mouth ran away from him, betraying himself.
"That Shu whore is lying too!"
Fedyor’s jaw tightened and he grabbed Yaref's coat, showing the hole in the fabric over his left kidney clearly.
"So you stabbed yourself as well?"
Yaref sputtered, trying to look over his shoulder to see the back of his coat. Fedyor took the distraction to grab the man's left wrist, showing the dried blood coating the back of it.
"And this is what? A bloody nose?"
"Enough," The camp commander ordered.
Fedyor stepped back, glaring at the disgusting Otkazat’sya.
He listens stoically as the camp commander hands down the verdict. Concluding that while Yaref might have tried, he didn’t success, and rather than face death will only be kicked out of the Army.
The man’s excuses and quickly gets on his feet, meaning to get away, Fedyor steps into his path, and as the man tries to stumble around him gestures. Yaref freezes in his tracks, only enough control left for his eyes to dart around in a wild panic.
The camp commander and his aids watch, frowning, but no one speaks as Ivan coolly thanks the Commander and excuses himself and Fedyor, explaining they’ll escort Yaref to the camp boundaries.
Fedyor releases Yaref as Ivan turns to them, and the man all but falls flat on his face as he rushes out of the tent, the two Heartrenders following close behind.
When Fedyor later tells Ilyena, she receives the news with a nod, looking pale, but clearly happy she won't be meeting the man again. She accepts the order to return to the Little Palace with the next caravan and report for remedial training in hand-to-hand. Just as Fedyor is about to leave, she asks after Alina, and he tells her they kept the young cartographer out of it, at her own request.
Ilyena, after Fedyor tells her, her assailant was run out of camp happily goes off to the mesh tent in the first army camp as it's dinner time wanting to tell Alina. Alina however gets kicked out of the line without dinner and runs into the Healer.
"Did you at least eat?"
"It's okay,” Alina answers, “I’m not hungry,”
Ilyena frowns, looks her up and down.
"Don't take this the wrong way Alina, but I really don't think you can stand to miss a meal."
Alina shakes her head.
"I've always been skinny, they called me 'sticks' at the orphanage."
Alina gives a bit of a self-deprecating smile. Except Ilyena is having none of it.
"That is horrible." The healer states, frowning, then hooks her arm through Alina's and starts all but frog marching her to the Grisha pavilion.
"Ilyena," Alina protests "I'm not sure this is a good idea…"
"Nonsense, we're not breaking any rules."
"Maybe not," Alina grouses looking about as Ilyena drags her into the main part of the tent. The lightening in the pavilion is low, but Grisha are still noticing her uniform and looking at her. They don't do anything though and Ilyena ignores all the stares, settling them into a secluded corner and pushing a bowl of grapes to her.
"Eat," She orders.
Alina follows the order grudgingly, well aware that she’s hardly in a position to refuse freely offered food. She looks up a moment later, "These are delicious, what are they?"
"You've never had grapes before?" Ilyena asks, surprised. Alina shakes her head, forcing herself to slow down and not gobble up the whole bowl immediately.
"Oh, well,” Ilyena shrugs awkwardly. “Enjoy them."
Alina blushes a little, at the apparent surprise on Ilyena's face at her lack of experience with grapes.
"Do you always have food like this?"
"We only have them in the field, and only in established camps like this. It’s rye bread and herring only in the Little Palace. And regular rations on campaign."
"Rye bread and herring?"
"The general likes us to remain humble." Ilyena stats, which sounds like an oft repeated line and not one the young Healer particularly agrees with.
Ilyena is the chatty sort, a bubby personality that has recovered quickly, at least for the moment, from her ordeal and she manages to distract Alina well enough. None of the other Grisha interfere because Fedyor comes up and clearly welcomes her
"Miss Starkova," He holds out a hand buzzing a kiss across her knuckles when she takes it. Drawing forth a surprised squeak and a startled giggle.
"It is a delight to see you again, I hope this evening finds you well?"
She blushes, "Yes, thank you."
"That's good to hear, I'll leave you two ladies be, "
Fedyor's message is subtle but clear, Alina is welcome among them and while the other Grisha don't exactly welcome her with open arms she's not run out either.
Fedyor goes back to Ivan, who is standing with the general whose watching their unexpected visitor impassively from the shadows, as Fedyor walks back the General tuns back to his own work, but leaves orders to let him know when it looks like she'll leave.
Later that night, Alina walks with Ilyena to the healer’s tent, saying her goodbyes there. When she walks away she's approached by the general who got into an Oprichniki uniform.
"Miss Starkova?" He asks keeping a bit of distance.
"Yes?" She asks, a little weary.
"Commander Kaminsky asked me to see you safely back to your barracks."
"Commander Kaminsky?"
"Fedyor Kaminsky, miss Starkova."
"Oh, yes, thank you, and tell Fedyor, thank you as well."
"I will, ma'am."
"Please don't call me, ma'am, my name is Alina."
"As you wish, Alina."
He walks her back to the cartographer tent with a pleasant if perhaps superficial conversation. Or does he thank her for helping keep Grisha safe, claims it is his job, duty to do so. But that he's grateful for the help.
Ilyena continues to draw Alina out, even going so far as she herself was released from her duty's to visit the cartography tent, where essentially Alina and her squad mates are doing busywork but still. Alina says she can't spend time with Ilyena now but she'll visit the Grisha - as soon as she's free.
It seems Ilyena is both bored, one of the youngest Grisha in camp - with a number of her age mates in Novokribirsk. And also feeling the after effects of her assault and seeking security in her rescuer. Alina is happy to indulge, Ilyena is a better friend even than most of her own squad mates (except perhaps Alexei - who wants to be more than a friend) so she's happy for the female friendship. The Grisha are much less discriminatory towards her race - used to Botkin, and several refugees from Shu Han among their number.
She’s happy to go be with Ilyena once it’s obvious the Grisha don’t mind her presence, and Ilyena makes sure to have a hearty meal to share when she leaves she finds the same Oprichniki that walked her back before
When the General, disguised, returns her to the barracks at the end of the night, he walks up to the cartographer’s tent, offering his good night wishes.
"Sleep well, miss Starkova. "
Her squad mates say something the following morning, even more when Ilyena drops by again. Annoyed Alina goes to sit with llyena for diner again, and when Ilyena begs off early - tired, the general walks her back again, only Alina isn't too keen to hang with her squad mates while they are still awake, so she asks if he has the time for a detour. He indicates he has no other duties that night and Alina thinks he's sacrificing his leisure time. He smiles and says he likes to spend his time with her, she blushes, but none the less leads him to the perch, and lies back on the top deck, looking up at the stars. They stay a long time, sharing stories of the stars (he has a lot of older Ravkan versions). After a time she looks to the side and finds him watching her rather than the stars. Does the starlight play across her skin in a certain way to draw his attention? She blushes, smiles, looks away and says it's getting late, she’d better get back. He doesn't protest, helps her down - he wears gloves almost always – so there’s no skin on skin contact. He drops her off at her barracks again.
"Sleep well, Alina."
The next two nights, Alina spends time with Ilyena, and even Fedyor, then the night with the disguised General. He's had Ivan look into her background, knows where she's from, her test result, her service record. But he's also learning more about her personally and is intrigued more and more. They spend a night at the lookout tower again, this time discussing the Fold. She asks if the Grisha history of the creation of the Fold is more extensive than what she was taught.
"What were you taught?" He asks and she gives him the story.
"Do the Grisa know more?"
"What makes you think there is more to know?"
"There must be." She counters looking out at the Fold.
"It sounds like a story, stories have a hero and a villain, good and evil. But history is never that simple. History is made by people and people aren't just good or evil, they're... people."
"That is remarkably..."
"Delusional? Naive?" She asks, glancing back and giving him a rueful smile.
"Optimistic.”
She smiles, shakes her head.
"I'm not stupid, people do bad things all the time, Yaref is only the latest proof of that, but no one is all bad. Not even Yaref."
"What good is there in a... man such as that?" He asks, biting back the term he wants to use.
"He fed the camp strays all the time." She counters. "He'd sit and feed new born kittens by hand."
"He was plenty cruel to people, but I've never seen him raise a hand to animal, not even when he was bitten. Don't get me wrong, I would have cut him if he hadn't backed down, or tried to at least, but it does make my point. There is some good in everyone."
"You think there was good in the Black Heretic?"
She shrugs, frowning at the Fold. "It's hard to believe," She whispers, "Especially with that staring me in the face, but..." she hesitates, frown deepening. "It just seems a little too easy, too simple. "
She turns to him, shrugs again.
“This might well be blasphemy but… one man’s enemy is another man’s hero. Only children think in absolutes. Besides, look at us, or Ilyena, most stories say Grisha and Otkazat’sya can 't be friends and yet here we are."
He smiles, "Friends?" She blushes and looks away.
He turns her chin back, still with a gloved hand.
"Friends," He confirms. She smiles, something stirs in his chest at the sight
The next night she's got a small book in her lap, working away with a stub of graphite.
"What are you doing?" He asks, smiling.
"Sketching." she answers. "Badly."
He leans closer looking at the sketches over her shoulder, tilting her sketchbook back when she tries to hide it from him.
"Not that badly." He says, looking at a fairly lifelike outline of his profile. It wouldn't be immediately recognizable as being a portrait of the Black General, but that’s only because she’s sketched him smiling. She blushes at the praise. "Thank you,"
Looks at him, suddenly aware of how close they are. Thinks she should draw back but instead finds herself leaning in, raising a hand, putting her finger tips on his jaw line. The touch brings a quiet gasp to her lips, the electricity of the touch sends a shiver down her spine. He feels a corresponding zing, which keeps him from pulling away, keeping him in place as he stares at her.
And Alina leans in, kissing him, quickly, chastely, just a brief press of lips held for a long moment before she pulls back. He hasn't responded, in the negative or positive sense but as she pulls back he finds himself leaning after her, only for her to pull her hand away. A deep blush coloring her pale skin.
"I'm sorry," She whispers, "I shouldn't have..."
He catches her hand in his gloved one.
"I’m not," He whispers. “Sorry, that is,” Leaning down and returning the gentle kiss, not pushing for more, but feeling that same zing. She squeezes his hand. But after that second kiss they both pull back.
They part companionably that night, her hand tucked into his elbow as he walks her back to the barracks.
"Sleep well, Alina." He whispers, pressing a whisper of a kiss to her knuckles
The next morning news comes that the skiff is expected back by that evening. And Ilyena tells Alina that she will be returning to the Little Palace with the General the next day. So will Ivan and Fedyor, as well as her Oprichniki friend - personal guards of the Darkling. So it'll be her last night, she spends it with Ilyena and Fedyor, but is interrupted by a furious Mal. Who went looking for Alina after his return and was told of her involvement with Grisha by her squad mates (Zoya was already back, Mal took his time before starting to look for Alina – noticing only after some time that Alina hasn’t come looking for him while he knows she should still be in camp).
“I want to spend time with my friends, Mal, they’re leaving in the morning.”
“They’re Grisha, Alina, they’re not your friends!”
“They’ve been better friends to me in a week than you’ve been in two years, Mal!” She snaps at him, which is the point that Fedyor steps up between the two.
“Miss Starkov,” Fedyor says but keeps his gaze on Mal, a flat look in his eyes. “Is all well?”
“Yes, Fedyor, thank you, Mal was just leaving,” Alina grits out between her teeth, glaring at Mal all the while.
Mal stalks off in a huff, Fedyor takes a step after, following the boy’s retreat. Alina sighs, shakes her head. Fedyor, turns back and puts a hand on her shoulder.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Alina?”
She gives him a sad smile, nods. ”Yes, I suppose it was a long time coming, but to end a friendship like that is still sad,”
That night as the general finds her she tells him she doesn't want to go back to the barracks at all. They fall together, and he winds up pushing her up against a wall, hitching her leg up as he ravishes her mouth, his hands all over her. She responds in kind, all but high on the electricity between them. He pulls back, though he has to clench his teeth to do it. Hand, without a glove cupping her cheek.
"Are you sure?" He asks. She nods, pupils blown.
"Alina," He hisses.
"I'm sure." she confirms, pulling him back in by the collar, he falls into another searing kiss, then pulls back again, but only dropping his brow to hers.
"Not here." He grouses, then all but snarls. "Not like this. You deserve... "
He falls into another desperate kiss. "Silk and Satin," He continues after. She grins up at him.
"I'll settle for privacy." she whispers.
He draws her further into the Grisha camp, eventually ducking into a supply tent with a growl, taking some of the spare blankets and throwing them to the tent floor, knowing lvan and Fedyor will watch his back, and subtly pulling shadows around them to ensure privacy. He lays out his cloak on top and gets her out of her clothes. She does the same, stopping at the various scars, doesn't ask, just kisses them. He in turn runs his hands along too prominent ribs and hipbones through the too thin fabric of her undershirt, when she tries to cover herself with her arms, he catches her face between his hands and kisses her softly.
"You're beautiful," He whispers as he lifts her shirt and kisses his way down, latching onto her peaked nipples and going down on her. He brings her to a first soft peak, her hands in his hair, as she lays gasping she pulls him up, pressing sloppy kisses to his mouth, jaw and neck, as he puts one, two fingers in her brings her off again. As she comes down she takes control, rolling him over onto his back, kissing him as she settles herself over him, rocking her slick cunt over is hard prick.
He groans, hands grasping at her hips. She lifts herself up, puts a hand in the center of his chest, feeling his galloping heart under her palm as she rises on her knees, using her other hand to position him. Then sinking down slowly. He's a lot to take, but she takes her time rocking herself down as he bites back the desire to shove up, hands tight enough on her hips to leave bruises. She sighs as she settles her hips on his pelvis, he groans. Then tells her to take what she needs and helps lift her, moving with her but letting her lead. Rubbing at her clit as she gets close, coming around him. He surges up, wraps his arms around her and holds her shivering body close as he settles on his knees, hands under her ass as she comes down,
"Alina," He groans, holding still but trembling like a racehorse moments before the start. She tilts her head, wraps her arms around his shoulders, her small breasts pressing against his chest. Wrapping a single hand in the hair at the back his neck, tilting his head back as the position puts her above him.
"Pjotr," she whispers, sending a shiver of want through his frame, having to grind his teeth to keep from telling her his real name.
"It's okay, let go," She adds, kissing at his jaw. He groans, tightens his hold and fucks up, holding her hips down. She gasps but he keeps going, letting himself go in a way he hasn't in a long time. He comes inside of her, holding her tightly as he gasps against her shoulder, his heart rate gently slowing. She hums, brushing her hand through his hair, gentling him as she's all but drowsing in his arms and he lays them both back down, staying inside as he pulls his cloak around them both.
They sleep, done for a bit, have another go in the very early morning, where he cleans her up after as best as possible. They get dressed, but make no promises to one another - no mention of them writing. Just Alina going to get cleaned up and the General returning to his tent to change and prepare for departure later that morning.
When leaving the next morning Ilyena rushes over to Alina and gives her a hug (in full view of her cartography unit) tells her to write to her at the Palace, and tells her that Fedyor said to get in touch if she ever needs anything. Alina sees Fedyor get into the carriage with Ivan – she doesn’t see the Black General, whose already inside. Alina tells Ilyena she’ll write
She sits silently at the end of her bunk, staring at the tent wall without really seeing anything.
She thought about the fly away remark a soldier had made as she spat up what little breakfast she'd had behind the mesh tent that morning. For once the remark had shocked her, though probably not for the reason the soldier had intended.
"Shu bitch got herself knocked up."
She'd stared after the soldier, wide-eyed, as he laughed raucously and made a crude gesture, before he was dragged off by his fellows. She'd swallowed the taste of bile as she was again alone, slowly she raised a hand to her stomach, considering.
She's been sick before, but not quite like this, she's missed cycles before as well, often enough that missing the past two, certainly combined with her nausea hadn't worried her much. But then this option had not been one she’d ever considered, but now that it had been put in her head, it perfectly explains a few other oddities she’s been noticing.
A sensitivity to her breasts that had her exchanging her bindings for a softer material. Having to slip one less tag on her belt, which given her losing her breakfast half the time these days had been odd.
Pregnant, the word bounces around her skull, never quite landing. Yet even as she doubts - given her skinny frame and missing half her cycles most of the time anyways, how had one tumble managed to catch? And yet there was Ana Kuya's oft repeated warning.
“It only needs to happen once, girl.”
The thought was quickly followed by a memory that even months later has her blush.
"Not just the once, was it?" She mutters, remembering the look in his eyes in the pale morning light as the camp had been stirring awake around them. If she was with child... What was she going to do?
She knows there are options, one of the assistant medics was well known to provide, no questions asked. She'd be sick as a dog for a few days and bleed something awful, but she’s likely early enough that that would be that. It is also the easiest and best option. Keeping the child is impossible. She would need to leave her commission for one, as the First Army did not tolerate pregnancy. And there is no way she's going to be able to buy off the remainder of her contract by herself. Another, usually the father, could take the remaining years of her service, but she isn't going to write and ask Pyotr. Their parting had been amicable but final, and even if there is the chance that he would do it, can she ask that of him?
No, she decides, being a personal guard to the Black General is dangerous enough as it is, no need to add her years to his burden. Much less add a wife and child to his life. Keeping the child is lunacy, an impossibility. And yet each time she comes to that very logical conclusion and decides for herself to get up and walk to the medic tent she... doesn't.
She isn't entirely sure what keeps her, certainly not some long held childhood wish for a child of her own. She'd helped tend to the younger orphans at Keramzin, as had any of the other orphan girls there, but she's never felt the need to spin daydreams of a husband and a child of her own as the others had. Yet this child, growing inside of her now, she can imagine having this child, not the whole of it, only bits and pieces.
Large grey eyes, with her tilt to the eyelids but his color, a shock of sable black curls. A giggle, the softest skin she’s ever felt under her fingertips, and a smell like no other. Those bits and pieces she wants, to have, to hold, she finds, with her whole heart.
"Well then," She mutters, "How?"
If there isn't going to be a trip to the medik tent, and no husband, there is really only one option left she concludes. A dangerous one, for multiple reasons, desertion after all is a capital crime. If she is caught she's likely to be shot on the spot, her baby shipped off to the nearest orphanage. But she has a little time. She isn't showing yet, despite the fact that she has to be almost 10 weeks along. And she might have some time to prepare if that holds. If she is going to desert, might as well do it properly and steal the supplies she'll need while on the run.
Of course Mal, despite their relationship never quite recovering entirely, from their fight outside the Grisha pavilion, notices something is going on.
"What are you doing?" He hisses.
Catching her wrist as she’s pulling a bottle of preserves off the shelf. She looks around, but Mal at least waited till the quartermaster and his assistants were not near. She pulls her hand away and tucks the preserves into her bag first, making sure to wrap it so it won't give her away by clicking together with her other stolen supplies. Mal watches her, glowering, but says nothing. She gestures him to go ahead, following behind as he ducks out through the back of the tent.
Mal sits and listens as she tells him she’s pregnant. His fierce scowl deepens and he turns away.
“Right, we’ll go to the chaplain tomorrow.”
“Excuse me?” She asks, he doesn’t turn back, instead paces two steps forward, then tuning and pacing the same two steps back. He ignores her question.
“I’ll take your years, there’s only three more,”
She snaps her teeth on the angry remark that is set to leap off her tongue, holds it for the sake of years of childhood friendship.
“I don’t have enough money for a farm yet, but…” He stills frowning, trying to think his way through to a workable solution. As if she hadn’t already done so.
“You’re going to raise another man’s child?” She asks, knowing that while the boy she once knew was soft and humble, the man he’s grown into has his pride.
He turns back, scowl darkening and doesn’t answer her question, at least not outright.
“It’s not likely to be Grisha, even two of them together only have a child like that one time out of five from what I’ve heard,”
The blood freezes in her veins at his callous words, outrage mixing with horror as she finds herself staring at the man she thought she knew so well.
"And what if it is, Mal?" She asks, voice soft.
He’s already turned back to his pacing and clearly he takes her question as coming from the same place as he’s thinking. Not catching the emotion behind her soft voice.
“Then we’ll hand it over,”
"No." Alina snaps. Mal frowns, looks back.
"No, what?"
"No, I won’t marry you," Alina answers, "Not that you bothered to even ask if it was what I wanted."
Mal blinks, frowns.
"Alina, don't be ridiculous, you need..."
"I need what?" She snaps, properly furious now. "A husband who only married me in some misguided attempt to protect me? A husband who will only be a father to my child if they're not Grisha. Is that what you think I need, Malyen Oretsev?"
Mal frowns, his own anger rising in response to hers.
"I'm doing this to help you!"
"No," Alina snaps back. "You’re doing it because you've suddenly realized that I'm not waiting around for you anymore!"
"Waiting? Alina you're pregnant! You can't..."
"I can't what, Mal?" She snorts, "Take care of myself, have this child, raise it, love it as my own? Tell me, Mal, what can't I do?"
"Alina," She looks up, finding Alexei standing by the entrance, hesitance clear in his posture.
"If you want," he offers softly, "We could marry?"
He sounded sweetly hopeful, looking at her from under his lashes. She blinks, surprised. She knew Alexei was kind, but that was a very big thing to do out of simple kindness.
"Alexei…"
"I'd take your remaining years," He offers, cutting her off.
"Alexei, I can't let you do that."
"I want to, Alina,"
She frowns, looks seriously at him, finding that perhaps Mal hasn't been the only one who missed the depth of another's feelings. Though in her less than forgiving moments she wasn't so sure Mal had not known how she felt about him for years.
"Alexei, that would be 3 more years."
"That's okay, as a cartographer..."
"Alexei," She interrupts, stepping forward and taking his hands. "Thank you, it's a very kind offer."
Alexei deflates a little. "But you're not going to take me up on it."
"No," She confirms, though she tries to be as kind as possible.
"I love you," He states, and her heart squeezes at the sincerity in his voice. She looks at him for a long moment, and is almost angry at herself for having fixed so on Mal for years. It had taken the bonfire that was Pjotr to distract her long enough to drop the scales from her eyes with regard to Mal.
But now that she's had a taste of what is possible, she isn't willing to settle any longer. Alexei would be kind and loving, like stepping into a placid lake, as compared to being dragged under by the riptide that had been Pjotr.
"I'm sorry," Is all she can offer him.
He smiles sadly. "Don't be,"
He squeezes her hands, "Please be safe."
“I'II do my best," She answers, which is as honest as she can be.