Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day begins like the worst ones always do. A racing heart. Nausea curling in her gut like smoke. A phone close to dead. And because something out there in the universe loves to laugh at her, a bus to catch in 20 minutes.

Somehow on swaying feet, she manages to shimmy into jeans and throw on a t-shirt without breaking something. There’s no time to look completely decent. Or to charge her phone. Nor is there time to read her landlord’s passive-aggressive nagging. She tucks the notice between the pages of her sketchbook. 

On dead limbs, she barely catches the bus. 

Settling into her seat, she checks her phone. 

20% battery. No text messages. No calls… 

Her stupid heart sinks. 

But what was she expecting? Of course Mal hasn’t called her yet. He’s not even awake. Mal’s probably curled up in bed. Is he alone?

She shuts down her phone.

Instead of thinking of Mal, she tries to focus on her stop. Next to impossible when her eyelids keep fluttering shut. Balakirev passes her by chunks at a time. 

It’s no small blessing she pulls the wire. 

Descending from the platform with a harsh jolt, she just knows. Today is going to be miserable. Memorably so. 

***

Despite the miraculous feat of catching the bus, she still manages to be 5- minutes-

“Late!” Anton lets her through the front door with a huff. 

She takes a steadying breath and bites her tongue.

“Sorry sir.”

Labor is the worst thing to ever happen to her ego.

Alina sweeps past him to the break room. 

“Good morning!” 

Letting her bag plop onto the breakroom table, she makes a noise that hopefully sounds like good morning. 

Alina turns to the break room mirror. Again she ignores her dull, stringy hair and practically gaunt face. She tries to focus on putting her hair up. And she refuses to think about full cheeks, smooth skin, pretty blonde hair-

Marie eyes her warily and shuts the break room door. The break room is the last door at the end of the hall. Three feet from Anton’s office. Which she’s rarely seen used for any actual managerial work. She’d be grateful if she had the energy to even start about Anton.

“You look awful.”

“You always know just what to say.”

“And you’re in a terrible mood. Saints!” 

She’s about to respond when Anton shouts some obnoxious call to action from the hall. At the least, it’s a good excuse to ignore Marie’s disapproving sigh.

***

Marie speeds through taking down chairs with expert speed. She fumbles through it. It takes extra patience to flip the chair and set it down where she actually intended. That’s what she gets for only getting 2 hours of sleep.

Going out last night wasn’t one of her better decisions. Can she regret it, though? Mal finally told her- showed her- that he felt something for her too.

Except she’s exhausted. Her grade school bullies made sure to remind her that they’ll always see an insignificant outsider when they look at her. When she left, Ruby was blowing up Mal’s phone. Like so many times before, he couldn’t resist her call. A mere minute after their kiss-

“-na! Did you hear me?”

“Sorry, I-

“Okay, I’m dying to know what kept you up all night”, Marie grins. 

Alina shrugs and turns to take down another chair.

“Mal called.”

Because it’s exactly the sort of thing Marie would pick apart for meaning, she leaves out that it was really a text. A two-word text.

Marie shrieks. Her loud, sudden reaction almost makes Alina drop the chair. 

“Saints!”

She’s barely resisting the urge to jump up and down.

“So you talked about what happened. Is he finally your boyfriend because even Nadia and Sergei agree it’s about time. This is so exciting. We can all go out together!”

“Thanks for telling your lovers all my business,” she scoffs. 

Marie, done with her section, hops up on a table. Her feet swing eagerly. 

“So?”

“So what?” she says, slamming down another chair. 

“Is he your boyfriend?”

She feels his soft kiss brush against her lips. Remembers that feeling of finally. It felt like a turning point. Now, standing before Marie the turning point slips through her fingers like sand. 

It’s hard to describe. And how could someone like Marie understand?

“We’re not-He’s not ready for yet. But he will be.”

He will. 

“Oh, Alina”, she sighs. 

Well-intentioned as it is, Marie's sympathy chafes. She takes down the last chair stumbling as she flips it. And yes, she tries to slam it down with too much force.

“I’m nothing to pity Marie. We’re adults in the real world, not some silly fantasy.”

The chair hits the floor in a resounding crash. 

“Of course, I didn’t mean-

Anton comes storming out of the office in a huff.

They turn to him shoulder to shoulder, hands behind their backs like errant privates.

“What’s going on out here?”

“Nothing, sir.” 

“I didn’t think it took a college degree to take down chairs, Starkov. Was I wrong?”

She takes a deep breath and wills it not to come out as a sigh. 

Anton taps his foot. 

“No, sir.”

“Good. Get to work and less gossip please.”

The rest of opening is full of stilted silence. 

Marie only speaks a few times. To shoo Alina away from restocking the mini fridge when she almost drops a glass bottle. To remind her about the gloves, when she spies Alina staring blearily at the pastry case for the 1st step. Lastly, to beg her to eat something. But the scent of food overwhelms her empty stomach. 

Before customers start to trickle in, she checks her phone. It's as fruitless and foolish as before. Nothing.

***

The r ing, ring, ring of the door ends their silence.

As Balakirev’s early risers fill Juris Java, the remorse comes.

It wasn’t right to snap at Marie. To Alina’s occasional aggravation, she can be pushy and forward. But she always means well. Even if the judgment of someone whose life is so perfect is irritating.

“Hi, what can I get you?”

Marie takes orders while she makes drinks.

Smack dab in the middle of the rush, Alina’s sleepless night truly catches up with her.

Ring!

Marie slides over a cup. Her eyes struggle to make words out of blurry squiggles. Macchiato with whole milk.

Iced coffee. No milk. Three sugars. About to serve the iced coffee, she reads the cup again. Hot coffee. 

Ring!

Halfway through remaking it, Macchiato-with-whole-milk asks if it’s dairy-free. 

Suddenly, Anton is behind the register while she frantically tries to keep up with orders. 

“What’s wrong with her?” 

“Nothing, sir. She’s just tired,” Marie replies before turning back to her customer.

“Look Starkov, what you do after hours is your own business but right now your little hangover is affecting everyone.” 

Maybe if he didn’t intentionally understaff the shop for a meager bonus the rush couldn’t be single-handedly bogged down by her sleep deprivation. The audacity of Ravkan men never fails to test her patience.

Once again, she thinks of her rent and bites her tongue. 

The second Anton returns to his office, Marie insists on trading places. 

“Hi, what can I get you?” Alina asks with a teaspoon of Marie’s enthusiasm.

There’s another customer and another. Sounds grow soft around her except for a high-pitched ringing sound. She could fall asleep right here. It’s doubtful that she’s taking down orders correctly. Marie is certainly listening to her take orders while making the drinks.

Ring!

A couple steps up to the counter. One woman wears a sharp suit while the other looks more preppy and casual. All wrapped up in each other.

“A black tea with sugar for me and a white mocha with extra whipped cream for my girlfriend, the future doctor”, the suit beams. 

Her preppy girlfriend blushes and tugs her toward the drink counter.

“You have to stop telling people that!”

Alina’s phone feels like lead in her back pocket. Something changed between them last night, right? He said he wants to be with her like them. But what does she have to show for last night? A kiss or two. But more than that has amounted to nothing between them. 60 vlachki less from two long cab rides. A crappy work day.

What did she starve herself of sleep and food for?

Hope , the love-sick voice in her head pipes up , that he could possibly ever love you like you love him. 

How pathetic is it that during the worst shift of her life, she’s thinking about Mal?

***

As soon as the last order in line is finished, Marie is at her side with big pleading eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

It’s her who should be apologizing for being such a bitch to someone who then proceeded to cover for her the entire shift.

“I’m glad you’re not mad at me because now we can talk about how insufferable Anton has been today.” 

Alina laughs.

He has been particularly intolerable today. 

“It’s a miracle I didn’t strike him.”

Now they both laugh.

“Since you’re technically single… you have to let me set you up!”

“Marie…”

“Sergei has some cute friends but Nadia’s friends are way hotter. And Saints, you should see the people in her department. If I were monogamous her job would drive me crazy .”

“I’m sure your educated, well-paid, gorgeous Grisha friends are lining up to date a college drop out”, she scoffs. 

“They wouldn’t care.”

Of course they would care. They’re building great lives for themselves while Alina just gets by. She notices the disapproval if not pity that flashes across people’s faces when they find she never finished college. Never does she bother to explain to them that there was Ana’s illness, then the weight of her death, starting over in a new city, and so little money.

Quietly it gnaws at her that maybe those are just excuses . 

“I’m sure your friends are nice.”

Or at least nicer than Mal’s. 

“They are and they’ll see what I see.”

And what is that?

“It doesn’t matter. I have Mal.”

She tries to ignore how uncertain that feels rolling off her tongue.

Marie returns a dubious look so she tries to explain. 

Alina tries to explain that she’s loved him for a long time but it just occurred to him to love her back. He’s figuring out what he wants to do with his life after bouncing from school to school. Not to mention his stint in the army. Now this push from his family to get involved in the business. How maybe it’s unfair to expect him to be in the same place she is. She leaves out the partying with his awful friends, what happened last night, and of course the Ruby of it all. She leaves in the kisses.

By the time she’s done talking, she believes every word. And yet her mind is fixed on her phone. Is he thinking of her too?

“You’re a Saint, Alina Starkov.”

What a lovely way of calling her delusional.

***

Alina checks her dying phone twice.

The bell rings. 

It’s Ilya for the first time in a week. He looks chipper and more importantly healthy. A weight falls off her chest. She knows how a small health setback can easily spin out of control.

“Long time no see”, he smiles. 

“Good to see you, Ilya.”

And she really means it. 

His joyful expression shifts to concern as he looks her up and down. 

“I see you've been working too much.”

She rolls her eyes with a smile.

“I’ll get you your regular.”

Though he seemingly wants to push the issue he starts to go to his regular table. 

Marie hovers through every step of the drink. Watching to make sure she doesn’t poison the man surely. Or injure herself somehow. She won’t screw it up. Ilya’s coffee is like the tea she doesn’t know how to stop making at the end of a long hard day.

She does a little doodle on a napkin before bringing Ilya his coffee and pastry. Perhaps she does so more vindictively than out of love. Anton really has been insufferable today.

Settled across from him she melts into the seat. 

She’d worried about his health when she didn’t see him for a week. But he looks better than ever. His grey eyes glint with life. 

“Apologies for my long absence.”

“Have you been well?”

“I think that’s a better question for you, dear.”

“Everyone seems to have a new and creative way of telling me how awful I look today.”

“Nonsense. Lovely is what you are, you can’t look anything but.”

She scoffs but upon his insistent look, thanks him. 

“I had a long night.”

“Young man?”

Her cheeks flush. 

“No”, she sputters, “Sort of…”

“Never settle for sort of.” Ilya tsks and wags his finger. 

“I appreciate youthful misadventure but it should be simple. They want to give you everything and build a life with you, or they let you go.” 

Tears prick her eyes. She blinks them away quickly. He’s probably the only person she knows who doesn't see a mess when he looks at her. It’d be nice to keep it that way. 

Ilya’s hand over hers rouses her from her thoughts. 

“Sorry, I’m tired.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“So, where have you been?”

“I’ve told you about my grandsons, yes?”

“The ones who are destined to die alone?” Alina laughs. 

“The very same”, he smiles. 

“I’ve decided to do something about them and I have to say it’s one of my more ingenious ideas.”

“What?”

She finds herself leaning in. Rich people's drama shouldn’t be so fascinating. It should offend or disinterest her to hear the gossip of people whose lives have very little stakes. And yet… 

“It’s too delicious to spoil but let's just say their youthful misadventures are coming to an end”, he smirks.

His eyes gleam with mischief. 

“How is your sketchbook coming along?” 

“I-

“Starkov!”

She’s on her feet so fast her pulse leaps like it did this morning. 

“Sir.”

“It’s been something with you all day. Hanging out with a customer during your shift?”

As if his time is strictly used to manage Juris Java. 

She glances around at the already-served customers clacking away on their keyboards. A few of them start to peek over their screens at the scene he's making. There’s no line at the register and no roaming customers in Balakirev’s main square. Only Marie at the counter biting her nails. 

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll get back to work.”

She can’t curb her tone’s sarcastic bite.

“You come in late from your night of partying”, he booms, “Slack off all through your shift, and now you want to take a tone with me?!”

The longer he shouts the less she can hear him over the ringing in her ears. She grits her teeth and waits for him to be done. Then she feels her phone vibrate. And Saints help her, she checks it. Not a call or text from Mal but a post. 

A fancy latte held by a manicured hand. 

The caption: Why do they love $15 coffee? 🙄

She’s reeling when a comment uploads.

roseredrubys - I earned it 

Anton snatches the phone out of her hand. 

“You can have this or you can have a job. What’s it gonna be Starkov?”

“Give it back.”

“This isn’t a charity, it’s a place of business. You can have it back at the end of your shift.”

There’s only so much pride she can swallow. She’s too tired, too hungry, too humiliated. Fuck him. It seems her patience is nothing but a cheap joke. And she’s done. 

Alina snatches the phone from Anton’s hands and throws her apron in his face. 

She is the one who’s been far too charitable. 

***

It’s as if nothing around her is real. Not her hands. Even the discordant sounds of traffic fail to ground her.

She rounds a corner, her feet carrying her to her bus stop. 

Slumped against a building is a homeless woman shaking a cup of change. Her face is gaunt and vaguely grimy. She looks so tired. Instead of calling out she only makes eye contact and shakes the cup. 

Alina goes to take cash out of her purse. She left her things at work. Maybe Marie could bring them to her apartment. 

The homeless woman realizes Alina has nothing to give and simply closes her eyes to the world.

Chunks rise up Alina’s throat. 

How will she pay her rent? She can look for another job. But can she get one soon enough to keep her landlord from kicking her out? The hunger and the nausea she feels are nothing . Nothing compared to relying on change in a cup. 

On weak knees, she sinks to the bench. Suddenly she’s gasping for air that never comes. Her chest is tight and her throat feels like it’s closing up. How will she pay? How will she pay? Where will she go? 

The world grows distant around her. Soft hands smooth back her hair and wipe her tears before darkness swallows everything.

***

Alina wakes beneath her quilt warmed by the afternoon sun. The smell of food fills the air. Ground beef, sauteed onions, butter. She’s in the house she grew up in, recovered from a long bout of illness. Ana is making her navy pasta.  

Visceral fear of what the future holds stays on the edge of her consciousness, too vague to be real. It’s all been a bad dream. 

Then she remembers.

She grew up. Mal came and went. Ana died. She moved to Balakirev. Got two jobs. Let hoping for Mal make her look stupid. She quit her job. How could she quit her job?! She doesn’t remember how she got home. And how does she smell food when her fridge is next to empty? 

A cabinet opens and she hears the sound of dishes and utensils. Footsteps approach her door and then stop. She hears the low timbre of an unfamiliar voice but can’t make out the words.

Suddenly the door swings open. 

“Saints”, she gasps.

A buff man in all black wearing an earpiece stands in the doorway. He steps aside to reveal Ilya carrying a steaming bowl of pasta.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to scare you.”

A bodyguard. Sometimes she forgets he’s rich.

He places the bowl on her bedside table. Alina can’t help but scoot away from him. Except she knows the buff man standing at the edge of her bed stoically could catch her easily if she ran.

“What are you doing here?!”

“You didn’t look right when you stormed out so I followed you. You fainted.” 

She’s lucky some random good samaritan didn’t find her instead. Then she’d have an ambulance fee to pay.

“How do you know where I live?”

“Your manager. Ex-manager.”

“He told you where I live?!” 

“For the right sum.”

The violation and the sting of his apathy wash over her. Too ugly to look at. Too much of a kick when she’s down.

“Your friend gave me your things. She wanted to come with me but… 

“She wanted to keep her job.”

Ilya sits on the edge of her bed, passing his cane off to the bodyguard. 

His brow furrows. He clears his throat. 

“May I ask what was so important?”

It’s hard to say now. In another world, she waited until after her boss was done chewing her out to get her heart stomped on. Maybe it was her inner compass pointing towards Mal in the worst of times. Or desperation.

She can’t look Ilya in the eye and tell him that.

Ilya reads her silence and turns to take in her room. His gaze lingers once in a while but he says nothing. 

He shakes away whatever train of thought previously consumed him.

“It’s okay, Alina.”

Kindness for kindness's sake is useless to her right now. It’s not okay. She has to find another job. Try to get as many shifts at Shu Express as she can. And soon, plead with her landlord for an extension. 

“How could I do that?”

“You’re a good girl. People like us just aren’t built for swallowing pride.”

“People like us?”

“Creators. Gifted by the Making.”

Ilya has a habit of saying kind things she wishes were true. She imagines this is what it’s like to have grandparents. Someone who sees you as full of potential. Their great hope for the future. Someone tells you pretty lies to assuage all doubt. 

“All the Making gifted me with is stubbornness.” 

Ilya waves her off. 

“If I could go back in time, I’d quit every job I’ve ever had the exact way you did.”

She laughs and keeps on laughing until she’s out of breath. 

“You need to eat.”

Ilya rises to get a fork presumably and his bodyguard follows. He returns holding her sketchbook.

The soft smile is gone from his face. 

“What is this?”

The sketch isn’t that bad. A sorry falcon but not enough to put such a grim look on Ilya’s face. Her landlord’s notice, she realizes is in Ilya’s other hand. Untucked from the book. 

“I don’t know, I haven’t read it yet.”

He passes it over.

Please be advised that effective 12/1 the monthly rent for the premises 321 Garden Street, where you are currently a tenant, will be increased to… 

Ilya holds her as she cries. His shoulder muffles her violent sobs. Gently, he strokes her hair and whispers promises meant to comfort her. Like one would a child. And because she hasn’t felt this helpless since Keramzin and Ana, she tries to believe him.

“It’s going to be okay. We’ll take care of you.”

Which is how she finds herself before the iron gates of a storybook castle for dinner with the Morozovas.