Add Vodka to Taste

With the op running long and no exfil in sight, there's little for Valerian and Roman to do but buy too many groceries, hole up in the safehouse, and settle old bets.

Val stands over the cracked electric stove, stirring a pot of ukha with care. The subtle smell of herbs and spices and freshwater fish spirals off the surface of the broth. It smells like home, and Val doesn't need to look to know that Roman is sprawled on the couch behind him.

“Just be careful not to let the salmon overcook,” Roman calls out. What would be genuine advice from anyone else, Val knows is actually a gentle rib.

He scoffs, though he doesn’t take his eyes off the pot. “I’ll win this time. You’ll see.”

“Sure,” Roman says generously. “Except you’re still missing something.”

Val inhales, letting the well-rounded scent settle around him. "You can bullshit about your 'secret ingredient' all you like—I know when you're bluffing."

Roman is grinning; Val can hear it in his tone. "Your gambling money in my pocket says otherwise. Fish about done?"

Delicately poking at one cube of salmon, Val is pleased to find it flaky, tender, and cooked all the way through. “Yeah. Come get it while it’s hot.”

He nudges the pot off the heat and dishes out two bowls. Roman plucks one from his hands and takes a preliminary sip.

“Hmm. You’re definitely close. But not quite. Still missing that all-important piece to bring it together.”

Val takes a spoonful, deflating as he realizes the truth. Roman is right. It's good soup, but not as good as Roman's. Flavors he had thought to be all in balance lacked something essential in the mix. His head drops with weary resignation. "Fine.you win. What's the secret?

"Not sure I should be tellin' just anyone," Roman says in his loftiest tone. "How about this: a secret for a secret. You answer my question, and I'll tell you what you're missin'."

Val laughs and shakes his head, grinning down at his imperfect soup. "Fine, fine. Ask away."

He turns to face Roman, and the dream becomes a nightmare.

The safehouse is broken and aflame. Shadows seep from the corners, a viscous black liquid pooling higher and higher on the floor. And Roman—

Roman stands in uniform, drenched in blood. Valerian knows it isn't his own. Those bright eyes bore into Valerian's, feverish, and when Roman speaks, more darkness oozes from between his teeth.

"Why didn't you stop me, Val?

Val jolts awake, nearly falling from his bunk as he flails against his sheets. His eyes take in details with trained expedience—rough white walls, a footlocker, a window looking out over the grey tinge of pre-morning light.

Val’s head falls against the pillow with a groan. He knows he won’t be getting back to sleep.

* * *

“Valerian.”

Val sights down his scope, not bothering to hide his scowl. “I’m busy.”

"It's about Roman."

Val bends his knees, though the reticle over his target doesn't so much as shudder. "What do I have to say to make you get it? I don't need leave, I don't need another psych eval, and I sure as hell don't need your pity. Bastard got what was coming to him."

Behind him, Lena crosses her arms. Val can't see her, but he knows the sound.

"Lie to yourself all you like, but don't you dare start lying to me."

Valerian raises an eyebrow from the view to turn his head, looking up and over his shoulder at where Lena stands. Arms folded, hips slanted, exactly as he'd pictured her. "Did you come out just to annoy me, or are you going to do something useful to the Front?" he growls.

Lina rolls her eyes and pulls out a scouter. "Wind from 31 degrees northeast. Target at 1572.8 meters out."

Val presses his eye back to the scope of the long, lean Sovereign rifle and lets out the frustration lingering in his muscles. The reticle settles perfectly in place, and the trigger pulls smooth as silk.

The air tears apart with the thunder of the Sovereign's discharge, and Val feels the weapon kick hard against his shoulder. He doesn't bother to check whether the shot landed as he sits up and looks back at Lena.

Her scouter is still held over her eyes, though she lowers it as Val turns toward her. "You always were the best," she says with a touch of wryness. "Now, would you please listen?"

Val snorts and slings the Sovereign over his shoulder. He stands, dusting some of the dirt and grit from the front of his uniform. "It's cute when you imply I have a choice.

Their boots crunch over rain-parched earth as they start back to base. Valerian shades his eyes against the bloody sunset, happy enough to let his brisk pace speak for his lack of interest in what Lena's got to say but not making any move to cut her off as she mentions Roman once more.