SASHA
I do.
She's nuts. It's amazing. So what she's eating her shashlik like a crazy woman and has been teasing me with meat stick jokes for the past hour, but she's amazing.
And apparently like super fucking ripped but that must be a mechanic thing.
"Mm, Sasha," she swallows what she's been chewing, calling my attention back over to her. I, without the consent of my common sense, let my eyes flicker down her body, trying to figure out if my uncle was right in that my initial bad decision with her was based on sexual attraction. She's gorgeous, I know that, but my eyes keep catching on her legs and the gap in her shirt around her sides.
"Yeah?" I look back up, tearing my eyes away from her.
"What's the plan, what are we doing first?"
I swallow, "first thing on the list is research, then we have to go to a party."
"Oh?" She's interested in that bit, lord knows why. "Like a rich people party or a normal party?"
"Rich people."
"How cool do you think the cars will be?" She leans back in her chair, shirt shifting and folding in a different way, showing me the tension around her chest.
"Pretty cool," I shrug, "we have to go in a car, unfortunately."
"Damn. So what's the task list at the party?"
"Get in Avery's good graces. We're lying and saying that I'm a business partner of one of the random lower offices and you're going to be the one that gets us out of any holes that lying might get us into because he knows you, you're his mechanic. He might not know you well but he knows enough that you're somewhat trustable. Plus, with everything that might happen between now and then, it's probably good to have one of us in his good graces."
She nods, making her ponytail swing a little behind her, then, for a split second, her eyes deviate from their contact with mine, touching on my upper chest and back down my tattooed arm.
I need a cold shower.
"So we're going and we're sweet talking Laughlin Avery? That sounds easy enough."
"Sure," I look up at the ceiling for a moment, distracted again. "We need to get into his good graces, and then get to know as many people in the company as possible. The goal for the night is to make a list of people that would take over Avery's spot if he died, and to figure out who controls the warehouse in South Boston."
"There's a warehouse in Southie? Do you know where it is?" She stands up with her plate, setting it next to the sink before walking her long legs over to the table where all the maps are. "This one's it, right? This red dot?"
"Yeah," I don't really want to stand up but I have to so that she doesn't think I'm being weird. So I get up and I set my plate next to hers and then walk to join her.
"Do you want to go look at it?"
"Tonight?"
"I can meet you there tomorrow after I'm off work, if you'd like. Why, what do you think this is?"
"I know it's drugs, I think it's drugs. I just don't know what type or why. Avery and Co works directly with big pharma, that's why they're so rich. The business is transportation, storage, and distribution of products in healthcare. They work with Massachusetts General Hospital, Emerson, Newton-Wellesley, all those places. They specialize in emergency healthcare assistance- getting important and rare devices from one place to another, general delivery, respirators, all that, and in safe pharmaceutical delivery."
"So why do they control drugs, too?" She asks, deep dark eyes meeting mine over the table, almost molton brown behind thick eyelashes and a hooded stare.
"Um," I fix my gaze back down on the map, "it's easy. They have all the equipment and all the necessities for keeping and distributing opioids and all that, plus, they're pharmaceutical, that shit is all bad here."
"Here?"
I look back at her, but she's focused down at the map and the papers, giving me a moment to take in her shoulders and the blinding way I want to reach out and touch her hair. "Russia is a mess, too, but it can be argued that this is worse."
She looks up, a quirk in the corner of her lips, "you're telling me that Russia, like, Russia that we won the space race against, Russia that lost the cold war, Russia that kills people for political opinions, no-gay-people Russia, has better healthcare?"
I shrug, "I'd rather get sick in Spain either way, but Russia's at least trying. You guys don't seem to give a single shit about anyone but yourselves, no offense."
"No, you're right. Individualism is an American ideal that has single handedly shredded any form of united in the United States."
"Also," I let it roll off my tongue, "you didn't win the space race."
"Yeah, we did."
"No, you didn't," I shake my head, looking up at her. She's got a competitive glint in her eyes, I'm hoping to tease to bring it out of her.
"Yeah, we did, we landed on the moon, in the fucking sixties. We literally got-"
"We had the first satellite."
"The fucking moon, Sasha."
"And the first dog in space."
Her eyes narrow, "the moon, Sasha."
"If I recall correctly, we put the first thing on the moon."
"We put people on the moon."
I smile, glad that my teasing isn't being taken too hard, "we got the first animals back from space."
"Didn't we put a monkey up there?"
I shrug, "I don't know." Misha is a big fan of the space race, it's being taught to him in school so he's been obsessed with it both of the most recent times I've been to Russia. Otherwise I'd be losing this argument miserably.
"Okay, so we put a primate up there first."
"We put a human up there first."
She makes a little noise and God I'd love to sit here and tease more but I'm afraid I'm running out of things, "first woman in space," I reach out and tug on a chunk of hair that's fallen from her ponytail to frame her face.
"Sasha, you can't ignore that we put people on the moon in the fucking sixties. We hadn't figured out cellphones yet and we were bouncing around on the fucking moon." Filthy fucking mouth but it means I'm working her up just a little.
"I think we had the first spacewalk too."
"We made the first soft impact on the moon and took the first photos. Not to mention I'm pretty sure we also hit Venus around the same time."
Cora frowns, slipping her phone out of her pocket and going to google. I lean over to see what she's working on, close enough that when she shifts a little her head hits mine, causing a small apology before she refocuses on her task at hand.
"I think we had the first space station as well as the first signals from Venus, too," I say, quietly, right next to her, "it's really a losing battle, Ms. USA. I'm fairly certain that Soviet Russia won the space race."
"You did no such thing," she snips back at me, still at a whisper level considering how close I am to her. "Okay, here's the list, first intercontinental ballistic missile, first-"
I point at her screen, "are you going to ignore what Russia has before that?"
"Yes."
"Mhmm," I pull my lip between my teeth to keep from smiling.
"First satellite, first solar satellite, first communications satellite-"
"You misread the missile," I say. "We had the first, yours was just the first US ICBM."
"Fine, okay-"
"And we had already put a dog in space by the time you'd done it."
"Sasha-"
"Cora."
She looks up at me, almost nose to nose, pure competition behind her eyes. I'd nip at her nose with my teeth if I were more sure that the Soviets won the space race but since that's not a good decision for my sanity nor my very bad sore-loser gene, I don't.
"We won the space race, I'm telling you."
"American propaganda does wonders," I smile. "Keep reading."
"First weath-"
"You skipped some."
She glares at me, "fine, first lunar spacecraft is Soviet, first human made object in heliocentric orbit is also Soviet."
"There you go," I say, softly. Her ears twinge red at the top and I get a flutter in my stomach that is very very bad for the amount of cooperation we're going to have to do in the next few weeks.
"First spy satellite."
I point at it, "failed to achieve orbit."
"First photograph of Earth."
"You can admit it's a losing game, Cora," I fix my gaze on the side of her face instead of the phone screen, eyes tracing over her cheekbones down to the frown on her lips, lips that I bet still taste like rayu and spice.
"It's not a losing game, we won the space race," she scrolls.
"First impact into another celestial body, Luna 2 hit the moon," I say, my shoulder brushing hers. "Luna three took photos of the other side of the moon."
"First weather satellite, first satellite recovered from orbit, first passive communications, first recovery of film-"
"We put animals in space while you were still trying to take pictures of it," I whisper.
"That's because you didn't give a fuck about recovering your satellites," she scrolls down a little further. "First primate, right there, you put animals up there, we put a primate up there."
I watch her eyelashes bat over her eyes, thick and enough to bring my full attention to her philosophically deep eyes. "Did you read where it says that we put a human in space four months later?"
"Yes," she snips, "because a month after that we had the first pilot-controlled space flight."
I smile, shaking my head. "After that we flew by Venus and had someone in space for a full day."
"And then John Glenn."
"Not important, we'd already done it."
She frowns, "first solar observatory, first spacecraft to impact the far side of the moon."
"We already had pictures of it."
"What the fuck is the UK doing in here?" She looks at it, "ew."
"Agreed."
"Fucking British people," she grumbles. "We shouldn't let them off that island. It should quarantine all of them there."
"Agreed again."
Her eyes hit mine for a moment, catching me wildly enthralled. "So Russia and the US are together on anti-British slander?"
"Mhmm," I take my eyes off her to look back down at the sheet. "Fuck the Brits."
Cora clears her throat, getting over the momentary solidarity and going straight back to trying to prove to me that the US won a race they definitely did not. "First communications satellite."
"And then we followed it up with in-space radio contact." I point.
She grumbles something under her breath, "we had-"
"That is a first US planetary flyby. We'd done it."
"Ugh, okay and-"
"And then we got a woman in space and then hit a five day record of time in space."
"Sasha, you're getting on my nerves."
"Why, because I'm right?" I wink at her when her eyes touch over mine again.
"First recovered and reusable spacecraft and the first spacecraft that orbited at the same frequency as earth were American."
I breathe out.
"So was the first satellite navigation and the first geostationary satellite."
I breathe in again, "and Russia?"
"First multi-person crew and first spacewalk," she lets out a tiny little sigh of defeat.
"Good, you're starting to admit it to yourself," I tease further, hoping to understand where her limits lie with this.
"Piloted spacecraft orbit change, mars flyby, and an eight day record were all American. Oh, ew, France is in here."
I shake my head, "your last name is Laurier, isn't that French?"
"French, but like, a couple generations old with my family. It's not like," she puts on a little accent, "ouuu baguettes and islamophobia! Kind of French. When we came here it was just before World War One."
"It's still French."
She frowns, "don't remind me."
"Why," I poke her shoulder, "no origin pride?"
"Listen, dude, I know you get to be fun and cultured because you're like, from fucking Russia, with ties to Russia. I'm half first generation too but my Mom left Korea and erased all of what it was to her. I'm only American at this point. I know no French culture nor any Korean culture."
I frown, "but culture is important, maybe you can learn a little of it?"
"It's not mine, though," she shrugs, "yeah, culture is important, yeah, Americans don't have a defined one that unites them. spare for a few things within groups. That's why your state by state origin is big here, it's culture, it ties you to something. French people have French culture, Russians have Russian culture, Norwegians have Norwegian culture. I can't connect my personality to the greater US so my biggest culture draw is being from Massachusetts. That's why pro sports work so well here and that's why nationalism is a huge problem. We replace culture with fascism to have something to connect ourselves to our community. You give up culture to be American. You give up origin to be American. I'm Cora Laurier, my great grandma was French and my Mom is from Korea, that's about it."
I focus closer on her, taking on the different angle, "okay, yeah, I can see that. America has always appeared to be a multicultural haven to other people but you get brown when you mix all the colors together so it makes sense."
"The US has a lot of good qualities, a lot of really really strong qualities. People tend to overlook them to point out the failings, but there's a lot about it that isn't bad."
I shake my head, "there's still a lot fundamentally wrong."
"Yeah, yeah, says you from Russia."
"Mhmm," I push my tongue into my cheek, "Russia that won the space race."
She looks back at her screen, noticing that I'm telling her to keep going with this, "fourteen day spaceflight record taken by the US."
"And below it?"
"First soft impact on the moon, first impact on Venus, both Soviet."
"Yep."
"You're so cocky, Mr Russia," she grumbles, scanning through the list, "first terrestrial life to orbit the moon is Soviet, first human life to orbit it is American."
She scrolls down further.
"Then there's Apollo 11. First humans on the Moon. Then you had remote controlled devices on the moon, the first rovers, signals from Venus, first human crewed space station, blah blah blah. Again, the moon landing is a crowning feature of that. We won and your space programs got cancelled."
I shake my head, "we had more achievements. Who passes the class, the person that does all the homework and does fine on the final and the slacker that turns in stuff late before slamming the final?"
"Both. I've done both. Have you even been to college?"
I bite my lip and shake my head no, not sure what she's going to think about that.
"Didn't think so."
"I might not have gone to college but the fact that you're speaking adamantly about the US winning the space race screams propaganda to me."
"Must I remind you again that you're from Russia."
"We don't say a pledge of allegiance every morning like you do here. Not to mention that I went to high school here and hold dual citizenship. My first citizenship was Russia but I was doubled up when I came here. The greater half of my personal education is American."
She picks up her head out of her phone to look at me, deep brown eyes confused and almost directly in front of me. Her nose has a slight dusting of freckles and there's a slight bit of motor oil darkening above one eyebrow that I didn't notice before getting this close, "I thought you were tried and true from Russia?"
I shake my head, "close to it, but no."
"So you went to school here?"
"I moved when I was fourteen."
"Have we gone over this?"
"We might've, yes," I shrug, "I'm neither a true Russian nor a true American. I'm off in the ether somewhere."
"And you're fighting against the fact that we won the space race? This isn't a me thing anymore, this is a we thing."
"We did not win the space race, I, as in me and my Russian citizenship and the first fourteen years of my life, won the space race with a very solid stream of contribution that was consistent and impressive," I cross my arms, she crosses hers back.
"The US won that."
"The USSR won that. No questions asked."
"The USSR lacked funding and the US landed on the moon. Remaining to this day, the only country that's brought people to the Moon."
"God, but we had so much more than that," I argue, "you're so focused on the Moon landing you forget that we beat you to literally everything else."
"But we beat you to the goal. It's like being ahead through a whole ten mile race just to have someone sprint past you at the last second, we won."
"You definitely lost," I shake my head, watching her throat dip as she swallows, one lip tucked between her teeth to keep from getting too angry with me. "You so definitely lost."
"We didn't lose the space race."
"American propaganda. That's literally American propaganda," I shake my head, "and who won Vietnam?"
"We're talking about the space race," she snips at me, nose crunching up all cute like that.
"And I want to know your answer to that, too."
"If you think I'm some dumb American that doesn't know we lost Vietnam I'm going to strangle you. What's next, are you going to ask me to name three countries in Europe?"
"I know people that can't."
Her eyes narrow, "Norway, Sweden, Finland, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Russia, Ukraine, Poland, Germany, Denmark, the Netherlands, Great Britain-"
"It wasn't an invitation to start listing them."
"Belgium, France, Spain, Italy, Czechia, Hungary, Switzerland, Croatia-"
"Cora," I smile, "I get it."
"Sure," she cuts it out, still staring at me. "We won the space race."
"No, you didn't."
"We did."
"No, you didn't."
"We did."
"No, you didn't."
"We did."
"No-"