snacky: (narnia edmund)
mr five dollar foot long's sweet caboose ([personal profile] snacky) wrote2011-09-01 12:40 pm
Entry tags:

Really, not my fault.

[personal profile] rthstewart started it, with AU fic of her TSG series, where we learn that she ships Peter/Camel.

Then [profile] anastigmatfic took that AU to the Florida everglades and happened to mention that Edmund and Susan were in Russia.

Ruth wondered what they were doing in Russia, and I had an idea.



Edmund hadn't wanted to come to Russia in the first place. He had rather thought to leave Rat and Crow to Susan in England, but first she had dragged him into that code breaking business, and now she had insisted on him coming along to Russia, while she tried to retrieve a wayward spy or two.

And yes, his fluency in Russian matched hers, but surely she could have found another equally talented colleague to bring along. After two months in Moscow, living in a concrete box that passed for a flat, spending his days roaming the city, tracking down rumors and leads, while Susan arranged clandestine meetings with her contacts; and his nights translating memos and notes from Russian and then encrypting them, and arguing with Susan over whose turn it was to sleep in the single bed and who got the floor, Edmund found himself wishing he had joined Peter and Eustace on their Florida expedition.

He imagined Florida was much warmer. And much safer. And that Peter was considerably more sober than Edmund had been in two months.

Edmund tried to remember the last time he was completely sober, and found it harder than he would have thought. But in his own defense, Moscow in March had very little to offer besides vodka. And potatoes. And vodka. And cabbage. And vodka. And snow, sleet, and slush. Oh, and vodka.

However, judging by the expression on Susan's face as she dumped the contents of his current bottle down the drain, he didn't think she was all that concerned with his boredom.

"I wasn't finished with that."

"You're finished now." She left the bottle by the sink and pulled her suitcase out from under the bed. "Get ready, we're leaving."

Edmund blinked. Maybe he was drunker than he realized. "Leaving? Now? But you haven't convinced Burgess --"

"I know, but I've run out of time. Sidorov said my cover's about to be blown, probably by Burgess himself. We have to catch the next train out of here, while we still have the time." Susan frowned at the suitcase as she hastily stuffed items in it, as if trying to make it expand by the power of will. Then she glanced at him. "What are you waiting for? We have to hurry, Sidorov's waiting downstairs to take us to the train."

Edmund groaned and gestured to the doorway, where his suitcase was already standing. "I never unpacked, remember? You told me we'd probably be leaving in a hurry." He slid the papers he'd been translating into a battered leather file - they'd be leaving these with Sidorov, rather than risk being caught with them while they traveled. "But wait, Burgess is the one turning you in? I thought SIS sent you after him since he'd been moony-eyed over you all those years."

"Evidently I'm not worth being tried for treason," Susan said wryly. She snapped the suitcase shut and pulled on her coat, and tossed his coat to him. "I really never thought I'd convince him to return with us, but at least we uncovered some very sensitive and useful information while we've been here. It was a good start. They'll be pleased back at home."

"We also have a good start on a long term drinking problem."

"Speak for yourself." Susan snatched the leather file and swept past him out the door.

Edmund took both suitcases and shut the door behind them without a single glance back at the horrid flat. He followed Susan down several flights of stairs, thinking it would have been nice to finish the vodka before heading out into the cold night.

If they made it out of Russia without being caught, the first thing he intended to do was to join Peter and the others in Florida. Sun and relaxation and fresh fruit and no vodka and no danger and no KGB hot on their heels.

Well, maybe a little vodka with his orange juice.

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