The Americans Fic: Nachalo
Title: Nachalo
Rating: T
Category: Elizabeth Jennings/Phillip Jennings
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Owned by others.
Summary: The first year is easier than the next few that follow.
==
They're given a wedding, and it's about as romantic as it sounds.
He remembers, vaguely, when it was just a boyish belief that a wedding would be in his future. But back then it had been filled more with fantasy than reality - dreams of happiness, wealth, and confidence that eventually life as an adult would be perfect.
"It's the naivety of youth," Elizabeth tells him when he tries to explain it to her.
Ironically, his wedding to Elizabeth is certainly fantastical because there simply isn't one. No priest, no guests, and no ceremony. It's neither legal by Russian law nor in the eyes of God although they have the forged documentation necessary to hold up under American scrutiny.
They are handed their wedding in a folder. Efficient.
He agrees to split responsibilities, so Elizabeth takes the paperwork and files it away appropriately. It leaves him with the photographs - staged moments quickly captured - and he opts to put these into an album as the Americans would do. In the photos, their smiles blaze with innocence.
It looks perfect.
==
The first year is easier than the next few that follow.
In the beginning, they have much to fulfill, so it stops being about them, and becomes entirely about the contacts they acquire. Elizabeth is the better in that regard - her intense passion for the cause magnetic in a way he admires but can't quite reach. It's disappointing to her, he knows, how different they are when they've been deliberately matched.
"You keep trying," she says as conversation between them falters again and he attempts to revive it. He can't be sure if she's mystified or annoyed by that fact.
"All marriages take work," he reminds her.
Her look is long and studying. "We'll never be like them."
So he learns about love through American women - bright-eyed and loose-legged, loud and loving in their exuberance. Russia provided him with bedroom tricks, but he doesn't understand their significance until he sees their effects. Russia taught him the manipulative value of emotion, but he doesn't feel its importance until he gathers its rewards. America then, in its own way, teaches him too.
And though his relationships are mostly one-sided in the end, it keeps his first year busy. He and Elizabeth each lose themselves in establishing networks with others, and he tries not to think of it as the two of them standing back-to-back building bridges to nowhere.
==
In time, things begin to feel less like lies. Their initial anxieties abate and their confidence and trust in one another grows. He's able to anticipate her moves, always sure of her motives despite her complexity, and she acknowledges his strengths and their shared interests. It becomes clearer why they were paired - their personal lives beyond the job easier to maintain.
On good days, Elizabeth will make his coffee in the morning and hand him the Sports section with a roll of her eyes. They'll go out for dinner once or twice a month with average American couples; it's useless on the intelligence front, but it's important for the cover. The exposure to normal, every day people of America adds to their knowledge - their cooking improves, their colloquialisms, all the little nuances that embed them further in a culture he no longer finds quite so foreign.
==
He takes her out for their anniversary each year. At least, every year but the one that is overruled by circumstances outside his control.
Elizabeth never asks him why, but there's a flicker he sees in her eyes each time that captivates him. It's a hesitation, a bit of amusement, a faint hope laced with disbelief.
It's like a caged animal being shown the door to freedom.
==
She doesn't blink when the orders come through, but briefly, so minute he nearly misses it entirely, her hands tremble.
"I never thought it would be like this," she admits later when the vodka has gone to their heads. She's thrown on a shirt, but so much of her remains visible - her neck and shoulder soft in the living room light.
"A life here?" he asks.
She gives a light shake of her head. "No. This life I could imagine."
He waits for her to elaborate, but she's fallen silent. She sits with her head propped up on an arm, watching him like she's trying to understand a mystery.
"You'll be a great mother," he says, wanting to tell her she won't be alone.
Elizabeth's laugh is tinged with bitterness. "I'll have to be."
He sighs, frustrated at the distance she keeps. "One day you'll remember we do this together."
She blinks at him in mild surprise, and he expects she'll dismiss the conversation. Their orders are shared, but their partnership thus far is in execution only.
However, she nods slowly, her eyes dark, and for a quick moment he sees the vulnerability there. It's a reminder that maybe she's just as scared of this family prospect as he is. Then she leans forward, her lips finding the side of his mouth for a kiss that manages to be both perfunctory and gentle.
"We should try again," she states matter-of-factly. He knows her timing and planning is precise, and he follows her to the bedroom.
==
It's better when they conceive Henry. It's familiar and comfortable to return to each other, and there's a tenderness that might not be entirely feigned. It'd be hard to call it passionate, there's too much routine to allow for much spontaneity, but there's less of an emotional divide between them.
He knows the curves of her body now - the long length of her leg as it swells to become her hip, the way his hand can travel from her waist to her breast as his fingers gently roll over her ribs. He likes that he can faintly hear her breath catch as his tongue teases her nipple, and how her legs will open when his hand slides down between them. There is nothing he knows about her true past, but on rare occasion, the right touch can make her moan, and he can see how his name starts to form on her lips.
And though she won't ever cry out, and he doesn't try to hold her after, there's a pause, an intimacy, where secrets seem to fall away. She'll look at him then, before she turns away, before their breathing has slowed, and sometimes... sometimes she will smile.
For years he thinks he's just in love with that moment.
-Fin
Rating: T
Category: Elizabeth Jennings/Phillip Jennings
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: Owned by others.
Summary: The first year is easier than the next few that follow.
==
They're given a wedding, and it's about as romantic as it sounds.
He remembers, vaguely, when it was just a boyish belief that a wedding would be in his future. But back then it had been filled more with fantasy than reality - dreams of happiness, wealth, and confidence that eventually life as an adult would be perfect.
"It's the naivety of youth," Elizabeth tells him when he tries to explain it to her.
Ironically, his wedding to Elizabeth is certainly fantastical because there simply isn't one. No priest, no guests, and no ceremony. It's neither legal by Russian law nor in the eyes of God although they have the forged documentation necessary to hold up under American scrutiny.
They are handed their wedding in a folder. Efficient.
He agrees to split responsibilities, so Elizabeth takes the paperwork and files it away appropriately. It leaves him with the photographs - staged moments quickly captured - and he opts to put these into an album as the Americans would do. In the photos, their smiles blaze with innocence.
It looks perfect.
==
The first year is easier than the next few that follow.
In the beginning, they have much to fulfill, so it stops being about them, and becomes entirely about the contacts they acquire. Elizabeth is the better in that regard - her intense passion for the cause magnetic in a way he admires but can't quite reach. It's disappointing to her, he knows, how different they are when they've been deliberately matched.
"You keep trying," she says as conversation between them falters again and he attempts to revive it. He can't be sure if she's mystified or annoyed by that fact.
"All marriages take work," he reminds her.
Her look is long and studying. "We'll never be like them."
So he learns about love through American women - bright-eyed and loose-legged, loud and loving in their exuberance. Russia provided him with bedroom tricks, but he doesn't understand their significance until he sees their effects. Russia taught him the manipulative value of emotion, but he doesn't feel its importance until he gathers its rewards. America then, in its own way, teaches him too.
And though his relationships are mostly one-sided in the end, it keeps his first year busy. He and Elizabeth each lose themselves in establishing networks with others, and he tries not to think of it as the two of them standing back-to-back building bridges to nowhere.
==
In time, things begin to feel less like lies. Their initial anxieties abate and their confidence and trust in one another grows. He's able to anticipate her moves, always sure of her motives despite her complexity, and she acknowledges his strengths and their shared interests. It becomes clearer why they were paired - their personal lives beyond the job easier to maintain.
On good days, Elizabeth will make his coffee in the morning and hand him the Sports section with a roll of her eyes. They'll go out for dinner once or twice a month with average American couples; it's useless on the intelligence front, but it's important for the cover. The exposure to normal, every day people of America adds to their knowledge - their cooking improves, their colloquialisms, all the little nuances that embed them further in a culture he no longer finds quite so foreign.
==
He takes her out for their anniversary each year. At least, every year but the one that is overruled by circumstances outside his control.
Elizabeth never asks him why, but there's a flicker he sees in her eyes each time that captivates him. It's a hesitation, a bit of amusement, a faint hope laced with disbelief.
It's like a caged animal being shown the door to freedom.
==
She doesn't blink when the orders come through, but briefly, so minute he nearly misses it entirely, her hands tremble.
"I never thought it would be like this," she admits later when the vodka has gone to their heads. She's thrown on a shirt, but so much of her remains visible - her neck and shoulder soft in the living room light.
"A life here?" he asks.
She gives a light shake of her head. "No. This life I could imagine."
He waits for her to elaborate, but she's fallen silent. She sits with her head propped up on an arm, watching him like she's trying to understand a mystery.
"You'll be a great mother," he says, wanting to tell her she won't be alone.
Elizabeth's laugh is tinged with bitterness. "I'll have to be."
He sighs, frustrated at the distance she keeps. "One day you'll remember we do this together."
She blinks at him in mild surprise, and he expects she'll dismiss the conversation. Their orders are shared, but their partnership thus far is in execution only.
However, she nods slowly, her eyes dark, and for a quick moment he sees the vulnerability there. It's a reminder that maybe she's just as scared of this family prospect as he is. Then she leans forward, her lips finding the side of his mouth for a kiss that manages to be both perfunctory and gentle.
"We should try again," she states matter-of-factly. He knows her timing and planning is precise, and he follows her to the bedroom.
==
It's better when they conceive Henry. It's familiar and comfortable to return to each other, and there's a tenderness that might not be entirely feigned. It'd be hard to call it passionate, there's too much routine to allow for much spontaneity, but there's less of an emotional divide between them.
He knows the curves of her body now - the long length of her leg as it swells to become her hip, the way his hand can travel from her waist to her breast as his fingers gently roll over her ribs. He likes that he can faintly hear her breath catch as his tongue teases her nipple, and how her legs will open when his hand slides down between them. There is nothing he knows about her true past, but on rare occasion, the right touch can make her moan, and he can see how his name starts to form on her lips.
And though she won't ever cry out, and he doesn't try to hold her after, there's a pause, an intimacy, where secrets seem to fall away. She'll look at him then, before she turns away, before their breathing has slowed, and sometimes... sometimes she will smile.
For years he thinks he's just in love with that moment.
-Fin