[Family by Choice] Welcome Home
Title: Welcome Home
Story/Character: Family by Choice / Kalmenka & András
Rating: PG
word count: 2,217
[squeaks in so close to deadline it hurts] eeep! Done, yay! This if for the brigits_flame prompt of "arrival".
* * * * *
Zentraleüropaisch Reich, Ungarn Provinz, Kaiserlich Jahr 314
(Central European Reich, Hungarian Province, Imperial Year 314)
The train pulled into the Monor station at half past two in the afternoon, disgorging passengers, mail parcels, and freight alike in a minor riot of chaos and voices punctuated by the deep bellowing hiss of the engine. Kalmenka, stepping down to the wooden platform with his field pack slung heavy against one shoulder, blinked out into the pale spring sunshine and tried to pull his scattered thoughts together. It had been two hours before dawn when he'd boarded the car - first class, half empty and more than comfortable enough to sleep in, which he had. Now, over nine hundred kilometers and more than half a day later, he was waking to realize he'd slept through the breakfast and dinner hours both and could still feel it dragging at his heels, thick as trench mud, as he made an effort to shake himself alert.
Someone brushing past him with a muttered apology made him start, heart leaping unsteadily in surprise. He'd lost a few moments, blanketed in the light and the noise of the station platform, half asleep on his feet. Taking a deep breath, he hitched his pack higher and fished in the pocket of his coat for the baggage ticket he half remembered stuffing there, kicking himself into motion.
One of the ubiquitous black capped porters had just dumped his locker at his feet when someone shouted his name and he turned, squinting against the sun, to spot the familiar face and broad shoulders of his brother-in-law. He waved and turned back to the porter, spilled a mis-matched handful of coins into the man's hand which earned him a bright grin - "Danke sehr, mein Herr!" - and the sloppy mimic of a salute which he returned by habit before the man bustled away.
It caught him as he was slipping the rest of the coins back into his pocket, gesture and habit so automatic as he tallied up the coins he had left that he didn't even think of it until it blindsided him, washing the next few moments away in a bright stab of pain. András was there when he could refocus, solid and sturdy as he'd ever been, steadying Kalmenka with a hand wrapped around his upper arm and a worried frown. "You all right?" he asked, gruffly.
"I'm fine," Kalmenka managed, willing the moment to pass and the spike of pain to subside. He blinked, hard, trying to clear white hot sparks from his vision. "I'm fine, I'm all right."
His brother-in-law huffed. "You look like shit," he remarked bluntly, but he let go gingerly, hands not quite hovering in easy reach. "Did you get some sleep, at least?"
"Plenty," Kalmenka replied. He rubbed at his eyes and breathed out a tentative breath of relief as the pain eased. "Slept most of the way here."
András nodded and waved Kalmenka back with a short gesture, bending to scoop up the battered steel footlocker which, between itself and the worn pack slung on his shoulder, encompassed a depressingly large portion of Kalmenka's life. "Had dinner on the car?"
Kalmenka shook his head, bemused. The questions were so normal, so very far from the barked snap and reply of the ranks, that he had trouble tracking them as pertaining to himself. "Slept through it." His stomach, as though it knew very well it was under discussion, chose that moment to remind him audibly of the full truth. He half shrugged, grinning sheepishly under András' renewed frown. "Breakfast too."
The other man snorted. "And they say you're the smart one," he noted dourly. "Come on. Wagon's by the grocer, they're loading supplies. We've got time; there's a kitchen up the street, makes a good soup. We can get you a bite to eat there."
It sometimes seemed the little city grew larger between every time he visited; even in the short intervening months from his last leave there were new shops sprung up like spring buds and more bustle of traffic, foot and motorcar both, in the streets around the train station. The little meal kitchen András lead him to was new to him, and the weather mild enough that it had put out a couple of small bench tables onto the cobblestone walk. His brother-in-law all but shoved him into one, dumping the locker at their feet, and waved down the serving girl who poked her head out of the door to get them food.
She came back in record time, tray laden with full bowls of thick meat stew, heavy mugs of beer and a board of dark bread, still warm. The scents knocked some of the hazy fugue from Kalmanka's head; he had inhaled half of the bowl and three thick slices of bread before he realized that the other man was doing more watching of him than eating his own portion, a small frown still tugging at his dark brows. "Sorry," Kalmenka said, gesturing to the food with his spoon. "Didn't realize I was that gone."
András waved the apology away. "You always were nothing but cord and bone," he noted, "and then they keep running even that off you." He pushed the remainder of the loaf of bread across the center of the little table. "Take it. I bring you back half starved and Zsófia'll have both our heads."
Kalmenka smiled ruefully, acknowledging it for truth; his sister managed her husband in much the same way she'd been managing her older brother since she was small and there were some fights not worth the fighting. He polished off the rest of his food at a slightly more polite pace, and didn't protest when András matter-of-factly tipped the remainder of his own half eaten bowl into Kalmenka's with the enjoinder to finish it off. In return, when the soup was nothing but a memory warming his stomach and the last of the beer had been polished off with a satisfied sigh, Kalmenka waved András off in turn and pulled his own wallet from his pocket.
It caught him before he could even open the leather, forcing him to steady himself against the edge of the table and to slap the wallet down against the surface before he could fumble and drop it. When the first wave passed and he could open his eyes again, squinting against the light, András was frowning harder, the other man a knot of tight tension across the table. "Kalmenka?"
"I'm all right," Kalmenka repeated, numbly, because there wasn't anything else to be said, not in the middle of a public street. Letting out his breath, he gingerly pushed the wallet across the table. "Here. You know how much it is..."
András shook his head, shoving the wallet back into his grasp. "That'd be a fine way to welcome you home," he scolded. "Keep your Marks." There was no way to really argue with that; Kalmenka sighed and put his money away, letting András settle the bill. By the time it was done and they were ready to move on he found he could stand up without stumbling, feet steady and pack no heavier than it ought to be.
The grocer András favored was finished packing by the time they arrived, supplies stored neat in box and barrel in the bed of András' wagon. Kalmenka threw his own things in with them, locker nestled secure in one corner, pack thrown on top, and climbed up to sit on the raised seat while András thanked the grocer and checked over his team of horses. Everything settled, the other man climbed up beside him and gathered up the reins, clucking the horses into motion with a flick of his wrist.
"Could've just picked stuff up in Bénye," Kalmenka noted, bracing his feet against the edge of the footboard. "Not carried it all the way from here."
András shrugged. "No sense wasting a good trip to town. Better selection here than Bénye stocks." He glanced at Kalmenka sidelong. "It'll be about two hours, you want to put your head down."
"I'll be fine," Kalmenka replied, but it sounded thin even to his own ears.
The congested streets near the town center gave way to quiet residential streets and then to open road that cut northeast through farm and forest towards the village of Gomba, and the even tinier collection of houses and roads that was Bénye beyond that. The Kocsis farm that András owned was out further still, all the land they could want cut from the woods around, and if he'd once had his doubts about his sister's decision to marry into a landed family they were long laid to rest; András' folk were good people.
András himself, never much of one to waste words, kept his eyes on his team and his hands on the reins and let Kalmenka settle into the seat and the sway of the wagon. It wasn't until they had passed the outer limits of Monor and were on the road, farm land and grassy hills stretched to either side, nothing but the buzz of insects, the creak of the wagon wheels, and the clop of the horses' hooves on the hard packed dirt, that he spoke up again. "You going to tell me what's wrong?"
Kalmenka sighed, hunching into his coat. It had been bound to come up, and only András' temperament, mild and solid as smooth worn stone, had left it until they had some peace and quiet. The other man, eyeing him sidelong, shrugged with one shoulder. "You tell me now," he noted, "and I'll talk to Zsófia. Or you can. Up to you."
"That's a foul blow," Kalmenka answered sourly. His sister, always so glad to have him visit, wasn't going to take any negative news very well at all. András let the comment pass, lapsing into silence, and after another few minutes of quiet road passing by Kalmenka sighed again, tipping his head back to look up at the thin scattering of wispy clouds overhead. "They decommissioned me."
His brother-in-law made a noncommittal sound. "So you wrote," he said. "And we're glad for it. You've served enough terms already."
"It's not..." Kalmenka made himself stop and take a deeper breath, relaxing the muscles in his shoulders. "It's not that easy. It's not just signing a few papers. Not for Reine."
András said nothing, waiting, and Kalmenka found the next breath was a little easier for the other man's quiet patience. "Reine aren't just Mathematikers. We're weapons. It's not like working for a pharmacy or in a refinery. We are the guns on the front, and when we opt out... They can't just let us go on home, no more than they'd let someone take home heavy munitions to show the family. Somebody'd get hurt."
His brother-in-law was frowning. "But... It's not something you're carrying. It's..." He shrugged, hand that was free of the reins spreading to indicate he didn't know the right words, and tapped one finger against his own temple. "It's all up here, isn't it?"
"Ja," Kalmenka replied, letting his breath out slow. "Ja, and that's where they stop it." His hands, he found, were clenched in his pockets, and he made himself let them go. "Make it so you can't think the numbers any more. Not even a little bit. Feels like someone's driving a knife through my skull when I try." He laughed, short and sharp, the sound ugly. "It'll get better, they said. Give it a month, maybe two, it'll get better. I'll... I'll be able to do normal stuff. Total a bill, balance my bank book, that sort of thing." He shrugged helplessly. "It's already better than it was. Don't get the nosebleeds any more unless I'm a damned fool about pushing it."
András let out a huff of breath. He was looking at the road, not at Kalmenka, and the other man was glad for it. "Luck bless. And then they just... Send you on home."
"Ja," Kalmenka echoed. "Here's your pension, have a good life."
His brother-in-law nodded slowly. "Worth it?"
"I hope so," Kalmenka replied quietly. "Tell you truth, András, I don't know what to do now. I've been in the ranks since I was eighteen. Seems a lifetime ago."
Another stretch of road passed by quietly. "You'll manage," András said at length. Reaching over, he clapped a hand on Kalmenka's shoulder. "You're good like that. And it's nothing you've got to decide right now. Like I said, we're glad to have you. Welcome home."
Kalmenka managed a shaky smile in return. "Danke." Giving himself a small shake, he settled a little lower in the seat. "I... Maybe I will close my eyes. Just for a bit."
"Do that," András agreed. "I'll wake you when we get there. I'll have a word with Zsófi too. You just rest."
Kalmenka tucked his head down, setting his back firmer against the back of the seat. He'd forgotten what it felt like, the warmth of family compared to comrades in arms. Closing his eyes, he let the sway of the seat and the soft creak of the wheels soak away the empty pain inside.
Story/Character: Family by Choice / Kalmenka & András
Rating: PG
word count: 2,217
[squeaks in so close to deadline it hurts] eeep! Done, yay! This if for the brigits_flame prompt of "arrival".
* * * * *
Zentraleüropaisch Reich, Ungarn Provinz, Kaiserlich Jahr 314
(Central European Reich, Hungarian Province, Imperial Year 314)
The train pulled into the Monor station at half past two in the afternoon, disgorging passengers, mail parcels, and freight alike in a minor riot of chaos and voices punctuated by the deep bellowing hiss of the engine. Kalmenka, stepping down to the wooden platform with his field pack slung heavy against one shoulder, blinked out into the pale spring sunshine and tried to pull his scattered thoughts together. It had been two hours before dawn when he'd boarded the car - first class, half empty and more than comfortable enough to sleep in, which he had. Now, over nine hundred kilometers and more than half a day later, he was waking to realize he'd slept through the breakfast and dinner hours both and could still feel it dragging at his heels, thick as trench mud, as he made an effort to shake himself alert.
Someone brushing past him with a muttered apology made him start, heart leaping unsteadily in surprise. He'd lost a few moments, blanketed in the light and the noise of the station platform, half asleep on his feet. Taking a deep breath, he hitched his pack higher and fished in the pocket of his coat for the baggage ticket he half remembered stuffing there, kicking himself into motion.
One of the ubiquitous black capped porters had just dumped his locker at his feet when someone shouted his name and he turned, squinting against the sun, to spot the familiar face and broad shoulders of his brother-in-law. He waved and turned back to the porter, spilled a mis-matched handful of coins into the man's hand which earned him a bright grin - "Danke sehr, mein Herr!" - and the sloppy mimic of a salute which he returned by habit before the man bustled away.
It caught him as he was slipping the rest of the coins back into his pocket, gesture and habit so automatic as he tallied up the coins he had left that he didn't even think of it until it blindsided him, washing the next few moments away in a bright stab of pain. András was there when he could refocus, solid and sturdy as he'd ever been, steadying Kalmenka with a hand wrapped around his upper arm and a worried frown. "You all right?" he asked, gruffly.
"I'm fine," Kalmenka managed, willing the moment to pass and the spike of pain to subside. He blinked, hard, trying to clear white hot sparks from his vision. "I'm fine, I'm all right."
His brother-in-law huffed. "You look like shit," he remarked bluntly, but he let go gingerly, hands not quite hovering in easy reach. "Did you get some sleep, at least?"
"Plenty," Kalmenka replied. He rubbed at his eyes and breathed out a tentative breath of relief as the pain eased. "Slept most of the way here."
András nodded and waved Kalmenka back with a short gesture, bending to scoop up the battered steel footlocker which, between itself and the worn pack slung on his shoulder, encompassed a depressingly large portion of Kalmenka's life. "Had dinner on the car?"
Kalmenka shook his head, bemused. The questions were so normal, so very far from the barked snap and reply of the ranks, that he had trouble tracking them as pertaining to himself. "Slept through it." His stomach, as though it knew very well it was under discussion, chose that moment to remind him audibly of the full truth. He half shrugged, grinning sheepishly under András' renewed frown. "Breakfast too."
The other man snorted. "And they say you're the smart one," he noted dourly. "Come on. Wagon's by the grocer, they're loading supplies. We've got time; there's a kitchen up the street, makes a good soup. We can get you a bite to eat there."
It sometimes seemed the little city grew larger between every time he visited; even in the short intervening months from his last leave there were new shops sprung up like spring buds and more bustle of traffic, foot and motorcar both, in the streets around the train station. The little meal kitchen András lead him to was new to him, and the weather mild enough that it had put out a couple of small bench tables onto the cobblestone walk. His brother-in-law all but shoved him into one, dumping the locker at their feet, and waved down the serving girl who poked her head out of the door to get them food.
She came back in record time, tray laden with full bowls of thick meat stew, heavy mugs of beer and a board of dark bread, still warm. The scents knocked some of the hazy fugue from Kalmanka's head; he had inhaled half of the bowl and three thick slices of bread before he realized that the other man was doing more watching of him than eating his own portion, a small frown still tugging at his dark brows. "Sorry," Kalmenka said, gesturing to the food with his spoon. "Didn't realize I was that gone."
András waved the apology away. "You always were nothing but cord and bone," he noted, "and then they keep running even that off you." He pushed the remainder of the loaf of bread across the center of the little table. "Take it. I bring you back half starved and Zsófia'll have both our heads."
Kalmenka smiled ruefully, acknowledging it for truth; his sister managed her husband in much the same way she'd been managing her older brother since she was small and there were some fights not worth the fighting. He polished off the rest of his food at a slightly more polite pace, and didn't protest when András matter-of-factly tipped the remainder of his own half eaten bowl into Kalmenka's with the enjoinder to finish it off. In return, when the soup was nothing but a memory warming his stomach and the last of the beer had been polished off with a satisfied sigh, Kalmenka waved András off in turn and pulled his own wallet from his pocket.
It caught him before he could even open the leather, forcing him to steady himself against the edge of the table and to slap the wallet down against the surface before he could fumble and drop it. When the first wave passed and he could open his eyes again, squinting against the light, András was frowning harder, the other man a knot of tight tension across the table. "Kalmenka?"
"I'm all right," Kalmenka repeated, numbly, because there wasn't anything else to be said, not in the middle of a public street. Letting out his breath, he gingerly pushed the wallet across the table. "Here. You know how much it is..."
András shook his head, shoving the wallet back into his grasp. "That'd be a fine way to welcome you home," he scolded. "Keep your Marks." There was no way to really argue with that; Kalmenka sighed and put his money away, letting András settle the bill. By the time it was done and they were ready to move on he found he could stand up without stumbling, feet steady and pack no heavier than it ought to be.
The grocer András favored was finished packing by the time they arrived, supplies stored neat in box and barrel in the bed of András' wagon. Kalmenka threw his own things in with them, locker nestled secure in one corner, pack thrown on top, and climbed up to sit on the raised seat while András thanked the grocer and checked over his team of horses. Everything settled, the other man climbed up beside him and gathered up the reins, clucking the horses into motion with a flick of his wrist.
"Could've just picked stuff up in Bénye," Kalmenka noted, bracing his feet against the edge of the footboard. "Not carried it all the way from here."
András shrugged. "No sense wasting a good trip to town. Better selection here than Bénye stocks." He glanced at Kalmenka sidelong. "It'll be about two hours, you want to put your head down."
"I'll be fine," Kalmenka replied, but it sounded thin even to his own ears.
The congested streets near the town center gave way to quiet residential streets and then to open road that cut northeast through farm and forest towards the village of Gomba, and the even tinier collection of houses and roads that was Bénye beyond that. The Kocsis farm that András owned was out further still, all the land they could want cut from the woods around, and if he'd once had his doubts about his sister's decision to marry into a landed family they were long laid to rest; András' folk were good people.
András himself, never much of one to waste words, kept his eyes on his team and his hands on the reins and let Kalmenka settle into the seat and the sway of the wagon. It wasn't until they had passed the outer limits of Monor and were on the road, farm land and grassy hills stretched to either side, nothing but the buzz of insects, the creak of the wagon wheels, and the clop of the horses' hooves on the hard packed dirt, that he spoke up again. "You going to tell me what's wrong?"
Kalmenka sighed, hunching into his coat. It had been bound to come up, and only András' temperament, mild and solid as smooth worn stone, had left it until they had some peace and quiet. The other man, eyeing him sidelong, shrugged with one shoulder. "You tell me now," he noted, "and I'll talk to Zsófia. Or you can. Up to you."
"That's a foul blow," Kalmenka answered sourly. His sister, always so glad to have him visit, wasn't going to take any negative news very well at all. András let the comment pass, lapsing into silence, and after another few minutes of quiet road passing by Kalmenka sighed again, tipping his head back to look up at the thin scattering of wispy clouds overhead. "They decommissioned me."
His brother-in-law made a noncommittal sound. "So you wrote," he said. "And we're glad for it. You've served enough terms already."
"It's not..." Kalmenka made himself stop and take a deeper breath, relaxing the muscles in his shoulders. "It's not that easy. It's not just signing a few papers. Not for Reine."
András said nothing, waiting, and Kalmenka found the next breath was a little easier for the other man's quiet patience. "Reine aren't just Mathematikers. We're weapons. It's not like working for a pharmacy or in a refinery. We are the guns on the front, and when we opt out... They can't just let us go on home, no more than they'd let someone take home heavy munitions to show the family. Somebody'd get hurt."
His brother-in-law was frowning. "But... It's not something you're carrying. It's..." He shrugged, hand that was free of the reins spreading to indicate he didn't know the right words, and tapped one finger against his own temple. "It's all up here, isn't it?"
"Ja," Kalmenka replied, letting his breath out slow. "Ja, and that's where they stop it." His hands, he found, were clenched in his pockets, and he made himself let them go. "Make it so you can't think the numbers any more. Not even a little bit. Feels like someone's driving a knife through my skull when I try." He laughed, short and sharp, the sound ugly. "It'll get better, they said. Give it a month, maybe two, it'll get better. I'll... I'll be able to do normal stuff. Total a bill, balance my bank book, that sort of thing." He shrugged helplessly. "It's already better than it was. Don't get the nosebleeds any more unless I'm a damned fool about pushing it."
András let out a huff of breath. He was looking at the road, not at Kalmenka, and the other man was glad for it. "Luck bless. And then they just... Send you on home."
"Ja," Kalmenka echoed. "Here's your pension, have a good life."
His brother-in-law nodded slowly. "Worth it?"
"I hope so," Kalmenka replied quietly. "Tell you truth, András, I don't know what to do now. I've been in the ranks since I was eighteen. Seems a lifetime ago."
Another stretch of road passed by quietly. "You'll manage," András said at length. Reaching over, he clapped a hand on Kalmenka's shoulder. "You're good like that. And it's nothing you've got to decide right now. Like I said, we're glad to have you. Welcome home."
Kalmenka managed a shaky smile in return. "Danke." Giving himself a small shake, he settled a little lower in the seat. "I... Maybe I will close my eyes. Just for a bit."
"Do that," András agreed. "I'll wake you when we get there. I'll have a word with Zsófi too. You just rest."
Kalmenka tucked his head down, setting his back firmer against the back of the seat. He'd forgotten what it felt like, the warmth of family compared to comrades in arms. Closing his eyes, he let the sway of the seat and the soft creak of the wheels soak away the empty pain inside.