[fic] [alias] Delicacies of Social Etiquette
"The cruelest lies are often told in silence."
- Robert Louis Stevenson
It must have been bright in his eyes, that overwhelming hatred, because her knees brushed against him in the way only she would move when faced with such raw emotion. Michael Vaughn pulled his knees closer to him and wished the transport was wider so her knees wouldn’t be jutted up against his. Irina Derevko flashed him a toothy smile and reached out to pat his knee.
“How are you doing?” she asked almost tenderly, with a motherly tone he’d heard used with Sydney before. He growled, lips twisting diagonal on his stubble-dotted face, and resisted the urge to spit on her.
“Don’t pretend to care,” he sneered. She retracted her hand back to her lap, weaving her fingers together like a proper lady did; at least, that’s what his mother always told him.
Vaughn let his eyes fall closed and leaned his head against the cold metal of the truck, embracing rather than opposing the icy coldness that spread through his scalp. His jacket was down filled, an impulse buy while ambling around a local mall on a lonely day off three years ago. The sales clerk had claimed he looked perfect in it, or rather; it looked good on him, and slipped her number in the pocket before wrapping it up for him. Hugging himself for warmth, he let the chill travel over the edge of his hairline three weeks overdue for a cut and spill down the top of his spine, shivering as it moved from vertebrae to vertebrae.
Irina cleared her throat and draped her perfectly tanned face on the tops of her knees. “It was not concern for you.”
He laughed. “You don’t need to, not here. If you haven’t noticed, Sydney’s no where around,” he laughed again, rubbing his bare hands up and down the cloth of his coat. His ring hit against the seams around his shoulders, drawing Irina’s eyes.
“I know that ring,” she breathed. Vaughn’s eyes popped open with a start, and his head snapping up to face her.
“You should, you son of a bitch,” he threatened to yell, “since you killed it’s owner.”
“We will not live long if you continue with these outbursts,” she chided, cocking her head to the side. He snorted.
“When I want your opinion, I’ll give it.”
Handcuffs allow the wearer a certain amount of leeway between them, around nine inches or so with the fingers fully extended. There was a clatter, then those nine inches extended around his throat, a thumb forced under his Adam’s apple pressing up on it in just the right way. He gagged momentarily, his eyes watering as they bore directly into Irina’s, her nose dangerously close to his.
She spoke down to him. “I could kill you, right here.”
“Then do it.”
His defiance was certainly something she hadn’t been expecting. Certainly, his love for her daughter and wish to continue such a love had been a constant - something she could depend on for them to agree. Continuing life, appeasement of her stubborn child; these were things she felt she’d figured ruled Vaughn’s life. But his shining eyes, appearing more blazing red than the calm inviting green like his father’s in this dim light matched her own with a ferocity she’d never encountered in him before.
Irina smirked, her advances crawling under his skin and becoming an itch he could not be rid of. Why he’d been shoved in here, moving across unknown roads with itching, handcuffed wrists with her of all people in the world was a cruel joke played on him by fate. He’d read about such things, how chance and coincidence was intertwined through the intricacies of human interaction, but never gave them much credence. Just like prophets from before his time meant nothing to his cynical mind, fate felt like a lingering ghost that watched yet never interfered.
She leaned into him so suddenly, he couldn’t raise his feet fast enough to push her away before the touch of her murderous lips were imprinted upon his. He shoved her away, her frame clunking against her side of the narrow space, and wiped his face, spitting on the floor next to him.
“What the fuck was that?”
She touched a hand to her lips and smiled at a memory. “He was a better kisser than you.”
He would have killed her if the van hadn’t stopped.