Post by tingrin on Nov 13, 2006 16:55:15 GMT -5
The flight had been spectacularly uneventful and surprisingly relaxing. Piotr had been exceptionally uncomfortable for most of it, however, and by the time they disembarked, his legs were aching from having been tucked into baggage class for so long. One of the stewardesses had taken pity on him halfway and had upgraded both he and Sibyl into Business Class, where they had had more legroom.
He had been restless and uncharacteristically snappy during the flight, although given the circumstances, it was probably to be expected. Now they were sitting in an elderly taxi cab, heading to the hospital in Tomsk where Piotr's father lay dying.
He stared out of the window as they travelled the streets.
The last time he had been to Tomsk, it had been when Illyana had been ill as a baby. It had been a massive adventure then: the 'big' city.
Then he'd seen America.
It made him feel guilty that in his own mind he was comparing the two, but he couldn't help it.
Looking across at Sibyl, he took her hand in his and squeezed it, to reassure both of them.
"We are almost there," he said.
Sibyl watched it all go by, her heart thunking hard in her chest. She’d never tell Piotr how amazing it was for her to be here, and with him; he had enough on his mind. But to see your home culture, however separated(he was from the northeast and she from the more south-central region of the old soviet union), was tremendous for her. She had only been eleven the last time she had been anywhere north of Romania.
Squeezing his hand in return she looked back at him, her pale face a little flushed and eyes sparkling. “We are,” she reminded him in return, sounding confident and soft as she felt her duty was to be. She was not looking forward to the memories that were likely to surface from the three individuals she was going to meet- let alone what she was liable to run into in the hospital. Bracing herself by slowly considering the possibilities, she found her strength again before they arrived.
The hospital was a surprisingly modern building amid all the architecture and to Piotr's artistic eye it stood out like a carbuncle. He paid the taxi driver in US dollars - a common enough occurrence, and absently made a mental note to change some currency.
They stood there, hand in hand outside the hospital for a while and she could almost taste Piotr's hesitation, which became a look of grim determination.
"How bad can it possibly be, right?" he said, trying to sound optimistic. "He has not been mangled by a tractor or plough, he has had a heart attack. How bad can it be?"
She looked up at him, watching his face for a long moment. Stepping forward, her thumb ran over his comfortingly. “Petya, come. You’ve come all this way… do not wait until it is too late. Your family needs you.”
With that she led him into the lobby. “You know the room number, do you not? Then we can go right up.”
She wanted to will him her strength, would give her life for him not to be hurting, but could only continue to hold his hand, not allowing him to be alone.
“I will wait in the waiting room once we go up. Your mother and sister do not need a stranger’s presence to distract them.” She kissed his upper arm.
He looked distraught at the idea of leaving her alone in the waiting room, but slowly he nodded. "You are right. I must have a moment or two alone with Mother and Yana...and Papa."
Tears sprang into his eyes and he blinked them away again.
They went up the stairs and along several corridors after a kind-faced nurse directed them to the cardio thoracics department. They found the waiting room easily enough and Piotr left his bag with Sibyl.
"I will be back as soon as I can," he promised her and put his arms around her. "I love you."
She hugged him tightly, and nodded. “And I you Petya.”
As he turned, she caught his arm. Already the vision was coming, but it was forward seeing, not backward. She felt as if she was going to be sick, but pushed past it.
“Piotr.” Her tone was that sort of maternal one that made her come off thrice her age. “Be there for your father. Your mother and Illyana will be alright. But your father. He needs to know. The things in your heart.” She didn’t smile, but squeezed his arm, then gave him a soft little push towards the door.
The things in your heart...
The tears came back into Piotr's eyes and he nodded. The things in his heart. He would tell his father. He would see his father to his rest with words of comfort and words of reassurance and above all else, words of love. That was his nature, as Sibyl well knew.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door to his father's room.
Before it closed, Sibyl heard a low cry and a woman - no, a girl's voice call his name, the tone shocked, yet clearly thrilled, relieved and totally delighted.
Sibyl blinked away tears as the sound of the woman’s voice shot through her. The visions came only stronger as the door opened, unblocking the way to the man lying in the bed. She’d never been so sure of anything in her life. And of course it was likely Piotr’s father was going to die, but the confirmation of it only made it more difficult.
She sat heavily in a chair and put her hands to her face for a moment, wanting to sob. Her poor Petya. Not only was his father going to die, but his mother was ill. She might not even know it yet. If grief did not make it worse, perhaps she would have years. But Sibyl could see the sickness sitting in the woman’s lungs like black stones. She held her breath, and tried to put the visions away, accepting them one at a time as one might patiently listen to someone on the phone they’d rather not be speaking to.
After a few minutes, they dissipated and she was left only with the linger, distant memories of the nurse at the desk down the hall, and the patients in their rooms. Sibyl took a deep breath, and waited.
About twenty minutes passed, during which hospital life went on. Nurses, doctors and consultants came and went.
Then the door to Nikolai Rasputin's room opened and a girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old at the most came out. She was staggeringly pretty, with golden blonde hair that clouded around her sweet face. Her eyes gave away her relationship to Piotr; they were just as blue as his were and held the same strength of character.
"Are you...Sibylinka?" she asked. "I am Illyana Nikolovna Rasputin."
Her heart leapt. A rush of memories screamed past her, all so similar to Piotr’s, a love for family and respect for hard work clearly evident. Sibyl stood, and offered both hands out. It had been a long time since she’d been able to greet anyone with that more familiar gesture.
Squeezing Illyana’s hands lightly, she nodded. “I am Sibyl, yes. Illyana. You’re Piotr’s sister.” She looked back at the door, and then to the younger girl. “You look tired,” she said sympathetically. “Can I get you and your mother anything from the café downstairs…”
"Petya sent me out to make sure that you were well," she said, seeming glad and relieved to have someone offer such comfort and support. Illyana was too young to bear the weight of her mother's increasing grief alone and the arrival of her cherished brother had been a load off her mind. "Perhaps a coffee for my mother. She has not eaten in several days, although I have tried to tell her to eat. Maybe now Petya is here..."
The return of the prodigal son.
It seemed that Illyana totally adored her brother to the point that his arrival had made her own grief dissipate for a time.
"Perhaps...she would eat one of the cakes...Petya said that I should get some anyway, will you help me, Sibylinka?"
She was so sweet and open, innocence personified.
“Of course,” she said readily, and with great strength in her voice, as if it really were too much that Illyana even had to ask. “That is why I have come with him. All of you are likely so worn by all of this. Would you like to come with me?”
Checking her pockets for her American dollars, she hoped they would take them. “We should at least bring something up for her. Perhaps she will eat something small. I am sure we could have them warm some milk for her, drinking is often easier than eating.”
She touched Illyana’s elbow lightly. Sibyl could immediately sense what it was Piotr loved so about the girl. Not only was she radiantly beautiful in a society that often took that sort of thing away from their young women at a brutally young age- but she had the same warmth and goodness about her as Piotr. Already, she knew she’d made the right decision in coming.
"My brother has written to me of you," said the girl as they walked down to the cafeteria. "He told me how beautiful you are." Her tone was rather shy. "It is very true."
A pause.
"The doctors think that Papa will not last much longer. It will be a relief, I think, when he does fall asleep forever. It is so hard on him, and on Mama. I am so glad that Piotr managed to..."
The girl began to weep softly, releasing grief that she had been forced to hold in for her mother's sake, freed by the arrival of her knight in shining armour - her brother.
Blushing a little at her words, she was caught off guard when Illyana began to cry. It felt awkward, but she paused and put her arm around the girl, letting her cry.
“You have been so strong,” she whispered. “I am sure you felt very alone with your sadness. But you needn’t be the strong one anymore. Your brother and I are here to take care of your mother and you.”
Oh, how her heart hurt. Her family had been dead to her for many years, she hadn’t allowed herself to think of how they might be doing. All of this opened her back up to how much she missed them. Yet somehow, she felt Piotr’s family was her family too.
After a moment she continued walking at a slower pace, her arm around Illyana’s shoulders still.
"I am so sorry," said Illyana, taking a handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbing at her eyes. "It has been so very difficult, these past days. Mama has lost the will to live. She sits with Papa day and night, holding his hand. They have talked much of Mikhail and of Piotr. It makes Papa happy to talk of Piotr. He was sleeping when Piotr arrived, but he will be delighted when he wakes."
She only just managed to say the word 'when' as opposed to the word 'if'.
The cafeteria had a selection of cakes and buns in cellophane wrap and Illyana selected a slice of fruit cake that she said she was sure her mother would like. "I have come down here to eat every day since Papa came in," she said in a whisper to Sibyl. "I miss the farm. We all used to eat together around a big, long table."
Sibyl added a few more things, two cups of coffee and one of tea for herself, something for Piotr to eat as he was always hungry, though she doubted he would eat it right away simply for grief.
"Illyana I believe you and I should concentrate on helping your mother. At her age, and in losing her love, she may become sick as well.” Sibyl cleared her throat and frowned a bit, speaking softly to the cashier and mangling the local dialect a bit, but managing it.
She carried the tray carefully as they went back upstairs. “Your father is going to pass. We know this. And so, Piotr will make the arrangements as he did for your brother Mikhail. I will see to it that the meals are taken care of and will help with the farmwork, as of course will your brother. You, Illyana, are welcome to help if it eases your pain, but I hope that you know you do not need to. Spend your time with your mother, if that is easiest for you.”
"Thank you, Sibylinka. You are so kind."
Fresh tears ran down the child's face and she made no effort to wipe them away. "Mama hasn't been well for many years. Since Mikhail died, Piotr told me once. I was...so young when he died. I barely remember him."
Piotr had told Sibyl that Illyana had been a late child, a surprise, but a welcome one who had brought sunshine into her aging parents' life. The first female Rasputin child to be born in four generations, they had doted on her, all of them.
Had she been a Western child, born to the lap of luxury, this would have spoiled her. But Illyana was clearly anything but spoiled. Despite the nearly ten years that separated her and Piotr, she seemed more mature in many ways.
Sibyl nodded. These things were her duty. Not only as a decent human being, but as Piotr’s love.
They reached the waiting area and Sibyl set down the tray, putting aside her tea and giving Illyana the rest. “I’ll help you with the door. Now, I don’t wish to come in unless both your mother and Piotr wish me there. I am perfectly content out here, so don’t worry for me.” She rubbed Illyana’s back a bit, comfortingly.
The poor thing. This was hard enough on her, and it wasn’t her father on his deathbed. She took a slow breath to keep her eyes from tearing up.
"Thank you," said Illyana again, standing on tiptoe to kiss Sibyl's cheek gently.
Once the door was opened, she went inside with the tray. Piotr, who was sitting at his father's bedside looked up as the light from the waiting room fell onto his father, who was now awake and looking deathly pale, but happy as he sat with his son's hand in his own.
Their mother got to her feet to take the tray from Illyana.
The entire Rasputin family looked at Sibylinka standing in the doorway.
Barely waiting for Illyana to go through the door, Sibyl met their eyes, her own a somber sort of serene. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears as they looked at her, and stole a look at Piotr’s father, memories of his son winding through her mind. Her expression held such subdued warmth for the man, who looked a great deal like Piotr, if withered and gray. Sibyl smiled very softly to him.
After only a moment she nodded to them all, and let the door swing shut once more, walking back to her seat with her knees shaking so badly she nearly fell as she sat down again. Her hands curled around the cup of tea and she removed the lid, not feeling at all like drinking it with her stomach lurching as it was.
It hadn’t occurred to her that a mutant gypsy like herself might displease his parents. She had experienced fear and rejection all her life, but as a Seer, many drew it into the mystique of her profession. Until she had been standing there with them looking at her she hadn’t given a thought to her white skin or blue hair, the soft pink of her eyes. Sibyl hoped desperately they would look past it. If they were anything like their son, things would be just fine.
Several minutes later, the door opened again, and Piotr stood there. He looked at Sibyl for a long time, his expression unreadable.
Then he smiled.
"Come," he said, softly. "They consider that my leaving you out here alone to be extremely rude."
She knew, in that moment, that the Rasputin family would accept her for who - and what - she was.
She had watched him in return with her own blend of sympathy, strength, and sadness. When he smiled, it was like the sunrise.
Picking up her cup, she slid her fingers into his hand. “Kiss me quick then, I wouldn’t want to make them wait.”
He had been restless and uncharacteristically snappy during the flight, although given the circumstances, it was probably to be expected. Now they were sitting in an elderly taxi cab, heading to the hospital in Tomsk where Piotr's father lay dying.
He stared out of the window as they travelled the streets.
The last time he had been to Tomsk, it had been when Illyana had been ill as a baby. It had been a massive adventure then: the 'big' city.
Then he'd seen America.
It made him feel guilty that in his own mind he was comparing the two, but he couldn't help it.
Looking across at Sibyl, he took her hand in his and squeezed it, to reassure both of them.
"We are almost there," he said.
Sibyl watched it all go by, her heart thunking hard in her chest. She’d never tell Piotr how amazing it was for her to be here, and with him; he had enough on his mind. But to see your home culture, however separated(he was from the northeast and she from the more south-central region of the old soviet union), was tremendous for her. She had only been eleven the last time she had been anywhere north of Romania.
Squeezing his hand in return she looked back at him, her pale face a little flushed and eyes sparkling. “We are,” she reminded him in return, sounding confident and soft as she felt her duty was to be. She was not looking forward to the memories that were likely to surface from the three individuals she was going to meet- let alone what she was liable to run into in the hospital. Bracing herself by slowly considering the possibilities, she found her strength again before they arrived.
The hospital was a surprisingly modern building amid all the architecture and to Piotr's artistic eye it stood out like a carbuncle. He paid the taxi driver in US dollars - a common enough occurrence, and absently made a mental note to change some currency.
They stood there, hand in hand outside the hospital for a while and she could almost taste Piotr's hesitation, which became a look of grim determination.
"How bad can it possibly be, right?" he said, trying to sound optimistic. "He has not been mangled by a tractor or plough, he has had a heart attack. How bad can it be?"
She looked up at him, watching his face for a long moment. Stepping forward, her thumb ran over his comfortingly. “Petya, come. You’ve come all this way… do not wait until it is too late. Your family needs you.”
With that she led him into the lobby. “You know the room number, do you not? Then we can go right up.”
She wanted to will him her strength, would give her life for him not to be hurting, but could only continue to hold his hand, not allowing him to be alone.
“I will wait in the waiting room once we go up. Your mother and sister do not need a stranger’s presence to distract them.” She kissed his upper arm.
He looked distraught at the idea of leaving her alone in the waiting room, but slowly he nodded. "You are right. I must have a moment or two alone with Mother and Yana...and Papa."
Tears sprang into his eyes and he blinked them away again.
They went up the stairs and along several corridors after a kind-faced nurse directed them to the cardio thoracics department. They found the waiting room easily enough and Piotr left his bag with Sibyl.
"I will be back as soon as I can," he promised her and put his arms around her. "I love you."
She hugged him tightly, and nodded. “And I you Petya.”
As he turned, she caught his arm. Already the vision was coming, but it was forward seeing, not backward. She felt as if she was going to be sick, but pushed past it.
“Piotr.” Her tone was that sort of maternal one that made her come off thrice her age. “Be there for your father. Your mother and Illyana will be alright. But your father. He needs to know. The things in your heart.” She didn’t smile, but squeezed his arm, then gave him a soft little push towards the door.
The things in your heart...
The tears came back into Piotr's eyes and he nodded. The things in his heart. He would tell his father. He would see his father to his rest with words of comfort and words of reassurance and above all else, words of love. That was his nature, as Sibyl well knew.
Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door to his father's room.
Before it closed, Sibyl heard a low cry and a woman - no, a girl's voice call his name, the tone shocked, yet clearly thrilled, relieved and totally delighted.
Sibyl blinked away tears as the sound of the woman’s voice shot through her. The visions came only stronger as the door opened, unblocking the way to the man lying in the bed. She’d never been so sure of anything in her life. And of course it was likely Piotr’s father was going to die, but the confirmation of it only made it more difficult.
She sat heavily in a chair and put her hands to her face for a moment, wanting to sob. Her poor Petya. Not only was his father going to die, but his mother was ill. She might not even know it yet. If grief did not make it worse, perhaps she would have years. But Sibyl could see the sickness sitting in the woman’s lungs like black stones. She held her breath, and tried to put the visions away, accepting them one at a time as one might patiently listen to someone on the phone they’d rather not be speaking to.
After a few minutes, they dissipated and she was left only with the linger, distant memories of the nurse at the desk down the hall, and the patients in their rooms. Sibyl took a deep breath, and waited.
About twenty minutes passed, during which hospital life went on. Nurses, doctors and consultants came and went.
Then the door to Nikolai Rasputin's room opened and a girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old at the most came out. She was staggeringly pretty, with golden blonde hair that clouded around her sweet face. Her eyes gave away her relationship to Piotr; they were just as blue as his were and held the same strength of character.
"Are you...Sibylinka?" she asked. "I am Illyana Nikolovna Rasputin."
Her heart leapt. A rush of memories screamed past her, all so similar to Piotr’s, a love for family and respect for hard work clearly evident. Sibyl stood, and offered both hands out. It had been a long time since she’d been able to greet anyone with that more familiar gesture.
Squeezing Illyana’s hands lightly, she nodded. “I am Sibyl, yes. Illyana. You’re Piotr’s sister.” She looked back at the door, and then to the younger girl. “You look tired,” she said sympathetically. “Can I get you and your mother anything from the café downstairs…”
"Petya sent me out to make sure that you were well," she said, seeming glad and relieved to have someone offer such comfort and support. Illyana was too young to bear the weight of her mother's increasing grief alone and the arrival of her cherished brother had been a load off her mind. "Perhaps a coffee for my mother. She has not eaten in several days, although I have tried to tell her to eat. Maybe now Petya is here..."
The return of the prodigal son.
It seemed that Illyana totally adored her brother to the point that his arrival had made her own grief dissipate for a time.
"Perhaps...she would eat one of the cakes...Petya said that I should get some anyway, will you help me, Sibylinka?"
She was so sweet and open, innocence personified.
“Of course,” she said readily, and with great strength in her voice, as if it really were too much that Illyana even had to ask. “That is why I have come with him. All of you are likely so worn by all of this. Would you like to come with me?”
Checking her pockets for her American dollars, she hoped they would take them. “We should at least bring something up for her. Perhaps she will eat something small. I am sure we could have them warm some milk for her, drinking is often easier than eating.”
She touched Illyana’s elbow lightly. Sibyl could immediately sense what it was Piotr loved so about the girl. Not only was she radiantly beautiful in a society that often took that sort of thing away from their young women at a brutally young age- but she had the same warmth and goodness about her as Piotr. Already, she knew she’d made the right decision in coming.
"My brother has written to me of you," said the girl as they walked down to the cafeteria. "He told me how beautiful you are." Her tone was rather shy. "It is very true."
A pause.
"The doctors think that Papa will not last much longer. It will be a relief, I think, when he does fall asleep forever. It is so hard on him, and on Mama. I am so glad that Piotr managed to..."
The girl began to weep softly, releasing grief that she had been forced to hold in for her mother's sake, freed by the arrival of her knight in shining armour - her brother.
Blushing a little at her words, she was caught off guard when Illyana began to cry. It felt awkward, but she paused and put her arm around the girl, letting her cry.
“You have been so strong,” she whispered. “I am sure you felt very alone with your sadness. But you needn’t be the strong one anymore. Your brother and I are here to take care of your mother and you.”
Oh, how her heart hurt. Her family had been dead to her for many years, she hadn’t allowed herself to think of how they might be doing. All of this opened her back up to how much she missed them. Yet somehow, she felt Piotr’s family was her family too.
After a moment she continued walking at a slower pace, her arm around Illyana’s shoulders still.
"I am so sorry," said Illyana, taking a handkerchief out of her pocket and dabbing at her eyes. "It has been so very difficult, these past days. Mama has lost the will to live. She sits with Papa day and night, holding his hand. They have talked much of Mikhail and of Piotr. It makes Papa happy to talk of Piotr. He was sleeping when Piotr arrived, but he will be delighted when he wakes."
She only just managed to say the word 'when' as opposed to the word 'if'.
The cafeteria had a selection of cakes and buns in cellophane wrap and Illyana selected a slice of fruit cake that she said she was sure her mother would like. "I have come down here to eat every day since Papa came in," she said in a whisper to Sibyl. "I miss the farm. We all used to eat together around a big, long table."
Sibyl added a few more things, two cups of coffee and one of tea for herself, something for Piotr to eat as he was always hungry, though she doubted he would eat it right away simply for grief.
"Illyana I believe you and I should concentrate on helping your mother. At her age, and in losing her love, she may become sick as well.” Sibyl cleared her throat and frowned a bit, speaking softly to the cashier and mangling the local dialect a bit, but managing it.
She carried the tray carefully as they went back upstairs. “Your father is going to pass. We know this. And so, Piotr will make the arrangements as he did for your brother Mikhail. I will see to it that the meals are taken care of and will help with the farmwork, as of course will your brother. You, Illyana, are welcome to help if it eases your pain, but I hope that you know you do not need to. Spend your time with your mother, if that is easiest for you.”
"Thank you, Sibylinka. You are so kind."
Fresh tears ran down the child's face and she made no effort to wipe them away. "Mama hasn't been well for many years. Since Mikhail died, Piotr told me once. I was...so young when he died. I barely remember him."
Piotr had told Sibyl that Illyana had been a late child, a surprise, but a welcome one who had brought sunshine into her aging parents' life. The first female Rasputin child to be born in four generations, they had doted on her, all of them.
Had she been a Western child, born to the lap of luxury, this would have spoiled her. But Illyana was clearly anything but spoiled. Despite the nearly ten years that separated her and Piotr, she seemed more mature in many ways.
Sibyl nodded. These things were her duty. Not only as a decent human being, but as Piotr’s love.
They reached the waiting area and Sibyl set down the tray, putting aside her tea and giving Illyana the rest. “I’ll help you with the door. Now, I don’t wish to come in unless both your mother and Piotr wish me there. I am perfectly content out here, so don’t worry for me.” She rubbed Illyana’s back a bit, comfortingly.
The poor thing. This was hard enough on her, and it wasn’t her father on his deathbed. She took a slow breath to keep her eyes from tearing up.
"Thank you," said Illyana again, standing on tiptoe to kiss Sibyl's cheek gently.
Once the door was opened, she went inside with the tray. Piotr, who was sitting at his father's bedside looked up as the light from the waiting room fell onto his father, who was now awake and looking deathly pale, but happy as he sat with his son's hand in his own.
Their mother got to her feet to take the tray from Illyana.
The entire Rasputin family looked at Sibylinka standing in the doorway.
Barely waiting for Illyana to go through the door, Sibyl met their eyes, her own a somber sort of serene. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears as they looked at her, and stole a look at Piotr’s father, memories of his son winding through her mind. Her expression held such subdued warmth for the man, who looked a great deal like Piotr, if withered and gray. Sibyl smiled very softly to him.
After only a moment she nodded to them all, and let the door swing shut once more, walking back to her seat with her knees shaking so badly she nearly fell as she sat down again. Her hands curled around the cup of tea and she removed the lid, not feeling at all like drinking it with her stomach lurching as it was.
It hadn’t occurred to her that a mutant gypsy like herself might displease his parents. She had experienced fear and rejection all her life, but as a Seer, many drew it into the mystique of her profession. Until she had been standing there with them looking at her she hadn’t given a thought to her white skin or blue hair, the soft pink of her eyes. Sibyl hoped desperately they would look past it. If they were anything like their son, things would be just fine.
Several minutes later, the door opened again, and Piotr stood there. He looked at Sibyl for a long time, his expression unreadable.
Then he smiled.
"Come," he said, softly. "They consider that my leaving you out here alone to be extremely rude."
She knew, in that moment, that the Rasputin family would accept her for who - and what - she was.
She had watched him in return with her own blend of sympathy, strength, and sadness. When he smiled, it was like the sunrise.
Picking up her cup, she slid her fingers into his hand. “Kiss me quick then, I wouldn’t want to make them wait.”