Before Alice manages to slip out of the room Natasha gives her backside a firm pat that's paired with a wink before climbing into the shower, and once she's finished she collapses on the bed with such weariness that she's asleep before her head hits the pillow.
The only thing colder than the ice that she sits upon is the wind, snow mercilessly pelting the exposed skin of her face as she shivers fiercely beneath half of the large coat she shares with the woman sitting beside her. She huddles closer to Victoria for warmth, but the thin blonde is just as cold as she is. Natasha wonders whether she can feel it, too, the ice settling in so deep that it feels as if her bones themselves have become brittle enough to crack with movement.
They share the coat, a glove on Natasha's hand while the other is on Victoria's, and the hands with exposed skin are held tightly between them with fingers twined together and tucked between their two bodies.
The supplies are scattered. They each wear one boot on the foot exposed the most to the elements, their only hat, right now, on Victoria's head. The pack of food is used to try and block the open area of the coat that they can't quite close around themselves, nearly empty of food and supplies, and within it lies their only weapon; a handgun, with one bullet remaining in it's chamber.
"Мы не можем," Victoria argues with a new fierceness. "Мы использовали почти все наши материалы. Один из нас не может достичь, конечно, не обоих." Natasha stays silent, because she's certain that Victoria is right, and perhaps that isn't the worst thing. Perhaps they'll die here together, and it isn't the worst way to go. She's heard stories of people dying of the cold, that it ends with deliriousness, that they feel so overheated they strip off all their clothes and die in the ice. Maybe the warmth will come soon.
When the world blurs, Natasha thinks that it's the heat starting to come, but she's still so cold. Her tears feel as if they're going to freeze to her skin. "Виктория..."
But she pulls away from Natasha's hand, tearing the hat off of her head to leave it in the snow along with the glove that she wears, and then with a struggle she begins to untie her boot. "Я больше не хочу так жить." Her voice wavers with emotion but she shows no fault in the way that she moves, her decision already made. The boot is off, and she struggles to get to her feet, leaving the coat.
Natasha will never forgive herself for the way that she grabs it and wraps it around herself completely with desperation.
"Тебе нужно выйти." Victoria is shivering madly now, digging around the pack and speaking loudly over the white noise of snow and wind. When she pulls out the pistol she stands once more, taking a step back.
Natasha is much too weak, too cold, to wrestle it out of her hands.
She's shaking her head, frozen lips pressed together in a thin line with tears streaking down her face, but she replies, voice quiet and almost lost when it's carried away by the wind.
Victoria presses the barrel of the gun beneath her chin.
Natasha doesn't realize that the shocked scream is aloud. She doesn't realize that she's in bed, covered in a cold sweat with trembling hands, and no matter how many times she looks around the room she still sees the snow, and the ice. The white that blends into the sky and makes it impossible to see the horizon. She's trembling - or is she shivering - because she's cold, but the blankets are warm, and her face is wet with tears that she doesn't remember crying.
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The only thing colder than the ice that she sits upon is the wind, snow mercilessly pelting the exposed skin of her face as she shivers fiercely beneath half of the large coat she shares with the woman sitting beside her. She huddles closer to Victoria for warmth, but the thin blonde is just as cold as she is. Natasha wonders whether she can feel it, too, the ice settling in so deep that it feels as if her bones themselves have become brittle enough to crack with movement.
They share the coat, a glove on Natasha's hand while the other is on Victoria's, and the hands with exposed skin are held tightly between them with fingers twined together and tucked between their two bodies.
The supplies are scattered. They each wear one boot on the foot exposed the most to the elements, their only hat, right now, on Victoria's head. The pack of food is used to try and block the open area of the coat that they can't quite close around themselves, nearly empty of food and supplies, and within it lies their only weapon; a handgun, with one bullet remaining in it's chamber.
"Мы должны продолжать двигаться," Natasha begins, forcing the words past chattering teeth. "Мы умрем, если останемся здесь."
"Я не могу." Victoria's response comes thick and heavy, but with a resolve that sends a different chill - icy fear - through Natasha's veins. "Мы не собираемся выбраться из этого вместе, Наталья."
"Не говори так." Natasha begins fiercely, the heat in her voice giving her the energy she needs to look over at the woman she grew up beside. "Не говори так, мы почти там, мы можем это сделать-"
"Мы не можем," Victoria argues with a new fierceness. "Мы использовали почти все наши материалы. Один из нас не может достичь, конечно, не обоих." Natasha stays silent, because she's certain that Victoria is right, and perhaps that isn't the worst thing. Perhaps they'll die here together, and it isn't the worst way to go. She's heard stories of people dying of the cold, that it ends with deliriousness, that they feel so overheated they strip off all their clothes and die in the ice. Maybe the warmth will come soon.
But then Victoria continues. "Это должна быть ты, Наталья."
The fear grows stronger, and Natasha lets go of Victoria's hand only to grab her arm fiercely between them, staring at her with desperation in her young eyes. "Виктория, нет! Мы можем сделать это, или мы оба можем умереть здесь. Мы можем сделать это вместе-"
Victoria pulls her arm away abruptly, and when she looks at Natasha there are tears in her eyes that fail to hide the powerful determination behind them. "Это должна быть ты, Наталья. Ты всегда был самым сильным. Если у кого-то есть шанс выбраться, это ты. Ты один."
When the world blurs, Natasha thinks that it's the heat starting to come, but she's still so cold. Her tears feel as if they're going to freeze to her skin. "Виктория..."
But she pulls away from Natasha's hand, tearing the hat off of her head to leave it in the snow along with the glove that she wears, and then with a struggle she begins to untie her boot. "Я больше не хочу так жить." Her voice wavers with emotion but she shows no fault in the way that she moves, her decision already made. The boot is off, and she struggles to get to her feet, leaving the coat.
Natasha will never forgive herself for the way that she grabs it and wraps it around herself completely with desperation.
"Тебе нужно выйти." Victoria is shivering madly now, digging around the pack and speaking loudly over the white noise of snow and wind. When she pulls out the pistol she stands once more, taking a step back.
Natasha is much too weak, too cold, to wrestle it out of her hands.
"Уничтожь их, Наталия, сделай это для нас. За то, что они сделали с нами. Обещай мне."
Natasha's throat feels like it's closed now, and she has to use so much force to get past it that she nearly screams. "Виктория, пожалуйста-"
Victoria speaks with anger in return. "Обещай мне, Наталья!"
She's shaking her head, frozen lips pressed together in a thin line with tears streaking down her face, but she replies, voice quiet and almost lost when it's carried away by the wind.
"Обещаю."
Victoria presses the barrel of the gun beneath her chin.
Natasha doesn't realize that the shocked scream is aloud. She doesn't realize that she's in bed, covered in a cold sweat with trembling hands, and no matter how many times she looks around the room she still sees the snow, and the ice. The white that blends into the sky and makes it impossible to see the horizon. She's trembling - or is she shivering - because she's cold, but the blankets are warm, and her face is wet with tears that she doesn't remember crying.