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could you do some melina and yelena quiet day in fluff ?
Melina knows the storm is coming in because Cat keeps pawing at her left leg, back arched and pink tongue curling out in a long yawn. It’s Tuesday. Nothing else. No desperate communications, no scrambled transmissions, no bullets, no blood, no baited breath.
Yelena gives a noise from the bed. She had wandered into Melina’s spaces sometime past six during the woman’s brief trip to get water and use the bathroom. Melina came back, half dead with sleep only to find the once widow curled up underneath her comforter.
She looked to the window curtains, sighed, and climbed back into bed.
Now it’s nearing 8:30, and they ought to be doing some kind of preparation for…something. Anything.
Melina climbs back into bed. Yelena mumbles something that she can’t make out before clinging to Melina with such drowsy dexterity that the older woman can’t help but think of those animal programs they sometimes watch late at night. Baby capuchins clinging to their mothers who bounced from tree to tree, all wide eyed and curious.
“Not quite a monkey,” Melina decides softly. Her fingers massage the base of her daughter’s spine, a constant reminder of safety after a too close call with a grazing bullet during those inescapable years in the Red Room. She doesn’t know the story, not at all. But the fact Yelena trusts enough to let her have contact is enough for her mother. The scar is ugly and thick. She traces it with gentle fingers, humming a cossack lullaby under her breath between yawns.
“Can we go to the exhibit today?” Yelena’s voice is thick with sleep.
“What time?”
Some half mumble that is either 10 or 3.
Melina laughs. “Yes. We will go.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Then you ought to get up and make yourself something to eat. I’m a scientist, my love, not some…” she can’t remember the word in English. Or Russian. Or any of the other 15 drilled into her mind from age six. So she offers suggestions. “We still have fruit.”
“Nyet.”
Melina gives a long suffering sigh. “Ona govorit ‘nyet’ etomu i nyet.” she mutters. “Skoro ty sam sebe otkazhesh'sya!”
“No, I don’t.”
“Case in point.” Her lips press against blonde hair. “We can go to a bakery, but I’m not paying for a single thing.”
Yelena swings her leg over Melina’s left thigh, a tangled affection made of some thick red quilt and leggings with a hole in the knee.
“Okay,” she decides. Her body weight is almost entirely on top of her mother. “I like the fruit there.”
“I know,” Melina laughs. With a solid poke to her left hip, Yelena’s head comes up to look at her makeshift pillow full in the face. “It’s what you say yes to.”
“I say yes to other things.”
“Such as?”
Yelena considers, and then boops her nose against Melina’s. “Good morning. I say yes to that.” Her mouth curls into a grin.
That’s something.