#FUCK YOU IRINA MOROZOVA

[theleafling]

MARGO WALKED SO MARS COULD RUN!!! I say, with false enthusiasm knowing she is going to jail for the rest of her life and we will probably not see her in future seasons

[moocowmoocow]

[ddagent]

It was Margo's first time in Russia. She'd seen news footage, of course. Heard it spoken of so fondly by Sergei in the years of their acquaintance. Despite the reservations of his government, his hatred for the KGB, he had spoken warmly of vacations with his family, of cooking with his mother, of the first heavy snow. Margo wished, truly, that she could experience Russia through his eyes. But Sergei had been dead for eight years and all around her was ghosts.

Thankfully, there was the work to distract her. Always the work.

The Goldilocks capture conference in Leningrad had not been as...productive, as Margo had hoped. Political posturing; capitalism and bottom lines outweighing scientific merit and discovery. Exhausted, Margo had retired to a fireplace in the hotel bar, sharing a drink with Aleida, licking their wounds after the new Director of Roscosmos had scuppered their intentions to bring the asteroid to Mars.

Margo rolled her neck, fingers pressing against the condensation of the glass. "We should be holding this in Houston."

"No arguments here. Instead, Morozova gets to run the show." Aleida sipped her brandy. She was still pissed she'd been relegated to an inferior hotel, whereas Margo, as director of NASA, had been give five star accommodation. Margo couldn't blame her. "There's something about her I just don't trust."

"I'd say someone was pulling her strings, but I think she's at the top of the food chain here."

Margo didn't enjoy spy novels. Didn't enjoy ear pieces and false identities and honey traps. Any possible love for the genre had been eroded when the KGB had throttled Sergei in front of her. But she knew the signs. The hallmarks. The way Irina would pause. The way she would formulate words on her tongue that held no meaning, just regurgitated from others. No doubt, Margo would know what lay behind it all in due course. But for now, she was happy to spend some hours of the day away from Irina Morozova and Dev Ayesa.

"I'm gonna head up to my room." Margo stared at Aleida. "You sure you're going to be okay over there? You can stay with me; it's not a problem."

"I've slept in worse." Aleida drained her glass. "Text you when I'm there. Don't forget to text Ilyana and Andrei."

Margo would not. Sergei's aging parents had been so excited about her trip when Margo had told them during her last visit. Maps had been involved; images summoned from the web to replace the photo albums they had lost. It had been another dinner where Margo had felt a stab in her gut at all they had lost to come to the States: their home, their possessions, their son. Margo had done everything to get Sergei and his family out. All but see him home safe. Still, Margo had promised to take pictures for his parents and she would fulfil that promise.

As she left the hotel bar, Margo noticed that Irina had left. She traversed the halls, seeing if she had picked up a shadow. She entered the elevator alone. Pressed seven. Flexed her fingers around a phantom touch. Exited alone. Margo hovered, as the doors closed, imagining his body close to hers. Aleida went to the IAC now. Margo couldn't bear it. At least there were no memories here. No ghosts that would haunt Margo as she entered her room.

Margo began the short walk to her suite. The door was ajar. Fuck. There was no housekeeping cart outside, or room service. Just an open door spilling light into the hallway. No. Not again. She was not going to stand for this. She was done being messed with. Storming into her hotel room, Margo caught sight of a figure by her desk and called out: "I am not being fucked around by you people anymore. You'll have to strangle me this time."

The figure turned around and Margo's world spun.

"Hello, Margo."

It wasn't possible. She was dreaming or had been knocked out somehow between the elevator and here. This wasn't real. Bradford had tried to get home. He'd been on the plane; had made it to Germany. But the KGB had found him. Bradford had spared her the details, not wanting to see her tears, not wanting to know how close the head of NASA was with the former head of Roscosmos. But he was dead, of that she was sure. Margo had mourned him. His parents, his sisters had mourned him. There was a photograph of them from Apollo-Soyuz on her shelves that Aleida always stared at when she came into Margo's office. Staring at a ghost, a legacy.

Yet here he was.

Sergei Nikulov – older, with creases around his eyes but still looking healthier than the last time she'd seen him in person – stared at her. Smiled at her. Before the weight of his haunting fell heavy on his shoulders. "We do not have much time."

Margo didn't respond. She merely approached, cautiously, as if he were made of vapour and would disappear if she made one errant step. She took stock of him: the rise and fall of his chest, the flush of his skin under the warmth of the hotel lights, the stray thread on the sleeve of his shirt. After a visual inspection, Margo investigated closer. She took his hand in hers. Familiar grooves and lines. A phantom touch made real. His grip tightened, held her hand for the first time in nearly a decade.

Margo gasped and immediately closed the distance between them, cradling his face in her hands. "I thought—" He nodded. "I thought I couldn't save you."

Sergei took one of the hands pressing against his cheek and kissed her palm. "I am afraid, Margo, that I am beyond saving. This time, I am here to save you." His shoulders fell in defeat. "We need to talk about Irina Morozova."

[theleafling]

GET FUCKED IRINA MOROZOVA LOSE THAT JOB BITCH YOU DESERVE IT