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[fic] Au grand jamais
22 December 2014
This fic is also on AO3, if you find it easier to read there
Fandom: Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812
Focus: Natasha & Sonya
Setting: post-canon
Length: 1,009 words
Themes:
complicated friendship; aftermath of canon suicide attempt
Summary:
Sonya and Natasha, after everything.
Foreword:
Written for Citagazze for Yuletide 2014.
I wrote this based solely on my knowledge of the musical soundtrack, no War & Peace involved. Thanks to my wonderful beta for helping me with this fic despite not being familiar with the canon herself.
Fic:
After Natasha recovers she still feels so, so weak. The household hovers around her, solicitous, but she cannot bear the kind concern in their eyes. She doesn't even have the strength to be angry at them, and somehow that feels worst of all. Natasha feels small, pressed down and inward into herself so that she is nothing more than a shadow of a girl's body. Dully she does what she is told, listening to Marya Dmitryevna's instructions, eating nourishing foods and taking medicines and going out for painfully slow walks. And everywhere around her, all she hears is people not talking about when Andrey will arrive.
She has so much to feel ashamed of, and she knows there is nobody to blame for her actions but herself. Surely everything would be better if she could just stop existing. But she feels somehow as if she has been committed to life and has no choice but to keep on living.
"Sonya," Natasha had said, clutching to her cousin's bedpost to keep from falling over. "Sonya, I don't want to die."
And she didn't die. Sonya helped her, as Sonya always has.
One more thing to be ashamed of, that Sonya could be so faithful to Natasha after what Natasha had said to her. "You're my enemy forever," Natasha had cried out, and in that moment she had meant it entirely. And yet - it was Sonya who Natasha went to in the middle of the night.
Whenever Sonya comes now to visit Natasha during her recovery, Sonya talks only meaningless gossip mingled with occasional encouraging comments on how much better Natasha is getting. Natasha listens silently, wishing Sonya would just leave her alone.
One sunny afternoon Sonya and Natasha sit out in the courtyard together. Natasha sits forward on her chair, leaning her arms on her legs, her head down. Sonya, beside her, sits straight and correct. Neither speaks, but the sun shining warm on Natasha's head feels almost comforting today. Quietly, almost without realizing it, she begins to cry.
One of Sonya's hands touches her gently on the shoulder, then rests there, the weight and the warmth another terrible reminder of Sonya's unshakeable care for her.
"Don't," Natasha says, her voice unsteady - the first word she has said to Sonya since the night she nearly died. Sonya's hand withdraws, and Natasha can just hear her let out a tired sigh. When Natasha feels she can trust her voice again, she says, "I want to go back inside," and Sonya, of course, helps her to rise, leads her back to her bed.
"I hate you, Sonya," Natasha whispers experimentally to herself when she is alone, then begins to cry again.
The next time Natasha and Sonya are alone together Sonya seems determinedly cheerful. She tells an anecdote about a mutual acquaintance, stretching it out far longer than is quite warranted and laughing at all the most ridiculous parts. Sonya's hands remain folded securely in her lap. Natasha listens quietly, but nods in the right places. She manages to summon up a small smile when Sonya brings the story to a close, then has to turn her face away.
"Tell me," Natasha says, still looking at the wall, before Sonya can launch into another story, "when will Prince Bolkonsky be here?" Sonya breathes in sharply, and Natasha feels briefly, childishly pleased that she has put Sonya off balance.
"I can't say," Sonya says finally.
Angry now, Natasha turns back to face her and demands, "Can't say?"
"I haven't been told the details. Marya Dmitryevna has not confided in me." Sonya sounds frustrated and she continues, voice edging into bitterness, "Why does it matter to you, you who rejected him?"
"I know," Natasha cries out, nearly shouting. "I wronged him, I can't expect anything from him, no doubt he hates me, and with good reason. I just want everything to be over." By the time she's finished speaking she is panting with exertion, cheeks burning, and Sonya looks distraught.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have excited you like that," Sonya says, and flees the room. Natasha stares after her, unsure what to think.
Natasha doesn't see Sonya for several days. Servants care for her, she plays a few quiet games of Boston with Marya Dmitryevna, she reads a little, but mostly she naps and thinks, drifting easily and often between the two. She is still so very tired.
Finally when it becomes clear to her that Sonya is avoiding her, she asks Marya Dmitryevna. "You don't need to worry about that girl," she replies firmly, but says no more on the subject.
And the next day Sonya is back. "You're looking well today," Natasha says hesitantly, a peace offering. They talk about innocent childhood games of make-believe they once shared. They make no mention of anything more serious, that day or any of the days following.
Then Natasha unexpectedly meets with Pierre, and after their brief conversation she feels somehow steadier, more herself than she has in a long time. And for the first time she seeks out Sonya instead of letting Sonya come to her.
"I'm sorry, Sonya," she says as she enters the room, and Sonya looks up from her needlework, surprised. Natasha continues, determined; "I treated you unfairly. You were only looking out for me." She sinks down onto the sofa beside Sonya, who is still clutching her needlework like she's forgotten she is holding it.
Sonya's glittering eyes fix on Natasha's, and she smiles tremulously. "Oh, Natasha," she says, then she drops the needlework and throws her arms around Natasha's frail body. Natasha hugs back, emotion welling up within her until tears begin to run down her face, and lets herself sink into the warmth of Sonya's love.
Natasha knows that not everything between them is mended. In the weeks to come there will be awkwardness; there are barriers between them still, and the intimacy that once came so easily must be rediscovered. But Natasha finally feels that she and Sonya can be friends again. Trust, she thinks, will return.
Comments:
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