The K/S Kitchen

The Kitchen, Need I say more? it is a Kitchen....

April, 2015... several hours after Kiara left

Sevastyan groggily shuffled into the kitchen in his socks and a bathrobe, a hand rubbing his face wearily. He had just woken up from his nap of sorts and had not had the best of dreams. The last time he’d had one similar to it was the last time his marriage to Kiara had been strained to the point of just about breaking. And, once more, it was all his fault. She thought he didn’t care, which stung. Mere months ago he was prepared to kill himself for her. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but rather that he was shocked and tired... and honestly had no idea how to react. She’d been five months pregnant and hadn’t said a word! Deliberately disguised herself so he wouldn’t see! She was afraid it seemed... afraid of him...

He sat at the table after summoning a bottle of vodka to him from the refrigerator, and put his head in his hands. “Vy does this happen to us?” the wizard muttered to the silence, frustrated and somewhat subdued. ’Perhaps I truly do not deserve her...’ he pondered sadly. She was always so kind, so caring... and yet it seemed at every turn, every knot their marriage, he was the villain taking advantage of the damsel’s affections, until she saw the monster within and fled.

Perhaps this was why so few Mafiosi married...

And then there was the baby! The cause of this latest parting of ways... Sevastyan had not anticipated ever having children. Or at least, not so early. He wasn’t even sure he knew how to be father, much less a decent one. The notion of a mass of screaming, hyperactive brats was not his idea of anything pleasurable. How Kiara managed to keep this secret for so long simply baffled him... and made him wonder if she had other secrets she was keeping from him.

Such as the man she’d been with in his dream...

“Oh, Merlin, no...” Sevastyan moaned, squeezing his eyes shut and grabbing a fistful of his raven hair in each hand. He doubted their marriage could withstand another case of infidelity. “It vos only a dream... that’s all!” he told himself. It was indeed only a dream, particularly because he had been with Viper and Kiara with one of the people who had beaten him senseless during the last time they were apart. He and Viper were long since through... not to mention he trusted Kiara. It was why he felt even worse about his own affair, because she’d been staunchly loyal to him whereas he was not so resilient.

Yet in his dream the shouting match between them still haunted his mind... Kiara accusing him of not caring... and he accusing her of not telling him things he would’ve expected to be told. The dream argument had only escalated from there, until both had launched a curse at the other. It was at that moment he woke up.

Not certain what to do or think, Sevastyan did the only thing he knew he could do: he popped the top on the bottle of vodka, contemplated the repercussions of drinking away his problems, and then downed a quarter of the bottle without so much as a second thought. He was a monster... or at least he felt like one, remembering the hurt in his wife’s eyes. If Kiara gave birth to a boy, it would only learn from him how to also be a monster. If she had a girl, the child would likely be afraid of him. He didn’t like kids... particularly other people’s kids. Now he too was going to be a parent...

And already Sevastyan felt he was turning out to be just as horrible as his own father had been.

Placing the neck of the bottle once again to his lips, taking a rather long draw of the hard liquor within, the Russian focused his sights to a letter upon the counter he hadn’t noticed before. His name was scrawled onto the front in a familiar yet unfamiliar penmanship. Sevastyan’s free hand snatched up the letter to examine the parchment, dexterous fingers unfolding the paper:

Kaminski:

I write at the request of my daughter, your wife, to say that she is with us here in France. It is my observation that she is most unwell, and if she is not better within the day we shall take her to Saint Mungo’s Hospital.

I pray for your sake that they do not find she has been abused on top of whatever it was you said or did to put her in such a state...

With utmost sincerity,

Abraxas Magnus


Sevastyan glared with disgust at the signed name at the bottom. “Great... so now they think I have abused her, too?!” he shouted incredulously to absolutely no one, throwing the half-empty bottle of vodka against the wall in his outrage. The letter immediately ignited with magical flame just as the bottle shattered into thousands of tiny pieces.

So now his stupidity has likely hospitalized her...

If she had only just told him sooner!

... if only he hadn’t freaked out about an occasion that most found joyous...

Sevastyan immediately headed for the bedroom. If Abraxas was going to come here unexpected, the Russian wanted to make certain the old man found nothing... and no one. What if his father-in-law had evidence falsified as abuse, and tried to have him locked up again? True... the prison time could award him yet another tattoo... but that really wasn’t where he wanted to be. And if he didn’t... it was probably all the best that he got out of here for a little while anyway. There were too many memories, and particularly too much residue tension in the bedroom, for him to think clearly and properly about what he was to do about this situation.

He’d nearly lost Kiara once... he wasn’t about to have it happen again!