Two Weeks in Kyiv

Normal. The streets looked normal. People out walking their dogs, getting their morning coffee. A café with plywood where its windows used to be, open anyway. Hard to believe hell and Kyiv were only 600 kilometers apart.

Of course she was in a fancy hotel. Surprising they were still running. No guests in the lobby though. The front desk attendant glanced at his military fatigues and let him pass. He didn't trust elevators anymore. Too many blackouts. A laminated sign by the stairs, an arrow pointing down: УКРИТТЯ. Shelter. He took the stairs two at a time.

Room 302. He paused at the door.

Some things cost more than they're worth. You do it once and end up carrying it forever. Do you really want to reopen this?

He knocked before he could answer himself.

Make it quick. Send her home.

His chest seized as the door opened.

There she was. Glossy dark hair, clear grey eyes, full lips, fair skin. She hadn't aged a day.

She backed up as he stepped into the room, a cautious, imploring look on her face.

"I told you not to come." It came out harsher than he intended.

Her back hit the wall. "Sorry."

"Woman." He closed the door behind him. "This is a war zone. You heard the air raid sirens?"

"I did."

"So? You tired of living or something?"



"I wanted to see you."

He forced himself to breathe. "That's not a good reason. Go home."

She tilted her head, looking up at him. "Did you miss me?"

Were all Americans this cocky, or only her? He placed his hand on her neck. Alive and real. His sea nymph, somehow back in his broken country.

"This was supposed to be a summer thing," he told her.

"Why'd you keep texting me then?"

"To make sure you were okay! If I'd known this would happen, I would've cut you off. Look at you now. War tourist."

She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist. "I missed you too."

Her pulse beat rapidly beneath his thumb as he kissed her. He'd thought his memory might have exaggerated, but no. Her body arched into his. He suddenly wanted to take her right there, against the wall. Same as ever. Worse. He'd had it bad since the moment he saw her come up out of the water on that beach.

"I thought you were going to move on," he said in her ear. His voice was shot. Sounded like he'd just smoked a pack.

"I dated other guys." Her hands were running up his back, over his shoulders. "None of them were you."

No way. It had been years. He shook his head, as if that could undo what he'd done to her. Be angry. Fuck her fast. Send her home. "Promise me you'll go right after this."

"How long is your leave?"

He gripped her by the hips. "Promise me."

"I come all the way to Kyiv for you and you're just going to hit and run?"

He groaned. "You know it's not like that."

"Then stay. At least a night." Her hands ran down his arms. "I want to sleep beside you."

He wanted that so bad his whole body hurt. He caught her wandering hands and held them against his chest. "Tomorrow then," he found himself saying. "Promise. Or I'll leave."

"I promise." She nodded, her eyes large and bright. Too bright.

He closed his eyes as tears began to slip down her face. She had a whole life ahead of her, and what could he offer? A few days of leave. He felt his hands, impossibly large and clumsy, swiping the tears off her face. "Hey. Don't cry."

It was no use. Her tears spilled over his hands. He kissed her across her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, tasting her salt-wet skin.

"Don't be this sad. Not yet," he bargained. "We have all day. And a whole night."

"Do we?" Her voice was small.

"Yes." He gathered her up in his arms. Squeezed her tight enough to break her.

She let him crush the breath out of her. "Okay."

He picked her up and staggered over to the generously sized bed.

She pulled him onto her, and they tumbled down together.

He lifted himself up on his arms to take her in. "You're so beautiful."

"You too." She ran her hand over his beard.

He gave a laugh. He hadn't shaved in weeks. "Tell the truth. I look like shit."

"You're harder. Stronger. Older." She tugged at his shirt. "But still just as handsome."

He stripped his shirt off for her. "You just like me too much."

"What if I do?" She ran her hands over his bare skin, fingers lingering over the new scar at his ribs. "You changed what I like."

"I fucked you up."

"Do it again then."

The things she said. He yanked her shirt off. She smelled like crushed flowers. He bit down on her shoulder, just like he had that last night. Mine.

She moaned as he marked her.

"You like that?" 



"Mhm."

God damn. He clawed at the rest of her clothes, tearing them off like an animal. If another second went by without his skin on hers--

She reached for his belt, yanking him towards her.

He pushed her hands aside, fumbling at the buckle. He hadn't had a woman since... When was the last time he'd had a woman?

All thoughts fled as she ran her hand up his bare cock. She was lowering her head...

White hot pleasure struck as her warm mouth closed around him.

"Stop." He pushed her off, tumbling onto her. "Don't do that. I'm going to lose control."

"I want you to."

Make it good for her. He clung to that single thread of sanity. She'd crossed an ocean for him, so he had to make it good for her. He roughly parted her legs and got between them, lowering his head. She cried out as his tongue ran over her salty wet musk, gripping his shoulders. Made no damn sense how much she wanted him. CIA, he thought, not for the first time. But you couldn't fake this. She was dripping to the bed.

"Please." She tugged at him. "I need you inside me."

Ah. He couldn't stand it when she begged. He got to his knees. This never should have happened. He couldn't believe it was happening again. He wanted to crawl inside her skin.

Her eyes searched his as he brought his cock to her entrance. "There's something I have to..."

He paused, struggling for breath. "Did you want me to use a condom?"

"No."

"Thank god." He thrust into her.

"Oh my god," she gasped, arching beneath him.

Crazy. Her tight wet heat gripping down around him made him crazy. He started giving it to her. Hard. Deep. Bare. His hand closed over her throat, encircling the whole of her neck. "You're mine," he told her. "All mine."

"Oh..." She gasped in assent, breathless beneath his hand.

Her surrender tripped a wire in him. He drove her into the bed.

Her hand went to his, prying it off her neck.

He quickly released her. Was he being too rough?



"Wait," she panted. "There's something you need to know. I don't have an IUD anymore."

It took a moment for her words to sink in. When they did, he stopped mid-thrust. "Are you kidding?"

She met his eyes. "Don't worry about it though."

"What? You want me to knock you up?"

"If it happens, it happens." She looked embarrassed.

His cock pulsed inside her. Hot as hell. He thrust into her again. And again. So wet. Her body was begging for it. Surely there was a reason he shouldn't though. Many reasons. He struggled to think. Him, dead in a trench. Her, alone in New York. A boy, asking where his father was.

His body wasn't listening. She moaned and tightened around him, dragging him towards the edge. He exhaled hard and forced himself to pull out. "Fuck."

"Don't stop!" She reached for him.

"We shouldn't." He pinned her hands to the bed, bracing himself over her like he was holding a position under fire.

"Please..."

He shook his head, wishing he could plug his ears. "I can't take care of you."

"You don't have to. I can take care of myself."

He looked down at her, unable to bring himself to get off of her. She didn't look a day older. But there were faint lines at the corner of her eyes. She was. His head cleared a little. "So is this why you came?"

"Well... I could've gotten a sperm donor, but you know..."

Rich woman shit. "Why not? You want that Slavic stock?"

"No. I don't want just any baby."

"You want some soldier who fucks you good to put it in you?"

"Is that all this is to you?"

"No." He let go of her wrists.

"What is it then?" 



"You tell me. You're the one who came."

"I love you."

The breath went out of him. She'd never said it. Not like that.

She was looking at him like she was staring down a loaded gun.

There was no help for it. "I love you too," he confessed. "I always did."

She exhaled. "It was real, wasn't it?"

"It was."

"If things were different..."

"You said you'd never move here." How badly he'd wanted to tie her up, keep her, make her stay. "Though I guess it was good you didn't."

"Yeah. Well. Maybe you could've come with me." 



"I told you I couldn't leave my country."

"I know. I loved that about you."

He sighed. "I could have though. The army was just a job back then."

"And now?" She said it quietly.

"Ha." But what if? He could bribe a truck driver. Cross the border. No more trenches. No more funerals. Run away and never come back. Wait out the war with her deep in a forest cabin, way out in the American west. Her in that dress, bent over the counter...

"You know I can't." The guys would never forgive him. He hated himself sometimes.

"I know."

He hated her for not forcing him. "Aren't you CIA? Have your guys kidnap me."

She laughed. "I wish. I'm just some woman."

"Some crazy woman. Coming to Ukraine to get knocked up." He took her by the chin, turning her face to the side to get a better look at her. What would that kid look like? "I didn't know my father. You want your kid to grow up like that?"

"I'd tell them about you."

"That's not the same."

"It's not ideal. But time's running out for me. And it might be running out for you too. Every time you went quiet I thought that was the last I'd hear from you."

The whir of a drone. The slam of a shell. He pushed them away. "I should've left you alone."

"Don't say that." She took his face in her hands. "I wanted to hear from you. I wanted to keep you. I know that's not possible. But this is. It's the oldest way, you know?"

"Jesus Christ." No man in the history of men... He could feel his self-control sinking down into her like quicksand. He kneed her legs apart. "Fine."

"Oh babe." She pulled him down to her as he entered her. "You feel so good."

Her tight heat enveloped him. Nothing in the world had ever felt so good. "If you get knocked up, you'd better tell me. And either way, I'll come find you after this war is over."

She looked like she was about to cry again. "You mean it?"

He put his hand on her throat. "You think I'd fuck you raw if I didn't mean it? I mean it. I'll marry you."

She nodded.

Wait. Was that a proposal? Terrible. "You're really going to marry some dumb, broke--"

She cut him off by pressing her mouth to his.

The way she kissed him emptied all thoughts from his head. His. He took her like she was his. And she was, folding up her legs to take him deeper. He stopped holding back. Her body tugged at him on every desperate stroke, and he felt himself barreling towards the edge.

Thrusting deep, he unloaded himself into the depths of her undefended body. Knowing what he was doing only made it hotter. So wrong, and so good.

She quivered as she felt it. Then her eyes rolled back and she tightened beneath him, yanking his hips flush against hers.

Damn. She wanted it. The rippling force of her orgasm drew his out, keeping him suspended in a state of ecstasy closer to death than life.

Take it. Take all of it, and never give it back.

---

Afterwards, as she was lying in his arms, curled up on his chest, he had the irrational wish that a missile would take them out right then. Just flatten the hotel. Send them off to heaven like this.

But there was still tomorrow, and tomorrow after that, for a few more tomorrows at least.

He could feel her contentment radiating off her. The sex was too good. He'd come in here determined to send her away and ended up taking more than he had any right to.

"You should've found someone else," he said, tangling his fingers in her soft hair. "Someone better for you."

She pulled herself free and propped herself up to look at him. "Still on about that? Why didn't you move on?"

"I was in a trench, woman."

"I guess it's hard to date from a trench."

"Most certainly. Not like New York." He ran his hand up her back.

"Mhm. I dated plenty, believe me."

His jaw tightened. He'd assumed, but hearing it was something else. "How many guys?"

She gave him a look.

"Too many to remember?" He was doubling down despite himself.

She pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. "Enough to know I could never forget you."

If the war didn't kill him, she would. He closed his hand around her arm and pulled her towards him. "Couldn't get enough of me, huh? What if I don't let you go this time?" 

She smiled. Her hand trailed down, reaching for him.

He was hard again immediately. Not yet ready to be taken apart, he rolled on top of her and pinned her wrists. "Could tie you up. Keep you in the basement. Make you my pet."

"Oh yeah?" She laughed. "What would you do with me?"

"What do you think?" He bit her neck.

She groaned, offering her hips up to him.

"I'd fuck you until you couldn't walk." He ran his hand down over her taut stomach. "Until you were dripping."

Her lips parted as she inhaled sharply.

"Is that what you want?" he asked.

She bit her lip and parted her legs for him.

He started to get between them, then came to his senses. Sat up. Made himself take his hands off her.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He squeezed her thigh. "I want to do this right."

"What do you mean?"

"I know I say a lot of things during sex. But I meant that one."

If there was a child, it would have something from him. Not money, not a house. But a vow before God. That much he could offer.

"Oh." The corners of her mouth turned up. "Don't worry about it. You don't have to marry me." 



"I want to." He felt suddenly foolish. "If you do."

She laughed.

He wished he could crawl into a foxhole. "Forget it."

"I do!" She reached for him.

He let her pull him back down.

"So traditional," she teased, running her hand over his chest. Her fingers lingered on the cross around his neck.

"Thought you liked that. I'm this exotic, old world creature to you."

She smiled. "Yeah. You don't know how many times I thought about just asking you."

Something twisted in his chest. "Are you serious?"

"If you'd ever asked, or been willing to come--"

So he was a coward. He kissed her to shut her up. "Let's fix it then, okay? Let's get married. Right now."

"I would, but my lawyer would have to draw up a prenup..."

"A what?"

"A prenuptial agreement, it specifies what pre-marriage assets and properties--"

He grinned. "Ah, rich woman shit."

"It's pretty common! Everyone does it. And I have a fiduciary duty to the company--"

"You're using too big of words. I'm just a dumb soldier, okay? Give me your word before God, and I'll sign any papers you want. Or no papers. Doesn't matter."

"You just want a church wedding?" 



"Just the priest is fine. You don't like church though?"

"No, I started going sometimes. Reminds me of you."

A feeling he didn't know what to do with rose up in him. "You really missed me."

"I told you I did."

He got that feeling he always had before he did something very irreversible, very stupid, and very costly. Like joining the army. Or getting his tattoo. Or fucking this woman.

He got up. Pulled on his pants.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

He tossed her clothes on the bed. "To find a church. Put on some clothes."

He went to the bathroom and came back to find her dressed, looking at him uncertainly.

"You want to go right now?"

"Yes. Before you change your mind." He walked over and put his hand on the back of her neck. "Marry me. Make me a millionaire. I'll be the richest man who dies on the eastern front."

Her hand closed over his wrist, hard. But she smiled. "I'm not signing anything until my lawyer takes a look. And I'm not changing my name."

"You'll give me your word though?"

"I will."

"That's what counts." He kissed her.

She threw her arms around him. "Let's go then."

---

Stupid. That was truly stupid.

They'd gone to the church. Gotten refused by the priest. Both of them were too damn honest to pretend she was baptized, and she was too damn stubborn to pretend she'd forsake other gods. So they'd called up the chaplain from his unit. He was also in Kyiv, somehow. The chaplain had given him a look. He'd heard plenty about the American woman who could never be his wife. But he'd kept quiet, thank God. They'd gotten his blessing.

And they'd said the vows.

Who knew if it counted. But maybe God was there, and maybe God had heard.

Afterwards, they sat down in the park. Ate some bread and cheese, drank a beer.

"So..." He took her hand. Her delicate fingers were still manicured, glossy and pink. "You're not going to see anyone else in New York?"

"I didn't really want to anyways."

But she could. It didn't really mean anything. No papers. No witnesses. A kid would keep her busy for a while, but if not... she had a life to live.

She squeezed his hand. "I'm not going to see anyone else. Not while you're alive. Keep me updated, will you?"

"I'll try. I can't help going quiet sometimes. My phone really is shit. Service is shit too." Phones got guys hunted down by drones out there. He didn't tell her that.

"Okay. Well." She opened her purse, pulled out an envelope, and reached for his backpack. "At least one of those problems is solvable."

He caught her wrist. "What's this?"

When she tried to pull away, he snatched the envelope and looked inside. Far too much cash.

"Get yourself a better phone."

"No, no, no." He tried to shove it back in her purse, and ended up on top of her in the grass.

"Come on!" She laughed. "You need it."

"I can't take your money."

"Why not? Too proud?" She arched an eyebrow.

"You come here to buy a husband?"

She pressed her lips together.

Shit. He let her go and sat back.

She tucked the envelope in his pack anyway, without a word. Too real, all of a sudden.

"Consider it a donation to the war effort," she said.

He blew out a breath. "Thanks."

She sat down beside him again. "I've always wished I could do something for you. Let me solve at least some of your problems."

He nudged the pack with his boot. "But now I have a new problem. It's not safe to walk around with so much cash."

"Spend it then."

"Fine. I will." He put out his hand. "Give me all your money. I'll blow it all on hookers and booze."

"So creative. Is that all you can think of?"

Drones. A thermal scope. New tires for the pickup. The guys would think he'd robbed a bank.

"Cocaine. A yacht," he said. What did rich people even do? "A giant party."

"I'd be down."

"After the war then. A giant party on a yacht."

Her eyes sparkled. "We can do it out on the Hudson. Great view of the city."

Shit, she wasn't even kidding. "Most certainly. And then I'll embarrass you in front of all of your friends."

"Only if you hit on another woman."

"I was kidding about the hookers."

"Actually though. Promise me one thing."

"Yeah?"

"Just don't cheat on me."

He raised his eyebrows. "I'd rather die."

"Good."

"If I ever do that, just kill me. Take one of your sixteen guns, and shoot me in the--"

She laughed, hitting him on the arm. "I'm not going to kill you."

"You should, if I did that."

"I didn't kill my ex-husband."

"Maybe you should have. Would've taught him a lesson."

She grinned. "You're going to have a hard time adjusting to civilian life."

"Ah, I know. Fucked up." He tore up a handful of grass. "I'm going to be a problem for you. Drinks too much, fights too much..."

She uncurled his fist, making him drop the grass. He looked up at her as she straddled him.

"You're going to be okay," she said. "Better than okay."

He hoped she was right.

"If we get through this, you're going to heal, and we're going to live. Therapy, a long retreat in the countryside, whatever you need."

He wrapped his arms around her waist. "I just want to go back to that cottage by the sea."

"We will."

"No one around. Just you and me. We'll walk to the beach and watch the sunset." 



"We'll do that."

They wouldn't. He knew it, somewhere deep down. Not in this life. But it was better to pretend. He held her close and buried his head against her chest. Her warm, fresh scent...

Their phones shrieked. Then the air raid sirens joined in.

He picked her up and set her on her feet. Grabbed their bags. Grabbed her hand. "You shouldn't have come." 



"It was worth it." She didn't look scared.

Too brave for her own good. He started moving, dragging her behind him. She quickly caught up.

They jogged back. A high whine overhead, too fast for the old Shaheds that buzzed like mopeds. Jet drone. Air defense started up over the river, a stuttering chain of booms. Not here. Thank God.

Into the hotel. Across the empty lobby. Down the stairs, following the arrow.

The staff was gathered in the basement, along with a few men. Guests, maybe. Or spies, his paranoid brain said. They looked at the two of them with too much interest.

He put her in the corner and crouched down, wrapping his arms around her. "You good?"

She rested her head against his chest. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" If she got hurt, he'd never forgive himself. He pulled her closer.



"Yeah."

The sirens wailed. The darkness pressed in on them. One of the staff was reading a monitoring channel aloud off her phone, tracking the targets. Someone lit a cigarette. He pulled out his vape.

"I thought you quit." 



"Tried." He took a drag, then handed it to her.

As she hit it, he regretted it. He had nothing better to give her. Only his bad habits.

Her body started trembling beneath his arm. "You're shaking."

"I'm cold."

Maybe she was. Or maybe the fear was catching up with her. It hit like that sometimes, after the fact. He pulled off his jacket and put it around her.

"Thanks." She drew it close.

A sudden impulse struck him. He unclasped the cross from around his neck and placed it in her hand.

She turned it over. "Are you giving this to me?" 



"Yeah." He fingered the silver chain. "Don't have a ring for you."

"You always wear it though."

"I have this one." He ran his hand across the tattoo on his arm. "Don't need two."

She gave a laugh, trailing her fingers over the dark cross. "I always thought two was a lot. You still have that silver wolf I got you?"

"Of course. I'd never lose something you gave me."

"Do you wear it?"

"Now I will."

"Then I'll wear this." She started to put it on.

"Are you from America?" a man asked. British accent. Tired eyes.

"I am," she said.

He helped her fasten the necklace, then put his arms back around her, shifting between her and the stranger.

"What brought you to Kyiv?" the man asked.

"Hey. Mind your own business."

The man raised his hands. "Fair. Occupational hazard. I'm a journalist. Been here eight months." He nodded at the ceiling. "Nothing else to do down here but talk."

She laughed and squeezed his arm. "It's fine." She hit the vape. "I first came here for business. Fell in love with the country."

"Why?"

She glanced at him, then back at the stranger. "The resilience of the people."

The man nodded slowly, like he'd heard that answer a hundred times. Then he turned to him. "And you? On leave?"

He gave a curt nod.

"What's the front like these days?" 



"Rough."

"What keeps you fighting?"

He felt her hand tighten on his arm. The guys. The ones who weren't coming back. The bitter resolve in his grandfather's eyes, watching him from beyond the grave. How much he hated the orcs. If it weren't for them, he'd be with her.

"To defend my country," he told the journalist.

"And how'd you two meet?" the man asked.

She laughed and shook her head. "It's a long story."

"We've got time." 



"No thanks."

"I'll bet it's a good one."

She smiled. "If I ever tell it, I'll tell it myself."

"You should. Wartime romance is a whole genre. A Farewell to Arms, you know."

She pulled out her phone. "How about this. Mind if I play some music?"

"Sure."

"You can tell them we played Red Viburnum in the Meadow in the air raid shelter, okay? Put that in the story."

"Alright." The man laughed.

As the song came on, some of the hotel staff began to softly sing along.

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "You ever read A Farewell to Arms?" she murmured.

"No."

"The guy runs off with the woman he loves. Leaves the war behind." She was quiet a moment. "But it wasn't his country he was fighting for."

He couldn't answer.

Not caring who saw anymore, he buried his face against her, breathing in her scent. Like a meadow in spring, it was already fading from memory.

The final death was not the worst. It was this. The life you had to let go of, even as you lived it.

He brought his mouth to her ear. "Two weeks," he said. "My leave is two weeks long."

She turned to look at him, her eyes bright. "I'll stay in the basement if you want me to."

He kissed her hand.

---

'To defend my country': Kyiv's resilience under Russian fire

After months of near-constant attacks, the capital's residents have learned to live between air raid alerts

The alert came a little after five in the afternoon, first from everyone's phones, then from the city's sirens. Within minutes, the basement of a hotel in central Kyiv had filled with staff, a few guests, and a soldier on leave, accompanying a woman.

Since late summer, Russia has struck the capital almost daily with drones and missiles. Residents have learned to plan their lives around the alerts.

324

An American woman who said she'd first come to Ukraine for business pulled out her phone and played "Red Viburnum in the Meadow," a World War I-era Ukrainian marching song that became an anthem of resistance after Russia's full-scale invasion. A few of the hotel staff sang along under their breath.

"I've always loved Ukraine," she said. I asked her why. "The resilience of the people."

The soldier didn't say much. But when asked what motivated him to keep fighting, his answer was simple.

"To defend my country."