Chapter Text
Anya couldn’t believe her luck.
Or rather lack thereof. First, on night one of their parents’ weekend business trip, she and her siblings had decided it would be a good idea to take the family car for a little joyride. You could probably guess how that turned out.
Second, as her siblings always did when facing possibly unfair situations, they drew straws to decide who would be the responsible one and stay with the car at the repair shop across town. You could probably guess who drew the short straw.
The five of them pushed the car all the way across the tracks, way outside of their neighborhood, to the other autoshop they’d heard of. They couldn’t take any risks. This town was too small and gossipy— if they brought the car to the shop where Papa frequented for repairs, they’d have to prepare a lengthy explanation for when their parents returned on Sunday.
They arrived at the shop, and Anya felt as grimy as the garage looked. Metal scraps and parts littered the ground, toolboxes layed open and scattered, the decaying wooden walls stapled with various advertisements and receipts, scraped shelves lined with tires and parts of all sizes, stained rags hanging from hooks or on the brims of buckets. Shade from the afternoon summer sun felt wonderful but the air was still sticky with humidity and stagnant in the garage.
“Are you sure you’re okay driving it home after it’s fixed?” Olga asked.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” Anya said. “It would be unfair if I broke the rule of straws.”
“You were the one driving when it started making that noise anyway,” Maria piped in.
“That doesn’t mean it was my fault!” Anya whined.
“No one said it was,” Olga interjected with a pointed look at Maria. They’d all argued the entire way over. Apparently it wasn’t settled. “The important thing is that we’re all safe…”
“And that Mamma and Papa never find out,” Alexei finished.
That was one thing they could all agree on. Maria and Alexei would make sure no one saw their little mishap and keep the rumors from spreading, Olga and Tatiana would return home to keep the staff in the house from any reason to be suspicious, and Anya would talk to the mechanic and drive the car back after it was fixed.
“Coming,” she heard a shout from the office door. As her siblings were walking out of the garage, a man much younger than Anya expected stepped out. A stained white tank top peaked from underneath his unbuttoned shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dirty hands adjusting the cap on his head. Maria gave her a pointed look before disappearing down the sidewalk.
“Can I help you?”
She looked back at him. He wiggled a toothpick between his teeth and rested his hands on his hips, waiting for her to answer. “Are you the mechanic?”
He wiped his palm on his pant leg and held out his hand. “Dmitry. What’s the problem?”
“Anya,” she answered and shook his hand once. “It’s just, you’re not what I expected,” she attempted as an explanation for her question.
“What’s the problem?” he repeated.
Alrighty then. “The car broke down.”
“Clearly,” he smiled with closed lips and dimples popped out of his cheeks. “What’s the problem with it?” he said again.
“I don’t know, that’s your job to figure out.”
His eyebrows rose and he scoffed. She wasn’t sure why she was irritated— perhaps it was the heat or the fact that she had to hang out in a sketchy place by herself with a rude stranger. Or that he kept adjusting his suspenders.
“I mean—” he stepped closer. His grin looked torn between amusement and frustrated politeness and she hated it. “What happened?”
“Oh.” Now that he was closer he towered over her. She clutched her handbag. “The engine was making a weird noise and then started smoking.”
“I see how that’s an issue,” he said, and stepped around her to pop the hood of the car. Smoke billowed out of it, proving her point. He let out a low whistle. “This is a nice engine, hate to be the one to ruin it.”
“Can you fix it?”
He gave her a weird look before tossing his toothpick into a metal bucket by the wall. “‘Course. What caused it?”
Anya sighed. “We were going kind of fast when it started sputtering—”
He laughed and nodded. “Mind waiting while I have a look?”
When she shrugged he ducked his head under the hood, whistling a happy tune she’d heard on the radio, accompanied by the cicadas outside. She studied her cuticles and found a not-so-dusty chair to sit in while she watched.
His whistling stopped after a few minutes. “So, Anya, right?”
“Yes.”
“What’s a girl like you doing on this side of the tracks?”
Her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Usually girls with cars as nice as this don’t come to this side of town.”
“It’s not my car.”
He looked over his shoulder as if to check if anyone was listening. “You stole it?”
“No!” she exclaimed and he laughed. “It’s my parents’. My brother and sisters and I… we borrowed it without permission today.”
“So you did steal it.”
“No!” she repeated. He looked back at her expectantly and she sighed. “If you must know, they left for a business trip in Chicago, so we thought it might be fun to take it for a spin, since they never let us drive it. And when it broke down we thought it would be best to bring it here instead of the other repair shop closer to home so no one would mention it to them...”
He nodded. “Were you the one driving?” he asked, taking the rag out of his back pocket to wipe down his hands. He lifted his hat so he could brush the sweat off his brow.
“Well, yes, but why does that matter?”
“That explains it then.” he tucked his thumbs underneath his suspenders to pull them down and let them hang at his sides.
“Explains what?”
“That you’re a bad driver.”
“Excuse me!” she stood up suddenly. “I am an excellent driver.”
“Excellent drivers don’t cause their cars to combust like this.”
“This isn’t my fault! Anything could’ve happened, and…” she trailed off when he untucked his damp shirt. “It was running fine, until…” she tried again while he nodded in mock sympathy. He peeled it off of his back and arms, his broad shoulders now bare and a little shiny from sweat. His stained tank top left hardly anything to the imagination. “Look— can you fix the car before my parents get back on Sunday or not?”
He smirked at her stuttering. “It shouldn’t be a problem.” Then he stepped close enough so she could smell the sweat and gasoline on him and in spite of herself she tilted her head up… and he reached around to hang up his shirt on the hook behind her. A sigh escaped her lips when he stepped away.
“Come back tomorrow for an official diagnosis,” he said when he was back under the hood.
She blinked. “Wait, it won’t be done today?”
“Well,” he straightened his back and pointed to the yellowing clock on the wall, “we’re closing soon.”
“Oh.”
“I know this place isn’t as posh as what you’re used to—”
“That’s not why—”
“But you’re welcome to come check in on it tomorrow. I’m sure it won’t take long once I tinker around a little more.”
His hair had fallen into his eyes, eyes that she somehow knew held a challenge. And Anastasia Romanov never backed down from a challenge. “Fine,” she said. “What time do you open?”
“Eight.”
“I’ll see you at ten, then.”
He grinned. “Fine.”
Anya had a feeling something more complicated was bubbling under the surface.
True to her word, Anya arrived promptly at ten the next morning.
The June sun was already glaring down despite the early hour. The garage was already open so she took that as a sign she could enter without knocking. Dmitry was bent over the front of the car twisting various valves and screws and when he heard her approach he looked up.
“Right on time,” he said, wiping his forehead and ducking his head back down.
“Did you expect me to be late?” she snapped. Her good mood had slipped away for reasons she couldn’t point out.
He laughed. “‘Spose not.”
She stepped next to him to peer over at whatever he was working on. “So what’s the verdict?”
“Hmm?” He straightened to his full height and leaned on the hood above their heads, his other hand on his hip, stealing Anya’s attention to his waistline.
“What’s broken?”
“Couple things.” He actually explained things very clearly, pointing at the belts that had snapped and the valves that didn’t work correctly, describing why there was smoke and strange noises coming from the engine yesterday. When she asked questions about certain technicalities he answered them patiently. What he lacked in manners he made up with explaining things in a language she understood.
“It should be done by tonight or first thing in the morning,” he finished.
“That’s good to hear,” she sighed and she meant it. She started walking out of the garage. “I’m going to go to this boutique I saw on my way here. Is there anywhere else around I should explore? I don’t normally spend time on this side of town.”
“Nothing you’d be impressed with,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he said louder. “I don’t normally find myself shopping.”
She narrowed her eyes at him as he leaned back over the car. “I’ll be back in an hour or two to check in.”
He didn’t respond so she just assumed he heard her and she walked down the street. The boutique was more charming than Anya expected. She exchanged small talk with the clerk and picked out a few blouses, and then decided to explore what else the street had to offer. There wasn’t much other than businesses that had already closed or places that had nothing available for her to purchase. There was a curio shop, though, and Anya browsed in there for a while. She stopped for coffee at the diner across the street from the repair shop before making her way back.
“Find anything interesting?” he asked when she made her way back into the garage, the repeated clicking of a socket wrench drowning out the cicadas’ cries. He had taken off his button down again, probably because of the heat, and she watched the muscles on his back move underneath his tank top while he worked for a second before stepping next to the car.
“I actually thought this curio shop was cute!” she said happily, ready to discuss her discoveries.
But he laughed. “Cute? You think a dying business is cute?”
She crossed her arms. “Yes. There’s a lamp in there my sister would enjoy as a birthday gift.”
“You’d better come back soon before it closes.”
“Is it closing? I didn’t see any signs.”
He rolled his eyes. “Might as well close, like every other business here.”
Anya didn’t really know how to respond to that so she sat down in the same chair from yesterday, ignoring the oil stained and darkened lines on his forearms rising and falling with every movement, or the way his biceps lifted when he bent his elbows. “So, do you own this shop?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.
“Nope,” he answered shortly, pulling out a corroded part.
“So where’s your boss, then?”
He shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you.”
Real talkative today. “Are you the only employee?”
“The only one willing to work on weekends.”
That seemed to be all he was going to say, so she switched topics. “Do you have any fun summer plans?”
“Work.”
She waited for him to say more but he didn’t. Normally this would be the part where he’d ask her what her plans are, so she decided to offer it up anyway for the sake of conversation. “We don’t have anything planned right now, unfortunately. Papa canceled our summer trip to the coast.” He didn’t say anything. “But I am going to study in Paris in the fall.”
“Exciting,” he finally responded. He still kept his head down and focused.
“What about you? Are you in school?”
“You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m just...” she sighed. “I’m just trying to pass the time.”
He shifted his weight. “No school for me.”
She chewed her lip, trying to read him. What was his problem? Yesterday he couldn’t quit nosing into her life but today he seemed determined to remain rude and silent. “Do you think you’ll go to college after all of this is over?”
He halted and stared blankly at her. “After what’s over? The stock market crash?”
“Well, yeah—”
He snorted and shook his head. “This is never going to be over for me.”
Her eyebrows raised. “This won’t last forever, you know.”
“Not for you, maybe.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He straightened up and took off his gloves. “You’re a Romanov, right? Your dad’s a banker?”
She narrowed her eyes. “What about me makes you think I’m a Romanov?”
“Are you serious?” He rolled his eyes. “Who else in this town can afford a car and clothes like this?” He gestured to her dress and she crossed her arms defensively. “Look, your dad isn’t going to lose his job. You’ll be fine with hardly any sacrifices—”
“That’s not fair, you don’t get to say anything about me or my family.”
“Yes I do, when you're living off of foreclosing homes and ruining people’s lives!”
“My family isn’t profiting from that! No one wants this to happen!”
“But you’re clearly not suffering from it, either! While the rest of us?” he raised his arms, “We’re stuck. I’ll never stop working here, or get out of this town, or be able to afford an education that could get me a better job.”
She scowled. “You don’t know that. The president is creating programs for people to find other jobs, surely you—”
“Get another labor job to do for the rest of my life?”
“Why are you mad at me about this? It’s not like I caused this whole mess.” She stepped closer to him and he leaned down with a sneer.
“I’m not mad at you for that, I’m mad at you for thinking you can come in here and complain about things you can live without while I and so many others are barely scraping by.”
“Since when did I—”
“— And that you think after it’s ‘fixed,’ you can just go back to your summer vacations and frivolities like normal.” His tone bordered on desperate. It was the most emotion he’d shown all day and Anya’s voice rose with him.
“You can’t blame me for the fact that you’re stuck here alone and never going to amount to anything more!”
The flicker in his eyes told her the words stung like she’d intended, but he hid it immediately. He smiled bitterly and rose to his full height. She hadn’t realized how close they were. “Have fun living in your mansion while everyone else around here starves.”
“You know what?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and pointed at the car. “I’m not paying you to insult me, I’m paying you to fix this car. You’ll get your check tomorrow. Have a good evening.”
It was lame and she could tell he knew it, but he only muttered an “Enjoy your day” as she walked out onto the sidewalk.