Chapter Text
Iakov had lived his live half in shadows, on beck and call of his commanding officer, serving his country and his beliefs. His parents had died when he was young, so he had no one in his life to care for him and to care for. He thought he found this someone in Nina, and then he came to Zatonsk.
Zatonsk… It was supposed to be simple. Being send away as a “punishment”, keeping his head down and doing his job until it was safe for him to come back without a complaint from kniaz Razumovsky. He’d hoped that Nina would join him at some point, maybe choose a simple life with him instead of the court intrigue and empty lavishness of kniaz’s palace. He was mistaken. In this quiet, simple village, he finally had time to think on their whole convoluted relationship, on how much he had thrown away in order to earn Nina’s trust and support. Once, he hoped he’d be able to untangle her from the mess work with Razumovsky had put her in, get her on the right side of the conflict. His white knight tendencies made a fool out of him, and not the clever, heroic one that saves the day; just a plain old fool who loses everything betting on the wrong horse.
So he came to Zatonsk and thrown himself into the work. He picked Anton Andreievich as a project – young man had a lot of potential and none of Iakov’s cynicism; when Iakov leaves, the department will be in good hands. It kept him busy, far away from temptations of alcohol and cards; he wasn’t tempted to touch them since the whole situation with Grochowski, but now, abandoned and rejected, they kept whispering from the drawer of his desk. Never again, he promised himself. So he went on solving crimes and teaching Anton tricks of the trade and came to terms with what his life was going to be for the unforeseeable future.
Then Anna Victorovna came into his life. Or rather, rode into it on her bicycle.
At first, he hadn’t thought much of her. She was nice to look at, that’s all. Nina was dark-haired and dark-eyed, never a hair out of place, polished and proper, every detail of her outfit picked to draw an eye, entice a man, and bring jealousy to other women. Anna Victorovna… She was the polar opposite. Dark blond hair, big blue eyes, with an air of mischievousness and playfulness that she hadn’t grown out of yet. Iakov hoped she’d never would. She was wearing trousers, which created an alluring view for him to admire (Nina wouldn’t be caught dead in trousers).
Next time he saw her, it was in unpleasant (more for Anna than for him) circumstances; she had found a dead body. She was pale and trembling, and his protective instincts kicked in. He was ready to support her back in case of fainting, but she’d gotten a grip on herself. She cared for her crazy uncle, and it wasn’t just a familial obligation. She was stubborn, and brave, and strong, and she kept popping up in the middle of his business, intruding on his trail of thought. She looked straight into his eyes and kept up with his retorts, and got him to agree to her ridiculous plan (only because it was in line with his, he insisted later).
She kissed his cheek. It was such an innocent, sweet gesture, leaving her blushing and him speechless. He was 37, not a stammering youngster like Anton; he knew women, yet… She left him unsettled, and not in a bad way. He truly didn’t know what to do with her. With any other woman, he would probably enjoy flirtation, maybe had a fling and they’d both would go their own ways. With Anna Victorovna, he couldn’t, not only because of her reputation and position in society; it wasn’t even her inexperience.
There was something about Anna Victorovna, about her innocence to the dark ways of the world, her kindness and tenacity in protecting those who, in her opinion, needed it the most. It takes him many evenings to realize it, but then he stumbles on an answer: she is simply pure. She would never stoop down to sneakiness and maliciousness he saw so many times in so many women. She would never viciously use other people secrets or throw them in other people faces. She is like any young woman raised away from the temptations of a big city, yet at the same time unlike any of them.
Of course, when considering his problem with Anna Victorovna constantly putting herself in danger and bursting into his investigations, he needs to approach the topic of her… special talent. He is sceptical and cynical; it would be hard not to be, being in his line of work. He had seen the darkest and most evil parts of human nature, and it had left him empty of wonder and surprise of human nature. He’d seen people kill and sell their conscience for the stupidest of things and to the highest bidder. Hell, he had done some nasty things in life himself, even if he tried to live his life according to the strict code he set. That is to say, spiritism is a conundrum. It was getting more and more popular in St.Petersburg, and he had seen so called spiritualists con people and use them to their purpose, like any other thief. Anna Victorovna has no reasons for insisting on seeing dead people. A lot of reasons for her insistence come to mind and get dismissed: she’s bored with living in a tiny village, wants to bring some excitement to her life, wants to follow in her admired dziadzia footsteps, wants to have a reason to see Iakov… The last one makes him stop and admonish himself for foolishly hoping. He knows the worth of his charms and although Anna Victorovna may now be fascinated by a detective from capitol, she is young; her crush will pass and she will find some young, strapping man to beg for her hand (Iakov ignores the tightening of his chest when he thinks about Anna’s future as someone’s bride). Needless to say, he is lost on the topic as he refuses to believe that dead stay on and choose to haunt a young lady with eyes of blue.
So he jokes, he evades, yet he listens; and he finds himself more and more attached to Zatonsk. To Anton Andreievich and Piotr Ivanovich, to fields and forests and smallness of a place where everybody knows him. And he gets more and more pulled towards Anna Victorovna. He gets terrified and worried every time she puts herself in danger. He tries to push her away, make himself unlikable in the eyes of a young woman, yet at the same time can’t stop himself from flirting, from finding excuses to touch her in the most innocent of ways. He distances himself by calling her Anna Victorovna (as he properly should, but he catches himself before the endearments slip out, before he utters Anya, or, even worse, Anochka) – and it’s like a shield, to use the same name everyone else uses. He sees worry and fear in her from time to time, and, most of all, he sees loneliness, and he can’t help but try and ease it, to bring back the sparkle in her eye and a smile on her face; and while he does those things, for the first time in his life, he gets them in return. She admonishes him, and pushes him, and cheers him up. She cares and it’s a drug, one more potent than cards and opium.
There is a connection between them, and as much as he fights it, it’s getting harder and harder to deny of how much of his life had been taken over by Anna Victorovna and her ghosts.