Chapter Text
Yakov Platonovich felt the heaviness in his limbs, the weariness throughout his body. Despite this, he lay wide awake replaying the night’s events and grasping at explanations. The shadow that moved swiftly along the riverbank and had so violently thrust Anna Viktorovna into the frigid water was a figment of Yakov’s imagination one moment, and a solid well-defined murderous fiend the next. Why? Why? Why? Yakov’s mind went around and around. Why was Anna out there - alone? Why would someone be so careless as to rush along the embankment, resulting in the catastrophic collision?...Why would anyone wish for Anna Mironova’s death?
Anna drifted in-and-out of lucidity after resuscitation. She was aware enough to vehemently demand that she be returned to her home and not be taken to the hospital. But providing details of what happened immediately prior to her plunge into the Neva proved impossible. Yakov had left her in the care of Inessa Egonova and Rumikova following the positive prognosis received from the physician - a German who was also attending the royal reception.
Yakov Shtolman rose from his bed; sleep would not materialize tonight. A glance at the mantel clock informed him that it was ten past four. He had promised to check on Anna in the morning. Although it was more night than morning, he knew one or both of the women at Anna’s apartment would be up, keeping vigil at Anna’s bedside.
He rapped softly on the door to Anna’s rooms. As if expecting him, Rumikova answered almost immediately. She opened the door wide, allowing Yakov entry. Inessa, appearing fatigued and troubled, gently closed the door to the bedroom before attending to Yakov Platonovich. Her eyes anxious, she walked briskly towards him.
“Thank God, you’ve come,” she declared.
“What’s happened?” Yakov asked, disquieted by Inessa’s manner. She shook her head.
“She’s asking for you - won’t stay still,” Inessa explained, exhausted. She beckoned Yakov to Anna’s chamber.
Anna Viktorovna lay on her side, hair splayed wildly about her head, the bed sheets and covers bunched up against the wall, as if flung there in haste or revulsion. When Yakov entered, she lay still, arms and legs bent, as if caught mid-stride in a footrace. A half-second passed, she jerked awake - eyes full of terror, hands gripping the mattress, emitting a low mournful cry.
“Yakov...Yakov,” she whispered, slowly, seemingly unaware of her surroundings.
Shtolman moved to her, grasping her hands as he sank into the chair that had been set alongside the bed.
“Shhhh...shhhh. I’m here,” he soothed. Anna’s eyes found his. Registering his presence, she relaxed and succumbed to her body’s demand for sleep. But the respite would not endure.
Anna Viktorovna felt the warmth of Yakov’s hands holding her own and the release of tension that it brought. Her heavy eyelids fell closed. The darkness began to seep in. Then the cold...so cold...and wet... a heavy wetness pervaded her being. So heavy...she was sinking. Cold - wet - heavy - sinking - and so dark! Anna felt the constriction in her chest - her desperate need to breathe. But she couldn’t - there was only water, an oppressive cold wetness everywhere! She jolted awake - hands flying to something, anything solid.
Yakov caught her hands again. Anna trembled, fearful of returning to the dream, or memory, that was haunting her.
“Stay,” she breathed, looking at Yakov in desperation.
“I’m here. I am not going anywhere,” he assured her.
It was not enough. Anna needed him closer. She edged towards him, lifting her head as he held her hands.
“Hold me...hold me, please,” she begged.
Yakov slipped off his shoes, shrugged out of his coat, and left it, along with his derby, in the chair. He leaned up against the headboard, allowing Anna to rest her head in his lap. His arm draped across Anna’s as she clung to his forearm with the other, pulling his embrace tighter. As she rested there, Yakov Platonovich brushed her hair from her face and gently stroked the soft, wavy locks. She startled awake one more time and shifted restlessly for a few minutes before allowing a deep, peaceful slumber to overtake her.
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Yakov awoke six hours later; a sunbeam crept through the drapes, dousing his face in light. He frowned and blinked, acclimating himself. The fleeting moments, before he drifted off, slowly resurfaced. No longer upright, Yakov found himself lying, snug and warm - Anna facing him, curled up and nestled under his chin, enwrapped in his arms. He felt her warm breath on his neck. Yakov closed his eyes, resting in the easy comfort.
A light tap-tap-tap pulled Yakov’s attention to the bedroom door. Gently disentangling himself from Anna, he crossed the room. Inessa Davidovna’s cheerful countenance greeted him as he emerged.
“I thought you might want a little something to eat,” she proposed in a hushed voice.
“I should be on my way,” Yakov stated, realizing the late hour. Inessa raised a questioning eyebrow at him as she assessed his rumpled clothing.
“Hmmm...I think a quick pressing is warranted, Mr. Shtolman,” Inessa judged. “You look as if you’ve slept in your attire. You can lunch while Rumikova freshens up your trousers. Yes - I believe I still have one of Mr. Egonova’s dressing gowns.” Inessa disappeared into her rooms to retrieve said robe and provide instructions to Rumikova.