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“Are you getting notes from other men now?”
Anna bites the inside of her cheek, holding the passenger list tightly between her fingers. She’s not sure how she wants to respond, not yet. It’s one thing to basically know that Valentin had lied; it’s another to have tangible proof in her hands.
“It’s not just a note.”
“Oh?”
She surprises herself by holding it out to him. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”
Valentin’s face shifts from confusion to recognition to something like fear as he unfolds and reads the list. He sets the paper aside without a word, swallowing hard.
“Tell me.”
“Anna—”
“Don’t.” She points at the list without looking away from him. “Is it true?”
“Yes, it’s true.” Valentin shifts in his seat, but holds her gaze. “The night that I told you I went to ELQ, I lied. I was flown to Manhattan for a meeting with Pikeman.”
“Why do you lie to me?”
It comes out far more venomous than Anna means it to, but she doesn't apologize. Christ, she loves him, but there's a resentment about his lack of honesty that she can't shake.
“I love you,” Valentin starts. Anger flares in her chest in response, but he holds up a hand. “Let me finish. The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt you.”
“But you did.”
“But I did.” He feels far away despite being across the table, and Anna hates the feeling.
“This is our life together, Valentin. I need you.” There are tears in her eyes, but she doesn't want them to fall. “I hate that I need you. I hate that I don't know what to do with my life without you. But I can't— you can't outright lie to me. I need to know where we stand.”
Valentin won't look at her now. He fidgets idly with his glass of water, his thumb making lines in the condensation. “You said you had no illusions about who I was,” he says slowly. “But I still— I've done horrible things. I've made horrible choices.”
“And I know that.” Anna takes a deep breath, fighting for composure. “I know you. I don't think anything you could tell me would surprise me.”
“Anna—”
She holds up a finger. “No. Let me finish. I trust you with my life, Valentin, or this—” she gestures between them, “never would have happened. You don't need to worry about what I might think about something you got tangled up in when you were, what, 19? 20?”
“I didn’t want you involved,” Valentin says quietly.
“I was shot at.” Part of Anna wants to throw something at him, but it wouldn't help. “My house burned down. I'd say I’m involved.”
“I know.” He finally looks back up, his face remorseful. “I involved you, and that's on me.”
“Why not just tell me?”
Valentin sighs, sitting back in his chair. “It’s my mess, Anna. I was young, and greedy, and I made horrible decisions.” He looks pained, and part of her softens. They're so similar in so many ways; she had just gained a reason to make better choices before he had.
Anna wonders, not for the first time, where she might have ended up without Robin.
“And I don’t—” he continues, stopping to get his stutter in check. “Those choices have haunted me since I was a teenager. Peter, the Chimera, Pikeman, Faison. All of it.”
She doesn't want to get it, but she does. “Sold your soul to the highest bidder, yeah?”
“Exactly that.”
“I get it.”
“I know you do.” Valentin runs a hand absently through his hair, making one part stick up, and Anna resists the urge to reach out and fix it. “I didn't want to tell you because I was afraid there might be consequences.”
“Consequences with me?” she asks. She's fairly confident it's not what he means, but she needs to hear him say it.
“No.”
“Consequences with Pikeman.”
Valentin grimaces. “It's not the kind of business relationship you just walk away from.”
That’s a sentiment Anna understands far too well, but she doesn't want to dwell on it. “Why did they fly you to NYC? What was so important that you had to get on a plane in the middle of the night?”
He rubs at his face, the stubble there scraping against his palm. “They had some concerns about Sonny that they wanted to discuss with me.”
“What, are they holding you responsible for his compliance?” She half laughs the words out until she catches a look at his face and realizes she's right. “Fucking hell, Valentin.”
“We should probably go back to the suite,” he replies quietly. “If we’re going to keep talking about this, I don't think that here is the place to do it. We can have food brought up.”
“Yeah, okay.” Anna stands up and immediately sways, having to grip the back of her chair to keep her balance.
“Are you alright?” Valentin asks worriedly, stepping closer.
She shakes her head, reaching for her water. “I just feel a bit faint.”
“Do you think it’s your PV? Should we go to GH?”
Anna shakes her head again. “They said everything was fine at my last appointment. I don’t know. Maybe I just need to eat.”
“We’ll eat upstairs.” Valentin offers his arm. “You can lean on me.”
YOU THINK YOU GOT AWAY WITH IT - YOU DIDN’T. YOU THINK YOU’RE SAFE - YOU’RE NOT.
Valentin scares the shit out of her coming up behind her. He doesn’t say anything as he glances over the message on the mirror — Anna’s not sure he knows what to say at all.
“I can’t—” she starts, but she’s not sure what to say either. The bathroom suddenly feels incredibly claustrophobic.
She tucks her gun back in its holster at the small of her back and pushes past him, back out into the suite. The wreckage there offers no comfort, but at least she feels marginally less trapped.
Valentin follows her like a shadow. “Listen, whoever got in here—”
“Is trying to get to me?” Anna doesn’t mean to yell but it comes out that way, her voice high and full of stress. “Well, it’s working.”
“I know,” he says quietly. “It would be insane if it didn’t get to you. I was just going to say that it’s not…” He gestures around at the ink strewn across everything. “This wasn’t a professional. This is sloppy.”
“But it’s deliberate.” She paces around him, picking up one of the ruined shirts as she walks by. “This is personal, yeah? I just bought this. I don’t even like it. But someone ruined it just so that I would be left with nothing.”
“Yeah, it's personal.” Valentin sighs, reaching for another shirt to inspect. “These are all yours, nothing of mine is here.”
Anna bites back a sob. What she wants, more than anything, is to just lay down and cry. She knows he would indulge her in that; she has no idea what the bedroom looks like but there's a chance that it's untouched, a chance that she could just ignore all of this for a while.
It’s never that easy.
“I don't know what to do,” she says instead, tossing the shirt back down and refusing to look at it. “I mean, how much of this all is even connected? It reminds me more of what was on my door, not the arson or the shooting.”
“I don't think this was a coincidence. But you’re right, it feels disconnected.” Valentin steps closer, holding his arms out for her to step into. “We’re going to figure it out,” he murmurs into her hair.
Anna desperately wants to believe him.