Archive of Our Own

“I just don’t understand why we can’t pretend we’re brother and sister, and you’re our father.”

Vlad rolled his eyes. “You two look nothing alike, my boy, no one would believe it. And two strange men traveling with an unmarried woman would only raise suspicion. Now, here you go, darling.” 

Without much ceremony Anya found herself letting Vlad slip a band around her ring finger on her left hand. At least Dmitry had the decency to look just as uncomfortable by the idea as she felt. 

“Unless you want to spend another night in this rain,” Vlad continued, “this might be the only way we can afford a place to sleep.” 

As grim as a man at a funeral, Dmitry swallowed and offered his arm to her. He had once said only suckers paid full price for anything, but maybe now he was regretting being so bold.

Sure, they still had enough money leftover from Anya’s diamond. Tomorrow they would find a train to Berlin. But here, in this little tourist village in Poland, they needed to conserve whatever pennies they had or else they’d be scraping the bottom of the barrel once they reached Paris. That was how Vlad explained the budget, anyway. It made sense. 

But that did not change the fact that Anya hated this plan. 

“What’s our story?” Dmitry asked. They followed Vlad up the road. 

“You’re newlyweds, small dowry. And I’m Anya’s loveable uncle. We come from a factory family, humble city folk, that sort. Oh, and we’re from Lithuania, not Russia. Better not give them any reason to suspect we bring a trail of Bolsheviks behind us.”

At the door to the inn, Vlad gave them one last look over and sighed. Like he was already resigned to this plan falling apart. “Let me do the talking. You just stand there and… be pleasant. Please. I deserve a good bed.” 

They all did. It was the middle of the night, it had been pouring rain since they woke in the woods at dawn, and they hadn’t slept in a real bed since they left Russia. Anya was beyond exhausted. And all three of them looked it. Since they’d spent days without a moment’s break from each other, their nerves were brittle and prickly from the stress. 

Anya glanced up at Dmitry just once. His expression didn’t give much away, but his cheeks were pink, and his eyes were deliberately fixed on his shoes. She didn’t blame him. Everything that happened between them so far since they’d met had been… intense. Intense fear, intense anger, intense joy. Like jumping off of a moving train, for example. Or dancing like they were a young couple at a ball. There was never a time where they were just. Calm. Indifferent. It was exhausting. 

She supposed that wasn’t how either of them operated, anyway. 

As they entered the lobby of the inn, a doorbell chimed overhead, and Dmitry walked with stiff knees next to her. Anya felt like a million eyes were on her. Like the word ‘imposter’ was printed in big red letters on her forehead. 

They weren’t convincing. Like, at all. Even though they were just standing there silently as instructed while Vlad did all the talking no one bought it. The clerk kept narrowing his eyes at them over his spectacles, and the woman next to him didn’t even glance up from her book. Anya didn’t blame either of them. Dmitry clearly didn’t know how to be a gentleman, and Anya didn’t know how to be a wife, let alone a girl in love. The ring was too big. That much was obvious. It could slip right off her finger if she wasn’t careful. And it clearly wasn’t real gold to anyone looking close enough, not something a proper lady would ever wear or accept from a proposal, too tacky and false.

This whole ruse was tacky and false. 

“Unfortunately we only have one room left, but the executive suite will be far too high outside of your budget.” The clerk’s voice was nasally and tired and uninterested. And suspicious. He pushed his spectacles up his nose. 

Anya knew enough Polish to get by, and Vlad was proficient in the language, able to navigate the conversation easily. But Dmitry was practically in the dark next to her. 

Vlad, always persistent, gave it his all, weaving a tale of woe behind them. But he was running out of thread. One glance in Dmitry’s direction said it all. You’re up.  

Dmitry stepped forward, pulling Anya with him. “Forgive me, sir,” he started, halting and slow. He had his cap crumpled in his hands. The spitting image of a humble working boy. “My wife and I have come a long way, and she’s awful tired and needs her rest.” He was dropping consonants and stumbling over the words, but Dmitry was playing it as a sort of shyness instead of a language barrier. “I don’t think we can bear it if we have to move on tonight.” 

Vlad jumped in again, throwing more lines to his scene partner with an expertise that made Anya raise her eyebrows. They went back and forth a bit. Dmitry and Vlad had done this before— had made a livelihood out of improvising together. They came to their jobs prepared with premeditated characters, scene notes, and sometimes even costumes. She’d seen them in action a few times at the market. Next to them, Anya felt a little out of her depth. She couldn’t lie like that on the fly. Not even for a warm bed. She could play pretend, yeah, but she needed to warm up a bit first, not jump in cold like these two. Perhaps she should look at this as practice for her big moment with the dowager empress soon.

She snapped back into focus when Dmitry, instead of hooking his arm through hers like before, snaked his hand around her waist and tugged her flush against his side. She offered a smile, hoping she looked like a new wife who ran away from her disapproving father (?) to be with the man she loved, not just an orphan desperate to get off her feet. 

The clerk remained unimpressed with this charade. “Next town is a few kilometers south of here. Maybe you’ll have better luck there.” 

Vlad and Dmitry shared a knowing look. This might not be a round they would win. 

Thunder rattled the walls. Anya’s heart raced. They went through all this trouble for what, to be thrown out? After all of that? No. She wouldn’t allow it. Not even some bored and self-important clerk would take away her rare chance of rest and safety from whatever Cheka officers were on their trail. 

And Anya really, really didn’t want to sleep in the rain tonight. 

“Please, sir,” she said, her voice meek and wobbly. She hadn’t planned on speaking at all, both boys gave her surprised looks. “We’ve come a long way, we have nowhere else.” She didn’t know where the tears were coming from. Vlad was watching her with his mouth agape. “The last inn didn’t have beds available either, so we’ve had to walk ten more kilometers in search of room and board, and I haven’t eaten in a day—” she swallowed, “can you at least spare us a meal?”

The clerk was visibly uncomfortable. “I’m afraid the kitchen is closed, and only available to our guests…”

Anya nodded, smiling sadly. “I understand. You’re just doing your best.”

Dmitry’s grip on her waist tightened and he bent down, lips brushing her ear, “It’s okay, darling.” His hot breath startled her, but she willed herself to not show it. He was just playing the pity card. Nothing to get worked up over. “We’ll find a place in the next town, I promise.” 

The clerk was still just looking between them regretfully. It wasn’t working. 

Anya took a shaky breath. “It’s just,” she sniffed, lifting her hand to her stomach, “I’m eating for two now.”

The clerk’s eyes widened. Anya didn’t have to look up at Dmitry to know his neck was red, his sharp inhale only audible to her. Because the thought of him knocking her up was— well, not exactly something she even wanted to consider right now. 

“I— I’ve only just found out, you see, and I had hoped— it hasn’t been easy, you know, in these times—” her hand came up to cover her mouth, as if overcome with hopelessness, “but I hoped there would be good people out there who will give our child a good future…” she let herself dissolve into pitiful sniffles. 

“Uh,” the poor clerk’s upper lip was damp with perspiration, “well, miss, that still doesn’t change the fact that we don’t have any rooms in your price range, and—”

“Oh good grief Julian,” the woman next to him finally spoke up, slamming her book shut. “Give the poor girl a bedroom!” 

“What?”

Annoyed, this woman— Anya’s new best friend— shoved him away from the guest book. “We can offer our nicest room with a garden view on the house. And while the cook has left we still have plenty of stew that can be warmed up. Supper tonight and breakfast tomorrow free of charge.”

Anya felt guilty right away. “Oh, that’s not necessary—”

“Nonsense!” She was already handing them a key. “Julian, their luggage. You just follow me dear.”

Anya wiped her cheeks, the satisfaction that they got what they wanted making it easy to stop crying. Dmitry was staring at her with an expression she couldn’t quite name. 

“Was that too far?” She asked under her breath when they were out of sight and earshot. 

Dmitry’s lips tugged at the corners, just a little. Like he was fighting it. “It was genius.” 

The three of them followed their savior up the squeaky steps while she chatted. Turned out the woman who helped them, Lena, was the owner of the entire establishment. They didn’t need to convince everyone of their ruse, just the right person, and they’d succeeded. Lena kept touching Anya’s shoulder, somewhat motherly, speaking so fast Anya wasn’t quite able to catch every word in the unfamiliar language, but she understood the sentiment all the same. Appreciated it. 

The room wasn’t all that grand, but it was warm and dry and had enough beds for them all to sleep. The woman promised dinner would be warmed up by the time they were settled and said to just head down when they were ready. And then they were alone. Anya felt tension in her shoulders drop. They could take a little intermission from their show. 

Vlad was laughing like a madman. “Anya, you beautiful, brilliant girl. You ought to be on the stage!”

Anya wiped one last false tear from her cheek and gave him a smile. “I don’t know how you boys made it this far without me.” 

“Neither do I!” 

She couldn’t help but let out a little giggle, his enthusiasm was always so contagious. Dmitry was still just. Staring. Pretending not to stare. 

Vlad poked around and complained about the room, how “that son of a bitch clerk didn’t need to be so uptight for something so goddamn mediocre. I mean, it’s just one full and one twin bed, for god’s sake! I paid for the executive suite, it should at least have some class.”

“You didn’t pay for anything,” Dmitry interjected. “None of us did.”

“Well, I negotiated for the executive suite.”

“Technically, Anya did the negotiating for us…”

Anya personally didn’t have anything to complain about. A bed was a bed. But she understood his sentiment, his impatience for reaching the promised land of a sort, of just wanting something nice and comfortable and safe.  

Anya sat at the corner of the twin bed, where she would sleep tonight, and removed her boots for just a few minutes, just to curl her toes and flex her aching feet, and then they all changed into dry clothes and she had to put her boots back on so they could go downstairs to eat. Her stomach was roaring at the prospect of getting a hot meal by the time they were in the dining area. For a second she was afraid her hunger was making her so dizzy she might stumble on the steps. The three found a table for four. Anya, all too aware of the pressure of the performance, pointedly waited to sit until Dmitry remembered to pull out the chair for her. Because. You know. They were supposed to be married and that was what married people did. At least she thought. 

They ate quietly and quickly, the sound of spoons scraping bowls. Anya hoped she looked like a lady who was just a little hungry and not the starving creature washed off the streets she actually was. 

Vlad, rightfully exhausted of their company, made himself comfortable at the bar, chatting up the barmaid as she closed. Anya figured she probably shouldn’t join him at the bar ‘in her condition.’ So that left her alone at the table with Dmitry. Her alleged husband. Even if it was just a ruse for the night, the title still made it hard for her to look at him.

Dmitry’s knee was bouncing under the table. Maybe he was just as anxious and uncomfortable by how this night had gone as Anya was. 

He picked through his meal, chewing slowly. Her bowl was empty, but she stared longingly at it, as if she could make more stew appear out of thin air. It would be fine. She’d survived on less. At this point she was just praying no one who worked at the inn would come and talk to her because she didn’t have the energy to keep up these pretenses much longer. 

Dmitry cleared his throat. “You still hungry?” he asked. 

“No,” Anya lied. She forgot to adjust her tone to that of a wife. From afar they probably looked as gloomy as two people who had to just dig a grave. But if she was honest she would tell him she forgot what it felt like to not be hungry. Her stomach had transformed into a bottomless void. 

“You can have mine.” 

“No,” she said again, meeting his eye for the first time since they got here. “You need the protein, too.” 

“I’m not really hungry.” He pushed his bowl towards her. “Seriously. Eat.”

Her stomach audibly growled again, betraying her morals. 

“You’re eating for two now, remember?” And then the corners of his mouth pulled into a grin that she couldn’t help but mirror. 

Dmitry’s smiles could completely transform his face. He usually smirked or scoffed meanly, but when he genuinely, truly smiled, it was beautiful. Even this little quiet one he was giving her now lifted ten years of sorrows off of him. 

Just to get him to smile at her like that again, Anya pulled his bowl closer to herself and started digging in. 

As she ate, they continued to sit in a not-so-uncomfortable silence. At the bar Vlad was talking louder and louder with each drink. Dmitry’s knee resumed bouncing. 

“You hear that?” he asked suddenly. “It stopped raining.”

She swallowed her bite and tilted her ear up. Indeed, the rain had stopped. “I guess we didn’t have to try so hard.” 

“No, this was worth it,” he insisted. Still fighting to keep his smile from widening to more than just a twitch of the corner of his mouth. “You about done? I don’t want them to come ask us any more questions.” 

“Me neither.” Her eyes went to the door, praying Lena wouldn’t come back and make herself comfortable at their table to grill her about the pregnancy, or their marriage, or their journey, or any other details about this little alternate timeline Anya didn’t want to write a script for. She scooped the last drop of broth onto her spoon, savored the taste. “Now I’m done.” Neither of them made a move to get up. Maybe they were tired enough to fall asleep at this table right here. But the nervous energy was making her heart race in her chest, maybe the same thing making his knee bounce, that the thought of going to bed made her feel all antsy and anxious all over again. “I don’t know if I can sleep,” she admitted. 

“Wanna go for a walk, then?”

The question surprised her. Dmitry’s expression was guarded, trying to look like he didn’t care. It had been a long day. The best thing to do would be to get to bed, head start on what little sleep she would get, to feel refreshed and ready to continue their journey in the morning. “Sure,” she answered. 

He nodded. “I’ll go get your coat.” 

Outside the rain had vanished, but the pavement was damp and shining with cold puddles, and even though they were well into March, there was a bite to the air. 

Dmitry shook water off of his boot, his nose scrunched in annoyance. “It almost makes me miss the snow.”

Anya shook her head. “I never want to be that cold again.”

“Fair.” 

He had left his hat in the room, she noticed. He pushed his hair away from his face, something she used to believe was a sign of his ever abundant vanity, something that would make her roll her eyes every time; but now she understood it was just a nervous tick that she was starting to find particularly endearing. Just a little. 

They walked in comfortable silence for a bit, content with just breathing fresh air for a few minutes. It was refreshing, really. Not having to pretend or to live up to any impossible expectations for once. To get to experience what mundanity was like with Dmitry. Everything between them so far had been life or death, emotions at their peak intensity, but right now things were relatively mild. 

Until Dmitry’s hand found her wrist, his pace quickening. 

“What is it?” Anya asked. Maybe taking a walk when they were on the lamb like this was stupid. 

“There’s this guy with a hat— I’ve seen the same man at least three times,” he whispered in a tense and low voice. 

“Do you think he’s following us?”

“Don’t know. Better not lead him back to our lodging.” 

They continued meandering around the quiet streets while Anya’s mind raced. “What if— do you think someone followed from—”

“Don’t know,” was all he said. 

Their pursuer had caught up to them. Anya tried to pretend he wasn’t there, keeping her gaze fixed ahead, but now that he was closer she could tell he wasn’t wearing the crisp uniform of a Bolshevik or seemed to be attempting to stop them. Phew. Anya’s shoulders relaxed just a hair. 

Not a Bolshevik. But a creep. 

“Hey honey, what’s he paying you for the night?” 

Anger flared in her stomach. Anya was calculating the best way to tackle the offender, maybe tear at his eyes for good measure, when Dmitry’s hand came around her upper arm. Not holding her back, just pacifying her. Reminding her he was there. Angling himself between her and the stranger when he said, “Just leave her alone.” 

The man, still talking only to Anya, jeered, “What? He doesn’t like to share?”

Before Anya could even utter an appalled Excuse me? Dmitry had the man’s lapels in his fists. 

“Say that again,” he hissed, “and you’ll be choking on your teeth.” 

The man belched and laughed. He clearly posed no real threat. He wasn’t like other men she’d had encounters with. But adrenaline was still coursing through Anya’s veins, and she was struggling to fight the panic from rising. 

Dmitry threw him back and he stumbled to keep his balance. Anya pulled at her companion’s arm and shoulder to prevent him from pursuing further. “Dmitry, stop, it’s not worth it.” 

His nostrils flared as he met her eyes. “You would just let him talk to you like that?” 

“I had it under control!” The offender started stumbling away, having deemed the pair of them not worth the trouble, though neither minded him much attention. “You don’t—” she tried to calm her nerves, to keep the desperation from leaking into her voice, “you don’t have to do that for me.” 

Dmitry was frowning at her, more in pity than anger. That made her mad. 

“I can handle myself.” 

“I know,” he raised his hands in defense. “I know you’re strong. That doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt.” 

She looked down at her hands, now trembling from the hysteria threatening to bubble over. She almost wished they were actually followed by a Bolshevik. That would’ve been simpler. Just a clean cut enemy that made sense, one they could confront, dangerous yet uncomplicated. But this cut a little deeper in a more embarrassing, personal way. An invisible fear she could not fight. And a lonely fear, too. 

“You okay?” he asked, voice soft, touching her elbow. Not grabbing, just. Touching. Offering. Leaving it up to her.

It took her aback, because, well. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone was looking out for her like that. Protecting her. Had anyone ever done that for her before, period? It wasn’t like she needed it. She could take care of herself. She’d proven so on the night those drunks had surrounded them, she protected them both, and the fighting was arguably worse than this. This particular situation hadn’t even escalated out of her control yet. 

And yet.

Man. It felt nice. To be seen as someone worth the effort. 

That someone like Dmitry Sudayev found her worth protecting.

The thought spooked her so much she had to step away. “I’m fine,” she said just to fill the silence, but it came out a little too curt, but it was too late to take it back. His hand dropped to his side. “Let’s just go back.” 

He still studied her, as if he was waiting for her to collapse or something. Reluctantly his eyes dropped. “Okay.” 

Too many embarrassing things happened tonight in a row. First the mortifying task of pretending to be a wife, then prompting the image that she was carrying his child, and now this. One at a time she could’ve handled these things, probably. But all within the span of a few hours? Who could?

Her chest was uncomfortably hot, like if somebody cut her sternum open a plume of steam would waft up. Her hands were still shaking so she balled her fists, and when that didn’t help she stuffed them in her pockets. Her breathing wasn’t quite right, either, but maybe walking would help in a few minutes, and she tried to avoid thinking about it too much because then she would forget to breathe altogether and then the whole mess would just get worse. Logically she knew she was safe. But her body always took too long to catch up. 

Dmitry just kept on watching her. Like she was an automobile accident he couldn’t look away from.

This kept happening. She kept falling apart in front of him and it was so goddamn embarrassing. Except she’d never really been embarrassed about this before, but there was something about Dmitry that just. She just didn’t want him to see her as a simpering mess all the time. She wanted him to respect her. So she clenched her fists, willing the cracks to stop spreading, physically keeping herself from shattering. Again. 

“Who… hurt you?” 

The question surprised her so much she halted in her tracks. “Who hurt me?” she asked, more angry than she meant. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, I mean— I just know how you…” he clenched his jaw. “If you need anything—”

“Look, I’m fine, okay? Just stop.”

“I’m only trying to help.”

“There’s nothing you can—” she exhaled, checking herself, then marched past him. “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“You think I don’t know?” he snapped, that awful pity morphing into something angry. “You think I don’t understand?” 

She whirled on him, daring him to challenge her, matching his sudden anger. But it fizzled out on her tongue when she saw the real pain and hurt in his eyes. 

He blinked and looked away, exhaling through his nose, perhaps just as surprised she didn’t fight him right away as she was. Wordlessly he marched on. 

It felt good to be angry with Dmitry. It always did. Not because their fights were righteous or cathartic or anything— and they were, she didn’t have to hold back at all, she could tear into him and he could handle it. But it felt good to fight him because he didn’t just roll over onto his back in surrender, he gave as good as he got. He didn’t see her as some weak little frail thing yapping at him. He saw her as an equal. A worthy opponent. Worth the effort. 

But he didn’t fight her now, and her disappointment was heavy in her throat, following him back to the inn in bewildered silence. Coward, she wanted to yell. Fight me, dammit. Look at me.

She couldn’t figure out why she cared so much. About how he saw her. 

They didn’t say anything else until they arrived back at the inn. There they had no choice but to pretend to be chummy, since Lena literally met them at the door, chirping happily as ever. She said their uncle had a little too much to drink, but they took care of him, brought him up to bed. Anya thanked her thickly so she would just leave them alone. 

Upstairs in the hall, Dmitry’s mouth was pressed in a firm, grim line. “What’s wrong?” Anya whispered. 

“They put Vlad to bed,” he said again. 

“I know. Would you rather him sleep at the bar?” 

“They put him to bed,” he repeated. “Your ‘uncle.’” 

She still shook her head, lost. 

He was impatient, agitated. “So why would they assume I, your husband, would share a bed with your uncle?”

It clicked. Anya’s eyes widened, and somehow Dmitry’s lips got even thinner. Just then they reached the door, and Anya pushed her way inside, hoping that maybe they were jumping to conclusions, maybe Vlad had righted himself, maybe—

Vlad was passed out on the twin bed, dead to the world. The bed where Anya was supposed to sleep. 

That hot, itchy feeling expanded in her chest again, back in all its glory, making her need to remove her coat immediately. If it weren’t freezing out she would open the window.

“I’ll just take the floor,” Dmitry whispered. 

She whirled on him. “No,” she argued. Of course this would be an argument. Every fucking conversation they had was an argument. She was so tired. “I already ate your dinner.” 

“Only half.” He slipped his boots off. Looking everywhere but at her. 

“And now I’m only taking half of your bed.” She stood over him while he knelt and fumbled with his shoes. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

He looked grimly over at Vlad’s peaceful form. “Maybe we can wake him up.” 

Vlad let out a loud snore just then. How could they take him out of such a peaceful slumber? After all they’d put him through? She held up her hands, irritated. “You first.” 

Dmitry did not move to wake Vlad as he suggested. He wasn’t as cold hearted as he pretended to be. He scrubbed his face. “What do we do?” 

Anya let out a breath. “It’s only one night,” she heard herself whisper. “It doesn’t have to be a big deal.” 

Dmitry looked like he wanted to protest, but all the exhaustion from today was heavy on his face, and it looked like he didn’t have any fight left in him. Neither did she, admittedly. 

“I can still take the floor,” he protested meekly. Anya ignored him. 

She changed in the bathroom. Dmitry had given her an old pair of pajamas a while back, since the palace had been drafty and cold. “Don’t want you catching your death and we have to start all over again with someone else,” he’d explained when he had pressed the pile of flannel into her hands. They weren’t the nicest set, moth eaten and pilled, but they had kept her warm, and she saw no reason why she shouldn’t wear them tonight. She had to roll up the cuffs of the trousers several times and the button up shirt hung much too loose on her frame, but they did the job. She let the ugly ring slip off her finger and she rubbed her knuckle. 

Anxiety flared in her gut again when she came back out into the bedroom. It wasn’t just the prospect of sleeping near Dmitry of all people that was making her nervous, it was the fact that she would be an absolute nightmare to share a room with, let alone a bed. Her dreams would feel so visceral and real she would thrash about with so much violence that whoever was in her path would take the brunt of it. And it would be so embarrassing for Dmitry, of all people, to see her like that. 

Again, why did she care? Why did his opinion of her matter so much? 

Dmitry was still fumbling with his bag, and even in the dark she could make out the way his henley stretched over his broad back. Another twist in her stomach. 

“Which side do you want?” he asked without looking at her. 

Did it matter? She pulled the hem of her sleep shirt down further. Perhaps the side closest to the door would be best. 

As she settled in under the comforter, Dmitry finally ran out of things to do to look busy, and inevitably crawled into bed next to her. The mattress squeaked and shifted with his weight. She could feel his warmth even from a few inches away. They both quietly stared up at the ceiling, and Anya thought this would be it. She would lay awake like this and pretend to be asleep until dawn. 

Vlad let out another loud snort, and maybe it was the exhaustion or the awkwardness, but for some reason Anya had to stifle a laugh. Dmitry grinned over at her. 

He rubbed his eyes, trying to keep from laughing, too. “This is so ridiculous,” he grumbled. 

Anya joked, just to keep him smiling, “I guess we really are committed to the whole husband and wife thing after all.”

His laugh was just a quiet huff of breath. “It seems so. I’m sorry about all of that, by the way.”

The apology surprised her. “No, it’s fine.” 

“You ought to be finding someone who really could put a ring on your finger, not just playing pretend.”

Anya scoffed. “I wouldn’t even know what to do with a man, let alone if I even want all of that.”

The silence was a little too long. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t think very many men would want to deal with a girl who can’t even sleep through the night without...” She didn’t need to finish. He heard her screaming in the night by now. Knew there was no use comforting her. 

“I bet there’s someone out there that’s up for the task.”

He would be sorry for saying that in the morning, after she inevitably kept him up all night with her thrashing and screaming. No one would have the patience for that when they were this exhausted. 

“Even if…” Dmitry was saying, “you don’t see that for yourself— getting married, settling down, I mean— you were pretty convincing tonight.”

She grinned. “I didn’t know I had that in me,” she admitted. “Or where the idea came from.” 

“Hunger, probably.” She could hear his smile. A breath. “Would you even want kids?”

Anya pondered it. “I don’t think I’ve even let myself humor the idea,” she answered. “Like, the thought is so far away. I’ve spent so much time worrying if I’m even going to get to eat today. A family feels completely out of the question.” 

Dmitry hummed. “But if you did find… peace, I guess. Like if all of your needs were taken care of.”

“I don’t know.” It was hard to fathom. “It depends. I suppose, if the right person came along, it might be a fun adventure.” 

“Ugh. You and I have very different definitions of ‘adventure’.”

She smiled. “No kids for you, then?”

“I dunno.” He paused. “I don’t think I’d make a very good dad.” 

“Why on earth do you think that?” 

He exhaled. “I don’t know. Kids are gross, I never really know what to say to them. And I just know I would fuck it up somehow.” He paused. “But I guess, like you said, if I met the right person… I’d consider it.” 

This surprised her. Dmitry was so independent, so ambitious, that she couldn’t picture him choosing to settle down somewhere with a family. The thought almost made her laugh. 

Just then Vlad shifted on the adjacent bed, startling them both silent. He was mumbling something in his sleep and Anya held her breath. The conversation paused to ensure Vlad was still sleeping, and when he resumed snoring, Anya exhaled. Dmitry did the same.

Her thoughts strayed to the false gold ring on the nightstand, to the ruse that got them this room. “What do married people even do?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even quieter. “What even is that?” 

“I haven’t a clue.” 

She made a list in her head. All of this angst had to be for something, right? Maybe that something was having children, as it was for the two characters they were playing tonight, or maybe something even more simple than that. Like not feeling lost or hungry all the time. Knowing someone would be there to pick up the pieces when you fell apart. Not having to pretend. “Live happily ever after, I guess.”

He snorted. “Like that exists.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I don’t know. For you, maybe. But it didn’t save my father. And I doubt it’ll save someone like me.” 

He said it nonchalantly but Anya frowned up at the ceiling, her brow hardening. That thing he said earlier tonight— You think I don’t understand?— was still nagging her, but she had no clue how to bring it up without sounding invasive. 

“I guess the tax break would be my reason,” he went on, and she could hear his smirk. 

She was starting to understand these stupid smirks and irritating jokes only came up when he was hiding something. Hiding something painful. 

“Dmitry.” She could hear his smile slip away as the pause lengthened. “What did you mean earlier? When you said… you said you know what that” —she lifted her hands in a vague gesture, because how was she supposed to sum up her experience with men in one sentence?— “was like.”

It took him a minute to answer. “It’s not very honorable.”

“We’re well past that,” she said, fighting a sudden, absurd laugh. 

She could hear his swallow. “So, back in Petersburg, I had to… do some things to survive.”

His gravity and vagueness were making her playfully impatient. “Conning wealthy women with your seductive ways?”

He sighed. “It was more like… the other way around.”

Anya didn’t know what to say. “Oh.” Dmitry didn’t offer much more. 

The humor and light energy was sucked clean out of the room. She felt terrible for bringing this up. But he was talking, and nothing about him sounded angry or upset or bitter. Just a little sad. But open. Which made her feel safe enough to ask, “Did you at least get some decent money out of it?” 

“Sometimes money. Most of the time it was just… a place to sleep.” 

She understood that kind of desperation. To do anything not to sleep under a bridge for just one night. 

“I was only a teenager when my father died,” he went on. Not defensively, not accusatory. Just. Telling a story. “I didn’t know how to keep up with the rent. When I lost the apartment, I knew going to an orphanage wasn’t an option, and I was still too young for factory work, so roughing it for a couple years was the only way to stay afloat.” He shifted. “There was decent money in street boxing. But I didn’t… have that in me.” No. He did, but he was a very rare man in the sense that he saw no point in smashing in someone else’s face, unless the situation called for it. Like tonight for example. He had a fighter’s heart, but no taste for violence. She couldn’t picture him in those bloody fights without wincing. “And, I mean, I pickpocketed some, stole food when I could. Lasted a couple years like that. But. It was inevitable.” 

Dmitry talked about the men and women alike who found him appealing enough to share a bed with for a night. It wasn’t boxing, but. A different sort of violence. A beating of the spirit. He didn’t go into detail. Didn’t need to. And Anya listened. Did Vlad know? Life hasn’t been easy for my young friend. Did he see a boy in need of saving? 

That small part of her wondered if Dmitry was just saying all of this to make her feel bad for him, the same way they played that clerk downstairs, but… something about this made her believe every word. And so much about him suddenly made more sense. She got the feeling he didn’t pull back the curtain often, or long enough for anyone to get a good peek, so she figured this was one of very few chances she would get to find more clues to solve the mystery that was Dmitry Sudayev. The ever perplexing man wasn’t so perplexing anymore. 

“It wasn’t so bad,” he was saying. “Really. There are worse ways to survive. And I know it’s— it’s not the same as what you’ve been through.”

I know you’re strong, she wanted to say, to echo back to him. That doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt. But she didn’t interrupt. 

“But it was never regular. And I only ever did it when I had a bad month, or when a con fell through, stuff like that.” His swallow was thick. “The women and men I was with never hurt me, or anything like that. But…”

She felt an ache in her chest for him. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know.” 

“I know. It’s just…”

It’s just it shouldn’t have come to that. Someone should’ve saved him. 

“I know what you mean,” she said in the dark. “Not that— I’m not saying I lived through that, exactly, but…”

“I know what you mean,” Dmitry repeated. Soft. Everything about him was soft right now. “It’s taken me a long time to… find my way back.” 

“But you’re so…” Anya didn’t know what to call it. Sure of himself? Comfortable in who he was? Confident? Proud? “You… know who you are.”

He loosed a slow breath. “You’re not the only one who’s lost, Anya.”

Her head tilted towards him, just able to make out the outline of his profile in the dark. And then he twitched in her direction and she felt him watching her, too. She looked back up at the ceiling. “The nurses that found me, they called all unknowns— girls who washed up with no past, no parents, and probably no future, I mean— they called all of us the same name. Anya. For documentation purposes.”

“The same way investigators use the name Jane Doe.”

“Right.” She pulled the blankets up to her chin. “But I can’t think of myself with any other name. I don’t remember what it feels like to not be lost.”

Dmitry was quiet, taking that in. “Me too,” he rasped. “Just a couple of strays, you and I.” 

The sentiment stirred up an emotion that made her chest ache. Not in a bad way, like her hunger or her loneliness, but… a different ache. A longing of some kind. She didn’t know how to voice this so she just said, “I hope you don’t have fleas.”

His laugh was a surprise, too loud in the dark. They hushed and waited to see if Vlad would wake. He kept snoring. Dmitry sighed through his nose. “I hope you don’t have fleas.” 

Anya grinned. There was no malice in the exchange for once, no undertone of something meaner or something with a bite. They were teasing. Something lighthearted. Even though neither of their hearts were light. 

It felt good to be angry with Dmitry, to fight him about something. But this, whatever this was, felt better. Like something clicking into place. Something permanent. 

Maybe… maybe she didn’t have to be so alone. Maybe neither of them did. Maybe Anya could let him help her when he offered instead of picking herself up. No, Dmitry couldn’t protect her from the nightmares, or the fear that was her oldest companion, but… he could keep her company. He could talk her through a problem. He was doing that now, logicing his way through something abstract and scary with her. Not because he thought she was weak or he pitied her, or because they had to in order to survive, but because he wanted to. 

Maybe she could do the same for him. 

Dmitry was saying, “I hope Paris lets us in.” 

“What, you think they’ll lock the gates or something? Because two orphans are too dirty and smelly for their clean city?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m picturing. Drawbridges and two sentries with menacing swords and everything.” 

She bit her lip, fighting a laugh. “That’s ridiculous.” 

“You’ve never been. You don’t know what it could look like.” 

“I think they’re beyond the Middle Ages.” 

“We’ll see. I won’t hold my breath.” 

Anya rolled her eyes. When he was committed to a joke, he committed all the way, that was for sure. Maybe that was the little gift of the night. Peeling back the layers of how unforgiving his life had been. Showing her the person someone once called Dima, who had hopes and dreams like anyone else. Making her believe that boy was still somewhere inside him. 

She let out a breath. “I’m sorry for prying.” 

“Don’t be,” he whispered. “I haven’t talked about this with anyone before.” 

There was a long pause. “We’re pretty good at keeping secrets for each other,” she finally said, voice soft. 

“Yeah,” he rasped. “It feels nice.” 

“It does.” She swallowed. It did. It felt really, really nice. 

“We’d better get some sleep,” Dmitry said.

“Right,” she whispered. She tucked her arms under the blankets and he rolled onto his stomach, the mattress shifting with him. “Goodnight, Dmitry.” 

“Goodnight, Anya.” 

Somehow, without her noticing, the anxiety plaguing her had simmered away at some point, leaving only a pleasant hum of nerves. A prickle of sleepy contentment. Instead of worrying about whatever horrors lay ahead in her dreams, or mulling over the uncomfortable events of the night, Anya just focused on the soft sound of his breathing, the comfort of the soft down pillow, the heaviness in her eyelids, and she was able to peacefully fall asleep. 

When the inevitable nightmares came, they didn’t last long. In her dream someone was shushing her, telling her she was okay, grounding her. And there was a hand emerging from the dark and pulling at her waist. 

When she woke, her face was pressed against warm fabric, something alive and breathing, a heavy arm draped over her side, fingers brushing her back, soft puffs of air in her hair. So. That part of the dream was real, at least. Not the blood or the screams or the voices or the smoke, but this. Dmitry had pulled her close in the night. She felt a flicker of embarrassment that she had thrashed so much and woken him up and hadn’t even remembered it, but then she just. Let herself live in this for a second. The fact that he’d comforted her without complaint or question or impatience. Had managed to gently coax her out of her nightmare. 

I bet there’s someone out there that’s up for the task, he had said last night. 

Hmm. 

Without thinking too deeply into it, Anya nuzzled herself into his chest again, letting the gentle hum of his heart lull her back to sleep.