Nikolai Meeting Christine
He walks to the park, now an older man. He is unnoticed by most as he seems "normal" or just part of the back ground. He is just the old man feeding the birds. Every once in a while he may be noticed, but usually only by those who believe he is homeless, and even then it's rarely. Most people don't notice him, or think he's not worth noticing. Although, that's fine for him as he prefers it that way. He enjoys the solitude. He practiced for so long to not be noticed, to blend…it's a pleasant relief to be invisible to most, without trying. Every so often he allows himself to be seen, as he is today.
He sees a woman slip on the snow covered grate before him, and he goes to help her up. She is so shocked by his materializing out of thin air, it seems, that she initially, instinctively moves away, but only by an imperceptible distance. He clearly sees the alarm in her chocolate brown eyes. "Are you alright, Miss?" he asks. She nods, mutters a quick "thank-you" as he helps her to rise, and she quickly makes her way gone, off to her destination. He walks back to where he was, the world just perceives an average old man.
He sits on the green, rusting bench with seeds in his pocket. He feeds the stormy cloud colored pigeons as he tosses the feed to the white blanketed cobblestones before him. The brisk air bites at his inked fingers, his once freshly inked tattoos now faded behind layers of skin, and time. He takes a breath in and the scents of Christmas, pines, chestnuts, and nutmeg, fill his nose as he waits for the woman, the woman with the golden hair, and bright blue eyes like the clear blue sky on a new day. She gave him hope for humanity then, and continues to today.
He shifts in his black Armani, getting nervous. He checks his watch, staring at the tattoos on his well calloused fingers. The tattoos signified danger to her, and signified a responsibility to him, the responsibility to the F.S.B. "You're in [a] very wrong place, Anna Ivanovna. You belong in there with nice people," his once strong and serious voice warned her as she followed him into the dark world of crime. She was filled with fight, as if lit by the very flames that burned the mother's diary. She never stopped fighting until she was sure there would be justice for the young Tatiana. She stood up to Kirill, yelling about what Semyon had done, and followed him to the bay, even after learning what he could do. She moved the F.S.B. Agent Luzhin so much he felt he must tell his handler of Semyon and Tatiana. He felt compelled to her, even when she was gone.
Although he knew he shouldn't, he secretly, and covertly, kept tabs on the two ladies, the "devochka" and the "Ivanovna." That is how he thought of them, knowing that he was less likely to even possibly disclose who they were if he thought that way of them. But, eventually their communications ceased as it became too dangerous for them.
He sent her one last letter, the very reason he was there, that she should meet him on "her birthday" in sixteen years. He knew she'd understand. So, unlike so many others, in warm houses with friends and family, he sits waiting as white flecks cover his silver hair, and melt on his, now pink colored, cheeks. He worries about what has held her up. Until, he hears the tapping of heels.
He looks up expecting to see his angel; his heart is delighted. He looks up with baited breath only to feel as if he were shot. He does not see his fiery angel walking toward him. Instead, he sees a thin, young woman, barely out of childhood, with green eyes and flowing light brown hair, walking towards him. Her ruby coat catches on a railing, and he rises to help her. He recognized the green in her eyes to be that of "Christine." She looks so much like her mother, Tatiana, the woman who became his first lie to Anna, or rather his knowledge of her. His heart is pained thinking of the lies. "Hello," she says in a light tone. Her sweet voice discloses that she did indeed grow up in the Scottish countryside, as he hoped. His grey eyes look her over, and while she is a bit thin for his liking, overall she looks well, although he knows all too well how scars can be hidden behind a good façade, and a well buttoned shirt.
"Privet" he replies, trying to decipher what she knows. She smiles. It reminds him of his Anna so much. "I know who you are, and who I am. Would you like to take a walk with me? Or would you rather give me a ride, 'driver'?" she asks, full of her mother's spunk, that is the spunk of the only mother she has ever known.
"A walk, car is in shop," he replies, a wicked smile growing on his nearly frost bitten face. "Da," she says as her smooth hands take his well-worn right, and places it against her velvet clad arm. "Where is your mother? Surely, she wouldn't allow you to travel alone…" he asks, his voice cut-off by the building fear that she is gone from this plane. "She is in the hotel room. It was too cold for her this mornin'. So, I came instead. I figured you'd wanna see her. We're at the Marriott on King's Ave, room 127. Is it true what she says of you?" she asks with timid wonder. "Da, I was Vory V Zakone," he replies casually, almost as if he were saying something as innocuous as "Yes, the sky is blue." A smile creeps onto her face, while she looks at him with disappointed eyes. She sighs knowing she'll have to do this the hard way. "That's not what I meant." She whispers, hoping she won't have to spell it out for him. "Then what do you mean, little girl? I am an old man, and do not have time for games," he says with the same harsh tone that he once spoke in, on the subject of slaves to Anna. She just smiles and shakes her head, chuckling as a response, and then strongly utters the initials "F.S.B." He looks to her in shock, and immediately places on his metaphorical mask of stone. He looks at her, now trying to figure out who and what she is, behind the pretty face of a sixteen year old girl.