A/N: I am currently in love with the Broadway musical version of Anastasia! It honors not only the animated movie, but also history. This one-shot is a fusion of both the movie and the musical. Christy Altomare and Derek Klena had such fantastic chemistry as Anya and Dima (Dmitry) that I couldn't help but picture this story with them. But you are welcome to see them as the animated versions everyone knows and loves. :) Happy reading! LC
Tea For Three
Anya glanced up from her novel as Dmitry re-entered their compartment, precariously balancing a tea try in one hand. Vlad was splayed across the bench parallel to hers, smiling and muttering in his sleep, his head on Dmitry's suitcase, his leg dangling in the aisle between the benches. Dima had lost his seat and was left with no way to navigate around the sleeping man to the empty window seat beside her. Anya sighed and reluctantly put down her book, then extended her arms to accept the tray to prevent Dmitry from spilling tea as he climbed over Vlad.
Dmitry, visibly annoyed with Vlad, softened at Anya's uncharacteristic kindness to him. "Thanks," he whispered, passing the tea tray to her. The moment it met her hands, the train lurched around a sharp corner. The young woman yelped as the tray began to slip.
Panicked that she would be scalded by hot tea, Dima quickly fumbled for the edge of the tray to balance it, but lost his own footing in the process. He stumbled over Vlad's leg, but managed to land on his knees and keep the tray upright. Simultaneously, Anya grasped her side of the tray to prevent the tea kettle and cups from toppling.
Once over their initial shock, the two shared a laugh. "That was close!" Dima said, meeting her eyes. Suddenly, he noticed just how close he was to Anya, her face mere inches from his, their hands touching beneath the tray.
Anya made the same realization. "Yes," she breathed, as though spellbound by their proximity. "Close."
Before either of them noticed, they leaned towards each other. Suddenly, Vlad stirred and kicked Dmitry in the back.
"Ow!" the young man turned and glared at Vlad. The tray buckled again under the sudden movement. "I'm sorry," he apologized to Anya, realizing his mistake.
"Here, let me." She firmly took the tray into her arms.
"Yeah, I'll just get-," Dima scrambled to his feet, awkwardly bracing himself on the wall behind her. "Sorry." He quickly slid into the seat beside her and rested his head in his hands. "All this trouble for a little tea," he muttered, internally kicking himself.
"It was a nice gesture," Anya said quietly, pouring hot tea from the brass kettle into a cup. "You are serving royalty, after all." She quipped, handing the cup to him.
"In this instance, royalty is serving me! I must've done something right," Dima joked, accepting the beverage.
"A good leader is also a servant," Anya replied evenly, pouring herself a cup. She took a sip of the steaming tea and breathed deeply, allowing the warmth to consume her from the inside out.
Dmitri regarded her thoughtfully as he drank.
Anya lowered her cup and finished her thought. "Regardless of whether or not the people deserve it."
At this, Dmitri's brows furrowed. He promptly set his cup on the floor by his boot, then faced the young woman beside him. "Well then, your highness, let me ask you something. Do you think Russia deserved the royal family's service?"
"Yes."
Dima was taken aback at the swiftness in her response and the conviction in her voice. No hesitation whatsoever. He had to know more. "Even after-"
Anya held up her hand to stop him and looked away. "Yes," she insisted, a catch in her voice. "We failed Russia by not seeking their interests above our own. There were so many hurting people, and we didn't do enough to serve them."
Dima sat spellbound, looking at her. It was as though he were speaking to Princess Anastasia herself. He shook his head to jostle himself to his senses. This wasn't really Anastasia. This was Anya. But, still…
Anya started shaking, and Dima realized that he had upset her. Without thinking, he took her tiny hand in his.
"Anastasia or not, I'd want you to lead Russia."
Anya lifted her head, surprised. Her tear-streaked gaze was met with the sincerity in his eyes. "Thank you, Dima," she whispered. It meant the world to her that he believed in her, regardless of who she had been in her past life. She found her focus drifting to his lips. She caught him glancing at her own. Suddenly, he broke their gaze and relinquished her hand.
"Any time," he said quietly. He picked up his now-cold cup of tea from the ground and resume drinking.
Anya sighed and looked down at her hands, her cup still in one. "I thought everything would become clearer as we got closer to Paris, but I still don't know who I am," she thought, "and I'm beginning to question what I want." She glanced back at Dima, who had busied himself with staring out the window into the cold blackness of a Russian winter night.
Suddenly, Vlad yawned and sniffed the air. "Is that zavarka I smell?" He sat up and scanned the compartment curiously.
The corners of Anya's lips tugged upward. She set down her own cup and poured warm tea into the remaining one on the tray. She handed Vlad the beverage with a smile. Dima watched her from the reflection in the window.