Dmitry's love of Anya was only emphasized by the way he loved their children. Maria, with piercing blue eyes and blonde ringlet curls. Freckles across her nose like confetti. If you could miniaturize Anya, that was Maria. Then there was Alexei, born just a year after his sister, with eyes like chocolate and the same messy hair as Dmitry himself. He was as much a copy of Dmitry as his sister was of Anya.

Anya took it upon herself to take his camera time to time, so she could remember those moments as well as him.

There was nothing more valuable to either of them than each other- other than the children they loved more than anything.

The first time she took a picture of him, was just days after they became parents.

Exhausted was the best way to describe Anya's current state. Maria, as beautiful and precious as she was, had been quite attached to Anya, and quite tiring.

Dmitry had, of course, been her saving grace in those first few days. While she was entirely responsible for feeding their daughter throughout the night, he really did do whatever he could for her. Now, for example, he had taken the fussing newborn so she could just lay in the bath for a while.

She emerged from the bathroom, her new favorite nightdress on. She was running a brush through her wet curls, Anya expected to hear talking, or whimpering from the baby at the least, but she was greeted by silence.

"Dima, is she asleep-oh." A tired smile crept onto her face, as she gently set the metal brush on her bedside table.

In their bed- finally, Nana had let them return to their own home- laid Dmitry, sans nightshirt, fast asleep. One arm rested under his head. The other hand was sprawled out on their daughter's back. Maria was curled up on his chest, sleeping nearly as deeply as he was.

Anya wanted nothing more than to remember this forever. She walked on the tips of her toes to find where in the room he had he damn camera hidden. She found it and managed to snap a picture right as she saw Maria start to wake.

"Shh…" Anya cooed as she sat the camera back in the bag, reaching to take Maria into her arms. "Mama's here.."

That particular picture is hidden in Anya's favorite book. To this day, Dmitry has never seen it.

While Anya had her fair share of pictures of Dmitry, he outnumbered them by far, particular with candid photographs. Every single picture he has ever taken has had Anya as the focal point.

This particular one featured Anastasia.

It had been years since she lost her grandmother. The Dowager passed just weeks after Alexei was born. Had it not been for Dmitry and her dear babies, she wasn't sure she would have survived outliving another family member. The last of the Romanovs was now Anya herself.

Today marked three years since that loss. Paris was constructing a memorial in her honor, and that left Lily and Anya to accept the publicity for it. There was going to be no question that after tonight, the world would speculate who she was. Why else would the niece of Maria's former lady in waiting be there? It wasn't like it would matter long anyway.

War was ravaging Europe, Paris was a ticking time bomb. The very next day, Dmitry, Anya, and their children would be leaving for a new place- the United States. So what if the world knew who she was- she'd disappear just like she had nearly fourteen years prior.

Most of their life was packed into boxes and two suitcases. Lily and Vlad would ship their things to their new home in America, and join them within the next few months.

Dmitry had found her that afternoon, on her knees in front of her full body mirror. She had that red dress, the same dress she wore years ago when she caught him on the bridge. The beautiful gold and ruby tiara sat in her hands.

"Are you a princess, Mama?" Maria, recently four years old, asked, from where she sat in her mother's lap. "Am I a princess, Mama?" Maria's chubby baby hands ran over the tiara, little fingers tracing the rubies.

"I…yes, Darling." She may as well learn the truth now. Before it's all over in the morning. People wouldn't believe the ramblings of a child anyway, about a princess. "Nana was an empress, so was my mama…"

"Does that mean Papa was a prince?" Maria asked excitedly, with eyes shining, curls bouncing as she looked at her mother in the mirror.

Anya caught a glimpse of Dmitry in the doorway, a glint of pure adoration in her eye. "That's exactly what it means, Maria." She kissed her cheek, bringing the crown to hover over Maria's curls. She settled the jeweled item in her daughter's hair, unable to hold back the smile spreading across her face when she saw the identical one on her daughter's face.

"See, you're a real princess." She adjusted the strawberry blonde hair of Maria, still looking at her in the mirror when Dmitry snapped the picture.

The picture, of the two of them looking at each other in the mirror was almost the last one taken in their home.

It was minutes later, when Dima scooped Maria up, twirling her around the room, when Anya returned the favor by getting the picture of Maria standing on his toes, looking up at him with wonder.

It was when she looked at the picture that night, laying in their bed for the last time, that she realized her father had done the same thing with her, twenty years prior.

The last picture of Anya ever taken in Paris was taken the very next day, on their way out of the city.

The Bridge. The bridge named for her grandfather, that had been part of so many important moments of their lives.

The bridge she found him on, telling him she would run anywhere in the world with him, because he was her prince after all.

The bridge where they decided to run away that same night, where they decided to get married the very next morning.

The bridge where she decided to tell him, three short months later, that they'd be parents before long.

So here they were. Anya on the side of the bridge, the Eiffel tower perfectly visible just beyond the Seine. It was the most Parisian view imaginable- of course she wanted to soak it in one last time.

To her left, one of their brown suitcases laid flat on the side. Instead of Anya standing on it this time, to kiss Dmitry for the first time, Maria stood beside her, clutching her hand as if she'd disappear otherwise. Maria was pointing off at the tower, looking out into the distance.

On her right hip, three year old Alexei rested, his head on her shoulder as he sucked his thumb. It was a habit they couldn't bear to break from him, not when he could comfort himself as they went on the longest journey of their lives.

Dmitry caught it. The picture of the three people he loves most in the world looking at the landmark of the city that brought them to him. Standing on the bridge that forever changed his life.

He hid the camera, before stepping up to wrap his arm around Anya's waist. On his left hip he lifted Maria, who rested her head on his shoulder now. Anya leaned her head into his chest, as well, and he was able to feel the uneven shaking of her shoulders as she cried.

"Why do we always have to leave our home." She whimpered out, Russian coming from her mouth rather than the usual French.

"You are my home, Anya. We're just leaving a place. If i'm with you, I will always be home." He promised there on the bridge as he held his entire family close to him.

They realized later, that their third child was with them too, likely conceived only the night prior. A last bit of Paris, to take home with them.

When Lily and Vlad met up with them in America, they even had an extra picture in their hands.

From the bridge that day, of Anya, Dmitry, and their children, all looking out at the past, on to find their future.