For a couple days nothing happened. Jess was quite happy to take Emily and Ethan out shopping one slow afternoon. Ethan only remembered London very vaguely but what he saw had little in common with the city of his memories.
Connor spent most of his time in his lab, so Ethan had barely seen him and he found it hard to relate to Abby who was quite cool in her behaviour and cared too much about the animals in Ethan's opinion.
Else he spent most of his time with Becker, either on the shooting range or hand to hand. The sort of fighting Becker practiced had nothing to do with what Ethan was used to which basically amounted to brawling.
The first few incursions went off without a hitch. Either no creature had come through or they were caught quickly, with the memorable exception of a small herd of Iguanodon raiding a strawberry farm.
"Why do all schools smell the same, like spot cream and misery?" Connor asked.
"I quite liked school," Becker replied.
"Yeah, figures," Connor muttered. "What about you Matt. How was your school days?"
"Don't remember."
"Come on, everybody remembers school!" Connor needled.
"Not me." Ethan suspected that there was some truth in it. After 18 years everything before the first gateway was hazy for him as well. Sometimes even Danny's face.
"I had a governess," Emily said before Connor could press Matt for more. "She taught me needlework and French and I had a key to my father's library." A smile stole over her face. "I stole it from the housekeeper. The poor woman always thought that the dog had eaten it." From her expression she wasn't exactly innocent of that particular theory.
"What about you, Ethan? Did you have a governess as well?" Connor asked.
"Country folk, Connor. Governesses were something for fancy people in the cities. My cousin and I walked to school every day. But I learned French, too, of course, and Russian."
"I thought you were Russian?" Becker asked.
"Polish," he grinned and added, looking at Becker, "kocham wasze ciemne oczy."
"How many languages do you speak?" Connor asked, sounding impressed.
"Five, I speak German as well. Although," he lowered his voice conspirational, "I was rubbish at mathematics. And the less you know about my struggles with the great classics of Russian literature the better. I'm still convinced Tolstoy wrote War and Peace specifically to torture me."
Matt was the only one who didn't laugh.
"I love novels," Emily replied still smiling.
"I get headaches from reading. Also Irena and I spent too much time outside for that. She's an even better shot than I am. I mean, she was," Ethan added as if he could ever forget that Irena was dead. But it evoked sympathy. He had an advantage over Emily and Matt who either couldn't or wouldn't talk about their past while Ethan had long since learned what he could tell people and what not to draw them in. Especially Becker. Ethan had always had a weakness for dark eyes.
Becker put a hand on his arm to stop him when they were turning around a corner. There was a trail of blood on the floor, leading away from the entrance.
After that pretty much everything went to hell.
"How did you get take out?" Becker asked a little bemused when he opened the door for Ethan.
"By paying for it. Believe it or not money was already invented in the 1890's," Ethan rolled his eyes and marched into Becker's kitchen. Setting the take out on the table he drummed his fingers expectantly on the top. "Do you still use cutlery or has the future found more refined means of eating?"
"Did you use cutlery?" Becker asked back, opening a drawer.
"Much more than this. I'm coming to believe that society has become less sophisticated during the last century. Just ask Emily."
"Emily seems to like the 21st century," Becker countered.
"If I had to live in 1860's London I would have went through the first available anomaly too. Boring place."
"How did you know-?" Becker asked as he opened the containers and found his favourite meal in them.
"Connor told Jess."
"And you-?"
"I'm very good at listening to other people's conversations." Ethan smirked unrepentantly. "Sit down, I'll make you some tea."
"Make yourself at home," Becker drawled.
Ethan gave him a quick grin in return and turned the kettle on before helping Becker to settle down on the couch. He returned to the kitchen and took something else out of his bag.
While the kettle boiled he watched Becker, smiling when he leaned back with a groan.
"This will bring back the strength to your bones," Ethan promised him when he sat a mug down in front of Becker.
"Is that vodka?" Becker asked, grimacing at the tea when he took a sip.
"Drink it and be glad that I have faith in your medicine and don't pour it over your leg so it doesn't get infected," Ethan replied cheerfully at the face Becker made.
"What time is it?" Becker mumbled into his pillow.
"Two in the afternoon," Ethan replied amused. He had spent the night on the couch to make sure Becker was okay.
The door bell rang again.
Becker groaned but didn't move a muscle.
"It's probably Jess coming to your aid with Chinese takeout," Ethan mused but Becker didn't reply. He was asleep again, knocked out by the painkillers and the vodka Ethan had made him drink last night for his own good.
Ethan picked up his jeans and Becker's shirt since he couldn't remember where he had put his and went to open the door with a smirk on his face.
Only it wasn't Jess. It was Matt.
"Hey, Becker I just wanted to know if you're-"He stopped for a moment when he saw Ethan instead of Becker and finished a bit belatedly, "-okay. Where's Becker?"
"Sleeping," Ethan replied truthfully.
"And what are you doing here?"
Ethan deliberately looked down at his bare feet and tugged at the sleeve of Becker's shirt for good measure. Sasha had taught him well, before giving Matt a smug grin. "I thought that was obvious."
"That was quick," Matt said coldly. "Your girlfriend isn't even dead a month, is she?"
A look of pure fury crossed Ethan's face for a moment before he smirked again. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Matt. I'll tell Becker you came by," and closed the door in Matt's face.
"Did you sleep here?" Becker asked when he woke up again two hours later.
"Consider it a favour you owe me now. Also Matt came by."
"What did he want?"
Ethan raised his hands to show that he had no idea. "He left pretty quickly when he saw me."
"Is that my shirt you're wearing?"
"Couldn't find mine. Anyway, do you mind if I use your shower before I head back?"
"No, it's fine. Thanks, by the way."
"As I said," Ethan grinned "you owe me."
"Hey are you hungry – hi Jess," Ethan said as he wandered out of the bathroom.
"Jess brought soup," Becker said from the couch.
"Just for two…I thought…" she tried to explain but Ethan waved her off.
"Matt brought soup as well. Seems like everyone confused a poisonous bite with a cold."
Jess flushed a little bit and Becker gave him a reproachful look.
"Sorry," Ethan said in return.
"It's fine," Jess answered hurriedly. "I…ah…should go. Get well soon." She told Becker and practically fled the flat.
"Matt, Jess, aren't you popular Becker?" Ethan grinned, settling down on the couch. He had gotten the rest of last night's vodka which went perfectly with Jess' soup. It was good stuff not the cheap self-made brew they had drunk in Siberia. "And yet they don't interest you at all."
"Jess is like my little sister," Becker replied and Ethan wined in a bout of sympathy for Jess and her unfortunate crush on Becker. "She's just a kid."
"She'll draw all sorts of conclusions from me being in your flat half-naked and fresh out of the shower."
"Wasn't that illegal in your time?" Becker asked with genuine interest.
"So was communism, extra-marital sex and drinking during Lent. Never stopped people."
"I guess not."
"What about Matt then? Is he like your brother?"
"He's hiding something," Becker said solemnly, not returning Ethan's playful tone.
"And yet you hang out with me."
"You're pretty open about your past."
"Maybe I'm just trying to dissuade you from looking into it too deeply so you can't discover my secrets."
"I already looked you up."
"Should I fear the executioner's block then or will you send me back to Siberia to serve the rest of my prison term?"
"Nothing that dramatic," Becker assured him a little amused.
"A bribe then?" Ethan asked playfully.
Becker raised his eyebrows. "What would you bribe me with?" He asked, a little challenging, a little intrigued. It was the same tone he had used the time they had talked about Ethan's gun proficiency.
"I could think of a few things," Ethan's smile gained a seductive edge and he lowered his eyes.
"Tell me about them," Becker replied his voice dropping and he leaned slightly closer.
Ethan laughed, a deep, ardent sound. "I'll show you," he said in the same low tone as Becker and pressed his lips against his.
"You have a suspicion," Gideon said, watching Matt pace forth and back.
"I told you I had a friend I went through the anomaly with, right?" Matt asked without stopping his pacing.
Gideon nodded and waited for him to continue.
"I thought he was dead. I was sure he was dead. The last time I saw him one of the camouflage beasts chased him through an anomaly." Matt stopped to look at his father. "He came back through the anomaly yesterday."
"As a boy?"
Matt shook his head. "A man. He says it's been 18 years for him and that he spent them in Tsarist Russia before another anomaly brought him to a group. The same group that came thought yesterday."
"You don't believe him."
"He's hiding something," Matt replied which seemed to amuse Gideon.
"He's an unlikely candidate if what he says is true."
"Still, something isn't right about it. Becker should have tossed them right back through the anomaly."
Gideon laughed. "Is Becker handsome?"
"He's good-looking I suppose," Matt replied evasively.
"And how does Captain Becker react to him?"
Matt's answer had to have shown on his face because Gideon chuckled, shaking his head and said with some reproach, "You have a mission, Matt. Don't let yourself be distracted. What about Connor's work for Philip Burton? Have you found anything?"
To his shame Matt had to shake his head.
Russian Empire, St. Petersburg, Hotel Europa, 1889
"You wanted to see me, Uncle?" Ethan asked knocking on the open door of Edmundo's study.
"Yes. Please come in." The formality with which he said the words worried Ethan a little but he followed Edmundo's gesture and sat down on a chair.
"You know that Irena wishes to go to university in St. Petersburg."
Ethan nodded. Lately she was speaking of nothing else.
"I told her that I wouldn't let her go alone and unprotected. St. Petersburg is a big city and far away from here and their ways are different form our ways here in the country."
That explained Irena's downtrodden and angry mood yesterday.
"While your Russian has doubtlessly improved it isn't fit for university. But I have found a place for you at the Hotel d'Europe. You will be training there and your gift for languages will undoubtedly be of value. Also learning to manage a large hotel will prepare you for managing this estate until you and Irena return."
Ethan stared at his uncle with an open mouth. "You mean I will inherit?"
"You're my nephew. Irena will marry and move away therefore the estate will go to you. But I expect that you prove your worth of my trust in you during your training."
The Hotel d'Europe was the most glamorous, most luxurious hotel in the Russian Empire and the hotel management was proud of the most modern lift in the whole of Europe and the first one in Russia. Before coming here Ethan had thought that the Dobrowski estate was magnificent but it paled in comparison to the Hotel d'Europe: every hallway was laid out with thick carpets, the furniture made of mahogany and every room had its own bathroom and electric lights.
Ethan would work in every part of the hotel to gain an overview and then slowly work his way up in the area the Concierge deemed the most suitable for him. Or until Irena was finished with her studies and Edmundo would call them back home.
Irena, despite studying at university, worked at the hotel as well, as a laundress. Her father didn't believe in idleness and was firm believer that hard work formed a good character.
Working in a hotel reminded him of school: the concierge as the teacher and the boys and girls working as the students only that the concierge displayed more blatant favouritism than any teacher Ethan had ever had.
"He's picking on her again," Irena said as they watched Maxim, one of the liftboys, stealing Mouse's food, the girl who cleaned the shoes overnight.
"Let it go," Ethan told her. "There's nothing you can do."
"But she's the smallest. He shouldn't be picking on her."
"People always pick on the weakest," Ethan told her. He hadn't been weak or else he wouldn't have survived, especially not without Danny. "You can't change that."
"That's the same argument people used against the emancipation of the serfs," Irena argued.
"Didn't do them much good, did it?" Ethan replied between his pelmini. He was too tired to discuss politics. The Guard, the giant, always ill-humoured, watchman wasn't just making Mouse's life a living hell. Ethan readily believed the rumour that he was part of the Tsar's secret police.
"Exactly, we should get a say in how our country is run."
"We got the Zemstvo," Ethan pointed out.
"We should get a vote everywhere."
"Even if we used it to enslave the serfs again?" Ethan asked to mess with her. Irena didn't always think things through.
"That wouldn't happen if everyone - ," she started but Ethan shushed her quickly because the Guard had just walked into the dining hall.
Sonja Romanov was the most beautiful woman in Russia and no one else was surrounded by so many rumours. Some said that even the Tsar had asked for her hand once and that an American millionaire had offered her her own weight in gold and jewels. But Sonja Romanov was no man's possession. It was said that she had had her heart broken when she had been young, a soldier who hadn't returned home and afterwards no man could mend her heart.
Irena had stolen upstairs when Ethan told her that the Hotel expected Sonja Romanov, as always accompanied by her stage partner Aleksandr Khabarov.
"She's just as beautiful as they say," Irena whispered to him as they watched Sonja and Aleksandr dance in the glamorous ballroom under a dome of opaque glass decorated with wrought brass vines that gleamed like gold in the warm electric light.
And she was, her blonde hair was done up majestically but a few errand strands had come loose, giving her a free-spirited air. She had a small mouth with dimples on each side when she smiled and big, green eyes.
But, Ethan thought, so was Aleksandr Khabarov. He was tall, taller than most men but he moved with a grace and elegance that reminded Ethan of a cat, a panther suiting his black hair and dark eyes.
"What are you two doing here"? The Concierge hissed under his breath.
"We were – " Irena started but the Concierge shook his head.
"I don't want to know. Back to work, now."
They both nodded obediently and hurried away.