The protesters streamed through the streets of Moscow, splitting when they hit narrow lanes, converging upon boulevards. They shook signs above their heads reading "Democracy Not Autocracy!" and "Free Russia, Always!" and "We Cannot Be Hidden!"; they chanted "We are here!" and "No Dictators!", the din echoing off brick and stone buildings. The young and the old filled their ranks, bundled up against the winds of New Years Eve, the steam from their breath creating a haze above the crowd. The mid afternoon sun struck windows and snow. Russia squinted against the glare, watching the crowd's progression from atop the roof of a building. He placed his large, mittened hands on building's stone railing and leaned over, looking off in the distance to the protesters' destination.
"They are going to the Kremlin," he muttered. "The boss was correct. What a hassle."
He sighed, tightened the knot under his chin holding the flaps of his ushanka in place, and stared down at the crowd.
"At least fifteen thousand, I am sure," he muttered. "Maybe more. And this only in Moscow. Petersburg, Irkutsk, Volgograd, Pskov, all have protests. I may yet have hope. Perhaps."
The individuals of the crowd bled together, a stream of colored coats, as homogeneous as the sound of their chants. Yet a fluff of curl escaping from a bright red cap caught his eye. He furrowed his brow. The owner of the curl shook her sign, her voice hidden in the group. She looked up for an instant, tucking her hair back under her cap. Russia shook his head.
"Idiot."
He pushed off the stone railing, stuffed his hands in the pocket of his long, black winter coat and walked quickly through the door to the roof and down the stairs. He exited to the street from a small cafe (which was full of Russians gawking and chatting about the protest over tea, coffee and blini). The crowd streamed around him. He glanced around over the heads of the protesters until he spied the red cap bobbing steadily toward the Kremlin. A few long strides, and he was next to her. A short spin and he was blocking her.
Emma bumped into him and backed away, sign fluttering from her gloved hands, hat askew. She pulled her hat straight and looked up.
"Oh, izvinityeeaah! Ivan!" she beamed up at him, but immediately her smile faltered. "Oh! Uuuhh, Ivan! Hahahaha! How are you?" She cried over the roar of the crowd, who split for Ivan as always. He was smiling, as always, but it was small and grim. His eyes were dark.
"What are you doing here?" he said, voice raised just enough for her to hear him.
"Doing my part!" Emma cried, reaching for her trampled sign. Russia stepped on it and slid it further into the crowd.
"Leave." He said, voice firm. "Now."
Emma stood up, mouth agape. She frowned and narrowed her eyes.
"No!" she said, crossing her arms. "I am not going to leave! I'm adding my voice to the dissenters! Free Russia, Always!"
Russia loomed over Emma. He stepped forward, crowding her until she stepped back. Realizing what he was doing, Emma stood her ground as he stepped forward again, but Russia merely shoved her back with the bulk of his body. She stumbled, and he caught her by the arm and pulled her upright. He let her go and stepped forward again. She attempted to squeeze around him, but he blocked her and forced her back. He moved forward until they were at the edges of the crowd, then up on the sidewalk, then at the entrance of the cafe. He pulled the door open and pushed her gently inside. The door closed on them both, and the roar of the crowd was dampened.
"What did you do that for?" Emma cried jabbing a finger into his chest. "You have no right!"
Russia corralled her towards a corner table. He pulled out both chairs.
"Sit," he said, doing so himself. Emma clenched her teeth, face red, and joined him with a thump.
"I was trying to help," she said, crossing her arms. "Add my body to the crowd! Why wouldn't you want that?"
"You are not Russian," Russia said, pulling off his mittens and removing his hat. "You are a foreign national visiting on a student visa. If they arrest you, do you think they will be kind to you? Do you think you will merely be deported?"
He waved a hand at a waitress, who snapped to attention and prepared two teas from a large samovar.
Emma stared at the table, mulling over what he said as the tea was placed in front of her.
"What exactly do you mean, arrested?" she said, looking up at him. He cocked a brow at her and took a sip of tea. She breathed in deeply. "Oh, God, even a peaceful protest is too much right now?" she said, eyes widening. "What the hell is going on right now?"
Russia shrugged and fiddled with his cup. Emma furrowed her brow.
"When did you get back?" she asked, scooting her tea out of the way and leaning toward him.
"Today," Russia said. "I called, but you did not answer."
Emma waved her hand impatiently.
"I know whatever you did on that 'business trip' has something to do with all of this, Ivan," she continued. "Come on, I want to know!"
Russia set his cup down and threaded his fingers together. He looked directly at Emma.
"It is a government takeover," he said calmly. "But I am sure you are aware of that. And now, as the Duma readies itself for the vote, protesters will not be tolerated. They will unleash the police on them before they reach the Kremlin. No one wants an embarrassing scene like people being unhappy with the Kremlin."
Emma paled.
"When?"
Russia paused and cocked his head, looking up.
"Now."
There was a sudden rise in the din of the protesters outside the cafe. There were shouts and screams. A crowd of people surged back into the oncoming group. Individuals shoved at each other, some running forward, others running back. Emma raised herself in her chair, brows lifting, mouth half open as she watched the chaos through the window.
"Christ!" Emma leapt from her chair. Russia grabbed her coat and pulled her back.
"You. Are staying. Here." He said, each word like a hammer against an anvil. He shoved her back into the chair. There was no smile on his lips when he let her go. "Drink your tea."
Emma glowered at him.
"You don't understand," she said, her voice low and frantic. "I have friends in that crowd, damn it! I need to find Lyudmila! She's marching right into danger!"
"You will do nothing," Russia said, calmly drinking his tea. "She chose to protest. A very brave girl. Now she must deal with the consequences."
Emma slammed her fists on the table, sloshing her tea.
"Not good enough!" she snapped, glowering at Russia. "I don't give a shit who you are, Ivan Russian man, but you are NOT going to force me to sit here doing nothing while my friend gets the shit beaten out of her! I WILL find her, and there is nothing you can do to stop me!"
She stood. Russia set his tea down quickly and stood with her, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. He stared down at her for a moment, eyes flashing, face like stone. He blinked and shook his head, pushing her down in her chair once more.
"Stay here," he said, frowning at her. He shoved his hat on his head and stuffed his unmittened hands in his coat. "I will be back."
He stalked out of the cafe and into the crowd. The people surged around him, every now and then jostling him. He walked steadily through the furious and terrified mob, towards the smoke of tear gas and the tweets of whistles and the screams of the beaten at the head of the protest line. Police in blue uniforms and riot gear struggled with the crowd, batons cracking against heads and shoulders. Some fought back, only to be knocked to the ground. Russia watched and waited, glancing from one group to another. Finally he spied a woman in a white coat trimmed with fur trying to twist her hood from the grip of a policeman. Russia walked quickly toward her as she held a hand up. The policeman brought his baton against her arm. She cried out and dropped, covering her head as she bounced off the stone street. The policeman raised his baton again. Russia grabbed the baton and twisted it from the policeman's grip. The policeman looked up, confused. His face bloomed into a radiant smile as his eyes landed on Russia.
"Prevyet," the policeman said with a sigh. "I thought you would be here today."
"Of course," Russia said with a shrug. He pointed at the battles between the people and the police. "But tell me, what side do you think I am on?"
"You are always for the people!" the policeman said with a firm nod.
"Well, YOU are people," Russia said. He smiled. "What do you think is best for the people?"
The policeman's eyes glazed over. He stumbled back and shook his head. Other policeman in the group grew listless, swinging their batons at nothing. They glanced at each other, pushing away the people that they had caught, muttering to themselves.
"What are we doing?" cried the first policeman. He went up to a compatriot, wrenched the baton from his hands and threw it on the ground. "We are Russians, not barbarians! I do not want a dictator, do you?"
A cry went up from the policemen. Batons were tossed on the ground. Protesters were hauled up on their feet and brushed off. The policemen marched forward. The protesters were confused at first, then elated. The group gathered once more, lead by the police force.
"Too much, too much," Russia grumbled. "There goes my subtlety."
He kneeled over Lyudmila, still huddled on the ground, her uninjured hand hiding her eyes. He brushed her shoulder. She spread her fingers and gasped.
"You!" she whispered.
"Yes, me," he sighed. He scooped her up. She cried out, grabbing her arm, panting. He pushed through the crowd, which no longer moved unthinkingly around him. People streamed out of shops and buildings, joining the protesters in their march. Mila groaned at each person who stumbled into her and bumped her arm.
"Far too much," Russia said as he finally made it to the cafe. Emma waited at the entrance, holding on to the handle of the door so as to not get swept into the crowd.
"What's happening?" she cried. "Everyone in the restaurant just stood up and left as one!"
"It does not matter," Russia said, lifting his voice. "Take my arm!"
Emma grabbed his elbow and looked down at the groaning Lyudmilla.
"Oh my God! Mila, are you okay?"
"She is fine!" Russia said, fighting his way through the crowd.
"She needs a doctor!" she held on tighter to Russia and pressed close.
"She is fine!" Russia said. "Just follow me!"
