"You've got to eat something," Tatiana said, offering a spoon to her brother once again and, once again, Alexei only frowned and turned his head away.
"I don't want it," he whined, pulling his blanket over his mouth. "It smells."
Tatiana sighed, placing the spoon back in the bowl she was holding. "Well, it's all we're going to get."
"Well, I don't want it," Alexei repeated.
"You've got to eat if you want to heal faster," Dmitry chimed in from the corner where he was watching the scene. "You'll get to see your parents and Maria sooner."
"And Mama will be so happy to see how well you're doing," Tatiana added.
"Eating that mush will only make me sicker," Alexei proclaimed dramatically, pulling the blanket over his head completely. "Just the sight of it makes me want to vomit." Dmitry stifled a snort as Tatiana rolled her eyes and set the sorry looking bowl of oatmeal on Alexei's bedside table. Seconds later the boy in question began making the most theatrical retching sounds Dmitry had heard in a long time, and he did snort as Tatiana snatched the blankets from her brother's face and flicked his nose.
"Don't be ungrateful," she hissed, glancing at the open doorway. "Honestly, we're lucky they're giving us this much of 'that mush' nowadays."
"I'm not hungry," Alexei insisted stubbornly. "Take it away."
Tatiana only heaved another sigh as Dmitry gently took the bowl out of her hands. If he was being honest, he couldn't blame Alexei for not wanting it. Though they had eaten oatmeal their entire lives, this oatmeal was rather runny and watery and there were few spices available to them to even attempt to make it better. Even a bit of cinnamon might help a bit, but they hadn't seen a speck of it for weeks.
Even so, Dmitry was nothing but amused by Alexei's behavior. He knew Alexei's patterns by heart, and whenever he was actually starting to feel better (and not simply telling everyone that) he became downright beastly. He never knew whether it was because Alexei had the energy to be restless again or simply because he was annoyed that everyone was babying him, but from his point of view it didn't matter as much as the fact that he was getting better. Soon enough he'd be up and about again, and they could be reunited with the rest of the family.
The cook, too, rolled his eyes when Dmitry handed the bowl to him with a sheepish smile. Once upon a time Dmitry might have eaten the oatmeal himself, not only to cover for Alexei but also because he remembered all too well the days on the streets when he couldn't get a meal and vowed to himself never to waste food if he ever got the chance to. But the word "food" could only be applied to this oatmeal loosely. Nevertheless, they were all under orders from Botkin to try and get Alexei to eat as much as possible, though even the good doctor had to agree that sometimes it was easier said than done.
Rather than go back to Alexei's room and argue with him some more, Dmitry decided their best bet to get the boy to eat anything was getting Anastasia involved. She had always been especially good at getting him to do something when he was in one of his moods, though Dmitry never understood how. He supposed he never would. Then again, all he cared about in that moment was getting Alexei to eat; the means and the methods were inconsequential.
He found her in the bedroom she shared with her sisters, sitting on her bed with another of Maria's letters in her hand. They had gotten a few more in the past two weeks, and her sisters were gracious enough to let Anastasia hold on to all of them. Dmitry knew the gesture was important to her, but she had been rereading the letters almost nonstop, and he wasn't sure if they should be getting concerned about her as well.
"You know," he said lightly from the doorway, "no matter how many times you read it, it's always going to say the same thing."
Anastasia rolled her eyes. "Yes, I am aware of that fact," she said. "Reading them and imagining Maria saying the words comforts me."
"You'll see her soon enough," he said. "But you'd see her sooner if you could give us a hand with Alexei."
"Again?" she sighed.
"Again," he said as Anastasia folded up the letter and laid it gingerly under her pillow. She stood up, still shaking her head, and led the way out of the room.
"He's getting terribly spoiled," she remarked. "It's getting hard to keep up with what he will and won't eat anymore."
"I can tell you that today he's not eating oatmeal, apparently."
"Well, we'll see about that. I'll force feed him if I have to." Dmitry couldn't help but laugh at her statement as they entered the kitchen.
"Good morning," Anastasia said amiably to the cook. "I've heard my brother sent back his oatmeal, but I was wondering if we couldn't try to get him to eat it again."
"Good luck with that," the cook grumbled. "It's gone cold by now, and if he didn't want to eat it warm then I doubt he'll want it now." Even still, he handed to bowl to Anastasia, who thanked him with her most charming smile still in place.
"I can see why he didn't want this," she said to Dmitry as soon as they were out of earshot. "I would bring it back to the cook, but I'd be too embarrassed to face him."
Dmitry snorted again as he looked at the look of disgust on Anastasia's face. However, as they turned into Alexei's room they realized there were three men standing in the room as well, all wearing the green military uniforms. One of the men turned to look at them with a raised eyebrow.
"Another helping?" he questioned. "I was under the impression that everyone was under solders' rations."
"They're supposed to be, sir," one of the others answered.
"We are," Dmitry said, "but Alexei did not eat yet. This is his."
"I saw his breakfast delivered to him earlier this morning," the third man said. The man who was clearly in charge waved his hand in a dismissive manner, and the others fell silent.
"We will sort it out later," he said. "Give the boy his food. If it turns out it was a second helping, he can skip supper." He stepped back and waved Dmitry forward, who handed the bowl Alexei in bed. He took it without argument, though they shared a glance that plainly told Dmitry he still didn't want to eat it.
"What are the two sisters doing in here, then?" one of the guards asked. "I was not aware it took three people to feed the child."
"I'm not a child," Alexei mumbled darkly.
"No, this is good," the man in charge said. "It makes today's roll call easier. Find the last sister and have her meet us in here."
"Roll call?" Tatiana asked as one of the men strode out of the room. "We've never had to do a roll call before."
"That's because the other Commandants of this house are lazy and unconcerned with order. I intend to change that." The man straightened his shoulders. "My name is Rodionov. I expect nothing but cooperation from everyone in this house."
"This is humiliating," Alexei grumbled. Olga quickly hushed him as the Anastasia filed out from the sitting room and Tatiana was beckoned in. Anastasia glanced up at Dmitry, pushing Alexei in his wheelchair, but quickly looked away and fled down the hall to her room.
Once again, Dmitry had to agree with Alexei. The daily roll calls were humiliating enough. He could almost understand the necessity when it came to those that were employed by the Romanovs- there were so many of them that he imagined it was hard to keep track of all of them. But every morning Rodionov went down the line asking them, "Are you Olga Nikolaevna? Tatiana Nikolaevna?" as if he didn't recognize them, as if their faces hadn't been on postcards, chocolates, postage stamps for years.
But now he was requiring the former imperial children and their servants to sit for official photographs that would be used on ID cards. He had had the sitting room converted into a studio of sorts, and a professional camera that put the girls' box cameras to shame had been brought in. Inside the sitting room, Dmitry watched as they took photos of Tatiana head on, and then had her turn so they could take a photo of her profile. When it was Alexei's turn, though, they hit a snag.
"We need him to stand," Rodionov said plainly. Alexei turned to Dmitry in alarm, but Dmitry only stared back at Rodionov.
"Apologies, sir, but that's just not possible," he told the commandant.
"What do you mean it's not possible?" Rodionov demanded.
"He still cannot straighten his leg all the way, which make balancing rather hard," Dmitry said. "I can find Dr. Botkin if you require a second opinion."
"Well, let him at least try," Rodionov said.
"What if he falls trying to stand? He'd only hurt himself more, keeping us all here longer and wasting your time, plus you will have wasted film." Dmitry shook his head. "I can find a chair for him to sit in. You'll have to adjust the camera's height, but it can work."
"Who do you think you are, boy, giving me orders?" Rodionov growled. He stomped forward and grabbed Dmitry by the collar, much to Alexei's protest. He heard someone else approach them.
"Sir, if I may," Botkin said soothingly. "I believe it was merely a suggestion. However, it may be your best chance to get a good picture of the boy." Rodionov huffed one more time, but slowly released Dmitry's shirt before ordering his men to find a chair for Alexei to sit on.
Later, when they were all allowed in the yard for a bit, he found Anastasia wandering listlessly along the perimeter of the fence, turning a rock in her hands. She looked up in surprise when Dmitry fell into stride beside her, but didn't say anything. Instead, they walked for a few more minutes in silence, her brows furrowed together.
"I don't think Rodionov likes me too much," Dmitry said in the most casual voice he could manage. To his dismay, Anastasia didn't even smirk. "Then again, I doubt he likes anyone. It would be shocking to hear that he had any sort of affection for even his own mother."
"Don't," Anastasia said. "They'll hear. And if they report what they heard back to Rodionov, I don't think he'll let you get away with it."
"I'll be fine," he said with a bravado he didn't feel. "What could he do to me."
"A lot," she muttered. Anastasia stopped walking abruptly and turned to face Dmitry. "I need you to promise me something."
There was something about the expression on her face that told Dmitry she wasn't joking. He nodded eagerly. Whatever it was she asked him to do, he knew he'd do it. He'd stand on his head and sing a song. He'd climb onto the roof and send signals to the people in the outside world. He'd follow her to the ends of the earth.
"Anything," he said reverently.
"I need you to promise you won't fight to stay with us."
Dmitry blinked. "What?"
Anastasia glanced around quickly, then looked at him again. "Don't tell my sisters or brother. They don't need to know. But you need to promise me that you won't go to any extraordinary lengths to stay with us."
"Why not?" he demanded.
"Don't you see, Dmitry?" she asked, her voice taking on a pleading tone. "You're far too loyal to my family for your own good. Alexei told me what happened when he went to take his picture."
"I was only doing my job," Dmitry tried to say. Anastasia shook her head.
"We both know it's become more than just a job to you. And I don't want you to be dragged down with my family." She looked down at the dirt. "You could have a life if you were free from here. A normal life. I can't ask you to give up that possibility."
"And I can't just walk away," Dmitry insisted. "I won't do it."
Now it was her turn to stare him down and ask, "Why not?"
"A lot of reasons," Dmitry said, "one being that your brother needs my help."
"That's not a good enough reason," Anastasia said.
"What would be a good enough reason, then?" he demanded. "Because trust me, I've got plenty of reasons for why I need to stay."
"There is no good enough reason," she said, her shoulders drooping. She finally looked up at him again. "Please. Promise."
Looking into her eyes and seeing the desperation there, Dmitry felt the fight leave him. "Alright, I promise," he said, "but I don't understand."