December 6th, 1990
One thing Ted have to give the enemy credit for; they were stubborn, even when terrified. Two weeks in, and they hadn't left yet, despite their fight having taken the strangest turn, as it seems nightmares from their childhood were defending the Western Drachman troops. It took them three days of unexpected random attacks to kill the ice snake. Ted's team had taken the time to give them a single night off to relax without the beast, and then shifted focus, using the old mist trick, and Pulse's electricity and Sensation's sensory manipulations to convince them they were being haunted by vengeful spirits. It involves more fore-planning and caution, and sneaking closer to the enemy, but over the next four nights, each morning an officer of mid-level importance had been found dead in their tent with no signs of attack.
That was when they had scrambled and put bright floodlights through-out their entire camp. Ted wasn't even sure where they had gotten that many lights, but anyway that they could find to light the camp had been dragged out of storage and put up in the dark.
In the week since, Ted's team had focused on moving back to monsters in the forests. Soldiers that went out on patrols did not return, or returned having been chased and terrified by monsters they could almost never see in the dark, but that ripped and clawed and snarled.
The non-traditional tactics kept the Zinovek's off guard. They didn't know how to fight an enemy they couldn't shoot at effectively, though the forest on the hillsides had taken a bit of a beating. There was less cover to hide in now.
:They're getting desperate: the local military commander, Colonel Polov commented as he, his unit commanders, and the alchemists stood around the map table in the war tent. :While I know we've enjoyed a bit of a rest thanks to your unusual tactics, we should expect them to go for a traditional attack before they lose many more men. The remaining commanding officers can't afford to wait for more of them to be picked off, or to report a major loss up here or lack of progress back to Petrayevka. We can't trust that the other conflict zones will keep them from sending backup to this location.:
Ted nodded. :If it comes to that, we have more traditional combat tactics. They won't like those either.: He had hoped to minimize loss of life on both sides, and while he felt that had worked so far, they were coming to a point where that might not be possible regarding the enemy.
Polov looked mildly reassured. :They'll figure out at that point we have probably been using alchemists this whole time, but the element of surprise also won't be necessary at that point because they'll know they've had no luck countering you. That may work to our advantage.:
:We usually do,: Ted admitted without any hint of modesty. :That's why we're here. It won't be anything as fancy as what we've been doing, but I think we can throw a few metric tons of dirt down their throats. If it comes to it, we could even bring the entire pass down on them and use alchemy to put it back later.:
That earned him several skeptical and surprised looks, and a :You can do that?: from a snarky Major.
Ted gave them his cockiest grin. :I've done it before.:
:It's true,: Niki chimed in. :That's the tactic he used to protect one of the Eastern resistance bases. Blocked the entire road with an avalanche, and then created a new entrance later.:
The skeptics looked only mildly convinced, but none of them wanted to argue with a Marskaya. Or at least not in front of their commanding officer.
:That's one strategy we have, but it's also not the only one,: Ted continued. :You've seen the variety of specialties we have for yourself, and the different ways they can be combined. Whatever ground strategy you choose, we can improvise around as needed, if you have to change plans in combat, without putting your people at risk.:
Polov at least seemed fully convinced. Certainly more than he had been when they first arrived a couple of weeks ago. He nodded, and leaned in over the table. :All right then. Here's what we're going to do.:
December 11th, 1990
The town of Holavon was smaller than Gloria had expected, for the town that hosted the majority of the Western Drachman forces, and was the center of their fortifications. Not that it was all that small truly, but it wasn't the size of any of the major cities in Amestris. It might be the size of Buzcool, if Gloria had to estimate. It was a little hard to tell with the wall around the city, though the wall reminded her of Karmatsk, which implied that Holavon was also an older city. As it stood at the pass between two regions, she could imagine it had been an important location for a town for years.
"It looks a bit like Karmatsk," Alexei voiced the thought she'd had, "Though it isn't the seat of a noble house, so there's not a grand estate for us to stay in this time."
"I think we'll survive." There was something empowering about returning to Drachma on her own terms, and on the side where they had a military between her and the other side, as well as Amestris' State Alchemists. "That is, if my father doesn't have an aneurism when he finds out I'm here."
"They've probably told him we're coming by now," Alexei pointed out as the truck they sat in drove through the entrance to the military encampment.
Gloria wasn't sure if it would be better if he knew already or not, but it was a moot point, and a minor issue. What she was doing here had almost nothing to do with her father as her father. This was professional, and this time with the backing of not only their employers, but the governments of two nations and proper press credentials. "It will be fine." Then she smiled. "Though it's a good thing we took our honeymoon in Aerugo. That residual warmth can keep us warm while we're here." It was as cold as she remembered it being a year ago, when they had been on her first visit.
Alexei chuckled softly, and the arm around her shoulders in the snug seating space tightened a little. "I'm sure we'll be able to keep warm."
Gloria felt herself flush slightly inside, along with the feeling of contented pleasure she often had when they were together. It had been there before the wedding, but the simplification in their lives being through the wedding, and sharing their lives and living space just meant she got to feel it every day. "I'm sure we will. You know, it seems weird to think it's been almost exactly a year."
Alexei nodded, a little more soberly. "That was supposed to be a happy night."
"Well, it was, for the first part." Gloria leaned against him. A year ago tomorrow they had stood on the ice in the middle of Petrayevka, with Alexei about to propose, when the shots rang out, and the world turned upside down; Drachma forever changed, and their lives as well. "I don't think anyone could have known then how things would have turned out over this year. I just hope that it doesn't take another to end it."
"Well, however long it takes, we'll be here to cover it."
Gloria looked out the window as row after row of military tents passed, and a larger tent appeared just ahead. Then the trucks were stopping, and she saw people waiting for the caravan, some of whom she recognized: Gavril Mihalov, Sara Heimler, and her father among them.
Then the truck stopped, and the men in the front seat got out, and there was a flurry of activity as they got out of the back, she and Alexei included, and joined the waiting delegation.
"Welcome, comrades," Gavril Mihalov smiled, shaking hands with the Lieutenant Colonel who was the leader on this supply mission. "The Western Drachman coalition thanks you for your assistance and your timely arrival. We'll be unloading into the warehouses in a bit, but for now, if you'll have the vehicles parked over there, we've got food and refreshment waiting for you in the mess."
Gloria stood with Alexei, waiting patiently for the more important issues to be dealt with. It was only when the convoy had been greeted properly, and was in the process of moving to the correct parking location, that attention was turned to them.
Gavril Mihalov startled her by clasping their hands warmly; Alexei's first, then hers. "Welcome back to Drachma, my friends. While I would not call these ideal circumstances, I would call them far better than when we last spoke."
Alexei grinned. "Thank you, sir. We appreciate your having us."
"As if I would have been comfortable with anyone else," Mihalov chuckled, still holding Gloria's hands in his for a moment. "Having seen your work first hand, it was an easy request to make. I also get to finally offer my congratulations to you in person. I hear it was a beautiful wedding."
"One of my mother's creation," Gloria spoke up, "and thank you. I hope to thank your aunt again for her gifts someday. They were perfect."
The look on Mihalov's face said he knew exactly which items his aunt had given her the previous year. For a second, he looked a little emotional, but it was quickly gone. "If I have the opportunity, I will pass on your words. While I haven't seen her in person, when last I heard, she was still safely in hiding and causing mischief for the occupation in Karmatsk."
Gloria was amused by the idea of the elegant Mrs. Gurina causing mischief for the men who had taken over her home. "I'm sure she's giving them just what they deserve. Now, where and when do you want us?" she asked, shifting the conversation to business.
Mihalov looked slightly amused. "We have an apartment for you in the city. You'll be in the building right next door to the one we're using for headquarters, and the Cretan journalists will be in the same building as you when they arrive. You're welcome to eat here in the mess, or in the kitchens in our offices with my staff. And this," he gestured to the woman remaining whom Gloria didn't know, "is Vineta Janson, my press secretary. She will have an itinerary for you, updated by the end of each night, with which meetings the next day will be open to the press, and any pertinent information I'd like to share with you in advance to aid in your preparations. She can also help you with any questions you have about policy, the city, the situation here so far, and any assistance you might need with crew for your equipment or repairs should the need arise."
Gloria turned her attention to Vineta, who shook her hand briskly, but her expression was friendly.
"I look forward to working with you," Vineta said in surprisingly good Amestrian. But then, Gloria couldn't imagine that Mihalov would have hired someone who would have difficulty understanding foreign press. They couldn't assume that everyone coming actually spoke Drachman.
:And we with you,: Gloria responded smoothly.
Once they made arrangements to meet up first thing in the morning for a more detailed press meeting, Mihalov and Janson headed off in different directions. It didn't matter the hour, there was much to be done.
That left only one person left to face. Gloria turned around, and smiled. "Hi, Dad."
There was nothing professional about the bone-crunching hug she received as her father pulled her in close. "Why did you have to pick now to prove you inherited my crazy?" he murmured softly.
Gloria couldn't help smiling. "It seemed like the right moment," she replied. "Don't worry, I'll be careful. I'm not here to make history, I'm just here to report it."
"That's a relief."
"Do you really think I'd put myself in harms way for a story?"
"Well you are here," her father pointed out as he loosened his grip and stepped back. "I don't have to be in the business to know this kind of work can make a journalist's career."
"Only if I'm alive to reap the benefits." Gloria reminded him. "If anyone needs to be careful it's you." Remembering the letter in her pocket, she pulled it out. "Mom wanted me to deliver this. She said something about how it's tradition, but I don't know what's inside it."
"Tradition, huh?" Her father took the envelope, and smiled a little before putting it in his pocket. "Definitely something to read in private then. I have a meeting in a few minutes," he said then, reluctantly. "You two settle in, and I'm sure I'll see plenty of you tomorrow."
That sounded like tomorrow promised to be interesting. "See you later, Dad."
"Shall we go?"
Gloria turned and saw that Alexei had already hefted his bag, her bag, and their equipment bag. "I can carry some of that, you know."
"I know you can, but that doesn't mean you should have to all the time." Alexei smiled.
A tradition. The moment Gloria had said that, Cal knew the letter was not for public ears or eyes, though he was dying to know just what Alyse would have put in a personal private letter to her soldier. The last time they had exchanged war-time letters seemed a lifetime ago. In many ways, it was. Having Alyse in his life had changed everything. Back then, he'd been afraid to get close, and unsure if he'd even survive the day some days. What kind of a life was that to offer a woman?
Alyse had persisted, and their letters back and forth had been a lifeline for him, even though they were nothing like the steamy letters—and sometimes photos—that many of the older men got from their wives or girlfriends back home. They had been full of meaning though, and now he knew, love. Enough that she had forgone writing to join the military effort to repel Drachma, just to be near him.
Cal sat on the edge of his cot in his private officer tent, and turned the envelope over in his hand, wondering exactly what kind of letter Alyse had sent him, but also enjoying the anticipation of wondering, of savoring the moment before he opened the letter. He knew that, in reality, it was probably one of the letters like the ones they had shared before, full of missing yous and what was going on back home. Still, Alyse's choice of phrase, which he was certain Gloria would have delivered accurately, made him wonder.
He sniffed the envelope. While it wasn't doused in perfume, he could still smell Alyse on it; the light floral scent of the lotion she used for her skin. The envelope was her personal stationary—not the one she used for her business or general letters—a light lavender, edged in thin gold. Inside, he knew he would find matching lavender paper with a subtle print of purple-and-green lilacs in the corners. There was no address, of course, because she would not have known where to send it. The front envelope merely said Calvin in her characteristic neat, elegant cursive.
Finally, Cal opened the envelope, slitting it carefully to avoid ripping the paper. Then sliding the letter carefully out and unfolding the paper.
Looking up at him was a photograph of his wife, smiling with that special, alluring expression he only ever saw in private. It was a shoulder-and-up shot of her, hair down, which meant the only visible part of her outfit was the straps of the dusky-blue nightdress he knew she was wearing, because this was a photograph that he had taken himself just a few months ago. Alyse would never have posed for anyone else, or been able to smile like that with anyone else behind the camera. She had humored him, only because he swore no one else would ever see them. It was a favorite photo, because it captured multiple aspects of his wife's personality, and her look that was both classy and sensual.
His insides tightened a little with the ache that came whenever he missed her. Being away for any length of time reminded him just how much he loved her, especially after everything they had been through together, and to stay together.
Finally, Cal set the photo aside and opened the letter itself.
Hey there soldier,
I couldn't resist. It's been a long time since we've been apart where I could write you letters. It was frustrating that I couldn't a few months ago with any hope of getting them through to you, so I'm taking advantage of Gloria's good news to send this one., if it makes it to North City before she leaves.
The house is too quiet without you. Miss Whiskers has been quite put out that you aren't here to lay on in the evenings, and gives me terrible looks of disdain. Not that it stops her from curling up on me instead, but I don't sprawl the way you do.
Not much has changed since you left. Everyone here is fine, though Abigail and Cameron both miss their Grandad. I've assured them you'll be back, though they don't think a "work trip" sounds very exciting.
Enjoy the photograph. I realized that in all the time apart during the last war, I may have been the only girl who didn't send her sweetheart a photo. You had to put up with getting me instead. While I wish I could follow you this time, I know it's better this way, so you'll have to settle for an image you can show off. Yes, I sent one I don't mind you flashing around when those young pups start bragging.
Take care of yourself. Remember, you promised me no more coming home shot full of holes. When we start getting news reports I better see you alive and in one piece. Finish this for them, like the war hero you've always been, then come home quickly so I can give you a proper hero's welcome home.
With all my love,
Alyse
A proper hero's welcome; well that was something to look forward to. A little more incentive—as if he needed it—to rush back home as soon as possible.
Don't worry, 'Lyse, we'll have this wrapped up and I'll be home. This time, I'll keep that promise.
December 12th, 1990
"—and that's when she told me Gabe had a squirrel locked in the upstairs bathroom."
Gavril laughed at the punchline of Trisha Mustang's story as they sat in his apartment, drinking tea. Her stories about her children were not only entertaining, but they made him feel a little closer to his own daughter even though they were hundreds of miles apart. He had been relieved to know that Darya and Amylla were safe in Pylos, guests of the Argyros family. That meant they were being treated the way they ought to be, even if it was in another country. They were safe, and that meant that Darya had taken the opportunity he asked her to…that she had at least read his letter even though she had never written him a direct reply. "How did you ever get the squirrel out?"
"Oh, we lured it into a box with a few nuts, then carried him outside and let him go back up his tree. It was the last time Gabe ever left his bedroom window open with food on the sill though, so I think it was a lesson well learned." Trisha smiled. While the misadventure must have been crazy at the time, she obviously had fond memories of the incident, in that way most parents seemed to when there was nothing else to be done for it. "I'm just grateful Rosa had the forethought to close the other doors in the hall when she spotted the squirrel. It really only had two places it could run after that, and it's not their fault it didn't choose to go back out the window."
Gavril wondered if Amylla had adventures like that one. He was certain she'd have loved the story. "She seems like a remarkably put-together young lady for a teenager."
"That seems to run in the family," Trisha admitted, though she was clearly proud. "If we're going to do anything foolish, it's usually in our dangerous career choices… sometimes taken at an early age."
Gavril didn't need to ask. He knew enough about General Sara Heimler's history to know she had been in her first battle at fourteen. "May you be blessed with far more normal parenting experiences."
Trisha took another sip of her tea.
There was a knock at the door, and the voice of Lieutenant Palmers came through the door. :President Mihalov, you have an important guest who wishes to speak with you.:
It had simply been easier to allow them to call him President, even if it was of a provisional and possibly temporary government, than to argue. Gavril also preferred the term over anything else the Drachman government had ever used. It was much more reminiscent of the slightly more democratic governments in Creta and Amestris. "Were you expecting someone?" Trisha asked. "I can go."
"I wasn't," Gavril admitted. Not that that meant much in the middle of a war. Stealing a few minutes for a normal conversation had been an unprecedented moment for him so far. "Wait here. It may involve us both." He stood and approached the door. :Who is it, Palmers?: The lack of a direct introduction made him curious.
A moment's pause. :It's… your wife, Sir.:
The words that's impossible died on his lips as the meaning of what had just been said hit him. He swallowed; his mouth suddenly dry. "Let her in."
The door opened, and the woman standing in the entrance in non-descript winter coat and slacks was without-a-doubt, Darya Visilni Mihalov. Mid-length ash hair was pulled back under her fur-lined hat, even as she managed to make the plainest thing he had ever seen her wear look elegant just by virtue of wearing it. A million words rushed the forefront of his mind, crashing into each other in a mélange that made it difficult to find the right ones to say. All he could manage as his emotions overtook him was, :Darya.:
He was saved for just a moment by the rustle of someone behind him, and Trisha Mustang edging past them quietly with a "I'll go check on that report," and then she was gone.
Darya watched her go with a side-eye that did not look pleased, but she did not speak to her. Instead, she looked back at him, and waited until the door closed behind them before speaking. :Hello, Gavril.:
If he had thought it would be welcome, he would have rushed to her, taken her in his arms, and kissed her. That was how this war time reunions were supposed to be; romantic and full of reconciliations. At least, that was how they went in the old romances. Gavril knew life almost never turned out that way. :It's good to see you, Darya,: he finally managed, :But what are you doing here? I thought you were in Pylos.:
:And not long ago, you were in Amestris. We get around a lot,: she replied glibly, though without humor. :I was in Pylos. Amylla is still there, safe… with the Argyros family. They have been incredibly hospitable.:
:I am glad to hear they are treating you as you deserve,: he replied cautiously. He had no idea why she was here, and his mind was not supplying a realistic response. Did she wish to make up? Or had she finally decided to stop waiting and it was safer to go ahead and get the divorce papers signed and over with. Either was possible. :I've been worried about you.:
:I know.: Her expression softened, just slightly, though it was still cautiously closed. :I got your letter.:
The letter in which he had poured out his heart to her, and urged her to flee at the same time. :Would you… like to sit down, have some tea?: he offered, trying not to sound too awkward.
:Are you sure I didn't interrupt something important,: she replied without moving.
:What? Oh, no!: He shook his head, and couldn't help smiling. :No. Not important. Trisha Mustang is one of the Amestrian State Alchemists that are here helping with the war. She and her husband are old acquaintances of mine. I'm sure I've mentioned them.:
There was, thankfully, a hint of recognition in her eyes, and she relaxed just the tiniest bit. Gavril hoped she was relieved. That bode well for him. :You have.: She hesitated then, before nodded. :Yes, tea would be lovely.:
There was a minute of awkward quiet as Gavril poured the tea and added honey the way she had always taken her tea, to the precise amount. Since she didn't correct him, he assumed he had gotten it correct.
:Thank you,: she said as she sat down in the recently vacated seat.
Gavril took it as a signal to sit as well. So much for passionate reunions. He was bursting to find out what she was here for, but he knew that pushing her or rushing the conversation would only complicate things. Darya hated to be rushed or pressed. She would tell him when she was ready.
Ready turned out to be most of the way through the first cup of tea. :Thank you,: she said at last. :It was a long trip.:
:Did you come with the Cretan journalists?: Gavril asked, as he remembered speaking with them earlier that day after their arrival. He hadn't seen anyone else who had come in with the small caravan of supplies and munitions.
Darya nodded. :Yes. I… well, this is going to sound incredibly foolish… but I just needed to… to see you.:
She was blushing, and Gavril immediately understood. Darya did not know entirely why she was here herself. The woman who planned every evening, every important dinner, even every family excursion to the minutest detail and perfection, had come all the way out here to see him, and she wasn't entirely sure why.
:I've missed you, Snowlily,: the words fell out of his mouth, and he went with it. If he couldn't tell her how he felt now, then there was no hope, and he still wasn't quite ready to end it, not with a sign that she might still care enough to try again. :Both of you, so very much.:
:I've missed you, too.: That admission alone was a huge improvement over the reaction he had been expecting. In the past, it would have been some stinging remark about how funny a way he had of showing it, not talking to them for months. At least, this time, there were strong extenuating circumstances. Darya set her cup and saucer down. :Besides that I… well I think you're doing the right thing. I know, I've always complained when you put your government work before our family, but even I can tell you're doing this for the good of Drachma, for the good of everyone except yourself.:
:Well, to be fair, they do want to make me their leader,: he couldn't help pointing out with a weak smile.
Darya, more's the miracle, smiled back just as tentatively. :Well they aren't doing a very good job of showing their gratitude then. You look terrible.:
He supposed he must at that. Almost all of his clear marks of age had come on him after she left him, when all he had focused on was his work, and tried to put the pain of her leaving out of his mind as they worked out the quiet drama of their separation at a time when a full divorce would have been disadvantageous to both of them. He was grayer, more lined… he had been heavier, but months of being besieged and his near-death experience had eaten away at that. :That's on me.:
:I know.: Her expression finally softened into something more familiar, with a caring concern. :I saw you on the television sometimes, after we left.:
:I don't blame you… for leaving, I mean,: Gavril admitted then. :We both had different expectations, and I couldn't give you or Amylla the time you needed from me. Or rather, I couldn't make myself make that choice to step back from my work, and it's cost me the most precious people in my life. They've been incredibly lonely years.:
:There's no one else in all of Drachma who's interested in potentially being the next First Lady of Drachma?: Darya quipped, disbelieving.
:As you pointed out, I'm not much of a catch these days, even with that to offer,: Gavril replied wryly. :Even if they were, I don't want anyone else. Despite everything, I still love you, Darya. Even if I wanted to stop, I wouldn't know how. If I could drop everything and run off with you tonight, I would.:
:But, you can't.:
Yet oh how he wished he could. :No,: he acknowledged, :I can't. I've pledged my life to these people, to our people…to making Drachma a safe and prosperous place where families are safe, and the next generations can grow up free of the mess we've been living in. I want my daughter to be able to live safely in her home country and be proud of it. Amylla didn't ask for any of this. None of them did. None of us did. I don't know why it's me, but I was put in a position where I can enact huge amounts of change, hopefully for the betterment of everyone. If I walked out on that, and abandoned everything, then I wouldn't be able to look my daughter in the face, and tell her that her father was a worthless coward who cared more for his own desires than the needs of millions, including her.:
Darya sat there, fiddling with the edge of the napkin in her hand. :I know, Gav, and…I'm finally starting to understand that. I don't want you to be torn between us and all of Drachma. If there were more men like you, all of this might never have happened. I thought I knew what it meant to be the wife in a wealthy noble family whose business was government. I was wrong.:
:And I'm sorry I couldn't be the type of husband you needed.: His heart sank slightly. The tenor of this conversation was not turning the direction he wanted, even if it was a little more what he had expected. :I really am, Dar. You deserve more and, if there's anything I can do in my power to make you happy, ask it of me.:
Then he braced himself, waiting for the words that might end it all. This was her chance. If she wanted a clean break, it was hers to command.
:Don't die.:
Startled, he stared at her, unsure quite how to respond. :That wasn't in my plan.:
:I'm serious,: Darya replied, more fervently than anything else she had said since arriving. :If you want to make me happy, survive, and kick every Zinovek and Zinovek sympathizer out of the government. Save our homeland. If this is what you were meant to do, then succeed, so we can come home again. Win, so we have a chance to figure all of this out, because in the middle of a war seems like a terrible time to try and re-evaluate our relationship.:
:I…agree.: Tentatively he reached out, and was rewarded by the fact she did not pull away when he took her hands in his. :I have to admit, when I saw you at the door, I thought you had just gotten tired of waiting for the Zinoveks to get out of the way so we could…end things.:
Darya looked startled, then horrified. :Do you really think I would have travelled several hundred miles to sign divorce papers?:
:After some of the fights we had… I considered it, yes. I can't even say I might not deserve it.:
Her grip tightened in his. :I don't know how we can make it work,: she continued more softly. :I really don't know how, or if, not when we don't even know what shape the country will be in the next time I see you, or if I'll see you, or if you'll be the President of some new country all together. I guess that's really what I came to say then, isn't it? Don't worry about us, right now. Worry about Drachma. Our personal problems can wait until the bigger issues are dealt with, and then we can figure out what's best for Amylla…and for you and I.:
While that meant nothing had really changed, it made all the difference in the world to Gavril because he knew how hard it had been for Darya to admit that there was something Gavril cared about as much as he cared about her, and possibly more, and that was his duty to his nation. She wasn't promising they would be together, but just that he had her blessing to do what needed to be done without worrying that it would be the death-knell. She would wait a little longer, and lines of communication were at least open. :Thank you,: he squeezed her hands more tightly. :I hope you know how much this means to me. I could never have gotten this far without you. Even now, you are my inspiration.:
:Gav… I really don't know what to say.:
:And all I have are all the words I regret not saying enough. I wish we had more time, to put things right. How long will you be here?: he asked, realizing that it might be no time at all. She shouldn't stay here, where it was dangerous, but he desperately wanted to be near her, in whatever capacity she would allow. It had been so long since they had been in a room together or spoken at all.
:Four days,: she replied. :The empty caravan of supply trucks is returning to Creta in four days. Otherwise I have to wait for the next one… presuming they are able to get through.:
Who knew what could happen between now and then. Gavril nodded. :I wish it were longer, but it's dangerous here. If anything happened to you… well, Amylla needs you. Still, you'll be here for a couple of days. Do you have rooms yet?:
:I was told they would set up a spare room for me on one of the other floors,: she replied, looking contrite.
The fact that no one had even batted an eye at that must not have gone unnoticed. Despite trying to keep it quiet, Gavril was certain that pretty much all of Drachma knew they were married still in name only. Living in Petrayevka, he had gotten used to it. Apparently, having gone back home, Darya had been spared the regular looks and rumors. :If that's what you like, I'm sure they'll have something suitable.: Or you could stay with me, he thought, but could not bring himself to say aloud. He wasn't sure he had the right to ask anymore.
:I'm sure it will be fine,: Darya replied. :I was prepared to sleep in a tent if need be.:
Given he was certain that Darya had never been camping in her entire life, that was saying something. :I would never leave you to sleep in a tent in this weather,: he objected.
She smiled. :Thank you, I appreciate that.:
A silence fell between them, as if between what had needed to be said, and what remained unsaid there was a gap of unclear territory. One thing was clear though, one of them would have to reach across it. :Have you eaten?: he asked, realizing it was quite possible she hadn't since her arrival.
:I… did.: Darya grimaced slightly. :They fed us in the mess tent.:
Gavril couldn't help chuckling at her expression. While he would never have considered her snobbish, Darya had never really lived a common life, or wished to. :Well, if you'd like something more to your tastes, there's a café down the street that's open late. It's nothing fancy, but it's better than military food. My treat, of course.:
He had surprised her. Her eyes widened ever so slightly. :I would like that. I tried but… the food was pretty terrible.:
:Military food is generally pretty terrible, though I can tell you it's far better than severe rationing.: Gavril stood, and since he was still holding her hands, she stood with him. :I'll get my coat and we'll go.:
It was only with extreme reluctance that he let go of her hands. Thankfully his coat was hanging by the door. The Lieutenant was still standing there when he opened it. :I'll be out for the rest of the evening,: he told him. :If anyone needs me, have them leave a message here.:
:Yes, Sir.:
Gavril offered Darya his arm, feeling a little thrill of hope as she took it. :Shall we go?:
Darya nodded. :I'm ready.:
