Summary: Amelia helps Dmitri home after he gets too drunk at a party. Was supposed to happen in Rebel Columbia, but is no longer canon. Incomplete.

afterparty

Dmitri was slumped against the back wall of the elevator. It hummed quietly as we started to ascend. At first, I was thankful that we were alone, that no one else had to see me escorting a drunk dancer home in these nice clothes.

Then Dmitri started to laugh.

I didn't notice it at first, I was looking at the number climbing above the door. But I noticed him shaking out of the corner of my eye, and looked over, frowning. Dmitri, cheeks flushed, was grinning like a fool as he smothered giggles into his sleeve.

I threw him a curious look, smiling. "What? What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Dmitri shook his head, closing his eyes and turning away from me for a moment, as he tried to recover. Another laugh burst from his mouth. "N-nothing at all. I just, ha-ha, I just remembered something."

"Oh yeah?" I didn't know why I was encouraging him. But there was something cute about him like this, that despite all this trouble getting him home, I was still enjoying myself. "And what's that?"

"The day we met," Dmitri said, still smiling as he shook his head. "When you first walked in, I didn't know who you were. I actually thought you were another dancer, a-a model even. I didn't think a girl like you would be tutoring idiots like me."

"You're not an idiot, Dmitri."

He raised a hand, drawing his fingers over the skin above my sleeve, tracing the edge of the tattoo on my shoulder. "Has anyone ever told you you're beautiful?"

I threw him a look, speechless for a moment. Dmitri's eyes were glazed over, and it took him a moment for his gaze to drift over and meet mine. I finally managed to say, "Has anyone ever told you you're funny when drunk?"

"It's not a joke," Dmitri smiled softly, his eyes going back to the red star. His fingers were warm, "If you're asking me that question, then I take it no one has?"

"A few," I said, but decided not to elaborate it was only my mother who ever said that I was beautiful. What would that say about me? Even when drunk, Dmitri was perceptive. "But beauty is skin-deep. It's not what really matters."

"But beauty is more than just appearance," Dmitri murmured, and it seemed like he was drifting off into a tangent, talking more to himself than me. "It's kindness, and courage. It's refusing to let the world change who you really are. It's a ...It's a shame some people can't see that."

I frowned at him. "Well, beauty is subjective. People have different ideas of what's beautiful."

"You're beautiful to me," he said, before meeting my eyes.

I stared at him, half in surprise. I almost smiled. I waited for the other shoe to drop.

But it wasn't a joke. Dmitri didn't smile, only held my gaze steady, or as steady as a boy drunk on champagne could be. A long moment passed, and I realized he was serious — my neck and face went hot, and I quickly looked away.

"You really need to sleep," I said, standing up sharply, before Dmitri could say anything else that would make this worse. There was a blanket resting over the back of the couch. I leaned over Dmitri to reach it, saying, "You'll feel better in the morning. More like yourself…"

At this point, I was mumbling under my breath, not really to anyone. My face still felt hot. It's just the alcohol talking. It's what guys say to girls when they've danced together. It's just polite.

My fingers clenched around the rough wool, but before I could drag it down, Dmitri grabbed my arm. "Amelia…"

It wasn't a tight grip, but it, and my full name, was enough to make me look down at him. I didn't know why, but him saying that struck a note to me - Dmitri had taken to calling me by my first name for a while, ever since I said he could, but this time, it was different. The way he said my name, there was something new there. Something deeper.

A touch on my shoulder. I jumped, and Dmitri withdrew his hand with a wince, looking embarrassed. "Sorry. I just noticed these scars on your back…"

"Oh," I looked down at the table, silently scrambling for an answer to the question I saw in his face. "Yeah. They're still a little sensitive."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry," Dmitri said quickly, flushing up to his ears. He averted his gaze, hand wavering up to his face, covering his mouth. He shrugged. "Y-you don't have to tell me."

I studied him for a long moment, before giving him a small nod. "Thanks."

My voice was quiet, maybe a little curt, but it was completely sincere - I appreciated Dmitri's reticence, lack of pushiness. Unlike Peter, or Ned, or anyone else who gawked, pestered, practically vibrated with intense curiosity. What happened to me was more important than who I was.

But not with Dmitri.

So maybe I felt a little grateful; enough to break the silence ten minutes later and say, " (never completed, supposed to be a segue).

"It's just," Dmitri bit his lip, glanced away. "I recognize those scars. My father had them. Bullet wounds."

I paused, my mouth going dry. Not even Peter could guess my scars came from. To divert the conversation, I said, "Your father?"

"He was a soldier," Dmitri said. "Fought in many wars, earned scars like yours. But you," he frowned, his brow pinching together, a slight shake of his head. "You're not a soldier. You shouldn't be like my father. You're just a...girl. Um, no offense."

That last part made me smile a little bit. Dmitri didn't offend me so much as raise an interesting question; although I had the sneaking suspicion that he had been holding onto these thoughts for a while. Probably back when he first saw my scars.

"No, you're right," I said, seeing the anxiety in his face. I traced my finger along the counter, following the lines of a knot in the lacquered wood. "I shouldn't be like this. I don't want to be. But I am."

Dmitri drifted to the other side of the counter. His steps were soft, hesitant, carefully measured - treading on thin ice, as it were. His hand rested on the counter, a few feet from mine. "I know you don't need to be in a war to get scars like that. I just - I want to know if you're okay. If you'll be okay."

"I'm better than I was," I admitted, my eyes focusing on his hand because it was easier to say this when I wasn't meeting his gaze. I didn't move when he stepped closer. "A month ago, I was in a bad situation. A dangerous one. I was stuck in it for a long time. And getting out of it was...well, it was hard. I almost didn't make it."

"But you survived," Dmitri said. "Somehow."

Finally I looked at him. Dmitri was doing his best to keep his expression calm, but I saw the confusion in his eyes. Although not phrased like it, Dmitri's statement was another question. How did I survive? Why didn't two bullets to the back kill me like they should have, like they would have if I had been anyone - anything - else.

"Everyone says I'm lucky," I replied with a shrug. "But they say that, thinking the hard part is behind me. But it isn't. Honestly, coming home is one of the hardest things I've ever been through."

I knew that didn't answer his original question, but I didn't intend to. Dmitri didn't need to know the reason why I could still walk after taking two to the back. He just had to know it was unusual, and that I was aware of it.

I felt his touch between my shoulders again. His hand was light but warm, as he traced the circular scar on my right scapula.

"Who shot you?" he asked.

"Don't know," I said, not too surprised by the question. I figured it'd pop up eventually. And I decided I could shape the truth in a way safe enough for Dmitri. "I never saw them. You can kind of understand why."

Dmitri chuckled softly, hanging his head. "Ah, yes. I guess that was a stupid question."

"No, it's fine. I wish I knew, too."

"What would you do," he tilted his head. "If you knew? If you saw them again?"

A/N: From 2017. Again not canon, and incomplete as I had changed my mind halfway through it, and kind of just wanted to focus on the key dialogue points I wanted for the scene. So my original idea here was that Dmitri admitted his love for Mia sometime before the whole Killian thing happens, but I was already working on my ideas for him and them in the future, and ultimately decided that they're mutual pining was more interesting to explore for the time being. I also did not have enough time to build up to this big emotional moment as they hadn't had enough scenes together and I hadn't really implied Dmitri's infatuation with her at that point. So I shelved it, and ultimately never ended up using it. This was also written way back when his name was Antony, but I changed it here so there's less confusion.