Well, this started out as a one-shot, but a scene popped into my head and I wanted to include it, so it's no longer a one-shot. As always, appreciate your reading and sharing your thoughts with me. Hope you like it.

The Conversations

Chapter 2

Callen hugged Anna the way the father hugged his prodigal son, only Callen was the prodigal son who'd found his home because she loved him unconditionally. Callen pulled back slowly and wiped the tears off Anna's face as he did, but she wasn't crying anymore. He held her, firmly but gently, by her shoulders. The smile on her face still reflected some uncertainty.

"Are we good?" she asked, almost in a whisper.

"We'll see," he said. Her smile broadened and he heard her laugh, and he smiled back at her. They both remembered speaking the same words to each other years before. In some ways, they hadn't come very far, and in other ways, they'd come a thousand miles.

He took his hands off her shoulders and sat back. A few moments of silence passed between them and then Callen said, "Tell me about your childhood."

"That's old news."

"Not to me." He paused, "Is there something you don't want to tell me?"

Anna hesitated and then realized there really wasn't. "My mother was an American."

"Was? She's not living?" Callen's voice reflected surprise.

"She's living," Anna replied. "She's not an American anymore." Anna paused in case Callen had a follow-up question, but he waited quietly for her to continue. "This could take a while," she told him.

"I've got time."

Anna took a deep breath. "My mother came to Europe when she was a university student. She was a twenty-year old art student at the Hungarian University of Fine Arts in a semester abroad program. While a student there, she took a trip to St. Petersburg and that's where she met Arkady." She paused, "And the rest is history."

Callen remained seated and looked at her with raised eyebrows. Anna saw he wasn't going to accept the condensed version of her childhood. "What's her name?" Callen asked quietly.

"Who's?"

"Your mother's."

That simple question made Anna realize that she hadn't spoken her mother's name in years. Her voice was low and soft as she replied, "Vivian." Callen would ask Anna if she had a picture of her mother sometime later. Now, he just wanted to hear more.

Anna didn't need encouragement to continue now as she recounted her early life. "When she became pregnant with me, she gave up her American citizenship, left the university, and moved to Russia to be close to Arkady." She paused. "She was young and pregnant, but she still had her art and a man who would take care of her financially and that was all she needed."

"I thought when you said she was an art student, you meant she was studying art, like a curator, but she was an artist?"

"She was a painter."

"Do you have any of her paintings?"

"I have one, a small watercolor of a pond we used to visit. I put it in storage before . . . I went away." Callen knew she was referring to her time in prison and exile.

He looked around at the bare walls, "There's plenty of space here if you want to put it up." Anna studied the apartment walls in silence and smiled inside. She didn't know why she hadn't gotten the painting out of storage, but now she thought she would. After all, this was her home, too.

"What about Arkady?" Callen's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Does he have any of her paintings?"

"I don't think so," Anna answered simply and that she didn't know suddenly bothered her. But she continued. "My mother and Arkady weren't really a couple; they just had a child together. I don't think they even loved each other really, and they never married. It wasn't a scandal in Russia for a couple to have a child and live together without being married, and for some people, marriage doesn't matter."

"For some people it doesn't," Callen agreed quietly and he wondered if marriage mattered to Anna or if she was, like Arkady said, "not the marrying kind."

"Did Nikita marry your mother?" Anna asked abruptly.

The question surprised him. "Yes and no." Anna look perplexed and Callen explained, "They used pseudonyms because they were living in Comescu territory, and that meant their marriage wasn't legal." Callen cleared his throat and continued, "Before Nikita died, he told me he regretted that they hadn't been legally married. I think years later it bothered him because she was gone so soon after." He stopped and the images of his mother's murder flashed through his mind.

Time seemed suspended. Anna wanted to ask Callen if he ever thought about marrying, but she didn't. It was too personal, too soon after what had happened, and she wasn't sure what he'd think about her asking, wasn't sure if his answer would be one she wanted to hear or even if she knew what she wanted to hear.

"Even though Arkady didn't marry my mother," Anna picked up her history after a few moments, "he provided for both of us financially as much as he could in Russia," She stopped and looked at Callen intently, "Remember our conversation in Russia?"

"Which one?"

"The one about fathers."

Callen barely nodded, "I do."

"He wasn't home much, and when he was home, it was only for a few days. All my mother told me was that he was working. I guess she thought I would understand, but I didn't."

"What was she like?" Callen asked, the faint memories of his mother coming back to him.

Several minutes passed before Anna answered. "She tried to be a mother, but it wasn't who she was." There was no bitterness in her voice.

"What do you mean?"

"Other mothers went for walks with their children or to the playgrounds. There was one mother who went for a ride with her daughter every Friday afternoon."

"But not yours."

"She took me places—places she wanted to paint—and then she'd start painting and I entertained myself."

Callen laughed softly because it sounded so familiar. "I did that a lot when I was growing up—entertained myself, not painted."

Anna smiled, "I once disturbed a wasp's nest. That's when I learned they sometimes build nests in hollow trees." She wrinkled her brow at the memory. "Growing up was a learning experience and not always a pleasant one."

"It was that," Callen agreed, his expression pensive.

Anna paused. Maybe she had told him enough, but Callen wanted to know more. "I thought it was mandatory for children to attend state-run childcare or school in Russia."

"It was. My mother wasn't into 'rules,' so I didn't attend until one of our neighbors reported her. I think that was because I kept stealing squashes from her garden."

Callen feigned shock and then he look confused, "Wait. Weren't you living in Moscow?"

"No. We were living in Krasnodor. Arkady and my mother moved to Moscow after I went to the school for noble maidens."

"So the first school you went to wasn't the school for noble maidens?"

"No. That was later." Anna pulled her feet onto the sofa and hugged her knees. "This happened a few weeks after my 5th birthday. A woman came to our apartment one morning and told my mother that if she didn't send me to school, she would have to report her. Arkady wasn't home and that frightened my mother, so she pushed me toward the woman. She took me to school that morning." She paused and studied the sofa a moment.

"I hated school," Callen said thinking back on his own experience.

"So did I, and I think that's why I was 'recommended' for the school for noble maidens," Anna said.

"Because you hated school?"

"Because I was such a pain in the ass."

"I knew it," Callen said, nonplussed.

"Knew what?"

"I knew you were a troublemaker when we first met."

"When we first met, I'd been kidnapped by a psychopath."

"It brought out your true character."

"It brought out my survival instinct."

"It did, but I knew you were a troublemaker."

"Is that what attracted you?" Anna asked, a hint of seduction in her voice.

Callen ignored her question. "So, you were 'recommended' to the school for noble maidens because you were a pain in the ass."

"Because I was a smart pain in the ass."

"Of course," Callen said with a nod. "Arkady said you liked it. That he tried to get you out, but you wouldn't leave."

Anna wasn't apologetic but her answer was measured, "I did like things about it. It was different from the 'regular' school. They challenged us to do things differently and there was structure, but it didn't make you feel like a drone." She paused. "And I didn't leave because I didn't want to go back to . . . being alone."

"I get that." Callen said quietly. After a minute, he asked, "Is that where you met Katya?"

Surprised, Anna said, "I met Katya in prison."

"Not that Katya," Callen said. "Your friend Katya, the ballerina."

"Oh, Katya Veselov."

"I guess."

"I met her the first day I arrived at the noble maiden school."

"But she didn't become a noble maiden."

"No. She was only there for a year because they couldn't get her to stop dancing, but we stayed in touch."

"From the age of five?"

"Katya was five. I was almost six when I started at the school." A little smile appeared as happy memories came to mind. "Katya was quiet and shy and I wasn't. Every summer until I was seventeen, Katya and I spent three weeks at the Black Sea with her mother. When I was eighteen, we went by ourselves." Her expression changed. "Our last summer was when I was twenty. That fall she was injured and seven months later she was dead."

"I'm sorry," Callen said as he reached across and took her hand.

Anna slowly pulled herself out of her memory and looked in the direction of the kitchen. "Aren't you hungry?"

"A little." He glanced at the refrigerator. "I have cream cheese and strawberry jam."

Anna's eyes widened with her smile as she got up from the sofa. "Blinis it is." Callen stayed seated and watched her as she went straight to the refrigerator and got out eggs, milk, and the cream cheese. She set them on the counter and then got the flour, baking soda, and sugar out of the pantry cupboard. Next, she stood on tiptoe and got down a mixing bowl, grabbed a whisk, and got the measuring cups hanging on a hook under the cabinet. She turned and looked at Callen, "Coffee?"

"Yep," he said as he got up off the sofa and headed to join her. He filled the tea kettle and set it on the stove and measured the coffee into the French press. While he waited for the water to boil, he watched Anna. She knew this recipe by heart, so her motions were quick and smooth and sure. With the batter made, she got out the pan she always used for blinis and melted some butter. The tea kettle whistled and Callen poured the water into the French press, stirred the coffee a few times with a wooden spoon, and then put the lid on. He checked the clock; the coffee should steep for about 5 minutes. Anna, meanwhile, had made the cheese filling. It was in a glass bowl beside the stove, and Callen reached across and swiped a taste with his finger.

"That's one more blini for me," Anna said and he frowned. "Will you get the plates?"

Callen moved around her and brought out three plates and set two of them together on the counter to Anna's right. The third he set down right next to the stove and draped a dishtowel over it so that the towel hung over the sides. He stepped over to the refrigerator and brought out a jar of organic strawberry jam, took off the lid, and set it on the table. He then grabbed two mugs and put them by the French press and waited.

Anna poured a tablespoon of butter into the pan and then ladled in a small amount of batter. With a flick of her wrist, she tilted the pan and the batter spread across the bottom. When one side was done, she flipped it quickly and when the edges browned, then turned the blini onto the towel-covered plate. She repeated this until she had used up all the batter and there were ten blinis. Callen had poured the coffee and put their mugs and forks and napkins on the table. Now he stood next to Anna. They each took a blini, spooned cheese down its center, and folded it into a triangle. When Anna had four filled blinis on her plate, she took her plate to the table. Callen prepared the six remaining blinis in the same way and joined Anna. Callen had forgotten the spoon for the jam, so Anna had used her fork—before taking a bite—and now a mound of bright strawberry jam sat on her plate next to the blinis. Callen followed her lead.

"You know," he said as he cut into his fourth blini, "I want to hear more."

Anna smoothed the last dollop of jam onto the last piece of blini and swirled it around to make sure no jam was left behind. A thin thread of the cheese filling oozed out, and Anna wiped it up with the pancake before she popped it in her mouth. After she swallowed this last bite, she got up to get more coffee. Callen watched her.

When she came back to the table, she topped off both their mugs and then set the coffee on the table.

Callen picked up his mug, "Thank you."

Anna sat down and kept her hands in her lap. "I've shared things with you I've only shared with one or two other people in my life, Callen, and I'll tell you whatever else you want to know about me because I trust you." But," she weighed her words carefully, "I wonder if you trust me enough to do the same."

Callen looked across the table and studied Anna. He considered her words, what she was asking. Was he going to let his past and his memories prevent him from letting Anna get to know him, get close to him? The past was over, and his future with Anna was just beginning—if he let it.

"I'm not sure how or what in my life matters or what you want to know, but whatever it is, you ask and I'll tell."

"Is this a one-shot deal?"

"It's good for as long as we're together," he told her. Anna tilted her head and studied him.

"Go ahead," Callen said and leaned back in his chair. "Ask me anything."

"Wanna go to bed?"

Callen stood up, walked over to her, and put out his hand. She took hold of it and he lifted her up. "I can answer that."