There Are Some Who Survive

A week passed, then two, and Anastasia fell into a new routine. She always had been adaptable. Count Popov had managed to spin his initial unreliability into a tangible platform. Having been aware of the rigorous scrutiny the princess Anastasia had faced for the past two years, he said, he wanted his stepson to be well-prepared to answer parliament's concerns before he appeared. He'd chosen a day, about a month away, and promised to present him then, giving him time to study and finalize his plans.

Until then, it was a waiting game.

When parliament was in session, Anastasia did her best to garner trust. Her genuine desire to create a country that would be kinder to its citizens than the Soviet Union had been to her had won her considerable support. But, the mystery surrounding Dimitri Popov gave him a greater advantage than even a successful appearance in court might have. After all, courtiers loved to gossip, and nothing captured the imagination quite like an unknown entity making audacious claims.

It was evening, and the breeze caressed Anastasia's skin, sweeping away the tension of the day. She sighed heavily, trying to let go of her worries for the future. She was decidedly less fond of the unknown than most members of parliament seemed to be.

"Hey," Dima chided, "Whatever it is, stop thinking about it. You're here to distract me from my worries, and you can't do that if you're caught up in your own."

Anastasia laughed.

"Is that why you keep me around? I thought it was just a way to convince yourself that some girls' standards really are low enough to include you."

"Ouch! Now, that was uncalled for." Dima objected, but he was smiling as he continued, "Luckily for both of us, it isn't even a little bit true."

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"Why do I get the feeling there's no right answer to that?"

"Because you're an exceptionally smart man."

They broke their intense stares at about the same moment, chuckling in unison as they sat on a thick blanket. They'd decided to try the picnic idea again, only intentionally this time, with real food and with wine instead of vodka. Not to mention, they'd been careful to bring only one bottle to share between them.

"Was that actually a compliment? You're getting soft on me, Anya."

"Let's not forget who started this whole being-nice-to-each-other-thing, Dima."

"And, I haven't regretted it once," he replied.

Anastasia couldn't stop the grin spreading across her face, even when he ruined the moment by adding, "Well, maybe once…Or twice…Or-"

Anastasia lightly slapped his arm.

"Watch it," she said over his exaggerated cry of pain, "You're still on thin ice, you know."

Of course, they both knew it wasn't true. They'd given up the ruse of leaving the Neva separately when they met there. Who cared what Sergei thought, anyway? They were friends now, and they were allowed to enjoy each other's company.

Anastasia wondered when her outings had stopped being about escaping court and started being about spending time with Dima.

Probably about the time they went from once or twice a month to every day or two, she thought anxiously.

She really couldn't afford to keep doing this. It wouldn't be fair to him when she disappeared. It wouldn't be fair to herself, to get used to this comfort and then go back to a life without it. But, somehow, she just couldn't help herself.

"You're doing it again," he noted.

"Sorry," Anastasia blushed.

"Are you okay?"

He'd gotten that worried little wrinkle in his brow, and his sharp eyes were searching her face.

"It's nothing," Anastasia rushed to reassure. "You'll just have to do a better job of keeping my attention."

She tried to flash a teasing smile, but it didn't seem to convince him.

"Alright," he said slowly. "But, if you want to talk about it…"

Anastasia shook her head and tried some honesty.

"I'll be fine," she promised. "I just…really don't want to talk about it right now."

"Okay."

And, that was the end of it. It's something she'd never understood but always appreciated about Dima. He knew when to let things go. He seemed to understand some things weren't meant to be shared. She'd caught him cutting himself off sometimes, or frowning in a daze and pretending nothing was wrong. Everyone had secrets, she knew. But, his didn't seem malicious, and he always respected hers. It made him easy to get along with. Maybe too easy, she often worried.

She caught some concerned glances throughout the night but made sure she met them with smiles. Overall, it was an enjoyable evening, like any other. As careful as Anastasia had to be not to reveal her secrets, he'd always kept his promise: She never felt like she had to play a role around him. She could just be herself without worrying what a roomful of stuffy courtiers would think about her feelings or behavior.

She hadn't been unhappy since coming to true Russia, not exactly, but she felt different with Dima, more relaxed somehow. She'd tried, at first, not to get too addicted to the feeling. She'd long since given in, determined to make the most of it while it lasted.

As the evening drew to a close, he seemed as reluctant to part ways as she felt.

"It's not too late yet," she said. "I might take a walk, explore a new route home or- or something."

"Or something. Sounds interesting. You know, I could never let a pretty young woman explore a dark city alone."

"You really think I'm pretty?"

Dima's eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn't mean to commit to the compliment. Anastasia tried to think of something to fill the silence, but he beat her to it.

"Yes."

She blushed.

"Thank you."

And then, because the air between them had grown heavier, and humor made it easier to breathe, she said with forced levity, "You're not so bad yourself."

That did the trick, and he chuckled.

"Even for your high standards?" he teased.

"Well, you're no Adonis. That's for sure."

Of course, a voice in the back of her head argued that she'd told a boldfaced lie. She pointedly ignored it.

"Ouch! I'm sorry I asked."

Lost in comfortable banter, neither paid attention to where they were going until they heard the catcalls. A small band of drunks had staked out a strip of deserted road between two trashcan braziers. And, they were eyeing Anastasia with lascivious eyes. She grabbed Dima's arm, vaguely aware she was probably holding on too tightly, and began whispering that they needed to get out of there. That was when one of the layabouts called out in recognition.

"Hey, if it isn't the Neva's little pet couple! Tell me, Dima, how does she handle in bed?"

"I wouldn't mind trying a piece of her!" Another added.

Suddenly, men were swarming everywhere. Anastasia felt Dima pulled away from her, then one of the drunks touched her skirt, and she saw red.

She let her fists fly, twisted and elbowed when one man got behind her, and ran to the nearest fire, where she pulled out a burning brand to use as a club. One man made the mistake of grabbing the red-hot end, and he fell in pain, clutching his hand. She kicked him for good measure, then scanned the fray for new threats.

Dima was in a spot of trouble, so she started beating the thug off him until another grabbed her from behind. Dima was there to return the favor, though, and she wheeled off into the night, losing him again as she chased their assailants, beating them and brandishing her club as they fled. She almost didn't notice her own high-pitched scream until she pivoted to find the back-street suddenly empty.

Only Dima remained, and he looked a little shell-shocked as she yelled into the night, "Next time, I won't go so easy!"

"Where did you learn that?" he asked. "You're good."

"Want to see what else I can do?"

She charged down the street as he protested, reaching out an arm to stop her.

"Come at me!" she insisted once she was free of his grasp. "I won't hurt you."

"I believe you," he said slowly, raising his hands and creeping toward her as if she were a wild animal.

Maybe she was being a little…impetuous, she realized, as the adrenaline started leaving her veins.

"I didn't walk across a whole country without learning how to take care of myself," she said, lowering her club and letting him take it from her.

He immediately returned it to the fire, and only then did the last of the tension leak from his shoulders.

"Sometimes, I forget," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"You've had it easy," she said.

"Not so easy. I got into my fair share of scrapes as a kid." His eyes dimmed in reminiscence, and he chuckled softly, saying, "There was this one time-"

He broke off abruptly as his eyes refocused on her, snapping back to the present. Shaking his head, he said, "It doesn't matter. Another time."

Did he seem suddenly sadder? Of course not, he was probably just getting a hold of himself after the fight.

"Let's get you home," he said, offering his arm.

Anastasia took it, reminding him, "The bridge will be far enough."

Dima opened his mouth, then closed it, apparently thinking better of arguing.

"Of course," he finally said as they set off. "As always." He snickered, then, and added a lighter note by adding, "I hardly have to worry about you after that display."

Anastasia smiled gratefully.

"If anything, I should worry about getting you home safely. I'm obviously the better fighter."