A/N : Hello everyone. I just wanted to drop a small author note about two things. Frist, this chapter is one of my favorites, especially because of the last part. I hope you'll like it too.

Second, I received my first review for this story! Thank you Ana Kookie, you're actually the reason this chapter is posted today. You made my day. Not being a native English speaker, I was really worried by not having any feedback. I was always wondering if my English was good enough and such. Apparently, at least to you, it is, so thank you ! I hope you'll enjoy this chapter too.


Chapter 14 -

The next few days were a nightmare. Pure hell. And no, Camille wasn't exaggerating. She swore she was going to grow roots on the couch. She couldn't stand it. As it turned out, Vladimir gangstery activities were taking a lot of his time. He had explained that the incident with the Irish had finally got him to agree to the partnership with Fancypants' boss. The Russian Mafia needed to gain some more power over Hell's Kitchen. And they needed to get the cops off their backs. Fancypants promised he could help with that too.

As a consequence, Anatoly and Vladimir were busy. Very busy. And she was bored. Very bored.

Vladimir had told her to read books if she was tired of watching TV. Totally forgetting that all his freaking books were in Russian!

As such, her days were consisting of waking up, showering – which used to be one of her favorite moments of the day and had turned into torture at the moment – eating breakfast, watching TV, eating lunch, watching TV, eating dinner, wait for Vladimir to come home, get bandaged and covered in gel for bruises, and sleep. The only thing growing, along with her boredom, was her body fat…

Three days of this and she gave up. She called Piotr, asking him if he minded bringing her lunch and eating it with her. He didn't, only too happy to help. They ate, they talked, but only too soon, he had to go back. She tried to take advantage of the time alone to do things she never usually had the time to do, like calling her father, her grand-mother…

However, her only real reprieve was on Tuesday afternoon, when she got a call from the concierge. Someone was at the door for her, should he let her in? Camille felt old remnants of fear running down her body as she asked who it was.

"A woman named Jessica."

That got her smiling. She hadn't expected a visit from her coworker and she could guess it had taken Jessica a lot of courage to ask Alexei where the Russian King lived so she could see her.

"Send her up!" She exclaimed happily.

As she waited for Jessica to come up, slowing walking to the door already, she paused. She guessed Vladimir wouldn't mind Jess coming into his lair but she still looked around to be sure nothing incriminating was in plain sight. There wasn't, except for the gun still on the coffee table. She went back, limping and wincing as she did, to grab the thing. And kept it in her hand when she got to the door. Vladimir's bulletproof jacket was in the entryway but it couldn't be helped. The thing was too heavy for her to lift right now.

When the doorbell rang, Camille took a look through the peephole, gun still in her left hand, just to be sure. Afterall, she would hate to be kidnapped again just because she didn't have the intelligence to check if someone was really who they said they were. Even if she hadn't got the first clue on how to shoot a gun and she was holding it lefthanded…

Luckily, it was indeed Jess' face that was there, worried and uneasy, looking left and right as she waited. Camille opened the door in a painful movement but greeted the woman with her brightest smile anyway.

"Jessica! I'm so happy to see you. Come in, come in!"

Before she did so, she looked Camille up and down. She noticed the gun, the bruises on her face, the cast on her hand. Her face contorted in pity for her newbie for a second. Then, she was back on smiling brightly at her.

"Hello Camille! I came baring gifts!"

In her hands, she held a small basket filled with girls' product like polish nail, facemasks and gossip magazines. The younger girl wanted to hug her. Instead, she thanked her profusely, asked her if she could put the thing on the coffee table for her and waved her in.

Jessica finally took her first step in, wary, while she looked everywhere as if some kind of trap had been laid.

"He's not here." Camille thought useful to inform her. She had been right. Jessica shoulders sagged in relief and she let out a long sigh.

"Thank God!" She murmured. The girl shot her an amused, if pointed look as they sat back on the living room's couches. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Camille cut right away. "I know you're scared of him. And you have every reason to. I'm all the more grateful that you came anyway."

And she was. She knew the woman was properly terrified of her… boyfriend? The word seemed so childish for him. She didn't like it. A boyfriend was a boy for starters. He was a man. To her, a boyfriend was the boy one dated when young and dreaming of him romancing his girlfriend like in a Christmas romance movie. Vladimir was a tough son of a bitch with a violent streak he enjoyed to nurture. He could be a monster. But she couldn't say he was her monster for, with her, he showed a softer side of him. She guessed he was hers, simple as that. In all his dark glory.

She shrugged the thought away to sort at a later time and focused on unpacking the wonder basket.

"Thank you, Jess. I'm touched. This is exactly the kind of things I need right now. I'm so bored, stuck on this couch all day long."

Aside from beauty products, that she would happily test as soon as she could, she found magazines and a couple of books. That felt like a treasure.

"Books!" She exclaimed happily. "If you knew how much I longed for a good book!" Those ones were of Margaret Atwood, an author she had wanted to read for some time now.

Jessica casted a pointed look to the full bookshelves behind them.

"They're all in Russian." Camille explained.

"Oh." And with that, Jess was back to fidgeting, probably realizing for the first time she wasn't only in the Russian Mafia's leader appartement, she was straight into his personal space, with his taste exposed for the world to see. It was probably a little too intimate for comfort to her. Camille understood. She had felt the same the first time she had come here. It was a wonder someone so guarded on the outside had an apartment so lived in.

"Yeah." The girl simply answered. "So, Jess, how is work?"

That set her on a roll, thankfully.

"Oh, it's a mess without you! Thank God it's my day off! The extra Alexei took is nice but she spends more time flirting than actually serving drinks. She's not really good at bartending either but she will do for now, I guess. Everyone is asking about you; you know. They can't wait for you to be back." It made her heart flutter with pleasure.

It took her working in a bar to realize she had waisted four years learning to be an accountant. Back when she worked as one, she hadn't realized it wasn't for her. But now she did. The first thing she had realized was that, back then, she often went to bed with numbers in her head and a list of things to do growing longer and longer. As a barmaid, she handled things as they came. Every day was different but they all ended the same way, with a calm mind and nothing to keep in it. Also, as an accountant, she had worked in a well renowned place, but the relationships had been awful, everyone gossiping about everyone.

At Alexei's, things were easier. Jessica and Alex were angels. And the clients, despite their less than stellar police records, were just patrons. She cared about the opinion of few, and those she cared about cared about her too, it seemed.

"Piotr brought his dog yesterday."

"He did?!" Now, she was a bit jealous…

"The pup is just adorable."

Camille got her phone from the table and started to text.

"What are you doing?" Jessica asked, half-laughing at her resolute frown.

"I'm asking Vladimir if I can have Piotr coming here with his dog."

Jessica hesitated. "You think he'll agree?" She asked, back to being uneasy.

"Maybe." Camille didn't notice at first the change of tone, she was focused on writing in a way that begged for him to say yes, but with the subtext that there would be hell to pay if he said no. Without getting him mad because that would end up in a definite no. And without too many words or he wouldn't read it… "He lent me his car so… This is easier, I guess." She hoped.

The girl didn't realize the heavy silence settling. Until she looked up at her colleague serious and embarrassed face. Patiently, she waited. She knew that face. Jessica had something she wanted to say. She hadn't planned on saying it at first but now, she was struggling not to. She could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Eventually, she couldn't help herself.

"Camille, I like you and I don't want you to take this as gossiping. I'm just asking as a friend, if you'd let me." She nodded her ascent, touched once again by Jessica's kindness. Maybe the older woman didn't realize it but Camille had very few friends. None on this continent. Offering her this friendship meant a lot to her. "What is this relationship that you have?" She tried not to sound too judgy. It wasn't a total success but she guessed it was the thought that mattered. "I mean, at first, you told me you just wanted to…" She waved her hand helplessly.

"Fuck him." Camille supplied, refraining from grinning when the woman winced. It was just too tempting!

"Right. Is this," she gestured to the whole living room, colonized by Camille's mess. "really just that?"

She had a point. The girl's touch was everywhere around the place now. Her shoes were in the doorway. Two of her scarves sat atop his jackets on the coat hangers. Her phone was connected to his Hi-Fi chain. Her Nesquik was on the kitchen's counter. Her list of doctor's recommendations was pinned on the fridge. And that wasn't even mentioning the mess she had made in the bathroom. For all intent and purpose, she lived here. For now. She was aware that the only change it would make if she stopped renting her own apartment would be that she'd need more space in the wardrobe. It was uncanny, how quickly they got used to be in each other's breathing space, even if Vladimir wasn't here often.

"I guess not." She admitted. "It started that way. For me, at least." She was having more and more doubts about Vladimir's side of the story. She was beginning to accept that, maybe he had planned to be serious all along. At least, tried to. "But I guess you're right. Now, it's different. Frankly, I don't know what this really is. We never sat and talked about what we were. Things are just, you know, flowing naturally."

"And you are okay with this? Being in a serious relationship with him? Do you… Do you know what he does? Really, I mean."

Funny how it took Jessica's asking for her to finally think about it. She took some time to answer. But eventually, she realized it was obvious.

"Yeah. I know what he really does. He talks to me about these things. And yeah, I'm okay with this. More than okay…"

For once, Jessica didn't get her judging looks on. She just nodded. Camille wanted to hug her. It felt good to talk about it with someone. With a woman. With someone she could really talk about it fully, without distorting the truth of what he really was.

"And what happened to you didn't change that?"

The girl swallowed the heavy lump forming in her throat, the awful memory still fresh in her mind.

"No, it didn't." She hesitated. If she wanted to let it all out, now was the time. She might not get another chance to do so. The question was, was she ready to admit it? To herself first. And to someone else too. To say it out loud. To make it real. "I think I like him, Jess. Like, really like him. You know?"

It wasn't love. Not yet. Probably. One thing was for sure, the lines were getting blurrier and blurrier as days went by. It was a terrorizing thought. She hadn't thought she would love again after Thomas. She had been so certain no one could replace him. And no one could. But this was different. It was. She was sure of it. Whether one was less than the other was up for debate…

Jess came to sit by her side and slid a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"I know, sweetie. God, I know." She paused. "I saw the way you looked at him. Even the first time you saw him. You were scared of him and I've felt terrible to send you to him. But you were also fascinated. Like a moth to a flame. I hate to see that you got burnt in the process."

Camille waved her cast in a dismissive gesture. Shit happened. That was the way of life. She had learned that lesson a long time ago…

"And I saw the way he looked at you. Even the first time too." She added after a small pause. "The man looked like he wanted to eat you alive."

"I'm not a sheep." Camille protested lightly. The arm around her shoulders hugged her harder.

"I know you're not. Far from it. But I can only imagine how lonely it must be. To be alone in this big city, loving a man you can't talk about to anyone but those who already know who he is. It just… I guess I just wanted you to know you can talk to me. I'd still be worried. And I guess, knowing you, I'll still get shocked from time to time. But I'll try not to judge. And I'm here if you need me."

Tears started to roll down on the girl's cheek. She couldn't help it. She had never been good at talking about her feelings, were they good ones or bad ones. She always ended up crying, ever since she had been a kid.

"I'm happy you know." Camille tried, as her voice shook a little. "I know I shouldn't be. I know he is all kinds of wrong. And yet, ever since what happened to me in France happened, it's the first time I really feel happiness. I laugh and joke and smile. I'm sassy and sometimes, when I get mad, I'm icy. I'm getting my old self back. And that's only thanks to him. Ruffian that he is." She grumbled at last.

That made Jessica laugh as she hugged her harder.

"I feel like I'm hearing my daughter. That man that she met, you remember?" Camille nodded. Yeah, Betsy had met some kind of giant man. "He's definitely sketchy. She told me that, lately, he was spending nights and days doing some kind of bulletproof suits, so light you can't even tell it's there. Who would need bulletproof suits?"

Vladimir, Camille thought, trying to hide it. Too late. Jessica had frozen.

"Oh no!" She said. "I can see you coming, girl. No, no, no!" Camille ignored her pleading.

"Does this man have an address?"

"Cami…" Jessica groaned.

Eventually, once Camille had sworn up and down that she wouldn't tell Vladimir, that she would just take one of his jacket and pants to the man herself and ask him if he could help her, Jessica relented.

They talked about her husband then. His health was getting worse. But the doctors assured her he would get better eventually. He was on the right path.

They eventually settled on watching a sappy movie together, with Doritos and a beer each as the sun went down in the sky. She had told Jessica she didn't want to keep her for too long but the woman waved her worries away. Betsy was with her mysterious boyfriend tonight and her husband would stay at the hospital for his treatment until later that night. She confessed that was also part of the reason she had found the courage to come. The perspective of being home alone had been more terrifying than the risk of crossing path with the Russian menace.

They were laughing about the movie's ridiculous plot when the entrance's door opened. Several little clicking sound announced Vladimir was emptying his pockets on the little shelf by the door.

"Camille, I'm home. Still not grown any roots?" He asked, smirking as he walked toward them.

Jessica froze. Camille put a reassuring hand on her thigh. It was bad luck. It was the first night Vladimir came back so soon. But it was going to be okay.

When the apartment's owner realized he had barged in what definitely looked like a women's pajama party, he stopped too at the living room's entrance.

"Hello Jessica." He greeted, surprised. Well, it didn't show but Camille was beginning to read him more easily now. He moved again toward them, walking behind the couch and bending to kiss Camille's forehead. She slid her hand along his neck shortly as he did, looking up, before he went to sat on the second couch.

He grabbed the ashtray on the table and lit a cigarette, a small sigh of relief on his lips.

"Shall I go and eat at Anatoly's?" He asked. She smiled and wanted to hug him for it. It wasn't that she wanted him to go. But it was his place. She was colonizing it. He came home to find an almost stranger in his personal space. And still, he offered to go away so they could be left in peace.

However, Jessica saved her from choosing between her newly found friend and the man she felt she hadn't seen in a month.

"No, of course not. I have to get back to my husband anyway." Jess stood up. "I'll go now."

"Thank you, Jessica. For coming to free me from loneliness." She joked. "And for everything."

"You're very welcome, girl." She tried to smile, but it was a little strained. Vladimir's blue eyes going back and forth between the two of them as he stayed silent didn't help the poor woman. She almost jumped when he stood up, giving his cigarette to Camille on his way.

"I'll escort you to the door." He said in his gravelly, heavily accented voice. Camille loved it. Jessica, not so much obviously. She was so ill-at-ease it was almost funny.

Come on Jess! The man is just being polite. He's not going to eat you in his entryway.

"Come and see me again?" Camille asked, hopeful. Her colleague nodded and she, in turn, beamed at her.

While the two were at the door, she smoked Vladimir's cigarette and turned off the TV. Then, she tried to put some semblance of order on the coffee table.

"Girls' time?" Vladimir asked when he came back, smiling down at her. He sat next to her and put his feet on the table.

"Yes." She couldn't hide the mirth in her voice.

"Should I be worried?"

"You should always be when I'm left to my own devices." They chuckled together, sharing the last of the smoke, and Camille, once again, was left wondering at how close they were, how natural it was for them to share those moments. "You're home early." She commented.

"And I'm still waiting for my devoted greeting. I expected to see your tail wagging by now."

"I'm not a dog, you arse!" She hit him lightly on the shoulder, he winced. A cast was handy.

"Then, why are you so obsessed with Piotr's?"

She suddenly remembered she had texted him about it. Giddy that he was home early despite her pride telling her not to let it show, she squealed.

"Have you seen him?! He is so small! He looks like a little ball of fur! And I always had a thing for puppies with big, clumsy paws!"

"Yeah, yeah." He answered with a mocking smirk, ruffling the top of her hair before sliding an arm around her. "I told Piotr to take it here with him tomorrow afternoon."

"For real?!" She squealed again. "Thank you!" And she kissed him on the cheek.

"Calm down, woman." He mock-ordered. "It's just a damn pup. I'll hold you responsible if it pees on my stuff. Now, want some pepperoni pizza?"

She was having one of her greatest days so far. Vladimir probably wouldn't say it but she felt like he had freed some of his agenda on purpose so they could spend the night together. She was more touched by it than she cared to admit.

As they went to bed that night, it felt weird for Camille to be in his arms, wanting him badly, and not being able to do anything. He seemed to bear it far better than she did.

"Don't you want to have sex?" she asked bluntly. The usual groan answered her.

"Don't talk about sex." He nearly begged. "I'm trying very hard not to think about it."

She smiled against his naked chest. They hadn't overcome the novelty of skin on skin yet. Not having sex for a week, especially on nights like these when they got to bed at the same time after a night together, was torture. She was half tempted to throw caution to the wind but she relented. It wouldn't be wise and besides, there was only three more days to wait before she'd see the doctor again for her checkup. Her ribs still hurt but less so. She had good hopes that by then, she would have the authorization to finally jump his bones as she had wanted to do ever since the Irish incident.

She had to face it: she always wanted to jump his bones. Even when his naked body wasn't so close. Right now, it was just even worse.

She took pity on them both and changed the subject.

"Vladimir?" She asked, as his hand played with her hair, sending shivers of lust down her body.

"Hm?"

"Tell me about your life in Russia. You told me about your childhood and you told me about your arrival in New-York City. But you didn't tell me about your life back there. What was it like?"

There was pause. So long, in fact, that Camille raised her head to check if he had fallen asleep. He hadn't. He was watching her, his eyes gleaming in the half darkness of the room. She rested her head back on his chest, waiting, lulled by ups and downs of his lungs. Eventually, he began to talk.

"I got out of juvie when I turned eighteen. Anatoly was waiting for me outside the prison that day. He had spent his youth between foster homes. We were both not kids anymore. We had known hunger and bad treatments and people looking down on us as if we were wild animals. We wanted to show them we could be more. A lot more. So, we decided to go to Moscow."

She guessed it was the obvious choice. Any teenager who'd want to make himself known in the world would go to the closest big city.

"When we got there, we had nothing but the clothes on our backs. We were hungry. So hungry. So, we stole things on the streets. Food, first. Then, money. Then wallets. Up until we tried to stole from a man. He was young back then, but he was already big and strong. He seemed healthy. We thought it might be a good target. So, I ran into him, making him believe I had stolen his wallet and then ran away. While Anatoly actually stole it and ran the other way."

He snorted.

"In the end, the man caught us both and beat us bloody. Then, he offered us a job at his garage. He said he would pay us, but if we were to not work seriously, or stole from him ever again well, there were worst things than cops in Russia. We understood that he was in the Mafia. A lot of people are in it in Russia but this one was scary. We got even more scared when we realized he wasn't exactly in Mafia, he was friend with a Pakhan, a leader, and still managed to stay out it. Nobody could give him trouble because of his friend. And he could have been a king too, like his friend. He just chose not to. And nobody tried to force him to. It was so fucked up in our opinion that he scared us even more."

He paused, clearing his throat.

"His name was Alexei." He finally said. Camille jumped, ignoring the sharp spike of pain in her ribs to look up at him.

"Alexei? The same one I know?!"

An amused smirk answered her.

"Yes, your boss now. He always had a thing for strays."

He put her head back gently down on his chest and she got the message. Stop forcing on your ribs and shut up, I'm telling you a story.

"We worked hard, for a few months. Until his friend, the Pakhan, came one day. He noticed us. Asked why two dirty kids were there. I told him to suck my dick. I wasn't a dirty kid and I'd kill him in his sleep if he said that again. Anatoly apologized for us and Alexei hit my head with a pipe."

Camille held back a smile. Vladimir had always been a piece of work, then.

"A couple of days later, the Pakhan was back. He had an offer for us. He wanted us to work for him, when we were not working at the garage. Alexei told us it was our choice, and a crossroad in our life. He told us to think it trough. We accepted the offer right away. It was small jobs first. We were assigned to one of the Pakhan's Brigadiers, they are his lieutenants. We would have to beat a guy, stole something from another, little things. But we were good. Soon, we stopped working for Alexei to become Sixes. It's the lowest rank in Russian Mafia. It's a shitty rank. We weren't happy with it for long."

She was silent, fascinated by the strange bedtime story. She also appreciated that he didn't forget she had not the faintest clue of what a Brigadier or a Pakhan or a Six was.

"Our Brigadier had learnt somehow that I had killed my father at twelve, not by accident. He offered me and Anatoly to become his Bratoks. They are people in charge of special kinds of activity. He trained us to be hitmen. Turned out we both had keen eyes and agility and were good with guns. Soon, people in Moscow began to fear the Smiley Twins. Our Pakhan was very happy with us. His group expended a lot thanks to us.

We killed a couple of political leaders and a couple of our Pakhan's rivals without getting caught. At twenty-two years old, we were promoted to Spies. Every Pakhan has two spies. It is people he trusts most of all. One is in charge of his security. The other of spying on the group to detect traitors and threats. It was a job cut for us. Alexei had vouched for us. The Pakhan trusted us. And the two spies have to work hand in hand. The Pakhan used to say Anatoly and I were one brain in two bodies.

Sometimes it was a compliment. Sometimes it was not.

Anyway, being a spy is a great honor. It is also more dangerous. We got a couple years of prison each because of it. We didn't care. We were finally beginning to have the good life. Money was flowing. People feared us. Women threw themselves at us."

At that, she hit him lightly in the stomach. He laughed.

"What? It is true! You did too." That got him another punch, not so light, with her cast. He tried not to grunt but failed.

"Asshole."

He snorted, not bothered by the insult. Camille spent an inordinate amount of time insulting him and flipping him the bird. It was like he tried his best to get her mad. He said it exited him when she was angry and badmouthing him. She held back a groan at herself. Her mind was on a loop, it seemed. A loop that always ended up back to sex.

"So, your filthy mouth aside, I was saying: We had the good life. Anatoly was happy. But to me, it wasn't enough. We still had to answer to someone. I couldn't stand it for long. Around our twenty-sixth birthday, I had a plan. We were elite snipers, the Pakhan trusted us. It would be easy.

It took some time to convince Anatoly but, in the end, we made a coup. We killed the Pakhan and took over. Nobody could prove it was us who had killed him but Alexei didn't need proof. He was pissed. So pissed he left for the United States, telling us we were going to burn our wings, that we wanted to fly too close to the sun and that he didn't want to see it. Turned out he was right. Alexei tends to always be right."

She agreed, still amazed that her boss and her lover had so much ties. She got why he had tried to warn her away from them. The man had gotten them out of the street and in retribution, they had killed his best friend. They were ruthless.

"Not even a year after we were sacred Vori, it's some kind of Russian Mafia Princes, we got arrested by the cops. Someone had snitched on us. We were judged quickly. Trials don't take long in Russia. That's how we got sentenced to a life in Utkin's prison. It had a reputation, this prison. That is where Russia sends men to die quietly.

Anatoly blamed me for this. He never said but I know anyway. By killing the Pahkan, we made enemies in Moscow we couldn't defeat. The rest, I told you before."

He had told her before. How they spent three years in this hellhole. Up until Anatoly almost died, Vladimir finding an escape plan, and they fled to the States.

"Did you call Alex back when you arrived here? You had killed his friend after all."

Some much blood. He had so much blood on his hands. Her karma was definitely fucked by association.

"We called. We apologized. He told us we were fuckers, but introduced us to the people here. There were a lot of small thieves, small drugs dealers, small guns dealers that Prohaska didn't want in his pristine organization. He is old school, likes to surround himself with people like us, real Russian mobsters, not the riffraff. It was easy to take the lead on those left aside.

That is why we need help now. For now, he leaves us be because he thinks we are eating his leftovers, but if we expand, he will strike, calling his friends from Russia, the ones we made enemies of, to get rid of us."

"That's where Fancypants comes in, right?" Camille asked. Vladimir snorted, making her head shake on his chest.

"James Wesley." He informed her. "Yes, that's where his employer comes in. If cops are on our side, Prohaska won't dare to make a move. So we can expend freely, making good profit on the heroin the Chinese gave us to distribute, thanks to four-eyes. And when he sees he can trust us, he will get rid of Prohaska for us."

"So, it has begun?" Her voice was stern. This was serious. It was dangerous. Possibly even for her. She was leverage and she knew it. The Irish had made sure of that.

"Yes, it has."

A long, heavy silence followed that confession. Usually, she guessed they would have fallen asleep by now but Camille couldn't. Something was on her mind. Something she was working up the courage to ask. Eventually, after she checked that she wasn't the only one still awake – almost hoping she was – she dared to open her mouth.

"Vladimir," She began, unsure of herself, "can I ask you a question?"

A derisive snort answered her, her head on his chest shaking with it. She looked up to frown down at him. He smirked back.

"If I say no, would it stop you?"

It was tempting to say yes, just to be contradictory. But it'd be pointless. He was right. It was a stupid question caused by nerves. Bracing herself, she forged on.

"Why do you trust me so much?"

She had been wondering for some time now. Looking back at the beginning of their relationship, it had become obvious he had granted her a certain amount of trust from the start. As much as she enjoyed it – it being one of the reasons she decided to keep going further with him – rationally, she could only question it.

The question surprised him; she could tell by the way his hand had stopped rubbing circle on her back. However, he resumed his gentle caress quickly enough. Nothing could throw him for long.

"Isn't it obvious?" He replied at last. When she looked up at him, not sure to get what he meant, he gestured around them.

"No, I mean," She trailed off, thinking hard. "I don't mean now. I know," guessing was more accurate but their feelings for each other were a topic meant for another time, "why you trust me now. I mean, from our very first date, you told me things, that, in retrospect, I think would have been wise not to tell. So, what made you do it?"

Another few second passed by as Camille waited for an answer. She was focused on her lover's face, trying to spot any small changes on his expression that would give him away. First, he looked thoughtful, probably debating what to tell her and what not. Then, his jaw ticked.

"I had someone check on you before our date." He confessed, bothered.

And he should be! Camille was stunned silent for a while.

"What do you mean, checked?" She asked, trying not to blow a fuse until she had all the elements. Her tone, however, belied the calmness of her words. His jaw ticked again. She shot daggers at him.

"Don't be mad." He almost pleaded. Well, he pleaded as much as he could. Which wasn't a lot.

"Jury is still out."

Vladimir let a long-suffering sigh out. She wasn't having it, pinning him with her stare. His only saving grace so far was that she had been in a good mood all night long thanks to him.

"With what you know of me now, I'm sure you understand I couldn't just go on a date with a stranger without checking if you weren't a cop or something." She was about to interrupt but he went on too fast for her to do so. "I have this man, some kind of geek, who is specialized in this. He could have exposed your whole life to me but I didn't ask him to. I just asked if I could be honest with you. He said he had seen no reason not to. That was enough for me."

Camille lied back down on her pillow and took a deep breathe to think. She supposed she could blow a fuse. He had, after all, asked a complete stranger to ransack through her past without her say so. She felt memory-raped by it. However, some part of her, the always so damned rational part of her, insisted that, if he had told her that he had just decided to trust her out of the blue, she'd have thought him stupid to do so. Part of what she liked the most about Vladimir was his brains.

She took another calming breath. If she tried to picture the first date as if he were a decent man, he wouldn't have snooped in her past, obviously, but then, he wouldn't have known whether to trust her or not, and as such, wouldn't have talked about more than little, unimportant things. If things had gone that way, she might not have wanted to know him better, for one date without learning anything tended to make her get cold feet.

So, maybe, just maybe, it wasn't such a bad thing. There was just one last thing that made her belly ache.

"You swear you didn't know anything? That you didn't ask me about Thomas, pretending you didn't know, while you actually did?"

That night when she had confessed her wounds to him was a bittersweet memory. On one hand, it had been heart wrenching to let it all out. One the other hand, it had also been the foundation of something more between them for her. In any case, it was a strong memory, full of feelings, and she'd hate to see it tainted by lies and omissions.

Vladimir pulled her back in his arms and hugged her a little harder than she was used to. He kissed her forehead gently before he whispered in her ear:

"Camille, I swear I didn't lie to you that night. The man I employ, he didn't tell me about it. He didn't even tell me you lost someone. I told you the truth when I said I simply recognized a grieving woman when I saw one. I don't lie to you, love. I never did so far. And I hope I never will. I will, however, sometimes, not tell you everything, but only on things that are not your business. Is that enough?"

"It will do." She grumbled, pretending not to be as affected as she was by his words.

One day, she'd like someone to tell her how he managed to always be so open with her. Thomas hadn't been half the menace Vladimir was to the world and even he had let his pride get in the way of some much-needed confessions at times. By swearing to never lie to her, Vladimir opened the door to something so serious and so long term she felt dizzy. Wasn't it supposed to be the great question of every relationship? To manage to get the other to confess the deepness of his feeling at long last?

For her, it had always been like this. The pride would always get in the way of saying or doing anything romantic or meaningful. Had it been on her side or the boy's, those things had taken time, dramas and efforts. Her friends had lived through the same.

Vladimir, on the other hand… Vladimir didn't seem to have gotten the memo about the drama. He just kept telling her his thought without shame or question. She was almost certain that, the day she'd work up the courage to ask him if he loved her, he'd just shrug and say "sure, what about it?". However, she'd also bet that, if she never asked him, he might never tell her. And maybe it was just as well. The drama of his line of work was surely more than enough.

Would she have stayed with him, battered by her kidnapping as she was, if his pride were keeping him from saying those things?

Probably not.