It was amazingly difficult, Anastasia was discovering, to hide Christmas presents when you shared a room with most of your siblings. It had been bad enough when it was just her and Maria in a room together, because no matter how innocently Maria presented herself, she had a habit of going out of her way to try and find out what people were giving her.

The task was made even more difficult now that even most of their entourage wasn't allowed to go out into town, even escorted by guards. Only a select few had that freedom anymore, and only on specific days. Daria, one of her mother's ladies in waiting, came back one evening steaming at the ears, ranting about how she had been watched like a hawk. There would be almost no chance to give any of the servants money and ask them to pick something up.

That only left the option to make everyone's gifts. The upside to it was that everyone else was so preoccupied with making their own gifts that no one had the time or energy to do any serious snooping.

It had been easy enough to think of things to make for her family. The Big Pair was always reading such large books and sticking random scraps of paper in them to mark their places, so bookmarks were the obvious choice for them. A new handmade diary for Maria; it wasn't the prettiest thing in the world, made mostly from scraps she had been able to pinch, but Maria had almost filled up her last diary and had had no chance to get a new one. All four of the girls were working on a new photo album for their parents, made up mostly of the photos they had taken and developed in the last few months. The only one she couldn't think of anything for was Dmitry.

He'd always been the most impossible to buy or make gifts for. He never asked for anything and he never dropped hints. Of course, that never stopped anyone from giving him gifts, but they tended to be on the more practical side. In the past he'd received plenty of shoes, shirts, jackets, and pants and he thanked everyone profusely the entire time. But those wouldn't be possible this year.

Anastasia glanced out the window and down into the yard where her father and Dmitry were chopping wood as they did every day. Alexei was with them again, though it didn't appear her brother was doing much work. Instead, he wandered around the yard slowly, careful not to trip over something or bump into anything too hard. She watched as Dmitry took a break for a few seconds to stomp his feet and cup his hands over his mouth so he could blow warm air into them. She couldn't help but think he was crazy for going outside without anything to keep him warm.

An idea struck her suddenly and she ran noisily down the hall, earning quite a few glares and shouts from the Red Guards. When she reached the room she shared with her sisters, they all cried out in surprise as she flew through the door and practically dove under her bed. It didn't take long for her to find what she was looking for, and she plopped herself down on the opposite end of the couch that Olga was sitting on, either oblivious to or ignoring the looks her sisters were giving her.

That was where Dmitry found her a couple of hours later, still knitting dutifully. The Big Pair had vacated the room by then, but Maria remained in her chair at the end of her bed, also knitting. Anastasia already had a small pile of socks and hats on the floor next to her feet. Dmitry assumed it was another thing their mother had come up with to keep to keep their hands busy and out of trouble.

He'd noticed she'd been doing that more and more frequently over the past few months. In the past it had been needlework or painting, but now that it was colder he couldn't even pretend to be surprised that they had begun knitting.

"You've turned that one twice," Maria pointed out as Dmitry poked his head in.

"Have I?" Anastasia asked, looking surprised. She held the needles out a few inches farther, examining the sock. "Damn!"

"Comrade Romanova!" Dmitry boomed from the doorway, making both girls jump, then laugh in relief when they saw it was only Dmitry. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"What Mama doesn't know won't kill her," Anastasia shrugged, and Maria nodded with her sister.

"And what if I had been her?" Dmitry asked, smirking as he leaned against the door jamb. "Then she would have heard you."

"We knew she wouldn't be down here," Maria said simply. "She always spends her afternoons with in her bedroom."

"Or with Alyosha," Anastasia added. Maria nodded.

"Or with Alyosha," she agreed. "Speaking of him, I think it's my turn to distract him for the afternoon. My hands are hurting anyway." Maria set her knitting on her bed and stretched her aching fingers.

"Distract him from what?" Dmitry asked. To his knowledge, the boy hadn't hurt himself in months, so he didn't understand what he had to be distracted from. It could be that the family knew something he didn't. His stomach rolled when the sisters shared a look that plainly said they were debating telling him something.

"You have to promise you won't tell Alexei," Maria said seriously. She gave him a pointed look as he shook his head.

"I won't," he said.

"You have to swear it," Anastasia said, leaping to her feet. "Swear that on pain of death, you won't tell Alexei anything."

"I promise, I swear," Dmitry said, holding his hands up. His heart was beginning to hammer against his ribcage. What could they possibly want him to keep from their brother?

Anastasia crossed to the writing desk in the corner of their room and opened its drawer. From it, she pulled a small tin. Something inside it rattled as she closed the drawer again and opened the lid.

"It's for Christmas," Anastasia said. She held the tin out to him and he nervously peeked at it. Alexei's tin soldiers laid inside the box; some had been freshly painted while others were still looking rather dull. "We wanted to surprise him."

"That's all it was?" Dmitry asked in annoyance. Leave it to Anastasia to make something as simple as a Christmas surprise so dramatic.

"It's all we could think to do," Maria said. "We've been taking turns keeping him busy while the other one repaints them. Do you think he'll like it?"

"I'm sure he will," he said truthfully. Maria beamed at him and then at Anastasia before all but skipping from the room to find their brother. Anastasia set the tin on the desk before rummaging in Tatiana's trunk. Dmitry raised an eyebrow at her, recalling the fight between the two of them when they had first arrived in Tobolsk.

"Don't give me that look," she said. "Tatya knows I've been taking her paints. She's the one who offered to let us use them."

"As long as she knows," he said. He didn't particularly want to listen to another fight, and could only imagine what the guards would have to say about the commotion they'd cause.

"It's not like she does much with them anymore," Anastasia said, rolling her eyes. "I can't remember the last time she painted anything, so they might as well be put to good use." She set the paints and brushes on the desk and plucked one of the soldiers out of the tin. Dmitry watched as she began to repaint the soldier, slightly amused at the sight. It was a little strange to see Anastasia, who was normally so reckless and wild, being as careful as she was with the paintbrush, and he couldn't help the few chuckles that escaped him. Anastasia pursed her lips at the sound, but didn't say anything.

"I need your help," he said after a few minutes of silence. Anastasia glanced at him, her tongue poking out from between her lips in concentration, then set the tin soldier down.

"What is it?"

"I don't know what to do for your family's Christmas presents," he admitted. In the past he had gotten them all little trinkets- ribbons, books, toys and such. But now that they were all locked up in the house, he wouldn't have a chance to get them anything. He knew the children were all making their gifts for each other, but Dmitry had never even attempted to make anything.

"You don't have to worry about that," Anastasia said. "Honestly, the fact that you've been loyal enough to stay is enough of a gift to us. You don't need to give us anything." Dmitry shook his head, frowning.

"It wouldn't feel right," he insisted. "I don't need you to make anything for me, I just need ideas."

"I'm fresh out of ideas myself," Anastasia sighed. "I had the hardest time coming up with ideas after a while." She picked up the tin soldier again, but this time she was frowning as she continued to repaint it.

Dmitry cast his eyes around the room, hoping something might inspire him. There was very little to be found. The girls hadn't been allowed to decorate their room much, so the only things adorning their walls were photographs and small paintings they'd saved. There was a small stack of letters on one of the nightstands, and a few books on another. Dmitry's eyes landed on the pile of socks Anastasia had knitted.

"Can you teach me to knit?" he asked suddenly, lurching to his feet and picking up her discarded knitting needles. The sock she had messed up was still attached.

"What?" she asked incredulously.

"I can knit something for everyone," he said. "It doesn't have to be anything fancy."

Anastasia considered him for a moment before shrugging. "I suppose it's as good an idea as any."


Dmitry, as it turned out, was not a good student. No matter how hard he had tried, he just couldn't seem to fully grasp knitting. After an hour of trying to teach him, Anastasia had thrown her hands in the air and announced that he would just have to knit scarves for everyone.

And even those had turned out lumpy and uneven.

It had taken him weeks to improve enough to even consider giving the finished products as gifts, but in the end he finished them and wrapped them all just in time for the holiday. He wouldn't say that it was the best-looking wrapping he had ever done, but considering they only had so many things available to them, Dmitry was quite proud of them.

The family and their entourage had gathered in the sitting room for Christmas service before they exchanged gifts. The girls, as they did every year, eagerly passed out the presents to everyone. They called out the names on the wrappings and delivered them to each person, with Anastasia becoming a little too excited and tossing some presents to people and earning her a stern look from her mother.

Dmitry was a little surprised at his pile of presents, if he was being completely honest to himself. Each of the children had made him something, apparently, and he even had a gift from Alexandra and Nicholas, too. It was more than he had been expecting, and too his embarrassment he found he had to turn his head for a few seconds to swipe at his eyes quickly.

"Open mine last, Mitya!" Alexei called, bouncing eagerly in a way that made him seem much younger than his thirteen years. Dmitry smiled and picked up a gift from one of the girls.

It appeared that they had all had the same idea for him, not that he minded in the slightest. As he opened each present to reveal another piece of knitted clothing, he laughed and put it on. In the end, he sat there with four pairs of socks on, two pairs each from Anastasia and Maria, a scarf from Tatiana, a pair of Mittens from Olga, and a waistcoat from Alexandra and Nicholas. They all laughed with him when he was done, with Olga taking a picture of him, and each of them put on the lumpy scarves he had made for them.

Finally, he picked up Alexei's gift, as it seemed the boy would explode from excitement if he didn't do so soon. The wrapping fell away to reveal a small book and a hand-painted bookmark. Dmitry thumbed through the pages and discovered that they were all blank.

"It's a diary for you," Alexei said, a wide grin on his face. "Now you won't need to steal Monsieur Gillard's!" Everyone in the room hooted with laughter as Dmitry felt his face burn. He quickly thanked Alexei, then hid the diary behind his back where no one could see it.

He managed to corner Anastasia alone after dinner that night. She was sitting in front of the window that had been nailed shut, staring out, but she turned and smiled when he approached.

"It reminds me of Christmas at home," she said, gesturing to the town outside. "I hope someday we'll be allowed to go back. I miss the grand tree in the courtyard."

"Maybe someday," Dmitry said, though they both knew he didn't believe a word of it. Still, it was Christmas, and he wasn't about to ruin it for her. "I have something for you."

"What do you mean?" Anastasia looked at him quizzically. He had already given her the scarf he had made for her, even though she knew what it was before he'd handed it to her.

"You'll see. Close your eyes," he said.

"Why?" she demanded.

"Just do it, Anastasia. It's nothing bad," he huffed. She eyed him suspiciously for a moment longer, then reluctantly closed her eyes. "Now, hold out your hand."

"Don't put anything gross on my hand," she warned, but held her hand out anyway. Dmitry reached into his pocket and gently dropped the item into her outstretched palm.

"Okay, you can open your eyes."

She obeyed, then quietly gasped as she saw the thin gold chain lying in her hand. "Dmitry, where did you get this?" she asked, holding it up. Her mind was spinning, trying to figure out how he had managed to buy it and get it into the house.

"I had a little help from Daria," he smiled at her. "I gave her the money when she was sent on errands, and then she hid it in her shoe."

Anastasia looked up at him, her expression unreadable. "This must have cost you a fortune. You shouldn't have spent that money. You should have saved it for something else." To anyone else, she might have sounded ungrateful, but Dmitry knew she didn't mean it that way.

"Well, it's too late for that," he said. "I know it's simple, and not fancy like anything else you owned, but I hope you still like it."

Anastasia threw her arms around him, knocking his breath out of him, and hugged him tight. "Of course, I like it," she said. "I love it. Thank you, Dmitry." She released him, giving him a small smile, then raised the chain to her neck and fastened it there. She turned to examine her reflection in the window. The chain, like Dmitry had said, was much simpler and any other piece of jewelry she owned, but she found she already loved it more than the rest. She slipped her hand into Dmitry's.

"Thank you," she said again, still beaming. "It's the best Christmas gift I've ever gotten."

"I'm glad you like it so much," he smiled back. He had worried over it for a week, terrified that she would hate it. It was a relief seeing her reaction to it.

"Can I ask you to do something?" she asked him suddenly, biting her lip.

"Anything." There were a few seconds of silence in which Anastasia shifted her weight from foot to foot and continued chewing on her lip.

"Will you kiss me, Dmitry?"

Dmitry froze, his eyes wide open. Anastasia suddenly looked very nervous, watching his face. "Excuse me?"

"I want you to kiss me," she repeated. "I used to dream my first kiss would be with a handsome prince in Paris. But I don't think I want that anymore."

"I can't," Dmitry said, stumbling over the words. Anastasia took a small step forward and peered up at him earnestly.

"Please," she said quietly. "For me?" Dmitry shifted uncomfortably.

"Close your eyes," he said again, barely above a whisper.

She did, tipping her head up slightly. Dmitry swallowed hard, feeling his heart beat faster and faster. He wondered if Anastasia couldn't hear it. It certainly seemed like she should be able to. After a second, he closed his own eyes and leaned his head down.

"I can't," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers. He felt her brow wrinkle under his, but neither of them pulled away.

"Yes, you can," she urged him.

"I can't," he repeated. And he couldn't, in good consciousness, do it. Of the very few people allowed to see the family, he was the only one close to her age. If, whenever they were finally released, she realized she had only asked him to kiss her for lack of other suitors, he didn't think he'd be able to bear it.

"Please," she begged him again, pulling herself closer to him.

"No," he said firmly, pulling away from her. "I don't want you to do something you might regret later."

Then, without meeting her eye, he turned and down the stairs, away from her.