Thanks to beta JustAGirl24 for her insight :)

Dimitri let Vladimir clean Anya up. He couldn't handle it, not with the way he felt right now.

He snapped the collar of his coat up around his chin and shoved his way through the passage alongside the dining room, alone against the current of passengers headed for their respective compartments. No one else was crazy enough to go outside.

The nostalgia that had floated Dimitri from the palace to the train station had disappeared with the last glimpse of St. Petersburg's outskirts, immediately replaced by a rage that throbbed dully against the inside of his skin. There had been much in his life to be angry about, to be sure, but he had been born with an ability to channel the abundance of negative energy into creative and unsavory ways to make money. That's what he did, who he was, how he coped with life. But something happened when all he'd ever known disappeared from view and the end of all things there landed like a lead weight on his shoulders.

That rage, no longer checked by familiarity's cocoon, began to blossom inside him like a truly hideous rose.

He slammed open the metal door to the rear of the train, barely hopping out of the way in time when the wind slammed it closed in kind. The air whirled around his body, wild and frosty, whisking clouds of his breath away from his lips and strands of hair into his eyes. He had hoped that all of that freezing chaos would wick away some measure of the heat that was boiling his blood.

But at the moment he was thinking of Anya, so his hopes were completely dashed for now.

At the time, he thought he had his eyes squeezed shut, but since he was able to replay the scene in his head with perfect clarity, he realized he had indeed watched in horror as she retched all over the silverware and wine glasses of the table next to theirs. She'd gone on and on until there was nothing left but air and tears dripped from the corners of her eyes. Humiliation rendered him immobile when she collapsed knee-first into a puddle of her own loose vomit on the carpet. Yet moments later he was still able to drop the dessert fork on the table and walk away.

As he wrapped his fingers around the rail and the iciness of the metal bit deep into his naked palms, he wondered if perhaps his feelings were misdirected. His anger - the majority of it, anyway - wasn't at Anya. Not exactly. She was his way out, but at the same time, she was his life's greatest challenge - and he was so far failing at it miserably.

She ate like a child, shoveling food into her mouth by the handful and only using her utensils as an afterthought. She picked her teeth with her ragged fingernails. She talked loudly. She scratched when she thought no one was looking, which was exactly when everyone was.

Dimitri crossed his arms on the rail and rested his cheek on his wrist, groaning into his coat sleeve. She was just... so fucking common.

Had he bitten off more than he could chew this time? Might he have overestimated his ability to get the job done? Maybe he could jump off this train right now and head back, explaining when the soldiers found him that he'd pay them double since he'd come up short this time around. Dimitri grimaced as he lifted his head, rubbing his chest where he imagined a bullet would pierce him. They'd only laugh right before they killed him.

He'd told Anya - God, just the thought of her name made him want to strangle something - that you always had a choice. He liked to think his choices in life had always been easier than most: steal or starve to death, cheat or be beaten, lie or be shot.

Life was much easier in black and white. Anya was a decision, a means to an end - he could either mold her into something useful or go home to die as poor as the day he was born.

For Dimitri, the answer was as clear as the misshapen icicles fringing the awning of the train. He reached up and snapped one off, then broke it in half and watched it melt until his hand felt as numb as he was inside.

He was feeling much calmer by the time he slid the door of their compartment closed behind him.

Vladimir looked up at him with furrowed brows. "Where did you go?"

"I needed some air." Dimitri started to move forward but stopped when his knee hit Vladimir's suitcase, the corner of which was blocking his path. He shouldered the load and hoisted it with a grunt over his head, onto the shelf high above the seat.

"Oh, I'm just fine, Dimitri," came Anya's voice to his ear, hoarse and steely with sarcasm. "I puke my guts up all the time. Thanks so much for your concern."

He didn't respond at first, instead clearing his throat and moving to sit down across from her, but a growl and a nip at his backside stopped him in his tracks. Her dog was curled into the corner of the seat, baring his tiny puppy teeth at the prospect of being sat upon.

Dimitri rolled his eyes. "I see the mutt gets the window seat."

He changed direction and sat down next to Anya instead, far enough away that he could duck in time if she returned to projectile vomiting.

Clay, he thought as he turned to regard her. You can't mold clay properly if you're rough with it.

"Are you all right?" He didn't really care, but he could at least sound like he was concerned. Besides, she was of no use to him half-dead.

Anya seemed to sense his indifference. "Too little, too late, Dimitri." She, too, was curled up in the corner, her head propped against the window and her face as pale as a bleached sheet. She was scowling at her necklace as she slid the pendant back and forth on its chain.

Sighing, Dimitri looked forward again. His thoughts were like insects in his head, darting around aimlessly, buzzing and stinging.

He could teach her the royal ways without her knowing, couldn't he? He and Vlad could be subtle. She clearly didn't respond well to formal lessons. God, she was pale. He had precious little time to turn her into Anastasia. He had to make it work.

That one thought landed and bit down hard: make it work.

"At least stop fiddling with that thing," he offered, trying to smile. "And sit up straight. Remember, you're a Grand Duchess. Despite your upset stomach."

Anya only pulled her knees even closer to her chest and ducked deeper into her coat, which was draped over her like a blanket. Her smile was humorless when she turned to him. "You just don't quit, do you? How do you know what Grand Duchesses do or don't do, anyway?"

He crossed his legs and inclined his head at her, grinning for real this time. She had no idea. "I make it my business to know."

The window drew her eyes away and left him staring at the back of her head. "Well, that's reassuring."

The rage went thump, thump along with his heart, but Dimitri kept it in check with a deep breath.

"Look, Anya, I'm just trying to help, all right?"

"Dimitri," Anya began, peering at him over her shoulder, her expression becoming wistful as she wrapped her necklace around her finger, "do you really think I'm royalty?"

"You know I do."

She suddenly pinned him with a glare. "Then stop bossing me around."

Exasperated, Dimitri collapsed back against the seat to the sound of Vladimir chuckling.

With his teeth flashing beneath his thick beard, he looked up from making the final flourishes on their traveling papers long enough to tell Dimitri, "She certainly has a mind of her own."

Dimitri pulled the lapels of his coat closer together against the draft sneaking in from one of the window's seams. Anya was formidable, he had to admit. Her insides had literally been on display and here she sat, sassy as ever. Dimitri tried hard to fight the smile struggling to emerge.

"Yeah, I hate that in a woman." He caught her sticking her tongue out at him out of the corner of his eye.