A/N - There is an another dream slightly violent dream sequence. I'll asterisk it since I'm just that nice ;) Enjoy!
The wind drove the rain down in torrents and whipped the branches of the trees. It wound itself around L'Auberge du Miroir like a cat and lashed against the windows, moaning when the sturdy panes withstood its wild attack. Somewhere on the house, a shutter, knocked loose by a gust, swung out and then crashed back against the wall.
Gleb lay in the darkness. The sound of the shutter brought it all back like it was yesterday. He let himself sink into his memories.
BANG! He all but leaped at the sudden explosion from the street.
"No! Oh, please, no I beg of you no…"
Gleb spun around and narrowly escaped being hit in the shins by a flying broom. He picked it up, his eyes sweeping the sidewalk for the cause of both the cry and the broom. They lighted on a huddled figure crouching in the gutter and, concerned, he hurried towards it.
As he came closer, he could see that the figure was, in fact, a young woman of about twenty. Her clothes was ragged and torn in many places and she wore no hat. Her hair, or what could been seen of it though the grime, was a deep red-gold. She was sobbing and shaking her head, her arms hugged to herself. Gleb's brow furrowed. What on earth was going on here?
Bending down, he took her arm and helped her to her feet. She kept her head down and turned away from him.
"It was just a truck backfiring, comrade, it startled me as well."
She shuddered and said something that he didn't hear. He bent his head closer trying to catch her words above the nose of the street.
"I'm sorry, comrade, what was that?"
Again, she spoke quietly, but this time he made out the words, "guns…firing…soldiers."
His heart lurched with pity. Obviously the sound of the backfiring truck had brought back some unpleasant memories to this poor girl. He tried to think of something comforting to say.
"Those days are over now," he said at last, "there's nothing for you to be afraid of anymore. No one's going to hurt you."
She glanced up and seemed to realize for the first time that he was in military uniform. She started away and tried to snatch her broom from his hand, but he held onto it. She looked up desperately into his face, her eyes still clouded with the terror of dark memories.
Gleb gave a quiet, involuntary gasp. He hadn't really gotten a good look at her face before, but now that he did, he could see that she was beautiful in a way that transcended mere prettiness. Every line and curve of her pale face was delicate and graceful. Even as she was, dirty, wet, cold, thin, and terrified, it was enough to take his breath away. He realized that he was staring and flushed.
"Uh, there is a teashop just a few steps away," he said, trying to ignore his suddenly beating heart, "would you like something hot to drink? You're trembling and look like you could use it."
He added the last bit more to himself than to her. The girl stiffened and pulled herself upright. She looked suddenly regal despite her appearance.
"Perhaps another time," she said. Her voice still quavered slightly, but her expression was firm. "I'm late for work already and jobs are hard to come by."
"Oh indeed," he managed. "I wouldn't want to be the cause of you losing your employment."
He released his hold on her broom with what he hoped was a friendly nod. She hurried away, grasping it tightly. Before she had gone a dozen paces, however, she turned back.
"Comrade?" she called.
He raised his eyebrows encouragingly. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then spoke again.
"Thank you," she said, a little shyly.
"Oh, think nothing of it," he replied, "I was glad to be of use. I'm here every day if you ever need anything," he added uncertainly, hoping that he wasn't coming off as forward.
She gave a little smile and set off rapidly down the street. Unable to tear his eyes away, he watched her retreating form until he lost her in the crowds…
Anya sat across from him, sipping her tea. He had tried to explain what a dangerous game she was playing. She had simply remained quiet, drinking her tea and looking intently at him. He felt pinned down by her eyes. They were a piercing, oddly-familiar blue and he felt himself grow hot again as he stood there, trying to think of something else to say. He was annoyed with himself. Whenever she was around he got all tongue tied and shy. Now was not the time for that. He was an officer…
She set her cup down on the desk and stood, her eyes never leaving his face. It was as though she was looking for something in his features, that she recognized him but couldn't place where she had seen him before.
"Thank you for your warning, comrade," she said.
"Oh, it's Gleb," he stuttered, "please. No need for… formality between friends."
Her expression softened a little.
"Is that what I am?"
He was sure he had never been so uncomfortable and yet so happy at the same time.
"I do and would be honored if you would consider me one as well, comrade," he said.
She really smiled this time, the sight nearly taking his breath away.
"Indeed I do," she said softly, "call me Anya, Gleb."
"Anya," he said, more to himself than to her, "it's a pretty name."
She smiled again and a little flush stained the paleness of her face.
"Thank you, Gleb," she looked down at the desk and for a moment, an awkward silence settled between them which neither seemed to know how to break. They both jumped when the clock chimed the hour.
Anya's head snapped up.
"I have to go," she said reluctantly.
Gleb nodded and, coming around the desk, held out his hand to her. She shook it in a friendly fashion, glancing upwards at his face. His stomach gave a lurch. Those eyes. He had seen them before, but where? His forehead creased in thought and, without thinking what he was doing, he placed his finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him, and gazed intently into her face.
"Your eyes," he muttered, "I've seen them before…"
He was snapped out of his thoughts by her frightened expression.
"I'm late for work," her voice was tense.
"Oh, of course," he stepped back, blinking as he tried to clear his head. She went to step past him, but suddenly, remembering his position, he caught her arm. She turned back to him, really frightened now. He kept his tone low and serious.
"As your friend, be careful, Anya."
He scanned her face, looking for a sign that she understood his meaning. She nodded and went to pull away from him, but he held her fast.
"As Deputy Commissioner of Leningrad, be very careful."
"Yes, comrade," she whispered.
He let her go and she all but ran from the office, closing the door behind her. He forced himself to walk back to his desk and then stood frozen behind it, staring at the door.
"Oh, Anya…"
The sound of the storm was becoming increasingly far away, as though he was listening through a long tunnel. Gleb gave a sigh and his breathing evened into the regular pattern of sleep...
*The light of the lamp made her red-gold hair look like flame. It was smooth and shiny, coiled in an intricate up-do. Her clothes were fashionable, a soft blue silk dress with a short white coat over the top. The soft smell of the French flowers that grew near the bridge wafted over them.
"Anya, there is something I must tell you …"
"Shhhhh" she set her finger to his lips, looking up into his face with eyes that were warm and soft and causing whatever he had wanted to say to fall dead on his lips. He stared down at her, his heart in his mouth as he held her there in his arms.
She leaned closer to him, and he bent his head down towards her, bringing their foreheads together, her soft breath tickled his lips…
The lamp when out like a match and the air around them was suddenly cold and filled with sharp, flying snowflakes. Anya gave a piercing scream and lurched away from him, falling on the now snow-covered ground. To his horror, Gleb saw that the front of her coat was stained with blood. He dropped down to help her but she recoiled, her eyes locked on his hand. He looked down and realized in terror that he was holding his father's pistol. The tip was smoking and the smell of gunpowder filled his nostrils. He dropped the gun as though it were a burning brand.
"Anya, no! I..."
"Oh, Gleb Vaganov how could you?" her voice was hard and bitter. "You destroy everything you love."
She slumped forward in the snow. With an agonized cry, Gleb bent over her, tears stinging his eyes.
"No, no," he begged, "don't leave me, don't leave me, Anya! Please, I love you! Don't leave me alone!"
A shadow fell on him and he looked up. His father stood there, framed against the dark trees: silent, stern, accusing.
"You have betrayed me and Russia," he said through clenched teeth, "you have betrayed everything." *
Gleb gave a sob and turned over in his bed. Two tears ran down his sleeping face and wet his pillow. He grasped at the coverlet, clenching it in white-knuckled hands, his dreams drifting to other things which he afterwards did not remember. The wind wailed on.