Hello my lovely people! Sorry this is a little late! I'm going to try and keep these updates regular, but I make no promises. School is taking up an obscene amount of time this year. :l This is the last chapter I have written up at the moment and I only have one more definitely planned out right now. We'll see where this goes. This story has a mind of it's own and is pretty reliable when it comes to demanding that I write it. I have some ideas that are kicking around just nothing definite. Enough of my rambling! Enjoy! :)
When Gleb awoke he was in a particularly bad mood. His sleep had been restless again, troubled by nightmares and dreams that were half memories. Old battles, friends he'd lost, seeing others die in front of him while he stood by helpless, all these came back to haunt him. And Anya, always Anya. He sighed, running his hands though his tousled hair, and glanced at the wall clock. Ten minutes of eight. Elena would be coming up soon and she always managed to lift his spirits. He looked forward to their daily talks now. They were the highlight in his otherwise uneventful life. The doctor had forbidden him from moving around after the episode with the thieves. He sighed again and reached for his clothes which were sitting on the table beside his bed. He had become quite proficient at getting his trouser leg over his bandaged foot.
After he was dressed, Gleb rearranged the pillows into a position more conducive to sitting and settled back. After about five minutes of waiting like this, he heard Elena's knock. He had learned to tell it apart from those of the few other people who came into his room.
"Come in," he called, his face brightening.
To his great surprise, he was not greeted with the girl's usual smile nor her cheery, "Good morning, Gleb!" This Elena was, for lack of a better word, grim. Her face was set and her lips pinched into a thin line. She caught his puzzled expression and took on a defiant air as she briskly crossed the room and set down his tray.
"Good morning, Elena. How are you?" Gleb ask uncertainly, feeling that he had to say something.
Elena looked directly into his face.
"I'm well, comrade," she spat.
Gleb flinched back as though she had struck him. How in the world…?
"I beg your pardon?" he asked, desperately trying to collect his shattered wits.
Elena's face was a mixture of bitterness and fiercely defiant anger.
"Oh yes, I know, Gleb Vaganov. I know that you are a Bolshevik."
By this time, shocked as he was, Gleb had managed to pull himself together. You didn't get as far as deputy commissioner in Russia if you couldn't play off difficult and dangerous questions from time to time.
"A Bolshevik?" he asked his face and tone incredulous. "What on earth would put that idea into your head?"
Elena cocked her eyebrow in a withering expression that reminded him forcefully of Comrade Borislave Gorlinsky, his superior in Leningrad.
"Well first of all, comrade," the stress she laid on the word made him feel sick, "there is the fact that you just turned up, out of nowhere and have never even hinted about who you were or what you do," she counted off on her fingers as she spoke. "You speak fluent Russian, curse like a sailor…"
"That hardly makes me a Bolshevik," he cut it, flushing.
Elena gave a mirthless little laugh.
"No? Then explain this."
Before he could react, she ran to the desk. Flinging open the cover of his bag, she pushed aside the clothes and pulled out the coat of his uniform, now badly wrinkled from being crushed in the bottom of the bag for so long. Gleb's heart sank.
"Explain this, Gleb Vaganov," she cried, shaking it so that the medals on the breast clanked together. "Explain how you came into the possession of a Bolshevik uniform."
"It's my Uncle Dimitry's," he replied, thinking quickly, "he used to be in the Bolshevik military. My aunt was originally from France and when he was discharged, they moved here. I was on my way to visit them when I got injured. I was going to bring the uniform as a surprise for him because it was forgotten when they left Russia."
It wasn't the strongest story, but it was all he could manage with so little warning.
Elena's expression became mockingly sympathetic.
"Oh, how kind of you," she said in a scathing tone which told him that she had not believed a word of his story. Then she let the blow fall: "If your uncle is named Dimitry, why does the name tag sewn in it say 'Gleb Vaganov'?"
Gleb swore aloud. Why had he been so stupid as to mention a name? And WHY was his name sewn into the blasted coat when he was supposed to be traveling INCOGNITO?!
"Ah, so you admit it!" Elena cried fiercely, throwing down the uniform. "You are nothing but a Bolshevik dog who loves nothing but death and pain and destruction! You took a country and ravaged it to the ground! You destroyed countless thousands of innocent lives, tearing families apart, and for what? For WHAT? For your stupid, idealistic, rash, childish idea that life would be perfect if you got it all your way! This senseless idea that everybody will work together in perfect harmony if you destroyed all those people who had any sense and said this horrific idea was any good! You destroyed my family, my happy, loving family, for a stupid ideal!"
Elena broke down, sobbing into her hands. Gleb sat upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed so his feet touched the floor, his blood boiling. The motion sent spasms of pain up and down his broken ankle, but he didn't care. His hands clenched into fists.
"Do you want to know why?" He demanded, "Because I'll tell you. For years the cursed imperial family made life hell for every Russian who was worth a cent. They crushed families. They stole the moldy scraps out of the mouths of the starving urchins on the street, to bolster up their own personal gain. They talked about how wonderful Russia was while they ate their banquets and danced at their balls. They drowned themselves in wealth and luxuries, while their people froze and starved. They didn't care if we didn't know where our nextmouthful of bread would come from! 'If the people are starving, they should work harder!' Work harder! Spoken out of the mouths of pompous idiots who had never worked a day in their life! We were sick of living like rats. Maybe the royals should have considered that their subjects were human and downright sick of being nothing but subjects. That they were the ones that were destroying Russia! The Bolsheviks were liberators who fought and are still fighting to free the Russian people from the cursed leader who oppressed them!"
Elena head snapped upright.
"My mother does not have a single relative left!" she shouted, "Why? Because her family didn't believe that murder was an acceptable solution to a depraved country's problems!"
"If they supported the cursed Romanovs then I'm glad they were killed!" Gleb cried passionately, his usual self-control thrown to the wind. "They deserved it, every one of them!"
"You are glad that my family was torn apart and murdered? I thought I knew you, Gleb Vaganov, but now I see that the man I knew was nothing but a fake. Now I see who you really are: a heartless monster who thinks that the cold-blooded slaughtering of the innocent children of a country's leader is patriotic!"
"They didn't all die!" Gleb shouted and then went deathly pale as he realized what he had just said.
"How would you know?" Elena cried hotly. "How would you know about anything?"
"I know because I have met her," he flung back. "I met Anastasia under a false name while she was working as a street sweeper in Leningrad. She was brought to my office after taking up with some criminals who were using her to wheedle money out of the Dowager Empress. I warned her against it, but she ran to Paris. When I found her, I couldn't force myself to finish the task because I'm a cursed idiot and I love her!" Gleb's voice broke, but he forced himself on. "Instead of going back to Russia and facing the death I have earned, I am running away like a coward; but no matter how far I run, I will never be free. Every night she's in my dreams, driving me mad with the knowledge that she's still there; that I failed and all the good that has been done in Russia will be undone."
"You love the tsar's daughter?" Elena's tone was absolutely incredulous, but then filled with bitterness and fury. "I'm glad. I'm glad she stole what heart you had and crushed it like you have crushed so many. I'm glad she's still alive to taunt you and hurt you and make you know that all you follow will one day be destroyed! I hope the Russians track you down and kill you. You don't deserve life or love. I hate you, Gleb Vaganov! I hate you!"
Elena turned and ran from the room, slamming the door behind her. Gleb sat for a moment, clenching and unclenching the bedspread with trembling hands, his head spinning and his eyes stinging with unshed tears of anger and deep, deep hurt. Standing upright abruptly, he hopped over to where Elena had dropped his coat. He picked it up and straightened it then hopped the rest of the way to the desk. Folding the coat roughly, he shoved it back into the bottom of his bag and stuffed the other clothes on top to hide it. Out of the muddle that was his thoughts, one thing stood out clearly: he was leaving and he was leaving now.