⧗ CHAPTER SIXTEEN ⧗

The sweeping strings and beating drums of Romeo and Juliet by Prokofiev filled the room.

Ksenia moved as gracefully as ever in his arms, swinging one way, then the other — allowing Dmtiri to catch her from a sustained fall, not questioning whether his arm could take the weight or not.

It could. He's been getting better. They've been getting better. Dmitri hated to admit it, but they were an excellent dancing pair, as Comrade Barinova watched them with a discerning eye. If Ksenia truly doubted him, and his place in the Red Room, then she did not show it during Dance — likely because she needed him. Dmitri wasn't stupid. But he did feel silly for enjoying it a little.

Sometimes it was as simple as a good performance, the approval of their teacher and peers. That's all it was.

Nothing else.

Dmitri still harbored anger from Ksenia's earlier comments that week. Indirectly questioning his skill, as it were. If he had a choice, he would not be dancing with her at all. Oksana had even mildly suggested he mess this up, just to screw with her. And he almost did. He had so many chances if he wanted to, just to give Ksenia a lower score. He did so well with his other sisters that Dmitri might even be able to play it off as a fluke, or even Ksenia's fault, with no blow to his own grade.

But he didn't.

What good would it do him, aside from stoking a true rivalry in Ksenia, and ensuring she'll pay him back, and in double?

No, it wasn't worth it. Not yet at least. Dmitri just needed a thicker skin. And a better understanding of what he had to face in the coming months.

The class felt different now. More time with each sister, now that Liza was gone. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, as he and Ksenia swept across the room, bounding, light on their feet. Everything felt just a little bit emptier. Dancing was always an outlet for Dmitri, to release some stress. But no amount of dancing could replace what was needed after a sister died.

He could still see Liza's lifeless body on the floor, turning blue, every time he closed his eyes.

When the music finally came to an end, both he and Ksenia were panting, a light sheen of sweat on their skins. Comrade Barinova gave a polite clap, fingertips to palm, and finally gave Dmitri permission to rest. He had more work this class compared to the girls, if he were to give each of them a chance at a pas de deux. Dmitri didn't resent the extra effort — if anything, he hoped it would prove himself, as well as making his arm stronger — but it left him more exhausted than their other physical education. Wall-climbing was easier than this. Though still preferably to getting punched in the face.

Sabina offered up his water bottle as Dmitri slumped to the benches, flopping down to catch his breath. He'd been getting less and less tired after these sessions, over the past few months. He was improving, his physicality was improving. His right shoulder ached, but less stabbing and more burning, the sensation of a muscle well-exercised.

He watched, half in a sweat-induced daze, as Ksenia walked right past him without a word.

"What? No snide comments this time?" Dmitri asked, unable to hide the taunt in his voice. It was unusual for Ksenia to go so long without a barb. Like she was planning something extra cruel.

She just cut him a look over her shoulder, flicking her hair back. "What do you want me to say? You weren't absolutely terrible this time? You didn't drop me on my face? Yes, good job for the absolute doing the absolute minimum, Dmitri."

And with a wrinkle of her nose, she pranced out of the room. Dmitri just stood there, stunned.

Oksana leaned in. "Was it just me or… did she just compliment you?"

Sabina tilted in from the other side. "Oh, no, yeah, that was definitely a compliment."

He gave the both of them baffled looks, fighting a smile. "You've got to be joking. That was backhanded if I ever heard one."

"Of course it's a backhanded compliment," Sabina rolled her eyes, and Dmitri bent to collect his slippers. "That's just how Ksenia is. It's the compliment part that's the kicker here. She's never that sincere."

If that was Ksenia's version of sincerity, then Dmitri knew he was in for a bad time. "You guys sure have a funny way of seeing the bright side of things. Ksenia happens to be in a mildly not-evil mood today. I just got lucky."

"Hmm, I don't knowwww," Oksana said in a sing-song tone, grinning and twisting side to side. "Something tells me the ice queen is melting a little. Maybe you're finally getting on her good side."

"Yeah, sure," Dmitri sighed, as he stood up. "Until I drop her on her face."

Sabina and Oksana could convince themselves all they wanted that Ksenia harbored some sisterly love for Dmitri still — but he wouldn't be so fooled. Dance was the only class where Ksenia was barely tolerable, and he strongly suspected it had to do with impressing the teacher. Making him look bad worked well in their other subjects. She could trip him over in yoga, or swap out his chemicals, or fill his pistol with blanks. But in dance class, if he looked bad while dancing with her, it made her look bad as well.

The logic was sound. And for his part, Dmitri had no desire to sabotage her either. At all, really. He wanted to prove himself on his own merits and not succumb to petty rivalries and pranks.

No matter how tempting it was.

Thankfully, he had a break between this class and the next; allowing Dmitri to wander around, even take a nap if he wanted to. Rada had taken to that since Liza died, and Dmitri was definitely tempted — but his feet led him in a different direction today.

He found himself standing in front of the Madame's door, raising his hand to knock. He had no idea if she was in or not, yet heard the hopeful shuffle of noise inside. A moment later, the door opened, and the Madame's warm smile greeting him. "Oh, Dmitri, what a surprise. Is there something I can help you with?"

Something about her countenance always left Dmitri a little tongue-tied, even shy. Like a little schoolboy in front of his favorite teacher. "S-sorry. I just wanted to know if you had a moment. I, er, wanted to talk to you about something."

"Of course, Dmitri, come in," the Madame said, ushering him into her office. He obeyed, relieved to have not been rejected, and taking that overly stuffed chair by her little fireplace. "What is it you wanted to discuss?"

Dmitri remembered how she had reacted when Ksenia had brought it up, and he was afraid to do so now. But the door was closed and they were alone, and he'd come this far. "I wanted to ask you about the Wolf Spider program. About the… others."

"Ah," the Madame said, sitting neatly in the opposite seat. Somehow she already had a pot of tea ready and waiting. Dmitri didn't question it as she poured a cup each, and took his own as she continued, "Yes, I had a feeling you would be curious. As you have every right to be."

"I was afraid it was…" Dmitri struggled for the right word. "Forbidden topic."

It was never explicitly said. But there was a reason why he was the only boy here. Why there were no male graduates, why everyone looked at him like he was an outsider. No one discussed it, or pointed it out; unless you were Ksenia telling him he didn't belong. The rest was unsaid. And Dmitri wasn't an idiot. There must be a reason why no one mentioned it before.

"It's sensitive, to be sure," The Madame nodded, adding a dollop of cream and two sugar cubes. She took a delicate sip, and he matched her. "And for obvious reasons, we don't encourage the spreading of rumors and fear-mongering here. The Red Room is an old institution. It began in the early 1920's, when the Black Widow project was still being developed, and its engineers were still fine-tuning the process. Boys and girls were both tested. And, over time, results proved that the girls were far and away their most successful subjects. There was little point in investing any more time with boys when they got what they wanted."

"But there were Wolf Spiders, weren't there?" Dmitri pressed.

The Madame pursed her lips, just the hint of displeasure. He withdrew his intensity, embarrassed, but she answered his question nonetheless. "Yes. A couple reached full maturity. The first was Ilya Kuryakin, operating during the 60's. Then, much later, Niko Constantin."

"What happened to them?"

"Kuryakin was a ticking time bomb. Liable to bouts of explosive rage that even intense behavioral therapy couldn't fix. He ultimately betrayed the Soviet cause and joined Western operations. Constantin wasn't much better. He also experienced great instability, couldn't keep it together for stretches at a time, but had managed to retire with dignity by the time the Iron Curtain fell. It was only after we realized he had been feeding MI6 our secrets for years. We finally managed to eliminate him two years ago."

"Oh." Dmitri's heart sank, stunned by this absolute horror show. So not only were the previous Wolf Spiders mentally unstable, but they were also traitors? What did that say about him and his chances?

"But they're not you, Dmitri," The Madame leaned in, reaching out to touch his knee with her gloved fingers. She spoke softly, smiled gently. "I wouldn't have taken you on if I didn't believe, from the bottom of my heart, that you are a perfect candidate for the Wolf Spider program. I know you, my darling, and you're sharp, and calm, and you're a good brother to your family. I couldn't have asked for a better son."

Dmitri tried to smile, but found it couldn't quite reach his eyes. Though he did feel that flare of warmth in his chest, having her approval. Still, it didn't assuage all his concerns. "But why me? You couldn't have known that the first day."

"No," The Madame blinked, tilting her head. "No, I did not. The day your father presented you to me, I had many doubts. I won't lie to you about that, Dmitri. We've been burned too much before for me to discount that factor. But your father was insistent, and you already had an interest in ballet… You were young, and sweet. If you did not make it that first year, I could have washed you out easily. Wiped your memory and sent you back to your father."

Dmitri almost dropped his teacup in surprise. "My father sent me here?"

"Yes," she confirmed, taking another sip. The Madame no longer smiled, not on this topic. "He was aware of this program, and our past attempts to train boys. Outside of certain circles, the girls were swallows and the boys ravens. But that was merely to appeal to their sense of the scandalous; very few knew the real truth, and we were doing much more important work than seducing the random American soldier for a bit of kompromat. We certainly wouldn't have gotten caught. Your father must have had his ways, though. If he had come alone, he would not have been convincing. We did not get along, unfortunately. But you, my dear? You are a credit to your father. You've done well despite him."

Of course, it was obvious after the fact. Father had been KGB — at least before the Wall fell, when the organization still existed. Of course he would know of the Red Room's existence, and only he would have either the ability or the motivation to send him here. Although it pained him to think about, Dmitri knew Mum had no clue. That she… she wouldn't have wanted this. But she didn't know. Mum had no idea just how dangerous the world was, how much Dmitri needed this.

How safe he was here.

"You and my father didn't get along?" Dmitri wondered if he was phrasing that correctly. As far as anyone knew, Father was dead; the Madame could know no different. At the very least, she didn't seem to speak of him as if he were alive, either.

"No," The Madame pursed her lips, glancing towards the crackling fire. "He was pushy, your father. Overly ambitious and not nearly as capable as he thought. Please don't take offense, my dear. His behavior never reflected on you. Your father sought to recreate himself after a failed career, and in turn had a tendency to overcompensate. But he did well enough to receive control of Sokovia. Though that hasn't gone well, either. But that's no longer his domain. And, might I add, no longer your concern, either. Its best to let go of the past, Dmitri. Your father held you back. Now you are free to reach your full potential."

"R-right," Dmitri's smile felt more false than ever, but what else could he do? Give away that he was keeping secrets from her? That his father was the very reason he returned? How did the Madame think he was able to come back in his own right? "Madame, can I ask you one more question?"

"Of course."

Dmitri paused to summon the correct words. "Last spring, what was it… what did you hear? What did you know of me?"

It wasn't the most graceful way to put it, but it got the point across, Dmitri hoped. The Madame answered, setting her cup back onto its saucer. "Well, I was already aware of the commotion in Washington as it was happening. But news always came a little late. It overshadowed what happened to you; I was aware you and your father had returned to St. Petersburg. I always have my feelers out for that. But the following weeks you had disappeared. Then one of your fathers few remaining contacts reached me on your behalf. Considering how sensitive the situation was, and how at-risk you were, I couldn't take any chances. Anyone outside of the Red Room who assisted you here was eliminated."

"What?" Dmitri's throat went dry.

"Please don't be so shocked, Dmitri. It was for your own safety, and for the safety of the Red Room. Should your father's employees be rehired by an interested party, they could be bribed or coerced into telling what they knew. I pride myself on the secrecy and security of my academy, Dmitri. You and all the girls here deserve only the best. I had promised to keep you safe, didn't I?"

"Yes," Dmitri admitted. He wasn't surprised, not really. Just the shock of the news. Maybe the quiet fear that the Madame's work could have traced back to Father — but she didn't mention that. She seemed completely unaware.

And perhaps that was for the best.