homelovefamily | [But with this gift there comes liability]

When the knock comes at the door, Anya doesn't expect it.

She has the day off of work and no real plans to speak of. There are chores to do, errands to run, a Pushkin to look after. But other than that, she hasn't settled on anything deliberate though she supposes all of those add up to plans enough. There is a lot of going on in her life. Spring has sprung in earnest, threatening summer. It had been winter in her life for far too long. Anya had only just gotten a taste of a Parisian spring when she arrived here in full autumn.

The world is full of possibility. It holds so much light.

She is puttering about her kitchen, putting together tea for herself, trying to decide if she is hungry enough to eat now or after she goes to the market. It would probably be better to do that now so that she does not end up giving into some sort of frivolous culinary temptation. Besides there are leftovers from when she ate dinner with Gleb in the fridge that she should consume before they go off.

Her mind get caught on Gleb and she smiles to herself at the thought of him. It isn't what she expected. It certainly isn't something she planned for. There is no word for what they are to each other and she has no idea where it will go. But she cares about him. Loves him even. Which makes Dmitry even more of an ache in her heart. She loves him too, but he seems to be avoiding her, irked by her existence in this city even if she has forgiven him.

It's annoying and she wishes she knew why. He didn't take the money. She's forgiven him for pulling him into the con with Vlad and not telling her. What more could be an issue?

This is where her mind is when she hears the knock. Immediately she stops drumming her fingers on the counter and makes to the door, confused as to who it could be. That confusion evaporates as soon she opens the door.

"Dmitry? What are you doing here? Is everything all right?"

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She tries to make a joke and Dmitry tries to smile. It doesn't work any better than her joke. The worst part is that he almost wishes he could drive her into a temper. Anya when she's angry is all fire and precision; she finds the source of her ire and yells it down. Anya like this, nervous in his arms, close and also miles away, feels wrong. It's as off-center as the first time Vlad made them waltz, Dmitry with no rhythm and Anya trying to push him around. He doesn't know what to do, how to comfort her when a not insignificant part of himself also feels a little broken.

When she talks about the cellar and Yekaterinburg, Dmitry almost wants to cover her ears, her eyes, as if he can block out the fear and trauma for her. Of course it doesn't work like that. He wonders if she has nightmares and remembers that time, again, in Paris. He could have held her then, really held her. Now it's too late and there's Gleb.

"I meant what I said," he says. "The first day you saw me." If he'd had any power over the situation, Dmitry would have done everything, anything to try and stop Anya from facing that execution. It's a streak of altruism that he thought he'd killed off somewhere during a rough childhood but which has grown stronger since he met Anya. Selfishly though, he can't help but compare memories and know that a little boy bowing is nowhere near as meaningful as another boy taking a bullet.

"You have him now. I..." It feels too much like a lie to say he won't get in the way, not when it burns inside of him every time he looks at her. The only thing to say is the truth, the wish that he's kindled since Paris. "I want you to be happy."

Anya is shaking gently. A faint tremor runs through her body, unwanted, at the recollection of that night lived so many times. The echoes of screams are clearer now when she hears them, the nightmares still coming, but she push them aside during her waking hours. Speaking of it is never easy.

"I believe you. I believed you then and I believe you now," she answers. There is no firing squad in either of their futures, but the promise still exists.

Dmitry is right. She does have Gleb now. But for how long? They both have their pride, both have their senses of order and rightness. Anya knows that she has to tell him about Dmitry, about his confession of love. It would be crueler to withhold that information from him, to hide it and pretend that it doesn't mean anything to her. She is so sick of secrets. This isn't another one that needs to be kept.

But the question lingers in her mind: how long will Gleb stay after she tells him. She loves him just as she loves Dmitry. Will telling him so be enough to compel him? And does she want someone who simply stays out of a sense of duty?

"I do have him," she nods almost mechanically leaving the for now off the sentence. "I want you to be happy too."

Seized by a soft impulse, she leans up on the balls of her feet, the height difference maddening as she presses a gentle kiss on his lips. When she pulls away, a tear has slid down her cheek. "Please, Dima, that's all I want is for you to be happy."

The kiss is so light Dmitry could almost convince himself he imagined it, except that Anya is so close to him and he can see the tears in her eye. He raises a hand and wipes them away as gently as he's able, the touch as restrained and gossamer as the kiss. His other arm slides around her and he indulges in that moment. In Anya's training to become the Grand Duchess that she always was, he's played the role of servant, courtier, and dance partner already. Why not, for a moment, pretend he can also be a lover?

"I don't know what to do," How can he be happy when she's out of his reach? And how can he be happy, he wonders, if he tries to force her to choose and to choose him. The thought occurs to him at the same moment that there's no making Anya do anything. Not with that temper and that will. He almost smiles.

"I'm happy that you're safe. That you know who you are." In the end, hadn't that mattered so much more than the money? Still does. He made a stupid choice, but he thinks it was the right one.

A sigh escapes her, a soft, breathy thing at the feeling of his fingers against her cheek. This isn't how she imagined she would kiss him. It's barely a kiss at all, instead a memory of one that never was. A farewell. Like they are playing a game again, but it isn't a game. It never was. They are never quite the people that they want to be.

"Neither do I." There was a time when she wanted him, where her choice was easy. In a crowd of thousands, Anya would know that boy who bowed, her Dima. Here she would find him again, did find him again. But so much has changed. She remembers more clearly who she is. She's built a life here.

There is also Gleb. Sweet, solid Gleb, with his odd sense of humor and his willingness to die for her. A boy on the other side of a wall. She smiles at him, a bittersweet expression. "I am so happy you are here. If it were different, but there's Gleb," she says with a small shake her head. "I love him and it's so new. I just want you to be happy, Dima. I do. And I don't know what to do." And I wish it was with me.

It's not the kind of kiss he wants to give her. If things were different, if he'd just arrived here a little sooner, maybe he'd be able to kiss her that way. Maybe he'd be able to hold her tight and kiss her until they're both breathless, pretend that he could sweep her off her feet. But it's too late. He's six months too late and never even realized.

"There's Gleb," he agrees. "And he loves you." He loves her so much that it's impossible not to see and Dmitry knows that when he looks at Anya, it's the same way.

"There's Gleb and he loves me," she repeats with a sad nod, wondering how awful it makes her that she wishes he was able to sweep her up in a passionate embrace. Even thinking that feels like a betrayal, an odd notion when months ago, back in Paris that is all she wanted. She wanted Dmitry, equal parts infuriating and charming, to sweep her up and kiss her. Spin her in a circle and make her laugh, leaving her breathless.

Now this is all they have. The possibility of what could have been. Being held close by him for a moment longer than is proper.

With a nod, she gingerly lets go of him, stepping a way to put some distance between them. "And I love him."

That's it then, isn't it? He's arrived too late. It would hurt less if he could begrudge Anya not waiting but she'd had no way of knowing he'd ever come and if someone looked at her the way Gleb had, he doesn't think he'd have stood much of a chance either.

Dmitry takes a step back too, reluctantly letting go of her hand.

"I guess this is the part where I promise not to get in the way, then. Isn't it?"

"Perhaps it is. I really don't know."

And she doesn't. Anya has no idea where she is meant to go from here, where Dmitry is meant to go. Is there a road where they can travel together? Is there any option at all? She knows she loves him, but it is a complicated thing. Her heart has found another that she loves as well. Gleb who deserves to know. Who deserves a chance.

"I don't want to lose you again, but I think I already have." Reaching up she brushes away her half-shed tears. "I just want you to be happy."

And she wants him to be happy with her. But she cannot have them both.

[But with this gift there comes liability]

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