Looking for a Legend

            The world around him was a blur.  The helicopter was small.  It reminded him of the one he used to fly.  That was twenty years ago.  Twenty long years, and another life.  Sitting in the cramped Ansat, Mischa tried not to meet the eyes of the Spetsnaz men and women sharing the cabin with him.  They all looked at him so expectantly.  As they had helped him in to the helicopter, every one of them saluted him.  Three of them shared his rank.  But all of them treated Mischa like he was the director.

            The trip back to Russia was not easy.  He wasn’t sure how easily the soldiers got into the house or the deep basement level where Mischa was being kept, but they had to fight their way out.  Only one of the guards surrendered.  He was young, and scared.  The young man had dropped to his knees, arms raised in front of the Russian forces.  It was just as well he didn’t stand.  He was shaking.  So many others had died.  They took as many prisoners as they could.  So many, that one Spetsgruppa had to stay behind to wait for a larger military craft to arrive. 

They had only come with two helicopters.  One held Mischa, and the guard that surrendered, Arne Pell, and one of the Spetsgruppa teams.  The other Ansat carried Abraham Horowitz, and Solange Marchand, both cuffed at ankles with their wrists behind their backs, and her son Phillip.  The boy was scared, crying as he the soldiers led him away.  Phillip was only six, too young to understand what was happening.  He couldn’t help but see Valentina, as he last saw her – crying and bleeding as Anton carried her away from gunfire.

Mischa tried not to think about what would happen to Phillip.  Surely Solange would be incarcerated until her trial, and sentenced for her crimes.  Horowitz too, not that he held any parental claim over Phillip.  It was most likely that Phillip would go into the government foster system.  He didn’t have any other family.

The thought stabbed at Mischa.  They didn’t go back for Yuri.  In all the rush, the panic surrounding the soldier’s arrival, they never went beyond Mischa’s door.  He’d tried to look over their shoulders, to see if another team was liberating Yuri, but he never saw the other man.  Mischa never stopped looking for Yuri.  On the stairs, in the house, in the field.  But Yuri wasn’t there.

“Making landing at PRAF-3.” The pilot called back to the cabin through the radio.  Mischa hadn’t been given a seat near a window, so he hadn’t seen his home unroll before him through the snow.  It was a shock to see it.  The Ansat’s doors unfolded, and two soldiers helped Mischa out of his seat and down the few steps. 

Only two people were waiting for him, standing in the snow.  There was a tall man in the wool winter coat of an officer.  He wore black glasses, spotting with bits of snow.  His large frame was bundled in a knit scarf, and black leather gloves.  He must be the man that will take him to lock away in a hospital.

Beside him was a beautiful young woman that could have been the ghost of his wife.  Her honey-blonde hair hung down to her back.  She wore cashmere wool coat, and scarf made of an even finer wool.  She wrung her hands together in front of her face.  He deep brown eyes threatened tears.  And then Mischa saw the scar that crossed her nose.

“Valentina!”  Mischa called out, suddenly running to her.  He hoped he didn’t scare her.  “Valentina!”  Mischa threw his arms around her.  Valentina hugged him back.  She kissed his cheek, and let the tears begin to fall.

“Father!  I never should have doubted that you were out there!”  Valentina cried into his shoulder.  He held her close.  Mischa finally had her back. He wouldn’t let her go now.  He let himself sob into her hair.  Her soft, glossy hair, scented like warm sugar and vanilla.  It was almost like having Malena in his arms again.

They were left together for several minutes before the tall man finally spoke.  His voice was soft, respectful of the moment.  “Captain Sima, I’m here to take you to the hospital.  Doctors will have you treated for your injuries, and help you reintegrate into society.”

“I’m trying to have a moment with my daughter.  I haven’t seen her in fifteen years.” Mischa growled.

“Sir, my apologies.  I am only acting on my orders from Director Kaminski.  Valentina is going to accompany us to the hospital.” The man tried to explain, but the slight had been made.  Years of being caged had done something to Mischa.  The last word was barely out of his mouth before Mischa was upon him.  His fist clenched, Mischa swung at the man.

The tall man was not expecting the attack and was caught off guard.  He staggered back, and left himself open for the next several blows.  Mischa easily got him on the ground.  It was too easy.  Though he punched solid walls of muscle, this man wasn’t fighting back.  Time stopped as Mischa unleashed fury upon him.  For the first time in years he saw blood on his hand that wasn’t his own.

“Father, stop! Stop it! He’s a friend! You’re hurting him!” Valentina cried.  She threw herself at Mischa’s back.  He rolled his shoulders back and tossed her aside.  She slid through the snow like a discarded ragdoll. 

“Captain Sima! Stand up, and step away from Lieutenant Coates.” One of the Spetsgruppa captains leveled a gun at him.  His finger wasn’t on the trigger, he didn’t want to hurt Mischa.  He only wanted to protect the tall man.  Another soldier approached with what looked like a pen in his hand.  Behind him, two soldiers were helping Valentina to her feet.

Mischa stood, raising his hands.  He stepped back.  The gun lowered, but that ominous pen was still there.  The tall man, Lieutenant Coates, got to his feet.  His glasses were broken, his eye would likely be blackened.  He was bleeding from his lip and nose.

“Lieutenant Coates, do you want us to give him the sed?” The man with the pen asked.

“No.  It’s not necessary.”  Lieutenant Coates tried to straighten his glasses, but the lens and one arm was broken.  “When he is ready, I will be in the car.”

Coates walked up to Valentina, likely to see if she was okay.  He helped her into the car, a large black German sports utility vehicle.  Valentina took the backseat while Coates climbed into the driver’s seat.  Mischa felt a cold, dark aura cast over his come coming.  Was this karma for leaving Yuri behind?

“Captain Sima, Lieutenant Coates may be merciful on you, but he’s family.  You apparently don’t share the same reverence for your blood.  Hurt either of them again, we’ll sed you if you’re lucky.  We’ll shoot you if you’re not.”  The captain with the gun threatened.  They pushed him toward the car.

Memories of dream started to reform in Mischa’s mind.  Memories from more than a year ago.  The name Coates.  His daughter.  She knew a man named Coates.  He was a telepath with constant but mild use of his abilities.  But that man wasn’t Russian.  He was a student.  How had two years changed so much?  If this was the same man, did Mischa really just beat the man that helped free him?

With a baby seat in the back, Mischa had to sit in the front with Coates.  He must have had a spare pair of glasses, this pair a turtled brown.  He’d wiped the blood from his face, but a few drops had stained his scarf.  Valentina was quiet in the back. 

Mischa wondered about this family he was intruding on.  There was evidence of it everywhere.  The baby seat in the back.  There was a box of tissues in the front, a set of plastic toy keys tucked in the side of the door.  There was a stuffed toy on the seat beside Valentina, and a pacifier in the cup holder.

Suddenly he was mad.  His daughter couldn’t be more than twenty one, and this man already forced a child on her.  If this was the Coates Valentina knew from school, he was much older than she.  He was an adult, and Valentina barely more than a child herself.  Mischa could almost see Coates taking advantage of Valentina’s youth and innocence, playing off her naivety.  A rage was growing inside of him.  He wanted to beat him again.  The silence fueled his anger.

The ride continued in tense quiet until they arrived at the hospital.  Coates parked, got out and removed something from the back of the vehicle.  As the three of them headed into the hospital’s lobby, Coates handed Mischa a black duffle bag.  It wasn’t so much handing it over as it was shoving it toward his chest.

“Viktoriya and I tried to provide you with everything you might need.  I assume if you need anything else the hospital will provide it to you.  Welcome home, Captain Sima.”  Coates said firmly.  He had been reserved in the airfield.  He was angry now.  But Coates didn’t leave.  He walked further into the hospital, and into an elevator.

“He has, um…” Valentina wrung her hands again.  “Eli’s been through a lot to get to this day.  He must have expected something different.”

They were left in the lobby.  A man behind the reception desk seemed at a loss of what to do, and quickly got on the phone.  Coates must have been responsible for coordinating more of Mischa’s hospitalization, but wasn’t.

“One of the captains said I’m family to him?” Mischa asked cautiously.  “Is that the man that was helping you find me?”

“Yes, and we were together then… But…” Valentina paused to choose her words carefully.  “But I hurt him very badly.  I was cruel to him, I broke his heart.  I walked away from this mission.  I abandoned our search for you.  I convince my father – I mean, Murroh to stop looking too.  But Eli never gave up.”

Eli seethed inside.  “So how is he my family?”

“He’s married to your cousin’s daughter, Viktoriya.”  Valentina supplied, watching as a doctor rushed down to the lobby.  “They have a daughter together.”

“So what did you do while was looking for me?” Mischa watched the doctor cautiously.  The man was behind the reception, looking for some paperwork.  As wary he was of the doctor, he was just as wary of his daughter.

“I went back to New York.  I made some mistakes.  Then I went to Paris, where I made a bigger mistake, and then had to come here, to Russia to be put on a trial.  After that I went back to New York, until I was asked back to be here for you.”  Her deep brown eyes threatened tears again.

“What did you do that put you on trial?”  Mischa’s voice was dangerous again.

“I… I arranged for Eli’s father to arrive in Paris.  Eli was beaten by his father as a child, and I told his father that Eli was cheating on me with Viktoriya, even though we’d been broken up for months.  When his father threatened him, Eli finally stood up for himself.  His father beat him again, with in an inch of his life.” The levy broke, and tears rolled down Valentina’s cheeks.  “He saved himself, but at the cost of his father’s life.  I was implicated in conspiracy regarding the attempted murder of a Prizrak, which is taken extremely seriously in Russia.  He was put into his second coma, had to have surgery to reset his nose and jaw.  One of his cheekbones had to be rebuilt.”

Mischa’s rage was gone, replaced with shock.  He was shaking.  Mischa knew everything Eli had suffered as a child.  He became the monster he’d condemned in Eli’s memories.  Not only had he become a monster, but he’d spawned one too.  He couldn’t even look at Valentina.  Even if she had a reason to hurt Eli, nothing could justify nearly killing him.

“Valentina, go.  You can leave your number with the hospital.  I’ll call you when I’m ready to speak to you.”  Somehow, he kept his voice steady.  She was crying as she walked away.  But Eli was her driver, but there wasn’t far she could go.

A doctor approached him.  He said words to Mischa, but Mischa didn’t hear them.  He was lead to the desk, where he signed some papers.  The doctor took him up to the fourth floor of the hospital and showed him to a room.  He set down his bag, and the doctor took some vital statistics.  Someone else came back with in ten minutes to take blood.

Mischa unpacked the bag to find a lot of nice clothing.  There was a scrapbook, and framed picture of Elijah, and a woman with black hair and striking blue and violet eyes, holding a baby between them.  Mischa was mad at himself all over again for how he treated Elijah.

            For the past two weeks, Viktoriya and Eli had been on edge.  Director Kaminski had ordered a group three Spetsgruppas to rescue Mischa.  So far no one received word.  Elijah was on call to drive out to the airfield when the Prizrak Rytsarya received permission from the Spetsgruppa helicopter to land.  Someone had dug up Mischa’s last recorded sizes from a requisition forms from decade and a half ago, and passed it along to Viktoriya.  A few days before, Eli and Viktoriya had gone shopping on his behalf.  A bag sat by the door, ready for to be grabbed on the way out, filled with clothes, shoes, toiletries, and items of comfort.

They tried to keep life normal while they waited.  Nikola’s doctor in Moscow, a chipper young woman named Marya Aukova, advised them to be aware of how they behaved around the baby.  Never assume she doesn’t know, or isn’t paying attention.  She may not know the words, but she can hear the tone.  If you fight, if you panic, if you get upset, it is likely she will too.  Dr. Aukova was sweet with Nikola, and patient with Elijah and Viktoriya, knowing they were new parents with little preparation.  She was even cheerful that time Eli called her at home.  It was near midnight and the contents of Nikola’s diaper did not seem normal.  Aukova calmed Eli down, and after a brief conversation about appearance, texture and odor, she concluded it wasn’t anything to be worried about.  She reminded Eli that the recent addition of pureed non-milk foods would also change what her body excreted.  But Nikola was healthy and developing well, and nothing could make them happier.

Though Eli and Viktoriya had been together for more than a year, this had been their first Christmas together.  The house was still decorated with holly and a tree, and the house seemed to permanently smell of cookies and freshly baked bread.  In the living room a fire crackled in the hearth, adorned with stockings – traditions Eli brought with him from England, and the floor was still crowded with new toys for Nikola.  Her godfathers hadn’t been able to be with them for the holidays, deciding to spend it with their families instead, but they sent plenty of gifts for all three of them.

Viktoriya spent a snowy afternoon sitting at in a chair by the fire, wrapped in one of Eli’s sweaters over her tee shirt and a pair of jeans.  She kept an eye on Nikola, playing on the floor.  Her daughter loved anything that smiled at her, or made noise, or moved, or was warm.  One of her favorite toys were not toys at all, but Elijah’s pet English foxhounds, Ceres and Dinah, now grown to their full size.  Ceres was slightly larger, but both stood almost to Viktoriya’s hip.

At first Viktoriya was hesitant to let Eli’s dogs – no, their dogs – near Nikola, but her fears were unfounded.  Ceres and Dinah were patient with her, even if she grasped at their floppy ears or tails, or accidentally poked at their eyes and noses.  When Nikola began to scoot herself around on her stomach, the dogs became protective of her.  If she ever started scooting toward the fire, despite a protective gate in her path, the foxhounds would pull the rug or blanket under Nikola away, taking the baby with it.  Viktoriya was amazed at the instinct the dogs had, and even wondered if Eli was using telepathy on them.  There was another time when Eli was out, that Viktoriya needed to take a phone call, and worried over leaving the baby on the floor alone.  When she came back to check on her, only minutes later, the two dogs were laying in a loose circle around.  Dinah was playing a gentle game, letting Nikola try to pull a toy from her mouth.  Nikola had two big sisters that seemed to love her dearly, they just happened to be canine.

Eli was out at the moment, but he never went far or left for long.  Being on call to pick Mischa up made him anxious for many reasons.  He was nervous about meeting him in person, just as he had been with Yuri.  He was worried about the responsibility placed on him in the eyes of Director Kaminski.  The call bearing orders came from him directly.  He had never served under Kaminski like Viktoriya had, and saw a lot more authority in him.  Today he’d only gone to the grocery store, so close he didn’t even need to drive.  He did anyway, as the snow was coming down hard.

Aside from the Mischa-related worry, Viktoriya was enjoying her life.  Her husband was kind, loving, smart and as a bonus, handsome.  Her daughter was healthy, beautiful and full of adorable energy.  Kaminski had called recently, promising her a meeting regarding her future in the Prizrak Rytsarya as soon as the dust settled on the Spetsgruppa Yaysto case.  Going back to work meant finding a suitable nanny for Nikola, and balancing work with her family.  Until then, she was free to spend her days watching the Russian soap opera she’d become enrapt with during her pregnancy, chatting with Agnessa about it over the phone, playing with her baby.

Nikola babbled happily as her tiny hands closed around a soft toy with bells sewn into it.  The toy jingled and Nikola let out another string of unintelligible sounds.  She shook it furiously, letting the bells sing out, and laughing.  Viktoriya couldn’t help but laugh with her.  She crawled onto the floor and sat beside Nikola.  Her daughter looked up at her with her deep violet eyes, and shook the toy at her mother.  Viktoriya gently took it from her hands and shook it back.  Nikola babbled happily, clapping clumsily.

“Jingle jingle, Nikola!” Viktoriya sang to her, shaking the toy in front of the baby.  Nikola grasped at it again, and Viktoriya let her take it.  The baby laughed.  Viktoriya scooped her up into her arms, kissing her dark curls. “Do you like kisses?”

Learning from watching, Nikola pursed her own lips and Viktoriya lifted the baby to kiss her cheek, laughing.  Nikola did it two more times, clapping and babbling to her.  “Oh, thank you, Nikola!”

Their bonding was interrupted when the doorbell rang out.  Not that Nikola minded.  Another bell, this one with a deep melodic chime made her clap and laugh all over again.  Viktoriya struggled to her feet with the baby in her arms, and walked to the door.  Nikola pulled her hair as Viktoriya answered the door.

“No, Nikola.  No hair pulling,” Viktoriya scolded as she pulled her hair out of her daughter’s tiny hand.  Finally, she turned to the door.  Her eyes widened at the figure standing in her door.  “Valentina?”

“Hi, Viktoriya.  I’m sorry to just show up here, I was hoping to have a chance to talk to you before the Spetsgruppas get back.  You and Eli both.” Valentina was dressed in a fashionable wool coat and fine leather gloves, but it didn’t seem too extravagant.  At least, no more expensive than Elijah usually wore.

“Please come in, Valentina.” Viktoriya stepped aside to let her inside.  “Ilya’s not here right now.  He’s picking some things up at the pharmacy and grocery, but he should be back soon.  Sorry it’s a mess, I wasn’t expecting company.  Would you like some tea or coffee?”

Valentina stepped inside and looked around.  Though there a mess on the floor from Nikola’s play, Viktoriya wasn’t really ashamed.  She considered it part of family life.  Babies are little balls of mess making power.  She shut the door and followed Valentina, showing her to the kitchen.

“Your home is beautiful.  I actually passed it a few times.  I thought it was still a firehouse.  Oh, and some coffee would be nice.” Valentina said meekly as she slipped from her coat and tugged her gloves off.  Viktoriya took Valentina’s coat after placing Nikola in her bouncing chair, and put the bell toy in her lap.  Nikola picked up the toy and shook it wildly.  “This must be your baby.  She’s beautiful!  She has your eyes.”

“Ilya looks at her with such love and pride.  He gave her a beautiful name.  Nikola Georgette Sima-Coates.” Viktoriya beamed.  She offered her cousin a seat, hung up Valentina’s coat and started the coffee maker.  “I heard you’d be back in Russia for your father’s home coming, but Director Kaminski didn’t give us a time frame.”

“Yes.  Actually, I’ve been back for more than week.  I was trying to build up the courage to see you.” Valentina admitted.  “I know I said a lot of terrible things, and I didn’t treat you like family.  Even after everything you and your parents did for me.  I feel so bad.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly welcoming to you when we first met.  So, I supposed I should apologize too.” Viktoriya said. “Your grandparents weren’t exactly happy with the way your mother took you back to Switzerland, and cut you off from us.  You were so young, and they thought it was unfair.  And then, when we heard your mother passed away, your grandmother wanted to take you in.  Especially when we found out that none of your uncles were taking you in.  She was completely shut out from your life.  We thought you chose to go to America.  No one in the Sima family knew that you didn’t even know we existed.”

Viktoriya set out the two cups, putting coffee in front of Valentina, and some tea for herself.  She also set down a plastic cup of baby food and a colorful spoon.  Before leaving for their holiday with family, Miro had been experimenting with some baby food recipes, and bringing the finished results over for Nikola to try.  Viktoriya picked Nikola up and fixed a bib around her.

“I think… You just intimidated me when you came to London.  You were so strong, and beautiful, and I guess I was afraid Eli would like you better.  And then something happened.  I don’t know what, but I took him for granted and drove him right into your arms.  I mean… I know you love each other, and you are happy together and you made a beautiful little baby.  But for the longest time I didn’t see that.” Valentina explained, sipping her coffee.  “I was like little kid with a toy.  I was done with it, but I didn’t want to see anyone else playing with it either.”

Viktoriya looked up from putting a spoon full of paste into Nikola’s mouth.  Her cheeks looked extra chubby as her mouth worked to swallow it.    She gave a smile, pausing to sip her own tea.  “I hope you know that Ilya was always faithful to you.  He mourned the loss of your relationship.  But we worked at our relationship too.  We fought, we still do.  It’s not always easy, but love never is.”

“What’s it like being a mom?” Valentina asked curiously.

“Exhausting.  She’s only just started on a sleep schedule or eating non-milk.  I’m so lucky to have Ilya.  He gets up in the middle of the night, and lets me sleep.  He wants to help with the baby, he wants to read to her, Ilya just… When I was a little girl, my mother took care of the children.  My father was always too busy with the crops, or helping your grandparents with the animals to help her.  I grew up thinking that the role men played in fatherhood was little more than planting the seed.  But Ilya’s so different.”  Viktoriya beamed with pride.  She put another spoon full of the baby food into Nikola’s mouth.  It was a peach color and smelled sweet.  It was Nikola’s favorite so far.  She wiped away a tiny glob of drool with the baby’s bib.  “He worries all the time that he won’t be a good enough father to her.  He tries so hard for her.”

“Are you going to have another baby?” Valentina asked, sipping her tea.

“We might.  But we aren’t thinking about it now.  She’s so much work, and then Yuri came home, and now Mischa… Our friends are getting married soon.  Ilya and I will be in new positions soon.  It’s not the right time for another baby.”  Viktoriya scraped the past bit of food from the little container and put it in Nikola’s mouth.

“There lots of times in my life that I wished I had a sibling.” Valentina said.  She watched with a hint of jealousy, and a lot of sadness.

“Well, we are cousins.  It’s not the same as siblings, but we’re still family.”  Viktoriya offered, wiping Nikola’s face.  “Your father is coming home.  He’ll probably want to see his parents too.  We can all go together.  After you’ve had your time with him, of course.”

“That sounds wonderful, Viktoriya.” Valentina nodded.  After another sip of coffee, she pursed her lips.  There was something she wanted to say.  She paused on it for a moment.  “Um… Is it alright if I hold the baby?  Just for a little bit?”

“Sure, let me just finish getting her cleaned up.  She’s getting to be such a messy eater!”  Viktoriya walked Nikola over to the sink to take off her bib and wash her face and hands.  She returned to put Nikola in Valentina’s arms, but didn’t get a chance to sit down.  She heard Eli’s keys in the door and rushed to meet him in the living room.

“You’re finally home! I was getting worried, Ilya!” Viktoriya helped him with his bags as he stepped inside.  She helped him out of his coat and dusted the snow from his hair.

“The grocery was packed, and the pharmacy was picked over.  But I got everything on the list.” Eli told her as he slipped his arms around her waist, and pulled her close to him.  He leaned in to kiss her, and at once Viktoriya forgot about their company.  She closed her eyes, dropped the bags on the floor and threw her arms around Eli’s neck.  She could smell his cologne.  It took over her mind, taking her to another place.  A place where there was no one and nothing but them, their love and a passion near boiling over.

“Is Nikola down for her nap?” Eli whispered, his lips brushing against her skin.

“Not yet… No…” The truth drew her back to reality.  “We have a guest.  Valentina is here.”

A bright blush came to Eli’s face.  “Oh, well… That is…”

“She’s come to make peace between the three of us.  Valentina seems really earnest about it.”  Viktoriya explained.   She pulled her hands from his shoulder, smoothing out the fine, soft wool of his sweater.  She could feel his hard muscles under the lay of clothing.

“We shouldn’t be poor hosts.” Eli calmed himself.  He gave Viktoriya another kiss before taking her hand and walking with his wife back into the kitchen.

“She’s so beautiful, Eli.” Valentina told him, looking up from Nikola.  It was no fault of Valentina’s, but the baby was starting to fuss and kick.  Valentina looked a little helpless with Nikola in her arms, unsure of what to do.

“She has so much of her mother in her.” Eli’s words brimmed with pride.  He walked to Valentina’s side and lifted the fussing Nikola from her arms.  “Are you staying for dinner?”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose much further on you and Viktoriya.  I want to get back to my hotel before a state of emergency is called.” Valentina stood, and offered a smile.  She helped Viktoriya clear away the dishes, then gave each of them a kiss on the cheek.  “Let’s try to have lunch soon.”

They could say much more to stop her from going.  At the same time, they didn’t want to.  Viktoriya waited, watching to make sure Valentina to found her way into a cab safely, and then put Eli’s groceries away.  He was upstairs putting Nikola down for a nap.  By the time he was done with the baby, Viktoriya was already waiting for him in their room.

“So, we probably have the night to ourselves.  The weather’s going to be too bad to fly a helicopter through.” Eli said as he walked in.

“Our first night of restful sleep since Kaminski called in the first place.” Viktoriya replied.  The small talk was a little ridiculous.  She wish he’d just get to what they both wanted.  But maybe he was hesitating because of her.  He wanted to wait until she was ready. And what better way to tell him than by showing him.

Viktoriya shrugged out of the sweater she’d taken from his closet.  She crossed the floor, pulling him in for a kiss.  His kisses were passionate, but they always were.  His hands slid up her back, under her tee shirt.  She pulled his sweater off, and took his undershirt off with it.  Viktoriya ran her hands over his bare skin, down his arms until she held his wrists.  He leaned in to kiss her neck.  Eli pulled away only as her shirt came up over her head.  Her hands returned to his shoulders, sliding down his chest until her fingers were tucked behind his belt.

“Vika…” Her name came out in a half moan.  “Is this real?”

She couldn’t blame him for asking.  There had been so many other nights that Viktoriya had lured him right to the edge before denying him.  She always felt so guilty for it.  Viktoriya would manage to fall asleep, but Eli would have to find some other way to relax.  There were some nights she’d roll over and find his place in the bed empty.  Sometimes he was with Nikola.  Sometimes he was reading in the library, or writing in the kitchen.  There were other times he sleeping on the couch.  Those nights hurt her the worst.

“This is very real, Ilya.” She whispered as she guided him toward their bed.  Viktoriya pushed him back, but she knew Eli had really thrown himself back on to the bed.  He propped himself up on his elbows, eagerly watching Viktoriya tear his pants away.  She put on a show of pushing her jeans down her legs.  Viktoriya let out a playful scream as Eli reached out and grabbed her, pulling her to the bed with him.

            Zifa wheeled herself down Yuri’s hall.  He wasn’t in any of the common areas.  No one from the kitchen staff reported seeing him.  The orderlies that attended their floor only shook their heads when asked.  The only person that would know was his nurse.

Zifa had seen people come and go from the hospital.  Sometimes quickly, especially when they self-admitted.  Some were urgent to get back to their duties, or didn’t want to be burned of the stigma if they stayed in the hospital too long.  But these people usually took the opportunity to say good bye to their friends.  There was usually word about someone getting out.  This was not one of those occasions.

Yuri had been absent from social functions for three days now.  If it were just one, or something that interfered with one of his therapies, Zifa would have just brushed the thought aside.  But he had become a ghost in these halls.  She hadn’t even seen him go to his physical therapy that morning, and she had been waiting for him.  Stalking him.  No, they friends.  She was waiting.

“I’m sorry Miss Rahman, Mr. Utkin isn’t taking visitors right now.” Nurse Blom apologized as she slipped from Yuri’s room.  She wasn’t wearing the normal nurses’ whites.  Blom was dressed in her own sweater and black pants.  Blom had worn the same thing the day before.  She must not have gone home between shifts.  And for her to be out of uniform, she must have been called in without a chance to change.  So Yuri must be in some sort of trouble.

“I was just worried.  I haven’t seen him around for a few days.”  She was surprised when the truth slipped from her lips.  She would have lied if she had to, but anything she came up with wouldn’t have been as good as the truth.

“He’s… not doing well right now.  He just needs time.” Blom offered a tight smile to cover her lie.  Of course, she couldn’t be honest with Zifa about why Yuri wasn’t taking visitors.   That would be violating his confidentiality, and his trust.  But she was a poor liar just the same.  Zifa would have denied Yuri was in the room, and simply said that she was just dropping something off, or picking something up.  There was something different about Nurse Blom.  She was a rare sight in the hospital – a nurse that cared about her patient enough to come in on her day off, to sit at his bedside and hold his hand.

“Just… Tell him that I’m came to see him.” Zifa was exhausted.  She was barely friends with Yuri.  Honestly, she didn’t know why she even cared so much.

As she turned and started to wheel away, Blom called out.  “Miss Rahman, wait!”

Zifa looked over her shoulder, to see Blom opening the door to Yuri’s room.  Blom waved her hand at the door, motioning for Zifa to slip in quickly.  Naturally, she obeyed.  Oh yes, Nurse Blom was a rare kind indeed.

Yuri’s room was dim, quiet.  There the beeping of medical machines, but that was almost silence in the hospital.  Utkin was in his bed, he was stripped of his clothes and covered by a blanket.  A piece of gauze was taped to his side.

“What happened?” Zifa wondered aloud.  But it wasn’t Nurse Blom that supplied the answer.

“I tried to kill myself.” Yuri answered from the bed.  She didn’t even know he was awake.

“Yuri… Yuri why?” Angry, Zifa wheeled up to his bed.  “What happened to getting better?  What happened to doing it for your friend and his daughter?”

“Mikhail is coming home.  They sent the teams for him.  I’ll have to answer for what I’ve done.  I can’t face him.”  Yuri’s voice waivered.  “I can’t… I can’t.  I’m a killer… A killer…”

“An orderly found him in his bathroom when he came to empty the trash.  He keeps pulling the gauze off, and trying to get up.  He won’t eat, and he can only manage a few words before he just starts calling himself a killer again.”  Blom explained.  “Dr. Csilla thinks it might be related to withdrawal from the pills he was on, and the alcohol he was self-medicating with.”

“Well he’s not wrong.” Zifa sighed.  “Yuri, can you look at me?”

He did.  It wasn’t a lolling head turn.  He wasn’t drugged.  The only thing that was poisoning Yuri was his own mind.  Zifa barely knew Yuri, and at the same time knew all his darkest secrets.  They were barely secrets at all.  He told anyone who would listen.  She wished he would stop talking about his misdeeds for just one moment.  She had Yuri’s attention, but didn’t know what to do with it.  And then, all at once, inspiration.

“Yuri, how did the book end?” Zifa asked.  Yuri blinked at her.  His eyes were the same color as a winter’s sky.  They weren’t wild, he wasn’t mad, just lost.

“I didn’t finish it.”  He said after a moment.

“Well, your report is almost due.  Here.” Zifa picked up the book and dropped it on his chest.  “Read it to me.”

Yuri sat up in his bed, and turned up his lamp.  He opened the book and began to read from where he had left off.  After about five minutes, Blom stepped out of the room.  She returned with a hot kettle and some tea bags, but she didn’t stay long.  This time she didn’t come back.

When Yuri finished the next chapter, Zifa got them each a cup of tea.  When he finished the next, she got up to sit in the bed beside him.  Without being asked, Yuri slid over to make room for her.  He flinched as she pressed against his side, where the gauze was taped, but kept reading.  By the time he was finished, Zifa had her head resting on his shoulder.  Yuri closed the book, resting it on his lap.

It was late into the night.  No one else was awake, but the silence still felt unnatural.  When he spoke, his words were quiet, reverent of the stillness of the night.  “Why do you care, Zifa?”

“Why do I care about what?” She asked.  Her hand was resting on his thigh, next to his own hand.

“Me. Why do you care?”  Yuri’s voice was surprisingly calm.  His fingers twitched, but it wasn’t a tick.  He must have been battling the decision to take her hand.  Zifa wish he had the courage to just do it.

“I… don’t really know.  You are nice, Yuri.  I like spending time with you, even if it hasn’t been that often.  I would be… I would be really sad if you weren’t here.” Zifa shrugged against him.  “And I think you’re much harder on yourself than you deserve.”

He was silent again.  Zifa looked up at him.  His face was thoughtful.   He was battling with what to say.  “I’m sorry I scared you, Zifa.”

“Yuri… I’m just relieved you didn’t go through with it.”  Zifa admitted.  She turned to look at him.  In the small bed, she ended up putting what was left of her leg over his.  Though he’d done it before, the first day they met, Zifa was still surprised when he put his hand on her leg.  Maybe he told the truth when he said he didn’t care.

“I still don’t know why you want to be here… But I’m glad that you’re here with me.”  Yuri told her.  He met her eyes.

“I think I was wrong.  No, I’m still not going to not going to make all your problems disappear, but… I want be there to support you.  You’re my friend.  I didn’t leave that first night, when you wept in front of me.  And I won’t leave tonight.  I won’t leave when you need me.” She promised him.

Zifa’s vow must have been overwhelming to Yuri.  He was quiet again.  His hand move absently over her leg.  She could feel the warmth of his skin through her thin pants.  Zifa wasn’t sure, but she felt something between them.  Something new, more than friendship.  It scared her a little.

“Thank you, Zifa.  I feel like I’m taking advantage of your kindness.  I barely know you.  I’ve barely let you get to know me.”  Yuri finally said.  He put his arm around her and pulled her closer to him.  It must have pained him to have her pressed against his wound, but Yuri didn’t seem to care this time.

“We can change that, Yuri.  That’s the easiest thing to change.  Tell me something about you.  Not something you’ve done.  Not one of your regrets.  Just something about you.” Zifa didn’t know where to put her hand.  It fell on his chest.  The gesture felt too intimate.  It was strange for anything to feel too intimate when they’d already had sex.

It took Yuri a moment to think of a harmless detail about himself.  “My favorite fruit are oranges.  I love the way the skin would get caught under my nails and my hands would smell like oranges all day.  I love orange chocolate.  My grandmother put out a plate of orange chocolates one year for Christmas, and I ate so many I threw up.”

“When are you going to tell me a story that doesn’t involve vomiting?” Zifa joked.  Yuri smiled.  There was still a sense of humor in him somewhere.

“I don’t know.  I vomit a lot.” He laughed. “I just… When I find something I like, sometimes I take too much, too quickly.”

“I did that once too.  I once ate an entire cherry currant pie on my own.  I was seven.  I stole it off the table and hid in a closet.  My father found me, hands and face sticky and stained red, groaning and holding my stomach in the closet.  Okay, now ask me something.”  Zifa said, brushing a piece of blue hair behind her ear.

She hadn’t thought of that day in a long time.  Her grandmother had made the pie, but for what?  Oh, it was her sister’s birthday.  Aylin was two years older than Zifa, and already beautiful.  She had a beautiful singing voice, even then and led the choir at their mosque.  Their father was mad, but didn’t punish her.  The stomach ache was a punishment enough. 

Aylin, however was furious.  Her beautiful face turned red and splotchy as she screamed at Zifa that her younger sister ruined her birthday.  Aylin even hit Zifa when their father wasn’t in the room.  The blow didn’t hurt much, but her words were worse.  They made up a few days later, and neither sister brought up again until they were well old enough to laugh at it.

“Okay…” Yuri thought for a moment.  “Alright, did you attend university?”

“No.  I came to Moscow when I was twenty, to register with the Prizrak Rytsarya.”  Zifa pressed her lips together, but they formed into a smile.  “I did my basic, and when it came to what I decide where I applied… I went into transport.  It offered a lot of freedom.  But also no mobility… Ironic, huh?” She laughed at her joke.  This time Yuri laughed with her.

“I know.  Anton always told me that I’d never make captain.  I didn’t go to university either.  He always told me that a Spetsgruppa was the safest place for me.  Because of him, I never tried to do more.”  There was a sad note there, but he shook it away.

“What was the first thing you bought with your pay?” Zifa asked.  She didn’t even know if he would remember.

“I bought something for my mother.  I remember that much, because Anton was very mad at me.  He said I was wasting it.  That he provided our mother with everything she needed.  It was something nice, I remember that.” Yuri sorted through his mind, trying to find it.  “It was a picture of me, the frame was beautiful, and expensive.  My graduation picture from basic.”

“Did your mother like it?”  Zifa looked up at him to ask.

“Yes.  She cried, and kissed me, and hung it her parlor.  I didn’t get to see her much after that, so I’m glad she had that picture of me.  What did you use your first pay for?” He spoke of his mother with emotion, but it didn’t threaten his voice the way speaking of his brother did.  Anton must have been a tyrant with Yuri.

“I got a tattoo.  I guess it was a waste of money too, because it was on the leg that I lost.” Zifa mused.

“What was it a tattoo of?”  He stroked her leg again, this time with purpose.

“In the most beautiful calligraphy, it read “Shining Beauty of the Golden Hoarde” and had lotus flowers around it.” Zifa explained.

“It’s not a Spetsgruppa tattoo.” Yuri said, asking for her explanation.

“No, an homage to my family, in a way.  My little quirk, I guess.  I’m a descendant of Genghis Khan.  It’s really not anything to brag about, he was… Quite prolific in spreading his genes.” She laughed again.

“No, it’s amazing.  Zifa, you’re the blood of a legend.  Your family crafted history.” Yuri told her, a new light sparking in his eyes.

“I am proud, but so many people can claim the same thing.  And I’m not the only one that’s crafted history.  Someday, your children will be proud to bear the name Utkin.”  She told him, looking into his eyes.  For the first time since before she learned of his attempt at suicide, she wore her challenging smile.  “And before you object, I mean what I said.  And I don’t want to argue.  So, Yuri Utkin, what is your favorite season?”

Yuri swallowed whatever words he was readying, and answered her question. “Autumn.  I love the way the leaves change, and the chill in the air.  It was my favorite time to take a girl out.  We’d meet in the park, go for a walk, and share a coffee before…”

“You Casanova!” A grin spread across Zifa’s face. “And I was afraid you’d judge me for taking you to bed so soon!”

“Well, to be fair, I bought those girls coffee first.  You didn’t even give me lunch until after you had your way with my lush supple body.” He laughed with her.

“You are very handsome, I’m sure the women all adored you.”  Zifa beamed at him.  “I know I wouldn’t say no if you met me in the park and took me out for coffee.”

“Are you flirting with me, Zifa?” Yuri challenged.  His smirk make him look reckless, carefree.  This must have been the smile he wore so naturally when he was young.  She could almost see the man he used to be.  No, he was still that man.  He was in there somewhere, and Zifa wanted to bring that man back.

“Maybe I am.  I happen to have a thing for men that can’t keep food down.” She teased, laughing with him.  Their laughter stopped, not because it faded, or the jokes stopped amusing them, but because Yuri pushed his mouth to Zifa’s kissing her deeply.  She was surprised, but in the best way.  She kissed him back, her hands on his face.  His hand squeezed her leg, his other buried in her dyed hair.  They kissed for a long time.

Neither of them heard the knock, or the door open, but Yuri saw Dr. Csilla before Zifa did.  He let out his shocked sound into her mouth before he could pull away. “Dr. Csilla, what are you doing here so late?”

“It’s six in the morning, Mr. Utkin.” Csilla said smiling.  She wasn’t embarrassed to catch them, and it seemed to amuse her.  “Miss Rahman, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have an appointment with Mr. Utkin.”

“Oh, it’s… It’s fine.  I should get back to my own room.  Sorry for keeping you up all night, Yuri.”  Zifa apologized, pulling her chair over.  It was tricky getting back into the chair from the bed, but she’d had plenty of practice.  It wasn’t far to the door.

“Zifa, hold on.” Yuri reached out for her, but missing her arm.  But she did turn around, flashing a smile. “I know it’s supposed to snow later, but would like to take walk in the garden with me this afternoon?  Then maybe get some coffee?”

            New York in winter was beautiful.  Crowded, and full of tourists, but what time of year wasn’t?  Valentina’s refuge from sidewalk blocking gawkers and the constant flash of cameras was to escape Manhattan all together.  She sat at the kitchen table with her father, sharing a cup of coffee in his small town home.  The neighborhood was nice, but the house was small.  The two front rooms, which should have been a living room and a dining room had been converted to a lobby, dance studio and a tiny office.  Murroh’s wife, Ekaterina was a ballet instructor to girls of elementary school age.  Sometimes it was hard to have a conversation over the pounding of Ekaterina’s cane or the classical music, but as Murroh explained they had a Christmas recital in less than a week.

Valentina’s life was in free fall. She had sold the penthouse, sold off the more art-fashion pieces of her wardrobe, and sold the large gaudy diamonds.  She wanted to use that money to repay Murroh for those years of letting her live in high society, but he wouldn’t accept it.  Murroh insisted that he’d only bought a home, Valentina made herself into the woman she was.  Those words were meant with love and encouragement, but they wounded Valentina.  Since her conversation with Eli back in August, she didn’t know what her life was about.  He’d help set her on a journey, but she still didn’t know where she was going.

Valentina had made changes, walking away from her extravagant life, trying to be more modest, but it felt as false as living in society.  She was currently staying in a hotel while she decided what to do.  Moving away from New York, maybe even away from America was still tempting option.  Maybe to start fresh she really did need to completely start over.  Her father had changed his life, and hadn’t taken such drastic measures.  That’s why she’d come to see him.

Murroh sat quietly, sipping his coffee.  He’d been acting strange recently.  Both Valentina and Ekaterina suspected that he might have started drinking again.  He’d relapsed badly two years ago, while Valentina was discovering that he had been lying to her about being her biological father.  She was mad at first, but quickly forgave him.  She preferred a live fake father over a real dead one.  Valentina hoped he hadn’t succumbed to alcoholism again.  He was so happy with Ekaterina, and she didn’t want to think he was that selfish.

“Leibe tried calling me again.” Valentina complained, trying to engage Murroh in conversation. So far everything had been a non-starter.  One word answers to shallow questions.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to talk to her anymore.”  Murroh finally replied with something Valentina could use.  He’d already been briefed on the complicated dynamic between Leibe, Billy Duke and Valentina, as well as Elijah and Viktoriya.  He had not been happy to hear about some of the trouble his daughter had caused.  Maybe that was why he was being so quiet with her.

“Well, I’m not.  That’s why I didn’t answer.” Valentina said, defensively. 

She was not in a good place with her former best friend either.  When Viktoriya went into labor, Valentina and Billy Duke left.  They took a train to the nearest city with an airport, and she told him that she’d pay for a plane ticket to wherever he wanted.  He picked California, to be home with his family.  Valentina returned to New York.  But it wasn’t long until the drama followed her home.  Billy was still cut off from his family, and returned to New York shortly after Valentina did.  He was quick to try to get into some one’s good graces.  When he got nowhere with Valentina, he returned to Leibe, and for some foolish reason, he told her everything, including sleeping with Valentina.  Now Leibe was furious with both of them, and wouldn’t stop calling Valentina.

“Did you explain yourself to her?” Murroh asked.  He also knew everything about the affair, and didn’t approve.

“Well, no.  I didn’t really want to talk about it.” Valentina absently sipped her coffee.

“I know it seems even, he sleeps with her behind your back, you sleep with him behind hers, but that doesn’t make any of this right.  That family has its issues, but you are a part of them, and you need to take responsibility for your actions.  You should just count yourself lucky that Elijah’s a stronger man that you thought him to be.  I’d never forgive you if you’d taken him away from his wife.” His words were too harsh.  Valentina felt the sting of tears in her eyes.

Ekaterina chose that moment to appear in the kitchen.  Valentina hadn’t spent much time with her step-mother.  It was too uncomfortable.  Ekaterina Zelenko had been married to both her fathers, her late biological father while they’d been held in the prison camp.  When she escaped, Ekaterina had run straight into the protection of her foster father, Murroh.  They hadn’t been married long, almost ten years, but spent nearly half of it apart while Murroh raised Valentina.  It was no wonder he was protective of marriage.  She had probably nearly cost him his.

For her age and what she’d been through, Ekaterina was beautiful.  She stood at six foot, four inches tall, a full foot above her husband.  Her long legs were covered only in sheer stockings, her slim build was clad only in a dancer’s leotard.  Her heels clicked on the linoleum of the kitchen as she set to filling a kettle with hot water, and setting it on the burner.  Her severe face offered Valentina a tight smile, but Murroh got the real thing.

She leaned over, kissing Murroh on the cheek.  Her father jumped in his seat.  He was shocked, literally.  Ekaterina was electrokinetic. “The girls are near perfection.  They earned a treat.”

“They’ve all been working hard for the performance.  I hope they like their Christmas gift from us.” Murroh’s anger vanished, and he favored his wife with a smile and a kiss.

“Taking them to see the Russian Ballet in Times Square was inspired.  They are so excited to see the Nutcracker, and their parents are all over the moon.”  Ekaterina went back to preparing twelve cups of hot chocolate from container of powdered mix.  They had no children of their own, but she treated her students like they were her babies.  “I think it’s inspired them all to push just a little harder.”

“They have all the inspiration they need in their teacher.” Murroh paid her richly in compliments.

“You are too good to me.  The parents feel so indebted for the tickets that they are all chipping in for dinner in Manhattan before the show.” She poured the hot water into twelve cups.  She even put out a plate of home baked cookies.  Despite her lecturing on healthy eating and exercise, Ekaterina knew a special treat now and then did wonders for her girls.

“It will be a wonderful night for all of us, Katya,” Murroh promised.  She gave him another kiss before disappearing, back into the dance studio.

There was a moment of silence, and Valentina could see the happiness evaporate from her father’s face.  His good eye went dull, his smile faded, the mood shifted.  He took another sip of his coffee.  “Don’t think this means we’re done talking about what your choices have cost others.”

“Billy and Leibe made their choices too.” Valentina argued.

“And those choices are on Billy and Leibe’s minds.  You could have said no.  You come here for guidance, well here it is.  Ever since you broke up with Eli, and pulled me off of that case, you’ve been reckless.  I don’t know who you are anymore.  I didn’t raise you to be so careless with other people’s emotions.” Murroh wasn’t finished, but his phone rang.  Not a cell, but a house phone.

Valentina sat in her shame while she listened to her father’s end of the conversation. “This is Colonel Lytton, but I’m retired… Yes, I was working on that investigation, but I resigned more than a year ago…  No, I was not aware of that…  I don’t think I can, at least right away.  I have obligations to my life here… Yes, I understand.  Thank you.”

He hung up looking troubled.  Bewildered.  Whoever was on the phone had given him some big news.  Before Valentina could ask Murroh what the call was about, her cellphone buzzed, dancing across the table.  She caught it and answered. “Hello?”

“Hello,” spoke a heavily accented voice. “Is this Miss Valentina Sima?”

“This is Miss Valentina Lytton, but that was my birth name, yes.”  She was instantly suspicious that the caller knew her father’s name.

“I am Director Dmitri Kaminski, of the Prizrak Rytsarya.  Two weeks ago we recovered Yuri Utkin, a soldier long presumed dead after a terrorist attack.  He is alive and recovering in a hospital.” Kaminski began.  Valentina wondered why he was telling her what must be sensitive information.  “He has given us information that will lead to the recovery of his commanding officer, Captain Mikhail Sima.”

Valentina wasn’t sure what to say.  This must have been the same call Murroh had received.  “Captain Sima is alive?”

“He was at the time of Utkin’s escape.  We have just initiated a rescue mission.  The Prizrak Rytsarya would like you to be in Moscow when he returns to us.”  Kaminski extended the invitation.  Valentina looked to Murroh.  Surely he knew Kaminski’s offer to her.  Her father nodded insistently.

“Oh, well… Yes.  I’ll have to book a flight.  I’m coming from New York.  When should I be expected?” Valentina stammered out.

“We’d like you as soon as possible.  There will be lodging provided to you, and a car to pick you up at the airport.  We look forward to seeing you, Miss Lytton.  And congratulations.”  Kaminski hung up before she could ask or say anything else.

Slowly, she lowered her cellphone.  Her voice was just above a whisper.  “My father is alive?”

“So it seems.  This your chance for a real family again, Valentina.  He’s going to need someone there for him.  That someone should be his daughter.  And apologize to your cousin too.  She and Eli worked hard to give you this.” Murroh lectured.

“I have a real family.  I have you.” Valentina tried to argue, but Murroh wouldn’t hear it.

“You are going to Russia.  Come on.  Let’s get some things together for you to bring to him.  I need you to hold the camera for me.” Murroh said, a smiling appearing for her the first time in years.

Murroh took her upstairs, into a messy second bedroom.  There were so many boxes of photographs of Valentina, of Mischa, of Malena and the family that used to be.  It was painful to look through the memories.  Valentina helped him make a photo album.  Murroh wrote a letter to Mischa.  He started to cry while he wrote, but Valentina didn’t say anything.

Hours later, Valentina was back in her hotel in the room in Manhattan, packing up her life again.  It wasn’t hard.  She was already living out of suitcases.  She’d already bought her plane ticket to Moscow.

She thought to the future.  Maybe this was the change she needed.  To go back to the people she’d hurt, and start making amends.  To be there for her father, and build a new life together with him, to get to know him, and let him get to know her.  Valentina tried to stay optimistic about meeting him, and push away the pangs of guilt that threatened her mood.

On the cab ride to the airport, and while waiting for her plane to board, Valentina tried to think of what to say.  She bought a book and a notepad from an airport bookstore and began to write out what she wanted her father to know about.  She wrote letters of apology Elijah, Viktoriya, and even to Vikenti Kozlov.  She made a list of things she wanted to do in Russia.  She wrote out who she wanted to become.

            “Put those papers down, and come help me get ready!” Miro called from the kitchen.  Vikenti sighed through his headache and shoved a folder back into his bag.  Miro hated when he brought work home with him.  He disliked it almost as much as Vikenti not working at all.  There was no easy middle with him. 

Things had gotten very complicated in the past few days, and Vikenti was struggling to keep up.  Every Spetsgruppa in the Prizrak Rytsarya was putting in their bid to be the team that rescued Captain Mikhail Shashenka Sima from fifteen years of captivity.  Their hero was back from the dead and need their help.  Whatever captain brought him home would be immortal, forever in named in the history books.  He would likely be the next director of the Prizrak Rytsarya, and the temptation was great.  And as repayment of the many favors he’d so recently asked of Director Kaminski, Major Vikenti Kozlov was put in charge of giving the order for Captain Sima’s rescue.

That honor should have gone to the Spetsgruppa Drakon Pushki.  It was Viktoriya – and Viktoriya alone that believed Mischa was still alive.  She put her career on the line for this assignment, she should be reaping the rewards.  But she was still on her maternity leave, and likely wouldn’t be called back early for a mission that might risk her life.  And then there was the bigger argument: There was no Drakon Pushki.  Viktoriya had no team.  Three men had left when she set them on the path to find Mischa.  Gregori had been removed after Eli’s shooting.  Vikenti was removed when he revealed himself as a major.  Even her contracted consultant was gone, though that was a happier ending.  So in the absence of one Spetsgruppa calling clear jurisdiction, there was a frenzy.

Though everyone had the same goal, every Spetsgruppa captain had their own petition – their plea to Kaminski as to why their team over all others should be given the order.  Though there were few majors among their ranks, their captains were numerous, and every year their officer’s school turned out more.  There were hundreds of young men and women hungry for a command, and limited need.  It was easy to be lost in the massive organization, overlooked for promotion or assignment, or even worse, replaced by a new more ambition version of yourself.  The easiest way to get noticed by the director and his council was to make your team stand for something.  So many young captains were the champions of some cause or another.  His own sister had made her name slaying the enemies of women’s and children’s rights.

It was no surprise to see her name on the petition.  Everyone had read Yuri Utkin’s account of captivity.  They knew the conditions he was kept in, and the horrors he had suffered.  Natassia had likely started filing paper work the moment she read the word rape.   But he knew how his sister handled sex crimes.  There wouldn’t be anyone to bring to trial. Natassia tended to play judge, jury and executioner at once.  It was the main reason Kaminski wanted her to be part of Vikenti’s outreach program.

Most captains had a point, but none of them seemed to be clear front runners.  One captain was skilled at extractions, another was frequently stationed outside of the country.  Yet another, had trained with Mischa – but age was not on his side.  There was a captain who had been captured himself, albeit for much shorter time, but resented it none-the-less.  Many were naked power grabs, thinly veiled nationalist or Prizrak-pride rhetoric to cover plain and simple ambition. One of the men to leave the Drakon Pushki had made captain and had the audacity to claim he would supporting Viktoriya’s goals.

It was strange having Miro home before midnight.  He’d taken a rare night off from the restaurant.  Of course it wasn’t a romantic affair.  He’d stayed home so he and Vikenti could babysit their goddaughter, Nikola.  Vikenti loved Nikola and her parents, but this couldn’t have come at a worse time.  But this seemed to mean a lot to Miro.  He’d been home all day, baby-proofing the apartment.  Eli had promised that Nikola would come everything she needed, but that didn’t stop Miro from spending his day in a store, shopping like they had when Nikola had first come home from the east.  They had a miniature nursery in their living room.

“Miro, calm down.”  Vikenti told him with a kiss.  “She’s four months old.  She as long as we keep her diaper dry and her belly full, we’ll be the best things in the world.”

Miro kissed him back, but it was hurried, obligatory.  “I love you, Vikti, but babies require a lot more than just putting something in one end and removing it from the other.”

“Your first night off since we started dating again, and this is how you want to spend it?” Vikenti stepped out of the kitchen and preoccupied himself with folding a blanket.  This was so sudden.  Miro didn’t take nights off lightly, and this was the first that didn’t have a medical emergency involved.

Eli knocking at the door interrupted any conversation they might have.  He looked handsome in his suit, and excited for his night with Viktoriya.  Vikenti took Nikola from her father’s arms.  He seemed relieved to be free of the burden, if only for a night.

“I can’t thank you two enough for this.” Eli was pulled into a hug by Miro, and then Vikenti.  “Tonight means so much to Vika and I.”

“We’re happy to take her for a night.” Miro gushed, taking her bag from Eli.  “And I don’t want to hear another word about reimbursement.  I don’t want this to be the last time we borrow her.  She’s welcome here any time.”

Miro eagerly took Nikola from Vikenti’s arms.  He took her to the couch and sat down, playing with the little girl.  Holding that baby made him so happy.  There was something going on here.  All these months, living practically apart with Vikenti only seeing Miro in the narrow window when he wasn’t in the restaurant.  Miro must have some thought trapped in his mind.  Vikenti felt bad for not seeing it.

“How’s the search going?” Eli asked Vikenti in a quiet tone.  It wasn’t exactly confidential, and Vikenti always told Miro as much as he could about his days.

“Impossible.  Everyone wants a piece of this.  There are some outrageous characters in that pile.  One captain simply wrote, ‘I hate France.’  Oh yes.  We have a prisoner overseas, and he’s been interned for fifteen years. Let’s call the guy that hates France.” Vikenti shook his head.

“I had half a thought to put in a petition myself.”  Eli gave a laugh.  “Viktoriya would kill me if she found out.”

“She would.  But she’s the problem.  This should be her assignment.  Giving it to anyone else seems wrong, and an inflation of ego.” Vikenti laughed with him, but the matter was quiet serious.

“It’s all wrong.  It was Horowitz that saved Mischa from internment in the first place, and now we’re saving Mischa from Horowitz.” Eli ran a hand through is hair. “It’s too much to think about.”

“Then don’t think about it.  It’s my job to pick the team.  Go enjoy dinner with your wife.” Vikenti dismissed Eli, shoving the other man out the door with a smile.  He really did want Eli to have a good night.

Vikenti sat beside Miro and watched his boyfriend cradle their goddaughter.  They’d only seen her a few times since Viktoriya and Eli had returned to Moscow.  She was still small, but getting bigger.  Miro had taken her coat and had off, so she didn’t over heat.  Now she bounced on his knee, giggling.

Miro smiled at her, then looked to Vikenti. “You just want to go back to work, don’t you?”

“It’s important, Miro.  A man’s freedom hangs in the balance.” Vikenti argued.

“I understand that.  But why don’t you just examine the service records of the candidates that stand out to you? Then you select the top five and send them together.  There’s not fight over glory, it’s a cooperative mission.” Miro suggested, his attention back on Nikola.  It was all so simple.  Why had Vikenti not seen it?

“God made you smart and hot, Miroslavl.” He leaned over to kiss the other man.  Vikenti was suddenly frustrated with Nikola again.  Miro slid closer to Vikenti, leaning into the kiss.  He felt Miro’s hand on his chest, then slide up to his neck.  Vikenti put his hand to Miro’s cheek, and let it slip through his hair.  He tugged the elastic ring out of his dark hair, letting it fall down around his face.  And then Nikola started to fuss.

“To be continued, Vikti.  When she goes to bed.” Miro promised.  It sounded like a practiced line, like they’ve been saying it for weeks.  Vikenti was left on the couch, watching Miro hush and calm the baby.

“Why did you volunteer to babysit, Miro?” Vikenti asked, he tried to keep any suspicion out of his voice.

“I thought Eli and Viktoriya could use the night away from the baby.” Miro struggled to figure out what the baby needed.  She was dry, she didn’t want milk, and she didn’t want to play.  He was at a loss.  The panic was almost comical if not for the crying baby.

“There weren’t any other reasons for wanting to babysit Nikola?  Here, let me have her?” Vikenti held out his arms.  Miro handed the baby over.  Nikola was still fussy in Vikenti’s arms.  He cradled her, spoke to her softly, anything he could try to do to calm her.  Both men were helpless.  Miro went to the diaper bag, pulling out toys.  When tried to put a pacifier in her mouth, the baby spit it back at him.  She wasn’t fussy any more.  Now Nikola was practically screaming.

Twenty minutes dragged by.  Vikenti suggested calling Viktoriya and Eli at the restaurant. Miro dismissed the idea.  He was sure they could solve this problem.  Miro typed furiously on his computer trying to look up common reasons a four month old would get upset.  Vikenti didn’t need to research the answer.  He already knew it.  Nikola was a baby.  All she could do was cry.  It was the only way she knew to communicate. 

And then as suddenly as it started, the crying stopped.  Miro looked up, eager to see what Vikenti had done to quiet her.  But Vikenti hadn’t done anything.  He sat on the couch where Miro had left him.  Nikola laying with belly against Vikenti’s chest.  Her dark violet eyes were half closed with her little thumb between her lips.

“What did you do?” Miro whispered, his eyes wide in disbelief.

Vikenti shrugged as much as he dared. He whispered as he rubbed her back, “I don’t know.  I set her against my chest to get my phone out.  And then she just…”

“What you asked before…” Miro began, settling right in next to Vikenti.

Vikenti put his arm around Miro, letting his boyfriend take over the task of stroking the baby’s back.  “About us babysitting?  Yeah, why are we doing this?”

“I volunteered us to watch her because they needed a night away… But also I wanted to see if we’d make good parents.”  Miro finally relented.  He let out a sigh.  “Eli makes it look a lot easier.”

“Sure, he makes it look easy in public.  And he doesn’t tell you how he was up all night, changing diapers and washing spit up out of Viktoriya’s favorite tee shirt.  They had to figure this all out at first too.”  Vikenti told him, rubbing his arm and giving him a kiss.

“And she had her mother and her sister-in-law to help her too.  Can you imagine Viktoriya singing a lullaby to Nikola?” Miro chucked softly.

“No, but I can imagine Eli singing on to his dogs.” Vikenti laughed with him.  “You’ll make a good father.”

“So will you.” Miro rested against Vikenti’s shoulder.

“But…” Vikenti started slowly, “A baby, a child, a family is a lot of sacrifice.  If we were to bring baby into this world tomorrow, how would we function as a family?  You would have to leave the restaurant, or I would have to leave the Prizrak Rytsarya.  And that’s still only one parent.  You’re barely home, Miro.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to you or the child with me away so much.” Miro agreed softly.

“You are such an amazing chef, you know I’d never ask you to give your dream.  It was your cooking that brought us back together.” Vikenti didn’t realize the conversation they were beginning to have until they were having it.

“I bet Kaminski would let you set flexible hours for the outreach.  I doubt a place like that would be open past six, or on the weekends.”  Miro suggested.

“What about the restaurant?” Vikenti asked cautiously.

“Cooking is my passion, Vikti, not being a chef. I can cook for you, and Eli and Viktoriya.  Maybe when the time is right, open something of my own.  I could do lessons, be a butcher, or have a deli.  But those are all Miroslavl plans.  They aren’t Vikenti and Miroslavl plans.  I want to have plans with you, not just have plans also.”  Miro told him.

“So, what is your idea of a Miro and Vikti plan?”  Vikenti asked curiously.  Nikola had fallen asleep, and Miro was actually able to relocate her to the travel crib he’d purchased.

“No,” Miro shook his head, “Our idea of a Miro and Vikti plan.  If this is our life together, we need to decide it together.”  Once again, Miro was thinking more clearly than Vikenti had been.  It was like it had been preying on Miro’s mind while Vikenti had been distracted with work.

Vikenti didn’t know what to say.  While Miro tucked Nikola away in her crib, Vikenti slipped back to the kitchen.  The easiest way to have this conversation was to make both of them comfortable – or drunk.  He found took out a bottle of wine and tried to open it as quietly as he could.  He put a glass of red wine in Miro’s hand as his boyfriend returned to the kitchen.

“Thank you, Vikti.” Miro took a sip with a thoughtful look.  But he wasn’t thinking about the wine.  Vikenti watched him set the glass down.  “This past year had been a crazy test for me.  For my heart.  When you came back, out of nowhere, I was scared.  You’d hurt me before.  Every time you left after Christmas was over, it was the night in the truck over again. Over, and over again.  And then there you were, asking for another chance.  A real chance.  I didn’t know if I should give it to you, but I did.  And the first few months were great, but after you got shot… I watched you disappear.  You were still there, on my couch, all day, but your spirit wasn’t there anymore.  I’m always afraid that will happen again.  And Vikti… I don’t care if we have kids or not.  Well, I do care about the kids.  You know about my luck with goats.”  He paused for a laugh.  Vikenti laughed with him, but he was nervous.  He knew how much pain he’d put Miro through, but it was worse hearing Miro say it.

Vikenti was ashamed of what he’d done to Miro.  He’d taken him for granted.  That he could simply return to Moscow, announce that he was staying, and expecting Miroslavl to just drop everything in his life to come to Vikenti’s side.  He always assumed Miro would be there for him.  Vikenti took a gulp of wine.  Then another.  He’d finished his glass.  When he reached for the bottle to pour another glass, Miro stopped him.

“Not right now, Vikti.  I need your attention right now.” Miro said, his hand was on Vikenti’s wrist.  He had already set his own glass down, and took Vikenti’s glass away too.  “I love you.  Can you promise me, that you will always give me everything you can?  Always give me all the love you can?  Can you promise me that you’ll always try your best?  And to put us first?”

“Miro…” Vikenti looked worried.

“Vikenti. Can you promise me that?” Miro’s eyes met his.  He was determined.  His whole heart was wrapped up in Vikenti’s answer.

On the day he had come out, Miroslavl told Vikenti that he was brave and asked to borrow his courage.  Now Miro the brave one, putting his heart on the line.  Vikenti hoped he’d do right by Miro.  “I promise, Miroslavl, that I will always do my best, to make you happy.  To always love you, and protect you.  You are my world Miro.”

“In that case…” Miro, moved closer to him.  “Vikenti Kozlov, will you marry me?”

Vikenti’s eyes went wide.  He’d imagined them married several times over the past year, and more in the past ten, but he never imagined that Miro would propose.  Maybe Miro was just done waiting for Vikenti. “Marry you? Of course I will, Miro!”

There was no ring – Miro must not have been planning to do this tonight, or it just came to him then.  Maybe it was the idea of a life together that made asking urgent.  They celebrated with kissing and more wine instead.  They tried to go slow, and keep quiet, mindful that there was sleeping baby not too far away.  Once again to Vikenti’s surprise it was Miro that raised his voice so loud that Nikola woke up.  He urged Vikenti not to leave, holding his shoulders, grasping at his wrists.

“I’m sure she’s just startled.  I’ll calm her down and she’ll go right back to sleep.” Vikenti promised as he pulled away from Miro even as his boyfriend – no, his fiancé fought to keep him close.

“Be quick… Please Vikti.” Miro pleaded.  Vikenti walked away with a smirk.  Miro always tried his best to be polite and even tempered, but in the kitchen or in love, he was anything but.  Passionate, demanding, lost in himself, Miro perform miracles. He wouldn’t be finished until he was completely satisfied. And not just with food. 

Unfortunately, Nikola was not quieted easily.  She had wet her diaper, but even after a change – surprisingly difficult task for Vikenti, she fussed.  Vikenti tried everything he knew, bouncing her in his arms, singing to her, and playing with her.  Eli had told them Nikola fed just before he dropped her off.  Vikenti tried to feed her again just the same.  Nikola turned her head from the bottle.  She spit out pacifiers.  For the second time that night, Vikenti felt helpless to the baby in his arms.

“You still want a baby, Miro?” Vikenti called out over the shrill tears.

“Eli said you wanted a baby!” Miro shouted back, only raising his voice to be heard.

“I wanted to adopt an older child like I was! He knew that!” Vikenti shook his head, trying to sooth Nikola against his chest. He hoped whatever he’d done before would work again.

“If we want a family, we’ll need a bigger place, Vikti.  Maybe that condominium we looked at for Viktoriya and Elijah?” Miro suggested.  Vikenti couldn’t believe they were having this conversation over the sound of baby crying.  But he was right.  “We need a place of our own to start a life together.”

“Maybe that one above the grocer.  It’s around the corner from Elijah and Viktoriya’s house.  It’s close to the restaurant.  It’s not far from the base either.” Vikenti spoke over Nikola’s tears.  She had quieted, but not calmed.  Maybe she’d just run out of tears, or tire herself out.

“That one was nice.  It needed a lot of work though… Oh, that’s why you want it.  You’ll fix it up, won’t you?” A knowing smile spread across Miro’s face.

“I want to build us a home like I would have if we still lived at home.  The area is beautiful.  But we can decide that later.  We have time.  There is something I want to do right away.”  Vikenti told him with a laugh.

“Oh, what’s that?” Miro finally came out of the kitchen.  He took Nikola from Vikenti’s arms, hoping to work some miracle on her.

“After I turn in my reporting list to Kaminski, I’m going to take the leave I missed during the holiday.  I want you to take off too.  We’ll go home, and tell our parents together.  Maybe even get married there.  I love you, but I want our families to be there too.  They’ve always supported us and our love.”  Vikenti leaned in to plant a kiss on Miro’s cheek.

In the cacophony of crying and conversation, Vikenti almost didn’t hear the knock on the door.  The men shared a look of confusion.  Miro was the one to answer the door, ready to apologize for the noise, but it was unnecessary.

“Eli? What are you doing here?” Miro asked, stepping aside to let their friend in.

“We aren’t ready to be away from her for this long yet.  Dinner was lovely.  Well, what we ate.  We didn’t even finish our entrees, but Vika was a mess.  She tried to call three times.” Eli explained as he walked in.  He took Nikola from Vikenti’s arms.

“She was sleeping, but then woke up and wouldn’t stop crying.” Vikenti tried to explain.

Eli held his daughter in one arm and caressed her cheek with the other hand.  He didn’t bounce her, but swayed a little. “Shh, Nikola… Nikola… Don’t cry.  Don’t cry.”  To Eli’s embarrassment, she continued to cry.

“Maybe she needs her mother?” Miro suggested as he packed up Nikola’s bag.

“It’s a possibility.  Vika’s waiting down in the car.  Thank you so much for taking her, the gesture was so kind, Miro, Vikenti.  I’m sorry I had to call the practice run early.”  Eli apologized again as he collected all her things.

“No, no.  This was very eye opening for both of us.  We do not know how to take care of a baby.” Vikenti laughed.  Eli laughed with him on his way to the door.  They said their good byes and suddenly there was silence.  It was strange.

There was some sounds.  Miro was in the kitchen, cleaning up the wine glasses, and whatever other dishes needed to be washed.  Vikenti started to take apart the travel crib, and put it away.  Quietly, their apartment became theirs again.

“Vikti?” Miro asked as Vikenti slid the folded up crib into a closet.  “I was thinking about our plans...”

“What about them?” Vikenti answered.  He was going to into the kitchen to talk to Miro, but his fiancé was already on his way to meet Vikenti in the hall.  All the lights were turned off.

“Let’s take our time.  Enjoy our life together before adding to it.  I want a family with you, but we don’t have to do everything all at once.” Miro told him, taking his hand, and leading him to the bedroom.

            On his second day in the hospital, Yuri decided to admit himself into long-term care.  He was proud of the choice he made.  Long-term meant for the future.  He was deciding there was a future for himself.  Dr. Csilla took him to his new room, something more similar to a hotel suite than a hospital bed.  He had a nice bed – not a cot, but a bed with a mattress and down filled comforter and a quilt.  He had a window with a view of snow covered trees.  He had a full bathroom – it even had a tub.  There were towels and sheets, and quilts.  There was a receiving area for visitors.  There was a shelf for the personal effects he didn’t have, and a dresser for the clothes he didn’t have.  But it seemed like a nice place.  Maybe even a home.

He decorated the wall of his receiving area with his therapy schedule.  Dr. Csilla sat down with him to help set reasonable goals for Yuri’s recovery.  He had assignments, which excited him.  It was a purpose for him.  A reason to get up.  For all that he complained that Mischa babied him in Solange’s prison, or Anton before him, Yuri liked having a book report due in two weeks.  He liked having an on-going art project, or keeping a journal.  He attended group therapy, and though he didn’t say much, it felt nice to see other faces, even if some wore gruesome scars.  Yuri wore scars too, just not on his face.

Docia – as Nurse Feodocia Blom insisted she call him, had taken him into Moscow the morning after he was an official resident.  She said if he was staying, he’d need basic necessities.  Kaminski had worked some miracles with the bureaucracy, and delivered Yuri’s identification just two days after they met for his statement.  With it was a generous stipend, and promise of back pay for time imprisoned.  They’d given him more than enough to get what he needed.  Docia treated to breakfast, and over blini and tea, they made a list of what he’d need.  It hadn’t taken long to buy toothpaste or pick out a shampoo he liked.  It was harder to buy clothes.  He’d spent so long in filthy rags and uniforms, Yuri had forgotten what it was to have clothes.  He tried things on, had measurements taken, felt fabrics, and suffered the questioning of sales people.  It made him uncomfortable, anxious, and at one point, even dangerous, like he might hurt the people just doing their job.  His muscles tensed, jaw clenched, and coiled his mind like a viper, ready to strike.  Before he unleash a mental attack, he felt Docia’s hand on his shoulder.  A calm radiated from her touch.  He wondered if that was her vlast’.  Maybe it was just him being relieved that someone was there to protect him.  Just the same, nice.

Yuri tried not to stay in his room.  While he wasn’t the most social patient at the hospital, he didn’t want to be isolated either.  He was reading his book in the recreation area, wearing one of the new shirts and pair of jeans Docia had picked out for him.  He got distracted easily by a soccer game on the television across the room.  He was so distracted, he didn’t hear someone come up beside him.

“How is that book?” A soft female voice asked.  Yuri was startled, and hoped it didn’t show.  He didn’t want to offend her.  He didn’t want to offend anyone here.  The girl that surprised Yuri was a small thing.  Well she looked that way.  Maybe she was taller than she seemed, definitely older than he first thought.  The wheelchair made her look frail, but she had to use it.  Under her white sweater and floral dress, she only had one leg.

Yuri tried not to stare at her one leg.  He tried to notice other things about her.  Her nails were painted black.  Her hair was dyed a washed out shade of blue, like the first light of dawn, but black at the roots.  She had a dimple on her left cheek, but not her right.  Her skin was pale but not the same pale white as his. Her face was round, beautiful and with a challenging smile, and her almond shaped eyes were a brilliant amber-gold and sparkled with life.  Belatedly, Yuri remembered that he’d asked her a question. “Oh, uh.  It’s strange.  The narrator is telling a series of just the worse events he could possibly suffer, but he tells it like it’s just a bad day.  Like he’s just going to wake up and be behind him.”

“Yeah.  Well, sometimes, that’s how you have to look at life.” She told him, her voice was not meek.  She’d only softened her tone as not to startle him.

“I think that’s why Dr. Csilla gave it to me.”  He put a marker in his book and offered her his hand. “I’m Yuri.”

“Zifa.” She said shaking his hand firmly. “Did you have lunch yet, Yuri?”

“No, I didn’t.  Is that an invitation?” Yuri even managed a smile.

“If you’re pushing, how can I say no?” She jerked a thumb toward the handles of her wheelchair.

“I guess you won’t mind holding this, huh?” Yuri dared to joke, dropping his book in her lap.  He didn’t realize he was nervous until she laughed.  As Yuri got up to push her chair, Zifa would point in the direction for him to go, urging him on as if he were her horse.

Zifa made a circuitous path to the commissary, going down halls and up new ones.  Yuri was hopeless lost, but as long as she knew where they were, he didn’t worry.  Though, after five minutes, Yuri began to wonder if she was even leading him to the commissary.  They were in a residential hall, and those were usually positioned away from the louder, common areas.  It wasn’t Yuri’s hall, either.  His hall was painted a mint green, and there was landscape painting hanging above the nurse’s station. It had been done by a patient.  No, he wasn’t in his hall.  This hall was painted a soft salmon, and he didn’t even know where the nurse’s station was.

“In here, Yuri.” Zifa said, stopping him, and wheeling herself to the door.  No doors in the hospital had locks, but there was a general understanding that if a door was shut, and wasn’t answered when you knocked, the occupant was either out, or not interested in company.  For Zifa to let herself in must mean that it was her room.

The momentary joy of wheeling Zifa through the hospital was through and left Yuri feeling strange. Was she already done with him?  Maybe she just needed something from her room that was required to meal.  Maybe some kind of medication to be taken with food, or timed so many hours after a last dose.  He stood in the doorway of her room as Zifa wheeled inside.  He tried not to invade her privacy with his gaze. What was inside was hers, and if she was like Yuri, it might be all she had.

Zifa was taking a while.  He didn’t understand why.  Maybe she didn’t want to eat with him, and was hiding herself in her room until he gave up and left.  That was not the case.  “Yuri?  Are you coming in?”

He stepped inside, slowly.  One foot at a time.  One step at a time.  Her room was physically identical to his, but her walls were salmon, like the hall, and her furniture white instead of his light maple. Zifa had gotten out of her chair, and was sitting on her bed, on a quilt that was her own.  It looked old, as if it had been in her family.  Zifa was peeling the white sweater away from her bare shoulders.  Yuri’s eyes widened at the sight of skin.  Was he intruding? No.  She had just called him in.  Should he shut the door?  This seemed private.  Why was he seeing this?

“Close the door, Yuri.  Come on! Quickly!” There was more rustling of fabric along with her voice as Yuri closed the door quickly.  He tried to be quiet.  Surely she wouldn’t appreciate him slamming her door.  When Yuri turned back, Zifa was nearly naked in her bed, clad only in a blue pair of panties.  She had meant to shock him.  She had succeeded.

Yuri goggled at Zifa’s body.  Her skin seemed to glow with a golden tint.  Anywhere he looked, something new and surprising.  Her stomach was mostly flat, just a few ounces of fat at her belly and on the curve of her hips.  The muscles of her arms were defined.  He could trace them through her skin.  Zifa delighted at the awe.  She had full breasts, and wasn’t shy to show him – or shock him.  Maybe she didn’t mean for her bare breasts to shock him but her legs.  One was graceful.  Taut muscles under soft skin.  Her other was…

Zifa’s leg had been amputated a little higher than half way up her thigh.  Black metal studded her skin near the point of amputation.  They looked like ports or bolt holes.  Yuri might have seen a wire in one of the hole, but he didn’t want to stare.  Or stare longer than he had.  The skin at the site was sewn tight, expertly.  There was no knot of skin at the end, no bulge of what used to be her leg.  There wasn’t even a scar.  Her leg just ended there, just another graceful curve, though it was distracting one.

Everything about the way Zifa posed herself, invited Yuri in.  Her lack of clothes, her arched back, pushing her breasts out.  She was presenting herself to him.  Her legs were splayed, promising him ease of access.  A ball of guilt built up in his stomach.  He wanted to touch her, but he wasn’t sure he should – if Zifa really wanted it, or if Zifa was used to it for survival.

He felt bad again, for assuming a woman in a military hospital must have been abused sexually.  That a woman couldn’t take charge of her sexuality, and demand what she wanted from a man.  Zifa approached him.  She led him here.  She stripped her clothes away and posed for him.  He’d only said yes to lunch.

It wasn’t that Yuri didn’t like what he saw, or that he didn’t want what she offered.  She was beautiful, and she was a woman.  He might not have said yes if she come out and asked him to come into her room – but just because you pass on a dish, that doesn’t mean you aren’t hungry.  His eyes wandered her body again.  He only needed to reach out his arm to touch her, let his hand grace her skin.  And he wanted to touch her.  So badly, he wanted to feel the soft flesh of her hips, or her breasts.  You can’t complain that you’re hungry if some offered you a dish.

Yuri pulled off his shirt, and removed his belt.  He let his jeans fall to his knees.  Yuri felt a little embarrassed, having to pause to pull his pants from his legs, but he tried to push it aside.  His back straightened, his arms hung at his side, as Zifa looked at him.  Yuri was trying to match what she had done.  Show her nearly everything at once.  The pallid skin on his arm, where his cast had been.  His gaunt cheeks.  His ribs showing through his skin. Scars and bruises.  He wasn’t the man he used to be.  His beautiful auburn curls had been shaved off.  His grey eyes were clouded with confusion, concern, worry, paranoia.  Muscles had shrunk away with malnutrition.  Fat stores had been depleted to nothing.

If it was simply therapy, it was a strange experiment in confrontation.  If it was an ice breaker, it was even stranger.  Zifa pushed off of her arms, and reached for his hips.  He knew she could feel his skin move over his pelvic bone.  She urged him closer positioning him between her legs.  He still hadn’t touched her.  His hands found her shoulders – he’d wanted her breasts, but keeping contact with her eyes, he had been moving blindly.  Still, he was happy to feel warm skin under his hands.

Her lips were on his, moving against his, inspiring his.  Zifa’s hands worked to remove all Yuri had left.  Yuri gently pushed her on to her back and did the same.  Naked in her bed.  Poised over top a beautiful woman.  Yuri didn’t think about where he was.  He wanted to enjoy what she was offering.  Yuri didn’t think about her leg – honestly he didn’t care what parts she did or didn’t have.  Zifa made him feel like a young man again.  She made him forget about the past fifteen years.

The sex wasn’t glamourous. It wasn’t graceful.  It wasn’t romantic, loving or poetic.  It was, however, passionate.  Yuri was hungry for her, and Zifa was loud.  He wanted to take the time to explore her body with his hands lips – an act he spied from Elijah’s mind with much jealousy, but Yuri was too impatient.  He’d do it next time.  If there was a next time.  Zifa had given him nothing but her name and her body.  The second she had given generously.  As a naïve man in a previous life, Yuri didn’t think the woman played much role in sex.  He had been wrong.  Zifa had as much control as he did.  And what she did with it inspired the man to call out as loudly as she did.

He’d wanted it to last longer than it did.  That wasn’t fair to either of them.  Yuri wanted it to last the rest of his life, and for once that wasn’t a morbid insinuation of death wish.  He didn’t even know how long he’d been in her room, in her bed or, well… in her.  He smirked at the crude thought.  It was a poor joke, but he liked being able to make it.

“I’m not going to solve all your problems, Yuri.” Zifa said suddenly, breaking the silence of their post-coital rest.

“I didn’t ask you to.” He said cautiously.  Yuri wondered what he’d done to her, what test he had failed, to make her say such a thing.

“No…” She said, shaking her head.  Her blue tresses tossed around, tickling Yuri’s arm.  It was awkward, crammed together side by side in Zifa’s small hospital bed.  They had not been designed for sex. At least there was plenty of leg room.  He instantly regretted that last thought, afraid she’d know.  If she did – which was unlikely, Zifa didn’t let it show.  “But you were going to think I was.  Maybe not right away, but eventually.”

“Zifa, I just met you.  This was just sex.  At least let me have my lunch before we start disappointing each other.”  Yuri felt bad for saying it, but right now it was the truth.  What he knew about her was limited.  Her first name, Zifa.  Why she was at the hospital, leg amputation.  Where did she have birthmark, two just to the right of her navel.  He wasn’t sure if she was going to let him learn more, or if he wanted to.  He’d never been a relationship kind of man before, and with less to offer a potential date, there was no reason to start.

“You actually just wanted lunch, didn’t you?” Zifa wondered.  She wore a smirk to hide her surprise.

“Well once you got naked, I wasn’t going to say ‘No, I was promised a meal.’  After fifteen years, the first woman I meet that isn’t a doctor shimmies her clothes off after knowing just my name and is attractive too?  No, I wasn’t saying no to that.” Yuri explained.  He was getting cold, but didn’t want to be the first to reach for his clothes.  He wasn’t sure what they were, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“Let’s go have lunch.  I want to know more about you, Yuri.” Zifa said after a moment.  They slid past each other to get dressed.  His hand moved over her body, his intention to just let her know where he was, but as he moved out of her way, his hand caressed the place where her leg was and wasn’t anymore.  He paused, but didn’t flinch.  Their eyes met for a moment.  She closed the distance between them, kissing his lips.  It was an intimate gesture.  It was something from Elijah and Viktoriya’s memories, not his.

Yuri dressed himself quickly.  The kiss stuck in his mind as he watched Zifa dress herself. Her dress was forgotten on the floor.  She didn’t put on another demure sweater.  Balanced on her one foot, Zifa stood at her dresser.  She put on her bra, pulled on a tee shirt.  He was impressed that she could do it all while standing on just one foot.  She had to sit down on the bed to put on a clean pair of panties and her jeans, but he was still impressed.  Barefoot, she hopped over to her chair and sat down, putting the Yuri’s book in her lap.

“Ready?” He asked.  Yuri opened the door, and Zifa wheeled herself out.  He didn’t want to presume to push her.  She seemed to protect her pride in strange ways, and didn’t want to offend what might be a new friend.

“Ready.  I hope the hot meal is good today.” Zifa wheeled herself beside him. He tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t make him sound stupid.

“I don’t think I’ve eaten lunch in the commissary before.  I’ve only been her a few days, and I’m usually with Dr. Csilla during the lunch hours.” Yuri offered.  He hoped it was enough.

“It’s not much different from the dinner menu.  Just smaller portions.” She must find him boring, Yuri told himself.  They were talking about lunch menus.

“That’s fine with me.  I’m on a small portion diet.  I’m malnourished.  It’s weird, right?  That I’m malnourished, so they give me less?  But I get it.  My body can’t handle all the solid foods I want to eat.  I’ll feel too full, and get sick.”  What an embarrassing thing to say.  I can’t eat or I’ll vomit.  Aren’t you glad you had sex with me?

“So what did the doctor put you on?” She asked, sounding genuinely interested.

“Small portions, and to try to have a protein shake during the day as a snack.  I’ve only had one so far.  Nasty chalky stuff.  But … I’ll keeping drinking them.  Because I want to get better.” Yuri couldn’t hide his pride in those last words.  It was his mantra.  I want to get better.  He hung it on the back of his room door, next to his bed, on his calendar, or anywhere else he looked frequently.

There was a break in conversation while they got their food.  Yuri got the fish option – lemon salmon cakes on an herb yogurt and a salad.  Zifa chose the pumpkin curry over rice.  It smelled good, but the rich orange color made Yuri afraid it would be too spicy for him.  Together they found an empty table to eat at.  There weren’t many others there, so the room was quiet.

“I bet you are wondering what all that in my room was about.” Zifa said, seemingly out of nowhere.  She was undeniably direct.

“A little, yes.  Unless you just needed to work up an appetite.”  It was a stupid attempt at a joke.  It wasn’t even a little funny.

“I haven’t had the best luck since my accident.  Men see me as a friend. A great cute friend.  But a friend.  They can’t see past my leg.”  She pushed her curry around the plate absently.

“So you took off all your clothes and seduced me?” Yuri tried to meet her eyes, but she was fixed on her plate.

“I wanted to make you look at it.  So I could judge you for staring at my breasts instead, or just walking out altogether.  And you stared at my breasts but, it’s not like you ignored my leg.”  Zifa finally looked up at him, embarrassed to admit her plot.  Embarrassed to be foiled. “You’re different.  Whatever you’ve been through… You came out with more than you had.”

Yuri watched her eat.  He tried to eat his own, but his stomach wasn’t with him.  Her words hung in his mind.  If only she knew where he’d been.  What he’d done.  Zifa thought seeing her as a whole person was the greatest kindness.  He’d done her no great favor.  Yuri looked away from Zifa.  He didn’t want to see the look in her eyes when she realized what he was.

“You regret it, don’t you?” Zifa said.  The table felt a mile wide.

“No, that isn’t it.” Yuri was quick to assure her.  He hoped it wasn’t too sudden, that it wouldn’t sound like an empty denial.  “The last time I had sex… It wasn’t exactly consensual.  My captor wanted a baby and took what she needed until she had one.  She drugged me with cocktail that suited her needs.”

Another silence hung between them.  He had been raped.  She had seduced a rape victim.  He’d agreed to have sex with her, but there was still a lingering guilt.  Yuri didn’t have to be in her mind to know it.  Yuri had told the story a few times in the past few days.  To Zifa, to Dr. Csilla, to his therapist, to Kaminski.  No one was sure what to do the knowledge.  It just hung between them, uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry, Zifa.  I wish we had eaten first, so that I could warn you about me.  Then I wouldn’t make you feel bad about any of this.”  Yuri was practically apologizing for talking to her in the first place.

“You feel guilty for enjoying sex with me, after what’s happened to you?” Zifa’s question seemed a little out of place, but it was close to the truth.

“I know I’m safe, but part of me is afraid it’s all a fever dream of a dying man.  I don’t want it to be a dream.  But if this is all real, then I also have to face the consequences of everything that I’ve done, and has been done to me.”  Yuri put his fork down.  He wouldn’t be eating any more.  “Happiness is unsettling right now.”

“I lost my leg in an accident.  I was testing a technology that was powered by telekinesis.  A motorcycle-like vehicle, with a clean fuel engine, because I was the fuel.  I loved the idea of it.  A toy that was all mine, and mine alone.  It didn’t matter if it was stolen, because only I could make it work.  But I pushed it too hard, and the designer forgot that lubrication was needed for all the inner workings.  The friction made the engine hot.  I burnt my leg.  But that wasn’t enough.  In the panic, my pant leg got caught.  I was so focused on getting my leg free, that I crashed the vehicle.  When it fell on me, I shattered my ankle and knee. My skin looked like jerky.  It smelled bacon.” Zifa told him her story. “I’m a vegetarian now.”

“So, you’re telekinetic?”  Yuri asked.  If they talked about her, he didn’t have to think about himself.

“Yes, and a weak telepath.” She nodded.  He watched her eat a fork full of her curry.  He hoped she wasn’t uncomfortable under his gaze.

“How did you get into the testing?”  Yuri had a new image of Zifa.  She was a dangerous test pilot, risking her life to bring new toys to the Prizrak Rytsarya.  He was surprised that she didn’t have any tattoos.  They would suit her personality.  In his mind, she was wild.  In his mind, she wouldn’t be tamed.  He could see her getting out of the hospital, and getting right back into the test program.

“I was a pilot, but recruited for the project specifically.  They were looking telekinetics in the transport program.” Zifa explained.  “I never met the designer of the vehicle.  I never met the testing director.  I did accidentally over hear a phone call that led me to believe they wanted more from me.  More testing.  More trials.”

“I was a telepath of moderate skill.  And my brother was a director of a training program for telepaths.  To take weaker telepaths and elevate their skill.  To take strong telepaths, and turn them into… I don’t even know.  He didn’t want me in the program.  He didn’t believe I could be helped, or made better.  During my captivity, I was tortured.  And my telepathy… It changed.  It was warped into a new ugly thing.”  Yuri told her, offering some of himself to her.

“You are a psion.” She didn’t need to be told.  Every telepath knew the story.  Every telepath knew what could be.  He could only nod.  It wasn’t something he wore with pride.  There was only one confirmed psion that he knew of, that had overcome the madness.

Before either could say any more, someone approached their table.  It was an orderly – a meek looking man in grey scrubs.  He offered a smile, but felt bad about interrupting the patients’ lunch.  “Mr. Utkin?”

“Yes?” Yuri asked quietly.  He looked at the man, his name plate read “Matvei”, and remembered him.  Matvei had helped clean Yuri up after he vomited on himself on his second night.  He’d been sympathetic, and nice.

“Mr. Utkin, you have guest downstairs.  Are you available to see him?” Matvei put a hand on Yuri’s shoulder.  “He said he’s an officer, Mr. Coates?”

“Oh, uh… Yes.  I’ll see him in my room.” Matvei was dismissed at the news.  Yuri looked back at Zifa. She was already gathering up her things.  His stomach tied in a knot again.

“Mr. Utkin, huh?  Visitors already, good for you.” There was hint of disappointment in her words.

“Zifa, I’m sorry… Can I…” Yuri began, but she cut him off.

“Sit with me tonight during the movie?  Yeah.  I’ll bring the popcorn.” Zifa gave him a challenging smile.

“Thank you, Zifa.  You won’t solve all my problems, but you do help me feel human again.” Yuri gave her a kiss on the cheek as he stood up.  She stopped him and kissed him on the lips.  Yuri could still feel the warmth of her lips on his mouth when he returned to his room.

Elijah was already there in his room when Yuri arrived.  It was the first time the men met in person.  Elijah wasn’t much different from his mental image of himself.  He was taller than Yuri, his dark hair pushed back away from his dark blue eyes.  Those dark blue eyes partially hidden behind a pair of glasses.  He had grown a beard, but kept it groomed and short.  It had always been fashion in culture and the Russian military to grow a beard, mostly for warmth, but Yuri suspected Elijah had grown his to try to hide the scars on his face.  They were fine silver lines, barely visible on his white face.  When he stood to greet Yuri, there was a brief look of pain.  It vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

“Yuri Utkin…“ Elijah said his name with wonder.  The disbelief of meeting a hero.  As if Yuri were some idol or celebrity to him.  Maybe it was the disbelief that of the two men he had searched for, Yuri was the one that escaped. 

For the span of their imprisonment, it was no argument that Mischa had been in better health.  He was stronger than Yuri, and had also had more hope.  He had more will for survival and more to lose.  Even after his wife’s death, Mischa still had more out there in the free world waiting for him than Yuri did.  If Yuri had to bet on a successful escape, it wouldn’t have been on himself.  But maybe that was why Yuri had been the one to escape.  After Malena’s death Mischa had gotten more cautious.  The riskiest thing he’d done was to harness Yuri’s mind, and visit Valentina a few times.  Mischa could have likely escaped in the first five years of their captivity without any real fear of repercussion.  Solange, whatever she’d wanted them for in the first place – Yuri still did not know why he had been held for more than a decade, hadn’t yet started using Yuri to kill.  They were both still fairly heathy, and the security was still relatively lax.  For two Special Forces soldiers, they should have been free long ago.  But Mischa had hesitated and Yuri’s health both – mental and physical, had declined.

Escape would still have been possible for Mischa after Malena had died.  Solange was now preoccupied with her new baby, and also afraid of the terrible rages Mischa had easily thrown himself into.  Security was still a joke.  Mischa’s biggest threat to freedom was Yuri.  If he tried to escape with him, Yuri would slow him down.  But if Mischa left Yuri behind, he was a potential weapon to be used against him.  Mischa should have killed Yuri and ran as fast as he could.

It was only when Horowitz arrived with his army of idealistic youths that Mischa was bound there.  For the first time, they were being held for a reason.  Or rather, Mischa was.  There was more security, and all eyes watched the Russian captain.  Once his biggest risk, Yuri was Mischa’s biggest hope.  He wondered if Mischa knew Yuri had escaped.  They hadn’t seen each other since the day Horowitz arrived.  Yuri had come out of a self-induced trance.  Yuri still remembered the look of betrayal on Mischa’s face when Horowitz stepped in the room.

But it was so easy to look back at the past fifteen years of his life, and analyze events so clinically.  Yuri was free now.  He was free man, standing in a room with the only man Yuri could say he admired, Elijah Coates.

“I’m sorry that everything got screwed up.” Elijah apologized in Yuri’s silence.  “I didn’t plan for any of this.  I wanted to rescue you.  You shouldn’t have had to do it on your own.”

“Elijah, what are you talking about?” Yuri asked, genuinely confused.

“You warned Viktoriya and me of the risks of us being close.  That we were your only hopes of survival, and that if something happened to us, your hope was gone.  I was shot, and then… And then I ended up here.  Viktoriya got pregnant.  We got distracted.  We put you aside.  You should have come first.” A year of guilt had weighed heavily on Elijah that much was plain.

“You wanted to put me before a baby?  Don’t be silly, Elijah.  And you didn’t put me aside.  You helped me in ways you don’t know.  Being attacked by your father, and then enlisting in the military.  You told the Prizrak Rytsarya, without words, that Prizrak come first.  Going into officer’s school, learning to trade favors, you were gaining the political clout to command.  You married into the family of a national hero, and cemented it with a child.  Your trial made you famous.  You are known friend to a Prizrak Rytsarya major, one of only an admitted four.  You got Natassia Kozlova on your side.  A woman that executed clergymen for abusing women, is willing to fight for you.  You didn’t get distracted, you were just gathering your strength.”  Yuri watched Elijah’s face.  His mouth hung open in awe at the strength of Yuri’s words, and the deft ability for him to gather so many events from his mind so quickly.  Surely a telepath as strong as Elijah would have felt Yuri move through his thoughts.

“But… That’s not why I did any of that.”  Elijah admitted.

“It doesn’t matter, because that’s what the public sees.” Yuri told him.  He finally invited Elijah to sit down again in one of the two chairs in his receiving area.  “You did it because you thought it was the right thing to do, or because Major Kozlov thought it was the right thing to do.  However you choose to see it, you will wield a considerable wealth of power in the Prizrak community, Elijah.  And I have all the trust in the world that you will be the best thing that’s ever happened to the Prizrak Rytsarya.”

Elijah was not used to being praised, at least not that highly.  His father hadn’t seen him as anything worth congratulating that much was obvious.  Viktoriya and Levi had both been generous with their words, but their relation to Elijah came with bias.  Now, from a man Elijah was sure was going to condemn him, he was being given redemption.  Or, at least that’s what Elijah’s face had told Yuri.

“I still can’t believe you’re here with us.  Oh, I brought you something.” Elijah handed Yuri a framed photograph.  It was of himself and Viktoriya, holding their daughter.  “I don’t have a lot of family left.  And I know this sounds so blindly optimistic, but I hope you will want to be part of our family, Yuri.”

“It is blindly optimistic, but to be part of a family that loves me is all I’ve ever wanted.  I barely have anything to my name, but you and Viktoriya have given me something priceless.  Thank you Elijah.”  Yuri blinked tears out of his eyes.  Elijah leaned forward to give Yuri a hug.  Yuri threw his arms around the younger man.  It was a timeless moment.  First Viktoriya, Dr. Csilla, Docia, Zifa – maybe – and now Elijah.  He was finally feeling acceptance.  It was almost too much for Yuri’s heart to bear.  When they finally pulled away, Yuri felt different.  He felt new, reborn.  He didn’t have to be the monster if he didn’t want to be.  He could be more.  He could be human again as long as people believed he was.  And people did.

Elijah left when it was time for Yuri to go physical therapy.  He’d left Yuri with their address in Moscow, and their numbers if he needed or wanted to reach them.  Elijah had left open invitation, and promised they’d visit again soon.  Yuri’s steps were light as he found his way to the gym.  His session was tough on an empty stomach, but he worked through it.  Despite not having lunch, Yuri had a renewed energy.  His therapist praised him for his progress, and dismissed Yuri with a smile.

Yuri looked for Zifa during dinner, but a blue head of hair was nowhere to be seen.  He ate alone, pacing himself.  The food wasn’t great, but he finished it.  He occupied his time in the hours before the movie started in the recreation room.  He read more of his book – now more than half way finished, he showered, put on clean clothes and tried to groom himself.

After he put cologne on, Yuri realized that he was getting ready for a date.  Watching a movie with Zifa and twenty-some other patients wasn’t a date.  It was a recreational function in a hospital.  Yuri shook his head.  He knew what was happening.  He saw Elijah and Viktoriya’s happiness and was jealous.  After so spending so long alone, he wanted what they had.  Happiness, companionship, love.  Zifa had given him physical affection, and his mind he was confusing that for an emotional connection.  She warned him not to do it, but he’d done it anyway.  He thought her love would save him.

Yuri considered not going to the movie, and standing Zifa up.  It wouldn’t change anything for the better.  Zifa would assume his snub was over her leg, not because he was confused over his emotions.  His emotions wouldn’t change if stayed in his room.  His thoughts would likely fester in his loneliness.  He might grow to hate Zifa for her inability to love him, though he never asked her to, and should have expected her to after just one afternoon.  His feelings made him sick.  Yuri had to fight to keep his dinner in his stomach.  Ultimately, he decided to go.  It wouldn’t fix the way he felt, but it certainly wouldn’t make things worse.

Zifa was waiting in the back of the room, with a bag of popcorn in her lap.  She didn’t search the room for him like he had at dinner, but she smiled when he walked up.  “I was starting to think that you weren’t going to come.”

“I almost didn’t.”  He said honestly.

“What didn’t you want to see? Me or the movie?” Zifa hid any hurt feelings well, but the dim light of the room was to her advantage.

“It wasn’t about you.  But it was in away.  Let’s just try to enjoy the movie.” Yuri waved the question aside.  Zifa didn’t seem pleased, but she didn’t say anything more about it.  They didn’t speak again until they found pair of seats, well one seat on the end of a row.  Zifa had her own seat.

“How was the visit with your friend?” She asked.  Yuri didn’t know if her soft tone was due to offense, or if she was just respectful to the other patient around them.

“It was nice.  He brought me a picture of his daughter.” Yuri didn’t know what else to call Elijah’s visit.  He didn’t want to tell Zifa that he’d been weeping openly in a young man’s arms.

“How old is she?” Maybe she really wasn’t offended by Yuri’s comment about not coming to the movie.

“Uh, three or four months, I think.  Her mother went into labor the night I escaped my prison.  They named her after me, and where she was conceived.”  Yuri found himself oddly proud of Nikola, a tiny thing he’d never met.

“You must mean a lot to them.” Zifa’s hand absently fell onto his own arm, resting on the arm of her chair.

“More than I could ever know.”  Yuri blinked a few tears away.  His eyes burned.  He was thankful that some orderly shut off the lights in the room and started the movie.  Yuri was offered two hours to try to forget his confusion over Zifa.  The movie was a comedy, and Yuri was likely the only one in the room that hadn’t seen it before.  The jokes seemed tied to others, but everyone was polite to those that still enjoyed the movie.  As the third act of the film came to a close, Yuri had to think about what he would do when it ended. Should he stay, and try to talk to Zifa.  If he did, what would he say?  Should he tell her the gruesome tale of his past?  No.  That was surely a way to make sure Zifa would never fall in love with him.  Love? Again? Why was that so important?  Why was Zifa so entangled with fantasies of a future life? 

Maybe Yuri should just thank Zifa for her company and excuse himself to his room.  And then what?  Would he lay in his bed, and suffer again with his thoughts? Only this time he would be alone.  And loneliness would seem much lonelier after that brief moment of connection with another person.  Maybe coming to the movie was a bad idea after all.  He probably would have finished his book if he’d stayed in.   Or maybe he should have asked the orderly or Docia for a dose of sleep aid, and dealt with it all in the morning.  No, sleeping way his issues wouldn’t serve him anymore.

Yuri didn’t notice as the credits started to roll, or the lights turn on.  He didn’t notice that Zifa had taken his hand. “Yuri? Can we go to your room?”

His voice caught in his throat.  She had taken him by surprise. Somehow, for some reason, Yuri nodded.  He got to his feet and walked with Zifa to his room.  He passed his nurse’s station, but the nurse on duty didn’t even look up.  The long-term care floors were seen more as a residency for patients, and as long as they weren’t on some kind of restricted access or quarantine, and as long as it didn’t interfere with their care, fraternization was over looked.

Inside, he quickly moved the chairs out of her path and tidied up an already clean sparse room.  He was embarrassed, but he wasn’t sure by what.  There were no dirty dishes, or dirty clothes, his bed was made, there was no foul smell lingering in the room.  Maybe he was embarrassed of himself.

“Is this your friend’s daughter?” Zifa asked, picking up the picture Yuri had left on the table after Elijah had left.

“Yes,” Yuri nodded again. “Nikola Georgette Sima-Coates.  A big name for such a little thing.”

“You said earlier that you are a father too?” Zifa set the picture down, and met Yuri’s eyes.

“Yes, but only in terms of genetics.  I’ve only seen him once.  His name is Phillip, and that’s all know about him.” Yuri admitted.  His son wasn’t something he talked about often.  Or ever.  Aside from the fact he was raped during his captivity, he didn’t mention it all in his testimonies to Kaminski and Dr. Csilla.

“Did you not want to be a parent?”  Zifa asked hard questions that no one else dared to ask such a fragile man.

“I never had the choice.  I was only twenty-five when I was captured.  In fact, my twenty-fifth birthday had only just passed two weeks before.  My brother deemed me unable to take care of myself without his or the Prizrak Rytsarya’s aid, and I believed him.  I was young, and I was enjoying life overseas, with few cares and an easy assignment.  No one expected anything of me, and I didn’t expect anything of me either.  Fatherhood was the furthest thing from my mind.  And then I lost all my freedom.  When all you can think of is how to survive, or sometimes, you can’t even think clearly at all, you aren’t considering your progeny.”  It was the first time he’d spoken about himself like that.  It was the first time anyone had asked.  “But just the same, even I had wanted to be father to my son, I wasn’t offered the option.  He was shown to me once, when he was a baby.  I wasn’t offered to hold him. I wasn’t invited to come closer than twenty feet from him.  It was just closure to my rape.  ‘We put food in your stomach.  We washed the dirt from your skin.  We removed the lice from your hair.  We put drugs in your body to kill your diseases.  We put drugs in your body to make your body compliant to our needs, to make your body betray you.  Look at what we took from you.’  And then they put me back and forgot about me.”

“Why do you punish yourself so much for your captivity?” She looked up at him, her eyes following as Yuri sunk down to the ground, sitting with his back to the wall.

“Because I killed.  I broke just about the only rule placed on a telepath.  I killed, with my vlast’, outside of self-defense.  I killed the wife of my commanding officer.  I knew it was wrong.  But I didn’t have control of myself.  And my lack of control, my inability to stop them, led to the death of woman in front of her daughter.  I’ve killed others.  In self-defense, in cold rage, with weapons, with my vlast’, but all of those are nothing on my soul.  I killed Malena Sima.”  Yuri was in tears.  He didn’t care that she saw.  He was weeping, sobbing through his confession.  And he didn’t care.  “I used to blame him.  I was only in that prison because I was loyal to him.  Pyotr and Ivan had died for him.  I watched Ivan’s blood stain the grass.  I saw him take his last breath.  His last words were an attempt to warn his brother of the sniper trained on him.  Pyotr watched the sniper pull the trigger.  He saw his death coming.  I saw his brains explode from the back of his head.  The Pajaris were dead.  Their parents had died protecting them when took shelter in a church during a bombing.  And now the brothers were dead.  Alexei almost got away.  He was shot in the back.  Paralyzed from the waist down.  He killed himself four weeks later.  Alexei was a man that joined the Prizrak Rytsarya because life had offered him nothing else.  And we killed him.  Anton was shot.  I watched my brother, leading a panicked Malena and carrying her daughter away from the scene.  He was shot in the leg.  I watched him vanish around that corned.  And he didn’t look back.  My brother never looked back for my safety.  I was the one that had stayed.  I was the one that stood at Mischa’s side.  I was the one that captured with him.  I spent fifteen years in a prison because I stood at his side.  I killed his wife.  And then I abandoned him.”

Yuri’s fist was clenched so tightly, that it hurt.  His stomach hurt.  Everything hurt.  He wanted it to hurt.  His guilt demanded it.  His abandonment demanded it.  Yuri had been abandoned by his father.  He had been abandoned by his brother.  When there was no attempt at rescue, Yuri had been abandoned by the Prizrak Rytsarya, and abandoned by his country.  He had been forgotten, and it had hurt.  He’d left Mischa behind, and the guilt hurt.  It all hurt so badly.  The pain burned at his mind.  This wasn’t the first time he felt it, but it was the first time he had to suffer without medication.

Zifa struggled out of her chair, and got onto the floor with Yuri.  He could barely see her.  His eyes stung from the tears. But he felt her hand on his arm.  She felt cold, but it was more likely that Yuri had simply worked himself into a fever.  She had been silence for a long time.  Maybe she felt guilty for the Pandora’s Box she had opened.  Maybe Zifa was horrified at the man she found him to be.  She sat with him.  Her hand only moved from his arm to try to take his hand.  Yuri let her.

“You are more honest about your sins than any other man that might walk this earth, Yuri Utkin.  And you judge yourself with more contempt than anyone could ever muster.” Zifa finally tried to offer some words of consolation.

“My friend that visited me earlier, his name is Elijah.  And Elijah was attacked three times in the past three years.  All because of Mischa and myself.  And today was the first day Elijah and I have ever met.”  Yuri would not be comforted.

“And did Elijah rail at you for those attacks.  Did he blame you?  Did he disavow your friendship?” Zifa asked, already knowing the answer.

“No.  He didn’t.  He gave me a picture of his daughter.  He asked me to be his family, and he promised to come see me again.”  Her words were calming him.  Or maybe it was the truth in her words.  She didn’t ask him to confront himself anymore that night.

It felt like an hour before she spoke again, her voice soft.  “I did some research on you.  I read about your service for Captain Sima.  You helped found the first modern Spetsgruppa of the Prizrak Rytsarya.  You should be proud of that.  The Prizrak Rytsarya wouldn’t have half of what we do if not for people like you.  And you are handsome with your curls, but you look more heroic without them.”

            Eli had never had experience with bombs, but he was starting to get an idea of what it was like to be tied to one.  He was laying on the couch with Nikola sleeping on his chest.  The last two times he tried to sit up, she started to fuss until he laid down again.  Until Viktoriya got home, he was trapped in the living room with his weeks-old daughter holding him hostage.  He was starting to get stiff.

Dinah and Ceres didn’t seem to care for their owner’s fate.  The sisters were sleeping in their bed, in front of the fireplace.  The flames were dying, but neither seemed to notice.  Wrapped in a ball of fur with long hunting dog legs sticking out from every direction, there was enough warmth there to keep them satisfied.

It was almost starting to feel like home here.  Eli and Viktoriya had been living in the house since they returned to Moscow with Nikola.  Miro and Vikenti were waiting at the train station to pick them up and deliver their combination wedding-baby-apology gift – a home of their own.  At one point in its life the building had been a firehouse, with two sets of large doors still on the front of the building, now opening to what will be a garden and patio, come spring.  The exterior was still classic and old, fitting with their neighborhood of shops and restaurants, Miro’s being one of them.  The interior, however had been completely renovated.  The living room and kitchen took up the entire first floor, utilizing an open floor plan.  The second floor held the master suite, nursery, guest room and a small library, and a third story was completely open, and left unfinished of any real design.  Viktoriya had suggested putting in a small gym.  Eli didn’t need one, a decent pool had been installed in their modest yard, but the idea was still nice.

Eli absently gently rubbed Nikola’s back through her adorable kitten themed pajamas.  The quilt Viktoriya had made for her was covering the little baby’s back.  Nikola had tiny fists full of Eli’s tee shirt.  He could hear her little breaths.  He could feel her little heart beating.  After so many weeks and months, even as he held her, he couldn’t believe he was a father, and that this tiny incredible little person was his daughter.  Of course, he didn’t doubt that he was Nikola’s father.  Eli trusted Viktoriya, and Nikola was starting to look like them, her eyes were almost dark violet-blue, and her thick dark hair was taking a curl.  Eli had just never imagined being able to love so blindly as he loved his daughter.  He never imagined being loved so blindly as Nikola loved and trusted him.

This house was starting to feel like home, but it didn’t matter.  Hotel rooms, borrowed bedrooms in family homes, hospital rooms, military barracks, rented apartments or purchased houses, it was all home as long Elijah, Viktoriya and Nikola were together.  As long as he had his family with him, he’d be happy.

The door creaked, soft footsteps on the hardwood in the foyer, the door opening and then shutting.  Viktoriya was home.  She smiled as she saw them, Eli’s head lulled to the side to see her.  When she spoke, her voice was soft, not wanting to startle the baby.

“You look so sweet like that.” She cooed, knowing it wasn’t the first time Nikola trapped her father like that.  It likely wouldn’t be the last.  Viktoriya deftly scooped her baby off Eli’s chest, and cradled her in her own arms.  Nikola woke and started to fuss almost immediately.  “Did she eat?”

“Yes.  A bottle about two hours ago, we played, I read to her.  Bath time, fresh diaper and then we came down to watch the news and she was out like a light.” Eli stood and stretched.  He put out the fire, and turned off the television.  He followed her through the house, turning off lights, and making sure doors were locked.

Viktoriya always took her time putting Nikola to bed.  He hardly blamed her.  Though Viktoriya had a troublesome pregnancy, and at times may have doubted the future, but now that Nikola was here with them, she loved her as unconditionally as Eli did.  Viktoriya would spend almost an hour in the nursery, in the rocking chair, singing to Nikola, or telling her stories, or just looking into those big trusting eyes.  Even after she put the baby into the cradle her father made for her, Viktoriya would stand over her, caressing her cheeks, letting Nikola grab at her fingers, listening to her daughter babble at her.

Eli took the opportunity to shower, and prepare himself for bed.  With a towel wrapped around his waist, examined himself in the mirror.  The bags under his eyes weren’t so bad anymore, now that Nikola started sleeping longer through the night.  Maybe the baby was just happy to have a home too.  He finished rubbing moisturizer on his face and returned to the bedroom.  A few minutes more, and he was dressed in a pair of pants and turning down the bed.  He was surprised to see Viktoriya appear in the door.  Her long arms slipped around his middle, and she kissed her was up his back as he stood up at the bedside.

“I love the way you smell.” She murmured.  “Even more when you don’t smell like dirty diapers and spit up.”

Eli laughed as she pulled away.  He sat on the bed and watched her strip out of her clothes.   Every time he watched her slide her jeans off, he was reminded of how it all started, Viktoriya in that train car.  But this time, he could watch without guilt.  She pulled her shirt off next and tossed her dirty clothes in their laundry.  Her body was recovering from the baby, Viktoriya was still working to reclaim her flat tummy, and her breasts still spilled from her bras, but Eli didn’t care.  She was beautiful.  She was beautiful before she was pregnant, while she was pregnant, and she was beautiful now.

“How did that emergency call go?” Eli called out to her as she slipped into the bathroom.  He heard the water running briefly, she was just washing her face. 

“It’s really him.  Really, really him.”  Viktoriya came back without make-up and her hair tied up.  She helped herself to one of Elijah’s shirts and shimmied into her own sleep shorts, and joined him in bed.  Eli pulled her close and gave her a kiss.  Viktoriya kissed him back, letting her body fit against his.  Eli wondered if it would be the night.  But it wasn’t.  Viktoriya slipped away and slid beneath the blankets.

Eli wouldn’t push her.  It was her body, and hers to share as she felt comfortable with.  If Viktoriya felt that it was still too soon after the baby to have sex, he would respect that.  Though Eli couldn’t shake the notion from his mind that the last time they’d been together like that, was the morning he proposed.  He pushed it aside.  Focusing on it would only plant seeds of resentment.

“How is he?  How did he even get to Moscow?” Eli pulled the quilts over them and settled Viktoriya under his arm.  She rested against his shoulder, her fingers tracing a pattern through his chest hair.

“He’s not well.  His arm was in a cast.  He looked… Very troubled.  He said it took everything to get himself out.  Of course, we won’t know everything until he gives Kaminski his statement.”  Viktoriya’s voice was quieting.  The dim light of the bedside lamp, the quiet of their room, the warmth of their bed were all coaxing her to sleep.  “I promised him that we’d visit.”

“It won’t be a hard promise to keep.  I’ll ask Kaminski to let us know when he’s ready to be seen.” Eli held her close, pressing his lips into her forehead for a kiss.

“Our mission is almost complete, Ilya.” She marveled.  Her voice caught in her throat.  For a moment, Eli expected tears.  “You never gave up, through any of what you suffered.  Soon, we’ll bring justice to Horowitz.”  It wasn’t tears.  Her voice caught with excitement.

At once, Viktoriya slid up in bed, her hand moved up his neck tilting his head in for a passionate kiss.  Far more passionate than either had the energy to muster recently.  Her hands were buried in his hair.  His hands slipped up her sides, beneath her shirt, relishing every inch of skin she let him touch.  Her breathing was short, shallow, excited.  Any hint that she was tired was suddenly gone. 

Viktoriya let him strip her shirt away as she straddled his hips.  She looked down at him, nervous as his hands explored her body.  It wasn’t new, and they’d seen each other naked frequently since their reunion – he’d watched her give birth to his daughter, but this was the first time in a long time they’d been this intimate.  She was nervous as Eli caressed her stomach.  She bit bare lips as he moved toward her breasts.

“Ilya…” She whispered, “Careful.  My…  They’re tender…”

“Shh…” He smiled up at her, his hands sliding up to her back.  “I know, Vika.  I love you.  Come kiss me again.”

Viktoriya leaned against him, and let her lips meet his.  Her hands worked between them.  His hands too.  It wasn’t long before they’d stripped away all of their clothes.  She wanted to stay beneath the sheets.  Maybe she was self-conscious.  Maybe she was cold.  Eli put it out of his mind, and resolved to enjoy the attentions his wife gave him.

“Should I get a condom?” He asked, suddenly embarrassed at the question.  Honestly, he wasn’t sure he had any.  It had been so long for him, Eli had no use for them while he was away, and they hadn’t regularly been using them before.  As if that wasn’t obvious.

She didn’t answer right away.  Viktoriya was quiet.  Her hands stopped moving, and just held him wherever she already was.  Her voice was soft, confused, and maybe offended.  “I didn’t really think of that, Ilya…  Do you want to use one?”

“Well… I just… I want to know what you want.   I mean… I know you are still breast feeding, but… What if I got you pregnant again?” His words were a mess, and he wasn’t even sure they came from his mouth.  So caught up in his worry, he might have slipped into telepathy.

“I wanted to have a night with you…” It was all she said at first.  She sounded hurt, and Eli wondered what he’d said to ruin the mood.  She leaned in to kiss him, but it didn’t have the same spark as before.  “If you think we should… Then we should.”

“Vika, I love you.” He was spiraling, losing control of what he wanted to say.  Eli started to second guess everything in his mind.  “I want you to feel safe, and happy.  I want you to have a choice in our future.”

There was silence.  Eli’s stomach turned.  He didn’t want Viktoriya to think that everything in his mind, that all his love revolved around the physical relationship between them.  However, they had a baby in the nursery down the hall.  They had a baby because Eli and Viktoriya had never asked each other about it before.  He was trying, and mostly succeeding at being father to Nikola, but a second child was just too much to think about right now.

In the dim light, Eli could only see Viktoriya in his arms.  She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and just stared off to the side.  Maybe she was fighting back tears.  He must have hurt her deeply.  What should he do?  Should he comfort her?  Take her into his arms?  Should he try to talk to her?  Maybe she wanted to be alone?  She sat still, straddling his hips, saying nothing, not looking at him.  Viktoriya must not know what she wanted from him.  He considered slipping into her mind, helping them both figure out what Viktoriya wanted, but he dismissed it as quickly as the thought had come to him.  It would be a betrayal of trust, and certainly not helpful to the situation.

“Vika?” He asked in soft voice.  “Please look at me? Say something?”  It was all he could ask.  He fought to keep calm.  The idea of hurting her was uncomfortable.

Finally, her head turned.  She met his eyes.  Hers were filled with worry, blinking back tears.  He couldn’t help but mirror her, it happened before he realized.

“Ilya… I feel like we’ve been so focused on Nikola… I don’t know…” She started to explain, but lost her words.  Maybe she lost her courage.

He reached up to caress her cheek.  Eli expected her to flinch at his touch, or perhaps slap his hand away, but she allowed his gesture.  “I understand, Vika.  From the moment I proposed, we’ve haven’t actually had a chance for our relationship.  There was the trial, and the training.  And then there was the pregnancy, and the birth and now Nikola.  We finally have time for ourselves, and we don’t know what to do with it.  Sometimes, when it isn’t about Nikola, or work, I don’t know how to treat you.  I don’t know how you wanted to be treated.  I didn’t get to give you a wedding, or time to be a bride.”

She nodded.  Tears started to fall from her eyes, but Eli was quick to catch them, and wipe them away.  Viktoriya threw herself to his chest, putting her arms around him.  He moved his arms, wrapping them around her.

“After this stuff with Yuri is settled, Vika, I want to marry you.  I want to marry you like I should have in the first place.  Not just signing papers and rings in the mail.  I want the whole ceremony, I want to see you in a beautiful dress.”  He told her, rubbing her bare back.  “But, we really do need to figure out how to be married.”

She started shaking, and Eli was afraid he’d hurt her again.  But then she sat up, smiling.  Viktoriya was laughing.  The last of the tears fell away, but the sadness was gone.  “Oh, Ilya.  I’m sorry for that… I love you, and I agree.  We need to figure out, where we want our family to go.  I love Nikola, but neither of us knew what was happening when we made her.  I don’t know that I want another so soon.  I haven’t even been back to work yet.”

He was relieved to see her smile, and was alarmed at how quickly the storm of emotions came and passed.  It wasn’t the first time it happened, and the doctor had warned that the hormonal mood swings might not end with childbirth – and the lack of sleep would not help.

“I understand, Vika.  We’re trying to build a life, and we need time to build it.  For now we have to focus on our marriage, and Nikola.” Eli leaned in and kissed her forehead.  He thought better of it after a moment and kissed her lips.  Viktoriya smiled against his lips and kissed him back.  It was a soft, sweet moment before Viktoriya climbed off of him, and settled into bed beside him.  She curled against his side, and Eli wrapped her in his arms.  Perhaps it was for the best that their passions didn’t reignite, at least not this night.  Eli would have felt guilt for making Viktoriya cry, only to turn and take pleasure from.  The thought of it made him feel uncomfortable with himself.

Sleep started to take her again.  She was tired, and now emotionally exhausted too.  Eli envied how she could fall asleep so easily.  Moments more and she was lost in her dreams, resting peacefully on his chest.  With a sigh, Eli reached over to turn off the bedside lamp.

What little sleep he did get was over when Nikola woke up.  By then, Viktoriya had rolled away, and was sleeping with her back to him.  He was out of bed before the baby started fussing.  He turned off the baby monitor, set across the room on a dresser.  Eli found where Viktoriya had thrown his pants and slipped into them before heading to the nursery.

Eli was tired, but dutiful.  Nikola was treated to a fresh diaper, and he rubbed moisturizer on to her soft skin.  Eli distracted himself with Nikola, brushing out her dark hair, and dressing her in a little dress and wool stockings.  He busied himself with getting a bottle ready for her in the kitchen.  As it turned out, Elijah used the sling Agnessa made as frequently Viktoriya did, and his sister-in-law ended up making him one of his own in darker colors, and suiting his broader shoulders, and bigger frame.

He felt numb.  Time seemed to pass at a crawl.  By the time the sun rose, the baby had been fed, burped and played with.  Eli had dressed in sweater and black pants, and still struggled to feel right.  He looked to Viktoriya, still sleeping in their bed.  She had rolled to his side, and held his pillow close to her face.  Guilt wracked him.  Desperately, Eli wanted to banish those memories that soured their relationship. 

He grabbed a pair of shoes, and returned to Nikola’s nursery for the baby’s coat, hat and boots, all gifts from her godfather and Miro.  The set was beautiful, all black wool and white rabbit fur.  Nikola looked like a little fairy tale princess in them.  He dressed her in her coat and pulled the little fur lined bonnet down over her curls.  It was bit of a struggle getting the wool booties on her feet as Nikola kicked at him.  Her antics brought a smile to his face.

Eli put his daughter in the sling, holding her against his chest before pulling his own wool coat on.  He decided that they would surprise Viktoriya with a treat.  In the early light of day, Eli and Nikola took a walk to a local bakery to buy some breads.  They stopped at a florist for some flowers, then a fruit stand.  The produce was limited – mostly imported, but the woman that ran it also preserved much of her stock into jams or pickled them.  Eli bought two jars of Viktoriya’s favorite jam, and a few citrus fruits.

When they stopped at the fishmonger, they ran into Miro, picking out his order for that night’s service.  It was a pleasant happenstance, and an omen that the day would go well.  They stopped to visit with him.

“She looks so precious.  May I hold her, Elijah?” Miro was still a little formal when it came to the baby.  He was nervous, but not for the reasons one might expect.  As Miro, dressed in a coat over the tee shirt he usually wore under his chef’s whites, took Nikola into his arms he smile at her.  He bounced her carefully.  Eli could see the excitement grow on Miro’s face as Nikola laughed.  He didn’t need to use his gift to know what he was thinking.

“You know, he wants a baby too.” Eli said, watching Miro play with Nikola.

“Who does?” Miro looked up, confused.

“Vikenti.  He was day dreaming about it we came back to Russia from France.”  Eli was surprised Miro didn’t know.  He and Vikenti had been dating again for almost a year now.  It was actually the longest they’d actually been together.

“And Vikti told you this?” Miro trusted Eli, of course, but Eli agreed that he would be an unlikely source for the inner workings of Vikenti’s mind.

“Well… Not directly.  We were on the helicopter, and I was trying to escape the mental replay of what I’d just done… So I was taking a little vacation in Vikenti’s mind.  He had this whole fantasy planned out for your future.  Marrying you, having your own restaurant, a baby.”  Eli explained.

“Well I hate to break it to you, but I can’t quite give him a baby the same way that little Nikola came to you.” Miro laughed.

“No, he wants to adopt, like he had been.  You two are in a great place in your relationship, maybe it’s time for the next step?” Eli asked as Miro handed the baby back to her father.  He have Nikola a kiss before getting her back into her sling.

“You could be right.  I’ll think about it, Elijah.  Maybe he and I should have a practice run, watch Nikola for a night while you and Viktoriya have a night out.  I’ll reserve you a table, make sure my best cooks are on that night.  Dinner for the new parents, on us.”  Miro suggested with a smile.

“That actually sounds like exactly what we need.  When would be a good time for you and Vikenti to come babysit?”  Eli had been right, Miro was a good omen.

“Wednesday night service is usually slow.  How’s that for you?” Miro offered.  Eli smiled and shook his friend’s hand.

“Perfect. Thank you, Miro.  You just made today perfect for me.  Now I need to make a few more stops and get the little girl home.  I’m trying to surprise Viktoriya with breakfast.”  Eli said his goodbyes.  They stopped at a butcher, and were on their way home when Eli spotted a confectionery, opening their doors for the day.  There was a rainbow of macarons in the window.  There was no way Eli couldn’t pass up an opportunity to see Viktoriya’s eyes light up with a memory of Paris.

When they finally arrived home, Eli was afraid he would find Viktoriya awake and upset at their absence.  Thankfully she was still asleep, or at least has not yet come down stairs.  Groceries were quickly put away, he and Nikola stripped of her wool and furs. She was content to play with some rattles while sitting in a bouncing chair while he set the table and started cooking.  He was sure the banging of pans on the stove or the smells of cooking meats would wake Viktoriya soon.

As predicted, Eli heard the water running through the pipes above.  Viktoriya was awake, and must be getting a shower.  Shortly after, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs.  Viktoriya appeared at the base of the stairs, her wet hair braided tightly, and dressed in one of her favorite tee shirts and a pair of jeans.  Her bare feed padded across the floor.  A smile grew across her face.

“What is all this?” She asked, looking at the flowers, the bread and jam, and fruit laid out on the set table.

“It’s breakfast for my lovely wife, presented by her husband and her daughter.” Eli told her with a kiss, stepping away from his cooking for her.

“It’s so much!  You must have been up for a while.” She kissed him back, putting her hands on his cheeks.  Eli put his hands on her hips, pulling her close to his chest.  Their kiss seemed to stop time before she finally pulled away.  “You really didn’t have to go all this effort, Ilya.”

“No, I didn’t have to.  But I wanted to.  I love you, and this is always how I imagined being married to you.” Eli kissed her again before leading her over to the table.  Before she sat down, Viktoriya lifted Nikola from her seat and cradled the baby in her arms.

“I never dared to let myself imagine being married.  If I had known I could be married to a man like you, and life could be like this, maybe I’d have dreamt at little more.” Viktoriya smiled at him.  “How early did she wake you?  I never even heard the monitor.”

“It was some time around five.  I didn’t really notice.  She didn’t wake me.  I was already up.” Eli walked over with plates of pancakes and sausages.

“You were up at five?” Surprise was plain in her voice as Eli served her.

“I didn’t sleep well after last night.  I’d rather be up taking care of her, instead of just staring at the ceiling.”  Eli decided to be honest with her.  They agreed they needed to plan the future, and that would never work unless they confronted the present.

Viktoriya was silent for a few moments, watching Nikola grasp at her finger.  “I didn’t exactly handle myself with grace last night.  I got scared, Ilya.  When you asked about the condom, I just… I got scared.  Since we didn’t plan for Nikola, and I never thought I’d be a mother in the first place, I never even considered a second baby.  And then there was everything you said last night, about knowing how to be married.”

“Well, we are going to have a perfect opportunity to be a married couple Wednesday night.” Eli said with a smile, stating on his own breakfast.

“Oh? What’s on Wednesday?” She shifted Nikola to one arm, and tried to eat with the other hand.

“I ran in to Miro at the fish market this morning.  He offered himself and Vikenti to babysit, while we have dinner at Miro’s restaurant.  I know just up the street isn’t exactly getting away, but I don’t think you or I have been more than twenty feet from Nikola since the moment she was born.  A night alone could do us a lot of good.” Eli said with a smile.  From the way Viktoriya smiling, she liked the idea too.

“That sounds great, Ilya.  I really want to make the night special for us.” She promised.

“It will be special as long as you are there.” Eli leaned over to kiss her.  Her lips stained with jam, she kissed him back.  He licked his lips with a shared laugh. Nikola didn’t know what was funny, but she joined in too with her babbling laughter.  Eli dabbed his finger in Viktoriya’s jam, smeared a bit on the baby’s lips.

The parents watched their daughter’s first taste of the sweet fruit.  Nikola smacked her lips together.  The jam was sticky and wasn’t easily removed from her lips, but she didn’t seem to mind the taste.  She didn’t smile, but her little eyes lit up as she seemed to ponder this new flavor.

“She’s so cute.  And I was thinking…” Viktoriya paused, watching Nikola stick out her tongue to try to taste more. “I could probably want another baby.  Not right away, of course, but… You had Levi and I could never imagine a life as an only child.  I don’t want her to grow up alone.”

“I had Levi.” Eli was quiet as he started to clean up what dishes he had used.  “We haven’t spoken since… Since he cheated on Lin, and screwed his life up.  There are times when I miss him.  I mean, he’s my brother.  I should talk to him.  Should I talk to him?”

“I want Nikola to have all the family she can.  My brothers and sisters agreed that we should work out a time for them to visit – one at a time, of course, so they can meet her, and help us with her.  And so we can get closer too.  We already have Vikenti and Miro too.  Maybe even Yuri Utkin.  If you can trust Levi, then you should talk to him, and try to heal the bond between you.”  Viktoriya told him, meeting his eyes.

“You’re right, Vika. I’m going to write him an email, try to explain myself over the incident last year, see if he even wants to talk to me.  And then I think I’m going to take a nap.  Do you want me to clean up?” Eli asked.

“No, you’ve already done so much for me.  Go ahead, write your letter, and take your nap.  I’ll clean up, and then have some play time with our beautiful little Nikola.” Viktoriya waved him away.

Eli could almost hear the bed calling him.  There was so much ahead of him, and none of it seemed possible for Eli to do alone.  Yuri was back in Russia.  They would find out where Mischa was.  Eli had a house, and a family, and a baby to raise.  He was told he had a position that would begin after the year had turned.

The future was vast.  The future was unknown.  The future was frightening.  But what scared Eli the most was the prospect of the family he left behind in England.  In just day, he could find himself to have no ties left to his homeland.

            Freedom didn’t feel terribly free.  Dr. Mynatt had been more than generous with Yuri.  She had treated his arm, which had involved breaking it again, set it in a cast and put him on a regiment of at least four prescription medications.  She even put him up in her own house, to the chagrin of Dr. Mynatt’s husband.  Honestly, Yuri suspected it was just cheaper that putting him in the hospital.

Yuri hated his room in Dr. Mynatt’s home.  It was small, white walled, with a narrow bed.  It reminded him of his cell.  Being reminded of his cell reminded him of his abandonment of Mischa.  Some of those pills Dr. Mynatt gave him helped him forget that cell.  Naturally, he took more of the pills that took away his pain, his memories and his thoughts.  In his time of lucidity, he was torn.  Obligation wanted him to go to the police, report Horowitz for his horrors, and send them to the prison to liberate Mischa.  He’d tried it already, twice.  He’d been dismissed as a delusional addict, and put in a holding cell until Mr. Mynatt came to free him.  Yuri was not capable of showing his gratitude, and Mynatt was not happy for the money, time or effort Yuri had cost him.

Yuri thought of returning to Russia, his home.  He hadn’t tried to use his gift for weeks, it was hard to concentrate with some of the drugs coursing through his mind.  Just the same, he was still fairly sure both Elijah and Viktoriya were still in Russia.  He just had to get there.  If he could get to Moscow, Yuri could stumble on to the Prizrak Rytsarya base.  He could be identified as himself by documents on file at time of his enlistment.  From there he’d send a Spetsgruppa back to this place to rescue Mischa, capture Horowitz and try him for his crimes.  He’d probably spend the rest of his days in a hospital under watch of nurses, but maybe he’d get to see Anton again.

Another thought in his mind told Yuri that both of these plans were useless.  These thoughts called him to darkness, to death.  He was on an island in the Indian Ocean.  He was an unfathomable distance from anyone that could help him.  He was beyond any usefulness to anyone, here or home.  He was a monster that killed without remorse.  A shell of a human, without any humanity inside.  Yuri had become something from a child’s tale, something to fear.  He was a servant of Baba Yaga.  He was Koschei the Deathless.  He begged for an end that would not come, and in his wake spread misery.

There was a thread of that thought that pulled him back to reality.  Koschei.  It was a story he’d been told as a child, and a joke that had been made for years during his service under Mischa, due to the many hardships his captain faced without death.  The title had been transferred to Elijah after his first accident, when Horowitz attacked him.  Those thoughts of brought him back to Elijah.  Thoughts of Elijah brought guilt.  He thought of Mischa.  More guilt.  He thought of Anton.  Anton, whom never came looking for Yuri.  Anton, whom likely profited from his brother’s presumed death.  Thoughts of Anton brought anger.  He still feared the guards or Horowitz himself would find Yuri in Saint-Denis and kill him.  Fear, guilt and anger were treated with more pills.  With more pills the whispers that called to him death came louder.

Despite Dr. Mynatt’s advice, Yuri drank.  He drank a lot.  The alcohol gave his dark thoughts volume.  The alcohol removed any good judgment.  It told him to ask Dr. Mynatt for his pistol back, or at least his knife.  It told him how anything in his view could be used as a weapon against his life.  Alcohol made Mr. Mynatt’s patience with Yuri run out.  Mr. Mynatt had a deep anger in his eyes when he looked at Yuri.  That anger would lead to violence if time allowed.  Alcohol took Yuri out of the safety of the Mynatt’s’ home, and lured him out in to the streets.

Yuri was once again in some place he didn’t know.  There was brown, dying grass.  It was walled in.  There was a modest one story house in front of him.  It had a small patio.  No, he had been here before.  And that was more dangerous than if he’d innocently gotten lost.  A woman appeared in the back door, sliding it open.  She was dressed in a robe, holding it closed.  Her coarse dark hair was wet.  She must have seen him from a bathroom window.  How long had he been in her yard?  How had he even gotten into her yard again?  Those green eyes burned with rage.

“’Ey! Mynatt’s rabid dog! Get off my property!” She called out to him.

Yuri could only stare blankly at her, his drug addled mind slow to react.  Somewhere in his mind, he knew he was in danger.  The last time he had ended up here, she came at him with a knife.  It was a cricket bat the time before that.  Yuri couldn’t remember what she had assaulted with him those other times.  There were too many times before to make him feel safe.  He knew he should have run, got to his feet and jump the low wall in to someone else’s yard.  They might get mad, but no one else would brandish a weapon at him.

“I’m talking to you, dog!  Why don’t you go home to your master?!” She called out to him.

“I wish I could go home.” Yuri said.  He didn’t know if it was madness or sanity speaking.  Maybe it was sanity.  Those rage filled green eyes softened.

“Merde, dog.  What’s wrong with you?” She sighed.  Yuri watched her turn her anger inward.  She was mad at herself for starting to feel sympathy for Yuri.  She tried to put the front back up. “Come in while I call Mynatt.”

Yuri stood, shaky on his legs, and somehow made it into the small home.  It didn’t seem like anyone lived there with her.  The back door lead into a small mudroom, then into the kitchen.  Only one coffee mug drying next to the sink.  Only one plate, one fork, one knife.  There was no evidence that she had anyone there with her.  She didn’t touch him.  She didn’t meet his eyes.  She really saw him as a dog.

“Sit.  Don’t move from that chair.  I’ll be right back.”  She pointed to a chair at the kitchen table.  Yuri sat dutifully.  “Right. Back.”

The medication that helped Yuri forget his pain, also helped him forget any concept of time.  Hours and days passed at that table.  He looked around, holding his casted arm to his chest.  The knife she threatened him with was in a butcher’s block.  It wasn’t too far away.  He could get to it before she came back.  It would be easy.  He probably wouldn’t even feel it.  The blade separating his skin, parting his flesh.  He knew where to go to make it quick and simple.  Between the ribs, through the cartilage and muscle.  Right into the lungs.  Not the prettiest way to go, but the pills would dull the panic and pain.

Yuri was watching himself die on the kitchen floor, staining the tiles with his blood.  He pulled the knife out of his body and let it clatter to the floor.  Each breath was labored, but counting down to his last.  His other lung strained to work as the other filled with blood.  He tasted copper in his mouth.  Blood stained his lips.

He didn’t believe in a god.  Watching his father kill himself over Yuri’s vlast’ saw to that.  Watching Anton experiment on telepaths like himself saw to that.  Being held captive for fifteen years saw to that.  When he died, he didn’t know what would happen.  Hell could not be worse that Horowitz, and he was sure he didn’t belong in heaven.  If there even was such a place.  If there was a god that created an eternal paradise, why would he let his children live in eternal suffering?  Yuri didn’t even want eternal paradise.  He only wanted release.

“Oh, you are still here.  Good dog.” Her voice brought Yuri back to reality.  She stood in front of him, wearing a dress too expensive for the surroundings.  It might even be the most expensive thing in the house.  It was color blocked, bright yellows and whites that stood out on her creamy dark skin.  She wasn’t as dark as Dr. Mynatt, but she still exotic to him.  Her hair was pulled back, tight against her scalp and exploding in burst of coarse curls.  Dry, he could see some her hair was highlighted in tones of gold.  Why would she be dressed like this?  Her eyes were accented with makeup, her lips were painted in a lush peach.

“Dog was my code name.” Yuri whispered a long forgotten memory.  Another memory that called him back to reality.  “When I was in the military, I was Cabakov.  The dog.”

“You were in the military?” She asked, surprised.  Groomed eyebrows arched.  She paused as she reached for her phone.  Her manicured hands found her hip instead.

“I was special forces.  I was captured, and held prisoner.”  Tears threatened his eyes.  He hadn’t cried since he was free.  He hadn’t cried since he was captured.  He hadn’t cried since he saw his father’s hanged body swaying in front of him before Anton pulled him away.  His brother slapped him across the face. Anton told him that they were men now, and that men don’t cry.  Anton wasn’t here now to slap him.  He finally let those tears fall.  The pills couldn’t numb him enough from all the pain inside.

“I… I didn’t know.  I just thought you were one of the addicts Mynatt’s always trying to help.  She brings them home, tries to nurse them back to health and sets them free.”  She told him, sliding into another chair.  Her phone was long forgotten now.

“You might be right.  I might be an addict.  She put me on pills.  I put me on alcohol.”  Yuri was now firmly planted in reality.  With pain reaching every part of his mind, he could only wrap himself cynicism and hope it made good armor.

“It sounds like you need less pills and more help.”  She offered.

“I need to go home.  I just want to see my home.  Just once more before I die.”  Yuri’s eyes met hers.  Those green eyes were now sad, watching a grown man – a man far older than her, weep at her table.

“Where is home for Cabakov?” She asked.  Yuri hadn’t given her his name, just as she had never given her own.

“Russia.  Moscow.  I haven’t seen it for more than twenty years.”  Yuri tried to act like Mischa, with curt answers to make the conversational partner work for information.  It had been so long, he didn’t know how he should act.  But this wasn’t an interrogation.  This was the wrecked ruin of man, found drunk and disoriented in a pretty young woman’s backyard.  This was a stranger that once threatened him with a knife, now trying to touch his heart.

Or she was one of Horowitz’s hidden agents trying to recollect an escaped prisoner, the pills added to his convoluted mind.

“Why haven’t you gone back?”  She asked.  She was unsure of how to comfort him.  He was exactly as she’d called him: A rabid dog.  He looked harmless, except for his clothes constantly being stained with blood – though it was usually his own.  But Yuri knew what he was capable of, and he felt like others could see it on him.  He was a monster.  A monster that killed.  Surely pure, innocent people could see his sins, on his body or in his eyes.

“When I escaped, I didn’t recover my identification.  I can’t leave this place.  I used to be happy that Dr. Mynatt had rescued me, and brought me here.  But then I realized… I have nothing.  I can’t get home.  The past six weeks have been just another prison.”  Yuri admitted.

She was silent.  She didn’t have a solution for Yuri.  This problem wasn’t easily solved with just another pill.  Well, it could be if that pill was cyanide.

“Thank you for not pulling the knife on me.  Or maybe I’m sorry you didn’t.  Just the same, I’ll be leaving.  I’m sorry to have disrupted your… Morning, afternoon, I don’t know what time it is.” Yuri told her as he pushed out of the chair with his good arm.  He cradled his cast against his chest as he started back toward the mud room.

“’Ey, Cabakov, stop.  You shouldn’t leave looking like that.  Someone will see you and send you to the looney hospital.” She dared to touch his shoulder.  Yuri stopped.

“No, it’s… It’s fine. I’ll walk back to Dr. Mynatt’s. I think I know the way.  I’ll stay there.  And I promise I won’t show up here anymore.”  Yuri stepped out of her touch.  He pushed out of the mud room and out through her backdoor, into the yard.

He’d lied to her though.  He didn’t go back to the Mynatt’s and it wasn’t the last time he’d shown up in her yard.  He didn’t know why he kept returning to her house, of all the houses in Saint-Denis – so many in their neighborhood looked the same.

Equating Saint-Denis as just another prison made Yuri see Dr. Mynatt as just another guard.  He couldn’t go back to her house, not even for what little he had left behind there.  When his pain came back, he bought or stole whatever pills he could, not caring what they did for him.  He bought or stole bottles of alcohol to wash the pills down with.

Yuri ended up in jail twice more.  He didn’t remember how he got out either time.  He was sure they hadn’t called Mr. Mynatt.  Maybe the police just recognized him, and let him go once he’d calmed down.  Not even the police could be bothered to actually help him.

It was starting to get warmer.  Yuri wasn’t as bothered to live outdoors.  However, when the rain began, he was desperate to find safe shelter.  He slept where he could, in alleys, under awnings – in dumpsters if he had to.  His clothes were stained, he was dirty.  He spent some money he’d found on a bottle of cheap vodka instead of food.  Yuri realized then, that he was homeless.  He was a homeless addict.    As his stomach turned, he wept, and tried to comfort himself among the bags of garbage.

The sound of his pain called attention to the owner of the liquor store.  When he saw Yuri, crying into a bottle of vodka, his face turned ugly.  Yuri was violently ejected out onto the sidewalk.  The bottle was smashed, and cheap alcohol was washed away by the rain.

Yuri got to his feet, half drunk, with double vision and seeing in new colors from whatever pills he’d swallowed that morning.  He stumbled down the streets.  People pulled their children away from Yuri.  They crossed the street.  He barely heard the whispers.

He didn’t know the way, or where he was going.  Saint-Denis was a large city.  He just walked.  When he fell, he crawled on his knees until he could get up.  No one helped him.  No one pitied him, or if they did, their sympathy was silent.  Weak and starved, Yuri stumbled back to the neighborhood he’d tried his hardest to stay away from.  He found himself in her yard.  She found him vomiting and convulsing.

“Cabakov? Cabakov!” She ran out to him, her heels sinking into the mud. She fell to her knees, helping him roll on to his side before he choked on his own vomit.

He couldn’t speak.  Animals didn’t.  His wild grey eyes just tried to meet hers.  If she was the last thing he saw before he died, it wouldn’t be the worst sight.  She’d never smiled at him, but she was only ever honest with him.  As strange as that was.  She was barely nice to him, mostly just civil.  Civil and honest.  It was the best he got.  It was already more than he deserved.

And then the world left him.

  Yuri was thoroughly disappointed to wake up.  He was stiff.  His back hurt, his stomach hurt, he was cold.  His head hurt.  Something inside of him ached.  He reached for his pills.  His arms were strapped to his sides.  The air was stale.  He was stuck in a narrow blue seat, identical to all the other narrow blue seats around him.  Room was cramped, He was on an airplane.

Yuri began to struggle.  It hurt.  His one arm was still in a cast, despite probably being healed.  His heart raced.   He was beginning to panic.  She must have turned him over to Horowitz.  He was taking him back to the mansion.  He was going to be locked in a cell again.  They wouldn’t let him die there.  They force feed him, hook him up to an IV, whatever they had to do to keep him alive until he served his purpose.  Whatever purpose that was.

“Cabakov, calm down.” She hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.  It hurt more than she intended.  “Try to be grateful.  I’m broke now, so you had better appreciate this.”

He tried to make his voice work, but nothing happened.  Whatever he wanted to say came out as breath between dry cracked lips.  The pain in his ribs was barely expressed as a whimper.  Unbidden, tears came to Yuri’s eyes.  It was all he could manage.

She watched him, unsure of what she seeing.  Yuri wanted to double over, but he couldn’t.  The way she had secured him in his seat, restricted his movement.  He felt like he could vomit, though he knew there was nothing in his stomach.  He just wanted to be free of all this pain.

“Look… This flight is longer than I expected.  I sold my house, and car, and everything else I owned to buy our tickets and bribe everyone we passed to get you on here.”  She couldn’t meet his eyes.  She looked away entirely.

Guilt wracked Yuri’s heart.  What had he done to the woman to make her sell everything she owns for him?  How would he find a way to repay her for it?  With nothing else to do, he sat back in his seat and let himself cry until he formed a migraine.  His migraine kept him company for the next eight hours as they flew across the globe.

Landing at the airport was difficult.  While the plane touched down smoothly, the guards were nothing but rough.  It was colder than she’d thought it be, and shivered in her long tee shirt and jeans.  Yuri was freezing in what little he wore.  They had no luggage to retrieve, and she had a passport, but Yuri had nothing.  There was something poetically grim about it all.  The first flakes of snow coming from the black night sky.  Blinded by the lights of the airport and the harsh eyes of authority.  These could be the gates of hell.

“Name? Reason for entering Russia?” One of the guards stopped him.  He was young, bored, just doing his duty.

“Yuri Utkin, of the Spetsgruppa Yaysto.  Returning from imprisonment overseas.” Yuri managed.  He hoped the Spetsgruppa Yaysto still held the status it did when he had been captured.  Maybe they would take him to Anton, if Anton was still in Russia.  If Anton was still alive.  Maybe Anton would look over the wreck that was his little brother and claim him.  Maybe Anton would tell the guards he was an impostor, and he’d be thrown in another prison.

“Identification?” He asked with a look of interest on his face.

“They took it all when I was captured with Captain Sima, but I have this…” Yuri pulled off his shirt.  Despite the cold, despite his scar riddled body, Yuri’s arms was still adorned with his tattoos.  A shield on each arm, one of the golden egg on a black field, the other of a silhouetted dog against the Russian banner.

The guard looked to another man, likely his partner.  They were Spetsnaz, like Yuri, but not Prizrak Rytsarya.  He was hoping they felt some solidarity for a brother in the Special Forces.

“We’ll have to take you to Director Kaminski.  Is there anyone that can speak on your behalf?” The guards asked reluctantly.  He wanted to help Yuri, it was plain on his face, but he feared the consequences.

“Captain Viktoriya Sima and Elijah Coates, both of the Prizrak Rytsarya.”  He could have asked for Anton, but his anger held his tongue.

“We’ll reach out to Captain Sima and Mister Coates.  I’m sorry sir, but we’ll have to detain you while we wait.” The guard was earnestly sympathetic as he led Yuri to a small holding room.  They passed the actual holding cell where they detained dangerous suspects.  Yuri was taken to what appeared to be the room where the guards took their lunch.  There was a soft looking couch, a coffee machine, a television.  “Can I get you anything while you wait, sir?”

Yuri sat down on the couch awkwardly and tried to smile his best at the guard.  “Yes, please.  Some tea, an orange, and a sandwich?”

The guard nodded and disappeared.  His requests were brought to him with in ten minutes.  There was a clock in the room, and Yuri was reintroduced to the concept of time.  He set it down on the Formica table top with a smile.  “We’re getting some clean clothes for you, sir.  We got a hold of Captain Sima-Coates.  She’s on her way, but Mister Coates needs to stay home with their child.  We called our supervisor, and he approves releasing you into Captain Sima’s custody, provided she takes you to Director Kaminski straight away.”

“Thank you.  It’s good to be home, and to be welcomed with such courtesy.  I won’t take up any more of your time.”  Yuri was left alone to eat the most delicious meal of his life.  It was a hot roast beef sandwich, slathered in gravy with mashed potatoes, and some beets on the side.  He’d always hated beets, but Yuri ate them hungrily.  The juice dribbled down his chin, likely staining it a purplish red, but he couldn’t care.  A Russian flag hung over his head.  A radio played music with lyrics in his native tongue.  He was home.

Yuri saved the orange for last.  They’d always been his favorite.  He loved peeling them, he loved the taste, and he even loved the way bits of the orange rind would get stuck under his fingernails and smell of citrus for hours later.  He savored the taste of each piece as long as he could.  He let the soft fruit sit on his tongue until his saliva had turned it into orange mush or he swallowed out of reflex.  He put the last piece in his tea.

An hour after he was put in the small room, a guard came in.  He was told that normally they’d have to search him for weapons, but instead just asked him to roll his pant legs to his knees.  Satisfied that Yuri had no knives or guns strapped to his shins, the guard saw Viktoriya inside.  She’d changed a lot since he’d seen her in her memories.  Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, black bangs sweeping her dual-colored irises.  She wore her Spetsgruppa jacket over a tee shirt and a pair of jeans.  There was the shadow of a stain on the shirt, only recently scrubbed out.  Despite her makeup, she looked tired, but her nail polish appeared fresh.  She dropped a duffle bag on the floor.  It was unzipped.  The guards had searched it.

“Captain Sima-Coates, this man claims to be Yuri Utkin.  He has no identification to prove his claim, can you vouch for his claim?” The guard asked.

Viktoriya looked him over.  Just as she had changed, so had he.  His hair was a rats’ nest. He was emaciated, his eye sunken, bruised, cut, his arm in a cast.  In his mind, he was still a vision of his younger self, not what was left of him standing in front of Viktoriya.

“Tell me what I named my child.” She ordered.  Viktoriya wasn’t mad, she was challenging him, to prove he was a telepath.  She would recognize his presence in her mind better than she would his face.

Yuri closed his eyes, and tried to extend himself.  It’d been a while since he’d tried to use his gift.  He was nervous, he could be deadly if he was careless.  Viktoriya’s mind was open, he was grateful to that.  The information wasn’t well guarded, but he recognized the protection around it.  The work was Elijah’s, something that might trigger a series of painful mental triggers if pulled apart.  Interestingly, it was designed to hurt the telepath, and not the host.  Viktoriya would suffer nothing more than a mild headache from the encounter, which would be nothing compared to what an unwelcome telepath would do to her.

“You named her Nikola Georgette.” Yuri said with confidence, meeting her eyes.

“This is Yuri Utkin.  I have Director Kaminski waiting for me at the hospital, I’ll take him myself.”  She smiled at him.  She kicked the bag to Yuri with her sneaker clad foot.  “They’re Ilya’s.  They may not fit but they don’t have blood and vomit on them.  I’ll be waiting outside the door.”

Yuri was left alone to change into Elijah’s clothes.  Whichever of them packed the bag, they were thoughtful.  Yuri dressed in the socks and underwear, he pulled on the undershirt next.  Eli had a huge chest.  There was deodorant and a pack of baby wipes in the bag.  It didn’t matter if was Eli or Viktoriya, that packed the bag.  They were both thoughtful.  Under the sweater, there was a tooth brush and tooth paste.  Yuri continued to dress and clean himself up.  By some luck, Eli’s shoes fit.

He threw away his dirty clothes, and picked up the empty bag, folding it up and tucking it under his arm.  Yuri felt like a new man.  Or maybe he just felt like he was Eli.  Like he was a telepath that had control of himself.  Like he had a family that cared for him.

Viktoriya was still smiling when Yuri came out of the room.  She thanked both the guards for the calling her, and gave them each her card.  They thanked her in return for coming so quickly and got a business card from each of them.  Yuri had never been high up enough on the political latter to engage in the ritual favor trading, and he’d been away from any normal society for so long that it just looked bizarre.

“My car’s out front, and Director Kaminski’s waiting at the hospital.  We’re going to expedite your documents.  The only ones that know you’re here are Ilya, Kaminski and I.  Of course your doctors will know, but it goes no further with your permission.”  Viktoriya explained as she walked him down the hall, and through the terminal.  There were people everywhere.  No one was even looking at him. 

They were about to walk out the doors when he saw her.  She was waiting, shivering, and looking miserable. She looked up at every person that passed, looking for someone.  She was looking for him.  She jumped to her feet as Yuri approached.

“Oh, I was afraid they put you in jail.  Who is this?”  She asked.  Her French was suddenly foreign to his ears after being treated to so much in Russian.

“I’m Captain Viktoriya Sima-Coates.  I’m a friend of Mr. Utkin’s.”  Viktoriya offered her hand.  Viktoriya spoke French fluently, as it turned out.

“I’m Imani. I brought Cabakov, uh… Mr. Utkin here.” She replied shaking Viktoriya’s hand.  So her name was Imani.  It was a pretty name, for a woman that was almost always scowling at him.

“Do you need a ride to your hotel, Imani?” Viktoriya gave Imani a polite smile, though she didn’t get one in return.

“I’m not staying in a hotel.  I actually can’t afford to stay anywhere.  It took all my money to get Mr. Utkin here.  I really didn’t plan this far ahead.”  Imani seemed to be putting up a front.  Maybe she was intimidated by Viktoriya’s command.

“Don’t worry, Imani. You’ve done us a great service.  The Prizrak Rytsarya will repay you.  And we’ll put you up in a hotel.  I’ll make the arrangements in the car.” Viktoriya slipped out of her coat and put it around Imani’s shoulders.

Viktoriya’s car really was just out front.  A gleaming new Audi sports vehicle.  Viktoriya opened the back door for Imani, apologizing for the car seat.  Both passengers slid into their offered seats.  Viktoriya had seat warmers.  She was some kind of angel.  Her call was quick, one to Kaminski, explaining the frame of the situation, and getting approval to put Imani in a hotel while they work out more of the details.  The next was even easier, a call to a hotel booking a room with an account number.  If Viktoriya was an angel, maybe there was a god.  If there was, then his name was Kaminski.

The conversation was light as she drove to a hotel in an area of the city frequented by tourists.  It was another bit of Viktoriya’s kindness to put Imani up there.  If she left her hotel, she’d be understood.  So many of the shops and restaurants were used to catering to foreigners on holiday.  Viktoriya pulled the car up to the hotels doors, and put it in park.  As Imani reached for the door, Viktoriya turned and stopped her.

“I noticed you don’t have any luggage, Imani.  I don’t have much on me, but here.” Viktoriya reached into her back pocket and took out a wallet.  She removed all the cash she had and passed it back to Imani.  “If you need to buy clothes or anything.  Room service is on us.  Someone will contact you in the morning.  Your reservation is under an account number: PR100479.  Did you need me to write it down for you?”

“No, I can remember.  Thank you for the help.”  It was all Imani offered before she offered before opening the door, and sliding out of the car.  She stripped out of Viktoriya’s coat and left it in the backseat.  Imani walked into the hotel without looking back.

Viktoriya began to drive again.  There was a little more silence, as she decided what to say.  When she finally did speak, it was in Russian once again.  “So… You came back alone.  Well, aside from that woman.”

“I couldn’t get us both out.   I barely got myself out.  They want Mischa for something.  For their cause.  I think they want to kill him publically to make a point.”  Yuri felt the guilt again.  He’d left his commanding officer behind.

“What point does Horowitz have to make with Mischa’s death?” Viktoriya’s brows pulled together over her eyes.

“No, not Horowitz.  There are three competing forces there.  Horowitz, Solange and the Restorationists.   We were captured by Solange.  Horowitz didn’t come until after Eli was first attacked.  Soon after he brought the Restorationists.”  Yuri struggled to keep his mind clear, and focused.  He had to.  He was helping.

“So which group wants to kill Mischa?  The Restorationists?” Viktoriya drove out of the city, and on to the Prizrak Rytsarya base.  It was different from Yuri remembered.  There was more.  So many more buildings, installations, people, everything.

“Yes, they blame him for… Destroying them?  I’m not really exactly sure.  But there’s a deal.  The Restorationists don’t get Mischa until Horowitz gets his own prize.”  Yuri explained.  He was distracted by all the memories of home.

“He wants Elijah.” Viktoriya didn’t need to be told.  It wasn’t a question.

“Dead or alive.  They sent some one for Valentina, and he failed.  He was killed.  They sent some one for Eli, when they took a lucky guess and sent him to Paris.  He got the shot, but you were there.  If you weren’t, they might have got him.  If they got him, Mischa would be dead.  You save two lives that day.”  Yuri tried to lighten the mood, but it was hard to think about how one man wanted her husband dead, so he could sell her cousin to group that wanted to kill him.

Viktoriya pulled up in front of a hospital.  Not just any hospital, but a veteran’s hospital.  The same one Elijah had stayed in.  Two uniformed men stood by the door.  She stopped the car, but didn’t shut it off.  She didn’t plan on staying.  Yuri was a little disappointed.  She was the first person to treat him like a person, and not like the damaged pile of sins he really was.  In the rational part of his mind, Yuri understood.  Viktoriya had a new baby at home, it was getting ever later, and she hadn’t planned for Yuri’s return.  She had a life outside of him, it came first.  And it wasn’t like she was abandoning him on the street.  She was putting him with the people that could protect him best.

“I’ll walk you in.  I wish I could stay with you while Director Kaminski takes your statement, but…” Viktoriya offered a smile.

“No, the baby and Eli.  I understand.  But, you’ll come to see me?” Yuri couldn’t believe how weak he sounded.

“I promise, Yuri.” Viktoriya put her hand on his shoulder.

As she said, they walked in together.  There was a uniformed, highly decorated man standing with a doctor and a nurse, both female.  The lobby was otherwise empty.  Viktoriya saluted and shook the hand of the uniformed man.  This must be Kaminski.  He was younger than Yuri, but not by much.  He was likely in training when Yuri was abducted and taken away.  His dark blond hair hadn’t yet given way to grey, his face only had few lines of worry.  His years directing the Prizrak Rytsarya hadn’t been terribly stressful.  At least not yet.  He’d likely get high praise in the history books for having recovered a national hero during his term.  Maybe they’d even mention Yuri had been rescued too. 

“Mr. Utkin,” Kaminski said, after Viktoriya had shared some words quietly with him.  He extended his hand to Yuri.  “It is a great honor to welcome you back home.”

“Thank you, Director Kaminski.  I understand you need a statement from me?” Yuri knew how command went.  Even before Mischa, he was Anton’s unofficial assistant.  Mostly meaning Anton bossed him around, without paying him.  His brother had claimed that he’d only waste the money, and what did he need it for anyway.  He lived with Anton, and Anton fed him.

“In time, Mr. Utkin.  There are more important things first.”  Kaminski said.  Yuri expected an interrogation.  As soon as Viktoriya was gone, which was any moment now, their respect for him would be gone, and he’d be pressed for what he knew.

He looked to Viktoriya just as she was moving toward him.  She put her arms around, and to his surprise, he put his good arm around her. “Ilya and I will visit soon.  You’re in good hands, Yuri.  Just stay strong.  We’re all here to help you.”

“Thank you, Viktoriya.” He told her.  Yuri swallowed his apprehension and let her go.  “Have a good night.  Tell Eli that I appreciate everything.  Everything.”  She nodded and he watched her walk away.  Everything was so different, and happening so fast.  She seemed like the only thing familiar.  He wish she could have stayed.

There was a few moments of silence after Viktoriya left.  Yuri felt out of place, and nervous.  He started to look around.  He must have made Kaminski think he planning to escape, because the director decided to speak. “Mr. Utkin, I understand you have gone through an ordeal beyond any imagination.  You’ve been brave, and I don’t have the heart to ask more from you.  I won’t keep you long.  This is your physician, Dr. Csilla.  She’ll judge what treatment you need tonight, along with Nurse Blom.  I will be here to talk about your experiences in the morning.  Mr. Utkin… I cannot express how happy your return is.”

Kaminski walked with Yuri to his room.  It was on the first floor, in a wing for short term patients.  Yuri was intrigued by the implication.  The room was decent, a single bed, a private wash room, and a noticeable lack of place to unpack his non-luggage.  Patients staying in this room didn’t need to unpack.

The director said his good byes, and made an appointment to meet Yuri at ten the next morning for his statement.  Yuri was left alone with the doctor.  She was a nice woman, a little clinical, but she knew how to talk to victims of trauma.  Her dark hair was pulled back, away from her motherly face.  Or maybe she just looked like a mother because she was taking care of him.

“How long have you had the cast on, Yuri?” Csilla asked, pushing up the sleeve of Eli’s sweater.  Yuri looked embarrassed.  The plaster was dirty and smelled like death.

“Eight weeks? Ten?  I’m not sure.  I’m not good with time.”  Yuri tried to be as patient as she was being with him.  It was a struggle.  His mood was changing, and without the right pills to steady him or the wrong pills to feed his addiction, Yuri feared them monster he’d become soon.

“I want to do a scan before I remove it.  It’s best to take precautions.  Are you feeling up to that now, or would you like to wait until the morning?”  He appreciated the choice.  He appreciated having a voice in the conversation, even if his voice was going to be fighting himself soon enough.

“Dr. Csilla, I’ve dreamt of freedom for the past year, and I finally have it.  I don’t want to mess this up.  I don’t want to go to prison or die for what I might do.” Yuri began speaking before he knew what to say.  His doctor just gave him a smile and took his good hand.  She met his eyes, and his mind.  Dr. Csilla was a telepath.  He wasn’t sure if that’s why she was assigned to him, or maybe it was a coincidence.

Yuri was suddenly nervous.  He hadn’t had another telepath in his mind since before he was captured.  Back when he was still a telepath too.  He was already beyond-careful to touch Viktoriya’s mind, or Elijah’s.  He hadn’t even tried since Elijah’s attack. With that sudden burst of power, he might be psionic now too.  Two psionic telepaths had never tried to communicate before.  They usually didn’t live long enough.

Dr. Csilla’s mental touch was as gentle as her physical.  The events of the past few months were plain to her.  Yuri didn’t have the mental acuity to protect his mind.  She now knew of his pill abuse, and how Dr. Mynatt had treated him with whatever she thought might help him.  Csilla knew of the string of antipsychotics, tranquilizers, and any other medications Solange needed him on to suit her purposes.  She knew of his beatings, his recent decent into alcohol self-medication, and childhood trauma.  She knew she was in the mind of a mentally unstable killer.  She had her life in Yuri’s hands.

“Right now, I think you are more of a danger to yourself than anyone else, Yuri.” She slid out of his mind as gently as she had entered it.  He didn’t realize she was gone until she was speaking to him.  “Everything here will be a choice for you.  And I will not judge you for deciding against one of my recommendations.  Tonight, I think we should try to take your cast off.  After ten weeks, your arm is likely healed, and you’ll me more comfortable without it.”

Yuri nodded.  The scan, as it turned, was able to be done just down the hall.  They didn’t make him sit in a wheel chair, Csilla let him walk.  With the late hour, the halls were empty.  Any patients were in their beds.  The long term patients, on the floors above might still be awake, Nurse Blom explained, but they have a recreation room upstairs, and only come downstairs to use the pool or the gym – or if a friend was being released Dr. Csilla added.

Within the hour, Yuri was back in his room without a cast.  His arm felt strangely cold, and light, and his skin was clammy.  He didn’t know if it was withdrawal or just the freedom from the plaster.  Nurse Blom was getting something for Yuri to wear to bed while Dr. Csilla had what she promised would be the last talk of the night.

“I can give you something to help you sleep, if you want.  Not a pill, just a regular over the counter sleep aid.”  She offered as she drew some of Yuri’s blood.  It took her several minutes to find a good vein.  Once she had one, she didn’t waste it, and took fourteen tubes of blood.  She told him she’d need a urine sample too, but let Yuri sip a cup of water while she performed the phlebotomy.

“Not a tranquilizer?” Yuri asked, watching her change tubes again.

“No, just the same thing I take if the hour’s gotten away from me and I’m not tired yet.”  She smiled at him.  She’d told him not to count the tubes.

“Okay, if you sure it’s safe.  You understand concern about pills.” Yuri continued his fight for control over the dark voices in his mind.

“I do, and I appreciate you taking this seriously, Yuri.  Nurse Blom will be on watch tonight, just in case you need anything.” Yuri didn’t need telepathy to read into that.  This sleep aid doesn’t have a suicide risk, but since you are already one, the nurse will be watching.

“How long do you think I’ll be here?” He asked, watching take the tube off again.  Thankfully, she removed the needle this time and taped some gauze to his arm.

“That is entirely up to you.  So far Director Kaminski and Captain Sima-Coates have not placed you in anyone’s custody.  You are free to leave when you want.  But we do offer a wide array of services here, and I think you should take advantage of them.” Csilla started to collect the many, many tubes of Yuri’s blood and discarded the used instruments.

“I want…” Yuri paused.  He wasn’t sure what he wanted.  There were voices in his head that spoke against his best interests.  Yuri had to be sure he didn’t ask for a lethal dose of cyanide.  He thought of the smile Viktoriya gave him.  He thought of the care that went into the bag she and Eli had packed for him.  He thought of the memory he touched, to prove himself to her.  There was love there, wrapped up around Nikola, even in just her naming.  “I want to be better. Can you help me?”

“Of course, Yuri.” They were interrupted for a moment when Blom came in with clothes for Yuri.  It wasn’t entirely unwelcome though, Csilla gave her a smile before continuing. “Take a shower, Yuri. Get some sleep.  I’ll have a care plan for you in the morning.”

            She still couldn’t believe she’d done it.  She wasn’t nearly done, it wasn’t over, but she’d done it.   Just four feet away, sleeping in a reclined chair, Eli held their baby against his chest.  Viktoriya couldn’t believe how tiny she was.  Her little fingers, her little feet, her little everything.  But for as small as she was, when she cried, it was louder than anything Viktoriya had ever heard.

Viktoriya had been scared.  Her mother and Agnessa had tried to prepare her for what childbirth would be like, but words were not enough.  Both women were mother to multiple children, and somehow forgot to warn Viktoriya how long the labor of a first baby could take.  It was twenty three hours, almost a full day.  Eli was with her the whole time.  He sat behind her, letting Viktoriya leaned back against his chest, and grip his hands as hard as she need to.  He helped her more than she could have expected.  Using his telepathy, Eli shared her pain and fear, taking some it away from Viktoriya, and giving her some of his patience.  His calm, hope and excitement swept through her mind and Viktoriya didn’t even realize that they never gave her any painkillers.  How had he known to do this for her?

He was tired and she was exhausted.  There were so many choices to make regarding that little life snuggled against Eli’s chest.  No one had seen her yet, besides the doctor and nurses.  Her parents knew the baby had been born, and that she was healthy, but nothing else.  There were too many tests, and checkups to be done, and Viktoriya didn’t want to be seen until she had the strength to make herself look presentable.  Sure, her parents had seen her in far worse states, but she still wanted to recuperate in private.

Viktoriya was thankful the doctors let her wear clothes she was comfortable in.  Despite the August heat, she wore a pair of Eli’s sweatpants and one of his sweat jackets that zipped up the front.  She’d rather have been in a tee shirt, but this was an easier choice for feeding their daughter.

There was a knock on the door, followed by the lights turning on.  There was a note on the door, reminding the nurses of a light sensitive patient, and to give proper warning before turning the lights on, but Viktoriya guessed that this nurse missed it.  She slid up her bed, a surprisingly difficult feat, and readied herself for whatever this was about.

“Mrs. Sima-Coates?” The nurse asked.  She was a tiny woman, the pockets of her scrubs stuffed with supplies. “We need some blood from the baby.  It won’t be long, I promise.”

Viktoriya nodded, “Ilya?  Ilya?”  She tried to wake Eli with just her voice.  Thankfully, it didn’t take much.  Almost at once, Eli was groaning as he woke, hand going to the baby to support her as he sat up.

“More blood? He asked, cradling their daughter in his arms.  The nurse had begun to get the plastic cradle ready for the baby.  She spread a little blanket out and helped Eli set the baby down.  Off came her little socks, and out came a tiny lancet.  The moment her skin was pierced, little blue eyes opened.  Her tiny toothless mouth opened, and she started to wail.

It was instinct for Viktoriya to want to shoo the nurse away and for her to comfort her baby.  But she knew this was important, so she held her tongue.  Eli cam and sat beside her, and took her hand. It was hard to ignore the baby’s cries, but it was over soon enough.  The nurse and the tube of blood was gone, and their daughter was in Viktoriya’s arms.

“We should choose a name soon.” Viktoriya said, cradling their little girl.  She had wispy dark hair and bright blue eyes.  It was hard to make out whom she might look like as she got older.  She started to calm in her mother’s arms.  Looking down at her, it was still hard to believe she and Eli had made this tiny little life.

“We should.  It’s been a few days.  I feel bad that the nurses keep calling her ‘Little Sima-Coates.’  So… A name for our daughter…” Eli reached over, running a finger over the baby’s little cheeks.

Viktoriya remembered Eli’s suggestion of naming her after Yuri Utkin.  She’d heard stories, mostly from Agnessa, that her babies somehow just looked like their names, that she had just known what to name her kids.  Viktoriya just didn’t see it.  The baby started to fuss.  Judging by the time she was hungry again.  Viktoriya unzipped the jacket and put the baby to her breast.  She was worried about the “latching issues” the nurse warned about, but their baby didn’t seem to have any.  Their little girl fed hungrily.

“I was thinking about something inspired by where we fell in love.” Viktoriya offered.

“I’m not naming her Paris.” He laughed, knowing full well it wasn’t what his wife meant.

“Georgette for her middle name, after Yuri.” She smiled.  Viktoriya shifted as the baby fed, trying to find a position that was comfortable for both of them.  Eli helped adjust the jacket to provide some privacy.

“I like it.  But what about her first name?  I was thinking maybe Nikola?” Eli helped her lean against the pillows, and put his arm around her.

“Nikola?”  She questioned.  Viktoriya looked down at her daughter, trying to fit the name to the tiny face.

“Nikola, from Nicholas, the patron of Russia where her beautiful mother is from.  Patron of children.  And it derives from Nike, the Greek goddess of victory.  Also she’ll be named after Nikola Tesla, and in a way Yuri Gagarin, and with their legacies, Yuri Utkin and ours, she’ll be destined to do great things.” Eli smiled at his little girl again.  He already loved her so much.

“Nikola Georgette Sima-Coates…” She tried the name on.  It was long, heavy, full of importance, full of hope.  It was the kind of name Eli would think of.  It was the kind of name Viktoriya would think of.  She had renamed herself “fierce and glorious victory,” so for her daughter to be victory too, it seemed right.  “Yes, our beloved Nikola Georgette Sima-Coates.”

“Our sweet Nikola.  I didn’t know she’d be so small.  When I hold her, I’m afraid I’ll break her.” Eli admitted.  Somehow that relieved Viktoriya.  She wasn’t alone in her fears.

“I can’t believe she’s real.  Ilya, we made her together.  I just… We’re responsible for her… I just hope we can be good enough for her.”  Viktoriya blinked the tears from her eyes.  Eli leaned over to kiss her cheek.  She could feel the support from his mind easing hers.

“I can’t promise we’ll always make the right choice, but I love her, and I love you.  I can promise I’ll always do my best.” He whispered. Viktoriya could feel his love, his fear, his hope.  She felt overwhelmed by her own emotions and his.  Viktoriya closed her eyes under the wash of thoughts and feelings.  She felt Eli’s lips on her cheek. 

They sat like that together, eyes closed, Viktoriya under Eli’s arm until Nikola was finished feeding.    She was afraid that she might fall asleep like that.  Eli lifted Nikola from Viktoriya’s arms, cradling his daughter.  Viktoriya opened her eyes to watch him, and he smiled.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?  Vika, you’ve barely slept in the past few days.  You must be exhausted.” He said softly.  He was right, she was exhausted.  It was hard to sleep at the hospital.  There were always nurses that needed her blood, or Nikola’s, or checking Viktoriya’s sugar, or some other checkup or test.  She envied Eli a little.  He always woke up when the nurses or doctors came in, though he didn’t have to.  But just the same, he wasn’t getting stuck with needles and probed.

“I can’t, not yet.  There’s too much to decide.” She argued weakly.  She watched him put Nikola down into her cradle.  Viktoriya hated that plastic cradle.  She’d seen the crib Eli had helped make.  It was simple, hand crafted, and beautiful.  Though he wasn’t much of an artist, he’d painted Dinah and Ceres on the headboard, each hound howling at a crescent moon.  He put so much love into it.  She wanted to be home already, and to watch Nikola sleep in the crib her family had made for her.

“Well, Vika.  Let’s lay down and we can decide some of these things.” Eli gave her a smile that filled her heart until it threatened to burst.  She couldn’t remember feeling that way before.  She must have, but the worry and fear was just blocking it out.  Or maybe it was the current reality. He was her husband, and the father of their newly born daughter.  She’d never planned to have this life available to her.  She’d always told herself it wasn’t for her, or even that she didn’t want it.  But now that Viktoriya was here, watching her baby settle back to sleep, feeling her husband gently settle into her hospital bed and let her lay against him, she was grateful to have Nikola and Eli.

“What’s first?  My parents will want to see her.  Soon.  I just… I want to make sure that… She’s so new… I don’t want to disappoint them.” Viktoriya’s head rested on Eli’s shoulder.  He didn’t seem to mind her sweaty skin, or her lank hair, lazily pulled back into a ponytail.  He pulled her close to him.  She dare let out a little sigh.

“How could Nikola possibly disappoint them?  They’ll love her.  They’re eager to meet their granddaughter, but… I think I understand your fears.  I’ll talk to the doctor when he comes in this morning.  I’ll make sure Nikola’s tests results are going well.  Either way, we should let them see her.” Eli’s hand gently stroked her side, under the sweat jacket.  Her eyes were half closed at his touch.

“You’re right.  This afternoon.  After I get a nap and shower.  They’ve seen me at worse, but I don’t want them to see me like this.”  Viktoriya was starting to lull to sleep, but she fought it.  “They’ll want to have Nikola baptized.”

“It’s not something I would decide to do, but I think faith is in one’s own heart.  We can’t chose Nikola’s faith for her.  But if it puts your parents’ minds at rest, I don’t see the harm.  Besides, naming a guardian might be a good idea.  I mean… With my record of health.”  Eli joked, but missed his target.  He didn’t need words to know Viktoriya’s discomfort with the idea of Eli getting hurt again, but she offered them anyway.

“Don’t even joke about it, Ilya.  But… It might be a good idea.  I think Agnessa would agree to be her godmother.  Did you want to ask your brother?” Viktoriya knew reality too well to ignore it.  The sooner they made these arrangements, the sooner they could go back to marveling over how tiny her fingers were, or the cute cupids bow her upper lip curled into when she smiled.

“I haven’t spoken to Levi since… It’s been months.  Right after the shooting, he texted to ask if I was okay.  No, I don’t think Levi would be a good choice.  I think Vikenti might be a better choice.  He’s more responsible, and a better friend.”  Eli tried to hide the guilt in his voice.  There was more keeping Levi and Eli apart than he wanted to admit to himself.  Surely news of his father’s death made their way back to England, and with a story that scandalous, none of the details would be spared. 

As Viktoriya turned the thoughts over in her mind, she found that Eli was once again, planning in ways that weren’t obvious.  Though being Nikola’s godparent was really nothing more than an ornamental title, if events came to life, and Eli and Viktoriya were unable to care for their daughter, Vikenti was the best choice to care for her.  Agnessa and Iosif would take her if they had to, though out of familial duty.  They had children of their own, ensuring that they would be good parents to her, but that also made her another mouth too feed.  Sometimes the farm had bad years.  On the other hand, Vikenti and Miro, at least so far, seemed to be a committed, happy couple.  They didn’t have any children yet, but until recently Vikenti had always been available to help Viktoriya and Eli.  He had the security of resources to help raise Nikola without bankrupting himself.  And no one would be able to cut through a teenage girl’s lies like a professional spy.  The joke managed to temper the guilt and fear wrapped around the mere thought of anyone else raising her daughter.

“Yes, Vikenti would be a good choice.  We’ll ask him when we get back to Moscow.”  Viktoriya’s eyes felt heavy.  She nuzzled against Eli’s neck.  This was his plan all along, wasn’t it?  She always slept well with her head on his shoulder.  He had to have known if he wrapped her in his arms, it would only be a matter of time until she was asleep.

“So we are going back to Moscow?” Eli asked, his voice piqued with interest.

“Well, you have to.  And while I’m grateful for all my family has done for me in the last couple of months… I’m not a farm girl.  I like Moscow.  I miss Moscow.  I miss Vikenti.  I miss my life there.” Viktoriya lips seemed to move on their own.  Had she even said that, or just thought it?  With Eli in her mind he’d know just the same.

“I’ll call Miro tomorrow and ask him if he can get me some leads on places to live.” Eli told her.  It was the last thing she remembered before drifting to sleep.  She didn’t remember the nurse waking her for a blood sugar test, or Eli getting up to change Nikola’s diaper.  Viktoriya didn’t realize time had even passed until Eli woke her close to supper time.

He’d called her parents and invited them to have dinner in the room with them, and to meet their granddaughter.  They had a little over an hour before he expected them.  No need to rush, but they had plenty to do.

Viktoriya fed Nikola again, before Eli helped her into the shower.  The hospital shower was neither large nor luxurious – even the bathroom back at the farmhouse was nicer, but the water was warm, and it felt good to have the sweat washed from her body.  Eli washed helped wash her back and her hair.  They traded places when she was done.  He hadn’t labored the same as Viktoriya, but it had still been awhile since he’d bathed.

By the time her parents arrived, Viktoriya was dressed in her favorite tee shirt and a fresh pair of Eli’s sweatpants.  She even brushed out her hair and put on a little make up.  Viktoriya was starting to feel normal again.  Eli was in jeans and one of the tee shirts given to him by the Prizrak Rytsarya.  It clung to his muscles in a way that left nothing to the imagination of what might be beneath.  Viktoriya smiled, watching Eli with Nikola resting on his chest again.  Her blue eyes watched him as he read a newspaper article to her, some piece about a baby animal born at the zoo.

“Viktoriya? Elijah? Beautiful baby?” Viktoriya’s mother whispered as she entered the room with a bag of gifts and an arm full of flowers.  Her father was close behind with a combination car seat and carrier, a teddy bear buckled into the seat.

“Come in Mama, she’s awake.  You didn’t have to get us so much.  Really, Mama, Papa, you are so thoughtful.” Viktoriya tried to say through the rush of kisses and hugs to her and Eli.  They tried to peek at the baby.  Eli folded up the newspaper, and let his mother-in-law take her.

“We’ve named her Nikola.  Victory, like her mother.” Eli beamed with pride.

“What a beautiful name! She’s beautiful!” Luca peeked over his wife’s shoulder to catch a glimpse at his granddaughter.  Viktoriya thought they’d be over seeing grandchildren by now, but they were acting liked Nikola was the first. 

After about five minutes they were all settled, and Eli had left to get dinner for them all.  Her father put the flowers on a table, and started to unpack the gifts from the bags.  It wasn’t long before the questions started, but it wasn’t as demanding as Viktoriya expected.

“How are you feeling Viktoriya?” Her father asked.

“Sore, exhausted, but happy.  I know I wasn’t sure about being a mother, but I’m excited now.”  She told her parents, watching Nikola with a smile.

“I knew it would come for you.  I wasn’t sure I was ready when your oldest sister was born, but when she came, everything fell in to place.”  He said, finding a place at the small table.

“Open your gifts, darling.” Her mother urged.

“I want to wait for Ilya.  He’ll be back soon.  He already missed so much, I don’t to take anything more away from him.  Even if it’s just some wrapping paper.”  Viktoriya waved her hand.  As predicted, Eli returned soon with two trays, and a nurse carrying another two.

“She saw me struggling in the commissary and offered to help.  I hope grilled chicken is good for everyone.” Of course, no one argued with Eli as he handed out trays of food.  He brought a rolling table over from the bed side for Viktoriya before sitting beside her.  “Oh so many gifts for Nikola.  She has such a gracious family!”

Upon her mother urging, they opened the gifts during dinner.  She couldn’t wait until they finished to see her daughter enjoy her presents.  It was the standard baby welcoming array of gifts – a breast pump, a bouncer, a diaper bag, a monitor, the carrier and car seat.  A bathing tub, soaps and shampoos, creams and powders.  There were clothes for Nikola, some store bought, other pieces handmade, linens and soft toys.  Agnessa had made Viktoriya a cloth sling-like carrier.  In fact, her brothers’ and sisters’ names were on various items, each signed to a card in their own handwriting.  They may have been scattered across Russia, but this was proof that they had not forgotten their youngest sister.  The sentiment alone brought tears to Viktoriya’s eyes.

“Thank you so much, Mama and Papa.  For all of this.  For everything.” Viktoriya cried into her mother’s shoulder after getting up for a hug.

“Anything for my baby.  You can change your name, but you’re always my Annushka.” Her mother cooed.

“Oh, good.  I was afraid you’d moved.” Miro deadpanned as he walked in the door, exhausted from his day, and exhausted to see his boyfriend laying on the couch.  His chef’s jacket hung open, and his hair had started to fall from its tiny curl of a ponytail.  Vikenti hadn’t even realized what time it was until Miro came home.  If he was here, the restaurant was closed, and it was after midnight.

Miro peeled off his uniform as he made his path through the apartment.  He would walk to the bedroom, change into something comfortable – usually sweatpants and a tank top, or tee shirt.  Miro would stop in the bathroom to wash his face and fix his hair.  He didn’t usually notice how disheveled it looked until he found the mirror.  Then he would walk to the kitchen, his footsteps heavy.  He would ask Vikenti if he ate, but without waiting for an answer, he would already be preparing something.  But he never once wore a smile.

The last time Vikenti had seen Miro’s smile was weeks ago, and not for him.  Miro had been awarded his first Michelin star.  Quite the achievement for someone so young, and without traditional training.  Paired with the restaurants recent booming success, the owner was more than thrilled to invite journalists and critics into his dining room to meet with Miro.  He took almost one hundred pictures that day, smiling in all of them.  Somewhere, Miro’s mother had a scrapbook full of her son’s fake happiness.  The smiles were exhausted by the time Miro returned home, and returned to the truth.

It wasn’t always this bad.  There was a time, not so long ago, when Miro would come home still tired, but his eyes would light up when they fell on Vikenti.  He would worry over Vikenti’s leg, still healing after being shot.  The bullet had shattered the bone, breaking his leg, making the healing process longer than it would have been otherwise.  He brought Vikenti home something from the restaurant, always still warm, rich and delicious.  Miro used to ask Vikenti about his day, rub his back, and hold his hands.  Miro still loved him.  It just used to be easier to see.

“Did you do anything today?”  The question wasn’t kind.  Miro didn’t want to know if Vikenti had done anything interesting that day.  Only if he’d done anything at all, because he expected otherwise.  Miro wasn’t gentle in his apartment’s small kitchen, putting pots heavily on the range.  Metal on metal rang out, giving sound to Miro’s mood.

“I … No, I didn’t.”  Vikenti admitted as he sat up.  There was no use lying to Miro.  He wouldn’t anyway.

“Your leg is healed.  You aren’t limping anymore.  When are you going back to work?”  Miro was direct.  He didn’t used to be.  Once, he was patient with Vikenti, letting him come to his answers in his own time.  His patience was removed along with Vikenti’s cast.

There was a long silence between the men.  Vikenti came into the kitchen, edging into Miro’s domain.  Technically, as this was Miro’s apartment, it all belonged to him, but the kitchen was special.  The kitchen was where Miro was alive, where he made miracles from meat and vegetables.  Even when he begrudgingly made Vikenti his dinner, there was a peace inside of him.  Maybe that’s why he still bothered to make a meal for him.  Perhaps it was the only thing keeping Miro from completely snapping at Vikenti.

“I don’t know that I want to go back.” Vikenti finally admitted.  He wasn’t sure if he was telling Miro, or telling himself, but it finally came out.

“Well, you have to.” Miro told him, his voice quiet and hard.  His back was to Vikenti, as he carved into some poor animal’s meat.  “You aren’t finished with what you started.”

Vikenti didn’t say anything.  He wasn’t sure what to say.  What would Miro know about his work?  He only told Miro what little he could about his duties.  The tension was as thick of the muscle Miro sliced through. 

“You toyed with their lives!” Miro finally came to a boil, turning toward Vikenti.  His sudden anger surprised him.  Miro was usually so calm.  “You put your friends through hell, and for what?  What was the goal of all this?”

Shame and guilt hit Vikenti hard.  He always loved Miro because he was always transparently honest.  He never held back from Vikenti.  His love was plain, his nerves were plain, his fears, his dreams, and his ambition, all naked for Vikenti to know and see.  This had been a secret pain, Miro had fostered for weeks.  Knowing what he’d done to Viktoriya and Eli weighed heavily enough on him.  Seeing the disappointment on Miro’s face dragged him down further.

“I…” Vikenti began before he even knew what to say. “I just wanted to protect them.  Everything was unraveling faster than I could figure out what I was doing.  Natassia plays with people, and makes it look simple.  She can make you do her work all while thinking it was your own goal.”

“And Natassia is what you aspire to be?  You would model your career after your sister?” Miro asked.  A plate appeared before Vikenti.  It was pork, potatoes and carrots, a rich sauce smothering the meat.

“I was desperate, Miro.  I thought he was dying.  He’d killed a man.”  Vikenti didn’t have the stomach to eat.  Miro put cutlery into his hands, watching him expectantly.

“And you very well saved Elijah’s life.  And his freedom.  But what about Viktoriya?  What was the point of keeping them apart?  Lying about her pregnancy?” Miro asked Vikenti forced himself to eat.  It wasn’t pork.  It was wild boar.  This was the meal Miro had made for him some ten years ago when he came out.  Was there symbolism there?

“I was afraid.  Of… Of what they would do.  That they would act brashly, quickly, in some way that would jeopardize the outcome of the trial, of her career, of mine.” Vikenti sighed.  He ate more.  If his mouth was full, he couldn’t speak.

“You can fix this.  You can repair the harm you’ve done.” Miro told him.  The anger wasn’t gone, but it was tempered by love and compassion.  Vikenti’s honestly had shown Miro that he wasn’t just some monster playing chess with real lives.  His guilt was proof enough that he wasn’t Natassia.

Though Miro’s unhappiness seemed to have evaporated, Vikenti could not yet find peace within himself.  Miro’s words were still stuck in his mind.  He had put Viktoriya and Elijah through hell, and now he was supposed to make amends.  Highly doubtful that a home baked pie would serve as a proper apology.  Vikenti pushed aside his plate, half the food still uneaten, and hung his head.

Miro took his hands. “Elijah graduated officer’s school, and completed training.  He competed for a maroon beret on the recommendation of that lieutenant in the hospital, Nordskov.  He passed, and was awarded one.  He’s the first non-Russian to win one, from what they told him.”

“How do you know all this?” Vikenti’s guilt was temporarily replaced with confusion.

“He called me.  And I attended his graduation.  We had lunch afterward.  Vikenti, you abandoned him after you were shot.  You left him with Natassia.  I couldn’t have that.  When it was clear you weren’t going back to work soon, I stopped by and gave him my number, in case he needed it.  There’s more.  Elijah and Viktoriya are together.  She had the baby.” Miro let go of Vikenti’s hands, but only to walk around the counter put his arm over his back.

“She did?  And he was with her when the baby came?” Vikenti was cheered, at least somewhat by the news.  He even dared to look up and meet Miro’s eyes.

“Yes.  He was there in time.  But this means they have a baby to care for now.  You can’t let them be separated again.  They both need to be here in Moscow with as stable of a life as possible.” Miro told him, actually smiling now.

“It could be my apology to them… I’ll find them a house, and assignments that suit their goals and personalities, and try to make their lives better.  Oh! And I can order a box of macrons for her homecoming.” Vikenti started to get excited.

“And we should get something for the baby.” Miro suggested.

“Yes, and the baby.  Is it a boy or a girl?” Vikenti asked.

“Actually, I don’t know.  Eli called me while they were on the way to the hospital.  I haven’t heard from him since.  He might not know yet.  My mom always tells me how long she was in labor with me.  She says it’s why I take so long to decide on everything.”  Miro laughed. 

Vikenti was relieved to have his Miro back, to see his smile.  Perhaps if he’d know letting him vent was all he needed, he would have done it weeks ago.  Then again, Vikenti didn’t realize why Miro was mad all this time.  Maybe they did need the catalyst of Viktoriya’s baby.

“Finish your food, Vikti.  I’m going to take a shower and then fall into bed.”  Miro kissed him on the cheek, before disappearing down the hall.

Fueled by the idea of securing a good future for Viktoriya and Elijah, Vikenti put on his dress uniform and spent the next four days lobbying to every committee, council and organization within the Prizrak Rytsarya.  He even went as far as to request an audience with Director Kaminski.  His rank got him in almost immediately.  He occasionally felt bad about using his rank for his own gain, but he simply wasn’t willing to wait three weeks.  Vikenti was grateful when Kaminski’s assistant found a sudden opening. 

Like most days, Kaminski was attended by a council of advisors.  He hadn’t been in his position long, and was only the second director of the Prizrak Rytsarya.  The previous director, Isaak Polzin held his position until a series of heart complications forced him into retirement.  There were several rumors as to what lead to Polzin’s complications, but Vikenti knew the truth. 

In his youth, the former director had been in a member in an organized crime ring.  The syndicate specialized in the importation and distribution of illegal drugs, and like most young ambitious men, Isaak saw the money.  He was a street dealer, getting men and women he’d grown up with, and their younger siblings addicted to his product.  Unfortunately, he couldn’t stay away from it himself.  Stealing from the syndicate was highly frowned upon, and just hours before a thug came to haul him into his superior’s office, Polzin was kidnapped by a different thug, and transported to a cultish commune in Sweden.  It was a concentration camp of sorts, populated by Prizrak – though not all voluntarily.  With a new life as a mechanic, he befriended on of the camp’s guards – a young Russian named Mikhail Sima.  Curious how interconnected the Prizrak Rytsarya was.  It made the world seem so small.  He wondered if his own life was tied to this organization in more ways.

“Major Kozlov?” Kaminski’s assistant pushed through the chamber doors.  “Director Kaminski is ready for you.”

He stepped inside the chambers where Kaminski and three of his advisors were waiting.  Vikenti knew every man in the room, though Kaminski was the only one that knew Vikenti as a major.  His advisors were from various fields, one retired captain from a Spetsnaz special police force, Captain Pavel Saman, a veteran air forces pilot and personal friend, Stefan Kardon, and an old man that spend his life trying to figure out how telepaths work – and how to turn them into weapons, Dr. Anton Utkin. 

He was not worried about Saman or Kardon, both still fairly active in the military, and there to bolster Kaminski in his role.  With his long record of service, Captain Saman offered advice on handling of difficult situations – usually those of the disciplinary variety.  He was a career man with a family.  He had a daughter roughly Viktoriya’s age, who had recently graduated medical school that spring.  Saman liked to see men and women climb the ranks from graduation to high command, despite a new crop of ambitious officers forcing him into retirement.  Kardon had little experience with the bureaucratic part of the military, but didn’t care to.  Like Saman, Kardon was not a Prizrak.  Having two advisors that could offer views without being shaded by communal bias was helpful to Kaminski.  Kardon’s lifelong friendship with the Prizrak Rytsarya director also helped Kaminski connect back to his roots, to see problems the way he would have before his years of service.  These men were nothing but sounding boards.  Vikenti didn’t see his suggestions coming to any opposition from them.

Dr. Anton Utkin already wore a scowl.  He recognized Vikenti from his service under Viktoriya.  Vikenti didn’t really understand the animosity he held toward the young captain.  Honestly, he was surprised to see Utkin still serving on advisory councils.  In the recent years several telepaths had come forward claiming Utkin had mentally abused them during their training.  All the stories quickly disappeared with some legal documents containing some disclaimers protecting Utkin from scrutiny if any of the participants were hurt mentally, physically or emotionally.  However, his methods had been ethically suspect.  He hadn’t been approved to lead any Prizrak Rytsarya research projects in the past five years.  Utkin had exiled himself to England, where he started a school studying Prizrak within an established facility.  While he let his students study anything related to Prizrak, he only took actual interest in subjects related to telepathy.  One of his students, Vikenti’s own friend Elijah Coates had been a particular prize to him.  Not just as student researcher either.  Viktoriya suspected Utkin had greater plans for Eli and Vikenti was inclined to agree.  Another line of spider’s silk in this tangled web.

“Director Kaminski, thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” Vikenti stood with his back straight, hands clasped behind his back.

“Major Kozlov, to what do we owe this visit?” Kaminski got straight to business.  He wasn’t rude, just busy.  Surely he was only notified of the appointment just before Vikenti stepped into the room.

“As you know from the recent trial of Elijah Coates, I was appointed as his proxy.  Thought he has been since released from my custody, I feel my work on his behalf is not finished.  He has recently graduated from training and officers’ school, and is awaiting assignment.  In a further matter, my revelation during his attack has compromised assignment serving as lieutenant to Captain Viktoriya Sima-Coates, and as the last remaining member under her command, she is awaiting a new assignment upon her return from maternity leave.”  Vikenti stated succinctly, his words detached from the events.  These are things that have happened.  You don’t need to know how they came to be.

“There are many officers waiting on assignment, Major Kozlov.” Dr. Utkin was quick to offer his opinion.  “Why should Captain Sima be a priority?  If she cannot maintain a command, perhaps she’s not right for the role.”  He was not surprised that Utkin would not recognize the connection between Viktoriya and Eli.  From what Vikenti understood, Utkin did not approve of Elijah’s relationship with Valentina either.

“Men as yourself don’t usually ask for favors without having an angle.  Major Kozlov, where do you see the Prizrak Rytsarya placing Captain Sima-Coates, and Mr. Coates?” Kardon got them back on track.

“Captain Sima-Coates, when she is ready to return, will want certainty in her career.  With a baby, we cannot expect her full dedication on protracted missions away from base.  She conducts herself by the procedural manual, and always wants the best out of herself, and her team.  Captain Sima-Coates would be brilliantly suited to position training and teaching our newest soldiers.”  Vikenti offered.  Kaminski was impressed.  Saman nodded to himself.  Kardon leaned to Kaminski sharing his comments.  So far, Vikenti was doing well.  “As for Mr. Coates, I’m not sure he’ll so easily give up his mission of investigating the death of Captain Mikhail Sima, so he should be able to do so in addition to his assigned duties.  He too will want stability and the opportunity to be with his child.”

“I would gladly take on Mr. Coates, and assist him in his investigation.” Utkin offered, but Vikenti ignored the comment.  He carried on as if Utkin wasn’t even in the room.

“I believe the Prizrak Rytsarya is due for an adjustment.  We are seen as a military force, with few civilian roles.  This was fine in Director Polzin’s day, when we needed a show of force, and armor to protect our needs.  But in the days since, Prizrak have won our rights, flourished as an organization, but still many Prizrak see this as an inevitability, the last resort, the only option for a successful life.  We need that to change.  We need people that recognize the talent in the Prizrak and the vlast’.  We need a place that emerging Prizrak can go in times of need, fear, anger, and be helped in all the ways they need.  I would like to take on the responsibility of establishing this project, and I would like Mr. Coates to be my representative for the Protiv.”  Vikenti silently prayed that his plan would work.  It was too perfect.  An assignment for Viktoriya, something that would yield rewards for her career.  Eli would be well suited to his role helping others find their place in the Prizrak Rytsarya while simultaneously finding his own place.  Vikenti would have an assignment that would keep him in Moscow, and something Miro, and their families could be proud of.   It had to work.  Vikenti hadn’t made a backup plan.

The director and advisors were silent as they thought.  There were murmurs as Kardon and Kaminski conferred.  Saman would purse his lips as he considered something, write on a tablet in front of him, doubtless sharing his commentary with the director.  Utkin seemed to be doing the same, but did not share the thoughtful look the retired officer did.  Utkin was frustrated.  They were ignoring him.

“Put it on paper Kozlov.  A budget, supply requisition, location suggestions, proposed schedules of operation and procedures.  Give us shortlist of officers you want.  We want a Telo, Tayna and Priroda on staff.  Put your trouble-making sister on the employ too.  She’s getting ambitious, and there are few people that can keep her in check like you can.”  Kaminski said finally.  Vikenti fought a small battle against a smirk at Natassia’s mention.  The real war was the excitement turning over in his stomach.  If he wasn’t completely sure it would ruin his reputation, Vikenti would run – actually run, back to Miro.

“Captain Sima-Coates is free to take the leave that she needs to care for her child.  She’s been through much, and has my deepest respect as soldier, officer, superior and friend.  When she returns, there will be a place for her in the Prizrak Rytsarya.”  Kaminski concluded mysteriously.  He hadn’t approved Viktoriya’s transfer to instructor.  His plan may not have gone flawlessly, but he did seem to give Vikenti hope.

This house was a prison.  A simple, sturdy built prison on the edge of the world.  And she was locked in with the walking sex hound, Billy Duke, the whale that Viktoriya had become and newly added, a quiet wall of muscle that happened to share his name with Valentina’s ex-boyfriend.   The Sima farmhouse was terrible.  The floors squeaked.  The walls were thin.  The water heater wouldn’t even last the whole shower.  This was totally not her penthouse back home in New York.  She missed New York, and Billy Duke was barely easing her homesickness.

Eli and Viktoriya being together wasn’t helping.  As hurtful as it was to see Viktoriya play nurse to Eli after his shooting, it was far worse now.  She could hear them at night.  After Billy had reached his carnal climax, rolled off of her, and fell asleep in her bed, the house got quiet.  Viktoriya’s parents, Valentina’s father’s cousin, always found bed first.  He was always up with the sun, and went down with it too.  Viktoriya had been the last to bed, especially in the past few weeks.  She used to be up crying.  Now she could her laughing, talking with Eli, as they planned their future together.

“Have you considered any names yet?” She heard Eli ask.  She couldn’t see through the wall to know for sure, but Valentina imagined Eli rubbing Viktoriya’s big belly.  Valentina still considered that Viktoriya might be lying about the pregnancy, that she really was just fat, and trying to play to Eli’s sympathies so that he didn’t leave her.  That little paper marriage couldn’t be that binding.

“No, I thought that maybe we should know if it’s a boy or a girl first.” Viktoriya said softly.  What a lie.  Viktoriya did nothing softly.  She was only ever harsh words and cold looks with Valentina.  Especially once Billy joined them.  It was hard to picture her cousin gently stroking Eli’s cheek, or running her fingers through his chest hair.  She didn’t want to picture it anyway.  That should be her in there.

That should have been Valentina, wrapped in Eli’s arms.  That should have been Valentina touching his cheek, his arm, his chest.  That should have been Valentina wearing his ring, covered in more diamonds than stars in the sky, and worth more than this entire property.  That should have been Valentina pregnant with his child.

If it were her, she’d already have everything planned.  Valentina would name the little boy something elegant, but strong.  Like Elijah himself.  He’s so close with his brother, perhaps name the boy after Levi.  Surely Levi would be his godfather.  With just two weeks to go, she’d already have her hospital bags packed, a little outfit or two picked out of little Levi Coates II, her delivery suite booked, her delivery day set, her labor classes completed and her delivery coach on call.  She’d want her father there, of course.  Eli and Murroh would be ever ready to rush her to the hospital.  Murroh would probably even be staying in the penthouse with them, just to be close at hand.  If it were Valentina, everything would be perfect.

“I think we should name the baby after Yuri Utkin.  At least… in some way.” Eli suggested.  Valentina rolled her eyes.  Even after two comas, three bullets and several surgeries, he was still caught up with this fantasy of rescuing Mikhail Sima and Yuri Utkin.

“But what if we have a girl?” Viktoriya retorted.  She wasn’t making fun of him either.  She was as foolish as Eli, entertaining the idea of being great heroes.

“Georgina, Georgiana, Georgette?”  Eli offered.  Did he not realize that he would be naming his daughter after the man that nearly killed him?

“Ilya, are you sure?  Won’t it remind you of him?” Viktoriya was at least that smart.

“No, nothing will remind me of him.  Not even the scars on my face.  If my child is named Georgiana, or George, there are so many things I will see when I look at them.  Love, pride, amazement, hope, and light.  I’ll see you.  I’ll see me.  Maybe I’ll think of Yuri, but I will never think of him.”  Eli’s bold speech must have stirred something in Viktoriya.  She was quiet.  Valentina barely heard the sounds, squeaks, creaks, shuffling, then muffled moan.  It had stirred something in her.  They were kissing.

There were other conversations Valentina would over hear.  They weren’t always about the baby, but they didn’t make her feel any better.  She could hear them in their room, another quiet night.  Billy Duke was in the shower, down the hall, using up all the hot water.

“Are you going back to Moscow, Vika?” Eli asked, breaking the silence.  Once again, Valentina tried to imagine their positions.  Eli would be lying on the bed, with Viktoriya against his chest.  He’d have those long, muscular arms around her.  His hand was placed on her belly.

“I know you have to go back, Ilya.” She said, not answering his question.  Viktoriya made anyone work for the tiniest bit of information.  Even her husband.

“It’s beautiful here.  But I think it’s mostly you.” He paid her the sweetest words.  Viktoriya didn’t deserve them.  Those words were for Valentina.  He was lying anyway.  This farm was not beautiful.  They were barely in Russia, almost in Asia.  The buildings were dilapidated, there was never anything to do.  If there was an opposite of New York, this was it.

“You want to move here?  You can’t Ilya, the PR owns you.” Valentina could see Viktoriya reach up to touch his cheek, run her fingers along his scars.

“It’s not a bad dream, is it?  You, me, and the baby.  We could take over the ranch.  You would get to see your brothers, and Agnessa.  Our baby would grow up alongside Oskar, Samuil and Esfir.” Eli suggested.  Valentina frowned at his dream.  Take the ranch?  The ranch belonged to Valentina’s father.  After his death, it belonged to her.

“You can’t take the ranch.  What do you know about livestock, Ilya?” Viktoriya laughed at him.  But he laughed too.  Their happiness grated against Valentina.  “If I had my choice, I would take you back to Paris.  I miss the lights.  I miss seeing the Tower from our bed, and the thrill I would get when you took my hand.  It would be the last thing I see I closed my eyes, and your lips were the last thing I would feel.”

Valentina felt sick.  She couldn’t stand to hear her cousin shower Eli with such sweet words.  Once again she heard the almost silent sound of their love’s embrace.  Their lips meeting, the pleasure inspired from their bodies.

Billy Duke returned to their room, dropping the towel before he even closed the door behind himself.  He knew it infuriated Viktoriya’s father.  Sometimes he left the towel behind in the bathroom, thought he’d only done it once since Eli came to stay at the farm house.  After he paraded stark naked past the other man, making a joke about something to be jealous over, Eli effortlessly grabbed one of Billy’s arms and twisted it in direction arms were not meant to go.  It was only seconds before Billy was crying out in pain, but Eli let him suffer longer.  Long enough to gain Viktoriya and her parents’ attention.  Viktoriya’s father was so happy, he declared that they would all enjoy a meal out at the town’s only restaurant.  Although, a third of the household wasn’t invited – Billy and Valentina were left home.  She didn’t want to go anyway.  And for all that effort, Eli ended up paying.  The Sima family probably didn’t have enough money to cover Viktoriya’s massive share of the meal.

Billy wasn’t terrible to look at.  In fact, he was actually quite attractive.  His golden blonde hair always fell perfectly.  His teeth were gleaming, white and straight.  He had a slim, hairless body, with great abs.  Billy Duke looked like a member of a boy band.  It was a shame he couldn’t sing.  He’d probably do well as an actor.  Valentina could totally see him packing a theater with young girls desperate to see an inch of skin.

“You wanna make them jealous?” Billy smirked at her.  He sauntered over to the bed.  They weren’t sharing a room.  Well, they were, but they weren’t supposed to be.  Billy had his own room, at the other end of the house.  At first, he’d go to his own quarters, waiting for everyone to go to sleep before sneaking through the house to find Valentina.  She’d quietly take him into her bed, muffling his sounds with her mouth.  It never took him long.  After, he’d sneak back to his own room.  It didn’t take long before Billy started to feel at home in the farm house.  He would not so quietly visit her, and not so quietly leave.  Billy would start to stay longer in her room.  He wasn’t taking more time with Valentina, he was just fall asleep in her bed.  Viktoriya’s father had caught them on more than one occasion.  After that, Billy didn’t even bother sneaking.  He just let himself into Valentina’s room and take off his clothes.

Valentina didn’t answer him with words.  She slid her silk nightgown up over her head, and threw it to the side of the room.  For as expensive as it was, she didn’t care where it fell.  Getting it dirty was a lot easier to resolve than Billy ripping the handmade lace.

“You know he’s got to be aching in there.  When do you think was the last time they did it?” Billy asked as he pushed her sheets aside.  He was talking about this now?  The great seduction techniques of Billy Duke.

“Sounds like they’re doing it now.”  Valentina told him, getting up on her knees to shimmy off her panties.

“What?  With her that pregnant? No! It hurts the baby.  That what Leibe told me.  She said if you do in the third trimester, the baby is born with a soft spot in the head.  You know… From jabbing at it.  She’s gotta have him on hold.  It would explain why he’s so moody and violent.”  Billy pulled Valentina down to the bed.

She felt to the mattress, lost in thought.  Did Billy really not understand how reproduction worked?  Did Leibe really think it worked that way?  They hadn’t mentioned Leibe in a while.  Reality was trying to edge its way into her mind.  It was a poisoned thought.  She shook those ideas from her mind.  “He’s moody and violent because he doesn’t like you.  I don’t think he likes me anymore either.”

“He’s just jealous that we’re getting’ it, and he’s lying there in the dark at full salute, while she’s sleeping.”  Bill tried to get her into a position, but Valentina slipped from his grasp.

There were too many thoughts in her mind.  Worries and concerns swirling around in her head.  And for the first time, the prospect of sex with Billy Duke would not banish them.  In fact, he made them worse.

“Billy, what are we doing?” Valentina asked.  He looked at her as if she’d just asked a truly stupid question.

“Well, I thought we were gonna do it.” He answered plainly.

“No, I mean… You came here because you were fighting with Leibe, or something.  I’m supposed to be helping you get it together so you can go back to her.”  Valentina suddenly felt as naked as she was.  Suddenly, she wasn’t okay with him seeing her breasts, and pulled the blankets up around her.

Billy had arrived only two weeks after Valentina and Viktoriya did.  If Valentina was disappointed by the way the Sima farm looked, Billy was devastated.  Whatever preconceived notions of Russia he held in his head were dashed.  He didn’t speak Russian, beyond “da,” “nyet,” and “vodka”, all of which came with an obnoxious laugh.  Viktoriya called him an “Ugly American,” and without surprise, her parents agreed.

Valentina had made many excuses for Billy Duke over the past weeks.  At first, she explained to her family that he and his wife – it was easier like that – were fighting.  With Billy legitimately estranged from his family – it turns out his father did not approve of his getting Leibe pregnant, he had nowhere else to go. So far, it hadn’t been total lies.  But as the weeks went on, and Billy showed no signs of homesickness, and didn’t mention missing Leibe or Evan at all, the Sima family started to sour towards him.  Sour feelings soon evolved into concealed hate, and then into open hatred and naked threats.  Eli’s arrival practically solidified how the family saw Billy.  Eli was a golden hero to the Simas, practically a god.  Billy must be the devil by comparison.

“What? Did she tell you that?” Billy asked, sitting up in the bed.  “She keeps making decisions for me!”

“You don’t want to go back to her and Evan?” Valentina tried to meet his eyes in the dark room.  She couldn’t remember a time when she ever had a deep conversation with Billy Duke.  To be fair, she couldn’t remember one with anyone but Eli.  He’d been crying, sure his life was ending soon after being expelled from school.  Valentina still remembered how vulnerable he looked that night.  Weak, tears making his eyes bleary and red, even telepathically, his voice was hoarse and strained.  If she hadn’t been there, he might have done something dangerous and rash that night.  Though, if not for her, he wouldn’t have gotten expelled.

“No, not really.  I didn’t want Evan.  I didn’t want Leibe.  I just want to go back to how it was before.  With you.  Back at school.  Remember?  When everything was easy and fun?” Billy threw himself back on the mattress.

“If you wanted to have fun with me, why did you have sex with Leibe?  And why did you do it behind my back?” Valentina was finally feeling the pain of that betrayal.  It had been more than a year since they had broken up, but it felt fresh.  Why hadn’t she felt this pain before?  Maybe it was Eli that distracted her from it.  Or maybe this was just the devastation of being rejected by both Eli and Billy Duke.  Tear were burning hot in her eyes.

“Because… I don’t know!  You wanted a boyfriend, and I’m not a boyfriend!  I don’t want to be a boyfriend, or a husband.  I definitely don’t want to be a father!  I’m not even twenty five yet! I just… I just want to be allowed to have a good time.”  Billy covered his face with his hands as he let out a sigh.  He sounded exhausted.  With the conversation, with Valentina, with everything.

There were no more words between them.  Billy rolled, turning his back to her and fell asleep.  Valentina slid out of the bed to get dressed again.  She really was rejected by them both.  She wanted too much from Billy, and she wouldn’t give enough to Eli.  Anything she could remotely call family was half the world away.  For the first time since her mother died, Valentina felt alone.

The night wasn’t kind to her.  She slept in cycles of restless sleep and silent weeping.  When the sun crept through her window, Valentina decided to give up on the idea of getting any sleep.  She quietly moved down the hall to bathroom.  It was warm, humid with hot water.  Someone had been in the recently.  She ran a shower and bathed quickly.  She wasn’t concerned with giving her thick hair its proper double-deep conditioning treatment, or using her multi-step facial cleanser.  Valentina simply washed herself, and stepped from the tub.  She wrapped herself in a towel, and dressed quickly in her room.  Billy was still sleeping.

Dressed in the plainest dress she brought, a seersucker halter dress, Valentina went barefoot to the kitchen.  Eli was sitting at the table, reading a newspaper.  Before he noticed she was there, Valentina took it all in.  He wore his glasses, a new pair of black frames.  His hair was longer than Valentina had ever seen him let it get.  He pushed it back away from his forehead, and it took a handsome curl.  He wore a plain tee shirt, issued by the Prizrak Rytsarya and pair of jeans.  This was not the Elijah the she walked out on.

When she looked at his face, she didn’t see pain, or loss.  She saw a faint scar that extended from his eye and curled down toward his mouth before getting lost in his dark stubble.  There were the remnants of pain, and the consequence of loss, but he had set those troubles aside.  She saw his thick eyebrows knit together as he read, just like he always did.  He ate with his fork in his left hand, just like he always had before. He was the same frame, but not the same man.

Valentina finally made her presence known.  She walked to the kettle, still hot from when he poured his own tea, and mad a cup for herself.  There wasn’t any food set out, but Valentina wasn’t hungry.

“Good morning,” She offered quietly.  She suddenly remembered the last time had breakfast alone with Eli.  It was back in Paris, and Valentina tried to make a show out of eating a sausage.  Had she really done that?  Did she really think that would the mere tease of a sexual act with a breakfast food would sway Eli that easily?  If he had been, he’d be no different than Billy Duke, and then she wouldn’t want him.

Eli looked up from his paper, seemingly surprised that she appeared.  He closed the newspaper and folded it neatly beside him.  When he spoke, Valentina felt like she was listening to his words, and his voice for the first time.  Curious that his English was accented more with the sounds of French and Russian than his own native London. “Something of one, yes.  You are up early.”

“I didn’t sleep well.  Billy and I…” She looked up to see the dark look that always crossed face when Billy was mentioned.  “Well, we had a fight.  And I feel like, I just don’t know what I’ve been doing with him.  He’s so…”

“He’s a wanderer.  Until we find our place in life, we all are.”  Eli had surprisingly kind words regarding Billy Duke.  But they weren’t for him.  They were for Valentina.

“If we all have places, why do we need to find them?  Why aren’t we just in them?” Valentina sighed into her tea.

“I believe that is the basis of philosophy,” Eli said with a laugh.  “For some people it’s easy, natural.  Like Vikenti’s boyfriend, Miro.  He knew he loved to cook, and just followed that dream.  Some of us have an idea of what the future may hold, but the path that takes us there is unexpected and full of danger.  And then for others… You just need to try things until the right thing happens.”

“Do you think you are in your right place?” She asked.

“Maybe.  I don’t know.”  Eli paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts.  He was conflicted.  Maybe not over what was on his mind, but if Valentina was the right audience.  “I am so scared right now.  Any day, any hour, any minute now, Viktoriya will be shouting at me to take her to the hospital, and I’m going to be a father.  I never thought that my place would involve caring for another tiny life, but that’s what is laid before me.”

“It’s really happening.” She didn’t make it a question, and forced a smile to her face.  “She’s going to go into labor.  You’ll have a baby.”

“It’s really happening,” Eli repeated, his smile genuine.  The fear in his voice was gone all at once and replaced with excitement.  “Vika’s father and I have been crafting a cradle for the baby.  Vika, her mother and Agnessa have all been sewing clothes.  Her brother made a mobile for over the crib.  I’m not sure if I’m ready – I don’t think anyone ever is for the first one, but I can’t wait for the baby to arrive.”

“You’ll make a really good father, Eli.” Valentina offered to him.  She sipped her tea, and tried to continue the conversation.  “Have you decided where to live after the baby comes?  Are you staying here?”

“Ah, no.  We haven’t decided yet.  I still have service obligations to the Prizrak Rytsarya, so I don’t think I’ll get to choose where I go.  I’ve been waiting for my orders to come in, but none so far.  Viktoriya’s been receiving a tremendous amount of sympathy from the Prizrak Rytsarya, likely from Director Kaminski taking a liking to her, but eventually even her maternity leave will be up.  She’ll have to choose to return to service or stay home and become a homemaker.  Honestly, I find that unbelievable.”  Eli was slow to eat his breakfast, especially since he began to speaking to her.

“I had no idea the simple decision of where to raise your baby would be so complicated.” Valentina said, without lying.  They told her that Eli had enlisted to ensure the Prizrak Rytsarya’s protection during his trial.  She couldn’t imagine the cost, or reality of the situation.  Valentina was reminded of stories she had her of her father, her real father, Mischa.  When a string of serial killers and nightmares haunted his dreams, he ran away to Russia with her mother, married quickly and signed himself to the Prizrak Rytsarya.  Her mother was already pregnant with her when her father proposed.  He proposed just next door.  They’d been married in the little church up the road.

“Any decision about a baby is never simple.”  Eli mused.  She looked at him, and tried to imagine him holding a baby in his arms.  It was easy.  She could see him cradling a little life, gently running a finger across those chubby infant cheeks.  He was full of pride.  He was full of love.

“Simply knowing that means you’ll always try to make the best decisions.”  Valentina told him.  She really meant it.  Valentina thought more about what Eli said about simple decisions.  Maybe that extended beyond babies.  Maybe that applied to all of life.  Maybe her happiness wasn’t linked to the simple decision of what man to be with, or making Eli decide to be with her.  That’s not what happiness was.  Valentina wasn’t sure what it really was, at least what it was for her, but that wasn’t it.

Valentina decided she needed to think more about what she wanted her life to mean.  Viktoriya knew she was meant for duty, honor, service and loyalty.  Eli was complicated, but figuring himself out too.  He was noble, righteous, brave, even if stubborn, and he wanted his deeds to reflect that.  But what was Valentina?  If she were to die tomorrow, how would she be remembered?  For her ignorance? For her lack of perseverance?  For her attitude?  For her callousness?  No, she wasn’t any of those things.  Not truly.  Well, except ignorant – but everyone is ignorant at first.  It’s the human experience to change ignorance into knowledge.

Maybe she would go back to Moscow, Paris, London or New York.  Maybe she’d go someplace entirely new.  She would try to change her attitude, change her perspective, and change her life.  Valentina wanted to find her place, as so many others had found theirs.  It was out there somewhere.  Maybe it was just next door with her grandparents.

What would Billy Duke do?  What would Leibe do?  She was supposed to be helping them.  No, she couldn’t help them.  They needed to help themselves, find their own places.  Even if those places weren’t with each other.  To be fair, Billy should be free to make his own choices.  Of course, he should take some responsibility for the life he helped make, but he doesn’t have to be in a relationship with Leibe for that.  But none of this was Valentina’s problem.  When Billy woke up, she’d tell him to leave.  She wouldn’t leave him on his own, that was would be cruel.  Valentina decided that she offer to help him get back to society.  She’d buy him a train ticket to the closest city with an airport, and a plane ticket back to America or England.  Maybe Australia.  He only spoke English, so his choices were rather limited.

She looked up, to say something to Elijah.  But before she could her open her mouth she heard something from down the hall.  It was a yell.  Not of pain or of panic, but of surprise.  Well, maybe a little panic.  “Ilya! Ilya! My water broke!  The baby is coming!”

Yuri waited for the alarms to start sounding.  He waited for the buzzing, or the ringing, or the honking, or whatever sounds the alarms made in this prison.  But it was silent.  He’d never been this far down the hall way.  Not in his own body at least.

For weeks now he’d watched the path through Arne’s eyes.  The boy didn’t even know Yuri was in his mind.  He was too busy, too worried about avoiding the anger of the other guards.  He snuck around, took the long routes as to not run into some of the other, more aggressive young men.  Apparently Arne was often bullied, and even some times physically abused.  If they did this to one of their own, Yuri didn’t want to know what they’d do to the prisoners.  And thanks to the things he’d seen and heard, he did know.

The Restorationists were growing restless. Jovana hadn’t returned from her mission to capture Valentina Lytton, and Elijah’s mystery Russian bodyguard.  There were rumors she failed.  Others that she abandoned them, and is Elijah’s newest lover.  There was a third rumor that she’d been killed by the new female Kirkker had seen Eli with.  Yuri wanted to think that Viktoriya had killed Jovana, but he couldn’t know for sure.

Mischa’s nose had been broken last week by a careless and angry guard.  Kirkker and Searzy were dead.  Two other guards too.  Their ire even found Yuri.  He was lucky to escape with only what he thought was a fracture to one of the bones in his left arm.  The Restorationists didn’t need him.  They could have easily killed him.

He’d broken bones before, but this was the first time he’d gone without medical treatment.  The guards gave Arne a hard time for bringing them food.  They surely weren’t going to let him see a medic.  Instead, Yuri asked Arne to bring him some tape and two rulers and attempted to make himself a splint.  His arm still hurt, and he was no field medic, but he’d find a hospital later.  When he got out.

It was that dream of freedom that made it possible for Yuri to ignore the pain in his arm.  That dream was nearly a reality.  With Elijah sequestered and Viktoriya pregnant, Yuri had given up on them.  If he wanted to get out – and he did, he’d need to do it on his own.  And he’d have to do it now.

The hall was silent.  At this time of day, the Restorationists were having their daily morning meeting.  It wasn’t much, just a bunch of the guards yelling at one another, and the eventual fight breaking out.  Without a strong leader like Jovana, the fights came much sooner than before.  Yuri pushed through a door that should have been guarded - but wasn’t, and down another hall way.  This part of the compound used to be accessible to him and Mischa.  Until Horowitz arrived, they had been allowed to visit the medic, commissary, library and gym whenever they wished.  Yuri usually didn’t go anywhere, but they did have that freedom.  Yuri hadn’t noticed until he started walking around in Arne’s mind that the commissary was not connected to the kitchen.  It was merely a room in which Yuri and Mischa were served food.  Well, until they were confined to their rooms.  He slipped into the empty commissary.

Yuri could hear his heart beating rapidly.  Maybe it was nerves.  Maybe it was the pain in his arm.  He held his arm against his chest.  Maybe he could find another shirt, or tape, or something to help bind his arm against the more study, stationary bones of his rib cage.  He passed through the empty dining room, the plastic chairs were stacked against the wall, beside the folded table.  It didn’t seem anyone was coming to meals at all anymore.  They probably didn’t even unfold the table anymore.

There was a door in the back of the room.  Yuri had never seen it before.  It had always been there of course, but in his previous disconnected haze, he never would have seen it.  With his good hand, he turned the knob and pushed it open.  He was surprised that it was unlocked.  It was dark inside, but Yuri didn’t dare turn any lights on.  He wouldn’t do anything that might draw attention.  After a moment, his eyes adjusted to the lack of light.  He was in a long, tight service corridor.  A long way down, there was a faint red light.  Yuri started toward that light.

He found a door under the red light.  It wasn’t locked either.  Inside there was another red light, and a winding stair case.  There wouldn’t be anywhere to hide once he started up the stairs.  The next door was up seven flights of stairs.  Yuri took a deep breath.  Seven flights to freedom.  If he ever wrote a book about his experiences, maybe that should be the title.  But if he wanted to write that book, he’d have to get up those seven flights.  Yuri took another deep breath.  He pushed away his pain.  He wrapped his pain in its own cocoon and stowed it away.  One foot on the first step.  Yuri wished he’d worn shoes.  He’d gone barefoot more with more stealth, to know his footing.  Now the cold metal beneath his toes was uncomfortable.  Just step after step.  One flight.  Then two.  On the fourth floor, he panicked.  He hear a sound, and tried to find a place to hide.  The sound was only in his own mind.  There was no place to hide anyway.

Yuri was anxious now. He struggled to remember his path.  Yuri just had to climb.  Three more flights.  He stumbled up the step, and crawled up on his hand and knees.  He could see the red light from here.  Yuri just had to get to that red light.  With just one more flight of stairs to go, he stopped to rest.  He knew it was risky, but he had to pull himself together.

“Stop it, Yuri.” He told himself, speaking but not daring to raise his voice above a whisper.  “Just up there.  That’s the ground floor.  You’ve seen Arne walk through that door.  Just stairs, then a door, that short hall and steps to the cellar, and up to the kitchen.”  Once he was in the kitchen, it was as simple as walking out of the house.  He was sure there was going to be a wall to scale, and guards to evade.  But it was just that close.  He was that close.  He was hurt, he was weak, but with freedom that close, Yuri would rather die in an attempt at freedom than stay in that cell.

“You can do this.  You know where your friends are.  Just get to the kitchen, get out, and come back for Mischa.”  Yuri promised himself.  He pulled himself up by the handrail with his good arm.  Just one more flight of stairs.  Yuri put his foot up on the step.  He hoped he would have a chance to steal some food from the kitchen.  At the very least, some water.  The red light over the door was growing ever closer.

The door was locked.  Of course it was locked.  Every door thus far had been left wide open.  This last door to freedom, it had to be locked.  Yuri jostled the knob.  There was no dead bolt, just a simple lock.  Yuri braced his broken arm against his chest as he raised one of his legs.  Yuri kicked the door as hard as he could.  It shook on its hinges.  He kicked it again.  He rammed the door with his back, with his good shoulder.  Yuri beat his body against the door until the door separated from its hardware.  He wanted to stop and rest again, inside the dark cellar.  He could just sit amongst the bags of flour and potatoes.  If he was quiet, maybe no one would notice him.  He could just wait until his arm healed.

But that was a lie.  His arm wouldn’t heal without proper treatment.  If he didn’t have it set right, he’d be crippled for the rest of his short life.  Yuri would die in that little cellar.  From hunger, thirst, infection, or the most merciful death, he’d be shot if he was found.  Yuri wouldn’t die in this cellar.  He found a decent knife, likely used for opening the bags of rationed foods.  He wanted to take more.  Yuri wanted to find a small sack and fill it with flour and potatoes and whatever he could find that might keep for as long as it took him to return to Russia.  He stood in the center of the cellar, knife in his good hand, planning on what to take when he was interrupted.

The door at the top of the stairs opened.  Heavy feet fell on one step after another.  Too heavy to be the cook.  Yuri was too panicked to find a place to hide.  He’d have to fight.  Years of lost training flashed back in an instant.  Yuri was across the room in an instant.  He had the first guard against the wall before the man even saw him.  The blade opened his throat.  Yuri let the body find the ground, climbing over him to meet the next man on the stairs.  He had the disadvantage, being on lower ground, but the second guard was in shock of the sudden death of his partner, and didn’t take advantage of the higher ground.  Another slice across the throat.  It wasn’t pretty, but it was quick, and quiet. 

Yuri ditched the bloodied knife for one of the guard’s sharper blades, and helped himself to the pistol as well.  He checked the magazine, and looted both bodies of their clips, their belts and their money.  After a moment, he decided to take their clothes.  As hurriedly as he could, Yuri dressed in the second guard’s pants and boots – he was smaller and closer to Yuri’s size, but took the first guards undershirt.  It was slightly less bloody.  One belt secured the pistol and knife to his waist.  The second fixed his left arm to his chest.  Not the best brace, but it would do.  Or at least he hoped it would do.

The two deaths rolled off his conscience easily.  They weren’t people to him.  They stood in his way to freedom.  Given the chance, they would have killed him first.  Yuri barely needed the justification.  Just before starting up to the next threshold, Yuri took the other guard’s knife, and quietly climbed the stairs.  The second guard hadn’t even closed the door.  He saw sunlight, coming from windows.  How long had it been since Yuri had seen sunlight?

The kitchen was large, bright and open.  He saw dark wood and light marble.  Fresh fruit was laid out in a bowl on a counter.  Freshly baked breads were under a glass cover beside the fruit.  Yuri wandered out of the door way, lost in the landscape outside.  There were tall mountains in every direction, there was blue skies, and green trees, flowers in every color.  He was so caught up in the beauty of organic life that he didn’t see the cook until after the cook saw him.  His heart quickened, the knife was still in his hand, heavy.  He started to call out, but Yuri crossed the room to the cook.  He had to make a quick decision.  He could quiet the man, and maybe get away quietly, sparing his life.  But if someone saw him, and they were left alive, there was no promise of secrecy.   Make the decision quickly he told himself. 

The cook was dead.  His blood was spilling into the pots on the stove.  Yuri was gone.  He ran out the door, across the yard.  There were trees in the distance.  Trees were protection.  Occasionally, Yuri dare look behind himself, but no one followed.  There was huge white mansion behind him, growing smaller as he ran.  He had escaped. 

Yuri had luck on his side.  No, luck would have been taking the bullet in the leg but limping to safety.  Anton had luck.  Yuri had survived.  He ran deeper into the forest.  He threw aside the bloody knife. When he couldn’t see the house any more, he finally stopped.  Yuri needed to decide where to go next.  He didn’t know where he was, he didn’t know his terrain, or where he was headed.  If he got lost, he might end up marching right back to the place he’d fought so hard to escape from.

Yuri checked the guard’s belt for anything that might aid in his survival.  No compass, no map, no digital navigation.  The sun hung over his head, just to the left, but not knowing the true time of day, there was no way to tell if he was facing north or south.  Instead, he decided to keep walking straight.  At least, until he could better orient himself.  It was colder than he expected.  And the temperature was dropping with the sun.  At least he knew he was walking north.

When the sun had left him, Yuri stopped again.  With plenty of dry wood, he was able to make a fire.   He sustained himself on any insect that crawled over his skin.  A humble meal, but he only had to survive until morning.  He scouted for some kind of shelter, returning with wide palm leaves.  He even found a hand full of fruits.  Or berries.  He wasn’t sure, but he ate as much as he could at the tree, and carried more back to the fire.  He made a bed for himself, a nest really, of palm leaves and grasses.  He was exhausted, and though his arm hurt, and he was still hungry, Yuri found sleep easily.

The night passed in seconds.  When Yuri woke, the fire had already put itself out.  He didn’t have to do much.  He kicked at the embers, putting out what little fire might be left to spark up, and scattered the ashes.  He threw the palms aside.  Hunger gnawed at him still.  Yuri found the fruit tree again, easily this time.  In the light of day, he saw that he was eating dates.  He hated dates.  They reminded him of the overly sweet dried and candied fruits Anton would give him as a child.  But they were edible, and he was hungry.  He filled himself with dates until his stomach ached with fullness.

Yuri started north again.  He needed to find water.   Water, a hospital, a farm, people, anything.  Keeping track of time wasn’t his strength.  He should have stolen a watch.  But just the same, the trees gave way to scrub, and scrub gave him a better vantage.  Surrounded by mountains, Yuri found himself in a crater.  And just ahead of him. Near the base of that crater, was a town.

He was reckless.  Yuri ran toward the buildings, like a child running home from school.  He had no idea what he was running toward.  Yuri didn’t know if the town was occupied by more guards, and soldiers.  He didn’t know if people like Kirkker destroyed that town.  The only resident of this down might be death.  But Yuri decided to take that chance.  Better to die in this town, than in prison.  Every step was just one more step in freedom.

The town wasn’t what Yuri would have called bustling, but it was busy.  People gave him sideways glances, curious, confused or scared.  He felt like everyone could see the monster he was.  He had a knife.  The pistol was displayed quite openly on his belt.  Yuri didn’t need either, he could kill with his mind.  He tried to pull out the soiled and bloodied undershirt, and cover the weapons with its fabric.  It didn’t seem to help too much.

As the buildings grew more frequent, Yuri’s eyes were fixed to signs and painted windows, looking for something that might help.  He was offered a small fragment of hope.  The painted window of a grocer, the words in a beautiful red paint, and in French.  His French was not the best it could have been, going so long without use, but he knew French.

Yuri pushed through the door, into the grocer.  He waved to the man behind the counter as a bell rang over his head.  His voice was dry, parched, but he managed, “Bonjour, monsieur.”

“Bonjour.  Matin dur?” The clerk asked, looking over Yuri’s bloody shirt, and his arm belted to his chest.  He was sure he was covered in dirt.  He wouldn’t be surprised to have a palm frond stuck in his hair.  The man’s French was accented with sound Yuri couldn’t recognize, but at least he understood.

“Oui.  L'eau, s'il vous plaît?”  Yuri took the guard’s money from his pocket, and started smoothing the crumpled bills on the counter.  “Cigarettes et une orange aussi?”

A bottle of water, pack cigarettes and a book of matches appeared on the table.  His fruit did not.  “Pas oranges, mes excuses. J'ai goyave, oui?”

“Oui,” Yuri agreed, paying for his guava along with his other items.  It wasn’t his favorite of fruits, but it was better than dates.  Noticing his injury once again, the cashier opened the water for him, and even produced a small knife and quartered the guava for him. “Merci beaucoup, monsieur.”

Yuri tried to savor the sweet fruit juice on his lips and tongue.  The foreign taste of the plant’s soft flesh in his mouth.  As thirsty as he was, Yuri was reluctant to drink the water.  He didn’t want to wash the flavor away.  Not yet.  Too quickly he finished the guava, and the water.  He bought one more of each, stuffing them in pockets of his pants.  Once again the cashier helped him, this time lighting the cigarette Yuri put between his lips.

“Où est l'hôpital le plus proche?” Yuri asked, after taking a drag off the cigarette. The blend of herbs and tobacco felt exotic and stirred in his lungs.  It could have been stale.  It could have been local scrub grass.  It didn’t matter, because he was free.

“Désolé, pas d'hôpital. Il ya un dispensaire avec un infirmier.” Yuri’s face fell at the news.  No hospital?  Where was he that there was no hospital?  The cashier wrote out the address for Yuri, and he waved his thanks.

Yuri walked back out on the street, looking at the address and smoking his cigarette.  The address didn’t look familiar, but how could it?  He didn’t know where he was.  He wandered, smoked, asked for directions.  Wandered some more, smoked some more, asked again for directions.  Finally, Yuri found himself in front of the pharmacy bearing the address on the paper.

He stepped up on the porch and slipped inside the screen door.  There were two people waiting ahead of him, both not looking well.  He assumed that he didn’t look great either.  A woman came out from a back room, ushering another ill-looking patient back out into the lobby.  Perhaps it was the absence of the female form for so long.  Perhaps it was seeing someone that simply wasn’t trying to hurt him, but she was beautiful.

Her skin was smooth and dark, her eyes deep and even darker.  Her gaze seemed endless.  Her lips were wide and full, and her smile wider and fuller.  Her hair was wild, natural, a sun-bleached halo framing an angel’s face.  Yuri was so caught up in watching her, that he didn’t realize how quickly she helped the other two patients.

“Can I help you?” She asked, in a rich voice.  She was being cautious, she undoubtedly saw his pistol and knife, but she was still offering.

“Yes, please.  I was told there is a nurse here.  My arm is broken, it might be infected.” Yuri told her.

“I’m sorry, the nurse is away right now.”  She watched a look of dismay watch over him. “But I’m Doctor Apolline Mynatt.  Come into my office, I can see what I can do about your arm.”

Yuri followed Dr. Mynatt into her office.  It was small, just an examining table, and a stool.  He found his way on the table, while the doctor freed his broken arm from its belt-splint.  She examined him with a frown.

“What’s your name?” She asked, watching him cringe in pain as she touched the discolored skin.

“Yuri Utkin.” He hissed in discomfort.

“How long has it been broken?” She prodded some more.

“Maybe a week.  I don’t know for sure.” He offered.  “Can I have something for the pain?”

“How did you break it?” Dr. Mynatt asked, leaving him alone to get something from a cabinet.  His request granted, she put a white pill in his dirty palm.

“I was being attacked by men with sticks.  I raised my arm to protect my head.  They wrenched my arm down and hit me with the stick hard.  It think it broke then.  I’ve broken bones before, I know what it feels like.” Yuri acted out the struggle, raising and lowering his arm as he told the story.  A look of concern touched the doctor’s face.

“These men, was it a bar fight?  Had you been drinking?”  She steadied his arm again.

“No,” Yuri shook his head.  “For the past fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years, I’ve been held captive in a big house.”  He dared admit.  She was a doctor, so he could trust her.  He could trust her, right?

“I don’t think I can reset your arm here, Mr. Utkin.” She said.  “I simply don’t have the materials here to do it.  Yuri’s disappointment was plain.  He was going to die of an infected arm in the middle of the cold French jungle.  “But I am being picked up by helicopter tonight, heading back to Saint-Denis, and to my hospital.  If you think you can make it, I would have you accompany me.”

Elijah had never flown in a helicopter before.  At least, not while conscious.  He was nervous.  Dinah and Ceres were nervous, mostly from being in crates, and in the air.  At least his pilot was calm.  But his pilot didn’t just find out he’d be a father in less than a month.  And it wasn’t just anxiety playing on his nerves.  Guilt racked him as well.

He had left Viktoriya with the burden of their unborn child.  Eli knew from basic health and human biology classes that pregnancy was not an easy time in a woman’s life.  There was stress, worrying about health, body changes, pain, and discomfort.  And he let Viktoriya suffer it all of it alone.  Eli’s stomach was in a knot.

Eli still had trouble believing Viktoriya’s words.  She was pregnant.  He was going to be a father.  Together, they made a life.  Through all the nervousness and guilt, there was something else.  He could barely see it in himself, but Eli was excited.  His heart was straining in his chest, already swelling with love.  Love for Viktoriya and love for his child.  He wanted to be a father, and a good father at that.  He never wanted his child to fear for their life, or worry they might die by their father’s hand.  Eli promised himself, and promised his child, he would fill their life with love, happiness, and all the opportunities that Eli himself had fought so hard to gain.

His hands knitted together, Eli’s eyes closed.  He made those promises again.  Elijah Coates had not been raised to know a god, and he’d gotten through his near thirty years without one.  But on this day, on a helicopter flying into the sunrise, Eli found himself praying.  He prayed for himself, for his wife, and for his child.  His lips moved silently as he communed with a greater power.  Eli poured his heart out until his sun was over the horizon.

“Please, please let her see past my scars.  Let me see past my scars, and escape the cycle of violence and pain that have haunted me.  She is love, and hope and fearlessness.  Viktoriya is grace upon my life.  Our child will be a grace upon my life.  Please, let that little life be born healthy.  Let that life be free of pain, and fear.”  Eli repeated his words until they had landed in Simskaya.

He really wasn’t sure what Viktoriya’s home land would look.  Simskaya, at least where his helicopter had landed, was far different from Moscow.  He was not lost in an urban sprawl, or in the middle of the mismatched collection of territories that made up the Prizrak Rytsarya base.  Simskaya was swaths of green grass, and low hills.  The buildings were unevenly spaced, most featuring a small fenced in garden.  There were large industrial buildings, factories and refineries that looked in various stages of use or disuse.  There was a rail line that looked to still be in service.  The helicopter started to lower beside the station platform.  His pilot had landed him beside a main paved road, but almost all the other roads were simple packed dirt.

Eli’s pilot helped him with his bags and the dogs’ crates.  Eli had only packed one bag in his rush, and he honestly didn’t even remember what he threw into it.  He didn’t remember getting to the airfield, or getting on the Ansat.  He didn’t remember the pilot calling for a transport to meet them at their destination.  He was lost in his own mind.  The news that Viktoriya carried his child was all that filled his thoughts.  Would he have a son or a daughter?  Would they look more like him or Viktoriya?  He hoped the baby was healthy.  He decided he didn’t care about any of the other options.  As long as the baby was healthy, and Viktoriya was healthy, nothing else mattered.

Once again, the Ansat pilot helped Eli load Ceres and Dina into the back of a pick-up truck.  The vehicle was marked with a shield.  It appeared to belong to the local sheriff.  He didn’t even see it pull up.  Eli hopped into the bed of the truck with his dogs, while the pilot sat in the cab with the driver.  Eli supposed it was the sheriff.

The sheriff waved back to Eli, tipping his cap.  After a moment, they pulled back on to the road.  Eli tried to pay attention to the landscape, the gentle hills, the abandoned factories, the small houses, the gardens.  This was Viktoriya’s life.  Ania’s life, he corrected.  Eli was surprised she wanted to come back here.  She never spoke of her parents’ house as home.  But Viktoriya wasn’t left with anyone else to turn to.  Vikenti was with Miroslavl, in their own families’ homes.  Eli had been sequestered by the Prizrak Rytsarya.  All she had was Valentina.  Valentina supporting Viktoriya?  Eli wondered if Valentina even went home with Viktoriya when the trial was conclude.  He wouldn’t be surprised to hear that she was back in New York, sipping champagne and being terrible to strangers.

The truck turned on to a dirt road.  They passed a sign that marked the road as private, belonging to Sima Farm and Ranch.  They posted their name and phone number, and about a hundred meters down the road, there was a small stand for vegetables.  A man in his thirties was setting out fresh crops, helped by a young boy.  Eli wondered if that was one of Viktoriya’s brothers with his son.  He looked too young to be her father.  They passed a farmhouse in desperate need of repair.  There were empty pastures, and the barn’s roof had collapsed.  This must be the Sima Ranch, which was supposed to have been left to Mikhail Sima. Eli wondered if Mikhail Sima had left the farm to Valentina.  Or perhaps it got left to one of Viktoriya’s brothers.  There were too many of them to inherit the farm.  The Sima Farm rolled toward them next.  It looked to be doing well, several fields and orchards of abundance.  He spotted a few workers in the field, already hard at work.

The truck turned again, into the makeshift driveway in front of the other Sima farmhouse.  There were a few other trucks parked in front of the house, but he didn’t recognize any of them.  Why would he?  Viktoriya rode a motorcycle, and she surely wouldn’t be on it while she was pregnant.  The sheriff didn’t park, simply idled while Eli threw his bag over his shoulder and removed Ceres and Dinah in their crates, one after another.  He thanked the sheriff, in Russian, and told him that he’d be sure to come by the station when he had a chance.  He offered to bring a hot dish for the sheriff and his men.  He had learned during his training and during his time in the hospital to never let a connection go unmade.

The door to the house was thrown open, and Eli looked up eagerly to see Viktoriya running toward him.  He was disappointed.  Wildly disappointed.  An older man – maybe this was Viktoriya’s father, shouted in Russian at a younger man, pushing him out of the house.  The young man stumbled down the few steps to the ground, he didn’t seem to understand.  His too handsome face twisted in confusion.  His blonde hair was a disheveled mess, he was still pulling a t shirt down over a well-kept body, his jeans hung too low.  It was Billy Duke.

Rage boiled up from the ground, and coursed through Eli’s veins.  Ceres and Dinah sensed his anger, snarling and barking.  Eli tried to calm them, as he let them out of their crates and put them on their leads.  Before he approached, Eli straightened his beret and tugged at the sleeves of his uniform jacket, smoothing his tie.

“You disrespectful maggot!” Presumed-to-be Viktoriya’s father shouted at Billy Duke, “If I catch you doing that in my house again, I’ll cut that thing off!”  His words were in Russian, spoken quickly with a dialect, but Eli understood.  At least someone did.

“Hey! I don’t know what crazy language that is but try speaking English, buddy!” Billy tried to retort in his own native American-English.  “What I do with my girl isn’t any of your business.  You should try knocking.”  He was still as infuriating as ever.

Eli approached slowly, but Viktoriya’s father spotted him.  He noticed the uniform, the PR badge and name plate and waved him over. “Look! The military is here now, you maggot!  What trouble you have caused me!  Here’s a man that understands respect!”

“Mister Sima,” Eli began, shaking his hand.  “I am Officer Elijah Coates, of the Prizrak Rytsarya.  I am Viktoriya’s husband.”

Her father took Elijah in.  He wondered if Viktoriya had told them he was coming.  Did she even tell them about him?  Surely they knew she was pregnant.  Did they think he abandoned her?

“Yes, Officer Coates!  You brave, great man!  I am Luca Sima, welcome! Welcome!  Another son comes home!  Please come in, I’ll be in as soon as I take care of this maggot.” Mister Sima shook his hand vigorously.  So Viktoriya did tell her parents about him.  Her father was smiling, proud to have Eli on his doorstep.  It was a strange feeling.

“Thank you, sir.  Let me help you with this problem.” He smiled back at his father-in-law.  He switched from Russian, back to English – which was barely used anymore, as he turned to address Billy Duke.  “You are a guest in this man’s home.  For whatever reason, he took you in.  I know you have no concept of respect, but you owe it to this man to try your hardest to not be yourself.”

Billy Duke stared at Eli, struggling to recognize him.  He’d never spoken to Billy before, and thought his scars were faint, maybe they ruined the memory.  After several long moments, the dim bulb that was Billy Duke’s mind finally switched on.  “Professor Coates?  You were the one that Valentina started sleeping with after me, right?”  Eli rolled his eyes and the accolades Duke attributed to him.

“Da.  Officer Coates.  And if you cause this man any more problems, I will cut it off.  And trust me, I’ve wanted to remove that part of you since you first fell through my door two years ago.” He made his point with his issued knife aimed at Billy’s crotch.  With the American silenced, Eli sheathed the blade and let himself be welcomed in the Sima home.

“Dima! Put some tea on! We have company!  It’s Viktoriya’s husband!”  Luca shouted, bringing Eli into the kitchen.  Dima, Viktoriya’s mother was already there, putting the kettle over the burner.  As soon as Eli was in the room, Dima was hugging him and kissing his cheeks.

“Welcome home, Elijah!  How do you take your tea?” Dima asked when she finally let him go.  Luca pulled out a chair for Eli, sitting down with him at the table.  Eli pulled off his beret and put it in his lap, as the room was filled with the clinks and clatters of tea cups and dishes.  Their hospitality was a little overwhelming.  Ceres and Dinah found a place to sit, out of the way, but where they could watch Eli.  And he watched the doors, eager to see Viktoriya.

“Oh, I take it black, just a dash of lemon and honey.  Thank you for such a warm welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Sima.” He offered after a moment, trying to remember his manners. The last thing he wanted was to make the same impression that Billy Duke had.  Why was he even here?

“Of course, Elijah!” Dima beamed at him putting his cup of tea in front of him.  Without asking, she put down a bowl of water for the dogs.  “I wish Viktoriya had told us that you were on your way.  I would have prepared something better for lunch!”

“I suppose she didn’t have the time.  I called her pretty late last night.  She was about to sleep, and I immediately had a helicopter bring me here.” Eli’s eyes still watched the door.  He listened for any creaking floor boards or squeaky doors.  He was desperate to see her.

“No, I suppose she didn’t.  And she’s usually the last one to bed.  The baby isn’t letting her sleep much anymore.” Dima said, scratching Ceres behind the ears and letting Dinah sniff her hand.

“How is the baby?  She hasn’t told me anything. I only just found out last night.  I feel terrible for letting her go through this alone.  If I knew, I would have… I’m not sure what I could have done, but it would have been different.” Eli flushed red with embarrassment.

“Oh, Elijah, neither of us think you less of a devoted husband for the way things happened.  Viktoriya told us everything, and why she decided to keep it from you.  What’s important is that you are here now.” Luca told him with a pat on the shoulder.  His smile was warm, genuine.  This was what family was supposed to feel like.

“The mother and baby are both doing well so far.  Viktoriya has been going to all her appointments at the family hospital in Sim.  She’s been nervous about the baby so far, but I think that will all change.  Especially now that you’re here.” Dima beamed at him.

Tea continued with small talk.  They asked about his training, and education.  They asked about his life in London, and what growing up in England was like.  They asked about his dogs, their names and if they’ve ever been hunting.  Eli felt like he was sitting at the table for hours.

He barely head it.  Her voice was just above a whisper.  She wasn’t sure he was really there, sitting in her parents’ kitchen.  “Ilya?”

Eli stood up so fast, he knocked his chair over.  He was sure it had clattered to the floor, but he didn’t hear it. “Vika?”

She ran into the kitchen as fast as she could.  Eli was shocked to see her heavily pregnant belly, but he was distracted by her beauty.  He’d missed her so much.  Eli wrapped her up in his arms.  He kissed her until he was breathless.  He felt her hands on his face, over his scars.  He flinched as her finger tips touched the soft pale lines that marked where one of his surgeries had taken place.  Viktoriya leaned forward and kissed him again.  His hand traveled down her back.  He wanted to touch her stomach, so curious of the life with in.

“I missed you so much!” She was crying, but it was all tears of joy.  “I… I thought I’d never see you again!”  Her arms were tight around him.

“You can’t lose me that easily.” Eli tried to joke through his own tears.  His hands settled on the small of her back.

Viktoriya led him out of the kitchen, away from the attention of her parents.  She took his hand.  Eli’s palm was clammy.  He was nervous, happy, excited, and terrified.  His stomach was tied in a tight knot.

Her room was small.  It was sparsely decorated, the bed was made, and the floor was clean.  The window was open, letting the warm breeze in.  Viktoriya sat on the bed, holding her stomach.  Eli worried for her as he found a place beside her.

“Are you alright, Vika?”  His concern was plain to hear.

“Da, Ilya.  It’s just the way the baby is settled.  I’m always worried I’m going to squish it, or it will fall out when I walk.  When I told my mother and Agnessa, they laughed at me.” While she blushed, Eli was able to relax.  There was still so much to talk about, but neither one wanted to be the first to speak.

There was a silence, for a while.  There were birds singing outside, and the far off sounds of field workers talking.  Absently, Eli reached for her hand, still holding her stomach.  Somehow instead of taking her hand, he put his hand against her stomach.  There was a movement inside.  Something pushed back against his hand.

“Was that the baby?” Eli wondered aloud.

“Yeah, that was a kick… Well, maybe a punch.  The doctor said the baby would be shifting, so the head was pointed down, ready to come out.”  The way she spoke about the baby, Eli heard the small excitement in her voice.

“It won’t be long now.  Do you know if we’re having a boy or a girl?” Eli asked, trying to grow her excitement.  Trying to feed his own excitement.  This was completely foreign to Eli.  He’d never even entertained the idea of being a father, and now he was just weeks away from holding a baby in his arms.  His baby.  Their baby.

“No, I don’t.  I wanted to be surprised… Well that’s what I told the doctor.  Honestly… I was just scared.  I kept telling myself, the less I knew about the baby, the less I thought about it, the less real it would be.”  Viktoriya laced her fingers with his.  She was so exposed.

“Why didn’t you want it to be real?”  He met her eyes, but she looked down.

“Vikenti told me about your coma, your scars, and your surgeries, everything you had gone through.  I hadn’t seen you since the day you proposed.  I was afraid this baby was all I would have of you…  It was terrifying.  I was alone.  And it scared me to realize how much I grew to depend on you.  I just didn’t know what to do.”  Tears threaten her voice again, welling in her eyes.

“When I was in the hospital, every day that I got mail, I expected to see your ring.  I was sure you didn’t want to marry a man that nearly dies as much as I do.  But we’re here together now.  You don’t have to worry about being alone anymore.  I’m here for you and our baby.  You don’t have to pretend the baby isn’t real.  We can be a family, together.”  Eli offered, hoping it was enough. 

“A family.  The Sima-Coates family.” She said to herself.  She repeated their name again, with a smile. “Do you want to see the quilt I made for the baby?”

“You made a quilt?” Viktoriya was eager to show him.  It wasn’t a large quilt, it was for a baby after all, made in fabrics of yellows and whites.  Perfect for a summer baby.  “It’s beautiful, Vika!  We’ll have to bring it to the hospital when its time.”

“It’s so soon.  I feel like there’s so much to do, and not enough time.”  She admitted.  Viktoriya leaned against Eli, the way she used to when she was tired.  Eli was reminded of so many evenings in the hotel.  They would be watching a movie on television, and the weight of the day would start to fall heavily on Viktoriya.  She’d put her head on his shoulder.  Their fingers would lace together.

Eli leaned in and kissed Viktoriya, gently touching her cheek.  For the first time in half a year, he closed his eyes and opened his mind, slowly reaching out to her.  She let him in slowly, unused to sharing her mind.  After an instant, she threw herself wide open, and let him in, letting their minds intertwine.  She was able to soothe her pain and ease her worry.  He felt something more.  A faint sensation, nearly lost in the background.  He wasn’t sure… He’d never tried anything like it before… But was he connecting with his child?  Eli didn’t dare disturb it, still wary of his own power.

“I’m glad you came back, Ilya.” Viktoriya said in a whisper, so close to his face.

“I am too, Vika.” He agreed.  The tension was gone between them.  She wore a smile.  She wasn’t wearing her red lipstick, or her dark eyeliner, but she was more beautiful than ever before.  “Show me your life here?”

The tour was slow.  Viktoriya took him through the house, and told him how she spend her days.  Sewing, watching television dramas, cooking, none of that seemed like Viktoriya.  He watched her lead him through the gardens behind the house, wild flowers tickling her bare calves.  Viktoriya wore a dress, maybe a nightgown, a simple garment.  It was just one sheet of fabric, hemmed and finished at the ends, it layered over her chest and fastened with buttons, just as the straps that crossed her shoulders.  Eli figured it was just the easiest thing for her to wear with the changes to her body.  She still looked good in it.  He watched her walk, looking for those changes, besides the most obvious one.  Her hips didn’t swing the same way.  They didn’t swing at all, really.  She walked with more of a waddle now.  Her ankles were probably swollen.  They didn’t look swollen.  But her breasts… Those looked twice as big.  He felt guilty for noticing, but she was his wife.  Was she?  They were married on paper.  They wore each other’s rings.  But were they really married?

She stopped underneath an old tree, branches full of leaves, offering a cool spot under the rising summer sun.  Viktoriya groaned as she slipped down to the soft grass, like she was lowering a heavy package to the ground.  Eli supposed she was.  There was a small pond, maybe just a collection of rain water, but it looked cold and Viktoriya put her bare feet in.  Eli sat down beside her, untying and unlacing his boots.  He took them off, then his socks, and rolled up his pant legs.  Together, under the shade of the tree, with their feet in the pond together, Eli reached over and took her hand.

“I want to be a good husband, and good father.” Eli told her.  “How can I do that for you?  I feel like I missed so much.”

“You are here, Ilya.  There’s no real list of things you need to do for me.   But if you need help to prepare for the baby, we could borrow some of Agnessa and Iosif’s parenting books.” Viktoriya reached over, tracing over the back of his hand with her nails.  They were bare, unpolished.

“I’m scared, Vika.  What if I can’t do this?” He asked, mortified the words actually came out of his mouth.

“I’m scared too, Ilya.  I never thought motherhood would be part of my life.  The only lives I thought I’d be responsible for were those of my team.  I would be captain, not mother.  But now… I have no men and a little baby in my stomach.”  Viktoriya finally admitted what she feared most, that her career might be over.

“You will be a brilliant mother,” He told her with a smile.  “You made it this far.  And if you truly weren’t meant for motherhood, you wouldn’t have gotten this far.  Or.., yourself come this far.”  It was hard to even put that thought into words.

“I would never…” The thought horrified them both.  “Preventing is one thing, but…”

“And that’s why you’ll be a great mother to our little one.” He smiled at her.

“If you take care of our baby even half as well as you take care of your dogs, you’ll make a great father,” she teased him back, though Eli knew it to be true.  They both laughed together.  Things were becoming normal again.

            As a child, the only thing Viktoriya wanted was to leave the place where she was born, always believing there were bigger places she was meant to be.  But now she found herself back in her childhood home.  For the first time, it felt like where she was supposed to be.  Her sisters had all moved out, on to their own lives, and many of her brothers had moved on too.  Only two of her brothers remained on the farm, and both had built their own homes on the Sima property.  They had wives now, and one of her brothers had children.  That meant the main farmhouse was mostly quiet.  Mostly.  When Valentina’s guest wasn’t being obnoxiously loud.  Just the same, Viktoriya was grateful to be home.

She had worried for the entire length of the day-long train ride.  What would her parents think?  It wouldn’t be easy to hide her growing tummy.  Sure, she had a ring on her finger, but the baby had been in her belly longer than she’d even been engaged.  Babies had never been part of her plan, and her parents knew that.  How would she explain?

The truth was, it was a lot easier than she worried over.  Her mother greeted her with a big hug and a kiss to her cheek.  She was rushed into the kitchen, and quickly served a cup of tea.

“Oh, Annushka!  It’s so good to have you home again!” Her mother gushed.

“Mama, I told you.  My name is Viktoriya now.  But thank you for letting me stay here for a while.” Viktoriya sipped her tea.

“Of course, Viktoriya.  You know you are always welcome here.  This will always be your home.”  It felt like they were ignoring the elephant in the room.  And Viktoriya was the elephant.  There was silences as the two women sipped their tea.  Viktoriya hadn’t been home since she left for college.  She was still Ania then.  Her hair was always pulled back, kept out of her way.  She dressed in ill-fitting homemade clothes, handed down from her sisters.  But her mother was still the same.

Her black hair was greying now, but she was still the same.  Her hair was tied up, and hidden under a kerchief, her plain dress protected by an apron.  There were lines on her face now, but what else would you expect from a woman that carried and raised so many children.

“Mama…” Viktoriya began, toying with the ring on her finger.  “I know you can probably tell, but… I’m pregnant.”

“I wasn’t going to mention it until you were ready, my darling.” Her mother reached over and held her hand.  “How far along are you?”

“Going on seven months.” Viktoriya sighed.  Saying it aloud only reminded her of how long it had been since she’d seen Eli.  “And all of it alone. At least, for as long as I’ve known I was expecting.”

“Was this an accident?” Her mother asked, but she wasn’t judgmental.

“No… Well, yes.  The father, my fiancé… well, my husband, we didn’t plan to have a baby.  We didn’t really plan anything.  By my counting back, we weren’t even engaged yet.  But by the time I found out, he was taken away from me.”  Viktoriya hung her head.  Her mother was at her side at once.  She put her arms around her daughter.

“Come with me, Viktoriya.” Her mother said in a mothering way.  Viktoriya was led down the hall to the bathroom.  Soon the water was running, the windows were open, the room was filled with steam and the soft scent of lavender.  “This will help. And you can tell me all about your husband.”

Viktoriya felt like a child again, stripping off her clothes for her bath.  Though she was decidedly not a child anymore.  She the very definition of a woman, with her rounded belly.  The warm water was nice.  And it felt good to stretch out in the tub, to relax.  Viktoriya closed her eyes as her mother poured some of the warm water over her head.

“We haven’t been married very long.  We didn’t even get to have a proper ceremony, just the legal documents signed by each of us separately.  Not because we didn’t want to see each other of course.  It’s just the way life worked out.” Viktoriya started.  “His name is Elijah.  Elijah Peter Coates.  My Ilya.  And he’s haunted by bad luck.  When I met him in London, he’d only recently recovered from a coma.  Then he had his heart smashed into pieces.  In France, he was shot, three times.  Right in my arms.  And about a month later, he was beaten by his own father, nearly to death, and forced to use his vlast’ in self-defense.  That’s why Eli and I were separated.  He was sent to the Prizrak Rytsarya Veteran’s hospital, and I had to attend countless trials defending him.”

“It sounds like you’ve been through a lot together.  How long have you been seeing him?” Her mother asked, gently lathering Viktoriya’s long dark hair with an herbal scented shampoo.

“Since September.  That’s when we started dating.  It was fun at first. He treated me… Like no man ever had before.  But he saw me as I was, a woman with flaws, ambition, dreams and nightmares.  And to me he was a man that could be rash in his decisions, but only because he always threw his whole heart behind his cause.  He has strong beliefs, and he’ll do anything for what he believes is right.  Dangerous, but admirable.  At the end of October, after he’d been shot, he told me he loved me.  I think it was around that time we made our little baby.” Viktoriya reflexively rested a hand on her stomach.  “He proposed in December, the same day as the accident with his father.  Only an hour before, actually. I haven’t seen him since he put the ring on my finger.”

“He hasn’t been able to be by your side, Viktoriya, but I’m sure he’s just as excited as you are to have your little one.” Her mother comforted her.

“Eli doesn’t know.  I haven’t been allowed to talk to him since he was taken away.  He was in a coma for a while, from what Vikenti told me, and then he was recovering from surgeries.  Now he’s training to be in the Prizrak Rytsarya.”  Viktoriya’s voice caught as emotions started to surface.  “Mama, I was so afraid he’d die.  That I would lose him forever, and be left with his baby.  How would I be able to look at my child if all I could see was his eyes?  A constant reminder of another man I sentenced to death with my love.”  The tears started to flow openly.  Each drop caused ripples in the tub.

Her mother didn’t ask, but there was a question hanging heavy in the air.  The silence brought a thick tension.  Every water drop, splash, and sniffle seemed loud.  Viktoriya could feel her mother’s fingers comb through her hair.  As if those fingers worked a magic over her, Viktoriya’s lips began to move.  Through her tears, her throat and tongue worked to make words.  Spilling out of her mouth came the story of Tikhon Minikoff.  He didn’t haunt her anymore, but the parallel between his death and Eli’s course of bad luck were too similar.  Her mother braided her hair as she listened to the story, not interrupting, and letting Viktoriya get it off her chest.  Finally, when she was sure Viktoriya was through, she spoke.

“Your Elijah is not Tikhon, Viktoriya.  He has too much fight in him to let something small kill him.  Not until he completes whatever he’s set his mind to.  I’m sure of it.  He won’t die before he sees you again.”  Her mother promised.  She wound the braid around Viktoriya’s head and pinned it in place.  “Stay in the bath as long as you like.  I’m going to borrow a few things from Agnessa until we can get into town.”

Agnessa was her brother, Iosif’s wife.  Having several children of her own, Viktoriya assumed her mother was going to get something baby-related.  She wondered what kind of things her mother would need to get for her from town.  Honestly, she hoped it was some clothes that fit better. 

She stayed in the bath until the water went cold and her skin started to prune.  When Viktoriya got out, she seemed to feel better.  Maybe it was the bath, or maybe it was the lessened burden that came with sharing her problems.  Wrapped in a towel, she returned to the room she used to share with one of her sisters, Inga.  Now she had it to herself.  Her mother had laid out a loose top on her bed, which was now made up with crisp sheets and the same quilt she would curl under as a little girl.  It was strange, being feeling at home in this house.

Viktoriya fell into a somewhat happy routine.  She would help her mother with the lighter farm work, shelling peas and beans, canning preserves or making jelly.  She would help with the laundry, or cleaning the house.  Agnessa came over almost every day to help as well.  She would bring her youngest, Oskar along.  He was just under two years old.  Sometimes Viktoriya would look after him, always wondering if holding her own baby would feel the same.  Viktoriya was nervous with Oskar.  She was nervous for her own child, but her mother and Agnessa were always there for her.  The hen house, that’s what Valentina would call them when she would walk through and see the three of them mending one of Iosif’s shirts or Viktoriya’s father’s trousers while watching a soap opera or talking about one of the many aspects of pregnancy.

“She just doesn’t understand,” Agnessa would say in Russian, watching Valentina pull her guest, Billy Duke behind her.  “But if they keep it up, she will.”  As it turned out, Valentina’s Russian wasn’t as good as she thought it was, and the quick conversation along with their rural dialect made it hard for Valentina to follow their conversation.  Billy Duke didn’t speak any Russian at all.

“Keep it up?  Are they together?  Valentina didn’t say she had a boyfriend.” Viktoriya’s mother said.

“I didn’t think they were.” Viktoriya supplied.  “I believe he is the boyfriend of her best friend from America.  But just the same, they’re sleeping together.  I can hear him trying to sneak into her room at night.  He’s not exactly quiet.  But she always lets him in.”

“Her father would be disappointed if he could see her now.” Her mother shook her head.  But she said nothing more on the matter.  Valentina wasn’t her concern.  As long as Valentina kept to herself, and asked before taking something, Viktoriya’s mother didn’t pay attention to her cousin.  Viktoriya’s mother’s attention was fully focused on Viktoriya and her baby.  Between Agnessa and her mother, they made sure Viktoriya saw her doctor regularly, they made sure she’d have everything she needed.  Together the three were stitching a quilt for the baby.

Viktoriya didn’t yet know the gender yet.  She didn’t want to.  Her mother was helping her get excited for motherhood, but she wasn’t quite there yet.  She was reluctant to make a nursery in one of the spare bedrooms.  That would mean she had planned on staying after the baby was born.  Viktoriya was gracious for her mother’s help, but part of her hoped that she’d be returning to Moscow, or anywhere else, with Eli’s arms wrapped around her.  For now, she was focused getting the baby to term, and born healthy.

The nights were still lonely.  After supper, and after her shower, Viktoriya would say good night to her parents.  She would walk down the hall to her room, turn down her quilt and crawl into bed.  Sometimes she would read until she fell asleep, sometimes she would listen to music, wondering if the baby could hear it, and sometimes she would just stare at pictures of Eli on her phone.  God, how she missed him.

Her routine made time roll by quickly.  She’d already had her final appointment with her doctor before her due date.  Her back hurt, her feet hurt, her breasts hurt, her legs hurt.  Viktoriya barely slept at night and was fatigued all day.  Her mother and Agnessa restricted what she could do.  It was strange.  Viktoriya was so used to being the take charge captain, instead of the pregnant woman stuck in bed.

Another day had passed.  One day closer to the date on the calendar, circled with a purple pen, featuring a little sticker of a baby.  The night was warm, but a recent rain had driven away a harsh humidity.  Viktoriya muddled her way into a shower.  She washed her hair, then her body.  She wrapped herself in a robe, and tied her hair up.  She was on her way back to her room when she heard it.  Her phone was ringing.

Viktoriya rushed back to her room, but running was difficult.  Her ringtone played twice, and then again.  If she didn’t hurry, her voicemail would pick up.  She was breathless, fumbling with her phone on its way to her ear. “Privet? Captain Sima-Coates speaking.”

“Captain Sima-Coates, this is your husband, Ilya.”  Eli’s voice made her heart swell.  Tears came to her eyes.

“Ilya! Ilya…” She couldn’t believe it was him.  It was really him.  There was silence on the line, and it scared her. “Ilya?”

“I’m here, Vika.  I just… I can’t believe I’m getting to talk to you again.  I’ve missed you so much… I love you so much!” He told her all at once.

“I love you, and I’ve missed you, Ilya.”  She didn’t know what else to say.  Viktoriya had so much to tell him, but she didn’t know what to say first.  This was not the way to tell him she was pregnant.  Then again, she wouldn’t want him to find out by seeing her give birth to his child either.

“I completed my training.  I graduated officer’s school too.  And I also heard my trial’s over so… Can I come home to you?”  It broke Viktoriya’s heart in some small way to hear Eli ask her for permission.

“Is Vikenti alright with that?  He’s the one that’s been keeping us apart.” She said it without malice.  She wasn’t mad at Vikenti anymore.  Perhaps he was always doing what was best for them.

“Vikenti returned custody of me to… Well, to me.  I haven’t seen him for a few weeks anyway.  I think he and Miro are visiting their parents.  So, can I come home?” Eli asked again.  He seemed to be excited, eager to see her again.  She felt just the same.

“Of course you can! But, Ilya… I’m not in Moscow.  I came home to my parents’ farm on the Sim.” Viktoriya told him, finally sitting down on the bed.  Her hand went to her stomach.

“I’ll buy a ticket right now! For the first train I can get. Or the bus.  I’ll take a bus.” He promised.

“Ilya… Elijah… There’s something I have to tell you before you get here…” She started.  He was quiet, allowing her to continue.  “Eli, we’re going to have a baby.”

“You’re pregnant?!” His voice was filled with disbelief.

“Yes, I’m pregnant.” For a moment Viktoriya wished she had Elijah’s vlast’, so that she could know what he was thinking.

“Vika, I love you.”  That was all Eli said after a pause.

“Ilya, I’m three weeks away from delivering your baby.  I love you, but I really don’t know what I’m doing here!  I’m a mess.  I miss you!  I was worried about you!  I thought I’d never see you again!” She immediately felt guilty for her outburst, but she felt better that he knew.

“Viktoriya, I’ll be there tomorrow.  I’ll be with you for the baby.  You aren’t alone.  I’m scared, but we’ll do this together.  I’m coming.”  She could hear him throwing things in a bag.  The dogs were whining in the room.  She heard him snapping at them.    And then there was another few moments of near silence.  She heard voices in the background “I’m leaving now.”

“Ilya, you don’t need to rush.”  Viktoriya told him quietly.  After six months alone, what’s another few days?

“Rada’s calling favors, and getting me an Ansat and a pilot.  I’ll owe him, but I’ll be there for you and our baby.” Eli promised.  Calling in favors, owing favors?  He was starting to sound like any other officer in the Prizrak Rytsarya.  She hadn’t realized until then, that Eli had been speaking in Russian the whole time.

“Be safe, Ilya.  I love you.” Viktoriya told him.

“I love you too.  Try to get some sleep.  I’ll be there soon.” And then he was gone.  Viktoriya sat in her bed, in a moment of disbelief.  Was Eli really on his way to her?  Had she imagined the whole thing?  She looked at her phone again, just to see his name in the recent call list. 

Eli would finally be back with her, in her life.  Just in time to have fatherhood thrust upon him.  What if he had changed?  What if he decided everything was moving too fast?  What if he got one look at Billy Duke and got back on his helicopter?  Should she have told Eli about Billy Duke?

Viktoriya collapsed against the pillows, holding her stomach.  Inside, the baby kicked.  Agnessa told her to try to talk to the baby, so it would know her voice, but it always felt silly.  The baby kicked again.

            Exactly how long was this trial going to last?  It had been dragging on for weeks, but it felt like much longer.  Valentina did not think her presence was required every day, but both her appointed counselor, Rickard Burkov, and her cousin Viktoriya said otherwise.  Her counselor had a lot of opinions on how she conducted herself in the various meetings during the trial.  He criticized her clothes, her make-up, her posture, her tone, and even the use of her godfather’s name.

“The trial will be more sympathetic toward you if you use your father’s name.  He is a national hero.”  Burkov told her in an early preparatory session.

“But he’s dead! And he didn’t raise me.” Valentina argued.  “My name isn’t supposed to be what sways the jury.  My defender is.”  Her pointed commentary missed its mark.  Missed by a mile.

“I’m not your defender.  I’m your counselor, Miss Lytton.  And there is no jury.”  He watched without sympathy as her eyes widened.

“No jury? But it’s a trial.” Valentina managed to say.

“Several trials actually.  One with Director Kaminski and his directorate council, there will be one with the Prizrak Rytsarya Security Council, another with the PR Freedom Council, the PR Defense Council, and you’ll have to answer to the Spetsgruppa Lukavit’.  Each could take days or weeks until the councils come to their respective decisions.  I won’t lie to you, Miss Lytton.  If this goes wrong, it can go very wrong.” Burkov’s honesty brought her to tears.  He was also honest in telling her that he didn’t care if things went very wrong.  He was getting paid either way, and he didn’t particularly like her.

They were harsh truths to face, but from then on Valentina always tried to follow Burkov’s advice.  She appeared in court dressed in modest – almost matronly clothes.  She was quiet, and responded to questions in short, succinct answers.  Valentina tried to keep her emotions in check and watch her temper.  A harmless innocent child.

There was one recommendation Valentina could not manage – making nice with Viktoriya.  Of course it was in her best interest to mend the relationship with her cousin, Viktoriya was at every hearing as character witness to both Valentina and Elijah, as a witness to the event, and in some cases, speaking on Elijah’s behalf.  But if it wasn’t the clash in their personalities, or their history, it was the constant company.

If Valentina wasn’t trapped in a courtroom, she was trapped in Viktoriya’s one bedroom apartment.  It was a tiny place, far from her penthouse back in New York.  Valentina slept in the couch, which was almost in the kitchen, and facing a window.  The window was facing a second floor shop that never seemed to turn their neon sign off.  Sharing the one cramped bathroom was nearly impossible.  Viktoriya was in there constantly.  In the middle of the night, while Valentina tried to get comfortable on the small, stiff couch, upholstered with a scratchy wool, she would hear Viktoriya throw her door open, storm down the short hall, and slam her way into the bathroom.  Valentina could never see her too well, but the she always caught the reflection off the diamond ring Viktoriya wore on a chain around her neck.  During the day, her cousin always tried to hide the ring from Valentina.  Viktoriya had no idea Valentina had seen it.  The ring was clearly a gift from Eli.  Who else would waste diamonds on her?

  Every morning was more or less the same.  Viktoriya would wake up, spend an hour in the bathroom, make oatmeal for breakfast, then she returned to the bathroom again to throw up the oatmeal.  Every morning Valentina was amazed how anyone that threw up as much as her cousin did could get so fat.  Viktoriya was the worst at being bulimic.

Viktoriya’s waist had grown so dramatically, she had to request a new dress uniform.  Her skirt wouldn’t zip anymore, and her jacket couldn’t fasten shut.  Valentina was embarrassed to be seen with Viktoriya.

The nights were all the same too.  The trial would conclude for the day promptly at five in the evening, but Viktoriya could never deliver Valentina home before seven.  Viktoriya would half-heartedly make dinner – usually a soup, then retreat into her room to cry into her phone and make hollow threats to the voice on the other end of the line.  And this was supposed to be her character witness.  She would come out to use the bathroom a few more times, seemingly just to use the toilet by the short duration of the visits.  After her “final” trip to the bathroom – it never truly was, Viktoriya would come out to the main room, dressed in dingy tank top or one of Eli’s tee shirt’s she’d stolen away and pair of baggy sweatpants.  Those might have been Elijah’s too.  They did little to hide Viktoriya’s figure. 

Maybe that’s why Eli wasn’t coming back to see Viktoriya.  They’d gotten the news a few weeks ago that Elijah had come out of his coma, but he still refused to appear in court, or come to see Viktoriya.  She was even turned away at the hospital.  Perhaps Eli saw Viktoriya in the hospital lobby, or on footage from the trials.  She never thought of Eli as shallow, but he did spend a lot of time on his appearance when he was with Valentina, and Viktoriya had put on a lot of weight.  It would explain all the crying too.  But Valentina couldn’t feel too bad.  She’d dump Viktoriya too, for her clothes alone.

“I’m going to bed.” She’d state in a weary voice.  Her eyes were red, her nose sniffled.  Viktoriya’s hair was a mess from being pulled out of its braid with a violent effort.  “Do you need anything?”

“No.  Nothing you can give me.” Valentina didn’t always say the same thing, but the message was there.  Viktoriya wasn’t graciously taking Valentina in.  Valentina was a prisoner in Viktoriya’s home, legally bound to Viktoriya’s company.

“Knock if you change your mind.” Viktoriya would mutter, turning back and returning to her room.  Valentina never changed her mind.  She would just pull the quilt tight around her shoulders and try to fall asleep.

This morning was different.  It started just the same, all oatmeal and vomiting.  Valentina dressed in the main room.  Today it was a navy tailored jacket over a chiffon blouse in a soft yellow, and skirt that matched her jacket.  Back home, she had a stunning pair of white heels that would look fantastic with the ensemble, but all she had was pair of nude heels that would have to do.

Viktoriya came out in her new, plus sized dress uniform, her make-up applied and her hair brushed out a tied up in to a tight chignon.  The door buzzed.  Burkov was waiting downstairs for them.  Valentina was led out the door and down to Burkov’s imported Italian car.  Valentina wondered what Eli would think of it.  He had a thing for powerful cars.  Valentina sat in the front, while Viktoriya squeezed into the cramped back seat.

They were stopped at the gate to the Prizrak Rytsarya base, which was usual.  Normally Burkov simply flashed his identification, or tapped the vehicle ID on the windshield, and they were waved through.  This time, they were stopped for longer, the guard knocked on the rear window, getting Viktoriya’s attention.

“Captain Sima?” The guard asked.

“Da?” She asked, offering her own ID.  Viktoriya was passed a folder through the window, and wished a good day.  Burkov was on his way again before Viktoriya could even find out what it was.  In the back seat, Valentina’s cousin slowly opened the envelope, pulling out a few papers.  She wanted to see, but didn’t want to be obvious.  Valentina tried to watch in the mirror.

There was more sniffling.  Viktoriya pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes.  For a moment Valentina’s heart seized tight.  Her mind was flooded with worry.  Had something happened to Eli?  He was awake from his coma, but they never got any more news about his condition.  Had he gone into shock?  Had he succumbed to infection?  Did the man that shot at him in Paris find him?

Valentina held her breath as she watched Viktoriya in the mirror.  Her eyes scanned each document, but she lingered on one longer than any of the others.  Her hands, covered in the white gloves of her uniform pawed at her collar until finally, a finger caught the hidden chain.  She tugged the ring free, took it from the chain, pulled the glove off her left hand with her teeth, and slipped it onto her tattooed finger.  The sharp prickle at Valentina’s heart worsened into a full pain.

“What is it?” Burkov asked.  If he noticed Valentina’s dour look, he didn’t care.

“My marriage documents.  They finally went through.” Viktoriya said through tears of joy.

“Really? Well, congratulations Mrs. Captain Sima.” He joked with her.

“That’s Mrs. Captain Sima-Coates.  But thank you.  There’s even a letter from Eli.  He’s well.  He misses me. He… He’s started basic and officer’s school?” She read what must have been a letter from Elijah.

“Basic and officer?  Here?  For the PR?” Valentina had never seen Burkov express surprise before.  There was so much about Russia that she didn’t see until Viktoriya brought it out.  Sometimes Valentina would go to bed angry with her cousin.  So much of this should have been her life.  It should be Valentina wearing her father’s legacy.  It should be Valentina, charming her way through conversations with men in stuffy military uniforms.  It should be Valentina that made stiff men crack a smile.  And it should be Valentina wearing Eli’s ring.

“Yes, it says he’s nervous, but excited.  And he feels proud to give back to the Prizrak Rytsarya, as they’ve already given so much to him.  He hopes to make me proud, and the PR proud of him.” Viktoriya read some of the letter aloud.

Burkov put on a satisfied smile, looking over at Valentina. “Oh, things have just gone sideways for you, Miss Lytton.  You try to kill him, and his response is to kick out of a coma and ally himself with the PR twice over?  Oh, you are just so done.”

“I didn’t try to kill him.” Valentina protested, but it fell on deaf ears.  Burkov didn’t care, and Viktoriya was too absorbed in her letter from Eli.

Burkov arrived in front of the Prizrak Rytsarya Civil Hall, like he did every morning, parking in the same lot, in the same place as he always did.  Valentina, lost in her dismay was the last one out of the car.  Somehow, the idea that Eli was now legally married to Viktoriya was more painful than the idea that he was hurt.  She was finally broken out of her thoughts by the sound of a familiar but unwelcomed voice.

“Captain Sima! What a rare, but happy thing to see you smile!”  It was Vikenti Kozlov, the major of the Prizrak Rytsarya, and the major pain in her side.  He was Elijah’s chief acting advocate in the trials, and also spoke as a witness to Valentina’s character.  And he didn’t have kind things to say.

“Major Kozlov, its Sima-Coates now, but I bet you knew that.”  She smiled and pulled him in for a hug.  It annoyed Valentina to see the two of them acting friendly toward each other.  She liked it better when they were cold and short with each other, which was every day since Eli’s accident until this day.

“I wish you could have seen in face when he saw the ring.  You made him the happiest boy in boot camp.” Vikenti teased.

“I just wish I could have seen him.” Viktoriya let a hint of sadness touch her voice, but shook it away.  “But he’s doing well in training?”

“Very well. Natassia said he came home from officer’s school and nearly fell asleep in his dinner.  It’s only been a few days, but his training captain is very pleased with his commitment.” Vikenti was proud to report.

Before Viktoriya could respond, they were joined by a woman with a head of wild red hair, a face painted with freckles, and blue eyes that sent shivers up Valentina’s spine.  She wore a dress uniform similar to Viktoriya’s, at least until Viktoriya outgrew hers.

“Captain Sima-Coates, I’ve heard so much about you.  I watch your career with interest.  Captain Kozlova.” She offered her hand to shake.

“Captain Kozlova? Vikenti’s sister?  I’ve heard… much about you as well.” Viktoriya was caught off guard, but recovered to greet the other woman.  Valentina was lost.  Vikenti had a sister?

“Oh, I’m sure.  Vikenti and I have some deep seated feelings between us.  But don’t worry, I won’t let Major Kozlov’s role as advocate cloud my judgment in today’s proceedings.  Besides, I’ve met Elijah.  I couldn’t imagine the terrors he’s suffered.”  Captain Kozlova gave Viktoriya a sweet smile that gave Valentina a bad feeling.  Today’s judge was already on Viktoriya and Eli’s side?  Why did they make her show up if everyone had already decided against her? 

“Vikenti, when you gave him the papers and the ring, did you tell him?” Viktoriya asked, with a hand on her middle.

“No.  He’s not ready yet.  He swayed me to believe he was ready for the ring, but if I told Eli now, he’d just be distracted.  Distraction during training...”  Vikenti shook his head.  “He’ll find out when he’s ready.”

“He’s probably going to know when he sees me next.  It’s kind of obvious, Vikenti.” Viktoriya warned.

“I know.  I’ll tell him soon.  But not until he’s ready.” Vikenti promised.

“He’s going to notice, alright.  Better off that you got the ring before he saw you.” Valentina remarked, though she didn’t realize she’d uttered it out loud.  Three pairs of eyes regarded her with offense.  “What, you don’t think Eli’s going to notice how fat you’ve gotten?  There’s stress eating, and then there’s you.”

Tears were welling in Viktoriya’s eyes, but her lips were twisted into an animalistic snarl.  Her tongue was venomous, but lead in her mouth.  It was Vikenti that spoke on her cousin’s behalf.

“Valentina, Viktoriya is pregnant.  She is carrying Eli’s child.”  Vikenti explained, his own voice harsh.

“What?! Pregnant? When did that happen?” Valentina was disgusted.

“I think you know when.  From the time line I can trace, you were there.” Viktoriya said pointedly.  “Take any pictures so I can show my baby the night they were conceived?”

“That is so gross, Viktoriya.  Seriously, I thought you were just getting fat, and crying because Eli wasn’t going to want you like that.” Valentina reasoned.

“If I get to sentence her, I’m giving her a year at home with our family.” Captain Kozlova muttered to her brother, loud enough for Valentina to hear.  Her eyes had a worrying light in them.  She would take joy in Valentina’s punishment.

“Oh, come now, Natassia.  Our family didn’t do anything to earn that.” Vikenti didn’t even bother trying to hide the comment.  Valentina was worried for herself, and for anyone else that these two didn’t like.  Was it even ethical for the siblings to be so high ranking and work so closely?  From what Valentina had gathered over the course of the trial was that Vikenti held a rank shared with few others.  Prizrak Rytsarya majors were far and few between, and seemed to only answer to the director, otherwise doing as they please.  In Vikenti’s case, making Valentina’s life hell.

“I’m sorry, okay?!  I didn’t know she was pregnant.  I didn’t think Eli wanted kids, the way he was always hiding condoms everywhere.  Like, they were every room of his house.  And with the way his dad treated him, I didn’t think he wanted to continue that cycle.” Valentina shrugged, trying to get the attention away from herself.  Unfortunately, she brought up the one topic that reminded everyone of her.

“Ah, yes.  How Eli’s father treated him.” Vikenti said slowly.  “Aren’t we all familiar with that?”

“I told you all a million times already! I didn’t mean for him to get hurt!  I just wanted his dad to take him back to London and make him break up with Viktoriya! I just wanted my boyfriend back!” Valentina protested.

In the middle of the argument, the fight began.  The attack seemed to come out of nowhere.  No one saw it coming.  Vikenti was the first to go down, falling to one knee.  His sister, her icy eyes darting everywhere stood over him protectively.  Viktoriya was the next target, calling out as she pushed Valentina roughly to the ground.  A few more shots fired at the group.  Burkov was gone.  Vikenti looked as if his sister was all that kept him standing.  Valentina felt a sudden pain in her leg.  It was worse than anything she had ever felt.  Surely, she’d been shot.  Suddenly Viktoriya was beside her, helping her up.

“Split up, find the shooter.  I’ve got the big guy, you get blondie.” Captain Kozlova ordered.  Viktoriya only nodded, and started away with Valentina on her shoulder.  Things were moving so fast.  Both women had guns in their hands.  Vikenti produced his too.

It was hard to walk.  It was impossible to run. Viktoriya was forcing Valentina away from the Civil Hall at a pace she could barely keep up with.  She looked back as bullets made loud metallic sounds against cars and signs.  Viktoriya’s path was erratic, trying to make them hard to follow.  Every step on her injured leg was torture.  She did not know how Viktoriya was able to run, carrying so much weight.

Viktoriya pulled Valentina down an alley, they turned down another.  Ahead of them was nothing but brick wall.  Valentina’s eyes widened.  This is where she was going to die.  Viktoriya led her to her death.

“Up!” Viktoriya whispered harshly.  She laced her fingers together and with a huge groan, she got down on her knee.

“What?” Valentina looked around.  She spotted the ladder of a fire escape, pulled up, and resting ten feet above the ground.

“Step on my hand, and climb.” Viktoriya ordered in a hushed tone.  After a moment of hesitation, Valentina stepped forward.  She put her foot in her cousin’s hand, and then screamed as Viktoriya launched her up, in the air, toward the fire escape.  Valentina shut her eyes, hoping her hands would find the rung of the ladder.  She felt the metal in her palm, sliding past her fingertips.  By some miracle, there was another rung, and she took hold of that one.

Valentina had never done well in gym class.  It was a requirement, not a pleasure.  She couldn’t climb the rope, or keep up on the track.  She wasn’t very good at any sports.  This was going be the way she died.  Valentina was going fall, hurt her other leg, break her back, and die in this Moscow alley.  She felt something under her foot again.  It was Viktoriya’s hand, giving her something to support herself on and push against as she reached for the next rung.  Then the next.  Soon she had climbed enough of the ladder to put her foot on the rung.  Then enough to be on the fire escape. 

It was hard to ignore the pain in her leg.  Eli took three bullets and she could barely stand one.  Every step up the metal stairs was agony as she tried to climb to the next landing.  Her ankle turned in her heels.  Her skirt caught under her feet as she stumbled.  Valentina was only up to the third landing when she had to stop, the pain was just too much.

Only then did Valentina think to look down to see if Viktoriya was following her.  Her cousin was still on the ground, gun in hand.  Had she expected Valentina to help her up?  Valentina could barely pull herself up.  How was she supposed to pull Viktoriya up too?  Especially with her putting on so much weight. Supposed baby or not, she looked heavy.

Viktoriya wasn’t alone down there.  There was a blonde too, her thin hair pulled back in a severe pony tail.  She wore a loose grey sweat jacket and black pants and what might have been boots.  It was hard to see from four stories up.  The blonde circled Viktoriya, a flash of something metal in her hand.  A knife?  Viktoriya held her gun at the woman, trying to keep her away.  Viktoriya’s other hand laid protectively on her stomach.

The blonde lunged, but even in her larger state, Viktoriya evade gracefully.  The blonde thrust forward again.  Her cousin was good, but the blonde was not pregnant or distracted with having to protect her unborn child.  The dance was forcing Viktoriya into a corner.  Viktoriya fired a shot, only serving to buy herself a few feet, but it enough to give her the opportunity to pull out a knife of her own.

They circled each other dangerously.  If words were exchanged, Valentina couldn’t hear them from this far up.  The blonde slashed.  Viktoriya side stepped.  Viktoriya thrust forward.  The blonde rolled herself back.  They circled some more.  Sirens echoed from the streets.  The blonde scored a cut on Viktoriya’s arm.  Viktoriya retaliated with a deep gash to the blonde’s side, though she lost her knife when it caught in the oversized jacket.  The blonde whipped to the side, ripping the knife from Viktoriya’s hand.

She still had the gun, and Viktoriya used the disarming as a chance to gain some more space between them.  Valentina didn’t know why Viktoriya didn’t just run down the alley, back the way they had come from.  Sure Viktoriya had been injured, but with her military training, Valentina was sure Viktoriya knew how to overcome the pain in need of self-preservation.  Why didn’t she just run?  Safety was just outside the alley.

As the blonde started to close in again, Viktoriya fired a shot to keep her away.  Then she fired another.  She fired two more at the blonde, then two into the air.  Valentina flinched, throwing herself against the wall.  Even from up high, she could see the trail of blood running down Viktoriya’s arm.  There was so much blood.  Though her uniform was black, she could still see the blood from her arm too, turning her white glove a brilliant red.

The gun fire attracted attention.  That was probably Viktoriya’s plan.  She wasn’t alone with the blonde for much longer.  Boot steps stormed the alley.  The blonde was surrounded by armed women, each pointing an automatic rifle at her chest.  Vikenti’s sister, Natassia Kozlova appeared, her glossy red curls tossed by the wind.  She didn’t rush to Viktoriya, at least not in any predictable way, but she did make her way to the other Spetsgruppa captain.

Curious to see, and wanting to hear what would happen next, Valentina traveled back to the first landing.  Climbing down the fire escape was a lot easier than climbing up.  But she still had no idea how she was going to get back down to the ground.

“Captain Sima, are you alright?” Natassia asked.  Viktoriya barely nodded.  “We’ll get you to the hospital, and then you’re going home, Viktoriya.  You’re safe now.”

The women took the blonde into custody, cuffing her hands behind her back, and taking her knife.  She was led away with rifles pressed against her spine.  Soon it was just Valentina, Viktoriya and Natassia left in the alley.

“What about me?” Valentina asked, innocently.

“Oh, you’re still here?” Natassia looked up at Valentina.  She honestly hadn’t noticed Valentina up on the fire escape.  “Vikenti and I concluded the trial while in the ambulance.”

“And?  Are you going to lock me up?  Are you going to execute me?” Valentina’s voice trembled as she shouted down to the two captains.

“We concluded that you while you had a hand in Elijah’s assault, you are not smart enough to have orchestrated it.  Your time in Viktoriya’s custody will be adequate time served.” Natassia stood with her hands on her hips, annoyed to be shouting up at Valentina.

“So what gets done with me now?” After asking, she decided to try to climb down the ladder.  Maybe Natassia would help her with the drop.  As she started down the rungs, metal started to creak.  The ladder slid, extending down until it hit the ground.  Valentina didn’t even knew the ladder could do that.

“How should I know?  You are an adult with free will, Miss Lytton.  Try using your brain.” Natassia spit the words in her direction, then turned to Viktoriya.  She helped the injured woman out of the alley where an ambulance was waiting for them.

Valentina listened to the conversation as a medic checked her leg.  Vikenti hadn’t been hurt badly, and Miro – who ever that was – was on his way to the hospital to pick him up.  Viktoriya would be taken to a hospital too.  Her arm wasn’t hurt too badly, but the medics were concerned for her baby.  When they asked if they should contact the baby’s father, Viktoriya declined.  She said that she would contact him if the baby was at risk, but didn’t want to worry him otherwise.  It was an obvious lie.  Eli didn’t even know about the baby.  Maybe Viktoriya was hoping to lose it, and not risk her relationship with Eli.

A phone began to ring as the medic was wrapping Valentina’s leg, and after a moment, she realized it was hers.  She hadn’t heard it in so long, she forgot what it even sounded like.  Leibe’s name lit up the caller ID screen.

“Hi, Leibe.” Valentina began as she put the phone to her ear.

“Get this!” Leibe launched into her rant instead of saying hello. “So, my mom and I are planning Evan’s birthday party, right? First birthday, big deal, right?  So we ask Billy if he wants to invite any of his family.  And he says ‘Oh, I don’t know.  All the way to New York for a party the baby won’t even remember?’  So then I’m like, ‘It doesn’t matter if he remembers, because I’ll remember.’ And then Billy says, ‘Well then, I’ll invite them to your birthday party.  Not like they’ll come anyway.’  So then I’m all, ‘Why wouldn’t they come? It’s your family, and I’m your girlfriend.’ Right?”

It was a rhetorical question.  Leibe didn’t really want an answer, she just wanted to know Valentina was still on the line. “Right, you have a kid together and that means family.”

“Exactly.  But Billy doesn’t get it.  He gets all moody and quiet.  I hate when he gets like that.  It means he’s swallowing some snotty remark.  Or formulating a snottier remark.  So then I say ‘We’re inviting your parents, Billy.’ And then he says ‘Good luck getting them here.  I don’t know why they’d show if I won’t be there.’ Like, why wouldn’t he be there?  And then right there in front of my mother, he says that he feels like I pressured him into this relationship, and I’m using Evan to hold him hostage.  Like, me expecting him to raise his damn son is holding him hostage?  So he’s packing up his stuff now.  He says he needs some space.  To think.  He’s coming to stay with you.”  Leibe wasn’t asking.  Just like always.

“But Leibe, I’m not in France anymore.  I’m in Russia now.” Valentina weakly argued.

“Russia? Okay.  I hope all those layovers are a bitch on him.  Maybe he’ll freeze his dick off.  Take care of him for me! Bye, Valentina!”  And just like that, the line went dead.  Even half the world away, Leibe was still telling Valentina what to do.

“Valentina?” Viktoriya called to get her attention.  The adrenalin was wearing down, and finally the exhausting was setting in.

“Yes, Viktoriya?”  She tried her hardest not to sound rude.  It was obvious now that Viktoriya had tried to protect Valentina from that blonde shooter.

“Natassia’s going to take you back to my apartment.  Pack your bags up, and if you don’t mind too much, could you pack one for me too?  After I’m released from the hospital, I’ll be going home.”  Viktoriya let one of the medics administer a local anesthetic to her leg.  She kept one hand over her stomach.

“Why do you need a bag if you are going home to your apartment?” Valentina asked, putting her phone away.

“I’m not staying at my apartment anymore.  At least not for a while.  I’m going home, to the farm.  To my parents.  I can’t go through my pregnancy alone anymore.  I would rather have Eli by my side, but if I can’t have him…”  She didn’t finish her thought.  Viktoriya let the medics load her into the back of an ambulance, the doors were shut, and she was gone.

            Eli had not been in front of a mirror for weeks.  He’d been many other places. Surgery, physical therapy, speech therapy, Russian lessons, vlast’ therapy, vlast’ lessons, meetings, check-ups, support groups, group meals, movie nights, but not in front of a mirror.  The hospital he was at had none.  At least, none where he could see them.  Judging by how some of the other patients looked, he understood why.

On one of his first visits, Vikenti told Eli some hard news.  His nose had been broken and zygomatic process had been shattered.  The Prizrak Rytsarya doctor assigned to Eli’s case suggested cosmetic surgery to fix the damage his father had caused.  The doctor also recommended laser correction surgery for his eyes.  Vikenti wouldn’t make the decision for Eli, so he waited until he woke up from his coma, and asked Eli to decide.  His choice was to fix his face, but not his eyes.  He’d grown used to his glasses.  He wanted to be the Eli Viktoriya remembered.  But he didn’t yet know how he looked.  There was still swelling to go down and bruising to clear.

Viktoriya, whom hadn’t called or visited him yet.  He was worried about her.  Was she okay?  Was she alive?  Maybe she didn’t want to be engaged to the kind of monster that would kill his own father.  Eli got mail every so often at the hospital, and he always expected it to be the ring.  So far it hadn’t been.  Just get well soon cards from Vikenti and a few from Vikenti’s friend Miro.  He hadn’t met Miro in person yet, but from everything Vikenti said, and his memories, Miro seemed nice.  Miro had even sent him a Christmas gift.  It wasn’t much, a book of short stories, in Russian.  The pages were yellowed and the binding was worn.  Vikenti said it was their copy from back home.

“Mr. Coates?” A quiet voice came from the door way.  It was his nurse. “Major Kozlov called, he’ll be here soon.  Do you need any help packing up your things?”

“Nyet, Sasha.  I’m almost done.” He broke from his thoughts, and shoved the last of his things into his bag.  Eli was going home today.  Though, he did know where home was yet.  Vikenti was picking up.  Things were so uncertain.  He didn’t like uncertainty.

“We’ll get you when Major Kozlov arrives.”  Sasha was gone as quietly as she arrived.

Surprised as he was to think it, Eli had relatively enjoyed his time in the PR hospital.  They were nice to him, they treated him like a man instead of a child.  They were interested in treating his mind as much as treating his body.  They didn’t put a catheter in him.  And they a lovely garden, and despite the cold, Sasha would let him take short walks outside.  As long he made his appointments, they let him do nearly anything he wanted, run on their track, swim in their pool, visit the library, he even tried his hand at art therapy.  Anything that didn’t involve his reflection. 

Eli slipped his coat on over his sweater and nice slacks, and threw his bag over his shoulder.  As he started down the hall, he felt and dull ache in his thigh.  It was raining out.  Over the past months, his body, at least from the neck down, had returned to its former function, but he still got the occasional pain when it rained.  He waited in the lobby for Vikenti, wishing the doors were gleaming glass or polished metal.  A few other patients walked past, saying good bye to Eli, congratulating him on being discharged, or telling them how much they’d miss him.  Eli would miss them too.  There was Spetsgruppa lieutenant he played chess with, a soldier that was doing water therapy and occasionally swam laps with, the PR field nurse that was injured when her camp was bombed.  She lost her arm at the shoulder and her leg at the knee, but was the most optimistic person at the hospital. 

There were other soldiers – all with different gifts, ranks, roles and backgrounds.  They all had stories of their injuries, all during service.  At first Eli was embarrassed to share his story.  He would sit quietly during support groups insisting that he didn’t want to speak.  Finally after hearing everyone else’s stories, he felt obligated to share.  His Russian was rough, but they were patient.

“Hello,” he started slowly.  “My name is Elijah Coates.  I am from London, but you’ve all been so open and kind, I wish I could say I was one of you.  What brought me here, well…? A series of things.  I guess it started about two years ago, when I found this old book.  I started to translate it out of boredom.  And then something crazy happened.  One of my students was researching a journal by the same person.  We started working together and, as it turned out, I was looking for Captain Mikhail Sima, of the Spetsgruppa Yaysto.  But digging up graves gets your hands dirty.  Last year, I was attacked by a Prizrak, hit with his kinetic blast.  I was in a coma for a long time.  When I woke up, I didn’t give up.  A few months ago I was shot three times for my efforts.  And most recently my own father attacked me.  But I won’t back down from a fight.  I won’t give up until I find Captain Sima, and his serviceman Yuri Utkin.  Even if I keep getting hurt for it.”

The group applauded him.  A few of them thanked him, for what he’d done for the PR, and some of them told him that he was one of them, it didn’t matter where he was from.  Eli smiled even though it hurt.  He had friends there.  It reminded him of Denvellia a little.  Now it hurt to leave them.

“Hey, Eli.  Kozlov’s springing you today?” Lieutenant Radomir Nordskov, his chess partner asked.  He had web of scars on his face from several surgeries that repaired his maxilla and mandible, as well as other injuries that were less noticeable.  Radomir – Rada as he asked Eli to call him, had his accident when he tried to stop a man with a knife from attacking a girl on a dark street.  As it turns out, it was bait for a trap.  A group of seven others emerged from the shadows.  The girl participated too, beating him with one of her platform heels.

“Da, he should be here any minute.” Eli smiled, shaking Rada’s hand.  “Don’t know where he’s taking me though.”

“You’ll be in good hands.  Hey, when you know where you are, let me know.  And maybe stop by for a match now and then?” Rada smiled the best he could.  It wasn’t a pretty thing.  Eli smiled back.

“Of course, Rada.  I promised Nadya I’d come visit.” Nadya was the nurse that lost her arm and leg.  “I’ve been teaching her English.”

“We’ll miss you.  Really.  If you need anything thing, the PR is a family.  You ask, we’ll be there.” Rada shook his head again, then saluted as Vikenti walked in.

“Lieutenant Nordskov!” Vikenti made a point of knowing every patient in the hospital.  There weren’t too many of them there.  “Who won that match?  I’m sorry I couldn’t stay for the whole thing but I just can’t watch chess past the five hour mark.”

“Nice to see you, Major Kozlov.  I won, but just barely.  Eli was closing in on me.” Rada shook Vikenti’s hand as firmly as he could.  Rada had asked Eli if he knew if Vikenti had any open positions in his Spetsgruppa, but Eli didn’t.  He hadn’t even met Vikenti’s team yet.  He only really learned during one of his visits with Vikenti, that he had a full Spetsgruppa under his command.  Eli wondered, since Gregori left, and now Vikenti was no longer under her command, what was Viktoriya left with.

“I apologize for taking him from you, but unfortunately I have work for him.” Vikenti smiled as he shook Rada’s hand.

“Nyet, nyet.  We are happy to see him well enough to go.  And if you ever need someone, Major Kozlov, do not forget Radomir Nordskov.” Rada was shameless in his self-promotion.  But from what Eli had learned, if a soldier wanted to excel, self-promotion was everything.  Viktoriya went as far as reinventing herself to simply get accepted.  When everyone had natural talents, soldiers needed other ways to stand out.

“A friend of Elijah’s is a friend of mine, and I never forget my friends.” Vikenti smiled diplomatically.  Eli had no idea if Vikenti was lying to Rada.  As it would seem, Vikenti was quite an accomplished liar.  “Keep that mind sharp, Lieutenant Nordskov. We’ll visit again soon.”

Eli said his good byes to Rada and a few of the nurses before Vikenti led him out of the lobby.  Eli’s Audi was waiting for him, and Vikenti took Eli’s bag putting in the already packed trunk.

“That’s my car.”  Eli wondered.

“It is.  I had it brought up from France.  We have all your things too.  Ceres and Dinah are waiting for you.” Vikenti smiled, taking the driver’s seat.

“And Viktoriya?” Eli dared to ask as he slid into the passenger seat.

“No.  She is not in Moscow.” Vikenti said, trying to sound sympathetic, but he was hiding something.  Eli wasn’t sure how many of Vikenti’s words he could trust anymore.  He was sure Vikenti was still his friend, but what was truth and what was false? “But she sends her love, Eli.”

He was skeptical, but decided not to press the topic.  Not yet.  He sat in silence while Vikenti drove.  They were still on the Prizrak Rytsarya base, in what was technically Moscow, but it looked like a town of its own.  They passed a fire house, a military police dispatch, a few stores, several lots of housing units, a gymnasium and training grounds.  The only thing he hadn’t seen was any restaurants.  Sometimes they would drive a distance through wooded preserved space.  Eli wondered how much land the PR took up in Moscow.  They must be on the outskirts, only technically considered part of the city.

Eli leaned back in his seat, and caught an eye full of sun.  He instinctively put the visor down, realizing there was a mirror in front of him.  For the first time since the end of December, he would see himself.  He lifted the cover off of the mirror, looking into his own dark blue eyes.  One of his eyes was ringed in the ugly cloudy yellow of a healing bruise.  There were a few fine silver scars, one from the corner of his eye to his hairline, and another from his temporal bone, extending about to his mandibular ramus.  He only knew the terms from his stay at the hospital.  There wasn’t much swelling around his nose, or his cheek.  They looked even, symmetrical.  His nose looked like his, if not perhaps, just a little smoothed out.  Eli was pleased with himself, but he felt guilty.  His damage was so easily hidden or repaired, while people like Nadya and Rada had to wear their scars so publically, permanently.

“Where are we going?” Eli finally asked, wanting to put the thought out of his mind.  If he dwelled on it, he’d never be able to go back to visit.  The guilt would grow into shame.  Eli wouldn’t let it cost him his new friends.

“We’re almost there.  See that bell tower up ahead?” Vikenti pointed, as they rounded a gentle bend.  The rain was caught by the many trees.  Eli rolled the window down and took a deep breath.  Vikenti drove the Audi through an open iron gate, into the cobblestone courtyard of a church.  The arch above the gate read ‘Benevolent Sister’, and invited pilgrims into a garden and small cemetery.

“A church?  A Roman Catholic church?” Eli questioned.

“It was, once.  Now, Benevolent Sister is the base of two Spetsgruppas, the Lukavit’ and Ostorozhno.”  Vikenti explained.  “The Spetsgruppa Ostorozhno is under my command.  Lukavit’ is led by Captain Natassia Kozlova.”

“Your sister?   Your sister that doesn’t like you?” Eli’s eyes widened.  “You share the building with her?  Why would you want to do that?”

Vikenti laughed.  “It’s one of those ‘evil you know’ situations.  We certainly don’t love each other, but we have trust.  At least on a professional level.  It’s important that I put you with someone I trust.”

“I understand you want to protect me, but don’t you think I would be safe with Viktoriya?” Eli asked.

“She’s busy with your case and trial, Eli.  It’s for your protection that you are here.  Eli, I just need you to trust me.  Trust my judgment here, please.” Vikenti’s eyes met Eli’s.  He was earnest, maybe honest. But Eli couldn’t help but suspect that there was something else going on.

Benevolent Sister had indeed, not too long ago, been a Roman Catholic Church.  But when its identity changed, it came violently.   Every cross had been ripped down, smashed, removed.  There had been hate here.  It did not appear as if the cemetery had been a part of the original property.  It intruded on the garden, it was not hidden, out plainly where everyone would see.  There was no avoiding the grave markers, they were stark white in the cheery garden, every name and date carved into the stone with precision.  No one buried in this garden had been older than Eli when they passed.

While whomever converted this holy temple to a place of state business wanted none of the religion, they kept the beauty and extravagance often put in these types of places.  A rich red carpet covered the vestibule, turned lobby.  A secretary smiled, and waved them inside.  She was busy on the phone, speaking quickly in Russian, ordering supplies for the two Spetsgruppas.  She was playing hard with the supplier, insisting the two orders come boxed separately, but be considered one order, for a discount bulk rate.  The secretary was getting frustrated, stabbing her pen at piece of paper, as she demanded her discount in the Kozlov siblings’ names.

Past the vestibule, there was a door marked for the ‘Spetsgruppa only’, public restrooms, and then the doors that led into proper chapel.  Most of the pews had been removed, but twelve benches remained, arranged in six groups placed back to back, three on each aisle.  Doors that led to what were previously closets, confessionals and other smaller rooms had been converted into offices.  The altar had been removed, leaving the area empty.  Eli’s eyes went to the stained glass behind.  The glass mosaic had not been profaned, and featured Jesus among a flock of sheep.  This was the temple from his dream.  The dream in which he and Viktoriya got married.  Eli didn’t know if they were even still engaged.  He hadn’t seen her since her the day he proposed, four months ago.  What if Viktoriya hadn’t come to see him because she’s move on? Decided that loving Eli was too much trouble?  Too dangerous?  What if he’d gotten her hurt, or killed?  Maybe she hadn’t come because she couldn’t.  Maybe she was one of the names in the garden.

Eli was lost in his thoughts and worry as Vikenti lead him through a small door way.  Both men had to duck to fit through.  A narrow hall led to a few steep stairs up to the rectory-turned-dormitory.  It weren’t many changes here.  There didn’t really have to be.  Aside from removing some of the religious imagery, all that had been done to the building was a fresh coat of paint and some new windows.  The floors had been refinished recently, too.  He followed Vikenti up to the second floor.  White doors were marked with names.  Sometimes one name was on the door, sometimes two.  Eli wondered if he had a roommate, but he didn’t.  At the end of the hall, next to the men’s bathroom, was a door marked “Elijah P. Coates.”

“Here we are.” Vikenti opened the door with a key.  Ceres and Dinah had been sleeping on the twin-sized bed, and were excited to see him.  His dogs shouldered Vikenti out of the way to get to their master, their tails wagging.  Eli got down on his knees to greet them.

“Thank you for taking care of them, Vikenti.  They look so beautiful, so healthy.”  Eli scratch the girls behind ears. “And thank you for taking care of me.”

“Of course.  Why don’t you head inside?  There are a few things I want to talk about.” Vikenti motioned for them all to slip inside the room.  It was small.  A tight fit for two men and two large dogs.  The room was about the same as his dorm at Denvellia had been.  A narrow bed, a desk, a bureau for his clothes.  He had a window over his desk, with a view of the garden.  Vikenti had already started to put some of Eli’s things away.  A few of his books had been placed on the shelf over his bureau.  A large dog bed was put on the small bit of floor at the foot of the bed.  His own bed was made up nicely.  It wasn’t home, but Eli wasn’t sure what home was anymore.

Vikenti pulled out the chair from the desk and took a seat while Eli sat on the bed.  Ceres and Dinah jumped up on the bed, laying on either side of him.  He wasn’t sure what Vikenti would have to talk about, he couldn’t focus just the same.  Eli was too worried about Viktoriya.

“Elijah, you are remarkable.  You have avoided death at least three times now. I can’t say the same for anyone else I know.  But it worries me.” Vikenti started.  “You will always have your friends around to protect you, but I want you to have the resources at your disposal to help as well.”

“Resources?  Like money?” Eli was confused.  Vikenti was being vague, and Eli was not in the mood to search for context.

“Money is one, but every resource that I have, I want to share with you.  I would like you to join the Prizrak Rytsarya.”  His friend told him.

“You want me to join?  Can I even do that? I’m not Russian.” Eli was stunned.

“Of course you can join.  Any Prizrak can join, as long as they do their basic, and sign their tour contract.  I’ve served with men and women from Finland, Ukraine, Poland, Latvia, all over.  Actually, Miro and I might be from Finland.  We really can’t tell, but our fathers are Russian, so we are Russian.  Just the same, if you want to, you can.”  Vikenti rambled.  He was sounding more like his friend Vikenti again, and less like Major Kozlov.

“Why do you want me to join?  Is it really just for my protection, or is there something more here.  I want you to be honest with me.” Eli met Vikenti’s eyes.

“Yes, Eli.  I want you to have the training that Viktoriya and I have had.  I also think you would be a valuable asset to the PR.  You are brilliant mind, and you are a good person.  The PR needs more good people.”  Vikenti explained.

Eli closed his eyes.  Elijah Coates, of the Prizrak Rytsarya?  Could he really thrive in the PR?  Would he ever make captain like Viktoriya, or even major like Vikenti?  Would his connections to them help him rise through the ranks?  Or would it look like nepotism?  Would his presence hinder Viktoriya’s career.  Eli knew how much her career meant to her.  Would they even be allowed to continue their relationship?  Did they even have a relationship to continue?

“Can I think about it, Vikenti?” Eli opened his eyes.  “Do you need an answer now?  It’s a big decision.  It could have a lot of ramifications.”

“I understand, Eli.  You come from a place where a Prizrak has a lot of public opportunities, as long as they train and register.  Here, we don’t.  For many of us, the PR isn’t just duty to our country, it’s our only option to make something of ourselves.  Please think about it.” Vikenti told him.  He stood up, pushing in the chair.  He patted Eli on the shoulder on the way out.  “I’ll send your things up.  I’ll check on you at dinner.”

It was four days before Vikenti asked again.  On that day Eli had met Miro, Vikenti’s boyfriend.  They went off base to have lunch at Miro’s restaurant.  Miro himself came out to take their order, offering Eli anything he wanted, even if it wasn’t on the menu.  Eli insisted that it was okay, and that he would order something off the menu, but he could use Miro’s advice.

“Do you like spice?” Miro said with a mischievous smile.  It reminded him of some of the smiles Viktoriya would give him when she found a new book for him.  His smile widened when Eli nodded. “Wonderful! I make a great spicy shchi.  And Vikti, for you?”

“Kotlety, with pirozhki and some vegetables?” He asked, then gave Miro a kiss.  It wasn’t a shy kiss either.  On the lips, open mouth.  It was a sweet scene, but painful to Eli.  He missed Viktoriya madly.  He’d been dreamt of her every night.  Nice dreams at first, sometimes sexy, sometimes innocent, but always ending in pain.  He would always lose her.  Eli would wake in a cold sweat, or like the night before, in tears.

“How has your stay at Benevolent Sister been?” Vikenti asked, pouring out a glass of vodka each.  Eli tried to protest the alcohol, but Vikenti insisted that just one, for a toast.  The toast was made to health, love and opportunity.  What a mixed lot that was.

“Nice so far.  I haven’t met Natassia yet.  She’s away?” Eli had only taken a sip of the vodka to be polite.  He’d never really had a taste for the drink, and Viktoriya’s warning about being shot in the liver hung in his mind.

“Yes, she takes on a lot of missions that put her in the road.  Her team has been called ‘the defender of women’ by the other Spetsgruppas.  Natassia deals a lot with sex crimes.” Vikenti explained.   He spoke of his sister’s work with reverence and respect.  Unfortunately, he didn’t usually speak of Natassia the same way.

“Why does she work out of a church?” Eli asked.

“She took it as a prize.  It’s only recently been incorporated into the PR base, and before it was, that was a small village.  The priests were taking in Prizrak children, primarily girls, and abusing them.  Physically and sexually.  Natassia and her team went in and…” Vikenti paused to choose his words.  “Cleaned up the mess they made.  Many of those girls are PR now, and they wear Natassia’s colors.”

Once again, Miro came out with their dishes himself, along with a third bowl of soup for himself.  He sat beside Vikenti, smiling at him.  Vikenti smiled back.  They held hands on top of the table.

“Eli, Vikti is always talking about you.  It is very nice to finally meet you in person,” Miro offered.  He was genuine and happy.  He balanced Vikenti’s tendency for secrecy and gravity.  “I’ve been asking him to bring you for lunch for weeks now.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Miro.  I know Vikenti thinks the world of you.  It’s very belated, but thank you for the Christmas gift. The book was so thoughtful, it helped me very much, and it was so interesting.  Vikenti said it was your own book from when you were young?” Eli was formal at first, but Miro’s personality was just too affable.  They were friends by the first sip of soup.  He was kind, he listened, he laughed at Eli’s jokes, and his food was delicious.

“Da!  My mother would read me those stories at night.  The best times were when it was storming out.  Dark tales of magic and dragons, thunder booming outside, rain clawing at the window.” Miro’s excitement was plain, and contagious.

“You forgot the goats bleating outside of your door.” Vikenti laughed.

“Goats?” Eli inquired with a raised eyebrow.

“When I was little, I was feeding the goats.  And there was this ornery buck, Yann.  I wasn’t paying attention, playing with one of the kids, and Yann… I don’t know what Yann’s problem was, maybe that baby was his or he just didn’t like me, but he came right at me.  He butted me in my, well… in my butt.  I hit the ground face first and lost a tooth.”  Miro told the story like he’d told the story a million times.  He probably had. 

There were more stories from Miro and Vikenti’s youth.  Times they got lost in the woods, times they had gone swimming in the stream and got very private bug bites, times they tried to find the domovoi in Miro’s house, or stay out late to see the Baba Yaga fly across the moon.  Vikenti claimed that he only went along with the adventures for Miro, but Eli thought otherwise.

But the reminiscence could not last forever.  Once the soup was gone, and the dishes cleared, Miro returned to the kitchen.  Eli was left with Vikenti and a question hanging in the air.

“Have you thought on it, Elijah?” Vikenti got straight to the point.

“I have.  But the more I thought about it, the more questions I had.” Eli admitted.  “How long would the training take?  What is expected of me?  And when this is over, will I still be allowed to see Viktoriya?  That’s my primary concern.”

Vikenti’s mouth formed a tight smile, so different from the easy grin he wore for Miro.  “Basic is eight weeks.  I would recommend you for the officer’s school as well, which runs at night during basic.  It would be long days for you, but I have no doubt you could do it.  Basic is well, exactly as it sounds.  Training captains will mold your body with agility training, endurance, marksmanship, survival skills, and team work.   The officer’s school will help teach you the skills for leadership, and how to make hard decisions.”

“Alright, that sounds reasonable.  But what about Viktoriya?  Vikenti, you can’t keep ignoring me on this.” Eli insisted.

“Yes, Eli.  When you complete training, I’ll make sure Viktoriya is at your graduation.  And then we’ll discuss how to navigate your relationship within PR regulations.” Finally, Vikenti relented with the wave of his hand.  He wasn’t too stubborn to see when things weren’t going his way.

“Discuss how to navigate?  Vikenti, Viktoriya and I are not a ship in unknown waters.  We are two people in love!  We miss each other, and we want to be together.  I think you understand that.”  Eli made an impassioned plea.  Maybe it came off as angry, but so be it.  Eli was angry, and there were truth in his words.

“Da, Eli.  I do understand.”  That was the last Vikenti said to him.  The ride back to Benevolent Sister was silent.  There was a thick tension between them, invisible but pressuring.

The next morning, paperwork and a uniform arrived.  It was a training uniform, similar to what Viktoriya and Vikenti wore, except plain grey, without any patches or colored stripes.  The only embroidery was his name, “E. Coates” stitched onto the breast with white thread.  It fit well, but the high boots would take some getting used to.  The day after, Elijah received a conduct manual and a gear pack.  He was told in a letter from his anonymous training captain to familiarize himself with everything before Monday, when training began.  The officer’s school sent his books and a different uniform that afternoon.  There was second conduct manual, along with an officer’s handbook.

Reading over all the materials, Eli couldn’t help but get excited.  He was nervous too.  Afraid of what training would be like.  Afraid of not bonding with his team.  Afraid of not understanding what he was told.  Afraid of not being able to keep up.  Afraid of washing out. Afraid of disappointing Viktoriya and Vikenti.  Afraid of failure.  But he was also hopeful, and excited.  Eli vowed to make the most of this opportunity.

On Sunday night, the day before his training began, Vikenti came for dinner at Benevolent Sister.  He brought a peace offering, a pot of shchi made by Miro, and a brown envelope under his arm.  Natassia had not yet returned, and many of her team took their Sunday meal out, off base.  Vikenti and Eli nearly had the entire dining room to themselves.

“I am sorry, Eli.” Vikenti told him as the blonde man served their meal.  “I’ve been so focused on your physical and mental health.  I neglected your emotions.”

“You have a lot to deal with, Vikenti.” Eli stated as he tore his bread apart.

“I do, but that’s no excuse for how I have been treating you.  I’ve been a poor friend to you.”  Vikenti insisted.

“Then I forgive you.  We can put the matter behind us.”  Eli told him.

“So…” Vikenti began a loaded question with a smile. “You and Viktoriya?”

“Da.  What about us?” Eli eye him curiously.

“You proposed to her, right?  Back in Paris?”  Vikenti acted like it was casual conversation.  Perhaps it would have been if he weren’t acting so suspiciously.

“Yes.  The day I was attacked.  Why?”  Eli tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice.  He wasn’t truly mad at Vikenti, but his friend wasn’t acting right.  There was something off, and it bothered Eli.

Vikenti put the envelope on the table between them.  It was large, the kind documents were sent in, unsealed and not entirely flat.  When Eli carefully pulled the flap back, and opened the envelope, a black colored titanium ring tumbled out, secured in a plastic bag with a note.  Behind it, a small sheaf of paperwork slid out.  This wasn’t more medical histories, or background checks.  This was a legal document, a marriage contract, in lieu of a physical ceremony.  Viktoriya had already signed it. It was dated from months before, while Eli was still in the hospital.  Maybe even still asleep.

“You opened this?” Eli asked with a dark eyebrow arched.

“Well, it was addressed to me.” Vikenti laughed.  Eli blushed, noticing the name on the front was indeed ‘Major V. Kozlov’.  Vikenti too, had signed the documents as Eli’s witness, but only recently.  He didn’t recognize Viktoriya’s witness.  But it didn’t matter.  The document was official, and its appearance gave Eli hope.

“This isn’t seeing her, but it’s a wonderful gesture.” Eli smiled.  Vikenti passed over a pen so that Eli might sign his name to the appropriate places.

As Vikenti took the paperwork back, Eli open the bag containing the ring.  It fit perfectly.  The note was from Viktoriya, “With all my love, to my only love.  Ilya, will you be mine?”