#ctnp

A quick fluff ficlet; glenya (obviously) and set somewhere after Crossing the Nevsky Prospekt

The compartment is fast becoming a home, even when Gleb pushes them to change trains at every major city. It’s less about the space itself than the sense of safety, the lack of need to pack up each morning and leave nothing behind lest Anya be forced to abandon it permanently, less about the cheap mattress and more about the steady company. The rocking motion doesn’t wake either of them in the middle of the night anymore, though they still wake to other, worse fears, but they take their victories where they can.

This morning, victory is Anya carding her fingers through Gleb’s hair while he attempts to read to her from a French novel they acquired. His accent is improving by leaps and bounds, but there are traces of Russia in his voice that will never unbind themselves. Anya might mind, if she wasn’t faintly jealous; she sounds perfectly French, with no hint of her homeland. So she lets him read with his head in her lap and threads her fingers through his hair and hums softly and almost misses the moment when he stops reading and stares up at her instead.

“A word?” she guesses, because that is what he usually asks about. He hates to be proven completely incompetent and prefers to ask her to read a word rather than suffer her laughter over his attempts. Anya wonders for a moment if it could be something else, something worse, because he hasn’t asked to leave her yet, but her life hasn’t allowed for many companions. Each day might be the day he tires of her company, realizes that she’s nothing more than a street sweeper no matter her birth. It’s not truth, but her fears insist that it might be, to him.

"A word,” he echoes, and she realizes he’s holding the book closed, that he hasn’t been looking at it for a while. “No, not --” He laughs, and tips his head up to watch her. “What are you singing?”

Anya cannot quite recall. It had been an instinct, older than memory, and it clicks in a rush of almost-embarrassment. It’s the lullaby her grandmother taught her, soft and thoughtful, and she isn’t sure how to share it without sharing the memories of her family and her old life.

Gleb cocks his head to the side, raises an eyebrow, and she gives up.

“It doesn’t have a name.” She shrugs helplessly and runs her fingers through his hair again. “My grandmother sang it to me when I was a child.” He opens his mouth, and she tightens her grip on his hair warningly. “It’s terribly Romanov; I know.”

The officer of the new Russia abates in his gaze and Gleb gives her an utterly content stare, as though he’d happily lie in her lap and listen to whatever Romanov nonsense she wished to tell him until they died of old age. Sometimes she thinks he might. 

“It’s pretty,” he allows, reaching up to tuck a loose price of hair behind her ear and giving her a playful look. “Maria Feodorovna had to contribute something worthwhile to this world.” He grins, and it crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Besides you.”

Anya scoffs. “Flattery, really?”

“Is it working?” He watches her from under his lashes, like she might vanish again, and Anya almost laughs. 

There are ways and ways to make journeys and not all of them need a definite destination. Sequel to Crossing the Nevsky Prospekt.

Gleb nudged the open with the guessed-at coffee in hand and Anya’s breathing evened. She wasn’t afraid of him, least of all when he looked like he’d only taken time to finger-comb his hair and quickly dress before leaving the compartment. She vaguely remembered the officer from St. Petersburg, neat and proper and nothing like the soft-eyed man currently frozen on the threshold, coffee and paper in hand while he waited for permission to enter.

“You’re up,” he pointed out politely, and Anya couldn’t help but smile and roll her eyes. Gleb felt the need to talk more than she did, to fill the empty space, and it was oddly charming. Anya swung her feet out of bed and dropped to the floor, grabbing her robe and sliding it on. They’d been traveling for weeks and the luxury had yet to wear off; clean nightgowns, thin carpeting, a heated room and only one person to share it with were simple things, but she still appreciated them. She tied the belt on the robe and glanced up at Gleb, who still lingered in the doorway.

“I am now,” she agreed, and it was permission of a sort.

glenya + “Shouldn’t you be with him/her?” requested by Pure Anon. 

Vaguely set after Crossing the Nevsky Prospekt, but likely won’t be incorporated into any sequel canon. Enjoy a stand-alone.

Anya was a warm, steady presence against Gleb’s side. There wasn’t the slightest hesitation in the way she had leaned against him once the train started, flipping through her book as though she had no idea he’d tensed under her. The book lay in her lap still, but she hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes, content to stare out the window with her boots kicked up on the empty seat across from her and her shoulder blade digging into Gleb’s arm.

He could almost forget he’d nearly killed her.

For a brief moment, Anya could see the future he proposed.

The threat of the false Grand Duchess neutralized, because she left the country with the policeman come to kill her. She’d never have to face the disappointment of rejection from her maybe-grandmother, and he’d never have to admit he’d failed. They’d be ghosts together, vanishing from the world - her whole past a question that would never have an answer, one she’d worry over for the rest of her life.

For a brief moment, Anya was tempted.  [x]

Saoirse Ronan as Anastasia Anya, the last Romanov princess.

Crossing the Nevsky Prospekt - Chapter Headers

Chapter 10 is posted!

“The Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov was nothing but a dream. A dream neither I nor any other Russian should cling to any longer. The search is through. The reward for Anastasia’s safe return will be donated to charity, to help those who are still looking for their families. So - no more talk of the Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov. The dream has ended, and we will all move forward. Russia is a wound that we all must let heal.”

Gleb/Anya, remixed and expanded. Read it from the beginning: [x]

Closing comments under the cut!

Chapter 9 is posted!

“I am -" She stood proud, her shoulders squared, and a step brought her so close he couldn't possibly miss, even if he tried. "- the Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanov.”

Gleb/Anya, remixed and expanded. Read it from the beginning:  [x]

Chapter 1 is posted!

“I can’t lose this job. They’re not easy to come by.” Her explanation stopped his thoughts in their tracks, and he felt bad for suspecting her. She was a good Russian, hardworking and dedicated, and his furrowed brow relaxed as she added, “But - thank you.” She clutched her broom to her chest like the lifeline it was for her, and then she smiled at him.

He felt like she’d punched him in the stomach.