A/N: Dimitri's perspective during and after he saves Anya from jumping off the deck of the ship.

Distant barking shattered the peaceful landscape of my slumber. I rolled on my makeshift bed and tried to ignore it, but it tore through my sleep anyway. Reaching through the blanket, I shoved the source of the sound off my shoulder but it came bounding back. A gooey tongue and sharp little claws assaulted my face, and my eyes flew open.

"What? What, what, what? Pooka!" I hissed, grabbing the little yapping mutt and narrowing my eyes. What was wrong with him? "Pooka, what?"

He kept barking, jerking his floppy ears toward the bunk beds where Vlad and Anya were sleeping. But… one bed was empty.

"Anya!" I cried, scrambling out of my bed and tripping over one of the suitcases. No one answered as I yanked open the door and stumbled into the damp wall. I called her name again as I sprinted up the rain-slicked stairs and onto the deck, Pooka's barking fading behind me. The ship was rocking wildly over the waves, rain soaking me within seconds as thunder raged and cracked above me.

"Anya!" I screamed into the rain. A wave rose up and crashed over the deck, drenching me in icy water that burned my eyes and numbed my skin. When the water receded, I emptied my lungs of seawater, swabbed the wet hair out of my eyes, and clambered onto a wooden tower.

"Anya!" I shouted, squinting my eyes against the rain. When I spotted her teetering on the railing, my heart stopped in my chest. Panic bubbled in my throat and it was if my lungs were still clogged with water and I couldn't breathe.

What the heck was that crazy girl doing?!

"Stop! Anya, no!" Wrapping a rope around my fist, I jumped off the tower and swung through the air. My feet thudded heavily on the wood, sending shocks of pain up my already weak legs, and I dropped the rope and reached for her.

Anya was shrieking and trying to pull away from the rail, but it was as if someone was holding her there. I climbed up beside her and swung her up into my arms. She struggled and hit me, and as I tightened my grip on her jerking legs I realized her eyes were closed. Was she asleep?

The railing was not a good place to be pondering such important questions, so I hopped off and released her legs to let them flounder on the deck.

"Anya! Anya!" I said, grabbing her shoulders. She pushed at my chest and cried out in anguish as I shook her. "Anya wake up! Wake up!"

Suddenly I was gazing into her crystalline blue eyes. "The Romanov curse, the Romanov curse," she gasped, her voice cracking pitifully.

"The Romanov what? What are you talking about?" I asked, even as a dim light flickered on somewhere inside my head. Somehow those words sounded familiar, almost as if I'd heard them in a dream a lifetime ago… but where…?

Anya grasped my shirt in her trembling hands and pressed her face into my chest. "I keep seeing faces, so many faces," she whimpered as my heart pounded in my ears.

She was hugging me… and yet I didn't feel the slightest notion to shove her away. All I could think of was her warmth, her cheek smashed into my collarbone, and if this was affecting her as badly as me.

Slowly, I lifted my hands and gently wrapped them around her tiny waist. "It was a nightmare. It's all right," I murmured, resting my cheek on top of her head and smiling with the sheer relief that she was okay. "You're safe now."

She sobbed into my shirt, her tears mingling with the raindrops streaming down her face. I simply held her, willing all of the demons haunting her to evaporate into thin air. I had never seen her cry before, never seen her look so… vulnerable. Helpless. Completely and thoroughly miserable. And yet my presence—which she had hated a mere two days ago—was bringing her comfort. It was enough to give a guy a complex.

The most shocking thought that occurred to me was that I always wanted to be the one that comforted her. Just the thought of another man wiping her tears and embracing her was enough to make me sick to my stomach, twisting my intestines into angry, bitter knots. None of them would be good enough. None of them would ever be good enough for her…

As my mind took an interesting turn—one I wasn't entirely comfortable with—Anya pulled her head back and gazed up at me with her red-rimmed eyes and swollen lips.

"Dimitri," she mumbled, sweeter words never having passed her lips, "will you take me back?"

I blinked in surprise, then smiled gently. "'Course, 'course," I replied, stepping back and turning toward the stairs. However, as soon as I released her waist, Anya stumbled and I just barely saved her from taking a nosedive into the deck.

"Careful," I murmured, steadying her.

She pressed a palm to her forehead. "I feel dizzy."

Without a second thought, I grabbed her legs and swung her up into my arms again. "I'll carry you then," I said. She nodded, tucking her head into the crook between my shoulder and neck and playing with the hair at the back of my head. A lump in my throat prevented me from breathing correctly as I carried her back down the stairs and pushed open the door to our room. Pooka was running around in panicked circles, but he attacked my ankles with happy licks when I stepped inside.

By then Vlad was sitting up, glancing down at us with squinted eyes. "Dimitri? Anya?" he mumbled sleepily.

"I've got everything under control," I replied, heading for Anya's bed.

"If you say so," he said groggily, flopping back down and snoring loudly.

I carefully placed Anya on the stiff mattress, absently brushing a dripping copper lock away from her eyes. "Better?" I asked quietly.

She wiped her nose. "A little."

"You'll need to change. You'll catch your death if you sleep in wet clothes."

She hugged the blanket protectively to her chest. "I'd rather die of pneumonia than embarrassment," she quipped.

I rolled my eyes. "I'll turn around."

"How do I know you won't peek?"

"Because I'm better than that, okay?" I snarled, beginning to lose my patience with her. "I have morals, you know."

She sniffed again and pointed at her suitcase. "Hand me that, would you?" she asked politely. She's lucky I didn't throw it at her.

Digging through the fabric, she pulled out another set of pajamas, a pair I'd bought for her. They were green—aquamarine, the guy had said—made of cotton, soft to the touch. She then told me to turn around and I did, anxiously tapping my foot as I waited. The sad thing was, I had to physically restrain myself from turning around and looking at her. It just wasn't fair; why did my charge have to be so darn… attractive?

"Dimitri?" she called out, her voice sounding faraway, "help?"

I let my head roll to the side to catch a glimpse of her and almost burst out laughing. Her sopping clothes were lying on the floor in a wrinkled pile and she looked like she was stuck inside her shirt.

I bit my lip as I walked over and knelt down in front of the bed. "Didn't anyone ever tell you to dry off first?" I whispered, reaching for her hands.

"You certainly didn't," she grumbled as I slid my hands to the hem of her shirt and pulled down. Her head suddenly popped out and she stared at me in surprise as I eased her arms through the sleeves and ran my palms down her sides to straighten it. Then I tapped her chin.

"Well," I murmured, "now I did."

Anya stared at me for a minute before she plucked her comb from her suitcase and started to run it through her snarled red hair. "Aren't you going to change Mister Smarty-pants?"

I blinked; I hadn't realized I was cold and wet, and that was mostly because everything was numb. I stood up. "I probably should, huh?"

"Or you'll catch your death, you know."

"I do." Without thinking, I pulled off my shirt and threw it toward the door. The squeak coming from the direction of the bunk-beds just stopped me from pulling my trousers off too. Not that I was trying to scare Anya or anything. I simply… forgot she was there. It was usually just Vlad and I—there had never been any reason not to change when the need arose.

I turned around and saw Anya's face was bright red as she avoided looking at me. I looked down, making sure that at least my lower body was covered.

"Something wrong Your Highness?" I asked patronizingly as I rummaged through my bag for a dry shirt. It was only fair she experience a little of the suffering she was putting me through. "Never seen a half-naked man before?"

She raised her head and focused a little too hard on my face. "As a matter of fact, I have," she snapped.

I raised an eyebrow. "Boys under the age of twelve don't count Your Highness."

Her mouth formed an 'o'—an instant confession—and she ducked her head again. I chuckled as I pulled a clean shirt out of my suitcase and jerked it over my head. "Better?"

She cautiously lifted her head. "Well, I'd hate to sleep in the same room as a corpse."

I frowned. "You're funny. Anyone ever tell you that?"

She shrugged, a small smile on her mouth. "Yes."

"Of course they have." But I thought I was being too hard on her. I knelt in front of the bed again and placed my hand on her knee. "You okay? What with the… the nightmare and all?"

She tilted her head. "Aw, is that an admission that you care about me?"

I tweaked her nose. "No."

"Well I don't care about you either." I would've snapped at her again if I hadn't seen the twinkle in her eye and her lopsided grin. She reached out and pinched my cheek. "But it was cute while it lasted."

I playfully swatted her hand away. "Cut it out." I started to rise again so I could go back to sleep, but her voice stopped me:

"Wait."

I turned back to her. Her eyes—moments ago glinting in the faint light—were wide and her bottom lip was trembling almost imperceptibly.

"Don't go."

I tilted my head. "I'll just be across the room."

She shook hers. "No," she breathed. "Come back over here."

"You know you can't tell me what to do, right?"

Anya bit her lip and held her hand out to me. "Please?"

How could I resist that face? And that voice? I laced my fingers with hers and brought her hand to my lips. "You'll be safe. I won't let anything happen to you."

Her cheeks turned red again as she rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, that's comforting," she remarked sarcastically, but the faint tremor in her voice gave her away.

She was thankful. I knew it.

Smirking, I stroked the back of her hand with my thumb as she snuggled beneath the blanket, Pooka scrambling up my thigh to cuddle in her arms. "Be grateful Anya," I rasped like she said the caretaker of the orphanage had done. I earned a glittering smile for my efforts.

"I'll wait until you fall asleep," I murmured.

She nodded once. "Okay." She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "Dimitri?"

"Yeah?"

She stared up at me with her big blue eyes. "Thank you."

I smiled. It's hard to be mad at her when she uses those puppy-dog eyes against you. "You're welcome."

"Good night Dimitri."

"Good night Anya."

Soon her low, deep breathing filtered into my ears and I yawned. My brain said I was going to hobble back to my pitiful bed, but my body refused to comply. I laid my head down on the mattress, my bangs fluttering with Anya's every breath, and I continued stroking her hand as my eyelids drifted closed.

I awoke the next morning with a crick in my neck to Pooka's wet, slimy tongue on my face, and I halfheartedly harassed Anya about it all day.

She just smiled at me.