Thank you once again you guys, really. I've had way too much fun writing this. Who knows, a counterpart dealing with Anya/Anastasia may be possible on the horizon too (but have a quick look at my profile before you get excited and start drooling over it) (I'm looking at you, Luna)

Today's introduction will be especially long because I have a lot of notes to point out, so bear with me. But seriously, once again, thank you all, you're too kind. One last thing before notes and then story time is this mini-story: My "proofreader", Luna, told me this today. She had printed out part of this chapter that I had typed for her to read and had taken it to school. Her history teacher confiscated it for "disrupting the class." Then, he read it, and absolutely loved it and demanded to know more. xD You guys this story made me laugh so much and made my day, I'm happy right now! Score one for fanfiction! That makes it like...still like...negative a million though, right? Oh bad me. Thanks again though!

Notes, to be read before or after chapter four:

"Catherine" is left in the Western/English pronounciation not only for easiness purposes but familiarity purposes, as most Western/English people probably recognize "Catherine the Great" as opposed to "Yekaterina the Great"

If there are any similarities to Art Spiegelman's "Maus" within this, that is slightly intended. I do love the graphic novel "Maus" and instantly recommend it to anyone.

Natalya, or "Nata", is a girl who has a personality that's very loosely based off of Czar Nicholas II's first lover, Mathilde Kschessinska. This is funny because I created Nata before I knew of Mathilde, and upon reading about her laughed nervously at some of their similarities.

Homage is paid also to my favorite composer, who just happens to be Russian as well. (I liked him since I was 7 and before I loved Russia, I swear) Not only is his name stated towards the end of the chapter, but the ballet poster that is being covered up is something I imagine to be advertisement for one of his ballets. My favorite, to be precise: The Firebird. (Another composer that comes close to this one is Russian, and he is Shostakovich)

An apology in advance: Details on society in Soviet Russia are sketchy, as for one this takes place in the uneasy transition period between Lenin and Stalin, and as for two Soviet Russia never intrigued me as much as Imperial Russia. I am shame, but I did what I could with the research I scrapped together.

Also a warning: I am inconsistent in my capitalizations hurrhurr.

**Late edit, sorry. The song lyrics used for the title and summary are from the song "Mother Russia" by a 70's British group called "Renaissance". You'll know you have the right song if it's 9 minutes long. The song itself is about the Russian author Alexander Solzhenitzyn and his...well...just listen to it. (RIP, Alex)

Chapter 4

Dmitri was in a foul mood. Many things attributed to this; the bleary skies, the gloomy economy spiraling downwards, the city's history being erased with the swipe of one man's hand.

Leningrad. Leningrad? What would the Englishman call it, St. Leninsberg? What a disgusting name spat out by a narcissistic government. What the hell kind of name is Leningrad, anyways? Oh, but of course, Petrograd paid homage to the Romanovs, and god forbid the people remember the late royal family. Everyone as a collective whole was now a proud Red, a honorable communist. Everyone was now equal, there were no royals and peasants anymore, everyone, everyone was equal.

Meaning that you were just as poor and gray and hungry and angry and deprived and as important as your neighbor. You were unique and important, meaning you weren't.

But would he say these things out loud, even in the underground worlds? No, never. Dmitri could be foolish, but he wasn't daft.

He crumpled up the newspaper and tossed it to the side, not caring that it littered the streets. Vladimir Lenin himself, the self-proclaimed leader of Russia, had only died three days ago, and now they were renaming the capital after him. After what? It's not like Lenin had done much to improve the state of the country, aside from putting a stop to the civil war by winning it. Though he had promised the broken country of Russia "peace, bread, and land" Dmitri hadn't seen much of any of those three during the past decade. Sure there was peace now, but it was disturbing, watched over by the various Soviet soldiers on burly horses. There was bread too, but you had to know how to get more than your share of it (that is to say, you needed to know how to acquire the loaf instead of the crumbs.) And the land? The land was there, and so were the people. The end. Good luck. Don't do anything criminal.

Or, in Dmitri's case, just don't get caught doing anything criminal. He and Vlad had created a sort of mastermind business built upon the art of forgery and theft. They were well known within the black market that they worked in, and had come to be often referred to if somebody needed travel papers, fake IDs, fake food stamps, work papers, you name it. Dmitri and Vlad were the best that anyone could see, mostly because they couldn't be tracked. Only a few people knew that the two con artists had stationed themselves at the old abandoned palace, and even then they had only known that through the constant rumors that circulated around the streets. Nothing was certain nowadays.

Despite their booming business with the people of the underworld they were not well off. Most of the food they consumed was stolen or acquired by other such illegal means, and usually was riddled with something that always made their stomachs cramp. The winters they faced were the worst—not only because food was scarce, but also because they could not keep themselves warm. The fires in the palaces did little to nothing thanks to the ultimate draftiness of the broken windows and absent doors. Boarding up the windows and doors helped, and though they tried their best to keep at least one room out of hundreds warm, they were always chilled no matter what. Fires were dangerous by themselves; they always had to be careful and make sure there was no smoke emitted from them lest their presence become known to the Soviets. The palace grounds were forbidden and therefore abandoned. Any signs of human life there would be immediately dealt with in the worst way possible.

They were never comfortable under the steel fists of the new government. Life was difficult beyond comprehension; a constant and harsh tight-rope walk with death at your shoulder at all times, be it in the form of famine, ice, disease, or bullets. Indeed, the night Dmitri and Vlad had escaped to the Winter Palace, they had remained inside its walls for nigh a year. Only a month or two after their escape the Red Army had bested all of its opponents, and a communist regime under the promising hand of Vladimir Lenin had risen.

But here the troubles still remained. From the shrouded windows of the Winter Palace Dmitri and Vlad warily watched the transformations of the outside world. They watched as wealth was spread thin over Russia's great land, they watched as Soviet soldiers paraded the streets, praising the motherland above all other lands. They watched. They waited.

Dmitri had had a greater interest in the changes of the outside world than Vlad. To Vlad, the demolition of his traditional Russia had turned his stomach inside out (that along with the usual withering case of influenza) and he only wished to look at the streets if he absolutely had to and only for as long as he needed. Vlad thought little of Dmitri's fascination with the outside streets, figuring it was quite normal for a boy who had been locked up for nearly all his life to show lots of curiosity with what he was not familiar with. Besides, Dmitri was not obsessed with their one connection to the outside. He always found time to eagerly sit across from Vlad for a sophisticated game of chess.

Vlad, of course, always won against the teenager who had never seen a chess board before, but that did not deter Dmitri from playing with him every time the man offered. Chess was the primary way he and Vlad passed the long lonely hours together when they were not creeping about the markets for a chance at food. The only other way they waited for the time to go by was when Vlad would sit down with one of the few books left from the destroyed library while Dmitri had taken the meticulous task of repairing and rebuilding the smashed model of the Moscow palace upon himself. It was grueling, detail-centric work, but it was time-consuming, and that's what Dmitri was looking for in the days that passed like weeks.

It wasn't until Dmitri started refusing to play chess during certain hours of the day that Vlad started to realize that he had more than just fascination with society through the windows of the palace. After a few days of his polite refusals, Vlad approached the window he was gazing out of, and looked to the streets.

Patiently Vlad waited; the longer he waited the greater his suspicions arose. He kept one on Dmitri's poised form, searching for a cue.

Dmitri shifted and straightened his back, pressing his face closer to the glass in wonder. Vlad gazed out then, searching the wet cobblestone streets. When he saw the reason for Dmitri's sudden change in demeanor, a smile pushed his cheeks upwards.

It was a girl. A fine young thing that had somehow kept her dignity intact through the civil war and the Soviet take over, clad in ragged velvet similar in abuse to Vlad's old fur coat. One could see her story from the distance—her family had adequate wealth, and had struggled greatly through but had proudly survived the civil war, very much unlike the former member of the failed Duma.

"She's quite pretty, isn't she?" Vlad mentioned, making Dmitri jump into the air as if he had not even registered that the large man was beside him, "And when shall I expect you to sneak out to speak to her?"

Dmitri squirmed and fidgeted, turning red, "Oh no, she wouldn't want to speak with me...," he muttered.

"And why not?" Vlad asked gruffly knowing full well why Dmitri was so hesitant, "The clothes you wear now present you as a strapping young lad, how is she to know about your status?"

Dmitri gazed back out the window to where the girl was purchasing small rolls of bread. Vlad placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder before leaning down to whisper in the boy's ear, "And besides, everyone is equal now, are they not?"

Vlad took almost full advantage of Dmitri's inexperience and innocence in dealing with affections towards the opposite sex. He didn't exactly coach him in the subject matter, but he did try to teach Dmitri how to waltz. It did not end well. Not only was it a means of teaching Dmitri culture, it also was supposed to increase his confidence. It did neither, and the very word "waltz" was never uttered to each other again, merely because of the complete disaster the lessons were. Still, this did nothing to stop Vlad from quite literally pushing him into meeting the girl. It was a feat which amused him greatly, an amusement that Dmitri did not share.

However it was enough to spark an acquaintance though, which quickly turned into a short friendship. Her name was Catherine, after the great czarina that had ruled ages before. Dmitri was simply in awe of her and all that she did, but though he tried to meet her and talk with her as often as he could she forever remained quiet and distant. Always she smiled sweetly at him, and always she had allowed him to walk with her, but she was unchanging, and from the beginning it always seemed that the friendship and adoration was one-sided.

They were only "together" for a very short time. One day as he walked with her through the streets Catherine stopped him at the usual street corner. She was two years his senior and just a smidgen taller, and when she looked him in the eyes for the first time his heart melted with both affection and fear.

"I'm leaving." she said in her quiet little voice, as plainly as the citizens of the streets.

"What?"

"My father found a way out. We're moving to Finland."

"Finland?" Dmitri's voice cracked. Catherine nodded.

"We're leaving tomorrow, before it gets worse here."

"But...," Dmitri stammered. He had found himself to be quite terrible with words around her, and today it seemed to be much more worse than normal.

"I can't take you with," she murmured, "Father doesn't even know about you...,"

"But...," Dmitri wanted to say something more but the words would not form. Catherine looked at him in pity and it was perhaps the worst feeling Dmitri had ever experienced in his downtrodden life.

"I'm glad I met you," she said, "You kept me lots of company."

And with that Catherine gently leaned down and pressed her lips to his. It was a short, kind little kiss that was more out of comfort than affection. Dmitri's chest tightened, and a great confusion took over his body as he stood there, stupefied as Catherine bade a final good-bye before she disappeared down the streets forever. On one hand his heart was swelling with such joy and giddiness from his first kiss he thought he could burst, on the other hand he was so horribly torn and heart-broken he wondered if it was possible for him to walk again.

However, it was Catherine's abrupt leave that brought Dmitri and Vlad back to the business of the black market. With Dmitri venturing out more than before, he began to re-familiarize himself with the streets. Reconnecting with the old market he and Vlad used to reside over, the two began to build up a fine little forgery business again. Dmitri helped more and more with the fake papers, and along with his renewed thievery had acquired a fine ink and printing mechanism. The addition of this hidden away in the palace made their forgeries of an extra quality, causing a spike in their popularity amongst the black market folk. Due to the constant rumors and lies, nobody quite knew their faces, and that was all the better. Once again they had themselves a somewhat suitable living off of these crimes, and by the time Dmitri was eighteen he and Vlad had three separate apartments. One of them was the old attic above the black market that they had repossessed from the now dead shopkeeper; another was a separate unassuming bland apartment built by the Soviets (used for business and domestic issues with the government should any arise). And, of course, they always had the Winter Palace should they need to fall back even further. More often than not they resided within the relative safety of the palace despite the impossible draftiness of it. The haunting history that the hollow building held was strong and everlasting, and as he and Vlad slowly worked in restoring anything Romanov to the palace the ghosts crept into their hearts, singing them lullabies as they struggled to sleep past the drafts of the broken windows. It was a place they could never leave without reason. They, in a deep, unaffectionate sense, loved the palace.

To travel between these three, Dmitri had retrieved a bicycle that someone had used as payment. For a while until it had become rusted from the use in the snow (sometimes he had been arrogant enough) Dmitri used it as his main vehicle of transportation. He had developed much skill with the bike, and with it had outrun suspicious Soviet soldiers, delivered larger packages of stolen goods, and had impressed children that ran about unchecked in the black market square. At one point Dmitri had been lucky enough to peddle his way towards a car, but he only drove it once. Having a car was like painting a target on your head for the Soviets. At least he now knew how to operate a car should the need for the skill ever arise, though. Random skills were the best to have in this world, and the more widespread they were the better. Knowing craftsmanships or trades could get you out of any sort of trouble if need be. Fortunately, no trouble had quite arisen yet.

It was through this way of life that he had met Nata.

Natalya, or Nata as she was called, had crashed into Dmitri's life so suddenly that before he knew it they were together, both partners in crime and in the bedroom. Nata was sharp and cunning, tricky in business and quite controlling all together. With long, wavy black hair and piercing brown eyes she looked every bit like what Dmitri had imagined his mother to look like with the exception of her short height and sly smirks; opposing the gentle smiles of his imagination. He was much taller than her, having grown like a weed until he was nearly as tall as Vlad. Such a height difference did not sway Nata's constant need for attention and control, and she often met with Dmitri and Vlad for meals, business, and other such things that she was insistent on being present for. Neither Vlad nor Dmitri minded much, and welcomed her subtle company. Dmitri himself had liked the fact that he had someone other than Vlad to confide in, even if she was manipulative at times. He didn't bend to her every will—far from it—but he found himself enjoying a woman who held such a tomboyish air of command about her.

He had been departing from Nata's apartment with traded illegal goods when he had finally heard the news of the city's name being switched out to something he believed to be far less meaningful. Dmitri had since learned that if Germany hadn't snuck the fugitive Lenin back into Russia that the revolution wouldn't have sparked such a violent response and war. This was all speculation of course, but Dmitri had taken it as a way to blame someone for his misfortune, and the more important the person he blamed the better, especially if that person was now dead and could never hurt him because of his blame. The only other question now was who was to lead the new Union of Soviet Socialist Republics?

As if to answer his question Dmitri glanced to the side to see a lone man unrolling a poster onto a craggy brick wall. The poster was big, and as it unrolled Dmitri noticed that it was intentionally covering up a smaller poster advertising for a ballet that had only recently been canceled by some sort of censorship. The worker nailed the corners into the old brick, unaware that Dmitri was standing behind him and staring in awe at the broad-shouldered militaristic man that stood powerfully as the one leader of the red rays of the background of the poster. Gathering his supplies, stuffing rolled papers into the crook of his arm, the worker moved on to toil and labor elsewhere, exposing the emboldened letters that represented the man, the leader's name.

STALIN.

Dmitri stared. He couldn't help but feel intimidated by such a daring and dramatic poster. Was this man depicted here the new ruler of Russia, of the U.S.S.R.? It couldn't be, or he would've known much sooner than this.

A gruff shuffling beside him did not draw his eyes from the poster until the one who had approached him spoke.

"He looks as though he might bring trouble. Might be replacing the royals. What do you think?"

Dmitri jumped, "Yuri!" he shook the man's hand, "You startled me, I didn't notice you."

The man, in his ripe middle ages, smiled and nodded. A veteran of the Great War, his deformed back, crippled left arm and slight insanity caused him to fall from his grace into hard times the moment the treaty of Brest-Litovsk removed Russia from the War. Perhaps the most fatal of his flaws, however, was his honesty. He was a faithful and constant customer to Dmitri and Vlad, who printed out documents for him to collect a Soviet soldier's salary as compensation for his loyalty and losses during the War. So far they had not been caught, and the concern about the veteran's disabilities becoming known to the Soviets had not yet been realized. The only thing that was frustrating about the crippled man was his inability to fully pay them back.

"So, have you got the payment for the latest 'escapade'?" Dmitri asked, pulling the man close to his side as they began to walk. He smiled as the man slipped a thick envelope into his coat pocket, heavy with paper bills.

"Not all of it," Yuri frowned, "But some. The price of wheat has gone up, and my neighbor—,"

"Yes, yes, Yuri. Okay." Dmitri interrupted, "I assume then that the document worked?"

"Oh yes, yes, it worked very well, sir! I must thank you, really, sometimes I feel as though I'm living as though the royals were still ruling!"

"Haha, well, unfortunately they aren't." Dmitri chuckled dryly. He liked Yuri and often looked the other way for his shortcomings, but sometimes his ramblings made him think uncomfortably of a time he'd long forgotten and put behind him.

"Oh no, sir. Well, they aren't ruling, but they are alive. I'm sure you've heard about the Grand Duchess, yes?"

Dmitri gave a tiny frown. He had heard of the quiet rumors and excitement that built around the unknown location of the lost princess and that she may or may not be alive. But these rumors had been around since the revolution, no one knew for sure. He kept his eyes to the sidewalk as he replied, "I've heard them, I believe."

"The Grand Duchess is alive!" Yuri said in a hushed whisper, careful not to be caught by the solitary patrolling soldier.

"May be alive." Dmitri corrected. He was not willing to get his hopes up on a subject that had been long dead in both his mind and in the courtyards of the palace.

"Nay, sir!" Yuri said, something shining with wonder in his eyes, "The Dowager Empress, what riches she promises if someone finds her grand-daughter alive! And I feel...that she is, that's how I feel."

Dmitri stopped walking, "You are an optimist, Yuri," he said a little too seriously than he wanted to towards the man, "Really."

He patted the veteran on the shoulder before he traded good-byes with him, heading off to retire at the palace. He walked sullenly, mulling over Yuri's words. Many con artists not dissimilar to him, he supposed, were trying their hand at fooling the Dowager for her money, but to no avail. They must've all been noble efforts with sinister causes to do so, but nothing could stand up to the real thing. Really, no one could effectively raise the Grand Duchess from the dead. If someone successfully tried and conned the Empress into thinking that the falsehood of a girl they presented was the actual Duchess, Dmitri would burst several veins in anger, appalled at the audacity of the con artist who had the nerves to do such a thing. No one would be able to do that though without knowing the Duchess and her life, and most of them were all dead except...

Except...

Dmitri quickened his pace, eyes alight with a newfound mischievous fire, forgetting his previous hypothetical wrath. His feet might as well have flown him the rest of the way to the Winter Palace as plots and plans began to fold together in his mind. Why didn't he think of this before? They could do it. They were the only ones who could, he and Vlad. With the prize money they could live on forever in any place other than this.

They were going to reunite the Grand Duchess Anastasia with her grandmother, the Dowager Empress.

They were going to con the world.

–

Vlad had surprisingly taken the idea of the con wonderfully despite the fact that it would mean almost ruthlessly tricking the cousin of his lovely Sophie, the woman who now cared for the Dowager. Perhaps the horrid economy and living conditions had beaten him down to a moral low, a time in his life where anything was possible simply because his own was so impossible right now. There was also a deep confidence in Sophie for being able to forgive him should they ever make it that far. He was, like Yuri, an optimist.

Almost instantly they had begun intense research on the many failed cons of the past, pulling together a great folder of facts and history about the royal family revolving around the Grand Duchess Anastasia. Before long, combined with their previous knowledge of the family, they had gathered together a sufficient amount of books, files, pictures, ideas scribbled on paper, and scripts. Still they worked hard into the night, hammering out any mistakes that could be made, making sure that everything was going to work smoothly, making sure they had every last thing they needed. They were by no means ready overnight, and they would make sure to spend as much time on this as was possible so that nothing—nothing could ever go wrong.

They even had an ace up their sleeve. The jewelry box that Dmitri had kept for all these years was still in their possession, and they knew very well that having that jewelry box almost guaranteed their success. Of course, they would still be careful and meticulously plot every step of their journey. Something like this was too important to leave to chance, even if the chance was the duchess's jewelry box itself.

He barely noticed, but Dmitri's attitude towards the jewelry box had dramatically changed over the eight years he had it in his possession. Slowly, as those eight years passed by, he looked at the box with an emotion that grew farther away from mystery, wonder and adoration. Sooner rather than later it transformed into longing, then regret, then anger, then it became merely an object in his eye, all magic behind it lost. He judged it by its monetary value, by the precious stones set into its gold skin. At one point he had considered breaking the box open to see once and for all what was inside. He didn't, however, as that would severely devalue it. Now the monetary value was disguised as a part of the con against the Dowager Empress. It meant nothing to him now beyond that. Everything—all of his life's work, every thought that ran through his mind—was now for the con.

Nata knew about the con too. True, she wasn't told about their brilliance in planning, nor was she told any of the reasons why they were so confident that they would succeed (neither Vlad nor Dmitri had relayed to her any information of their past connections to the royal family or about the jewelry box) but she knew everything else. At first she had desperately wanted to be the one to play as Anastasia, but the constant negative feedback both men gave her forced her to give up on the idea. Always, her eyes weren't blue, her nose was too pointed, her eyes too narrow and her smile too sly. Still, she insisted and persisted to be a great part of their plans though she made little to no effort to learn much of anything.

Dmitri was starting to find her to be a burden.

For nearly a year now they had been together, trading illegal goods and paying as much attention to each other as possible. For a while now Dmitri had been feeling a heavy strain on the relationship as time progressed. It seemed that she had become much more demanding, calling upon him as often as possible. He began to refuse her constantly, reaching the point where he began to dread seeing her. Whatever wild spark that had made ends meet before had evaporated, and how it did! Vlad, who was wisely watching everything from afar had speculated that despite everything they knew about each other physically, they knew nothing of each other otherwise, and now that who they were was surfacing to one another, things were becoming more frozen and violent than the blizzards of the last winter. It did not help that she insisted to be in every part of Dmitri's life, regardless of the annoyance it caused both men.

"I don't know anymore, Vlad," Dmitri voiced his concerns one balmy summer morning, the streets wet from a recent rain and the skies cloudy, "I don't see anything in her. I don't think I ever did,"

"Relationships take time," Vlad said, stepping over a puddle. Dmitri opened his voice to protest that there had been much time for their relationship before Vlad interrupted him, "And trial and error." The big man had shaved his thick beard, trimming it down to a tamed cut that curved around the bottom of his cheeks and had left a tuft of hair on his chin. Dmitri walked briskly beside him as they traveled to the black market square.

"Yes, but did you experience anything like this?"

Vlad chuckled as he thought back to old memories, "Oh, yes. Probably even worse than yours."

"I find that hard to believe," Dmitri complained, twisting his mouth, "Vlad...Should I even stay with her?"

"Do you really want my advice?" Vlad cautioned.

"Yes." Dmitri replied after only a second of consideration.

"No."

The pair walked in silence for a while. Dmitri shifted the package under his arm so it fitted better and waited until they had passed a couple of soldiers before picking up the conversation again.

"I know you said no, but...I don't want to lose a partner out in the field. And I don't want you to replace her, being the one to have to dodge soldiers if need be. I mean...you're not exactly fit for the job."

Vlad patted his stomach accordingly, no offense taken whatsoever, "Ah yes, but you don't have to break the partnership with her after the relationship,"

"Vlad," Dmitri said, almost chastising, "You know how Nata is."

"Of course, you're right," Vlad murmured, deep in thought. She was quite an asset to their business, being a second fieldman. They could manage without her, of course, but things were much easier and relaxed with her help around.

No conclusion on the partnership was reached as they continued their walk. They spent the rest of their time in the streets enjoying the cool, comfortable temperature and listening to the sounds of the far-off pier starting up for a day of fishing. The meows of stray cats and caws from many crows filled the air, accompanied by cooing pigeons and the occasional yappy dog. Along the roads various bakeries and shops were opening their doors to the early public, warm lights inviting them inside.

"Vlad...," Dmitri asked as they neared the black market, "Be honest. Did you ever, ever see anything with Nata and me?"

Vlad was quiet as he stood in front of the door leading into the market.

"No."

Dmitri did not take his answer as a sharp blow to his pride, but he thought heavily on it all day as he helped sort papers and orders in the cramped apartment. The old room they used to live in was gutted out of everything (including the faucet) and upon their return to it they had begun to stuff it chock-full of every last thing they could find, including the repaired Moscow palace and an ornate cabinet to store the duchess's jewelry box. Drapes of silk hung from the ceiling, piles upon piles of trinkets, books, toys, decorations, nesting dolls, files, papers, and portraits. All of it could be used to peddle their way out of trouble, or pay off someone for a favor, or just generally impress a particularly skeptic customer. It was all stuffed here in this tiny little attic apartment.

"You'll be alright in here, then?" Dmitri confirmed, standing in the doorway, coat in hand. Vlad nodded as his feather pen scribbled across a paper.

"Are you going to stay with Nata afterwards?"

"Erm...I don't know." Dmitri said as he tried to avoid the upcoming confrontation.

"The sooner the better, lad. Come now, you're one year behind twenty, you can handle this." Vlad called to Dmitri as he adorned his hat and coat to go outside.

"Ha, ha, ha," Dmitri called up the staircase and ladder as he descended, "I'll see you later. Don't know where! If I'm not back by early evening you know what to do!"

Vlad rolled his eyes and sighed as he dipped the pen in the bottle of ink before returning to his work. What trouble that boy could get into Vlad could only dream of.

Dmitri stepped back out onto the streets under Soviet control, taking in a deep breath of the midday air. He soon trotted off into the city, following a practiced route to reach the meeting place between him and Nata. She was supposed to have a sack of food for him, a delivery of sugar to a shopkeeper that held a stall in the black market square. Along the way there he practiced and scratched all the things he could say to her to tell her that it was over between them but he still wanted to keep the partnership. Nothing he said sounded right, and nothing he said worked. In a small fit of despair, he finally gave up and would either drop the subject entirely for that day, or improvise everything. Whichever his stomach felt like doing at that precise moment.

He didn't try to avoid patrolling soldiers until he was a block away from their meeting place. If a soldier appeared he would casually duck into a shop and pretend to be interested until the the soldier disappeared from the street. Today there were no soldiers about, on which Dmitri thought nothing of until he turned the corner.

There was Nata with the bag of sugar, nonchalantly waiting for him. He was just about to approach her directly when a soldier marched up to her. Then another. Then two more. Dmitri froze. He saw a look of fear flash across Nata's face as she was cornered into a small alley between two buildings, and his chest tightened. The soldier's smirked devilishly, knowing they had caught an illegal trader from the start. Dmitri quickly ducked behind the corner building before he could be seen, peeking over the edge. The soldiers herded Nata farther into the alleyway. When the corners of their tunics disappeared behind the brick, Dmitri cautiously crept out from behind the building, edging closer to the alleyway to eavesdrop.

"Now now, my pretty little cat. You simply just don't have that much sugar without a purpose, you understand."

"O-Of course, I was going to bring it to the baker's on Yule Street before you stopped me," Nata stuttered. The soldiers chuckled at her seeming insolence, and another spoke.

"Funny you say that, because I personally closed down that bakery just three days ago, was it. Yes, they were using illegally obtained ingredients you see. But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Dmitri stiffened. She was losing her grip fast.

"Well...," Nata continued, changing the tone in her voice to something lower, more seductive, "No, I wouldn't know about that. But I do know about...other things."

Dmitri closed his hand into a fist. If she couldn't get herself out of this by these means, they were several hundred steps closer to being done for. As long as she didn't crack under the pressure for her own safety, they'd be fine though. As long as she was loyal, nothing bad would happen to he and Vlad, and, at a larger stake, the entire market.

She cooed and croned, dropping the bag to better unbutton the tunic of one of the soldiers. Dmitri tested his bravery and edged closer so he could see the reactions of the soldiers to see if it was working or not.

What he saw made his heart crash into his stomach and rebound into his throat. Oh, they were interested in her, and definitely in that way, but they weren't falling for her little ploys. The soldier she was currently trying to unbutton grasped her tightly by her wrists and she gasped as he lifted her off of the street ever so slightly, her dainty shoes scraping over the cobblestones in vain to reach the ground.

"Hey now, pretty kitty," The soldier purred lowly through a very nasty smirk, "What's that saying they have? Curiosity killed the cat?"

Nata stuttered again, something that did not happen often, "B-but"

The soldiers began to laugh and Dmitri considered retreating so as not to be caught himself until Nata raised her voice over the soldiers' din.

"But satisfaction brought it back!" she cried. The soldiers stopped. Dmitri already saw where this was going from acres away, and his eyes widened as all sorts of hysteria settled in on his limbs.

"What was that now, kitty cat?"

"I can show you where I was going to take the sugar," she panted, "It's a big market full of illegal trade. I can get in, and show you."

The soldiers paused and looked at one another, "Well, my pet, where is this market located?"

As Nata gave the address Dmitri slunk backwards until he was out of hearing distance before he bolted. He had heard the seriousness in Nata's voice. And though he could not believe she would crumble so easily and betray all of them like this he was not taking any chances. Racing through the streets of Leningrad, he made a beeline for the black markets as opposed to the winding trails he took to avoid any pursuers from following him. He knew for sure that Nata did not see him in the background, and he knew that she was not attempting to give him fair warning. She was merely doing this to save her own ass at the cost of the lives of not only he and Vlad but many other desperate, struggling people. People he knew and did business with. People who were united under a mutual trust of the underground. A trust that she was breaking at this moment.

Adrenaline urged his legs to move at near super human speeds until he hit the door to the market, pounding on it frantically. The gatekeeper on the other side rasped for a password and Dmitri breathlessly gave it to him, nearly scrambling it up. As the gatekeeper pried the door open Dmitri burst in, pushing the man backwards onto his rear end. Slamming the door shut behind him, Dmitri did not wait and listen to the gatekeeper's growlings before he began shouting at him.

"Don't let Nata in! For God's sake don't let anyone in! Hide, go and hide, there are soldiers on the way!" The gatekeeper's eyes widened, and Dmitri sped off into the market.

"Hide, go and hide, all of you! There are soldiers coming! They'll be here, hide, oh damn you!" he screamed as he passed through the markets. Fear rose into the air like a levy that broke under the constant pressure of an ocean, and soon people everywhere were frantic. Stalls disappeared within a matter of minutes, doors to the sewers opened and closed, people scurried about and disappeared into the cracks of the protected market, slinking away like rats. All around him the market died and disappeared into submission, people pulling down levers that dropped boards over their alcove of the market. Dmitri raced through the people, shouting at the top of his lungs. The soldiers could be here any second, especially if they raised the alarm of the opportunity to the units on horse and automobile. Children cried as they descended into the smelly sewers, people throwing the goods of their shops down the drains with them to hide all evidence.

Reaching the back of the market Dmitri's heart raced. Scrambling up the ladder that led to the staircase up to the attic, he heard the last few men scatter dust about the floors of the buildings, giving an ancient unused appearance to the concrete. Pulling the ladder up with him, Dmitri tried to keep his hands from trembling horribly as he closed the trap door. Grabbing a large, heavy wooden post he pulled it on top of the trap door, hooking it with the beams that criss-crossed the floor of the roof. One could barely distinguish that it was a false beam unless it was carefully observed. The idea behind such a device was to fool any persons knocking upon the ceiling to notice any hollowness where the door was. They had never had to use it before, and, God-willing, it would work and possibly save their life today.

Vlad was atop the staircase as Dmitri took the steps three at a time.

"My god, lad, what is it? What happened?"

"Nata," Dmitri gasped, struggling to keep his voice quieter than it had been, "Nata was caught. She's bringing the soldiers here."

Vlad's eyes widened behind his tinted glasses.

"Dmitri...,"

He shut the door behind him as he and Vlad retreated to the far back of the room, huddling in a corner they hastily cleared out. It was where their beds used to be, and it was where Dmitri had insisted that they leave this place before it was rooted out by soldiers with their hounds. Shuddering against the wooden corners, the two men clutched at each other's arms as their life hung in the balance, determined only by their ability to conceal themselves. At one point someone had cried a soft "Oh, god." but no one stopped to consider which of them had uttered it.

Why couldn't the stupid girl have the ability to think for others and not just for herself? Wouldn't it be better that she would just be caught and have her life sacrificed for the good of what must have been a hundred others?

After an agonizing silence, the Soviets arrived at the market along with Nata. She had tried to give the password at first, but when nobody answered her the door was broken down by the soldiers, a sound that was a bomb shell upon the entire market community. Everyone heard it. There was no avoiding the sound of the possibility of your life collapsing into the pits of hell.

What the soldiers found was an abandoned market place, the site of an old university's commons. A few homeless people staggered about here and there, moaning and muttering madly. They shrank away at the soldier's disgusted glares. There were quite a few of them, but too little to be a bustling market place and too insane to uphold any sense of self, much less business. Holding their rifles and using them to pick through any pieces of evidence they could find that life could have, at one point, been there, the group of four soldiers had expanded into a score, scouring the place from top to bottom.

Nata called out into the marketplace. She knew everyone was there. There was no possible way every single one of them would pack up and go home, especially in the middle of the day. The one thing she didn't know was everyone's escape plans and routes. To be sure, nobody knew anybody else's escape plans except for their own, and Nata never resided within the market long enough to learn of Dmitri's escape plan. The longer the place remained dead silent in the balmy wind, the more she became desperate and nervous.

"Hey!" She called out, frustrated, "I know you're here! Here, this is where a food stall is supposed to be! Look, look!" The soldier she had gestured to bent down to inspect the dust, but he sniffed dismissively. Nata stamped her foot on the ground, sending up clouds of the dirt into the soldier's face. It was inadvertently, of course, but the soldier snarled and snapped at her, warning her to keep her decency.

Thoroughly angered, Nata stormed ahead of the soldiers, leading them directly to where she knew the ladder and trap door was that lead up to the attic apartment. She knew at least that Vlad was there along with a bunch of riches, and told the soldiers so, pointing at the faint outline of a square in the ceiling.

The soldiers began pounding on the door with the butts of their rifles, one of them shouting demands to the occupants to emerge from their hiding place. Each consecutive slam of the rifles on the wooden door made Dmitri and Vlad flinch horribly, their eyes closed tightly, praying frantically. They swore they could feel the vibrations of each hit through the rickety floorboards. No one dared moved for fear of giving away their position. The attacks on the trap door were relentless, and Dmitri found himself hysterically whispering "Oh god, oh god, oh god," with each pound as he lapsed back to a momentary fit of trauma. Vlad grasped Dmitri's arm tighter in a lost attempt to comfort both his companion and himself.

Then, all of the sudden, the pounding stopped. The two men held their breaths, straining their ears to hear whatever they could.

"Why did you stop? He's up there, I tell you! He sits up there and writes fake papers, all day, surrounded by Romanov treasures!" Nata screamed as the soldiers retreated with a scoff. One of them, an older and thinner one, turned to her and plainly, bluntly cuffed her ear.

"Hush your mouth, wench. There's no point in that trap door, someone must have built over it ages ago. If it was hollow it would've given way by now."

Nata's mouth dropped open. As her gaze traveled to the faces of all the skeptic, disbelieving soldiers, her heart began to race with panic.

"Yeah, they cleared this place out a few years ago. My captain was part of the team, he said nothing was left. I doubt they could've started up again, I mean look, there are just a few rats here dressed in rags," a soldier noted as he kicked one of the homeless men away. Many of the other soldiers nodded and agreed with him as they began to file out, knowing the few homeless people were not worth the bloodshed. Nata began to scream at their incompetence, throwing a temper tantrum that was shortened only by two soldiers taking her by her upper arms, smiling lecherously.

"Well now, you're not off the hook, kitten, but we'll gladly take that offer you gave us anyways," Nata screamed, first in anger then in actual, real fear as she was carried out of the marketplace. As a final word as she left the place she cursed Dmitri's name, not even knowing for sure that it was him that had saved the market. Her screams were carried off and muffled by the back of an automobile as it drove away to the Soviet headquarters.

Neither Dmitri nor Vlad opened their eyes for the longest time, sitting there frozen still and huddled in fear. It wasn't until the tentative familiar noises of the market below them started to revive, slowly creeping out from their solaces back into the clouded sunlight. The men who acted as homeless wretches discarded their rags and began repairing the broken door, cleaning up the mess the soldiers had done and coaxing people to come back out again once two hours had passed.

Dmitri opened his eyes. Both he and Vlad uneasily stood up, knees shaking. As they wandered about their attic apartment, dazed from their close brush with death, they touched the objects in the room with renewed senses, feeling more than they could before.

"Oh," Dmitri said with a face slightly twisted in discomfort. Vlad looked over to him as he elaborated with a small laugh of relief.

"I'm hungry."

–

It was a week before they saw Nata again. To be perfectly honest they were not expecting to ever see her face again; whether it was because of the Soviets or because of her hurt pride and trust. That doesn't mean that they weren't prepared when she showed up one evening, unusually dirty and rumpled from whatever punishment she had received from the headquarters.

He and Vlad were mingling about their third government built apartment, tidying it up and using it simply to be used. An attempt to avoid suspicion, as always. She found them here, and when she stormed her way in they were simply sitting about, Dmitri with his nose in a newspaper and Vlad brewing himself some tea. When the door opened only Dmitri looked up, the smallest amount of surprise on his face.

"Oh," he said rather lightly, "There you are. Where were you? We haven't seen you for just over a week now,"

"Where have I been?" she inhaled incredulously, "Where have I been? Don't you know? Didn't you wonder when you didn't find me there with the sugar?"

Dmitri looked up and off into the distance as if truly contemplating in wonder. Vlad poured himself a cup of tea and slowly sat himself down without offering her any—something very peculiar in its abnormality of his character. She only took small notice in the change as she always refused the tea as it was, she only liked tea when fine vodka was added to it, and what little vodka they had was to be saved for very special occasions.

"Well, I don't know, I guess I just figured you'd have it covered if you were in trouble, why?"

"What do you mean, 'why'? When I finally found my way to the market, it was completely empty!"

Dmitri blinked, "Huh?"

"Empty!" Nata yelled, leaning down to spell it in his face "Emp-ty! Empty! As if they were expecting an attack from the soldiers!"

He shrugged innocently, "I wouldn't know anything about that, I stopped off at the real market to meet a client, and then to the bakery."

Nata straightened back up with a disgusted sneer, and her sharp eyes streaked over to where Vlad was quietly sipping his tea, glaring viciously.

"You! Vlad! You were there, weren't you? You're always there, you hardly ever leave there, right?"

Dmitri gritted his teeth and pushed his anger away, more than willing to slap her for her blatant disrespect towards Vlad. Keeping his innocent tone, he replied for him, making Nata spin on her heel to turn her murderous eyes to him.

"Vlad couldn't walk about a week ago. Something went wrong with his knee, he couldn't even stand."

"Horse shit!" Nata swore, almost causing Vlad to choke on his tea from her sudden and loud display of profanity, "He was standing up not two minutes ago!"

"Goodness, child," Vlad coughed, "I only just began to walk again today, and I was only just standing yesterday." Dmitri gave him a sympathetic look, leaving Nata speechless.

"B-But...the market was empty, and nobody knew...," She trailed off, confused and starting to feel embarrassed. Dmitri messily folded the newspaper and stood up.

"Well, I'm telling you that we know nothing of what happened that day," He said, looking gravely into her eyes. There was ever so slightly a hint of blazing rage in them, and as Nata looked up at him she caught onto it.

"You're lying," she said huffily. Dmitri laughed through his nose.

"Why would I be lying about something I know nothing about? I'm much better at that than you are, seeing as how you're doing nothing for this Anastasia con,"

Nata began to show her anger again, looking him in the eye as she seethed, "I don't need to know anything if I have you along,"

"I'm not so sure you have me along anymore," Dmitri muttered darkly, towering over her.

"What," Nata said, pursing her lips and speaking to him as if he were a child, "Because of a little boo-boo incident on the field a week ago? Why so judgmental, Dmitri?"

"Because whoever it was betrayed over a hundred people that day is a nasty little whore, and I'll be damned if I keep the company of someone like that."

Nata's face blushed to red, teeth gritted in an attempt to hold back her frightened embarrassment, "You weren't there, you were at the bakery!"

"Oh, that's right," Dmitri corrected himself lowly, "I was. The one down on Yule Street, I think. Because the one on Stravinsky was just two blocks too far away."

Nata's face contorted in horror and humiliation. Sweeping her coat about her, she frantically glanced back and forth from one man to the other, finding no sympathy and yet no outward hatred anywhere. They just stared, waiting for the weight of her deeds to settle down in her stomach, waiting for her to break underneath the pressure. Huffing heavily as though she was going to retort, she finally gave up, face bursting with the color of the Soviet rule. She raised a hand as if to slap Dmitri, but she didn't get very far before she wiped her sweaty palm on the side of her jacket before stuffing it in her pocket. Giving a decisive 'hmph' she stomped out the door, trying to act as though she had won. Watching after her with a deserving 'serves her right' look, Dmitri flopped back down onto the chair he was sitting on, snapping the newspaper back open.

"Vixen bitch," he concluded as he continued to read. Vlad gave a noncommittal hum, and even though it sounded neutral it was clear that he agreed with Dmitri's closing words, as wholly as one possibly could.

–

"Ah, so you're closing business here, then?" Yuri asked as he stood up to leave. Dmitri nodded.

"Unfortunately yes, but you know where to find me on the streets. It's just that one of our...partners ran out on us, and we don't want any trouble with them and the Soviets," he explained, standing up himself to help the veteran out of the bland extra apartment. He and Vlad, after a careful consideration that probably only took five minutes, had decided to close the apartment they currently held in the Soviet buildings, to sever any remaining possible ties with Nata. She could no longer enter the black market due to a change in both passwords and patterns, and since she knew nothing about their being stationed mainly at the Winter Palace, closing the lease on this apartment would be the final nail in the coffin of their relations with her. It was much better to be safe than sorry, and both men had learned that the very hard way how terrifying it was to be sorry.

Yuri thanked him as he held the door open, "You are a good man, Dmitri," he smiled, "Almost too good. There aren't enough men like you nowadays...,"

Dmitri stopped himself from choking in surprise, and gave a crooked smile in return, "You're too kind, Yuri. Always."

Yuri, standing just outside of the door, tipped his hat to the young man gratefully. Dmitri kept his crooked grin, hoping it didn't look too out of place.

"Say hello to Vlad for me, as always. I'll be watching for you then," Dmitri nodded, and watched the veteran walk down the hallway, seemingly undeterred by his small limp. Sighing, he retreated back into the almost-empty apartment, shutting the door quietly.

A good man? Hardly. Here he was spending his days rivaling the government at every turn in the most subtle of backstabbing deeds, and here he was preparing all of his life's work to thwart the Dowager Empress out of her money by faking the very person he had had a childhood crush on. Dmitri hardly called those the acts of a good man, much less the acts of a man that society needed more of. And what more would Yuri think if he knew that it was he that had successfully led Dmitri to, by means of a domino effect, convince himself that he could, would, and should try his hand at what was to be the grandest con in the recorded history of man? Dmitri wouldn't be able to face the kind-hearted veteran ever again.

Pushing the gloomy thoughts from his mind, Dmitri cleared the rest of the supplies from the room into his shoulder bag, stuffing papers and ink bottles into it. Yuri had just left from the last meeting that was to be held in the apartment with a fresh set of faked documents, and as Dmitri left the room for the last time he wondered how and where they were going to set up another business place that Yuri had easy access to. He was their one faithful, good, honest customer that never failed them despite his scatterbrain and his early senility. Dmitri would hate to lose him both as a client and as a supporting figure and friend in his life.

Dropping the key off at the landlord's mailbox, Dmitri stepped out into the streets, the air slowly growing brisk and orange with the coming dusk. Despite everything that had happened so quickly within the past week and a half, he felt rather happy for the first time in a while. Close to freedom, even. Was this all because of his complete division with Nata? If he had known he would've felt this good he would've broken up with her ages ago!

Just as the light began to dim over the horizon Dmitri turned a corner that wasn't too far away from the apartment. It took him perhaps a few seconds to comprehend what he saw, but when he saw what it was his stomach turned. When he recognized who it was lying crumpled on the street, his stomach replaced his heart. Breaking into a quick sprint, he skidded to a stop on his knees, tentatively hesitating to place a hand on the man's crippled left arm.

"Yuri...!" Dmitri gasped as he gently turned him over onto his back. The veteran coughed, his teeth stained a horrible shade of red and orange. Shaking, Dmitri's eyes traveled down until he saw the bloody holes in Yuri's chest, the red from the wounds spilling out onto the pavement. Amazingly the tough old man coughed and opened his eyes, the glossy irises roving about until they found Dmitri hovering above them.

"Yuri!" Dmitri called again, aghast, "What happened?"

He knew very well that he shouldn't have urged the dying man into talking, but Dmitri could not stop himself. Giving a smile that would've been warm if it weren't for the demonizing blood against his pale lips and the stench of copper, the man coughed again as he responded.

"Guh caught...th'knew...t'was fake...An' they didnt wan' me tuh wurk...too weak, theyssed...," He drowned himself out with a fit of convulsions that wracked his body, and Dmitri's face contorted in pain as he watched him suffer on the cold concrete. Even still Yuri's smile widened as he continued.

"S'okay thuh...didnt tell 'em 'bout you guys...you guys'm good guys," He hacked and something alien within the blood spurted out of his mouth and onto the sidewalk. Dmitri felt his stomach shrink in capacity as bile began to lace up the back of his throat, "Good guys...," Yuri repeated. Dmitri shushed him, brushing his hair back gently, watching as what little life his glossy eyes still held faded away. All too soon Dmitri felt the veteran's broken ribcage fail beneath his trembling blood-stained fingers, and Yuri's last breath gave way, coming to a shuddering stop. Suddenly everything about the hardy old veteran collapsed, and he felt weak and fragile to the touch. With a small, horrified gasp Dmitri lifted his hand away from the old man's chest, fearful that he would break it even more. He could not break his gaze with the dead man's glazed eyes, but the more he stared at them the more he came to terms with what had happened, and the terrified gape he wore slowly shifted to a sad, accepting frown.

Gently closing the veteran's eyes, he kissed the side of his fingers before he placed those fingers across Yuri's forehead. Feeling a slight amount of guilt, he opened Yuri's coat, searching for the hidden pockets sewn into the sides. Digging his hand into one, he took out the two medals the veteran had received for his services. Gilded and only slightly marred by the blood, Dmitri pocketed them for safe keeping. Any other body looter would have taken them for the monetary wealth it would give them, but no body looter except for him would honor them with the life they once belonged to. Paying his last respects to their faithful client, Dmitri stood up, stepped uneasily around the body, and closed his jacket to hide the blood that had stained his vest and shirt.

What a tragic pity. The one man who was forever honest in this city died from the dishonest act of another, and through his death utter the only false words in his life to save the lives of those that did the dishonest acts that got him killed in the first place.

God, Dmitri hated this country.

–

Rising to meet the cold wintry sun, Dmitri felt giddy and light-hearted. Today was the day. Two years had passed since the initial idea had sprouted and the plans had been worked over, and now everything was perfect. Nothing could every possibly go wrong with the lives of Dmitri and Vlad now. All they needed was the perfect girl for the perfect forgery. And it all started with the air he breathed today, perhaps the last air he would breathe from the accursed city of Leningrad.

He dressed quickly and flew out of the Winter Palace, coat, hat, and shoulder bag in hand. Smiling into the Russian sun, he knew that today would be the day of a new life for him. No more life of lies and betrayal. It all started and ended here, with their last hurrah of criminal intent.

The life of Anastasia will rise again.