Road to War Part II: Yes, Anastasia

Saw her there, in a restaurant, Poppy don't go

She pulls herself from her thoughts and gets to her feet.  Her very bones feel weary, and she should try to get some sleep.  Not that she's expecting to get a great deal.  She walks slowly back into the kitchen, pulling a water bottle out of the fridge, and heads down the hallway.  Her footsteps are always light, but she makes them silent as she slips passed her guest bedroom doorway, glancing in briefly to reassure herself before going to her own room.  She slips inside and locks the door with a soft click.

Letting out a sigh of something like relief, she goes to her bathroom and turns the water on in the tub.  Steam wafts up from the water as she lowers herself in a few minutes later and she settles back to think.  Her gun is on the shelf next to the tub and she has an assortment of other weapons hidden around the room.  It's almost enough for her to let her guard down.  It is enough to let her relax into the warm water and ease her sore muscles.  It was never her intention to have to fight for a living, but it has always seemed to be the case.

Some of her memories aren't real.  She knows they implanted some memories, removed others.  When she can find in files may be lies as well, so most of her past is a mystery, even to her.  She knows she had parents, a family, once.  She knows they disappeared from her life when she was very young.  She doesn't know who they were or what happened to them.  It's been a long time since she's given them much thought.  It doesn't matter.

Her fingers were cold.  The snow had already started for the year, and her gloves were patched and ragged.  They were getting too small for her anyway, and there was no money for new ones.  So her mother continued to darn them, to alter them as well as she could.  But it wasn't much use; she was going to be cold.  She tucked her hands into her jacket, similarly ill-fitting, but warmer, and made do.  She always made do.

As she walked down the cold street, she kicked at rocks and bits of ice that crossed her path.  She was waiting for her mother to finish work so they could go home.  Her path was short, just up and down the block outside the store where her mother worked.  It was boring, but she didn't mind.  Soon they would go home, and then things would be good.  Her father would be there, waiting for them, and he always made their tiny apartment feel like home.

Sometimes her father went away for long periods of time.  She didn't know where, and both her parents looked upset any time she asked.  So she'd stopped asking.  Her mother had slowly explained to her that his job was very important and talking about it could make him lose it.  She didn't understand, but kept her thoughts to herself.  She knew they wouldn't act like that if it wasn't necessary; they were always open with her when they could be.

She didn't have many friends.  She hadn't started school yet, and the neighborhood children whispered to each other about her and her family.  What they said she never heard, but it was enough for them to keep their distance.  Not that she never played with others, she just tended to do better on her own.  She told herself that she didn't mind, that spending time with her parents was enough, but she knew she was lying.

"Are you ready, Natalia?" her mother's voice called.

She turned abruptly and skipped back to her.  "Yes," she sang, pushing aside her melancholy thoughts, now that they could go home.

Her mother extended her hand and she took it, swinging their arms back and forth as they walked.  "What do you want to do tonight, little one?" her mother asked, smiling.

She shrugged, pulling a little ahead.  "See Papa," she said resolutely.

Laughing, her mother allowed herself to be dragged forward.  "Alright, I think we can arrange that," she answered.