The Last Romanov (Under Editing)

Peter and Paul

While sitting in a lorry was a perfectly normal experience for Sasha as a soldier, he couldn't exactly say that he was very comfortable, that time.

Then again, he'd never been super comfortable in the back of those standard, military vehicles. Every time he'd been in the back of one of those damned trucks, he'd ended up in awful situations that he'd never imagined he'd be in. One took him to the orphanage after his grandfather died, a place he'd wished for so long he'd be able to forget; one took him to boot camp, where the army knocked out any sense of the once cheerful Sasha that was left after his grandfather died; yet another took him to the front, where he would end up losing his arm; and now, one was taking him to Peter and Paul fortress, sending him off to what would, once again, possibly be his death.

Sasha knew that he shouldn't exactly be worried about it: Anastasia seemed pretty keen on keeping him alive for one reason or another, and he seemed to have a pretty good knack at staying alive when he really, really should've died. And that was what every lorry took him to: one more place that he probably shouldn't have been able to get out of alive.

He attempted to stretch with his hands cuffed behind his back. Of course, it didn't quite work: it was rather awkward, in fact.

Oh, well: at least he popped his back before they arrested him for pissing on Zelenko.

Nadya, of course, didn't look nearly as composed as Sasha felt: obviously, this was her first time getting arrested by the Okhrana. And, obviously, she knew that for most people, the first time was the last time. She was sitting there as stiff as a board, staring down at her feet, her bottom lip quivering in fear. She was absolutely terrified, and it wasn't hard to see. He could see it; he was sure that the four guards sitting in the back of that lorry, making it beyond stuffy, could see it, too. She was exactly what someone whose goal was to overthrow the powers that be: completely transparent when it came to the way she was feeling.

So, she was a normal person, one that was at least somewhat right in the head. It was yet another sign of what Sasha had known for a long, long while: he wasn't right in the head. Not even close. He was, most likely, clinically insane.

And he highly doubted that being locked up in Peter and Paul for only God knew how long would help with that. He didn't see how he could possibly get any worse other than ending up in the fetal position in a padded room somewhere with a straight jacket on, foaming at the mouth and muttering something incomprehensible, but... he was pretty far off from that point, right?

He guessed he would find that out, soon enough.

"How long do you think we'll be here, exactly?" Sasha asked as the lorry pulled through the gates of Peter and Paul, into what might as well have been the gates of hell to God knew how many people.

"That's going to depend on Zelenko," one of the younger ones said.

"So, Nadya will probably get out at some point, and I'm lucky to still be among the living?"

That younger one nodded. "Sounds about right."

"Quit talking!" one of the older ones grumbled. "I've heard enough from the lot of you."

The younger one just gave his crotchety neighbor a look. "But we just barely started talking-"

The older one slapped the younger one on the back of the head, sending his cap to the ground.

"Did I ask when you started talking?" the older man snapped. "I just told you to stop, so stop! Or I won't hesitate to ship you off to the front line, where you can do all the talking you want."