Chapter 33

Olivier was more relieved than she was willing to admit.

Mitya sat slumped in a chair in her office, the stress and exertion of his experience having taken their toll. He held a cup of coffee in his hands, which were shaking slightly.

"I didn't mean to kill him," he murmured for about the third time. He fell naturally to speaking Drachmani and Olivier obliged him.

"I know you didn't," Olivier replied in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. The ski patrol who had brought him back were lauding him on doing such a neat job of breaking Vorotynsky's neck. "But it either you or him. He certainly had no compunction about killing you in cold blood."

Mitya seemed unwilling to accept the comparison and dismissed it. He lifted his head, his eyes still bleak. "I'm sorry about Cooper."

Olivier's lips tightened. She had hoped for the best but always expected the worst. That alone was worth sending the ski patrol out after those bastards. "Cooper was the best at what he did. But beyond all expectations, the Drachmans were just that much better."

"Did you know?" Mitya could have sounded accusing, but he didn't. He didn't even seem to be cherishing some resentment hidden somewhere in the back of his mind. He just looked at her, and for a moment it felt like he looked right through her, as though he could see all her insecurities, all her hopes, all her ambitions. The impression disappeared immediately, but the boy's green-eyed gaze was still penetrating. He'd looked death in the face and he'd had his first kill and he hadn't enjoyed either one. It tended to change a person.

Olivier looked away and went to sit at her desk. Complete honesty was called for. "Yes. I knew something was wrong," she admitted. "The code that the Drachmans relayed to me was not what they thought it was." She allowed herself a thin smile. "Cooper's last act of defiance. The man always planned for every contingency and he had a code for it. He managed to let me know that something was wrong. He'd been compromised and whoever delivered the message to me was not to be trusted." Her smile faltered. "The only thing he couldn't communicate was what actually happened to him, although I had a good guess."

"I'm sorry," Mitya said again.

"It's not your fault. At least you confirmed what I thought had probably happened, so I'd appreciate it if you'd stop apologizing."

The barest hint of a smile flickered around the boy's mouth and vanished.

Olivier took a deep breath and moved on. "I knew what was likely to happen, but I wanted to catch them at it. And before you say anything, I know it was a big risk," she added brusquely. "I deliberately put you in danger."

"I wasn't going to say anything," Mitya replied. "I was in danger anyway."

Olivier began to feel something that she rarely felt about anyone who was not one of her Bears. She was just a little bit in awe. "You're a remarkable young man, Dmitri Ivanovich Otrepyev. You have a lot to be proud of."

Mitya returned her gaze somberly, again with the penetrating look, this time laced with pain. "People died because of me. I have nothing to be proud of."

Oliver sat forward and pointed at him. "Those people were willing to give up their lives for an ideal. They knew what they were getting into. Even you did. If you want to blame anybody, blame me."

Mitya shook his head. "I couldn't do that. I'd be dead too if it weren't for you. You were doing what you thought was best."

He was being almost insufferably gracious. Olivier would have preferred having him yell at her. Then she could yell back. It would loosen the uncomfortable knot in her chest.

It was too damn close. They almost lost him.

Mitya sat up, moving like his head was too heavy to lift. "Do you want me to try to go back?" His voice was tinged with exhaustion and resignation.

Olivier managed to not flinch. It sounded like something she would do. She hadn't even gotten as far as thinking about that yet. When she did, she realized that she didn't want to be the one to make that decision.

"Do you want to go back?" she asked in reply, hating herself for it. She tried to clean it up a little. "Is it worth it to you to try again?"

Mitya closed his eyes and was silent for a few moments. "If I…if I truly thought there was a chance…if I truly felt I could do something to make a difference, I would." He grimaced as though in pain. "But I don't want anyone else to die for my sake. I'll never even know how many people already have. People I've never even met! I don't want to be the cause of that! I know that sounds selfish and it makes me sound like a coward—"

Olivier brought her hands down on the top of her desk. "You are not a coward!" she declared almost angrily. "You did a hell of a thing walking straight into that snake pit! You knew you might not come out of it right side up but you went anyway! So quit your whining!"

Mitya looked at her cautiously, surprised at her outburst. She sat back, letting out a huff of air, considering the matter more coolly, drumming her fingers against the desk top. "I don't want to waste any more manpower or resources on this project," she growled finally. "I plan to make that clear to the Fuhrer when I make my report."

"Then…what's to become of me?" He didn't sound scared. He sounded like he wanted to find out whatever was in store for him and resign himself to it.

Olivier's lips twisted a little wryly. "Honestly, if you were a few years older, I'd take you on here at Briggs. I think you'd be a hell of an asset."

That really took him by surprise. He seemed to realize what a compliment it was, but he didn't seem thrilled with the idea. Olivier propped her elbows on her desk and folded her hands together. "How about you tell me what you really want" As if she didn't know.

"So…no coup, then?"

"No, sir, I'm afraid not."

"Ah, well, I guess it was worth a shot." Grumman tossed it off as if a trout had made off with his bait. "Something else will come up, I'm sure."

Olivier rolled her eyes. Yeah. Right. I can tell you're all over that. "In the meantime, Sir, I would like to recommend offering permanent asylum to Mr. Otrepyev. It's quite obvious that he can't return to Drachma without serious threat to life and limb. Plus, he's earned it."

"Yes, I suppose he has," Grumman replied, sounding like the subject made him tired. "Have him get in touch with Immigration Services to get all the proper paperwork, you know, applications for asylum, Form I-589 or I-598 or something. I forget what else. I suppose he's an unaccompanied minor."

"I'm sure he'll manage. He's not dumb and he's not without friends."

Grumman chuckled. "Then it sounds like he's got everything anybody could want!" He let out a sigh. "Still it would have been a real feather in my cap to go out with a bang like that."

Olivier frowned. "Go out?" Are you really retiring this time, you ancient turd? And—excuse me—your cap?

"Yes, yes. I know the voters will be clamoring for me to run one more time, but I'll just have to break their little hearts." Grumman chuckled. "You might want to start dusting off your people skills, General Armstrong. You might even get nominated."

Scar was so relieved tears nearly came to his eyes. Then he got a little angry.

"She knew what would happen?" he demanded incredulously. "And she handed you over to those men anyway?"

He could hear a little weary sigh on the other end of the call. "She wanted…uh…proof. She wanted to…to catch them off guard."

"You're the one who caught them off guard, Mitya," Scar reminded him. "She still could have simply kept them at Briggs and interrogated them."

"Don't…don't dwell on it, Zhaarad Andakar." Even though his Amestrian was still not that fluent, Mitya spoke with a gentle authority that took Scar a little by surprise. "It did what she meant it to do."

Scar could only accept his words, mainly because of the subtle change in Mitya's voice. There was a new wisdom there. Scar knew very well that facing death was a life-changing experience that either made or broke a person. Well, then, let it be. "Even so," he mused with a smile, "you would have been great."

Mitya laughed quietly. "I do not want to be great. I don't think that is for me." He paused and added, "You are…you are the one that…" Scar could hear him murmuring to himself as he searched for the right words. "…that I really owe my life to. You taught me to fight."

Scar rubbed his forehead uncomfortably. It was disturbing to realize that the bit of simple training Mitya had received had actually been put to practical use. It could have gone so very badly. He could only be thankful that Mitya was such an attentive student. "I'm very, very glad, Mitya."

The young man paused, then asked quietly, "You had to kill in the war? With your fighting?"

"Yes, I did," Scar answered. For him, the war took a longer time to end than for others, and he used much more than just his warrior-priest skills, but he didn't mention that.

"How…how do you…" Mitya's Amestrian vocabulary failed him.

"How do you live with that memory?" Scar finished for him.

"Yes." There was gratitude as well as pain in the boy's voice.

"I won't lie to you and tell you that it will be easy," Scar told him gently. He knew very well that some regrets never completely went away. "You will remember what happened for a long time, but in time it won't be so painful. You must be patient with yourself. And don't keep it all inside you. If you want to talk about it, I am here to listen."

"Yes…thank you…" the young man mused, possibly already trying to process his experience, wondering how it would affect the rest of his life.

"So, then, what will you do now?" Scar asked, hoping this would be a more optimistic subject.

"Ah. Yes. There is…there are…ah…legal papers…" Mitya replied. "I must…submit a…applications," he said slowly. "I must…" There was the sound of some papers being shuffled. "I must apply for asylum and speak to an asylum officer." He sounded like he was reading something, then added, "General Armstrong said that did not happen when I first came."

"Because she brought you straight here. Hm! She's very good at doing things that aren't legal," Scar remarked dryly. "But now you must go through a process?"

"Yes. And then…" More papers were shuffled. "I will…either become a ward of the court or I must find a…foster family."

That was what Scar wanted to hear. "Then look no further. You know you will always have a home here. Just let me know what I need to do."

"I will!" Mitya sounded much happier at that prospect.

It still turned out to be a somewhat lengthy procedure. There was a lot of waiting for documents to be processed and bureaucratic red tape to unravel. Mitya had to appear before the asylum court in North City. General Armstrong used some family connections to get him a good lawyer, and he had several positive discretionary factors in his favor, so his petition was as good as assured.

At the other end of this process, a representative from an Amestrian foster agency came out to Ishval to interview Scar and his family. When she found out who she was going to be seeing, she was rather nervous. It didn't help that Scar thought this whole thing was ridiculous, considering Mitya had spent many months here already and no one had questioned the suitability then and considering Amestris' history with refugees tended toward internment camps and slums, why were they going through all this fuss now and—

Fortunately, Rada made it quite clear well beforehand that Scar was under no circumstances to be anything but pleasant and courteous to the nice lady and that he was to say "yes, Zhaarana" and "no, Zhaarana" and "would you like some more tea, Zhaarana" and to generally act his age and maintain the dignity of his position and not bring disgrace on their family.

Scar was nice to the lady and didn't scare her more than he did anyone.

When the train pulled into Ishval station, Scar stepped back and let Danika be the first to welcome Mitya home. Their embrace was suitably chaste, but it was fiercely tight and long. When they released each other, they each took a step back and looked into each other's face, their hands clasped. They didn't really need to say anything to each other, but a lot was communicated. They had borne their separation as bravely as they could, not daring to believe that this moment would ever happen, but cherishing a tiny, hidden grain of hope that it would.

Olivier also stepped down from the train, and Shua's welcome would have been a whole lot less chaste if he'd had his way.

Finally, Mitya turned to face Scar, looking up at him with a tired but grateful smile. "I'm not a prince. I'm just Mitya."

Scar pulled him into a hug. "And that is enough."

K'shushi scrambled into Mitya's room before anyone else and jumped on the bed and barked. He had gone nearly berserk with joy when Mitya walked into the house. He howled and barked and knocked Mitya down and licked him frantically. It was going to be a long time before the dog calmed down.

Mitya set his bag on the bed as the other children crowded into his room. He gazed around the room. The window was open, letting in the crisp desert air. He could smell the clothesline-dried freshness of the bedding and there was still a hint of the scent of fresh wood. These things were not his imagination, but he could barely believe he was back. He still wasn't quite used to not having the dread of uncertainty hanging over his head. This was for good. This was really home.

He turned to smile at Mattas. "I know you wanted this room. I'm sorry."

Mattas shrugged easily. "That's all right. It's better having you back."

Winry gave her twin a nudge. "You still whined about it," she muttered.

"I did not!"

"Shh! You, too!" Danika flapped her hand at K'shushi. "And get off the bed! I just finished making it tidy!" K'shushi jumped down, then jumped back up. With a sigh, Danika gave up and beamed happily at Mitya. "As soon as I heard you were coming back I cleaned everything in here. Oh! Here!"

She put her hand in the pocket of her skirt and took out the little wooden figure of Ivan Durak. She held it out, resting on her palm.

Mitya smiled. He opened up his bag and took out his matryoshka. He opened it up, laying each figure on the bed, waving a hand at K'shushi's nose as the dog sniffed them. The warrior, the goddess, the snow maiden, the minstrel, the heroine. He set the smallest figure next to them, the fool maybe not such a fool after all.

"There!" Danika said with satisfaction. "They're all together again!"

Mitya turned and grinned at her. "And so are we."

Shua drifted awake, although it was still dark. He figured he'd fall back asleep easily enough. He was in his son's house, his lovely bride was asleep beside him, and all was right with the world.

Then he heard a soft sound just to his left and he turned his head. He didn't hear it that often, but when he did, he usually just lay there and listen until it stopped, feeling sad and a little powerless. This time, though, he was going to do something about it.

He turned and leaned closer to Olivier. "Ollie!" he whispered. He lay his hand on her shoulder and gave it a little nudge. "Ollie-laleh, wake up!"

Oliver drew in a shuddering little gasp. She turned her head and mumbled groggily. "Whuh…what?"

"You were crying, sweetheart."

Oliver was silent for several moments and Shua wondered if she had fallen back asleep. He leaned closer to see if her eyes were open. "Ollie?"

"I heard you," she grumbled. She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and sniffled. After another few moments, she muttered, "Damn it!"

"You told me to wake you up," Shua said, propping his head on his hand.

"Yeah, I know."

"So that's what I did."

"I know!"

"Just saying…"

Olivier let out a long, slow breath.

"You want to talk about it?"

She didn't answer at first, but then she spoke, her voice low and reluctant. "I guess I was dreaming…about Cooper. I think Buck was in there somewhere…I don't know…dreams are weird that way…"

Shua was tempted to remark that he ought to be the only man she dreamed of, but now wasn't the time. He stayed quiet and let her continue.

"I was searching for them all around Briggs." She sniffled again. "I couldn't find them, and everybody I asked just looked at me like they were keeping something from me." She paused. "I…couldn't find them…"

She brought her hands up to her face and was very still. Shua could tell she was fighting what was trying to well up.

"Laleh!" Shua put his mouth close to her ear and whispered with a tender coaxing. "Go ahead and let it out. It's only me here, and you know I won't tell tales, not when it counts."

Olivier was still for another few moments. Then she abruptly turned and put her arms around Shua, gripping him fiercely and trying to muffle her angry, heartbroken sobs against his chest. Shua held her and stroked her hair and let her grieve for all the deaths she kept on her conscience, whether she should have or not. Shua knew, better than anyone, even Ollie's mother, what a generous heart this woman had but kept hidden from the world. This woman had to stay strong so the men around her wouldn't fall apart, but in exchange she had nowhere she could go to fall apart and then put herself back together.

Ah, no, that wasn't true, not any longer. She was in that place now, and Shua was more than happy to offer it.

Thanks for coming on this ride with me!