War of the heart ❤️

January 10th, 1943

Stalingrad, USSR

The air was bitingly cold as the young lieutenant trudged on through the snow towards the regiment headquarters. He was alone, unusually; Karataev and Alekseev had been called on patrol duty, and the new regiment commander requested him to come alone. He didn't quarrel with it. Instead, he found it as an opportunity. Perhaps this commander might provide him more opportunity for advancement, whereas his company leader always held him in suspicion for his self-interested ambitions.

He was still seething in anger and frustration from his failure to stop the American boy from crossing the border and taking the Koslov girl with him. He searched throughout his mind, scheming for a way to get back at him and settle their rivalry at last. The only way he could see it was travelling across the oceans to find him, but such a project was daunting, and implausible at this point. There was still an enemy to fight. There was still a siege to end. There was still a war to be won. And until Germany was defeated, he would have to put his rivalry to one side. And still, it was a prospect he was unsatisfied with.

Snow crunched beneath his boots as he reached the regiment headquarters, a two story grey office building with a caved in roof. Even high ranking officers could not afford much better accommodations. It was a sign of the times to him. The innocent and carefree days of childhood had long since faded away, leaving only the stone cold reality of a cruel, unforgiving world. It was this reality he accepted wholeheartedly, as he felt that he would only retard himself from further advancement by looking away. In fact, he gladly embraced this, seeing it as the new normal for the years that were to come. He approached the entrance of the building and was surprised to find his company commander, a Ukrainian man named Pavlenko.

"Comrade Lieutenant Chertov!" Pavlenko greeted with a saccharine smile. "You made it!"

"Comrade Captain," Chertov returned, sharply saluting his superior. "I hope I am not late."

"Not at all. The Lieutenant Colonel is expecting you. You will find him on the first floor in the reception room."

"Thank you, sir."

Chertov quickly slipped past Pavlenko and entered the building to be greeted by two warrant officers in full winter dress: dark brown coats and matching trousers, black felt boots and fur hats. They both greeted him with a look of expectancy.

"The Lieutenant Colonel is in here, comrade Lieutenant."

The both opened up a set of double doors that led him right into the reception room, where he found the man he was expected to meet.

He was young, looking to be in his mid-twenties, with shoulder-length black hair tied back in a short ponytail. His sharp blue eyes were glassy, obviously from spending many a day and night looking over maps, planning attack and defense. Across the wooden table he stood before were schematics of various landmarks throughout the city, ones of strategic importance no doubt. He wore a dark khaki uniform with blue riding pants tucked into tall black boots, covered over by his brown cloak. The dimly lit room hid his face, but Chertov could swear he had seen it somewhere before, like a ghost from the past.

The officer looked up and greeted Chertov with a cold smile.

"Ah, Junior Lieutenant Ilya Chertov! Finally we meet."

Chertov saluted him, just as he did with Pavlenko.

"It is good to meet you too, comrade Lieutenant Colonel," he said unaffectedly. "You wished to see me?"

"Yes, indeed, comrade Lieutenant. Please, sit down."

Chertov did as he was told and pulled up a chair, while the lieutenant colonel found a bottle of liquor on a sideboard and some small shot glasses.

"Would you care for some vodka, comrade Lieutenant?"

"Not while I am on duty, sir."

"Good lad," his superior laughed, as if expecting such an answer. "I like that sense of professionalism! Captain Pavlenko always spoke highly of you in that regard..."

He returned to the table, and faced him with a look in his eyes as strong as steel.

"...as well as your adeptness in battle. He told me you cleared out all three German machine gun bunkers in the assault on Mamaev Kurgan only yesterday."

Chertov cleared his throat.

"I might have done so, sir, if the captain says, but to be honest, the whole assault is a blur to me. I hardly remember anything about it at all."

"That's something I hear often from soldiers after days of fierce combat. Many a man do I know who barely escaped death with only fragments of memories of their experiences..."

Chertov titled his head in confusion at his superior's musing.

"Sir?"

The lieutenant colonel chuckled, as if the laughter would will his words away.

"Don't mind it, comrade Lieutenant. Rambling is one of my persistent habits."

"I hardly mind it, sir. Only I am still left wondering why you called me here."

"Ah, yes, that," the officer said, snapping his fingers in revelation. "Tell me, comrade, what is your opinion of this war?"

"This war, sir?"

"No, the last war. Yes, this war, man!"

Chertov contemplated the question a moment. He never truly thought much about the reasons why he was fighting, outside of a duty to save his country from certain oppression by the forces of fascism. The colonel, however, evidently wanted something much deeper and personal than the stock reason for fighting that every ordinary soldier gives when asked that question.

"In my opinion, comrade Lieutenant Colonel, this war began as treachery against us by a nation that, in retrospect, could never be trusted. If I had the power to go back and change the past, I would have much rather had us and the Germans at each other's throats than to have a treaty between us that in the end would only be broken. This war is merely a matter of us misplacing our trust in a madman who only sought to dupe and dominate us. And it is for that reason, sir, that I will fight the enemy that stands before us with my life, for as long as I have air in my lungs."

The colonel smiled, appearing satisfied with his answer. A small shade of light was cast on him and revealed his hollow face, cheekbones evident in his visage.

"You are very perceptive, comrade Lieutenant. Perhaps, then, you might be able to agree with me on my view of this Great Patriotic War1."

He slowly circled the table, heading in Chertov's direction as he spun off his reflections on this, the most defining event of their young lives. Clearly, this officer had great and large ambitions, almost to the point of possessing delusions of grandeur.

"This war is unlike any humanity has ever seen. It has proven to be more destructive, more costly, and larger than anything we could have imagined. But at the same time, this war will also define us. Whatever the outcome may be, the victors of this conflict will not only be responsible for the defeat of fascism, but will also have the power to change this world forever. And I am sure you will agree with me, comrade Lieutenant, that nothing must stop us from taking control of that destiny."

By now, the lieutenant colonel was towering over Chertov, and he would be lying if he said he didn't feel a bit intimidated. Nonetheless he sat up perfectly, listening to the colonel's high aspirations for his nation.

"You certainly think big, sir," Chertov remarked plainly, as if this kind of speech was normal. "And I cannot disagree with your opinion, as I certainly think this war is important as well."

"You know, I like you, comrade Lieutenant," the lieutenant colonel said with a smile. "And it is because of your skill and ability that I have selected you for a special mission."

Chertov raised an eyebrow.

"What kind of special mission?"

"Unfortunately, I cannot release the details to you at this time," the officer said, spinning on his heel and walking back to his side of the table.

Chertov stood up as the short ponytail of black hair flowed behind him. He was not about to stand for his superior holding out on him. Why on earth was he called out specifically if he was not even going to be given the reason why? It was too frustrating, too aggravating for him!

"Forgive me, comrade Lieutenant Colonel, but you are the one who wished to see me and speak with me. If the purpose of our meeting is for you to assign me a special mission, don't I at least have a right to know what the mission entails? How can I hope to serve you if you do not give me any hint of what it is you are planning?!"

The lieutenant colonel stopped, his cloaked back facing him. He paused, as if the young lieutenant said too much and now a decommission was in order. Chertov gulped hard, fearing that he had just shot his entire career out the window with one badly timed flare-up. Now he feared the worst

"...and Captain Pavlenko also told me about your temper..." the lieutenant colonel cautioned. "Understand: I am giving you an opportunity, comrade Lieutenant. It would be unwise for you to so carelessly waste it."

"Apologies, sir. But may I at least know what I have to do for this mission?"

The officer faced him and leaned over the table. His face was lit up, and Chertov finally saw exactly who this lieutenant colonel was. He knew he recognized the face somewhere before, but just didn't recall. With the narrowing of his ice blue eyes and the twisting of his mouth into a grin, Chertov immediately remembered this man from his past. A man he never expected to see.

"I'll let you even your score with Peter Daniels, Ilya Pavlovich. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"It does, Igor Petrovich," Chertov replied, a smile slipping across his face. "I am surprised you still remember the American after all these years."

"I remember many things, Ilya Pavlovich, especially you and your rivalry with him. I promise if you stick with me, you will have your revenge."

The colonel outstretched his hand.

"Tochna2?"

Chertov's smile only widened, and he reached out his hand to him, finding a new ally. This time, it was an ally who knew and understood him, his qualms, and his deepest feelings of enmity for the American boy that was always his ire. In an instant, he felt his prospects for revenge soar with a shaking of the hand. The deal was done, and a new dangerous alliance had been formed.

"Tak tochna, sir3."

»»»»»

Mill Valley, California, USA

The air was quiet and deathly still with a slight foggy haze hanging over the small valley town. Their ship had arrived late at night, and so all the windows of the town were dark. No one knew they were arriving from such a long and arduous journey. All the townspeople were dreaming sweet dreams without care as the dual headlights of the taxi arrived at the little bungalow on the rise, the humble abode where he made his home.

"Here we are, kid, 1225 Bay Street," said the gruff cabby.

The ash-blonde boy promptly paid his fare to the cabby and nudged the sleeping brown-haired girl next to him.

"Tanya, we're here. We're home."

She moaned and stirred, rubbing her eyes slowly in an attempt to regain some semblance of alertness after travelling tirelessly for many a week risking life and all. She turned a weary but strong grey eye to him and nodded.

"Let's go home, Peter."

Peter thanked the cabby for taking them this far and both exited the taxi taking with them their baggage as they headed up the hill to the front door of his home. Tanya was taken rather aback at how small and unfitting it seemed for a boy like Peter. She was certain his home would be much bigger, maybe a bit luxurious. She wanted to ask him why, but she saw in his eyes that all he sought for was to finally set foot in home again where he could not be questioned or troubled by such pressing matters as attack and defense and escape.

The door was opened, two pairs of feet stepped in, and the journey was concluded with a quiet shutting of the door.

He set his bag down on the kitchen bar and allowed her to walk around the house for a moment, getting acquainted with her new home. In the meantime he took in everything that had transpired in a mere month as he unpacked his briefcase. His exploits seemed better placed in an adventure novel than in real life, and yet it was all too real. He had traveled through fire and ice to find her. He witnessed and partook in unspeakable horror to bring her back. He fought against friend and foe to protect her. It had all paid off, and she was safe and sound with him. All else that followed would be rewards from God for risking life and limb to save a fellow human being. What would come next though?

Her adjusting to a new life, certainly.

Him showing her the ways of his small town.

...Love?

At that thought, he no longer heard the pacing about of dainty feet on the carpeted floor and went off in search of his friend. Not surprisingly, he found her in the bedroom, lying sprawled out in utter exhaustion from the weeks of travelling and being on the run from the Soviet authorities. She was turned on her side away from him, but Peter's heavy footsteps had her turned over. With much effort in her tired limbs, she sat up in the bed, greeting him with a weary smile. It was as if the only way she could convey in her gratitude and indebtedness to him was with that simple expression.

"You must be extremely tired after everything," he said, taking a seat beside her.

"Yes," she said after a brief pause.

Her senses were lagging and disorientation increasing with each passing moment. Being in a country where the time difference was equal to more than half a day, it came as no surprise to him, as he was quite on the verge of falling dead on the spot with her. However he felt a need to make a promise to her before she inevitably slipped off to a world of happier places one only dreams about.

"Tanya?" he started.

"Hmm?" she mumbled.

"I promise from now on that you won't have to feel any more pain like what you felt before. I'll keep you safe from all the horror. Never again will you-"

His heartfelt vows were cut short by her gentle sigh and he turned to find she had drifted off to sleep leaning on his shoulder. He smiled, seeing her tranquil and peaceful countenance all the more illuminated by her semiconscious soporific state. Looking at her while sleeping was looking into the face of an angel. And that was exactly what she was through all of this. An angel who had been misplaced in a cruel and inhuman mortal world. The innocent who was always fated to be trodden upon by the conniving and callous. She was his angel, and he would be her protector, the sole mortal defender of what was humane and right in an age that had forgotten such words. He whispered quiet words that communicated as much as he laid her down on his bed.

"Sweet dreams, my friend. All will be well."

»»»»»

The night seemed to pass quickly as he collapsed onto his sofa to sleep, leaving her to the bed. He was willing to give it up for her. Speaking of the new member of his household, she was still fast asleep by the time he got up which was around two in the afternoon. He was certain that it felt like later to him, but he brushed it off as the remnants of jet lag. In the meantime, he had to nip down to the pharmacy and see that all was well with the employees and to the local market to pick up some much needed food rations; the icebox was close to being bare upon his return.

He left her a note should she wake up before he returned, though given her nature he severely doubted such a possibility.

Tanyusha,

I've gone out to get rations and take care of a few things in town. There is some food left in the icebox that should be easy to prepare. I will be back in an hour or so. Please make yourself at home; this is your home as well as mine from now on, after all.

Petroshka

With that he quickly took to the shower and grabbed a fresh set of clothes out of the closet (all with Tanya undisturbed, dead asleep as she was), and started out the door when he noticed something on the coat rack that sat in the short hallway to the door. A trench coat, one he had never seen before.

It was long and brown, with the collar turned up. There was a cloth belt around the waist of the coat and a single row of buttons. There was a note latched on it with a safety pin. He pulled it off and immediately recognized his brother's awkward handwriting, smiling and laughing to himself.

To my brave little brother,

A new coat for you to wear when your heart needs warming. About time you had one of your own, since mine is about worn out and probably riddled with bullet holes now. Ha ha.

Merry belated Christmas,

Willie

He laughed and thought it nice to actually not borrow his brother's coat for a change, and took the coat of the rack. It fitted him perfectly, and suited him very well, giving him a dapper and dignified look. He smiled contently, feeling comfortable in this new garment no longer having to be content with borrowing his brother's worn out one. Satisfied with his gift, he exited his house and quietly trotted in the direction of downtown.

Even though he was home, he still felt lost and discontent as was evident by his posture. He kept his face hidden from all by turning up his collar. He did not wish to be singled out for praise and fanfare merely a day upon his return; he was more content to adjust in silence and not receive the pomp and bluster of a hero's welcome; such a rejoice was not merited in his mind.

The streets were silent as were the houses that stood against the stormy grey sky. Smoke silently rose from the chimneys that topped the houses adding to the already foggy atmosphere, hanging over the town like a blanket. For a moment he was back in Stalingrad, the houses standing ruins, the smoke from towering infernos, and the cloudy sky birthing snow to the mother earth. And yet there was not a sound, not a gunshot, not even the distant cry of a wounded man. There was only the breaking and damning silence that served to torment him.

Why? Why was it when he had just escaped Hell that it seemed to follow him back? He had accomplished everything he set out to achieve. He completed his objectives. He brought her back safe and sound. It was all over now, he thought. So why? Why is it that even the sight of his own home town served to bring him grief and woe?

His musings were cut short by a lowly beggar asking for change on the sidewalk.

"Pardon me, young man, but do you have any money for a man down on his luck?"

Not turning to him, he fished his wallet out of his trench coat pocket and scavenged some excess change he needed to get rid of and offered it, cupped in his hand.

"This is all I have," he said, somehow feeling the need to get away. "I'm sorry I can't give more."

"That's good enough for me, my boy. God's blessings on you."

"And to you, old man."

He stuffed the wallet back into his pocket and rolled on.

Before he knew it he had entered the downtown district, which was very quiet on this gloomy day. Small silent stores displayed their mute wares to the few uninterested passersby. There weren't even any old men playing chess outside the coffee house in the square. If he did not know any better he would have supposed the entire town was deserted except for lone travelers on empty sidewalks. He looked to the left and spotted the pharmacy where he worked. For all intents and purposes, he did not have to go to work today. As far as the rest of the world knew, he had not come back yet, and he intended to have it that way before the new school semester inevitably began. He was not in the mood to be confronted by anyone today.

He pushed the door open, which rang the bell perched on top. None said a word and neither did he as he pushed on through the aisles searching for his nondescript things of necessity. He occasionally would spot a familiar face in the store as he searched the shelves, but went on unnoticed much to his silent rejoice. This was not the day he wished to be welcomed back. As far as the store was concerned, he was simply a ghost: quiet, invisible, and fleeting as all spirits were. That is at least until he came to the cashier.

"That's 5 dollars, 46 cents, sir."

He silently reached for the money and handed it to the cashier, hoping that he would stay unrecognized until he got back to his home as he outstretched his hand for the change.

"Here's your change, mister. Have a nice day."

"You too."

He exited as quickly as he came and immediately saw the person he did not want to see.

It was a girl of 16 years with cornflower blonde hair, eyes of lapis lazuli and blood red lips. She had a mature figure for a teenager, her graceful womanly curves evident through her heavy clothing. She wore a royal blue dress with a hooded cyan cloak strung over her shoulders to shield her from the cold. Her long slender legs were protected by leggings and stylish black boots to walk through the damp streets. On her delicate hands were white flannel gloves.

He cursed to himself, thinking that God must be against him on this day. As much of a friend she was, he was not in any mood to talk to anyone today; he only sought home where he could not be questioned and could be allowed to readjust as he saw fit. I suppose it can't be helped, he thought, and tried to slip past her without her taking any notice.

But his plans were to no avail.

"Peter Daniels!" she said in great surprise to see her friend she thought for certain lost.

"...Jane Hart..." he returned, secretly wishing for a way out and back home.

"When did you get home? I was so worried that you would not make it back."

"My ship arrived very late last night, so I was in no position to greet you or anyone else."

"Oh, I see," she responded quietly. "Did your travels go well?"

"As well as traveling to a battlefield can be expected to go," he said, hinting at some darker events that he would rather forget.

"Yes I suppose that would be true," she responded with a sincere smile. "Did you accomplish what you wanted while you were away?"

"Yes, thank God," he said, still somewhat unbelieving on just what had transpired in the month of separation between them. "By some grace of God, I managed to find her. I found her in the midst of smoke and fire and rubble. I found her."

"That's good, Peter. It is not often that you find a person unlike yourself who is willing to sacrifice everything for a friend."

"I simply did what I was always taught to do, Jane. To never give up on a friend no matter the circumstances. I'm just still amazed I managed to find her alive. Even I doubted at times that she was still with us."

"Were you able to find her a place to stay and call home after you had found her?"

He sighed, fearing the reaction from her if he told her the truth of what he needed to do for her to keep her safe.

"Well..."

"Yes, Peter?" she responded with the curiosity in her eyes and voice now evidently showing. "Where is she at, now?"

"With me, for the time being," he replied, with great reluctance in his voice to tell her the truth.

There was a slight pause and suddenly her whole body tightened with that news. It was one thing to go out and assist a girl he knew from long ago, but to bring her home? To live under his roof? Jane looked down at her boots, visibly displeased with this news.

"I see..." she said with an ounce of mistrust. "I wasn't expecting that."

"There's no other place for her to go in this country, Jane. What would you have me do?"

"Nothing," she said, shrugging her shoulders dispassionately. "In any case, you have to provide her with shelter until her home is fit to return to, do you not?"

"With how Stalingrad is now," he said with grave heralding in his voice, "I suspect that will be a long time in coming."

"In any case, Peter, what you did was a very brave thing. One that should be rewarded."

"Strange you mention rewards," he laughed wistfully, seemingly brooding over something she could not discern. "I was decorated a couple times while I was in Stalingrad..."

"Oh, I see," she said as she smiled cheerfully and her heart filled with joy. "It seems you have been rewarded for your good deeds already."

He laughed, knowing that Jane could not comprehend what the price of those "rewards" had been for him...and for her.

"I just wish that it didn't come with so heavy a burden to bear."

"Why a burden, Peter? I feel no reward should have to be filled with a feeling like that. It would make the whole thing...well...worthless to me."

"Let me tell you a story, then," he said with a grave tone of seriousness as if the tale was one of tragedy. "While I was in Stalingrad, I had to fight alongside the Red Army. Once during the battle one soldier was wounded by the Germans. I had to pull him back to safety under enemy fire, and they rewarded me with a medal. But the so-called glory does not stop there..."

He shook his head as if he had greatly wronged someone who was the closest person to his heart. He breathed heavily, as if trying to release all the guilt he had pent up inside him. But guilt is not something that flies by like a feather in the wind.

"After my stint in the Red Army, I was given a title by the Soviet commander...I was given the title 'Hero of the Soviet Union.'"

He laughed at the cruel irony of his tainted laurels.

"They call me a hero for killing in cold blood! They call me, a murderer, a sinner, a hero!"

"But you did what you had to for the right reasons, Peter!" Jane responded with a tone of seriousness in her voice. "How can doing something that saves the lives of other countless innocent people be such a burden?"

He looked at her, with bright tears standing in his eyes, feeling ashamed to look his innocent friend, untouched by the horrors of war, in the face.

"Noble reason or not, I still committed a sin, Jane. Do you know how that feels? Do you know what it feels like to go against God's teachings to protect what's important to you? It's worst feeling in the world!"

He covered one piercing green eye with his hand in grief and leaned another on the wall of an alley, ashamed to face her.

"Well I see it differently, Peter," she responded sternly. "In my eyes you do the right thing to save and protect the ones you care about or you let them die. As far as I care to see it, you chose the first option."

He turned, one bright but melancholy green eye looking over his shoulder to her, her blue eyes taking their own sharpness and her face solidifying in determination. He trembled as a small beam of light emerged through the clouded sky to illuminate his face, even the battle scars that bore as evidence to the sacrifices he had to make to protect what he held dear.

"Jane..."

"Face it, Peter. You know what I have just told you is true."

He smiled, albeit a wistful and longing smile that seemed to communicate yearning for better days when one did not have to think of sin and burden and contemptible means to noble ends. He knew she was right, but it still did not take away the shame he felt. He turned his body to her and leaned against the wall, sliding down with a great sigh until he hit the cold pavement, looking to her as a leper would look to a holy man to cure him of his illness.

"Then answer me one question, Jane."

"What is it?" she said, her eyes cold as ice.

"Why do I still feel guilt? Throughout the battle, I continued to tell myself that it was all for a good cause. I kept telling myself that I was doing all of this for Tanya's sake. That I was helping to end this battle decisively and bring peace back. But now, even after everything is over, I still feel guilty about taking the lives of so many. I still feel shame to look anyone in the face

for doing what I did. Why is it, Jane? Why do I feel pain when I know I shouldn't? Why do I continue to feel guilt when I know that I did the right thing? Why is it, Jane?"

"I wish I knew that answer to that, Peter. The only reason I can think of is because even though they were doing evil things that maybe even they had families to return to."

He closed his eyes and breathed, seeing the truth in her words. He knew the whole time he was taking the life of another human with each pulling of the trigger. Every German he struck down was one family shattered. Every German maimed was one life destroyed. And through it all, even if they were the accursed enemy the entire Free World sought to defeat, they were in the end human.

"That's the cruel reality of it all, isn't it, Jane? What can I do then to shake this all off? How can I start over again after what I have seen?"

"What can a person do when he has seen such tragedy, Peter? Does he accept his fate and move on, or does he let it haunt him forever? That is for you to decide. I cannot make that choice for you."

He nodded and rose to his feet, seeing her point. This was a hurdle he must pass over. This was a battle in himself that he must fight and win alone. No one else could influence him; he was in this fight all by himself, just as he had been in Stalingrad, fighting for her all by himself.

"I see. Then I shall not burden you further."

"You have not nor will ever be a burden to me," she responded softly in the most caring and sincere voice. "There will always be times where you will have to rely on your friends for support. And for that I will always be here."

She drew closer to him, and with a caring gentle touch took his hand in hers, clasping it as if entreating him to follow her into some great promised land where there was no fighting, no sorrow, and no pain.

"You have my sincere thanks," he said smiling. "You're a true friend Jane."

"I pray for you, Peter. As a friend, classmate, and cherished companion. Whatever happens, I'm always a word or call away."

"Do you swear that?"

"I do. From the bottom of my heart."

He breathed deeply and heavily before embracing her, feeling for once that he was not alone in the fight. If ever he felt wavering or his spirits flagging, there was always a friend behind him to support him. And that would carry him throughout this trial and the ones to come. He whispered quiet words of thanks, words he knew she didn't understand but felt no other way to say.

"Spasibo, dorogaya Jane4."

Peter slowly broke from Jane's caring embrace and saw in her deep blue eyes a person he could count on and turn to. She would not waver in her devotion to him for a second. But he had to make sure that her promise would be kept. Even if this war should go on, if he should be called abroad again to save someone, would she still be behind him? If he became a warlock, would she be a witch?

"One thing I must ask of you, Jane."

"And what would that be, Peter?" she asked, in her most soft and caring tone that she could muster.

"If I must go out again to save another, if this war demands more sinning from me, will you still follow me? If I become a monster, will you be one too?"

"Yes, Peter," she said, nodding in her response. "Where you go I will always follow."

"That's comforting to know. Thank you for listening to me, Jane. It helps more than I can say in words."

"For you I will probably do anything, Peter," she said with a gentle smile across the softened features of her face. "Just don't go around telling that to everyone. They may just get the wrong idea."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he laughed.

He turned to head to the market to pick up the food he had been meaning to buy, as she went to go her own way when he stopped himself and turned to her one last time.

"Jane."

"Yes?" she responded looking softly into his eyes.

"Don't tell anyone you saw me today. I really just need to readjust after everything, and it will be easier for me to do it without people constantly seeking me out."

"Of course, Peter. Your secret is safe with me."

"Thank you. Now I must get going."

With that, the two friends bid each other farewell until another day would come when they would see each other, and with Peter's spirits brightened. He looked up and saw the dark clouds had given way to the rays of sun shining light upon the world. He beamed, feeling that God must truly be smiling on him after his heartfelt admonition to his closest friend.

It was as Jane said. He had nothing to be guilty of. He had done his duty. And even if it made him a sinner, she and everyone else close to him would still support and stand behind him. That made the burden he felt lighter than a feather.

1 Great Patriotic War: The colloquial term used in the Soviet Union to refer to World War II.

2 Clear?

3 Perfectly clear, sir.

4 Thank you, dear Jane.

The week passed by rather quickly, with Peter attending classes, completing home assignments, and finding refuge and reprieve with Tanya. They exchanged stories of days in Stalingrad frequently, and Tanya had just as much if not more to share than Peter. One episode stood out to him in particular, one that had stayed with her since the early days of the siege that still dragged on...

September 23rd, 1942

Stalingrad, USSR

She had just returned from the rations warehouse with the month's supplies and was on her way home when she heard scattered gunfire from a nearby street block. She tried to ignore it, as her brothers had told her time and again to always stay out of the fray as much as possible. But the further on she walked, the gunfire seemed to grow louder rather than fainter. How strange that the altercation happening somewhere in her own neighborhood seemed to follow her, tempting her into picking up a weapon, any weapon, and join the fight her countrymen took part in day after day.

Curiosity eventually got the better of her and she followed the sound of gunfire to where it was loudest, walking two blocks before running into an intense firefight. A stray shell lobbed from the German side of this skirmish quickly prompted her to take cover behind a mound of debris, and play the audience of this tragic play.

On a three-way intersection about three blocks away from where she stood was a four-story grey office building, where the large volume of fire was coming from. It looked as if the Germans had occupied that building. Two blocks behind her behind a tall heap of debris sat a small group of Red Army officers with a Maxim machine gun, loaded and waiting. For what? She could not tell. It was at that moment when she heard the blowing of a whistle, and a large column of soldiers rushed by the officers at full speed like an express train racing through the night, cheering and yelling in a great chorus to take on the fight. She could barely make out what the officers were yelling to the men as they passed, but it sounded like the old order Stalin had given to the entire Army: Not One Step Back.

She watched in quiet agony as her Russian brothers charged towards the apartment building like an unruly disorganized mob, all with a solid determination to drive away the hated enemy.

Just as she had predicted, the men began to fall in groups. Cries and screams of those who had misfortune to receive a shot through the heart or the head filled the air mixing with the cacophony of gunfire, with the Germans clearly having the advantage in this fight. Those who were unluckier were not graced with death's embrace but received atrocious wounds in myriad of places, leaving them unable to walk or to fire their rifles. Death abounded everywhere and innocence and mercy was nowhere to be found. The mob of Russian soldiers had not gotten a street block away from the building that they began to waver in the face of horrendous enemy fire.

She heard a young soldier, a few years older than her, call out to all of them in a broken and despairing cry,

"It's hopeless, comrades! We're getting murdered! Fall back!"

Soon, all in the attacking formation turned and ran or limped back towards where they originally started, crying for an appeal to sanity and calling for a withdrawal in light of the appalling casualties sustained. The officers behind the rubble pile however had other ideas.

"Turn around, comrades!" Shouted one burly goateed officer, wielding a semiautomatic revolver. "Keep going forward!"

"We're getting killed out there! Get back!"

"Pick up your gun and shoot!" Commanded another officer, carrying a lofty crimson banner that was the flag of their nation, the symbol of the motherland they had sworn to protect.

Alas, the soldiers were caught between two sides with neither truly supporting those carrying the rifles; one side was out for domination and the other a tool of a murderous and cruel dictator. Caught on both sides by bullets, what can one do but fall?

"In the name of the Soviet Union!" yelled an officer wielding a submachine gun, pointed towards the retreating soldiers. "Not a step back or we shoot!"

"No retreat!" reiterated the burly officer. "Not one step backwards!"

"No mercy for cowards!"

"FIRE!"

Soon the officers and the machine gun opened up with their own rain of lead, ripping the retreating soldiers to shreds. Betrayed by their own leaders, the soldiers had no other choice but to keep running and hope not to die. Sadly, for many of them that hope would not be fulfilled. Tanya watched in horror as she saw Russian kill Russian in cold blood, and leaving the Germans in possession of the ground. It was a battle that could have been won easily, but victory was sacrificed for something much less. She turned away and ran as far away from the scene of carnage and searched for her way home.

She would encounter another group of Red Army soldiers rushing to the same position, and from the sound of battle in the 20 minutes that passed, the battle seemed to be of a more favorable outcome than previous. But even with the light of that retrospective victory, the horrifying spectacle was now burned into her eyes, the episode would remain in her memories for the remainder of the siege, and would not leave even after Peter had found her at last.

This was the story that struck at Peter the most, never before knowing that the soldiers of her own country were capable of or willing to perform such brutality. They at least took comfort in the fact that now they would never have to bear witness to such cruelty again, or at least that was what they hoped.

Despite that, coming home did not have its array of excitement each week other than chatting with her about stories of home and comfort in her safety, but she was growing increasingly tired of Peter's overprotection to the point of not letting her even go outside. Peter always said that he feared agents may have followed them home, but she was not as paranoid as he.

That day she awoke to find she was the only one awake in the house; Peter was fast asleep and his brother had gone off again to work at the shipyards, so she was more or less on her own. The house was silent and the window shades were down as if to ward off potential unwanted visitors. She found Peter asleep on the sofa wrapped in his blanket. He looked so peaceful and childlike when he was asleep that just the sight of him made her giggle in amusement. He stirred, and quietly groaned as he adjusted his position. She smiled and knelt down next to him, running her fingers through his unkempt ash blonde hair, to which he chuckled softly in contentment. She closed her actions with a gentle kiss on his forehead, as a mother would give to her child upon tucking in.

She looked on with fondness to the boy closest to her heart as she slipped out of the house with no notice from him.

"Sleep well...my darling."

What struck her about the outside was that the sky was covered in clouds and she could feel a slight patter of rain falling from the sky, snow's less dangerous cousin. She always thought his home town would be a sunny and cheerful place, but it seemed to give as much gloom and darkness as the home she had just left. No matter, she thought. Perhaps his town will be of cheerful nature...

She strolled into town keeping an eye on her home so she knew which way to go back. It was akin to a dog venturing for the first time out of its doghouse and exploring the world around it, so getting lost easily was a dangerous prospect that was omnipresent in her mind. That did not sway her, however, as she contently and happily walked along the sidewalks, almost skipping like a merry schoolgirl in love for the first time. The thing that immediately struck her about the town was how empty it seemed, the streets being deserted except for a few cars that quietly drove by her, and only scattered lone individuals traversed sidewalks. She passed by shop windows displaying quiet merchandise...

A record store with a phonograph for sale.

A toy shop with a wooden train strung together with thin twine.

A furniture store with a new cloth armchair complete with a matching ottoman.

One thing that made her turn bright red was the lingerie shop, seeing all unmentionables and special things used by the fairer sex to charm and to tease on display in a window. In her lifetime spent in Stalingrad, she never thought that such a place existed. Peter must have passed by this shop many times, she mused, giggling at the thought of seeing an embarrassed Peter turn crimson from each passing.

"Is it so strange?" said someone from nearby her.

Tanya jumped in surprise and turned to her left to find a fiery red-haired girl with eyes of lapis lazuli. She seemed to be the kind of soul found running through the open steppes of Russia, picking flowers and blowing dandelions, but the strange eyes betrayed a hot-blooded spirit dwelling within her. She wore a long white dress with two thick orange stripes near the hemline with red high-heeled shoes. In her hair she had two gold banana style hairclips keeping the long seemingly infinite strands out of her face.

Tanya was of course nervous. She had learned some English from Peter and it was enough to get her by, but it had not been until now when she had the need to use it. She hesitated and slowly formed a basic sentence.

"Err...is what?"

"The lingerie shop," said the girl laughing, pointing to the shop that seemed intent on making her hide in shame.

"Mozhet byt," she said, forgetting the correct English word for the situation.

The girl tilted her head in confusion, never hearing her language spoken before.

"Are you Russian?"

"Da...er, yes."

The girl smiled, appearing contrite.

"We have a lot of Russian immigrants around here, but I never met one before. Where are you from?"

"Stalingrad."

The girl's eyes widened at the mention of that martyred city's name.

"You mean...THE Stalingrad?"

"I don't know of any other Stalingrad."

The girl chuckled, but instantly corrected herself for fear of offending her.

"I don't suppose you know of Peter Daniels, do you?"

Tanya's eyes widened upon hearing his name. Peter always gave the impression that he wasn't much of a standout in his town and a rather ordinary citizen rather than the extraordinary hero so many others made him out to be.

"Petroshka? You know him?"

"We go to school together. There isn't a single person in this town who hasn't heard of that boy, especially after he came back from Stalingrad. Did you know him?"

"He...he my friend."

The girl narrowed her eyes and smiled slyly.

"Ooh, so he came back to rescue his lover, huh? I didn't think Peter could be so romantic."

Tanya blushed in embarrassment and tried to disprove her notion.

"N-Nyet! W-we're not like that!"

She looked away, wondering whether that was true or not. So many thoughts came to mind when Peter's name was mentioned, and she longed for him for those four years, so it was not unfair to say there was not some semblance of attachment between them.

"...at least not yet."

The girl looked into the windows of the lingerie shop and a light bulb seemed to turn on in her head as she grinned wide and turned to Tanya again.

"I know the perfect way to change that..."

Tanya's eyes seem to brighten at the prospect of becoming closer to Peter than she already was. If this girl had a good idea for such an endeavor she was willing to try it.

"What is it?"

"Come with me."

She took her by the hand and led her into the lingerie shop, despite her protests. The girl however was strong in her grip, and all attempts to break free were in vain.

"N-nyet! This is not what I-!"

"Trust me, girl, this is what a man likes!"

She refused to open her eyes lest she die from embarrassment, but she felt herself pushed into a room. When she opened her eyes, she found herself in a dressing room, facing a mirror with the red-haired girl by her side. In her reflection, the thing that struck her was that she still wore her old clothes from Russia: a long baby blue dress with frilled sleeves, a patched bodice and torn hemline, remnants from the siege that her former home was still in. Over her fragile shoulders hung a cream colored shawl, also tattered around the edges. She could not deny she was in desperate need of some new clothes. Even if this was not the place she would have gone first, it was better than not going anywhere.

The girl was grinning from ear to ear, her light hands on Tanya's delicate shoulders, her lapis lazuli eyes bright with anticipation. She seemed like this was something normal that she did with her friends or significant others many a day. Tanya was still nervous, and understandably so.

"Listen, I don't even know who you are!" Tanya spluttered, her face turning red. "Shouldn't we introduce ourselves first?"

"Sure," the girl said, still bearing a wide grin. "My name's Peggy Doolittle. What's yours?"

"Tatiana Petrovna Koslova. Everyone calls me Tanya."

"Listen, Tanya, you have to trust me on this," said Peggy, her eyes shining deviously, "Guys love it when girls wear something sexy."

Tanya's face was now a vibrant bright red.

"Sexy? A-are you sure, Peggy?"

"Sure, I'm sure! I do it for my boyfriend all the time!"

Tanya felt an irrepressible urge to leave and return home, and maybe ask Peter what on earth all of this meant. However she looked at herself again in the mirror, and felt the questions she kept asking repeating in her head. How long? How long before she could actually be honest with him? How long before she could come out and say everything she felt in her heart right now?

In the mirror an innocent looking girl wearing rags stared back at her. Her old clothes didn't hide her gentle feminine grace, but at the same time she felt lowered by them. Perhaps what Peggy was saying had some validity to it; if she wanted to finally be honest with Peter and tell him what she felt, perhaps the first step was to get Peter's attention with a new look. This isn't exactly where she had intended to start, but it was better than no start at all.

She quickly took off her shawl and untied the ribbon around the waist of her dress, watching as her two petticoats fell from under her and around her feet. Finally she slowly pulled her old dress over her head and let it hit the floor, leaving her in only her underclothes which were archaic compared to what she was surrounded with: a simple bleached camisole and short bloomers. Now she couldn't deny it; she needed a new image for herself. Peggy concurred.

"Yeah, definitely outdated. You need a new look, Tanya."

"I suppose I do," Tanya said with a chuckle. "I never could get anything new when the Germans attacked. I lived off the same old clothes until Peter came."

"Oh you poor dear! Please tell me that you are joking!"

"I only wish I was."

"Well me and you are going to work on that right now, okay? By the time we're done, Peter isn't going to recognize you."

She giggled through a wide smile that definitely showed Tanya that she could be trusted.

"And that I can promise."

"Thank you, Peggy."

She looked to a chair upon which sat a stack of undergarments for which the term risqué was being generous. Her throat dried from the feeling of embarrassment again, but Peggy's promise to her was enough to pick out the top one and quickly examine it.

It was baby blue, the color of her dress, with embroidered lace and a frilly waistband. On the center was a small bow tied with a white ribbon.

"That one there," Peggy said smirking at the embarrassed Tanya, "Is saying, 'I may be cute and innocent on the outside but I'm naughty on the inside.'"

Tanya chuckled, wondering what Peter's reaction to it would be if something ever happened that he got a chance viewing. Peter was very shy and reserved from such matters, so it made her giggle in amusement.

"Peter would probably faint if he saw these."

"That's the point!" she said boisterously. "It'll be good for him to live and learn a bit instead of being reclusive all the time."

Tanya laughed, knowing that fact about Peter all too well. She remembered the time when she dared him to kiss her back in the tree house that late summer day, which succeeded in earning a heated blush from his countenance.

"It's true. He was very shy and quiet when I first met him. Like he was afraid of the city he was in. The last he came, it seemed like he grew up. Is he like that here at home too?"

"Well, it's hard to tell with him unfortunately," she sighed sitting down on a chair next to the changing rooms. "Each day is different and new when it comes to learning how he is. We still don't know how he is on the inside as he doesn't open up to people very well."

Tanya sighed with thought as she tried on the underwear, knowing that distinctive aloofness that made Peter a hard character to reach, but she knew him to be the sweet and caring soul underneath the silent and distant exterior.

"I know he's kind and caring underneath all of that, but it's quite hard to talk to him on some days," she said as she pulled up the garment by the waistband. "I get the feeling he's deeply troubled by something."

"Yes, but he doesn't tell any of us what it is. I guess that's why we find him hiding in the library or at home most of the time. He doesn't go out usually unless needed. We can get him to come out with us as a group on certain occasions but that's usually as far as things progress."

Tanya was stunned by this, as during his first visit in Stalingrad, he was never afraid to journey out with her, her family or their friends upon invitation, but when none had anything in mind to do, Peter always kept to himself or, more often, turned to her for company. She fondly reminisced about those happier days as she slid the underwear over her nether regions and examined herself in the mirror. She chuckled, finding it a perfect fit and charming on her.

"He was like that sometimes when I first met him, but he was still eager to play with all of us and journey out. Doesn't he have friends here, too, though? I'd hate to think I'm the only one supporting him here."

"He does," she responded looking up and into Tanya's worried expressions. "But something in him snapped one day and he turned into the person he is now. I know you say you have known him since you were both children, but would you know anything about this?"

Tanya searched through her memories and the day when he had to leave with his father stood out to her. He seemed saddened, more so than anyone would be upon bidding newfound friends goodbye. He talked to her for what felt like an eternity before finally bidding her goodbye and promising he would return one day, but despite his promises and admissions of cherishing the time they spent, something weighed on him as if a piece of his very own heart was taken away from him. She could tell in how he slinked up the steps to his passenger car and waved farewell to all of them, standing on the station platform.

"I think when he had to leave us," Tanya remembered. "Something was weighing him down terribly that day. Perhaps he felt he wasn't going to see me or any of us again. He was very depressed and quiet the whole day. He talked to me for what seemed like hours before he finally moved onto the train and bid us all goodbye."

"So do you perhaps think it was because he believed he had lost your friendship?"

Tanya shook her head.

"He had our friendship from the day he entered our city. I think...nyet, I know it was something with me. He looked as if he had left a part of himself with me, standing there at the train station. I want to believe he felt he lost...he lost..."

Suddenly she felt tears well up in her eyes. She laughed as she wiped away her tears, thinking to herself how silly it was that she was crying when she knew she should be happy, happy and with her Peter at last after four long years.

"Oh, look at me. Here I am, crying when I should be laughing! Crying as if I lost him when I just got him back!"

"He lost a piece of himself within you," Peggy said smiling at her. "The day he left a part of him remained with you. You, my dear Russkie friend, had someone who loved you but was a bit too young to understand that yet."

Tanya looked to her, and knew she was right. And she left a piece of herself with him as he left them all that day. He didn't come back for four years, and that loneliness both of them felt was from loss of a soul mate, a true friend...no, far more than that now. The loss of her first love...her only love.

"I know. And I know now that he's back and with me, he can heal. It will be a long time before he's his old self, but he will overcome it. I know because I'm the only one who can heal him now."

"And I can already tell you why that is Tanya," Peggy said assuredly. "It's as easy as reading a book."

Tanya nodded, and she saw one last obstacle for them both: finally being honest. They had gone through so much in the past month, but that one last enemy in the long campaign that was their relationship remained to be vanquished before achieving lasting and sweet victory.

"All I wish now is the day to come for him to finally say what I've been hoping for him to say for so long," she said longingly as she examined herself from behind in the mirror.

"I see you have already figured your feelings out. I do have to say I'm impressed. Now if you can just get him to open up to that he'll be a whole new person."

"I figured out my feelings for him a long time ago, Peggy. All that remains is just him to figure it out as well."

She ran her hand up her backside seeing how the underwear showed off her assets with flirtatious and seductive intent. She giggled, wondering if Peter ever thought of her as such, not as a friend...but as a woman, with a blossoming figure for a 15-year-old. Peggy laughed, seeing her enthusiasm taking hold now.

"If you think that set looks good, wait until you see the other sets I've chosen for you. I do believe he'll be quite impressed if he ever gets a peek at them, if not totally embarrassed."

Tanya chuckled playfully, fancying how Peter would react if she came home with her new garments.

"Knowing him," she said as she examined the next pair, "He'll be the latter, if not passed out on the floor!"

"Just the reaction we want to see! So let's get busy okay?" she responded giggling. "And no more of this frumpy old stuff for you, understand?"

"You don't have to tell me twice," Tanya said with a wide smile. "Besides, I was in need of something new anyway."

"Yes I can see that. I guess it's a good thing we ran into each other today. Otherwise this would not have happened."

Tanya smiled at her new friend, seeing that she could easily trust her; she listened to her pour her soul out and confiding her thoughts about the one boy closest to her heart. She had not spoken one ill word since they made contact, and it was proof enough she was a kindhearted soul.

They spent what seemed like a day and a half in the shop, trying on and examining different garments that would serve to entice and lure Tanya's closest friend out from the seemingly impenetrable fortress he had built around keeping all the world out. In the times they spent comparing clothes and trading tips, Tanya made a friend of Peggy Doolittle, a small step in adjusting to life in America.

She could see in her a empathetic character like Peter with a fiery passion and unstoppable ambition and drive, as well as a kindred spirit and confidant to whom she can turn to for advice in this new and strange land.

They left the shop, and bid goodbye to each other, with Peggy wishing her the best between her and Peter. In Peggy's own words,

"Knock him dead, Tanya!"

She returned home with a bag of unmentionables clutched in her hand, all with the purpose of seducing, teasing, enticing, alluring the boy who resided in the little bungalow on the hill that was her new home. She had a small sensation of fear, however, of what Peter might say or do when he found out she had gone outside without permission. But Peggy had advised her about what to do if such a thing were to occur:

"Don't let him walk over you, Tanya. You might love him, but you have to set some boundaries with him as well. And if that doesn't work, just do that move I told you to do; it'll knock him out totally."

She walked up the steps and came to the door, pressing her ear against the wood in the hope that she would hear him sleeping.

All she heard was silence. It was good enough for her.

She carefully and deliberately turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open, determined to make as little noise as possible. She stepped into the house, hoping to see Peter still fast asleep on the sofa, unmoved and unchanged from when she left the house earlier this day.

She was to be disappointed, however.

There in the easy chair in the corner of the living room, with his legs crossed, fully dressed and ready to go out, sat Peter Ivanovich Daniels, looking obviously displeased. The signs of his irritation were evident: his sock-encased foot was tapping with displeasure on the carpet, his arms spread across the arms of the chair as a member of royalty's delicate hands spread across the arms of his throne, and the grimace found in a father disappointed with his offspring.

"H-Hello, Petroshka," Tanya greeted, smiling nervously, knowing she was caught. "So you finally got up."

"And just where have you been this whole day?" he returned, his piercing green eyes unflinching.

Tanya remembered Peggy's words; she needed to be firm, and set down the fact that she was not a child.

"Just out," she said nonchalantly.

"Out where?"

"In town. I wanted to see what it looked like."

"By yourself?" he asked, still not satisfied.

Tanya frowned slightly.

"Peter, I can manage outside just perfectly."

"You could have gotten lost!" he protested, obviously not backing down easily. "And God only knows what awful people you could have run into while out by yourself. What if a Soviet agent had found you?"

"Don't you think you're being a bit silly, Petroshka? There are no agents here; we lost them when we left Vladivostok. We're safe now."

"How do you know that?" Peter pressed, his overprotection of her fast growing exhausting. "For all we know there might have been one on the ship, following us and watching us this whole time."

"You're being ridiculous, Peter!" Tanya responded, the fire in her growing stronger. "I didn't even meet anyone like that in town today."

"Who did you meet?" Peter inquired, obviously intrigued.

"A girl named Peggy Doolittle. She told me you know her."

Peter sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose, troubled.

"She's right; I do. I know her and her boyfriend."

"Well, she's not a distrustful person."

"No she isn't," he relented. "She's a very nice girl."

"Yes she is, and you shouldn't be so quick to judge."

"I just fear for you Tanya," Peter said, trying to reason with her and make her understand. "I would hate for someone to find you again and take you back."

"Well that won't happen, Peter. That's all over now. And I'm not a child anymore; I should be able to go outside if I want to see what your home is like."

Peter laid his head back, sighing. Of course she wasn't a child; she was a young woman ready to blossom now, but at the same time a delicate fragile flower. And now that she was here, she had to do what she could to fit into the new home, and meeting a friend from school and exploring the town was a good place to start. In that moment, he quickly found his tinge of hypocrisy. He brought her here to bring her out of suffering and take her away from the cruelty of the world, but now, blinded by his need to protect, he was making her suffer.

"Very well. You can go out, but please tell me first?"

"Of course, Peter."

"So what did you do with Peggy?"

"She took me shopping for some new...clothes," she said, adding some emphasis to the last word, indicating to Peter it wasn't just any kind of clothes she bought with her.

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"What kind of clothes?"

Tanya smirked, with a glint in her grey eyes that Peter had never seen before. There was an opportunity to be had, here, and she was not intent on wasting it.

"Well, wouldn't you like to know..."

"Yes, I would," Peter said matter-of-factly. "I'm curious."

Tanya cheered inside her head, seeing an opportunity for something Peggy taught her to do in the last few hours. She brought one of the shopping bags to her chest and started to rummage through it, searching for something to aid her in her purpose.

"I'm actually glad you asked," Tanya said, "because I wanted to get your opinion on some of these..."

"Sure, Tanya," Peter answered with a friendly smile. "I'd be happy to help."

"Good..."

She found what she was looking for in her bag and fished it out. Needless to say, it was not what Peter was expecting to see...and it was not something he was looking to give an opinion on.

She held in her hands one of the piece of lingerie that she bought with Peggy: a pair of underwear, blue and seductive. It was embroidered with lace and trimmed with frills along the waistband, topped with a white bow on the front. It managed to combine innocence and sexuality perfectly...and it was not something Peter was used to seeing.

He immediately averted his eyes as he felt blood rushing to his face. Tanya pushed her lingerie forward, trying to get his attention.

"I want to know what you think of these. Peggy said all the girls in town are wearing things like this now, but I feel like it's too showy. What do you think?"

"T...t...Tanya, what are you doing!?"

"Hmm?" she asked, appearing confused. "I'm just showing you one of the things I bought. You said you'd help me, right?"

"Yeah, but...I didn't think you'd buy...those kinds of clothes..."

"Peggy said that...boys like it when girls wear these..."

Tanya blushed slightly at that statement, as she was still uncertain if any of what Peggy said would actually help her or just push Peter further away. Peter closed his eyes and sighed, his cheeks still bright red.

"I obviously have a lot to say to Peggy next time I see her, then."

"About what?"

"Never you mind..."

"Why are you acting like this, Peter? All I'm asking for is some advice on this..."

Peter opened his eyes, and immediately wished he didn't. She still was holding onto the underwear she so desperately wanted him to comment on.

"Tanya, it's not really normal for a girl to be asking a boy about...those. That's more something girls talk about amongst themselves..."

"Really?" Tanya said in surprise at this new revelation. "Peggy didn't tell me that..."

"I get the sense Peggy didn't tell you a lot of things, and perhaps with some deliberate intention."

"What do you mean by that, Peter? Peggy doesn't seem like that kind of person at all."

Peter cleared his throat and pushed her hands down gently, so the lingerie was out of his view.

"That's not what concerns me. What I find more odd is that you chose clothes like these to buy with her, and not something else. And besides which..."

He gently took her hands in his, trying with all of his might to not gaze at her newly bought undergarments.

"...I doubt seriously that all the girls dress like how Peggy says they do. Peggy just happens to have...extravagant taste."

"What would you have me buy instead?" Tanya asked with just a trace of a smirk on her lips.

"I wouldn't have you buy anything, Tanyusha. I like you the way you are. You don't have to change anything about yourself to please me. It wouldn't be you, then."

Tanya was, naturally, deflated by that comment of his. Yet at the same time, it was exactly who he was in those years past. Reserved, conservative, and a stickler for consistency. In the same way he traveled across the Pacific and back in an attempt to have things the way they were, so too did he desire to have Tanya as she was. Tanya was not such a person to have things stay the same between them, as she made it clear on the ship back home. Thus, she made it clear now.

"Aren't you a stick in the mud?" Tanya giggled, stuffing her underwear back into her bag. "You know, you actually gave me just what I was looking for."

"Nu shto ty?" he asked in her native tongue, obliviously perplexed.

Tanya tapped him on the nose with her delicate finger.

"It'd be a very boring existence if us girls never changed how we looked from time to time, my dear Petroshka. Sometimes, it's necessary for us to have nice things like that...so we can get a surprise on a boy."

Peter blushed and realized just how close she was to him, her face a hair's breadth away. The only thing he could see was her cindering grey eyes, sparking with a fire he had seen in their youths. It was a glint in the eyes that meant mischief, that called to adventure, and always heralded trouble for the both of them. It was intimidating and yet inviting, as it was something he had missed in her all these years.

"Is there a boy who you have in mind for all of this?" Peter asked hesitantly.

"I'm not giving myself away just yet. But you'll know...in time."

With another laugh she skipped off to the bedroom and went to the business of filing away her new garments, reveling in this small victory in a campaign of the heart.

The last class of the week had just ended, much to his silent rejoicing as he quietly and hurriedly packed his knapsack in preparation for his journey home to the girl patiently waiting for him in his modest little bungalow sitting perched on the hill. The professor had called on him a few times and he did his duty and answered all asked of him, but in his head he quietly wished for an end to this. Thankfully he got his wish.

He made his way out of the classroom, and towards the courtyard of the school through the long, seemingly infinite hallways. While passing by the rows of lockers and shuffling past classmates, he heard the quiet passing of rumors and stories concerning him, and bore witness to his fame spreading faster than he would like.

"That's him, Jake. The kid who fought in Stalingrad."

"They say he killed more than 200 Krauts!"

"I heard he was decorated by the Russians..."

"Didn't he travel to Stalingrad because of a girl he loved?"

He said nothing to the last question, one that was not even posed to him. What could he say about his reasons for going and fighting in a war he would rather have no part in? No one could truly understand what drove him across the Pacific and over the frozen empty Russian steppes. No one could relate to what was felt between him and her. They were a world apart from all the others in this school, in this town. He would rather they all left him be so he could continue the struggle in his soul of what he felt towards that modest quiet girl for whom he had undertaken everything. What did exist between them? It was certainly more than mere friendship now. It wasn't quite love either, however.

He wracked his brain for an answer as to where they stood now, and the damning question she asked him once again reverberated.

Petroshka, if you were destined to stay in Russia forever, or if I was a citizen of your country, would you and I have fallen in love?

He continued dodging the question, but the one true answer seemed to stick since he quietly confessed to Chertov before they escaped. The one word that seemed to sum up everything he felt towards that humble girl waiting for him at home. He thought it was simply a way to convince the secret police to let them leave unmolested, but the more he thought about it, the stronger that one word took hold in his heart.

She was the best friend he made while abroad. She was the sole reason he risked his very life in a land that was not his. She was the one person who he felt could understand him and he her. She was the closest person to his heart in every sense.

Whenever Russia was spoken, she was there.

Whenever he felt tormented and beleaguered by past sins, she comforted him.

Whenever he felt in need of a companion, he turned to her.

Whenever his friends joked of falling in love, he thought of her.

She was a part of him now. She had been so ever since he left her there standing on the docks of Stalingrad, he a mere boy of twelve and she a tender, vulnerable girl approaching eleven. He was wracked by depression at the mere mentioning of her name since he left her homeland, as if a part of his own heart had been cut out and left to rot in the unforgiving sun. He left a piece of himself with her the day he left. And no matter how much he desired to go and see her, comfort her when times seemed darkest, he did not return until four years later.

He ground his teeth and covered his right eye, lost on what this aching pain was in his heart. He tried to think of a way to get her out of his head.

But do you really want her gone from your thoughts?

That counter from himself troubled him further. He didn't hate her. Far from it. She was the dearest person in his life, but something about being more than just a simple close friend seemed to make his heart waver. Why? It was a situation that any other boy would jump at without hesitation or second thought; what boy didn't dream of falling in love with someone he had known all his life? Silent costly wars raged in his head as he battled to find a reason why his heart hesitated.

As he continued searching through the battlefields of his subconscious, a voice broke the silence he had shrouded himself in.

"Hey Pete!"

He looked to see where the call came from, and found that it was from one of his friends, Walter Sharpton.

Walter, or "Wally" as he preferred to be called by those close to him, had first met Peter during grade school, and quickly became friends. He was part and parcel to the teasing Peter endured upon his return from Russia for gaining a friend out of a girl, and Peter was always quick to mark him with the sign of hypocrisy for his feeling for a significant other. Walter's greatest dream was to be a soldier in the army, but he never seemed to mind the terrors and nightmares that would come with the job; he worked as a volunteer at the Presidio in San Francisco and was in his second year of Junior Reserve Officers Training Corps.

Off the training grounds and out of uniform however, he was a simple, caring soul with a demeanor to match. He was a supportive friend to Peter, but now he grew wary of Peter's continued isolation and reclusive nature.

"Wally..." Peter said with a tired smile. "What can I do for you, my friend?"

"We still got some New Year's cake left over, and I'd like it if you joined us for some this weekend."

Peter turned his eyes away, wondering what he was after. Everyone who asked him for a moment of his time was more interested in stories from a soldier returned from the front rather than the actual soldier himself. But he knew Walter better than that; he was a friend who never asked for much, and never demanded much in return. Perhaps all he was after in the end was just the company of his dear friend.

"I'll come by tomorrow."

Walter beamed. Finally, he was able to lure the hermit out of his cave.

"It'd be nice if you could bring Tanya, too. Peggy would love to see her again."

"Sure, Walt. She'll come."

With the matter of friendly gatherings concluded, the two friends parted ways and Peter made his way out of the main school building and down the long concrete steps to the courtyard facing the street that would eventually lead him home. However, he was to be intercepted by another, meaning the same objective as Walter, but with different intentions.

"Oh, Peter!"

Peter recognized the voice and looked to find Jane Hart, the British girl who always found a way to be with him when he needed it. The friend that seemed to stand out to him as the others drifted away like small toy boats floating down a stream. Peter smiled, happy to see her.

"Hello, Jane. What can I do for you?"

Jane blushed and slid her Mary-Jane encased foot back and forth, sifting the loose dirt as one would sift sand on the beach.

"I don't suppose...if you have the time, that is...you could stop by my house before going home?"

Peter turned to face her, staring at her intently with those piercing green eyes that seemed to stab like daggers. The eyes did not give the slightest hint to his thoughts, his barrier to others even extending to one of his closer friends. His solitude and isolation was something that had bothered her greatly, and surely others, but she was determined to see him come around, even if she had to drag him. Surprisingly, however, Peter did not give a rejection.

"Certainly, Jane. I'd be happy to."

Jane grinned at his approval.

"Oh, lovely! I'm so glad you can come. Finally I have someone else to share tea with."

Peter chuckled at the prospect of having tea. Fitting for an outing with a British woman.

"What kind of tea do you have?" he asked casually as they walked down the steps.

"Earl Grey and English Breakfast. Which one do you like?"

"English Breakfast, but I'll take either."

They laughed as if they were a couple who knew each other, inside and out. As they walked down the tall steps to the street, he mused of what was to be said of his friendship with Jane. It was similar to what he had with Tanya now, but at the same time, Jane and Peter were far more distant. They had gone together to some places such as his meditative spot on the beach and maybe they might see each other in the cafe or downtown, but apart from that, they rarely saw each other outside of school. Even if they were good friends, she hardly knew anything about him, and he about her.

Perhaps this trip to her house would give him an opportunity to know a little more about his Limey friend.

Then he spotted a public phone booth and remembered Tanya. He had to call her to let her know he would be late. He could not make her worry.

"Could you hang here for a bit? I just have to phone Tanya."

Jane nodded, acquiescing to his request. She watched with longing blue eyes as he trotted over to the phone booth and dialed a number. She wondered to herself what they talk about between the two of them at home. Peter spoke in a language Jane could not understand, only making out small words such as "da" and "nyet" and "kharasho" and occasionally hearing Tanya's name spoken. He laughed, sharing a private joke between the two separated by street blocks and the wire of the telephone their only connection.

Tanya.

The name stirred a strange, dark feeling from her. She had never even seen the girl Peter talked about so much and she had a sense that she should be watching out for her, like she was an existential threat. If she could make Peter smile, make Peter laugh, make Peter happy, then could she make Peter love her as well?

Jane felt like slapping herself at leveling such accusations with never even meeting the girl. She had to be a sweet and good little girl.

"Da, ponyatna1, Tanya," he concluded in Russian. "Poka2."

He hung up the phone and took his change from the slot before exiting the booth and turning to Jane.

"We can go now."

They began walking along the road that led into Peter's neighborhood, with Peter following Jane as she knew the way, and this would be his first time entering her realm, her sanctuary from the world.

"You speak Russian very well, Peter," Jane complimented. "I'm impressed."

"I get by," Peter acquiesced, not wanting to brag.

Jane laughed at his overarching humility.

"Don't be so modest, Peter! It takes a lot of study and practice to master a language like Russian. You should be proud."

"I've had enough exposure to it throughout my life to know a thing or two. And journeying to the country does help. Do you take a foreign language, Jane?"

"I take French," Jane joked, "and I have a hard enough time with it than when I started learning in London!"

"Have you ever gone to France?"

"Once or twice, but not enough to help me with my fluency. What about you?"

Peter looked up to the sky, and thought of the friends he left behind in France. After Russia, France had special significance since he spent much of his time in the Norman countryside. He made friends of the children in a small farming town. The town was now occupied by the Germans, and he knew full well that all the children, young men and women by now, must be suffering under the yoke of Nazi oppression.

"I was there for about a month when I first traveled to Europe," Peter said, holding back repressed sorrow. "I stayed in a small town in Normandy, and made some friends there. God knows what's happened to them since the occupation began."

Jane felt like slapping herself again, this time for making Peter melancholy. She was taking him to her home to make him feel happy with her, not make him wistful for happy days long since past.

"I'm sorry, Peter, I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"It's not your fault," Peter returned. "It's mine for always thinking about them."

"Don't talk like that," Jane countered. "Don't you say yourself how you should always be dedicated to your friends?"

Peter laughed, seeing Jane's point and noted his hypocrisy.

"You remember my words, I see..."

"Why wouldn't I, Peter? It's not every day you find someone so committed to the people around him."

"It's just something my family always taught me, Jane. Being faithful and loyal are signs of a trustworthy person."

"Very true, indeed."

"And what of you, Jane?" Peter asked, seeing an opportunity to learn something about his friend from across the pond. "Do you have any friends? Besides me, that is."

Jane pondered the question for a moment and turned to him asking clarification.

"Here or back in London?"

"Take your pick, I suppose."

Jane sighed, thinking back to her times in London before the Blitz that tore her friends and family apart. It seemed so distant to her now, much the way England was so distant. Sometimes she could only see fading fleeting glimpses of her past life that now seemed so far behind her. The world she once inhabited was lush and grandiose, filled with socials and parties, brimming with lessons by personal tutors, teaching her things far greater than her mind could comprehend. She had her friends here, but what she noticed was how status had nothing to do with where she was in this school or in this town for that matter. Her life in London was largely dictated by class and limited who she did and did not see. Here, she met all kinds of people, rich and poor, who cared not for how much money the other had or how the other was dressed or how eloquently one spoke but only delighted in the company of their fellow man and woman.

"In London, my family had a life of privilege."

"One of the rich snob families?" Peter joked, nudging her in the arm.

Jane shrugged it off with a feminine chuckle as they carefully trotted across the street, even though both knew there were no cars around.

"My family was well-off enough, let's put it like that. But being how our family was, it meant I was kept away from society most of the time. You would often find me with a tutor or at a party somewhere with some other family of significance. Most of the friends I had were friends of the family. If the war never came, it might have gone on like that for the rest of my life."

This piqued Peter's curiosity, as he was never fortunate enough to have the privileges Jane enjoyed. His family was of farming stock, and even if his was one of the better more profitable farms, they still struggled just to get by. He lived the Spartan life, devoid of any luxury or glamour. He wondered briefly how the farm must look now after all the years of neglect and age.

"What was it like, being a debutante?"

"I was hardly a debutante," she said laughing, not thinking much of it. "At times, it seemed like a dream. Chatting with friends over tea, sitting in on meetings with families, all of it. Sometimes I still wonder if it was all just my imagination. And then the war came."

"And that's when the dream ended?"

Jane sighed, remembering when she had to say goodbye to her parents and to her older brother as she left on a ship bound for New York, the start of her new life in America away from the old country.

"Yes. I left with my parents' blessing, and saw my brother for the last time. That is when I came here."

"I'm sorry all that had to happen."

"It's not your fault war came, Peter. I don't think any of us could have predicted what was to come."

"No, I suppose you're right. And what about now? How's life here different from what you experienced then?"

Jane smiled, thinking of all the friends she made here. She seemed to fit into a higher echelon in school, conversing and socializing with the more popular and fashionable people in the school. She could not deny that she was near the top of the heap, and at times the life she led here was not that different from the life of a socialite back in England. But at the same time there was something drastically different about what being a higher-up meant here.

"Well, I certainly get out more than in London," she chuckled. "But I suppose you could still qualify me in one of the higher echelons, at least as far as our school goes."

Peter laughed, noting the castes in their little realm of education. Jane always seemed to be off with the popular golden crowd, and he was on the lower rungs, only appreciated among his group of friends and acknowledged and respected among those who sat at or below him on the social food chain.

"Feeling a bit of envy, are you, my dear?" Jane said with a sly grin.

"Truth be told," Peter said lightly, "I've never cared much about things like status. I just go about my business in school and get my work done. It pays off for me most of the time."

"Well, it certainly shows with how well you do compared to the rest of us."

Peter blushed at the compliment.

"I just do what's expected of me, I guess," Peter laughed, embarrassed. "But I don't suppose you and the others in those high towers looking down on all of us ants talk about me much, do you?"

Jane saw a good opportunity to tease Peter as they approached her house.

"Well, wouldn't you like to know, Mr. Daniels?"

"Indeed I would, Ms. Hart."

Peter was immediately drawn to the abode of Jane, which was about the same size of Peter's. It was a Victorian-patterned house, about two stories tall and adorned with decorated windows that seemed freshly painted. The house looked like it had been recently renovated, in far contrast to the aging state of his home. Surrounding the house was a picket fence enclosing a freshly cut and clean lawn with a small flower garden hanging near a bay window on the ground floor.

"Well the answer to that, my dear Peter," Jane giggled as she opened the gate to her home, "must wait until you and I have had tea."

"Seems fair to me," Peter laughed in return.

Jane offered him her arm and Peter took it, as they walked down the cobblestone path arms locked to the front door. Jane searched her dress pockets for presumably the key to the house and quickly found it before unlocking the door and opening it up.

"After you," she said, motioning him in first.

"No, after you," Peter countered, "I insist."

Jane chuckled and curtseyed slightly before slipping into the house with Peter quickly following. What struck Peter was how high-end the house looked from the interior. Floral patterned wallpaper covered the walls right down to the moss green carpeting that went wall-to-wall. Everywhere there hung old Victorian age portraits of people unrecognizable to Peter, harkening to an age of sensibility, reason, and austerity. The house seemed to speak, "A well-mannered lady of good standing lives here. She is eligible for a suitor, if you so desire her."

"Do you live alone here?" Peter asked, still taking in the dignified aura of the house.

"Yes, I do," she answered as she went into the kitchen and out of sight from Peter as he examined the front room.

"How do you pay for a house like this by yourself?" he posed to her, astonished.

"My parents regularly mail me enough money to pay the rent on this house, along with some funds for food and new clothes. But I'm always told to use it sparingly."

"What made you decide to live alone?"

"It wasn't my decision. Mother and Father thought it would be good for me. They said it would be a lesson in independence and self-reliance. I've gotten on fairly well, but of course, I would be a terrible liar if I said I didn't miss London sometimes."

Peter found a velvet Edwardian style sofa to seat himself on as he placed his knapsack against one of the legs, and sat tentatively waiting for Jane to bring in the tea. He had only been in the house for little than a few minutes, and he felt like he was in a place he didn't belong. The dignified and austere feeling of the house gave him feelings of increased restriction and isolation, as if he was a poor orphan boy who had wandered into a grand ball for royalty. He was a mild mannered farmer's boy breaking ice with a former personality of the London middle class, a well-brought-up young girl beginning to blossom into womanhood and come into the adult world.

She talked of things foreign to him; talks of parties, fancy dresses, of recitals and special tutors. Given how she described herself, she would be far out of his league anywhere else. And yet she still reached him. She still offered her hand to him and gave him her friendship and confidence. Why? Why would she, a well-to-do socialite, spend her time on a poor country boy who had only recently turned into a war hero?

"How do you take your tea, Peter?" Jane called out from the kitchen.

"With one spoon of sugar, if you please," Peter responded.

He heard a clattering from the kitchen as he drummed his fingers on his knees, nervously waiting for the tea to be served, and wondering what he could say to Jane. This was not a situation he had ever encountered before; never before was he ever invited over to a girl's house as an outing. It was strange he would feel strained and tense with her while with Tanya he was relaxed and calm.

"Here we are," Jane said as Peter eyed the tray.

It was ceramic with a floral pattern, holding a white china teapot and matching cups and saucers. Two cups carried the tea from which arose steam that gave off an enticing aroma to the both of them. It was simple but at the same time dignified, like so much else in this house and even Jane herself. Quite a stark contrast from how Peter characterized himself in this alien environment. She set the tray down and took one of the cups, grasping it by the handle with her dainty fingers and her pinky extended. Peter by contrast took his cup and held it normally, grasping the bowl of the cup rather than the handle like a mug.

"Bottoms up, I guess," Peter chuckled nervously as he gently sipped from the cup.

Jane laughed as she drank from hers and waited for Peter's reaction.

"Very good," he said smiling. "Just like when I traveled to London."

"That's imported tea from Britain, too. No store bought packs from around here."

"Certainly tastes like it..."

He took another drink as he eyed her, harkening an image of British aristocrats who sat in on the inauguration of a great sovereign, attended the banquets at Buckingham Palace and tripped the light fantastic at galas and balls day and night. She came from a world of power, prestige, and privilege. He came from a world of hard labor, endurance, and loss. For a moment, he realized how fundamentally different they were. Their life experiences, their ways of seeing the world, the environments they had been born and bred in, were so radically opposed to each other. They were different people from two separate worlds, but yet they still touched and spoke, like they were old friends.

"So about your friends at school..."

"Ah, yes," she said smiling, remembering her small contract with Peter. "To answer your question, your name is brought up a few times."

"In what context?" he pressed.

Jane sighed, knowing the true answer was much harder to tell, but Peter never wavered and communicated as much with his stern green eyes that seemed to see straight through her.

"Just tell me the truth, Jane. I won't think of you any less for it."

"Truth be told," Jane said contemplatively, "if it were not for your exploits in Russia, they wouldn't talk about you so highly. You've really made quite a name for yourself with all you did in Stalingrad."

Peter leaned his head back on the sofa, sighing as he looked up to the ceiling, spotting a fleur-de-lis pattern surrounding the chandelier. Even the ceiling betrayed the high nature of this place, and further called to his attention just how small he was compared to this.

"Sometimes I wonder if I should even have gone, with all the notoriety it's gotten me. Many days I get tired of all the attention."

"Don't talk like that, Peter. You said yourself that you did what you felt was the right thing. And I can tell you the others have nothing but respect towards you for it. But if they ever have a harsh word, I am always the first to your defense."

"I thank you, Jane. But do the others really hate me that much?"

"They hardly hate you," Jane protested. "But I suppose they find you...unapproachable."

Peter turned to her, quizzically.

"You hardly ever talk to anyone outside me or your friends. You don't go out often unless your friends ask you to come. And...well...honestly, you're very gloomy most days. In fact, some of them are frightened by you."

Peter laughed as he drank again. The thought was so ironic considering what he had to face with himself day after day.

"I have to battle with my own demons on a daily basis...and they think I'm frightening."

"As much as I hate to admit it, Peter, they are right about some of those things. You're quite the hermit."

Peter turned to the ceiling again, contemplating the truth behind it. Yes he avoided others and put a wall around himself, but he did so much sparring with himself every day it seemed counterintuitive not to. He was the most solitary of his small corps of friends, even though ironically he was arguably the leader of the little crew. When he was with friends, he was often the sole voice of reason in a world of fools, much how he tried to make sense of a world that seemed to be inhabited by fools, sheep and tyrants.

"I have my reasons for it, Jane. That's all I can say."

Jane looked to him, and saw that his piercing green eyes were wandering much like how he wandered nowadays. Aimless, lacking in purpose, dazed, and perhaps even a little demented. That restless soul always seemed in search of something far greater than she or anyone else could give him, but she still strived for him, and still ran after him wherever he went. Why did she put herself out for him? Why did she spend her time reaching to him when he seemed in the pursuit of a grander universal truth?

"Peter, I am your friend. I deserve to know what's bothering you."

Peter's eyes seemed glazed and weary, trying desperately to grab onto the truth that seemed within his grasp and then just as quickly slipped away. That was his life story. Missed opportunities. Lost chances. Hardship. Taking on the weight of the world for the one he cared so deeply for, even more than he cared for Jane or any other friend he had in this town.

"Jane...I don't suppose you've ever been in love with someone?"

Jane was now struck silent. The boy sitting next to her who seemed the most unassuming, innocent and naive character when it came to matters of the heart, was confiding in her feelings of adoration to an unknown figure. Was it her? Was it Tanya? Was it another girl she didn't know of? All manner of assumptions and allegations whizzed through her head as Peter patiently awaited her answer.

He laughed, as if in on a joke unspoken between them.

"I know, it's strange, coming from someone who seems not to give a damn for it."

"I...I'm not really sure of how to answer that question, Peter. I have never felt that feeling of affection towards another person before."

Peter smiled, as if expecting this misfortune for him.

"Just my luck I suppose. I've been doing a lot of soul searching since I came back from Stalingrad, and I have yet to find a definite conclusion. It seems you are as lost on the concept as I am."

"Yes I suppose you could say that," she responded softly. "It is a new thing for a girl of my age to have yet experienced."

"Strange, you seemed to me the type that boys would be lining up to get a chance with. I guess looks are deceiving. You don't have any advice for me in my soul searching then, I suppose."

"Not really," she responded giggling. "I wasn't of age to be considered for a suitor, but I am still waiting for the right one to capture my heart."

Peter sighed, seeing this as a sign from God. This was a battle he had been fighting in his heart ever since he found Tanya again, and no matter who he turned to for advice, in the end it was a battle that he had to win by himself. It was he who had to decide the fate of his relationship with Tanya. It was he who ultimately had to decipher what he felt towards her. He had to judge for himself whether this was love he felt or not.

"Then I guess my soul searching continues. And I keep on being a hermit because of it. Sorry to disappoint you," Peter said with a wishful smile.

"It's quite alright, Peter. As long as we have you in our lives, I am sure everything will turn out well in the end."

"Maybe finding the answer will finally bring me back to you and the others. I guess I have to find out for myself."

Peter took another sip from his tea and then, as if he had willed it, the question that had tortured him from the day it was uttered was made known to him once more. That horrible, damnable, and yet important question he could not ignore, no matter how long, and would eventually have to answer. The pain that he felt with that question was so large it felt he was about to be crushed by it. He turned to Jane again and, calling to her deep ocean blue eyes, asked,

"Jane, can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course Peter. You can trust me with anything."

Peter inhaled deeply, and mentally readied himself to unleash this horrendous pain he had been feeling up to now out and into the open with her.

"Jane, when I first traveled to Stalingrad, Tanya was the closest friend I ever had in that city. She and I spent more time together than with anyone I ever met in my travels. One day, a few days before I was scheduled to leave the city, Tanya asked me something. She asked me a question that I have never been able to answer to this day."

"What was it that she asked?" Jane said curiously.

"She asked: if I was destined to stay in Russia forever, or if she was a citizen of my country, would she and I have fallen in love?"

Jane froze at the question unsure of what to say next. She couldn't help but feel a slight pang of hurt in her heart.

"I...I don't know what to say about a request like that."

A tear stood in his eye as the melancholy in his heart at reawakening such a painful and yet important memory.

"Believe me, I didn't know what to say either. I never gave an answer, and to this day I have left that question unanswered. But every day when I traveled back to Stalingrad, every day I fought in the streets and searched for her, that one little question kept coming back to me, and it still keeps coming back. And the fact that I still don't have an answer is agonizing for me."

Peter sighed heavily as he drank from his cup.

"I know that you're as inexperienced as me when it comes to love, Jane. But I never once in my 16 years of living thought that an emotion so beautiful as love can carry such a deep and horrendous pain as the kind I feel now."

"Yes I can imagine," she said quietly. "I do hope that you may find some peace when it comes to finally finding out what it means to be in love."

"Thank you for listening to me, Jane. The more days pass, the journey becomes that much harder for me. But talking to you about it makes it easier to bear."

"I am glad I can help, Peter. Would you like any more tea?"

Peter smiled at his friend.

"Certainly, thank you."

They talked on into the evening for what seemed like an eternity, but the sun eventually began to set and the time came for Peter to go back to the girl who waited for him back in his small house on the hill. They said their goodbyes and laughed at shared humors as he made his way to the door. Jane stopped him for a moment as he stood in the doorway, looking back to her entreating blue eyes, that seemed to cry out to him for something.

"Yes, Jane?"

With no chance to protest or question why, her lips met his in a sweet and chaste kiss that seemed to melt away his anguish and melancholy with a gentle, moist, and warm touch. His struggle with himself would not end this day, and he had a long road of introspection and contemplation ahead of him before he could reach a definite conclusion, but letting one person in on his private war was comforting. The thought of what it meant to love and what love truly was faded away, leaving only Jane's soft lips on his.

"Peter, if you ever need anything, you know who to look to."

"Thank you, Jane," he returned, heaving a heavy sigh. "It's going to be a long road and a hard-fought battle before I finally come to an answer about what I feel. But knowing you're there makes it so much more bearable for me."

Peter smiled and bid her goodbye as she watched him traverse over the cobblestone pathway before turning right and making his way back to his home. The wind whipped at the hem of his trench coat and through his ash blonde hair, his eyes still focused on the horizons and searching for the truth that drove him endlessly across the Russian steppes, over the waters of the Pacific and through the shadows of this little valley town. He had to find his truth, she thought. And perhaps she would see his truth benefit her as well, if God contented to smile upon them and will them as destined.

She would wait, because she knew that was the only thing she could do for him.

1 Yes, understood.

2 Goodbye (informal)