The fruity citrus scent made Lara feel at peace, as if a strange harmony had washed upon her.  Walking underneath the orange trees was relaxing, and made the mind forgot it ever felt anxiety.  There would be no tears, no sobs in this garden.

There was Mikhail, sketching underneath one of the willowy branches.  She was soon beside him, leaning against his shoulder, closing her eyes, enjoying the feel of his shirt against her cheek, listening to his heart beat safely against her ear as his charcoal made the slightest of sounds against the paper.

Lara cuddled closer to Mikhail in the bed.

Mikhail!!

She sat up and realized she WASN'T under an orange grove, and she WASN'T at peace.

The sheets and bedspread were covered in blood, she realized in horror, as were her skirt and blouse.  The room smelled awful, like antiseptic, rotted aloe, and old bandages.  She must have fallen asleep while tending to his arm.

Mikhail was sleeping, curled with his knees to his chest, his back to her.  His dark hair was laying across his closed eyes, and one of his hands had reached out in the night and wound itself around a corner of the sheet.  He was childlike in every sense of the word.

Lara quietly checked his bandages.  They were still firmly in place, and the bleeding seemed to have stopped.  He didn't realize how lucky he was that he had only gotten deep wounds with a knife, not a bullet.

Riding by the thieves one had managed to injure him, which caused the delay in time for the fainting.  It had taken forever to get him upstairs after the extremely long ride home.  Lara barely remembered reviving him at the edge of the river, then slowly, painstakingly, helping him to the room.

She quietly stroked his locks, then placed her fingers gently on his lips.  He was still breathing. She relaxed, smiling openly from heartfelt relief now.  She threw herself on his body and held him, then said a prayer in thanks that the Lord had spared him.  She knew no Jewish prayers, or Lara would have given one of those as well -- no religious boundaries stood in the way of her happiness that Mikhail would be all right.

"Ow...do you mind?  Your button is pressing right into one of the cuts."

Lara quickly jumped back.  "At least you still have your arm for my button to press into!"

Mikhail rubbed his eyes tiredly and yawned, every ounce of a mischievous little boy waking to a new day of fun.  "You and your harebrained idea.  We could have gotten killed!"

"But we didn't," Lara pointed out.  "Thus you should agree that I am the smartest woman you've ever met."

Mikhail pursed his lips, but his eyes gave away his feelings of thanks.  "I'll see what I can work out."

Lara swung her legs over the side of the bed.  "Come on, up, up, up.  I need to get the sheets cleaned before anyone smells it up here.  The stench is absolutely horrid."

"Absolutely horrid," he mimicked.  "You and your grammar."

"You and your lack of!  Get up, I have to get these things washed."

Mikhail sat on the embroidered sofa, resting his arm, while Lara pulled the linens off and tossed them into a woven basket she had brought.  "I'll be back in a few minutes.  I need to wash these in the river."

"But then they'll stink like the river!  Everyone will figure out something happened!"

"Touché.  You forget, however, that if I then place them in the laundry chute, the maid will get them first.  She'll tell Mother, Mother will ask what happened, and I'll say that I had a midnight dip in the river.  There'll be trouble, no doubt, but it'll be minimal.  Far less then if they found you here!"

A grin spread across Mikhail's face.  "I have to hand it to you.  You're never short of a plan, are you?"

Lara finished placing the sheets in her arms then looked at him, noticing the silent praise written across his dark face.  She smiled and tossed the linen into the basket.  "Au dieu until we meet again!" she said as dramatically as possible.

"How many languages do you know, anyway?"

"Russian, French, German...I wanted to learn English but Mother said it wasn't useful.  She thinks that England and The United States of America are two low-life, despicable countries, with barbaric tribes of men that run around shouting about stocks, bonds, and the like."

Mikhail's eyebrows creased in disbelief.  "Barbaric tribes of men?"

Lara lowered the basket of laundry over the side of the balcony with the rope pull she had devised the first night of Mikhail's stay.  "Really, it's no different than Russia is it?  Barbarian men, screaming about business and women, and with absolutely no sense!"

"Oh come on!  We're not all like that!"  Mikky leaned over the side of the balcony to see her as she prepared her own self to go down.

Lara grinned mischievously as she grabbed onto the rope.  "Oh yes you are.  Go find your cave, Barbarian!"  She quickly scooted down, leaving a sputtering Mikhail behind.

He watched her run to the river, lugging the basket along.  There was something special about her.  Something different, something that made his heart tug.  There was a sense of destiny about being around Lara Vasilovich.

His destiny.
~*~
Mikhail was bored.  There was no denying it.  He had drawn until his fingers ached, sketching everything from Lara's rabbit Bloopie to the bedside table.  Now he could only sigh and hope that life would pick up.

Between the sprained ankle and the cut arm, he could do little but laze in the guestroom.  He felt out of condition and out of luck.  As much company as Lara was, she could only see him between family affairs.  In all, it was an experience he didn't enjoy.

Lara was at just one of those functions now, a party that her parents were hosting.  He could hear the guests mingling and the music from the orchestra gliding throughout the towering estate.  Even more, he could feel the excitement in the air, the charged zephyr.  He loved a party.  If only he could attend!

He walked to the balcony and ducked down behind the railing.  No one would notice a silent figure looking out behind the wooden rails observing the festivities.

The Vasilovich's went all out when they had a party.  This one was in celebration of the parents' anniversary.  There were gazebos outdoors, each filled with either singers or instruments.  Graceful swans paraded about, walking through ribboned entry ways and fragrant blossoms of summer flowers.  The lake was illuminated by the laterns placed about, as if the White Nights didn't make it light enough anyway.  There were even fireworks planned for once the sky darkened.

Mikhail smiled as a few children joined hands and pranced in a circle together, unleashing their restrained energy.  One started tugging on Lara's skirt to join, and soon she and Vladimir were both helping the children dance, laughing and swinging to the music.

He noticed with satisfaction that she glanced up once at the balcony, knowing where to look, and smiled warmly at him.  He smiled back.

Oh no, there was Natasha, bringing some young man to see Lara.  He groaned quietly.  This woman just couldn't take a hint!

But instead of Lara giving her usual repulsive look, she ran with open arms to the man and let him even pick her up in a large hug.

He pursed his lips angrily and narrowed his eyes.  What was this?  Was it true that Lara cared as much for this man as she seemed to let on?  Mikhail's hands tightened around the rail until he yelped because he had gotten a splinter from the wood.

The night wore on, and Lara didn't leave the young man's side.  She, Vlad, and the man traveled everywhere together, and Mikhail noticed her dance with him too many times.  She smiled a total of 574 times in his direction (he counted of course) and held his hand innumerable.

He was jealous.  There was no denying it.  Even he couldn't get past the fact that he was.  Why he was jealous, he didn't know.  Maybe he didn't like the fact that this man was invading on his territory.  Or maybe it was because he felt like HE was the one invading on someone else's.  Whatever the reason, all he knew is that everytime he tried to draw his eyes away, they were pulled back to look at Lara -- and her mysterious dinner guest.

The lavish party no longer fascinated Mikhail.  Instead, he was almost feverishly obsessed with who this young man could be and what hold he had over Lara.  Was she engaged and he didn't know it?

By the time the festivities ended, the sky was an oily ink color.  Mikhail was almost sick with anticipation.  When would Lara part herself from this man and come see him?  He wanted -- no, NEEDED -- to know exactly who he was.

The man was preparing to get back into his carriage now.  Mikhail watched closely.  There was a handshake on Vlad's part, a kiss on the check from Natasha, a pat on the back from a few other guests, and -- the man gave a gentle and aristocratic kiss on the hand to Lara, then placed her small hand over his heart.

Mikhail was ill now.  What frustrated him almost as much as the identity of this handsome young noble was that he WAS so concerned about it.  He couldn't understand why he cared with this intensity.

Lara appeared in the guestroom a few moments later.  She was humming a melody from the party, an old Russian folk song called "Otchi Tchornia".  She was dreamily swaying in, letting her skirts rustle and flow with a regal flair.  The life of a Russian noble was not a hard one to enjoy on a night like this.

"Who is he?" Mikhail asked quickly.  How stupid he was!  Why had he asked so suddenly?  Now it was obvious that he was jealous!

"Hmm?  Who was whom?"

"That man.  You know, the one that you were all over!"

Lara blinked, then smiled.  "Oh, Osya?"

"I guess.  I don't exactly know his name yet!" he spat.  He expected her to immediately become defensive and perhaps hurt that he doubted her loyalty to him (oh how a man thinks!), but she laughed instead.

"You're jealous of Osya!"

Mikhail's eyes widened.  "I am not!  I'm not jealous of some overstuffed idiot!"

Lara was giggling with quite some force now.  "You're jealous of little Osya!  This is rich!  I can't believe YOU of all people are jealous of him!"

Mikhail crossed his arms.  "Humph.  Shows how little you know.  I'm just wondering who he is out of curiosity.  Nothing more."

Lara took his hand in hers, then pulled him to stand in front of her.  "I'll make you a deal.  I'll tell you everything about Osya IF you teach me to draw."

"I told you before, you don't just TEACH someone to draw, Lara.  It's a...well I'm not sure WHAT it is, but it's not something you can teach."

"Try.  Come on, Mikky, don't tell me you're scared too!"

Mikhail pouted.  "I'm not SCARED to do anything.  I can do whatever I want, whenever I want!"

Lara grabbed his sketch book and charcoal. "Which is why you're going to teach me now."

"I am not!"

"Then you'll never find out who Osya is..." she said in a sing song voice.  "And that would be a true shame because he IS oh so interesting and he IS so handsome!  Don't you think?"

Mikhail's eyes narrowed.  "You've got yourself a deal!"

Lara silently congratulated herself for a job well done.  "Good.  Let's start immediately!"

Mikhail sat down on the couch forcefully and pointed to the spot beside him.  "Sit!"

Lara smiled and lowered herself beside him.  "Teach me, oh great artist."

Mikhail placed his arm around Lara and pulled her close.  He put the charcoal in her hand and wrapped her fingers around it, then placed his own on top.

"Drawing isn't something you do just by looking.  It's a feeling."

"Is it a good feeling or a bad feeling?"

Mikhail adjusted the paper on their laps.  "Depends.  Sometimes if you feel like the drawing is going good, then it's a great feeling.  But if the sketch isn't, then it's bad.  Kind of like you're ruining a creation.  Now hold still and close your eyes."

"Why?"  She looked over and realized that their faces were much closer then she originally thought.

"Just relax.  Close your eyes and let your hand draw.  Feel the stroke -- don't just see it.  Let your senses take part in each movement."

They began to draw together.  Lara kept her eyes shut.

At first she felt nothing but Mikhail's hand moving hers along the paper.  Slowly she let herself be absorbed into his strokes on the paper.  They were long and leisurely, and a feeling to each.

She imagined a great river flowing through a city, assured of it's course yet independent and free.  Then there were buildings, rising above the stream, but not in harshness.  They were mere onlookers, enjoying the beauty of the water below them.  She could feel the reflections they gave, the silent strength inside of them.

Railings, children, lovers, and birds.  Trees, balloons, grass, pavement.  Clouds.  Cats.  Long dresses, stiff top hats.  Laughter.  Happiness.  Lara could feel everything.  She could feel the moment, frozen in time, yet now a part of her.

The sounds of the world became a blur as she felt herself inside the picture, a beautiful masterpiece.  It was filled with love.  Each line was drawn with extraordinary care and patience, and, she realized, with a piece of Mikhail.  There was shading now, and the scene had come to life.  She could already imagine it before he quietly whispered to open her eyes.

What she saw on the pad was the most gorgeous landscape she could have ever imagined of London.  Maybe it was the drawing that made it come to life, Mikhail's natural talent at seeing things in the right light.

Or maybe it was the love shared between the two who were now woven inside of the scene to forever stay there.

Whatever the reason was, Lara couldn't stop her overjoyed excitement.  She threw herself into his arms and hugged Mikhail until he laughed and asked her to stop before she choked him.

"It's so beautiful...I never imagined it would be so perfect..." she whispered.  "You have a talent.  No, you have a gift."  She looked up into his deep, dark eyes and slowly touched his cheek.  "You have a wonderful gift to the world."

Mikhail blushed.  "I just draw.  It's not a gift to the world.  It's something I do."

"Then you're a gift to me."  She leaned in closer.  "Osya -- Iosif Klimetov -- is my uncle's son."  She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck.  "He's just my cousin.  We grew up together!"

Mikhail leaned back against the couch in relief and laughed.  "Your cousin?  I was worried over your COUSIN?"

Lara nodded, giggling too hard to speak.  She leaned her cheek against his happily.  "See?  What did your jealously prove?  Nothing, you big lug!"

Mikhail laughed and wrapped his arms around her in a large hug.  "Actually it did prove one thing."

"What is that?"

He tilted her chin upwards and looked her squarely in the eye.  "That you mean more to me than I'd like to admit."

Lara kissed his cheek gently.  "And you mean more to me, Mikhail.  Much more."

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