Even now, even having been the one to start this, even knowing how necessary this is, Gleb pauses at her question. He doesn’t know how to do this. She said before that he wouldn’t hurt her, and he truly wouldn’t. There’s no way this will do anything else, though, and it’s hard not to hesitate with that being the case. Once he says it, there’s no taking it back. That’s already the case, though, at least for him. Holding it back, trying to deflect now, won’t change that. All there is for him to do is finish what he started — a worthwhile pursuit this time, though, unlike when he tracked her down in Paris. If he doesn’t tell her now, he would have to some other time, or it would come out inadvertently, and she would probably hate him even more than she’s already likely to. It has to be now. It has to be like this. He almost feels guilty for doing this in her apartment, but then, it may well be for the best. They’re in her territory, and if she wants him to leave after this, if she rescinds any offer to help him, then it will still be better than what he likely deserves.
"I told you I was sent to Paris," he says, both his voice and the set of his shoulders tense, his gaze not quite fixed on hers. It's too hard to look at her while he says this. "To find you. To find out whether or not you really were Anastasia." He exhales unsteadily, feeling no more put together than he did in the moments after he realized he couldn't do what he'd been told to do. "My orders were to bring you back if you weren't her." His pause practically speaks for itself, but to leave it at that would still be letting himself off the hook too easily. She needs to hear this from him. "And to... to finish the job started ten years ago if you were."
All the conflict, all the reluctance, he'd felt when first given those orders must be visible on his face now. Even before he left Russia, he didn't want to have to do it, bent over backwards trying to convince himself that it was just a game that went too far and that he could bring her home without consequence, certainly without handing her over to his superiors. It had been right in front of him all along, though, something he'd seen in her eyes even before then. Now, he can't stand what he sees in them, like she's hoping not to hear exactly what he has to tell her.
"I didn't," he adds somewhat abruptly. "I... I meant what I told you earlier. I would never hurt you. I couldn't even if I tried. I know that now." His movements slow and careful, not wanting to give her the wrong idea, he retrieves the gun from under his jacket and sets it gingerly on the table beside the cup he'd drank from. He has no need for it now. "I couldn't do it. What they wanted me to. I don't think I would ever have been able to. But I went, and when I couldn't talk you into coming home with me, I... came too close."
Gleb swallows hard, tugging at his collar like he'd done before, though it's mostly ineffectual now. "I don't expect anything from you, Anya. But you deserved to know the truth."
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"I told you I was sent to Paris," he says, both his voice and the set of his shoulders tense, his gaze not quite fixed on hers. It's too hard to look at her while he says this. "To find you. To find out whether or not you really were Anastasia." He exhales unsteadily, feeling no more put together than he did in the moments after he realized he couldn't do what he'd been told to do. "My orders were to bring you back if you weren't her." His pause practically speaks for itself, but to leave it at that would still be letting himself off the hook too easily. She needs to hear this from him. "And to... to finish the job started ten years ago if you were."
All the conflict, all the reluctance, he'd felt when first given those orders must be visible on his face now. Even before he left Russia, he didn't want to have to do it, bent over backwards trying to convince himself that it was just a game that went too far and that he could bring her home without consequence, certainly without handing her over to his superiors. It had been right in front of him all along, though, something he'd seen in her eyes even before then. Now, he can't stand what he sees in them, like she's hoping not to hear exactly what he has to tell her.
"I didn't," he adds somewhat abruptly. "I... I meant what I told you earlier. I would never hurt you. I couldn't even if I tried. I know that now." His movements slow and careful, not wanting to give her the wrong idea, he retrieves the gun from under his jacket and sets it gingerly on the table beside the cup he'd drank from. He has no need for it now. "I couldn't do it. What they wanted me to. I don't think I would ever have been able to. But I went, and when I couldn't talk you into coming home with me, I... came too close."
Gleb swallows hard, tugging at his collar like he'd done before, though it's mostly ineffectual now. "I don't expect anything from you, Anya. But you deserved to know the truth."