Immediately, instinctively, Gleb wants to dispute what she's said. There's nothing he's done that seems worth thanking him for. He could have killed her, nearly did kill her, realized far later than he ought to have that he was never going to have been able to pull the trigger. She might not know the specifics of it, but he thinks he's said enough on that front to make clear both what happened and what could have happened. At least he's come clean now. At least, whatever happens from here forward, she knows the truth of his business in Paris. She may not have seen how he all but collapsed under the weight of that realization, or looked at him and known without either of them needing to put into words what would be waiting for him when he returned to Russia, but that doesn't matter. She's already given him more kindness than he knows what to do with, in light of what he's told her. If she were visibly angry, if she'd tried to strike him or picked up his pistol and aimed it at him in turn, that, he would understand. But as surprising as her quiet gentleness may have been in the moments after he lowered his gun, though, it's even more so now, from a girl who didn't know any of it had happened in the first place, who truly didn't believe she was Anastasia.
He could argue the point, but they would probably just go back and forth, and neither of them needs that. For that matter, he isn't entirely sure he wants to know why she thinks she has anything to thank him for. He tried to warn her once, it's true, but everything went so far beyond that so quickly. Besides, he'd still been intent then on ignoring what he saw in her eyes before she left, what he must have known on some level before she fled the country and he was given his orders to go after her. It isn't as if that warning made a difference. Maybe it shouldn't have. She is, as she told him, her father's daughter, and he hates the fact of that just about as much as he cares for her. If they ever wind up back where they ought to be, she'll be with what little remaining family he has, and he'll—
Well, he was perfectly aware of what he was setting himself up for the moment he realized he couldn't take the shot.
"I don't want to interrupt anything you were doing," he says with a shake of his head when she cuts herself off, finally following along after her, with the stance of a dutiful soldier. "I'll be fine, Anya." He managed to navigate Paris on his own, after all, no matter how uncomfortable he may have been there. Already he gets the impression that Darrow will be similar in that regard, if different in just about every other. Besides, he has no mission this time, just a life that doesn't line up with his. Stepping out after her into the brisk December air, he pauses at the last of her words, more thoughtful than quite as serious as he's been. "Christmas," he echoes. "I haven't seen Christmas celebrated since I was young."
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He could argue the point, but they would probably just go back and forth, and neither of them needs that. For that matter, he isn't entirely sure he wants to know why she thinks she has anything to thank him for. He tried to warn her once, it's true, but everything went so far beyond that so quickly. Besides, he'd still been intent then on ignoring what he saw in her eyes before she left, what he must have known on some level before she fled the country and he was given his orders to go after her. It isn't as if that warning made a difference. Maybe it shouldn't have. She is, as she told him, her father's daughter, and he hates the fact of that just about as much as he cares for her. If they ever wind up back where they ought to be, she'll be with what little remaining family he has, and he'll—
Well, he was perfectly aware of what he was setting himself up for the moment he realized he couldn't take the shot.
"I don't want to interrupt anything you were doing," he says with a shake of his head when she cuts herself off, finally following along after her, with the stance of a dutiful soldier. "I'll be fine, Anya." He managed to navigate Paris on his own, after all, no matter how uncomfortable he may have been there. Already he gets the impression that Darrow will be similar in that regard, if different in just about every other. Besides, he has no mission this time, just a life that doesn't line up with his. Stepping out after her into the brisk December air, he pauses at the last of her words, more thoughtful than quite as serious as he's been. "Christmas," he echoes. "I haven't seen Christmas celebrated since I was young."