"So will you." Anya stroked her thumb over his as he reassured her, smiling softly. "We are safe here. Lyublyu tebya. Nothing will change that." She leaned closer to touch her nose against his fondly. "And as much as I would like to continue this here, I doubt your sister would like it if we started to convince one another of that in her car before you have had a chance to catch one another up."

Behind the wheel, 'Taya cleared her throat tactfully, deliberately not even glancing at her brother.

Tony touched his nose against hers before lifting her hand to his lips and brushing a soft kiss there, loving and affectionate. This sister was well aware of his undying love for Anya and the heartbreak it had caused him when he'd let her go. To have her back in his life was like a dream come true. "Ti amo, cara mia," he told her gently, ever the romantic, and neither shy or afraid of openly displaying his affection for her in front of anyone, including his sister.

The atmosphere in the car relaxed at the twin declarations, enveloping all three inhabitants in something far less tense than had been clinging when they had first set off. Surprisingly, 'Taya kept her mouth shut for once, concentrating on driving through the relatively busy streets and into the neighborhood where Rosita lived. Mama's house was deliberately big enough to take not just Rosita, but visiting grandchildren and one adult child at a time, too; something she had insisted upon when she had found out that it was Max arranging the living quarters.

Pulling up the drive to the rather charming looking house, 'Taya cut the engine, grinning over at her brother and Anya. "Here we are, Casa Rosita," she declared, waving a hand toward the building. "Mama insisted on cleaning out your room and changing the sheets and going for groceries, so everything should be ready for you guys to crash, if you want to."

"She isn't going to follow me around and sing my praises all night, is she?" Tony asked, with a small pout as he glanced at the cozy little house that was going to serve as home for a few days, until he could sort himself out and find them a place of their own. As much as he loved his mother and knew he was the apple of her eye, he really didn't feel up to listening to her pour it on thick for Anya, sharing stories of his youth that were liberally embellished to make him sound like a saint. He turned back to Mataya with that frown still on his face, hoping she wasn't abandoning them without coming inside. He hadn't seen her in forever and hadn't even gotten a hug out of her yet. "Aren't you coming in?"

She rolled her eyes at him, offering over a grin. "Of course I'm coming in, dumbo, I've got the key, remember?" She blew her brother a kiss, and turned to slip out of the car, leaving the lovebirds to let themselves out in their own time. 'Taya was as anxious as Tony to spend a little time with him, but she appreciated that Anya had had an appalling day. She figured they would be happier to have the evening to themselves, and do the family rounds in the morning. "Oh, by the way," she added, opening up the trunk, "Mama's coming to us for dinner tonight, too. So as long as you get yourselves in bed before 10, I can pretty much guarantee you a stress-free night. Because I am, naturally, the world's best sister."

Anya laughed at this. She'd never really understood the underlying tensions in Tony's family, but she could understand a mother's love being just that little bit too much to handle on top of everything else. She liked Rosita, but Rosita also liked her. That was stressful for Tony in itself; his mother could attach herself like a limpet and keep a conversation going for hours.

"Key, right!" he echoed, blowing out a breath and shoving a hand through his hair. She'd told him that, and that their mother was at the hospital with Elena. Was he that worried about Anya that he'd completely missed that, or was he just more drained than he thought' "I'll make sure to snore so she doesn't wake me!" Tony called back as Mataya went around to the trunk to grab Anya's bag. "Well, here we are, I guess," he said, glancing over at the house again. He didn't really mind the thought of living with his mother, so long as she didn't smother them. He knew she meant well anyway, and she was going to be overjoyed to see him back with Anya. "Shall we?" he asked, looking back at Anya, taking all of his cues from her.

Anya was smiling as she looked over at the house, finding it rather charming really. She looked back at Tony, gently stroking her fingers against his cheek. "Unless you plan to sleep in the car, I think we shall," she told him warmly. "Do not be so worried, lyubimaya. We're home." Her other hand undid the door to let herself slip out, still a little wobbly on her feet but infinitely more comfortable upright now than she had been shortly after exiting the portal. "Oh ....I can take my bag, 'Taya," she called as Mataya shut the trunk, both bags stowed over her shoulders as she dug in her pocket for the key.

"Oh, no, you gotta bring Tony in," 'Taya grinned. "I think he needs carrying, personally."

His expression visibly softened at her affectionate touch and the gentleness that was Anya. It wasn't home, not yet, but perhaps in time, it would come to feel like home. So long as Anya was with him, it didn't really matter where they were - New York, London, Paris, Moscow, Rhy'Din. It didn't hurt that his family was here, but home wasn't so much a place as it was a feeling of belonging, and he belonged with Anya. A small smile lit his face at the thought, and he climbed out of the car, immediately slipping that arm around her waist again as she climbed out to steady her. "I can get the bags, Mataya!" he called, his first concern getting Anya safely inside.

"What is it with you two and 'the bags'?" his sister laughed, dropping the quotation marks into conversation as easy as anything. She shook her head, rolling her eyes. "C'mon, tiny dancers." Turning away, she headed off toward the door, keys jangling from her thumb with their belongings hanging off her shoulders.

Anya leaned into Tony tenderly, touching her temple against his jaw lovingly. "I think she might want to put us to bed, too," she murmured playfully. "How old did you say her daughter is?"

Tony rolled his eyes at his sister's cheekiness. There was nothing tiny about him, period. Anya, of course, was another story. "She is not tucking us in," he assured Anya, as he brushed an affectionate kiss against her temple. "Come on. We better go inside before she gets too bossy." He took her uninjured hand in his own and led her toward the house, brows furrowing at her question. "She didn't. It's....kind of confusing."

"Then perhaps you had better leave the explanation to the little girl when I meet her," Anya suggested, her fingers linking easily between his as he led her after his sister. She laughed a little as Mataya fumbled with the door and overbalanced, disappearing arse over tip onto the welcome mat set just over the threshold. "She has not changed much, has she?" she commented softly, hugging to Tony's arm. "Older, wiser, and still very enthusiastic about everything."

"She's not exactly a little girl, Anya. You'd better let 'Taya explain." He hadn't had time to tell her much about Rhy'Din, what little he knew himself. It was going to be a learning experience for both of them. An adventure. Tony harrumphed. "I don't think she'll ever change, no matter how old she is." He let go of Anya's hand to hurry up the stairs and set his sister right, taking the bags from her shoulders, whether she wanted him to or not.

"Still as stubborn as ever," he said, shouldering the bags on his broad shoulders. "What am I going to do with the two of you?" he asked, looking from one to the other, debating which of them needed him more at that moment.

"What?" 'Taya grinned up at her big brother, flicking the light switch on and reaching through the door to pull Anya in with them. "Well, I think you're definitely going to screw that one," she told him, pointing at the little ballerina. "If you try to screw me, I'll castrate you. All clear?" Patting Tony's cheek, she slipped away to the sound of Anya's laughter, disappearing into the kitchen as the Russian woman reached out to take her own bag from Tony.

"I believe she may be right, lyubimaya," she chuckled, rising up onto her toes to murmur into his ear. "I hope she is."

"She was drunk and she thought she was in love, that's how she got mixed up in it," 'Taya pointed out, stepping back to add the mushrooms and herbs to the mixture in the pan. "You know as well as I do, once you're in, it's damned hard to get out, and it sounds like Sam Nicoletti went out of his way to get her good and in before she had a chance to think about it. She's trying so hard to make amends, Tony. And none of us have exactly been fair to her these last few months. You know she tipped a bottle of bourbon' Right down the drain, didn't even take a sip. And I ripped her a new one when I found the bottle without waiting to hear what she had to say about it."

She shook her head, stirring the mixture she was creating. One hand reached out to turn over the toasting bread. "That's a whole world of what ifs, dude. If they come here, they won't go after Anya, or you, or anyone but Elena. It's her they want to shut up. And when El goes back to testify, she'll be protected. I don't trust the police to do it; I'll find some way of making sure she's safe."

He wiped each suspiciously wet eye with a thumb, clearing his throat to regain control of his composure as his sister turned back to her cooking. His eyes narrowed a little at the veiled accusation, having thought he'd given Elena more than enough chances. Sometimes you had to harden your heart a little to make someone else finally see the error of their ways. But all that was behind them and unimportant now. What was important was that Elena didn't regress and that the Nicolettis got what was coming to them. He listened as she continued, realizing she was right, but wondering how much Elena had told her about his recent efforts to patch things up with his wayward little sister. "Did she tell you I called?"

'Taya fidgeted awkwardly, dropping her gaze to the pan in front of her as she stirred, watching the mushrooms cooking. "Uh ....We kinda haven't had much of a chance to talk," she admitted. "I kinda ....Well, I crossed a line and then before we had a chance to patch up, Michael collapsed, and El's been at the hospital with him since. I don't have the heart to try and talk about the things that stress her out, not when she's not sleeping properly and worrying so much about him." She sagged a little where she stood, and for a long moment, she was still. Then ...."She loves him, Tony. Deeper than I think she's felt anything in a really long time."

"Michael..." Tony mused thoughtfully, putting two and two together. "There was someone else there when I called. It must have been him." He glanced back at Mataya, noticing her uneasiness at his question and the obvious regret she was feeling about her argument with Elena. "Another alcoholic," he said grimly. "They'll either keep each other sober or destroy themselves together," he remarked, unsure how he felt about his sister seeing someone else so soon after the incident with Nicoletti, especially someone who had the same problems that she did. "Is she happy?" he asked. In the end, that was all that really mattered. He made a mental note to circle back to Mataya's guilt momentarily.

"Michael Donnelly," she provided the full name, knowing Tony was more likely to know the name than any of them. Mataya sighed softly, lowering the heat under the pan before turning to exhume something very familiar from the fridge. "Man, I love Mama's kitchen," she murmured, carefully peeling the thin slices of prosciutto apart with a smile that harkened back to their childhood. Straightening, she looked over at Tony, considering his question carefully. "I think she is happy," she said finally. "Or if she's not, she's got more of a chance to be happy with him than with any of the others. I think they understand each other, kinda like you and Anya."

"Donnelly?" he echoed. "Didn't he write the screenplay for that movie Elena was in a few years back" What was the name of it again?" He snapped his fingers as he tried to remember the name of it. He pulled himself out of his thoughts as Mataya compared him and Anya to Elena and this Donnelly fellow. "Like you and Max?" he asked with a smirk as he leaned over to stir the mushroom mixture for her as she pried apart the slices of prosciutto, remembering a happier time when they were younger, when they'd share the kitchen, laughing together while they cooked up a meal.

"Boston Nights." Trust 'Taya to remember the name of a film she had utterly failed to engage with when she'd watched it, too busy making out with Max in the back row at the time. "Yeah, he pretty much wrote the role for her. And it showed, she was great in it. Hasn't topped it yet." She stepped around her brother to drizzle olive oil over the toasting bread as they talked. "Me and Max ....we're still complicated," she smiled, but it was fond as she spoke of her fiance. "We didn't have the instant connection, but ....yeah, I guess you could say we understand each other. It works better now, you know, we've both grown up."

"Yeah, so have we," he said, meaning himself and Anya. She'd been very young when he'd first met her, first danced with her, first fallen in love with her. He'd let her spread her wings and fly away from him, grow and mature and reach her full potential, but always with the hope that she'd find her way back to him someday. Despite everything that had happened, he smiled at the thought of that. "What is it they say about letting someone go' If you let them go and they don't come back, they were never yours to begin with' But if they return, they're yours forever?"

"Have you been drinking with Giorgio at that deli again?" 'Taya laughed fondly, nudging his stomach as she teased her brother. Philosophy had never been her strong point; she was definitely a person who lived in the moment. "Him and his platitudes. I'm surprised your brain isn't full of marshmallow fluff." She bounced up to kiss Tony's cheek. "You feeling better now, ballerino" Or do I gotta spank you with a spatula again?"

"I think you enjoy spanking more than I do," he replied with a smile that was more reminiscent of the Tony she knew and loved, but he hadn't forgotten her own admission of guilt that revolved around their wayward little sister. And he wasn't even going to get into the issues they all seemed to have with Theresa. "Why don't you go up to the hospital" Anya and I can settle ourselves. I appreciate your help, but Elena needs you more than we do right now. She needs you to believe in her, 'Tay. She needs us all to believe in her."

"You're the one who told me about BDSM," she grinned back to him, picking the toasted slices of ciabatta from the stove and setting them on a warmed plate. Her smile faded a little at his suggestion, glad to have the task of folding prosciutto onto the slices and covering it with the mushroom mixture as she spoke. "I, uh ....well, I gotta go up to the hospital to get Mama anyway," she admitted. "I just don't wanna make things worse, you know" I don't wanna be like Tess."

He rolled his eyes at her remark. "Believe me, you're nothing like Tess. She's been blaming for me for being Mama's favorite for years. The truth is, she needs to worry more about managing her own life and stop trying to manage ours." He pushed off the counter to turn and start a pot of coffee brewing. "She wasn't always like that. She changed after Papa left. I think maybe she hates me for trying to take his place."

"Crazy, isn't it' Tess and El both screwed up after Papa left." 'Taya shrugged, leaving the plate on the warm stove as she rinsed out the pan to drop it into the dishwasher - a piece of relatively modern equipment that Rosita grudgingly accepted was useful. "Only Tess tried to be the perfect wife and mom, and only got lucky because Landon has the patience of a saint. I think El's healthier than she is, personally." She smiled, rubbing her fingers through her hair, glancing up at the clock. "I gotta get going if I'm gonna get a chance to talk to El a bit before taking Mama to ours. You sure you two'll be okay here on your own for a while?"

Tony was lost in thought a moment as he thought about the eldest of his sisters, the one who was the most distant. He'd always been close to Mataya, and Elena was the baby, but there had always seemed to be some sort of tension between himself and the eldest of his sisters, as though she resented him for some reason, though he wasn't sure why. He blinked out of his thoughts at her question, a warm smile for his sister, glad she was taking his advice and at least attempting to patch things up between herself and Elena. It was more than he could say for himself and Tess. "Yeah, we'll be fine. We're safe here, remember?" He leaned over to wrap his sister in a hug and drop a kiss against her forehead. "Thanks, 'Tay. You're the best."

"She'll be pestering us before long to get married and have..." He broke off, catching himself before he finished the thought, furrowing his brows as he unfastened his pants. He and Anya had never really talked marriage or children, though it seemed to have always been assumed it would happen one day. Both of them had been far too interested in their careers to think much about children. Tony had even made sure Anya was using protection so there wouldn't be any little surprises. If she craned her neck enough, she might catch a glimpse of bare muscled leg as he climbed out of his pants. "My mother is anxious for grandchildren," he explained away his comment.

"She has grandchildren, Tony," Anya reminded him, deliberately being obtuse. Marriage was definitely on the cards for them, but children" That could take a while longer. While her body was perfectly honed for ballet, it was not so perfect for gestating a full pregnancy. If they made that decision, she would have to stop dancing professionally for a few months before they had even a chance of falling successfully pregnant. "Or do Theresa's children not count since they are all over five?"

"Yes, but..." He sighed. "They aren't mine." He laid his trousers on the bed and tugged his sweater over his head. While his mother meant well, it was no secret that she wanted to see her Tony married and with a family of his own someday. It was something Tony hadn't really thought much about, his focus on his career, but now that he was back with Anya, he knew the subject was bound to come up sooner or later. It was something he and Anya were going to have to discuss before his mother started pestering.

Anya rolled her eyes again, unable to keep the laughter at bay at the resigned tone in her lover's voice. "I would be concerned if they were yours," she pointed out, water splashing about her as she stretched out in the bath. "Tony ....maybe you are looking a little too far ahead. Our next step is to find somewhere for ourselves and begin forming this company. Yes?"

"Yes!" he agreed, as he tossed the discarded sweater onto the bed to join his pants. At least, Anya already knew his family well enough to know all their little quirks. He was fairly certain they had not been what had scared her away the first time they'd been together. When he re-entered the bathroom, he was just in his shorts and those didn't remain in place very long. "You know how she is, Anya. She's going to ask. She'll have you retired and up to your ears in diapers, if you let her." He was long and lean in his all together, all corded muscle, every move infused with an innate grace he hardly knew he possessed.

"Let her ask," she said warmly, sitting up in the steaming bath as he came into the room, her gaze admiring as she took him in, in all his Adonis-like glory. "I promise, I will only tease her until she turns red, not purple." Her hand rose from the bubbles to reach toward him. "Come into the water, lyubimaya. You are too tense."

He frowned down at her, more due to the remark about his tenseness than about her teasing his mother. If his mother pushed the matter too far, he would not be held responsible for Anya's mischief. He reached for her hand as he climbed into the tub with her, unsure how she wanted him exactly, but confident he was going to find out. "I'm sorry, Anya. It's just....This isn't how I wanted things to be. You getting hurt. Living with my mother. I imagined things would be different. I want them to be different. Perfect."

She twisted about as he settled into the water with her, enjoying the wide bath even more when it became clear that she could slide across his lap and curl close, nestled into him, without sacrificing the heat of the water that lapped around them. "Perfection is boring, lyubimaya," she told him quietly. "We are not perfect. We are flawed. It is our flaws that make us fit together the way we do. Life is not perfect. Other people are not perfect. Living with your mother ..." She smirked, touching the tip of her nose to his. "Not perfect. But still life."

"You are perfect," he pointed out, arms circling her waist as she slide across his lap, nudging her nose so that his lips could touch hers, content that they were safe and alone at last, if only for a little while. He pressed his lips against hers, his body immediately catching fire, burning with desire, though the kiss was soft and gentle and undemanding, taking his cues from her, letting her lead him in this dance.

She laughed very softly into his kiss, the flush on her skin suddenly not quite the full responsibility of the heat that enveloped them both. "Not perfect," Anya murmured back to him, each word brushing her lips to his before she returned that kiss, just as soft, just as gentle, loving him without words as her arms rose to curl about his neck. "I love you, Tony. Stop worrying so much. I have had worse."

He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, his own eyes betraying his surprise and a little curiosity. He wasn't sure if he should ask what she meant by that or wait for her to explain it to him in her own time. "How can I stop worrying when I love you more than anything" More than life. You are my life, Anya. We are better together than we can ever be alone. I won't lose you again. You are everything." His voice trailed off as he kissed her again, needing her to understand what she meant to him, how he could no longer live without her.

Whatever she might have said, be it an explanation of her implication or further reassurance against worrying so much about her, was lost as his lips covered hers once again, coaxing her into a kiss that burned deep, reminding her all over again of who it was she truly belonged to. She slipped closer, lips parting with a tender sigh to deepen that kiss as she shivered in his arms, forgetting the aches and strains of the day in his embrace. All she really needed was her Tony to find her own kind of perfection right here and now.

He was tender with her, gentle even, in the taking, like a lovely dance starting out slow in tempo, his touch, like his kisses, featherlight and yet somehow burning deep. He knew her all too well, playing her like a maestro, knowing just what to do to make her body sing. He plucked her like an instrument, again and again, knowing what his Anya liked, what his Anya wanted. His lips captured hers, breathing her in, gently demanding, taking what he wanted and giving her what she needed in return, what they both craved, forgetting the worries of the day and losing himself in the woman he loved.

Yet it wasn't just her heart and mind that could be soothed by the tender loving care they took with one another. For every soft caress, each loving kiss, Anya returned the same warmth, the same affection, ignoring the lingering sting in her limbs to give back what she took, smothering her beloved, her lyubimaya, with the sweet passion he showed her. He gave her everything, and she gave it back, until the room spun and she saw stars, curling to him in the cooling lap of water what seemed an age and a moment later to trade still more kisses with the man who'd had her from 'Hello' years before.

It was over all too quickly, the water growing cold, even as their bodies had grown warm, but it didn't matter. She belonged to him, and him to her. It was only one of many dances they had dances along the way, one of many they were yet to dance, yet to perfect. Each time was as enticing and exciting as the last, each time left him breathless and wanting more. He held her to him, long slender dancers' limbs tangled together in a lovers' embrace, touching small, sweet kisses against her lips, as their hearts beat together as one. She completed him, the missing part of him that he'd been searching for all his life. "Anya, I love you," he whispered softly as he nudged her nose, his forehead coming to rest against her with a heavy sigh.

Entangled with him, it took a long moment for her to speak, lining up the words she had only attempted to use once for him. That time, she had mangled them dreadfully, though he hadn't minded so much. This time, she was determined to do better. "T-ti amo, cara mio," was whispered tenderly to him in the gentleness of the moment, the Italian unwieldy on her Russian tongue.

"Your Italian is getting better." He smiled at her attempt to say the words in Italian, rewarding her with a warm brush of lips to hers and returning the favor with the same sentiment in her native Russian, a little awkward on his tongue, but improving. "Ya lyublyu tyebya," he whispered in return, in no apparent hurry to let her go, though they couldn't stay there all night.

Her hand came to rest on his chest as she lay beside him, the food still warming in the oven downstairs forgotten for now. "I do not pretend to know how or why she feels as she does," she said gently. "But I do know that you never stop loving your family, no matter how terrible things seem. Tess loves you, Tony, as you love her. You just ....don't seem to like each other very much at the moment. That will change. It may take years, but it will change."

"Maybe, maybe not," he said, turning his head toward Anya and nudging his nose against her forehead, breathing her in, filling his senses with her scent, which seemed to calm him somehow. "I can't worry about Tess now. I have to worry about you and Elena." He pressed a kiss against her forehead. "Getting a place of our own and getting the ballet up and running."

"You do not need to worry so much about me, lyubimaya," she smiled, nestling closer to brush her lips against his cheek. "I am fine. A few cuts and bruises are not enough to put me down, and a little fright like today is nothing. I know I was in a state when you found me, but it is all better now. I promise you." Her lips found his once again, her fingers stroking against his jaw. "And perhaps Elena does not need so much worrying about any longer."

He drew his arm out from behind his head and slid it beneath her and around her shoulders to pull her close. "I'm never going to stop worrying about you, Anya," he said, lips moving as they were gently pressed against her temple. "I love you," he added, as if to give her a reason for his worry. "You're safe now, and I'm not going to let anyone hurt you." He knew he couldn't promise that life would be perfect, that nothing bad would ever come to pass, but so long as they were together, they'd weather whatever bad things came their way.

She let her hand slip from beneath her head as he drew her close, settling warm and trusting against his side, her head cushioned against his shoulder as she smiled faintly to herself. There was no point arguing with him over this, she knew; no matter what she said, he was going to devote a great deal of that tense energy to her, despite there being no need for it. But perhaps she could help him dealing with the worry that he directed toward his sisters. Eventually. "I am not leaving your side again," she promised him softly. "For any reason. Even if you were to send me away, I would not go."

"I'd never send you away. You are Fonteyn to my Nureyev. Juliet to my Romeo. We are meant to be together, cara mia. No one is ever going to tear us apart." He quieted a moment, something else playing on his mind, something he had been secretly considering for a few weeks, ever since she'd come back into his life. "What do you think your father would say if I asked for your hand in marriage?" he asked tentatively, knowing what she thought was far more important than her father's approval, but he knew they were close and wouldn't want to cause any trouble between them.

She laughed suddenly, knowing her Papa could be tyrannical when he chose to be. If Tony asked him that question without giving her time to prepare him, her lover might well find himself well and truly scared off ever broaching the subject again. "I think he would ask you which of us is going to convert," she told Tony with a smile, shifting about to look up at him. "And that you should have married me four years ago. He likes you, Tony. If he didn't, we would never have been allowed to come together in the first place."

Her laughing response at last brought the brightness of a smile to his handsome face, blue eyes shining. He gently slid his arm out from under her to turn and face her, curling his body toward hers, all arms and legs, it seemed, at times. "I will convert. Mama won't like it, but she'll get over it." Especially if they were to someday have children, but that was a very distant someday. Anya was still young. She had years ahead of her, and there was too much to do. He frowned just a little, regretting having let her go, but all that was over now. She was his again, and his she was going to stay. "Forget I asked. I need to ask you properly."

"No, you need to feed me," she corrected him with a warm smile, refusing to engage with his gentle frown. Her thumb smoothed at the lines on his brow, daring him to hold the unsettled expression as she smiled up at him. "Rest assured, lyubimaya, that you know what the answer will be when you finally get around to asking me properly." Her finger stroked down the bridge of his nose to sweep over his lips fondly before she moved to sit up. "But I must insist upon eating before your mother gets home. I like Rosita, but I do not think I will have patience with her tonight."

He looked her over, appreciating the long line of her legs - a dancer's legs, perfectly made for ballet, perfectly made for wrapping around his waist when the occasion called for it. "Are you afraid what she might say if she sees you in the kitchen in your underwear?" he teased, tracing her cheek with his fingers. "If she didn't want us sleeping together, she'd have made up separate rooms."

She smirked, rising onto her feet, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her panties to readjust the hem so that her bottom was at least covered. "Your mother has seen me in a tutu," she reminded him. "She can cope with this. I am practically overdressed." Never let it be said that modesty was bred into ballet dancers; anyone who had had to change in a cramped dressing room with twenty other dancers didn't have room for modesty anymore. "Besides, if she walks in, it will be good practice for her. You know, for when she insists upon waking you up in the morning, regardless of how naked you are."

He rolled his eyes. "She is not waking me up. I've been doing just fine on my own for years." He smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes as he watched her adjust her panties, pushing himself up off the bed and circling her waist with his arms. "Unless you want to wake me. I don't think I'd have a problem with that." He leaned in to brush an affectionate kiss against her lips.

Anya laughed softly, swaying in his arms as he kissed her, as her arms rose to curl about his neck, her body lifting up onto her strong toes to deepen that kiss for just a moment. "Such a lovely sentiment, darling," she teased him impishly, "if only I were the one to wake first. The day that happens, I will know you are ill." She tweaked the end of his nose between finger and thumb and gently eased herself back, linking her fingers with his as she wandered barefoot toward the door. "What did Mataya make, in the end?"

He smiled into her kiss, chuckling lightly at her teasing and the tweaking of his nose, falling into step behind her as she tugged him toward the door. "Prosciutto on ciabatta bread. The coffee's probably cold by now, but I can make more." Like any good Italian, Anthony enjoyed his caffee, and no meal was quite complete without it.

Anya didn't quite understand his fascination with coffee, at least not the way he made it. It wasn't strong enough, thick enough, or alcoholic enough for her tastes usually, but she obliged the world by drinking it straight. "What is prosciutto again?" she asked him curiously, holding his hand on her shoulder as she led the way down the stairs. "Cheese?"

He smirked a little at her constant misunderstandings of most things Italian, somewhat akin to his lack of knowledge of all things Russian. "It's meat. Do you really want to know more than that?" he asked, blue eyes dancing with good humor. His mood, at least, seemed to have improved since their arrival in Rhy'Din, though there was no guarantee it would stay that way.

Looking up over her own head at him, she stuck her tongue out at her lover, knowing he was teasing her now as easily as she had teased him. It was good to see him embracing the lighter side of his nature now they were out of immediate danger, and though it might not last, it was a balm to the residual fear that lingered in her, no matter the brave face she put on things. "You Italians do strange things to your meat," she informed him with a smile. "I will never understand the point of salami."

That comment brought a bit of laughter bubbling to his lips. "Babies" Are you in a hurry to have babies now, la mia ballerina" You'll make Mama very happy," he teased her back, his mood lightening again. Neither of them was ready for babies yet, and they both knew it. Marriage, however, was another matter all together, but there was no rush, so long as Rosita didn't pester them about living in sin.

"Oh, I think Mama Rosita will be very happy no matter what we do, or when we start," Anya laughed with him, licking her fingertips clean, glad to have brought a laugh from his lips. "She has her Antonio back with her, along with his wicked Russian doll. I think she would forgive me anything if I make you have dinner with her at least twice a week."

"Make me?" Tony scoffed, chuckling again. "You've had Mama's cooking. She'll make us both fat if we're not careful. She thinks we're too skinny, as it is. She's never understood that. She's always badgering me to gain weight." He finished off the half of his sandwich, hungrier than he'd anticipated, now that his stomach had settled down from its initial upset on their trip through the portal. "I should wait up and say hello. I know she misses me."

Anya's smile softened once again, understanding why his thoughts had wandered in that direction, reluctant to admit that she did not want to go to sleep without him. And that she did not want to sit up and wait for Rosita to return and keep them up for hours with news and laughter and incessant nagging. "Do you mind if I do not stay up so late?" she asked quietly, feeding him the last bite of her half, not so hungry as she had first thought herself to be. "I am tired, Tony. But I do not wish to come between you and your Mama."

"So long as you let me tuck you in," he replied, accepting that last bite from her. He felt torn between retiring with his Anya or waiting up to greet his mother. He knew if he didn't at least say hello, he'd never hear the end of it in the morning, and Rosita would complain of not having slept well having not seen her Tony. "I'll try not to let her keep me up too late," he half-promised. He was tired himself from the long day and wanted nothing more than to wrap himself up in Anya's arms, but his mother would never forgive him if he didn't say hello.

"I would be disappointed if you were to let me put myself to bed," his little ballerina murmured, looping her arms around his neck as she cuddled into him, long bare legs and all. "I like your mama, but I do not have the energy for her tonight. Will she mind, do you think?"

He circled his arms around her waist as she looped herself about him, a soft adoring smile on his face. "I think she'll forgive you," he said, leaning close to brush a kiss against cheek, his voice a gentle whisper in her ear. "If we go now, I might have time to do more than tuck you in before Mama gets home," he said, hoping she got his drift, but leaving it completely up to her. She had been through enough today and he knew she was tired. He was perfectly happy just to lie close, if that was all that she wanted.

Nose to nose, she shared his smile, wishing she had the energy to grant that subtly proffered wish to the best of her ability. Her palm curled to his jaw, fingertips tenderly caressing his cheekbone as she nuzzled a new kiss to his lips. "Wake me with it in the morning," she whispered lovingly. "When my wits are all there to devote to you entirely." All she really had the strength for was to fall asleep, and now she was fed, that was very close to happening. If he didn't get her up to their room soon, she was going to fall to sleep right here on his lap.

As if sensing the drowsiness that was threatening to overcome her, he moved to his feet, easily supporting her weight, as he had countless times before when they danced together, both on stage and in private. "Time for bed, cara mia, before you fall asleep at the table." He let her rest her head against his shoulder, supporting her weight as he carried her toward the stairs. She was as light as a feather.

Heavier in private, of course, when she was not rigid holding a position to impress an audience. Here and now, she was close to boneless, limp and something more of a dead weight in his arms, though her weight was probably less than the average sixteen year old still. "I am endeavoring not to, lyubimaya," she murmured in his ear, her smile audible as she curled her fingers in and out of his hair, her feet flexing up and down as he carried her to the stairs.

Up the stairs he went and into the room his mother had prepared for them, only letting go of her once he reached the bed, laying her back against the pillows and pulling the blankets up over her and perching himself beside her. He brushed her hair back from her face and leaned in to press a kiss against her forehead, his lips lingering there longer than necessary. He didn't really want to leave her side, but he knew he should at least greet his mother before turning in for the night. He needed to clean up the kitchen and he wanted to hear how Elena was doing, but Rosita wasn't home yet, and he was reluctant to leave Anya's side.

She was close to sleeping as he laid her down, rolling back toward him even as he covered her up, her hand reaching for his. Despite her conscious wish not to let him know how unsettled she still felt in the wake of the morning's adventure, her unconscious body showed it only to well in the reach of her hand and grasp of her fingers. Her hair spread in a pale halo beneath her head as she sighed softly, so close to sleep as to be almost there when her lips moved ever so slightly. "I love you, Tony."

He smiled when she told him of her love for him, three simple words that said and meant so much. He settled his head down against her, half sitting, half lying against the bed, meaning only to stay a little while, just until she had drifted off to sleep. He linked his fingers to hers, resting his forehead against hers, lowering his voice to a near whisper, his voice soft and soothing. "I love you, Anya. Always and forever, cara mia." He watched her in the moonlight and brushed the backs of his fingers against her ivory cheek. "Rest, my darling. You're safe now. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."

Though Tony's intentions were good and planned only on staying until he was sure Anya was asleep, it wasn't long before his own eyes grew heavy and he stretched out beside her, crawling under the covers to wrap her in his embrace and hold her close. Only a few minutes, he told himself. He'd only stay a few minutes and then he'd go back downstairs, clean up the dishes, and wait for his mother, but before he knew it, he was asleep, more exhausted than even he cared to admit. Rosita would arrive home to find clues to Tony and Anya's arrival, but no welcome, no greeting, the two of them chasing away the terror of the morning in each other's arms.

As pleased as she was to have her son so close once again, as eager as she was to see him and hold him and speak with him in person, Rosita knew a little of the love that held him in thrall, proud of the man her Tony had become. Proud that he chose to guard his girl against the storm of nightmares, rather than leave her alone to greet an impatient woman who could last until morning. She stood in the doorway a long moment, watching them sleep, stepping in only to draw the covers over her son and touch a kiss to each sleeping cheek. "Buona notte, mio prezioso bambino." On quiet feet, she slipped away, drawing the door closed behind her. The welcome could wait until morning. Tony was safely home. That was all that mattered, tonight.

((Another somewhat massive scene, but hey, at least they're finally in Rhy'Din! Loads of love and kisses to Tony's player, AWESOME as always!))