For Anatoly, the summer days had begun to blur together in an unchanging pattern. He got up, ate if there was something in the cupboard and then made his way to the Russian cafe that was his second home of sorts. After copious amounts of tea and perhaps a blini or two pushed on him by the grand old lady who was a co-owner of the place, he walked over to the park and joined the group at the outdoor chess tables. When the light began to fail, he wandered around the city for several hours before returning to the cafe and whatever the special of the evening was. He stayed until closing and then, only then, did he return home to sleep.

It was not an exciting existence but it was all he could manage at the moment. The chaos of the past few months had left him with a desire to simply exist without complications or feelings – to, in short, be the thoughtless automaton that Trumper had often accused him of being. If he didn’t form connections or friendships then perhaps the city would leave him out of whatever nonsense it had in mind. This would no doubt work as well here as it did other places but until he was forced to admit otherwise, he chose to believe this would work.

All that said, he did have to admit that the best part of the day was when he was surrounded by his fellow chess enthusiasts. He was happy enough to be surrounded by people and even to indulge in idle chatting with his opponents. His only rule was to keep the topic light and free of weighty topics – people wishing to have in-depth conversations were invited to choose another table.

This particular afternoon, he had arrived at the park to find that his favorite table had been claimed by Mischka, a particularly obnoxious man who, in Anatoly’s opinion, was neither as talented a chess player nor as charming as he thought he was. They had clashed a few time before and rather than give Mischka the satisfaction of reacting angrily, he simply chose a different table and meticulously began to set the board.

He was idly rolling the white bishop between his fingers when a shadow crossed the board. He stopped fidgeting and looked up with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Ah, hello,” he said.

Freddie was just on the verge of standing up and walking away. It wasn't just that he was impatient - he was, but for chess he would wait - it was that it was getting to the point where he felt as if he'd been stood up. It was an uncomfortable feeling and not one he liked at all, especially since it came from the one person who felt the same way. The only way Anatoly should have been missing was death or dismemberment and that last wasn't a real excuse.

Finally, he growled under his breath and stood up, staring at the chessboard in disgust for a moment before heading into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. Maybe Anatoly had just forgotten. Right. Maybe he was off having sex with Lex. Possibly closer to the truth. Another half hour and he'd head over and knock down their door. It was his turn with Anatoly and, damn it, he was determined to keep it.

Timidly, Anatoly poked his head into the rec room. No one darted out to challenge him or tell him that he should not be here so he walked in. Though the very beautiful lady had explained things, he wasn't sure he believed her - or even that he had understood half of what she was saying. He could not truly have been here for five years and have been so... old, could he? He was only seventeen and never had been out of Moscow, perhaps she was just mistaken. Or drunk.

His eyes were drawn to the chess board and he immediately made a beeline for it. He didn't touch anything, it surely belonged to someone but he studied the pieces carefully and started to set up a game in his head.

Finally, he had found something that made sense.

Freddie poked his head back in when his coffee had brewed and he sighed in relief when he noticed the brunette head sitting in his spot. "About damn time," he said as he walked over and stopped cold when he saw the face. He ignored the evidence of his eyes and snapped, "Who in the hell are you?"

Anatoly started at the voice and whirled around, panic in his eyes. He stood up and took a few steps back, his hands raised to show he meant no harm. He could not quite understand what he was saying but judging from his tone, he could very well imagine what he was saying. "I am sorry, I did not mean to - I was just looking. "

Freddie almost flinched at the words. Russian. Still. Still he couldn't believe. Maybe it was Anatoly's son come from the future or some crap like that. "Looking for what?" Maybe if he spoke in English, the kid would reply in English. Hopefully.

Anatoly frowned. He had understood looking but that was it. He racked his brain for the few words of English he knew then spoke, his words very slow and heavily accented. "I look for chess."

Freddie pressed his lips together. "What is your name?" he finally asked in Russian.

Anatoly's face lightened as he answered. It didn't matter how or why the man knew his native language, it was enough that he did. He wouldn't have to stumble along in a language he barely knew. "I am Anatoly Sergievsky."

Freddie's face got darker. "Of fucking course," he muttered, unaware that it'd been in Russian, too. Of course the first things he would have learned in the language were curses. Anatoly Sergievsky. It didn't matter how, only that it'd been done. And judging by the very bad English, he didn't remember a damn thing. And now he was here, at their board.

Anatoly frowned, very much confused. He had never met the man before, he didn't understand his reaction. Why did it matter who he was? Was this some other strange island trick?

"I... I don't understand," he said, taking another step back, his voice timid and his shoulders hunched inwards as if to ward off a blow. "I don't know what happened but I woke up here and nothing has made sense since."

"That's the nature of the island, kid. Nothing here ever makes sense. Yesterday, you and I were here, playing chess, only you were about..." He looked the kid up and down. "Maybe fifteen years older." Fuck, he was getting old. Both of them were.

"That is what she said but I don't... how is this possible? How can any of this be possible?" Despite his best efforts, Anatoly felt tears start to well up. He didn't want to cry, not in front of this frightening man but he was completely and utterly overwhelmed. "I was studying Fischer and then I fell asleep on the board and now I am here and... and... I want to go home!"

She? Freddie wasn't sure what Anatoly was talking about. A horrible thought struck him and he wondered if he'd been talking to Florence. After a moment, reality sunk back in and he knew it wasn't likely that it was her at all. What were the chances? "Trust me. Here is better than home."

He picked up a pawn and waggled it in Anatoly's - in the kid's direction. "Here you can play chess without being one of the pawns."

Anatoly wasn't sure what to believe. While it was true that things were... unsettled in Moscow, he had found that if he kept his head down and thought of nothing but chess, he would be all right. He had no political opinions, no unsavory connections - his whole entire world was chess.

In his heart of hearts, he knew that wasn't enough, not truly. All it could take was just one bad day - one unthinking remark uttered at the wrong time in the wrong company... if this place was different, then perhaps it wasn't so bad.

"Is this so? There is no... politics here? No police?"

Freddie snorted. "There are politics. And police." A wry smile crossed his face as he remembered getting arrested with Anatoly. "But they wouldn't be like you remember them. Hell, they're not like I remember them. They're kind of...small?" He frowned because that wasn't the word he meant, but he'd never thought he'd need a word like insignificant in Russian. And unfortunately, this Anatoly wouldn't know what in the hell he was saying if he said the word in English.

Anatoly frowned as he listened. It seemed incredible to believe that neither politics nor police were invasive here but if he understood what the man was saying, they weren't. That or they were so tiny that one could safely ignore them - considering everything, he wouldn't have been surprised to learn that was the truth.

"I feel as this is a dream," he said. "None of this feels real."

"Welcome to the island. None of this ever feels real." He moved a hand and wobbled the black king back and forth with a finger. "Except this. This always feels real." It had always felt like the realest thing he knew.

Anatoly nodded solemnly, feeling as if he found a kindred spirit. Chess was safe, the most solid thing there was in his existence. The rules never changed on him, the patterns might vary but they could be learned. He knew where he was with sixty-four squares and an army of pawns.

"Chess is always real."

Freddie pursed his lips. "Sit down," he said finally. If he could play against the adult, he could play against the kid just as well.

Anatoly happily complied, sitting down on the black side of the board. Most people wanted to play white, start with the advantage of moving first but he thought there were advantages to starting second as well. He had been studying Fischer and was anxious to demonstrate what he was learning.

If there was chess, then perhaps he could get used to this place.

Freddie almost collapsed into the other chair. Some things never seemed to change and, luckily, chess was one of them.

Anatoly had his routine for chess. He played his games in the rec room until he was gently reminded of the need for eating or for taking a break. This afternoon he had set up his board on a table outside of his hut - not only to take advantage of the sunshine but to shield himself and his opponent from the prying eyes of one Freddie Trumper. Yes, he might be Jonas's protege but that did not mean he had to be present at every game, especially for this one.

"Black or white?" Anatoly asked as he faced Jonas, an easy smile on his face. They had played many times before but there was nothing quite like the thrill of anticipation, of waiting for the first move and the game to start properly.

By the day of Halloween, Anatoly was completely convinced that danger was lurking around every corner and that no corner of the island was safe. There was simply no telling where Molokov or de Courcey could be and he was afraid that if he stepped outside, even for a moment, that they would find a way to snatch him. He could only begin to imagine what sort of things they would have in store for him and he did not want to find out how the reality matched with his fears.

But as inconvenient as it was, he did need to do things like shower and eat and for that, he had to leave his hut. If Lex had not been there to act as his faithful bodyguard, he would have been content to remain a hungry and rather ripe grandmaster. Their trip to the compound passed without incident and after being reassured several times that Lex would be waiting in the rec room for him, Anatoly went to take a shower.

When he emerged and headed to the rec room, clean (if not exactly clean shaven), he found not Lex but a note in his handwriting. Opened, it simply said that Lex had spotted Molokov lurking about and advised him to leave the compound as soon as possible. He would be waiting outside and then the two of them could go to the IPD.

Without thinking or even stopping to pack up his chess set, Anatoly fled the rec room, heedless of the startled looks around him. He burst outside of the Compound and turned the corner, expecting to see Lex waiting for him. Instead, he found Molokov with de Courcey besides him with a nasty smirk. There was a burst of pain as Molokov's fist connected with his face and then he knew only blackness.

When his consciousness finally returned, he found himself tied to a palm tree on a deserted stretch of the beach. Lex was tied to a tree beside him, looking rather worse for the wear. Molokov and de Courcey weren't in sight but he had no doubt they were near, concocting some devious plan.

"Molokov, you Chekist bastard!" he shouted in Russian as he struggled futilely against his bonds. "What do you hope to accomplish by this?"

For a moment, Anatoly considered being the better man and letting Freddie walk away. He could pick up the pieces and continue the game as if it had never been interrupted - he had certainly played against Freddie long enough to be able to have a sense of his move patterns. This was the best thing to do, the right thing to do.

He considered all of these things then got up and angrily followed Freddie out of the room. He would come back later for the board but this was more important. It wasn't as if it could get up and walk away, after all.

"Trumper!" he shouted once they were outside. "You are walking away and you call me the coward?"

The trip back to the hut he and Lex shared seemed like an eternity to Anatoly. He had known that it was a possibility that Florence could appear, especially after Freddie's arrival but he had began to believe that it would never happen. Now here she was, taken from the worst moment and to top it all off, she was not his Florence. She was no less beautiful with her dark, curly hair and deep eyes but she was the Florence from Freddie's universe and somehow that hurt even more.

He paused before entering the hut, gathering his courage. He was afraid of what would happen when he told Lex, that their relationship would be altered beyond repair and he did not think he could take the loss a second time. It wasn't just anyone who was here, it was Florence - Florence who loved him and whose heart he had now broken twice over and when all was said and done, he had been in love with her for a year. She was not some stranger passing through for a night or two in his bed.

Taking a deep breath, he entered the hut and made his way to the table where Lex was sitting, preparing for his classes. "Florence is here," he said bluntly, running a hand through his hair. There was a more graceful way he could have put it, certainly, but he could feel himself heading near collapse and he didn't have the mental strength to word it any more delicately.

Anatoly was doing his best to pretend that the trip to Moscow had not happened and that he was just fine, everything was wonderful and he was happy here. He wasn't sure if Aeneas was fooled, let alone anyone else but he didn't see how else he could go on. This was his burden, his pain alone. He had chosen to focus on chess at the expense of his time with his children and so his grief at losing them once more was entirely all his fault.

The problem was that he had run out of distractions. Looking at the chessboard made him ill so that was out of the question for the moment. He didn't dare try to wrestle new books from the bookcase or even enter the rec room. He had finally resorted to walking but even then, there was only so much of that he could do. The less about the nights he spent awake, the better.

He knew he couldn't keep doing this, but he had no safe way of venting - not since he and Freddie had settled into a friendship of sorts. He could hardly pick a fight with him now.

Anatoly stirred, verging on the edge between sleep and wakefulness. He didn't particularly want to move, but Aeneas would need to be let out sooner or later and there were better ways to start the day then by having a dog jump on you.

He opened his eyes and froze, not recognizing his surroundings. He was in a shoddy-looking hotel room that had the barest of essentials. The furniture was poorly-made and looked an inch away from collapse. He recognized the dreary look only too well. He was in Moscow, he had to be. But when? And why?

In a panic, he turned to look next time and was relieved to see Lex there, appearing quite sound asleep. At least if this was another island trick, he was not left to face it alone.

"Sascha?" He shook him gently but insistently. "Sascha, wake up!"

The weather might change from brisk snow to unbearable heat but it couldn't keep Anatoly from taking his place at his usual spot and setting up the chess board. Whether he found someone to play a game with or whether he played on his own made no difference at all. It was his well-established routine and there was simply no reason to change it, even if now he often had to share the place with his nemesis.

He was going back to the very best of the grandmasters today - Capablanca. His own particular style of play owed a lot to the man, and he could think of no better way to pay him homage then to review his matches and reaffirm the strategies that had brought him victory.

A shadow fell over the board and he looked up, stifling a groan when he saw who it was before him. He had promised Prior to behave, even if he had yet to follow through it. "You. Can I help you?"