"I think I will," Natasha replies, and then rolls her shoulder back. The movement is subtle, but when she starts to walk again, her gait is different. Instead of a fairly normal Muscovite minding her own business, there is now the complete confidence that normally only the children of high officials show in public.

She heads straight to ticket-booth, and the girl selling the tickets isn't quite quick enough to hide the look of resignation on her face. Party brats pushing in is hardly new.

Natasha smiles a little at her. "Please let Fyodor Antonovich know that Nataliya Ivanovna is here to collect her tickets."

The girl looks from Natasha to the queue, and then just nods. "I'll be right back, comrade," she says, and then leaves her seat. There is a tiny bit of grumbling behind Natasha, but she ignores it. Quickly, the girl returns with a man in his forties.

"Ah, Nataliya Ivanovna," he says, and the Volga is still - defiantly, almost - heavy in his voice. "Come right in."

Natasha inclines her head gracefully, and then gestures for Alex to follow her. As soon as the doors shut behind them, Fyodor Antonovich pulls Natasha into a quick hug and kisses her cheek. There is a shrapnel scar clear on his forehead, and he still stands like a solider.

"You're brazen, Natashenka," he says, tone genuinely fond, and she grins at him. "And this your young man?" he continues, glancing at Alex.