Hi there! Happy Holidays! This is a quick one shot based on what I wanted to happen in Spirit Bound after Dimitri says he could never love Rose. Thanks to my wonderful beta's RhiannonNymph and WishIWasRose! Hope you enjoy!

I ran and then I ran some more.

I pounded across the court grounds until I reached the gym and found a training room—it had a dank smell, like old sweat and bleach. The gym was the only place I could think of where I wouldn't stew in a claustrophobic room, forced to think about the moment Dimitri shattered my heart.

After everything that had happened; in Russia, orchestrating a prison break and having him refuse to see me when he was in jail—nothing compared to him saying four small words. Love fades, mine has. With those words he might as well have carved out my heart with a blunt knife and smiled as he did it.

So I couldn't go back to my room, I had to release some of the pent up emotion I had brewing inside. I had to hit something, listen to loud pumping music, and work myself into such a sweat that I wouldn't have room in my head for anything other than the pain in my muscles and the screaming of my lungs.

I tied my hair up, took the iPod from my pocket and took my hoddie off. I put the iPod on full volume and set it to shuffle. A heavy bass line blasted in my ears and I started pummeling the leather bag. I gave it everything I had, pounding the swinging bag with all my strength; it wasn't until I felt the tears drip onto my chest that I realized I was crying. It didn't stop me though—it just made me fight harder. My knuckles were splitting and bruising, the pain in my hands was becoming unbearable. I relished in it. I kept punching, faster and harder each time.

Until I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. I spun around immediately, nearly punching the person in the face. People shouldn't surprise someone who is in the middle of throwing a heavy punch. Of course that wouldn't bother Dimitri though, who was (of course) the person to have interrupted me. Who else would it be, he couldn't just be satisfied with what he'd done—he had to come back and kick me while I was down. Ass.

He raised his hand to my ear and with one finger, he pulled the headphone out. He did the same with the other.

"What are you doing, Rose?" he asked patiently. His tone reminded me of his days as my teacher, when I had done something wrong and he wanted me to tell him what. His condescending tone was like a cheese grater on my already agitated nerves.

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?" I seethed, pulling away from him, taking a few paces back. If I stayed to close I would likely punch him. Or kiss him.

"Honestly, it looks like you're hurting yourself. You're bleeding," he soothed, like he was talking to a frightened child. He even bent his head to talk to me and held out his hand.

"Sorry, but why do you care?" I snapped. I went back to the bag and, with a grunt, gave it one hell of a kick. I felt better after that so I did it again.

"Rose stop, please." Dimitri was at my shoulder again, trying to pull me away from the bag. "You are hurting yourself," he said, wrapping his arms around my arms - holding me to his strong chest. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling in time with my own. I tried not to think anything of it, but I couldn't stop myself from wondering if our hearts beat in time as well. It was stupid—of course they didn't, he made sure of that.

"Get off me! What gives you the right?" I was thrashing around, trying to pry his arms from my body. All to no avail. After what seemed like years of struggling, exhaustion and emotion took hold of me and I slumped against the six foot seven god.

"I did everything… I went to… broke Victor out… was kidnapped… and… you… Lissa..." I was sobbing and trying to get words out. They didn't make any sense but Dimitri obviously understood. He sunk down onto the floor, pulling me with him. I was curled into his chest, his arms still around me. He sat supporting us and his lips were on my hair.

"Shhh Roza, relax. Prasteete. Please." He whispered into my hair. I had no idea what it meant but when he spoke in his language it calmed me. I stopped sobbing and closed my eyes, leaning back into him.

I tried my best to get a correct translation, but I can't guarantee this is right.

Prasteete (Простите) – I'm sorry