First of all, let me just say that as much as I wish I did, I did not come up with the idea of the Vampire Academy books. All of those rights belong to the wonderfully talented Richelle Mead.

Secondly, this idea came when I was reading through VA fanfiction and realized that there aren't very many stories about Victoria. I love her character, and I wanted to write something as a tribute to her. So, this is what I came up with.

Lastly, this chapter will be pretty short, as it is more of a prologue than anything. The rest of them will be around 3,000 words each.

Please review to let me know what you think and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

….

Chapter One:

Can I Come Home?

….

I boarded the plane with my carryon bag resting on my shoulder, its weight reminding me of what I was about to do. I didn't know if the feeling in my stomach was guilt or sadness or anger. I didn't know what the years to come would bring.

"Miss?" the flight attendant asked me in English, the language that I had gotten used to in my time in the States. "We need you to please take your seat."

Nodding dumbly, I moved along the aisle until I reached my designated seat. After stashing my bag under the seat in front of me, I buckled into the belt and tried to relax against the seat. But, as sleep had been hard to come by for me lately, I couldn't. The man that apparently had the seat next to me sat down and gave me a grin.

What did he see, I wondered? A fairly tall, well-muscled woman? A beauty with dark hair and long, curving lashes? Or could he see deeper? Could he see the circles under my eyes that I'd covered with countless amounts of makeup? Could he see the wild desperation and pain behind the brown irises?

He introduced himself as Mike, a businessman traveling for his company. He tried to engage me in conversation, but he finally got the hint that I wasn't to be trifled with and put some headphones on. I was content to simply stare out the window, watching as we passed by clouds…

"What do you think that one is?" Stephen asked me, pointing at one of the balls of white so far above our heads.

"I don't know," I said with a laugh. "It's just a cloud, Stephen."

"Wrong!" he proclaimed, sitting up so fast that I nearly went flying. When I glared at him, he could only grin. "Come on, Vika; be imaginative."

"They don't teach imaginative in guardian classes," I mumbled, but I stared up at the clouds anyway and squinted, trying to make pictures out of them like he did.

"I'll tell you what I see," he said and reached out, curling an arm around my shoulders and pulling me back down so that I could beside him once more, my head resting on his chest. "That one there is a bunny. See the ears and the tiny tail?"

And when he pointed them out, I kind of did. "Yeah…"

"Your turn," he said expectantly.

I smiled as I pointed. "That one's an ice cream cone."

"What kind?"

I laughed. "I don't see how I can determine that information. It's a cloud."

"Be imaginative!"

"Okay, okay!" Again, I laughed. "Chocolate chip cookie dough."

"Sounds delicious."

"Stephen?"

"Hmm?" He pressed a kiss against the top of my head.

"Let's stay like this forever."

"Forever," he agreed and twisted his pinky with mine, sealing our promise…

I awoke with a start when the plane landed in Russia. The flight had been nonstop, and I must have fallen asleep sometime after the meal that we'd been served. The businessman next to me gave me a parting nod before he moved down the aisle and I followed close behind, clutching my carryon close to me.

Once I'd retrieved my two suitcases from baggage claim, I began looking in the crowd, hoping that he would come through…

And, yes, there he was, striding towards me. Ibrahim Mazur hadn't changed a bit – aside from a few more age lines in his face, that is. He was just as intimidating and flashy as ever, and flanked by his two bodyguards.

"Viktoria," he said with a small smile and a lot of curiosity burning behind his eyes. "I wondered if you would, indeed, show up."

He had spoken in Russian, but I found myself having to pause for a moment to work out his words in my head. I hadn't spoken Russian often in the time that I had been away, and it was more difficult than I had thought that it would be to adjust.

"Thank you for meeting me and agreeing to take me to Baia," I told him politely, shifting my weight nervously from one foot to the other. "I owe you much."

He waved my comment away and gestured for his bodyguards to take my suitcases. "Nonsense," he said as he threw an arm over my shoulder and began escorting me to wherever his car was waiting. "My daughter is a Belikov now, anyway. What's a favor amongst family?"

My mouth fell open, and it had nothing to do with the nice car that was waiting for us. "Rose and Dimitri finally got married?!"

Abe smiled as he pulled open the car door and waved for me to slide inside. "You've been gone six years, Viktoria. A lot has changed."

I obediently slid into the car and Abe gave me a formal nod as one of his bodyguards got into the driver's seat. "Pavel will drive you to Baia."

"You're not coming?"

He shook his head. "I have some business to attend to here. But, true to my word, I did not tell your family that you were coming. He will drop you off and then make his way back. That is all that you needed, yes?"

At the thought of everything that I would have to do, I let out a long breath. "Yes. Thank you so much, Abe."

"Anything for family." With a wink, he shut the car door and pounded the roof twice with the flat of his hand. Pavel must have recognized the sign, because he immediately began to pull out of the parking garage.

I hadn't been looking forward to a conversation, so I was pleased to find that Pavel wasn't a very talkative guy. I spent most of the ride staring out the window or sleeping. When we arrived, Pavel helped me unload my suitcases and asked me if I needed anything else before he went back to Abe. I told him no, and he got into the car and drove off.

It was just getting dark when I drug the suitcases to my mother's door and knocked on it once very softly, and the second time more loudly. I then waited nervously, shifting from foot to foot, until I heard the door unlock.

It swung open to reveal my mother, who seemed to have aged quite a bit in the last six years. She wore jeans and a faded shirt, and her hair contained more gray than ever. Her hands were covered in flour and she looked beyond exhausted.

For a moment, she stood there just staring at me, until finally she blinked and whispered in Russian, "Vika? Honey, is that really you?"

"Mother," I whispered, also in Russian, as tears began to stream down my cheeks. "Mother, can I come home?"