Note! I just thought about this one day, and had to write it. That's honestly all there is to this one. No epic story of grandness or anything. I was reading and I had an idea. That's that. Next time, I'll either have or make up an epic story for inspiration, okay?

Disclaimer! Not Richelle Mead, don't own Vampire Academy.

It was dark out, with a sliver of moonlight shining spotlight between a large canopy of leaves high above me. I was in a forest somewhere in the world, and I was silently hoping that maybe, just maybe, it was in Russia. Lately all of my dreams, and I knew very well that this was a dream, had taken place either in Montana or Russia, and at some point Dimitri made his entrance. These were all happy dreams, where we would just walk around aimlessly, our hands intertwined and not a care in the world-no need to worry about Lissa or Christian, about Court, or what other people think.

But this dream, it was different than the past ones. It was nighttime in this one where it had always taken place in daylight. I felt cold, and the dark shadows surrounding me made me feel a twinge of anxiety. And, Dimitri was nowhere in sight. Where was he?

I noticed something move in the corner of my eye, and instinctively, a spun around. I reached to where my silver stake would be, only to find that it wasn't there. No need to worry, Rose, it's all just a dream. Nothing can hurt you in a dream. I had a strange feeling my conscious was telling me a load of bull. It was then that I saw another flicker of movement, and once again I turned quickly. But there was nothing there when I turned around.

"Roza," I heard behind me, and I nearly jumped, but was far too relieved to know that Dimitri was finally here to care that I had just embarrassed myself. He was looking down, the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers, and his eyes were shut. I frowned, taking a few steps towards him, trying to speak. Nothing came out. Where the hell had my voice gone? "What have I told you to never do when confronted with a Strigoi?"

Instantly, I was digging for the right answer, though I wasn't exactly sure why. No voice, after all. After coming up with a few lessons he had told me, I settled for 'never turn you back on an enemy'. I tried to tell him my answer, but nothing came out, so I shut my mouth, waiting for him to look up so I could at least mouth it to him.

"Never turn your back on the enemy," he said, irritation seeping through his voice. It was then that he looked up, and I felt my heart skip one too many beats.

He had red eyes.

Screaming, I lurched up in my bed, limbs flying madly in the process. I felt my legs and arms hit something, but I didn't really care, too busy trying to catch my breath. Dimitri was up, too, sitting next to me and trying to bring me into his arms. I wasn't surprised that he was awake in almost the same instant as me—he was a frighteningly light sleeper. Briefly, I wondered if it was my sudden, ear piercing screams that had woken him, or my abusive attacks. These thoughts were disregarded quickly, however, as I registered just what my body way doing. Fighting. I was fighting against Dimitri and his warmth, still haunted by my nightmare. I couldn't bear to look him in the eyes, even though I knew that they were that warm brown I loved and full of concern, not the crimson that had tainted my nightmare.

I tried to get out of bed, but Dimitri tugged me back with one tiny pull. I frowned, but again I tried to get climb out of the bed, only to be pulled down once more. By now I was scowling, and while I didn't glare at him, I let out a frustrated huff and jerked myself out of his hold, putting more effort in my attempt to get up, knowing he would try to hold me back again. He did, using both of his arms to drag me back. My heart lurched as thoughts of him being dragged into darkness by Strigoi flashed across my-excessively, painfully imaginative-mind. I tensed at the thought, and he must have felt it, too, because he relaxed slightly, mumbling words in Russian with the vain hope of soothing me.

A good majority of myself wanted to stay behind, let him take care of me. Tell him what my nightmare was and just lay there with him until I fell asleep, all the while he whispered quietly into my ear that it would all be okay. But part of me held back, wanting to be free, to sort this on my own. If Dimitri knew that my nightmare had included his Strigoi self, then he too would have to face those hauntings. I didn't like the idea of that. He always looked so peaceful when he slept—I didn't want horrible memories to ruin that look. Especially if I was the one to mention such memories.

Listening to the—irrational, minority—little voice in my head, I strived once more to get out of the bed, and out of Dimitri's grasp. The majority part wished desperately that he would try to hold me back, to not let me escape. He didn't restrain me, however, instead letting me have my way. A pang of guilt swam its way through me, and a thin layer of tears clouded my vision a bit. I didn't look at him, but I had a feeling I had hurt his feelings ever so slightly in my rude attempts to get away from him. He only wanted to help, and I was pushing him away. I would have to do something nice for him later to make up for it.

Instinctively, I threw on a pair of sweat pants and an old t-shirt, before heading out into the more open section of our apartment. I could hear Dimitri get up behind me, having waited until I was gone before daring to move. It was bright outside, not too far into the afternoon for the humans. Like a moth to a flame, I gravitated towards the warmth and sunshine of the outdoors. I missed being able to go outside at noon, to bask in the warmth of the sun. But I wasn't about to trade the sun and it's natural warmth over my vampire schedule. Living off the vampire schedule was one of those things that I had to cope with if I wanted to be Lissa's guardian. And there was no way in Hell I would be anything but Lissa's guardian for all my life.

I made my way out onto the little patio—if it could be called that—enjoying the sunshine in one of those rare opportunities. The logical—if Christian were here, he would make some snarky comment on my use of the word logical—part of my brain immediately began telling me that Strigoi couldn't go out in the daylight, along with quietly murmuring 'I told you so'. Still, tears found their way out of the corners of my eyes, leaving tiny little paths in their wake. Dimitri was most definitely not a Strigoi anymore—there was plenty of proof of that—but there was still something heartbreakingly terrifying about seeing the love of your life in the way that haunted you the most.

Even though I knew the difference in reality and excessive imagination, it was like World War III was being fought inside my head as the two halves of my mind fought to win. The realistic side was busy proving Dimitri was no longer a Strigoi, while my subconscious, dream land half kept showing those frightening memories of how he has been. It was anything but pleasant, having a war with yourself that involved remembering something that really should be forgotten. Or overlooked. At the very least it shouldn't bother me as much. Dimitri was no longer a Strigoi, and even when he had been one, it was never an intentional thing. Some things happen because of fate, and others...

Others are needed to survive.

I frowned, shaking my head. Dimitri was a dhampir again, not a Strigoi. He was warm, not cold. He was living, not a member of the undead. He was a guardian, not an attacker. He was a Strigoi killer, not a Moroi/Dhampir killer. He was a god by mortal standards, not a devil by immortal.

He was mine, not theirs.

Something about that statement calmed me, so much more so than any of the other previous arguments. He was mine, not theirs. Mine, and mine alone. I know I sounded selfish when it was phrased like that, but still. He was mine, just as I was his. He had my heart and I had his. Know Strigoi, in reality or in dreamland, could take that away. They couldn't ever really take away our love. Feeling much better than before, I walked back into the apartment, smiling weakly at Dimitri who looked as alert and worried as ever. In a fraction of a second, he was standing in front of me, waiting, but not making any moves. Yeah, I had definitely struck a cord that wasn't supposed to be touched.

I tried to find words, but just like in my dream, I couldn't say anything. And that scared me even more than admitting what my dream was about. So, I quite literally flung myself into his arms. Dimitri, as always, caught me in once graceful move, like all my weight suddenly flung at him didn't affect him in the slightest. Normally, I would find some comment to say about that, but I couldn't this time. Instead, I did something I didn't often do.

I cried.

This caught Dimitri a little off guard—it wasn't every day that I cried. It was a really rare experience, catching me crying. There was a moment of hesitation on his part, but Dimitri, being the god that he was, recovered quickly, rubbing my back gently and murmuring words in Russian into my ear. By now I could recognize a few, but not very many. Something about all of it calmed me, and gradually my shaking sobs were reduced to just silent tears. Dimitri had managed to gently lead us back into the bedroom, and lay us both down so that I was still tucked tightly in his embrace. I wanted to tell him what my dream was about, I really did, but I couldn't figure out what to say. So I said the first thing that came to mind.

"I hate the color red."

Those five words gave away enough, because beside me, Dimitri tensed. Then, he went back to soothing me, still speaking softly in Russian. I glanced at him briefly, to see if he was okay. He looked better than I did—a little troubled by the mentioning of this, but not too bothered. His hands continued their little ministrations along my back, those same comforting words still leaving his lips in a language I really needed to learn. It wasn't until I was almost asleep that I heard him say anything in English, and when he did, I instinctively clutched myself tighter to him. We both needed comforting, it seemed.

"I hate that color too."

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