1"Who are you?" She asked, slightly out of breath from the run and in a hurry to get up to her apartment, but as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.

"My name is Peter. Your normal doorman came down sick so I was pulled in as a replacement. Nice to meet you." He held out his hand for her to shake. She looked him up and down soaking in every feature. His hair was a light, sandy brown, but she could tell it wasn't his real hair color, because he was really pale. He looked so washed out with that color that she was almost positive it was a wig. His eyes were a dark brown and he was wearing contacts, probably needed glasses. His stature was petite, it didn't show any sign of the power she figured he held. She looked at the badge on his shirt. 'Jack'. She looked back into his eyes.

"What was your name again?" She asked, trying to hide the suspicion under a curtain of forgetfulness.

"Joseph, ma'am." He smiled kindly at her and she smiled back, even though her suspicions were correct, although she couldn't figure out why someone would want to pose as a doorman to her building. It wasn't like there was anyone important who lived in the building. Rose turned and walked up the stairs to her apartment, trying to figure out that question.

Joseph, or Peter, whichever his name was, put his hand to his ear and turned to face a wall so no one would see his lips.

"Logan, she's on her way up now, she's taking the stairs, but you had better try and hurry." He spoke into the little microphone hidden under his locks of fake hair above his right ear.

"Yeah, I'll hurry." Came the voice of Wolverine from the other end. What this doorman didn't expect was for Rose to use her speed to get up the stairs. Soon, she was at her apartment, number 19, and unlocking the door. She was glad when she got in the door that her superintendent had just oiled the locks when she found the light in her bedroom on and a sound of someone riffling through her drawers and cursing as he went. Rose hurriedly took off her pointed high heeled shoes and began to tiptoe to her room, the shoes still in her hand, ready to strike. She quietly pushed open the door and raised her arms over her head, shoes heeled end out.

"Just taking a look around I assume?" She dared boldly. The man jumped and suddenly knives appeared in his hands as he whipped around to face her. A shoe dropped from her left hand in surprise and she backed into the leg of her bed, not able to catch herself before she fell to the ground, both shoes now lying motionless and somewhat harmless on the floor. He ran from the room and out the door, away from the apartment. The doorman followed and they ran down the street together.

Rose, thoroughly stunned, got up from the ground and went to look in her drawers see what he could have possibly wanted. It couldn't have been anything from her day job could it? As her day job, Rose worked at a criminologist lab, she is the youngest criminologist in the entire world. Eighteen years old and one of the best paid criminologists in the country. She looked under her pillow, the one place that the thief hadn't managed to check yet, a single piece of the most important evidence to her was still hiding there. It wasn't that the rest of the world found it so important, and the case had already been solved, but it was the last link she had to it. It was a lock of her father's hair that his murderer had ripped out before killing him. That was the only personal item of both her parents that she was able to keep. The rest was given away or shipped back to family members in other countries. The only other thing was a load of money that her father and mother had saved up for her. Over a million dollars was sitting in an offshore bank account, not that she was going to use it. She kept it in case she needed to find a job and was running low on cash or some other emergency. She hadn't used any of it yet, and her mother and father died about five years ago.

Rose didn't have any time to sit there and think how close she was to losing her last piece of home, or rather, she didn't want to. She grabbed her clothing that she needed for practice and headed out to the other side of the city towards the Metropolitan Theater, where practice was being held. She raced there and was just in time for it starting. She ran into the changing room and quickly pulled on her leggings, a pair of spandex shorts and a spaghetti strapped tank top. She took the tiny clip out of her hair and pulled it into a messy bun at the back of her head. She wrapped the tape around her feet as she hobbled out of the room and across the hall to the auditorium.

"Sakharov! Your Late!" Her coach yelled at her. She looked at her watch, it said twelve noon on the dot but she knew better than to argue with him.

"Sorry coach. Are we ready to start?" She threw the tiny roll of tape onto an empty seat and pulled herself gracefully up onto the stage with the strength of her arms.

"Run through it once and then we'll get Groban in here to start." She climbed deftly up her rope of red silk and up into the rafters of the building. Her back up dancers were waiting for her there. One of them was Claire. So Daddy's money worked to a certain extent. The music was played without singing in through the speakers and rose took her place in the center rope, Claire to her left and another girl to her right. Swiftly, full of grace and passion for her movements, feeling every emotion running through the song, she completed the final pose, a single twist of the rope around her waist, and wound around her arm and hanging limp as if dead, a somewhat crucifix-like pose. A beautiful finish. When she opened her eyes, for she had closed them from the emotion in the last position, Josh Groban was sitting in the front row, clapping and standing in the row to give her an encore.

AN: ok guys, what do you think? Please R&R, I'd like to know if I need to add something or explain something, need a bit of romance? More action? WHAT! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME! haha yeah, just comment and I'll see what I can do!

Lyssie