Update on Sunday!
Similarly, the researcher participates and observes in everyday life situations. Every effort must be made to minimize the extent to which the researcher disrupts and otherwise intrudes as an alien, or nonparticipant, in the situations studied. Taking the role of a participant provides the researcher with a means of conducting fairly unobtrusive [sic] observations.
— Danny Jorgensen, Participant Observation: A Methodology for Human Studies (1989)
"Coffee, dear?" Olena asked as Rose entered the kitchen the next morning.
"Yes, please," she said, trying not to sound too desperate. She'd given up on trying to sleep somewhere around six, deciding a run would help her sweat out whatever was working her up. All her hard work went flying out the window when saw Dimitri's back to the doorway, hunched over food; her chest, once loosened from the endorphins pumping through her system, tangled into an undefinable swirl.
She gratefully sank into the only empty seat, not noticing it was next to Dimitri until she was halfway into the chair. This caused Viktoria and Sonya to erupt into barely controlled giggles and even Karolina was valiantly trying to hide a smile from behind her phone.
"What?" Olena asked the three of them, putting a mug of coffee in front of Rose, who accepted with a murmured thanks and furrowed brow aimed at the sisters.
"Nothing," Sonya said conspicuously, going back to her plate of blini and fruit and quietly stifling more laughter. Viktoria shot Karolina a glance when Rose asked for the sugar and Dimitri pushed the bowl her way without a word, and the two women dissolved into giggles again.
"Chto proiskhodit?" Olena demanded. What is going on?
"Two of us were up late making drinks and flirting." Viktoria spoke like she was delivering the hottest gossip anyone had heard all year. "And out of the three of us awake last night, I went to bed as soon as I got home."
Rose blushed and then promptly became furious with herself for doing so. There wasn't anything to be embarrassed about; all they did was make small talk, right?
Dimitri, on the other hand, was a bit more vocal in his response, and it was harsh enough to surprise Rose. "You must really miss Rolan if you think basic conversation with the guest living in my house is flirting," he said, spitting out the last word like it was poison.
Whoever Rolan was, it shut Viktoria down instantly. Her grin sobered into a deep frown and she pushed away from the table, jumping to her feet. "You have no right!" she shouted, tears welling up in her eyes.
"Dimka," Olena sighed wearily and Rose got the sense this was an old, tired episode of the same show. Dimitri had also stood and his frame towered over Viktoria's despite the table between them.
"No right to what? Protecting my sister? He's only after your neck and you know it," Dimitri spat.
Rose gripped her mug tight. This was a completely different person than the one who'd made her hot chocolate and listened to her fumble an announcement about her singlehood not all that long ago. It was unexpected, but she suddenly understood where the rest of his family came from when they thought Dimitri to be sullen and unhappy. Whatever issues he had, he clearly had no problem taking them out on the people around him. Viktoria, it seemed, got the worst of it.
On the other hand, she was finally getting some information pertaining to what she was here for and that was a success in and of itself. She'd been in Baia two months with only the rare hint at the secretive dhampir world that lurked in the shadows. Under the table, she opened her voice recorder app on her phone and quickly switched over to Facebook to let it run in the background, pretending to distract herself from the family drama going on above her head.
"I can't believe you would say that!" Viktoria shouted.
"It's the truth! I don't get why you refuse to see it!"
Yeva and the kids had appeared in the doorway by now, dressed and ready for the day. Alexei looked particularly upset.
"Just because you haven't fucked a woman in God knows—"
"Viktoria Randalovna," Yeva said, just loud enough to be heard by all, and the room fell into silence instantly. All eyes were fixed on Yeva, who, despite her frail stature, suddenly commanded the room. "Pomnite vashe mesto." Remember your place.
Viktoria nodded and glanced at Dimitri, whose fists were clenched at his sides. "Sorry, brother."
He nodded.
"Mama," Alexei called, breaking forward to Viktoria, who immediately scooped him up and sat him on her hip, her features softening in his presence. She threw her brother a withering glance and led her nieces out of the room, quietly promising the four of them could play in the living room together until it was time for school.
Dimitri stayed standing, though after Rose accidentally met his eyes, he slowly unfurled his hands, stretching his fingers out. He sat back down and focused on nothing beyond his plate. Yeva took at her usual spot at the head of the table and asked Karolina, in Russian, where Alex was, nodding when Karolina quietly replied, in English, that he was in the shower. Rose had barely tucked into the food Olena had sat down in front of her when Dimitri stood abruptly, apparently finished eating, and dropped his plate and fork in the sink before heading out the little-used back door. Olena watched him go, worry on her face.
"He'll be fine, mama," Karolina said. "I'm sure he's just feeling cloistered being back in this small house."
"I know," Olena replied. Her lips had thinned from concern. "Keep Vika in line, would you, Karo? I don't like it when they fight."
"I will," Karolina promised, standing and kissing her mother on the cheek before disappearing into the living room to round up the kids.
Rose subtly closed out her voice recorder app then, ending the recording, and slipped her phone into her pocket.
Later, after a long shower and a change of clothes, Rose returned downstairs to find Olena and Alex splitting sections of the newspaper. Yeva, so help her God, was in the living room knitting a pair of socks like she wasn't some terrifying witch who supposedly had dreams about the future — dreams Rose still had yet to hear about considering the old woman never gave her the time of day. Olena lit up when she saw Rose at the bottom of the stairs, deciding her next move.
"Rose! Are you busy?" Olena asked as she stood, beckoning Rose over.
Clearly. "No." She stepped off the last stair and stood in the doorway of the kitchen.
"Good. Can you take this to Dimka?" Olena handed Rose a brown paper bag. "It's nearly twelve, he must be starving by now.
For a moment, Rose was insulted to be running lunch to someone, until she decided this was a step up — it was her first errand by herself. Alex certainly seemed to think so; from behind Olena, he gave Rose a thumbs up and bright smile, and then returned to the sports section.
"Sure." She turned to go get her coat and boots before turning back around. "Um . . . where is he, exactly?"
"Oh!" Olena shook her head and squeezed Rose's wrists. "I forgot. You wouldn't know. Lake Udel. He goes there when he needs space. Always has since he was young."
"And how do I . . . ?" Rose asked, gesturing vaguely towards east. The sun was still making its trek up from the horizon, weakly pushing through the living room windows.
"Go out to Lenina and make a . . . right. Yes, a right. Follow it to the end. It'll turn into dirt after a while." She shook her head, an emotion overcoming her that Rose couldn't read. "It's a twenty minute walk to the lake from there." Rose nodded her understanding, and Olena pressed a hand to Rose's cheek gently, something akin to hope in her eyes. "I wouldn't bother him, except it's cold and he didn't eat much breakfast and—"
"You worry about him," Rose finished. "I get it." She didn't mention how part of her was jealous Olena cared so much about her son, that this exchange was digging up Rose's lifelong wish that her mother had been half as involved in her life or even aware of her enough to know when something was wrong with her daughter. Things had been getting better since Rose had become a guardian, but their relationship was more of a friendship than any true mother-daughter bond.
"Spasibo, Rose." Olena sat back down and picked up her section of the newspaper with shaky hands. As Rose made to leave, Olena also called out, "Wear a scarf. It gets cold on the water."
"I will," Rose said, heart twisting with envy.
Field relations involve negotiation and exchange between participant observer and insiders (see Blau, 1964; Whyte, 1984). Although some transactions may involve money or material items, the medium of exchange most likely will be nonmaterial and symbolic. Whether or not people are self-consciously aware of it, all parties to a relationship expect something or some value from these interactions.
— Danny Jorgensen, Participant Observation: A Methodology for Human Studies (1989)
Cold on the water was an understatement. Rose felt like she should've worn three scarves and matched each one with a parka, and even then, the air would still have been nipping at her bones. And it was supposed to get colder in January and February. Fuck this, she thought miserably as the lake finally came into view, tall birch trees ringing it and set back from the water by a good distance; the lake stretched on just enough to make the birches look like stubs on the horizon. The ground crunched under her feet, a mix of cold rocks and frozen dirt.
The line of Dimitri's shoulders was tight, and Rose could tell he was angry about something. It looked like he was throwing something; as she got closer, she could see it was rocks he was throwing, doing a really bad job at trying to skip them across the water. A shiny, black car was parked near him. She wondered where it came from. It certainly wasn't the old blue thing barely scraping by that the rest of the family used.
"That yours?" she asked, gesturing to the car.
He looked up, momentarily surprised to see her, and shrugged a shoulder. "Technically."
"Technically?" Rose echoed, curious about his choice of word.
"I got it after a friend died," he said, tone clear that the topic was over. Rose suddenly had a suspicion the "friend" was Ivan Zeklos.
"Your friend had good taste," she said, keeping her distance. She didn't know which Dimitri was with her at the moment — warm, gentle Dimitri from last night or the irritated, closed off man from this morning?
He didn't acknowledge the comment and finally turned away from the lake, nodding towards the bag, the rock in his hand jumping from small tosses in the air. "My mother send lunch?"
"I get the sense this isn't the first time you've thrown a tantrum and stormed out of the house like a teenage girl," Rose teased, the urge to lighten up the mood overtaking rational thought.
Raising an eyebrow, he took the bag when Rose held it out. "I didn't throw a tantrum."
"You're talking to the girl who earned the nickname 'The Terror of St. Vlad's' when she was four. I call 'em like I see 'em, comrade," Rose said, following his lead when he sat on the hood of the car.
His eyebrow went higher at the nickname. Rose suddenly found herself wishing she could do the same thing. It looked cool. "'Comrade'?"
"Hey, if I get a nickname, you get a nickname," she said.
"You get an actual name. 'Comrade' is just downright offensive," he pointed out.
"Yeah, but you calmed down a little when I said it, so you can't find it that bad. Plus isn't the actual word something different in Russian?"
"It's 'tovarishch'." He paused in opening the bag, studying her. "But you're right. I was young when everything changed. My sisters and I weren't really being referred by it all that often." He fully opened the bag and shook his head when he looked inside. "Trust my mother to feed everyone. She made you lunch, too."
"Really? Sweet," Rose said, glancing over his shoulder and holding her hand out. Inside were half a dozen sandwiches, clementines, and a small container of potato salad. "Buterbrod, please."
Grinning, her handed her one of the carefully wrapped open-faced sandwiches topped with cheese, sausage, and tomato. "I see Karo's gotten a hold of you."
"I'm sorry," Rose said, feigning disinterest in him as she unwrapped the cellophane. "I can't hear your thinly veiled insults about my crappy Russian over the sounds of this melted cheese."
Whatever tension Dimitri was still holding onto disappeared when he let out a laugh.
"You do that a lot around me," Rose noted, unconsciously shifting closer, like his heat might warm up where her butt was frozen against the car.
"I do a lot of what around you?" Dimitri asked, opening his own sandwich and taking a bite, all while looking at her.
"Laugh. Smile. It's weird. Well, it's not weird. I'm just not sure what to make of it." Rose took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. "I had two months of build up that you were this sad, surly warlord who'd been knocked off his feet early in the game. And when I finally do meet you, you're making me hot chocolate at one in the morning before you've even taken off your coat. I don't know. It doesn't fit with what I was picturing."
"You don't pull any punches," he noted.
"On the contrary, I've been known to punch too much," she joked, catching his gaze for a moment. They shared a smile; he was the first to look away, and things grew serious again.
"You've heard about Ivan, my charge, I'm sure," he said, staring at his food.
"It was hard not to."
He sucked in a breath. "The way we deal with mental health here is . . . complicated, to put it succinctly. I'm sure if I were in the States or Britain or somewhere like that, I would've been pushed into a therapist's office and diagnosed with something like depression after he died. I recognize I probably have a lot of survivor's guilt at the very least." He looked like he was struggling to get the words out and she set her sandwich aside to watch him carefully, a silent show of her unwavering attention.
"Here . . . it's different. We're raised with the mindset that everyone has problems and you deal with it on your own, no questions asked. Women can show emotion because they're women, which probably sounds horribly sexist to you, but it means I haven't been given the opportunity to openly grieve, so I don't . . . I haven't . . ."
"You haven't dealt with what happened," she said quietly. "Not in a healthy way, I mean."
"No." He looked up to the overcast sky that seemed to match his disposition. "It's been seven years and I still . . ." He trailed off, lips pressed tight together.
She bit the inside of her cheek, debating her next words. In the end, she decided to go for it. "Lissa — the Queen — she's been dealing with depression for a long time. It's a spirit thing."
"I know," he said gently in a way that didn't make her feel like he was interrupting. "Oksana used to have problems, too."
She noted his use of the past tense and pressed on. "I'm not going to fix you or anything. I just want you to know that I know what it looks like and while I haven't lost a charge, I am a guardian, so I get it. Kind of. If you ever want to talk. You don't have to if you don't want to. I'm offering as a friend."
Was that presumptuous? Are we friends? We're friendly, sure, but—
"To answer your question, yes, I am a sad, surly warlord," he said, trying out her words and half-smiling when she laughed at how ridiculous they sounded coming out of his mouth. "I can't name it. There's something about you. You brighten the room when you walk in. It's infectious."
She ducked her head and smiled, returning to her sandwich. "Thanks." Finding her usual bravado to cover up how she was melting at his words, she added, "It's not easy being this awesome."
That got a head shake out of him and he was about to say something when he noticed how badly she was shivering. Wordlessly, he slid off the hood of the car and opened the passenger door, rummaging around in the glove compartment before coming up with a half-full bottle of vodka with a triumphant "Aha!"
"Is all you people do drink?" she asked, trying to raise only one eyebrow like she'd seen him do earlier and failing miserably.
"Don't hurt yourself," he teased, pulling one of his gloves off to unscrew the bottle. He held it out to her. "Here."
"Dimitri, it's twelve-thirty in the afternoon."
"And it's three degrees out."
"What's that in Farenheit again?"
"You still haven't gotten used Celsius? Three degrees is like . . . thirty-five to you? Forty? You're getting off-topic again."
She eyed the bottle. "Doesn't alcohol actually make you colder or something?"
"Yes, but you'll feel warmer."
She narrowed her eyes.
"Rose, stop arguing with me and take a drink. It'll help you out right now."
"I think a hug would go a lot farther," she said without thinking.
He stopped for half a second. "You'll get a hug if you take a drink."
"This isn't drugged or anything, right?" she asked, warily taking the bottle from him.
"Yes, because I drug my personal stash," he replied tiredly.
Watching him carefully, she took a long swig, proud of herself for not reacting violently like she had that day at Mark and Oksana's. She handed him the bottle back, unable to completely not make a face, and shook her head. "I don't know how you people drink that stuff."
"Schnapps is worse."
"Uh, no, it's not. I lived on schnapps for years at parties, and I'd take it over that shit," she said, waving towards the vodka.
"Sure, Rose." He tilted the bottle back with an easy grin and took a longer pull than she did. He made it look like he was drinking water.
"I'm not going to even ask how," she said, shaking her head and reaching for another sandwich from the bag.
He rejoined her on the hood after putting the vodka away and the two fell into comfortable silence as they ate and watched the water gently lap at the shore, chunks of ice bobbing along. She didn't want to admit that the alcohol helped her feel warmer, but it did, and she knew he could tell.
"I'd teach you how to skip rocks," she said as they were finishing, "But I think it's too windy."
"You know how?"
"Why the surprise?" she asked, squinting at him.
"It doesn't seem like something you'd know how to do. Too quiet."
She laughed. "I had a crush on Lissa's older brother for about five seconds during middle school, when her family and I went on a vacation in the Poconos one summer. The only thing I got out of him during the trip was two smiles, about fifteen minutes of solo interaction, and that useless skill."
"In the spring, then," he said, "When I'm home for Easter and the ice has melted."
She looked up at him, nodding slowly, and balled up the baggie that had once held clementine slices. "Sounds like a plan."
"Do you want to go back, or do you want to stay? I know it's cold, but we've got a couple hours of sunlight left," he said. "Your choice."
Leaning back to prop herself up on her elbows. "Let's stay, but inside the car. Vodka or not, I'm cold sitting out here."
"In the car it is," he agreed.
Inside, she happily curled up in the passenger seat with the heat blasting on her as they traded horror stories of their novice years in school; later, as the sun slipped behind the horizon in mid-afternoon, she took a nap and he pulled out a battered novel, and when the sun had fully set and she woke up hungry, he drove them home with his elbow resting on the center console.
It didn't take that long for Rose to adjust her daily routines, unconsciously accommodating her life to have Dimitri around as much as possible. She found herself soaking up every little piece of information about him she could get her hands on, completely forgetting that she was in Baia to learn about dhampirs as a collective, not a single one with warm, brown eyes and hair that always seemed to want to escape the ponytail he was constantly redoing. His second day home, he offered to be her errand partner, and Alex relinquished the job to him permanently with a knowing smile to Rose.
While she thought she could read him from the moment they met, only time could show her just how deep his layers went. Without fail, any time they were surrounded by other Belikovs, his face closed off to that blank slate Rose hated to see. In their time alone — chatting away afternoons at the lake about whatever came to mind, late nights with her poking fun at him over his novels and him teasing her some people read books for fun, Rose — she got so used to his easy smiles and quick, gentle laughs that the stoic rock he presented to his family was unsettling. It was a reminder that while things between them were easygoing and friendly, there was still so much she didn't really know, so much he was silently.
She didn't say anything when the photo of him and Ivan on their graduation day disappeared.
Rose. Skype. Now.
Lissa's thoughts were sharp and clear over the bond, causing Rose to nearly drop the bread she was sliding into the oven. Lissa's excitement over the bond was intense enough that Rose could feel it, something that was rare now with Lissa taking meds to control her moods. She hurriedly shoved the bread in, set one of the timers on the stove, and brought it with her upstairs to Dimitri's room. He wasn't there — she sent a silent thank you to whoever was listening because there was no way of knowing what Lissa was freaking out about — and flipped open her laptop, accepting the video chat request as soon as it popped up. When Lissa's camera loaded, all Rose could see was her finger and something white.
"Liss, it's too blurry, I can't see," Rose said, anticipation building in her.
"Sorry!" Lissa replied, pulling her hand back enough for Rose to see that holy shit engagement ring.
Rose let out a tiny shriek. "Is that—?"
Lissa was nodding and bouncing in her seat. "He proposed! On Christmas!"
"No fucking way," Rose breathed, excitement coursing through her — doubly, if she counted what she was pulling from Lissa. "Congratulations! This is so great! You have to tell me every detail of every second of his proposal."
So Lissa launched into the story of how Christian made a point of pointing out a tiny wrapped present that had to be opened last and how everyone was there, even his aunt Tasha, and she — Lissa — spent the whole morning dying to know what it was and then after everyone had opened all of their presents, he finally let her have at it — the paper was kittens wearing Santa hats, Rose, it was so cute — and when she saw it was a tiny jewelry box, she started shaking because yes, of course, it had to be a ring, what else could it be? and then Christian was pulling it out of her hands and shifting onto one knee and opening it and by that point Lissa was crying as she was recounting the moment and she promised she'd write up what Christian said and send it to Rose later because it was beautiful, you have to see it, and now here she was, five minutes later, hair in a messy bun and still in pajamas, Skyping Rose and wishing her best friend could've been there to see the whole thing in person.
"The wedding won't be until I get back, right?" Rose asked, vaguely aware of the door opening and closing and someone entering in between.
"Oh, yeah, definitely. It's rare that a Queen gets married during her reign, so obviously it can't be some quiet, simple affair. It'll be huge and ridiculous—"
"And you're going to love every minute of it," Rose added, making the mistake of glancing up and seeing a shirtless Dimitri bending over the duffel he insisted on living out of. Her hands flew up over her face and her eyes slammed shut. "Sheesh, comrade, warn a girl, will you?"
"Comrade?" Lissa's voice was tinny and slightly distant and Rose glanced down at the screen, realizing her best friend couldn't see what she was avoiding.
Dimitri merely shook his head, pulling out a carefully folded button down and shrugging it on. "I know you've seen shirtless men before, Rose."
"Yeah, but not so, like, in my face," she retorted, gesturing between the two of them.
"Rose . . ."
"Right, sorry, Liss." Deeming Dimitri acceptable enough to make virtual introductions, she picked up the laptop and turned it around. "Lissa, meet Dimitri Belikov, almost as guardian extraordinaire as me and whose bed I've been crashing in for the past two and half months. Dimitri, this is Queen Vasilisa Dragomir, first of her name and newly engaged."
"Congratulations, Your Majesty," Dimitri replied with a respectful nod of his head.
Lissa made a gagging noise as Rose turned her laptop back around, trying to hide her smile. "I hate formalities," Lissa complained. "They're so . . . formal."
"Careful there, Your Highness, or you're gonna start sounding like me," Rose teased.
Lissa made a face and then looked back down at her hand and squealed again. "I'm still in disbelief."
"I'm surprised Christian got his act together enough to even buy you a ring. Did you know this was coming?"
"I had a feeling," Lissa said, unable to stop touching the glittering diamond. "One of my well-worn rings disappeared shortly before graduation, but I thought I'd misplaced it, remember? It wasn't until he started getting cagey around Thanksgiving that I knew something was up; then the ring reappeared in my stuff, and I just got this feeling when I saw it again, you know?"
Rose was about to reply when the timer went off. Dimitri had ninjaed in his way into dark, formal looking jeans without Rose noticing, and was tying his wet hair back when he nodded to the beeping. "Mama?"
"She put me in charge of some of the khleb since she deemed me good enough to make it unsupervised last week. There's a loaf currently in the oven that needs to rise again and a second that's been rising on the counter that needs to go back in." She tossed him the timer across the small room and he deftly caught it and shut it off. "You may have to fight your sisters for oven space, but I think you can take them."
"Black or white?" he asked, grabbing his phone off his charger by the door and pocketing it.
"Black. White bread tastes weird here."
"I'll be sure not to mention how normal it is in comparison to the black bread," he joked, giving her one of his full smiles that she'd come to deem rare enough to be a gift from God Himself.
"Go, before Olena has my head for ruining your party," Rose said, shooing him away and turning back to Lissa when he left.
Lissa, who had her eyebrows raised and was tapping her chin with a long, slim finger. "That sure was awfully flirty, Rose."
"We're friends," Rose defended without much fire.
"Uh huh," Lissa said, completely unconvinced.
"And even if it was—"
"It totally was."
"—Nothing can happen. It would go against the guardian code of ethics."
"That's a shame. He's kind of hot."
A voice that sounded like Christian shouting Hey! floated in from the background.
"I meant he's Rose's kind of hot, babe," Lissa replied over her laptop.
"Ugh, Lissa, listen to me," Rose said, excuses coming fast and furious. "I'm supposed to be objectively observing, not fraternizing with the subjects. Besides, he's going back to his posting in a few weeks and in the long term, I'm going back home next autumn, and—and—and we're two guardians, that doesn't happen where we live. It would never be accepted at Court."
Mia suddenly appeared from off-screen, leaning over Lissa into the camera's view. "She's not saying you should marry the guy. What she's saying is that you should tap it a few times and just not tell anyone so she can live vicariously through you when her sex life inevitably dries up during the wedding planning she's about to launch into."
Lissa shot Mia a glare. "Don't listen to her Rose. I'm all for you following the rules and not getting in trouble again."
Christian said something Rose couldn't make out and Mia huffed a sigh, leaning back out of the frame. It looked like they were sitting on a couch.
"What'd he say?" Rose asked.
"Just that Mia and I are both right, but I'm more right."
"Getting in trouble is bad, Rose," Christian said, popping over the top of Lissa's screen. "Don't do it."
"You're one to talk," Rose shot back, returning his shit-eating grin.
The door opened. Thankfully, it was Paul sticking his head in and not his half-naked uncle. "Mama says getting Dimitri to do all your dirty work is just lazy, which Babushka followed up with a pretty colorful insult about Americans."
Rose rolled her eyes. "Tell them I'm discussing important matters with the Queen."
"Okayyyy," Paul drawled.
"I'll be down in a minute!" she added loudly right as the door clicked shut and she heard him descend the stairs.
"You guys having a party or something?"
"Dimitri turned thirty a month ago," Rose explained. "His mom decided to coincide his birthday party with the 'Western Christmas'." She made air quotes with her fingers around the last two words. "Apparently the whole dhampir community is coming out or something."
"Ah," Lissa said, like she was in on a secret now. "We can talk later, and I'm sure you'll be checking in—"
"Of course."
"We won't keep you from the Hot Guardian," Mia said, leaning in again. "So go get drunk and try not to hit on him too much."
"Item number one of what you shouldn't do tonight," Lissa said, poking Mia in the shoulder.
"Tell everyone I say 'hi' and that I love them," Rose said, laughing to herself at Lissa's exasperated look.
"I will." Lissa was still fingering her ring. "I miss you."
"I miss you, too," Rose said earnestly. "Christian, too, but he doesn't need to know it."
"I heard that!" Christian shouted from off-screen, and the two friends shared a laugh before Lissa blew an air kiss and ended the call.
Trust and cooperation [from the informant] may be withdrawn at any time. The participant observer must be prepared to evaluate when there is "sufficient" trust and cooperation to support the collection of accurate and dependable information (Johnson, 1975). In other words . . . [d]oes the informant, for instance, tell you more than would be told to a stranger? Do you feel comfortable interacting with one another? Can you laugh and joke together? How much do you know about this person and their social history?
— Danny Jorgensen, Participant Observation: A Methodology for Human Studies (1989)