Bzz. Bzz. The annoying vibration buzzed in harmony with my developing migraine. After listening to organs blaring through my apartment for 30 minutes straight, I'd shut off the ringer, thinking that would silence her. Nothing stopped Janine Hathaway on a mission, though.

"Christ, Mom, give it a rest," I groaned, barely glancing at the phone on my kitchen counter before walking over to pour out my coffee pot. Even though it was 11 at night, I opted for regular over decaf. If I was going to drink coffee, I was going to get all the benefits, caffeine included. Before I could even think about pouring though, my phone vibrated obnoxiously against the granite for the 10th time in a row, making me slam the pot down in frustration. That, however, only served to slosh the drink partially on my hand, scald my skin, and make me twice as irritated as I already was.

I glared over my shoulder at the small device. "I swear to God if she uses the word 'responsibility', 'duty', or 'carelessness' again, I'm going to throw myself out my bedroom window." I stalked over to my iPhone and picked it up, already knowing who the text was from. The beginning and ending were both cut off, the text only a small fragment of her grand reprimanding skills.

..ictor wouldn't be after you in the first place if you did your job correctly and didn't mix business affairs with your irrational, impulsive behavior. Mia and Mason are protecting you like some sort of Guardian squad and the latter's already been injured. Yet you still can't catch this Dashkov and his unsub after 3 full da...

Janine's name was plastered above the charming words like a signature. The smile twitching at my lips, instead of having a warm edge because of some mother-and-daughter connection, was frozen solid. We'd been skating on ice before, but this was really pushing the button. Ignoring the growing burn on my hand, I furiously typed back, You know what, forget I even asked. I'd be better off calling that Turkish mobster guy you hooked up with 28 years ago. He'd at least give me advice and maybe some connections instead of this whole lecturing crap. Thanks a lot for the encouraging words, Ma, it really helps. Sorry if I don't reply, I might have gotten kidnapped or murdered in my sleep or something.

Not waiting for her sharp comebacks, I shut my phone off. I should have done that eons ago, or at the very least blocked her number. I sighed. Asking her for advice on the case was a bad idea from the start. To be fair, the idea of consulting a CIA agent seemed sound. The only thing I'd failed to neglect was the actual person I was texting. "Which happens to be the female demoness of Boston," I muttered.

The realization that Lissa and I had come to earlier this afternoon had shaken me up big time though, enough that I'd dialed my mother up. Someone else was working on this case, someone much bigger than us. Who? The CIA? The NSA? The Secret Service? Why would they be concerned with a murderer like Dashkov though? He might have been terrorizing the Northeast, but it wasn't exactly a national security issue. There was no reason for them to be involved. Even the FBI seemed like a stretch to me.

I shook my head before burying it in my hands, elbows propped on the counter. Dimitri wouldn't tell me anything and I was too proud to pull the we-used-to-have-sex card. Alberta had been clueless when I came to her so that was a dead end, too. I couldn't get in touch with Sydney to save my life, the high-intelligence officer probably pulled out of the US already for another mission.

My hands were completely tied. Everything was a dead end.

I raised my head enough to glance out my living room window, black draped over the city like a curtain. Streetlamps illuminated the lines of cars along the sidewalk, and I easily spotted my unit's car parked near my building. They were still doing surveillance, acting like Guardians just as my mother had pointed out. Mason was out there again, too, steadfast to protect me even in light of his attack. I think that had just made him twice as determined. I chuckled. Dashkov might have met his match after all.

Suddenly, my home phone blared in the dead silence, making me practically leap out of my skin. From there, it was a downwards slope. The surprise had not only made me jump, but caused me to lose my footing all at once. I slipped on the sleek oak floors of my kitchen (which I'd just waxed in my distraction-by-cleaning frenzy), a loud thud resonating through my apartment. The phone tipped and clattered beside me, screeching in my ear. The couple living below me probably thought I was getting killed- which, really, wasn't too far out of the realm of possibility.

I groaned, flopping on my back. A tangle of hair was in my face. Please don't let this be my mother. Please don't let this be my mother. Even if I always had my pistol on me, I didn't want to put it to use. I was too young to go to prison.

On the third ring, I picked up, still sprawled on the floor. Not only did my hand crawl from the burn, but I'd probably busted my tailbone. Lovely. "Hathaway," I answered, puffing hair out of my face, expecting an array of judgment and verbal abuse from my mother like God's hand coming down on me. She was strictly Catholic, despite her chosen profession; she and Sydney hung out at church like an elderly couple hung out at bingo halls.

However, I realized quickly it wasn't Janine. Mostly because I didn't hear yelling within the first 5 seconds. "Rose? Are you okay?" Lissa asked concerned while I sat up, groaning.

"No," I said stonily. "I'm not. Didn't you get my SOS text? I need you to call a hit out on my mother, pronto."

She sighed, her tone exasperated. "God, Rose, you had me worried sick." I must have, for her to use the big guy's name in vain. That was usually my thing, not hers. "I thought you were serious. When you said SOS I thought Victor had broken in or something."

"Liss, I am serious, my mother is just as deadly as Victor- and more annoying, too."

Another sigh echoed across the line. "Rose." She wasn't happy with my brand and timing of humor, but at the same time writing it off as me- well, being me. Like she should have predicted as much. "So? What spurred the new battle with your mother?" To her, it could have been any number of things. I gave her a basic recap of what happened. I'd asked for a simple professional opinion on the case and she'd blown it out of the water like usual. Add together that and my temper, and the result was the prolonged Hathaway war. Lissa was quiet as I griped about my mother, pissed off as always after our paths crossed. "Even in the end, she didn't say anything useful?" she inquired.

"No," I scowled. "I could have gotten better tips from Mr. Green in the department's upstairs cafe. Honestly Liss, how have I not killed someone yet?"

I could practically see her smiling. "Maybe you have more self-control than you think."

"This coming from the girl that knows all about the not-so-legal stunts I pulled in highschool." In retrospect, it hadn't been that bad. A couple (dozen) skipped classes, hot-wiring a teacher's car, getting into a few fights, claimed fully in self-defense. Most of the time though I hadn't gotten caught. No harm, no foul.

"Anyway if we're talking self-control-" I started again before a knock at the door cut me off. I regarded it in surprise. "Hang on, Liss, I have a visitor. Apparently my apartment's the place to be these days." I gave my coffee maker a longing look, not wanting to part from it again, before I reluctantly walked over, switching the phone to my other ear to carry my gun. If it was my mother, here to scold me in person, I might have to really put it to use. Jail time couldn't be that bad. If it was Jill, I'd probably wind up begging for her to loan me more of her alcohol stash to spike my coffee.

However, swinging the door open, I realized in the space of a breath it wasn't either of my two former guests. The welcoming aroma of aftershave and amused brown eyes greeted me instantly, knotting my tongue. I hated that he had that effect on me, and even more so that the surprise wasn't a bad one. "Rose? Everything okay?" Lissa asked after a space of silence on my end.

"I- yeah, I'm fine. Listen, I got to go. Don't worry it's not Dashkov generously meeting me in person or anything." I clicked the phone off after Lissa bid her farewells. Speaking of self-control, here was the master himself. I looked up and arched an eyebrow, trying to hide my incredulity. "Comrade. How'd you break through Mason's front line?"

Dimitri, in all his 6'7" glory, was at my doorstep. I would have been less surprised if Victor was barging down my door than Dimitri making a casual house call. Even more shocking, he'd traded out his duster for a trench coat. What was this world coming to? "He didn't," a new voice intercepted. Mason ducked his head in, smiling and lounging against the wall. "Have some faith. I saw him coming a mile away."

I noticed then that Dimitri's coat was damp, his hair sticking to his cheeks. He'd walked here, I realized. Good God. It was a house call. "You've got to be freezing," I said before I could stop myself.

He only shrugged. I had a feeling he would have shrugged off the cold even if he was trapped in an iceberg. I shook my head in disbelief. Mason, checking his watch, said, "Damn, Mia's going to give Dashkov a run for his money in the killing department if I stick around any longer." He winked. "Don't have too much fun without me."

Before I could say anything, he jogged off, leaving Dimitri and I standing in the hallway alone. Silence fell. I wasn't sure how to take the house call, the lines between business and personal relations beginning to blur. I was getting my headache back just thinking about it. Needing to fill the quietness out of habit, I gave him a wary glance and asked, "Do you want to come in for coffee or something? I just made a batch." Smooth, Rose. Very witty welcoming line. I was more hung-up on that forgotten drink than I realized.

Dimitri, however, smiled. "I'd love some." Apparently it hadn't been my worst ice breaker.

I let him in and dead-bolted my door behind him, padding over to the kitchen. "You can hang up your coat over there," I called. He didn't reply but I had an uncanny sense he took my offer. Setting my hand-held items down on the counter, I rummaged through my cupboards looking for a spare mug. By some miracle, I found one, and set to work on getting him his drink (and finally mine). Hopefully he didn't mind the caffeine. I dared a peek over at him while the pot rewarmed to its height.

Dimitri didn't say anything, eyes flitting around my apartment. I couldn't tell if he liked what he saw. He had his poker face on, making it impossible for me to decipher where his thoughts were. I doubted they were on my decorum. This proved true when he voiced his next question, though it still caught me off guard. "When did you develop a taste for coffee?"

I blinked. Then, a sudden memory popped into my mind. It was of one of first training sessions. Dimitri had handed me his standard sidekick cup of coffee after I'd accused him of driving me into the ground, having just completed a five-mile sprint with no water breaks. I'd downed the drink (really, I would have drank anything at that point before) before gagging and spatting it out. Whatever look of disgust had crossed my face made him laugh at loud.

He still remembers that? A shadow of a smile edged at my lips, despite myself. "I never did," I remarked. "You'd be amazed what a difference ten sugar packets make."

He shook his head ruefully. It was only a small glimpse, but I swear he was edging toward a smile as well. I went to go pour out the coffee, dumping half of the sugar bowl in mine. I knew from experience he took his black. I walked over and handed him the cup from across the counter. "What about you?" I pointed out, standing casually as I sipped the scolding hot liquid. It burned the roof of my mouth. Scalded taste buds aside, it was heaven. "Did you finally get over your western cowboy phase and decide to dump your duster?"

Dimitri looked genuinely hurt at the assumption, more attached to his duster than Lissa probably was to her turtle. I could almost hear her firm voice in my head correcting, Tortoise. "Of course not, it's at the dry cleaner's," he said.

My lips were set tight, a vain attempt to bite back my smile. I was slipping terribly and I knew it. "Right, of course. Silly me." He probably had Clint Eastwood posters plastered over his bedroom walls like a teenage girl. I was taking another drink when Dimitri's eyes flitted to the cup.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked.

At first, I thought he was talking about the scars from Victor Hadn't we been through that story? Then I realized what he had. My right hand was a searing red and blistering, burnt from when I'd spilled earlier. I was surprised at how bad it'd gotten. "Oh, that. I spilled some coffee accidentally when I took my issues with my mom out on my brewer. It's nothing, really.

"Let me see it."

"Like I said it's nothing-" My words were cut off though as I winced, Dimitri having taken my hand and brushed his thumb over the burn. He gave me a look. "Alright, maybe not nothing," I admitted reluctantly.

I have no idea how it happened, but two minutes later I was sitting on my coach with Dimitri and my sad excuse for a first aid kit splayed across my coffee table. I had one leg wrapped up against me, the other hanging off the side. Dimitri was as relaxed as always, treating to the injury like a trained paramedic. I searched his face covertly- what I was searching for, I didn't know- but his expression didn't change as he soothed the irritated burn. My gaze averted to my hand.

"What happened between you and your mother?" he asked quietly. He knew my relationship in regards to my parents were thin, the one with my father nonexistent. I'd talked about my mother a couple times at the academy, mostly to the complain, so he knew about the raging Hathaway war. From the sparse family stories Dimitri told, his tight-knit Russian family was centered around his angel of a mother. It was a little enviable, truthfully. Not that I'd ever let on to that.

I paused, watching as he reached for gauze. "Nothing really," I said. "We had an argument over the Dashkov case."

"She's worried about you being on it?"

"She's berating my stupidity for taking it." A twinge of my old aggravation returned just acknowledging the conversation. 'You still can't catch Dashkov and his unsub after 3 full days'. I could hear her belittling tone now. She might as well have bragged that she could have had them tied up and dropped off at the police station by the next morning. And why not? She was the Janine Hathaway after all.

It bothered me more than I'd let anyone know how my mother's reputation deeply overshadowed mine. Having her judge my work was like a slap to the face.I had lived, breathed, and slept this case for half a week but it didn't change they were still running rampant. What she failed to realize was how busy I'd been tending to other matters like, I don't know, being hunted myself, trying to prevent my coworkers from getting killed, and my reunion with my ex-teacher/ex-first-love. Not to mention Dashkov was a bitch to catch to begin with.

Dimitri remained calm, even while I grew more and more upset at the memory. Forget master of self-control. I might as well be chatting it up Buddha himself. "I'm sure that's not true," he said sagely, his voice leveled. "Maybe that's the only way she knows how to show concern."

I looked at him, incredulous. "Are you kidding me? We're talking about the woman that gave me a black eye- for no apparent reason." I'd come back Christmas break with half my face swollen, courtesy of sparring with my mother and Sydney. The former had gone outside the lines and socked me. I still maintained it was on purpose. "She isn't worried about me, she doesn't even care. If she wasn't so void of emotion she'd probably be making rally posters for Victor."

He looked uncharacteristically astonished. "She doesn't care about you?" he repeated.

"No." There was venom in my voice. Alright, I was being petty, and I knew it. But for the past 3 days, while I was scared out of my mind facing death, all she had done was criticize me. Like everything was my fault. I might as well go jump off a bridge. It would cut out the suspense of waiting. I bent my head forward, hair falling in my face. "I hate her," I declared. I'd meant for that to come out strong and certain, but it was quiet. Forced.

The hand he was treating was trembling slightly, rapt with the realization of those words. Hate was not an emotion I was generally associated with. And yet, there it was, the edge to my voice pinned against my mother and her transgressions. Dimitri's working hands stopped and he rested mine down in his lap. I felt his gaze on me. "Rose, look at me," he demanded quietly. I couldn't though. I felt like an idiot admitting all this to him. I always wanted to be strong and fearless around him, a picture of perfection, but I was weak. And I knew it. "Roza," he repeated more firmly. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, I tilted my head up. He brushed the hair out of my face, fingers softly, maybe incidentally, running through the silk, dark strands. He held my eyes. "You don't hate her," he said. It sounded like a fact.

My smile lacked humor. "Gonna tell me what I'm feeling, comrade?"

"No. But I know you don't hate her. You don't have room or time to hate." The whole thing sounded like an early Christmas special, but I had to admit, grudgingly, it was true. He knew me too well. No matter how upset I was at my mom, I probably could never hate her. Being pissed-off and arguing all the time? That I could do. Maybe it was just in our blood. Dimitri allowed us to fall into a comfortable silence again while I mulled over his words. The anger pinned at my mother defused over the next few minutes while we sat in the quiet bubble of my living room. My impulsiveness to action often carried over to feelings, unfortunately. I'd been so angry lately it was getting hard to see things clearly. Something dawned on me then.

"We aren't fighting right now," I blurted out.

He looked up at me curiously. "Do you want to be fighting right now?" he asked.

"No. I mean, of course not. But that's kind of been our thing lately, hasn't it? I'm not saying I like fighting with you. I'm just surprised how... normal we're acting. Not fighting for once." I was rambling badly and I knew it. It was hard to put it into words though. I had no idea how to frame our relationship to begin with.

He gave me one of his half-smiles. It was rarely a full one. "I don't like fighting with you either. Though I guess it's a bit inevitable- in the meantime anyway." I frowned as he continued to wrap my wound. "I'm sorry for that by the way. Our meeting again after all these years- it shouldn't have been because of a murderer. I wanted to see you, but..." He hesitated. Those couple seconds made me burn with curiosity. But what? "I wasn't sure how you would receive it if I were the one to reach out first." His words struck a chord. My confusion and frown slipped away, replaced by understanding. That's right. I was remembering now. I felt stupid all over again, this time about mentioning what was wrong with our relationship. After all, I was the one to end things between us. "Selfish as it may be though, I'm glad to see you- circumstances aside. You look... good."

Somehow I got the sense 'good' wasn't the real adjective he was looking for. He was downplaying it. I couldn't help a small smile from creeping onto my lips at that. "Yeah, well. It doesn't entirely suck to see you either." I didn't have to tell him how good he looked. I'd made that pointedly clear before at the academy, enough to last a lifetime. I paused. "It's just your timing that sucks, comrade."

"Maybe it was perfect."

I met his gaze. Like back in the ER, there was hidden intensity behind his words. My stomach starting doing trampoline flips, but it wasn't out of fear like usual these days. His touch seemed to get warmer, more beckoning. And that was a very dangerous thing. It made me want his touch more. "Debatable," I finally said. There was a serial killer after me after all. For some reason, my body's reaction to him was freaking me out more than usual tonight. My pulse beat in my ears. What was with that? I don't know why I wanted him to put his actions into words, but I couldn't stop myself from asking, "What are you doing here anyway, playing EMT? I thought you might have had more important issues to deal with tonight."

He blinked, a little surprised, before it melted into a soft smile. Ugh. There went my acrobatic stomach again. "I told, didn't I? The last thing I want to see is you getting hurt. I'm here to protect you, which is most important. And," he continued, wrapping the burn, his caressing hands knowing every key of the movement, "even my self-restraint has a limit." He tied off the gauze.

For a second, I couldn't respond. It was one of the rare moments when I was caught speechless. Dimitri 1, Rose 0. However, I refused to let myself get worked up over that, despite the quickening of my heart rate. The double-meaning in his last words were blatantly obvious, but I couldn't think like he acknowledged it fully. For him to be effected by our rekindled romantic tension too and insidiously provoking that open flame? No. No way. Not Buddha-Dimitri.

I regained my composure and cleared my throat. "Camping out with Mia and Mase? Seems like a pretty crammed party," I tried to joke. "You, uh, really don't need to do all that. I'm fine on my own."

"I do need to," he said, like we were talking about whether to take in oxygen or not. I could have used some right then. "It's alright, I didn't plan to intrude on them. Scoping the perimeter for tonight and examining the case once more is fine."

I was startled. "So what, you're going to circle the block and sleep in the hallway?" I shook my head again in disbelief. That had probably been his exact plan. I leaned back. "Seriously, you don't have to push yourself that far. You can stay here tonight- I mean if you really want to pull the bodyguard thing. My sofa is always open for service."

And that is how Dimitri wound up spending the night at my place. We talked a little more about the case, mercifully drawing the line back to professional, but it was clear as the clock wound down, so did I. "You should get some sleep," he intervened as it crept close to midnight. I couldn't disagree. After telling him the basic layout of my apartment again in case he needed the bathroom, I slipped into my bedroom.

That nagging voice in the back of my head came back once I was alone, berating my IQ level by allowing Dimitri to hover so close. I knew I shouldn't be getting involved personally with him. It should have been unthinkable for me after what happened back at the academy. And yet, it was still there. The attraction. The allure. Danger had always drawn me in, and I found myself getting sucked in all over again. Even though I had made my resolve long ago, I found myself bending and convincing myself this wasn't crossing the line. It wasn't like I was setting up neon-flashing arrows to my bedroom screaming "Enter Here". He was just doing surveillance, playing cop and keeping me safe.

In my apartment. At night. A few strides away from my bed.

I sighed. Getting changed for bed in my standard attire, I thoughtlessly followed my nightly routine before turning off the light and falling into bed. The blankets were kicked to the side, my hair fanned out over my pillow as I stared, unfocused, up at the ceiling.

Laying exposed to the cold, still air, my heart continued racing with the thought of Dimitri lingering on the other side of the wall. I need to calm down. The bandaged hand resting on my thigh slide up until my fingertips pressed lightly over my heart. It was as if I could trace every unsettled heartbeat as it pulsed through. I was troubled, more than usual. Something had stirred. I was the one that ended things between us. That realization from earlier had unnerved me.

A faint echo of a memory passed, fleeting but tangible. The aroma of spring's perfume. A familiar hold. The metallic taste of acceptance on my tongue... of sacrifice.

I brought my bandaged fingers to my parted lips. I could taste that echo again, the bitterness heavy like lead. How much had I sacrificed that day? How much I had I put myself through to follow my idea of what was right?

And how could Dimitri, even after all these years, disarm me so easily? You know exactly how, Rose, a small voice whispered in my head. My angel-kissed, white-laced fingers retracted from my lips. Yeah. What really sucked was I did. Following routine still, I shimmied out of my sweatpants and layered on the sheets, staring out my terrace window as I adjusted my position. My thoughts, the distant drone of traffic, and my own throbbing, slow-danced heartbeat drew me toward sleep. I closed my eyes. ...He's the only one who can.

Excuse me as I throw out a filler chapter before I get to the main Rose and Dimitri moment. I'll update soon so I don't leave you guys hanging again.