My heart beat in my ears. On the bed, with our close proximity making my breath catch in my throat, it was hard for me to find my voice. Really, it was hard for me to focus on anything else at the moment. For once, my fail-safe Rose Hathaway quips and TV sitcom commentary had abandoned me as I remained in my hospital room, my former-teacher and first-love barely a breath away from my skin. "Dimitri, are you sure-"

"Roza, just relax. I do have practice in this, remember?" Yeah. I did remember. The electric jolts surging through my skin at his touch was the same from 5 years. I was still awestruck at how a guy who broke necks and took down serial killers in his leisure time could be so gentle with me. And with my injuries being the way they were, gentle was what I needed.

"D-Don't be rough, Comrade," I warned, silently scolding myself for tripping over my words. It was hard to look like an invisible rock star/goddess when my speech was stumbling.

"I know, I know. I'll be gentle. Trust me."

He caressed my skin with cool, long fingers while my fingers curled into the stock-white sheets of the hospital bed. My imagination was running wild, past my control. While this was a far cry from a romantic scene, a small voice in my head noted that a bed, even a sucky one like this, was better than the gym mats from before. That small realization was forgotten when he reached a sore spot. I flinched. He noticed instantly.

"Sorry, it's hard to see the bruising. It won't be-" That's when he hit a sensitive spot. A really, really sensitive- and not enjoyable- sore spot.

"Ouch!" I exclaimed, shouting. "Son of a bitch!" From the other side of the open, glass windows of my examination room, I saw from my peripheral a bewildered mother covering her 5-year old son's ears and quickly scurrying by. Apparently, my voice traveled. Knowing my luck, all of the fourth floor had heard my snapping. I groaned. "Shit. I just corrupted that kid for life. This is why I told you to teach me Russian swears at the academy," I accused.

Dimitri simply shook his head in amusement. Somehow, my corrupting small children didn't seem to surprise him. "You don't need any more bad habits. And giving them another word like 'shit" doesn't exactly help," he added.

I gave him a pointed look, still unhappy his handiwork was what had spurred that series of events in the first place. "Just do your job."

I was sitting on my hospital bed, thankfully in my normal clothes and spared from the hideous gown, while Dimitri was knelt on the floor, probing my swollen ankle. In all the craziness from last night, an ankle injury had been the least of my problems. It didn't help that my thoughts weren't really focused on my injury at the moment, either, and formulating different scenarios instead- like, say, using the bed and curtains to our advantage. Dimitri was all business, though. "You should have told the paramedics you sprained your ankle."

"Well, I did have a couple other things on my plate at the time," I pointed out.

"Which is why I offered to be your nurse now. Do you really want Christian to come back in and take care of it?" He was met with silence. We both knew the answer to that. Seemingly happy he wasn't met with opposition, he refocused his attention on his work, using that Boy Scout, first-aid training to use. "Now, where does it hurt?"

I blew strands of dark hair out of my face as I instructed Dimitri about my injury and he wrapped it accordingly. We wouldn't be using those curtains this morning, apparently. Last night had been all about bed rest and no physical stress, too. My luck really wasn't stellar. After a few minutes, he managed to tie off the wrappings and stand, just as a tapping on the door frame alerted me to a visitor.

It wasn't at all who I expected.

"Mom," I acknowledged, surprised. I couldn't believe it. That probably wasn't the typical reaction for a mother-daughter interaction, but honestly, I would have been less shocked if Stan, the poster boy for male PMS, had flown in here with a box of chocolates and singing apology card at the news of my hospital one-nighter. Sure enough though, my petite mother was the one in the doorway, her auburn hair tied strictly back as she cast wary, dark eyes between us. "Rose. Agent Belikov," she greeted in turn, her voice laced with uncertainty.

Even in the 50's range, she still had enough intuition to pick up that she'd walked in on something. With no neck tie on the door handle, however, she'd somehow deemed it safe enough to walk in. Dimitri nodded in recognition and respect. Just as I'd realized Stanton's high stature, he knew the CIA legend Hathaway and greeted her as such. He and I shared a look before he conceited, "I should go and check to see if the media coverage is under control. I'll leave you two alone."

I couldn't say I was happy that he'd used a flimsy reason to ditch me with my mother, especially since he knew about the ongoing, Hathaway war. But in retrospect, having him here with my speculative mother was an even more horrifying thought, so I clamped my lips shut as he slipped out. She shot me a quizzical look from the corner of her eye, not voicing her thoughts until he'd walked out. "Wasn't that your former teacher?"

I blinked a couple times, wondering where she'd pieced that from, before mentally slapping myself up the head. The Christmas break I'd come home during my FBI training I'd told Sydney (mostly) about Dimitri, my God of a teacher. Apparently, my mother had overheard. That happened to be the same Christmas we went boxing and she'd given me a black eye with the force of a small truck, so my memory was a little foggy from back then.

"Um, yeah. He's our FBI consultant at the moment."

"He spent the night here?"

"Kind of," I said, remembering that had been the pattern for the past few days. "He tends to do that."

I think she wanted to make some comment about keeping business and pleasure separate, but for once, kept it to herself. I was grateful for it. I wasn't exactly in the best shape to square off with her, especially so early in the morning. She chose not to pursue our dysfunctional relationship and gave me a once-over instead, examining my injuries. My hands and the side of my neck were still taped up, my recently-cared-for ankle joining the list. She breathed out. "Rose, I-" She stopped herself. After a small hesitation, she finished her train of thought, stating bluntly, "I'm sorry."

"I... say that one more time?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated. I stared, thrown off guard. An apology from my mother was so rare, I wanted to break out my phone and record it to replace her doomsday ring tone. I didn't even care what it was for.

Still, after recomposing myself and deciding the phone thing would shatter our small moment of peace, I felt obliged to ask. "Uh, what are you apologizing for, exactly?"

She sighed as she absently walked around the room, her jacket folded in between her crossed arms. If this had been my dorm room at college, I was fairly sure she would have fiddled with my small belongings and tried to extract some personal information about me. In compensation, she brushed the small cupboard on the East side of the room instead. "I haven't been supportive of your job or... of you."

"Really?" I hadn't meant it to come out sarcastic or dry, but she frowned at my tone of voice and set down the get-well card Alberta had gotten me.

"Rose, listen." For once, I did. "I understand that we don't always see eye-to-eye and I know how my job put a strain on our relationship when you were growing up... but it doesn't mean I don't care for you any less."

I stared. I didn't know which I found more unbelievable: her words or the fact she was admitting them. "Seriously? You want me to believe that? Mothers that care send letters, they show up for Christmas and birthdays- at the very least, they say 'I love you' and you've avoided the L-word like the plague the past 27 years."

Despite my biting words, I didn't get worked up. I couldn't. She stopped me short. If she'd been quiet and stoic as usual, sure, I could have ranted for hours; instead though, she'd left herself open for once as she looked at me with sad, mirroring brown eyes. They looked almost... regretful. "Rose, that job... this kind ofjob... it all takes its toll. It drives a wedge through relationships and calls for sacrifice. It's why I didn't want it for you. Even if you're strong enough to handle it, it's not something I would have ever wished for you. It makes it hard to be supportive when your daughter's job is dodging bullets and taking down lunatics."

I stared again. I found it slightly hypocritical she'd point that out when her former job was probably three times as deadly and dealt with global security, not issuing traffic tickets. "You've never said anything like that before. When I told you I was going into FBI training, you didn't try to stop me or anything. You all but shipped my bags to the airport."

"I wouldn't put it quite like that, but you're right, I didn't stop you. You'd already made up your mind. Believe it or not, Rose, I know you well enough to realize nothing I could have said would have made you change your mind. If I had discouraged it, that probably would have made you jump on the law enforcement boat ten times quicker instead."

There was no witty reply for that one. She'd hit the nail on the head. With no comebacks, my mother continued after a brief lapse of silence. "I am proud of you, Rose. I wouldn't have chosen your career path per say- no sane parent would have- but I'm still proud. Even with my reputation in the CIA and the help I've done... the greatest thing I've truly ever done was bringing you into this world. So I'm sorry if I haven't been supporting. But the last thing I wanted was to see you get hurt because of this."

"I didn't really pin you as the over-protective type," I remarked lightly. Still, even as I said that, the pieces clicked together. While my mother and I mostly chose to keep our relationship a distant one, she'd kept close throughout the entire investigation, bombarding my phone and even making a visit in person. While her advice and words were harsh and point-blank, I realized that was just her personality coming out. She didn't know how to sugarcoat things. Like Sydney, she was all about facts and logic; my chosen involvement in the case had probably thrown her for a loop. Dimitri was right. The crappy text messaging and awful advice was the only way she'd known how to show affection. Man. That CIA gig must have seriously damaged her emotional processing centers.

She shook her head at my comment, hugging her coat tighter. "I'm surprised it doesn't show. When I first heard that you'd been attacked by Dashkov initially… I didn't know what to do with myself. Sydney was the person that convinced me to see you in the hospital instead of going after Dashkov that night."

I chose not to comment on the Sydney thing. While Sage and I had been known to get together in bars, I was fairly sure she'd split a drink (probably lemon water) with my mom in light of their similar career paths and most likely kept in touch. Besides, something else had caught my attention during her recap. I frowned. "You came to the hospital?" I asked. It was a serious quesiton. I was out the entire night back then; I could have slept through the falling of the Berlin Wall without my REM cycle being disturbed. Come to think of it though, I had felt a comforting presence beside me while I was resting. I'd just assumed it was Mia or a stationary nurse. When she nodded, I paused. "Would you have... were you really thinking of killing Victor?"

She shrugged. Admitting to almost killing someone was second-nature to her by now. "Doesn't your cable plan pick up National Geographic? You should watch that special on mother Grizzly bears sometime."

I smiled a little despite myself. I was starting to see where I'd gotten some of my traits. "So.. that's why you came to see me now?"

She nodded again. "I was told you were safe, but... I had to check."

She let that hang in the air for a while. Neither of us knew what social protical called for after that, and after a while, I could see her stirring, uncomfortable. I didn't blame her. That was the longest conversation we'd ever had, and the fact most of the talking came from her was dazing. This was probably the part where we made up, hugged, and went on our way, but neither of us were that clean-cut.

So we didn't have a warm-and-fuzzy mother-daughter relationship yet. Holding a conversation with no snarky remarks or biting tone though? Acting like humans for once and talking out our problems without Dr. Phil mediating? I counted that as progress. Besides, neither of us were really hugging people anyway. I don't know if I could take that kind of codling from my mother (if the woman even knew the meaning of that word).

She cleared her throat after several awkward moments. "Do you want me to wave Agent Belikov back in?"

"No, it's alright. He's probably out doing all kinds of FBI, need-to-know chores." That was definitely not something I wanted to pursue. I'd had enough of decoding those secrets in the past 24 hours to last me a lifetime. I got to my feet gingerly, testing my ankle. It would hold, so long as I didn't decide on doing a 5K. Slipping on my boots, I tacked onto my explanation, "Besides, I have other things to wrap up for this case after I get the OK of release from Christian."

She gave me a sideways look at that ominous statement. "That's not very comforting for a mother, you know."

"Don't worry. This part doesn't involve any serial killers. I hope."

She sighed. "Well, it's not like I'll be able to stop you now, either. Here. At least take this to keep you safe." She unwrapped her scarf and looped it over my head, tucking my dark locks in. It was no hug, but it was probably the most motherly gesture I'd managed to get out of her.

I looked at it questionably. "A scarf is supposed to keep me safe?"

"Of course. It's a family heirloom."

I frowned slightly at that, touching the colorful, woven fabric. My mother turned, deeming her presence no longer needed, and strolled out of my hospital room. That's when a thought dawned on me. "Wait, I thought you said you didn't keep in touch with you side of the family," I called.

My mother spared a glance back over her shoulder. If I wasn't mistaken, there was a humorous note in her voice. "I never said it was from my bloodline." With that, she left and headed toward the elevators.

I stood there, letting that sink in as the cotton tickled under my chin. While she hadn't said it straight out, I knew instantly what she was getting at. This was my father's scarf.

I didn't know much about my dad. While I had my mother's bone structure and wavy hair, my coloring was all from my Turkish, paternal side. The only thing I knew about the man personally was his supposed "mobster" role as his choice of career. How a CIA agent and probable mass criminal got together to produce me, I'd never know.

Maybe I'd been destined to be involved with, and subsequently crack, mysteries from the start.

Sydney had always been a bigger of fan of flowers than me- lilies in particular. It almost rivaled her love of coffee. Had her father not influenced her, I was fairly sure she would have leaned toward getting the Starbucks mermaid tattooed instead of the golden lily stretching across her cheek. And despite my namesake, I found myself carrying a white bouquet of lilies instead of roses as I entered through the iron mar of the rusted gate, the bleak grass giving way without noise.

The weather matched my mood. Dark clouds hovered over the city, a gray background for a dreary day while the late October air nipped at my heels and herded me on. I bundled my jacket closer. I was grateful for the scarf at that point, family heirloom or not. If my mother had meant it would keep me from hypothermia when she said it would keep me safe, she'd been dead-on.

Still, I kept going despite the cold. This was something I had to do. When I got to my first destination, my footsteps stopped dead and my eyelids grew heavy. I let out a breath, the fogged mist spilling from my lips and swirling in the air. The soil was fresh. With a lurching heart and quivering fingers- something I would blame on the cold later on- I set two lilies down. The chotki on my wrist glimmered in the dim light. As I straightened and the wind billowed lightly through my hair, I read the two names in silent respect. Dr. Moroi Colbe and Gabrielle Colbe. I could understand why the doctor had chosen not to publicly disclose his first name most of the time. I would do the same with that kind of name.

As I moved quietly through the rows of etched stones, trouble gnawed at me. It was a feeling I couldn't shake, just like the bracing cold. Distracted, I stepped on a twig and snapped it, making a crow in one of the barren trees react. A loud caw and flutter of wings snapped my head over and stopped me dead in my tracks again, my heart pounding in my chest. The black form surged into the air, still forming loud calls in its throat as it flew off. Even after it became a dot in the gray sky, I didn't move. My heart was racing. It wasn't the crow that was bothering me, exactly. It was the omen in itself and my prior appointment to the graveyard that was weighing heavily on my mind. After I'd been released and before I came to visit Dashkov's victims here, I'd made a side-stop.

A side-stop I'd ultimately regretted.

I wasn't a fan of hospitals. That went without saying. The potent, clogging smell of bleach, the cage of white walls, the dripping of IV staffs pumping life into their owner- it all creeped the hell out of me. That being said, it seemed crazy that I'd willingly enter another hospital after being released from mine. But this was for a different purpose. This wasn't about healing physical wounds, but mental ones. Scars that had been carved by a scalpel into my soul, unsterilized untouched. This was about closure.

My bandaged fingers fumbled the doorknob as it slipped from my grip. Sadly enough, I had to flag down a nurse just to enter his room. Once she came over though, the door easily swung open, his pale jade eyes turning to me. They were hazy and unclear, a miasma of detached thoughts. He wasn't physically attached to any surgical pumps though, which was enough of a plus for me to keep my composure. I smiled. "Hello, Robert."

There was a pause. "You're the Rose girl aren't you?" The Dashkov brother turned his back, stating simply, "You shouldn't be here." Well. That was welcoming. I wasn't sure if he meant I shouldn't be alive or I shouldn't be sporting my Visitor's Pass. Neither was a comforting option. The nurse spared me a questioning glance. I nodded and she slipped back outside, leaving me alone with him.

I'd never learned what happened between the Dashkov brothers the night Victor visited him. In this case though, I guess it didn't matter. Some words and conversations were better left alone. I took a seat across from him, my white, gauze-wrapped hands settling in front of me. Briefly, I was reminded of my initial reunion with Victor in jail. Robert wasn't like his brother though. There was no calculating or malicious prodding. Instead, he reminded me of a child, as opposed to his boogie man brother waiting under my bed. "Why are you here?" he asked quietly. "You shouldn't be here."

"Why not?"

"Victor will be mad."

I averted my gaze at that. I could feel my burns starting to swell again with heat at the memory. "Am I supposed to be with him?"

"No," he answered simply. "You're not supposed to be anywhere. You're supposed to be gone."

"You mean dead."

He didn't respond. I took that as a "yes". Boy. Idolization really took a toll someone's mind. With Robert's already unstable condition, I wasn't surprised that he held his brother on a pedestal. From the stories, Robert was the only one that could bring out Victor's gentle side to boot. I guess to reach him, I had to be just as earnest. Too bad I wasn't known for being sugary-sweet. "Robert... I'm not a bad person."

"Neither is Victor," he said quietly, but fixated. I could see his fingers curl in and out, apprehensive. I'd edged him somehow but pushing against his beliefs, the beliefs Victor drilled into him about me. Damn it. It was becoming stunningly clear I didn't have the maternal instincts to take care of kids, let alone interrogate a 40-year old that acted like one. There went my 2nd-grade aspiration to be a kindergarten teacher. "You don't know him," he whispered. "You just don't know him."

"Robert," I tried again, "please try to understand-"

"Did you kill him?"

I swallowed. Squeezing my eyes shut then opening them, like trying to banish a migraine, I continued forward toward another set of graves on the west side. Even as I pushed myself forward in reality, the reel of memory wouldn't stop.

I hesitated. The detour was so abrupt, it took me a moment to recompose myself. "I... no. I didn't kill him. I had that option at one point but..."

"But you didn't," he finished for me. I simply nodded. He turned his gaze back to me, his focus beginning to defog, coming out of his daydream. "I... don't understand then. If you didn't kill him, why are you here? What are you hoping for?"

I paused again. That was a fabulous question on his part, really. I had no professional reason to visit him; the case was closed and there was no obituary section of the newspaper to hand to him, boring Victor's name. But for some reason, I was still haunted. I'd turned so much last night in my hospital bed, I had to sanction Dimitri out in the hall before he worried himself to death. No pun intended. "Closure, I guess."

"Closure for a man you didn't kill?"

"It's... complicated."

I reached the west side. There were already flowers coating this set of graves, as new as the dirt sprinkled in front of the stone marks. John Grant and Emmaline Grant. I set two down two more flowers. Among the other blooming buds, the white lilies were a contrast of pure, heavenly white. I was glad I'd gone with white. After a black-clothed funeral, it seemed fitting. Right.

He stared at me for several minutes, weighing me. As he came out of his dreamy state, his emerald eyes glared in the light, focused and honed in on me. Goosebumps prickled my skin. I wasn't afraid of Robert. The family resemblance was starting to bump up the "unsettling" meter, though. "No," he said after a pause. "It's not."

"Robert-"

"It's not complicated. Why didn't you kill him?"

He was a fan of switching topics, clearly. It was deju vu of my conversation with Dimitri last night. The fact that I was being questioned by a convicted crazy person was even less comforting. Honestly, I still wasn't sure. 'Did I have it in me to call who lived and who died?'

I didn't know. I had no answer for him. What I did know was that the complex labyrinth of morals and justice was not something I wanted to get into right then. I leaned back in my chair, my bandaged hands falling into my lap as I looked away, out the far end window. Outside, the autumn leaves stirred in pumpkin colors, the barren trees bracing themselves for the coming winter. "I don't know exactly why I let him live," I told him truthfully. "I just know I don't want to take any lives I don't have to."

His eyebrows knitted together. Even without going into the labyrinth, I'd lost him. "You believe he was innocent enough to live?"

"I... believe I was too close to the case to make a clear decision." 'Perhaps death and I had become to close over the years for me to see clearly at all.'

I could feel his gaze bore into me. "Don't give me that rehearsed, moral answer." I glimpsed back at him again. "Tell me why. It wasn't because you didn't want want to sink to his level, that's obvious."

My skin unconsciously prickled at the idea. "You're wrong. That's exactly why. I won't play God," I stated firmly. "I refuse to become a makeshift hand of death itself. I refuse to become like Victor."

His crystal, jade eyes misted again, lost in his torrent of thoughts. "How strange. You truly believe that, even when Victor and you are so alike."

"Victor and I are nothing alike," I said icily, impulsively.

My breath fogged my vision again. Death. So much death. I was in an ocean of it. The white lilies were the only spot of an angel-kissed blessing in this field of tombstones.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. You act like reject death, but in truth you welcome it, just like him. You can't be separated from it. It's stolen people close to you before, you've killed, and you've nearly been killed. Death follows you like a shadow. You're shadow-kissed, Rosemarie Hathaway, already marked for death."

The way he said it came out so easily, so nonchalant. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing straight up. Somewhere during our up-and-down conversation, the family resemblance had crossed into a whole other boundary. I felt like I was sitting across from Victor himself. Like he was beckoning death's hand to come for me. That primal, gut instinct wrenched and I found myself clenching my jaw. "Just because he's death's right-wing man doesn't mean my relation to death connects us."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," he repeated. "But there's a reason he chose you."

"I already know why he chose me," I answered. Even though I knew I had a clear mind and firm rational, the dream I had of Victor the night of Mason's attack still sent chills down my spine. A part of me told me the whole conversation in that dream was insane. Insane to say, insane to think about. Still, it made sense.

When I'd been pinned down with scalpels and almost killed, I had just been another victim. It wasn't until later on I'd become different in his book. I was the one victim that had been in his grip- the surrogate hand of death itself- and survived. I was the reason his game wasn't complete. That was what had made me special. Not because death followed me and marked me as the next to fall. Not because I was shadow-kissed.

Still, Robert didn't appear convinced. "If you knew that, you wouldn't be so unsettled. You wouldn't be looking for closure."

"I came to tell you what happened to Victor and why."

"And yet you can't give me a reason to why you left him alive."

"I told you. I don't want to take more lives than necessary."

"We both know that's not why."

Our gazes locked. He didn't appear child-like at all anymore. Instead, he reminded me of a cross between Yoda and Buddha, knowing things far beyond his senses. I didn't believe in auras, or spirit dreams, or anything of that nature, but as he looked at me, straight through my soul, I got a strange vibe. He knew more about me that he should. I'd never told anyone of the dark, animal-like knot lurking in my subconscious, but just as Victor had discovered it and used it to push me, Robert seemed aware of it as well.

He knew more about me than anyone should.

"Are you afraid of it, Rosemarie?"

He used my full name. Just like Victor. "Afraid of what?"

"You know what. Of it. Of you."

If I'd had Mia's manicured nails, I would have been clawing up oak as my nails grated against the armrest. Still, my gaze remained steadfast. I wouldn't show weakness. Not to him. And I wouldn't show anger either. "No," I said simply, ignoring the earlier memory of my red-tainted vision and explosion of darkness the night before with his murderous brother. "I can control myself."

"Yes, well," he said, a note of doubtfulness and knowing lacing his words. "Let's see how long you can keep that up."

I squeezed my eyes shut again. This was more than just wanting to banish the memory, though. I needed it to be gone. Tears pricked at my eyes and my deep suck of air was shaky. While a graveyard might not have been the most welcoming reality scene to settle into, it was better than lingering there. Anything was better than lingering there.

Robert and all remains of jade eyes vanished into smoke. All talk of being shadow-kissed vanished, too. I was alone again, in the middle of a field of corpses, but alone nonetheless.

I breathed through my nostrils, controlling myself. I was fine. I would always be fine. Wiping the tears from my eyes, grateful I'd skipped mascara today, I looked down at the last white lily, remembering who it was for. It was a grave I knew all too well.

The soil wasn't new in this section. In fact, the dirt was so tightly-packed and spotted with patches of waning grass, it had melted into the scenery and the rest of the Earth like it'd always belonged there. This time, I paused longer than before and brushed the cool metal of the cross on my wrist. When Lissa had given it to me, she'd said it was a family heirloom, just like the scarf I was wearing now. I think if she hadn't given in it to me that Christmas, her sister would have.

According to the Romanian legend behind this cross, only one person could wear it. A Guardian for the Dragomirs. Whether it meant a guardian angel or someone that housed orphans, I didn't know. But the title was fitting. Natural. Something that'd been bestowed on me- and yet, I couldn't uphold it.

Tears formed again. I didn't bother wiping these away; I just let them go, crystal drops trickling down my cheeks and onto the white, virgin petals. I closed my eyes against my bleary vision, the chotki swinging and glimmering in the dim light of the passing storm. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you," I choked out, like I'd somehow failed her, repenting at her grave's doorstep. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I don't know how long I stood like that. At some point, I gathered enough common sense to realize I couldn't stay out like this forever, the temperature already draining the color out of my cheeks. Swallowing back the tightness in my throat and not caring about the dry trail of tears carving down my jaw, I kissed the tulip and placed it at her grave. I opened my eyes, whispering for the last time, "I'm sorry, Avery. I'll protect her, though, I promise. I'll protect her."

If she had somehow heard me, I knew she'd know who I was talking about. But I got no reply. The words Avery Dragomir etched in stone were the only reminisce of her presence.

Curling my empty hand around the buttons of my coat to nuzzle me closer, I stood up. I swallowed back the lump in my throat and let my eyelashes beat the water out of my eyes. I was fine. I would always be fine.

That was what Avery always used to tell me.

Tucking my other hand into my pocket, I heard another snapping twig, my ears perking. I hadn't been the cause this time. Turning my head, I saw to my surprise another figure in the graveyard. He was tall, albeit lean, and walking away from a sole grave at the end of the patch. I couldn't tell much else about him from the back, and I wasn't sure if his dark hair was mused from the wind or if he had styled it that way.

I was about to say something, when I stopped myself short. What on Earth would I say to him? I had no answer to my self-directed question, and so, I watched him leave without a word spoken between us.

It wasn't until he was completely out of sight that I slowly made my way to the grave of his speculation, my detective instincts getting the best of me. The ground over it was smooth, like Avery's, and the faint name chipped into the ashen stone had been battered by the elements over the time, suggesting it'd been here for countless years. Still, the name was readable. Danielle Ivashkov.

I looked back over toward the way the tall stranger had left. Maybe I should have said something. Yeah, maybe.

But there was a reason I'd stopped myself. Like me, I had guessed he just wanted to be alone, too.

The rest of my day was spent reflecting and healing- physically and mentally. I wasn't supposed to be working, but after a call from Lissa and realizing I was going to drive myself crazy thinking about Robert's fortune cookie words and watching Desperate Housewives in my apartment, I headed out toward headquarters around sunset. As I slipped through the security up front, I was surprised to see who my welcoming party was.

"Mark," I acknowledged. "What are you doing here?"

The gray-haired FBI agent smiled, hands pocketed as he came to a stop in front of me. I don't think the welcoming part was planned. "Just wrapping up some paper work. I'm glad I ran into you, I was just about to check the hospital. I have to head back to Virginia tonight."

My face fell instantly at the news. "You're leaving?"

"Have to. Oksana's waiting for me at home and the FBI wants me back at my initial station."

Even though I was sad to watch him leave, I understood and nodded. He and his wife Oksana were practically joined at the hip; I was surprised he'd already been away from her this long. "Alright, well, stay safe."

"You too." We shared a hug, and I had to stretch on my tiptoes to reach. The scarf still tickled my cheeks. While I'd always seen Mark as a sort of father figure, I knew my real dad wouldn't be as prone to hugging as him (if I ever met him), so I made it last. After a few seconds we separated and started our goodbyes. When he was supposed to fill in his round, he paused. Something was on his mind. "Rose, can I ask you a personal question?" I looked at him confused, and nodded. Normally I wouldn't have agreed so willingly, but, well. It was Mark. "Why haven't you settled down yet?"

"'Settled down'? What is this, 1963?"

His smile widened. "You know what I mean. I want what's best for you, and I just keep wondering... well. Why you haven't. You deserve that much, Rose."

I shook my head lightly. It reminded me of my cousin Ambrose who always pushed me to get engaged so he could organize the whole event. Why Mark was bringing it up was lost on me, but I felt obliged to answer nonetheless. "I appreciate it, but... I just haven't had that much luck in the dating category. Plus any guy who loved me wouldn't want me to have this job. And... I love my job." I think that was the first time I'd ever said it aloud, but it was true. I joked about kicking ass, which, yeah, was definitely a perk of the trade, but I couldn't imagine myself doing anything else. Saving the world one step of the time- that had Rose Hathaway written all over it. The chotki burning on the side of my wrist seemed to agree.

Mark arched his eyebrow, still stuck on his 'settling down' question. "What about Dimitri?" he asked. I blinked. Man. That had come out of left field. Practically no one knew about my relationship with Dimitri. If someone were to mention us together, it was by our student-teacher roles. That's when I remembered. Mark had been the one to comfort me that day at the academy in the aftermath of Hurricane Blue-Eyes. He and Dimitri also happened to be friends, so small bits of information were probably bound to be exchanged in their gossiping, knitting circle. Of course he'd figured it out. He probably knew while he was droning on in combat theory class and scribbling on the board.

Still, chances were, he didn't know the full story, if he was acting like Dimitri and I would happily get a cup of coffee the moment we saw each other. "It... it just didn't pan out. He's involved with someone else, anyway."

That caught his attention. "What? Who?"

If he was confused, I was far more puzzled. I frowned. If he and Dimitri were gossiping about me, wouldn't they gossip about his dream girl, too? "You know, that... that Tasha girl." Just saying her name made me want to hit a wall and crawl into a ball at the same time. I shifted, uncomfortable. I really wanted to change the topic, and fast.

Mark changed my mind about that, though. After my initial response, he stared at me like I'd just grown three heads. I was about to say something else when, to my utter and complete shock, he burst out laughing. This wasn't a small Dimitri grin; this was rolling-on-the-floor, splitting sides howling. I looked at my seasoned, former teacher, dumb-founded. I wasn't sure if he was laughing, having a heart attack, or turning into a werewolf. "Mark, what are you-" Cue more laughing. I looked around to find the entire lower department staring at us, as bewildered as I was. Probably more, if possible. "For the love of God, would you please make a coherent sentence? Before you give yourself a stroke?"

Mark subsided into chuckles, clutching his sides. I might as well have just made the most clever punchline known to man. It'd be nice to know what I said, though. "What are you talking about? Tasha and Dimitri aren't together."

I stared again. He'd lost me entirely. "What? Of course they are. They were talking about an arranged marriage their families had made, and going back to Russia together, and, I don't know, having stupid, blue-eyed Russian babies and-"

"Rose, no, no," Mark interrupted, stopping me from having my own self-induced stroke. "Think about it, have you seen Dimitri with a wedding band? He and Tasha aren't together. I mean, sure, they tried for a couple months in high school, but they fell through pretty quickly. Dimitri actually broke up with her, if I remember correctly."

"But the arranged marriage they were talking about-"

"-was between Dimitri's oldest sister and Tasha's cousin."

I stood there, staring. Oh. Oh.

Wait. What.

I had had a noble, awesome love-and-break-up story worthy of 500 Days of Summer remake, all based on a misunderstanding of a wedding?

Even though I loved Mark, I found myself smacking his arm as these realizations came to light. "What?" I all but shouted, earning us another 15 minutes of fame in the lower lobby of Boston PD. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I thought you knew. I don't even know where you pulled that conclusion from, I figured you and Dimitri had broken up over something else."

"No I did not know." I hit him again. If he hadn't been the one to taught me that, I think he would have been offended, and if it hadn't been for the stiff police force around us braced to pounce, I would have hit him again. "What, you think I was bawling my eyes out like an infant because our horoscopes didn't match up in Seventeen magazine?"

"I didn't know, honestly. But I knew about your relationship, and I knew it shouldn't have ended. That was obvious. So," he said, looking both sheepish and proud of himself, "when I found out your department needed an FBI consultant, I... sort of figured five years was enough of a break."

I looked at him, bewildered. "What are you talking about? Are you running a fever or are you just insane?"

He shot me a wink and grin, eyes crinkling. There went the sheepishness, right out the window. "You could say I pulled some strings. What, you didn't think Dimitri showing up was a coincidence, did you?" He turned and started walking away, waving behind him. "Take care of yourself, Rose."

I watched as he strolled out, speechless. I glanced away and shook my head to myself in disbelief, a smile forming in spite of myself, ignoring the stares I was still getting. I didn't care. "Son of a bitch," I said, grinning. He'd put this whole charade together. But I wasn't just grinning because of Mark. A weight that had been pressing down on me for five years had vanished.

Dimitri and Tasha weren't together. They never were. I could have prolonged my limelight among my coworkers by breaking out into dance, but another male voice interrupted me.

"You called?" I looked up at Mason making a lofty grand entrance, hands in pockets sharing my smile. The bandage on his neck was gone. From what I could see, most of the cut was, too. That made one of us.

"Hey, look at you, all patched up." I bottled up my insane happiness and decided not to comment on how 'son of a bitch' had somehow become his nickname. Maybe Mia had dubbed it. Speaking of which... "I'm surprised Mia isn't with you."

He made a face. "I told you we were going to incarcerate Dashkov last night, not weigh love motels on Expedia."

"Oh please, I bet you two bonded," I teased lightly. "You know what they say, love and hate are one in the same."

"No. Those people are crazier than the guy I had to book last night. There is a long, great line between hate and love, the Great Wall of China's twin sister even."

"Right. Keep telling yourself."

Apparently not liking our current conversational topic, he pointedly changed it. "So why are you in today, Hathaway? I thought Alberta called you off for the next couple days."

"Oh that? I have a date tonight to pick up. A female date," I added, seeing his mock heartbroken expression. Right on cue, Lissa appeared from the elevator. At first I thought the fresh air from above sea level and not her basement laboratory was what was making her exuberant, but she was all but brimming with energy as she came over. I couldn't deny I was over-the-moon as well, but her reasoning was probably different than mine. "What's got you so excited, Liss? The fact I'm taking you out for a night on the town?"

"Close. My new Prada heels just came in." Like the would-be model she was, she showed them off appropriately, her legs clearly showing from the mid-thigh-cut of her dress skirt. Mason certainly didn't seem to mind.

"Oh you mean the ones that you were ordering that crashed my first Victor operation? I can see why four inches of cheetah print totally outweighs catching my stalker," I commented.

"Hey you cannot blame me alone for that mess. Besides, all's well that end's well- so I don't appreciate the sarcasm."

"It's a package deal."

With that, and a small, witty exchange between Mason as a final goodbye for the night, Lissa and I left to paint Boston red.

It was dark by the time we arrived to the bar. Actually, I realized as we slipped through the door, this was the same bar I was supposed to meet Sydney in the night Dashkov's apprentice had made his debut and ruined by nightly plans. Maybe I should have invited her along. Picturing it in my head while we slid into a booth, I decided Sydney Sage wasn't one for a girl's night. Maybe getting tipsy, yes, but not a girl's night.

We ordered a round of beers and got comfortable as soon as they arrived. While I was sure Lissa would have normally chosen a classier drink, she knew my paying didn't include a $100 bottle of brandy, so she went with my first choice instead. There might just be hope for her after all.

We engaged in small talk after that, and even though we'd ruled it as a girl's night only, guys had trouble taking that hint. Christ. I knew I shouldn't have worn a white shirt today. When the first began to confidently stride over, I rolled my eyes and mouthed to Lissa, "Watch this". When he got within a 5-yard distance, I flashed my badge, not looking over once as I took a swig of beer. The guy hesitated instantly before backing up. Lissa looked impressed. "How did you know that would work?"

"Easy. No guy wants a girlfriend, or one-night-stand, who's stronger than him and comes packed. It's like a beacon of warning for any sailors trying to get into these shores."

She chuckled. As Lissa dared another sip of her drink and I warded off another male prospect, I noticed ten minutes in a familiar bundle of cropped, blonde hair and conservative clothes making its way over to our table. She'd come on her own accord, after all. I didn't really question how she knew where I'd be tonight. I knew from experience she could pinpoint a cell phone's GPS, and liked to show up at the most random spots. "Oh man, it's not working on this one," I told Lissa as I flashed my badge at Sydney like a priest trying to shield away an exorcist subject with a cross. "Back, you, back."

The flaw in my technique became apparent quickly as Sydney wound up standing right in front of our table, arms crossed and eyebrow arched amused. Lissa seemed to be on the same road as her, smiling. "A gallant welcoming as always, I see. How's that working for you?" Sydney asked.

"I think you just answered your own question. The effects on the same gender are still in their trial stage, mind you." I tucked my badge away. Despite my teasing, I was glad to see her without the pressures of hunting a serial killer at hand.

"You can count this as conclusive results, then." The reply came out instantly. That was Sydney for you. Witty bantering she could pull out once in a while, but logic and product testing was where she really strived.

"I'll be sure to think about it. What are you doing, lurking around here, Syd?"

"Don't make it sound so bad. I wanted to see you and, well, give you this." I hadn't noticed the bag tucked under her arm until then. She handed it to me. And here it wasn't even my birthday. Taking the brown, crinkling bag, I dug out the small attempts at keeping it hidden under transparent, confetti-colored wrapping paper and produced a handbag. I gaped. It was stamped with a crazy expensive designer and made out of red leather, exactly like the bag I'd once lost at an airport, courtesy of falling asleep at Sydney's gate. "Like it?" she asked as a follow-up when I didn't reply right away.

"It is completely overpriced and is probably going to get destroyed in my line of work. I love it."

Sydney shook her head, smiling. "I thought that'd be your reaction."

"You want a bottle of champagne in return? I still have it in the back of my car." I waggled my eyebrows, still keeping my latest prize close. "It has your name written all over it."

"Thanks, but I'll pass." I don't know if she was saying that sincerely, or if it was her cross necklace talking for her at that point. "I really only came by to drop that off. I have to go back to Russia tonight."

"Sydney Sage, I don't think you're supposed to be telling average citizens about your CIA operatives."

"You're anything but ordinary, Rose. Besides, Russia's a big place. I doubt you'll be able to pinpoint me."

"Maybe Dimitri can teach me Russian geography and upper-government hacking tricks."

She rolled her eyes again. Sydney hated to admit it, but I knew she appreciated our rare, bantering sessions. Her job didn't exactly scream "fun and light-hearted" in the conventional sense; any chance at normality was probably a treasured one to her. Even without an assassin status, I could relate. "I think you've gotten into enough trouble lately for me to be worried."

I grinned. "You never know. Come on, Syd, at least join us for one round. You agreed to meet me here earlier in the week, and it's not like you'll be flying the plane tonight."

I could see her hesitate as she eyed the beers on the table. Apparently, she had planned to drink water when she planned our bar meeting. After a pause, she asked, "Is it low-calorie?"

Lissa and I exchanged a look. "Uh, well, lower calories than a Twinkie at least. And no sugar," I added in as I saw her once-tempted look immediately grow not-so-keen. I should have expected as much. While I'd been gouging out on a five-course meal during our college days, Sydney had stuck to a side salad and mineral water. How she survived without chocolate for all days in a given month was beyond me.

"Thank you for the offer, but again, I'll have to pass. I have to save room for the free nuts and complimentary water bottle on board my transatlantic flight."

"Right. Of course," I said as if it was the most logical thing in the world. In truth, her logic and mine were worlds apart, but I knew getting into a health debate with Sydney Sage over beer would end poorly for me.

Sydney smirked, her golden tattoo glimmering as her lips twitched up. Even without saying anything out loud, she'd picked up on my tone. "Enjoy the handbag and beer. I'll see you soon, Rose. Lissa."

With that curt goodbye that reminded me so much of a mini-Janine, she turned and left to resume her CIA work after wrapping up her latest case in state. Watching her leave the bar, I noticed a guy doing the same across the room. Curious and always a good friend, I examined him. Even from this distance, I could see emerald eyes gleam in the dim light as they followed after her, cigarette smoke dancing in the air in a gray tango. It wasn't until she'd left fully that he seemed to feel my gaze. His eyes strayed to me. He broke out into an instant, devil-may-care grin and winked.

I frowned. It wasn't just because he appeared to have the natural charm of a circus mentalist, he already had girls hanging around him, and had chosen to take up vices like clover cigarettes and champagne. It wasn't any of those things. He looked familiar. Really familiar. Maybe I'd seen him around the city before. Maybe I'd seen him in an old copy of GQ. He definitely had the cheek bones and audacity for it. Either way, Lissa dragged my attention back to her before I could divulge into another, non-murder mystery, and the mysterious green-eyed male left me in peace after that. Lissa made a toast. "To wrapping up the murder case of the year." Whether her chirpiness really came from the fact the case was wrapped up, or, more likely, her excitement over her shoes, I wasn't sure. I clinked my glass with hers regardless.

When our small talk continued, it drifted away from typical girl's night topics to our job and her toast's implications. She sighed at one point, setting her beer down. She'd only tackled half her bottle, while I was closing in on my third. That was understandable. I always could hold my liquor better than her. "I'm glad we wrapped up this case. It's always sad when we... can't. When we get cold cases. It makes me feel helpless."

My gaze flickered up, catching the sadness fogging her jade eyes in the dim, bar light. Where her mind was drifting was no mystery to me. "You mean cases like Avery?"

"Avery, the Strigoi murders, the Foster case we worked last month... I don't know. It just seems like no matter what we do, even if we solve one case, it leaves us with a dozen more to deal with."

"Well, that's the beautiful thing about Boston. When one mystery is solved, it gives us a dozen more to deal with and preoccupy our Saturday nights."

"I thought you were an advocate of saving the world."

"Of course we're still going to save the world," I replied candidly. "I don't need to dress up like Anne Hathaway and call myself Cat Woman to kick some ass, last names aside."

Lissa smiled. Still, I could see that serious side of her lingered. "Alright, Cat Woman. So what now?"

I shrugged, trying to lighten the mood as always. Old habits die hard. "We do the same thing as we always do. I kick ass and you do your thing in the lab. That's how this beautiful friendship works. Besides with you cozied up in your lab while I break a nail in the field and you wait for results, you can invite fire boy over to keep you company."

She made a face. My attempts had worked. "Christian and I aren't together. I just... needed his medical opinion. Besides, I would not 'cozy up' with him at work."

"Okay, you're right, maybe not in the medical lab. Autopsies and dead bodies aren't typically a turn on- if they were, I'd be worried. But that doesn't exclude other venues in the future."

"Are you really trying to set me up?"

"I'm giving you helpful advice. When have I ever steered you wrong?" The jaded look she gave me spoke for her in her silence. "Alright, alright, when have I ever steered you wrong with Christian?"

She shook her head. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Well, it is girl's night," I reminded her.

"So what about you?"

I arched an eyebrow. "What about me?"

"Don't think you can escape the topic if you're going to subject me to it. What about your love life?" Her eyes sparkled happily. I took that as an instant cue of danger and eyed her cautiously. "What about Dimitri?"

It was the second time that day someone had admitted to knowing about Dimitri and I's not-so-professional status. Jesus, was it that obvious? I didn't recall ripping each others clothes off in the middle of the office or even dropping a suggestive comment during our interactions. Lissa was known to be intuitive, though. Her Harvard-IQ really could be a pain in the ass some days. "You picked up on that, huh?"

"Of course I did. Plus Mason told me he spent the night at your apartment." God damn it Mason. Just as I loved Mark, I loved my partner, but really wish I'd smacked him when I had the chance. This is why I joked about boxes of chocolate and roses at work, and kept my love life vague. High school gossip and PD gossip were practically indistinguishable. "Why didn't you tell me about your thing with Dimitri? How long has this been going on?"

"It's been, uh, off-and-on I guess." Yeah. That was one way to put it.

"For how long?"

"I don't know, five years-"

"Five years?" I might as well have kept a secret family stowed in Guatemala from her reaction. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well... you never asked."

She rolled her eyes, just like Sydney, and took a swig of her drink before saying, lips moving against the rim. "Well, I'm asking now. It's easy enough to see the sparks fly between you two- both good and bad once in a while." She paused. "But where does that leave you and Dimitri now?"

That was a damn good question. I replayed my conversation with Mark earlier. Hell, I replayed all of the moments Dimitri and I had shared, our chemistry, our fights- basically, our entire rocky-but-awesome relationship. "Honestly, Liss? I have no idea." Both of our cell phones buzzed. Duty calls. "But you know the great thing about being a detective?" I asked, smiling as we slipped out of the booth. "Cracking mysteries, even in the form of a 6'7" god, is all a part of the job."

She didn't look satisfied at that response. "That isn't an ambiguous reply at all."

I grinned, answering my phone on the fourth ring, hand on hip. "Hathaway."

"Dragomir."

We both listened as the different leagues of our department gave us the run-down on our newest case. "Alright, I'll be right there," we said in sync. However, exiting the bar, I found we were too in sync. Both Lissa and I wound up on the driver side door.

I arched an eyebrow, my keys burning in my pocket. "What are you doing? I'm driving."

"I know what your driving habits are like, Rose. I want to get there, but I want to get there alive.

I groaned. She was as bad as Sydney and Dimitri. So much for trust. "Oh for God's sakes, Liss, you really want to fight with me over this- now? Come on, if we don't get there soon, Stan's going to steal my thunder and I'm going to have to put my gun to use for real."

"We could always crack open that champagne bottle," she suggested helpfully.

"Great, give Alberta another reason to investigate me, besides getting in the middle of the FBI." Our back-and-forth banter and Lissa's laughter echoed through the night as our sisterly debate dragged on. Far off, police sirens wailed, joining the party ahead of us, while the Boston sky twinkled with stars above- stars kind of like the glow-in-the-dark ones Lissa and I used to count from the ceiling as kids.

Voila! Ladies and gentleman, we've finally reached the end of the arch for this lovely story. Forgive the late conclusion, after 3 months, 5 script changes, and countless pots of coffee, this was the end result. Hopefully you all enjoyed! Well, as much as you could enjoy Rose getting chased by a serial killer.

Many thanks to Richelle Mead and Tess Gerristen for their awesome characters and ideas. If you guys enjoyed this take on ME and detective best buds, I highly recommend watching Rizzoli&Isles. Seriously. You won't regret it. And of course, thanks to all of you guys for supporting this story as well. Each Review/Favorite/Follow made my day. Basically, you're all awesome, incredible, and deserve a Dimitri gift basket from your UPS carrier. But I don't want to make this into any more of a Golden Globe acceptance speech, so I'll wrap this monologue up.

Until next time, stay classy, VA fans.