Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)
JPOV
I sat on the edge of the port, looking out to the water: slow waves rippling in the early morning breeze as the new sun kissed the surface, shimmering like the scales of a dragon amidst his treasure with each jewel reflecting a unique array of colour like the iris' of a whole nation. The air was warm and the sky a fresh blue. There was a sweet aroma of sea salt mixed with the local morning cuisine as the world gently awakened from its slumber.
Istanbul.
I wasn't really sure what I had been expecting; in truth, I hadn't had much time to dwell. But even three days in, the city's beauty that had struck me almost as soon as I had left the plane still hadn't left me. Coming from a relatively isolated part of the US, then pottering about in rural south-east England and its docks, Turkey seemed a whole world away.
Not that I was complaining. Absolutely not, I was quite enjoying this newfound adventure – something definitely unexpected. If my mother could see me now... She'd still probably find something to fault. Skirting away from your duty, she'd say. My fantasy dissolved and I quickly looked around to make sure I wasn't completely neglecting my duty. I was surprised to see Ibrahim standing a few metres back, looking not at the beautiful view in front of him, but at me. Regardless, he wasn't in the hotel and that was concerning.
"How long have you been standing there?" I asked whilst darting my gaze around, making sure that nothing around us would offer any threat. The sun had dawned, but I wasn't convinced even that could stop a determined Strigoi. Not to mention the fact that we now knew La Luz operated here, which added a whole new level of danger.
Ibrahim seemed unaffected, maintaining a somewhat comparative yet appreciative expression for a few moments before answering. "Not long."
I pushed myself to my feet to get a better few of our surroundings. "You could have been hurt."
He smiled and walked towards me, passing a rectangular wooden container of soil with young flowers and greenery just beginning to bloom. He hovered his hand over it. "I think we both know," he said as the soil began to shift, a stem reach out and flower into a deep red rose, "that I can take care of myself." He picked it up and tucked it behind my ear.
I eyed him critically. "What are you after?"
He chuckled. "I am glad you think so highly of me." He walked passed me and sat down on the edge of the port, his legs dangling freely above the water's surface.
"You shouldn't be out here." I said.
He turned his head and raised a brow. "And why is that, Guardian Hathaway?"
I put my hands on my hips and nodded towards the infant sun. "Need I remind you of your vampiric disposition, Mr Mazur?"
He shrugged. "I've grown somewhat resilient." I was sceptical, but really not in the mood to argue. I let my arms drop to my sides and did another sweep of the area, refusing to take any chances. He, on the other hand, was not so troubled. "As much as it is a pleasure conversing with your lovely self, it is rather straining from where I'm sitting." He said patting the spot next to him.
I scowled. "Heaven forbid you be in any sort of discomfort." But I obliged all the same, plonking down very ungracefully, making sure to knock him in to process.
He smiled. "Thank you."
I figured I'd make good this time. "Did you hear from your guy?" We were to meet yet another one of Ibrahim's associates. I somewhat doubted the efficiency of the organisation if its agents could just introduce outsiders to classified members, but I wasn't exactly complaining: Vincent had been both a pleasure and a ridiculous help and whilst I couldn't attribute the former to the allusive renard, he had aided in taking Pablo off our hands without signing his death warrant so I had reason to like him, though the opinions of both Ibrahim and Vincent would suggest otherwise.
The next member, however, confused me.
Whilst the union of a Turk, a Brit and a Frenchman sounded like the start of a bad joke, add a Reverend and it just got a whole lot worse. Reverend Paul Hamlet was his name. I had sort of assumed that his first name was Reverend rather than his occupation, but apparently not. Emyl too shared my surprise on the matter which led both of us being chastised by Harriet for being too judgemental. In our defence, one wouldn't normally associate goodly Christian values with an underground criminal organisation. Also, I was pretty sure the dominant religion in Turkey was Islam. Regardless, Paul Hamlet fitted the 'engima' bill rather well and not just from my view. Despite working with him for over three years, Ibrahim had yet to learn anything about the man, not even his country of origin. My semester in English Literature at St Vlad's had me guessing Denmark, but according to Ibrahim, Hamlet had never been. Although, I did learn one interesting thing about the goodly Reverend and that was his character: the assessment courtesy of one Ibrahim Mazur:
"He is like," he said, "the middle ground between Charles and renard. Charming and cunning: a dangerous but devilishly effective compound."
A little ironic, I thought.
In any case, the other detail of significance to us was the fact that he was living in Turkey at the minute and had a place for us to stay. Not that I wasn't thrilled with the prospect of a nice, comfy hotel room, but unlike Michael's Motel in the isolated heart of Pennsylvania, the hotels in Istanbul were much to public an environment for what we were doing. The only reason we weren't at Hamlet's house now was that he was on some sort of investigation and one could compromise both his and our safety if we had just barged in without any preparation.
And so, with all that in mind, Ibrahim replied, "Yes, apparently his op. is proving more complicated than expected, but he said we could be in within a week."
I grimaced. It wasn't ideal. Any delay could cost Harriet's mother's life, not to mention the bloody queen. Ibrahim didn't look too happy either. He was passing it off in his usual cool manner, but the bags under his eyes and tension in his form all suggested he was on edge. He positioned his arms behind him and leaned back and closed his eyes, basking in the morning glow, sighing loudly as if trying to deflate some of that built up stress. I watched him for a moment before turning back to the view that had captivated me earlier on. The breeze ran its fingers through my hair and I made to tuck a stray lock behind my eye; the act reminding me of the rose that lay there. Instinctively, my fingers moved to take it out, but my brain stopped them, hesitated for a moment before bringing them down into my lap, leaving the rose be.
It was then when Emyl came out.
"Jenny, have you seen-oh." Ibrahim opened his eyes and turned to look at Emyl. I lifted my head and shrugged. Emyl eyed us wearily. "Vince is on the phone for you, Abe. Apparently, it is urgent."
Ibrahim frowned, but pushed himself up before turning to help me. I scowled at him and he grinned. "Own battles?"
"Own battles." And I forced myself up without his help. Ibrahim chuckled and walked back, thanking Emyl as he did. Emyl nodded, but turned to me as soon as the Moroi walked passed.
"What are you doing?" He snapped.
I glared up at him. "What do you mean, what I am I doing?"
"Sitting out here? With him? Enjoying the roses?" he said flicking the flower on my head.
I quickly tore it from its resting place and tossed it away. "Oh, it is not like that. You know what he is like and he just wanted to have a little chat, a little bit of peace, and you know what, I can understand that." I said, sweeping passed him.
I heard him grunt but follow all the same, matching my fast stride almost instantly with his longer legs. "He is dangerous, Jenny. I don't trust him."
"Why not?" I challenged. "Has he given you any reason not to?"
"I just have a feeling-"
"Great. So you have a 'feeling' and we immediately hate the guy, despite the fact that he has proven himself useful more times than I actually care to remember?"
Emyl looked taken aback. "Why are you defending him!?"
"Is that not my job?" I snapped.
He glared. "That's not what I meant. Is there something going on between you two?"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous!"
"Am I, though?"
I stopped and resisted punching him in the groin. "You are hardly one to speak."
He snapped his head towards me. "And what is that supposed to mean?"
I scoffed. "Oh, I see the way you look at Harriet." He recoiled, glaring at me for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists before turning away and striding off. Oh, you son of a bitch. "Oi!" I shouted catching up with him, "So, you can accuse me of a whole manner of unfounded and moronic things, but as soon as I mention something meaningful you storm off like a child. You pathetic hypocrite!" I spat.
And with that his control snapped. He lashed round and swung at me. I deflected and countered. Striking him in his ribs, he grunted and pushed me back – using his superior height and strength. I staggered back, stumbling on my feet, but regaining compatibility just in time to jump out of the way of his next attack. Sensing my advantage, I pounced: ducking down and running into his legs, Emyl fell to the floor, but was quick to recover. He rolled me over, attempting to pin me down. Instinct took over and I kneed him in the stomach. He winced and I pushed, flipping us over so that I was on top straddling his waist. He jolted, shoving me off, but I gripped on: the effect had us rolling like an old, wooden wagon wheel gone astray. I stuck my leg out, stopping us dead; my foot catching against his throat. He gripped his leg around my own neck and we remained locked in that stalemate – both trying to wriggle free but neither willing to give up the advantage.
But that was a decision neither of us got to make...
I screamed as a torrent of freezing water flooded over me and I heard Emyl do the same. We both let go, simultaneously reaching for our stakes, but the water had us shocked so instead of strength there was stagger. I fumbled on my feet, trying to shake out the water that soaked through my clothes, before I saw her face.
Harriet.
Any hardness in Emyl's feature softened immediately to one of almost pleading and guilt. I too felt my hear shatter in my chest as I saw the water-user drop her palm and look at us both through watered eyes.
"Allies for life?" she said, the disbelief clear in her voice. She looked broken. Beaten. Defeated. But then there was a shift and her countenance changed to one of over-boiling rage. "What the hell is the matter with you!?"
"Harriet-" I tried to speak but was cut short by her glare.
"No, Janine. No." She cast her furious gaze between Emyl and I. "We have known each other since we were five years old. We played together, we learned together – you two fought together, for the love of God! What is the matter with you!? The world as we know it is falling apart and you two think it best to kill each other before they get to us. Ha!" she blurted, looking up to the sky as if expecting some sort of divine intervention. Upon finding nothing, she turned back to Emyl and I, her face stained by un-wiped tears; her eyes blazing with scorn and bitterness. "What's the point? So you know what – I'm going to find this stupid base, I'm going to shut it down and then I am going to get my mother back because she is the only one who I haven't lost. You two can do as you please." And with that, she turned away, walking back to the hotel.
Emyl did not waste a second. Glancing over to me, his eyes conveyed his remorse as his words never could. But just for a moment, for he ran after Harriet. I watched them from where he left me: she pushing him away and him falling to his knees, helplessly begging her to forgive him. And she broke down. She could not hold it any longer and she collapsed to the ground beside him, allowing the tears to fall faster and harder down. Emyl engulfed her in his arms and held her tight, glancing above him to the sky, as if to say thank you.
Despite my distance, I still felt I was intruding. I was used to being unwanted, but never in the presence of Emyl and Harriet. I suppose I should have known: I had been with them since we were children, watched them grow and, in effect, watched them fall in love, though I am not sure either would admit it. It was always going to be them together, but it was nice to believe that I had my own place of belonging. Forgive me. I turned my head away to see the rose: it lay soaked with its rich red petals squashed into the ground as though it had been pressed together in a book. It suddenly didn't matter where I was – that I was in possibly the most beautiful city I had seen and perhaps would ever see – it was still the same feeling that I knew all too well.
Glancing back, I saw Ibrahim emerge from the hotel. He did not look twice at the scene before him: Harriet sobbing in Emyl's soaked embrace and me standing, dripping wet, about a hundred metres away. I frowned. His movements were jolted and tensed. Marching forward, I intercepted his stride and saw his eyes were wild, frantic.
"Ibrahim?"
The quick irises halted. "Janine...I..." he stuttered.
My frown increased. "What?" I said flatly, really not in the mood for another man to piss me off that day.
He blinked and did a double take, evidently just becoming aware of my drenched state. "How-"
"Don't change the subject." I interjected. "What did Vincent say that's got you so wound up? Spit it out."
A ghost of a smirk graced his lips, but was suppressed under the frenzied disposition. He glanced away. "Something has come up..."
"What? With Hamlet?"
"No. No, that's fine. It's..." he trailed off.
His usual ominous persona was not appreciated in that moment. "Are you going to tell me, Mr Mazur, or am I going to have to beat it out of you?"
He chuckled. "My, my, Guardian Hathaway – and here I thought we were getting on so well, not..." he looked at his watch, "ten minutes ago."
"Do I have to count to ten...?"
"Alright!" he raised his arms. "A very dear friend of mine is in trouble and requires my aid. I will only be gone a few days-"
"What!?" I blurted. "You're leaving us? To go...where exactly."
"..." He mumbled something.
"Sorry, didnae quite-"
"Russia!" he exclaimed and I'm pretty sure woke up all of Istanbul in the process. "Russia. I am going to Russia for a few days to help out my friend in a dire situation. It will not interfere with the mission. I will be back to take you to Hamlet. It will be fine, Guardian Hathaway." He stated, the resolution and resolve in his voice was unmistakable.
"You're going to Russia?" I jumped at Emyl's voice. Harriet standing beside him, composed but definitely not content.
Ibrahim looked confused as he looked between myself and the other dampened member of our slightly feuding group, but made no comment. "Yes. And I assume you're eavesdropping allowed you to hear the reason why."
Emyl tensed and clenched his fists. "The louder the voice, the easier it is to hear."
"I think this will be good." Emyl, Ibrahim and I were all startled at the authority in Harriet's voice, usually so quite when these sorts of 'discussions' were going on. "A little separation to cool whatever this..." she gestured at the air between us all, "...thing is. Emyl and I will stay here and see if we can't dig anything up on this base, while you and Janine go help your friend." She said looking at Ibrahim.
"Hang on-"
"Janine, are you really going to let a Moroi travel across countries, unprotected...?" Harriet said, her flaring eyes meeting mine as she dealt a blow I could not defend.
"Really, Miss Conta, I am touched but I can assure you that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."
But that wasn't the point. I had made a vow. They come first. They come first. Serve until my very last breath. Protect above all. Harriet wasn't stupid. She had appealed to my logic, my pride and honour: I was a guardian, first and foremost, and to abandon Ibrahim to Russia alone would defy everything I had sworn to uphold.
Yet, I also knew why she was doing it. Even then, in all my enraged anger, I knew it was best that Emyl and I got our distance: a kingdom divided would only ruin itself and ours was on the brink of collapse.
And so I relented. "No, Mr Mazur: you need a guardian and I am coming with you."
"Janine."
I shoved another top back into my bag. I mean, what was I thinking? Unpacking? Had I learnt nothing?
"Janine."
I was actually quite surprised we had managed three days here. Croft wasn't too chuffed about the delay, but he had his own issues. Thankfully, Drew wasn't one of them, though having him running all over the USA looking for refugees from the storming of the Royal Court was not an overly comforting thought.
"Janine."
I stopped. "In case it had escaped your expert notice, Mr Mazur: I don't want to talk right now."
He sighed and strode over to me, plucking my bag from my hand and tossing it aside. "You need to calm down."
"Calm down!?" I exclaimed. "Calm down, he says! I am about to go on a trip in the middle of a life-depending mission that I know absolutely nothing about with a man who I am getting more and more conflicted by every time I see him just after literally fighting with my best friend who I am now convinced hates me, not to mention that this caused the nicest person I knew to-"
"Janine." He whispered my name, like a broken echo. Its tenderness struck me to silence. He hesitated, indecision in his eyes showing the internal conflict before resolving: he cupped my cheeks and brought his lips to my own. I had expected myself to push him away, or at least freeze like there was a wasp in the room – definitely not join in. Yet I matched his passion with that of my own. The sensation over-whelmed my judgement and excited every fibre of my being. I relished every moment of it. I didn't want it to stop. I-
I jolted myself awake.
"Ah, Janine, you're up. Good." I blinked, riling in shock, which Ibrahim seemed completely oblivious to. We sat side by side once again on a plane, but this time was off the books. Guardian Croft, we decided, didn't need to know that half of his Istanbul-squad had run off to Russia, or indeed were running off as it was. We had checked in with Emyl and Harriet before we left and Ibrahim had set them up with a hotline directly to Vincent (who, as we learnt, had been committed to a game of cricket with a side of afternoon tea, which I learned included more than just a brew at half past three).
I was vaguely aware that Ibrahim was talking, but not paying any attention. I was still feeling the feelings of my dream, the feeling of his intimacy: his body against mine, his hands running across my back, the taste of his mouth against mine. But that wasn't even the worst part. No, that place was given to the very strong part of me that wanted it again.
I was suddenly very glad Vincent wasn't here...
"Guardian Hathaway?"
"Hmm?" I blinked, my body tensing defensively out of the fear that he too could read my thoughts.
Thankfully, he seemed completely unaware of what was going on in my head. "Are you alright?"
"Fine." I said a little too quickly.
He eyed me sceptically. "Okay..." he cleared his throat, "As I was saying, we should land in about an hour and get to Novosibirsk by 20:00, local time, but the question is whether we want to stay overnight or press on to-"
"Hang on," I interrupted. "Where are we going? I thought it was just a quick trip to Moscow?"
Ibrahim smiled. "I said a quick trip to Russia. Russia is a little bit more than just Moscow."
I scowled. "Ha-ha." He chuckled. "So where in Russia are we going?"
He looked at me with complete indifference as he said the word: "Siberia"
"Jesus Christ!" I exclaimed, getting a dodgy look from the woman adjacent to us. Ibrahim laughed again. "This must be some crisis to make you drop everything to go right into the middle of Russia."
His expression hardened. "Yes."
I recoiled a little at his tone. "They must be very important to you."
He nodded. "She is."
She?
"Do I detect jealously in your tone there, Guardian Hathaway?" I cursed inwardly when I realised I had said that out loud.
"You wish, Mazur." I said, dropping all titles. "It's just quite surprising to hear that you don't just hang out with your little boyband."
He snorted. "I don't think we've ever...'hung out' as you put it." He said shaking his head a little. "No, she's just...she's a very old friend of mine."
"You don't have to explain-"
"I know." He interjected. "I want to, though." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "My parents and I, we moved around quite a bit over the years, Russia was just another stop. But I went to school there and I made a few friends, one of which being the woman we are going to see. Even after I had moved on again, we still stayed in touch. I even introduced Vincent to her when we had an assignment in Tomsk."
My eyes widened as realisation set in. "The omelette-lady. This is the friend that taught you how to make it."
He smiled. "Yes."
"Olivia, right?"
"Olena." He corrected and I rolled my eyes. "Olena Belikova."
