Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)


JPOV

I brought my hands up towards my nose, the blanket in my grip subsequently falling over my mouth and tightening around my awaking body whilst my mind fought to keep me asleep. It had been a long and exhausting couple of weeks. I couldn't actually remember the last time I properly went to sleep: always seeming to jolt in and out of consciousness throughout the entire process of this mission, never feeling safe enough, secure enough, to let the slumber fully take me.

And yet, here I felt safe.

I couldn't quite place the reason, but the sheer feeling of security that I felt in the Belikova house was something I wasn't sure I had ever felt, not even at St Vlads, the place I identified as home. Well, the closest thing to it. But even that struggled in comparison to that night in Baia. I smiled, my mind accepting defeat and my eyes fluttered open…

...to see a very sly-looking Ibrahim.

"Ah, Guardian Hathaway: good morning." he said, grinning widely. "Tea or coffee?" He asked with mock politeness.

I instantly tensed, the former bliss evoked by a good night's sleep dissolving like ice in boiling water. "Coffee. Black-"

"-no sugar, I know." he finished, handing me the prepared cup, that bloody smirk not leaving his face for a second.

I watched him like a lioness buried deep in long grass, the blanket dropping down as I carefully extended my hand out to take the caffeinated beverage. Bringing the cup to my lips, I stopped: looking down at the deep brown liquid and sniffing the top tentatively.

He chuckled. "Be assured," he said, "I have not poisoned it." I really would not have put it passed him. As if he were his British comrade, his smile increased at my thoughts, but he tamed it and resumed a look of pleasant indifference. "May I have permission to speak candidly, Guardian Hathaway? The events of last night appear in somewhat of a daze to me, but I had the strangest dream…" he said, over-acting just a little.

I scowled, very much not enjoying this game. "You were going to kill him."

All trace of amusement fell from his face. His eyes hardened and form went rigid, reminding once again of how dangerous and terrifying he could be, if he desired. "He'd deserve it." His voice was gravelled and low, the words slipping out like a predatory growl and his Turkish lilt dripping with fury. A strange emotion flashed across his face and he closed his eyes, looking away. "You wouldn't understand, I-"

"I do."

He looked back, his gaze positively quizzical at my remark. "You do?" He questioned warily.

I simply nodded. I knew exactly the reason for Ibrahim's rage and reaction and, honestly, I think I would have done the same. Sure, it clashed with every principle I had been indoctrinated with since infancy, but damn it: that man should not have walked out of here alive…

I sat on the soft armchair in the far right corner of the room, adjacent to the longer sofa where Ibrahim lay. He was looking a little more comfortable as Olena tucked him into a thick duvet after having offered and then given me a cup of tea. I felt a pair of eyes on me and I flicked my own to see little Dimitri watching me intensely from the footstool in the centre of the room: he was kneeling on the floor with his arms resting on the square, fabric poof; his head was cradled by his hands, with fingers that move to brush his long fringe to the sides of his face.

I shifted in my seat.

"Are you a Guardian?" He asked, after several moments of uncomfortable staring assessment.

I tightened my grip round the mug and smiled. "I am."

His eyes brightened and danced with intrigue. "Do you have super-senses – can you can hear a Strigoi from a mile away and move at lightning speed and see everything in slow motion, like on the films?"

I couldn't help the smile. "Not quite. I am just like everyone else, but I use my senses a little more."

My response seemed to excite him even more. "So..." he hesitated. "So, I could be one too?"

I glanced towards Olena, unsure of her view on her son's present ambitions, for I didn't particularly want to conflict with how she was bringing up her child. However, she appeared to be busy rummaging around in a cupboard as her son gave me a full out interrogation, glancing up for a moment to give me a nod of reassurance. "Of course you can." I said and his face was so bright I think it could have lit up the whole street.

"I'm going to be the best guardian." He declared.

I smiled. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah! No-one will get near to my charge." He said proudly. "I'll bash and shove and stab them out the way." He leapt of his knees to show me. His hair fell down over his face, but did little to deter the wee lad.

I was actually quite surprised to see how co-ordinated Dimitri was and his punches, whilst a little clumsy, held a certain technical undertone. If I didn't know any better, I'd have said he'd seen it done before... I shook out the somewhat disturbing idea and the smile returned.

"You'd be the strength of the regiment." I said before realising I had quoted Drew. Man, you know you're in a dire situation when you start quoting Andrew Harrison.

"Is he your charge?" Dimitri asked, ceasing his movements and pointing towards Ibrahim.

I followed his finger to look at the Moroi. "Yes, I suppose he is." I said, musing a little.

Dimitri hesitated again, taking a step towards me and whispering so that Olena couldn't hear. "Did he really fall asleep?" he said, giving me a knowing look.

I smiled: he really was a smart one. "How did you know?"

He grinned, but attempted to pass his smugness off with a shrug. "He's tough: he always comes after the other man's been here. He helps mama – he's like her guardian. You'd have to be just as tough to beat him." He said with a remarkably Ibrahim-like smirk, but I couldn't bring myself to accept the compliment. The 'other man'? A cold shiver ran through my back, but Dimitri remained completely oblivious. "You can fight? Like properly fight?" he said, large brown eyes shining up at me through strands of tangled brown hair.

"I-yes..." I stuttered, looking over at Olena, who had evidently found what she was looking for and was rushing in the kitchen, straightening things up thus not being available to guide me through this particular topic. The icy feeling within me grew.

"Can you teach me?"

Thankfully, I was spared my response by Olena's intervention. "Dimka, why don't we stop asking Janine questions; she is very tired and would like to go to sleep."

He assessed me with his eyes and frowned. "No, she's not."

"Dimitri."

He hung his head down."Yes, mama."

Olena sighed softly, a tender smile gracing her soft features, but my brief inspection alerted me to a subtle cut on the side of her temple and a slightly swollen jaw. "It is well past your bedtime, young man."

Dimitri's head shot up. "But I'm not tired!" he protested, evidently knowing where this conversation was going.

"You will be tomorrow."

"But I'm not now." He said with a little whine.

Olena sighed. "You need to go to bed, Dimka. You need some sleep."

"But what if he comes back"

I frowned. He? Watching Olena's reaction, I saw the pain flash behind her eyes and my concern grew. She walked over to her son, knelt down to his height and placed her hands on his shoulders. "He won't come back, moy milaya."

"But what if-"

"He won't, I promise." She interrupted gently, somewhat lacking the conviction of the statement.

Dimitri looked both troubled and unconvinced. "You promise?"

Olena nodded. "I do." Dimitri still looked unappeased and I saw Olena's eyes flick over to mine. She smiled. "Plus, now we have a real Guardian to help us - so he won't be able to get close to us."

It was then that it clicked: Olena's bruising, Dimitri's skill and Ibrahim's rage. I suddenly felt very sick.

Dimitri turned his little head towards me, his fringe obscuring his features again but he pushed it out the way with his hand and moved towards me. "You'll protect her." It wasn't a question.

I nodded with as much conviction as I could muster, yet acutely aware of the little boy's age: I didn't know how much he knew, or understood, but I tried to lighten the mood for both our sakes. "I'll take the night watch, commander."

He beamed up at me, the solemn seriousness evaporated and the childish joy returned. "Spaciba soldat!" He exclaimed with a salute. I saluted back, shifting the mug to a more secure position between my legs.

Olena extended her arms out, sending me a look of gratitude. "Come on then, young man."

Dimitri spun round. "Commander, mama." He corrected.

Olena laughed. "I'm sorry, commander."

Dimitri grinned and I immediately felt bad. He isn't going to let that drop, I thought. He leaped over to his mother, stopping by a still unconscious Ibrahim. He leaned towards him and whispered in his ear: "I like her." He sprung towards his mama and grabbed her hand, taking the lead in pulling her up the stairs.

I sat on my own for a moment, contemplating the situation. I certainly hadn't expected to end up in a commune in the middle of Siberia within a year of my graduation, but as it was I was forced into reconsidering all I knew about the so-called 'communes'. Indeed, most of what I had heard through rumour and gossip was decidedly negative; the vague memory Tristan Drozdov's Christmas escapade sprung to my mind, which then made me think of Ibrahim. I cast a wary glance towards the man, slightly concerned I may have killed him. Yet, he seemed to be completely at peace: uncharacteristically void of conflict and analysis, just humble and...human. If it weren't for the now well-formed bruise under his jaw, I very much entertained the possibility of a smile. I doubted he'd be best pleased with me when he woke up, so I allowed myself to enjoy the moment where I just was allowed to be with him, without any of the complications. This was a bold move in my opinion, as the pleasure that I got just by simply 'being' with Ibrahim scared as much as it excited me. He was my charge: perhaps not by ceremony, but by circumstance which made any other... relationship completely inappropriate. He was my change, and I could not see him as anything else.

Yet he didn't make it easy - particularly now that I knew why we were here. I think travelling halfway around the world, in the middle of a life-threatening mission, to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere to help a friend with an abusive partner warrants a substantial degree of awe.

"I am so sorry," Olena apologised upon reappearing. "Had I known you were coming, I can assure you I would have been better prepared." She blinked, remembering something. "Oh, and a lot less rude."

I shook my head, attempting to calm to poor woman down. "No, no worries at all. I would be the same if I saw someone I didn't know with my child."

Olena smiled gratefully, sitting down in the opposite armchair with considerable relief. "They are my world" Seeing my somewhat confused expression, she elaborated. "I have three: Dimitri is my second and I have two daughters, Karolina and Sonya."

The unease returned: Olena couldn't have been more than twenty-six and if Dimitri was her second and he was around six, well…I could do the maths but dreaded to even contemplate any further. I couldn't imagine having a child at my age. But I pushed all thoughts aside and smiled. "They sound lovely."

A glimmer of amusement graced her soft features. "They are, when they willingly go to bed."

I laughed a little. "How often is that?"

She smirked. "Perhaps it is a good thing my mother is around too." I chuckled, bringing the tea up to my lips and allowing the warm liquid to glide across my tongue. She paused and bit her lip. "I am so sorry - truly, if I knew you were coming-"

"It's alright." I interjected, wishing to spare this woman from any further discomfort. "I didn't really know I was coming either: it was a very much split second decision."

She glanced over to Ibrahim and smiled. "Yes, he is like that. Always was, you know - him and Vincent." She looked away, tears tainting her kind eyes.

I really didn't know what to say. What could I say? I couldn't possibly begin to imagine what it is that she was going through and a generic 'it's okay' would probably do more harm than good.

So instead, I opted for a subject change. "You like cooking, right? Ibrahim made me your omelette and it was amazing."

She turned back, the tears falling away from her eyes and she laughed. "Bless you, my dear. Yes, Abe always loved that omelette. If I'm honest, I didn't think it was that good."

"Oh, I can assure you it was."

She laughed again. "Well then, I thank you, Janine. Perhaps I shall buy a few more eggs in the morning." She said with a wink.

I smiled my response. We stayed like that, talking for a while; whilst she kept it hidden, I could see an expression somewhat akin to relief underpinning her tone and her conversation. It was one thing I was completely certain of: Olena Belikova was a very good actor. As a Court Guardian, even if it was for only three months, and a both self-proclaimed and widely-established loner at St Vlad's, I had got very good at people watching; seeing the intricate subtleties that everyone tried to hide in the flashes and ghosted expressions of their features. But not Olena Belikova. She kept her emotions in check like no-one I had ever seen, to the point where my heart remained continually lurched when I looked at her kind and smiling features, with no trace of the horror that lay beneath.

Yet not even she could hide the fatigue under her eyes and, after making sure I was absolutely comfortable in the living room by covering my in quite possibly every blanket in Siberia, she retired up the stairs and the house fell silent. The only sound was that of the gentle chime of the wind against the outside drains and windows and the light click of the analogue clock on the mantelpiece. I made one last sweep of the room and then the floor, hoping Olena wouldn't mind too much as I readjusted and barricaded various entrance points and clearing room for exits. I placed the empty mug of tea into the sink and sank back down into my chair.

Flashes of the previous night flooded my vision as I remembered it all: Olena, Dimitri, Ibrahim. Even if he was being a bit of an arse at the minute, I still could not shake the awe I felt for him. The admiration ran deep, too deep: without really noticing, I had managed to place him on an unreachable pedestal and one that he could not leave. As he stood before me, I noticed everything: the way he stood with constant perfect posture; how he cleaned himself up with a crisp suit and a brush away from being completely clean-shaven; how his right little finger would remain naturally cocked in every situation; the flecks of gold in his dark, dark eyes; the way his lips rested somewhat parted whenever he wasn't talking or smirking. Everything about him radiated and emitted something that evoked my intrigue. If he was in the same room, I could not take my eyes of him.

And, good God, did it frighten me.

We stayed at the Belikova's for the most part of two days. After the slightly alarming conversation with Ibrahim, Dimitri had come pounding down the stairs and sat between Ibrahim and I, oscillating between us with his questions and requests for stories. Not long after, another small person jumped into the living room, this one a little girl. She looked a little older than Dimitri and was more hesitant when she saw me, but one look at Ibrahim and a sweeping grin stretched across her features and she run towards him, hopping onto his lap. Ibrahim embraced her immediately, addressing her by her name: Karolina. The spoke for a while in both English and Russian (Dimitri at this point scrunching his nose at his sister for interrupting his time with the Moroi) before Ibrahim reached into his new coat pocket and produced a beautiful silver necklace with a snowflake charm. Karolina beamed with excitement and cupped her hands together so that the chain could fall into her palms and remain as she slowly slid off Ibrahim's lap and tip-toed towards her mother, whom had come down the stairs carrying a smaller little girl (who I presumed was Sonya), to show her the gift. I had expected Dimitri to be a little jealous of the fact that his sister got a present and he did not, but he seemed completely unfazed by the notion and just continued to request more stories.

I smiled: help for Olena, jewellery for Karolina and stories for Dimitri. Ibrahim Mazur: the man was really something else...

As much as I would've liked to spend all day with the inquisitive little boy and his joyful sister, it was a weekday and thus they were expected at school. Given the somewhat bizarre nature of my life over the past few weeks, the sudden return to reality in the phrase "Dimitri, get your coat: you'll be late" took me by surprise perhaps a little more than it should've. Just before the elder children left, an even older woman emerged from the upstairs. She cast a somewhat strained glance towards me, smiled and took the hand of Dimitri who had been asking me about guarding techniques at the Royal Court.

"Come on, young man," she said to him, her accent thick but her English clear, "This one is not for you."

I frowned at the statement, but if Dimitri found it odd, he hid it well. Giving me a little wave before bounding out the door with his sister and the older woman.

"Yeva Belikova," Ibrahim informed as he caught my gaze fixed on the departing woman. "She has that effect on people." he said with a wink. I couldn't help the smile and my eyes flicked towards the gentle creases in his cheeks that formed when he smirked as he would so often.

Olena stayed with us most of the day, offering to show us round the town. Given their prior relationship, I felt that the offer was more for me than it was Ibrahim, but he seemed more than willing to tag along. In fact, I'd go as far to speculate that the effect extended to Olena too who, with her youngest daughter toddling in front of her, seemed to be regaining a genuine contentment back into her worn features. For me, it was quite the education: I realised that everything I knew or had been told, either through institution or rumour, bore little resemblance to the actual reality. Baia was, for all intents and purposes, a beautiful little community in the isolated heart of Russia.

"How long have you lived here?" I asked as we walked through the streets.

Olena responded, shrugging a little, "Since I was a child - I had moved away and travelled for a bit when I was sixteen. That's when I met Randall." she explained.

I winced. "I am sorry."

"No," she shook her head. "It is no-one's fault, but my own. I used to believe I loved him, with that I could justify all that he did. It is a powerful thing, you know: love. It wasn't until I had Karolina and then Dimitri and Sonya that I really knew what it meant." she said, glancing towards her littlest girl.

"They are truly beautiful, Olena." Ibrahim interjected softly, his voice lighter and more tender than I had ever heard it. "And they are so fortunate to have you as their mama."

Olena smiled, leaning in towards her friend. "You always were the charmer." He chuckled and touched his temple to the top of her head before pulling back up again. Something caught Olena's eye causing her smile to deepen and she to wave towards the source. Both Ibrahim and I followed her gaze to see two people, a man and a woman, both Moroi, carrying boxes into a house. They waved back with a quick but friendly hello. "That's Alexander and his wife Xenia, they have just moved into the neighbourhood with their daughter, Oksana." Olena said. "Lovely family."

I noticed their lack of company and frowned. "No guardians." I observed out loud.

"Alas not: they're quite a luxury," Olena said.

"Don't I know it," I muttered, thinking back to the graduation ceremony and the sheer number of Guardians assigned to specific families or people of significance, and how the rest remained few and far between.

"Did you always want to be a Court Guardian?" Olena asked, turning to me.

I shook my head. "I had no idea what I wanted, if I am being honest: just that I wanted to be a guardian." Though I had fantasised with the idea of being Harriet's guardian, I knew better than to get my hopes up - particularly if my mother had anything to say on the matter, which (in this case) I highly suspect she did.

Despite my internal musings, I didn't miss the curious glance Olena cast towards Ibrahim before her attention was drawn to her daughter.

We left the following night. It was around nine o'clock according to the clock in Olena's mantelpiece; I had long since stopped checking my own watch having been subject to at least three different time zones in the past fortnight. Olena was officially rendered the nicest person in the world in her response to our sudden departure. She thanked us profusely, managing to pull both myself and Ibrahim into a hug consecutively, whispering something into the latter's ear. I could tell Ibrahim was reluctant to leave, clearly unsettled by the short duration of our stay, but we had heard word from Istanbul that Hamlet's operation had reached a suitable end and that we were now able to begin detangling La Luz base operations from the heart of Europe. Despite being on the other side of the continent, Vincent had managed to dig up some information in the time and had sent it over in an encrypted email to Hamlet for viewing when we got there.

Though getting there was to prove a little more challenging than anticipated.

"Guardian Hathaway," I looked up to instantly lock eyes with Ibrahim's deep brown iris'. "It appears my rouble supply has been significantly reduced since I arrived. Now, is this the work of a pickpocket or do you have another explanation?" He said, his face marked with unreadable indifference.

I bit my lip. Shit.

Seeing my reaction, he strained his features before giving up and allowing the laughter to take over. "Oh, Janine." he said with a chuckle.

I grimaced. "Sorry, I panicked."

"Well, you certainly made someone's day." he mused, pulled out his phone after handing the driver what little remained of his finances and began speaking fluently in Russian. We had managed to make it as far as Novosibirsk (again), whereupon the funding, or lack thereof, situation became apparent. Ibrahim appeared to be attempting to resolve the situation, but from my lack of understanding when it came to the Russian dialect, he could've have been ordering a pizza for I knew: it was then that I really began to curse the fact I spent most of St Vlad's beginner's Russian at the back napping. "Right, well, slight change of plans: I'm going to need to acquire some more funds, but the banks don't open until tomorrow. I don't particularly feel either the need nor the conviction for a shady, illegal remedy, which you will have undoubtedly many objections to…"

Too right, I thought.

"...so, we'll be staying here for the night."

I blinked. "Here?"

"Yes."

"On the pavement?" I couldn't resist.

Ibrahim rolled his eyes, but was grinning widely. "Come on," he said, offering me a hand up and then thinking better of it. I smiled and pushed myself up, slumping my bag over my shoulder and following the Moroi through the darkened streets of Novosibirsk. The hotel that I found myself walking into was not quite as good as the one in Istanbul, but not quite as bad as Michael's in Pennsylvania. There was a rather exhausted-looking lady stand behind the desk. She managed a smile and summoned the strength to lift her hand up to the top of the desk to give Ibrahim the room key, before it fell limply back down to the side. Ibrahim, unsurprisingly, was as charming and as charismatic as ever. I was beginning to slightly enjoy his ever-dependable charisma and unwavering ability to get in and out of just about every situation with just his words - even if they were in Russian.

"Oh, hallelujah." Both words slipped out involuntarily as I beheld the two single beds in the room.

I felt Ibrahim's smirk behind me. "I take it you are pleased."

I didn't reply, just flopped down onto the nearest bed. The crisp clean sheets felt soft and cool against my skin, I didn't even care that I had just come in from a chilly evening.

He laughed again, dumped his bags on a somewhere in my periphery, the exact location remained unknown as my face remained submerged in the soft, cotton sheets. "Since you won't be moving for while, I'll mention now that Croft has been in touch."

The sound of my boss' name was enough to make me lift my head and turn to face the Moroi, who had positioned himself on the lone chair in the room, lounging back and watching me intently. "Oh?" I replied.

"Indeed." he said. "Apparently, there has been a S.W.A.T. team both assembled and deployed, who are heading for Monterrey and another for Vancouver."

I fully sat up, turning around and crossing my legs. "Have they heard anything from the Court?"

Ibrahim shook his head. "No, but I think that solace should be taken in the fact that it might be because Abuela doesn't know where they are."

I snorted. "Seems unlikely."

Ibrahim shrugged. "Terrorist groups are never as put together as they seem."

I considered for a moment. "Does Hamlet know what we are doing here?"

Ibrahim nodded. "He's been living in Istanbul for well over a decade and thus a valuable asset; in our trade, we are taught to learn a city in a week, so I wager he knows every nook and cranny."

"Almost too good to be true." I said, quirking a brow. Ibrahim mimicked me, but broke out into a wide grin. I rolled my eyes and then thought back to Baia, my mind drifting to Olena and her family. The humour left my face.

The ever perceptive Moroi who had been watching me anyway noticed the change and frowned. "Janine…"

I looked away, shaking my head. "It's nothing." Flashes of Randall's demonic grin shot through my mind and I felt the bile rising through my inners.

"Janine." He said definitely, evidently not letting this one slide.

Not appreciating the forceful authority in his tone, I stayed stubbornly silent.

He sighed. "Janine," his voice softened as he rose from the chair. The bed dipped with his weight, but as he valued his bodily parts, he stayed a good two metres away.

But his relative proximity was enough to break my stubborn plight. "How can she bear it?" I was convinced Vincent had given Ibrahim some mind-reading lessons because his eyes filled immediately with understanding. "I mean, to have to live with the fear that he can come back at any time and hurt her: to know how he can hurt her?" Ibrahim stayed silent, realising that it was rhetorical and that I was venting. "And to remain that nice, that good. How? She covered it so well, but I could see it - the torment and horror. How can she just ignore it and then just go out and say hello to the new neighbours or take her children to school. His children."

I felt his palms on my face as he cupped my cheeks, tenderly forcing me to look into his eyes. "They are hers. He was no more than a cog in their creation." His voice was soft, as it had been before, but there was an underlying pleading that hummed and ran like a gentle current of electricity through his words. "When you love someone, completely and truly, the pain and suffering once endured doesn't just go away, dissipating into nothing, but it is made just that bit more bearable. Olena loves her children and love will do that to you - help you see past it all."

"My mother never could."

I felt his hands retract and his eyes widened. I dropped my jaw, releasing just what I had let slip out...

Oh, shit.