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


JPOV

My head hurt.

I could hear nothing. It was that feeling when something is so loud, that everything is just turned to silence and all that's left is a dreadful ringing - like a heart monitor gone dead. I grimaced. I winced. I tried to move. Rolling on my head and feeling the blood smear against my forehead as though the ground we a callous brush.

"Janine…" I had never heard my name so broken, so fractured. "Janine, please, get up." It was a plea if ever I heard one. I blinked, forcing my eyes into focus. The world remained blurred for a second, before his face came into it…

The man I loved.

Oh, shit. I grunted and forced myself upward, pushing up on my forearms. Ibrahim, seeing my attempt, was quick to aid. A vague memory hit me: Own battles, mate. I groaned again, clearly my heart was having a field day given that my brain was currently incapacitated. I shifted myself onto my backside and looked back over at the warehouse.

Well, what was left it.

I was speechless, stunned to silence: the imposing building now stood as an empty carcass; a burning shell. The smoke rose up high into the night, casting a dark shadow over the building. It was gone. Destroyed. Exactly what we had set out to do, if a little improvised. Regardless though, we had done it. But my first thought was not of glee or joy or relief - rather heart-wrenching despair:

Where were Emyl and Vincent?

It was a thought, a question, which had also dawned on Ibrahim; his gaze was fixed on the burning, metallic corpse before us, as though he were haunted by it. Vincent had just brought down a building with his mind. Given that Ibrahim got exhausted just making a room shake, I dreaded to think what state Vincent was in. More to the point, he had to be close, if not in, the building to cause a rupture like that.

And from the looks of it, no-one had survived.

"Emyl…" I said his name like a prayer. My closest friend, bar none. With him came Harriet and all the subsequent childhood joy, however limited it was, that I had experienced. Grown up together, stood by each other; fallen out, fought and reconciled more times than I could count.

And he could now be dead…

We had lost contact as soon as our earpieces went, without any vague knowledge of where they were. Perhaps they had only just entered? Or were they the reason for the storm of bullets? Any evidence of their actions stood in a burning brim of metal, slowly crumbling into the ground beneath it: it was impossible to say. And it killed me not knowing.

"Janine!" Ibrahim suddenly snapped.

I shot my head round to see a Strigoi staggering towards us like something out of a zombie apocalypse. He was missing an arm and badly burned, but as was their nature, the burns were healing quickly. I wasn't sure if Strigoi could grow back limbs, but I wasn't willing to find out. Stumbling to my feet, I patted my leg to find my stake. Fear struck me as I realised it wasn't there. Glancing around quickly, I saw it lying a few feet away. The Strigoi saw it too and used my distraction to aim for Ibrahim. He, now having had a few experiences with these bastards, was ready with his palms against the ground, and I could see him eying the tree that resided in the neighbouring back garden. Refusing to let him drain himself even more, I snatched up my stake and bolted for the Strigoi. He shoved me back, causing me to stumble even more given the blood loss and general disorientation I was experiencing. Yet, I fought against it - forcing my body forward, I slammed into the creature, knocking it off course. He growled, abandoning his plight for Ibrahim and focusing on me.

He spat something in a language I couldn't detect. Was it Turkish? It didn't sound it, yet anything would've sounded demonically subverted in his blackened tongue. I tightened my grip on my stake as slashed him. He dodged, using his imbalance at the loss of his arm to swing his other with such a momentum that threw me to the ground. I grunted on impact and he came on top of me, baring his teeth like a viper. I brought my legs up and bucked, kicking him back. He hissed but held his position. I squirmed, scrambled and slashed, but he kept me in place: trapped.

"Buenas noches, señorita bonita," he said, his voice cold and detached; the words coming out like a haunted echo.

Not Turkish then. I thought and then mentally slapped myself for getting distracted. I jerked my knee to where I knew it would hurt and the wince on his face told me it did. He let go of his hold on my right arm and I used it to slit his cheek. He howled, and pulled back a little, his neck exposed for a moment before a thick knot of ivy wrapped around it in coiled murder - tightening and cutting off his airways. He gasped and gurgled and I used it to reposition my stake and drive it into his heart. The sound he made was sickening and his stench filled my nose as he collapsed on top of me, suffocating me to the point of almost vomiting. I heaved him off me and immediately sought to find Ibrahim.

Surrounded by ripped ivy and stained cobble, I found him curled up and hissing through his teeth; his whole body trembled as it tilted on the very threshold of seizing:

Whatever he was about to say...was lost as a spasm ran through his body, causing him to collapse further into the wet ground. He lurched: simultaneously gasping and gagging.

The memory flashed in my head. The battle at Court. The Earth magic. The woods. The blood. I could see him fighting it, his eyes begging me not to do what my instincts told me to. I hesitated, the tip of my stake brushing against my already rather battered palm. But we were spared the looming argument as a sound of movement from the collapsing warehouse brought our reality slamming right back at us.

"Get up." I said, pushing myself to my feet and pulling him up with me. He grunted in protest, his feet and entire body barely managing to stay attached to each other, let alone cooperating to make him stand up. We took a step forward and he cried out in pain: his body convulsing in on itself. "Oh, you stupid son of a bitch." I hissed, as I dragged him along further. He knew what overuse of his magic would do to him, and yet he did it anyway. That wasn't to say I wasn't grateful for his quite probably saving my life, but that, at that particular moment, I wasn't seeing the upside.

We were miles, miles, away from Hamlet's home with no contacts, no money and the ever-growing threat of a scattered terrorist sect roaming the streets. I could see the human authorities approaching the scene from another street, so I lead Ibrahim the other way. We couldn't go to a human hospital, for slightly obvious reasons, so we were going to have to find sanctuary elsewhere.

And we were going to have to do it quickly.

Ibrahim convulsed again, biting down on his lip to stop himself no doubt screaming. His face was growing deathly pale and paler by the moment. I heaved him along, my own strength significantly dwindling. If a Strigoi or another Dhampir member of La Luz appeared then, I was sure we'd both be dead. As it was, our path was clear of just about every life-form. The Strigoi and Dhampir were either dead or in hiding and the humans had fled like frightened ants in direct sunlight. I lead us deeper into the alleys, the darkened corners, of Istanbul - acutely aware of the danger, but balancing it up with the danger of being seen by the unknowing human population and the inevitable scandal that would cause. I was vaguely aware of the multiple escape plans we had formulated before this had actually happened, but given that we had assumed that this wouldn't occur, they did not commit to my memory in the same way as the ambush plan had. I was painfully aware that I was just wandering clueless in search of anything, anywhere, I could go to get Ibrahim safe.

They come first.

"..." Ibrahim mumbled something completely incoherent to me.

"Hmm? Ibrahim, what is it?" I said, encouraging him to speak, to stay awake.

He winced and groaned and on after a good few moments managed to utter out the word: "...left…"

I looked up towards the path and turned left. Before lay a brightly lit sign reading: 'HOTEL' in vertical letters. I smiled and held Ibrahim tighter. How he had managed to work out first, where we were and second, where the nearest hotel was all while on the verge of a complete seizure was beyond me. He was truly incredible.

"Come on, we are nearly there." I whispered, edging him forward. Even through all his pain, I could see the smile he tried to give me. We approached the door and I turned so to push the door open with my back whilst not letting go of Ibrahim. With some difficulty, we stumbled in, he collapsing on the carpeted floor to his knee and me falling down next to him. The clerk behind the desk looked up from his book and then frowned deeply, his eyes increasing their alarm with every moment that passed. I opened my mouth to speak, but Ibrahim beat me to it.

"Alek...krŭv…"

In an instant, the somewhat alarmed man's face turned serious and he spun on his heels, rushing behind him to open what appeared to be a filing cabinet, but was actually a fridge. He pulled out a transparent packet containing a thick red substance. Blood.

He tossed it to me and I sliced the top open, putting it near Ibrahim's face. He latched his lips around it, sucking hard and fast. The packet was emptied in seconds and I glanced back to the man.

"You got another one?" I said, rather more forcefully than intended.

He nodded sharply and tossed me another. I repeated the action and saw the colour flood back into Ibrahim's cheeks. He stopped trembling and his breathing regained a certain regularity. I was so overjoyed that I didn't care how ridiculous my relieved laugh sounded or the fact that I pulled him closer to me, running my bruised and bloody fingers through his equally messed-up hair. He let the pack drop to the floor and met my eyes. For a moment we knelt there, locked and unmoving. Such was his draw, I could feel myself falling towards him, desiring nothing more than to remain in his arms and he in mine. But it was a moment over far too quickly.

"You need another?" the man - Alek? - called out. I blinked out of Ibrahim's gaze and turned to the man.

"Maybe for later." I replied, rising to my feet. I could feel Ibrahim watching me as he remained on the floor.

Alek nodded and tossed me another. "You good, Abe?"

It didn't surprise me, not in the slightest, that Ibrahim knew this man. It did surprise me a little that we had managed to stumble, quite by accident, into this particular hotel that just so happened to be run by one of Ibrahim's friends and that this friend just happened to have an emergency supply of blood behind the front desk, but I wasn't complaining.

There was a slight pause in his reply that made me turn around, but he managed to regain his composure. "Much better, thank you, Alek."
The man nodded. "Anything you need, you have." he said with a firm smile. He looked not much older than me, but not quite as old as Ibrahim. He was skinny and a little malnourished, but you could see that he kept himself, or at least tried to, well. His accent was thick, but not Turkish; definitely somewhere in Eastern Europe though.

"Thank you, Alek," Ibrahim said again, this time with more of his former tone and charm.

"You in that building?" Alek asked, his expression cast in a concerned frown between the pair of us.

Ibrahim nodded, pushing himself to his feet only to collapse onto the lobby couch. "I'm afraid so. Is your phone line still working?"

Alek shook his head. "No phones. The streets closed too."

Ibrahim nodded. This was to be expected: the human response to any situation was first to stop anything else so as not to create further issue/distraction. It was annoying, but it worked for them, so I wasn't going to interfere.

So it looked like we were staying here. Honestly, I could've been worse. Alek seemed nice enough and, with the way he was looking at Ibrahim in one of such awe that could be comparable to a moth's fascination with the flame, I figured he was one to be trusted. He also kept a very nice place, despite the slightly dodgy location. He was quick to usher us into what he called his best room. While Ibrahim wandered in, Alek caught my arm and handed me another packet of blood.

"Make sure he okay." he said.

I offered him a small smile. "Always."

Alek did not break his stoic demeanour, but nodded all the same. After handing me the keys, he made his way back down the stairs. I clutched the cyclical metal of the keyring and flex my fingers against it, attempting to weed out the stiffness they were facing. Were they broken? Probably. Did I care? No.

I walked into the room just as Ibrahim flopped on the bed. I smiled, entertained by the way he sank into the sheets and sighed in pleasure as he did. I quickly scanned the room for the other bed, but found none. Clearly Alek had got the wrong idea. Rolling my eyes, I sighed. Guess I'll be taking the couch. Deciding to act upon that, I wandered over to the long, cream-cushioned surface that resided by the window. Even with the small glance that I did take, the sight outside said window was enough to make me frown.

"Where is Alek going?" I asked, watching the man cautiously stride out of the hotel upon locking the front door and through the streets.

"Trying to contact Hamlet." Ibrahim said, not bothering to remove his face from the sheets so it came out as a muffled mess, barely coherent.

I continued to frown. "He doesn't have to do that..."

Ibrahim groaned a little as he sat, turning his body to face me. "He believes he should, despite my continued efforts to dissuade him." Seeing my expression fully, he smiled softly and elaborated. "His father was one of the most wanted men in Bulgaria - where Alek was born and the authorities were after him and Alek for a very long time. His father ran some dodgy underground organisation, I don't know many of the details, but I know Alek wanted no part of it, so Vince and I smuggled him out of Bulgaria and set him up under Hamlet's watch, and he has felt indebted to us every since." He said, a sorrow tainting his tone at the mention of Vincent's name.

I swallowed as my earlier concerns surround both Emyl and Vincent rose to sit uncomfortably in my throat. "Do...do you think…?" I couldn't finish that.

Ibrahim cast me a soft look, tender and uncritical. "I cannot say, and thus will not; certainty and assertion of unbiased rationality and probability in this instance will only bring more pain, so I prefer not to think on it too much and instead hope." his voice cracked a little at the end. With a long, shaky sigh, he regained his composure and retook my gaze.

I nodded only slightly, tensing my jaw whilst desperately trying not to cry; I could feel the salted misery building in my eyes, so I looked up to try and dry them out. Such was my focus, I did not see Ibrahim rise from where he had been sitting, only felt as his arms wrapped around me. Yet I did not push him away, as I once would have done, instead sank into his embrace, allowing my hands to tentatively snake around his waist and draw him closer.

"Janine," he whispered, his voice like an echo in the wind.

"Hmm?" I hummed, finding no energy to manage anything more.

"As much as I am enjoying this, I am rather aware of how in need I am of a shower…" he said.

I smiled. "I wasn't going to say anything…"

He pulled back and frowned. "You are hardly much better, young lady."

I cocked a sly brow. "Ever the charmer."

He smirked. "Honest?" He countered with a little shrug.

I narrowed my eyes. "Don't try and get out of this." I said. "Go have a shower."

He raised both his eyebrows and did a little bow. "Yes, ma'am."

I scowled a little and he smiled, before hobbling towards the bathroom. He was in there a good half hour, so I decided to sort out my sleeping arrangement. I didn't have much faith that I would sleep, but it gave me something to do. Picking up one of the pillows from the bed, I dumped it down on end and went over to the wardrobe. Opening it up, I saw a safe in the bottom corner, next to a small fridge. Without bothering to take the spare blankets, I made my way back to the couch and picked up the two blood packets, figuring that they would probably keep better in the cold.

Ibrahim emerged, dressed again in his suit, minus the blazer (which was slung over his right shoulder). I don't think I ever saw him as disarrayed as that moment, but I doubted if he cared.

I clambered into the cubicle, having only paused to lock the bathroom door behind me and quickly undress; revelling in the feeling of the warm water running over my bruised and beaten body, I probably stayed in there longer than I should've really, but I wasn't too fussed. Plus, it meant that when I did come out, there was absolutely no trace of lingering blood stained on and debris from the blast lodged in either my skin or my hair. I wrapped a towel around my body, not really enjoying the prospect of having to put my dirty and battle-worn clothes back on and thus prolonging it as long as possible. I let my hair run loose; the unruly curls subsided a little under the weight of the water. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror: the girl that looked back seemed like a stranger to me. She was pale, ginger and with a lingering look of disdain that I all recognised, but her hardened expression and almost despairing gaze caught me by surprise. She seemed simultaneously stronger and weaker, both physically and mentally: a walking paradox.

I sighed. No point in nostalgic analysis as it wasn't going to achieve anything remotely productive. Instead, I picked up my stake and went to the sink, running the water to clean off the blood and uncategorised other bodily parts when something caught my eye. A flash of something metallic skated through my vision, reflected from its place in the sink plughole. I frowned and sought closer inspection. When my fingers failed, I went in with the tip of my stake, dislodging it up and bringing it towards the light. My eyes widened upon the realisation of what it was:

A bullet.

Battered, deformed, but still clearly a bullet. I didn't really think. Spinning on my heels, I unlocked the door and ran into the main part of the hotel room. Ibrahim was standing with his bare back towards me. He had removed his shirt and was inspecting his right shoulder. Upon seeing me, he fumbled. "Ah, Janine…" he said, turning towards me with his removed shirt over his shoulder.

I clenched my jaw and marched over to him, swiping the shirt away to reveal a surprisingly large wound on his collarbone region. I groaned. Ibrahim flinched as I began my inspection. It hadn't gone all the way through, that was clear from the fact that he still had the bullet. I pushed him back on his sternum and onto the bed, my left hand covering the wound to stop the bleeding while my right reached for one of the pillows. Quickly, I dismembered it: stripping the case off and putting said case against the bleeding wound in place of my hand.

"Hold." I said, my authoritative tone leaving no room for arguing. Thankfully, Ibrahim complied without protest and I went in search of a first-aid kit.

Honestly, what was he thinking!? Not telling me about a bullet wound. Trying to fix it himself. He was, for want of a better word, insane. There was some clear mental affliction afflicting in that man's head, for no-one in their right mind would decide that this particular course of action was the most suitable. What did he think - that I wouldn't a gaping hole in his person? I was, after all, a guardian. I noticed things. Perception was a key part of doing what I did and yet he, in all his wisdom, presumed that he could just cover this with a white shirt, scrunching it in such a fashion as to hide the bloody evidence.

Moron. Absolute fucking moron.

I located the first aid kit in the bed side cabinet and strode back over to him. He had remained facing the open bathroom door, not looking towards me even as I approached. I resisted the scowl and instead decided to administer my limited medical knowledge on the situation, not helped by the fact that everything in the bloody first aid kit was in Turkish.

"Jesus Christ!" he cursed as I applied the antiseptic wipe to the side of his wound after mistakenly picking up a packeted blister plaster. Well that certainly got his attention. He cast a wayward glance towards me, but upon seeing my raised eyebrows sighed and complied.

Once I had wiped the wound clean, with my patient doing his darndest to conceal every wince and flinch his body involuntarily made in response to the alcoholic sting, I began slowly wrapping a bandage around it, threading it under his shoulder and tying it neatly at the end. Convinced that it would not move, I let go and stepped back a little.

"Idiot." I said, flatly and too the point.

He sighed, but did little to hide the slight irritation which my character assessment provoked. "Yes, do forgive me for not running pitifully into your arms, Guardian Hathaway." He replied with a tad more snark than I could tolerate.

"What did you honestly expect you would do?" I snapped, the anger within me flaring up, having me fighting for control.

I could see his composure too falter, but he held onto it like a lifeline. "Perhaps something independent of your scrutiny?" he suggested. "You know, subordination is rarely a fond feeling for me."

"And you chose a bullet wound to prove your masculinity? Bullshit."

"That is not what I said."

"It is exactly what you said!" I scoffed. Really, I wanted to tear my hair out, scream, shout: the lot. How could he not see the fact that this could have killed him? Good God! This man was infuriating! If my whole argument wasn't based around it, I would've probably killed him then and there.

"Do not put words in my mouth, Hathaway." he said, his habitual threatening instinct, one which I had seen first with Torres and then with Guerra, surfacing and directed at me.

Big mistake.

I stepped closer to him. Even sitting down, he managed to match my height, but that didn't deter me. "Do not threaten me, Mazur." I warned, my voice deadly cold. "I am not one of your pathetic little 'villains' who will cower at your words, so don't you dare threaten me." I locked my gaze with his. I could see the fire burning within his eyes; he acted controlled, put up a masked facade as well as I did, but I could see the volcano that was erupting within him - the magma boiling in his dark and petrifying stare. I held it for a blip, long enough to remember that I was just standing before him in just a towel with my hair dripping down my shoulders. Clenching my jaw, I turned away and walked back to the bathroom, satisfied that this conversation was over.

Evidently, it was not.

"No."

I halted and span on my heels. "No?"

Ibrahim stood. "No." he repeated, with a strength and conviction that surpassed any prior display I had stood witness to. "No, you are not one of my 'villains', as you so eloquently describe: you are my friend, which means you are not allowed to dictate why or how I do things."

I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms over my chest. "Even when it could cause some form of harm to you?" And a lot more beside that, I added silently.

He laughed, but there was no mirth to it. Running both his hands through his hair, he looked to the sky as if in search of some higher being to come and bring some sense into that moment. "See, that right there," he snapped, turning and pointing to me. All composure gone. "You scold. You lecture. I helped save your life earlier! Never once did I hear a word of thanks, instead I got cursing and rebuke like I was a child who ran into the bloody road!"

"You could have killed yourself doing what you did!?" Gloves off now, if he wasn't holding back then neither was I.

"As could you!" he yelled, his arms wide and his eyes of similar breadth.

"It is my job: my duty." I growled.

He snapped his head towards me. In three quick strides, he was inches from my face. "No it is not. It is a twisted and immoral social convention that has people, good people, dying every single for nothing other than elitist self-satisfaction." he said, hissing a little.

I tensed and glowered at him. "You want my thanks, fine. Have it."

He pulled back and clenched his teeth together. Exhaling angrily, his gaze broke with mine to look anywhere and everywhere else. "I don't want your gratitude, Janine!" He shouted.

"Yeah, well I don't want your lunacy, but that doesn't appear to be going anywhere soon." I snapped. I sighed and tried to calm myself, but to not much avail. "Look, can we possibly continue whatever this," I gestured between us, "is at some other point. I am really not in the mood as I'm not sure you fully noticed, but my best friend could be dead."

He glared over at me. "Oh, you are not the only one who could have lost someone today, Guardian Hathaway."

I winced a little; it was a low blow on its own, but I had forgotten that Vincent meant something to Ibrahim, perhaps not in the same way as Emyl had to me, but enough to make it sting. The thought of both of them sobered me up considerably. "You're right, I'm sorry - I know this must be hard for you-" I cut myself off as I heard him scoff and shake his head again. Well, so much for the sobering. "Oh, what now?"

He glanced over at me. "Why is it such a trial for you to see me as an equal? On terms of mutual respect, rather than you constantly giving yourself the role of the hero while I just fill the damsel in distress?"

"Ibrahim, that is not-"

"It is." he stated. "You tell yourself that it is because my life is somehow of more value to justify yourself, but that is exactly how you see me."

I could see that this was going to get us nowhere. "Oh, forgive me for showing a little concern for you!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Janine! I don't want your pity! I don't want your gratitude!" he yelled.

"Fine, what do you want!?"

"I want you!"

I did not have time to register the shock that fell upon me. Nor did I manage to utter out anything but a terse gasp in the time it took him to reach my towel-laden frame and claim my lips in his. His kiss was warm, but impassioned and all round intoxicating. I immediately sank into it. With hindsight, I suspected that he had used it as a means to shut me up, or perhaps escape from developing his comment further, but it quickly turned into something else entirely. All that pent-up anger and confusion and just general emotion I felt towards the man was sent into hyper-drive and fuelled that burning kiss. I wanted to push him, hit him, scream at him, love him and loose myself to him all at the same time and I didn't care in the slightest. It all fell into that action, that moment, that kiss.

And he matched it. He challenged it. Bringing his hands under my jaw, around my neck then through my knotted and soaked curls, he forced me back until I hit the wall. I felt it not and brought him closer, my fingers running over his still bare torso, tactfully avoiding the bandage that covered his upper right side. The feel of his skin was incredible - it was neither too hard from extraneous muscle development, nor particularly soft as a result of his more privileged lifestyle, but somewhere in between: firm and downright irresistible. All my life I had spent leering with disdain towards my Dhampir and indeed Moroi schoolmates who frequently frockled in pursuits such as these, but I now had a whole new appreciation for it. I had never experienced a sensation anything like it: the feel of his lips on my, the tongue that danced on the threshold, before my need to breath became too much and I broke ever so slightly away to gasp for air. He seemed unfazed, continuing to plant his lips in a trail down my jaw and onto my neck, murmuring a sweet worship: my darling, my love.

I leaned back and moaned, allowing my senses - heightened by my training to a point of admirable acuteness - to become immersed in the action. I relished it. I loved it. I loved him. The anger, the worry, it was all still there, but comforted by the rising affection. I wanted it. Perhaps it was the situation - the countless near-death contexts that we found ourselves in that I had brought us this far. Or maybe it was the situation that had prevented it from happening sooner. Either way, I did not mind, care or even stop to over-consider. Here was a man I loved, I trusted and considered my equal, no matter what he thought.

I wanted it. I wanted him. And so, for one brief moment in my life, for one unburdened night, I turned off all my mental inhibition, stimulated from an overactive and over-calculating brain and gave in to the desire of my heart…