I was getting tired of myself.

I had been in Baia for a week. I didn't want to leave, not yet, because I felt like I owed my family an explanation to why I was really here. It was unfair to come home and then just walk away, leaving everyone worried and giving them no guarantees to when I would come back, if I would come back.

What made everything worse was that they had these great expectations of my visit.

I had been away for too long and then came here with a half-assed explanation. The last few days were tiring, since my mother made me run errands for her. It certainly didn't help that the house was full of people all the time, visitors wanting to see me. She was even discussing the possibility of throwing a party to celebrate my home coming, and everyone in Baia knew that once Olena Alexandrovna decided to throw a party, she didn't do it halfway. There would be no peace in the house until after it was over.

She had perceived my sadness even if I had tried my best to hide it, and was doing everything she could to make me feel better. My definition of comfort, however, was very different from hers.

I didn't mind my mother's overzealous attitude, though. I loved her for her kindness and, if anything, I was mad at myself for being such a jerk. I had nothing to fear, not here. Here, there was only love. The women of my life were the source of my strength; the very cornerstone with which I had built and defined myself on. Each of them had a place in making me the person I was. I knew they wouldn't judge me; that they would be there for me.

Some days were better than others. I would sit down and read my mother's books, the ones she had me handling with care when I was a little boy. I remembered telling Rose about them; the leather covers and golden titles. The adventurous heroes within their pages. I missed these books, and running my hands through them was like reaching out to the past. Being a child, I could have believed in anything. There was no doubt, even when things were bad, that good times were coming.

Some days we would sit down around the table and I would help Mama bake black bread for everyone. Vika would tell me about St. Basil's and how things had changed. She reminded me of myself when I was her age, learning about the pain and the delight of being alive and growing up, yet she was still so innocent in many ways. Karo would bring her boyfriend home and our conversations wouldn't make my chest hurt. Her children, Paul and Zoya, would play around the living room, and I would laugh at their attempts to chase each other around, stumbling and dropping things along the way. Yeva would make a sarcastic remark and tell us about her dreams while she stitched up the holes in our clothes. Sonya would complain about her enormous feet and Karo would tease her. They would fight and make up right afterwards, and we would laugh at their silliness.

The vast majority of days were bad, though. I didn't need much to remember Rose, even if I was in a place she had never been before, because she was so buried so deep inside me that every action I made was full of her. My family would demand attention when I needed time for myself, and I would get nervous and anxious and act like an asshole, hurting everybody in the process. This house was full of my own demons, as well.

As much as I cherished the memories of growing up here, I could see my father's face in every corner. I couldn't understand men like my father. Of course, in his case, there was more than misogyny behind his abusive behavior – we, dhampirs, were often seen by Moroi (being it men or women) as nothing more than workforce, sex objects, or baby makers. How could he look at my mother and see her as anything less than a fierce, incredible person with an enormous heart? How could anyone look at people like Yeva, Karo, Sonya, Vika, Rose, and think that they were less capable of anything for just because they were women?

Thinking about him always made things so much harder, and today was a bad day. It wasn't difficult to flare my anger when I had so many things to be mad about. I wish I could scream at someone or hit something. I couldn't tear my sister's room apart, though, so I headed out. It was pretty early in the morning and everybody else was asleep. I found my way through the streets of Baia, heading for a forgotten place in the center of town. It was like an old gym/dance studio where the teenagers would hang to do all sorts of illegal things. The equipment was rusted and dusty, and the place was thoroughly abandoned. The walls were covered in mirrors, making me feel dizzy.

As soon as I got there, I started abusing a ragged punching bag as if it was the higher power responsible for everything that had gone wrong with my life. I didn't bother wearing gloves as I punched, but with no one to hold it, the bag was swaying too hard. Frustrated, I hit it one last time with as much force as I could muster.

Suddenly, all my control slipped me. I couldn't keep this collected façade anymore, and all the frustration poured out of me and fueled my anger, blowing it to proportions I had never experienced in my whole life, except, perhaps, for when I beat up my father. I felt powerful and like nothing could hold me back. Then it was gone. The anger burned out as quickly as it came. Soon enough, I couldn't tell who and what to blame for it. Was it the stupid punching bag, for being so old? Was it God? Was it Oksana, for making me face my fears much too soon? Was it the blond Strigoi that took everything away from me? Was it Rose, for saving my stupid life? Was it myself, for simply existing?

I stared at my face in a mirror on the opposite wall. The scenario around me showed decay, the deactivated equipment seeming like a rusty echo of its old glory, the mirror cracked in many places. It seemed like a picture of my soul. There were living things and broken things, I thought. I was in the broken pile.

I didn't know for how long I stayed in the empty gym, sitting down, staring at the floor, seeing nothing. Eventually, I heard the door open. I was surprised to see my mother, of all people, walking towards me.

"I thought you would be here," she said with a sad smile, as she took in the scene around me.

I took a deep breath. Of course, she would know where to find me. Every time things got hard, I would run to this place and overexert myself until I had no energy left to think. I've been doing it for as long as I could remember. She had always respected my wish to be left alone, though.

"Is everything okay, Mama?" I asked out of social protocol, my voice hollow.

"You are the one to tell me, Dimitri. Only your body came home. Where's your heart?"

I looked at her. She seemed concerned, and after twenty-five years of knowing each other, I could see the love behind her wrinkles. I sighed but didn't say a word as she sat down beside me. I had always admired my mother for her strength, but it was her vulnerability that awed me the most. She knew when to rely on people, when to show her emotions. Wearing her heart on her sleeve, I had always seen her compassion, forgiveness, and commitment. Those old eyes bore into my soul as she saw me: not as the dark, mysterious guardian persona I hid behind after Ivan died, but as the man she raised through infancy, the kid that learned to fight to save himself and the ones he loved but was still scared and scarred and had no idea of what to do about it.

"Who is she?" my mother asked. I was surprised at her blunt question but stayed silent. "Your babushka told me about her. Yeva saw her in a dream some time ago and said that she blazed with light, like a warrior of goodness. The type of person your grandmother is always rambling about, someone with the power to change the whole world with a single action."

"She was," I answered finally, after several moments of silence. I started talking, not sure if it was a conscious effort or if I just couldn't keep it to myself any longer. No one but my mother could make speak about Rose, because she had a way of tearing down my walls and speaking directly to my soul. "She was pure, raw energy, and I could see that she was capable of great things from the moment I met her. People would put her down for her reckless nature, but I wasn't fooled. She had me intrigued since day one."

And then I told my mother everything. Every precious memory I had kept to myself from the moment we met, the months of training, the lust charm, the realization that we couldn't be together, Tasha's offer, Spokane, Victor's trial, the cabin in the woods, the attack and finally the rescue mission and the aftermath of the battle. By the end of my tale, I was leaning on my mother for support, and when she held me, I couldn't hold the tears any longer.

"I always tried to be a good person." I continued, voicing the thoughts that haunted me for weeks. "Well, as good as trained assassins went. I have no pretense of seeing myself as God's warrior, battling evil and saving innocent souls, as some guardians undoubtedly do.

"I killed, lied, coveted… the list of my sins goes on and on. I'd like to think that everything I did was for a greater cause and that the lives I took would balance with the ones I saved. If I am such a good person, though, wouldn't I deserve love? How come all good things in my life end? Ivan, Rose, one by one I'm losing everyone I love and care about. If I am such a good person, why do I always end up alone?" my voice cracked by the end of my rant and I just stared at the ground feeling like a lost little boy, unable to look at my mother.

She had stayed silent through my whole monologue. She held me now, caressing my back with such gentleness I felt unworthy. It was really rare, to meet someone that knew when to speak and when to stay quiet. That was one of the reasons my connection with Rose had been so special – we knew exactly what the other needed of us. Mama had kept her distance through the whole week, coming to me only when she felt I was ready to share whatever was hurting me. And when I needed to speak, she let me.

"You are a good person, son. Sometimes I think I know you better than you do," She replied after a while, her voice calm and sad. "Sometimes, bad things happen to good people. It's frustrating that we should just accept it, and based on what you told me about Rose, she never did, but that didn't stop her from living. Take her as an example. Own the bad things that happened because life is just this. It's not a matter of deserving or not.

"I wish I could shield you from all the evil in the world," she continued, "but when you are a mother, you learn very early that if you want your kids' lives to be their own, there are things you can't control. I decided on the day you were born that if I couldn't stop bad things from happening to you, I wish I could at least understand what you are going through.

"I know what it's like, to care so much about someone that the very thought of losing them is inconceivably painful, but the people I love the most are still here with me. I want you under my wing, but you proved to me from very early on that you don't need me to build walls around you. I can't stop you from doing what you have to do for Rose, but you have to come back to me, Dimka. You have to find beauty, turn your back from all the dead things that were left behind. You are not amongst them."

I knew then that I had her blessing to do what I needed to be done. My heart swelled with love for her, a love so strong it numbed the bad feelings for a few precious seconds. We just sat in there in silence after that, as I tried to gather my thoughts. I knew my mother was right, I was letting myself be stopped by my grief. It was no use wondering if I deserved the things that happened to me, because deep down I knew they would have happened anyway. I was dangerously close to feeling sorry for myself and giving up the fight.

Eventually, my mother had to go back to the house and cook lunch, so we left. I was walking right behind her, so she had to turn around to see my face.

"If you let me, I would like to hold a funeral for Rose," she whispered, "just between us. She's the one you chose, so she was part of our family, and even if we never met, I can see why you loved her and that we would, too, if we had been given the chance."

"I don't know if I can handle explaining things to everyone," I responded warily.

"You won't have to," she promised.

I nodded as we walked towards the house, feeling lighter with every step I took, as if the words spoken had unburdened me somehow.

My guardian senses kicked into action just as we turned around the corner to our home. There was a man leaning against our wall. He looked familiar but I couldn't remember where we had met before. He was wearing the flashiest assemble of clothing I had ever seen: a lime green fedora hat and a matching scarf, over a white formal suit that looked very expensive. His golden earring was so shiny, it was hard to look directly at him. Two things were obvious: one, he was a Moroi and two, he was very rich.

Two other men approached us from behind, and I immediately got ready for battle, stepping into a defensive position over my mother. The guy with the fedora smiled at that, and his guardians – that was one logical explanation for the two bulky dhampirs behind me – stopped as well, ready for my attack.

"There's no need for animosity," the Moroi man said, still smiling, "at least not yet. Later, maybe. I'll be the judge of that after you answer my question, Dimitri Belikov."

"Who are you?" I asked, wary.

"Oh, I'm Abe Mazur," he stated and the puzzle solved itself inside my head. "I'm known around here as Zmey. You might have heard of me. I'm here to ask you, Belikov, about your intentions with my dead daughter."

A/N.: I hope you liked this chapter! Thanks for reading

While reading BP, it bothered me that Rose never took the time to fully grieve Dimitri and feel sad about what was going on. I know that Rose's nature is being very straightforward about her pain, but she had been through some serious shit and I wish we could have seen a more vulnerable side of her.

I know I promised things would get less angsty, but there was no way I could leave Dimitri with all those feelings bottled up inside him. So, if this chapter seems like too much/a filler/too OOC, please forgive me. I based his reaction in his depression after the restoration and how he dealt with guilt and pain then.

(Also, this chapter's song is I Know It's Over by The Smiths. Seriously, look for the lyrics. It's one of the most beautiful songs ever written).