It doesn't take long before we pull up outside the familiar store, and though I can manage it all on my own, Dimitri helps me carry all the equipment inside.

The owner is super nice and friendly once more, and brushes off my profuse thanks with a laugh.

"Only a pleasure," he says, "I remember what it was like when everything went wrong on a gig. I'm happy to help."

"We can always use more of that in our line of work," I reply gratefully. "I just wanted to let you know you saved the show. Actually, is your daughter here?"

He shakes his head. "She always gets a little bored at the shop."

"Ah, that's a shame." I gesture next to me. "Dimitri Belikov wanted to thank you himself, and I thought your daughter might like a selfie or something."

Dimitri smoothly reaches out to shake the man's hand. One glance at his face shows that he's trying to hide a smile at the man's evident surprise.

"Well thank you very much sir," Dimitri says. "Would it be okay if I left an autograph for her?"

It warms my heart to see Dimitri carefully writing out the girl's name before signing his own. It's a stark contrast to the more bratty attitude he displayed when I first met him. If I'd been a sixteen year old girl about to receive a personal autograph from Dimitri Belikov, I think I would have screamed. It's comforting to see him use his powers for good after hearing about the more depressing aspects of his career. And it's a reminder that just like any career, it has its ups and downs.

Once we're done at the shop, I check my phone for a response from Mixing Desk Guy, but come up empty. So instead I locate the nearest restaurant likely to have pancakes.

It's crowded, filled with couples and families with children. But we manage to get seated at a booth in the back, which isn't necessarily quieter, but is at least more out of the way.

"So that's a latte with almond milk and a black Americano?" asks our waitress. "Great. I'll be back with your drinks in a minute and I'll take your food order."

I can sense that Dimitri is just a little more tense here, and combined with the amount of people, I'm a little on edge.

"You okay?" Dimitri asks, looking at me with a slight frown as the waitress walks away.

Embarassed, I half shrug. "I'm okay. Just feels a little surreal."

I'm fiddling with the corner of a napkin to divert myself, but the restless feeling doesn't seem to be going away. My eyes sweep around the room almost involuntarily. Since our last not-a-date ended so abruptly, I'm paranoid that someone could be watching us.

His lips quirk. "Strange to be out in public with the incredibly talented and attractive man sitting before you?"

He's trying to make me laugh, but through my awkwardness I can only muster a grin. "Yes actually. That and wondering what I did to have karma so firmly on my side."

He laughs. "It's very good for my ego, having you around to compliment me."

"Maybe I should stop while we still have enough room for your head at the table then." I smile.

"Hmmm," he pretends to think about my response, but his eyes are shining. "You have a point Roza. There is too much space at this table."

He quickly slips out of his side of the booth and slides directly into mine, scooching over until he's next to me. My heart skips a beat as I gaze up at his face, suddenly so much closer than it was moments ago.

"Hi," I breathe.

He smiles down at me. "Hi. Better?"

My heart is having difficulty recovering a regular pace. "Uh...yeah. It's. Yeah."

His fingers fold around mine, and I think my pulse gives up on any hope of normality. All the while Dimitri is clearly watching and enjoying the effect his proximity has on me.

"So uh. Is this a date then?" I ask.

He has the decency to contain his laughter, but I can see it shining in the depths of his eyes. "This is a date. Is that okay?"

I nod, aware that my cheeks are very warm.

The laugh is still contained in his expression. He leans towards me, bringing his face closer to mine, and his eyes take me in. I'm a deer in headlights, stunned into silence by how good he looks up close, and the surprising force of my feelings.

"Cat got your tongue?" he teases.

"No."

"Mind if I double check?"

I lean into his kiss and the world fades into background noise. His lips are warm and sweet, and they elicit a bubble of happiness in my chest. It wasn't intended to be a long kiss, but something about the warmth of him just draws me in. And I never want it to end.

We break apart at the sound of a saucer being set on the table; our waitress has arrived back with our cofees. I blush, of course, but Dimitri smiles at her with his easy charm and settles an arm around my shoulders. She takes our order and leaves again, with an indulgent parting smile.

I duck my face into Dimitri's shoulder, and feel it shake as he laughs.

"Oh no," he chuckles, "I seem to have made it worse."

My face is still hot, and I silently wonder what's wrong with me. I've been on dates before, I've spent plenty of time around Dimitri without being an idiot up until this point. I pull back from his shoulder and take a sip of my latte.

"Sorry, I'm swear I'm not normally like this."

I take a breath, and Dimitri watches with a grin.

"Okay, I'm good now," I declare, not entirely sure if I'm telling him or myself.

"For the record, you're adorable," he smiles as I take another sip of coffee. He leans in closer, pitching his next words low enough that only I can hear: "Kissing me in public makes you blush. But sucking me off against the kitchen counter? No problem."

I almost choke on my drink.

"God," Dimitri breathes through his laughter, "it's so easy to get you to react."

I roll my eyes to distract from my flaming cheeks. "You're an ass."

"So I've heard," he chuckles, draining half his coffee in one go.

Talking to him like this-like we're a normal couple-it stirs something in my chest. I haven't felt this way in a long time. And possibly even more perplexingly, I feel the unrepressible urge to tell him somehow.

"I think you kind of just make me feel like a giddy teenager," I admit softly.

Dimitri's laughter fades, and his smile takes on a quiet kind of gravity. "And you make me feel like an optimist," he replies.

The air is thick, enveloping us in our own little bubble. It seems like we've just shared something important, something deeper than the face value of our words. There's no hint of a blush now as I lean against him and he hugs me close. I press a kiss to his chest, and he answers with his own against my hair. He murmurs something in Russian.

Our phones vibrate at the same time. Entwined as we are, I feel the tickle of his against my hip.

"It's probably Mixing Desk Guy," I say, pulling my phone out my pocket.

And sure enough, he's texted me an address and told me he's home all day. A quick search tells me it's about fifteen minutes away, so I tell him I'll likely stop by in around an hour and a half.

When I look back up from typing my response, Dimitri's fingers are also flying across his phone keyboard. I wait until he's done.

He slips his phone back into his pocket with a frustrated sigh. I can just about guess who's responsible.

"Tasha?" I ask.

"Always."

He leans forward and closes his eyes briefly, running a hand through his hair in agitation, inevitably freeing a few of the shorter strands that flip down to frame his face.

I place a hand on his back, just between his shoulder blades. The powerful muscles undulate beneath my palm, clearly communicating the tension in his shoulders.

"Is it about the tour?" I ask tentatively.

"Mmm," he sounds as he exhales and sits back upright. "She's sending through plans to get my input. You'd think I'd get some form of a break after the show."

I make a noise of sympathy. He really does deserve some down time.

"Anyway," he sighs. "Not your problem."

Little does he know just how quickly he's becoming my problem, and all that that entails. Maybe this is why I fought so hard in the beginning. Maybe some part of me knew how fast I can go once I let myself fall.

But while we're on the topic...

"We should probably talk about the tour," I say.

He meets my eyes with a sad smile. "Do we have to?"

With impeccable timing, our waitress arrives with our food.

"I have an egg white omelette and a stack of pancakes."

"Thanks," I mumble as she sets the plate I front of me, and hear Dimitri do likewise.

"Y'all enjoy."

I figure I could use as much energy as possible for this conversation, so I don't hesitate to dig in. The first mouthful of fluffy pancake drenched in sweet maple syrup makes my eyes flutter closed.

"That good, huh?" Dimitri laughs.

"Better," I reply. "You want to try?"

I've already loaded up my fork for him, but he shakes his head with a smile. I shrug and happily plunge it into my mouth instead, while he takes a bite of his own breakfast.

"It seems likely we'll be on the road for about 6 months," he says after he's swallowed. "There will probably be one or two breaks in between for people to spend time with their families. But it can be really tough."

I nod, trying not to let on how my heart contracted painfully at the thought of not seeing him for so long. He downs the rest of his coffee and I'm reminded that my latte's growing cold. I take a few gulps of my now lukewarm coffee, but in my line of work cold caffeine is still caffeine.

"For what it's worth," I say carefully, "I do think the tour will be great for your career. I just worry a little about whether it will also be good for your headspace."

There's a moment where I see the light of surprise in his eyes, before he looks back down at his plate. He takes another bite and finishes his mouthful before speaking again.

"There are small things I can do, structures I can put in place to make it easier," he says slowly. "Performing has been a bit better lately."

Well that's a relief. Admittedly it did seem like he wasn't feeling as trapped at the last show, but I'm glad to know for sure that it's the case. I put my hand on his thigh, just wanting to touch him. He places his hand on top of mine with a grateful smile.

"So what can you do to help with that on tour?" I ask.

He takes a moment to consider my question. "On the bus it's really close quarters. I need to make sure I have a small crew that packs a big punch."

"Yeah I can imagine," I muse.

With Gerry and Mason, we used to be a well oiled machine. Between the three of us we used to be able to set up, run the show, and then tear down afterwards with maximum efficiency. Depending on the scope of the gig at least.

I feel a slight twinge of regret at the thought. Not because I miss Mason, but that all that work is wasted now. There's something fulfilling about being part of a team where everybody pulls their weight, and it's a rare experience. Trying to find that again somewhere new is going to take a lot of work, and it feels like I'm starting from the ground up again.

Dimitri's next words effectively tear me from my thoughts.

"So I'd like you to join the crew as sound engineer."

I almost laugh, pretty sure at first that it's a joke. The default response, one that automatically rises to my lips, is that I don't have enough experience. I've never worked a job in that capacity, never been lead or worked audio solo for any job of significance. Imposter syndrome tells me that I'm not good enough. Maybe in another couple of years.

But a stronger voice in my mind begins to take over.

Like hell I'm not good enough. I've pumped hours, days, weeks of my life into this job. I started at the bottom, making coffee and wrapping cables, always arriving early and asking questions and pretending the misogyny didn't affect me. And everything since the time I was sixteen, it was all working towards this dream.

Dimitri seems content to wait for me to process his question, apparently amused at watching my thoughts play out across my face.

Can inreally do this? It makes sense, in a way. I have to start over in any case, so that may as well be on the road. With all the travel it will be a great way to network outside the boundaries of where Mason's bullshit may have reached. But at the thought of everything with Mason...I just need to be sure.

I down the rest of my cold coffee, and meet Dimitri's eyes.

"Why?" I ask simply.

He raises and eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean why me?" I try to keep my tone neutral.

In spite of my feelings for him, in spite of this being my dream job, if it's for the wrong reason I know I'll have to turn it down and walk away. Everything hangs in the balance.

But it's almost like he can guess at my thoughts. There's a strange expression on his face, almost one of admiration.

"Because not only do you know the songs, but you seem to be able to predict my writing patterns. You don't make excuses, you don't waste time, you just deal with shit and get it done."

The relief that surges through me almost knocks me over. Unable to speak, I try to communicate my gratitude through a nod.

He smiles, exposing those adorable pointy teeth. "I get it Roza. I know why you would be worried. But don't forget that I've worked with dozens of teams, all over the country. And I know genuine talent when I see it."

I have to look down at the table to hide the tears that suddenly pool in my eyes. The moment seems to echo across my life up to this point, comfortably settling every tough choice I've made as the right thing to do-at least in retrospect. Because everything I've done has brought me here. And while I can certainly thank my lucky stars, I know that I can also thank my work ethic.

"I guess I'm going to be a Roadie then," I say with a quiet smile.

Dimitri's eyes shine with pride. "Welcome to the team."

He leans forward, cupping my cheek to pull me closer. I can't believe that I was so nervous when we sat down, because the warmth of him envelopes me in a feeling of safety. And the sensation of his lips on mine feels like I'm finally home after a long day.

"I hope that's not how you welcome all of your crew," I joke when my lips are free once more."

He laughs. "Only the most gorgeous members."

"Careful with those compliments, Comrade. My ego might end up matching yous."

"Mmmm, as well it should Roza."

Twenty minutes later, I've been unable to shake the smile that keeps sneaking onto my face. I try to pull myself together unsuccessfully, as we drive up to the address I was given.

"He lives here?" Dimitri asks, peering up at the apartment building through the car window.

The dubious note in his voice is puzzling since it's clearly pretty upmarket. But I pull out my phone to double check. "Uh, yeah. This is it. He's in 5A."

Dimitri mutters something in Russian, and when I look over at him his mouth is almost pressed into a line.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"You'd better go up without me," he replies with a wry smile, "I'm not exactly going to win you any favours."

I cast a doubtful glance at the mixing desk on the backseat. Lugging that up to the fifth floor is not going to be fun.

"Don't worry," Dimitri says, correctly interpreting my hesitation, "It will fit in the elevator no problem."

I open my mouth, not even sure what I should ask. But upon seeing my confusion, Dimitri's face softens a little.

"I'll explain when you're back, Roza. I'm going to go through Tasha's messages in the meantime." He shoots me a smile. "So don't take too long, okay?"

I can tell it's the best I'm going to get right now, so I return his smile and give him a brief kiss just because I want to and I can.

Dimitri was right about the elevator. It's no real effort at all to get the mixing desk back up to the fifth floor, which turns out to be the top of the building.

There's a dead houseplant outside 5A, and the door is intimidatingly large and starkly black. But I knock anyway.

"Come in," a voice calls from within.

As I open the door I'm hit with a wave of smoke so strong that I take an involuntary step back.

"Can you close the door? You're letting the vibes out."

"Sorry," I reply, suppressing a cough.

Through the haze, I make out an attractive man with brown hair and startling green eyes. He's lounging on a leather sofa, with a hookah on the fancy coffee table in front of him.

Four seconds in this place, and I just know I'm going to reek of weed for the next few hours. So I tell myself I'm in for a penny, and bring the case over to where he's sitting.

"Thanks for this," I say. "You really saved the show."

He lazily waves his free hand. "Anything for Mr Belikov. I'm Adrian Ivashkov, by the way. And you are?"

"Rose Hathaway," I reply crisply, offering my hand for him to shake.

It seems to amuse him, and I concentrate on keeping my grip firm. But on the inside I'm screaming. Why did Gerry never tell me he's on first name basis with one of the best producers in the country?


Author's Note


Another chapter done, matching the number of chapters in my previous longest fic. Next time I post, this ficwill take the lead! Please let me know your thoughts by leaving a review. I do love hearing from you, even if I'm not always great at responding. Also if you'd like to keep in the loop when I post, please feel free to favourite and follow.

The VA universe and the characters therein are the sole intellectual property of Richelle Mead.