RPOV

I'd expected him to say no. I think I even hoped he would. I think even he's surprised he's said yes. He stares at me for a beat longer with dark eyes flecked with honey in the sunlight, before facing forward and straightening his back. An indication to get to start.

I suppress a gulp and shuffle forward, hoping I don't get grass stains on the knees. That would be a pain to get out.

He shoulders off his grey hoodie and despite the sun, I can feel a natural warmth radiating from his body. My hands hover in the open air, inches from his back. He turns his head slightly, waiting. I take a deep breath and place my hands between his shoulder blades. The warmth seeps into my cool palms.

Get a grip, you know this stuff. It's just like helping Janine. Pretend it's no different.

I force confidence into my fingers and explore the tense landscape. There are knots on knots, a tension that didn't ease in my exploration. I went as far up as to the base of his neck and no lower than his mid-torso. It could be ticklish down there and I didn't want to think about Dimitri being ticklish right now.

"You didn't do this running." I murmur as I pick a place to start. I press the heel of my hand into the crevice of muscle between his shoulder blades and spine.

He makes no indication that this is helping or uncomfortable.

"No." He admits. "There are weights in the garage and a few in my room. We usually spar out by the lake three or four times a week."

"Ah."

I press down harder as my palms move down his back and switch to the left. I just needed to loosen them up and then work with them. It would be a lot easier if he was lying down but I don't know how he'd feel about that. It would probably take me two years to work up the nerve to say something like that and even then I don't know how I'd feel about it.

I reach the opposite point of where I started and my fingers only twitch twice when moving to his shoulders. My thumbs start working against the angry, hard muscle at the bottom of his neck and I use the rest of my hand to lift and roll the tension in his shoulders. I notice that my skin is the same shade as his now where before it had been darker.

He makes a small noise of satisfaction low in his throat and it re-vibrates in my head, causing something like pride to pool in my stomach. I work like this for a few more minutes, wondering if I can make him make that noise again, before changing tactics. He twitches slightly as I come across something that feels like a taut string beneath his skin.

"This might be uncomfortable," I murmur. "I'm going to have to apply a lot more pressure."

Dimitri, the rarely bothered enigma (my new word), doesn't say anything in response so I guess he doesn't mind. I dig my thumb right in at least expecting him to twitch again but when he doesn't I experimentally make my next motion rougher.

He jerks.

"Sorry."

"It's fine." He says gruffly and I try to suppress a smirk.

My hands move rhythmically up and down his back, sticking within the boundaries and not daring to pull anything sneaky despite...the allure to. I become all about my work, spurred on by the idea that if I achieve something then we would be able to start the training soon and that sends flutters of excitement through me. It's also intriguing to have this freedom, this opportunity to explore Dimitri's body and all that muscle I'd been drawn to look at when he came back from his runs. Also...him allowing me to do this means I have his trust and that...that's something that holds more value than I can explain.

I know in the back of my mind I've crossed some sort of...boundary. That this is something big in its smallness. I know that outside of the two of us this would look strange, that if someone looked through the glass they'd think so. Hell, if I think about it, it is strange. But at the same time, it feels nice. I'm...I'm touching a Guardian and there's no fear. I'm helping a Guardian and it's not against my will.

But don't only see him as a Guardian.

I don't know what he is and now isn't the time to think about it.

After about ten minutes I begin to realize that all the tension in Dimitri's back is not just muscle related.

"This is going to be pretty pointless if you don't relax."

My words seem to have the opposite effect of what I'd been aiming for. Now it's like touching a stone sculpture. I'm not relaxed, then again I hardly ever was, I'm still nervous but it was a nervousness I wanted to run with. Like how I wanted to scale the ladders in the library to flirt with the height. That was the most relaxed I got around people, which is still progress from wanting to close my eyes to pretend they weren't there.

I was climbing the ladder again.

"Do you even know how to relax?" I accuse.

I feel the short laugh pass through his chest under my fingertips. "I think I can recall."

I inhale deeply. "Don't try, do. That's what my mother says."

"Good philosophy."

His shoulders lower slightly and it makes my task a little easier. I cast my mind back to early mornings that had spawned into the night. Lugging sacks of compost into the berry fields, my first week of abandoning childhood to be 'useful now', had left so many aches and twisted nerves that I could hardly lie down in the position my mother ordered me to. I'd learned how to treat muscles and know the mechanics behind my body through how I learned most things, through pain.

I curl my finger and drive the knuckle into the tissue lining his shoulder blade and spine. It's like pushing down on a very thick steak. It hits me again just how different we are. Touching me you are guaranteed to find bones first, although this is improving, touching Dimitri is like touching power. All the ability, discipline, strength, and skill is under my hands. The broad shoulders are held up and supported by muscle, protective padding, all evidence of a dedication to a lifestyle, dedication to being a weapon. He didn't taper in like Spiridon's body did, he's lean and sturdy. I preferred his shape. I liked every contour and dip I detected through his thin shirt. I liked how warm he is and I was certain I could feel scars beneath the material, small raises of skin here and there. Our bodies are not completely different then.

He groans suddenly, head falling forward. I'd finally hit a sweet spot. It's always a little bit of heaven once you've gotten past the pain. That part usually didn't last long for me because my mother took it as a sign to stop. I don't want to stop, I'm being useful and this could kinda be like saying thank you for everything, couldn't it? It didn't really matter that I was enjoying it too.

What if he asked me to stop?

"Twenty-three." He says.

My hands pause on his waist. Twenty-three what? Flowers, minutes, muscles in your lower back?

"My age." He clarifies, turning to look at me over his shoulder. His hair had fallen into his eyes and away from his neck to display his tattoos.

"Wow." I respond deadpan. "Old."

He rolls his eyes and turns away.

"I mean just – you were five when I was born."

"The math isn't lying."

I give him a sharp jab and he humours me by flinching. Another modest laugh passes through his ribs.

"What was it like?" I ask after a few minutes. His chin had to be resting on his chest now and I took this as a good opening. "When you were five and you were in, um, Russia."

His head lifts and it takes a few moments to answer. "Noisy. I have three sisters and being the only boy meant either watching them argue among themselves or be the one they collectively ganged up on." That didn't sound good to me at all but I could see he was grinning. "Once they actually tried to wrestle me into a dress…but I was six and there was only Karolina and Sonya against me."

"So… did they win?"

"No. I ran out of the house and climbed a tree until they got bored."

I laugh, imagining a shorter version of Dimitri running away from two little girls. "How long did that take?"

"Around three hours. It helped mama came home."

I run my thumbs down his back, either side of his spine, smiling at the tiny glimpse of the life he was painting for me. Mama had to be Russian for mother but it sounded so …affectionate.

"Do they live in America now?" I ask, curious as to what he meant by having to hide them from his father.

He tenses and I mentally kick myself. "No. They are still in Russia."

I try to remember all he told me in the Ozera's bedroom but my memory is fuzzy. What I do remember is that Russia is a long way from America. I had looked when Lissa and Natalie had pulled out a map to find where the raid happened and then I had asked the computer how long it would take to get there. More than eleven hours by plane, that was like making the trip back to Arizona six times. His family is so far away and I think he feels the distance a lot deeper than I did.

I realize my hands have travelled lower than before when he sits up like he's been shocked.

"Sorry."

I remove my hands from where I'd felt two impressions at the base. He catches my right hand in his before it can settle onto his shoulder. My heart stutters and he turns at the waist to look at me.

"I think that's enough. I feel a lot better, thank you."

Molten gold is playing in his dark eyes.

I inhale. "Are you sure? I don't have to stop."

The gold gains density. "I think it's best we do. It's getting very late."

He's right.

He is still holding my hand.

Heat that had nothing to do with the sun is creeping through my veins. He lets go to stand and I pull my hand to my chest, scrambling up after him. My eyes are just level with his chest and I have to tilt my head back. His hair is tousled around his face, the bronze threads lit up as the sun beats down from high above.

"What?" He asks awkwardly.

My lips refuse to flatten out. "Your hair."

He reaches up a hand to smooth it back.

"No, no. I like it. I like that it's longer."

"Thank you." He finally says, looking confused and it encourages my lips to split further apart.

He cocks his head to the side and before I can react he reaches out, lifting my hair off my shoulder to hold between his fingers. My body locks and only my lungs work...barely.

"You have gold in yours." He says quietly and after a couple of long seconds, he lets the lock fall back.

"It's too long." I admit, pulling it out for inspection. "Too heavy."

I'd always fought against having my mother cut it but having to tend to it every day now is a pain. It is too thick and long, the ends frayed or broken.

"Natalie's length would be easier."

"Don't cut it short."

I look up. "Why not?"

It may be the sunlight but his face has softened.

"Don't cut it short." He repeats.

I felt that nervousness grow and fill every fibre. "I think you're biased."

"You'd regret it." He murmurs and then steps back. "Like how you will regret staying up so late." The nervousness ebbs away and the sun moves behind a cloud. "Thank you, for your help."

"You're welcome."

The cloud passes and again we're bathed in the summer sun but the shadows have stayed with Dimitri, making him remote again. A statue I cannot touch. I walk back toward the house, crossing my arms and clutching the fabric of his shirt.

I let go of the door and turn back. He's watching me leave and even that won't sway me from saying the truest thing I have ever thought.

"They're lucky to have you, your family."

"You think so?" He asks but I don't think it's really a question. He looks to the flowerbed, gaze going somewhere beyond it. "The ironic thing is, we have the opposite problems you and me. You won't call your mother and mine won't take my calls."

I think I should leave.

"Why?" I ask instead.

He turns back. "You think you know what's best for yours and I think I know what's best for mine. I wonder what the answer would be if we asked them."

"Why doesn't she want to talk to you?" I ask, not being able to connect the dots is starting to annoy me.

He shakes his head. "Go to bed Rose. I'll see you in the morning."

The final shutter comes down on his face signalling that there would be no more talking. I make my way back to bed trying to riddle out why his family were ignoring him when he was protecting them. It didn't make any sense. It sounded ungrateful. I tie my hair up into a knot in my dim room and climb into bed, the question still tumbling around my mind.

Although…there are different ways to protect people. My mother protected me in her cold and strict manner. I knew she was doing what she thought was best. It was a lonely best overshadowed by fear. I was used to the solitary of it all because it had been my life but if I had to go back to it after living the past few weeks here, in human warmth and conversation and vibrancy, having had two girls I think I could call my friends, that cold would cut me.

That cold is cutting Dimitri.

He had told me a story about his childhood and there was no mistaking it was a fond memory. He had good relationships with his sisters, like Victor and Natalie. And now he didn't. I lie down thinking about how much that would hurt. How it would hurt Natalie if Victor turned his back on her. I mean it already upset Natalie when she thought he wasn't listening to her. I think about how it would upset me if she and Lissa no longer wanted to bother with me.

Dimitri is hurting and I wish there was some way to help.

I gasp as the pain from earlier constricts like cheese wire around my insides, a pain thinly slicing through.

Just as quick as it comes it fades away.

I shuffle onto my back and place my hands on my stomach. I gently press down and hope I don't come across any abnormalities, like feeling something wriggling in there.

Urgh, I had been watching too much TV with Nat.

No wriggling, just tenderness. What is wrong with me? Had eaten something wrong and its irritating my insides? I lie there for a while longer until my eyelids grow heavy and I cautiously roll onto my stomach. It doesn't protest but it doesn't feel so nice on my chest, a tender ache gently throbbing.

Stupid body.

Stupid body…poor Dimitri…he looked so isolated when I'd walked away… being in the sun had been nice, surreal, was it a dream? I'd been touching him willingly, a man, a Guardian for that matter and it hadn't been dreadful. I enjoyed it. Not just the touching but the company. To think he'd been so distant and agitated this morning (yesterday, last night?) and now I'd heard him laugh…heard him moan…odd how that sounded scary and appealing at the same time. How could it be appealing?

He turns to me, sunlight caressing him in an outline as it streams through the window. Oh no, I couldn't just ask him to make the noise again could I? Maybe I could ask him if his shoulders hurt.

I look around at the piles of books littering the floor and bed. I wasn't allowed in Dimitri's room, why was I in here? Did he have so many books because he didn't sleep?

"Come here." He says softly, his voice sounding like how sunlight feels.

I'm not scared. It's Dimitri. I go to him and it isn't until I'm right in front of him that I realize something.

"Did you know you're not wearing a shirt?"

"I don't need one." He smiles and it stuns me. Not just a small one or a forced one, a real one.

"Why?"

He reaches out and puts his hands on my arms. "Because I'm always warm, see?"

"I always want to be warm." I huff and enviously put my hand on his bare chest. It was almost hot, almost too much. "What if you get too warm? How do you cool down?"

"A shower. I take five a day."

"Oh."

I let my hand travel up his chest and wait for the reassuring thud. He felt sort of soft and hard at the same time, like a blanket over steel. The thud doesn't come. Dimitri's hands slide down my arms.

"Where is it?" I frown.

"Where's what?" He murmurs, his breath tickling my forehead.

I look up at him, marvelling in spite of myself at his skin. It looked like something edible, something inviting, tanned like the sun had spent hours kissing him. I finally make it to his eyes, dark chocolate and honeycomb.

"Where's your heart?"

His content, almost sleepy looking expression, along with his smile disappears. "They have it. I can't get it back."

The sun has set behind him leaving the room in shadows. His skin isn't warm anymore, it's almost cold. I look up at him suddenly scared and then terrified when I see his face. Completely closed off, eyes hard and black. I try to step back but his grasp is unyielding.

"Dimitri?"

But he's not Dimitri anymore. He's not anyone. He's made of stone. Grey and cold and I'm locked in its grasp.

"Oh, Rosemarie." A voice simpers. I look over my shoulder and find my mother standing proudly in the shadows. "This is what happens when you care. Look what you did to Eddie and now look. No one can get close."

I try to pull free again but I can't, there's no give and the stone fingers are getting tighter, biting into my flesh.

"Mom, please help me!"

"I can't help you anymore."

I look back, a new plea on my lips but it dies away.

"Such a stupid girl." Mistress Ozera says to my mother. "Walked right into my trap."

She raises her hands and her fingers are curled like claws. She starts stalking toward me, eyes turning from blue to red. I start to scream.

Lissa appears by the side of the statue and latches onto its stone hands. She begins to pull causing a spiderweb of cracks.

"Lissa, Lissa run away!"

She looks at me and I get the sense she's really annoyed. "Why would I do that?"

The stone cracks loudly under her grasp. Frantically I look back over my shoulder expecting Mistress Ozera to be on us but she's been blocked. Ben, Natalie and Victor are standing in her way.

"No no, dear." Victor smiles. "You walked into ours."

I wake and immediately I know something's different, wrong.

My chest is aching fiercely, pulsing throbs that immediately make my hands go there and find the constriction of the bandages through the shirt. I need them off, I need them off because it hurts.

But there's more, further down in the pits of my stomach, and further...all the way down between my legs.

It's when I try to sit up I feel something else. A slickness between my thighs. I yank the covers back and lift Dimitri's shirt out of the way.

"Oh my god." I breathe.

I stare down at the crotch of my PJ bottoms unable to believe that it's stained with blood.

Updated: 14/04/2022

Original note:

Writing Romitri had me baffled for a while because they both have reservations...but they both allow themselves to cross lines with each other...and i had to add to a building relationship without overstepping. Bloody hard. Probably failed. Oh well.

Writing new chapter as we speak, i know where its going and have it planned out so should not be long. Also if anyone wants some Lissa Character insight go listen to Dollhouse by Melanie Martinez :)

Ps. Does anyone else get intense urges around TOM? ... just me?...just Rose?... hmm.