I'm very careful to follow Sydney's care instructions over the following days. I keep the bandage on for as long as she told me to, and I relish the opportunity to not wear a bra in the beginning. But after a few days where I can't run and I don't really leave the house, I start to feel a little bit like a hermit.
That feeling is compounded by the fact that Dimitri is incredibly busy. Initially I decided not to tell him about my tattoo until I could take off the bandage, since I'm sure he'd want to see a picture. But so far we've just talked in brief snatches over text and occasionally exchanged selfies, and that's only when he's able to make it work with his ram-packed schedule. So between him telling me what he's busy doing and how much he misses me, and me wanting to drink in as much time with him as possible before he disappears again, the topic of my new tattoo has yet to be brought up.
I'll be honest: it's frustrating. I know he was trying to warn me what dating him would be like, but some days it's pretty tough to bear with the fact that I'm more likely to get a reply from Mia than from my actual boyfriend. His absence is a steady ache in my chest; one that I've had to learn to live with. It would be easier to handle if I had enough in my day to distract myself with, but again, I need to give my tattoo time to heal, and I'm not keen on showing the outside world how very present my nipples are. So all in all, I'm not in a great headspace.
I do try not to complain too much though. I know Lissa would be happy to lend a listening ear, but she's also in the beginning stages of her own relationship, and I don't want to drag her down with me. In fact, I do get a level of satisfaction knowing how happy she is. Our conversation about the LA trip logistics quickly turned into an update on her and Christian, and in spite of my self pity about the state of my own relationship, hearing her gush about her boyfriend made me smile.
And things are looking up today, since I actually have to go out. Ordinarily I'd laugh at myself for being excited to go for a health checkup, but at this point I'd honestly take anything to break the monotony. True to her word, Mia passed on my details to the tour manager, and I was sent a bunch of useful information yesterday. Including the fact that I need to submit a medical assessment to show I have a clean bill of health, and approval for the long hours on the road.
Dr Olendzki's offices are the same as ever, though it's probably been longer than recommended since I last had a checkup. I generally tend to take the "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" approach to my healthcare, and I'm either young enough or lucky enough that there haven't been any negative effects. Yet.
I tell the doctor I'm going to be on the road for six months, and that my job tends to be physically demanding. She smiles and nods and starts her examination by taking my blood pressure.
"Your blood pressure is great," Dr Olendzki says while I grimace as she removes the cuff from my arm. "Can you lift your sweatshirt so I can check your breathing please?"
I'd resorted to my baggiest sweatshirt, as the only item in my closet that can hide my boobs without risking aggravating my tattoo with lint.
And sure enough, "New tattoo?" the doctor asks as she places the cool metal of her stethoscope on my back.
"Yeah," I reply, "I got it done almost a week ago."
"Looks like it's healing really nicely," she says. "Breathe in for me please. And out."
I breathe as directed, and we repeat the process in a couple of spots.
"Lovely," Dr Olendzki says, draping her stethoscope back around her neck. "You don't smoke?"
"No," I respond with a shake of my head.
"And are you currently sexually active?"
God, I wish we were a lot more active. My face heats even as I think it though, and I clear my throat and tell her yes.
She doesn't comment on my blush, continuing on down whatever mental list she's following. "Birth control?"
"No, actually," I say. "Just condoms. So a prescription would probably be a good idea."
"Excellent." She makes a note on her clipboard. "I can write you a script for oral contraceptives, but given the nature of your upcoming job I'd recommend an injection."
"Yeah that's fine," I say, even though I'm not the hugest fan of needles. "And how often would I have to get that?"
"Every three months," Dr Olendzki replies. "I can give you the first shot today if you'd like."
I mean, I may as well. At least I won't have to worry about it for a bit.
"And the date of your last period?"
I take a minute to think about it. "Uh... Maybe three weeks ago?"
"Okay," she nods. "I will have you take a pregnancy test while I go get the syringe from the clinic."
She hands me the familiar stick from a jar in her cupboard, and then directs me to the bathroom.
I try to swallow my anxiety. Peeing on a stick is never a pleasant feeling. Dimly it occurs to me that some people are desperately hoping for those two lines, but I've never had that experience personally. Even though I know the chance that I'm pregnant is slim, I'm also aware that it's more than zero. And God knows shit happens.
I try to swallow down the ball of dread in my gut while aiming the stick beneath me. I also do my best not to get pee on my fingers, with mixed success. Then I wrap the test in tissue and lay it on the sink while I wash my hands. For good measure, I pass a little more time by pacing across the room a couple times. But then it's finally time to look. My nerves feel like a physical weight within me, constricting my ribs and making it harder to breathe. I shift the tissue down, revealing the little window on the test...
...and the blessed single line.
Relief floods through me, almost knocking me over with the sheer force of it. But that's quickly followed by embarrassment. I mean really, of course I'm not pregnant. It makes complete sense. I shouldn't have been so worried in the first place.
I take the test back with me to wait in the doctor's office, keeping the end wrapped tight. When Dr Olendzki returns with the syringe I show her the test, and she nods and points me towards the trash can. I'm busy bracing myself for the small pinch of the injection when I feel my phone start to vibrate in my pocket. I clumsily reach across with my left arm, but manage to turn off the ringer.
"Do you need to get that?" the doctor asks.
I shake my head. "Let's just get this over with."
Turns out Dr Olendzki's pretty good with needles, and I barely feel a thing. It's pretty anticlimactic actually, after I went through all the trouble of anticipating the pain. Then, with the injection done, she writes me confirmation of a clean bill of health and walks me back to reception.
"Good luck on the road, Rose," she says with a smile, and I thank her and head over to pay.
As I set foot outside, my phone starts ringing again. This time I'm able to answer it, even though I feel the band aid pull against my injection site as I move my arm to do so. I glance at the caller ID, wondering what he could possibly want to talk to me about.
"Little Maestro," croons the unfamiliarly sober voice of Adrian Ivashkov in my ear.
"Hi Adrian," I reply. "Everything okay?"
"Well now that you mention it, I could use your help." His tone makes me wonder what joke I'm missing.
I sigh. "What exactly do you need me to do?"
"Oh, just to lend me your listening ears. Any chance you're near the label's offices?"
I pause, carefully considering my answer.
The label is pretty close by, or at least nearer than if I was leaving from my apartment. I'm not incredibly keen on 'lending my listening ears,' but then again it's Adrian Ivashkov asking. As much as I don't know what to make of him as a person, his talent as a producer is undeniable. Plus this way I can drop off my medical sign off in person.
And maybe I'll bump into Dimitri, a small voice whispers in my head.
"I'm ten minutes away," I tell Adrian. "I need to drop something with the secretary first though."
"Fantastic!" he crows. "I knew you couldn't resist my charm, Little Maestro. I'll have someone waiting for you in reception."
The drive is uneventful, and I manage to find a great parking right outside of the increasingly familiar building. Just because I've been here before though, it doesn't mean I'm any less nervous. Especially when I recognise the same secretary who was making eyes at Dimitri, and this time I'm wearing a baggy sweatshirt and jeans. But I try to heft a smile on my face regardless.
"Hi, my name is Rose Hathaway," I say, distinctly aware that I sound like a broken record with the exact same introduction as last time.
"Hello Rose," smiles the gorgeous blonde. "Weren't you in here last week?"
"Yeah, that was me," I reply. I'm surprised she remembers me considering how popular this label is. She must greet a hundred people in a week.
"How can I help you?"
She's as professional and friendly as last time, and I'm uncomfortably aware that I decided I disliked her because of my own insecurities. Honestly, how can I blame her for trying to flirt with Dimitri? It's not like she knows we're together. Plus he's hard to resist.
But she's waiting patiently for my response, so I take a breath and explain why I'm here.
"I'm on the crew for Mr Belikov's upcoming tour, and I was told to provide medical sign off?"
"Sure thing," she nods and holds her hand out for the document. "You can leave that with me and I'll get it to the tour manager for you. Just email her and tell her you left it with Camille at the front desk."
I breathe a sigh of relief. "Amazing, thank you Camille. And then the other thing I'm here for is uh. Adrian Ivashkov asked to see me?"
She nods again, turning to her laptop and typing something in. "Okay, yeah, he needs you in the recording studio downstairs. Let me grab Vance to show you the way."
Honestly, I'd probably insist on following directions on my own if it weren't for the fact that I remember how badly Vance wanted the opportunity to go down there.
"Thanks," I smile. I wait for her to call for Vance and then ask my other question before I can lose my nerve.
"Do you know if Mr Belikov is here at the moment?"
Camille's smile is a little sympathetic. "Unfortunately not."
I smile and nod, pretending that my heart didn't just plummet to my toes. I can't dwell on my disappointment for long though, as a few minutes later Vance arrives and leads me to the stairs.
"I can't believe you didn't tell me you work with Adrian Ivashkov!" he gushes.
I shrug, focusing on the high end wooden stairs beneath my feet. "I hate to disappoint you, but I don't work with him. I have no idea why he asked for me."
"Oh." That seems to have deflated him a little, and I feel kind of bad.
"Have you met him?" I ask as we arrive on the lower floor.
Vance turns towards a hallway on our left, and I notice how much lower the ceilings are down here.
"No," he replies, seemingly unaware at how close his head is to the roof. "But I've heard he can be pretty eccentric."
"Yeah," I say, thinking back to the smell of Adrian's apartment, "I'd say that's accurate. Anyway, thanks for showing me the way again."
He grins. "Are you kidding? I'd give up my lunch break to get down here. The other interns will think I'm a god."
I laugh. "Please tell me you didn't actually give up your lunch break."
Vance shoots me a sideways glance. "You still seeing someone?"
Not in the literal sense, I think to myself.
"Yeah, I am," I answer out loud.
"Then no," Vance replies with a grin. "I totally didn't give up my lunch break."
I roll my eyes, but can't help my answering smile. Honestly Vance is kind of cute, in the younger brother sense. He opens a door that leads into a little lounge, and gestures for me to enter. There's a brown sofa, a rug and a coffee table, with another door on the opposite wall. A red light shines above it, indicating that they're busy recording something.
"This is as far as I'm allowed to go," he tells me in a low voice. "Wait until the light is off before you go in."
"Thanks Vance. Now go eat lunch."
He departs with a wink, closing the door behind him. Which leaves me alone to explore the room. Keeping half an eye on the glowing red light, I glance around the space again. Once more there's a stack of magazines on the coffee table, and it looks like there's a mini fridge in the corner. So I head over and check its contents.
Sodas, energy drinks, some fancy looking flavoured water. Since I'm not sure if I'm going to need to sing, I play it safe and snag a bottle of water, retreating back over to the sofa and flipping open a magazine. Then it occurs to me that I should probably let Adrian know I'm here.
So I text him that I'm in the next room, and while I'm on my phone I decide to email the tour manager and tell her I left my doctor's sign off with Camille at the front desk. Then I also text Dimitri and tell him I won't be on my phone for a bit, not that I'm expecting a response. And finally I turn my phone on silent.
The magazine in front of me is mercifully free from Dimitri. I don't think my heart could take the sight of him right now unless he was right in front of me. I've even stopped scrolling through my small collection of pictures of him these last couple of days, and he hasn't sent me a new one since then. Anyway, my original point was that the magazine wouldn't remind me of him, but I've found my thoughts consumed by him nevertheless.
I sigh, setting the magazine back on the table and opening my water bottle just for something to do.
Just then, the door opens. I turn my head at the sound, noticing that the light is no longer lit. And there's Adrian standing in the doorway, with a huge grin on his face.
"Little Maestro, at long last."
I feel my eyebrows raise a little, but try my best to keep my expression neutral.
"It's been exactly twenty-five minutes since you called me," I say evenly. "The only way I could have been quicker is if I'd been able to phase through walls."
"Always the entertainer, Rose," Adrian chuckles, his tone implying we're old friends or something. But he steps back and beckons me into the room before I can say anything. "Come and meet the band."
The band?
I have no choice but to follow him into the next room, where I find myself in an audiophile's dream. Any objections or questions I may have had fly right out my head as I take in the setup around me.
The colours are sombre, the lighting perfectly dim, and judging by the chill in the air it's also carefully temperature controlled. The most magnificent mixer I've ever seen is before me, with state of the art audio monitors that have been carefully installed at the exact right height and angle for the room's acoustics. The chair at the desk could be a black leather throne, and looks comfortable enough to get a good night's sleep in. Through the glass window I can see into the booth, where a man and a woman with headphones on are standing in front of mics that I could only afford if I sold both my kidneys on the black market. It's the sight of their bewildered smiles that snaps me back to reality.
"What exactly am I doing here, Adrian?" I whisper, now slightly panicked.
"Don't worry, they can't hear you until they're in the room or you press a button," he breezily replies, raising a hand to wave at the artists. "This is their first album, and I'm not really connecting with them yet. I needed a second opinion."
I follow suit and wave at the pair, adding in what I hope is a confident smile for good measure.
"Then why did you call me of all people?" I all but hiss at Adrian out the side of my mouth. "I told you music production is above my pay grade!"
"Huh," he says with a slight frown, "I never pegged you as the false modesty type. Anyway." He shrugs, and leans toward the gooseneck comms microphone on the desk. Then he presses a button at its base to talk to the artists in the booth. "David, Morgan, I'd like you to come in here and meet my friend."
The woman, who I assume is Morgan, leans into her mic. "Sure thing," she says. Her voice is higher and sweeter sounding than I'd have expected; a direct contrast to her black pixie cut and tattoos.
"Just greet them, be friendly, and follow my lead," Adrian says to me quietly. "Even if you don't trust me, trust that I'm good at my job."
I swallow my objections and try to do as he says. After all, it's probably too late to back out now. Maybe Adrian's right and everything will work out fine.
"Hi guys!" I say brightly, stepping forward to shake hands as they walk into the room. "It's great to meet you! I'm Rose Hathaway."
"Hi Rose," David says with a smile peeking through his long beard. "I'm David, this is my wife Morgan."
Okay, the fact that they're married and make music together is legitimately adorable, and my smile becomes more genuine as I relax a little.
"Rose loved your demo," Adrian chimes in, while I try to look like this isn't news to me, "So I wanted to bring her for this."
The couple nods, seeming pretty happy about this information considering they don't even know who I am. But I'm almost certain that they've only just been signed, so all of this is new to them as well.
"Anyway," Adrian continues, "I just wanted to make sure you knew who was behind the window before we get back into it. You guys good to carry on?"
"Yeah, we're good," says Morgan, and her husband nods in agreement. Then they head back into the booth.
Adrian hands me a pair of headphones back at the desk, and I slip them on. Then he plays me what they've recorded so far. I bob my head in time to the music, which is warm and folky, like something you'd expect to hear in a fantasy tavern. There aren't any vocals yet, and I'm assuming that's what they're recording next. I remove the headphones.
"Got the vibe?" Adrian asks, and I nod. He presses the button to talk through to the band. "Okay, let's go for the first verse and then into the chorus. We've got an eight count to cue you in. Ready?"
Two thumbs up from David and Morgan, then Adrian hits record.
I hear the metronome beats for the singers to count in, and then the music wraps around me like a blanket. Their voices are beautiful; a direct contrast of bright and deep, light and dark. Yet they complement each other perfectly, almost becoming one voice. And even after only meeting them like eight seconds ago, I can tell by the way they sound that they always prefer to work together. Their love for each other and their music is almost tangible.
They sing the first verse and the chorus, but surprisingly Adrian doesn't stop them. He lets them continue on to the second verse, and I shoot him a look. He just shakes his head at me and watches them as until they finish singing the entire song.
"Great work you guys," he says into the mic when we're surrounded by silence once more. "You can head out and grab lunch if you'd like, Rose and I have plenty to work with in the meantime."
Morgan nods and they rejoin us in front of the mixing desk.
"Can we grab you guys anything while we're out?" David offers, while Morgan slings her bag over her shoulder.
"We're good, but thanks," Adrian smiles. "Oh, and keep the receipt. The label will reimburse you."
They thank us and head out. Adrian waits for the door to close before her turns to me and lets out a breath.
"You going to fill me in now?" I ask with a raised eyebrow.
He shoots me a sarcastic grin. "You mean you haven't guessed yet?"
"Well it sounds like you want my help producing this track, but..." I trail off with a shrug. I figure I must be missing something.
"Great. So you did guess."
"Wait, what?"
That grin is back on his face. "What do you mean, 'what'?"
I swear he's being frustrating on purpose. I force myself to take a breath before I reply.
"I mean," I say, working to control my tone, "that I don't see why you would ask for my help."
"You're still on that?" Adrian asks, sounding incredulous.
Why is communicating with this man so goddamned difficult?
"I thought you said you'd listened to the album I gave you?" he presses when I don't respond.
That throws me for a second. Does he mean the album he made with Dimitri? Why the fuck would he bring that up now, when he didn't even respond to my text?
"I did," I say. My voice is quieter now. "Most of it."
"And you didn't hear the similarities?"
"To what, exactly?" I demand.
Adrian heaves a frustrated sigh. "So either I was wrong about your instincts, or you actually haven't heard the recording of your own show."
"What show? What are you talking about?"
Adrian's eyes go wide. "God, are you serious? I know he can be self involved, but you're honestly telling me he didn't play the song back for you?"
My forehead creases as I finally get his meaning. "You mean the closing song Dimitri played at the last show? The new one?"
"Bingo."
I shake my head. "No, why would anyone have played it back for me?"
"Musicians." Adrian rolls his eyes dramatically, then sighs as leans over the desk to type something into the computer. "I know he's talented," he continues, almost to himself, "but why do they insist on taking all the credit?"
Adrian clicks through a couple of things until the unmistakable sound of Dimitri's guitar drifts from the monitors. He touches a slider on the board to turn the volume up, and the acoustics are so good I might as well be standing on stage next to Dimitri. It takes me right back to the night of the concert, and how nervous I was to have no idea what was going on.
"It wasn't the first time,
but the first in a while.
That I felt my mind lifting
in response to a smile."
Dimitri's voice comes through on the first verse, twining beautifully with the guitar's melody. The quality is incredible; if I close my eyes he could be whispering the words right into my ear. The sound makes my heart ache, and I find my eyes drifting closed so I can take in his voice.
"Not a new feeling,
But I gave up back then
And I won't be making
That mistake again"
On the second verse I think I can see what Adrian means. I'd noticed how raw and soulful Dimitri sounded in their album, and how Adrian had even chosen to include the sound of Dimitri's fingers on the strings. This recording has the same intimate quality to it, even though it was recorded on stage. And Dimitri's voice is as mesmerizing as I remember.
"And we'll leave this unspoken
Where nothing can be said.
You'll leave but you won't
Because you'll stay circling in my head."
I vaguely remember my fingers moving over the mixing desk, adjusting things based purely on how I felt in that moment. It was as though Dimitri's music was moving through me, giving me the strength I needed to trust my instincts. And on top of that, I trusted him. I trusted that I knew his writing patterns and the way he expresses himself and...
"Why should I give in to say the thing that's on my mind?
Let's take it one tomorrow at a time."
Adrian fades the song out, and when I open my eyes once more I find myself blinking back tears. Dimitri wrote the song about me, before we were together. And I didn't know it at the time, but every choice I made was my love song right back to him. I made it sound like the listener was alone in a room, with Dimitri standing there playing just for them. Because that's what I wanted more than anything.
"Sorry," I say to Adrian, quickly wiping my eyes with the heels of my palms. I can feel my face heating up with the embarrassment of him seeing me cry. I clear my throat, trying to get a grip. "I get it," I say softly. "I see what you mean now. We made a lot of the same choices for the audio." Undoubtedly for similar reasons too.
"We did," Adrian agrees with a strange look on his face. "But I did that in a controlled environment, where I could record and replay and adjust and repeat. And you did it on your first try, in front of five thousand people."
I shrug awkwardly.
"So your instincts are frankly astounding," Adrian continues, "and I want to hear what you think about this track too. All clear?"
"All clear," I nod, then I pause. "Thank you," I add in a small voice.
"Don't thank me yet, Little Maestro," Adrian grins. "First we got to light this track up."
Author's Note
Thank you so much for reading! If you liked the chapter, or if you didn't and you want to tell me why, please consider leaving a review. It's always great to hear your thoughts, even though I'm not always the greatest at responding. Also, if you'd like to keep in the loop when I post, please feel free to follow and favourite. I'm also currently in the process of cross posting my fics to A03, so you can find me there with the same username.
Recently I've been rereading the series for the first time in years (obviously following each book with the respective DPOV by Gigi256, because to me they're pretty much cannon) and I can feel that familiar special interest obsession resurfacing. If you've been thinking about a reread, do it! For me it's gotten to the point where I keep writing this fic in my head in order to get myself to sleep. So I have plenty of time for secret plans and clever tricks.
The VA universe and the characters therein are the sole intellectual property of Richelle Mead.
