Hey everyone! Some of you may have read this as part of the VA Valentine's Day Fic Collection, but I'm posting this here as well since it is technically part of this verse (and something I've been planning for a while anyway!). If you haven't read it, you should! There's 11 other stories in addition to this one from a variety of VA fic writers, including my good friend, gigi256. There's a link on my profile & it's been listed under my favorited stories, so go get reading!

Set a month before the epilogue of The Ruby Circle.

You're almost done shaving when Rose's voice floats into the bathroom from the bedroom. "Babe, where's your passport?"

"Didn't you have take it to Court last week?" you ask, pitching your voice loud over the rush of water from the sink.

"No, Hans needed a copy of your visa for your file. I have that already." She appears in the doorway, fully dressed and putting on small stud earrings. Her face splits into a smirk when she sees you, tiny bits of shaving cream hanging out around your hair and jawline. "I can't believe this. I'm actually ready before you. Has Hell frozen over?"

You reach for your towel, wiping your face clean. "I thought you were supposed to be nice to me on my birthday."

"Eh." She shrugs a shoulder. "So. Passport. Where is it? Zoe will never let us hear the end of it if we delay any of her paperwork."

"Should be in the safe on the bookshelf," you say, reaching for your aftershave. "Give me two minutes."

"Take your time." She pushes up on her toes to kiss your cheek. "You built in an extra hour for one of us to be late, remember?"

"I built in an extra hour for traffic!" you call back, but all you get in response is a big, loud laugh behind her as she leaves.

Before you can even turn the car on, she starts (lovingly) badgering you about coffee and food, like she hadn't already eaten breakfast an hour prior.

"I can't take you anywhere without you angling for something, can I?" you mutter under your breath, but her ears still pick it up, and she sticks her tongue out at you before informing you that the Starbucks in the shopping plaza around the corner from the house is both open and has a drive-thru.

(College has changed her mind on coffee, and although she continuously refers to it as "bitter, burnt bean water," she sighs happily when you pass her a large drip with three milks and four sugars.)

The suspicion that you're still not fully dhampir again has trickled down as far as the Alchemists, and when you and Rose enter their Philadelphia field office, all conversation in the lobby hushes as the half-dozen people take you in. The Alchemist holding down the fort at the front desk regards you just as warily as everyone else; she doesn't even take her eyes off you as she dials Zoe's desk number to inform her that her eleven-thirty has arrived.

Five minutes later, Zoe Sage emerges from a door behind the front desk with a tight smile. Her black slacks and light blue button-down look almost exactly like something Sydney would wear. The golden lily tattoo gleams on Zoe's cheek under the fluorescent light, totally exposed with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. "C'mon back, guys," she says breezily, holding the door open for you and Rose.

Like everything else about the Alchemists, the field office is tightly locked down — it takes four key card swipes, five passcodes, two fingerprint scans, and even a retinal scan at one point to go two floors up, stop by her desk to let her grab what you assume to be your file, and then find an empty conference room on the edge of the floor's bullpen. On the entire walk, the combined presence of you and Rose stops conversations and draws stares, and you do your best to not cower. By the time you sit down in the glass-enclosed conference room — across from Zoe, to Rose's left — you can see Zoe's shoulders are tense.

"This isn't some fun coincidence," Zoe says almost immediately, pulling out sheets from the manila file and clicking open her pen. "I'm the only Alchemist willing to go within a hundred feet of either of you, so they stuck me in Philly for my desk duty. I'm glad my internship is coming up so that I can get out of here."

"I'm sorry," Rose replies, clutching her nearly empty coffee cup with both hands. She's on edge, too. "Where would you rather be, if you had the chance?"

Zoe looks momentarily thrown by the question, frowning before answering, "Boston."

"Why Boston?"

"It's 235 miles from Boston Commons to downtown Bangor," Zoe answers, not looking at either of us.

I'd be closer to Sydney hangs in the air until Zoe's head shoots up. "Oh, right, I meant to ask, Guardian Belikov. Do you have the documents we asked you for?"

Rose extracts a folder out of her over-the-shoulder bag — you're a little surprised that it could fit without bending, but you learned long ago not to openly question the depths of a woman's purse — and names each item as she produces them. "Green card, two photos, internal passport, and travel passport."

"Birth certificate?"

"I don't have one," you reply. "Not in the States, anyway."

Zoe's brow furrows "It's the… ZAGS office that supplies those, right? I'm saying that correctly?"

You nod.

"I'll get one of our guys to get a copy. You're not submitting anything yet, so I don't need it right away." She scoops up the cards, booklet, and photos. "I'll be back."

"They're all staring at us," Rose whispers as soon as the door quietly shuts behind Zoe. Her eyes are flicking across the bullpen on the other side of the glass wall. "I mean, usually, I enjoy the attention, but this is a little much."

It's almost unnerving how bad they all are at hiding their constant glances in your general direction. You reach for her elbow and give it a soft squeeze. "Do you think they'll stop looking if we started making out on the table?" you whisper in her ear.

The tension breaks like a bubble being popped with a hammer. Rose loses it, pushing her coffee down the table so she put her head down to muffle her laughter. Grinning, you lean back in your padded chair, resting your hand between her shaking shoulder blades.

By the time she comes up for air, Zoe returns and hands your documents back to Rose with a wary expression.

"So," Zoe says, shifting the conversation like Rose isn't trying to calm down, "Guardian Croft sent over your personnel file the other day, and I just need to confirm a couple of things. Your first visa, obtained four years and four months ago, was an L temporary worker visa because you were being assigned out of the European Moroi Court at the time of your assignment transfer, correct?"

"Yes," you say. On the edge of your peripherals, you see Rose listening with rapt attention. It isn't surprising; she's always been fascinated about your life post-school and pre-her, that tiny section of your life nobody else really knows anything about.

"And since it was a single entrance visa, you voided it upon leaving the United States two years and eight months ago for a period of five months, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Did you at any point re-enter the United States before you filed for an H-1B visa one year and two months ago after being transitioned to the American Moroi Court?"

"…Yes."

"When?"

"About one month before I filed for the H-1B."

"On what visa did you enter the United States?"

You pause, glancing at Rose. You know she's also thinking about that time you probably, definitely tried to kill her in Las Vegas when you were still a Strigoi and she was trying to track down Robert Doru. Curiosity is splashed across her face. She's probably never thought of this until now.

"You can speak in hypotheticals," Zoe says, picking up on your hesitation. "We can backdate anything that needs doing so."

"Hypothetically," you say slowly, "I may have entered without a visa at all."

"We can fix that," Zoe replies without skipping a beat. You wonder how many other pieces of paperwork have been backdated by the Alchemists. As annoying as they could be, their importance suddenly hit you full force. You'd never be able to apply for citizenship without them, aside from not knowing what the fuck you were doing throughout the entire process.

"Really?" Rose asks, her surprise mirroring your intrigue.

Zoe nods, opens her mouth, and then seems to decide not to say something. Instead, she scrawls on the back of a photocopy and slides across to Rose, who quickly reads the note and nods, apparently in understanding.

"So then it's my understanding," Zoe says, resuming her line of questioning, "That you've been working in the United States on a H-1B visa since September ninth of last year."

"Yes."

"And you haven't left the United States since?"

"Rose and I went home to Russia for a couple of weeks in July last year."

Zoe waves her hand. "It was less than a month. Hardly matters." She unearths a single sheet of paper and flips it around to face you and Rose. It looks like a modified flow chart. At the top reads Eligibility Checklist. "But I wouldn't make a habit of it. In all honesty, the less you leave, the easier this will go, especially considering how much we already have to cover up for you."

"What do you mean?" Rose asks. Her face is scrunched up in confusion.

"It's not much, but it's enough," Zoe replies, nonplussed. "But he was born in the Soviet Union, which affiliates him with the Communist Party, he just admitted to entering and living in the country illegally even if it was a minimal amount of time, and he's served jail time as part of a now-closed criminal investigation, which both your people and mine have documented. That doesn't even count his record back in Russia."

"What?" Rose repeats, this time looking at you in utter disbelief.

You shake your head. "The laws look the other way when a father beats his child, but they're not as forgiving if that child tries to stand up for himself." You raise an eyebrow at Zoe. "I thought that was cleaned up, though."

"We sealed your record and then had it expunged a couple years ago, but this is the US," she says, levelling you a you should understand expression. "If they want to find it, they will."

You shrug. "True."

"So, your job," Zoe says, tapping the Eligibility Checklist in front of her, "Is to go get your green card. We can file all the paperwork for that on your behalf. We've got contacts inside Immigration Services for a couple of reasons, and one of them is to get paperwork for your kind fast-tracked so we have to directly deal with you less. For a human, the process can take anywhere from six months to three years, so definitely err on the shorter side of that."

"What about…" Rose glances at you, her coffee cup, Zoe. "What about marriage? I mean, the concept of a green card marriage exists for a reason, right?"

It's your turn to stare, dumbstruck. You and Rose have talked about marriage in the past, but you've definitely bugged her less after that time she blew up at you for pressuring her and then didn't speak to you for a week beyond "hello," "good night," and "don't worry, I'm alive." And while you haven't said a word in recent weeks, there's a ring that's been hiding out in your bedside table after she Snapchatted her trip to a jeweler with Christian on his quest for engagement ring ideas for Lissa this past summer. It's been waiting for her to bring the topic up again so you know where she's at on the idea before you officially pop the question.

"Yes," Zoe says, blatantly unfazed, and you feel like you've somehow missed an exchange or two. Why is Zoe Sage nonchalant about this while your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth? "He'll be able to get a green card almost immediately, and then it's a three year waiting period before he becomes eligible."

"Okay," Rose says, nodding and not looking at you. "I was just wondering."

Zoe gives another tight smile. "That's what we're here for. Now, if you apply through your job…"

After your meeting with Zoe wraps up, Rose stops you in the bullpen outside the conference room with a devilish, plotting smile. She grabs you by the lapels of your duster, mutters they seem like they want a show, and plants a huge, soul-searing kiss on your mouth that you happily return after your momentary shock wears off.

Zoe doesn't even manage to say good-bye when the three of you return to the lobby.

"Happy birthday, my love," Rose says, clinking her water glass against your beer once the server walks away with your order. She plunks her chin in her free hand and watches you take a long sip with a soft smile on her face.

"Last birthday until you can toast with a real drink," you reply, pulling her hand from her face so you can twine your fingers with hers.

"You were far less worried about whether or not I was eighteen than whether or not I'm twenty-one," she challenges, pulling a pout.

"That's only because your fake is horribly made."

"I get into twenty-one-and-up clubs all the time with it."

"With me," you correct, your voice teasing. "Have you seen a human bouncer willing to even try to take me on?"

She overexaggerates making a face. "Don't flatter yourself too much. Red lipstick and cleavage go a long way on their own."

Without meaning to, your gaze flits down her body. A form-fitting burgundy sweater, tight jeans, and knee-high boots look innocent enough on the surface, but to you, they're an utter tease. You see her in the shapeless guardian uniform often enough that literally anything else on her makes her look like a fashion model.

"My eyes are up here, Dimitri," she jokes, outright giggling at the blush that you feel fill your cheeks.

You clear your throat. "Anyway, no, your fake wouldn't have worked here at all. Besides, I'm trying not to get arrested again, and contributing to the delinquency of a minor is a quick trip to prison."

"Ignoring that huge opening you just gave me," she says, her expression telling you that she can't believe you gave her such an easy opportunity to make fun of you, "That does let me segue into something that's been bothering me since it was brought up…"

"Which is?"

"What the hell kind of record do you have in Russia?"

"Oh, that?" You shake your head. "A neighbor called the police that night—"

"The night you beat up your father," she clarifies for you, knowing exactly what night you were referring to but unable to articulate.

"Yes, that one. Anyway, there had been a lot of shouting and things breaking until I got involved, and then the shouts moved outside, so the people around us were understandably scared. My mother covered for me, saying I'd come home drunk and she was confronting me about it. They weren't too happy when my father showed up at the station an hour later with a completely different story and the injuries to show for it."

"What happened?" Her voice is so soft and you find immeasurable comfort in it. She's the first person outside of your mother and sisters to hear this.

"The judge was good friends with the arresting officer, who my mother had turned down several times when they'd been in school. I was initially sentenced to three months in a juvenile prison, but the Alchemists stepped in and knocked it down to a pretty heavy fine because I was starting my novice training soon. Going to prison would've screwed that up a bit."

"Yeah, just a bit." Rose's smile is just as soft as her voice. "I'm sorry you had to go through that, even though you were totally in the right."

"Solnishka, I broke the law."

"And whose idea was it to break me out of jail so that I, your once underage lover, could go on the run from the authorities, which made you a fugitive as well in the process?" Her eyebrows are sky high. "Forgive me for failing to see how you aren't a career criminal, comrade."

"Fair enough," you laugh, releasing her hand when the server returns, an appetizer in hand.

"Congrats," the server says, glancing from you to Rose, who takes the boat of meatballs excitedly. "Are you two celebrating?"

"It's also his birthday," Rose practically gushes, and that feeling of severely being out of the loop returns from earlier. As far as you're aware, this late lunch is only for your birthday.

"Then double congrats to you, sir," the server says to you, smiling almost as big as Rose is. Right before she leaves, she says to Rose, "I'll see if I can snag you two a dessert or something."

"That'd be great," Rose replies, eyes lighting up even further at the idea of free sugar.

"Am I missing something?" you ask once the server's gone.

"Oh, I don't know," Rose says a little too casually, playing up scratching at an itch on her jaw while her left hand awkwardly juts towards you, like she's doing everything in her power not to shove it in your face. Your confusion deepens, seeing as you're not quite sure what you should be looking for. "No idea, really. Couldn't possibly think of why. Nope. Nada. We're all just imagining—"

And then, like the skies opening above, the light catches it at just the right angle and the ring you've had hidden in your bedside table for three months glints on Rose's third finger, and you feel your jaw literally drop as reality finally dawns on you. Zoe's lack of surprise, the server's excitement and happiness for you and Rose… it's because she's wearing your ring.

"So, are we…" you start lamely, and Rose's face finally splits into a grin bright enough to light all of the universe.

"If you still want to get married, then yes, I do, too," she says. "Although I want an engagement about as long as it took you to notice. Some guardian you are," she adds teasingly.

A dozen arguments rise up on your tongue, ready to take her on — people in Russia wear their rings on their right hands, you're tired from only getting a quick nap after your shift last night, on and on — but the words die on your mouth when you realize it isn't quite worth it. Keeping that gorgeous smile on her face is.

One thing starts bugging you almost immediately, though: "How did you find it? When did you find it?"

"Last week." Rose shrugs. "I was looking for your passport, which you can have back now, by the way, and I found the box shoved in the back. I knew what it was immediately, which was unfortunate because I couldn't get my mind off it. Last night at work, I decided that I kept thinking about it because I was curious to see how it looked on me, and that if I was curious, then I was probably okay with the idea."

You're still staring at her in a mixture of awe, love, and devotion, unable to say anything.

"I figured your birthday was as good a day as any to try it on." She smiles, holding it up in front of the both of you, admiring it glistening in the sun streaming through the window behind her. "I think I'll keep it, if that's alright with you."

"That's definitely alright with me," you whisper, your voice thick and low with emotion.

"Good." She leans in for a kiss just as big and hot as the one you shared earlier in the bullpen. "Because I love the way it looks on my finger," she says under her breath when she comes up for air.

"Otlichno," you murmur back.

"Speaking of…" Rose leans in for a second, smaller kiss and then sits back, her eyes transfixed on your mouth before trailing down your body. "You're going to have to teach me all the Russian words for stuff like 'fiancée' and 'husband' and wife."

"Nevesta, muzh, zhena," you rattle off, eager to hear them roll off her tongue.

"Moy muzh," she tries out and promptly grimaces. "Not as pretty as 'my husband', but I guess I'll have to get used to it."

"I guess you will," you say, grinning despite her reaction, and you lean in for another kiss because she, Rose, your fiancée, vasha nevesta, deserves all the love in the world.

"Ya tebya lyublyu," she whispers against your mouth.

"I love you, too, Roza," you murmur back, as in love with her as you've ever been.