AN: Hello, lovelies!

I hope y'all enjoy this one-shot! I mean, I think it's fun, and my sister laughed when I read it to her, but we are, of course, biased. You know how it is.

Also, just as an FYI, this is an All Human fic and the characters may or may not be exactly 100% in character...just saying. I'll let you guys be the judges.

Disclaimer: I don't own Vampire Academy or it's characters. That honor belongs to Richelle Mead.

Rose POV

Giant bug chasing me

I paused and wondered if it mattered what kind of bug as I typed the words into a dream analysis engine.

"Rosemarie."

I decided it didn't, if only because I was too lazy to research the bug's name. For all I knew it could have been a bug that didn't even exist.

"Rosemarie."

Turned out that the bug part didn't even matter. My dream just fell under the "being chased" category. If I wanted the specifics interpreted, I'd have to pay $7.99 a month.

"ROSEMARIE!"

Without moving my head, I flicked my eyes up to my Aunt Ellen; I was just in time to watch as she rolled her eyes and muttered something about kids and their technology – as if her generation didn't invent the technology in the first place.

"What do you want, Ellen?" I muttered, returning to my Dreamascope (the website's terminology, not mine). I didn't make a habit of being rude to my elders, but Aunt Ellen was one of those extended family members that only came around every so often, and when she did, it was only to get in your business. We weren't close.

She huffed. "I wish you would call me Aunt Ellen."

And I wish you would call me Rose, but alas…

"Anyway," she continued, "I need to ask a favor of you."

I wrinkled my nose.

"Now, Rosemarie. This is a good favor. You'll like it. It's what you call…Oh, what's the word? Symbiautomatic."

I pressed my lips. She meant symbiotic, but I didn't correct her. Someone else could have that honor.

Aunt Ellen continued talking, but I was more focused on my phone. Apparently, my dream was telling me that I was paranoid and running from something. How profound, I thought, I could've come up with a bullcrap answer like that on my own. I plugged the dream into another site and finally received an interesting answer. Site number two told me that being chased in a dream represented feelings of fear, aggression, and hostility.

That was weird. I wasn't feeling particularly fearful, aggressive, or hostile.

"Are you listening to me, Rosemarie?"

Though that could change very quickly if she called me Rosemarie one more time.

"Mmhmm," I answered noncommittally.

"So, you'll do it?"

"Sure, Ellen."

"Great! He'll meet you at Joey's Pizzeria at eight."

Wait. Back up.

I put my phone down and finally started paying attention to my aunt and what she was saying. "What do you want me to do?" I asked, not liking the "he" or the "meet you" or the mention of a restaurant.

She scowled at me. "I knew you weren't listening. Not that it matters; you're too late. You agreed and now you have to do it."

"What do you want me to do?" I repeated, returning her scowl.

"No need to get upset, dear. It's just a blind date."

Despite all of my loud protests, I was still forced to put on stainless, holeless jeans and a "nice" blouse, Aunt Ellen still insisted that I should give him a chance, and useless information about Jesse was still thrown at me.

"He's such a nice boy."

"Very handsome."

"My friend's sister's boy."

"He's going to school to be a podiatrist." (What a turn on.)

The factoids bounced off me. All I could think about when I heard the name Jesse was Creepy Jesse from grade school, and I swore if that was who I'd been set up with, I was disowning everyone and moving to Nova Scotia.

"He'll be wearing green," Ellen said, pushing me toward my car.

"Oh, good," I grumbled. "The color of algae, mucus, and jealousy."

"Hush. Watch your attitude. You'll never win over Jesse with that mouth."

I snapped my fingers in an "aw, shucks" kind of way. "And I was going to try so hard, too."

She threw up her hands and looked to the sky as if to say, "How you test me, Lord," then she pulled up a picture of Jesse. Surprisingly, he wasn't bad looking for someone who was desperate enough to have his mom set him up on a blind date. Of course, with today's technology it was anyone's guess if his skin was really that clear or his eyes really that blue. After a few more reminders of how to act and what not to say, I was shoved into the driver's seat and sent on my not so merry way.

Immediately, I had to hold back a gag when the newest song by lil three Chain-Z 47 cent Doggg, or whatever the hell ridiculous names these mumble rappers called themselves, came on. Can you even call it a new song if they all sound the same? I wondered as I quickly changed the station to something, anything, else.

When I arrived at Joey's Pizzeria, I decided to park in the back alley. That way, if the date was going horribly, I could excuse myself to the restroom, climb out the window, and make a stealthy escape. However, this genius plan quickly backfired when I stepped out of my car and was greeted with a knife in my face.

With a yelp, I jumped and stumbled back, pressing myself against my car. Fear kept my lungs from expanding fully and my heart from beating at a normal pace. That was, of course, until I got a better look at my assailant and the weapon he was wielding. I mean, technically it was a knife – it was pointy and had a blade and everything – but, honestly, it was kind of a sissy knife. He'd have to try really hard to do any real damage.

"Was that necessary?" I yelled at him. "You nearly scared me half to death!"

My words brought him pause, but he still held his knife out and said in a gravelly voice that was obviously faked, "Give me your money."

I sighed. "Try to be a little bit less cliché when making your demands. In fact, try to be less cliché in general. Look at you, robbing an innocent girl in a dark alley behind a restaurant. And don't even get me started on the ski mask."

The mugger adjusted his hold on the knife and shifted his weight from foot to foot. He clearly wasn't expecting criticism on his mugging techniques. "Stop talking," he commanded, raising his voice. "Either you give me your purse, or I'll hurt you."

I couldn't help it, I laughed. "Come now, Mr. Robber Man. If you're going to rob someone properly, you need to do your research. This particular restaurant is usually frequented by the college kids who live around here, such as myself, and everyone knows that college kids have no money. The most expensive thing on the menu in there is probably eleven dollars, and that might be pushing it. If you want to hit the jackpot, you should be staking out the bougie restaurants in uptown or something."

He tilted his head a bit as if he were actually considering my logic, but, unfortunately, he wasn't so easily dissuaded. "If you're as poor as you say, then you'll have no problem handing over your purse."

I sneered. "Um, no. I have a big problem with that. I still have six dollars on a Chick-Fil-A gift card in here."

Both of his hands tightened into fists and he shouted, "Stop! Just stop it with your mind games! Give me your purse or I really am going to stab you!"

"Hey!"

I couldn't tell if someone was yelling in the distance or if I was hearing things. Whatever it was, I wasn't about to take my eyes off this guy, so I ignored it.

"Oh, I have no doubt, big guy," I said. "I just have had a really crappy day, so it would really suck if I lost my purse too, you know?"

With a roar, he lunged at me, extending his knife out as far away from his body as possible. Rookie move. Everyone knew the farther away your arm is from your body, the less control you have over it, making the arm unsteady. I easily blocked his thrusting arm and the unexpected blow had him dropping the knife, rendering him practically useless.

I could have left it at that. If the widening of his eyes was any indication, I scared him. If I let him go, he probably would run off, but then he'd most likely find some other dinky knife and go around preying on other women. I couldn't let that happen.

Plus, he'd royally pissed me off.

Cursing my Dreamascope for being right, I used my hold on his upper arm to pull him closer to me, simultaneously bringing my elbow up. The crunching sound his nose made when my elbow connected with his face left no room for doubt; his nose was broken.

"Oooo, sorry," I said as he dropped to the ground screaming. "Trust me, I know how much pain you're in. One of the other black belts accidentally gave me a broken nose once. Definitely the worst pain I've ever felt."

My apology and story didn't seem to comfort him, so I dropped down next to him to assess the damage. "Alrighty, Mr. Robber Man, I need to take your mask off now."

His howling went up an octave in protest, but that didn't stop me from grasping the edge of the cloth and peeling it away to reveal –

"Jesse?"

"Hey!" This time the shout was much louder and was accompanied with the slap of feet against pavement.

I quickly stood and spun on the approaching stranger, blindly aiming a kick where I estimated his head would be (I was done taking chances tonight). However, my attack was cut off for two reasons, 1) I'd estimated wrong, his head was a good foot above where my blow would have landed, and 2) along with being ridiculously tall, the guy was ridiculously hot, like, stop in the middle of the street and get hit by traffic kind of hot. I just couldn't bring myself to damage that kind of hot.

My foot stopped inches from a sculpted chest that I could see quite well thanks to the stretchy quality of his black, cotton t-shirt. Yet, despite the lack of impact, he stumbled back with wide eyes yelling, "Der'mo!"

My eyebrows shot up. A foreigner. I couldn't place the accent from that single word, but I'm sure I'd find out. Right after this guy told me why he had come charging at me like a maniac.

I lowered my leg to the ground and eyed him suspiciously. Hot, of course, didn't mean safe. After all, some of the deadliest things in the world are the most beautiful.

"Can I help you?" I asked, as if he were approaching me at a help desk and not accosting me in the back alley of a restaurant while my date/mugger continued to wail on the ground behind me.

"I –" He shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his shoe on the ground, then, thinking better of it, took his hands out of his pockets in case I suddenly decided that I really did want to kick him.

"Well?"

He narrowed his eyes at my attitude, and his irritation seemed to cure his speechlessness. "I saw he had a knife and was coming to help you," – he glanced behind me – "but now I'm not sure who to help."

I put my hands on my hips. "You saw someone with a knife and your bright idea was to run toward him?"

"Of course," he said incredulously. "You were in danger. I couldn't just –"

"From this guy?" I jerked my thumb back. "Hardly. Not with that butter knife."

Tall, Dark, and Handsome shoved a hand through his shoulder-length hair, clearly frustrated. I felt a little bad that I was giving this guy such a hard time, but…I was having too much fun.

"I just didn't want to see anyone get hurt."

A little too late for that.

I smirked. "Aren't you the perfect Good Samaritan, friend to all, or… should I say comrade to all?" I'd placed the accent.

He rolled his eyes. Clearly my personal brand of comedy wasn't appreciated. "Look, if you don't want my help, I can walk away right now and let you fend for yourself without an eyewitness."

"Why would I need an eyewitness? They can't lock me up for defending myself."

He shrugged "You're not the one bleeding on the ground. Not a lot of people would believe that a small woman like you could defend yourself against a knife-wielding man. They might peg you as the instigator."

Was he joking?

"Are you joking?" I asked, advancing a step. "Because that is ridiculous and sexist, and I'll have you know that I am taller than the average American women. You're not in Russia anymore with the rest of the mini-hulks."

He gave me an amused smiled, and I had to stifle a gasp. The smile brought his whole face to life, especially his sexy, dark eyes.

Nope. Not sexy. I was mad at this tall, sexist stranger.

Apparently, he wasn't intimidated by my hostility because he, too, took a step closer. At the same time, a small breeze blew by, teasing the loose strands of my hair and nailing me with the delicious scent of this guy's aftershave. Lord Almighty. Since when did guys wandering alleyways smell good?

"I did not mean for the 'small' comment to be offensive," he told me, letting his eyes travel up and down my stature in a way that, let me tell you, did things. "Only that you happen to be smaller than this guy" – he gestured vaguely over my shoulder without taking his eyes off me – "and myself."

I doubted there was a person alive he couldn't call 'small' compared to him.

"And the sexist comment about me not being able to defend myself?" I asked, raising my brows.

He, in turn, cocked a single eyebrow. Cool. "I'm merely saying what others might think."

We were so close I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes. "And what do you think?"

Should I have cared what a random stranger thought? Probably not. But something told me that whatever was happening in that alleyway between us was big, so I hung on every accented word.

"I think," he began, "the battle is not to the strong, but to the warrior, to the person who knows when to act and what is worth fighting for," – his eyes bore into mine – "to the guardian."

Dang.

"Wow," I exhaled. When had I started holding my breath? "You have that cross-stitched on a pillow somewhere?"

He smiled. "Two pillows, actually, and a bumper sticker."

Ah. He did have an appreciation for humor somewhere deep down inside.

"How evolved. My only bumper sticker says, 'Bite Me.'"

He briefly looked at my mouth then wet his lips. "I like yours a lot better."

Oh, Lord.

"Oh, stop. I'm sure you say that to all the girls."

"Of course! Complimenting a woman's bumper sticker is one of my best moves."

"'One of your best', so there are others?"

He nodded and ticked them off with his fingers. "Attempting to rescue them from muggers, insulting their size and ability to defend themselves, spewing out philosophical nonsense about their warrior prowess. The usuals."

Man, I wanted to touch him, but I had no reason to touch him other than that I wanted to. Stupid unspoken societal rules that govern physical contact between strangers!

"You're pulling out all the stops tonight. Does this mean you're hitting on me?"

"That depends" – he reached out and curled a lock of my hair around his finger, and I sucked in a sharp breath – "is it working?"

Yep. 100% yes, it was working. Absolutely.

But before I could say so, I was interrupted by a loud groan.

Oh, yeah. I'd forgotten about Jesse.

"Are you guys gonna start ripping each other's clothes off now, or can it wait till after you take me to the hospital?" he yelled.

I spun on him, and the progress he'd made to achieve a standing position was quickly lost when he jerked back in fear.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you that interrupting the grown-ups while they talk is rude?" I grouched, irritated that he'd killed the moment. "And stop yelling. I broke your nose, not your ear drums."

"But – "

"And you can find your own way to the hospital."

"But – "

"Leave before I break both your pinkies, your thumbs, and your index fingers so that you'll have to function with only the least useful fingers on each hand in working condition."

He shook his head with wide eyes. "You're a psychopath!"

"And don't you forget it," I growled.

Jesse gave Tall, Dark, and Handsome a "Is She Effing For Real?" look, but sexy stranger just pressed his lips and shrugged as if to say, "Don't look at me. I just met this chick, too."

I waved as Jesse ran away.

"So," the Russian said, "you're just going to let him go? You don't want to report him to the police?"

I turned back to him. "Don't worry about that. I fully intend to report him."

"How will you find him?" he asked, his brows drawing together.

I smiled. "I'll just ask my aunt's friend's sister. He's her son," I clarified. "And my date tonight."

His jaw dropped. "That man" – he pointed in the direction Jesse had gone – "was your date tonight?!"

"Word of advice: never agree to blind dates. They will come back to bite you, or, I suppose in this case, come back to stab you."

He laughed, and it was a rich, deep sound that had me laughing too. It was either that or drooling.

"You need to go on better dates," he told me.

"Oh, I don't know. This one is going much better than I had anticipated."

The breeze picked up again, stronger this time, and I shivered. Tall, Dark, and Handsome (and Chivalrous) immediately shrugged off his coat and draped it around my shoulders. My recently insulted female independence wanted to protest, but the coat – a duster I think it was called – was too warm not to snuggle into, and it smelled too good not to take several, longer-than-necessary deep breaths in.

"Thanks, cowboy," I teased, pulling the clearly Western inspired article tighter around my body.

He snorted. "'Comrade' and now 'cowboy.' What did I do to deserve such…reputable nicknames?"

"Well, you are Russian and wearing a cowboy duster. So, there's that. But there's also the small matter of not knowing your name."

"Right. We kind of skipped that part in the beginning, didn't we?"

I nodded. "Give me your phone."

He narrowed his eyes, but there was a smile on his lips as he pretended to be wary of handing it over. "You're not going to hold me at knife-point if I don't give it to you, are you?"

"Please. Knives are for sissies. I could take you down with my bare hands if I wanted to."

"I have no doubt," he said in a low voice, passing me his phone.

When had we gotten so close together?

I fiddled with it for a minute before handing it back.

"I did so put a name!"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm guessing 'Guardian Hathaway' isn't your name, not your first name anyway."

"Hmmm." I put a finger to my chin. "I think first names are second date material."

He did that cool one eyebrow thing again. "Second date?"

"Course, you owe me a 'better date.'"

His eyes melted me then, and, grabbing the lapels of his coat, he pulled me impossibly closer. When he gently pressed his lips to the corner of my mouth, my heart pounded against my ribcage, and I cursed the duster for trapping my arms because I couldn't yank him back to me once he pulled away.

"That I do, Guardian Hathaway. That I do."

AN: Thank you very much for reading this here story! Please let me know what you thought in a comment or review!

Soooo, this story was not originally written for fanfic purposes. The first part of this story (up until the point where Jesse's mask is taken off) was a writing assignment for my Creative Writing class last semester. I liked the story, though, and didn't want it to go to waste at the bottom of my junk drawer, so I changed the names and added a concerned Russian! BOOM! FANFIC GOLD! JK. "Gold" might be an exaggeration, but you have to admit that adding a concerned Russian can only help a story;)

P.S. If you are someone who does like mumble rapper music, you shall receive no judgement from me. It was a part of the assignment to mention a genre of music we hate. Sry.

P.P.S. I will promptly ignore any hate comments on the guy-gives-a-girl-his-coat cliche. I will support that cliche till my dying day because that crap is cute!

I love you alllllll! Have a legendary day!