To say that Lisbeth Salander was a peculiar girl was an understatement. A gothic sense of style, a body littered with tattoos (nine, recently turning eight to be precise) and, on top of that, paired with a most antisocial personality, it could most definitely be said that she was the kind of girl most mothers fear their sons bringing home.
However, if one were to actually probe the girl and miraculously get her to open up about her life, one would find themselves in utter awe and admiration of the girl. She was the type of person that was hard to love and hard to be loved by, but once won over, would most likely end up saving your life. Nobody knows this as well as Mikael ¨Kalle¨ Blomkvist.
It is easy to argue that Mikael probably understands Lisbeth best. Being relatively the only man who has spent a large amount of time in her presence, it could be easy to see how they have a special connection. If things were to be asked, the other two men she most recently associated with was her guardian who will never speak to her again in fear of his life and her side wing technician, who only knew her as Wasp and she only knew as Plague. However, if one were to take things further and say that Blomkvist actually understands her and who she is as a person, they would be making a most severe assumption.
It was not until recently that Blomkvist realized how little he understood about Lisbeth.
It began when he was making one of his periodic visits to her apartment, wondering where on earth she had disappeared to. By now, it had become nearly routine, to knock and be rejected when there was no answer on the other side of the metal door. Yet, this time, it was a bit different. He was about to knock when Salander herself came marching up the stairs. Despite all they had been through, her eyes showed no sort of affection or friendliness that most people showed when looking upon a close friend. Blomkvist, at first, was not surprised as he had long since come the valid conclusion that Salander was most definitely not most people. Yet, he was startled when she spoke with a hostile, explaining she didn't want to speak to him ever again. After the initial shock, he wasn't terribly surprised when she refused to respond or react to any sort of attempt of communication after that.
A few weeks later, while traveling by train, he swore he saw her again, just as the train doors began to shut, And as he looked directly her, she looked directly back, if not completely through him as if he occupied a vacant seat. Not a hint of recognition shone in her eyes, and as the train began to move and she became lost from his sight, he began to question his vision and whether or not he imagined her being there at all. That evening, he decided, it was most definitely her and he had not imagined anything at all. She really just was that hostile towards him now.
Staring at the blanks wall space above his bed, his mind began to drift, wondering if he has in fact offended her in some way, or at the least triggered such hostility from the girl he thought he knew. The last time he remembered actually doing so was over a year ago in the small cabin in Norsojö, solving a case for the large capitalist Henrik Vanger. He recalled the event in question with ease, as it had become one of the small things that showed him who Lisbeth really was.
All he asked was a really simple question.
¨How did you learn how to hack?¨
As if she began another person suddenly, her body became rigid and her quick hands stopped working upon worn keyboard beneath her fingers. With tight lips, she said goodnight and resigned for the night, leaving him wondering what on earth he did.
That was perhaps one of his less favorite memories of Lisbeth, as it confused him and, well, made him feel rather guilty. When asked to focus on the girl he thought of so much, he would much rather think of the last time he saw her before she turned upon him a cold shoulder.
She had spent Christmas with him in a cabin in Sandhamn and, as he perceived it, they had a wonderful time. Parting two days afterwards, he had made several attempts to contact her. It was not until after he finally got in contact with her that he understood she no longer found pleasure in his company. It was in that order that Blomkvist found himself very, very confused.
Sighing, he closed his eyes, visions of Salander's face swimming through his head and possible, yet hardly feasible, reasons for her disregard of him conjuring even more absurd reasons. It was with these thoughts that he slowly fell into an uneasy slumber as miles away, Salander walked the shores of Granada, not a thought being given to the confused reporter.