Disclaimer: Characters are not mine. They are the creation of Charlaine Harris. I've dropped them into a scene from the movie "Nine Lives" also not mine.
A/N: Originally this was for the Weekly One-Shot Challenge – Week 13/Theme: I never said it would be easy, I said it would be worth it. (Unknown). Now, this is the continuation to Before Sunrise. Hope you enjoy the ride!
No. It couldn't be. There are other people in this godforsaken place with blonde hair. But not that shade. Not the same color as mine.
Mine.
The word echoes through my mind as I realize what I fight to keep at bay. It has to be her. The gold flecks from the wheat color strands catch my attention again as the blonde tresses cross my periphery in a flurry of movement. I close my eyes, sending a prayer to the heavens for it to be her. I want, need it to be her. For the simple fact that it would prove I was not losing my mind. It has been known for vampires to go crazy. The mere thought of living without her is enough to drive me to the brink. But knowing she is still out there brings me back from the edge of despair. To have another chance…
If only I could catch her scent. That would be enough to set my mind at ease. Raising my nose to the ceiling, I inhale deeply, tracking my prey as the sight of handspun gold wisps by again. A flood of emotion overwhelms me and an echo of feelings past shoots through my chest like an arrow that's just hit its target. It cripples me for a moment and I am planted to the shabby white tile floor. My hand grips onto the shelving nearest me in an effort to keep myself upright. I inhale again, holding my breath to savor the bouquet which can only be hers.
Sunshine.
My thoughts drift back to a time when I wasn't myself. "I can smell the sunshine on your skin."
Yes. It has to be my Sookie. I shake my head knowing I can no longer call her that. She hasn't been mine in well, a while. No matter. Now that I have her scent, I know it is her and I track her down an aisle of wine, my footsteps as quiet as whispers of clouds passing one another. I keep my distance, watching as she looks meticulously over each label, searching for the one she wants. Red, white, blush. Dry, sweet, robust. She removes a bottle and cradles it gently in her hands as she examines it further. How I long to be that bottle.
I find myself being drawn to her and float effortlessly down the aisle until I seem to be standing not two feet away from her. I whisper her name and she freezes. Her hair is pulled off to one side, held in a rubber tie which skims her left shoulder. Her back is to me, the curve of her neck inviting my lips to rest peacefully on the delicate skin. My fangs elongate and throb at the remembrance of her taste. The bottle in her hand vibrates as she trembles, the sloshing of the liquid similar to the sea pounding against the hull of a ship. I take it she remembers the sound of my voice, and possibly the way she always reacted to my calling her name. I yearn to be closer, to touch her. But I keep still. My hands ache with the need to reintroduce the pads of my fingers with the softness of her skin. Yet I remain restrained.
She turns slowly, my eyes never shifting from her face. I ache to see the familiar blue orbs that I used to longingly gaze in to. I know that once I see them, everything will come crashing back to me. The way she cared for me, the showers, the nights talking in front of her fireplace, the feel of her warm body in my bed. She finally meets my gaze, her eyes only appearing once her lashes feel the need to leave the comfort of resting against her luscious cheekbones. They flutter open and widen as she takes me in. My breath catches as I open my mouth to say something. My words become lost in the black hole that is my undying love for her—the depths of which cannot be measured nor extinguished.
I step in closer—now only a foot away—and brace my hand at my side. It's itching to reach out and touch her, to be sure she's real, but I keep it under control.
"Eric?" My name leaves her lips in a rush of warm air which burns me to the core.
"It is I. How are you, Lov— er, Sookie?" I lost my privilege to call her Lover when I gave her up.
"I'm… fine. It's good to see you," she says in a whisper. I don't know if her words mean she truly is pleased at seeing me again, or if she's only being polite.
I watch as her hand reaches out to the shelves on her right. Her eyes never leave mine and that makes me wonder… She blindly feels for the space where she removed the wine bottle and it clinks around until she feels comfortable where she settles it. Once there, her hand smoothes down the front of her light blue sundress to rest on her…
"You're… pregnant?" I am so lost in her eyes that I never looked down until now. I didn't notice.
Her arms wrap around herself and she nods slowly. A smile small spreads across her face as she watches my reaction. I'm not sure what my face reads but I am anything but pleased.
Mine.
"Do I know him?" I nod to her belly. "Is it the shifter, or the Were Herveaux, perhaps?"
"No," she laughs softly. "I don't think you know him at all. Niall introduced us," she says ominously.
I shouldn't have asked. Knowing who the father of her unborn child is won't make this situation any easier to handle.
I fight back the growl waiting to erupt from the back of my throat and answer her with an even tone. "Oh. Considering I don't run in the same circles as he does, I guess you're right. I would be interested in meeting him, though."
She laughs then mutters something which sounds like, "If you can catch him first." She says it so quietly I have to strain to hear her. If I heard her correctly, that could only mean…
Fucking Fairies!
"Could I have the name of the man who has the privilege of fathering your child?"
"Why, so you can kill him?" she asks with a hand on her hip.
"Yes. You know me so well," I sneer.
"No. Eric! Come on."
"I had to give it a shot." I shoot her a wink.
"You can't meet him anyway. He's Fae. I don't trust you not to try to drain him just on GP."
My mind reels as I think of the implications of her words and I have to think of something else. "How far along are you?"
"Um, about eight months. I stopped counting how many weeks after I got to about three months. I'm pretty excited. I never thought I'd, well, you know." Her eyes shift away from mine and she mindlessly picks at a tag hanging from the shelving. "So what have you been up to? How's Pam?"
I can't think. I know what she's referring to when she says "well, you know" and my mind surges with images from the past. When we were together. I don't like to think back on that time unless I'm in a bad mood and only the comforting image of her face can bring me out of it. But even then I don't dare think of her. When I go there, when I head back to that time, I get wrapped up in my thoughts and become an invalid. Pam has a hell of a time dealing with me then, and truth be told, I could care less. It's the only time I'm really happy now. But I know it's not fair to anyone to react in such a manner.
I clear my throat unnecessarily before answering. I'm still surprised at how close to human my reactions are that I pity myself. I only did that on occasion for her.
"Pam is well. The bar is doing well."
"I also asked about you." She cocks a brow in my direction, mimicking my actions.
"I am better," I say in half truth. I am better now having seen you again. So close yet so far away.
She looks at me skeptically then shrugs. "Well, that's good to know. I find it odd to run into you in a supermarket. You shopping for yourself?" she asks with a giggle. The sound of which breaks my heart. I used to make her laugh like that after…
"Um, no. Yes. Yes, I am here looking for shampoo. Pam is out of town and she usually purchases it for me." Why I feel the need to tell her so is beyond me. I've turned into a veritable Chatty-Cathy.
"Shampoo, huh? You always did have excellent taste in things." I don't miss the look of reminiscence that crosses her face.
"That I do." My voice is so hoarse; I almost don't recognize it as my own.
"So, do you frequent this market often?" she asks, waving her hand through the air.
"Are you afraid you'll run into me here again?"
She looks abashed. "No, of course not. I just…"
"You lie," I say with a smirk.
She bends her head to hide her smile but I've already caught it. "I'm just making small talk, Eric. I don't have an issue with running into you."
"But your mate might," I reply, folding my arms across my chest.
She looks up at me then, something clouding over the beautiful blue of her eyes. Doubt. Regret. Pain.
"I have a dinner party to get ready for. I'm here looking for wine and a few other odds and ends. I should probably get a cart. I'll leave you to your shampoo hunting."
She nods and turns on her heel to walk in the other direction. I know this response. She runs when she can't handle facing a truth. Hope springs eternal and I lap thirstily at the well.
I'm in front of her before she can take another step.
"I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable. I only want to know that you are happy." And that you miss me.
"I am happy. Very. Why wouldn't I be? I have everything I could ever want."
But I do not.
"Can I help you select a wine? I've been told I have a nose for these things." I smile, hoping to settle her nerves.
Her head dips as she nods imperceptibly and I step out of her way to follow along. We stop near the entrance of the market to retrieve a shopping cart and walk up and down various aisles, picking out items along the way. The silence between us is killing me so I speak up, wanting to hear her voice.
"I've implemented a few new gimmicks at Fangtasia. On Pam's insistence, of course. She had the notion that a theme night once a month would suit our clientele." I wave a hand dismissively, as if it means nothing. But I am proud of Pam taking some initiative.
I find I can't contain the downward curve of my lips as I think of how Pam has sacrificed her sanity for mine. But Sookie speaks up, pulling me from my thoughts.
"Really? That sounds like fun. I haven't been much for clubbing lately or I might have stopped by. Well, that's not really true. I think we both know it's best that I don't show up there. I don't want to cause trouble. Especially not since it follows me. Bet you've been pretty bored without me around." She's rambling.
"You wouldn't cause trouble. I would love it. I meant Pam. Pam would love to see you. She misses you … terribly."
Sookie looks at me then quickly looks away, probably realizing my skewing of the truth. While Pam may miss her, I'm the one in pain over her loss. We made the decision to separate but that doesn't mean I liked it. With her life being at risk because of my love for her and her constantly having to put up with the prejudices of others because of my undead status, it was putting a strain on our relationship.
"She's come to see me at Merlotte's."
"What?"
"Yeah. We usually meet up to have dinner. Well, I have dinner, she has a True Blood. But we talk and—"
"I told her not to bother you."
"She's no bother. I love being able to see her. It makes me feel like I'm still connected to you…" her voice fades to nothing.
"Do you talk about me?" I ask, hopeful.
"Not going there."
"Now, Sookie…"
"Please don't mention to Pam that I told you. And don't do anything to her either. She's really been a help to me. She's a good friend."
"She knows you're pregnant and didn't tell me," I say through gritted teeth. Pam will certainly hear about this.
"I asked her not to. Don't be upset."
"My child taking orders from someone other than me shouldn't upset me in the least."
"Your sarcasm isn't missed there, buddy. So tell me more about this theme night. Do you dress up as well?"
I sigh, but allow for the change in conversation. There is no point in being upset about something I cannot do anything about. Although, I may have to tighten the reins of Pam's leash. I can just hear her now: "You know if I'd have told you, you would want to come along and spy on her like some kind of love sick puppy." She would have been correct in her assessment.
"It's part of Pam's evil scheme to make me look like a fool. She calls it 'fun' while I call it a pain in the ass."
Sookie laughs so hard she's out of breath once she calms down. "You'll have to show me pictures. Wait, there are pictures, right?" Her hand lands on my forearm and she jerks it away as she realizes what she's done.
"I'm sure Pam has a few hidden somewhere. I wouldn't put it past her to have acquired enough to put together a photo album."
"I think I may have to stop by just to see those. Probably not for awhile though. Baby and all." One of her hand rests tenderly on the curve of her belly and for a brief moment I wish I had been the cause of her present condition.
"Do you know what you're having?"
And do you wish it were mine…?
"A boy. Yeah, I didn't want to find out but I got outnumbered in that decision. I'll be happy as long as the baby's healthy."
"Have you picked out a name yet?"
"You know, Eric… we don't have to do this. Talk about the baby." She steps forward, placing the same hand she'd touched me with earlier on my forearm once more.
I can hold back no longer and reach out with a burning desire to feel her. My fingers slide through the loose portion of her hair, pulling it toward my nose to smell, twirling the curls around my knuckles and releasing them. I drop the strands and trail my fingertips down the side of her neck to her shoulder. I relish the feel of her trembling under my touch. My free hand cautiously moves to her belly and rests above hers, just beneath the swell of her breasts. I make no move, only touching the space allotted—for her comfort. I would pull away should she ask me to. But she sighs, content, somewhat at peace with our exchange.
Our eyes meet and hers are glassy. I'm not sure why she would be crying but have it on good authority that I'm the cause. As I move to pull my hand away, I feel a slight pressure against my palm. Sookie gasps and moves her hand on top of mine.
"Was that?"
"Yeah," she says, nodding her head. "The baby just moved. You felt that?"
"I did." My lips stretch wide as I smile (a genuine smile) for the first time since parting ways with her.
We stand still and completely silent as the baby says hello to me. To feel the movement in her, to know that she carries a life I could not give her. It moves me.
"Oh Eric… you're um…" she points to my face, releasing her hold on my hand only for a moment. She turns to dig something out of her purse. Once she retrieves what she is seeking, she puts the soft white tissue to my face. When she pulls it back, it's pink.
"Thank you. I didn't realize."
"It's okay. Maybe I should go. I didn't mean to upset you."
"I am far from upset. I just… Sookie," her name leaves my lips in a whisper. The one word expressing more than any slew of words could ever convey.
"Don't. Please. I couldn't handle it." Her eyes plead with me, the welling of tears wrenching at my dead heart and I must put an end to her suffering.
I drop my head, no longer able to look into her eyes. My hand falls from her shoulder, her stomach, her. I turn and walk out of the supermarket, not looking back, not worrying about the fucking shampoo I came all this way to get in the first place. I need to get as far away from here as possible.
Who am I kidding? I'll be here every night until I see her again. I have to. I need to. Now that I know what I've been wondering all this time. She still cares for me, still loves me even. She has to or she wouldn't have let me get so close to her. The moment we shared, feeling the baby kick—that will tide me over until I can see her again. I will relive that moment over and over until our next meeting.
I am not five feet from the entrance when I turn around to see her standing there, watching me, calling to me with her eyes. She holds up a hand, almost in a wave, but it lingers near her mouth. I stand there for what seems like forever. Moments pass and she bursts through the door, running to meet my embrace.
I cradle her to me, her face nuzzling my neck as I pepper her hair with kisses. Her arms around my neck grip me tighter as I hold her to me, muttering words of love in my native tongue. I want to take her away from here. I want to fly us away to a place where no one can find us.
But that is not my reality. In reality, I take to the air as soon as I'm free of the suffocating enclosure of the market, the wind in my hair, the scent of Sookie still fresh on my hand. I clutch that hand to my heart, knowing she still has ownership of it.