A/N: Wrote this because I was bored. Some of it might not make sense at all.


"Oh for suffering's sake Piers, not again!" Ingrid yelled. This must've been the 50th time this week that Piers was filming her on tape. He kept taking videos of them together (sometimes just her) as if she was going to turn into dust the next day.

"You love it really, my little blood orange," Piers teased. Somehow, that nickname didn't bother her as much as it should have. "Just be yourself!"

"Okay," Ingrid gave in, without further complaint. Since when did she start doing that? "We got another ridiculous post card from Dad this morning..." she started. Piers hummed to indicate that he was listening. "'Oz, an inspired choice. Warm nights without a turtle-neck or scarf in sight. Renfield's enjoying the local roadkill. Dad.' And there's one from Vlad too. Short but sickeningly sweet: 'We've climbed the highest mountain. Namaste.' And they've both signed it too. 'Vlad and Talitha kiss kiss.' How hideous." Piers sniggered. "Ugh! Promise me we will never get that smug and predictable."

"You have my word," he replied. She gave him a little smile.

Tapping the scrabble board on the table in between them, she said, "Speaking of which, that's not how you spell villain."

"What?" Piers sat right next to her, staring at the scrabble board and realising she was lying. "Don't be a sore loser!"

"Better than a sore winner." She hissed and snarled at him, bearing her fangs and making him jump instantly.

"Ah Ingrid!" he scolded, pointing at her. She backed down. "That's better. Drink your blood tea before it clots." Ingrid looked away and pouted. "Haha! S-P-I-T-E! Spite! Look at that." She glanced at the scrabble board and glared at him before picking up her notebook and pen. "That's 54 to me. Guess who's winning then?" She turned to look at him. "Me." Ingrid huffed and tried to glare at Piers but found herself grinning instead. She raised her pen to hit him. "Ahh, dont!" he wailed, grabbing her arm to stop her.

Ingrid couldn't help but admire how warm his hand was. As soon as that thought crossed her mind, she pulled her arm away rather quickly, confusing Piers. This was not going to happen again. Three times was too much, even for her.


"You really are a pathetic breather, aren't you?" Ingrid scoffed, sitting besides Piers on his bed. She watched in mild disgust as he lay under the covers, coughing severely. After watching him struggle to reach his glass of water on the bedside for a good five minutes, she got up to help him. He sat up to drink it before lying down again.

"Is it me, or are you starting to like me sweetfangs?" he asked cheekily as she stood beside his bed and took the glass back.

"Shut up breather!" she snarled and glared at him, putting the glass down. Piers happily noted that Ingrid's glare was losing its hate.

"You... know... it's true. Otherwise... you wouldn't... be here," he pointed out smugly in between coughs.

"I'm here because I'm bored. It's no fun without you - I mean without a breather to abuse or terrorise," Ingrid replied haughtily, slipping up badly.

"Sure, you just admitted it there," Piers commented, smirking at his crush. Although, he had to admit, it was becoming more than a crush day by day.

"Ugh, I'm leaving breather. You're so lucky I didn't drain you; you'd give me blood poisoning," Ingrid told Piers, who wasn't insulted in the least. In fact, he found her attitude cute.

"Okay, but I should warn you, I might die from this," he lied, as she walked to the door. Ingrid spun around abruptly.

"Do you think I'm an idiot? Although breathers are weak they don't die from the flu. I did go to school you know," she explained.

"I don't have the flu. I have tonsillitis," Piers corrected. "I've had it on and off for years now." Ingrid huffed and left Piers' room.

Later that night, she checked the NHS website and Y!A, just to be sure.


The next day, Ingrid stormed into Pier's room at the crack of dawn. She didn't even check to see if he was awake before yelling at him.

"You lied! Breathers rarely die from tonsillitis! There's more chance of us having a baby together than you dying any time soon!" Just after she finished the sentence, Ingrid wondered why of all things, she'd mention having a baby with Piers.

Unfortunately for her, the Scottish computer geek was wide awake. "Is that an invitation, sweetblood?" he asked flirtatiously, wiggling his eyebrow.

"Actually, I think I'll kill you now," Ingrid threatened, zooming over to Piers with her vampire speed. To her dismay, he merely gazed lovingly at her as she beared her fangs at him. "Why are you looking at me like that?" she hissed.

"No reason. Just thinking about our B-A-B-Y baby...!" Piers replied.

For some reason, having a baby with Piers didn't seem so bad. Except the trouble she'd get in with the VHC for doing so. She didn't fancy a repeat of the whole Dimidius Chosen One drama again.

"Lost in our thoughts are we? Would you want a boy or a girl? Personally, I'd want a girl... One that looks like her mother," Piers stated wistfully, winking at her.

It took everything Ingrid had not to tear up. Never in her life did she think that a guy she knew would want to have a baby girl with her, let alone one that resembles her. She always thought she'd be alone. Or if she wasn't married by a certain age, she thought the Count would force her to get married again like he did when she was fifteen. And there would be no way out. If that happened, she'd end up marrying some old fashioned loser (like the Count himself) and be expected to give him sons.

Piers coughed, bringing the vampire out of her thoughts. "You'd really want a girl?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Yes," he answered. "A girl with black hair, pearl white skin and brown eyes. And I'd love for there to be Teagan somewhere in her name. It means beautiful. Just like yours."

Ingrid knew she was treading into a dangerous territory here. She was being touched by the nerd's words and it scared her. She was destined to be alone and that was what she would be. So she squashed the urge to run into Piers' arms and hug him.

"Actually, my name means God's daughter. Ugh, dad is so vain! Plus, Valerica is a better name. It's from the Old Country and it means strong."

Piers wanted to say more but he began to cough again. Violently. Ingrid took the opportunity to leave his room using the excuse: "Uh, I'll get you some more water."

As she left the bedroom and walked down the hallway, a lone tear escaped her left eye.


"Is this water even safe?" Ingrid wondered aloud as she filled an empty glass up with cold tap water. 'Renfield used to drink it, didn't he?' she thought. 'But then again, he consumed all sorts of filth.'

"Of course it's safe," a familiar voice spoke from behind her. She turned to see Piers bustling around the kitchen.

Ingrid walked up to him and shoved the glass of water into his hands. "Here." She watched him as he finished all the water. "What are you doing out of bed?" she asked, crossing her arms.

Piers shot her an amused look when he realised she was actually concerned. "I'm here to eat," he simply answered.

"Well, as you've probably figured out, we're out of breather food," Ingrid stated, sitting on the kitchen table, her legs dangling off the edge. Piers sighed and made his way over to her. The vampire scowled as soon as she saw the puppy dog eyes he was making. "NO. I can't operate breather... vehicles. And I despise puppies, with the exception of Wolfie."

"Can't you use some special vampire power?" he questioned. "And who's Wolfie?"

"I'd still have to know how to drive, telekinesis or not. And you seem to be forgetting something; I can't go out when the sun's up," Ingrid reminded him. "He's my little brother."

"Fine, I'll go," Piers gave in. "How come I've never seen him before? And how is he a puppy?"

"My biological mother, Magda, left Dad for a werewolf called Patrick. Patrick is Wolfie's father and Magda is obviously his mother, so he's a half werewolf, half vampire hybrid. When Wolfie was four, my mum dumped him here and Dad took him in as his own, after a lot of convincing. Then for some unknown reason, she returned about a year or two later and took Wolfie back to live with her and Patrick. That was a few weeks before I met you," Ingrid explained, smiling fondly at the thought of her youngest brother.

"It sounds like you loved him quite a bit," Piers observed.

"Hmm. Well, more than Vlad anyway," the vampire replied.

"So, two out of three of your half brothers are hybrids?" Piers asked in amazement.

"About that, remember my big brother Malik?" Ingrid started and her housemate nodded. "Turns out he wasn't really my brother at all. His mother lied to him about Dad being his father. He never got to find out who his father was before..."

"He died?" Piers finished uncertainly.

"Dust," Ingrid confirmed sadly. "I threw the fool's remains into the fireplace."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," Piers offered his condolences.

"Hmm," the vampire sniffed, composing herself. "By the way, Vlad's a full vampire now. All traces of his breather side are gone, besides his birth certificate. Dad mind wiped Sally and George at his request. Apparently, he was putting them in danger."

"Wow, your family is complicated."

"Tell me about it... Aren't you going to get your food?" Ingrid queried.

"Yes I am. Well, I'm off, see you later sweetfangs," Piers chimed, winking at the vampire before leaving the kitchen to find his car keys. Ingrid rolled her eyes and went to sit at her throne.


Recently, Piers had set a few TVs up throughout the castle. Ingrid decided to turn the one in the throne room on and see what the fuss was all about – she remembered the time her father told her that he loved TV more than her. Ouch.

When she turned the TV on, she discovered that a soap was on. Ingrid groaned and was about to change the channel when a particular scene came on and caught her eye.

A couple were standing together in what appeared to be a kitchen. The woman seemed to be a typical geek with massive glasses and unfashionable clothes. The man however, was the complete opposite. He looked like one of those 'bad boy' types, donning several tattoos and gold... earrings.

"I'm sorry about your stepbrother Ivona," the man told the woman who was supposedly crying. Ingrid noted that he had a SCOTTISH accent.

"It's okay Peter. Malcolm shouldn't have foolishly associated himself with the Ramsays! He brought it upon himself!" 'Ivona' sobbed dramatically.

"Aye, your family's quite messed," 'Peter' commented.

"I know. I just hope my new family won't be," she replied, touching her 'stomach.' Ingrid didn't know whether she should've been disgusted or amused. It was so obvious that there was a balloon under the actress' dressing gown.

"Don't worry. She'll be a nice little lass who takes after her gorgeous mother," Peter patted Ivona's 'stomach.' The vampire knew she should've found the scene cheesy but the situation was far too similar to... Earlier that day.

"Oh Peter, I thought you always wanted a boy!" Ivona exclaimed before jumping into her lover's arms and snogging him senseless. Peter placed her on the kitchen counter where she straddled him. Then they proceeded to have a quick shag. Ingrid was paralysed with disgust at this point. 'Don't breathers make their food there?' she thought. 'And won't that hurt the balloon?' After a while, the couple finally separated.

"Well, I'm off, see you later sweetfangs!" Now, Peter had actually said 'sweetheart' but Ingrid heard 'sweetfangs.' She quickly switched the TV off. That soap was way too creepy; there were too many similarities between the plot and her life! Except the kissing bit. As well as the pregnant bit. And the other bit. Which Ingrid definitely didn't want. Right?


"I'm back!" Piers shouted. He instantly regretted it as he began coughing wildly. After he calmed down a bit he called for her again, "Ingrid!" Silence. "She must be having a bat nap."

After Piers finished eating and putting everything away, he wandered around the castle searching for Ingrid. He didn't have to look far since he found her in the throne room, fast asleep on her throne. Wondering why she hadn't retired to her coffin instead, Piers spotted the remote control on her lap. Out of curiosity, he grabbed the remote and switched the TV on. To his delight, his favourite TV soap was on.


Three days later...

"Oi! Wake up breather!" Ingrid yelled from where she was standing, next to Pier's bed. Once again, she had barged into his bedroom, early in the morning. "PIERS!"

Said man woke up slowly, taking his time. "For God's sake, what's wrong my little blood orange?" he questioned upon seeing his love awake in the morning, screaming at him.

"Don't 'blood orange' me! I checked the NHS website and it says that if your symptoms aren't gone in four days, you should go and see your GP!" she shouted. "Or something like that. Anyway, today is the fifth day and you look as pathetic as you did yesterday!"

"Oh don't worry. I don't need to see the GP. I told you I've had tonsillitis on and off for ages. Chronic tonsillitis actually. Since I was a teenager," Piers explained.

"And? Why haven't you had that breather operation done yet?" Ingrid demanded.

"Tonsillectomy surgery?"

"Yes."

"I don't want to."

"WHAT?" the vampire scoffed, raising her voice.

"I don't want to. It's a waste of time," the ill breather replied. Ingrid narrowed her eyes at him. "Fine. I'm too lazy." She raised her eyebrow questioningly. "Honest." Ingrid kept the scary face on. "Okay. Maybe I'm a bit concerned too. Apparently, it's really painful afterwards and it hurts when you swallow your food."

"I'm going to give you even greater pain if you don't get it done," she warned half heartedly, coming closer to him.

"Not going to work sweetfangs," Piers chanted. Ingrid sighed and sat down next to him on his bed.

"At least go and see your GP about it," she suggested.

"Nope." She couldn't believe she was going to do this. All for a breather. Well, if she came this far, she might as well go all the way. And it might be enough to convince the stubborn idiot.

"Please." Piers grinned at that. Ingrid wanted to slap the silly smile off his face but restrained herself.

"Well, since my sweetblood insists," he finally agreed, taking her hand and squeezing it. As always, his hand was warm and it made her stomach churn. And not in a bad way.

"You'll pay for this," she muttered, pulling her hand out of his grasp.


A/N: Looooooool. Don't even ask.