TITLE: ROUGH DIAMONDS
AUTHOR: FOXPROSE
E-MAIL:
RATING: K
CATEGORY: SER (Sookie/Eric Romance)
DISCLAIMER: All characters except that of Chaim belong to Charlaine Harris and The Penguin Group Publishers. No infringement intended or financial remuneration received for this work.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated! Send to
SPOILERS: Minor references to Dead Until Dark, Living Dead in Dallas, Club Dead, Dead to the World, Dead as a Doornail, Definitely Dead, Dead and Gone, and Dead in the Family.
SUMMARY: Pam and those cursed magazines! Eric finds himself pressured into a purchase. Written as an entry for Week 20 One-Shot. I'd intended to write an angsty piece with a metaphorical connection to the "Pressure creates diamonds" theme, but sometimes you go to the kitchen to make Beef Bourginon and discover that you only have ingredients for Rice Krispie treats. So enjoy the fluff!
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"Rough diamonds may sometimes be mistaken for worthless pebbles. "
Thomas Browne
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Eric re-focused on the computer screen. It was 5 a.m., and the bar had been closed for three hours. He could still fit in a few more minutes of work before beating a hasty retreat to his home just ahead of the dawn. Life – or, rather, death – was weighing heavily on him right now. Victor and Sandy, Felipe de Castro's representatives in Louisiana, made no secret that they found him a threat and would happily see him meet his final death – or at least leave the state. And Sookie, his wife under vampire law, was still balking about being tricked into their bond. Technically, fatigue wasn't a problem for vampires, but Eric could have sworn that he felt utterly exhausted. Just plain exhausted . . . by the work, by Victor and Sandy, even by Sookie.
Pam, his vampire child, sat complacently in the corner of his office, leafing through something emblazoned with Glamour across the cover. She could have left hours ago; he had dismissed her. But apparently she had nowhere better to be, so she sat, reading those accursed magazines. In fact, a large stack of them occupied the table next to her seat. She had apparently stocked up in anticipation of a long night. She had never been silly; he would not have turned a silly woman! So what in these ridiculous human periodicals enamored her so?
"Eric!" Pam said, breaking the silence and jolting him out of his stupor.
"Hmmh?"
"This is it! Here's how you can solve the whole problem with Sookie!" Pam uncurled from her sitting position and crossed to his desk, making no attempt to soften the sound made by her stiletto heels on the concrete floor.
"There's no problem with Sookie. And why are you reading that? You're too glamorous already," Eric huffed. He knew from experience that Pam had found another lame-brained idea in the magazine, and he wanted to shut it – and her – down immediately. He had enough on his platter right now.
"No, seriously, Eric. I think this is the answer to all your problems. Well, your Sookie problems, at least."
She plopped the open magazine on top of his keyboard, where it fell open to an article entitled Get the Man (and the Ring!) You Want! So many exclamation points, he thought. Was that proper English? He thought he remembered a rule about the overuse of such punctuation, but it had been many years since he learned to write in English, so perhaps he was wrong. Pam leaned across the desk, placing a long, manicured fingernail on the article.
"Did you get Sookie a ring? Did you get her any kind of jewelry?" Pam demanded.
"We are bonded by the knife. I don't need to give her jewelry. Besides, this is a human custom," he responded, bristling at the implicit criticism.
"Puh-lease," Pam rolled her eyes dramatically. "You know very well that gifts of jewelry are exchanged as part of every political vampire marriage. In fact, remember when Sophie-Anne . . ."
"Yes. I remember."
"So Sookie is human, and everyone she knows who is married probably has one of these," she said, pointing to the montage of diamond solitaires on the page.
"Enough!" Eric barked. "I have real problems. Serious problems. If you recall, you and Sookie were almost killed a few short weeks ago. And you are bothering me about jewelry?"
Pam murmered something designed to sound mildly apologetic. She returned the magazine to the top of the stack, and walked out of the office with a regal bearing. But she left the magazine open to the article on men – and rings.
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After almost two centuries with Eric, Pam knew precisely when to speak and when to bide her time. She also, frequently, knew what was best for him. But like all men, Eric was stubborn and proud. He liked to figure things out himself – or pretend that he had.
So Pam left the magazine open to the article for several days. After all, she was in no hurry.
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He held out longer than she had expected. It wasn't until the following week when he lifted his eyes from the computer screen an hour before dawn.
"She says I'm 'high-handed'," he announced. "She says I do things that I think are best for her without seeking her opinion."
"Who says what?" Pam asked, attempting to sound confused by this unprompted revelation. Of course, she knew very well "who" and "what" Eric meant.
"Sookie. She says I am 'high-handed' with her. She is still unhappy that I didn't explain the bonding ritual."
"Well, you tried. Doesn't she realize you tried to reach her?"
"Yes. She knows. And I believe she understands. But she is still not at ease with the bond."
"She is human. Even if she is part fae, and even if she is familiar with our ways, she is still human. Perhaps the bonding by knife did not seem like a real marriage to her."
"Doesn't she understand that the bond is a hundred times more binding and more solemn than all those foolish human ceremonies and promises."
"Maybe. Maybe not," Pam shrugged. "Sookie is a woman who believes that actions speak louder than words. Perhaps you should find a way to show her that the bond was not simply your way of keeping her talents here in Area 5."
"I have no time for stupid romantic plotting," Eric snapped. "She will either believe my love for her is real or she will not. I will not beg her."
"Suit yourself," Pam said, smiling.
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The next evening, Pam noticed that the magazine had been disturbed. The cleaning crew, she imagined for a moment. No, they didn't enter Eric's office. She closed the magazine and placed it at the bottom of the pile.
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"I'm going to New York for a quick trip. You will manage the bar in my absence and contact me if Victor or Sandy shows up," Eric did not meet her eyes, enunciating his orders crisply while packing up his laptop into an overnight case.
"Certainly. Do you have business in New York?"
"Yes."
"Shopping?"
"Yes."
"Well, I wear a size 5 narrow in shoes."
"I will not be purchasing shoes."
Pam smirked and strolled out of the office, her eyes taking in the action at the bar, in the banquettes, and on the stage. She motioned for Indira to remain at the door, and she sent Maxwell to quell a rowdy group. She returned to the office just as Eric wheeled his bag behind him through the employees' entrance.
"Have a safe trip," she trilled, laughing to herself.
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Annubus Airlines Flight 370 from Dallas arrived at LaGuardia Airport at 2:12 a.m., and Eric exited into the chill of the fall air. His cell phone chirped as he effortlessly glided down the steps to the Baggage Claim area and Ground Transportation, and he answered, speaking only a few words of acknowledgement. With only his carry-on, he exited the terminal, crossed the taxi lane, and entered a waiting car.
"Mr. Northman?" the young man asked, confirming the identity of his passenger. He was in his early twenties, a Hassidic Jew, wearing the knee-length jacket and breeches of his ancestors in Eastern Europe. He spoke with a slight accent that marked English as a second language for him. The Bluetooth device in his ear seemed strangely at odds with his appearance. Eric smiled in spite of himself, thinking how surprised his driver would be to learn that Eric himself had once owned a similar pair of breeches – in the late 1700s, when they were au courant for gentlemen of means.
"Yes, that is correct. You will take me to Reb Chaim?"
"Yes. He is my grandfather," the young man replied. If he was nervous from the vampire's presence, he concealed it well.
"Your grandfather and I, we've known each other for many years," Eric said, though he couldn't imagine why he was making an effort to converse with this young man.
"Yes."
No more was said, and the car traveled swiftly, though Eric was always surprised to see just how much traffic clogged the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway in the middle of the night. They exited near the Williamsburg Bridge, driving through narrow residential streets until they reached Hewes Street.
"We are here, Mr. Northman," the driver said. "My grandfather is waiting for you." He pointed to a house with a flight of stairs leading to its main entrance. A light was on, and an older man looked out the window.
Eric thanked the young man, took his bag, and trotted up the steps as the door opened.
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"My friend, Eric Northman!" the man exclaimed, embracing Eric. The man was in his seventies, more or less, well-fed, and dressed like his grandson. Ritual fringes hung from the garment he wore under his vest. Eric gently returned the embrace and the European-style kisses delivered to each cheek, feeling nostalgic for the myriad of customs on the Continent that he'd left behind when he came to America.
"Reb Chaim! I am honored by your hospitality. I would have happily met with you in your office."
"Hah! Don't flatter yourself! I'm not going to shlep into Manhattan and get myself mugged just to open up in the middle of the night for you, you scoundrel!" Chaim said, laughing and clapping Eric on the back.
"Come. Sit down."
He ushered Eric into a small sitting room lined with books. They sat across from one another at a small table.
"Let me offer your some refreshment," Chaim contiued. "I have several different brands; I wasn't sure what you liked. They tell me True Blood is the Chivas Regal of the brands, but maybe they don't know . . ."
"No. No, thank you, Chaim. But it was kind of you to prepare for my visit. I have not seen you since . . ."
"What? 'The Great Revelation' I think your people call it?"
"Were you surprised?"
"Eric, I am an old man. That was my grandson who drove you here, and his wife recently had a baby. So I am a great-grandfather. I hope to live to 120, but nothing surprises me anymore."
"Had you suspected before? Did you know about me?"
"Oh ho! Well, my father, may he rest in peace, always said you'd been given special gifts by the One Above. Of course, I don't remember when you helped my family escape from Hungary. I was just a toddler. But the Merciful One in Heaven? If He can send a monster like Hitler, may his name be erased, then He can send those with the power to remedy such horrors.
"I did too little, though. Truthfully, I cannot believe that your God sent me. Vampires rarely add to the goodness in the world."
"Well, Eric, believe what you want. The One Above creates each of us with a purpose, and sometimes we fulfill our purpose in the flash of an instant. Who knows? Perhaps concealing my family and getting us out of Europe was your purpose. But the Master of the Universe doesn't share His plans with me, an old diamond dealer. So let's talk tashlich – get down to business."
"I want to buy a diamond."
"Good! Good! You're looking to invest?"
"No. I do not require an investment-grade gem. It is meant for jewelry. For a woman's ring."
"Ah, I see. Tell me a little about this woman."
Eric's immediate reaction was to refuse. Why did Chaim need to know about Sookie simply to sell him a diamond? Chaim's gentle smile and charm made him feel warm and relaxed, though. And really, what was the harm of talking about Sookie? The house in Williamsburg was a million miles away from Shreveport, Bon Temps, and the vampire politics that plagued him.
"Um, she's nobody special. I mean, she is special . . . to me. We're married under vampire law, but I want to give her a nice piece of jewelry. A ring, like women wear to show that they belong to a man."
"She is like you?"
"No, she's not. She's just a regular woman. But she's unique, and amazingly loyal and resourceful."
Eric cast his eyes down, suddenly embarrassed. He sounded ridiculous, like a human teenager describing his first love.
"So you want to give her a diamond ring? To show that she belongs to you?"
"Yes."
"Ah, my friend! I don't know how long you have walked this earth, but you must not know much about rings. Or women!" Chaim laughed, slapping his thigh.
"Explain."
"A man gives a woman a ring to show that she belongs to him, but do you know what the ring really means? It means that he belongs to her!"
Eric laughed along with Chaim uneasily. How could it be that this human, who had lived a scant few decades, seemed to know things about life of which he, after almost 1000 years, was completely ignorant? Chaim brought forth several glassine papers folded into small pouches as Eric thought about the human's words. So many times he had referred to Sookie as "his," but he was the one who had chased her; he was the one who had used every excuse to keep her near him; he was the one who, cursed with amnesia, ran unerringly to her. Yes, the human was right, he thought ruefully. His presence here was evidence that he belonged to Sookie, perhaps more than she would ever belong to him.
"May I ask you a question, Eric?" Chaim said, and continued without waiting for a reply. "You told me you live in Louisiana now. Why come to New York? You could find a very nice ring in New Orleans or maybe Baton Rouge or even Shreveport. Why make a trip to see an old man like me? Not that I'm not happy to see you, of course."
"I, uh, don't know," Eric said, his voice sounding unconfident and shaky, even to him. "I don't know much about diamonds, and I don't want to be cheated. I trust you. And I want the best for her."
"Ah, well, of course you do!" Chaim answered knowingly, saying no more on the subject.
Chaim showed him a dozen stones, using his jeweler's lope to point out the minor differences that affected the value. They settled on an oval diamond and agreed on the setting in which
Chaim would secure the stone during the coming day. The price was set, but no money changed hands. Money would be wired when Eric returned to Shreveport the following night.
"Mit mazel u'vrocha," Chaim said, using the Yiddish words that constituted a contract among diamond dealers of all backgrounds and nationalities.
"Mazel u'vrocha," Eric responded, completing the deal. He reflected silently that he, Sookie, and all of Area 5 were likely to soon need both the "luck" and "blessing" referred to in the phrase.
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Less than a week later, Sookie sashayed into Fangtasia. Eric could feel her approach, of course, and cleared a banquette in preparation for her arrival. She was wearing a sundress, not unlike the one she wore the first time he saw her. Pam was minding the door, and he watched as they put their heads together for a quick gossip. Sookie extended her left hand for Pam's inspection, and they seemed to be giggling. Eric looked away, partly pleased by Sookie's current state of mind and partly annoyed by the silly, girlish side that Pam seemed to be displaying more and more frequently.
Sookie slid next to him, giving him a brief kiss and placing her hand on top of his. She'd polished her nails that pretty cranberry color, and the ring, set off with sapphires and diamond baguettes, looked stunning. Eric felt a completely irrational surge of pride rush through him as he surveyed his business, his wife, and his vampire family.
Pam had been right, of course, though he would never acknowledge it to her. He should have recognized Sookie's new role as his wife in a way she understood, a public way. Was he imagining it, or did Sookie carry herself differently since she'd accepted the ring. It was a slight difference, true, but when she entered the bar tonight, she looked like a confident albeit sexy young matron. She didn't look as if she was gathering her courage, nor did she slink in as if she'd rather be anywhere else in the world. She looked pleased and happy to be with him.
Surely jewelry, even a beautiful, expensive piece of jewelry, couldn't make such a difference in a woman's outlook. She'd been so surprised to receive it, though. Eric felt sad and a bit guilty to see how reverently she had accepted it, allowing him to place it on her shaking hand. She told him that she had never imagined being given such a beautiful ring, and he had felt the familiar rush of anger that he experienced when he was reminded of how very badly the world often treated Sookie and what meager expectations she had from life.
A group of visiting vampires approached the table to pay respects to the Sheriff. They introduced themselves by name and origin, bowing slightly to Eric.
"Thank you for honoring my area with your presence and for visiting Fangtasia to greet us," Eric said formally. "My wife and I welcome you."
The vampires turned to Sookie and inclined their heads to signify their recognition of her position.
"Pleased to meet you," she said in that utterly candid, almost naïve-sounding way of hers. "I'm Sookie. Sookie . . ." she paused slightly, as if working to get the words out correctly. "Sookie Northman. And I hope y'all will have a real good time here in Shreveport and in Area 5."
The vampires backed away to continue their evening's entertainment, and Eric turned his head slightly so that Sookie wouldn't notice the tears that had suddenly welled in his eyes. She had used his name! Never before had she referred to herself as anything other than "Sookie Stackhouse," and yet tonight she had called herself "Sookie Northman." He blinked and allowed himself to enjoy the moment as a wave of contentment coursed through his body.
He motioned to one of the human waitresses, who approached the table.
"Please bring me a True Blood, and Sookie will have a gin and tonic," Eric requested pleasantly.
"Actually, just a ginger ale will be fine," Sookie interrupted.
The waitress left to get the drinks, Eric leaned close into Sookie, putting his arm around her.
"Was I being high-handed?" he asked.
"Oh, I think ordering a drink without asking me isn't too serious," she said, smiling.
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Fangtasia was closing, and Eric was in his office, powering down his computer and tidying up. He was not spending tonight with his spreadsheets or even his backup spreadsheets. He and Sookie were going home. Sookie meandered over to Pam's stack of magazines, browsing through the selection of titles.
"Eric, is Pam getting married?"
"What? No. Where would you get that idea?"
"Well, she sure seems to be planning some kind of wedding shindig. She's got all these articles in Bride Magazine and Modern Bride bookmarked."
A flash of realization hit Eric like a punch. Pam had apparently taken secret delight in winning her battle over the ring, and now she was planning to up the ante by suggesting a human-style wedding.
No. No. No. This had gone far enough. If Pam wanted a long white dress and bridesmaids, she could damn well get married herself.
"I'm ready. Let's go," he said, ushering Sookie out the door.
At the last second, he reached inside and grabbed the magazines. They went out through the employees' entrance, and he lifted the lid of the dumpster, dropping the entire stack in the garbage.
"Isn't Pam going to be upset that you threw away all her magazines," Sookie asked as he opened the car door for her.
"Probably," he replied, dropping a kiss on her head. "But Pam reads far too many magazines."