3

Myrnin, naturally, was in an underground lair. Top secret, of course, but Saoirse found it easily with Oliver's precise directions. She slipped down the dark alley, picked the lock, breaking it would be too loud, and tiptoed down a set of stairs. The end of the corridor led to an open door.

Saoirse stood silently in the doorway, Myrnin had his back to her. He was wearing black jeans under a white lab coat- well, white except the chemical coloured stains, and a pair of pink slippers. His dark hair was wavy and to his shoulders, as she remembered it and he held a book in his hand. He was muttering something.

Something tightened in Saoirse's chest and she took a deep breath- not for the air, but to calm herself. She hated Myrnin for what he did, yet she felt so giddily nervous at the idea of facing him. But it all seemed to slip away as she caught a glance of the smooth pale skin on his hand. How elegant those fingers were, perfect in fact, long and thin, how long it had been since they'd softly caressed her skin- no touch had ever compared to his. All that pain though, all that betrayal, how could she just ignore it? Moments slipped by and Saoirse fought for some sort of decision. She didn't have to like him to get what she wanted from him.

"Fuck it," she whispered and Myrnin snapped around, freezing when he saw her.

"Hallucinating, I haven't done that since the cure...hmmm..." His brows knitted in interest.

"I'm not an hallucination," Saoirse said, exasperated.

"Of course, all the hallucinations say that- they all want to be real." Myrnin quipped.

Saoirse sighed and stepped toward him, planting a loud slap on his face. He didn't react for a full minute. And when he did it was not what she'd expected, he put both his hands on her face and pulled her lips toward her- kissing her fiercely.

She almost gave in. Nothing, ever, had come close to that feeling. No man's kiss had ever felt as perfect as Myrnin's did and never had another pair of lips fitted hers so absolutely, and her stomach twisted in hope and her whole body ached in anticipation of touching him again. They'd always fitted together perfectly, like pieces of a jigsaw, in that moment she was so tempted to just let it happen, just forget about everything and let it be... but she somehow managed to wrench herself free, glaring.

"Don't! Don't you do that to me, Myrnin."

"You're alive! Well, sort of! Oh, my love..." He stepped toward her and with each step forward he took, Saoirse stepped backward.

"Yes, I never died. Pennywell lied to you, I just moved to Scandinavia," she half explained, carefully studying the emotions pass on his face.

"How could you have stayed away for so long? I thought you were dead! For good, I mean. Not vampire dead," he looked angry.

"You betrayed me, Myrnin!" Saoirse spat, loosing the little patience she had. Myrnin's face contorted into a mask of outrage and guilt. His lab coat flapped behind him as he paced, raising his arms, then opening his mouth as if to speak and closing it again. A while passed before he could answer.

"That was an accident!"

Saoirse grimaced, "Really? That's the best you come up with? What, you tripped and your tongue fell down Amelie's throat?"

Myrnin at least had the decency to looked ashamed, "She kissed me. I, pushed her off, I did. It was just too late and you'd already seen. I was just shocked and... well... it didn't mean anything."

"She was unbuttoning your shirt by the time I left Myrnin! Maybe it meant nothing to you, Myrnin, but it meant a hell of a lot to me. So, I thank you not to kiss me as though we are still lovers." Myrnin picked up his book again, and hid his face behind it, only his eyes poking over the top, clearly huffing.

"Right. My apologies, well if you'll excuse me I have some work to be doing," he shifted his gaze from her to the book, pretending to read.

Saoirse knew he was pretending because he was holding it upside down. She let it slide though, because for some bizarre reason she felt guilty. The heavy brick of guilt in her stomach intensified as his eyes burned into the page, sad and lonely and some unknown force made her feel accountable. Her who was betrayed by him.

It wasn't fair. She wanted to run to him, let the last few centuries disappear as she disappeared into his arms, and just tell him that everything would be okay. To forgive him.

But she couldn't.

Instead, she violently kicked over a neat pile of dusty books and then when that didn't provide enough relief, a wooden table leg. It snapped, sending all the lab equipment sliding onto the floor in a cacophony of clangs and smashes, then she stormed out, cursing and crunching on the glass as she left.

She was half a block away before she shrieked in annoyance- sending a poor teenager running toward the nearest house.

Well, that had been a complete waste of time. The visit lasted a whole ten minutes, she hadn't been cool and collected as she wanted- hadn't been able to show Myrnin that she was totally over him.

Which she was.

Definitely.

And they had sorted nothing out.

Everything was just peachy.

Saoirse walked the streets for hours, well past sunset, thinking and talking to herself. She was convincing herself that the problem was not that she wasn't over Myrnin (because she definitely was), it was just that she was lonely and craving someone and he'c just surprised her with that perfect kiss.

She did have Victor, the Prince of Sweden, but he usually didn't want to talk about such useless things as her feelings. Plus he was human and they could never really understand, especially when they don't know you're undead- really, she was just in it to get some money to live on. Each passing moment made her feel worse and worse.

It was almost sunrise when she crawled into Oliver's bed. He wasn't in it, he probably hadn't slept in it for God only knows how long. But for some reason the idea of staying in her own bed was simply too cold and she wanted to curl up somewhere. She was awake for hours- just staring blankly at the ceiling. No light could filter through Oliver's impressively opaque blinds, so she couldn't tell what time it was when he walked in, just that it was day time according to her tingly vamp senses.

"Lose your way? You're room's down the hall," he said blandly.

Saoirse shrugged, pulling back the blanket a little, "Lay with me?"

Oliver shook his head, "I'm not here to comfort your hurt feelings, Saoirse."

"You used to... I comforted your hurt feelings," she said pathetically. It probably wasn't the right thing to say, Oliver didn't like to be reminded of any sign of weakness he'd shown. Not that he showed them openly like Saoirse, but she'd picked up on his little habits over the years. She could tell by the set of his jaw when he was annoyed. She also knew that if she pleaded enough he would lay with her, but she couldn't bring herself to give another person power over her. She was weak enough as it was so she just stared at him hoping he would be the one to cave.

"Used to," was all he said, pulling the door shut behind him as he left.

Saoirse wanted to cry, some deep, suffocating emotion was swelling in her stomach and travelling to her throat, causing gasping pains.

She was utterly alone and the only person who wanted her, was the only person she refused to have and the only person she needed to gain her freedom.