When Moira woke, she knew two things: she was alive, and she was in the dark. She knew that she was a live, because if she were dead, she wouldn't be in this much pain. Her jaw ached—she was sure it was bruised and swollen—and her hand was alternating between a dull ache and a sharp, stabbing pain when she tried to bend her fingers. Not to mention, she liked to think that if she died what waited for her was not a tiny, cramped black space.
Trying to figure out where she was and what was going on, she reached out her hand—the one that didn't hurt—and felt into the darkness. She stopped when she touched a hard, smooth wall. She ran her hand along the surface until she couldn't anymore. A box, she realized. She was inside a tiny, dark box. It was getting harder to catch her breath, and she wondered how long she had been inside it. Air…she needed air.
"What is this?" Moira recognized the voice immediately. Godric. The first vampire she had ever met. The first time that she heard his voice, he had been calm but interested. Now, it was different. The only word that came to mind was "furious."
"You weren't happy—"
The other voice was easily recognizable, as well. Eric Northman. He had taken her from her apartment—seemingly without remorse. He had been cold, businesslike when questioning her during their first meeting, but now he, too, sounded different. There was almost an edge of…unhappiness in his voice. It sounded strange on him, but perhaps some of that had to do with the circumstances of their first meeting.
"That does not give you license to take her from her life. She has a right to live her life as she chooses, and you cannot interfere with that."
"You were thinking about meeting the sun again. I can't…I won't let you do that."
There was a long silence before Godric spoke again. "I told you I would stay a while. Do you doubt me?" His voice was softer now, with an edge of sadness to it.
"No."
Despite the fact that she couldn't see what was going on, Moira felt a bit like she was intruding on intimate moment. Like this exchange was something that she had no business hearing. But, all good things must come to an end, and she the longer she stayed in this box, the harder it was getting to breathe. To draw attention to herself, she banged on the top of the box.
"Um…I hate to intrude, but can you please let me out of here?"
Before the question was completely out of her mouth, the box opened and she saw the concerned, beautiful face of Godric staring down at her. The fresh air was cool on her face, but the perfection of his features took her breath away so that she couldn't enjoy it. He offered her a hand, which she took, and he helped her to sit up. When she smelled the odor of burning flesh, she immediately pulled her hand from his.
"I'm sorry. I forgot," she whispered. On the third finger of her left hand was a silver claddagh ring. The two hands representing friendship, held the heart that represented love, which wore the crown for loyalty. The crown faced towards her body.
"It's no trouble," he answered, his hand already healed. "Your other hand…if I may?" He gestured to her broken, swollen hand. Her fingers were too swollen to remove the other ring she wore—also silver—from her middle finger. She nodded her consent, and he took her tiny hand in his slightly larger one.
His touch was light and feather soft. He could have destroyed her, torn her apart with those hands, but instead, he took special care not to. Her ring was burning him, but he ignored it. Instead, he studied her hand, poking and prodding as gently as he could, to determine whether or not there was anything that they could do about it. The whole time, she sat there, completely still, completely trusting him not to hurt her. Even when he was done, he continued to hold her hand, almost as if he were unaware of the burns on his palms.
"Your hand is broken," he said quietly.
"Yours is burning," she answered, just as softly.
"It doesn't hurt." He was a damn good liar, but she'd put her hand on a hot stove too many times to believe him.
"Yes, it does." She gently pulled her hand out of his grasp, though not without some reluctance. She could see her feelings echoed in his expression, and she smiled at him.
"I'm sorry for the disruption in your life. Eric was afraid—"
"I heard. I…understand."
"You couldn't possibly," Eric cut in from where he sat, off to the side. She could see the remnants of the bloody tears on his cheeks. Yes, there was a level of intimacy between them that she would never understand, and that words would never be able to describe. She felt…torn, to say the least.
"If you'd like, I can arrange for you to be on a plane home tomorrow," Godric said, giving Eric an admonishing look.
"That won't be necessary. This, actually, is home. I was only in Dallas for an internship, but that's over so…" She trailed off and shrugged, unsure of how to finish the sentence, or exactly how she should be behaving.
"Your hand…Eric do you know any healers?"
"I can have Dr. Ludwig here in fifteen minutes," he answered tersely. "But she's only going to pop the bones back in place and give her blood." From his tone, it was obvious that he wasn't talking about human blood. "We could save the fee and do it on our own."
Godric looked to Moira, again, asking her permission. She could see that he was fully prepared to open a vein and give her his blood, but she couldn't let him do that. She wasn't ready for something like that. She had heard about the consequences of vampire blood, everything from addiction to bonding with the vampire. Either way, those weren't possibilities she was ready to explore just yet.
"It's alright. Just give me a few strong shots of whiskey to get me through the night, and I'll go to the orthopedist in the morning. It isn't a big deal."
"Whiskey?" Eric asked, unable to keep the snide laughter out of his voice.
"With a name like Moira Ahern, would you really expect anything else? I'm guessing this place doesn't have Guinness," she shot back with a grin.
It should have been easy to hate Eric Northman. He had attacked her and taken her from her apartment. He had carted her across state lines in a box—correction, make that a coffin, clearly marked "Anubis Air"—all as a gift for Godric. But she could understand his reasons. The bond between the two of them was so strong, and so obvious that a blind man could have seen it. Eric had mentioned Godric trying to meet the sun…he was afraid of losing someone he loved. She understood, and with that understanding came compassion.
"No, but whiskey is in great supply."
"Good. Now, if you could just give me a hand out of this coffin, I'd greatly appreciate it." Again, before the words were out of her mouth, Godric had her hands in his, and was helping her from the box and onto a sofa. "Really, a coffin?" she said in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. She was also trying to take her mind of the fact that Godric's eyes seemed unable to stray for the large bruise on her cheek.
"It was the fastest and easiest way to get you here. People would have questioned me putting an unconscious woman in a car. They don't question vampires," he told her, putting special emphasis on that last part. She just smiled at him. He stood and stalked out of what must have been the office, leaving her alone with Godric.
"I'm sorry for what Eric has done—"
"Don't apologize for him. You didn't make him kidnap me."
"No, but he did it for me." He reached out and lightly ran his fingers over her bruised face. Even that light touch made her cringe. "He may have broken your cheekbone as well as your hand."
She grinned lopsidedly at him. "I wouldn't really say that he broke my hand. It's more that I broke it on his hard head. He really lost patience when I stabbed him with a cake server…I guess I can see why, though. I mean, it probably wasn't a very comfortable experience for him."
Godric stared at her in amazement. She was making jokes. In this situation, most humans would be trying to run away or begging for mercy, or maybe begging him to bite them. But she sat up and faced the problem with a cool head and a sense of humor. He couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face as he looked at her.
"He hit you?" he asked, cupping her cheek. His cool touch was a comfort to her battered face, and the warmth from her body was a comfort to him. He hadn't felt warmth such as this in quite some time.
"Yeah…after the cake server part."
"I wish you would let me give you my blood. It pains me to see bruises on such otherwise flawless skin as yours. And your hand…"
"No offense, but I know what vampire blood can do to a person. I don't really fancy becoming a drug addict, or being bonded to you…Not that you're not a nice guy, but I need—"
"Your independence."
"Exactly. I don't really want anyone knowing all my business."
"The bond would only form if we exchanged blood. If you only take my blood, and I don't take from you, you won't be completely bonded to me. Though, I would never force you to do anything against your will," he said, trying to convince her.
She studied his face for a moment, as if studying it long enough she could find some deeper meaning there. It was an interesting face; so full of expression, and yet so subtle at the same time. Or maybe it was the subtlety of his expressions that made them seem so vibrant to her. Like it was something shared just between the two of them.
Moira knew that whether she took his blood or not, they were bonded on some certain level. She didn't understand it, and she was fairly sure that he didn't understand it either, but in the few words that they had exchanged, she found herself completely fascinated. For some reason, the feeling seemed to be mutual, and she needed to know why. Just as he needed to know the miracle of why she wasn't afraid of him.
"Are you afraid of me?" he asked.
"No…I know on an intellectual level that I should be, that you could snap my spine in half if you wanted to, but…you won't."
"Even before now, you weren't afraid."
"When I was a little girl and something frightened me, my father would always make me face whatever it was that I was afraid of. One time, I remember I was afraid of getting a flu shot, and he looked at me and said, "Either it'll kill you, or it won't, but there's no sense in being afraid about it." Now that I'm older, I realize how right he was."
"Then you know you have nothing to fear from my blood," he said. She nodded, and he raised his wrist to his razor-sharp teeth, and tore open the vein. The metallic smell of it immediately filled her nostrils, and she tried her best not to gag. Latching on to his wrist, she began to drink, doing her best to ignore the smell. After several moments, she didn't notice it at all. All she noticed was the rich, almost sweet, taste of his blood flowing across her tongue. Time became fluid and moved too quickly—or perhaps it was too slowly—for her to keep up. Sometime later, he gently pulled his wrist away from her.
Blood was smeared around her mouth, and it looked strange on her. Her mouth was so mobile—always a part of her expressions: frowning, smiling, sitting in a tight line while she thought—that it was odd to have it covered, practically concealed, by the blood on her face. Without a second thought, he wiped her mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.
"You're never going to get those bloodstains out," she said between gasps. The energy flowing through her was like nothing she had ever experienced. She felt the force of her heart pushing her own blood through her body. She was aware of just how warm her body was as opposed to the coolness of his. She became very, very aware of the closeness of his body, and how easy it would be to wrap her arms around him…
Nope, she thought. Not going there right now. Inappropriate feelings. Bad, inappropriate feelings…are they inappropriate if you felt them before the blood drinking? Damnit all to hell…
"That's…intense," she gasped, for there were really no other words to describe it. He grinned, for he knew what she meant. He was feeling something similar…something practically identical. She collapsed forwards, leaning into his chest, completely overwhelmed by the sheer sense of power that she was getting.
"Yes…yes, it is." If he had needed to breathe, he would be equally breathless. It wasn't always like this. Sometimes, he felt like he was loosing something, like his life was draining away. But not now. If anything, he felt more alive in that moment than he had in the thousands of years that he existed.
"I should clean up." Her voice was unsteady.
"The bathroom is two doors down," he answered, though he was reluctant to let her go. He liked the feel of her in his arms. The warmth of her body, the softness of her curves, the silk of her hair. He reveled in the feel of her, and couldn't bring himself to let her go just yet. "Just give me a minute more."
She closed her eyes and basked in the sensation. This was the most intimate she had ever been in all of her twenty three years—after all, what could be more intimate than sharing blood? Never had she felt more connected to another living—for how could he be anything else when he had the power to make her feel again—being, despite her engagement a year and a half back. There was a sense of duality in her mind, as if she had absorbed some of him into herself. The moment was too intimate to be described properly with words, for words seemed so very limiting for such a vast experience.
The moment was destroyed when they heard Eric's voice coming towards them. "Godric! We've got—" He fell silent when he found Moira in Godric's embrace, blood smeared on both of them.
"It's time to go. We've got trouble, and sunrise is in thirty-seven minutes."
A/N: A huge, huge, huge thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited/alerted. The support warms me to the bottom of my small, shriveled heart. Review, please. =)
