No Choice by PersianFreak
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Charlaine Harris; Please don't sue. Set after FDtW.
Rating: T, possibly M for later chapters
A/N: You guys are great; your reviews make my day.
I've started college (my first year) so I probably won't be around for a while. New classes and whatnot. So here is the last chapter for a while, and I'll do my best to not let this break be huge. Much love to all of you, and please continue the lovin' by clicking the blue button at the bottom!
The inside of Eric's home is much more understated than the outside.
Stepping through the door, I refuse to release his hand for the fear that he's going to disappear, and he seems more than willing to hold on to me as he gives me a quick tour of the main floor. The walls are painted a warm buttery yellow, the furniture all dark woods and chocolate-brown leathers. It looks like a page out of a catalogue, and it all looks so normal that I can't help smiling. It's very Eric though, I have to give him that, even if I'm guessing he barely spends any time here judging by the state of the furniture. The kitchen isn't tiny as I'm used to finding in vampire homes; the countertop is granite and the appliances are all stainless steel next to the richly-finished cabinets and what turns out to be a fully-stocked fridge and pantry. Eric himself appears surprised at the last but mutters something about Pam, shaking his head with a bemused expression. A while later, I watch in awe as Eric slides open a panel on the side of the staircase and leads me downstairs, punching in a code into a keypad to open another door into what turns out to be his day room. It's a large suite, with a wet bar and adjoining bathroom, office and walk-in closet, all decked out in rich reds and brilliant blues.
"I love your house," I decide and sink down on his bed, suddenly exhausted. Grinning, he bows and deposits my bag by the door before joining me, grasping my hand as he does. Watching him busy himself with our joined hands, I'm greeted with a cold shock of reality when I realize that this is it. There's nothing else left to do, no informing friends, no packing up and signing discharge papers, no long drive to Eric's home. This is it.
"So how do we do this?" I ask, keeping my tone light and he looks up to meet my eyes.
"I'll feed you my blood in doses over several hours, to heal your body as much as possible, and then I'll turn you."
"So I'll be a pretty vampire?" Bitterness seeps into my words, but I blame it on the weariness. Eric regards me for a moment before responding, carefully selecting his words.
"I guessed you wouldn't want to look sick for the rest of your existence." Deflating, I nod because he's right. "You're beautiful as you are, but you need to think so too," he continues and his words tug on my heartstrings because I know 'beautiful' is the farthest thing from me right now. A frail, broken, wispy body is not beautiful by any definition of the word, but it's touching that he thinks – or pretends to think – otherwise.
"Was it you who paid for my hospital bills?" I ask abruptly and he seems to consider lying before nodding 'Yes'. A few weeks after Eric left, after I pushed him away, I discovered that not only were all the treatments covered by an anonymous donor, but that the hospital had been instructed to bill this anonymous party with all future treatments. Eric was the natural suspect, given his tendency to take care of me even when I refused to ask, but the state of our relationship had kept me from confirming my suspicions. I take in his admittance of it and wait for the inevitable indignation to swallow me whole, for my pride to rear up its ugly head and demand that I be allowed to prove myself, again and again, as a strong, independent woman. But nothing happens. What he did was generous; it reeked of his guilt over leaving but I can't deny that there was simply no way I would be able to afford everything - not even if I sold my entire life - so for the first time, in a manner that is decidedly unlike me, I accept his inherent inclination to take care of me when I need it most. "You didn't have to do that," I say quietly, my tone impressing that I'm grateful but humbled by his generous gift.
"I know." Even Eric's reaction is unlike him. Where a few months ago he would have felt the need to justify why he did it by reminding me of my financial status and inability to afford it all, he takes the modest approach. He didn't have to take care of me, his manner lets me know, he just did.
Leaning forward, I press a kiss into his cheek, "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Love." Love? I think to myself. He didn't just stutter, this wasn't just a mispronounced word that happens to the best of us every now and then. I'm not Lover anymore, I'm Love. Because he loves me. I can't help smiling, though it fades when Eric speaks again.
"We should start." We position ourselves on the bed, Eric leaning against the headboard and me leaning against his cool torso, framed by his legs. Sensing my anxiousness, his arms wrap around my middle – much slimmer than it used to be – and he nuzzles my shoulder, my neck, until I turn my head and our eyes meet, an unasked question answered before he lets his lips brush mine. His body is warm now, my warmth having seeped into his undead flesh, and his kisses have calmed me until I relax against him and he bites into his wrist with the unmistakable sound of tearing skin. I don't argue this time, unlike all the other times, and view the dark liquid as the elixir that will soon be granting me a second chance. Latching on, I hold his wrist to my mouth and draw on his blood with deep, long pulls. A choked sound escapes my vampire and his forehead drops to rest on my shoulder, his body tensing behind mine as an unmistakable part of him begins expressing its interest. He calls my name, warning me to stop, slow down to lessen his body's inevitable reaction to what I'm doing, but I take no heed. With another grunt, Eric's other arm reaches out to grasp the comforter, bunching it up in his pale fist that I observe out of the corner of my eye.
"Sookie." His voice is strained and I smile, grinding my hips against him because an orgasm seems such a small favour in return for the gift he is giving me, and if I'm too weak to let him make love to me, then this is the next best thing. I know his climax is approaching rapidly, can tell by the way the blood-bond seems to be vibrating with the tension begging to be released, and I pull even more deeply, knowing how it affects him. Drawing forcefully one last time, I hear his head bang against the masterfully hand-carved headboard as his orgasm hits and warmth floods against my lower back with his soft cry.
"You should stop for now," he whispers and his arm drops onto the mattress when I release it to twist in his arms. Probing tentatively at the bond, I try to gauge if he's okay, if I drew too much blood, if I pushed him where he didn't want to be pushed. When he opens his eyes to regard me hazily, I relax and he smiles to peel himself away from the headboard and kiss me deeply.
"Are you okay?" I ask in a small voice.
"I'm perfect. You didn't have to do that," he adds, resting his head on my shoulder. I know that; if I'd drawn on his blood with less force, more steadily, it wouldn't have been enough to trigger an orgasm. It wasn't that I was drawing blood, it was the manner in which I was doing it, and I was doing it with every intent to bring him pleasure.
"I know," I respond, re-enacting our earlier conversation with our roles reversed, and he kisses the nape of my neck. Gently, Eric removes himself from around me and drops his pants, right in front of me. The fact that he turns away from me is a small consolation considering just how fond I am of his ass, and I have to avert my eyes as he disposes of his dirty boxer-briefs and jeans, replacing them with sweatpants. Only sweatpants. The chemo may have suppressed a lot of things, but my libido is not one of them and Eric going commando and moaning in my ear did nothing for my attempt at ignoring what my body wants, even if it's too weak to get it.
"Shy now, Lover?" Ah, there it is, I observe absently at the return of my old nickname, though I blush at his comment on me averting my gaze. My Eric shakes his head and proceeds to warm four bottles of True Blood at the kitchenette in the corner, setting them on the bedside table before rejoining me in the same position as before, though this time I turn and lean into him on my side. Soon, we're kissing, slowly though with no small amount of heat, and Eric's hand starts drifting lower to knead my breasts through my bra and continue on downwards to my waistband where I stop his progress by resting a hand on his.
"I don't-" Nope, try again. "I don't think I can handle sex. Right now." There. Much better.
"I understand," he smiles and I notice for the first time the way the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he does, like it would on a human man – why it has taken me this long to notice, I have no idea. "I just want to return the favour," he continues rather heatedly. "Is that okay?" Receiving non-verbal confirmation, he allows his hand to return to its earlier course, pausing when he reaches the bare skin under my sweatpants. Groaning at my lack of underwear – which I passed on whilst dressing due to how much effort it would have taken me, and for which I am now grateful – his talented fingers reach my bundle of nerves and tease it, eliciting moans from me. Soon – or rather, not soon enough – two fingers slide into me and I turn my face to mouth at Eric's throat, to place kisses on the soft skin. He plays me, one arm running up and down my back while the other works at bringing me to climax, and soon I'm shuddering in his lap, chanting his name as I spasm. Limp with a mix of satisfaction and fatigue, I lean heavily into his torso.
"I should go clean up," I observe and Eric makes a noncommittal sound before asking, with a smile, if I want him to carry me. "Will you? I don't think I can stand quite yet." Without any warning beyond his arms wrapping around me, Eric begins hovering, carrying me to the bathroom that way. "Show off," I mutter when he sets me down and he laughs as he washes his hands and steals a kiss before leaving me to take care of my human needs. I use the toilet and splash cold water on my face, noticing the spark in my eyes that somehow manages to shine through despite the bags beneath them. Absently, I run a hand through the weak strands that grew back after getting shaven off before my surgeries. It grew fast, always has, and I'm satisfied with this length that I'll be sporting for the rest of my existence, though I wouldn't mind a light trim later. Continuing the inventory, I let my hands travel over my breasts that shrunk as the pounds all but melted away, over my flat stomach and to my sides. I'm still curvy by the modern definition, though not as much as before.
He called me beautiful, I recall with a smile and find that as drastically different as my body may be, I'm okay with it now. I'm still alive, I made it without Eric at my side, and now that he has returned, he will be granting me immortality. A thought occurs in that moment and I feel a surge of panic that does not go unnoticed by Eric who knocks on the door, concern in his voice as he asks me if I'm alright. Opening the door, I meet his gaze but refuse to return his smile.
"You panicked," he states, referring to the surge he no doubt felt in the bond.
"I don't want you as my maker," I begin, still standing in the bathroom and his brows draw together. "That's not a relationship I want, I don't need you to be my guardian in loco parentis because I'm gonna be a newborn vampire. There are other roles I'd much rather have you fill in my life and if you think becoming my sire will ruin our relationship as it was, then I don't want you to be my sire."
"Sookie," he attempts to interrupt but I carry on.
"I hate being told what to do, you know that. You being my vampire daddy means you have actual power over me and if you use that power, if you force me into doing things because you're highhanded and think you always know better, then there is no way we can be together. So I need you to make a decision, because the only reason I would want to be immortal is to stay with you, as we are now. I'd rather die than be under your thrall." It is only once I've run out of steam that I notice the absolute rage in his eyes. I take an involuntary step backwards, suddenly feeling as if the blood in my veins is on fire, burning like acid.
"If I wanted someone to be under my thrall, you think I would pick you? You think I would search a thousand years and pick the most pigheaded, the most fiery woman to turn into my own personal bitch? Is that what you think I've done with Pam? That's what you think I want from you, Sookie?" He advances on me slowly in the massive bathroom until the back of my legs hit the Jacuzzi tub. "If I wanted a servant, I would have picked a fangbanger. If I wanted you to be my slave, I would have turned you against your will a long time ago. Frankly, I'm fucking offended you would question me after everything." Shaking his head, he runs a hand through his hair and turns away only to return. "I do know better. I've been a vampire for a thousand years, I've been alive for longer than you can possibly imagine, in a time that you humans fantasize about when it was nothing close to a fantasy. You can't possibly deny that I do know better."
"But you have no right to limit my life, my decisions and choices just because you've seen how things have panned out in the past. You can advice me, but you can't choose for me."
"When did I ever try? When you got sick, I let you do as you wanted to because you wanted to."
"With the bond-"
"You had the choice to bond yourself to Andre, didn't you? I presented myself as an option and you picked me." I drop my eyes to his feet, exhaling forcefully. "And you want to talk about highhanded? How about failing to tell me that I loved you when I lost my memory?"
"You didn't remember it, there was no point-"
"It was my life, Sookie. You assumed that I stopped loving you and I never did."
"What?"
"When it comes to us, you're just as high-handed as I am, darling," he tells me with a smile and I sigh, dropping to sit on the edge of the tub. "You need to let me take care of you for the first little while. You need to let me be overprotective and highhanded because there's too much at stake, there's too many people who want you and what you can do and there is no way you can tell me you have more experience with vampire politics than I do."
"I don't need a father figure, I need what you are to me right now," I insist.
"And what am I to you, Sookie?" Dropping to his knees, Eric rests his large hands on my thighs and smiles at me, his age showing in that moment.
"A lot more than I would like to admit."
"Someone you love?"
"I've already admitted that," I smile back and he leans forward to kiss me. "You may take care of me."
"Thank you." He inclines his head graciously and then meets my eyes sombrely. "How is your blood feeling?"
"What?"
"No longer burning, right?"
"How did you know…?"
"That was my blood in you, reacting to how I felt."
"Your anger."
"Yes. And yours, in me." He pauses, "Don't worry, we can learn to block it, even once you're turned."
"Did you just-"
"Feel your panic in me? Yes. I have a feeling I'll be a feeling a lot of it in regards to our relationship."
"What can I say, I'm skittish," I tease and he laughs, deep and warm.
"Come, Lover, you need more blood." Taking my hand in his, he leads me back to the bed where he feeds me more blood which I drink carefully to avoid his arousal. Afterwards, he downs four bottles of True Blood and curls his body around mine where we lay.
"You're looking better," he comments. "Your cheeks are flushed; your skin looks less…"
"Deathly?"
Laughing, Eric says, "Yes."
"Eric?"
"Yes?"
"Tell me about your family."
"My… family?"
"Your human family. You must have had one, right? Had kids, a wife?" He regards me for so long that I give up on receiving a response and look away, tucking my face under his chin.
"Svana. We married when I was sixteen."
"Sixteen?" I gasp, earning myself a chuckle.
"I was considered a man at that age, Sookie. She was younger."
"Did you love her?" He chuckles, almost bitterly.
"I was sixteen. I didn't need to love her."
"Ouch."
"It wasn't my choice to marry her, Sookie. She was a good person though. A good wife."
"Were you good to her?" I ask, tracing the outline of his muscles under his shirt.
Pulling back to meet my eyes, he nods, "Considering the time, and how men and women treated each other, yes, I was very good to her. I loved her for being a good mother to our children, but I was never in love with her." Not like he's in love with me, I smile privately.
"Did you have a lot of kids? A bunch of mini-Erics running around?" I let my smile widen to a grin and press a thumb into his lower lip, fascinated by their perfection.
"Eight," he nods. "Well, eight pregnancies. Three died at birth and my youngest son died of a sickness at three."
"Oh, Eric," I cup his face in my hand, brushing his cheekbone with a thumb. His large hand covering mine, he speaks.
"It's fine, Sookie. It was so long ago, I barely think about them anymore."
"Oh," I mumble, feeling like I've been punched in the gut as I drop my gaze and take back my hand.
"Sookie?" He asks, reaching for it back but I roll away. "What is it?"
"Nothing." I carefully give blocking him a try and hear him exhale in frustration.
"Sookie, that's never going to happen with you," he promises me.
"What?" My voice sounds strangled even to my own ears and he moves closer to me, taking my hand and resting it on my stomach, clasped in his.
"I'm not going to forget about you," he murmurs, letting his breath tickle my ear. "Not even in a thousand years."
I turn my head and meet his gaze, "How can you be sure?"
"Well, for one thing, you're going to be immortal." He smiles broadly, "And for another, I can't imagine forgetting having sex with you."
I give him a sour look, "Good. I'm glad you won't forget about me because I'm good in the sack and because I'm going to be around forever." Eric's face sobers and he looks a tad annoyed as he calls my name. I return to ignoring him and he turns my face back towards his with a finger on my chin.
"It's not about the sex, darling." My eyes flick to his as he continues, "It's not even because you're a telepath. You know what it's about."
"Do I? You won't forget about me because you love me? You loved your children."
"I barely knew my children," he interjects but I ignore him.
"Is that what's going to happen to me? In a few hundred years, will I have forgotten about my Gran? About Sam and Jason and Amelia? All these people that mean so much to me, that made me who I am today, are they just going to be a distant memory I'll dismiss once I'm turned?"
My vampire regards me for several long seconds before finally speaking, "You may not remember them all the time, they might not haunt your every thought, but like you said, they're a part of you. Everything you do, everything you are for the rest of your existence, it's dedicated to their memory, to who they were to you."
"Is that what you did? When you kill, when you hunt, is that dedicated to the memory of Svana and your kids? To the memory of your parents?"
"When I take care of the woman I love," he begins louder than me, no doubt to make a statement in his obvious irritation, but lowers his voice as he continues, "when I try to be a better person for you, that is a dedication to their memory. I didn't say that I always honour their memory, but I am trying to once again, for the first time in a long time." There's no sound from either one of us for a long moment as we stare at each other. Eventually my anger, my frustration and underlying fear drain away and I push Eric to lie on his back, allowing me to rest my head on his chest.
"Tell me about your children." The sudden change in topics surprises him but he gathers his thoughts quickly.
"My eldest child was named Einarr," he begins. "He was... nearly ten when I died."
I let my hand stroke back and forth on his stomach as I ask, "What was he like?"
"Like a mini-Eric." I lift my head and catch him grinning. "He was taller than I had been at his age, but everyone always said he looked just like me."
I find myself smiling at the image. "You must have been very proud of him."
"I was."
"What about the others?"
Eric frowns, trying to remember. "We had three daughters. It was a madhouse," he adds with a fond smile.
"It sounds wonderful." I whisper quietly, keenly aware that what he is describing is something I will never have.
"It's all relative."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm happier now," he tells me quietly, his tone intense with the depth of his emotion. "Even though you're sick, even though I felt like I was going to lose you forever, Sookie."
"But you loved them." I sit up, shocked that he is putting me above his entire family. "You must have missed them, you must have regretted losing them."
"I did, for a while. But then I accepted the reality of my existence," my Eric tells me quite simply while I gape at him. "They were well taken care of, Sookie. I had left enough for all of them to never need anything, and my wife was also supported by my brother," he adds in response to my expression.
I figure I'm going to leave that last one alone but still comment, "They must have missed you."
Eric moves the hand I have resting on his torso to press a kiss into its back and meets my gaze with traces of defensiveness in his eyes. "They did fine without me."
"Did you see them afterwards? Did your Maker let you?" I press and watch his eyes harden as he shuts down, likely irritated by my insistence. "Will you ever tell me how you were turned?" I ask quietly, realizing that should he flat out refuse, it'll represent the first wedge being driven between us.
"Some day. Alright, Sookie? We're running out of time and I need to give you more blood. You're continuing to improve right in front of my eyes," he adds the last with a spark in his eyes, laying the charm on thick.
The pattern continues for several hours, talking interrupted by blood-drinking sessions and occasional kisses, sometimes more but never as far as the first session. He's very loving, stroking my hair as I drink and holding me as we talk, lips pressed against my skin more often than not. As it grows later, I find myself drifting off in his arms, feeling the brush of his lips against my temple as he assures me that he'll awaken me when it's time for more of his blood, promising that we're almost there, almost done. Drowsily, I thank him for everything, telling him that I love him as I close my eyes and feel sleep claim me, if only for a short while.