Chapter 4: Power Play

Eric Northman's office was rather bare, and it wasn't anything like the kitschy, gaudy club, nor was it marked by the indulgence she knew his car to be. Slowly she began to put together bits and pieces to form a mosaic of the vampire.

Already she was familiar with his name. She'd heard stories of him from a very enthusiastic vampire admirer of his back on Los Angeles. She wasn't sure how truthful the stories of his strength and brutality were, but as a historian, Sasha knew that even the most outlandish tale had some granule of truth to it. What she knew for certain was that she was standing in the same room as the only known living Viking. She knew he was over a thousand years old and therefore not only her superior in strength and speed but that of every creature likely for miles, if not the state, and she'd hazard that he was also very intelligent and very cunning. Few vampires made it to his age if they were anything but.

Next Sasha considered what she knew from her own experience. He was capable of being standoffish and very sarcastic, but also of being charming. He possessed a sense of humor, drove a flashy car outfitted with every upgrade available, and yet his office was surprisingly sparse and efficient. Looking around, she saw that there wasn't a single piece of fancy or antique, heavyweight furniture, no excessive show of wealth in the form of priceless artifacts or invaluable artwork on the walls. Instead the office appeared to contain only what it needed; a computer and copious amounts of paperwork, racks of merchandise from the gift shop and inventory from the bar. There were only two pieces of something personal in the whole room she could immediately spot, and that was two photographs. One was of Eric and the blonde vampire from the door, and it looked to be somewhat dated judging by their clothes and hair. The second one was of a drawing of a Viking boat. The first picture led Sasha to believe that the blonde vampire was either his lover or progeny or both, and the second revealed nothing new.

All in all, Sasha guessed that Eric had a place either in Shreveport or in the outskirts of the city he considered home, somewhere safe and somewhere he kept his personal possessions. Her second conclusion was that the stories about Eric's reputation probably weren't for show. If this was where he conducted business, he didn't feel the need for a showy, outwardly expression of his wealth and power. He was enough for all that.

As Eric took a seat behind his desk and gestured for them to sit, Sasha saw that she'd been caught looking. Eric appeared likewise unabashed with his staring.

In French, he asked her, "How old are you?"

There was no use in lying or trying to avoid the answer. Sasha thought there would be plenty of that later, and that wasn't a detail she felt would give him any leverage over her anyway.

"Twenty-four, Sheriff,"

Whatever he thought, he didn't reveal, and his eyes flickered momentarily to Jack. "You were right. I'm typically by appointment only, unless there's an emergency. So?"

Jack cleared his throat, realizing he was being talked about, but in the dark as to what was being said. Sasha flashed him an apologetic smile.

"He wants to know why we're here," said Sasha.

Quickly, she told Eric everything—everything but the encounter with Drew Marshall's ghost and the accidental magic she'd cast. His eyes remained intently on her all the while, and it took all her skill to remain cool and collected, to appear like she wasn't hiding anything at all. His eyes were still on her when Jack filled in his side of the story, at least until he got to the part of being Released.

"He did what?" Eric asked lowly.

"H-He released me," Jack said nervously, eyes straying back to Sasha.

"Don't look at her. Look at me," Eric said firmly.

"He Released me," repeated Jack. "I didn't know what it meant until Sasha explained it to me. I didn't know anything until she taught me,"

Eric took in a deep breath, looking a mixture of angry and deeply bored, like he couldn't believe his night had been disrupted for such a disaster. It remained silent, the office filled only with the thud of music from the club, its vibrato soft enough it wasn't distracting, but strong enough it danced across Sasha's skin. She could feel Jack's festering anxiety beside her, and she had to force herself not to reach out for his hand.

A moment later the office door opened and the blonde in latex came sauntering in, a hand on her cocked hip. Seeing Sasha, she winked.
"Told you he'd see you," she said. Then, to Eric, "You called?"

That confirmed Sasha's suspicion, or at least half of it. She was at the very least his progeny.

"Pam, this is Jack. Take him to the bar for a Tru Blood,"

Pam's perfectly arched eyebrow sprang up, blue eyes swimming with apparent interest as her eyes darted between Sasha and Jack. She licked her lips and said something to Eric. Sasha detected the lilt of a question to her tone, but the Swedish was lost to her.

"Pamela," Eric said shortly. Pam clicked her tongue, casting a final look at Sasha as she sauntered out of the room with a walk a supermodel could envy. Jack looked to Sasha for approval; she nodded.

Silence prevailed in the office as the two vampires left, filled only with the pulse of the music down the hall. She did not falter under his gaze, careful not to let the power shift fully into his hands. He might be at the advantage as the Sheriff and powerful vampire in the room, but she wasn't just any human. She had a few tricks up her sleeve that although she'd rather not reveal, she would to get what she wanted. Her phone felt heavier in her pocket all of a sudden, like the reminder of the dangerous power a single phone call could enact.

"What were you doing in that cemetery? You're not from the area, so it's not like you had family to visit,"

Internally, Sasha cursed. The way he asked made it clear that he did not believe in mere coincidences. She either had to lie extremely convincingly, or she had to tell him the truth.

Or, thought Sasha, or you can do a little of both.

"There aren't a lot of interesting places in Bon Temps," she began, casually laying the bait.

"So you happened to visit the one place an orphaned newborn vampire was buried?" asked Eric. His fingers tapped against the flat top of his desk. "Forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe,"

"I have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Trust me, you're not the only one to have noticed," said Sasha. "I went to the cemetery because I heard it was haunted,"

"And you believed these rumors?"

"Not really. But a waitress from that place you dropped me off at, Merlotte's? Well she swore her ex-husband was haunting her. Every wife with a dead ex-husband says that. But rumor had it that he wasn't just some guy, but a serial killer…" Sasha shrugged. "I got curious,"

She hoped he'd buy it, in any case. He knew she hung around vampires, and now she implied that she found enjoyment in perusing cemeteries for serial killer's graves and possible hauntings. Hopefully he'd write her off as an average girl with a predilection for the gothic and morbid, nothing farfetched for a human that found themselves entangled with vampires.

Eric hummed in response, looking somewhat unconvinced, but not like he didn't believe her, either. He rose quickly, coming to lean against the desk before her. For a moment his long, lean legs distracted her. She gasped when he leaned in suddenly, so close to her that his nose teased the skin of her neck. The hair on her body rose at the unexpected and sensual feel of him so intimately close, and she stood stock still as he breathed in her scent. When he pulled back, the ring of blue in his eyes was far thinner than it had been seconds ago.

"I don't smell another vampire on you."

"You wouldn't," she told him. "I'm neither claimed nor am I bonded to one,"

"And yet you know so much about vampires. You're comfortable around us. Who are you?"

This meeting with the Sheriff was quickly veering off her intended course, partly because just looking at him made her blood sing in her veins and a coil tighten and flex in her belly, and partly because he was far too interested in her when she wanted to get Jack taken care of.

"Sheriff, I'd appreciate it if we could return to our business,"

Eric folded his arms across his chest, and with the way that the fabric of his suit jacket pulled taught against his muscles, she thought the move was entirely deliberate. Her jaw tightened. He might have been a walking sin, but if he thought she was more interested in fucking vampires than getting justice for the newborn at the bar, he had completely misjudged her.

"Which is?"

"I thought that was obvious," said Sasha. She had to fight to keep her tone calm, but it was impossible to keep a hint of malice out of it. "The vampire that turned Jack, this Peter, I want him punished,"

An unexpected emotion crossed Eric right then: amusement. Light and color returned to his eyes, and this time a low chuckle escaped him as he leaned back to grip the edge of his desk. "Oh, you want him punished. That's very cute, princess,"

"Peter broke vampire law. Not only did he turn an under age human against his will—to cover his own tracks might I add, for illegally feeding on him—but he then Released a fledgling vampire without giving him any tools for survival. You might not care about Jacks' life, but Jack could have killed quite a few humans and damaged everything the AVL has worked to achieve. As a Sheriff it's your duty to—"

Eric's growl of warning cut her off. "Tread carefully. Are you really going to tell me how to do my job?"

"That depends," Sasha said coolly, even as a tornado of flame-like fury built in her chest. Every intention of remaining collected and cool was burnt to ash. "Do you need a reminder?"

His hand was wrapped around her throat in an instant, not tight enough to constrict her breathing, but hard enough she winced as his fingers pressed against the bruises Drew Marshall's ghost had left behind. She focused for a second on the extended fangs just millimeters from her mouth.

"I don't know what kind of vampires you're used to, but you'll not speak to me that way simply because you're a fuckable little treat in a tight skirt. Understood?" His voice was deceptively soft, and yet there was no mistaking the threat there, the promise of punishment.

That thrum of power and raw energy was building up beneath her skin once again at his threat, and she quickly batted it down, not wanting the purple light to make reappearance. She wasn't willing to try to explain something she didn't fully understand yet, much less reveal something that was likely to get her neck snapped right then and there. And that was best-case scenario.

"I swear you smell better by the second," murmured Eric, his eyes searching hers. His cool breath tickled her lips like the tiny pinpricks of falling snowflakes.

"Let. Go," she told him.

Eric stared at her long and hard for another moment. Then he did release her, though she got the understood that he'd released her because he was done with her, not because she'd demanded he do so. The phone in her pocket buzzed, signaling an incoming text. Eric ignored it, but she was reminded again that a single phone call and she'd have a bargaining chip. But her hands remained in her lap, unwilling to give up so easily.

"This matters to you. Why?" asked Eric.

"Because I have a fucking heart," said Sasha. "Jack died and came back vampire against his will. His maker has abandoned him. That's not right."

Abandoned.

Abandoned.

Abandoned.

The word kept repeating itself in Eric's head long after Sasha and the newborn had gone, and long after he'd taken to his throne once again. The usual mass of dancers, human and vampire, became a silent moving corpus as he contemplated the curly haired girl. She'd been incredibly poised, allowing him to see only what she wanted him to see, careful to contain and curb her emotions. Mostly she was successful, but her mistake had come when she'd used the word 'abandoned' rather than Released. For that brief moment, Eric had a window into Sasha Buckley. He was certain now that at some point in her youth, she had been abandoned by either one or both parents. Perhaps she'd rebelled by falling in with vampires—it didn't really matter at this point, because she'd been right. A vampire in his territory had broken law, and he wasn't ever one to let such a thing slide.

That didn't stop his growing curiosity for the girl.

"Who was she?" asked Pam, coming to stand by his side. "She smelled divine, Eric. You should have convinced her to stay after business was conducted,"

"If I had, I wouldn't have shared," muttered Eric. Pam scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Your old age is making you greedy and selfish. I miss the days we'd share a girl," she told him. He quirked an eyebrow.

"I believe the last time I expressed interest in sharing a human was '84," said Eric. "And you shut me down,"

"Yeah, well," said Pam. "Progeny do as progeny see."

He laughed.

"What's going to happen to me?" asked Jack they drove back to Bon Temps. Sasha glanced at him. She reached up to tousle her curls, realizing her mistake too lake. The motion swirled her scent around the Camaro, and she saw his fingers curl against his knees, his mouth press into a tight line as his teeth ground against each other.

She casually reached for the window dial. A blast of fresh, cold night air filled the car, washing over them and replacing her scent.

"You won't be going through this alone, kid. We'll get you sorted," She promised him.

"Thanks Sasha—I don't know what I would have done—actually I do," Jack muttered darkly. "I wasn't going to sit in the ground again. I would've just waited for sunrise,"

Sasha glanced his way sadly. "I promise it'll get better, Jack. This has been a terrible experience, I know, but being a vampire isn't all bad. Actually, there's never been a better time than now to be vampire. You'll see."

For her third morning in a row, Sasha Buckley was sitting in a red-cushioned stool at Merlotte's for the breakfast special. Her hair was thrown up in a messy knot because she'd been too lazy to get it untangled, and she was dressed simply in a crème colored linen romper. As always, her Doc Martens were on her feet, and she'd gone as far as putting on a light layer of make up in an effort to prove to the citizens of Bon Temps that she wasn't a complete freak.

She'd also needed to blend foundation down to her neck, where she was sporting a few more bruises. While Eric's hand wrapped around her throat wasn't as terrible as Drew Marshall's attempt at murdering her, she was ready to not have a hand wrapped around her throat for a very long while.

"Back again, huh?" asked Sam Merlotte, refilling her mug of coffee. He'd been in late earlier in the morning, rushing in with an apology to his staff about his morning run being extended. Sasha had, with difficulty, restricted the urge to inquire whether his morning run consisted of clothing or not.

"Am I a local yet?"

Sam grinned, leaning on his forearms as she methodically devoured her plate. She could have sworn that, for just a quick second, Sam had sniffed her. She didn't mention it, mostly because if Sam turned out to be some kind of freak—and there was a good chance he was—he likely still wasn't the strangest thing around the small town.

"I get the feeling you're around for more than just breakfast," he said.

"Right you are," she said, nodding. She took a large sip of coffee to wash down the mouthful of hash browns she was nearly choking on. "I'll be sticking around for a little while longer. Earl is nice but his motel is not. Know of any place that can be rented out for a few weeks?"

She didn't miss his hesitation, but then Sam smiled. "Yeah, actually, you're at the right place. I have a few properties in town I rent out. Thing is, the only place that might currently be suited, that's on a month-by-month lease situation,"

"You take cash?" asked Sasha. Again, she saw that he was conflicted, and he wondered what it was specifically about her that made him so weary. She didn't think she came across as mistrustful; she liked to think she was the opposite. Sasha had often been told she was quite charming.

"Yeah, yeah I take cash," Sam finally said. They worked out the details—utilities were included in the rent, which was a whopping six-hundred dollars. Sasha had laughed at that; a two-bedroom, one bathroom bungalow in LA would have cost at least three times that. For all of his reservations—whatever they might be—Sam was very nice to her, leaving the bar in Arlene's capable hands and driving over to the house with her so she could get situated right away.

It was a small bungalow that looked to be recently renovated, cute and very small town. It was pained a deep reddish brown, and had white trim around it. Although the décor was just awful, the inside was just what she needed and nothing more, and Sam explained that it was last on the list of places he was currently upgrading and doing work. She assured him it as all very fine, and when he left her with the keys and his number should she need anything, she set to work. She'd contemplated asking if he had a problem with a vampire for a tenant, but then again he hadn't exactly asked to run a background check on her, and she told herself she'd cross that bridge when she got to it. Or possibly burn it down, as it were.

The larger of the two bedroom was the one better equipped to being made light-tight, as it had one large window as opposed to the two the other had. She found a tape measure under the sink and measured out the window, jotting down the measurements. She spent the rest of the morning and afternoon buying the supplies she needed—groceries for her and Tru Blood for Jack, as well as heavy duty supplies for Jack's bedroom. Eoin had taught her a few years ago how to make an emergency light-tight room, and she finally put the knowledge to good use.

She wasn't sure how long she'd be sticking around Bon Temps, but she didn't want to leave Jack, and he couldn't leave until the situation with Peter was cleared up. Eric Northman had made that clear, though she had the nagging suspicion that the order to stay in his Area had also extended to her.

When the sun started to sink below the horizon, Sasha drove over to the cemetery. Jack had been given the option of staying at Eric Northman's club in a cushy coffin, but the newborn vampire had been incredibly intimidated by the other vampires, so much so that he'd preferred to bury himself in the ground another night. Sasha had the feeling that, imposing as the Sheriff had been; it had been his time with his progeny, Pam that had cemented these feelings for Jack. She wasn't sure what had been said at the bar, but Jack had returned whiter than he already was.

As day melted into night in an explosion of color on the western horizon, Sasha found herself staring at Drew Marshall's grave. Although the rectangular patch of dirt she'd dug up three nights ago was still disturbed, it was showing signs of settling once again, tiny shoots visible in the grass. That was a good sign; the grass had been dead while Drew Marshall's ghost had been haunting their plane.

Jack dug himself free of his shallow grave, though this night it was in far better spirits than any other time as he came over to her and accepted the big blanket she offered. As he brushed dirt out of his hair, he asked her what the plan was.

"I got us a place in town," said Sasha. "Which means you have an actual light-tight room and won't have to sleep in a grave again. We'll finesse other details when we're comfortable and somewhere private,"

"Cool," said Jack as they trooped back to the house. "This is going to sound a little weird, but I don't mind sleeping in a grave all that much. Being all dirty sucks, but… I don't know. It was kind of comforting,"

"It's not weird at all," Sasha told him as they got into the Camaro. "Especially so close to your turn. The dark, small space… instinct tells you it's safe,"

"Huh," said Jack thoughtfully. He remained quiet for a while as she drove them, his eyes drinking in the world around them with interest. She could tell that, as he adapted to his new situation, he was starting to take interest and perhaps, even an appreciation for the new senses he had.

"Holy shit!"

That was his exclamation when she parked in the driveway of the rental property, his eyes going wide as he took in the house. "This is really, really nice, Sasha!"

Given her mode of living in the last decade or so, Sasha thought that quaint was a far better word. Still, she smiled at the young vampire all the same and ushered him inside. It wasn't until she showed him to his room that he started to cry.

"I'm sorry," he quickly sniffled, hiding his bloodstained cheeks from her ashamedly. "I-I've never had my own room before,"

Sasha looked around the room; it wasn't anything special, furnished with the things Sam had already had in it. This room had a queen-sized bed with atrocious yellow sheets—Sasha had made a note of removing them immediately, then reminded herself this was all extremely temporary—and a night stand, a small bookcase with a few old comics, and a small closet. She'd added a mini-fridge she'd collected from the local hardware store that afternoon, and it was now filled with Tru Blood.

"You're going to be leading a very different life from now on, Jack," said Sasha. "But it doesn't mean it has to be a bad thing. You can choose to treat this as a second chance at a better life on your terms,"

Jack looked a little dubious about that, but he nodded all the same. She told him to go on and take a shower, and then retreated to the living room.

Jack emerged from the bathroom half an hour later clean and with his long black hair still wet, dressed in a pair of black sweats she'd bought him. He thanked her profusely for the clothes—it was really only a pack of plain t-shirts, a pack of boxers, a pair of sweats and a pair of jeans—and she in turn told him to worry about it, that they'd go shopping as soon as he was ready to go out in public.

"I um," he suddenly turned very shy and, if he'd had a pulse, she was certain his cheeks would have turned very red. "I don't have any money,"

"Don't worry about that," said Sasha as she dug through her bag for a pen and the notebook she'd picked up earlier. "You're covered,"

"By who? You?" asked Jack, suddenly agitated. He was pacing before the couch in the next second, tension in his shoulders strong. She felt a spike of energy in her, instinct warning her that an agitated newborn could be very dangerous. Even so she forced herself to appear calm, not wanting to offend or set Jack off.

"This is all just, it's just a little too good to be true, you know? Last time anyone was this nice to me, well, he killed me," exclaimed Jack. "And I'm sorry, I really am, but I don't get why you're so nice to me, why you're spending money on me, why you're standing up to vampire Sheriffs for me—it just doesn't make any sense! I don't even get why you know so much about vampires if you're not one! And what about that weird light, huh? What are you? Don't think I've forgotten about that!"

She waited until he'd walked off some of his distress before answering. It was unfair to demand that Jack trust her—especially after everything that he'd been through with the foster system and then Peter. He might have latched onto her and spilled his life story when they'd first met, but he'd been emotionally distressed. Now that he was able to sort through his feeling and thoughts a little bit better, that the world was starting to spin at a more reasonable rate, all of his fears and suspicions were catching up. If he was going to trust her, she was going to have to trust him.

"I know it's unfair to ask you to trust me, especially with everything you've been through. I promise that I will try very hard to earn your trust, Jack," she told him.

"But why?!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "I—I'm a monster now, but I'm nothing special, just like I wasn't anything special before! I'm just Jack! People didn't care about me when I was human—what the hell difference does me being dead have? I bet you no one is even looking for me!"

"Jack, I'm going to trust you and then, I hope, with time, you can trust me," she told him. He looked a little unconvinced, but he nodded and took a seat on the armchair across from her. Sasha placed the notepad in her hand on the coffee table; she'd intended to gather as much information from Jack about Peter as she could, but this seemed more important before they could move forward.

"I'm listening," he said. His blue eyes were weary as he watched her intently.

Sasha drew in a deep breath. "To answer one of your questions, I know vampires so well because I was raised by them."

Big thanks to those who read/reviewed/favorited/followed!

Post Chapter Commentary:

I'm really glad you guys liked Jack! He was never a part of the original draft (the original draft I started in like Feb/Mar of this year, which is sooo different than what we have here! It's been fun combining the old idea with this new one, and I'm learning to kill my darlings-there are parts and lines from the first draft I want to add that just don't make sense in this draft, so oh well. I like this character development better anyhow.

If you think this story is to oc-centric, two things: 1. It won't always be that way. I have a lot of plans for the other characters of the series, and fun ways to incorporate them here. BUT that leads to 2. I want to lead into all of that organically. Part I of this story takes place when Sookie is in Fae-i.e. it's between seasons, but after that it'll somewhat follow season 4. That being said, it won't follow the season too much bc i don't see the point of writing something we've all already seen. Where's the fun in that?!

What's your favorite quote from the series? It's hard to pick, but one of my faves is Pam's: "Let's let bygones be bygones, bi girls be bi girls". LOL