A/N - Thank you. The fact that you are reading this, and are interested despite my absence means the world to me. I struggle with myself to make this story all that I know it should be, and your support is indescribable. I love you guys!

The following is short, but necesssary. More soon...

There is nothing left to say to you
That you want to hear
That you want to know
I think I should go
The things I've done are way too shameful

You're just innocent
A helpless victim of a spider's web
And I'm an insect
Going after anything that I can get

So you better turn your head and run

Don't look back

"Tangled" Maroon 5

SPOV

Just get out.

Just get out.

Just get out the fuck out.

The mantra barely held me together as I rushed into the hallway, out of the executive area and to the elevator. My finger jabbed at the button relentlessly, and it was forever before the elevator arrived. The doors had barely parted before I was barreling inside, knocking into someone in my haste.

Fuck! "Pardon me," I muttered head down, trying to keep whoever it was from seeing me fall apart.

I don't even know if the woman responded as I caught a flash of blonde hair and long legs walking down the hallway toward Eric's office.

Probably his next appointment.

The thought stabbed deep, and I fought to keep the hurt inside, whispering my mantra out loud now and frantically wiping the tears from my eyes in case the elevator stopped anywhere else.

It reached the ground floor without stopping, and I stumbled out into the lobby. Eyes averted, I waved quickly at the night security guy and barreled past the desk, out the front doors and into the soothing cool air of evening. My feet automatically turned to the right, toward home, and I took a minute for some deep, cleansing breaths.

"Goddamn motherfucking ASSHOLE!" The words exploded out of me, and I was shocked enough at my outburst to look around quickly and make sure I wasn't noticed. Well, at least not by anyone I knew. Angry outbursts by hysterical women weren't totally uncommon in the city; just another day, really.

And apparently I was just another day, another woman, another mindfuck to Eric Northman.

What the hell had I been thinking?

As my feet started walking the six blocks toward home, I mentally berated myself. Blaming Eric felt motherfucking GREAT, but I knew it wasn't the solution. Obviously, he was a sadistic, controlling dickhead who got off on playing with women, keeping them on a string. That was totally his fault. But, was it his fault I fell for it? Begged for it? Wanted it? I might have been over my head, but I certainly wasn't coerced.

If he hadn't stopped, I would totally have let him fuck me and probably tried to convince myself it had been "making love".

I didn't even know what that meant.

I had never slept with a man who had told me he loved me. I had never slept with anyone I would have been able to say that to in return. My whole life had consisted of hurried fumblings, unsatisfying penetration, and embarrassed goodbyes. I dreamt of being taken away from all the work and responsibility in my life, but I had yet to meet the man worthy or willing to accept the position. I had placed Eric on that pedestal, weaving my happily ever after daydreams around him.

The result? It was his fault for being an asshole, my fault for falling for it. Now that blame had been determined, what was next?

Eric was the strongest, most commanding man I had ever met. He was mouthwateringly sexy, and I know I did not imagine the attraction between us, so why the fucked up stop and start? Why was Eric holding back? I couldn't help but remember how he played my body like a maestro; using his mouth and fingers to elicit sensations I had never felt or dreamed were possible. I had been absorbed in what he was doing to me. And then he said, "Mine".

Mine.

In that amazingly sexy, alpha-male, dominating way of his. And I wanted nothing more, nothing more ever in my life than for it to be so.

And so I begged for it, for him. And it all went to shit. Right in the middle of my most gratifying sexual experience ever, he froze. It was obvious from the pained look on his face that something had jolted him from the moment. And then he had looked so…lost. I'd seen more of my share of pain and suffering, but the look on his face was so lonely. It made me want to hold him, to shelter him. The memory of it still did.

The click of my heels on the sidewalk slowed as I realized something had scared him and made him run.

Why did he run? I stopped in my tracks. What could Eric Northman possibly be afraid of?

The rest of the walk home was a blur of memories and situations, running every encounter through my head, trying to piece the Northman puzzle together. I was missing something, of that I was sure - something involving purchase orders and Russell, but also more.

More in the careful way Eric held himself tightly controlled. More in the way he watched me, stalked me, and slipped into my life as if he owned it. More in the way he had started to get close to me, started to claim me and then lost control and ran.

By the time I had reached my apartment door, I had made several resolutions. I was going to consider calling Alcide McHotterson from the bar because, obviously, I needed to get laid. I was going to find out what was going on with Eric and Russell. I was going to find out why Eric had been scared. I was going to be realistic when it came to men. I was not going to be Eric's victim.

And I was going to hide an extra apartment key somewhere, because I had left mine in Eric's office.

Fuck.

EPOV

"I never knew you were such a charmer, Eric."

The sarcasm was so thick I could have choked on it.

"Shut it, Pam." I muttered, but without heat. I was feeling sorry for myself. I could blame my past; the memories of my wicked stepmother and psychotic father caused me to suffer post-traumatic stress disorder, or some Freudian sexual oral obsession, and I was acting out in the face of an innocent passion. Or maybe my subconscious was recognizing the same dangerous and manipulative tendencies in Sookie and warning me away. Or maybe it was all bullshit and I was just scared - scared and pathetic for letting my past rule my present.

In any case, I had fucked up.

"You fucked up." Pam was nothing if not blunt.

"Oh, what do you know?" I snarled, and ran my hands through my hair. Needing to move, to do something, I grabbed a trashcan, and then walked to where the shattered glass had fallen.

"I know that I just saw an employee run out of her superior's office after work hours with her shirt half -buttoned, her hair mussed, and her lips swollen. I know that I just saw a sexual harassment suit waiting to happen pass me on the way to the elevator."

"She won't sue." I picked up one tiny shard after another, piece by piece.

"How the fuck do you know, Eric? Do you have some sort of evidence on her? Did you get the information we need?"

When I didn't answer, I could almost feel the cold anger rolling off of Pam.

"Goddammit, Eric."

The last shard was larger, and it cut through the pad of my first finger. I watched the blood well into a fat ball before sliding down into my palm in a long, red streak.

"You have to fix this."

I shook my head, still watching the path of my blood. "I can't, Pam. I fucked it up."

"You can. You have to."

I squeezed my fist closed, relishing the sting. "No." I stood, and finally looked at her. Her eyes widened at whatever resolution she saw on my face. "Sookie's not the one you're looking for."

"Okay, Obi-Wan." Again with the sarcasm. "Then who is? We need to find out, and your girl is the only one who can help us with that."

"Then fucking ask her yourself." I was done. If Sookie was guilty, then I wanted nothing to do with her. And if she was innocent, like I suspected she was…well then, she should want nothing to do with me.

Pam whipped out her cell phone and punched in a number. "Charles," she barked, "give me a 20 on Sookie Stackhouse."

I rolled my eyes at the lingo. Pam had been in the Secret Service – you would have thought she would be less TV cop and more discrete professional.

"She left? How long ago?" Pam waited while she received the answer. "In a cab?"

I tried not to listen. I tried not to care, but I couldn't stop myself.

"Walking?" Pam raised an eyebrow at me while talking to Charles.

"She lives close by," I mumbled, recalling her little apartment that managed to have more warmth in its tiny dimensions than my penthouse could ever have.

Pam snapped the phone closed and stared at me. "Do you need a band-aid?"

I looked at the blood seeping out of my hand, and walked to the bar for a washcloth. "No."

"Are you done being a pussy and feeling sorry for yourself?"

I felt my jaw clench. She was pissing me off.

"Look, I know that you have some sort of damaged past."

I looked at her sharply. She was going too far.

"It's not hard to figure out, okay? Especially by someone who has their own skeletons in the closet." She shook her head ruefully. "And with training in observing people. But, for what it's worth – I've never seen you take an interest in a woman beyond what you can get from them, physically or professionally."

"And?"

Pam was tentative; it drew my attention more. "And…you've been different with Sookie. Following her around, showing up at her meetings – you've taken an interest in her beyond what I've seen from you before. At the risk of being told to fuck off, I think you're intrigued by her."

"What is your point, Pam?"

"My point is, don't fuck this up, Eric. There is a lot at stake here."

As if I was unaware of this; yet, I did seem to lose sight of it whenever Miss Stackhouse was within my reach.

"I'll get your information, Pam. Even if it's not through Sookie, I'll still figure out how to nail Russell's balls to the wall."

Pam smiled softly. "I have no doubt of that, Eric. It's not the professional part I'm worried about."

I was at a loss. Pam worried about me? It made me uncomfortable, as if our relationship had crossed a line, became an obligation I wasn't sure I could fulfill.

Her eyes met mine, and seemed to sharpen in understanding. She saw too much. "Back to business - you fucked up, and you're going to fix it or it's both our asses." She straightened and patted her perfect hair. "Besides," she continued in a reasonable tone, "this job pays way too well for me to lose it because of your emo bullshit."

I couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped. I felt strangely relieved –back on familiar ground.

"Do it tonight, Northman. Now."

I thought of Sookie's face right before she left my office. "That might be…difficult."

"No excuses. You know where she lives. Go there."

"Pam," I ran a hand through my hair, uneasy. "She won't let me in."

"She won't have to." Pam smiled, and then tossed something at me.

I caught them easily: Sookie's keys on that ridiculous vampire keychain.

I grinned. "Pamela, I love you."

"I know." She smirked back, and left the office.

A/N - More soon. In the meantime, I've posted a quick 2-shot that's been rattling around in my brain. It's called Blood Slave. I hope you'll check it out.