"You live here?"

Eric refrained from rolling his eyes; an annoying habit of his that she seemed to be intent to bring back. She had followed him wordlessly through the now dim streets, his cape framing her face lest she be recognized by anyone they happened to pass. It was pure luck that they met no one else, for Eric would have taken no chances of someone seeing her back from the dead. Anyone would have been met with a swift death. And perhaps she understood this, because she had kept her mouth shut, and kept her hand in his.

Pulling his own cape from her as she stood in the middle of the tiny flat, he draped it over the back of a chair he had never actually sat in. His back to her, he let his eyes roam around the room. It met his needs as a light-tight place to sleep; and that was all he cared about. He had never before found a fault with it, but hearing the accusation in Pamela's voice suddenly turned him…shy.

"It's a loose interpretation of the word 'live,' I'll admit, Pamela. But yes. This is where I…reside."

He turned, timidly, as if expecting her to threaten to go back home again at the sight of his sparse apartment. His eyes anxiously followed her as she took a few slow steps, taking in everything. Finally, turning to face him again, her hands on her hips, she raised a brow.

"I was expecting a castle."

There was no change to his expression, but his eyes glittered. He knew in the instant that she noticed, because her own blue eyes followed suit. Simply staring at her, he deadpanned:

"I'm so sorry to disappoint."

She took a step closer, as if gauging his reaction.

"You don't have any family portraits. No pictures. No baubles from friends…"

"I don't have any friends."

He watched, fascinated as her brows drew together at his words. He could feel her emotions spiraling through him; pity, excitement, fear.

"What about your family?" She took another step closer, and saw the slight twitch of her arm as if she longed to reach for him.

"My human family has been dead for over nine hundred years."

She drew back, not having expected those words with so little emotion attached to them, sorrow filled her eyes. This time he was the one who stepped forward, closing the distance between them as his hands came to rest on her waist. He did not like to see anything other than joy on her face, and he spoke quickly, cutting through her weak "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. They've had peace for those years. More than I can say for myself."

She seemed comforted by that fact, and he watched closely as she spread her hands over his chest, as if still expecting him to vanish into thin air.

"So you don't have anyone?"

"I have you."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them; though he felt no shame. He could feel the pull of dawn outside of the door, and from the way Pamela's eyes were beginning to droop, he could tell that she felt it to; though she did not yet know what it meant. Slowly, as if he were addressing a child, he spoke as he began to undress her; turning her away from him with a spin of his finger so he could unlace her gown. For once, she did not question him, and obeyed. They worked in silence for those few minutes; he untying the binds and she stepping out of the fabric as it pooled by her feet. He stopped only when he got to her shift; and he grinned when he saw her frown of disappointment. Tossing her dress across the chair, he scooped her up into his arms, her body falling limp with fatigue. Before he set her down on the bed, his cool breath whispered across her ear, and he was pleased to see the goose bumps on her flesh that followed her words.

"Believe me, if it wasn't imperative for you to rest, min ros, there would not be a stitch of clothing on you."

Chuckling as he drew back up to his full height, he kept his eyes locked on her tired ones as he began to divest of his own clothes. And yet again, she surprised him. Pulling herself to her knees on the mattress, she reached out, her fingers tugging on the ascot that he still wore around his neck. She hesitated, clearly waiting for his permission. As his coat dropped to the floor, he simply nodded, and that was all she needed. Her fingers pulled apart the fabric, letting it join his coat. His gaze never left her face; this was far more intimate than what had transpired in the graveyard.

Anyone could have sex. And he had done so, many, many times. But never had he brought a woman back with him; never had he felt the urge to claim someone for an eternity; never had he allowed a woman to rest in his bed. And never had he allowed a woman to undress him, without the next step being of a carnal nature. She was the first, and if he had anything to do with it, the last woman to see him like this, to see him vulnerable. His linen shirt soon pooled on the floor, and he only stopped her when her fingers reached for his pants; if he was going to let her rest, he needed all the help he could get. His eyes still on her, he slid between the blankets, expecting her to scurry over to the other side; but as soon as the sheets encased both of them, there she was, nestled to his side in a way he was not used to; but that he found he enjoyed immensely.

The sun was nearly fully over the horizon now, and still her eyes did not close.

"Close your eyes, Pamela."

"I don't want to."

His lips pressed together, forming a line as he carefully schooled his voice.

"You must."

"But…what happens?"

No doubt she was feeling the unfamiliar pull of death. It was a strange sensation, one he hadn't thought about in centuries. To welcome death, when you had once been so keen to run in the opposite direction.

"You close your eyes. And then you go to sleep."

"And then what?"

He gritted his teeth; she was as full of questions as he had once been. Never before had he realized the enormity of Godric's patience.

"And then you die."

His hand covered her mouth a split second before she shrieked in fright, and he mentally berated himself for scaring her. Still, he couldn't calm his hiss as he locked his arms around her, willing her to be still.

"And then you'll wake up at nightfall. I promise. You will wake up." Her blue eyes watered and she looked utterly pathetic as she clung to his unyielding arms. He couldn't deal with tears. "You'll start bleeding again." That phrase alone changed her look from fright to one he could only associate with wanting to bite his hand off. He arched a brow, wordlessly asking if she was going to scream again. And she arched one right back. That was good enough for him, and he moved his hand away, coaxing her to lie back down.

An hour later, and still his stubborn brat would not sleep. He had closed his eyes long ago, but he did not allow himself to drift off. Instead he relished in the emotions that seemed to assault him from her side of their blood bond. He had heard human parents describing the sleepless nights after a newborn was brought in, and he had a sudden sympathy for them. Without warning, his lips began to move, and his voice was merely a whisper in the dark room.

"Bryr du inte vet,
Därför sova,
Medan över dig en klocka jag ska hålla.
Sov,
Ganska älskling,
Gråt inte,
Och jag kommer att sjunga en vaggvisa."

He could tell the exact moment that her eyes closed, and inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief. As her last concious thought floated through her head, she voiced it with a sluggish whisper.

"I was still expecting a castle."

"Go to sleep, Pamela."

Translations:

Min ros – My rose

Eric's Lullabye: Cares you know not,

Therefore sleep,

While over you a watch I'll keep.

Sleep,

Pretty darling,

Do not cry,

And I will sing a lullaby.