Disclaimer: Charlaine Harris owns the fabulous Eric, Sookie and Sam; I'm just playing with them for my amusement.
The door swings open and instantly every fibre of his being is directed at one point in a room otherwise invisible to him. His nerves are thrilling through his body, he is vibrating with concentration, with intent. She meets his gaze. She has been waiting. She has fought him, struck him, refused his explanations about the fairy war and her torture, hated him, rescinded his invitation, rejected their sacred bond... but she is here … and she has been waiting for him.
The Vampires eyes remain locked with those of the young barmaid. She is a vision. She is peaches and creams and golds. She is the window display of a cupcake store; every treat frosted and delicious. She is butter and sugar and vanilla creamed together. She is juicy and fresh and plump and ripe. She is tired; the merest hint of strain is evident upon her smooth face. She is wearing a uniform which is plain and which has recently been stained and creased from this hard nights work. To him, she is a vision.
The heavy door has swung back toward him, nudging his shoulder, urging him in or out. In or out? Hmmm. He freezes; this is not uncertainty, of course not, it is strategising. What is for the best? The girl is not on his itinerary for tonight, she is not part of the plan. He will disregard her. He should not need to reassess; he was aware of her presence the moment he saw her scrap-heap of a 'car' parked outside, the moment he felt the elastic tug of the bond urging him forward as he stepped from The Corvette. No, the plan stands. She will know nothing. She knows nothing. Anger... and something else... washes over him. It is the shifter he is here to see, and no-one else. He will stick to the plan.
The eyes of the vampire and the barmaid are still latched together. Neither face betraying emotion; blank stares. She may well have been waiting for him, but if so, waiting she still is. His recent resolution to seek the shifter, and the shifter only, is still firm in his mind. He bats away his urge... his need... to walk towards the girl. She will reject him.
He must continue with his self-appointed task. The Vampire rouses himself and decides that he will move his eyes from hers. He will. Right now... in just one moment. Her scent - sweetness and sunshine and fae - is swirling around him, intoxicating him. He is still frozen in the doorway, holding himself rigid, suddenly worried that if he should move at all it will be to her. That would not do, not do at all. A small part of his mind registers shuffling amongst the patrons of this lowly establishment. They are uncomfortable; they are scrutinising what is passing between him and what is his. He is aware that his blank stare is intimidating, threatening; he has cultivated it to be just that. They are wondering of his intentions towards their Sookie. Perhaps he is about to grab her and bite her and hurt her right here in their bar. Sookie herself appears unworried; she looks indifferent, perhaps a trifle cold. Her unsmiling face is unfamiliar to her customers, somehow foreign, her crazy smile for once absent.
The Vampire moves his eyes coolly from her. The bar breathes out a collective sigh of relief; it is clear that whatever interest he momentarily held for their Sookie has now passed. This is almost universally recognised as favourable. If there is one dissenting voice amongst them she does not speak up.
The Vampire moves to the bar. Sam has been watching his approach and appears to be challenging him to a blank face stand-off. "Shifter, I will talk with you now. In private". Sam steps towards his office, the Vampire following. Sookie follows their progress with her eyes. She has finally moved and is clutching at herself, leaning forward slightly, her lips parted, as if she is trying to bear a weight too large for her frame.
In the office the Vampire stands silent, motionless; emotionless too, at least this is how he appears to the shifter. Internally he is furious, irate, humming with wrath and want. Anger is his default emotion. This has been explained to him patiently, many times, by Pam. Hers are indifference and sarcasm. The shifter is waiting. He is a kind man; kinder and better than the Vampire standing before him. The shifter does not realise it but it's hard to be good when you have been touched by 1000 years, when your horizons have been stretched too thin and too far.
"So, Eric, you're here, I'm here, what's up?"
Eric's nostrils flare slightly as he inhales. He is hit again by her scent. He can see her coat hanging on the door...his coat...the one he gifted her. Yes, he is here, here in this shabby office or store room or locker room, with this worthless shifter who has repeatedly taken delight in impeding his wishes. This is not where he needs to be, this is not right. Damn her. She has damned him and he wants to fucking damn her. The swirl of anger builds again, his fists ball, his chest swells, his eyes narrow. Sam steps back, quivering. Not with fear. Sam is kind but he is not a coward. Quivering in readiness of a shift.
Eric is gone.
A shriek from Sam's patrons indicate in what direction he is headed. A clattering of broken glass and Sookie has also gone. They have left. Vacated. Fucked off out of fucking Merlottes. Not under Sookie's own steam of course, and without anything nearing her permission. That was all Eric. Merlottes erupts into a frenzy of self-righteous chatter. Vampires! Sam pauses at the door, unsure. He wants to believe that Eric will harm Sookie and that he should dash to her rescue. He wants to believe that... he tries to believe that... but he can't. He turns and returns to the bar, resting his head on the smooth grain as his customers reach a fever pitch of speculation.
Eric and Sookie are standing under the trees by The Corvette. He is holding the tops of her arms tightly. Too tightly. There will be bruises tomorrow. The anger at her treatment of him is still roiling inside him and he knows that she can feel it, that it is too much for her. If he were to let her go now she would sink to the floor. Anger predominates but through this weaves the same current of excitement and anticipation that he had felt on the journey. He is thrilled to be near her, to be holding her, even though it is against her will, and possibly causing her pain. She is staring at him, defiance in every line of her face. It is clear that she is not pleased.
"Stop it Sookie! Stop it!" He shakes her a little with each word. She has gone limp, purposefully he is sure, to exaggerate the effect on her body; her head lolling on her neck, her teeth rattling. His voice is too loud, it is angry yes, but also.... is that a soupçon of desperation? Most probably. He feels desperate. It is welling up, overtaking the anger and excitement.
"Stop what? Eric for christs sake... you stop it, damn it".
He can't reply out loud. Stop looking at me like that, stop hating me, stop denying me. Me! You would deny me? Eric's vampire pride reasserts itself and he lets go of her abruptly. She stumbles slightly at her sudden release and leans heavily against the trunk of a tree, flexing her arms, wincing. She regards him, a small frown on her perfect face.
He will feel no shame, no guilt. He raises his chin slightly, challenging her. She is fine; merely a tad surprised at his sudden appearance, annoyed by their hasty removal, bruised by his excessive shaking. Well, he is a Vampire... a Viking Vampire... an irate Viking Vampire. What does she expect? Flowers? … and … kittens? ... and … and … magic pony rides? And whatever the hell it is that human girls want? Doth he protest too much? Guilt washes over him as she rubs away the marks left by his large dead hands. It is an uncomfortable feeling, this guilt, but not any longer an unfamiliar one. He does not care for it. Not at all.
"Well, hello Eric, how nice to see you again." She speaks sarcastically, caustically. She is watching him, still just waiting; she is not running, not screaming, not yet. Clearly enough time has passed. The weeks that have separated them have cooled her anger. He concentrates on their bond. He knows that he is skilled at interpreting her emotions, another of his gifts. He feels her surprise at seeing him. He feels her hurt; not for this latest physical assault, but emotional pain for his past behaviour. There is more. She is lost, unsure, uncertain, confused. Join the club, girlfriend.
"Sookie". Eric pauses. He loves to say her name, he indulges himself, saying it once more. "Sookie".
He gathers himself, sliding away from her to sit on the hood of his car, whilst he decides his next move. Stategising...again. His mask has slipped, he will no longer pretend. He wants her, he admits this to himself. He wants her to want him. She doesn't, or at any rate she didn't. This is such an unnatural state for any woman to be in that Eric cannot doubt that it will soon change. She had told him, shrieked at him, that she no longer trusts him or feels affection for him. That she no longer feels lust for him. This he cannot believe, although admittedly the torture she sustained, may have dampened it slightly.
Clearly his priorities tonight have shifted. Out goes the capture of Vampire Daniel; hell, Eric will gladly round up a whole gaggle of school girls and hand feed them to Daniel one-by-one if only his capture may be removed from tonight's schedule. No, the new plan for the evening is the 'Enlightenment of Sookie'. His strategy is a simple one and has been effective in the past; brute force.
The 'Enlightenment of Sookie' has been, it is true, previously attempted. However, her screaming refusals, her violent rescinding of his invitation, her wilful, dogged determination to believe a misrepresentation of the truth, that he had abandoned her to torture, all angered him to such an extent that he felt his only recourse was to retreat. Some may have said that this was a retreat into wounded pride, hurt feelings and blatant denial, but if this was ever mentioned to Eric the poor soul did not survive long after. If any of the anger that he felt were directed at himself, for his inability to save her sooner, this may also have been motive for his reluctance to contact her over the preceding six weeks. However, she has been waiting, for him, and it was now time.
"Sookie, you will listen to me now, you will understand, you have had long enough".
"Long enough for what Buster? To recover from torture, you asshole? I'm still riddled with holes and bite marks. I'm still torn and hurting and and frightened.... You think I should be over it by now, huh?" She is yelling, she is angry, she is unafraid of him. Classic Sookie.
He is surprised however that she has admitted to being frightened. Sookie has only rarely revealed such insecurity and vulnerability, to him at least. This is progress. He feels suddenly cheered and smiles at her. She sees him smirk and she scowls in return.
"I will talk, you will listen, let us go."
Eric thrusts himself from the hood of The Corvette enthusiastically, then changes pace, deciding to approach Sookie more slowly, unsure if she may actually run from him, or kick him, or some other such nonsense. He moves around behind her, gently hustling her forward towards the car, herding her. She looks up at him, slightly panicked.
"Eric, what in the world...? I'm at work, I'm meant to be working you big jerk, I can't just leave."
By now he has manoeuvred her to the car door, not quite pushing her, but close; he is compelling her with his body up tight behind her, jostling her. She spins around to face him and plants herself squarely into the ground.
"Stop right there Mister! God help me I'm not leaving with you now, you get that right out of your mind this minute."
He has the door open, is gently lifting her in. She starts to struggle, she is resisting his efforts. "Eric!" This time it's a shriek.
"All my stuff! My bag, my keys for goodness sake! What will Sam say? Get off me!"
He has her in the car, has fastened her seatbelt, and shuts the door on her protestations. That went well. Brute force rarely fails he has found. He is in the drivers seat in a flash, smiling to himself. She is huffing in her her seat, but is not actively trying to escape and appears resigned to her fate.
The sky has cleared; the rain which had so recently threatened to chase Eric from Louisiana has decamped for drier pastures and the stars can just be glimpsed through the cloud. What a wondrous night. As The Corvette drives, at speed, down Hummingbird Road, the Vampire glances at the girl, his girl. He feels exultant, euphoric, and a trifle bemused. He can still not quite understand the thrall she holds over him. They drive towards her home, which has been a sanctuary for them both in the past; the Vampire is laughing, the girl is sulking.
******
Authors note: If you've bothered to read this far, thank you so much, and please review to let me know what you think. Thanks again.