IV.
After a couple of minutes of noticing that I was still not all relaxed and happy, Eric let go.
"You're upset," he said quietly.
"MmmmHmmm," I said, just nodding. Well, that was a bit of an understatement.
I was lost in thought. Could they fire me for 'consorting' with vampires? That would just be unfair, I thought to myself. The Bureau was not always fair, however, as I'd seen first hand. Sometimes in order to be secure you had to be unfair. Maybe all I had to do was prove I couldn't be glamoured for information. Because I could already see that would be Chuck's big issue here. Vampires glamoured humans and a glamoured FBI agent was a serious security risk. Look at what a glamoured Sara Weiss had done? She'd let Bill know that I'd gone to work for the FBI willingly and put him on the fast track to finding me in Virginia. And the information that I was privy to was much more on the order of national security than anything Sara Weiss could have given out. Surely some vampire somewhere worked for the FBI, CIA or NSA and they could get he or she to try to glamour me? There were several Weres I'd met at the Bureau. I had even heard a rumor that the NSA had a telepath. Didn't one of the agencies have vampires?
But firing me was the least of my concerns. Would the Bureau do anything to pull me away from Eric? Could they try to go after Eric? Manny had basically confirmed they had an entire active file on him. My mind reeled at that thought. It was probably because of his business activities or because of tracking vampire politics. Maybe both. Well, the days for really dark intrigue were thankfully over under new administration, but I still wasn't feeling resoundingly confident about the situation that I'd gotten myself, and Eric, into. Even two years ago it would have been wholly possible that they would have gone after Eric just for shakes. The IRS, DHS/Immigration. You name it. Well, if the Bureau didn't like it, one option would be to simply can me and try more diligently to find Barry. But they had a huge investment in me, and in my team. What if they went after Eric? I thought again to myself. Maybe I hadn't thought this out clearly enough. Had I been hopelessly naïve? My heart raced. I was worried about coming here for how it could impact Eric and Bill under the assumption that Felipe de Castro was still undead alive and could cause problems. It hadn't crossed my mind that the FBI could cause Eric problems. Maybe I never should have told Manny about the relationship. I was totally confused about whether I might have made things worse. I trusted Manny, though. Maybe he wouldn't tell Chuck that little detail if it wasn't a good idea.
"What is wrong?" he asked quietly, stroking my forearm.
I tried to snap my attention back to present reality.
"I'm just getting the idea that I was so worried about coming back here from the supe end that I didn't think it through very clearly from the FBI end. I don't want to lose my job. I like my job. I really do. I don't want to be fired or to be 'asked' to quit," I said, gesturing those quotations. I didn't exactly want to give voice to the thought that they could do anything to harm Eric in order to keep me. "Plus, I guess I worry about what they could do to try to secure my services by…"
He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. "By what?"
"I get worried that they could go after you to make you leave me alone. I guess I was really in denial about how badly this all might be taken. I don't think they would do something like that, but really… I don't know. It's more than just my boss's take on something like this. I guess they'd get worried that I could be glamoured for information. I'm going to have to think of how to prove I'm not a security risk."
I looked up at Eric, who was now looking rather distant. Distant, except for the clenched jaw part and the sense that he was thinking my leaving my job wasn't at all bad in his eyes. I could just quit and move back home as far as he was concerned. For a second I really thought I could almost read that from him, which always shook me up when it happened. Could he actually think I'd just quit my job and move back here? Even if the FBI would let me do that, could he actually think I would do that?
"Eric, please tell me that you don't think that I'm just going quit doing whatever and come back to Louisiana and just sit around all day waiting for you to wake up and entertain me and then dine on me. That is so totally never going to happen. How could anyone knowing me even want something like that to happen? You knew my thoughts on this kind of thing from before. We had already covered at least that much of it more than three years ago, and I can tell you it's even less likely to happen now than it was then. Giving up a really good job that I'm good at, with great benefits, is even more unlikely than giving up working at Merlotte's was. And I really liked working for Sam. I am here visiting you. You remember that, right? Just try to wrap your head around that one really, really well."
I shook my head thinking about what a mess I might have made. "I have to find a way to fix this, to make sure that things will be okay all the way around. So that they won't come bothering you. No IRS or Homeland Security and INS bullshit raining down on you. I was so fucking stupid not realizing that Manny was not going to be my problem," I muttered to myself.
He seemed as if trying to absorb that bit of information vis a vis my job was rather difficult for him. He looked at me with a cold displeasure.
"You say you wouldn't quit your job. That you don't want to move back home. But still, you came here, Lover. If you aren't interested, why come?"
"If I'm not interested in what? I care about you. I missed you and so I came to visit you. You asked me to visit you, remember that? You contacted me. Maybe you and I have a very different idea of what a visit entails, Eric. A visit is not moving back to Louisiana. We're just spending time together. I wanted to spend time with you. And even if I were someday to move back here, what… am I supposed to just drop my entire life if I want to be around you? I would no more give up my entire life to be with you than I would expect you to give up your entire life here to go live in DC. Did you think I was just kidding you three years ago? Are you really even seeing me as I am or are you still seeing every other woman you've known? Between all the trouble I've caused you and your seeming inability to accept the fact that I don't want to just laze around for the rest of my life, I seriously wonder what we're even doing here," I said with quite an edge to my voice.
I was getting upset. Really upset. Part of me really did wonder what I was doing here. What were we even thinking about? What did I think coming here meant? To me? To him? Basically, if I had to be honest, I hadn't thought of anything beyond just enjoying these two weeks. I hadn't thought of anything beyond just being with him again, however briefly, because the thought of anything lay beyond that was just too unsettling. But that was the personal end of it. The work end? I'd felt so conflicted about being here and now I wondered whether it was just one great big mistake. I'd gone from worrying about really getting hurt emotionally again to getting really mad at him and being worried that I was putting him into a risky situation just by virtue of my being there. What a mess.
He sighed, and looked away.
"Just relax. I get it, alright? Without intending to make you even angrier, would the FBI let you work from here?" he asked looking at me sideways. He had an edge to his voice that suggested that things were already not quite going as he had planned.
"I don't know. It's ridiculous to even contemplate since I've been here for all of a few hours, Eric. I'm on vacation. A much needed vacation. You need to seriously rein it in, okay? I don't want to spend time angsting over all of this. I came to see you, spend time with you, and to relax. I was also looking forward to seeing Pam. I wanted some downtime with quiet minds. We're seriously not talking about any future plans until well after I leave. I'm on vacation. Let me enjoy it. And in my free time, I'll try to figure out just how Machiavellian my employer could go on us."
He looked at me and smiled. I felt a smooth blanket of warmth from him. He was definitely trying to diffuse my anxiety and frustration. I felt as if he was trying to soothe me somehow.
"Oh, you'll enjoy your vacation. My goal is to make you want to come back, to stay. So you are going to have a very enjoyable time. I assure you of that, Lover."
"Fine, Eric. Bring it on." I tried not to roll my eyes. And to get my heart rate to go down as I thought about Chuck Powell, my boss's boss, who had never liked me and never liked 'soft' interrogation even as a concept.
"The last time I heard you say that we were having a lot more fun at the time," he said with a sexy voice.
I puzzled over that for a moment and then remembered and felt myself, amazingly for an almost 30 year old woman, blush with pleasure at that memory.
"Yeah, I remember that time. It was definitely more fun than fielding phone calls from my boss. And I recall we dealt with the 'I'm not going to make any drastic changes to my life' stuff too, right? But afterwards."
"Well, I reserve the right to make you want to make drastic changes, Lover. I will tell you up front that it is precisely my goal."
He pulled me up onto his lap and began kissing me. When I got to come up for air I found I was just trembling. A flood of memories, of desire, just filled my mind. He went on kissing me for a while but when his hand slid down to my breast I flinched slightly. I was so unused to being touched other than for dancing and hugs from friends now. He stopped and pulled back to look at me and then brushed some of my hair back behind my ear. With his hand gently cupping my cheek he looked at me with those intense blue eyes and said softly,
"Have you been with anyone else since you were with me, Sookie?"
He knew. I didn't know how he knew, but he did.
Without meeting his eyes, I just silently shook my head. No one. I was back to where I was before I met Bill. How could I ever have a relationship with a human man? It simply wasn't possible for me given their ceaseless inner voices. And I had avoided supes as if they were landmines.
I was surprised to feel no huge swell of pride or happiness from him at that little revelation. I looked up at him and he looked almost sad although there was something else to it that I couldn't quite understand . He massaged my shoulder a bit with his hand. Finally he asked soberly,
"I never had the chance to ask you anything more… personal after that night. I knew some of what they did. But you were in so much pain, I… Beyond the very obvious injuries, they didn't… rape you, did they?" He was practically gritting his teeth as he waited for my answer.
I shook my head. "No," I said softly. "They didn't go that far. They seemed to think I was disgusting. They were too busy dining on me and then having sex with each other at that point." It was still so gross to think about that, since they were siblings and all.
He looked pained at my words but I felt through the bond that he was very relieved. Frankly, the thought of Neave and Lochlan raping me, given what they were already doing to me, had been so potently horrifying that I had hoped they would just slip up and kill me before they got to that one, because they probably would have thought of it eventually.
"I am relieved, although certainly they had done enough already. You were so bloody everywhere according to Bill that he wasn't sure and Ludwig was so busy evacuating people by the time I got there… I didn't want to ask you then. But I have wondered all this time, especially after Bill said that you didn't date anyone, that your friend for dancing was gay." He paused for a moment and then said as if choosing his words carefully, "Are you still very scarred from your injuries, in spite of all the blood I gave you? It would not bother me. My concern is that it bothers you."
"I've had surgery on the remaining scars, Eric. Scar revision surgery. They just cut out the scar and resealed it with surgical glue or very fine sutures. Manny arranged for me to have some of the work done at Walter Reed in Bethesda. They do really great things with scars. And my left breast didn't heal well. I had that fixed. The breast I had done in New York by a fancy plastic surgeon who does breast reconstruction. It's all probably worse in my eyes than it would be to anybody else, because I look at the scars that remain and I… I remember. I can't forget how I got them. How they enjoyed what they did to me." He really winced at that comment. "I just can't forget it, that there are beings that can think that way. Really delighting in the pain they cause. I look at the scars and remember. It's why I don't get tan, although actually they said that it might make the scarring worse to get sun exposure. But I just don't even want to lie out and look at myself. It still makes me feel sick to think about it all. I still can't get away from remembering it. Anyway, it is what it is."
"You were afraid to be with anyone because of the scars?" he asked quietly, brushing more hair away from my neck and stroking it gently.
"No. I just… I wasn't afraid, Eric. I just didn't want to be with anyone. I just wanted to be alone." It wasn't just my not wanting to deal with a human mind, or the faint scars that still remained. Basically, I didn't want to be having sex with anyone I didn't love anymore. Maybe, too, because I still loved him. No matter how much that realization frightened me, I couldn't escape it. I loved him. And even though he'd told me he loved me a month ago, and even several times since that time, I was just too afraid of all the implications of my loving him to deal with it. A large part of me just didn't believe that Eric was serious, anyway. And yet here I was, in Louisiana, with him, even sitting in his lap. Risking… everything. Sookie is such a fool, I thought to myself. I needed to be more like my alter ego, Sasha. Tougher, smarter. Safer.
He leaned back against the couch and looked at me oddly. He seemed almost to be examining me, my thoughts.
"What?" I asked softly.
"You love me, Sookie. I know you love me. Sooner or later you are going to have to break down and say it. Because I told you and if I'm willing to say I love you, then the very least I'd expect is for you to admit it back. Things are going nowhere until you can say it, Lover."
"Things are going nowhere? What, is that your way of saying that you're not going to touch me for two whole weeks unless I say I love you? Great bargaining chip. That'll make me really receptive, right?" I was seriously hoping he was kidding. Three years was a long, long time. He had been almost impossibly flirtatious with me for the past month when we had Skyped regularly. Pam's description hadn't been too far off the mark for some of our phone calls , especially for the past two weeks. He seriously had better be kidding.
"Oh, I'll touch you, sure. I'm touching you now right? You mean sex? No. No sex. And you might want to think about the fact that what you're saying you want, sex, is what you said was only the result of the bond and of having had my blood and all of the other bullshit that you could come up with. That somehow it's always me, influencing you, controlling you. I can get sex easily. What I want from you is more than sex, Lover. I hope you're listening carefully. I'm saying no. You're the one asking. I can say what I feel. I told you what I want. You give me nothing in return. That bond is just controlling your every move, isn't it? What a vampire's success story." he said in a mordant tone.
I wouldn't look in his eyes then, and just tugged his shirt collar back into its proper alignment. I finally looked up at him again and saw that he had the most triumphant grin on his face and his eyes were positively sparkling. One of the only serious things that Eric had talked about over the past month, other than the whole safety thing, was the fact that he was very sick of my saying that whatever I felt or was motivated to do was solely because of the bond between us. The only time I'd seen him really close to totally losing his cool during our conversations was one time I'd said my that I thought that much of whatever we felt was artificial because of the blood bond. He thought that was absolutely ludicrous and pointed out that we had known each other and enjoyed each other's company for quite sometime before the bond was made. The rational part of my mind told me he was right. Unfortunately, that part of my mind had rarely ever been on display where Eric was concerned.
"Would you be willing to accept that I missed you a great deal?"
"No. No, I wouldn't. That would be wholly inadequate and total bullshit. In fact, it would be insulting. Do you usually have sex with people just because you missed them? I'd really want to know something like that at the outset. What a red flag to any serious relationship, right? Who else do you miss, may I ask?" He paused and shook his head. "You're really the most stubborn woman I've ever known. And I have known a lot of women."
I smiled and said caustically, "I'm already getting over missing you. And gosh, I feel so special. The most stubborn ever? You always make me feel so…"
He grabbed me started kissing me ardently and then he pulled off my jacket, as he shifted me to face him with my legs straddling his thighs. He started kissing my throat. I felt his fangs press flat against my neck and I drew a sharp breath as I felt an overwhelming desire to be bitten. But he didn't bite. His hands caressed my breasts and I moaned.
"So that was enough, then? You were always so easy, Eric," I murmured sarcastically while he nuzzled around my ear.
He pulled away from my neck and looked at me shaking his head again.
"You better not start teasing me, Sookie," he said with a leer. "Or Sasha or whatever your name of the moment is."
Then he groaned and lifted me off his lap, set me down on the couch and got up and sat in a nearby chair, arms crossed across his chest. His trousers looked as if they were now seriously and uncomfortably tight. I bit my lips trying not to laugh. I was in only slightly less stirred up shape.
"Well, I would never do anything in your office, anyway, Eric. Perhaps you should call me Alexandra. Since Sasha is really short for Alexandra. Keep things formal so that you take it down a notch. You know Alexandra means 'defender of mankind'? I wanted a strong name."
"I'm just enthralled," he said sarcastically, glaring at me a bit. He looked a bit frustrated.
"Wow, I really thought that was supposed to work the other way around? No wonder you're so put out," I said in a playfully sarcastic tone. "Why that's even worse than not being able to enthrall me, now isn't it? What shall I have you do while you're enthralled? I'll have to choose carefully because I'm betting that this doesn't happen often… If you'll give me a minute I'll go down the short list of my favorite things for Eric to do."
I could tell he was really enjoying himself at that comment. He looked at me open mouthed, fangs run down, eyes now with a reddish glow. He truly looked like mischief. His tongue danced around his fangs and then he licked his lips. He looked me up and down in a suggestive fashion.
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do, Lover. I going to tell you everything I would be doing with you right now, if only you were a braver and more forthright partner…"
At that remark, I took out my Blackberry of out my tossed aside jacket and started scrolling through email with a sigh. I shook my head. Was he saying I was a lying coward?
"Well Eric, insults will get you nowhere. Few women like to be insulted. I'd really have thought after a thousand years you'd have picked up on that by now. And I really find office settings to be very unromantic, actually. They make you take all these anti-sexual harassment courses at the FBI. No one who's been through more than two or three would ever feel an office is a romantic setting. They've practically traumatized us on the topic. The mere thought is stressful. So if you were thinking you could seduce me here, in your office, I'm just giving you the heads up that I think your plan is going to fail miserably. Besides, I can just sit here envisioning every other woman that's been on this couch and it's a massive turn-off. Now, a bedroom might be a more realistic temptation. But whatever your plan, it had better be more creative than your office couch with whomever you have guarding outside listening at the door." I paused, looking absently at my phone, thinking of something from three and a half years before. Something I hadn't been willing or able to put into words until now. "You know, I've often wished that I'd gone to stay with you in Shreveport when you asked me to. Maybe what happened to me wouldn't have happened. Maybe what happened to you and Bill and to Clancy wouldn't have happened. Maybe Tray and even Claudine would still be alive. Although on the other hand, maybe the fairy fiends would have come during the day and killed you in your sleep, to get me, and it would be much worse that it was." I snorted ruefully, "Maybe it's stupid to waste time thinking of what might have been. Eventually, I hope to be able to quit doing that. Still not making much progress with that goal, though."
I saw him shift in the chair and lean forward as if he was going to reach out to me as I said all this. I looked away. His emotions seemed to shift quickly and suddenly I felt such sorrow from him that I ached inside. He probably had no idea how much I had tormented myself in the first year after I'd left. I guess he was starting to see the edge of it. And that was before I'd found out about what Felipe had done to him and to Bill, all because of me. I didn't really know what he'd been through either, though. But, maybe in some odd way, through the bond, I had known that it was so very bad for him. After all, the first year had been so horrible. Was it really only my feeling that way? Had part of the awfulness that I felt been his awful? In any case, over the course of three years I hadn't even tried to contact him, to see if he was okay. I didn't do anything to try to fix things between us or make amends. Until now. I didn't look over to see his face. I really didn't want to. That was about as unguardedly honest as I planned on getting. I could barely even stand to think about it at times. What if my stubborn resistance to accepting his offer to take care of me had resulted in so much loss? Had I cost the lives of people I cared about or he cared about because of my choices? I was just silent and so was he.
I went back to my email and opened an email from Alla and saw the picture of her newly born son, Alexander. He was so beautiful. She was lucky. I didn't think I'd ever have children. After the horror of what had befallen Crystal and Claudine, I just couldn't see risking bringing a child into the world. Even removed from the supernatural world, I had all those lovely genes to pass on to some poor unfortunate child. Fae blood and a chance to suffer with telepathy? No, thank you. My four extra vacation days were part of a plan to go see Hunter and Remy, who still lived in Red Ditch. Hunter was as close as I thought I'd ever get to having a child in my life after Jason's unborn child was murdered along with Crystal by Neave and Lochlan. Eric had told me that Jason still had no children so far as he knew from Bill, who still lived in Bon Temps. Anyway, I wanted to go and see if Hunter was doing okay. I wanted to get to know him a bit, if Remy would let me after my big disappearing act.
"Is everything okay?" Eric asked, clearly picking up on my brooding.
Another wistful moment. They seemed to be piling up. I blinked my eyes which were slightly teary still from moments before. Tonight's visit was getting harder, not easier. I was thinking about saying it was time to call it a night.
"Yeah. A friend of mine, one of the interpreters I work with, just had her baby. A boy. They've named him Alexander. He's named after me. She sent me pictures."
"You are sad."
"No, I'm… happy for her. Of course. I think she may stop working overseas though, because of the baby and all.I can't imagine going to Afghanistan without her. I love her mind. She speaks Arabic, Farsi, Pashto and a language called Dari. It's like Persian, sort of like Farsi, but they speak it in Afghanistan. She's a wonderful person to work with, very engaging. I just can't imagine not having her with me if I go there." Then I murmured, almost to myself, "I can't believe she really named him Alexander… It's so sweet, really."
"So you've been to Afghanistan, then?" He seemed interested. I'd been rather evasive about where I'd traveled.
"Several times. Actually, I guess… eight times in the past eighteen months," I said absently.
"Eight times? Where did you go at the beginning of this month? If you can you tell me now, that is."
I suddenly focused more clearly. Eric hadn't had a security clearance, so he was still only a significant other rather than a spouse in the FBI's eyes after what I'd told Manny. By policy, I could still tell him a few things post hoc. But still not a lot. Really you couldn't tell even the person you were closest to much at all. I knew you could infer certain things. That's what Alla and Mercan did. But you had to be careful not to infer too much.
"Well, considering you're basically my significant other as far as my boss would be concerned, I can tell you some things after the fact. I was in Iraq. In a city called Nasiriyah."
At that statement he sat bolt upright and looked at me as if quite shocked. "They send you to work in places like that? I thought there were still all kinds of bombings and attacks there? That's in the South right? I thought maybe you just went to the capitals, to the embassies, someplace safe. They send you to interview people in such unstable places?"
Uh oh... Hmmm. In retrospect, I probably really shouldn't have told him anything. But I guess he'd have known I was lying if I told him I couldn't tell him anything at all. He wanted to talk about my work. I wondered how much he really wanted to know.
Shaking my head, I said "Eric, you don't have any idea what unstable really means in the world I work in. Nasiriyah is not unstable anymore. It's much better than when I first went there, for instance. I've been to Iraq at least two dozen times. I've stopped counting. And embassies don't make you safe. They're actually a great target. A whole bunch of Americans work there, after all, so you can save yourself a lot of trouble by targeting an embassy. Besides, they can't hold foreign nationals for questioning on embassy soil. It's a violation of international law and one of the Protocols of the Geneva Convention. So you have to go outside the Embassy to interview the people. And Nasiriyah is fine, it's much better than it was. Not all that bad, really. Najaf was always way scarier to me. Besides, some of the places that look calm are very deceptive and much more dangerous for the work I do. The most dangerous place I've ever been wasn't even in a war zone."
"Where else have you been recently? You said when I went to see you in Virginia that you had just returned from a trip. Where did you go then?"
Well, that one was worse than Nasiriyah, but not for any obvious reason. I hesitated and I guess he could even tell from the expression on my face that it wasn't a very safe trip at all.
"I really want to know, Sookie. I realize I was evasive with you about things here, but now you know. You've been very vague about what you do, or at least where you do it. I realize that you can't tell me some things, but I want to know what you can tell me. I want to know the truth about what it is that you're really doing. It sounds much riskier than what I had thought it was. I envisioned you in a nice safe room, talking to suspected terrorists with guards and your interpreters. I didn't think about where you were doing these things. I want to know where you go."
A nice safe room? Was he for real? Maybe at The Hague or a Federal prison facility! Tents on military bases like Guantánamo or much worse was a bit more what I was used to. Or scary prisons in various Central Asian or Iraqi cities. Or there was that time in Waziristan… I groaned internally. If he cared for me even a bit, he was not going to be happy. And he had been claiming to care much more than a bit. He was also looking at me like he wasn't going to give up on finding out more info and clearly white lies were not going to cut it.
"Okay, but I can already see you are not going to like a lot of where I go. And you really can't tell anyone the stuff I tell you, okay? Right before you came to Alexandria, I was in Islamabad. The FBI frequently loans our services to the Army. I was screening some guy that was a captured Taliban leader. That's not info you can share with anyone. Islamabad isn't supposed to be a bad place to go. But sometimes, like I said, the 'safer' places are not really safe at all if you really shouldn't be there, doing what you're doing, in the first place. We were there questioning the guy pretty much illegally, at least so far as I could tell. I normally hate shit like that. I had a bad scare with something like that when I was in Khartoum over a year ago, screening some Al Qaeda guys. That turned out to be some freaky CIA operation and the Sudanese government got wind of the whole thing and it was a real mess. I was there for less than eight hours but it was really scary. You can't tell anyone about that either. Sometimes they don't tell me anything until I get there and even then what I know is from what I figure out by reading the people I'm actually supposed to be working for. I told Manny when I got back that time from Khartoum that I wouldn't to go places illegally anymore unless they told me about what the deal really was and let me decide for myself. I mean, if you get caught, they could do anything they wanted with you. The US would probably deny everything, just like they do for CIA operatives."
"So they send you out to some of these dangerous places to 'screen' people they've captured. That's your job?" He really looked wide-eyed and Eric was not exactly a person I would think of as being wide-eyed at much.
"Well, you're not too likely to capture terrorists in nice, safe places these days, Eric. I interviewed a couple of war criminals in The Hague once. That was a nice safe office job. Or some jihadi suspects in Berlin, London, or Madrid. Or I get to screen domestic terror subjects here or in Canada. But those are the exceptions. My team does field work. That's what we specialize in and the bulk of what I do. Interviewing people on site is better because you stand a better chance of being able to preemptively intervene, or nab more cohorts or grab their weapons or supplies. In counterterrorism, field work is paramount and it's much better than all the rendition stuff that they were doing five years ago. The counterterrorism units are a frontline for protecting American interests domestically and even abroad. The goal is to preemptively prevent anyone from entering the US for the purpose of terrorist activities, to analyze suspects connections to known US cell suspects, and to safeguard our interests overseas. We do the Arab world, Iran, Afghanistan and Pakistan. They'd also like to get an interpreter I can work with that speaks Indonesian and Malay. But I haven't found one I can work with yet. I'm very picky about who I work with. We go out to military installations, prisons, local military bases to do analyses, or to camps holding enemy combatants. And yeah, I have been to some seriously scary places to screen people. After I was in Khartoum, six weeks later they sent me, legally of course, to Waziristan, in western Pakistan, with Alla and Ahmed, to interview people. That's a pretty lawless area. I saw a jeep of people I knew blown up by a landmine. That was bad. And the only support we had was a small contingent and mostly Pakistani Army. You really cannot imagine some of the people I've screened. Some are almost as frightening as fairies, let me tell you. Of course, sometimes you find someone who's innocent, just in the wrong place at the wrong time, though. But some, just a few… really you wouldn't want to know. Thinking any price to achieve your goal was just fine because heaven awaited you no matter what you did in the name of what you believe in. Being inside the head of a person like that is a frightening thing. But most of the people I screen have just been exploited, indoctrinated and manipulated. They are following their own leadership's propaganda just like I guess you could say we were following ours, although definitely their methods or plans are a lot more questionable than our stated agenda of freedom and democracy. But still, to me, one could hardly be in a position to judge or tell them to find a better way to survive without giving them the means to make different choices. Especially in Afghanistan. I guess if I've taken one thing home in my work, it's my conclusion that the problems that create the circumstances where people become terrorists really aren't being addressed sufficiently. I've interviewed terror suspects as young as twelve. Imagine interviewing a child terror suspect, Eric," I said shaking my head sadly. "One kid went to this school, where he learned to hate all Westerners, because he wanted to eat. It was where he was getting his food. Food, prayers and hatred. What can you say to a child who wants to eat and is willing to shoot people or set bombs as the suggested way of showing thanks? What do you do with that child after you have him? Send him back home to be hungry again? About the only way I can do what I do is the thought that I'm sparing these people some very unpleasant treatment by someone else. For every person I screen, it's one less person who gets those 'enhanced' interrogation methods. That's a pretty inadequate feeling at times, though," I said softly.
He looked at me silently for a minute then said almost bitterly,
"And you think it would be dangerous moving back to Louisiana?"
"No, I think, for now at least, it would be a poorer use of my ability. Plus, I guess I think if I were living here, the way you keep trying to suggest… I'd just end up brokenhearted and you would end up feeling guilty when it all ends badly. So I might as well just do this because at least I'm being very useful. In fact, it's probably the most useful I've ever felt. I guess I just don't know how long I can continue doing it before losing a sense of empathy for mankind because we have such capacity for indifference or harm. Because I have seen some seriously horrible things in other people's heads. Or before it becomes so unsafe that I just can't do it without feeling like I have a death wish or something. That's another factor. No reason to have survived Neave and Lochlan to get myself killed over there, right?"
Well, if I was going for unguarded, I had certainly arrived in a big way.
He looked away and was quiet for a minute. Finally, he turned back to me and said,
"If you told them you didn't want to go on those risky jobs, why did they send you to Pakistan this recent time? You said you didn't want to go anywhere unless it was legal, right? But you thought what they were doing was kind of illegal."
Well, that was a tricky question to answer.
"Well, I volunteered to go that time. I knew it wasn't quite on the up and up. Part of the counterterrorism team I work with at Quantico was going on loan to the Army, so I volunteered to go, to help them. They knew I'd end up going with them. Besides if I go, then I just talk to the person instead of… well you get the picture. Accuracy of information was an important issue on that job. Personally, I don't really think you get much accurate information from hurting people or terrorizing them back. Plus, it just creates a whole other range of problems. Let's just say there are others who don't quite agree with that take."
He studied me thoughtfully and then said,
"Why would the US need to be in Pakistan illegally anyway? They're a US ally, right?"
I looked at him and shook my head again. "Couldn't tell you. But I'm sure you're more than bright enough to figure out why a superpower might go into another sovereign state and start interrogating suspected terrorists under the auspices of their military rather than their actual government."
"I guess when you think they think the government won't really do the right thing? But why even care about somebody in Pakistani custody? He was already captured, right?"
"I should get you a subscription to The Economist as a present. Not just great business and political news. Great foreign affairs analysis in a really accessible format. Basically, I'd say this: some people believe that the Taliban are still quite well connected with Al Qaeda. Al Qaeda is a small group of people compared to the numbers you see with the Taliban, who definitely have an army. I'm sure you heard on the news that the Taliban were only about fifty miles outside of Islamabad right? There's a lot of interesting stuff in Islamabad," I said, nodding. "You know, like the entire government. A lot of access to things."
He raised his eyebrow. He was silent for less than a minute and then said soberly, "Pakistan has nuclear weapons." He'd quickly grasped what I clearly wasn't going to be spelling out for him.
"Hey, even vampires might be affected by those," I said with a smile.
Eric stared at me for some time, silently. I figured he was now probably really sorry he had asked me about my work.
I glanced at my watch. It was almost 1 am and felt an hour later for me. "I think I'm going to go back to the hotel and get some sleep. I've been up since 6 am Eastern time."
Eric leaned forward and extended his hand to me. I smiled and took it. We rose and he looked down at me for a moment silently and then he said,
"I want to show you around upstairs," he said, holding my hand firmly in his.
"What's upstairs?" I asked.
"I said I'll show you," he said with a playful smile. "Maybe you could try to act like you're glamoured as we go out? It will make a much better impression. I have a reputation to maintain."
"Yeah, well really I don't think that's gonna happen, Eric," I said with a rueful shake of my head.
I gathered up my gear, and balancing carefully, put my M4, its clips and the knives back where they were. I rotated my feet back and forth at to make sure the items were secure. I carried my Glock in its holster since I was just carrying my leather jacket. Eric stood, holding his jacket and shook his head while watching at me putting all the hardware back in place. Next time, a purse, and less gear, I thought to myself. Now I almost felt silly for having brought all the stuff.
We exited his office and headed toward the stairs. I noted the two very big guys standing guard outside in the hall. Now that I had to walk by them, I could see their names. One, the dark haired vampire, had a nametag that said Markus and the other, the huge blonde vampire, was Andor. They looked at me curiously. I had my leather jacket draped over my arm, and my gun in hand, and I still looked pretty proper. Plus, I guess it had been pretty obvious to their ears that we'd only been talking. We went up the old stairs. The building, even in Sophie-Anne's heyday, had been little more than a glorified office building. The third floor, where she had resided when not in another of her residences, had been decorated much more nicely, with wooden floors and oriental carpets. These were largely still in place. Eric led me down a very long hallway and around a corner and then came to a stop in front of a door that looked like all the other doors. It had a keypad and he entered a code and the door opened.
We entered the dark room and the door closed behind us. I could hardly see anything at all. I don't think I would even have seen my hand six inches in front of my face. The only thing I could see was the faint glow from Eric's head and hands, the only exposed areas of his skin. It wasn't enough of a glow to illuminate much. Eric touched my arm as if to tell me to stay put and then walked away and turned on a light on a desk. We were in a large room, with many bookcases, a large desk with a laptop on it and a beautifully upholstered armchair. I realized this was where he had been skyping me all those nights. The room had blacked out windows that his laptop camera would face. Swords, daggers and several interesting shields were displayed along a long wall. I walked over and started looking at the swords with fascination. One, which looked like an old broadsword, had nicks in the metal and looked quite old. It was at least three feet long and looked quite heavy. There were many other swords and two long daggers and several smaller ones that appeared to be the iron ones that Eric had used the night he fought Breandan and his people. While I looked at the swords and daggers, Eric came and stood behind me and massaged my shoulders. I reached up to touch the sword with the nicks and he quickly stopped me, grasping my hand.
"It's really sharp. Especially where the metal has been chipped away. "
"Have you fought with all of these?" I asked quietly.
"Yes," he responded. He glanced up and down the wall. "All of them."
"I remember those," I said pointing to the iron daggers. I shivered.
I turned and looked around at the bookcases. There were easily several thousand books in the room. I took in the sheer numbers wondering if he had really read all of them. Books from all periods, and many in different languages. I pulled out a slim volume of Samuel Taylor Coleridge and found it opened readily to The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. I smiled, remembering a night long ago in Jackson when I quoted the poem, meaning something quite different from the intended passage and Eric… just got me. He leaned down to look at what I was reading and chuckled. He kissed my temple. I closed the book and replaced it on the shelf. It seemed the books were organized according to genre, like poetry or fiction, but within that genre, it looked like anything goes, authors, languages, all mixed, no order. Although, all the Dickens was together, which seemed random considering the rest was so disorganized.
"I haven't had time to organize them again," Eric said as if catching my thoughts. "They were packed badly, from my house in Shreveport, when I moved. Someone did them according to size rather than how I had them organized. I do a little at a time occasionally. If I read an author, I try to gather up all of that author. I haven't had much time to read lately, though."
I started to think about the difficulty of trying to read a book with only one hand and forced myself, drawing a sharp breath at the thought, to stop.
"Which Dickens?" I asked softly to inquire what book he'd read to lead him to organize all his Dickens books.
"A Tale of Two Cities," he said.
"Really? I just read it over Christmas. I liked it much better than some of his other books. I liked the history and social issues in it."
"You should talk to Pam about it. She loves Dickens. Dickens certainly isn't my favorite writer. But I enjoyed the book, too."
"Who's your favorite writer?" I asked, glancing up at him.
"At the moment? Mann? No… Probably Dostoyevsky."
"Hmm. Never read any Dostoyevsky. I like Tolstoy, though. Anna Karenina, especially. I've been doing more reading in the past three years than in my whole life before. It's the first time I've read real literature. One of my friends recommends books to me and we discuss them."
Leaving his hand on my shoulder he leaned closer to the shelves and looked carefully around in the dim light. Finally, he pulled out a book and handed it to me.
"Crime and Punishment. Such a charming title," I said with an ironic smile. "It sounds like a really happy tale."
"You can borrow it, but you have to give it back. I hardly ever loan books."
I tried to hand it back to him, saying "I can get it at the library. Really."
He pushed it back. "Read mine."
"Okay. I'll make it my 'light' vacation read… No Jane Austen or the Brontës for you, eh?"
I held the book to my chest with my jacket and gun laden arm and continued to examine the books, pulling out an occasional one while chatting.
"They're too optimistic for my taste," he said wryly, which made me laugh. (The Brontës optimistic?) "I probably have all of them down here, though," he said as he leaned down to glance at one of the lower shelves. "Yes, Pam put them in order. Pam likes Austen and Charlotte. She does not like Ann or Emily. She likes George Eliot quite a bit, too. Pam is the only other person who has been in here since we moved in. But Pam," he took up my hand and pulled me along the wall toward another door, "never comes in here."
We entered a room that again was so dark after he briskly closed the door behind us that I probably could have walked into a wall and not seen it coming. I hadn't had a chance to look around before the door closed and now was standing stock-still, just as before, in total darkness with only a very faint illumination from Eric himself. I heard the sound of a match being struck and Eric lit several candles. My heart rate about doubled. The illuminated room was dominated by a king size bed with black silk bedding. It was a sleigh bed. It and the other furniture in the room appeared to be mahogany. The room was fairly spartan, however.
"No coffin?" I joked.
"Only for travel, if necessary, Lover. There's a collection downstairs, first floor."
I touched the wood of the footboard. The bed was huge and high off the ground. He walked over to me and removed my gun and holster, the leather jacket and the book from my hands and placed them on a long table in front of the blacked out windows. Then he walked back, lifted me up and sat me on edge of the bed. He carefully took off all my gear from my ankles, gingerly grasping the leather wrapped handle of the small silver knife, and put them onto the table next to my gun. He walked purposefully back over to me and stood close to me, with his thighs pressing against my knees. He tipped my chin upward. He stared down at me, his eyes glowing softly, and said with the slightest accent,
"Tell me."
My heart was pounding so hard. I cast my eyes downward for a moment, to look at my hands in my lap, and then just closed them. Then I looked back up at him, at how expectant he was. I let out a long quiet breath and finally said so softly it was almost a whisper,
"I love you. I always loved you."