A/N: other issues I have with 50SoG: Main female character is too much of a bookish stereotype while having nearly every guy wanting her. And every female the must be after the male lead and therefore all women are competition. And the dialogue here is waaaay too obvious that it was a Twilight fanfic re-write.

A/N #2: The pace is a bit slow so I'll be rearranging parts of the story to flow better, and I'm sorry I haven't brought in the rest of the characters yet. This might come out as a series of the more memorable scenes rather than my more expansive, multi-POV, daily details that One Step Left has done. (Seriously, other than writing really bad Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle fanfic before it was cool (1987, hand-written and delivered by bicycle to a few friends of mine) OSL is my first lengthy writing that I've posted for public consumption.)

Conversation and Decompression

We're by her massive Jeep Wrangler and I struggle to climb into what I can only affectionately call the Hummer's baby brother. Carmilla raises a bemused eyebrow at me as she's already secured my bike on the rack and buckled herself in.

"I feel like I need a winch system to get me into this. Why do you have such a... beast?"

"Well, I was thinking about getting a Subaru, but that seemed too stereotypical." Again with the lesbian hints.

Once I got situated, she pulled out and made it to the highway, squinting slightly as she reached and put on a pair of sunglasses.

"You seem the type of girl will always play it safe, and never take a risk for an opportunity that is right before her. Have you ever stepped outside of your comfort zone?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You seem nervous around me."

Holy crap, that's personal. I'm just nervous around you, Karnstein.

"I find you intimidating." I flush scarlet, but mentally pat myself on the back for my candor, and gaze at my hands again. I hear her sharp intake of breath.

"You should find me intimidating," she nods. "That's what I go for most days; and why I'm dressed like this. When I'm allowed to be comfortable, I'm rocking leather pants, doc martens, and a flannel top."

I look away, trying to not imagine her in skin-tight pants and flannel. God, she could pull off wearing anything and look absolutely stunning.

"You're very honest, Laura. Please don't look down; I like to see your face."

Oh. I glance at her, and she gives me an encouraging but wry smile.

"It gives me some sort of clue what you might be thinking," she breathes. "You're quite the conundrum, Miss Hollis."

"I, uh- there's nothing mysterious about me."

"I think you're very self-contained," she murmurs, "I daresay - repressed."

I'm not used to someone being this up front with me. This is bewildering. Me, self-contained?

No way. I try to take a breath to make a reply, but lose my nerve.

"Except when you blush, of course, which is often. I just wish I knew what you were blushing about." After she switches lanes, she takes a second to glance at me. And as if on cue, I blush. Crap!

"Do you always make such personal observations?"

"I hadn't realized I was. Have I offended you?" she sounds surprised.

"No," I answer truthfully.

"Good."

"But you're very supercilious," I retaliate quietly.

She raises her eyebrows in surprise and, if I'm not mistaken, pales slightly too.

"I'm used to getting my own way, Laura," she murmurs. "In all things."

"I don't doubt it. Why haven't you asked me to call you by your first name?" I'm surprised by my own audacity. Why has this conversation become so serious? I can't believe I'm being so antagonistic towards her.

Her posture changes, even though she's still driving. It's like she's trying to warn me off.

"The only people who use my given name are my family and a few close friends. That's the way I like it."

Oh. I can't help but remind myself she still hasn't said, 'Call me Carmilla.' She's a control freak; part of me is thinking maybe it would have been better if Betty had interviewed her. Two control freaks together. Plus of course she's blonde like all the women in her office. And she's beautiful, my subconscious reminds me. I don't like the idea of Carmilla and Betty, even though she says she's not a lesbian and Betty is as bad as Captain Kirk landing on a new planet everyday.

"Are you an only child?" she asks.

Whoa... she keeps changing direction.

"Yes."

"Tell me about your parents."

Why does she want to know this? It's so dull.

"My mom died when I was real young; cancer. My dad's the only cop in some small town."

"I'm sorry," she mutters and a fleeting troubled look crosses her face.

"I don't remember her."

"Did your father ever remarry?"

I snort. "You could say that."

She frowns at me.

"You're not giving much away, are you?" she says dryly, rubbing her chin as if in deep thought.

"Well neither are you."

"You've interviewed me once already, and I can recollect some quite probing questions then." She smirks at me.

Crap. She's remembering the 'Are you gay?' question. Once again, I'm mortified. I start babbling about my father - anything to block that memory.

"My dad is great. He just can't seem to find, um, the right one. He's currently on his fourth wife."

Carmilla raises her eyebrows in surprise.

"And what's number four like?"

"She's... accommodating."

Carmilla doesn't ask anything after that, and the quiet gets to me.

"Tell me about your parents," I ask.

She shrugs.

"My dad was a lawyer, mother's in finance. She's in Seattle." She rattles it off like it's nothing. I wonder about how a successful couple adopts three kids, and how they must be proud that one of them took on the business world and conquered it single-handed. What drove her to be that way? Her folks must be proud.

"What do your siblings do?" She sighed in what I could only guess was boredom.

"Will is in construction, and my little sister is in Paris. I haven't heard from her in ages." Her eyes cloud with irritation. She really doesn't want to talk about her family or herself.

"I hear Paris is lovely," I murmur. Why doesn't she want to talk about her family? Is it because she's adopted?

"It's beautiful. Have you been?" She asks, her irritation forgotten.

"I've never left the country." So now we're back to banalities. What is she hiding?

"Would you like to go?"

"To Paris?" I squeak. This has thrown me - who wouldn't want to go to Paris? "Of course," I concede. "But it's England that I'd really like to visit."

She tilts her head slightly, barely biting her bottom lip with her canine as she gives a curious 'hmm'. Oh my.

"Because?"

I blink rapidly. Focus, Hollis.

"It's the home of Shakespeare, Austen, the Brontë sisters, and J.K. Rowling. I'd like to see the places that inspired those people to write such wonderful books."

All this talk of literary greats reminds me that I should be studying. I realize we're already back at my dorm. Did we just pull up?

"I'd better go. I have to study."

"For your exams?"

"Yeah. They start Tuesday."

"Here, you'll need this." She hands me an umbrella from the backseat as I thank her for the ride. I get my bike off of her Jeep and lock it up on the rack as she drives away, and I'm left even more unsure than I was before.

"Laura! You're back." Betty sits between our beds, surrounded by books. She's clearly been studying for finals - something that I would have been doing if she hadn't volun-told me to go interview Ms. Karnstein in her place. She bounds up to me and hugs me hard.

"I was beginning to worry. I expected you back sooner."

"Oh, I thought I made good time considering the interview ran over." I attach my phone to her computer and transfer the audio file.

"Laura, thank you so much for doing this. I owe you, I know. How was it? What was she like?"

I struggle to answer her question. What can I say?

"I'm glad it's over, and I don't have to see her again. She was rather intimidating, you know." I shrug. "She's very focused, intense even - and young. Really young."

Betty gazes innocently at me. I frown at her.

"Don't you look so innocent. Why didn't you give me a basic biography? I looked like a complete fool asking for a Mister Karnstein to three different people!" Betty clamps a hand to her mouth.

"Jeez, Laura, I'm sorry - I didn't think."

I huff.

"Mostly she was courteous, formal, slightly stuffy - like she's old before her time. She doesn't talk like she's twenty-something. How old is she anyway?"

"Twenty-seven. Jeez, Laura, I'm sorry. I should have briefed you, but I was really under the weather."

Carmilla is only six years older than me?

"You look better," I said bitterly, fairly certain she could have done the interview if she really wanted to this morning. I looked at my watch.

"Oh, I have to get to work! We're getting ready for the end of semester buy-back!" I grabbed a muffin from our mini-fridge and ran for the university bookstore.