Summary: In a world where Uncle Bartlett went too far, Sookie Stackhouse decides to embrace herself rather than bend to the townfolk's perception of normal. Years later, she saves a dense vampire from two drainers. Slowburn Sookie/Eric.
Who else is not watching True Blood this summer?
Sookie sat down on the edge of the bathtub and began to apply some of the moisturizing cream she had accidentally left at Lafayette's a some years back when she'd slept over once. She started with her feet, rubbing the cream in so deeply that her muscles ached. As she moved past her ankles and up to her legs, she let her mind drift.
She had been right about Bill. The knowledge was hardly a balm, though there was a petty satisfaction in how sharp her instincts seemed to be. It was nothing compared to the cold panic in her gut. There was a Queen after her. Now, she was hardly a damn expert but a Queen tended to mean a shit load of power.
And Hadley wanted her to play along.
On one hand, Sookie could see the sense in that. Bill was failing - epically - and if she kept playing hardball, he would snatch her. She would never see her friends again, and the thought was horrific, even if they were all complete dumbasses right now. She would be taken away from her home, her job, her life.
She couldn't go to Eric for help. Hadley's lover was his Queen. Sookie knew he liked her, was fond of her, but she had no idea how loyal he was to his Queen. She felt reasonably sure that he wasn't involved in this, behind the curtain where Hadley couldn't see. It wasn't his style.
Right now, she was tentatively trusting her instincts. From the second she'd laid eyes on Bill, she'd known he was bad news. Though she hadn't been able to let him die, she had felt it. Eric felt rough and raw and scary as fuck but genuine.
Sookie wasn't a child. She lived with ugly truths and ugly secrets every single second of the day. Nothing was dismissed out of hand, but she felt certain that Eric was real with her.
Perhaps she would tell Eric in the future, but not now. Her instincts were on his side, but her mind protested that a few days of wait would be wise. Bill would be on trial soon. He would be away from her, from her family in Bon Temps, so she had some time.
It was strange that she felt so certain Eric would help her if he knew. Like her aversion to Bill, it was plain instinct, deep and set like stone. It would be understandable if Eric didn't help her. They'd known each other for such a short time, and he had already done more than she'd ever expected for her. Despite her wary nature, she wasn't blind to any of that.
And now for Bill.
What the hell should she do about him?
For a brief moment, a thought - dark and cold and inhuman - flickered in her head. Bill was blind. He looked at her, and saw only the blonde hair, big eyes, soft skin and small stature. He didn't see the cold survivor's rationality under her skin, or the force of her fury and panic that could knock a werewolf to the floor easy, or her twists of deceit.
It would be easy to play interested and softened by his act of sacrifice for her, to melt like ice in a blaze, and then to stab a stake in his chest when he turned his back oh-so-arrogantly. It would be murder, perhaps justified, but that was undeniable.
Sookie could be a cold bitch when it came down to the nuts and bolts of things.
Her dismissal of the idea was purely rational. Eric had shown how little he tolerance he possessed for human-vampire violence, and she wasn't nearly stupid enough to think there wasn't a good chance of him figuring her out. She wasn't exactly sure how he would react. Regardless, the Queen would send another in Bill's place. Though vampires didn't place much value on human intelligence, there was a risk of the next one being competent.
Another idea rankled at her like sharpened claws, fury bubbling in her stomach and worry twisting her mind, but she might have to follow through on her promise to Hadley and wait things out. She loathed the idea of spending time with Bill, especially now.
Of course, this could be a clever ploy to get her closer to Bill, so he would have more chances to snatch her up. But considering she had sent Bill rather than Eric, maybe that was giving the Queen too much credit.
To perk herself up, she thought about the bright side. Bill was practically hired to keep her ass in one piece, so she had yet another failsafe when he came back, and she could continue cheerfully tormenting him. After all - a wicked and faintly sadistic smile curved her lips - it would be simply unrealistic for her personality to turn into hugs and puppies.
If she hadn't backed her shit down with Eric, she wasn't about to do it for some lazy Queen and Bill Bastard Compton.
For now, she needed to check her funny bone for damage.
After washing the excess cream off her hands, Sookie splashed her face with water, ran a hand through her damp hair which was already curling messily, and put her clothes back on. She could hear laughter from the living room - Lafayette and Tara. A smile formed on her face, wide and sincere.
Cheerfully flashing her middle finger to the web camera in Lala's bathroom, Sookie exited the bathroom and went to her friends. Tara was curled up on the couch, drink in hand, and Lafayette was sprawled all over his armchair, clearly having just tipped back a shot. There was music playing, something bright to match the air in the room, and Sookie felt her amusement blooming like a rose.
It was a scene she knew so damn well, the prelude to some anarchy, only she was fairly intent to keep their drinking grounded. The nudist colony was funny as hell in hindsight - and so was that cult that they had somehow stumbled across - and every other incident had become mostly fond memories, but it would grade A+ in stupidity (surpassing even Jason's worst moments) if they went wild like that while someone was hot for her head on a pike.
"Startin' without me?" Sookie asked, her voice light and arched to sing with amusement. She fell down into her usual seat on the couch with Tara, closest to the door, and snagged the bottle of whiskey, pouring some into the empty shot glass left aside for her.
Tara snorted harshly, "You expected us to wait?"
"I'd be disappointed in you if you had," Sookie confessed. Tara shook her head, tossing back her shot, but a smile lurked at the tired corners of her eyes. "Besides, Lala's already deep in Wonderland." Her dark gaze flickered to the man himself, eyes bright with amusement. "A fair warning; if we're talkin' Tim Burton's version, my love only extends so far."
Lafayette made an appreciative noise deep in his throat, smoky with drink, a quirk to his lips. "Hmm mmm. Johnny Dep that fucker is sex on a stick."
Tara poured another shot, face still amused. "How many times did we watch that damn movie?"
"I think the real question is, how many times did you cry like a bitch at the end of that damn movie?" Sookie twisted the words round on her cheerfully, flashing her friend a challenging grin before tossing her shot back.
The whiskey burned down her throat, and she resisted the urge to vomit up her lung in a gory pool of blood. She wasn't a hard liquor girl but sometimes, you just needed a hard hit. Today had just been one of those days.
"Fuck you," Tara retorted with heartbreaking wit.
Sookie batted her eyelashes prettily, a messy curl of drying blonde hair tumbling into her face. "Oh, Tara, I just don't know," she said in a breathless voice. Her Gran had been obsessed with Marilyn Monroe, and Sookie tried to imitate her voice, managing it reasonably well. She swallowed, eyes huge and dark. "Will you respect me in the morning?"
"If you two gonna work out all that sexual tension, you ain't doin' it in my damn bed," Lafayette drawled out, voice sensual and heavy with implications.
"Bullshit," Tara scoffed at him. "There ain't no sexual tension."
"Your bed has seen far worse than imaginary lesbian sex," Sookie pointed out to Lafayette, laughing as she poured herself a second shot. "I'm surprised it doesn't have PTSD."
Lafayette grinned wickedly at her. "My bed ain't shakin' for no other reason than the nasty shit going on between the sheets."
"Now, now, Lala," Sookie shook a finger at him scoldingly before her grin cracked through, wide and bright, "If I wanted details, I'd visit your site."
"Careful, Sook," Tara cut in warningly. The blonde threw back her next shot, feeling the burn spreading through her body. "He'll want you all up on his nasty site next."
Lafayette winked at her.
"Oh baby, there ain't enough whiskey in the world."
"I know your drunken self, bitch," Lafayette claimed, a colorful amusement snaking through his voice. "You is a wild thing."
Sookie shot Lafayette an alluring look that was about as effected as hitting on a priest. "Am I not crazy enough for you sober, Lala?"
"Any time, any day, you're a crazy motherfucker, honey-child, but there ain't no such thing as too crazy."
"I beg to differ," Tara scoffed.
"You can beg as much as you want but I'm a delayed gratification kind of girl," Sookie told her brightly. There was something about Lafayette that spurred her on, and put her mind firmly in the innuendo camp.
Lafayette cackled, lifting his empty glass in a toast. "That's the way to do it, hookah."
"Nudist colony," Tara spat.
Sookie winced, experiencing a traumatic flash of waking up to a group of naked old people staring down at them, along with a flash of hysterical amusement at the sheer surrealism. Lala settled in his chair, closing his eyes to bask in the memories with a sound of enjoyment.
"One day, I'm gonna remember how and why we broke into that place, and I'm going to kill myself," Sookie declared. It was probably her fault anyway. The three of them seemed perfectly able to pass as sober while out of their heads, and that reminded her of Tara's worst memory of their antics. "Oh, and, Tara? Religious camp."
Tara stiffened slightly at the memory of that incident. "Remember when we woke up in that field in the middle of goddamn nowhere?"
"I remember how we were woken up, but not much else for like a week after that . . . think I went a bit blind," she added.
"I ain't surprised," Lafayette interjected. His eyes were warm with amusement, and she grinned broadly back at the inside joke. Her friend shook his head faintly, mind turning back to the cult. "Whole damn camp was full of bad juju, and hate, and fuckin' hallelujah music."
Sookie started laughing hard, recalling a certain image from that incident. Between their hang-overs and the extreme views of the camp, that morning had been crazy. "On the plus side," she said brightly, continuing to laugh, "It was the easiest escape we've ever had."
All it had taken was some flirting (the priests' faces) on Lafayette's part, some snarling snark on hers (everyone's faces), some raging from Tara, and they were flung head-first out of the door.
There were thousands of other memories, snap-shots of brawls and drunken kisses and stumbling out of bars in a barely controlled fall, laughing so hard it hurt into Lala's arm, or waking up with Tara's hair in her mouth in a farm away from Bon Temps to the sound of a farmer's shotgun cocking, mere inches from her face while Johnny Cash's Ring Of Fire poured out of his truck's radio. Now that had been a bitch of a thing to wake up too.
More drinks were poured, more shots were tossed back, and more laughter hit the air, ringing out, bouncing off each other. Slowly, they began to sink under the influence. In her last act of reason, Sookie locked the front door and dug her small red purse out of the sports bag to hid her spare key.
"Shit like that doesn't happen to most people," Tara remarked. Despite the light air, she seemed cynical, looking down into the bottom of her shot glass. "We're all so fucked up."
"S'great," Sookie declared, raising her glass in a toast. "Who wants to be normal, anyhow?" she demanded, squinting briefly at her glass, unsure if it was empty or not. "Only people worth knowin' are outta their trees."
If Lafayette had been conscious, he would've agreed. Unfortunately, he was sprawled over his chair, do-rag covering his face. Briefly, the telepath checked his mind to make sure he hadn't smothered himself in his sleep, and then backed the fuck out of there. Lala's mind was deeply immersed in sex and other sensual experiences. She tried not to intrude more than she had too.
"I wanna get an exorcism," Tara said suddenly.
Sookie's head jerked, eye rolling strangely around in her head until they settled on Tara, a confused pout shaping her lips as she blinked at her, waiting for her to stop moving around. It ain't polite not to look at somebody when they spoke. "Pea soup?"
Maybe she could make some of that. If she remembered where the kitchen was, and how to move, and did Lala have peas? And how was pea soup made? Was it mashed peas all heated up? It sounded icky.
"Ferrets," Tara corrected, sounding understandably depressed.
It took Sookie several moments to realise that Tara wasn't hungry, and remember something about a crazy bitch drowning a ferret. "PETA is gonna murder you," she informed her friend sluggishly. "Like squish, flat, in a sluggy smush."
Tara ignored her. Her eyes had gone distant, an almost bleak dampness swelled in her dark gaze. "It worked for my mama, so it's gotta work me. I ain't worse than her." It sounded like she was trying to convince herself.
"Your mama," Sookie began, slurred tone holding great wisdom, "Is a dumbass."
Even in her drunken state, Tara bristled defensively. She was an all-in girl, throwing everything into a belief until she was sinking under dangerously fast, and Sookie had to toss her a life jacket. "At least my mama wants me when she's sober."
There was a slight prickling in her chest, a faint sting that was more from who was saying it than the words. It was only the truth. "Like I said," Sookie replied, arching her eyebrow cheekily, "Your mama's a dumbass."
Ah, best friends - they always knew how to hurt you the best.
In a spiteful gesture, she poured two more shot glasses, and handed one to Tara. Her childhood friend looked at her, unresponsive for a moment before reaching out to take the glass, and tossing it smoothly back. The taller woman slumped on the couch with a groan, closing her eyes. Sookie watched her for several moments, seeing the sting drain from her face, and the tension leaking away until Tara was asleep.
Reaching over to unsteadily reclaim the glass, she put it aside and tossed back her own shot. It burned down her throat hard, forcing her to cough and suck in a breath to cool the flames.
Tara and Lala were under, so what now?
Her gaze drifted, moving smoothly around the room. There were circles under her eyes that served to give her an almost hunting look, like the nasty side of life and death. Her cell phone rested on the edge of the table, just beside her small red purse. Well - she picked it up - there was always that.
She gazed at her cell for a moment. It trembled unsteadily at her eye level, arms numb from a mixture of booze and lack of sleep. For a split dizzying second, she thought about calling Eric - just to see if he came, just to see him.
Unlike most people, she liked his company. He was a tricky bastard, and her brain sparked with adrenaline, with actual interest, whenever he opened his mouth.
Only she had seen him less than an hour ago, and she was drunk, and she wasn't sure she wanted (more reasonably, trusted) him to see her like this. Her mouth felt fast and reckless, parting faintly as she lingered in the thought.
She had damn good reasons for not spilling all about Hadley. She had damn good reasons not to get all trusting and smushy like every dumb teenager stalking the globe. Nearly a week wasn't enough time to put your life on someone's priority list for normal people, let alone her - paranoid and issues like whoa, remember?
But she wanted to talk to Eric for shits and giggles, and she had shitty impulse control when it came to shits and giggles.
Sookie touched her tongue to her tooth, dark eyes glinting, and then, a slow smile spreading slickly across her mouth, she made her choice.
Eric paced, long agitated strides eating up his office. His form was coiled tight with fury. After his meeting with the werewolves and his pretty human, he had felt the need to bleed out his hot rage before it became a problem. He had questioned Compton extensively about the graveyard incident, framing his questions to sound idly curious about the younger vampire's obsession with his telepath, and then tortured him even more intently for the lack of answers.
There was no break in the pattern; Compton was a self-righteously arrogant waste of blood.
The Viking could easily imagine Sookie's expression if she were able to hear his thoughts. Well now, she thrilled in his mind, all sing-song and glittering eyes. Somebody has anger issues.
His spitfire had a subtle charm to her that went deeper than admirable curves and wavy blonde hair and those pretty dresses he wanted to rip to shreds before biting his way across her golden skin.
He vividly recalled the searing heat of her skin, the pretty white lace of her panties under his thumb, the tiny rock of her hips, the soft parting of her mouth as she began to open up for him. He could have made her scream for him, crying out his name over and over until her voice failed, but she - with her animal dark eyes and flushed red mouth - had stopped herself.
In his clothes, his scent freshly marking her body, she had looked his. His dick throbbed hard at the thought, urging him to find her and fuck her until that was a reality.
His savage primal instincts simmered, ready to explode at the next filthy werewolf to look her way. Because of the possible consequences to their overwhelming idiocy, the two flea-ridden dogs were lucky not to have joined Compton and the rogue vampires in his basement. Eric couldn't risk his tiny human hearing of their disappearance.
Sookie was a fascination, a deserved one who chased off three vampires, near successfully fought off another, and bloodied up a werewolf whilst successfully controlling the other elements of her life. She couldn't be human, though he had never encountered one like her.
Eric's thoughts turned in a different direction, focusing on a less interesting mystery.
There was very little information swirling around about the new creature in his area. He had rattled all of his contacts, and so far, the only fruit gathered were rumours of wild parties. She was, however, confirmed to be supernatural. A few of his more loyal vampires were looking into the matter further.
One productive (inescapable) telepath, one serial killer, one unknown creature in his territory, one tribunal, four disruptions ready to be dealt with . . . I want a pear tree, his imagined Sookie voice announced.
And one ringing cell phone with Sookie Stackhouse on the Caller ID.
Eric lingered a moment. She was a distraction, and he had yet to decide if that was a good thing. Godric had instructed him many times to control his emotions, to be rational. Aside from a few slip-ups, he had been able to do so.
It was boring.
No woman had ever pushed him away before. Even as a human, it had rarely been more than a small challenge to charm his way between a woman's legs. But Sookie told him to stop, even with her lust damp on his fingertips. Sometimes she smiled up at him with a blazing genuine life, her dark eyes glittering with affection, yet she'd said no.
She wasn't the most cautious woman or a judgmental one, fighting to save her brother despite his raging idiocy and continuing a friendship with a dealer of vampire blood though he'd glimpsed fury in her eyes when her friend's profession was revealed. She was no blushing virgin or prude.
His cell continued to buzz, and almost without thought, Eric accepted the call. Even as he was lifting the phone to his ear, her laughter - hard and bright and genuine - was filling his ears.
"Eric!" she said with a cheerful force that arched his eyebrows. Her accent was thickened, dragging slowly over the sounds of his name. It sounded husky and wicked.
"Sookie," he stated, a minimal degree of familiarity in his disinterested voice.
In the back of his mind, Eric began to calculate how long it would take him to fetch her from her drug-dealer friend's side and transfer her to his home. There would be hours remaining until dawn. The furthest she was from Bon Temps, the safer she would be.
His spitfire laughed again, a soft wisping sound that went straight to his dick. "Eric, Eric, Bill is a baaastard," she announced in an ecstatic voice, drawing the insult out with feigned petulance. "Stomp on him for me?"
As happy as Eric was to stomp on Bill Compton, he was intrigued by her request, and the contrasting tone paired with it. He recognized the slur in her voice.
"Are you intoxicated?" asked Eric, allowing his incredulity to color his tone.
There was an unpleasant snag in his stomach, not unlike the taste of bad blood or a hard hit to the kidneys. Worry. The thought was ridiculous so he shoved it aside. Instead he vividly recalled several sneak attacks sprung on him in his drunken human years.
Eric had been older than Sookie and far better trained but without his men, he would have been felled two years before Godric had caught sight of him.
It was one human man, not a band of raiders, but he felt his temper shortening as he waited for her reply.
Before calling Eric, Sookie had tossed back a few more shots. In an act that proved self-preservation overcame everything, she had pillaged Lala's baseball bat from the bedroom, and she was on a low level of alertness. If anybody wanted to kill her, she was gonna sense it.
Despite what many people assumed, there was a difference between being lively and being an idiot. She was twenty-four, an age that demanded a bit of fun for the sake of life, man, and life was all, you know?
Her mental voice tended to turn into a college-hippie sometimes.
"I passed that couple somethin's ago," Sookie chirped happily to her cell phone, absently twisting her wrist and twirling the bat. "I might die of alcohol poisonin' but if I don't, I'll slice a vein and make you a Bloody Sookie."
She heard the hard click of fangs snapping down. On that first night at Fangtasia, Eric had bared his fangs at her. It had been a challenging gesture to her, and a snub to Bill.
Now she was fairly sure it meant he wanted, and a great deal too. Had to be for him to lose control like this.
"I prefer to drink directly from the source," Eric drawled, missing the mark to arrogant and ending up closer to a sex-rough rasp. Pretty. She heard the sound of his fangs retracting. "Remain where you are."
"I like where I am," she told him breezily, wiggling her toes. It was a pretty dance, all red nails and tanned skin, and it tickled, the way the air moved against her skin. Dimly she heard Eric's voice, and then there was silence.
Matter of fact, she dropped her cell, and let it hit the floor. She twirled the baseball bat around, starting slow and building up until it was a blur, and her wrist was twisting automatically, movements smooth as anything.
A blank mind tore through her dizzy-unfocused thoughts like a glinting blade through cheap paper, and she felt Eric. Sensed him, no guessing games, just facts. Eric Northman was coming to her.
(Annnd he wanted to come with her - ha ha!)
There was a light rap on the window, and she twisted slowly around, trying not to disturb her stomach. She parted the pimpishly purple mini-curtains, revealing Eric's faintly amused face. She unlatched the window, pushing it up, looking out at him.
"What brings you t' these parts, my prettiest vampire?"
"Prettiest?" Eric echoed lowly. His eyebrow arched. "That implies you have others. Surely not Compton?"
Sookie puffed a breath at him, mouth settling into a pout. "My one, my only," she slurred promisingly.
Eric lowered his head, expression shifting with intrigue. "I will hold you to that," he cautioned, a note less than playful in his voice.
"And I will hold you t' answerin' my question," Sookie announced, reaching out to poke in his general direction. Vampire speed, Eric snatched her hand, bringing it to his chest. She could feel so many things, the soft material of his black shirt, the coolness of his skin under it, and the rough skin on his hands.
She could feel him as well, his amusement and opportunistic cunning could almost bury his concern. And lust, always lust for her. She could feel her own slow deep burn for him under the whiskey-daze.
"I'm waiting for you to invite me in so I can protect you . . . or have passionate primal sex with you." His grey-blue eyes deepened, a darkness swirling through them. His voice was flawlessly smooth, enchanting. "How about both?"
Oh. Her witty sexy vampire. Sookie grinned, wide and wicked and utterly breathless. Gleeful laughter rattled her chest, bubbling happily out of her mouth like sparkling champagne, and dizzily, trustingly, she let her giggles swing her away.
Her head tipped so far backwards that her long blonde hair teased the small of her back where her tank top had ridden up to reveal a strip of curvy muscle. It bared her throat to him like an offering to appease an angry god, and her world blurred before her eyes. She was overcome by vertigo, and like a vice, Eric's hand tightened on hers. She could feel the strength in his fingers as he held her from falling off the couch and smashing through the coffee table.
"Eric," Sookie drawled out. "As impressive as I'm sure it is, I don't need you and your dick t' come save me from my drunkness." With her other hand, she gestured at the baseball bat. Using his hold on her, she pulled herself slowly forward again, rolling her head back down to smile at him, dark eyes hooded. "I don't care what ya are, bat to the balls has gotta hurt."
Eric's eyebrows were raised in a cool amusement but his eyes were blackened by the sensual ease of her movements. Her heart stuttered at the sight. His eyes burned her up like a volcano. The heat ate through her haze.
Her smile shifted, torn between genuine emotion and a teasing flirtation. "But thank you for thinkin' of me."
Eric's thumb stroked over the back of her hand, a slow gesture that set her nerves on fire. His eyes caught hers and held them captive, no way could she look away. "Come with me."
Sookie blinked, head fuzzy with drink and lust. "Where?" And then a click, an arch of her eyebrow. "Why're you so intent on gettin' me to your place?"
Eric's smirk was a beautiful elusive thing. "Because your place is splattered with animal blood."
It took a second for Sookie to get the joke, and when she did, even the memory couldn't stop her from laughing.
"C'mon," she wheeled, slumping against the window-frame and battering her eyelashes. "Why?"
There was another brush of his rough thumb pad on her skin, making her brain fizze helplessly. "Why not?" he challenged.
Sookie paused, smile widening recklessly. She could have cooed proudly at him for using that line against her but there wasn't enough whiskey-induced dumbassery in the . . . well, Bon Temps.
The drink had dulled her paranoid side, loosening the bolts of any lingering sensible impulses in her body. There were reasons to trust Eric not to go all stereotypical Viking on her. He needed her, he wanted her, he liked her, and he had stopped for her.
So why the fuck not? Sookie Stackhouse had a lion-heart, bitches.
"You could eat me," Sookie chided coyly, a last tease.
Eric's eyes sparked, a pale grey-blue flare of a warrior's light. "Only if you ask very, very nicely." And then he offered her a glimmering white hand.
Her arm went back, threading through the strap of her small red handbag, before Sookie took his hand and let him help her slide through the window. Eric held her steady when she wavered, and there was something close to tender in the weight of his hands on her shoulders.
Sookie squinted up at him through the dizzying swirls of light in her vision. "Promise?"
Eric was silent for a split second, his gaze drilling into her face. She felt very conscious of his hands on her, though they did not move or draw attention in any way. Aside from the fact that he was touching her. His golden hair was stark against the night, and the blue of his eyes was vivid in his pale face.
"I promise, my tiny human," Eric said finally.
There was no particular weight in his voice or sentiment but Sookie found an unexpected prize in the words.
In her defense, she was very drunk.
Pay attention, my doves!
Season 1 is very nearly over, and to celebrate this, I've decided to torture myself.
Basically, I plan to take requests and write small snapshots of scenes based on those requests. So send me a review with a word and the character you want me to write about. For example, Sookie - Eyes or Eric - Orange or Lafayette - Childhood.