a/n – this takes place pre-series, but somewhere close to it. So…Eliot is pretty much our Eliot...just not officially a good guy yet. I guess it's sort of a prequel to my story "For a Little While." You may wanna read that one first, but it's not strictly necessary.

Anyway, hope you all like this. And Katie? Merry Christmas.

"Eliot."

It's the use of his name that rouses Eliot from his sleep. He blinks into the darkness, eyes adjusting. He can't see her yet, but he can feel her as she crawls into bed beside him, curling into his side. His arms automatically move to envelop her even as he fights the chill she brings to his warmth. Only when she's finally settled does he talk again.

"Kara," he greets her, voice still rough from sleep. He feels her lips as they smile against his collarbone.

"Eliot," she says again, but this time it's more of a sigh of relief, not the urgent tone that woke him to begin with.

Eliot closes his eyes again as he traces small patterns across Kara's hand, where it rests above his heart. The beating fascinates her, the steady thump thump thump that she's gone too long without in her own chest. He imagines the sound of his heartbeat is overwhelming to somebody with her hearing, but she doesn't seem to mind. She just listens harder.

"You never call me that," he says finally.

And she doesn't. She always calls him baby. It started as a taunt, to mock his age compared to hers, to show him how inexperienced her really was. But then it grew into something more. Somehow the word became more about everything they were and less about petty nicknames. The fact that she calls him by name worries him more than when she's gone too long without a good drink.

"I've missed you," she replies, ignoring his statement in favor of draping one leg over his, getting impossibly closer. Eliot finds that he doesn't mind.

"It was a rough job," Eliot explains, even though he knows he owes her no explanation. "I really don't care for Venezuela," he continues, and it draws a small laugh out of her.

"No," she agrees, "The blood is always so muddled. Too many drugs."

Eliot laughs this time, even if it hurts the ribs he's cracked. Kara only tightens her leg around him and its then that he realizes why her arms rest only lightly on him. She doesn't want to hurt him. He wants to wonder how she even knows his ribs are injured, but he knows better than to think about it too long. It always hurts his head.

He opens his eyes and turns his head to look at her; the violet glow of her eyes visible even in the blackness of his room. She smiles at him and she looks so sweet, so achingly human that he can't help but want to kiss her. So he does.

Kara kisses him back happily. Its soft and slow and unusually gentle for them. She whimpers at the loss when Eliot finally gives into his need for oxygen and moves away, but he just chuckles and rubs his thumb over her lips soothingly. She can't help but nip at him and lick away the tiny drop of blood that appears on the pad of his thumb.

"Kara," Eliot says again, but it's a more than a whimper of his own this time. It's a plea. It begs her not to tease him.

"I'm sorry," Kara says, and it's enough to break Eliot's lustful haze. She never apologizes. Never has need to.

She shifts and he can tell she's getting ready to run off. He knows he can't stop her but he tightens his hold anyway with one arm as he traces her cheek with his other hand.

"What's wrong? What can I do?"

And it hits him that he actually cares. For all the fun they've had in the past seven or so years, they're hardly what he'd call a real relationship. Sure, he would miss her if she stopped visiting, but he never thought about to what extent. He cares about her, and its fucking scary as hell, but there it is. There's no going back now.

"What's wrong?" he asks again, wide awake now, all thoughts of sex buried under worry.

Kara chokes back something Eliot strongly suspects is a sob, but he pretends not to notice.

"I came to kill you," she confesses, pulling away from him easily and curling into herself on the edge of the bed. She's staring pointedly at the wall, avoiding Eliot's gaze.

Thoughts swim through Eliot's head at an alarming speed but he doesn't move. He knows if she had really wanted him dead, he would have been by now. And he's pretty sure she's not a contract killer or holding a personal grudge against him. So it leaves only one question.

"Why?" he asks, moving to rest on one shoulder beside her. He looks down at her and all he can make out is a mess a black curls but he knows she can feel his stare.

He moves closer, draping an arm over her waist, tugging her back into him.

"I'm not afraid of you," he whispers, "Now tell me why you came to kill me."

This seems to infuriate her and Eliot is flat on his back before he realizes it, pinned by Kara. She's glaring down at him angrily, but all he can think of is that she still hasn't hurt him. Her thighs pin his waist and her hands press down on his shoulders, but there is no pressure on his ribs.

"You should be afraid!" She's half screaming and half crying, a sound that comes out something like a pained gasp.

"I'm not," Eliot insists, "Why did you come to kill me?"

"I could kill you right now," Kara replies, voice suddenly calm as ever, "You wouldn't even know it was happening until it was too late. I'd barely have to move."

"Why don't you, then?" Eliot asks, suddenly realizing that a large part of him wants her to do it. It's that same part of himself that hates his job and what it does to him. Maybe it's his conscience or his soul, but he can't help but think that it would all be better if she just drained him, right there and then, and ended it all.

Kara just looks down sadly at him. She moves her hand from his shoulder to rest it above his heart once again.

"I can't. I wanted to, I intended to. I came here with a mission and I just… can't."

She's got that broken expression on her face again and Eliot can't help his actions. He sits up, she's not trying to hold him down any longer, and pulls her into his lap. She wraps her legs gently around his waist, dropping her hands to rest in her own lap.

"Then why did you want to kill me in the first place?" he asks, honestly bewildered.

She laughs bitterly, "To make you like me."

"You wanted to turn me?" Eliot asks. He wasn't expecting that.

"I want to turn you every time I see you," Kara admits, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to Eliot's throat. His heart rate speeds up and he's having a hard time distinguishing if it's from worry or arousal. He's betting on a bit of both.

"You should," Eliot says suddenly, eyes lighting up at the prospect. "I'd…"

"You'd be damned," Kara interrupts, "Just like me. I won't do that to you."

Eliot scowls, "Didn't know you worried about my soul."

"I didn't mean damned as in heaven or hell," Kara corrects, "I meant damned as in living forever. It's not all it seems."

Eliot shrugs, "Doesn't seem any worse than this."

"It is," she insists, and she sounds so pained that Eliot knows that she must have a soul, vampire or not. "You'll die," she continues, "One day. But I won't make you like me. You're better than what I am."

"Kara," Eliot says, giving up arguing. He just wants things to be normal between them again. Or as normal as it ever was.

"It's not my name," she whispers as she runs her fingers through his hair. It's getting long again, the way she likes it.

"What is it then?" Eliot asks, leaning into her touch.

"I don't remember," she admits, shrugging, "It's been too long. And vampires don't tend to care about records when they turn people. They called me Olivia for a long time after they turned me, I remember that. But it wasn't my real name."

"I'm sorry," it's all he can think of, but it makes her smile.

"Thank you, baby," she says and Eliot feels better already.

They make love slowly and carefully, mindful of Eliot's injuries. But somehow it's better than any time Eliot can remember. And there are a lot of times to remember. Afterward, they rest side by side, hands just barely grazing against each other.

"The sun's almost up," Kara yawns. "And it's snowing," she points out as an afterthought.

Eliot grins, "Snow on Christmas. Always a good thing, right?"

"Is it Christmas?" Kara asks, furrowing her brow in thought, "I didn't realize."

"Would it be weird to wish a vampire Merry Christmas?" Eliot asks instead of answering.

Kara shrugs, "No weirder than sharing a bed with one, I suppose."

"Then Merry Christmas, Kara. I'm glad you didn't kill me," Eliot says with a cheeky grin that Kara just has to kiss off his face.

She pulls away laughing, "Merry Christmas, baby. Now go to sleep."

And they do.

The End.

I… don't even know. Apparently my brain decided these two needed a Christmas story. Eh.