Disclaimer: Charlaine Harris owns the fabulous Eric and Pam; I'm just playing with them for my amusement.

Mellow'd To That Tender Light

The dark night sat heavily on his shoulders. Like a dead thing, a dead lump of rock, the moon hung above him, hazy with cloud. All was oppressive and weighty and dark, the moisture in the air uncomfortable, bidding him to bow his head. He was disgusted with this night, this weather, disgusted with himself for allowing it to affect him so. He was tempted to leave. To go. To vacate. To fuck off out of fucking Louisiana. He smiled quietly at himself, at his melodrama, he was not usually one to indulge in such internal theatrics. To the gods he could swear his experience of a thousand nights which were nothing to this one. Nothing at all. Nights which were harrowing, painful, frightening, even for him, with all that he had seen. What was this, but a touch of drizzle, the merest whisper of mist, just a dampness that threatened to sink into his very bones; nothing to him at all of course, indeed he barely registered it. It was a fucking picnic. He looked up defiantly, thinking of a hot shower at home, as rain coursed its way down his collar making him shudder slightly at the wet touch.

It wasn't the weather, of course it wasn't. Could a mere passing atmospheric dampness drive him from his home, his business? For a moment his still figure turned to stone as he allowed himself, again, to examine the source of his.... his what? His depression...? No, he wasn't a fucking human, with their fanciful psychoses which they insisted upon classifying as 'diseases'. He permitted himself a small Pam-esque snort of derision. No, he was Vampire, and therefore surely immune to such conditions. He had already decided that he was merely bored. Yes, that was all; it was just the growing ennui, the tedium of his days, the loneliness that gnawed at him, that pulled at him, that made him almost desperate to rediscover his joie de vivre. He had already determined this weeks ago when first he was overcome with such unfamiliar and unwelcome sensations. In over a thousand years boredom had become his biggest foe, but one which until now had been easily defeated, at least temporarily; a quick chase, fuck, meal and kill was a combination almost guaranteed to rouse the most lacklustre of his kind.

No longer. This was what he struggled to understand. He wondered suddenly if it were not more of a wilful refusal to understand. He should lay down his mask.... lay down all pretence.... really examine... No! He ruthlessly suppressed such pointless musings. He wasn't in fucking counselling. He was just bored. Deal with it. He was on duty. He was tracking. He was setting his Vampires an example of how a Vampire Sheriff should behave. He would not let his mind wonder to such drivel.

He turned his attention to the task in hand; namely one of pursuing and apprehending a rogue area Vampire. One who had been tormenting local humans with his insistence on feeding from unwilling and under-age school children. Parents in the vicinity had begun fussing. They were seemingly convinced that their children were at risk from some form of psychological damage – there had been talk of fainting fits and hysterics at the school gates. He found it difficult to raise any genuine moral outrage at the behaviour of the Vampire Daniel. The gods knew that his own dark past was riddled with incidents far worse than anything this young pup could envisage or execute. However as Sheriff it was incumbent upon him to 'take a stand'. Snort.

His phone rang. The sound humming and dragging through the night air; the sound more sluggish than usual. His white hand flashed to retrieve it, knowing that it would be his child.

"He's not here Pam. What news with you?"

"He's been sighted in Chagford. Marco tried to stop him but he took off, he'll be miles away by now, he's not a complete fool".

He restrained another snort ...this one sarcastic... it was a habit he disliked in his child and he would not allow himself to adopt it too.

Pam was continuing, "Marco informs me that Daniel was asking about the whereabouts of Gabriel Fiorelli, they shared a nest together apparently in Venice. Gabriel now lives somewhere in Exeter, it's a small town south of Bon Temps. We don't know precisely where he resides".

His hand gripped the phone tighter, he swallowed, and again suppressed a surge of emotion washing over him. "Daniel may be making his way there, to seek sanctuary".

"Yes, shall I send Marco down there? See if he can't locate Gabriel before sun-up".

"No! No, I'll go...ahem....maybe it would be better if..." He hears himself. He sounds unsure. This will not do. "It would be best if we proceed with more accurate information. I will travel now to Bon Temps. The shifters bar is frequented by supes, someone there will be sure to know Gabriel".

"Why don't I ask Bill... he's there as much as anyone?" Pam's voice has taken on a sly tone. He finds it unbecoming and answers her faster and more sharply than he had intended. "No! I said I will go Pamela. I'm leaving now". He disconnects and inhales a deep, unnecessary, yet curiously calming breath of cool damp air. As it fills his lungs he feels renewed, revived, refreshed. Strange.

Bon Temps is not near his current location but he drives at a speed with which The Corvette is unfamiliar; he is driving slowly, he is eking out the journey, he is enjoying the fucking ride. The night is dark and wet and heavy but it is also strangely beautiful. His headlamps illuminate the flooded road and the motley greens, blues and violets of the tarmac blur and race before him. Plump fertile raindrops meander down his windscreen marking intricate patterns across the glass. No longer are they insidious and malevolent. In this moment the anticipation for what is waiting at his destination is delicious. It's painful. He does not want it to end. The word sanctuary passes through his mind again. Not a word often associated with Vampires but it is pressing upon him tonight.

It is suddenly clear to him that he no longer participates in enough fieldwork. He has surely become softened and complacent at Fangtasia if a simple outing to interrogate a rabble of contemptible supes at a no-account bar can hold such power over him. Thrilled, he is thrilled...for no reason at all. The Vampire pulls into Merlottes and his eyes automatically scan the car-park for any familiar cars. One catches his attention but its owner is unlikely to know the location of the Vampire Gabriel so his eyes move on. Thrilled, he is thrilled. He rises from The Corvette and stretches tall, his frame languorous, loose and relaxed like a cat, a big wild cat you understand, from the Savannah, dangerous but graceful. Another deep, yet curiously necessary, breath, and he stalks towards the bars entrance. It is a tired and careworn establishment. He can not comprehend why anyone would choose to run, or indeed work, in such a place. It almost angers him....why?...it is nothing to him....nothing at all.

He pauses outside to decide upon strategy. It is unlikely that the humans will know anything. He will ignore them. They are beneath his notice. The shifter; he will start with the shifter, he may have heard something. He pushes open the door; the wood is grainy and rough and it chaffs against his fingertips; he savours the feeling...the pause...before the … storm? Shifter, the shifter, he focuses his mind. The door swings open and instantly every fibre of his being is directed at one point in a room otherwise invisible to him. His nerves are thrilling through his body, he is vibrating with concentration, with intent. She meets his gaze. She has been waiting. She has fought him, struck him, refused his explanations about the fairy war and her torture, hated him, rescinded his invitation, rejected their sacred bond... but she is here … and she has been waiting for him.