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

The sky has cleared; the rain which had so recently threatened to chase Eric from Louisiana has decamped for drier pastures and the stars can just be glimpsed through the cloud. What a wondrous night. As The Corvette drives, at speed, down Hummingbird Road, the Vampire glances at the girl, his girl. He feels exultant, euphoric, and a trifle bemused. He can still not quite understand the thrall she holds over him. They drive towards her home, which has been a sanctuary for them both in the past; the Vampire is laughing, the girl is sulking.

The journey is swift. Both Eric and Sookie are silent. His laughter and her snorts of discontent have faded as they approach home. She has turned from him, and is staring out of her window vacantly, watching as the night rushes past, too fast for her to catch any detail. To a casual observer they are strangers. They are just passengers in the same compartment; seemingly akin in nothing except their destination, and in the disinterest which is written across both their faces. Yet this twinned indifference is contrived; where the other is concerned indifference is no longer accessible in their emotional repertoires.

They turn into her drive and Eric, as always, gains particular gratification from the satisfying crunch of the gravel under his wheels; the first gift she had accepted from him. He feels compelled to mention this, but wisely resists. He should not remind her of his financial assistance. She is sensitive to feeling 'bought'. He frowns as he considers that he has in fact bought her many times over; his goods, however, have shown a curious reluctance to being delivered. He has been forced to collect her himself.

This remarkable reluctance is still in evidence as Eric opens the passenger door and offers Sookie his hand. She does not choose to take it, staring straight ahead. No longer combative, she is resigned, but her face is set and closed.

"Get out, or I will get you out". Eric speaks icily. She is ignoring him. She is rejecting him.

He lifts her out and carries her to the house, setting her down gently upon the top step of her porch. She sits there placidly, where he has placed her; it would be a charming show of obedience were it not for the wall of intractability that she has erected. He can feel the force of her will-power and her insufferable stubbornness swirling through their bond. A smile is starting to edge into the corners of her mouth. The power has shifted; she is smugly aware that only she can grant him access to her home. They wait. It is aggravating, but he has played and won this game before. Finally she yields, and speaks for the first time a full ten minutes later.

"Well? What do you want me to do? Thanks to you I don't have my frikkin' key."

"You have a spare hidden." Eric speaks with all the assurance of one who is usually right. "You should not, it is not safe, but you do."

Surprise flashes across her face that he has remembered this from their time together. Silly girl, he can recall each of her heartbeats as well as all of her habits.

She moves, but just to cup her chin in her palms. "Why did you come visit Sam tonight? Is there going to be trouble … again?" She asks this quietly, pensively.

"It was not the shifter I came to see." Eric realises the truth of his words as he says them.

"Oh? Then … ? Well, you didn't even say hi to me, I thought maybe … " She trails off.

He cannot understand her. He repeats her words to himself. 'You did not even say hi to me'. He does not recall if he has ever said 'hi' to anyone; he believes not, he hopes not. Surely she felt their immediate reconnection through their bond … and did he not look at her?… acknowledge her presence? And quite intensely too! This is worth much more than such a casual, meaningless salutation as 'hi', overused by millions of humans everyday. Hi? Hi! As a greeting it would dishonour his lover!

He stares at her, no, he continues to stare at her. He has not yet once moved his eyes from her form. "You would value this? This hi?" He speaks distastefully, but he is curious too.

"Well, Lord, Eric, I don't know … it's just courtesy." She sounds exasperated, maybe she is tired of always finding him so alien, so far removed from her understanding and upbringing. He continues to stare.

Finally she stirs from her position on the damp wood, rising to her feet. He does not offer her his hand this time. She stomps to fetch the key, hidden under the eave of the overhang, and moves to unlock the door. He catches her hand, suddenly anxious. "Sookie, we do need to talk," he says this urgently. "You will need to invite me in." That slow self-satisfied smile creeps across her face again and his cool grip on her wrist tightens. Perhaps he should not allow her entry.

She looks down at his hand, clearly evaluating her options, which appear limited. "Okay, I guess we got to talk sometime. But I need to phone Sam first, and apologise. Though for the life of me I have no clue why I should be apologising for anything." She glowers at him fiercely, but he can feel that she has abandoned her anger, for the time being at least; his spirits lift again. She moves the key to the latch as his grip on her loosens. She unlocks the door and steps decisively over the threshold. She turns to look back at him over her shoulder, a smile plain on the curves of her mouth. The fear, no the anxiety, returns. "Eric, you know, I'm awful tired …"

"Sookie, no, please." The words have burst from his lips before he can catch them.

Her smile widens as she turns fully to face him, and takes a deliberate step back. Her hand twitches on the door as if she is making up her mind whether or not to just close it on him. She is teasing him, cruelly. Eric waits, standing, as it always seems, just outside the pooling light from her open doorway. The door edges almost imperceptibly towards him. Perhaps just an involuntary movement of her hand or an unconscious last-ditch bid for self-preservation. Or a conscious choice. It pierces him sharply. No matter; the movement does not continue through. The door opens wider. She steps back again, away from him, but this time the gesture is inviting.

"Okay Eric, I suppose you can come on in." She says it grudgingly, but it is enough. Eric is triumphant, and is over her threshold in a heartbeat, her heartbeat of course. She moves to the kitchen and the phone to call the shifter. Eric had forgotten him immediately upon leaving the bar, indeed he had barely registered him at all. Now he wonders why Sam did not follow after them, in some futile bid to 'rescue' Sookie. Perhaps the shifter is more sensible than he appears and had realised that he would not live through such an attempt.

Eric paces around the familiar farmhouse, listening all the while to Sookie as she apologises for his behaviour. Sam is wanting her to admit that she is scared, in need of help, in need of his help specifically. Eric smiles as she placates and reassures the shifter.

"Sam, I'm so sorry, I don't know what got in to him, but he's brought me home and as I'm here now I might as well stay and talk with him, I got to at some point I suppose."

"Sookie, you absolutely do not have to talk to him unless you want to. I can come right on over cher, you know you only have to ask. Is it safe for you there?"

"Thanks, Sam. But yes, I think it's okay, I'm pretty sure I can handle him. You just get right on back to the bar. I'm just sorry I've left you in the lurch like this, y'all going to be okay without me?"

"Course hun, you do what you need to do. Just be sure to call if you need me."

"Okay, don't you worry now."

Eric turns towards the kitchen as his hearts desire hangs up on the detestable shifter. In another moment he is standing before her, staring down at her, unsmiling. She is looking up, but her gaze is off. It has not settled upon him - as it should do - but just past his right shoulder. She has pushed her lips out in a pout of concentration, which has him battling sudden urges, and a slight frown has creased the skin of her forehead. Eric briefly considers the possibility that she is internally composing him a sonnet … of love. He has received many of these in the past, particularly in the 16th century. None of them have been welcome … so far. He admits to himself that this is doubtful, but certainly she is thinking hard, and not about tomorrows shopping list. Finally, with a sigh, she moves her eyes to his. Blue catches blue, and holds on. Again with the waiting. Both are reluctant to initiate a discussion which will cause her pain. Remind her of the horrors they would rather she forgot. He will take a circular route.

"Sookie, do you know the word kismet? Has it materialised yet on your calendar?" He glances over to where her word of the day calendar is pinned to her noticeboard.

"No, I don't think so. Kismet?" She says it musingly; pushing it over her tongue. "What is it?"

"It means destiny. It is a word I sometimes apply to us. We met, we kissed. Kismet. It was destiny. Simple."

Sookie stares up at him. Her eyes are wide; he imagines that they are filled with wonder, perhaps even awe, at his words. "Errr, except we met and we didn't kiss. Eric, we met and I distinctly did not want to kiss you." She states this firmly, as if wanting there to be absolutely no room for error on this subject. Wonder and awe are sadly lacking from her tone.

He is naturally sceptical. "No, you did want to kiss me. This I know."

"Yuh, like I wanted to kiss a pit of snakes.... which I didn't … this I know!" She speaks in a voice which will brook no further argument. "Kismet … it is a pretty word though." She stands slowly and moves to her calendar. To his surprise she takes the pen that hangs there and writes their word in the space marked for tonight. Right underneath where she has already written 'phone Jason re gas bill.' She spells it kissmet.

She turns to face him, smiling. "You know I like my words."

"It is our word." He says, grinning.

Light is spilling over her from the overhead bulb, catching and settling in her hair. With every sense and in every sense, he is, as always, acutely aware of her presence; he can feel her throbbing inside of him, through their bond, their pledge. It is soothing to him. But the time for procrastination is over. He steels himself and opens his mouth to speak.

"I'm so sorry Eric."

He freezes. Hmmm. "For what?"

"I guess I'm sorry for all those things I said. I know you didn't abandon me … you were there after … in the hospital. You fought for me. You didn't have to do that. You gave me blood, cared for me when I came home … well, until I asked you to leave. And, you've been there for me pretty consistently, more times than I can count. You've shown me again and again that you ... I don't know … value me, or my telepathy or something, enough to want me to be safe ... or alive at any rate ... I think, well I like to believe, that you would have come for me … with Bill and Niall … if you could have. I mean its not like you were on floor duty or something at Fangtasia and couldn't get away … is it? She sounds both uncertain and embarrassed.

"No" he says. "I was not on floor duty. I was at Fangtasia though. I felt it when they took you."

Eric moves to sit at her kitchen table and Sookie joins him, sitting opposite him. Her hands are stretched out before her on the tablecloth, nearer to Eric than they are to her. He pauses, then covers her hands with his. It reminds him of the last time she had come to him at Fangtasia, when he had recounted some of his past to her. He had enjoyed that night, that quiet time spent with her. Everything had changed so soon after that … He looked up, catching her eyes again.

"Sookie, I felt your fear, your adrenalin. Of course, of course, I immediately flew to you, to here." He pauses and looks around her kitchen. It holds many memories for him; mostly good. "On the journey our bond changed; it did not weaken, I could feel you as well as ever, but it stretched, twisted. I believed I knew what this meant, and when I arrived here Niall confirmed my suspicions. The fairies had taken you and were travelling through their own realm. Niall, Pam, Bill and I convened here. We sat at this table. I was armed, and eager, no desperate, for us to be leaving for the fae world. I could have tracked you best, because of our bond; I could have fought for you best, because I am a warrior ... and also, I am more motivated than the others." He pauses, watching her reaction. She has been very still, listening to him intently. At his pause she flushes and motions impatiently with her hands for him to continue. He complies.

"I do not know if you are aware of our Great War?"

"Germans? British? 1918, right? I did attend High School Eric!"

"No, Dear One, I refer to the Great War of the 1700's. It raged for 60 years. Vampire versus Fae. It was when their race were first expanding their foot hold in this world, our world. It was a conflict based primarily on territory, although certainly other matters within Vampire – Fae politics played their part.

"I, of course, led a particularly successful unit, we captured and killed many hundreds of Fairies Sookie." He feels a wave of pride wash over him as he remembers those good times. "We 'compelled' a fairy captain to lead us to a portal and remove the wards that prevented our access. Consequently we were able to enter the Fae realm; and kill many more that we found there."

"When you say many more...?"

Eric waves an airy hand, before quickly replacing it back on hers. "Thousands most probably. Niall lost many members of his bloodline during those years."

"And my bloodline, don't forget that."

"Ah yes, war, it is a terrible thing." Eric is unconvincing, even to himself; his hands grip hers more firmly, in case she should try to move.

"Hmmm, yes, well, you were saying?"

"We were here that night, the night you were taken. We needed to leave immediately to track you. However … Niall denied me permission to enter his realm. He condescended to allow Bill to accompany him, but flatly refused me access. On account of my past actions against his people." He spits this out and his face darkens. He pauses again, but this time it is not to assess her reaction but to gather himself.

That night … the rage he had felt … he was still reeling from it. It reverberates through him now, the anger and the … impotence, re-visiting upon him. It is all consuming. The shadow wells up inside him as he rises with vampire speed from his seat. He towers above Sookie, his hands clenched at his sides. It is she who is the cause of this turmoil; she who has interrupted the calm monotony of his existence; she who holds such power over him that he is no longer capable of doing his own bidding; she who haunts him and taunts him and teases him. It will not do. He can not allow this … this … pervasive weakness to continue.

Sookie breathes in sharply and closes her eyes.

"Eric, stop, it's too much, please calm down." Her voice is the charm that awakens him from his rage and quells his shade. She is not at fault; it is he who must bear the responsibility for all that he feels, for all his conflict. She has leant forward, hugging herself, bracing herself. Her fragile human system cannot support, let alone comprehend, the emotions that are passing through their bond. For his bonded's sake, for her health, he must restrain himself. He sits back down and slowly and deliberately reaches for her hands. He tugs them forward and enfolds them in his own. They are warm and soft, and they comfort and calm him. She is here and she is safe. He moves one small hand and holds it briefly against his cheek, before moving it to his mouth so he can kiss her palm softly. Blue catches blue again as her pupils dilate and her lips part.

"Will you forgive me?" He asks this softly, uncertainly. Is he asking her forgiveness for his inability to save her or for his recent anger? He is not sure, but either way he needs to hear the words.

"No, Eric, there is nothing to forgive."

She smiles at him, and pushes their hands towards his mouth once more.

He kisses her palm again, gladly, her warmth creeping over his lips. It tastes salty and sweet, from sweat and fae.

"I, I, tried Sookie. I … he would not let me. I would have killed him if Pam and Bill had not been here to stop me … But we were wasting time arguing, I had to let them go without me. I am sorry."

"No baby, shhhh, I'm sorry for doubting you. You did all you could. Which was a lot. You fought for me, Eric. Thank you. I wanted to say this a long time ago, but I was too proud I guess. Will you forgive me?"

In answer he kisses the inside of her wrist, slowly and reverently, his tongue lightly tracing the web of racing veins. Her skin here is gossamer thin; mere tissue paper, providing scant protection for the precious fluid beneath. He smiles as he hears her heart skip a beat. Baby. She called him baby. His smile widens and he suppresses a snort of laughter.

"Eric, what is going on here? How will this work?"

"How will what work, my lover?" He feels intoxicated by her scent and the feel of her skin against his lips and cheek; he can hardly think; it is taking all of his concentration to keep his fangs from descending. In the midst of his bliss Sookie pulls her hand back and rises from her chair. He is immediately bereft without her touch. He grieves for her, although she is standing but three foot away.

"Us, Eric, this." She indicates them both with her hands. "Is there an us?"

"Of course Sookie! You are mine, and I will want you for always."

"Always … that's too big a word for you Eric, we can't talk in those terms. You're a vampire who'll live for god only knows how long, and I'm just a tiny bump on your road."

"No!" He is fierce. She is wrong.

She smiles at him, and it's a sad smile, an old smile, as if it's he who is wrong and she knows it well. "Eric, you're … you're just spinning in infinity, and I'm just a human who is fading and sliding from you with every passing second. I didn't think about that much when I was with Bill, but I think it might weigh on me more now, if I was with you."

"Spinning in infinity?" he raises a sardonic eyebrow at the poetry of her words.

"Amen and Hallelujah" she adds inconsequentially, as an afterthought. Confusion reigns. "It's from a Paul Simon song, my mama's favourite … it's about a bodyguard and this guy called Al … Nevermind." Eric recognises the reference; it was played incessantly during his time at community college (shudder), but he remains quiet. Instinctively he realises that acknowledging this would be a sign of weakness; much in the same way that he wouldn't admit to watching Glee … Buffy's acceptable, that's ironic, and anyway, she already knows that he likes that.

Hmmm. Spinning? He considers her words. "Maybe I do not want to 'spin' as you say," then more definitely, "I am not spinning." He is affronted, indignant, that such a flighty, fae adjective could ever be applied to himself. "I am anchored! I feel anchored!" he says this with fierce conviction, staring at her intently. It is the truth, but only a recent one. "And you may be human Sookie, but you will never fade." He rises from his chair and moves to where she is leaning against the kitchen counter. He reaches out to touch her hair and his fangs run down. Her breathe catches and her heart skips as he bends slowly to kiss along her jaw, his hands running down to her waist to pull her nearer. They both shiver at the contact. His lips move to her ear and he softly whispers "I see Angels in your Architecture … "

She giggles against his neck, pulling back to look at him."Paul Simon?"

"Amen and hallelujah" he replies as he leans in for a kiss.

Her lips part as they meet his. "Hi Sookie" he whispers into her mouth. "Hi Eric" she replies.

******

Authors note: If you've bothered to read this far, thank you so much, and please review to let me know what you think. Thanks again.