Dreaming seemed simple. You lie down, close your eyes, let your mind do the work - something like that, right?

But dreaming had never been easy for Tara, not in the slightest. Each dream showcased her resentment towards herself and towards her life. Dreams had turned to nightmares and the sad thing was, she couldn't remember a time when she wasn't overwhelmed by images that caused her to awake in a sweaty mess.

She used to think that closing her eyes would make everything better, that dreaming would erase the horrors that were the day she had endured. From her momma throwing empty bottles at her head to threatening to beat her skinny ass. She tolerated it, unfortunately. She grew up and handled it, or at least she tried to.

But then Eggs came along and he was wonderful. She loved him, he loved her, everything was okay and life was good. For a while. The nice images, the pleasant dreams, the ones caused by Eggs and his love, died with him, and she went back to her nightmares.

But that was okay because that was how it always had been.

Until Franklin. He was her nightmare.

Naomi and New Orleans helped to erase that. For a while. It was always for a while. Before Naomi found out she wasn't Toni and before she chased her away and regretted it the moment the words left her mouth.

And then she was turned. Turned into the thing she despised the most. A vampire.

Vampires didn't dream like humans did. Like their heightened senses, everything felt more intense. Tara's dreams changed the moment Pam's blood entered her system, giving her new life. She had never looked at Pam that way. Sure, yeah, she was gorgeous, but she was trying to kill her half of the time so a window for attraction wasn't exactly open. Until the blood.

But it wasn't just the blood. The blood may have made her realise the attraction and caused the dreams, but the bond was more than that, more than any one word could ever describe. Pam made her feel safe, cared for, and strangely enough, loved. So the bad dreams stopped.

For a while.

When she heard of Naomi's death, her suicide caused by attempting to be straight and failing, she was riddled with guilt for her own actions and resentment for Pam's.

She avoided her maker for three nights.

On the forth night, she found herself cornered by said maker in Fangtasia's store room.

"So," Pam drawled, "you're avoidin' me like the fuckin' plague." Blunt, as usual.

When Tara responded with tears rather than words and Pam dropped to the floor to where she had fallen, scooped her in her arms and comforted her, her resentment faded.

Since being turned Tara saw Pam in a whole new light. She wasn't the cold-hearted, stuck-up bitch she had once thought she was. No, she was caring and fiercely loyal and protective of those close to her. She witnessed that firsthand the same night when Pam watched her like a hawk and came to her aid whenever a customer got a little too close, or said something the blonde wasn't fond of.

When Pam dismissed her at closing, Tara fought the pull of dawn to sit in Eric's office and watch her count receipts. Her maker didn't comment on her need to be near her and the silent understanding was appreciated.

When the sun began to rise and she couldn't stay awake any longer, she descended into the basement and slipped into her coffin to rest. But she didn't dream of her momma, or Eggs, or Franklin, or Naomi. She dreamt of Pam, of her beautiful blonde hair and long legs. She dreamt of her comforting arms wrapped around her in an embrace and her silk-like voice soothing her the same way a mother does her infant. She dreamt of waking up to find Pam's coffin empty and her maker nowhere to be found. She dreamt of Pam gone. She dreamt of being left alone.

Eyes snapped open, pupils dilated, and she arose from her slumber, stepping out of her coffin to find Pam's pink one empty in the same manner of her dream. She felt her heart drop to the pit of her stomach.

Pam's always up before you, she told herself as she exited the basement, scanned Fangtasia's surroundings, and made her way to Eric's, now Pam's, office. She walked inside to find her maker still sitting at the desk, working on what she could only assume was business. Blood dripped from her ears and nose and she realised that she hadn't rested.

"You…didn't rest?" Tara asked, her tone soft and almost vulnerable as she shut the door behind her.

Pam moved to collect the small towel on the desk and dabbed it across her bloodied upper lip. She forced a smirk but she was tired and it didn't come across like she had hoped. "No rest for the wicked," she merely stated.

Tara offered a brief nod. She approached the desk and stopped, gathering her courage for her next words. "I dreamt you were gone," she admitted, avoiding eye contact.

Her words caused Pam to stop writing and the older vampire lowered the pen to the paper, looking up to where her progeny was currently looking anywhere but at her.

"Well, I was," she spoke in reply. A simple answer.

A lump formed in Tara's throat and as much as she didn't want to cry, she felt her lip and chin quiver and soon her eyes had brimmed with red tears.

"Everyone surroundin' me…ends up dead," she choked out and raised a hand to let her fingers brush under her eyes.

Pam shifted in the seat, momentarily looking down. "Honey, I'm already dead," she told her in a tone that seemed way too soft to be Pam's.

Normally Tara would have rolled her eyes but Pam's words didn't come from a place of sarcasm, no, they came from a place of sincerity. Pam stood up from the chair and walked smoothly around the desk to stand next to Tara. She attempted to turn and avoid her maker, but the blonde had cupped her chin and was turning her to face her.

"Hey," Pam spoke and then in a softer tone added a second, "hey," as Tara looked up at her with wide, brown eyes. "You're worried. Don't be. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Tara was the one to initiate the embrace. She wrapped her arms around Pam and for a moment startled the older vampire at the sudden movement. Pam slowly slid her arms around her progeny and held her until she felt secure enough to pull away and tend to her nightly duties of bartending.

Tara watched Pam count receipts that same night as she laid on the couch. When Pam finished, she joined her, insisting it was because she was too tired to go to the basement. But as Tara nestled into her maker's arms and succumbed to the pull of dawn, she knew it was because Pam cared about her and worried about her.

She never did have any more bad dreams.

Can't stop, won't stop. I love these two way too much. I really don't know why I got a muse for this story whilst half asleep, but I decided to share it anyway. Let's hope for no sleepy mistakes *crosses fingers* Now I'm off to bed. Enjoy! :}