Faint lights from outside radiated through the windows; painting strange patterns on a wall. Though the bedroom was illuminated, it was cloaked in a lurid darkness that left Salander uneasy. She was a restive person by nature, but she felt unbearably agitated for some reason. Tucked between the mattress and a thin duvet, she lied in bed tossing and turning. There was a ticking coming from the clock on the nightstand. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. She went to sleep with that sound every night, but something was peculiar about the sound tonight.

Dazing out the window, she wondered why the haze of sleep didn't overcome her and carry her away to a welcomed anesthesia. Frustrated, she kicked the covers off. Her eyelids weighed heavy, but she was engrossed with the sound of the damn clock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Panning her eyes up, she glanced at the clock. The time read 2:14 a.m. Almost hypnotically, her eyes followed the second hand as it made its revolution around the clock's face. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. As the second hand came back around, it halted and pulsated on the twelve for a good thirty seconds. Salander frowned at the sight.

Must be broke, she thought.

When the ticking became resonant with another noise, Salander opened her eyes to glance at the clock. The second hand continued to palpitate at the twelve and the other sound had joined in cadence. Abruptly, the ticking stopped; both sound and oscillation of the second hand. Nevertheless, another sound persisted.

With a furiously beating heart, Salander rolled onto her back, not wanting to deal with what -or who- may appear before her eyes. The hard soled shoes thudded on the wood floors; pacing back and forth. Back and forth. She tightly closed her eyes and prayed for it to stop. She repeated in her mind, Please go away. Please go away. At the thought, the sound halted. Relief flooded through Salander's body. As a precaution, she kept her eyes shut, pretending to be fast asleep.

Minutes passed by before Salander felt secure enough to reopen her eyes. When she did so, the breathe left her lungs from shock. In the dark corner of the bedroom, there was an ember glow of a cigarette. With the sight, there was no question who was lingering in the corner. Sometimes he'd be a dragon with greasy black scales and smoke wafting out the nose. Other times he'd be a bastard of a burn victim with a limp. This time Alexander Zalachenko ambled towards the bed appearing as he did in her childhood. Exhaling the smoke of a nearly spent cigarette, he stepped out into the light exuding through the windows . His high cheekbones and eyes were identical to hers. Even with his austere presence, his outfit gave the air of elegance, and arrogance.

As he approached the foot of the bed, he gave her an evil grin before stubbing out the cigarette on the wood of the foot board. The demon caressed her left foot with his clammy hands. Not even seconds passed, before he stepped around the foot board and advanced nearer. His hands slowly, menacingly, grazed the bare skin of her shin. Salander attempted to move, to fight, but there was an invisible force pinning her to her bed. Still he drew closer towards her head, his torrid fingertips running over the skin of her knees. With another step, his touch ran over her thighs. Goosebumps rose on her skin.

Again, the bastard stood there haunting her somewhere between land of dreams and the realm of reality. There were no words, but her mind furiously spit out obscenities. She could not talk nor could she defend herself. Her father pressed his hand down on her sternum, his other hand sliding beneath her shirt, caressing her abdomen. Salander's stomach felt as if someone had taken a sledge hammer to it, her heart picked up it's pace. She was nauseated and frightened. Tears brimmed in her eyes. When his touch turned towards the inside of her thighs, she flipped. She tried to shout, to scream for Mikael but the words caught in her throat. How the fuck was she to get out of this one?

A sudden sweltering tightness encompassed her waist, and in her ear there was a gritty mollifying whisper, "I'm here Sally."

It was 2:20 a.m. when Salander suddenly jolted into a full consciousness. Her surroundings were no different, but there was one less person in her room. At her back, she sensed hot breath on the nape of her neck and an immense warmth sheathing her entire body. The tightness around her waist was that of a lone arm, slung over her waist. She let out a sigh, knowing Blomkvist had awaken her from the bad dream. Again.

Twisting around, she sleepily gazed at him feeling appreciative. It was strange how much easier sleep came when he was in her bed. How the nightmares didn't haunt her as often. Or how he broke her free from the bondage of these nightmares.

With a grimace, she considered that Blomkvist had become an intricate part of her life. A very obscure life partner she never expected to have. It certainly hadn't been something she planned or fantasized about. Little girls usually dreamed about their prince charming, envisioning their futures with husbands, children and white picket fences. She on the other hand, imagined killing her father. The only passion she had in life was to know he was six feet under and burning in hell.

And it must be true. No matter how many doctors told her she had sleep paralysis, she was positive it was her father haunting her from hell.

When she looked at Blomkvist, sleeping serenely without a care she had an urge to strangle him. It pissed her off how he could easily fall asleep, remain asleep and wake from sleep. What angered her more was how she, dare she admit, needed him. She didn't like that she needed him, what she hated even more was that she wanted him there holding her.

Although, he wasn't a mere partner and strangely, she couldn't even consider him a human being with his own thoughts and actions. If it were possible, he was more than a plain ol' human being. He was her salvation. With nightmares, and otherwise.

Unable to fall back asleep, Salander wriggled her way out of Blomkvist's hold. She strolled down the hallway, dragging the fingertips of her left hand along the cool walls. When she came to the last room on left, she stepped into the threshold, folded her arms and leaned against the door frame. Inside the room was Sötnos, sleeping as peacefully as her father in a converted crib. She's getting to big for that little bed.

Salander spent ten minutes observing, becoming in tune with what she was sensing, how her body and soul felt. With this baby came a contentment she's couldn't comprehend. It wasn't until the previous day, when Blomkvist said he enjoyed seeing her happy, did she realize she was truly happy. Or as happy as someone as she could be with her life. This mustn't have settled well with Zalachenko's ghost. Somewhere in the pits of hell he heard his daughter's blithesome soul cry in exultation. It had to be why the bastard materialized, because several months had passed since her last nightmare.

Taking a giant exhale, Salander decided she wouldn't give that fucking ass hole another though. There was no use in dwelling on her past, or harboring such hatred. It only would keep a persons soul blacker than tar. Her life had a higher purpose than just living, or sulking. Now she lived for her daughter.

In those glorious moments, such as this one, when Salander allowed her fucking mind relax, it dawns on her that she's a mother. She remembers how hard she fought to bring her into this world, and how she would fight the world over to keep her safe and happy. This, this was love. It was a love that would last, a love that would never be forgotten, a love that would never disappear or be regretted. It was meant to be.

...

A rustling drew Blomkvist, the light sleeper, from sleep. Instinctively, he knew Lisbeth was out of bed. Opening his eyes, there was a small lamp on, washing the room in a dull light. Sitting up in bed, he removed the covers and swung his legs around, setting his feet on the floor. He noticed a leather duffel bag on the floor with clothes slackly tossed on the top of it. In a panic, his heart pounded and his thoughts raced. Is she leaving me?

With an assortment of Sötnos' clothes draped across her forearm, Lisbeth sauntered in the bedroom, yawning and scratching at the back of her head. Her hair was lazily pulled back and she was wearing one of Blomkvist's old t-shirts. Though, the shirt wasn't long enough to hide her gray cotton underwear and in the dim light, her bare alabaster legs seemed to glow. And those damn fingerless gloves were still on her hands.

There was a brief exchange of glances before she tossed the clothes on the duffle bag.

Blomkvist rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and willed himself to become fully awake. He recounted the day before. She must be packing for this weekend, He assumed.

Knowing Lisbeth checked on their daughter -it was a habit of hers- he asked, "How is she?"

She replied, "She's fine."

Sinking into a cross legged position on the floor she started shuffling through the clothes. He watched as she folded each piece of clothing and neatly tucked the outfits away in the leather duffel. The weak smirk that came to his face was unstoppable. He remembered at time when she just shoved heaps of cloths in a bag.

Things were drastically different than eight years ago. Lisbeth had fought most of her demons off, but some things about her continued to be a hindrance. What sticks out in his mind the most was a discussion -well he's the only one that spoke- that they had in his apartment about a week after Sötnos had been born.

In the undersized kitchen, Lisbeth stood at the counter slicing avocados for open faced sandwiches. Standing at her side, Blomkvist cradled his newborn daughter, gazing at her with vast amount of reverence and wonder. His vision alternated from sleeping baby to his crestfallen friend. Since the baby arrived, there was a voicelessness in Lisbeth. If she hadn't taken a vow of silence, but she fasting. A bird ate more than the girl to begin with, but three days without any nutrition was unhealthy for any being. The behavior she was exuding concerned him. The post birth belly pudge she had was shrinking much to quickly, no one would have guess she had given birth a few weeks ago, and her appearance was turning sallow.

Sötnos began to fuss, and like a lightning bolt Lisbeth spun around on high alert. With her arms outstretched, she stepped forward to take the baby from Blomkvist's arms. He simultaneously took a step back.

Confused, Lisbeth craned her neck. With locked eyes, they stood in the kitchen across from one another. Blomkvist waited for her to speak; to say one fucking word. He missed her voice. Placing her arms out, as if she were begging for alms, she again stepped forward. She wanted her whimpering baby, but he gravely uttered, "No...I'll change her," he said, "You need to eat."

He left her alone to finish making their lunches.

Blomkvist knew he made Lisbeth feel depreciated. He knew she was probably seething inside, but he wanted her to eat, he wanted her to speak to him. Whether it be her cursing him out, or her begging to hold Sötnos, he just needed an emotion out of her. Any reaction. He hadn't seen life in her for weeks.

Upon reentering the kitchen, with a clean Sötnos, he noticed Lisbeth sitting at the dinette glaring at her sandwich as if it insulted her.

The baby continued to fuss and wiggle in his arms, so he turned Sötnos over to her mother. "I think she's hungry.

In the chair, Lisbeth pushed herself away from the table then pulled at the hem of her shirt, revealing her breast. Gingerly, Blomkvist slid the baby into Lisbeth's waiting arms. He observed as she cradled the little one with care, and began breast feeding.

All life seemed to be at peace. Sötnos was feeding, and even though Lisbeth appeared to be calm as well, there was a disheartening placidity in her eyes.

Not knowing how to tackle this situation, he went to the cupboard retrieved a glass and poured himself water from the tap. Watching the girls, he leaned against the counter, pondering his relation to Lisbeth. Sure, they were friends but he fathered a child with her. The dynamics were drastically different. Any normal, breathing, functioning human being would contemplate their association to the individual they conceived as child with. Obviously, at the moment, neither of them were involved with someone. Sleeping with Erika again, might not pan out well, or screwing anyone else for that matter. He didn't think he cared if she decided to be with someone else, but then where did that leave him as a father? Their entire co-parenting and friendship status was up in the air. When it came to Sötnos, he wanted austere rules set in place. All questions needed to be answered; everything needed to be set in stone. What days did Lisbeth plan on working? Which days would he have his daughter? The weekends were obviously better for him, but with the attachment Lisbeth had to Sötnos, he didn't believe she could handle three days away from her baby. Therefore, would it be easier on her if they moved in together? If so, would they take his apartment or hers?

His mind was reeling with thoughts, questions after questions. There was one he asked before, and he felt it finally needed to be answered.

"Sally...Do you trust me?"

Her eyes gave him a quick aching look. A nod succeeded as her eyes drifted back to the thirsty little babe.

"With your life?"

A bit longer, she hesitated with an answer. She kept her sight back to the suckling bundle, running her fingers over Sötnos' silken brunette hair. She seemed enthralled and in love but to Blomkvist, she appeared absent minded.

He stepped away from the counter and called, "Lisbeth?"

With soft, reddening eyes she squinted at him thinking hard about the question. Trust was this continuous botheration in their relationship. While it was nice to know she trusted him to a certain degree. It surely didn't mean she trusted him with every aspect of her life. There could only be cracks in the relationship if she picked and choose what she trusted him with.

Their vision lingered on one another. Blomkvist pleaded for an answer with his eyes. What a relief it was for him when she acknowledged him with a nod. The girl had no need to speak falsities, she never even had the desire to speak the truth. One thing he knew about his Sally was that she would never lie to him. He only wished she would have verbally said, Yes Kalle, I trust you with my life.

He sauntered close enough to pet the infants head. "With her life?"

At that question, Lisbeth came to her feet. Irascibly she pushed the chair in with a kick of her foot and walked out of the kitchen. He watched her rush to the bedroom, with their daughter still nursing. She spun around and used her foot to shut the door. Blomkvist caught a glimpse of her piercing green eyes just before the door clicked shut. Apparently, she didn't trust him with their daughter, or she just didn't want to answer the question.

Allowing him to keep Sötnos overnight had been a struggle for years. She rarely allowed him to do a thing alone with the baby because she couldn't be in control, she couldn't protect the baby like she had a natural instinct to do so. She was far to attached.

Salander had flaws, many fucking flaws. Trusting people was one of them, being caustic was another. There were things she would never be able to overcome or heal from if she wasn't willing to psychologically face them. There had been several moments over the years when Blomkvist wondered why the hell he even put up with her. Many times in their frustration with one another, he stumbled into Erika's arms and Salander retreated to Mimmi, or whomever.

Eventually, they learned to live cohesively with each other. Each of them had their nights off from parental duties, but those instances where few and far between.

What began to bother him most was her very low self-confidence. She had alway been confident in hacking, or as an avenger, but not in her role as a mother, or even a plain ol' human being. Whether she liked it or not, she was beloved and he hoped one day she would accept that.

...

In Sötnos' bedroom, Salander sifted through a drawer full of clothes, pondering about how the hell she got through the previous day. It was odd because usually she saw Pernilla it was at brief spurts of time. Never more than an hour, but when Nilla insisted on spending the entire say with her family, her so called better half thought it was a brilliant idea. On the other hand, Salander thought it would be agonizing. She didn't need Blomkvist's daughter passing judgement on her. She didn't need to form opinions on her mothering, or her personality in general.

Almost immediately, she informed Blomkvist that she would head home and see them later on in the evening, but Nilla overheard and ruined her plans by begging Salander to stay. Then her daughter pressed what Nilla wanted and Blomkvist was no help. He shrugged, saying, "They want to spend time with you."

The three pairs of eyes gazing at her, mind as well have been a fucking gun aimed at her head.

With great reluctance, Salander picked up Sötnos and positioned the girl firmly on her hip. She pressed her forehead against her daughter's forehead and playfully said, "Alright. Where are we going?"

All day long Salander just swallowed her malevolence and let Sötnos spend time with her big sister. Despite the years between them, there was an a sisterly bond that Salander thought unnatural. At times, she just wanted to shout at the girl to leave her and her daughter the hell alone. Lashing out on Nilla would be a crime against Blomkvist and just plain inconsiderate of her.

It was astonishing how Blomkvist indulged Pernilla. At lunch she picked the restaurant, after she decided where they were to head next. He didn't spoil Nilla with material things but he was attentive and loving, just as he was with Sötnos. For some stupid fucking reason it made her feel like a subordinate, that was only in his life because she had gotten knocked up. His true affection was for his daughters. It left a restlessness in Salander.

They stopped off at a book store, where Sötnos choose a rather age appropriate book for Pernilla to purchase as a gift. Grudgingly she let the sisters alone to rummage though the book shelves. Blomkvist went missing somewhere in the book store and she was left alone. While waiting, she picked up random books and flipped through them. She came to a book of quotes and read a few. Soul mates, love and philosophical words had absolutely no fucking effect on her. The entire things seemed so silly, words never made anyone feel better. They never helped me.

Sighing to herself, she proceeded to stuff clothes into her duffel for Sandhamn. She pondered whether or not she should reveal that she had fallen for him all those years ago. Once she thought about telling him the truth as to why she disappeared from his life, why seeing him with Berger to this day left her uneasy. Except, there had never been a right time. What difference would it make? she mused. Emotions were harder than hacking a computer or stealing Wennerström's millions. Emotions just, sucked. Especially the ones that hurt. His stupid comment about how she had "fun" with Mimmi had truly bothered her. It wasn't the fact that he had said it straight to Sötnos, it's not as if she understood sexual innuendo, but it was his presumption about her sexual affairs. She had a an overwhelming urge to tell him the truth about Mimmi and her since that very moment.

And in a lightning flash, these words escaped her mouth, "I didn't sleep with Mimmi last night."

Sitting on the bed, Blomkvist's mouth hung agape. Sudden relief washed over him. It's not that he cared if she slept with other people. Even if he was curious he chose to never pry. However, he wondered if his complete sexual and emotional commitment to Salander was worthwhile. A small twinge of satisfaction hit him in the chest, realizing it was.

He opted not to respond apart from the lift of his eyebrows.

Then she blurted, "I haven't slept with her or anyone else in... two years."

For being called a mute, she was sure blurting a lot of personal information. Inner thoughts that Blomkvist rarely welcome to.

With a smirk on his face, Blomkvist joked, "Whoever thought a lesbian satanist would be the monogamous type?"

How the hell did that happen? When she did she become monogamous? When did it come to the point that she was content with only him?

Lamely, she retorted, "You've never met a lesbian satanist before."

"I guess not," he said pointing to her, "Are you going to take those gloves off?"

Lisbeth ignored the question. She bowed her head and fidgeted with the glove on her right hand. What curiosity that came over her, she wasn't sure, but she questioned him anyhow. "Who's the last woman you slept with?"

He responded quickly, "You."

A glower came to Salander's face and her eyes empty of a distinct emotion. It was evident she wasn't very impressed with his jesting.

Blomkvist let out a heavy sigh, pressing down any uncomfortableness he felt. He mumbled, "Erika."

"And you stopped sleeping with her."

"I did."

"Why?"

Blomkvist was puzzled at the confusion in her voice. At her addled tone, it was evident she didn't believe him. "You mean you didn't read the e-mail?" he asked.

Of course she began to, but at the halfway point, there was some invisible force that stopped her. Once she saw that it was a virtual goodbye letter, she sensed that it was too personal and obviously not meant for her eyes. There was pain in the words he typed and she decided that if he wanted to tell her about the e-mail he would. After she logged off and shut down her computer, she never gave it a second thought. He said he was done with her and that was all she needed to know.

She snooped and pried her way into other people's lives, invading their privacy and digging up their secrets without a second thought. It was in her DNA, but on some level, she respected Mikael Blomkvist.

"Something was different," he reported, " Not for her but for me... You honestly didn't read it?"

Lisbeth admitted, "Part of it."

" Maybe if you would have read through the entire thing, like I expected you to, we would have had this conversation sooner. "

There was no reply from Lisbeth. He knew there were disordered thoughts running through her head. If she only knew what was streaming through his mind. He wanted to take this second chance at fatherhood and do it right. Following Sotnos' birth, his acknowledgment of failing Pernilla only magnified. It weighed heavy on his heart but it didn't stop him from sleeping around. When Sotnos began speaking, he decided it was time to stop his sexual escapades and dedicate time to her. And Lisbeth was more than enough. Her sexual appetite was healthier than his own. Which is the very reason he assumed she was having sex with Mimmi last night.

"So what did you really do last night?"

"Went to Kvarnen and got drunker than I should have." She added, "I got thrown out. Expect a story published in Expressen."

Fucking gossip magazines, he thought. Years ago, they snapped a picture of her on a cigarette break outside of the Millennium office. Aftonbladet expressed that with her past behavior and near convictions she was an unfit mother and the father, a man once convicted of liable showed bad judgement when he impregnated this type of woman. She honestly didn't give a fuck what they said. It made no difference what they called her, but Blomkvist fought tooth and nail to have that statement retracted. When she read the refutation, there was not a word apologizing about how they portrayed Blomkvist. Only a personal piece on her, with quotes from him, as well as the workers at Millennium, expression how loving she was as a mother.

He stood from the bed, imploring, "What happened? Tell me."

Blatantly she replied, "Some drunk fuck groped me, so I hit him in face."

Blomkvist's brows furrowed. A surge of anger went through him, followed by worry.

"Did someone take pictures?"

"Not that I noticed," she responded.

"Let me see your hand."

Salander stood from the floor removing her gloves. Unwrapping the gauze from her hand, she revealed her bruised knuckles to Mikael.

He hissed, seeing that it was more serious than he assumed. He took her hand in his own inspecting it. The skin on her middle knuckle had been split open but sealed with a butterfly band-aid. He glanced up at her, seeing her lips puckered, either in thought or in pain. "Does it hurt?"

After a subtle lift of her shoulders and tilt of the head, she grunted as if saying, I've had worse.

Blomkvist lead her into the bathroom and took a look at her wound in better light. Besides her hand being puffy, the skin on her knuckle was split and being held together with a butterfly bandage. He began to pull up the small bandage, but he worried he could do more damage than good.

While he carefully swathed her petite and temporarily pudgy hand with gauze, he sternly proposed, "Next time you should restrain yourself."

"I won't. Not when he fuckin deserved it."

Instead of reprimanding her or carrying out the conversation, he overlooked her pig headedness knowing there was no sense in telling her what to do. There was no sense in offering suggestions. She was going to do as she pleased.

"I'm sure he did," he said, giving a chide glance, "but you have a daughter to think about."

Salander noticed the rebuke in his look. It shouldn't have made her feel guilty. "Are you angry with me?"

"Angry? No, why would I be angry?"

"Because I'm a bad mother."

With a shake of his head, Blomkvist dropped his eyes to her hand. "I think that's about the stupidest comment that has passed through your lips."

Following the statement , he used a few of medical tape to prevent the gauze from moving, but the entire time he held a heavenly leer. It was a facial expression that Salander quite enjoyed seeing on Blomkvist's face. Though, she frowned not knowing why he smiled. She didn't know why, but she continues to expect him to degrade her in some way, but he never had. With the exception of one memorable time.

With the pregnancy, she hadn't done as she originally planned. The moment she received the news, she intently contemplated abortion. The months went by, the fetus grew and the next thing she knew, she was admitted into Södersjukhuset for complications. Not a soul knew. Mimmi was prancing around Paris with some new broad, Anders Jonasson was working a double shift at and sadly, Holger Palmgren had passed before she had found out there was a human being growing inside her. Then there was Blomkvist, whom knew nothing about her pregnancy, or the fact that the baby was his. she hadn't seen in several months. Of course, the e-mails rolled in, her cell constantly rang and she knew that he had dropped by her apartment at least four times. Once she had been inside, another she locked him out the remaining two, he left letters in her mail slot.

With every visit she had with Annika, there was a looming fog hanging over their heads. Salander would never ask about him, and Annika would never mention her brother. The doctor informed Annika and she that she had false labor caused by dehydration. While she had tried to rest, Annika played the congenial baby sister and called Blomkvist.

When a frantic Blomkvist showed up, Salander informed him about the adoption plans but that didn't settle well with him. His exact words were, "This is idiotic. It's fucked. That baby is the only family your about to have and you want to give it away."

For some reason, she had lamely pleaded with him, expressing how she couldn't raise a normal functioning child, which only enraged him more.

"Sally, you don't even know fulfilling having a child would be!" he urgently, pleaded for her to keep the child as her own.

"I-I," she stuttered," I can't...I can't keep it... I won't ruin this kid's life."

"And you won't ruin this kid's life-"

She interrupted him with an exclaim, "It's inevitable! You know that and I know that."

"I don't believe that! Give yourself some credit Lisbeth. Considering your upbringing, you know exactly how not to raise a child. You should want to give 'em the life you never had. The life you should have had. Now, I want hear you're keeping this baby."

The silence hung thickly between them. He begun pacing and stomping.

Finally, she said, "I won't make a good mother Mikael."

Sternly, he spoke between clenched teeth. "When you make the right choice, you call me." In a frenzy, he stormed out of the hospital room.

Needless to say, she didn't call him. She made a visit to Monica Abrahamsson didn't understand why he was so upset, especially if he didn't believe it was his child. She ended up taken a ferry to Sandhamn to think things over. For some reason, she wandered down to the cabin he owned on the waters edge. She had no clue Mikael was on the island as well until she heard the shuffle of footsteps coming from behind her. A simple greeting, dinner at the inn and a night spent in the cabin changed her mind.

In the bathroom, Blomkvist was still inspecting her aching hand with a large smirk.

"What?" she implored about his smirk.

"It shocks me that you have a daughter."

"Yeah? Well that's your fault."

He simpered, seeming a bit to proud of himself. After tossing the old bandages in the wastebasket, he ran his hand up the inside of her thigh and he lent forward kissing her neck, leaving Salander's heart pounding in her chest. Questions what the hell was she doing with him? She chose to disregard any urges that might overcome her, and focus on her hand that was about done being redressed.

Once again she checked on her daughter, she collected a few pairs of socks for their little vacation to Sandhamn. Back in her bedroom Blomkvist was laying on the bed, and she slipped in beside him. He touched her thigh, saying,"You're a good mother Sally. Don't ever doubt it."

Such a compliment gave her a thrill and the way his hand ran up and down her thigh made her nerves stand on end. She seduced him in her not so subtle ways by removing her shirt, underwear and straddling him. They had unhurried and fervent sex. Fucking had become more than some primal animalistic need. There was, what she considered, an intimacy. She could look him in the eyes as he throttled her and from time to time, she caught herself whimpering "Kalle". The sex before was good, but sex with intimacy was better.

The couple laid sweaty and tangled in sheets. Already Blomkvist appeared to be asleep. To be sure Salander, tucked her arm under her head and watched his chest. His breathing was unsteady and too quick for him to have fallen asleep. Like she he must have still been catching his breath.

"I need a smoke," she mumbled with exertion.

With closed eyes, he murmured, "We're supposed to quit."

"We said we were going to start using birth control too, and that hasn't happened," she added, "I promised Sötnos I wouldn't smoke anymore."

Blomkvist smiled at the comment and said, "We're gonna have to take up chewing gum."

Author's Note: Eek! It's been an eon, but HEY! it's summer. You forgive me, right?

Thanks to everyone for complimenting my mediocre writing. I just feel it's uninteresting (BLAH BLAH BLAH is more accurate) and there's just something off about my writing. Also I would like to address something in the last chapter. Lisbeth has softened, dramatically, but her harsh snap at Sötnos was to show that even though she has softened, she gets stuck in her head. For that split second it didn't occur to her that Sötnos was grabbing her hand. The fact that she was a mother wasn't in her mind at that moment. She just knew her hand was touched, and whoever didn't should keep their hands to themselves.

Södersjukhuset means South Hospital it's of course in the Southern most part of Södermalm. As for Salander's sleep paralysis, I think sleep paralysis is a state of not unconsciousness but a conscious of a realm we cannot see when we're fully awake. To many examples have suggested they see evil and demons, then there are other instances where they just feel as though they can't breath. So I think the lost of breath is true sleep paralysis and the former is true evil. Was Blomkvist a light sleeper?

I was considering going to Wattpad for my original stories, rather than fictionpress. Does anyone have any feed back about that sight?