Summary: With the threat of Sophie-Ann and the Authority still hovering, Eric hadn't worried about Russell's warning. When Godric is mysteriously resurrected, he realises that maybe he should have. Set post S3.
Pairing: Godric/ Eric.
Warnings: Angst, slash, bloodplay, violence, torture, sex. If you're mature enough to watch True Blood, I think you'll be fine reading this.
Disclaimer: True Blood belongs to Alan Ball and the SVM books belong to Charlaine Harris. Only the original characters are mine.
Fight on Undaunted
Eric slumped into his desk chair and buried his face in his hands, exhausted. The past week had been nerve wracking and combined with the... difficulties... of the week before in Dallas, he was surprised that it had taken this long for him to feel this tired. He glanced at his hand, unfurling his long fingers, remembering how it had felt out in the sun. Hot, like fire, yet it had none of a fire's fierce heat. It was gentle warmth, vastly different to the cool light the moon offered. Had the sun felt like that when Godric had...
He did not finish that thought because Pam stormed in, still in her fluffy pink robe, a comb in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other.
"I have to fix your hair."
Bits of dried cement flaked off his skin as he made a face. Normally, he was happy to let her play around with his hair, but when she was pissed off, she wasn't gentle. "Can't it wait?"
"No. You're meant to be in the club tomorrow night."
He considered arguing with her. He looked at the red comb in her hand and saw the tight grip she had on it, her chipped fingernails leaving deep indents in the cheap plastic. Her earlier smugness at having killed Ruben had worn off and she was anxious again. Despite the victory over Russell and Bill, his problems were not over yet.
With a resigned sigh, he leaned back.
Pam carefully separated each section of hair, inspecting each bit before working on it. She jerked on his hair as she meticulously picked out the drying cement.
"Shut up, you big sissy."
He growled when she yanked again, and after a few minutes of incessant pulling as she picked and snagged, he gave up. Eric decided that he had endured more than enough pain for one day and brushed her off. He raised his index finger.
"One. Ruben tried to kill you."
A second finger. "Two. Sophie-Anne."
Another. "Three. Nan Flanagan and the Authority."
He smiled sourly as he held up his pinky. "Four. Finding a new assassin."
Much to his relief, Pam lowered her weapons and rested against the desk, pondering the problems. She tapped the comb against her chin, thoughtful.
"Bill must have called Ruben from your phone," she said eventually, huffily adding, "I can't believe you didn't kill him."
"Ruben was awfully quick to go after you though," Eric pointed out, letting her dig about Bill pass. "Or I managed to hire the most obedient assassin in history."
"Or the dumbest." Pam ignored Eric's withering look. "Ruben must have already had an offer," she said grimly.
He'd had the same thought. "Who by?"
"Sophie-Anne or Nan Flanagan."
"I'm your Queen," Pam mimicked Sophie-Anne's haughty voice, making him smile, "and you have stupidly decided to betray me. What would I do?"
"Attack anyone I held dear," Eric replied instantly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. It was the oldest trick in the book and one they'd used numerous times with great success. Pam nodded and continued.
"I'm a very young – and rather stupid – Queen and the other Royals are my elders by centuries. I secretly got married and then my new husband goes crazy and disappears, possibly even... killed. Now I'm a Queen ruling over two kingdoms. "
"A good point, o' Stupid Queen," Eric mused. "Other Royals might be suspicious of you. You'll need all the help you can get right now. Finding those that are still loyal to you and wiping out traitors is important at this crucial stage." He made a face. "And you recommend Ruben to me."
Pam's voice changed, perfectly capturing the smarmy scorn of Nan Flanagan. "Eric Northman, you are a walking, talking, public relations catastrophe. You have betrayed a Queen and a King."
"Additionally, you may be charged with the murder of Russell Edgington, if Queen Sophie-Anne, Russell's entitled wife, wishes to press charges." Pam smiled grimly, leaning down to whisper in his ear, "And if you are charged, be sure to keep in mind that the Authority will not acknowledge any claims that you were requested to take care of Russell."
"I understand the charges, Ms Flanagan," he said after a moment's consideration. "I would like to take the time to point out that with Magnus and Russell out of the picture, I am one of the oldest vampires in America."
He smiled, continuing. "As such, I do not want to see any further harm come to our cause of mainstreaming with the humans. We've all suffered thanks to Russell's extremist acts. Another approached me and asked for help in subduing Russell Edgington." He grinned broadly. "I agreed to help Bill Compton purely because I thought it in our best interests to do so. Bill killed Russell, not me."
Pam whacked him on the head with the comb. "And Talbot?"
"Shit," Eric muttered, trying to think. After a few minutes, all he could come up with was: "He died doing something fun."
Pam yanked on his hair. "Idiot," she snapped. "That won't help us."
"I'm well aware of that," he shot back, rubbing his aching scalp. "But I don't have any... formal... motivation for killing Talbot." He sighed. "This would be a lot easier if I was trying to claim a kingdom."
Pam rolled her eyes. By vampire law, killing another vampire during an act of war was acceptable. Unfortunately, this situation did not count. She adopted a voice she'd become well versed with over the course of a few painful hours.
"Well, Mr Northman, we do want to make sure the punishment fits the crime, don't we?" she purred. Eric's scowl deepened, listening as she spoke like the Magister. He might be gone now, but the vampire that stepped up to replace him would no doubt be equally as pompous.
"You're so old and you think you're above the Authority. Well, tonight, we're going to show that you're not. Even the eldest vampires must acknowledge us. You're the sort that needs to see the consequences of his actions. I think a fitting punishment for you would be..." Pam's voice shifted from the Magister's arrogant voice to her own, now miserable and subdued, "... to kill your own progeny."
"I would never let that happen," Eric said immediately. Pam stood up, patted him on the shoulder, and returned to the task of fixing his hair.
"I know, Eric. I know."
The following silence wasn't awkward, but Eric broke it anyway.
"I'm glad you're able to handle yourself Pam, but still – you might have at least questioned him instead of outright killing him!"
She snickered. "We'll find someone new," she said breezily, as though vampire assassins were a dime a dozen. "Also, we have to hire a new dancer."
He grimaced, looking at the mess on his desk. With all the drama of his visit to Dallas and then with Russell, he'd neglected Fangtasia. Chow and one of the humans would have covered for him as much as they could, but Eric actually enjoyed managing the club, as well as his other side enterprises. The vampire attorney hadn't been kidding when he'd told Pam that if Eric died, she would be a very wealthy woman.
Someone had had kindly left some junk mail on his desk. He browsed through them, only having to grumble occasionally if Pam yanked accidently. A shoe catalogue caught his interest. He needed a new pair of sneakers thanks to his favourite red ones being ruined by cement. Perhaps he should make Bill buy him a new pair before he framed him for Russell's murder.
"What do you think of these?"
Pam inspected the picture of red Nike Air Force 1 Hi Premium Leather Futura Men's Shoe, on sale for $110.00.
"I think you owe me a new pair of shoes," she retorted. He laughed, remembering her ruined pink shoes. To prove her point, she grabbed a fashion magazine from her purse and held it out to him, pointing to a pair of tan and black boots.
Apparently, Chanel's Colour faded suede calfskin platform boots cost more than his entire wardrobe put together. Since he usually wore jeans, tracksuits, and T-shirts, that wasn't really saying much.
"If you buy a pair of shoes that cost thousands of dollars," he said, raising an eyebrow, "I'll move you from door bouncer to main dancer."
Dancing took far more effort than Pam was willing to put into a job. Sighing in disgust, Pam gave his hair a final yank. "This will have to do. You can wash the rest out. And if you fuck it up again, I'll shave it off."
Dawn was far off enough for them to each spend the day in the comfort of their own homes. Eric couldn't wait to sleep in his own bed – it had been a busy night. He was so tired that he even felt brain dead. A zombie. That thought made him smile until he remembered that zombies weren't anything to laugh about.
"I'm going to be late tomorrow night," Pam declared as they locked the club up. "I have to go to Home Depot to get some paint. I'm redoing my living room."
"Can't wait to see it," he said. Considering how often she redecorated, he wondered why she bothered to tell him these things, especially when she knew he had no interest whatsoever in house decorating. She saw the sniggering look on his face and thrust an old cell phone at him.
"You can keep the emergency phone." She smiled innocently. "If Ginger calls, be sure to tell her I said hi."
He looked at the phone after she'd left. A flip phone – how quaint. He hated flip phones. Definitely had to get his back from Bill. Plus, Ginger being able to ring him?
He glanced back at the club, and then sent Pam a text message.
"Get paint to cover the graffiti. Something pretty."
Hope you enjoyed reading!