Make My Heart a Better Place (Part 5)
Make My Heart a Better Place
Part 5 of ???
Pairing: Godric/Eric
Warnings: Slash, Some Fluff, May Get a Little Dark Eventually (my work sometimes does), and the fact that I'm going to take quite a few liberties with Godric and Eric's respective histories. Fair Warning
Disclaimer: They're not mine. If they were? Canon would say that Godric is still be around. *sighs dejectedly*
Note: Thank everyone for the beautiful compliments.
Eric POV
He isn't expecting to see Godric tonight.
Pam kidnapped his Maker the moment they all woke tonight, and dragged him off to spend money. There's little he can do when Pam gets an idea into her head. If it's possible, she's as willful as Godric is. There's no arguing with her once she wants something. Once she sets her sights on something. Godric, once-upon-a-time, had been the same.
Maybe that had been the attraction. His desire to cage something he once lost. Something he saw fade in his Maker, he sought to preserve in his child.
Ugh...he is not psychoanalyzing himself.
He's sitting in his chair on the dias, trying to look as unapproachable and perfect as he knew he could. His eyes finding vampires and humans alike.
But Godric is not the sort to be able to move into a room unnoticed. He never has been. If his 'youth' doesn't catch the attention of all the adult-fang-bangers and tourists who try to deduce why he's there when their own kids couldn't get in, it's his presence. There's an undefinable allure to Godric. If a person doesn't know his true-age, they feel dirty. If they do?
They're very, very afraid.
Something that looks so very young should not survive so long. It means he's ruthless. It means he's a survivor. It means he's likely very, very willing to kill anyone who threatens him, and has done so many, many times.
It means he's powerful, and should be treated as such.
So Eric notices, as everyone else does, when he comes in. When he stops in the doorway and looks around for the first time, eyes landing on the bartender. The dancers who move with such fluidity. The fang-bangers who don't know whether approaching him makes them even more pathetic or if it makes them the most courageous person in the room.
Apparently, Pam made him change his clothes. When they'd left, Godric had been wearing a rather plain grey sweater and white slacks. Now, he's dressed in a pair dark-blue designer jeans, and a dark-green button-up shirt, the first two buttons undone to hint at the tattoos beneath. The sleeves are short-enough to do the same for those on his arms, telling of someone older than he looks.
What 'teenager' has tattoos at Godric's apparent age? Not many.
The darkness enhances his pallor as well as the fact that he's broad shouldered. He's not 'slight' the way most teenagers are these days. He's not long-limbed and lanky. He's just...a smaller version of what he would have been. Humans have evolved. Begun to live longer. Godric's living days are long behind him, and he was a man then. Not a boy.
He takes a seat at the table just below the dias. The table usually reserved for those who Eric doesn't mind looking at. Chow looks to Eric, and then moves off to take care of business. Tonight is Pam's night off, and Eric knows she's going to pick up some information from some 'hacker' human she's claimed. Call him a fang-banger and die, because he's apparently only been fed from by her, and she's becoming attached.
She actually pays for the information and work he does for her. Doesn't just glamour him into it.
Eric knows he may have to look in on it. But that's not important right now.
Godric is sitting at his table. Alone. Watching. He looks up at Eric every now and again, those soulful eyes looking at him longer than at anyone else in the room before he goes back to 'people watching'. It takes all of five minutes before someone has joined him at his table, asking about 'taking a picture'.
"Why would you want that? You don't know me. Are photographs not keepsakes? Memories of the people you love or the places you've been?" The question is asked with a genuine curiosity, but the human takes it as an insult.
"You work in a tourist attraction and you don't want your picture taken?"
"I do not work here. I am in my child's establishment to enjoy a drink. The question is an honest one, and there are plenty of vampires here to take photographs of. Why choose me?"
The timing is perfect, because one of the waitresses puts a warm bottle of TruBlood on the table--O Negative, which isn't as rare as AB Negative, but it's a close vintage. Godric doesn't touch it. Just looks up at the girl who puts it there with a little smile. Which, of course, she takes as all the 'Tip' she needs from him.
Though he'll likely leave a decent one anyway.
If it's possible, the human gets even more irrate. "You're different."
"How so?" He tilts his head to the side, blinking. Eric just watches, and the human takes even that as an insult. As though Godric were toying with him.
Eric knew better. Godric didn't toy with people, and when he did?
They knew it.
"You just are." The man--obviously a tourist trying to look not like a tourist--is middle-aged and balding.
"If you can not answer my rather reasonable question, then I see no reason to allow you to take your photograph of me. I don't relish the thought of being shown off to strangers without my consent, poked at and prodded when there is nothing I can do to explain who and what I am. To you, I am just a vampire. You do not know me or my history. You do not even know my name, and you've not asked it.
"The answer is 'no'."
The man looks up to Eric, and Eric just raises an eyebrow. Godric has already gone back to people-watching, fingers idly peeling the label off the bottle before he takes a sip of it. Wrinkles his nose at the bland-taste of it, and Eric can't help but grin. Godric may attempt to 'Mainstream', but he would be feeding from willing humans more often than not. He needs very little blood, but what he does need has to have flavor to it.
He goes back to peeling the label. Doesn't drink anymore.
The man realizes he is not going to get any help from Eric and stands up from the table...
...but not before pointing his camera in Godric's direction.
One moment, his maker is sitting calmly in his seat. The next, the little table is overturned, expensive bottle of blood shattering as it hits the edge of the raised platform, and the man is slammed against the wall with one slender hand wrapped around his throat, the camera being torn from his fingers with the other and dashed on the floor.
The room--and everyone in it--has stopped.
No one is approaching. No one.
It's remnants of Lorenna. Godric's eyes melting into those of the mortal he holds. His face calm. His posture showing his disproval but his face is an angelic mask. The anger is thrumming over the blood, and Eric's hand gently takes hold of Godric's wrist. "Godric."
He blinks, as though coming back to himself. Taking in where he is. What he's doing. It's a disconcerting thing to see because it shows a lack of control on Godric's part. Something that Eric is not used to. At all.
The man is shaking, and the stench of urine is pungent, and there's a wet spot on the front of his khaki pants.
Eric's eyes flicker to the man. "He said 'No'."
He nods. Or attempts to.
"Apologize."
It's a high pitched whine. Keening. Pathetic. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."
Godric blinks again, his hand falling away from the man's throat. The anger is gone, and Eric can feel the disgust. The hatred. It's not turned toward the man anymore. There' s no emotion as he watches Chow grab ahold of the back of the man's shirt and roughly steer him toward the door.
Eric doesn't release him, trying to look at the downturned face of his maker before he looks up without being asked, and then he realizes who Godric is disgusted by.
Himself.
"I am deeply sorry, Eric."
Eric uses his grip on Godric's wrist to pull him into an embrace. "There is nothing to apologize for."
"I don't know my own strength. I have no control. This is why..."
This is why he wanted to die. He doesn't have to finish the thought for Eric to hear it. Because it's there. The anger. The hatred. The annoyance with himself.
It's so obvious, even a blind man could have seen it.
"This is why. I am too dangerous. I should go."
He pulls back, starting to walk toward the backroom. Toward where they all slept. Eric caught his arm.
"We will talk later."
He nods, then continues on his way.
*********
He watches the boy leave, the Sheriff finding his way back to his dias as the little human slaves clean up the mess made by the Old One's lack of control.
Soon, they'd get him alone.
Soon.
Part 5 of ???
Pairing: Godric/Eric
Warnings: Slash, Some Fluff, May Get a Little Dark Eventually (my work sometimes does), and the fact that I'm going to take quite a few liberties with Godric and Eric's respective histories. Fair Warning
Disclaimer: They're not mine. If they were? Canon would say that Godric is still be around. *sighs dejectedly*
Note: Thank everyone for the beautiful compliments.
Eric POV
He isn't expecting to see Godric tonight.
Pam kidnapped his Maker the moment they all woke tonight, and dragged him off to spend money. There's little he can do when Pam gets an idea into her head. If it's possible, she's as willful as Godric is. There's no arguing with her once she wants something. Once she sets her sights on something. Godric, once-upon-a-time, had been the same.
Maybe that had been the attraction. His desire to cage something he once lost. Something he saw fade in his Maker, he sought to preserve in his child.
Ugh...he is not psychoanalyzing himself.
He's sitting in his chair on the dias, trying to look as unapproachable and perfect as he knew he could. His eyes finding vampires and humans alike.
But Godric is not the sort to be able to move into a room unnoticed. He never has been. If his 'youth' doesn't catch the attention of all the adult-fang-bangers and tourists who try to deduce why he's there when their own kids couldn't get in, it's his presence. There's an undefinable allure to Godric. If a person doesn't know his true-age, they feel dirty. If they do?
They're very, very afraid.
Something that looks so very young should not survive so long. It means he's ruthless. It means he's a survivor. It means he's likely very, very willing to kill anyone who threatens him, and has done so many, many times.
It means he's powerful, and should be treated as such.
So Eric notices, as everyone else does, when he comes in. When he stops in the doorway and looks around for the first time, eyes landing on the bartender. The dancers who move with such fluidity. The fang-bangers who don't know whether approaching him makes them even more pathetic or if it makes them the most courageous person in the room.
Apparently, Pam made him change his clothes. When they'd left, Godric had been wearing a rather plain grey sweater and white slacks. Now, he's dressed in a pair dark-blue designer jeans, and a dark-green button-up shirt, the first two buttons undone to hint at the tattoos beneath. The sleeves are short-enough to do the same for those on his arms, telling of someone older than he looks.
What 'teenager' has tattoos at Godric's apparent age? Not many.
The darkness enhances his pallor as well as the fact that he's broad shouldered. He's not 'slight' the way most teenagers are these days. He's not long-limbed and lanky. He's just...a smaller version of what he would have been. Humans have evolved. Begun to live longer. Godric's living days are long behind him, and he was a man then. Not a boy.
He takes a seat at the table just below the dias. The table usually reserved for those who Eric doesn't mind looking at. Chow looks to Eric, and then moves off to take care of business. Tonight is Pam's night off, and Eric knows she's going to pick up some information from some 'hacker' human she's claimed. Call him a fang-banger and die, because he's apparently only been fed from by her, and she's becoming attached.
She actually pays for the information and work he does for her. Doesn't just glamour him into it.
Eric knows he may have to look in on it. But that's not important right now.
Godric is sitting at his table. Alone. Watching. He looks up at Eric every now and again, those soulful eyes looking at him longer than at anyone else in the room before he goes back to 'people watching'. It takes all of five minutes before someone has joined him at his table, asking about 'taking a picture'.
"Why would you want that? You don't know me. Are photographs not keepsakes? Memories of the people you love or the places you've been?" The question is asked with a genuine curiosity, but the human takes it as an insult.
"You work in a tourist attraction and you don't want your picture taken?"
"I do not work here. I am in my child's establishment to enjoy a drink. The question is an honest one, and there are plenty of vampires here to take photographs of. Why choose me?"
The timing is perfect, because one of the waitresses puts a warm bottle of TruBlood on the table--O Negative, which isn't as rare as AB Negative, but it's a close vintage. Godric doesn't touch it. Just looks up at the girl who puts it there with a little smile. Which, of course, she takes as all the 'Tip' she needs from him.
Though he'll likely leave a decent one anyway.
If it's possible, the human gets even more irrate. "You're different."
"How so?" He tilts his head to the side, blinking. Eric just watches, and the human takes even that as an insult. As though Godric were toying with him.
Eric knew better. Godric didn't toy with people, and when he did?
They knew it.
"You just are." The man--obviously a tourist trying to look not like a tourist--is middle-aged and balding.
"If you can not answer my rather reasonable question, then I see no reason to allow you to take your photograph of me. I don't relish the thought of being shown off to strangers without my consent, poked at and prodded when there is nothing I can do to explain who and what I am. To you, I am just a vampire. You do not know me or my history. You do not even know my name, and you've not asked it.
"The answer is 'no'."
The man looks up to Eric, and Eric just raises an eyebrow. Godric has already gone back to people-watching, fingers idly peeling the label off the bottle before he takes a sip of it. Wrinkles his nose at the bland-taste of it, and Eric can't help but grin. Godric may attempt to 'Mainstream', but he would be feeding from willing humans more often than not. He needs very little blood, but what he does need has to have flavor to it.
He goes back to peeling the label. Doesn't drink anymore.
The man realizes he is not going to get any help from Eric and stands up from the table...
...but not before pointing his camera in Godric's direction.
One moment, his maker is sitting calmly in his seat. The next, the little table is overturned, expensive bottle of blood shattering as it hits the edge of the raised platform, and the man is slammed against the wall with one slender hand wrapped around his throat, the camera being torn from his fingers with the other and dashed on the floor.
The room--and everyone in it--has stopped.
No one is approaching. No one.
It's remnants of Lorenna. Godric's eyes melting into those of the mortal he holds. His face calm. His posture showing his disproval but his face is an angelic mask. The anger is thrumming over the blood, and Eric's hand gently takes hold of Godric's wrist. "Godric."
He blinks, as though coming back to himself. Taking in where he is. What he's doing. It's a disconcerting thing to see because it shows a lack of control on Godric's part. Something that Eric is not used to. At all.
The man is shaking, and the stench of urine is pungent, and there's a wet spot on the front of his khaki pants.
Eric's eyes flicker to the man. "He said 'No'."
He nods. Or attempts to.
"Apologize."
It's a high pitched whine. Keening. Pathetic. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."
Godric blinks again, his hand falling away from the man's throat. The anger is gone, and Eric can feel the disgust. The hatred. It's not turned toward the man anymore. There' s no emotion as he watches Chow grab ahold of the back of the man's shirt and roughly steer him toward the door.
Eric doesn't release him, trying to look at the downturned face of his maker before he looks up without being asked, and then he realizes who Godric is disgusted by.
Himself.
"I am deeply sorry, Eric."
Eric uses his grip on Godric's wrist to pull him into an embrace. "There is nothing to apologize for."
"I don't know my own strength. I have no control. This is why..."
This is why he wanted to die. He doesn't have to finish the thought for Eric to hear it. Because it's there. The anger. The hatred. The annoyance with himself.
It's so obvious, even a blind man could have seen it.
"This is why. I am too dangerous. I should go."
He pulls back, starting to walk toward the backroom. Toward where they all slept. Eric caught his arm.
"We will talk later."
He nods, then continues on his way.
*********
He watches the boy leave, the Sheriff finding his way back to his dias as the little human slaves clean up the mess made by the Old One's lack of control.
Soon, they'd get him alone.
Soon.