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That's Not My Name	By : marksandspence Category: S through Z > True Blood Views: 6314 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I have not created the True Blood (credit to Charlaine Harris & Alan Ball) or BtVS universes (credit to Joss Whedon) and do not have any claim on the characters other than the ones I have added. I make no money off of these stories.

Chapter List
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- 13
Author's Note: I had wanted to finish this chapter with some good smut, but ran out of time. I will lead with that in the next chapter....
Chapter 12
The next time Peia regains consciousness, she finds herself on a cot in a small, windowless room. She feels dizzy. And cold. She wonders if she has hit bottom yet. Perhaps she will not recover this time. Her mind flits here and there. She wishes she had asked Eric what to say. She is such a bad liar. Unless she has had time to prepare. So the truth, then? Who are these people?
She takes a wheezing breath, which quickly induces a coughing fit. Through hazy eyes, she detects movement on the other side of the room. A light comes on. She blinks hard, desperate to focus on the figure moving toward her. She hears a gruff male voice – there is a delay before her brain processes the words.
“Do you require water?”
Wanting to say ‘yes’, the sound that is produced at this first attempt at words is halfway between a groan and a wheeze, but clearly unintelligible. Perhaps she should try to sit up. She jerks her legs enough to shift them off the bed, the gravity pulling her feet to the ground and shifting her hips enough to allow her upper body to move. However, the moment her head is lifted above the height of her shoulders, she loses consciousness again and slumps back down.
*
Eric enters the room under strict supervision, his wrists still shackled in silver. Her continuous distress has been draining to him and despite the rather crumpled and bruised look about her, he is calmed by the sight. He walks over and sits at the edge of the bed.
“Peia,” he calls softly.
After a few more repetitions, her eyes begin to flutter. She is obviously dreaming, as the noises she makes loosely resemble words. As she slowly regains consciousness, she opens her eyes and manages a weak smile when she sees Eric.
“Why is Admiral Adama here? Tell him I’m not a Cylon,” Peia mumbles.
“What?”
“I’m not a Cylon. At least I don’t think I am. Gods, am I a Cylon?”
Eric shakes his head and looks up at Nan.
“You will get no information from her in this state.”
“She’ll recover. We’re not in any hurry. Well, I will be leaving in a few minutes, but Mr. George here has all the time in the word.”
“I am not sure she will recover without my assistance,” Eric responds with a touch of concern.
“If she is half vampire like you suggest, then maybe it will just take twice as long,” Nan snarks.
“Even a vampire would need to feed to recover from that much blood loss,” Eric counters.
“What does she eat?” Nan shrugs.
“Hamburgers. And Vitamin water,” Eric responds, recalling their time at Charley’s Diner.
Nan considers this a moment. She had wanted the interrogation to at least be on the way before she left. Ordering take-out does not fit with the timeline.
“Fine. You can help her,” Nan concedes, irritated.
“Shackles?” He questions, twisting his torso to display his bound wrists.
“Why should I trust you? You took out two of my guards back in Shreveport. I should just cut you myself,” she says walking towards him as she pulls a knife from her belt.
“You resorted to silver too quickly. I do not appreciate being forced before being asked. I only wished to accompany her. You will get no more resistance from me.”
“So long as we stick to your script,” Nan responds skeptically.
“So long as you give me the opportunity to speak the truth. We are on the same side in this.” Maybe.
Nan shouts for a guard from the hallway; a human who can handle the silver shackles. Once they are removed, Eric proceeds to give Peia some blood. The result, as anticipated, is quick and by the time she sits up, the bruising is gone from her broken nose. She smiles rather coyly at Eric before assessing her blood soaked clothes, now crisp and uncomfortable.
“I’ll take that water now, please,” Peia says to no one in particular.
Nan’s phone beeps and she takes a moment to glance at the text message.
“I need to deal with something. Mr. George, keep me informed. Question them separately for now.”
Mr. George nods and a guard gestures for Eric to follow Nan out the door. As he gets up, Eric leans forward to whisper something in Peia’s ear.
“Remember, the lesser of two evils.”
Peia thinks she understands his meaning and tries to emulate his relaxed demeanor. A moment after Eric leaves, another guard enters the room with a glass of water. He offers it to Peia, who accepts, drinks it down and places the glass on the floor near the leg of the cot on which she is still sitting. The guard takes the glass and leaves, but returns a moment later and takes up his position by the door. Mr. George is sitting at a table about six feet from her, staring down through a pair of reading glasses at a file folder. Something about the slow deliberateness of his movements as he turns over each page reminds her of someone. He appears roughly middle aged, with deep creases around his eyes accentuated by the angle of the reading lamp on the table in front of him. His full head of black hair matches the frames of his glasses. He is wearing a suit. After a moment, he takes off his glasses and looks up from the file folder without expression.
“We have not been able to find much information on your past using the name provided to us by Mr. Davis, the Sheriff of Area 27.”
Hearing his voice, the inspiration for the dream that chased her into consciousness only a few minutes ago becomes abundantly clear. Edward James Olmos. The man before her looks only vaguely like the actor, perhaps a version stretched out in height with the corresponding narrowing of the features. But his voice and movements echo Admiral Adama in a rather terrifying way.
“What name did he give you?” Peia responds.
“He knew you only as Veronica. We inquired at your place of business and were told by your former employer that your surname was Mars.”
Peia stifles a laugh. Oh, Billy. After the night she had met Daisy, acquiring the name Veronica, she had requested that this name be used whenever dealing with patrons of the bar. Better that they couldn’t look up her address or phone number, etc. She and Billy had never settled on a last name, as it did not seem relevant at the time. He likely enjoyed taking advantage of the vampires’ pop-culture ineptitude in responding to their queries. But how did he keep a straight face?
“It would seem that you share a name with a fictional character from a television program, which complicated our investigation,” Mr. George states dryly.
“That’s not my name,” Peia offers.
“I see,” Mr. George acknowledges. He puts his glasses back on, picks up a pen and crosses something off the paper in front of him, before continuing, “And what name should I put on your file instead?”
“I have gone by a number of different names. Veronica is as good as any. None will get you very far in a Google search, is all.” She adds quickly, “But I’m happy to tell you anything you want to know.”
“Fair enough. Your real name is of little consequence to us.”
“Who is ‘us’, if you don’t mind my asking? I don’t understand why I am here.”
“We are part of the governance structure of vampires living within the United States. We answer to a larger entity, worldwide in scope. It is the duty of my organization to protect our kind from any potential threat. It has been suggested by Mr. Davis and others that you may be such a threat, or at least a part of it. That is why you are here,” Mr. George explains in level tones.
Peia swallows hard, feeling overwhelmed by the situation. “Oh. Well, I can assure you, I am no threat. I have nothing against vampires.”
“Your recent activities would suggest otherwise.”
“Bruce? He jumped me. I would have totally let that go.”
“Mr. Davis claims he was avenging the death of one of his deputies, who he says you killed. Mr. Davis also claims that back in California, you rather made a habit of picking fights with local vampires.”
“Not to be rude, but Mr. Davis is talking out of his ass. I was doing my job. I was hired as a bouncer at a club in a rough area. Vampires, wolves, shifters, you name it. I was hired to keep the humans in the bar safe. We didn’t exclude anyone, but if they started hassling a human or causing a disruption, I threw them out. For whatever reason, after the first few vampires were ejected, word spread and they would come just to fight with me. I never asked for the attention.”
“And the deputy?”
“I never killed anyone. I had a rule – they all got three chances. Bruce was the first to get that far.”
“He was quite convinced. Apparently, she had mentioned a skirmish the two of you had.”
Peia thinks a moment – there were fewer women. She thinks she knows who he is talking about. Still, she didn’t kill her, even if she did chase her off once.
“It wasn’t me. Go back and ask Billy – he would know if I’d killed a vampire during one of my shifts.”
“And what about in your free time, Ms. Mars?”
“In the time since I learned that vampires existed, I am quite sure that from a statistical standpoint, I am more likely to be kissing a vampire than fighting with one. I mean, I’m living with Eric at the moment and truthfully, he’s not the first,” she responds, amused by the idea that something she used to be so defensive about might actually help her in the current situation.
“Describe the nature of your relationship with Mr. Northman.”
That’s a complicated question with no easy answer, she thinks to herself.
The honesty leaks out, and she hears herself respond, “It’s a bit confusing, really.”
“How so?”
She crosses her legs inadvertently and glances to the side before answering.
“I am not really sure if I am his girlfriend or his ward. Perhaps a bit of both? It feels strangely incestuous, but in a positive way. Is that possible?” Peia notices the awkward expression on Mr. George’s face and realizes this is not the kind of information he is looking for. She continues, “He tried to turn me, but it didn’t work. Well, it did, sort of, but obviously, I am not a vampire.”
“And when did this occur?”
“About 8 or 9 months ago, I think. I had agreed to be his for the night – I passed out at some point and woke up underground.”
“And yet you have been living in California since, until very recently.”
“I was confused, angry. So I ran away.” No need to mention Spike.
“What makes you say it worked at all?” Mr. George asks, obviously skeptical.
“The strength and speed, mostly. And a few other things that make me different from other humans.” She hesitates a moment before adding, “I feel connected to him in a way that I don’t recognize.”
“You are loyal to him?”
She nods and adds deliberately, “We are family.”
Mr. George frowns deeply, tapping the pencil on the table gently.
“You must understand our skepticism, Ms. Mars. Mr. Northman is an experienced maker. It seems rather implausible that he would not complete such an act successfully.”
Peia just shrugs. She feels unexpectedly possessive of her past. If pressed, she will tell them about the magic in her. Just not yet.
Shaking his head dismissively, he adds, “And even if your story is true, it would be unheard of for a newly minted vampire to have the ability to fend off a Sheriff, even a relatively young one such as Mr. Davis. Seniority is the key attribute in the vampire world.”
“What can I say, I’m Bruce Lee,” She responds flippantly.
She has no knowledge of this ‘age affect’ described. Spike had never mentioned it explicitly and she and Eric had barely discussed anything since she had been back. The martial arts reference was not entirely snark. After Spike left and she thought to put her newfound strength to good use at the bar, she had taken up Aikido at a local dojo. Something she had dabbled in back in graduate school. Although primarily defensive, it has the attribute of effectively using the momentum of one’s opponent to fuel the fight. Perhaps her somewhat random choice of training had inadvertently given her the upper hand in age asymmetric bouts.
“That reference I am familiar with,” Mr. George acknowledges offhandedly. “But lets move on, shall we? So you claim the source of your power is vampire and that your loyalty lies with Mr. Northman. If that is indeed true, then perhaps you can help us investigate some disturbing rumors from your former place of residence. We have had reports of modified humans – stronger & faster, such as yourself. Also, entirely female. Our fear is that these creations are the work of either the U.S. government or some kind of well-funded religious organization and were created with the sole purpose of destroying vampires. As you might imagine, this information is quite disturbing given the current political climate.”
“Sounds a bit far-fetched if you ask me. I was an accident – creating is an entirely different animal.”
“So you have not encountered any such individuals?”
Ah, this is where it gets tricky. How much should I say?
“I might have. One time I found myself being attacked by a group – I had assumed they were supernaturals of some kind, but they were definitely all women.” She sounds genuine, but is holding some information back. In truth, she did not stick around long enough to really understand what their mission was.
“Interesting. And how did you fare?”
“In the end, they tased me, so it wasn’t exactly a fair fight.”
“Why were they after you?”
“I don’t know. They seemed to be like you – confused about what I was.”
“Hm. And what did you tell them?”
“I didn’t tell them anything.” But Spike likely did. “They tased me, so I was kind of pissed. I left town a few days later.”
Mr. George takes a moment to make a few more notes on the paper in front of him. Next, he pulls out a few sheets of paper with drawings on them and lays them on the table.
“What can you tell me about these images? They appear to depict vampire-targeting weaponry. Interestingly, we came across them through a link on a computer that was purportedly used by you,” Mr. George says calmly, but with a hint of vindication.
Looking suddenly nervous, Peia stands up and walks over to the table to look at the papers. Each one is a drawing with a title. The first shows a large, black eagle carrying a round object suspended by a leather strap in its talons. The title is “Pulsing Sunlight Bomb.” The other looks something like a gun with a wide opening (almost like one of those diffusing hair dryers). Drawn coming out of the gun are hundreds of lines of tiny nail-like objects. The title is “Micro-silver Diffuser”. Peia smiles broadly.
“What do you find so amusing? These are quite damning.” Mr. George says seriously, thrown by her change of expression.
“But these are fiction. I hadn’t seen…a fan must have drawn them. I am a writer. These are weapons I described in one of my stories. I totally made them up. They have no basis in reality.”
“So you have a job that requires frequent altercations with vampires and in your spare time, you write, creatively, about killing them. Yes, it sounds like you certainly have nothing against vampire-kind,” Mr. George sarcastically throws her words back at her.
“Context. The weapons were used by one group of vampires against another. The main character is a vampire and she is very sympathetic,” Peia responds defensively.
“You expect us to believe this nonsense, Ms. Mars?” Mr. George replies, incredulous.
“Look me up. Surely someone here has a wireless connection. Cassiopeia Sun – that’s my pen name. The weapons are from my latest story, Start the Chase. I can’t remember exactly which chapter, but towards the end.”
“I do not believe that will be necessary. Perhaps we can begin again. Who do you work for?” He stands up, aggressively.
She lifts her head up, defiant.
“Eric Northman. I am a bouncer at Fangtasia, starting tomorrow.”
“We will see about that,” he smiles devilishly.
They stand for a moment, scowling at each other. Just then, a ringtone breaks the tension. It is the Imperial March. Mr. George looks at his phone and then quickly picks it up.
Peia feels a twinge of sympathy – a Star Wars fan? Maybe they all have the Imperial March as their ringtone. That would be awesome.
“Yes. I see. Are you sure? I was just getting started. Very well,” he answers into his phone, the words interspersed between brief pauses.
Mr. George sets the phone down and looks dispassionately at Peia.
“It would seem my superior, Ms. Hannah, wishes to speak with you herself.”
And with that, Mr. George puts his phone in his pocket, picks up his pen and nods to the guard standing by the door. The guard opens the door and he leaves. Peia looks around the room before deciding to sit in the chair next to the desk instead of heading back over to the cot. She takes the few minutes of solitude to appreciate the effect of Eric’s blood. She looks down her shirt at where the wood had pierced her body and sees nothing but smooth skin. She feels utterly fantastic physically, and yet the drastic transition is a bit disorienting. Before she has a chance to think too much about the direness of her current situation, she hears the door latch. She stands up, reflexively. Through the door walks a woman she has not seen – a young (looking) and feminine brunette in a power suit, followed by Eric. Peia resists the urge to run over and wrap her arms around him, instead opting for a demure smile and chin nod as he walks over. He touches her hand, gently as if to reassure her. The woman gestures for them to sit.
“Ms. Sun, is it?” The vampire begins with an odd glimmer of a smile.
“It’s actually pronounced ‘soon’,” Peia blurts, unable to stop herself from making the correction.
“She goes by Peia,” Eric offers.
“Ah, Peia, short for Cassiopeia. Funny our need to shorten names,” Ms. Hannah muses.
There is that little smile again. Very disconcerting.
“Well, Peia, I have been talking to Mr. Northman and although I must admit our skepticism regarding the story of your origins, I wonder if perhaps in this case the truth may be stranger than fiction,” she continues, adding an unnecessary emphasis on this last word.
“Sounds about right,” Peia comments, nervously.
“I am inclined to believe you, based on the events of the other night in Shreveport, the general corroboration of your story by each other and others we have interviewed, etc. etc. Also, the fact that Mr. Northman has served in the capacity of Sheriff quite a bit longer than Mr. Davis and has demonstrated a certain degree of loyalty and cooperation up to this point. Suffice it to say we have more reason to distrust Mr. Davis’ motives. All that said, the existence of a hybrid – which I suppose is what you are in a sense, and a strong one at that – is problematic. There are questions of loyalty, questions of duplication and other such complexities. These are sensitive times. I am quite sure that if I were to alert The Authority about the situation, or even the new Magister, I would be told to bury it. And to be clear, that would not be figuratively.”
Eric stands up, angry, fangs down, “I will not allow it. You cannot…”
Ms. Hannah holds her hand up and responds forcefully.
“Eric, need I remind you that we can take Pam into custody at any time – we have people on the ground at Fangtasia right now. Have a seat and let me finish.”
“I think we can trust her,” Peia hears herself speak softly, unsure why.
Eric sits back down, but remains on alert.
“The relationship between maker and offspring is a complicated one, filled with nuance and individuality. However, I believe there are certain commonalities. Although some do, regrettably, turn against their makers, most maintain a degree of loyalty and respect that lasts eternally. This is a subject of great interest to me. It is relevant here, as it is my duty to judge the degree to which this hybrid has the capacity to truly understand and participate in such a relationship.”
Peia’s heart sinks at this. She has no confidence in her understanding or her role as offspring.
“But how can this be tested?” Eric responds, concerned.
Ms. Hannah smiles broadly. Peia sinks slightly in her chair.
“Relax, Eric. Peia has already passed.”
“What?” Peia blurts.
“I have read your novel, Start the Chase. I could not believe it when you told Mr. George to look it up. I did a rather comic double take. I had no idea you who you were. You have quite a decent vampire following, you know,” Ms. Hannah answers in a surprisingly light tone. As if the stern words from moments ago were just a cover.
“I do not understand how that is relevant,” Eric comments, confused.
“You have not read it. Why am I not surprised?” Ms. Hannah responds with a hint of exasperation.
“I haven’t been checking in on the readership lately,” Peia says offhandedly, surprised.
“It is relevant, Mr. Northman, because I do not believe that anyone could have written such a story without intimate knowledge of vampire relationships. In fact, I had just assumed it was written by a vampire, as did other readers. In any case, it illustrated an understanding that could only have come from experience. Hence Peia, I believe that whatever force prevented you from actually becoming a vampire did not interfere with the blood connection between you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Peia responds, feeling like a total imposter with a good imagination.
“Do you think you’ll write a sequel?” Ms. Hannah asks hopefully.
Peia cannot get over the bizarreness of the situation. Talk about an unexpected turn of events. She looks up at Ms. Hannah who is waiting expectantly for an answer. Obviously, the right one, given the circumstances, is ‘yes’.
“I have some ideas for a prequel,” Peia responds unenthusiastically. She has never been one to revisit an ending. But judging by Ms. Hannah’s expression, she quickly adds, “Maybe a sequel. That’s a definite possibility.”
Ms. Hannah nods enthusiastically.
“Are we free to go?” Eric asks, not quite trusting their luck.
Before responding, Ms. Hannah gathers herself and does away with the fan-girl tone.
“We will release Peia into your custody, Eric. As she is an unusual case, we will hold you personally responsible for any aberrant behavior. She must remain under your supervision to guarantee her safety. Do you accept these terms?”
“Yes.”
“To avoid any possible misunderstandings, we will keep this conversation and the conclusions reached to ourselves. Neither The Authority nor the Magister will be alerted to her existence and I will do my best to contain the information within the AVL.”
“I understand,” Eric adds.
Ms. Hannah turns to Peia.
“Peia. It is critical for you to understand that you owe your life to Eric. In any other situation, we would have killed you. Or worse. What you are is because of him. What happens to you in the future depends on him. Be clear with your loyalty,” Ms. Hannah states with authoritative conviction.
Peia feels her heart start to race and her head spin. A deep part of her soul bristles defiantly, the tension showing in her muscles. Her eyes flit about the room in a panic. She is trapped. Was this the right choice?
Sensing her reaction (and fearing what she might do), Eric places his hand gently on her shoulder, careful to insert his fingers under her shirt to touch her skin. She turns her head quickly towards him, the panic still visible in her eyes. In a moment, she feels a calming warmth emanating from their point of contact – obviously it is not warmth literally, as his hands are cold, but the effect is warming. Her muscles relax in sequence and soon her eyes soften.
“Lets go. We have only a short time before daybreak,” Eric says as he moves his hand across her shoulder and up the back of her neck, pausing enough to give a gentle squeeze.
Peia nods, “Okay.”
*
Once they leave the gate of the compound, Eric comments, “We were very lucky back there.”
“You think?” She answers, sarcastically.
“Should I read it?” Eric asks.
“What?”
“Your book.”
“No. I mean, you can, but… Honesty I don’t think it is that good. Kind of overwrought and full of melodrama. It’s like Twilight for vampires.”
She wonders if she has maybe judged it a bit too harshly. It was written quickly and during a time of great pain. And like many authors who infuse too much emotion into a story, it feels painful just knowing it is out there being read. Maybe she will revisit it eventually….
***
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That's Not My Name