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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
- 20
- 21
- 22
Chapter 21
“Before you break what’s left of our decor, can I put in a vote for ‘calm the fuck down’?”
Upset beyond his expectation, Eric’s mind is muddled with panic and fury. Pam takes hold of his arm.
“How do you know she didn’t just forget her phone – she gets caught up with that writing shit and loses track of time…”
“She is not here – I cannot feel her anywhere.”
“Well, if she’s gone it’s not exactly rocket science to figure out where. Find Spike and you’ll find Peia.”
“Unless he doesn’t want to be found.”
“He won’t go back on the deal. He’s different than he used to be.”
“If she goes to California, she will be in danger. They’ll kill her on sight.”
“Spike will protect her.”
Eric scowls at this. He turns and punches a hole in the wall.
“Jesus, Eric. Nothing will happen until after nightfall, so get some rest and go at sundown.”
“But where exactly?”
“I don’t know. Go to that town and ask around. Spike has never kept a low profile. I’ll make some calls from here.”
He nods. As it is summer, the wait for sundown will be long.
“You’re good at this sort of thing – its just your brain isn’t working. Get some rest and you’ll know what to do.”
Eric blinks a few times and seems to relax a bit. He pulls Pam into a hug and kisses her forehead.
At daybreak he flies his way to California—to the town that Peia had been living in. He asks around, but hears nothing. He finds most of the vampires he meets to be uncooperative. It feels like looking for a needle in haystack. Sometimes he thinks he feels a glimmer of Peia. She has shut him out before, an ability that frustrates him no end. She is likely doing that now. Hours pass and still nothing. At least he has seen no sign of the local sheriff or King’s henchmen, so perhaps she is not in imminent danger. Unless they already have her. He shudders at the thought.
Perhaps by chance, just before sunup, he finds Dali sitting in the back of a demon bar reading a book. He sits next to her. She is able to confirm that Spike is still in town. But she has not seen Peia.
“This means she is taking pains not to be seen. Take comfort in this,” Dali offers, seeing Eric’s obvious distress.
“Will you help me find her?” Eric asks.
Dali looks down at her book before responding.
“She has not written anything new since she has been with you. Perhaps you do not inspire her.”
“Inspiration is of no use to the dead,” Eric responds, bristling at the implication.
“She is safer here than you might think. The Slayers keep the King’s aggression in check,” Dali comments.
“They inspire the King to direct his aggression elsewhere, stoked by frustration. In any case, these Slayers have shown no friendliness toward Peia. She is mine alone to protect.”
Dali closes the book and looks up at Eric. “I will give you safe haven in my crypt for the day. Tomorrow, I can find the name of someone who could help.”
Eric nods. He is grateful for the ally, but frustrated at having to wait through another long summer day.
**
As sunset approaches, Eric paces the crypt as he waits for Pam to call him back. He looks down at the piece of paper Dali had given him. The phone rings.
“Do you have an address?” He gruffs into the phone.
“Yes. You’re welcome. But what are you going to do? Walk up and ring the doorbell? She’s a Slayer. Or an ex-Slayer. Or the freakin’ Queen of the Slayers – the intel is a little muddled on that point. But one thing that everyone can agree on is that she is dangerous. Promise me you are not going to ring the doorbell.”
**
Eric’s finger pushes a doorbell and he stands in the doorway of a suburban looking home, waiting. A minute later, the door swings open. He is surprised to see a child standing there in her pajamas, alone. She says nothing and they stare at each other for a few seconds.
“Is your mother home?” He asks awkwardly.
The girl giggles and points, “You’re a vampire.”
Eric frowns. A moment later, a woman approaches. She grabs the girl by the arm, pulling her to the side gently.
“What are you doing up?” She turns and shouts over her shoulder, obviously annoyed, “Xander! Why is Tara up? And answering the door?” A male voice bellows down the stairs, “I’m in the bathroom with Luke – there is a delicate poo situation, which I am expertly handling right now, I’d like to point out.”
Buffy rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She turns the little girl toward the stairs and gives her a gentle push.
“Straight up to bed, young lady. And no, you cannot have another glass of water. Or another story. And I know boo boo bear is under your bed, so don’t even think about sending me on another wild goose chase.”
She then turns back to the doorway and looks at Eric for the first time.
“No,” she proclaims before shutting the door in his face.
He is quick to put his foot in the door, stopping it from closing. This pisses her off and she shoves the door even harder in an attempt to crush Eric’s foot. It becomes a brief battle of door vs. foot and the force of the struggle breaks off a section of the door all the way up to the doorknob.
“Dammit. Not another one. Xander’s going to kill me,” Buffy utters to herself.
“Break a lot of doors, do you?” Eric asks.
She glares at him a moment, obviously frustrated by more than just this latest event.
“If you are looking for a fight, I’m retired. And tired. And I’d just rather not deal, so please get lost.”
“I was told you might know where to find a vampire named Spike.”
“Seriously? What has he done to get so popular lately? Wait, don’t tell me.”
Eric inhales and his expression changes, “Peia has been here. When?”
“You know Peia?” Buffy responds, surprised.
“She is in danger,” Eric states.
“Not from Spike,” Buffy answers, a touch defensively.
“No. You have heard of Lamar?” Eric asks.
“The King?” Buffy answers with a subtle sneer.
“Peia has angered those who are loyal to him. She is not safe.”
“I do that almost every day and I’m still here,” Buffy responds with a hint of pride.
Eric shakes his head dismissively, his concern plain. “But you are not alone.”
Buffy nods. “She was here yesterday morning looking for Spike. I told her to check Sharkey’s on 3^rd St.. Or a boarded up apartment building down near Arroyo.”
“Thank you,” Eric says sincerely before turning to leave.
She closes what is left of the door.
Eric heads back toward the center of town, stopping a few blocks away to type in the addresses on his phone. As he is standing there, his eyes suddenly take on a far away look and he freezes.
Buffy is sitting on her couch with a big glass of wine, looking spent. She hears the doorbell.
“Xander. Can you get that?” She calls.
“Toxic poo clean-up in progress,” he calls back.
She reluctantly goes to the door. Opening it, she finds Eric standing there again.
“Hell to the no,” she can’t stop herself from exclaiming.
He closes his eyes, as if trying to picture something. “There is a long pier into the water – a wide boardwalk with a few buildings, palm trees, mountains in the background, sand beach on either side. Does this sound familiar to you?”
“Are we playing a game now?” Buffy responds, sounding a mixture of bored and annoyed.
“Please. She showed me. I just need to find it,” Eric pleads.
Buffy, surprised by the genuine emotion in his voice, thinks a moment. “Could be the Santa Barbara pier. It’s about 30 miles up the coast from here.”
Before she is even finished speaking, Eric shoots up into the air.
“No shit,” she exclaims in amazement. “A flying vampire? Now I’ve seen everything.”
**
The night she left, Peia ran all the way from Fangtasia to the townhouse, mentally calculating how far she was likely to get before Eric realized she was gone. If she could make it to daylight, she would have a reasonable chance of getting to California before he could find her. Despite Eric and Pam’s relative incompetence with technology, she did not want to risk using a credit card or atm. So she grabbed a handful of cash on her way out the door and planned to hop a Kansas City Southern freight train to Dallas where she would pick up a flight to LA.
It did not take her long to find Spike. Before venturing out in public, she had disguised herself with a wig and uncharacteristic clothes. It was easy to not look like herself. She watched him from the other end of the bar for a while. He looked drunk. And a bit sad, though perhaps she was projecting. His hair was white-blonde and short, his mannerisms slightly different than before. This made it easier. She called the bartender over and waited. Spike pulled out a crumpled up twenty from his pocket and put it on the bar. The bartender handed it back to him and nodded toward Peia.
“She took care of it. Maybe she can give you a ride home.”
Spike squinted in her direction, not recognizing her. She slid off the stool and walked toward him, taking the seat just to his left.
“Another scotch, or??” Peia asks, casually.
The sound of her voice was enough to bring him out of his drunken haze and focus on the features of her face, immediately giving away her identity.
“Aw, geez. You can’t be here, Jen. I’m too pissed to...” Spike stammers.
“You know that twenty wasn’t nearly enough to cover your tab. You’ve been busy.”
“Cheers for that. Kurt’s good to me, but getting a bit fed up. Too lazy to find a new bar to belly up to,” he flashes a quick smile, but then quickly frowns again. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Show me where I should be, then,” she answers.
He nods and slides off his stool, nearly falling over before grabbing hold of the bar to steady himself. They leave and she follows him down the road to the little apartment he has been squatting. Once inside, she makes him a strong cup of tea before saying anything of importance. She pulls off the wig and fluffs her hair while he sips the hot liquid. She stands, leaning against the wall, waiting for a sign that he is able to talk. She hopes his lack of sobriety will keep him honest.
“I know about your visit. Tell me what happened,” Peia casually demands.
“What did Eric say?” Spike asks.
“Haven’t talked to him about it,” she responds, honestly.
“Maybe you should.”
“Come on, Spike. Don’t you think you owe me som…” She doesn’t finish, suddenly feeling vulnerable.
“We beat the shit out of each other for a while and then we had a chat. We made a gentlemanly agreement. He said once word got out about you – about your strength, your uniqueness – everyone would be after you. He could protect you better – being all establishment and all. Inevitable, really. He’s so bloody strong, ol’ codger that he is. I’m good, but I’m not that good. He said if we tried to disappear, you’d likely be resentful and all that because you wouldn’t be able to do what you do. And I’m not sure I….” Spike’s voice trails off.
Peia takes this in and nods. Looking off to the side, she says, bitterly, “So I didn’t get a choice.”
“You don’t understand…you can’t understand, luv, this vampire bullshit,” he waves his hand along the side of his head when he says this.
“Why did you go to Shreveport?” She asks.
“Just told you, didn’t I?” He frowns in confusion, the alcohol still muddling his thoughts.
“No. You told me what happened when you got there. Why did you go?”
“I don’t know, I just did. Revenge, I guess? ‘Not so good at thinking things through. He did help me get rid of Gillian. Finally. You know what she said? Her bloody justification for the whole thing? She said, “it’s hard to meet people” or some such nonsense…”
[What she actually said to Eric: “You know how hard it is to find a good vampire boyfriend these days? They’re all off with humans, lazy sons-of-bitches. And then there was Spike – legendary boyfriend extraordinaire – barely alive after some big demon battle. Did you ever see him with Drusilla? And even with that human he was obsessed with. I just wanted that for myself, so I rescued him. All’s fair in love and war, right?”]
“Okay,” Peia says as she turns toward the door.
“You’re leaving? You don’t have to,” Spike offers. “Maybe we could…”
Peia cuts him off, “Yeah, I do.”
Spike nods. She grabs her coat and bag and walks slowly toward the door. She can see a glimmer of daylight through a crack in the window.
“Tell me he’s good to you. Tell me, or….” Spike’s voice cracks.
Peia turns back to him. She nods her head quickly, then adds, “I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s like I am in someone else’s story and I’m just playing like I belong there.” She wants to say more – she wants to talk to her best friend again.
Spike takes this in, his brain still thankfully fuzzy with alcohol. He frowns before responding, “So make it your story. You’re a writer, you can do that. Make it yours.”
Peia smiles briefly through wet eyes. As she opens the door, Spike is forced to take a step back to avoid the rays of sun streaking through.
She fishes for something in her pocket and turns back to Spike.
“Truth is, Spike, from what I’ve read, you are that good,” she says with a twinge of bitterness. She holds up the ring he gave her so many months ago and tosses it in the air toward him.
He reflexively reaches for it, putting his hand into the sun for an instant, causing a brief flame to rise up from his hand, which he shakes off once the ring is caught. He acknowledges the sting of her words with a nod and then she is gone.
**
Eric arrives in Santa Barbara and heads straight for the beach. Peia is letting him feel her now, showing him how to find her. She is floating offshore on her back, just beyond the surf. She hears Eric’s voice call her name, muffled by the filter of water. She closes her eyes and stands up. Is that fog, or something else? He looks blurry. It has been nearly 48 hours since she last slept.
He watches as she emerges from the water. She is in her underwear, her eyes rimmed in red, her lips nearing a pale blue. She looks awful, but he has never been more pleased to see her.
She walks past him toward her bag. Before she reaches it, she stops and turns back toward him.
He is the first to speak.
“You are cold. Let me bring you a blanket.”
“No!” She reflexively shouts. She steps forward and shoves him. “I like being cold. In fact, I love it. You know what I hate? Being hot. That (she points toward the water) is what the ocean should feel like. Fucking cold. Not the warm piss of the rivers, fake lakes and shore of Louisiana. I hate sweating all the time. I hate feeling like I am living in a sweaty armpit.” She shoves him again. It is annoyingly ineffective.
“You should have come to me first,” Eric responds, seeing this as the deflection it is.
“I tried. But you were busy fucking someone else.”
“Did that upset you?”
“No. Yes. Maybe. God, you are so clueless. I mean, it’s fine that you were with someone, but I wanted to talk do you…and…So is that what this is now? We’re free to do what we like? We’re already there?”
It takes him a minute to interpret her train of thought.
“Pam seemed to think a stripper was acceptable for such needs.” He quickly adds, “I bought you that battle axe you wanted – one like the movie.”
“What does that have to do with…?? So you needed to fuck someone else.”
“I was hungry. And she was up to my standard.” This is not entirely true. He is not quite sure what drove him to seek the company of the stripper, other than habit.
“I don’t care who you bite.”
“Interesting. Bill seems to think this is what concerns humans…”
“Don’t ever let me hear you take relationship advice from Bill.”
“But you do care who I have sex with?” He is honestly trying to understand.
“Do you care? I mean, am I free to do what I like? So, for example, if I just spent the last 24 hours fornicating with Spike, that would be okay with you?”
A volcano of fury explodes in Eric’s mind at the thought of this, beyond anything he has experienced before. His throat tightens up.
“Did you?” He practically chokes on the words.
Seeing his expression, she feels suddenly guilty.
“No. So you care.”
He nods, surprised.
“Honestly, Eric, I don’t care all that much. But can it just not be someone I have to see? Can it not be an employee of the club? Shreveport is a big place and I imagine you could find someone who is “up to your standard”, say, outside a 2 mile radius of Fangtasia.”
“You did see Spike?” He asks, hopeful that perhaps she had not been able to find him either.
She nods. “I gave him his ring back.”
“His ring?”
She can feel the anger and sadness building in her once again. “Yeah, you know the one he gave me to promise that he would be with me. For as long as I wanted. Because that’s what people do when they are in love.” She shouts the last sentence.
“You had kept it this whole time?” Eric asks, baffled.
“You don’t just stop loving someone when they tell you they don’t want to be with you anymore. That’s not how it works.”
“How does it work?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“So what did he tell you?” Eric asks, curious how well Spike kept to his word.
“Everything I needed to know,” she answers with bitterness.
“What does that mean? You should have waited to talk to me.”
“I saved you from having to lie to me. Because you would have, wouldn’t you? What would you have said if I’d asked about Spike’s visit?” She looks him hard in the eyes.
After a moment, he responds, “I would have said it was just a rumor and I then I would have silenced anyone who said otherwise.”
She nods, vindicated.
“The truth has only caused you pain. What purpose would it serve?”
“You don’t get it. This is my life,” she shouts.
“So what did he say?”
“He said you made a gentlemen’s agreement. He said it was for the best.”
“So why does this make you so angry?”
“Because this wasn’t about what is best for me. You told him what you knew he needed to hear to make the decision you wanted him to make. This is about you playing a game and needing to win it. Because that’s all you know how to do. And I can’t even hate you for it, because I honestly don’t think you know the difference. So congratulations! You win.”
Eric responds, raising his voice, “Why do you keep insisting this means nothing to me? You say I don’t know the difference, so teach me.”
She wasn’t expecting this display of emotion from him and it throws her for a moment. She quickly shakes it off.
“It doesn’t matter,” she responds quietly, the tears starting to flow.
“If it does not matter, why are you here now? If you are sure of my manipulation, why are you not with Spike? Why did you call for me?”
“I…I wanted to hear what you had to say. Or maybe I just needed to shout at you,” she lies, unconvincing.
“No. It’s because you saw in Spike what I saw,” Eric responds.
“You forced him to make a choice he wasn’t ready to make,” she argues.
“I made his choice easier to stomach. You know this. I saved you both unnecessary pain.”
She looks away from him. Her anger dissolves into sadness, her shoulders drop as hot tears begin to streak down her face. “He didn’t fight, did he? Not really. He wanted to be convinced.”
Moved by her sadness, he attempts to comfort her. “He did fight. He demonstrated tremendous passion. It was hardly easy. He spoke as someone who cared very much for your wellbeing.” He pauses a moment, then quickly adds, “he refused to take any money or property.”
Peia scrunches up her face in confusion.
“Stop doing that. A minute ago you were jealous and now you’re paternal – what is this??? Are you my lover or my father?”
“I only wish to lessen your pain.”
“You have no idea how much it hurts. Believe me, I wish you could feel as badly as I do right now.”
“Let me share it,” he asks, moving his hand to touch the skin of her neck.
She bats his hand away, “No. I need to feel it all. You asked how this works. Well, I think this is it.”
She doubles over slightly, her head pointed toward the sand at her feat, her hands on her thighs. She takes a few deep breaths and then pulls her shoulders back and stands up straight.
“Wait, you offered him money??? You were trying to purchase me??? Holy fuck, that’s insanely inappropriate.” She pauses a moment before continuing, working to transfer the pain to anger. “It’s your fault. You ruined everything. I was happy. I got a second chance to be happy and you took it away. You don’t get to decide what is best for me. It’s my life.”
She takes a step towards him, but then stops herself.
“Hit me if you like,” he offers.
This infuriates her even more.
“Don’t tell me what I can do,” she spits. In frustration, she reaches down, grabs two handfuls of sand and throws them in his face. “You incapable of understanding. It’s been too long. There is no part of you left that is human, no part of you that can remember how to feel. So what’s the point of hating you?”
Eric grabs her by the shoulders. “I did nothing to change what was inevitable. I would happily take the blame to ease your sadness, but you are not a fool. You already know the truth.”
She swipes away his arms, steps back and then lunges forward again to push him in the chest. She steps away and then stares at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Say it. It has to be said and I can’t.”
Eric complies. “The man who loved you -- the man you loved -- no longer exists. He was an apparition created by false memories and he is gone now. No amount of anger, blame and hate can change that simple fact.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you,” she whimpers without meaning, her voice soft.
“Take comfort in knowing it had nothing to do with your attributes. It was bad luck,” Eric says, again trying to make her feel better.
“Bad luck?” She responds indignantly. “Bad luck is stepping on a nail on your way to a race or getting caught behind a school bus when you are late for work or when the best looking human in the club happens to have Hep C. Falling in love with a vampire whose memories have been altered by a crazy, lonely vampwitch and then getting dumped after giving all you have to get away from the crazy bitch and restore his memories….is a fucking cosmic joke. Or the plot to a really bad B movie.”
She crosses her arms and starts to visibly shiver. Eric pulls his shirt off and hands it to her. She looks at him, too stiff and cold to unfold her arms. He cautiously takes a step towards her and pulls the shirt over her head.
“Your hair smells of earth,” he observes, pausing a moment before stepping back.
“Don’t get excited, its just henna – hair dye.”
After a few moments, her shivering becomes more muted. She unfolds her arms and slips them into the sleeves of Eric’s shirt.
“I hate that everything was orchestrated. Like I didn’t have a choice,” Peia states plainly and without anger.
“It was not entirely so. You came to me that night, remember?” Eric responds.
“And if I hadn’t?” She asks.
“I would have waited – vampires have the luxury of playing the long game. Up to a point.”
“And then?”
“Then I would have knocked you over the head with a club and dragged you back to my cave. Because that’s what I do, apparently,” he responds with a wry smile.
A strange expression crosses Peia’s face and her eyes start darting around. “As a brief aside, I should tell you that a couple of hours ago, I took a drug called Dirt. The hallucinations were starting to freak me out, so I went in the water to cool my body and slow everything down. But now that I’m warming up…”
“What do you see?” Eric asks, concerned.
She shakes her head dismissively. “Don’t change the subject. I’m still mad. This isn’t over.”
“So what happens now?” Eric asks.
Looking past Eric toward the beach, Peia squints her eyes. “Hey, what’s that boy doing on the beach at this hour?” She turns away from Eric. “Hey! Hey, kid. It’s dangerous to be out at night. There’s people like him about. Oy!”
Peia turns back to Eric, who is frowning. “A little blond boy, looks to be only 7 or 8 – he can’t go in the water at night. It’s too cold. He could drown.” After a brief pause, she says, “you don’t see him, do you?”
“No. There is no boy,” Eric responds.
She shrugs and continues to watch the boy in her hallucination, bemused. It appears to be daytime where the boy is.
“It’s a stone beach now, the sand is gone. The boy is at the water’s edge, feeling it with his toes. Gosh, he’s wirey. Looks like he’s wearing leather shorts – stylish! Oh, and here comes a dog. Aw, they’re playing.” She can’t help but smile, there is such joy in the interaction between the boy and his dog.
“A dog?” Eric asks.
“I know that breed. My neighbors had one growing up – a Norwegian Elkhound. Such nice dogs – we used to stuff pillows with all the fur she’d shed in the summer.”
“Norsk Elghund?” Eric repeats in his native tongue. There is something familiar…
“What’s happening now?” He asks, intrigued.
“The boy is in the water, but the dog is having none of it. She’s barking from the shore. She seems upset that he’s gone in. Oh, and now there is a woman. She’s shouting at the boy. I don’t think he was meant to be off on his own. She’s hopping mad,” Peia describes, amused.
“What language are they speaking?”
“Not English, but its plain to see she’s mad. He’s coming out of the water now. He’s running toward us,” Peia continues to narrate.
Peia wonders what will happen when the boy reaches them. The last time she took Dirt, none of the hallucinations were this vivid. The detail is incredible. She had read that if you survived the first dose, subsequent highs were more intense.
As they approach, the boy and the dog devolve into wisps of vapor flying through the air. She watches as they fly straight for Eric and disappear into his head. He does not react. She stares at him a moment, reflecting on the meaning of what she’s just seen.
“The boy is you. Do you remember?” She asks.
Eric looks mildly disoriented. He frowns, trying to think of something. After a moment he says, “Fricka. The dog’s name was Fricka.” He believes that there is no way he would have remembered that on his own, across a thousand years. In seeing his memory, Peia has invoked it somehow. He looks at her in amazement.
Peia looks at him, her head tilting slightly, appraising. She takes a step forward and touches his face gently.
“Well, Eric Northman. You were a boy once. How about that.”
She abruptly turns and follows the movement of something else…
Tbc…
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That's Not My Name