The magic that usually weaves its way through Eric's veins, animating him as soon as night falls is slow to unravel tonight. He simmers on the edge of consciousness as his body wakes from its rest infuriatingly slow. But as it does, he becomes aware of his surroundings; though even this does nothing to alleviate his confusion. He had not expected to ever experience consciousness again; had thought to be past his pain by now. Selfishness, ever now, consumes him, as he realizes that to be past his own pain would be the culmination of Pam’s.
There is still an unnatural heat that simmers within him, but it is no longer the raging inferno he thought he would succumb to. Coolness surrounds him, chilling his naked body as it seems to recline on marble. There is the scent of fresh blood in the air, along with something he can only describe as spiced. He can feel his own blood, smell it tinged with silver, as it leaks out of his many wounds. Even his leg, the very one he could not feel the last time his eyes were opened, pulses with pain, a triumphant reminder that it is still there.
Eric groans the instant his throat and voice are released from slumber, keeping his eyes screwed shut. His hand moves, almost of its own accord, searching for Pam's. But all he's met with is slick tiles on either side of him; an icy cocoon. He groans again, his throat constricted with thirst as he tries to speak, using most of his strength to slam against that which holds him; his only thought that Pam is not beside him, and he must get to her before it's too late. Pam. Is she still in pain? Pam. He has to get to her.
"Anytime you want to open your eyes and tell me how fucking awesome I am," a soft voice calls to him, sounding hoarse with fatigue, "Feel free, Northman."
Slowly, but with considerably less effort than it has taken him the past several nights, Eric opens his eyes to the world. He's met by the sight of Diantha, sitting cross-legged on the sink, staring down at him with a look of absolute triumph despite her pale face and sweat-matted hair. She sighs in relief as his eyes narrow, wordlessly asking her thousands of questions at once; starting with why isn't he dead?
Diantha's large green eyes slowly rise, and Eric follows her gaze. Roped over the shower rails are countless bags of blood; most of them empty. Some of them have long pipes, twisting around each other, though all of them end in the needles that have been plunged into his skin. "You wouldn't wake up long enough to drink," she tells him quietly, "And after a while, you were barely even bleeding. So I...figured a more direct route might be best." Her eyes fall back to his, a strange smile on her lips. "I pumped it into you," she explains, feigning squeezing the bags with her hands, "Over and over and over until it ran red." She sighs, and Eric can see how pronounced the bags under her large eyes have become. "Probably the equivalent of twenty humans drained dry," she tells him, impressed by her own calculations, "The silver is still there, I can smell it. But it's not mixing with demon blood...for the most part." At Eric's silence, she merely points down to where his leg is still covered by the ice. "It's still...infected I guess is the right word. But nowhere near as bad as before," she says proudly, her chin rising as she smirks down at him, "Congratulations, Northman; you cheated death. Again.” The demon leans back on her hands, her eyes narrowing playfully as she breathes, just loud enough for him to hear, “And-you-still-haven't-said-thank-you."
Eric snorts, managing to lift himself to sit upright in the ice bath; a feat that would have been impossible a mere night ago. "Pam?" he asks, his head swiveling toward the bathroom door which is propped open, "Pam."
"She slept through the night, just like you," Diantha assures him, "She's still bleeding, but she wasn't in as much danger of bleeding out like you were. I got her to drink a little last night, but she wasn't really awake for it. She'll have to drink tonight. Speaking of which..." Diantha leaps down from the counter, plucking a heavy bag of blood from the cooler that is open. She rips into the plastic with her teeth before offering it to him. Eagerly, Eric raises his head, swallowing down the cold blood as if it is the best thing he's ever tasted; and in that moment, it is. Diantha makes him drink two more bags, waiting several minutes until she allows him to hoist himself up and out of the ice.
Eric’s body shakes with the effort, but with Diantha’s help, he’s able to step out of the bath of ice and blood, his bare feet firmly planted on the tiled floor that is slick with the melted ice as she removes the needle from his thigh. Diantha towels him off at records speed, smiling up at him as more and more of his usual pale skin is freed from dried blood. Gently, he slowly places more and more of his weight on his injured leg until it becomes too much, and he hisses out in pain. But it’s a good deal more weight than he was able to place on it when he was first injured; and though the wound seems to flare in protest, he finds he is able to walk with Diantha’s help.
“I still don’t know if it will heal completely,” the demon tells him bluntly, hefting his arm over her shoulder so that he can lean on her, somehow knowing he would never do it himself, “But it’s better than the peg-leg pirate life you were in for the other night.”
Eric grunts in response, any argument dying on his lips as he finally sees Pam after what Diantha has told him has been a full night. She sleeps on her back, her hands folded delicately over her heavily bandaged abdomen. She wears a clean nightgown, another one of her crimson silk ones, with crisp white sheets pulled up to her waist. Her hair, recently brushed no doubt by Diantha, cascades over her shoulders. Even with the scratches and cuts on her face, her beauty takes his unneeded breath away. He’s suddenly lurching forward, desperate to reach her, all but dragging Diantha in his wake as he limps along.
Perhaps because of this, Diantha deposits him none too gently on the mattress, leaning over to help him slide his leg beneath the sheets. His fingers cannot seem to touch enough of Pam, and he lets them linger on her flesh; flesh that doesn’t seem as icy cold as it once did against his fevered skin. Cheated and won. Again. Diantha’s words come back to him, well aware that he was perhaps not meant to have this moment, that he truly did feel death before the demon wrenched him back into the land of the living. Instinctively, he knows that if it wasn’t for her, he would not be granted this gift. Another night. Another night together. And though Pam still sleeps though his skewed internal clock tells him it is late, blood does not pour out of her, she does not so resemble a corpse as she once did. Cheated. And won. Again.
Wordlessly, Eric turns his head toward Diantha, who is standing silently by the foot of their mattress. He can feel his tears as they rim his eyes, and watches as the demon’s eyes widen as she notices them. It is not in his nature to thank others, besides the woman who lies beside him. But he can feel it in his very being; he was saved. Still feverish from the silver, his leg still aching; but those he can both overcome. He can only stare at her silently; her words as she saved him the previous night ringing in his ears. You know what I am. He tries to open his mouth to speak, but the weight of those words does not settle well in his mind; too lofty to be thought of now. Did you ever doubt me?
Diantha takes pity on him, shaking her head with a smile. “You’re welcome, Northman,” she says softly, her sincerity resonating in her whisper. She turns on her heel, as if she has nothing better to do after saving an ancient vampire from certain death than to make his bratty progeny her dinner.
Eric only nods his head, already forgetting her as she disappears into the kitchen. He shifts himself onto his side, his wounds only slightly bleeding as he does so. He rests his head on his bent elbow as he gently moves Pam’s head with two fingers beneath her chin, so that he will see her eyes as soon as they open. As it turns out, he doesn’t have to wait long. Mere moments pass before her eyelids flutter; and he realizes belatedly that he cannot feel her as he once did in his blood thanks to Diantha’s makeshift transfusion. But when she awakens, he realizes that isn’t important now. They’re both alive. Together. She blinks, her eyes widening almost comically as her brain must sluggishly realize what she is seeing. Eric himself hardly finds it to be possible, but it doesn’t stop him from leaning closer, his hair flopping over his brow, brushing his lips against hers as he murmurs, his words no longer slurred or broken, but filled with a disbelieving laughter, “Good evening, sweetheart.”
