OOM - Pam's room

[lazy_but_loyal]

Pam would've objected to being carried.

But, ah, what the hell. She'd earned it.

And she wouldn't have been able to do anything about it anyway, because the moment Eric wrapped his arms around her, her body just gave out. It didn't want to be upright anymore. It didn't want to move on its own. It didn't want to lift a thing.

Besides, Eric is comfortable.

She didn't care where he was carrying her, just as long as it was away.

And then, even though Pam's eyes were closed and her senses were nearly shutting down from sheer exhaustion, she knew that they'd stepped into Milliways. Somewhere at the back of her foggy mind, she thought, Perfect. She'd never wanted to be here more than right now.


She smells Jemma, and she hears her voice. She would say hello, but, meh, too tired.


They arrive in her room.

Comments

[protect_and_survey]

"Well, I do, but..." A SHIELD scientist's work is never done (even when you think it is, because someone from Operations is right now this very minute finding something / contracting something / dying of something that will put everyone back on call and then raise a million questions that Fury will want answered by end of business tomorrow), and she's never been much of a fan of downtime to being with.

"Don't you need it? You're only just looking better."

[lazy_but_loyal]

"I'll be fine. You'll only need a couple of drops."

She then smirks a little.

"And hey, you can do it for science."

[protect_and_survey]

Jemma pulls a face at that, because evidently tired and hypovolemic Jemma is approximately five years old.

"If you're positive - I'm pretty sure Eric will have my head if you suddenly aren't alright again."

[lazy_but_loyal]

"Honey, I'm positive," she says in a tone that implies that she's not going to argue the point. "And he won't have your head because I'll be fine."

It's not that Pam cares. She only cares that Jemma doesn't randomly keel over or function at less than her full capacity as to attract attention. Jemma is a smart girl. It won't do for her to be nodding off or forgetting how to use words.

Pam sits beside her.

"Ready?"

[protect_and_survey]

"... Yes?" Jemma doesn't sound sure of this, but suddenly she's not sure what this involves, and she can think of all sorts of options that she's pretty sure she'll never ever be ready for.

[lazy_but_loyal]

Pam's fangs drop.

And she pricks the pad of her own thumb. Blood oozes thickly from the puncture, a dark red that's almost black.

She cups Jemma's cheek and presses her thumb to her lips, encouraging her to drink what she can before the wound heals. There's a very strong scent of iron, stronger than that of human blood, and the taste will be just as intense as how it smells. Sweet, salty, coppery.

In a small dose, all of Jemma's senses will sharpen, and any fatigue she feels will fade. Any more and she might experience hallucinations, so those rats delivering dinner might not seem like such a big deal. So Pam takes her thumb away as soon as she thinks she's had enough. The side-effects vary from human to human, though. Perhaps Jemma isn't as prone to mildly tripping out as others.

Or, y'know, feeling a bit horny.

[protect_and_survey]

"Whoa." Her posture straightens abruptly, and she feels like she got a dose of the good lab coffee, the stuff they get from operations crew that appreciate their work. "That's... I can see why this would be a problem. In your world."

And if she's blushing (she is, she is hypovolemic and she's wasting red blood cells on blushing), it's only because Pam is gorgeous and sitting right next to her and she was just sucking on her thumb and that's kind of hot.

Jemma clears her throat carefully.

"Oh, tea." Thank God.

[lazy_but_loyal]

There now. Jemma looks, and feels, much better. Pam can tell.

She retracts her fangs and sweeps her hand down Jemma's back.

"Vampire blood is sold as an illegal drug," she says. "That's how much of a problem it is. And there are certain vampires who call it sacred, but whatever. Still, it's not like I'm letting anyone stick a straw in me. I only give it in very special cases."

And she eyes her pointedly.

[protect_and_survey]

"Right, right, got it," She sounds vaguely harried, which... should pretty much indicate how often her SO has to point out exactly where the 'hands off' signs are. "I shan't be asking about studies." She did already say she wouldn't treat Pam like a science experiment. Feeling off balance and flustered by the whole thing, she scoots off the bed (dangerous bed) to fetch that cup of tea.

[lazy_but_loyal]

Pam watches her cross the room to the table, looking pretty spry.

"No. But do tell me if you feel anything...weird."

[protect_and_survey]

"Weird?" Jemma clings to her cup like a lifeline. "How... I mean, no, I'm fine, not weird." It's perfectly normal to feel attraction, honestly, and surely vampires don't celebrate being alive like many humans (she does not envy the poor medical staff on board the Helicarrier after the New York City attack, she imagines it got repetitive).

"Just because you are all gorgeous and there's insinuations and suddenly I'm feeling much better does not mean that I can't keep a hold of myself."

Nnnnope.

...

Jemma abruptly blushes.

"That... part wasn't meant to be out loud." Oh just shoot her now. Please.

[lazy_but_loyal]

Pam just smirks and leans back on one hand, her robe parting to reveal a lot more leg as she casually crosses them at the knee.

"Of course not, sugar."

Vampire blood is very telling when it comes to a human's libido.

"Your steak is getting cold."

[protect_and_survey]

Steak, right. She eyes the tray - meat, bread, broth, and sugar. She supposes there are worst ideas post blood-loss. Maybe for vikings salads were things that happened to other people.

Yay scurvy?

Anyway. Jemma diligently addresses herself to the food, trying her best to remind herself that she's an adult and as such has this thing called self control and can just not ogle Pam. It's a thing she can do.

Mostly. It's a very nice view.

[lazy_but_loyal]

Pam gets up and brings that glass of water over, setting it on the table near the bowls of chocolate pudding and whipped cream.

"Still a good idea to keep hydrated," she remarks. "How's the food?"

With her senses of smell and taste heightened, this relatively simple fare should be the best food she's ever had. Or at least the most interesting. Hopefully not as interesting as a hippie on LSD might find it, because Pam finds that annoying.

[protect_and_survey]

"It's amazing - I really should find out what he ordered, you just can't get good steak where I live now." She has enough manners drilled into her at various points of her life to not wolf it down like a half-starved dog, but she has discovered she's hungry, and isn't wasting any time fixing that problem.

...

Much time, anyway. Look, the view's even prettier up close.

[lazy_but_loyal]

"Good."

And it's good to see her eat. This way Pam knows for sure that she's keeping up her strength and not doing herself any damage by forgetting meals. Funny how humans will do that, forget to eat. How is that even a thing.

"Where do you live?"

It's just small talk.

Pam wanders over to the vanity table and starts filing a fingernail.

[protect_and_survey]

"Near Washington DC - thankfully far enough away from the city to avoid the traffic, usually." This is, of course, assuming that she always remembers to go home and then come back and thus need to encounter traffic in the first place. "How about you - Eric said something about Louisiana?"

[lazy_but_loyal]

"Shreveport, which I like to call the ass-end of Louisiana, because it's a fucking shithole," she replies flatly, shaping her thumbnail with a file.

"My family was originally from London. But after my parents threw me out I traveled across the States on my own and settled in San Francisco. That's where Eric and I met."

[protect_and_survey]

"You're British?" Figures, all the best people are.

...

Don't tell Fury she even thought that. Though she suspects he has somehow, mysteriously, already found out.

[lazy_but_loyal]

Pam pauses her manicure and raises her eyes, an eyebrow arched.

"Well, if you wanna get technical about it, yeah," she drawls.

Because her deep South accent is a dead giveaway, isn't it?

[protect_and_survey]

Jemma finds it fascinating (noticing a trend, yet?) - it's one thing to know accents shift over time, but Pam's lost pretty much any identifying London markers.

"I know a few linguists that would just love to meet you." She notes dreamily, distracted from her food.

...

Linguistics is sexy. ... Doesn't everyone think so?

[lazy_but_loyal]

The eyebrow stays arched.

"Really. Are they cute?"

She smirks and resumes filing her nails.

"Eric still knows Old Norse. He taught me Swedish, too. Just to remind him of the homeland from time to time. You wouldn't know it from the way he sounds, would you? Believe me, though, you piss him off and he starts swearing like a Viking again."

[protect_and_survey]

"Not as cute as the biochemists." She replies, feeling daring. "But it must be fascinating, to hear a language that has morphed so much it's no longer recognizable." She doesn't expect that she'll ever hear it, if making him angry is the trigger.

Or rather, she hopes she won't. She can't imagine that's a good situation.

[lazy_but_loyal]

Pam sees what Jemma did there. She does like the daring ones. Well played, Jemma.

"I don't know about fascinating," she says with an indifferent shrug, "but it's a sure sign that he means business. Probably the only other people who'd understand it are Norse historians and me."

And Godric.

Pam pauses at the thought of her grandsire. How Eric would never hear his own language spoken to him as it once was.

Funny how this human's ideas are making her feel consider things she'd never thought of before.

She looks over at Jemma.

"Reached dessert yet?"

[protect_and_survey]

"Well, there'd be at least two people who understood him in my world, but one's Thor and the other one is evil, so there's not much choice." The descriptor of 'evil' is evidently well-earned in Jemma's opinion, because her tone dips briefly into 'icy' on the word.

But she's rapidly distracted by the question.

"Er. I. Yes?" It's true, she's run out of other food, and she's holding her cup of tea like a lifeline. We all blame Eric and his rather obvious insinuations for her blush. (It's easier that way)