The Agency

I did it because it sounded fun, okay? Does there always have to be some deep dark secret? I'm an open book. What you see is what you get.

Okay, so most people don't know I want to fuck Jeff Goldblum. But that's not the point.

He told me what happened, and showed me the holes in his neck. I thought he'd lost his mind at first. I'd seen him in love before--god, when we were human he was always falling head over heels for stable boys, butlers, even a ditch digger. I hated watching it. I knew what was going to happen every time: someone found out, and we ended up on the street again, with the boy of the day denying everything, saying he'd been seduced. Try being Irish and queer in the 1800s. It's about as much fun as being Irish and female in the 1800s. Truly epic in its suckage.

So until he showed me the holes and the mirror, I didn't believe him about Duvalier. But seeing them together after that it was obvious. It was love, for real this time. Kind of nauseating. I'm not much of a romantic, myself. Skip the roses and give me a pair of nipple clamps.

He smiled so much back then. I remember him practicing Mozart, thinking, yeah, this is how it's supposed to be. I had a bad feeling about it, but what could I do? All our lives he took care of me. I would have ended up in a whorehouse if it weren't for him. I had to let him be happy, even just for a little while.

"I'm scared," he said one night. "I don't know if I can live like this."

Yeah. My brother, scared. It doesn't happen often. I asked him, "What are the rules? What has to change?" and he told me everything Duvalier had told him.

No sunlight, ever again. Ten seconds and we burn. No mirrors. No real food. No turning into bats, no coffins, the garlic thing is bullshit and so is the crucifix thing. We get some pretty awesome benefits: super strength, super hearing and sight and smell and even taste, super-speed healing. We never age. We're hard to kill. Sunlight, fire, stakes, decapitation, that's pretty much it. When you consider how many ways there are to kill a human, that's not bad.

I don't miss the sun. No, I really don't. I look awful with a tan anyway. I think. It's been a while.

Blood? Love it, actually. Every person tastes different--what you eat, where you're from, who you've shagged, what drugs you're on, where you live, the water you drink...it all factors in. No two are just alike, but my overall favorite is A-Pos. It's kind of chocolatey.

Oh, I know we're supposed to mope and brood and wish we were still human. Right. You know what being human is? Dying all the time. Every minute of every day, your body dies, one cell at a time. Mine doesn't. I'm a constant. Beck's Constant, like in physics. B equals forever, divided by leather. An ass like this deserves immortality.

He broods, of course, but the truth is he loves it too. If we'd stayed human we would have probably died of cholera, or he'd have gotten the Clap from one of his stable boys and left me all alone. He gets to make a difference and I get to do whatever I want, as long as we go together.

That's what it was, if you really want to know. We're a set. Me without him doesn't make any sense and vice versa. We're Scully and Mulder, only without the sexual tension. My brother's hot shit and all, but no thank you. This isn't Happy Hour in Appalachia.

I told him, "There's no way you're doing this without me. No way." And he hugged me--an honest to god hug. That's how I knew it was the right decision.

Regrets? None. Zero. At least, not for me. I wish I could have stopped what happened, and I wish he could be a little more like he used to be, when he let people in. I promised I wouldn't interfere with Rowan. I promised. But you know all those bad feelings I got with all those other guys? When I think about those two, I get nothing but a big fat "YES!"

But bless him, he's just not that bright. One of these days he's going to get over himself and go for it. It'll be nice to see him smile again. But in the meantime somebody's got to keep an eye on him, and that's my job. Save the world, shoot the bad guys, and take care of my big dumb brother. That's what family does.

Jesus Christ, I'm Irish.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go drink my dinner then show this New Age granola princess how the big girls play. You know, without shooting herself in the foot this time?

Yeah, I'm still laughing about that.