Disclaimer: The SVM/Sookie Stackhouse series belongs to Charlaine Harris. I'm not profiting from this story, only sending them out into New England waters.

A/N: I'm finally deciding to dust off this file—a one-shot side story, EPOV, set during the epilogue of From Sky to Sea, when Eric and Sookie are getting back together after their absence from each other. Thanks for all the ongoing interest in FSTS.


Cruising

"You check the weather?"

"They're calling for only a little rain."

"Wind too."

"Oh?"

"Waves could be rough."

Sookie stopped what she was doing, which was rolling up her pink windbreaker into a tight wad and stuffing it into her bag. "It sounds like you don't want to go," she said.

"Not true. But conditions aren't ideal."

"You want to call it off?"

"No, of course not. Not unless you want to wait for better weather."

"There's no perfect time," she said, standing up from her bag. Her hands reached up to undo her ponytail, smooth her hair, and refasten it. She was always moving and doing these days, driven to save her home, keep up her job, and care for E.J.. For that matter, we both had too much going. Staying together was not the same ride it was last summer, bursts of thrill followed by lazy, breezy coasting. I ventured closer.

"With Mr. C taking up my time, not to mention work," she continued, "who knows when I'll have off again on a day when Octavia can babysit."

I took another step forward.

She stopped her motion and seemed to brace herself, already suspicious I was trying to distract her. "You know how busy we've been."

"I'm not disagreeing. May I?" I asked, reaching for her waist.

She lifted her arms up to my shoulders in assent. "The season will be over before we know it."

"I know," I agreed, leaning in and nudging her ear. "Where did the summer go?"

She shrugged, covering over her shiver. Facing the window on the bay, she'd be able to see the waves tipped with white, salt-crusted; today it wasn't a stretch to remember winter.

I slid my hands up and down, taking in the swell of her hips. When she didn't move from my arms, I asked, "What time do we need to leave?"

"Half an hour or so."

Again, I waited for her to pull away. But she didn't. She felt…present. No small feat. Perhaps…perhaps there was hope today.

"We could go for a ride," I suggested. "Somewhere out of the way since we won't have E.J.."

She rested her head against my chest.

"All the way to Boston if you want. We could stop for lunch along the way."

"That sounds…" Her shoulders relaxed against me.

But she never finished. Her chest heaved as she pushed away. She smelled of bananas and Cheerios. My hands, light on her body, slipped away.

"We could try breaking into the old place," I tried again. "Might get some good steady gusts on a day like today."

Toothy and ornery, Sookie had called the shack, and lovely all the same. It could still hold up to the solid shoulders of the wind, something you had to trust when its weathered boards began to shift around you.

For a moment, she seemed to consider. "I bet the seasonal renter is still there," she said.

I shrugged. "Wouldn't hurt to check it out."

After another pause, I thought I had her. And then she shook her head and tugged on her t-shirt. "Nope, we've come this far. Let's do this." She started moving at once. "I've always wanted to do a whale watch with you."

I didn't doubt it.

After a whole season of moments tucked and stuffed wherever we could find room—mini golf, concerts on town greens, oyster festivals, scallop festivals, lobster festivals, fireworks and parades, bike riding, hiking, and outdoor movies, often with E.J. in tow—this whale watch was one glaring item left unchecked. One she didn't want to drop. Even on a day like today.

Payback.

She scooped E.J. out of his bouncy seat. With a speedy twist and tug, he was folded into his sling as a tidy bundle, latched on to one of her hidden breasts. The little bugger grunted and snorted as she continued gearing up for our trip.

"Wanna stash your jacket in here too?"

I tossed it to her; she caught it and looked at it strangely.

"Want me to ask L.L. if he has a windbreaker you can borrow?"

Before I could answer, Sookie moved on. "Never mind." She jammed my leather jacket on top of everything else. "There are empty water bottles in the kitchen. In that cupboard to the right of the sink."

Then she disappeared upstairs, her bare feet padding from one end of her hallway to the other and back again. I heard her knock on Octavia's door, followed by a murmured conversation. The next minute, she was coming back downstairs, a beach towel, sunscreen, and sunglasses in hand, which I thought were optimistic. She stuffed everything on top of the jackets and looked at me.

"What?"

"Did you get the water bottles?"

"You wanted me to fill the water bottles?"

"That would be great."

In a year's time, Sookie had developed a near compulsive need to pack things. Last summer, we sometimes left the house without even shoes or keys.

"And do you want sandwiches or snacks?" she asked. "I don't think there's a concession on the boat."

"Let's stop and I'll pick up something for us to go on the way."

"Oh, thanks. Even better." She sank into her hideous recliner, the Green Monster, flipped E.J., and looked like she was going to ask another question when his hand reached up, flapping against her chest. She laughed, caught his fingers in her mouth.

That's my boy. I'd seen her get snagged by E.J., her business halted to give him a zerber on his belly button, kiss his toes, or chat nonsense until he gave up a smile. "There's the real victory," she'd say, distracted from whatever had drawn her attention before, at once aimless and giddy.

I'd seen her fall asleep, too, lulled and shushed by her own child. Exhausted.

Either way, it was all on E.J., now. No pressure, son, but get me out of this whale watch today and I'll owe you a big one. I ducked into the kitchen—quietly—to check my phone messages. A necessary evil. While I was at it, I did a quick search for "toy corvette." Stupid tiny keypad…well, look at that...no kidding, there was one you could ride. Red. Chrome wheels. Twelve-volt battery. Two speeds, up to 6 mph. Some type of braking system…let's see…

"Everything all right?" Sookie nodded toward my phone as she came breezing back into the kitchen.

"It's fine," I said, swiping my screen clean while appraising E.J., wriggling on Sookie's hip, his forehead wrinkled into his worried-old-man face. What happened out there, son?

"Did you get those bottles?" she asked.

"I said we'd stop."

"For water, too?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Okay, sure, it's just…well, that's fine. Here. Could you burp E.J.?" She spread a cloth diaper on my shoulder and pushed him against my chest. He squirmed and scrunched some more. Fuck, he had a set of lungs on him. No worries, buddy. We're still good.

"Such a sour puss," Sookie cooed in his face, behind my back.

"Little man sour puss," Sookie cooed again. "Show me your happy face. Where's your smile? No, not today? How about later? After a good burp."

Her tone changed to business mode. "Okay, Eric, he's all set. He likes circles, but if that doesn't get a good one out of him, you may have to pat, which he doesn't like so much. And it helps distract him if you talk to him."

She flipped that voice switch again. "Don't you, E.J.? Isn't that right?"

And then to me she said, "You might want to get moving or he's going to cry. I need to pump now."

"But you just fed him."

"He didn't empty my left side; I'll be rock hard by the end of the day."

"Oh, yeah?" These days, breastfeeding was the only way we were talking about Sookie's boobs.

But even that was fleeting; she was already gone, leaving me holding the baby. Within moments, her pump was chugging and E.J. was fussing on my shoulder. I wasn't certain what a circular rub had to do with anything, and I sure as hell wasn't resorting to the pat, so I went with an up-and-down stroke, which seemed easiest. He squirmed, kicking his feet like a champ. So I stroked up and down some more. And on and on while he kicked and fussed. Pumping was taking forever. How long would we have to go at this?

And how old were those moldings?

I leaned over to jimmy the window with one arm, and when I pressed my hand against E.J.'s back to hold him steady against my chest, he let out a belch so forceful, it hit the floor with a splatter.

Turning to see, I wondered whether he had anything left in him. "That's my boy." He seemed a lot happier now.

"Look here, E.J.. These moldings are worth a pretty penny. I was in an antique Cape one time where the guy showed me some of the woodwork he'd ripped out. 'That's all that's left of that old crappy stuff,' he said. I told him he might want to hang onto it because I'd seen that type of molding sell for $800 per foot. Turned out the idiot had burned all but that last scrap."

Sookie strode into the kitchen holding a bag of milk. "So he burped."

"Yep. I got a good one."

I started to hand him back to her, but she'd grabbed for rags to wipe the floor. "Could I get one of those gobblers?" she asked as she stood.

"Excuse me?"

"You said we would stop for sandwiches, right?"

"Yes, but what's a gobbler?"

"Turkey, mustard, bread filling, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce…"

"Mixed together on a sandwich?"

"Yeah. Oh, and cheese."

"Do they have other kinds too?"

She dug a takeout menu from a drawer in the kitchen, handed it to me, and started moving again. I tried to read it, but E.J. wasn't happy with me standing still, so then I paced. Every time I moved to hand him back to her, she thought of something else to pack or do. She was eating another bowl of bananas and Cheerios when Octavia finally wandered downstairs.

"You ready?" Sookie asked me.

"Yes." Next time, little buddy. I passed E.J. to Octavia.

. . . ~ ~ ~ . . .

We took my car to Plymouth, with Sookie directing me to parking near the deli. She went next door to poke around in a candle shop while I ordered two gobblers to go. Afterward, with extra time to kill, we walked a few blocks to check out "The Rock."

"It's bogus, isn't it?" Sookie leaned over the railing encircling the…stone engraved with the date 1620. "It's been moved a few times," Sookie read. "Chipped away. Split in two once. Then cemented back together again. So much fuss over a rock that may or may not have been the spot where the pilgrims landed."

I had to agree. "Let's go." I tugged on her to start walking toward the ticket counter.

Fuck, the air was cold. And as if that wasn't bad enough, a bus full of tourists unloaded, seriously underdressed in shorts and tank tops and carrying cardboard boxed lunches marked RB, PB&J, and T. Had she planned this? They weren't there but five minutes when Sookie was already friendly with a woman named Debbi, a nurse from Louisiana who was wearing a Boston Strong t-shirt. Sookie likes to chat it up with people, but it didn't take much to get Debbi started. Before long, they were swapping recipes, leaving me next to another Louisiana woman with a big nose and scrawny arms who said I looked like someone she knew.

When our captain, Captain John, finally invited us to start boarding, I grasped Sookie's elbow as though it were imperative to follow his advice to be extremely careful of the slippery metal gangway.

"Eric, Debbi said wild alligator is in season now in Louisiana."

"Great. I'll keep that in mind next time I'm craving wild alligator."

"Well, all right, then." She took a seat in the cabin and folded her hands in her lap.

"Welcome aboard everyone!" Captain John shouted into the intercom. "We're so glad you joined us on this fine New England day! Who's ready to spot some whales?"

Fuck. This whole day was payback.

. . . ~ ~ ~ . . .

"Hey, what happened back there?"

"It turned out I wasn't up for it."

"What do you mean? It's already dead."

"I didn't like looking at it up close."

"You said yourself you thought it would be interesting."

She nods vigorously. "I like whales. And I thought I would like to see one up close. Just not…a dead one, it turns out." She shivers, as though trying to shake it off. "Eric, that was its tongue."

"I know! I never saw anything like it, and I've seen a couple beached whales."

She starts to cry. "Let's just…go home. To my house."

"What? Let's go for ice cream."

"No, I'm not hungry now."

"Let's roll down the windows and drive. You'll feel better."

"No. Not today."

We don't make it back to the car before she retches in the sand.

. . . ~ ~ ~ . . .

She'd been pregnant then, but hadn't told me. She'd already decided to keep E.J.. On her own, without any say from me.

"Son," Bartlett had told me last summer, on the day after I'd taken her into his leather shop in P-town, "after thirty years with your father…trust me, I know a thing about relationships." Russell had laughed, which Bart had ignored.

"Give her a little slack," he'd advised.

Russell had laughed even harder. "If you're going with fishing metaphors, you got it wrong. Eric's the one who's caught here—hook, line, and sinker—not Sookie. Only I don't think she's doing any reeling."

Fuck it. That was their bullshit.

The boat was starting to dip and bob in the waves. I'd been surprised we'd shoved off and had hoped I'd get out of this one due to the weather. But no, here we were, in rough seas, heading straight for Gilligan's Island. Around me, the D.C. tourists were already turning green. We got five minutes away from the dock when the first one threw up into his boxed lunch marked T. T, as it turned out, was tuna, not turkey. Right away, someone else followed, in the aisle.

"Let's go," she said.

"Too late for that, isn't it?"

"Outside, I mean."

Outside was drizzly and windy and cold.

She was already walking for the door, holding onto the backs of the bench seats for support, and helping to pass along two wheeled garbage bins the crew was rolling down the aisle. Barf barrels.

"If you're feeling sick, get some fresh air and watch the horizon line," Sookie advised her new friend on the way. Meanwhile, the cabin stench was only getting worse. Outside it was. I followed her.

Every single bench was wet, either from ocean spray or rain. Or both. Sookie retrieved a garbage bag from among her gear, lined a seat for us, and wrapped a towel across our legs. She was quiet, but alert, scanning the horizon as though at any moment, a whale might pop out of the water. From time to time, a tourist staggered onto the deck, leaned over the railing, and hurled.

"Folks, we're just now approaching the outer edge of Stellwagen Bank National Marine Sanctuary," Captain John reported. "Stellwagen Bank is an 842-square-mile plateau that sits at the mouth of Cape Cod Bay, originally mapped by U.S. Navy Lieutenant Henry S. Stellwagen in 1854. Mapping of the bank was an important accomplishment because it served as a marker warning ships that they were entering the more dangerous territory of Boston Harbor. Remember, folks…there was no radar at the time." He said this last bit with the same drama as a campfire tale.

Sookie pulled the whale watching brochure from the inner pocket of her jacket to study a map of Cape Cod Bay as Captain John continued his spiel.

"Now, for centuries, Stellwagen Bank has provided rich and productive fishing for cod, haddock, and flounder, to name a few, but it wasn't until the mid-20th century that it became known worldwide as a whale watching destination. In fact, the World Wildlife Fund has named Cape Cod as one of the top ten whale-watching destinations in the world."

"We should get up," she said, folding the towel as he went on to explain the names for the different sides of the boat. We were on the port side when Captain John announced that a humpback whale known as Salt could be seen on the starboard side.

"Salt," the captain explained, "is one of the most famous whales in the world. See those white speckled markings on her back? That's of course how she got her name, but the way that we positively identify her is by the large…Oh! There she goes, folks! Did you see her tail?! Those large white spots? That's what I was starting to tell you—how we identify her!" He chuckled. "She's putting on a good show for us today. Thanks for that, Salt."

Sookie laughed. "He likes his job."

"Who? Captain John?" More like he was trying to convince us we were having such a great time, we wouldn't ask for our money back from our satisfaction guarantee.

"I don't think you can fake that much enthusiasm," she said. "And anyway, who wouldn't want this job? Think of the things you could see." She went off in her own dreamland for a moment. "One day, I'm going to Alaska," she announced.

Alaska? Where had that come from? From one of her romance novels, no doubt. One with a swarthy fisherman.

Like Alcide Herveaux.

Salt was nowhere to be found by the time we got to the port side. "Salt has one of the longest known relationships with another whale." Captain John was saying as a person off to our right retched. "That's known as an association. From June through November of 1999, Salt was spotted with a female named Cardhu. Now, what exactly do I mean by an association? Whales that are associated travel together, surfacing and diving at the same time, for instance. It's not a common phenomenon between humpback whales, other than the mother-calf relationship."

"I wonder what happened," Sookie said. "Why did they stick together for that long and then split?"

"Maybe nothing."

"How so?" She faced me squarely, like she really wanted to know. And now I had to come up with an answer.

"Like one day Salt spotted a tasty seal and swam for it. Nothing against Cardhu. She just saw an opportunity and went for it."

Sookie seemed to consider this for a moment before saying, "I don't think they eat seals, do they? Maybe instead one day she swam off to help a fisherman whose boat had sunk. And along the way, they got separated, and then spent the rest of their time searching the wide oceans for each other."

See? I knew it. Too many romance novels. And definitely Alcide Herveaux, that fucker.

"Hey, exciting news!" our energetic captain shouted. "Head on over to the port side, and you'll be able to catch a glimpse of Thalassa, who happens to be one of Mama Salt's ten calves."

"Whoa," Sookie said.

"Now, offspring do not always stay in the same feeding grounds as their mothers, but Stellwagen Bank has been a favorite place of Thalassa's for years. After a calf is born, she'll typically stay under the keen watch of her mother for eleven to twelve months, consuming 50 to 100 gallons of milk per day during the first six months."

"Whoa," Sookie said again, with feeling.

We'd reached the port side, and of course Thalassa was nowhere to be found. Not even a trail of bubbles.

"What a treat we're getting today, seeing mother and offspring," Captain John gushed.

Not really, since they both typically hang out around here. Plus it would be nice to actually see something, not simply hear about it.

But Captain John was on a roll. "And in case you are wondering about the fathers," he continued, "males don't stick around to help raise the calves, and go on to father many more offspring. But, it's the female who gets to choose her mate. Bands of males will follow a female, forming competitive pods. They'll even get into fights, slapping their tails at each other and drawing blood as they vie for the female's attention and follow her wherever she goes."

Without any warning, someone from the deck above us leaned over the railing and threw up, missing my left side.

"That doesn't sound like fun," Sookie said.

Actually, it sounded like a lot of fun, getting to beat down the competitors.

She eyed me warily. "That would drive me nuts being tailed like that," she said. "Getting worn down until you end up picking one to make them stop."

"But you'd know which one was the best."

More vomit fell from overhead. This was preferable to a dead whale?

"That was close." Sookie took a step toward me.

I paused as the hacking from above continued, waiting for her to crack and admit what a bad idea today was. "You hungry?" I prodded.

"Sure," she said, grabbing for her handbag.

We headed around to the front of the boat, where there would be no chance of splatter from the upper deck. Sookie wolfed down her sandwich and then asked me if I was going to eat my pickle. I motioned for her to take it.

Captain John had finally shut up, having worn himself out on stoking us up for an exciting whale-less whale watch. "We'll be heading back to Plymouth soon, folks."

No one cared. A lot of the ill passengers had finally collapsed on benches, like they'd suffered a giant battle at sea. Sookie observed them, saying quietly, "I feel bad for these folks, but…"

"Yeah. Dumb." Underdressed, many had tried to stay warm in the cabin, which had only worsened their motion sickness.

"Let's go catch one more view of Stellwagon Bank" I suggested. We packed our gear once more and headed to the back of the boat, alone, to lean on the railing. It was less drizzly and windy, though everything was now a solid block of dullness, without even a fringe of whitecap or cloud. Gray sky. Gray water.

She took a deep breath and leaned her head back. "Mmm…I forget what it's like to relax and do nothing."

Nothing? If it was nothing she wanted to do, I could have thought of a better way to do it.

She jostled me, her shoulder butting my arm. I swear, sometimes she knew exactly what I was thinking.

"We've been busy," I acknowledged.

She breathed deeply again, reminding me of a moment with her last summer: her head thrown back in abandonment, the curve of her bare neck, shoulders, and arms, fluid as she shifted and rocked over me.

After a few more moments, she said, "I was sixteen before I ever spotted a whale."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe fifteen. It seemed…mmm…not unimportant, but something we never planned since we lived bayside. Driving somewhere to pay money to go out on the water seemed silly. But it's something else to see them…"

"Alive?" I supplied, since the conversation was already headed in that direction.

"Well, yeah. Have you ever seen one breach? And I don't mean bobbing up, but…his whole body coming out."

I shook my head. But now we were talking…a massive animal flinging himself out of the water…right in front of the boat. "Have you?"

"No, but that would be amazing, wouldn't it?" she said. "I wonder how close they get to the boats. And whether they ever crash."

"Let's ask Captain John."

She bumped me again. Last summer, that kind of jostle would have inevitably led to sex—laughing play-wrestling turned single-minded. Now it was more of an "I'm-still-in-this-with-you" nod. But I'd take it.

I tried to remember when I'd seen my first whale. Family time cycled in our house, with long stretches of staidness followed by seasonal bursts when Russell's and Bartlett's businesses picked up. Socializing too. Always people coming and going. Summers split apart our home at the seams.

Come to think of it, I'd first seen a whale when I'd gone out on the yacht with Ocella & Associates.

"I think I was with O the first time," I told Sookie. She knew about him; I'd told her the basics, at least.

"Yeah?"

"He chartered a party boat. Brought along his top clients. And me. I didn't know whether to wash dishes or drink wine."

"What'd you do?"

"A little of both. After a while, O found me passing hors d'oeuvres. He liked me that way, plenty. On display. But he liked me even better when I was liquored up."

She sat still next to me, without even a fidget. After a few minutes, she asked, "Russell and Bartlett didn't realize what was going on?"

"No. They thought of him as a respectable businessman who'd be a good influence on me. When they realized I had talent that he'd developed, they were willing to overlook things, like the partying. Ocella was always discreet enough that nothing big ever got back to them. And anyway, their attention was drawn elsewhere at the times when he showed up. It wasn't something I especially wanted to give up, either, so I hid a lot from them."

She was quiet. She knew about hiding secrets, though for her own very different reasons.

"He was convincing," I said. "Like without him, I wouldn't ever amount to anything."

"Hmph."

"But you have to understand, to a certain degree, that was true."

She crossed her legs. Then uncrossed them. "It sounds confusing."

I shrugged. "There's no doubt he gave me my start."

Suddenly Captain John was talking again. "Folks, if you you're standing on the starboard side, you might be able to catch a glimpse of a sunfish. This one looks on the small side, but they can grow up to over 2000 pounds."

"Want to see?" I asked.

"Nah, I'm all set." she said, taking my hand.

We stared out the back of the boat as Stellwagon Bank continued to recede. A dark form slipped quietly above the water, 100 yards out from us. From here it looked simply like a rock exposed by the tides. There was no exciting breach or spout. I couldn't even tell what type of whale it was. It might have even been possible to think I was imagining it. But Sookie squeezed my hand. She was watching it too.

And then just as quietly, it slipped away.

Well…that was it. We'd seen a whale. Alive, I presumed, though frankly, it was hard to tell. At least this outing hadn't been my idea. And at least that beached whale wouldn't ever come up again, not when we had this…vomit cruise as a follow-up.

So on the whole, it wasn't such a bad day after all.

Next summer, we were going to Chatham to scout for sharks.

I turned to face her. She'd have to put up with my gloating now.

But she caught me by surprise, standing up on her tiptoes and pulling me down to meet her lips, pressing hard. And her hands, wandering flagrantly. And her boobs, smashing against me. I slid my hand inside her jacket and grazed a thumb across her nipple, felt the weight and fullness of her breast in my palm. She breathed heavily into our kiss. I could taste the salt on her skin and wanted all of her. Strands of loose hair—hers, mine, ours—whipped against my cheek.

Whales too.

Next summer, after we looked for sharks, we'd do another whale watch.