A/N: Merry Christmas everyone! Here's the first chapter of a very fluffy fic that I hope to be updating in real time (ish...) over the Christmas period.

In hindsight – which is a wonderful thing – listening to the Bon Temps Christmas radio station whilst putting up my decorations on Christmas Eve, knowing that I would be spending Christmas alone, was probably a bad idea. Normally it would make me cheerful, but Mariah Carey chirpily warbling that 'all I want for Christmas is you-oo-oo, baby,' George Michael expostulating (word of the day) that 'last Christmas I gave you my heart', and David Essex lamenting that 'it's hard to be alone at this time of year' all made for an unhappy Sookie.

It was hard not to think, not of last Christmas, but of New Year, stopping for an amnesiac Eric on New Year's Eve, and of the wonderful few days he'd spent with me. I missed him. I missed him so badly it hurt. He'd been keeping his distance of late, and I wasn't dumb enough to expect that to change all of a sudden. It wasn't as if I'd given him any encouragement, after all; far from it. I was still too confused about my feelings for him; afraid of them, afraid they wouldn't be reciprocated. Afraid they would.

By the time Sarah McLachlan crooned her Wintersong, I couldn't take it any more. I broke down and cried.

Lake is frozen over,
Trees are white with snow,
And all around reminders of you
Are everywhere I go.

It's late and morning's in no hurry,
But sleep won't set me free.
I lie awake and try to recall
How your body felt beside me.

When silence gets too hard to handle,
And the night too long…

And this is how I see you
In the snow on Christmas morning.
Love and happiness surround you
As you throw your arms up to the sky:
I keep this moment by and by.

Oh, how I miss you now, my love.
Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas,
Merry Christmas, my love…

I don't know how long I spent there, curled up on the couch, bawling my eyes out, feeling so utterly, horribly alone. Without realising what I was doing, something inside me reached out, as if trying to find some kind of comfort; and immediately, a feeling of warmth and comfort surrounded me, so loving that it felt like an embrace, and I leant into it, finally sitting up and drying my eyes. I gave a watery laugh at myself for being an idiot.

Whatever it was, it felt good, and I felt better. I gave a final sniff, blew my nose, and sent out a whispered 'thank you' to the unknown source of my comfort. I ate my dinner, then hesitated; I shook my head at myself as I hung a battered old felt Christmas stocking by the fireplace. I wasn't exactly expecting Santa Claus, so why I did it, I don't know. Just tradition, I guess. I went to bed early, and though I tossed and turned a little fretfully, I eventually fell asleep.

I was woken by the sounds of soft rustling in the living room; I was no longer alone in the house. Even on Christmas Eve, I found it unnerving, and grabbed Jason's shotgun from its hiding place as I padded to see who was there.

"Okay, hands where I can see them," I snarled at the figure by the tree. Who chuckled, and raised his hands.

"I was putting presents under your tree, not stealing them."

I dropped the shotgun in shock, and yelped as it fell on my toe. "Eric?"

I followed the graceful movement as he rose to full height, taking in the boots, jeans, sleeveless tee – and somewhat incongruous Santa hat perched on the top of his head.

"Merry Christmas?" he offered.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, bewildered. In response, he simply swept his hand to the rest of the room, and I gasped; I hadn't noticed the transformation. "Eric, you…" I had to stop; my throat seemed to close in on itself.

"You dislike it?" he asked, his tone a little disappointed.

I shook my head, taking in the little things that added a more festive touch than I'd managed with Gran's old decorations, somehow. Scarlet and gold ribbons had been used to hang pine cones in strategic places, and a garland was swagged above the fire. There was a large log in the fireplace; the fire was unlit, however. There were more pine cones around the base of the log, I supposed to act as kindling. In front of the fire was a bag of chestnuts, neat crosses cut into the shells, ready for roasting. Even the tree had little touches; here and there, I spied little carved wooden ornaments – stars and reindeer and snowflakes. "It's beautiful," I said, and it really was; it was like the epitome of every Christmas scene you could possibly wish for.

I realised I was crying again, and with a bound across the room, he had me in his arms. "Then why these tears?"

I gave a shaky laugh. "I felt so – miserable, earlier. And now… this… you've done all this…"

"I know, Sookie," he said softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't come to you sooner."

"You knew?" I gasped.

He touched my face, very lightly, with his fingertips. "You reached out for me," he said softly. "I could feel your unhappiness, your misery, your need for comfort, through the bond." He kissed the top of my head. "I did as much as I could to ease your sorrow."

"That… that was you?"

"Mm. You could feel it, then?"

I smiled a little. "Yes. Yes, I felt it." I looked up at him. "It was like being hugged."

He smiled faintly. Surprisingly, he drew back. "Do you usually have a Yule log?"

I glanced at the fireplace. "Yes," I replied. "Gran liked that tradition."

"You have the remains of last year's log?" he asked softly, and I gulped, eyes threatening to spill over again. I was being a real Weeping Willa this evening.

"I have it." I brought it out of the box I kept it stashed in for safekeeping, but hesitated as I handed it over. He gave me a questioning look. "It was… it was this log burning, when we… last year," I stammered.

"Yes," he said thoughtfully. "Yes, it would have been." He gestured towards the fireplace. "Sometimes, Sookie, you have to let go of the past to make way for the future." My hands started shaking. "And doesn't that terrify you?" he added softly.

I let him take the remains of the log without a fight, not answering his question. I found myself shivering uncontrollably as I watched him light the remains of last year's log, and set fire to the pine cones, their flames licking and eventually taking hold of the new log. The clock on the mantel shelf showed it was just midnight.

He stood again, once the fire was crackling away merrily, and held his hand out to me. I went to him slowly; I wasn't sure what was happening, and I was as nervous as hell. The Eric standing in my living room wasn't quite like either of the Erics I'd previously thought I'd known.

He drew me close, near the fire, and though it warmed me, my shivering increased almost threefold. His hand cupped my face. "Sookie?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. His eyes flicked upwards. "It is tradition."

I glanced up, and realised he'd pinned a bunch of mistletoe near the fireplace before I'd interrupted his work, and we were standing right under it. Dry-mouthed, and suddenly unable to speak, I merely nodded in permission.

"It has been writ that any man may blameless kiss what maid he can; nor anyone shall say him 'no' beneath the holy mistletoe," he murmured, bending his head to kiss me.

My hands rested lightly on his biceps, and I closed my eyes as our lips met. It was a very different kiss to any we'd shared before; intimate, tender, and gentle. My eyes fluttered open again as he pulled back, and reached up to the mistletoe, plucking a berry, and handing it to me. "Thank you," I whispered, taking it from him with trembling fingers.

"It is a Norse tradition, you know," he murmured. "When the god Baldur, killed by mistletoe, was eventually brought back from the dead, his mother, the goddess Frigga, decreed that mistletoe would henceforth bring love, not death, to the world. To kiss under the mistletoe was to honour the goddess."

"I didn't know that," I replied.

"There are many traditions whose origins are lost, but for ancient writings and the memories of those few of us who still survive who remember."

It was so quiet, so peaceful and calm, that it didn't feel odd to ask him. "Tell me about some of them?"

He smiled. "Very well, but first you must open this." He took a big, bulky gift from behind the tree, and presented it to me. I looked at him askance, and he chuckled. "You will understand, I think. Open it."

"I didn't get you anything," I said, crestfallen.

"You are gift enough," he replied, and I swallowed the lump in my throat.

I opened the present carefully, and shook out a beautiful white faux-fur blanket, thick, warm, and soft. "It's like the one in your calendar," I said.

"Oh – yes, it's identical," he said. "I hoped you would enjoy the reminder."

I smiled, and blinked as he casually tossed a couple of cushions from the couch on the floor, settling himself down with his head on them, sprawled out on my floor in front of the fire. He turned his head to look up at me, and held his arm out in invitation. I shook with nerves again, realising what he was doing; I remembered telling him we'd spent time like this when he'd stayed with me. I gulped, and lay down beside him, letting him arrange the blanket over us.

Its warmth and weight were comforting. I snuggled hesitantly into Eric's side, as he wrapped his arm around me under the blanket, settling my head on his chest. "I've missed this," I sighed.

"You should have said," he said, his voice soft, almost dreamy.

"I had a hard time admitting it, even to myself," I replied. "And it only really hit me this evening."

His fingers played with my hair. "This… is important to you?"

"Talking, spending time, just being together? Yes," I said, my eyes closing. "Before… you didn't know anyone or anything but me. I was your safety, your rock, your world. You were… there," I said, trying to explain. "I was… I was important to you."

"Was?" I didn't respond. I was too close to tears – again. "Sookie, my darling, if you think you're not important to me, then ask yourself why I'm here now."

I bit my lip so hard it started to bleed, and he made a soft sound of discontent. "Lover, enough harm comes to you, without you bringing it on yourself," he said. His tongue glided over my lip, flicking away the few drops of blood, and healing it. Then he pulled me closer, wrapping me in his arms, and I felt the same feeling flooding through me as earlier, and my weepiness abated. "Better?"

I nodded sleepily. "Can we just… stay here for a while?" I asked drowsily.

"Yes, my lover," he murmured. "Sleep, now. You are weary."

I let my eyes flutter closed, mind and body relaxing into the warmth of the fire, the blanket covering me, the arms encircling me, and the bond that was flooded with feelings of love and comfort.