A/N: Part 1 of the 'Sometime' series. Starting during 'Definitely Dead', what might have happened if Eric had gone to see Sookie a day earlier.

Thursday night, late, there was a knock on the door, and I went to open it. That's not as dumb as it sounds; when you have a vampire as your nearest neighbour, it does sometimes happen. They occasionally forget that the rest of the world works a different twelve-hour shift to them.

It wasn't Bill at my door, however; it was his supremely annoyed boss. I guessed Eric must have flown over from Shreveport, as there was no sign of the car.

"May I come in?" he asked politely. That possibly wasn't a good sign.

"I think I'd rather you stayed that side of the doorsill," I said. It wasn't because I was worried about anything he might do to me – however angry he was, I knew Eric wouldn't hurt me – I was far more worried about what I might do to him, which could range from having a screaming rage, bursting into tears on his shoulder, slugging him in the jaw in sheer frustration, or, well, ripping his clothes off. If I'm honest, it was the last one that worried me most of all.

"Pam tells me you are too busy to come to Shreveport tomorrow night," he said stiffly, "so I have come to see why you don't answer my call, and to discuss the business matters with you here."

Ah, right, so that was why he was as mad as a wasp in a jar. He'd had to demean himself so far as to visit a lowly human, because the lowly human had better things to do than bowing and scraping to his high-and-mightiness. "I have a date tomorrow," I said coolly.

"Who with?" he demanded.

"Is that really any of your business?" I asked challengingly, meeting his eyes for the first time.

"Of course it is," he said, as if I should have known it.

I was disconcerted by that, I can tell you. "And why would that be?"

"You should be mine. I have slept with you, I have cared for you, I have… assisted you financially."

"You owed me that money," I said. "Yes, you've slept with me, but not recently, and it's not like you've shown any interest in repeating the experience. Maybe you do care for me, but you're showing it in a mighty strange way – I've never heard that total avoidance apart from sending orders via your flunkies is a way of showing someone you care!"

There was a flicker of amusement. "You're calling Pam a flunky?" That was unfair of me. Also, she'd probably rip my throat out if he ever told her that; I hoped he didn't. Then he was back to business. "I do not have to hang around you to show you. I am sheriff. You… you are in my retinue."

"Your retinue?" I hissed. "Well, up your retinue! You don't tell me what to do!" Actually, he spent a lot of time doing exactly that; I spent as much time ignoring it.

"You are obliged to go with me to the conference," Eric said, his mouth tense and his eyes blazing. "That was why I summoned you to Shreveport – to discuss travel time and arrangements."

"I'm not obliged to go anywhere with you. You got out-ranked, buddy."

"Buddy? Buddy?"

"Sure. The Queen's appropriated me, apparently." And suddenly, I felt like crying. I was tired, so tired, I didn't want to go to the conference with the Queen, and there was a man on my doorstep who looked like the man I wanted to hug me. I rested my forehead on the door-frame, and tried to haul back the tears.

I'd had his blood, of course; he noticed, and the anger was suddenly gone from him, too, breaking like a wave on the shore. "Sookie? What's wrong, what's happened?"

"I was just wondering," I said conversationally, trying not to cry, "why it is that I seem to lose everyone I love."

"You speak of your cousin?" he said, his voice a little more gentle. "You are grieving for her?"

"Her amongst others," I agreed.

"Who else, then?" he asked, confused. "Who else have you lost recently, that has brought this on?"

I looked him in the eyes, anger flaring up in me again. Didn't he know? Didn't he realise? "I lost someone who didn't even exist," I spat venomously.

He frowned. "Sookie…"

My restraint snapped. "Go to hell!" I screamed, slamming the door. "Leave me alone!"

He was too quick for me, jamming one hand against the door to keep it open as the other caught hold of me. "Not just yet," he said. "Not just yet." He slid his arms round my waist, and pulled me into an unexpected hug.

I struggled half-heartedly against him for a moment, but in the end, I couldn't help it; I broke down and cried. He held me, and said nothing.

"Why wouldn't you let me in?" he asked softly, when I'd calmed.

Of all the things he could have asked me then, that one threw me off-kilter. "Because I knew something like this would happen if I did."

"So instead of having the argument in private, you have it on your doorstep," he said dryly, sitting down on that self-same doorstep, and bringing me down to sit on his lap, his arms around me. "I think you're bullshitting me, my lover."

"Don't call me that," I snapped.

"Why not?" he asked calmly. "You were."

I tried to extricate myself from his arms, but he didn't seem inclined to let go of me. "I wasn't your lover," I muttered. "And it's not as if you actually remember anything about it, anyway – just one in a long line of forgettable women."

And, ultimately, that was what really hurt. I'd genuinely cared about the man who'd stayed with me; I could have loved him forever. But all I'd had were a few beautiful nights of being important to someone, before being forgotten, cast aside again, like so much chaff on a breath of wind.

"I would not have forgotten, had it not been for the curse," he reminded me, "and I don't consider you one in a long line of meaningless encounters; I regret that I can't remember every single moment we spent together. You were my lover, unless you were lying to me," he said quietly. "Were you? Were you lying?"

I shook my head. "I was the lover of a man who shared your body, but not your memories; not even your personality. It's not the same thing." I sighed, trying to think of a way to explain it to him. "It's like I was with your identical twin. You look like him, but you're not him."

"And you're grieving for him," he said slowly, as if trying to understand. "You loved him."

"Yes," I whispered, huddling into a miserable little ball on his lap. "And he's gone. Just another memory."

And yet, the arms that held me were so familiar; the scent of him every bit as soothing as it had been. The hand that now stroked my hair had caressed me, the lips that now kissed the crown of my head had whispered sweet words to me.

"You're not him," I insisted, tears flowing down my face. "You're not him." But he reminded me of that other him in that moment, so clearly, so deeply, that it ripped at my heart, and I could almost believe they were one and the same.

He didn't answer, just kept right on holding me, comforting me, stroking my hair.

"Maybe, some day," he said softly, after a very long while, "you will be done grieving for him, and could learn to love me instead." He kissed the top of my head again. "Some day," he whispered, and brushed his lips to mine, "this loss will not pain you so much. Some day, I will remember the times we shared. Some day, perhaps, you will forgive me for not being the man you loved. Some day."

My tears started to lessen, and without realising it, I nestled a little closer to him.

He licked up a tear that had escaped down my cheek. "Some day, you will heal," he said.

I slipped my hand into his, and he curled his fingers protectively round it, enfolding it gently; it reminded me painfully, beautifully, of that first night he'd spent with me, when we'd fallen asleep holding hands. "Some day," I whispered, a lump in my throat. I wrapped my other arm around his waist, and rested my head on his chest. His arm tightened around me, his head dipping over me as if to shelter me. "Some day soon."

A/N: Parts 2 and 3 ('Some Enchanted Evening' and 'Somewhere In The Night', respectively) are now posted!