Hey y'all – this is an idea that's been floating around in my head for a while now, and thankfully that hideous S5 clip came along and gave me an actual lead into it. Since we poor souls in merry old England don't get S5 until Autumn - yes AUTUMN, like, November or something fer cryin out loud – I'll have to make do with my own version for a bit.

In my head, Tara's just dead and gone because I can't really entertain the idea of her as a Vampire, and she's a bit annoying anyway. Sookie's still upset about it obviously, but it's not really the focus of the story.

And kudos to Lady Dudley's One & Only story – go read everything she's ever written, it will get you through this difficult True Blood-less time – which starts pretty much the same way. I'm going off on a different tangent though, so no copycat intended!

Oh, and I own bugger all.

PRIORITIES – Chapter 1

'If you can't trust me more than Bill Compton, or a WEREWOLF for Christ's sake, then release me and get it over with. Just say the words. As your maker, I release you. Say it, and we're done. SAY IT!'

Blood red tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, as she looked at maker and waited for him to do the one thing she never thought he'd be able to. She never thought he'd want to – as a Vampire child, she was perfect. As a business partner, she was even better. Admittedly she wasn't exactly performing the range sexual favours she used to anymore, but that had been a mutual decision over fifty years ago, and they'd gone so long without that she'd eventually stopped worrying that was why he'd kept her around. But now, as she stared into his cold eyes, now he was a stranger to her.

'Don't be an idiot, Pam,' Eric hissed, his fists clenched in barely contained rage.

'Why? Because you think I'll go straight to him? You think I'll run off to Russell, and stand by his side, knowing that what he wants more than anything is to stick a stake up your ass? Go fuck yourself Eric, or better yet, go fuck your fairy, and leave me the hell alone – you've gotten really good at that.' she turned on her heel and made to walk away, but in an instant he was on her, slamming her up against the wall, shattering every bottle behind the bar.

'Your insolence has been entertaining in the past Pam, so I've let it slide, but it grows tiresome.' Eric snarled, his grip on her so tight she thought her bones might actually break.

'Then kill me, Eric.' Pam spat back, struggling uselessly against his hold. 'If you can't trust me, then rip my fucking head off right now, because if you make me stay here like this one more second I'm going to walk right out and meet the sun myself, you fucking bastard!'

'DO NOT TEMPT ME!' Eric roared, lifting her up and slamming her head back so hard she almost blacked out. Tears bubbled up again, against her will, and she stared down at him, trying to find some semblance of the man she fell for over a hundred years before. She choked back a bitter sob, and something in his eyes flickered. Regret, maybe. A hint of shame. He stepped back suddenly, and she crumpled to the floor, hissing in pain when she landed in the remnants of their shattered stock. The pain seemed to push all sorrow aside for a moment, and when she sprang back onto her Louboutin clad feet, she had fire in her eyes. Eric recognised it, it was the same fire he'd seen all those years ago when she faced him in that dark, cobbled alley in London. She'd been sure he was the Ripper, about to claim her for his latest victim, and she sure as hell wasn't going down without a fight.

'If you won't release me,' she said, calmly, 'then I will do it myself.' She strode across the bar and picked up her bag and jacket, tossing them over her arm and wiping her tears away as she did it. Eric stood silent, shell shocked at what he'd almost done, and not really hearing what she'd just said.

'Pam,' he said, eventually, but he was met by the slamming of a door. He spun around and raced after her, throwing open the doors to the street and stumbling out, his eyes searching wildly for her. 'PAM!' he yelled, his voice echoing through the night.

Eric pressed his hands over his eyes and took a deep, unnecessary breath, releasing it slowly and carefully. He didn't need to say it loudly, he barely needed to say the words at all, but this time he would, just to make sure he got it exactly right.

'Pamela Swynford De Beaufort, as your maker I command you to return to my side.'

He waited patiently for the rush of heels on tarmac, the bitter curse, the slap in the face... but nothing came. He frowned, and spoke again, a little louder this time. Still, nothing.

'Pam?'

But his child was gone.