Author's Note: This is my first fan fiction and i'm really not sure where i'm going with it. I kind of have a vision and plan and whether or not it works out, I don't know. In fact, this may be total crap and I might never do this again. But I figured I'd take a shot at it and see where it gets me.

Of course, I don't own any of these characters. Way to for CH for thinking them up...JEALOUS!

Enjoy!

Warmth hit my chest and my eyes flew open. The warmth spread throughout my body and I began stretching slowly. The sun had finally set. I wiggled my fingers and curled my toes luxuriously; my body was stiff. It had been nearly three months since the sun had set (I wasn't kidding when I said "finally"). Thankfully, after a thousand years, my blood is strong enough to survive such a length of time without my body withering away.

Just exactly where I was that the sun hadn't set for almost three months? Or more important, why was I there. Well, I had run. That's right, the great Viking Eric Northman, had run away. I needed to give her time and space; I wanted to ensure silence from my end of the bond. That's how I ended up in Barrow, Alaska.

Just for shits and giggles: I ended up in Barrow because of that stupid vampire film, 30 Days of Night. Pam talks me into seeing any and all of the vampire films that come out. (By the by, vampires can't go out into daylight because we will burn to death not because we fucking sparkle.) This film actually paid off: if there's 30 days of night, there has to be 30 days of…well, day. Turns out there are actually 84 days of day light. I digress.

I needed to leave her alone. Fucking Bill Compton had sucked (ha) her into our world and it had caused nothing but trouble for her. Those goddamn fairies kidnapping her was the last straw for me. She was done with Compton; she had made that clear on several occasions. I was her last tie to the vampire world and I was severing it for her. While our bond could not be broken without drastic measures (measures I was not yet willing to take), it could be weakened by distance and lack of communication. Knowing her, she would be pissed that I had made this decision for her but she should be used to me doing things like that by now. And for once, I did this for her. Truly for her. You know, wanting to buy her a new car was for her, but it was also a reflection of me. If she drove a pathetic hunk of metal it made me look bad. If she wore clothes from fucking Wal-Mart, it reflected poorly on me and I cannot have that. I was a fucking Sheriff for Christ's sake. There was no reason for my bonded to be running around looking like a poor woman. Not important…My leaving her, my running away as it were was one of the few things I did simply for her.

Oh, I had thought about it. We quite easily could have faked her death and then she could have spent the rest of her days locked away in one of my compounds. You couldn't break into one of my homes if you tried to, the security was unbelievable. I mean, we're protecting my undead life here. We're talking more than just retina and hand scans: think one sided doors, hallways that run in circles, staircases that led to no where, and even trap doors. Passwords with time constraints. You screw up the password? Walls drop from the ceiling and you're stuck in a small box until I personally come to let you out. She would have been safe in every sense of the word, but she would have no life. Never going outside, never having visitors. I literally would have been her life. And while that certainly appeals to me, to lock my lover away from all eyes but mine, I am not as cold-hearted as one might expect. She would have grown to hate me, to despise me. No, taking her away from friends, family and sunlight would have simply destroyed her and in turn, destroyed me.

So I decided that night, after the Fairy War that I was done. I ordered Compton to leave her alone, I made arrangements for her to have a passport, to have enough money to board a plane and fly wherever the fuck she wanted. I contacted my lawyer, had him draw up papers to legally change her name. I left her with access to a bank account that would never go below a million dollars (what can I say? I'm over a thousand years old). I contacted several plastic surgeons and set up appointments, to both help her with the damages from the fairies and to change anything about her appearance if she so desired. I took every step I could think of to help her go into hiding if she so desired. I wanted her to live her life in peace. I wanted to provide her with the safety my being a vampire always threatened.

After setting all of that up for her (with the assistance of my dear child, Pam) I made my own arrangements. In case of emergencies, I had a stockade of human blood in my compounds. I gorged myself until I thought I would explode and then loaded up my coffin and myself into a private jet.

I could feel her aching pain through the bond while I made all of these arrangements. As much as I was compelled to rush to her side, take her in my arms and promise her every thing in the world, that scorching pain helped me forge ahead with my plans. Her pain gave me the strength I needed to ensure that I was doing the right thing, that running away was the best choice for her. As I boarded the plane, I felt her pain and sorrow echoing through our bond, enveloping whatever type of soul I might have. It wrapped its icy fingers around my dead heart as I drifted into my day sleep. The last thing I remembered before falling into total darkness was the depth and absolute sheer torture of her pain. Bloody tears slipped down my cheeks as I was overcome by my day time slumber.

Now that I had finally awakened, my first thought was of her, of my bonded, my lover, my Sookie. Groaning, I shoved the lid off my traveling coffin. It clattered to the floor and I climbed out. My body ate up my movements, loving the fact that I was actually walking. No wonder they called dead people stiffs. Ha, I laughed inwardly at my ridiculous joke. Turning slowly, letting my muscles reacquaint themselves with movement, I took in my surroundings. The room was as promised: sun-tight, fabulously decorated (not that I gave two shits) and complete with its own mini-bar and king size bed. Of course, my thirst begged me to examine the contents of the mini-bar and I obliged. Opening the door to the small fridge, I found it stocked. True Bloods, Royal Blends, various other bottled synthetics and even blood bags. Grabbing a blood bag, I sank my teeth into it and sucked as I wandered the room.

The blood burned its way down my throat as I examined the bathroom. It was huge and spotless. The shower was immaculate and the small Jacuzzi in the corner was a wasted surprise. I finished off the blood bag and returned to the mini-bar in hopes of another when it hit me.

I felt nothing.

I mean, I felt the blood running down my throat and filling my body, I felt the carpet below my feet in the bedroom and had felt the cool tile in the bathroom. But I didn't feel her. I didn't even know if she was alive. While that thought bothered me, I realized at the very least I did not feel her in pain. I hated not knowing if she was alive but at least I could not feel her. And if I couldn't feel her, that meant she couldn't feel me, which would hopefully ensure her getting over me quickly and being able to move on from the warped world she had been trapped in.

Sitting in my room forever would be ridiculous, so after I grabbed another blood bag and plunged my fangs in, I located one of my suitcases and threw in on the bed. I held the bag in my mouth as I unzipped the suitcase. Pam had graciously packed and sent my luggage to meet me and I was glad to rid myself of the clothes I had traveled and slept in for 84 days. Lost in thought, my hands searched for the feeling of jeans and I realized everything was soft. I looked down. It was my worst fashion nightmare: Inside my suitcase was velor sweatsuit after velor sweatsuit. Bright whites, dark blues, onyx blacks and blood reds. Where the hell were my clothes?

"What the fuck?" I uttered aloud as I pulled out matching set after matching set. I piled them on the bed hoping there was at least one pair of jeans at the bottom of the suitcase. Instead, I found a set of cotton pajama pants with cartoon Vikings all over them. I stared at them, in shock.

"No way…" I hissed as I grabbed another suitcase. I shook it open on the bed. Oh, now it was fucking track suits! And some more goddamn ridiculous pajamas. Dracula? Really? I glared at the clothes on the bed, as though my gaze could set them on fire.

There was one more bag in the corner. I grabbed it and ripped it open. Crocks and Ugg boots fell out onto the bed. I stared at them in wonder. Hideous footwear. Equally hideous clothing. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the clothing around me in wonder. Who would do such a thing? Why I high on fairy blood when I packed?

Then it hit me.

I laughed out loud, "That sly bitch…always trying to talk me into wearing stupid new styles as soon as she discovered them." I laughed again. "So she packs my bags with nothing, absolutely nothing I would be willing to wear…" My laughter took hold of me and I couldn't stop.

A/N

So be honest...well, maybe not too honest...ha, no really. I want some feed back.

And please take the time to picture Eric in a velor sweatsuit with Ugg boots....or maybe just the Ugg boots...