I can't quite believe I'm actually posting something here, as opposed to just reading. But here it is, my first Sookie/Eric story, based of Taylor Swift's gorgeously indulgent 'Tim McGraw'.
Also, I ought to apologise at the outset if the chaptering/chapter breaks seem a little odd; I was only intending for this to be a one-shot, but it morphed into a 25 page beast. I figured slightly odd chapters would be preferable to 13,000 words in one go. I hope you enjoy!
For M.
SPOV
"Hurry your ass up Sook! We're gonna miss our flight!"
My brother was standing in the doorway to my tiny New York apartment, my suitcase gripped in one hand, the other wiping anxiously at his face.
"Jason Stackhouse, you watch your mouth!" I hollered back, darting from my bedroom to the kitchen/lounge, surveying each room for forgotten knick-knacks. Of course, I'd already double and triple-checked the place, but it was fun to see Jase sweat. He'd only left Bon Temps twice. Once to help me move to The Big Apple and now, to help me move out again, and despite the fact he was almost thirty, he still hadn't quite managed to wrap his brain around the intricacies of air travel.
Finally though, after one more unnecessary sweep (I was prepared to admit it might have been as much about my reluctance to leave the city I had fallen so deeply in love with as it was about pissing off my big brother) it was time to go. I banged the door closed, twisting the handle just right to get the lock to catch and posted my key back through the letter-box. The tinny noise it made as it hit floor echoed a little in the hallway.
Jason hefted my case into his other hand in order to clap my shoulder comfortingly.
"You'll be back. You ain't done with the big city yet, 'Sis".
I had finished my journalism course at the top of my class and was heading to Los Angeles in a week to start my a new job as a member of a small magazine's film review staff. I'd wanted to stay where I was but the rent on the apartment was too much once my room-mate Amelia had moved out, and paid job-opportunities for someone just of college were few and far between.
I nodded, giving him a smile, and picked up my carry-on bag from the floor, following him down the dingy stairwell and out onto the swelteringly hot street to hail a cab. I stared out of the window on our way to the airport, taking in the bustle for the last time in a long time. Jason was right. I wasn't done with New York yet. More importantly, I didn't think it was done with me either. This wasn't goodbye, it was a parting of ways, like friends whose lives diverge after high school or college, but who know the other is always out there, waiting for their lives to run parallel again.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
We got back to Bon Temps late that evening after a delay on our Monroe flight. Jason's best friend Hoyt picked us up from Shreveport airstrip and chatted to me the whole way home whilst Jase slept in the back of the truck. The lights were still burning in the Stackhouse homestead when we drove up the pot-holed lane, bouncing along right up to the front door, and I could see Gran, rocking gently on the porch-swing and beaming at the three of us as we piled out with my bags.
"Susanna Stackhouse, you look set to disappear on me" she scolded, hugging me tightly. "You'll need a feeding up before you go out to Tinsel Town". I chuckled. Feeding up was the last thing I needed to do before I hit LA, but there was no arguing with Adele Stackhouse. I wouldn't be able to, even if I wanted.
The boys (they would always be boys, no matter how old they got) brought my things up to my old bedroom and then said their goodnights, with promises of beers in Merlotte's and visits for lunch soon. Gran said goodnight shortly after, ruffling the top of my head before she retired to her bedroom. I grabbed a glass of water, staring out of the window at the darkened yard as I drank it and then went to my room, determined to unpack the smaller of my cases now, otherwise I'd be living out of it for the next week, and I was fairly sure that there was laundry in it that needed doing. I plugged my Ipod into its dock and played it quietly as I emptied the contents of my case, sorting piles of things to hang up and things to wash. When I was done, I shoved the case under the bed, moving around a few things already under there to make room, dislodging a battered hat-box in the process.
I smiled to myself, my heart beating a little faster as I pulled the floral patterned box towards me and picked it up, sitting down cross-legged on the bed and lifting the lid off to inspect the age-worn items inside it. Post-It notes, ticket stubs, doodles on scraps of paper, graduation pins, one glove with the fingers singed off, photographs; they were all still in there, covered in a fine film of dust and smelling slightly musty, like the closet in the landing that was only used for guest towels.
If I was honest, I hadn't thought about him for a while. Life had gotten busy with exams, final submission deadlines, internship applications and work experience, and thoughts of the boy who had been the love of my young life had taken a back-seat to late nights, too much caffeine and stress. Before then, he'd never been too far away from the front of my mind. He was in every pair of beaten-up boots, every scruffy blonde head towering over the surrounding crowd, every booming laugh and every lonely night I'd spent in first year, second-guessing every decision I'd made that had finally delivered me to that point. It was him in every un-opened email. Him in every piece of hand-written mail that was slipped through my letter-box. It was him every time my cell rang, even though it couldn't be because he didn't have my new number. It was always him, until reality crept in, and it wasn't anymore. It never would be either; both of us were too hurt and too damn sad for either to make the first move.
That was four years ago, and though the rawness of it had long since faded out, I had continued to think about him a lot. There was always something I'd heard, or seen, or done that he would've found entertaining or interesting. There were others after him of course, I was by no means celibate (my inability to remain so something I secretly blamed on him. He'd spoilt me as far as that was concerned). None of them ever quite matched up.
I flicked through the photographs, smiling at our wide, dorky grins and found myself thinking about him for the first time in quite a while. I wondered about the boy I used to know, the boy I had loved, and what he'd spent the last four years of his life doing. I thought about the us that had been, the us that might have been, and wondered about the man he would have grown-up to become.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Five Years Previously
Tara attacked me from behind as I was off-loading new textbooks into my locker.
"Fuckin' Seniors!" was her greeting and I laughed at her enthusiasm even as I righted myself after her onslaught. We'd been best friends since kindergarten, and I could appreciate her excitement for the commencement of our senior year. Ten more months, and we were out of here, which was a bigger deal for Tara than it was for me. I wanted to leave to see more of the world, but I knew that a piece of me would always belong in Bon Temps. Tara just wanted to get the fuck away from her mother. I couldn't blame her, so I basked in her jubilation as we headed into the quad to eat lunch.
"T! Sook!".
We were beckoned over to the spot beneath the tree that had been ours since our first day of junior high by Tara's cousin Lafayette, Sam Merlotte and Tray Dawson, who were lounging against the trunk with what looked like a five-course banquet spread out in front of them.
"What the heck is all this?" I asked, trying to find a space to sit down amongst the food. The gumbo caught my eye as I nudged it out of the way. Tara tore off a hunk of corn bread and popped it in her mouth, sprawling out on the grass and pulling a book from her satchel.
"This, Sweetpea, is my practise run menu for New Orleans". Lafayette gestured grandly to all the dishes. "An' since I damn near cooked myself outta room in my refrigerator an' the thought of you workin' those turkey sandwiches for another year just about broke my sequin-covered heart, I thought I could provide for y'all".
Sam shook his head, and without opening his eyes, reached for the corn bread as well, pulling some off the batch.
"Make the most of it Sooks. There ain't gonna be any free meals when I'm the most famous chef in The Big Easy. Not even for you".
I laughed and dug into the gumbo, relishing it and refusing to feel guilty about my own lunch, squashed and going to waste at the bottom of my purse. Tray and I could split the cookies in Study Hall later and Jase would eat the sandwiches after dinner. Besides, Lafayette's cooking was too good to turn down. Gran wouldn't have approved of me turning down such a generous offer. At least, that's what I told myself as I dipped the bread into the gumbo.
"Who is that tall glass of water?" Tara piped up, looking past me over the rim of her sunglasses and licking her lips in a way I wasn't entirely sure was deliberate. I followed her gaze, wondering who she was talking about. We knew pretty much every swoon-worthy face in our year, had lusted over them from afar. The only way someone could get Tara's attention that quickly would be if they were new.
I could tell who she was looking at without asking her. He was definitely new.
Tall, scruffy blonde hair- like Kurt Cobain's, if Kurt Cobain had been friendly with a shower- and lean. He was standing off to the side of the quad, clutching files and books with the distinctive look of someone trying not to look as lost as they are. He was wearing jeans, heavy boots and a leather jacket over a white t-shirt. He was definitely not from around here. We all knew better than to wear leather before December.
"He looks lost. Maybe we should help him". Tara pushed herself to sit upright, never taking her eyes off New Boy.
"Jesus Christ, Tara" Sam drawled, opening his eyes to look at our class-mate with only the barest hint of interest. "Put your tongue away. You didn't get enough action over the summer?".
"Fuck you Merlotte" she retorted, before grabbing my hand. "He's coming over here. Look, Sookie!". I shook her grip off and rolled my eyes.
"He's not Elvis, Tara" I laughed. "He's probably a jerk anyway. The hot ones always are".
Lafayette cleared his throat pointedly, and I threw a rolled up ball of aluminium foil at him.
"You're a jerk too. Bein' gay doesn't get you off the hook".
"Excuse me?". Blondie had walked over to us, and was standing a little uncomfortably.
"You all right Bro?" Tray drawled, no doubt trying to take attention off Tara, who was staring at the newcomer with definite googly-eyes.
"I'm looking for Mr Davies's class. I'm Eric. I'm new" he added, unnecessarily, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other.
"Don't you have Davies this semester Sook?" Sam asked, pointedly ignoring Tara, who'd gone from googly-eyes to death-stare in his direction.
"I do. I was going to head over there now actually". I gathered up my things, aware of Eric hovering in the background. "You can come with me if you want? I've gotta call by the library first".
His face cracked into a relieved smile and he nodded. "Please. I've got to register there as well".
"Okay. Let's get you sorted". I grinned at him, partly to be reassuring, partly to wind Tara up but also, partly because his own smile was so very devastating, and it was hard not to reciprocate.
"See you later guys. Tray? There's cookies for Study".
He whooped as Eric and I walked away. I chuckled and offered out my hand to the impossibly tall boy beside me. "I'm Sookie, by the way".
He juggled around his armful of files to take my hand.
"Nice to meet you Sookie". He smiled again, and I swear, my heart melted just a little.
"Nice to meet you too, Eric".
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
It was nice. And it wasn't long before we realised just hownice it was to meet each other.
It took him two weeks to ask me out. By that stage, he'd found his feet, settled into his classes and was hanging out with us at lunch and as he became more sure of himself in his new surroundings it became clear that actually, he was a far cry from being the awkward, slightly shy boy we'd met that first day.
0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o
I had a free period before lunch on Fridays, so it had been delegated to me to go and save our spot under the tree for everyone else. I was propped up against the trunk reading the copy of Wuthering Heights we'd been prescribed for English Literature, mentally wincing at how awful Cathy and Heathcliffe were to each other, when a shadow fell over the page and I looked up, not that I needed to. Or course it was Eric. He was the only person I knew with the physical mass to block out the sun.
"What're you reading?" he asked, collapsing on the ground beside me and wrapping an arm round my shoulder. He was quite demonstrative. I found ignoring him worked better than calling him on it. I flashed the cover of the book at him, and he rolled his eyes.
"Greatest love story ever written my ass" he snorted.
"You've read Wuthering Heights?" I asked disbelievingly. It wasn't that he wasn't smart, he was just more maths and science orientated than I was. Even if he did read for fun, I couldn't have pictured him immersing himself in the classics.
"I have depths" he smirked in response.
We were quiet for a while, him rooting through his bag to pull out his lunch, me trying to finish the chapter I was on before the hordes descended.
"So I've been thinking" he started, chewing thoughtfully on his sandwich, his blue eyes twinkling in a completely disarming way.
"Dangerous".
He pouted momentarily before grinning again. "We should go out. As in date. You and me".
I burst out laughing, but immediately felt guilty when his face fell. "You could've just said no" he huffed before pulling out a workbook and beginning to pour over some homework that was no doubt due for the class after lunch.
I watched him, mulling over his suggestion. He was funny, he was clever, he looked as good as a cold ice-cream on a hot day, as Gran would have said. He was kind of arrogant, but he was also polite. Did I want to date Eric Northman? The more I thought about it, the more I realised the answer was a resounding 'yes'. The bell rang, and I knew my window was closing. We would be joined by the rest of the gang in a matter of minutes, and the moment would vanish. I tapped him on the shoulder and he looked at me, the remains of his man-pout still playing around the corners of his mouth, and kissed him. A tiny kiss. On the cheek. It was enough to make his whole face light up, and the sight of that previously unseen smile made my stomach flip.
"Have you been to The Bayou yet?" I asked him and he shook his head, still grinning like a complete loser.
"You really should have had the chicken fried steak by now. Your arteries'll never be the same again, but you won't care. Pick me up at eight?"
He nodded again, still with the smile, and I couldn't help but feel a little smug, imagining what his reaction to other, less school-appropriate, things would be if that was the effect of a little peck on the cheek. We were joined moments later by Tara, Tray and Sam, all bitching about their respective workloads as they sprawled out to eat lunch on the grass. Sam shot me a dirty look for stealing his seat against the tree, but chuckled when I stuck my tongue out at him.
Eric and I didn't breath a word of our date to them, we didn't even especially look at each other whilst we ate and caught up on their days. After, he was going to study in the library whilst I headed off to Literature. He walked me as far as the corridor junction and his hand brushed against mine as we parted ways.
He picked me up bang on eight that night, coming in to say hi to Gran, effectively writing himself into her good books permanently. We went for dinner and didn't stop talking once. We made each other laugh, bickered over curly fries or chunky fries, tried our luck at getting beer (no such, Gran was a well-loved member of Reynard Parish and no one wanted to bring the wrath of Adele Stackhouse down on their head) and after dinner, enjoying ourselves too much to go home just then, we went for a walk. He held my hand the whole time, despite the sticky heat of the last of the summer evenings.