Disclaimer: All of the following is thoughtfully rearranged from the original works of Charlaine Harris. So I cannot scream MINE.

This was written with love and thanks (but without ESN) to Thyra10 (Dead without a Work Permit) and with the help and encouragement of the wonderful members of the Alexander Skarsgård Library Forum.

Tuesday

I woke up, fresh out of nightmares that involved silver, that involved biting. That involved terror and chunks of flesh…

I have a plan.

Funnily enough I don't feel like following my plan, or at least, I found I planned it all wrong last night. I'm feeling melancholy today, and reminded of my not so happy recent past, and The Incident.

Instead, I'm going to focus on my happier not so recent past.

I could focus on Eric, and the things we did. The ways he entertained me, for that week, the best way he knew how. But at this point I don't think I can handle it. I can't think about my body and forget its pains.

So instead, I intend to think about how much I learned about Eric himself. That's worthy for consideration, isn't it? In terms of what I want this undefined intimacy to be, that's a big part.

So I drew myself out of bed, to the bathroom, coffee, shake, piece of bread. Amelia had the floor polish out, and what seemed to be a toothbrush for between the old floorboards. My floor would gleam, and maybe Amelia would feel better. As a bonus, the toothbrush didn't seem to be mine, so things weren't getting worse.

I glanced out of the window with my piece of bread half eaten, and the sun was calling to me, shining down brightly. Since inside seemed to be the domain of those who clean out the grit in between the floorboards, I took some dry biscuits, iced tea, and headed outside to bask in the sun and the sky. I'm told my family loves that.

I move one of the lawn chairs into a bright patch of sunlight, and allow myself to indulge in a few tears for my godmother, Claudine. When it becomes too much, I turn my thoughts back to something concrete, something I can deal with.

Eric.

So what is it that I know about the man – vampire – himself?

Well, that's an easy one to start off with. First impressions account for a lot. The first time I saw him, I thought he was gorgeous, but I also thought that he scared me to death. In truth, Eric still scares me to death, and being vampire, his looks haven't changed a bit.

Everything in Eric's world had a purpose. His office was filled with paperwork, his bar with paying customers. His belongings were high quality, but I hadn't noticed that he had a favourite shirt. He had a favourite combo, usually anything involving jeans and t-shirt, but that's just because he's a guy. The garish and over the top belts seemed to do the job of the new brooch for an ensemble. He didn't have a lot of souvenirs lying around, and didn't sentimentalise much. Everything he had served a purpose, and was highly practical.

Even his gifts were practical. He didn't give me things like a beautiful pair of earrings, but instead practical things. A driveway, a front door, a coat. These were things I really wanted and needed. Brand new practical things that I'd use every day, and would always remind me of him. Somehow, I think that's part of the appeal for him. After all – I can keep the earrings in my drawer, but I haven't figured out a way to avoid the driveway.

The only frivolous thing he ever gave me was a bunch of flowers, and that had a distinct message – unmistakable and very Eric. But everything else was practical and something I used every day. All the better to think about him, I suppose. He'd practically paved his way to my front door with remembrances of him.

He'd given me other things too, but things I wouldn't count as a gift – a cell phone (to replace the one he threw against the wall in his oh-so-subtle way of ending a call) and money that I spent on a kitchen. With all the memories of the week he spent at my house, there's practically nowhere to go or look at my place that doesn't have some connotation of Eric. I can't even look at myself without seeing how his blood has changed me.

During his stay with me, his essential personality didn't change very much. Eric's always been quick to enjoy things, always been adventurous, and always lusty. Of course, he was also frightened that week, but really only for the first couple of nights. After that, his anxiety level seemed to slide right down again. He still had his fiery temper, too. If Pam and Gerald hadn't been there, he would have killed Amanda that night in Merlotte's.

Cursed Eric still had that desire to take some risks, and didn't try to protect me from everything. He happily bounded over to see the witches, and left me alone surrounded by werewolves. Regular Eric normally wasn't high on making sure I was protected from all harm – he took calculated risks all the time. He told me so himself when he sent me to retrieve Bill in Mississippi.

Safety wasn't an important issue with Eric. It seem that he preferred to take risks and do fun things, albeit dangerous things. That's one thing I'm glad about. Eric didn't seem to want to lock me up and try to preserve me like I was a souvenir. I can be thankful that there's no glass cases or gilded cages in my future, at the very least. That "joie de vivre" Bill referred to Eric possessing made him value that sense of daring, instead of trying to stifle it.

Of course, Eric has his own sense of daring. I'd seen him fling himself into battle often. Eric loved nothing better than a good brawl. I can still see him in my head the way he leapt in with great gusto at the Queen's party barn. I have no doubt that if he's ever to meet his end, Eric will choose to go with a bang, and not a whimper. Maybe that's why he enjoys being around me – I seem to come across various battles often.

That week, the week we spent together alone, I found out some more about the essential Eric. One of those things made me very wary. It seemed that with very little information, Eric could come to good guesses.

For example, when Pam and Chow came to see us, he remarked that he must be a very frightening person; based on very little information I had told him and what he got from our visitors. With a toss of a perfume bottle, he found out that I'd had more vampire blood than he'd thought I'd had. Every little thing he did could expose more about me.

He's devious, conniving, manipulative, extremely intelligent and dangerous. It makes him a good vampire. Without being like that, I'm sure he'd have been dust long ago.

And that's a real problem. I can never be really sure of the Eric I'm getting. Not totally. He may not lie to me, but I knew he didn't tell me everything. He omitted, rather than lied. That made this all so much harder. Is he kind to me because that serves better to manipulate me, or is he kind to me because he wants what's best for me, or is he kind to me so that he can get what he wants?

I couldn't just assume that he did it for one reason only – Eric never does anything for one reason only. Even that bunch of flowers he first gave me - it wasn't enough to let me know he hoped I got better, he also wanted me to know he wanted to have sex with me, all bruised up as I was. I couldn't test the emotions from the blood bond either. I didn't want to have to endlessly analyse the source of the feeling of happiness. That didn't solve anything – was he happy because I reacted how he wanted, or happy that I was happy? Reading emotions was a bit of a waste of time without thoughts.

He could be the man he has discovered I want, through trial and error and observation, and sucker me right in. I would never know what he was doing. That alone seems reason enough to be cautious with what I think I know about Eric.

Hell, even my conversations with him involved more than one layer. I puzzled through the idea that there was a takeover coming with a couple of hours to spare, and it was always like that with him. Eric always seemed to be saying things that I would 'get' later, or he was pulling absolute scads of information out of me.

Information that could be dangerous to me, or to others, like the way he'd tried to get information on the death of Andre, or my ability to read vampire minds. Goodness knows what else he'd gathered from me, with help from the bond and all the other vampire senses that let him know when I was telling a lie, or whatever reaction I had.

I knew lots of secrets, and being a telepath I had so many secrets it wasn't funny – none of them mine to share. I knew about Halleigh's pregnancy and Alcee Beck's unfair treatment of his fellow African Americans. I had my own secrets and things I didn't want laid bare to the world because they serve a purpose. I didn't want someone to tell anyone that Andre had killed Peter Threadgill so it could come back to haunt me because of some weird vampire plot that started years before I was born. Sometimes I'm the repository for secrets, and I keep careful guard on myself to not let them slip. Eric shouldn't get a special pass on that for practicality purposes. But he was vowed and determined to get that information out of me, and then let its purpose be revealed in some clever strategy. That strategy would be his decision of course, not mine, no matter whose secrets they were.

Eric is all about strategy. It's kept him alive for over a thousand years, and worse that that, it's his job. It's how he's chosen to spend this part of eternity. Since he's the only Sheriff from Sophie Ann's reign left, I daresay he's good at it. So it's possible I wasn't just an asset, or his lover, but a strategic tool too. You don't tend to get an eternity or a reprieve if you ignore all your resources, so I'm not going to fool myself that for some higher moral value Eric would be reluctant to use the secrets I hold.

One thing I think I know for sure is that Eric catalogues everything he finds out I do, even when I'm not with him, filing it away for future reference. He notices everything from what colour nail polish I wear noting that it matched my new coat he'd bought, to where I shop for clothes. Eric arranged credit for me at my friend's store for clothing for Rhodes, and he knew all that without asking me a thing. He knew about the private detectives that came to see me about Debbie Pelt, even though Charles was dead for the day; and he knew about Amelia's advisor, Octavia. I'd thought at the time that he'd gotten that information on the Internet, but who writes magical secrets on the Internet?

The supernatural world is full of gossip – it spreads everywhere. Cataliades himself had warned me about the impending Fae troubles. So that was another place where Eric could find information out about me. Since the supernatural world is all about jockeying for power against the other groups, then the secrets I know could be of value. If it were better strategically to do something, then Eric would be the first to do something without consulting me. He just wouldn't hesitate, or ask me – after all, I'd been part of his strategising.

Feeling hungry, I ate my dry biscuits, and sipped on some of my tea. I got up, aching all over from staying still, and wandered around my yard, turning this over and over in my head.

When I felt a bit freer in movement, and a bit warmer, I turned back inside for a bathroom break and more solid food. I was doing well and hadn't thrown up in a while. Tomorrow I might sit down and have a proper meal. All of this deep thinking was certainly making me hungry. That wasn't a totally bad thing either. I needed to get my energy back.

On the way to bed I noticed that the floorboards were glossy and reflected light back at me, and the grooves in between them were grit and dust free. Feeling tired again, I trundled back to bed to think some more before sleep took me again. Lately, I've been so very weary, and I remember my Gran telling me that sleep is when your body repairs itself, so I that's a good thing, right?

I snuggled back down in the covers, and felt a measure of relief that I was back in my own bed, safe and warm. I went straight back to my thoughts.

The fact of the matter is that Eric is pervasive. He's in a lot of my life. To a certain extent, he's absolutely everywhere, including in my own body, through his blood or the bond. There comes a point where that can make you feel trapped into him, consumed by everything he is. Eric is just so "big" in my life I it feels like I don't have much to myself, that's just for me. He knows lots of things about me, and that's not always a good thing. It seemed like the stuff I knew about Eric directly affected me, or had been what I directly observed.

On the upside, that meant that I didn't often have to tell things to Eric. If I didn't want to talk about something directly, I could give a good code to Eric, and he'd get it. When I told Eric I had to break my friend's hand with a brick in front of a crowd, he got it. I didn't have to explain to him why I was so upset - he factored in Jason and Calvin, and how it made me feel. He even tried to make me feel better later on that night about the whole incident because he talked about the burden his authority placed on him. I didn't have to spell it all out for him, at least most of the time.

Truthfully, that was one of the easier things for me about Eric. I'd gotten used to this benefit, the benefit of not having to tell him everything. He could get information out of me about how I felt about something with a few well thought out questions, like asking me how I felt about Quinn and whether I loved him and he was intelligent enough to figure out the answers. With the help of the bond he could see how I felt about something just by asking. He didn't even need the answers to my questions. Like emotional flash cards.

But what did I know about the essential "Eric" under all that? I knew he was great for light humour, and I'd thought once that that was one of the things I'd liked the most about him. He "got" me. I laughed more with Eric than I did with anyone else. I definitely liked that.

I knew some inconsequential things about him too – that he could make basic home repairs, or at least makeshift repairs. He nailed my front door shut when Debbie got in, and helped Bill board up my windows after the Mickey incident. But he couldn't use a dustpan and brush, and didn't hang up his towels and Pam seemed to keep his resting place clean. He rinsed out his bottles of True Blood (at least when he was staying with me) and he could make a bed. Housework seemed to be a selective thing for Eric.

I know incidental but selective things about his personality too, like that he's an extremely prideful man, enough to interest a Maenad despite being dead, or that he drops his contractions when he's furious. What he said was usually honestly how he thought about something. Eric had a sense of humour to match mine, and he could do some things I enjoyed. He'd asked me to dance quite a few times, and he was a good dancer. But I didn't know if that was a true joy of his, or just a passing fancy he took for my sake.

Eric did other things too for my sake – he tried to call Sam by his name when I was borrowing Charles Twining from him and telling him about Sam's shooting, and tried not to have too much contempt for people. That's not to say he didn't have contempt, but he wasn't too dismissive. I knew from the look he shared with Sam when I told them both about Calvin's hand, that he didn't like Jason, but he kept it to himself mostly. He didn't go out of his way to be violent to others. He considered my presence, and changed his behaviour accordingly.

I didn't think he did those things when I wasn't around to watch him. That was too romantic a notion. I didn't escape my notice that there was an eagerness for violence in Eric's actions at Fangtasia. All of the denizens of the bar were waiting for him to do something to Dave who thought it was a good idea to tell me in his drunken state that I shouldn't be sitting with a vamp. He just didn't do that sort of thing around me. He was ardent, rude or aggressive, without being violent. He hadn't even ripped off my clothes in our more passionate moments.

Eric sure could be cutting though. He'd used harsh words to bring me down. He threw my foolishness back in my face when he'd accused me of knowing Quinn no better than I knew Bill. When I'd told him about the time he'd spent at my house, he inferred later in our conversation that I was sleeping with half the supes I know. With a well-placed jibe, Eric could really bring some of the worst parts of my life rushing back to torment me. Violence was the last thing he needed to get to me.

There was a place in his world for violence, of course. Eric had killed humans, vampires, weres and fairies in front of me. I couldn't ignore his violent tendencies. He was vampire, after all. He killed, and had been killing for a long time now. It was also something that he thoroughly enjoyed. Like a hobby. He even killed before he became vampire. Vikings weren't reported to be the lop-eared bunnies of the ancient world.

Eric played by a different set of rules than I did, and to be honest, I wasn't too clear on what they were. He'd told me that he was never a Christian, when we were cleaning up Debbie and that didn't give me a hint as to what he really believed. That very idea was so foreign to me. Even someone like Holly who believed in her Wicca ideas had been raised in a world of Christians, taught those values, even if she rejected them. Not Eric – his set of rules may be radically different to mine and I had no frame of reference.

Of course, Eric doesn't follow rules very often – he breaks the law whenever he feels like it. From murder and arson to road rules. He had no problem with burning down that rival vampire bar in Bossier City, making the announcement that Fangtasia was the "Premiere Vampire Bar". He follows the rules only when it suits him, or when it's of benefit to him. What's more is that even though I didn't always follow the rules, I felt bad about breaking them. Eric didn't.

Eric doesn't follow conventions either, except when it suited his purposes. He'd been at ease with kissing me or trying to bed me regardless of whether or not I'd had a boyfriend. He skated a fine line with ease, ignoring, omitting or plain old lying if it was necessary. He'd tricked me into doing things too, like taking his blood or being pledged to him.

Eric was ruthless. If he saw something he wanted, he just went after it with a perseverance that was stunning. He was the consummate view of the perfect businessman, going after what he wanted with a vengeance. Eric didn't mind too much if his goals came at a dear price to others. Sometimes I'd paid that price too. Everything about my life had become entwined with his interests, or reminded me of him, which was in his interests.

Eric was also ambitious. He had a business empire that I knew a little about, and I'd learned not long ago that he was richer and more powerful than I'd ever really comprehended. Eric controlled a substantial part of Louisiana, and had his fingers in all kinds of ventures. His ambition didn't extend to being King, but I thought that that was probably a strategy for keeping himself alive. Kingship seemed to be a demanding job, and one that was ultimately fatal. It was for Sophie Ann.

That was one of the paramount goals for Eric – anything that kept him alive was a good thing. He wasn't a martyr, willing to die for someone else, or throw his life away for a principle. He was pragmatic to a fault. Eric had told me once that he'd be my friend as long as it didn't endanger his own life, and he'd stuck to that policy. He'd rather push me out of the way instead of taking an arrow that was meant for me. He calculated risk, and took chances, but he didn't extend himself if the risk was too great.

I could think about Eric on the surface, but I don't know how well I really know him. Apart from what he did at work, which seemed to be his entire life, I didn't really know what other interests Eric had. I don't know that I know him well enough – and hadn't Eric made me feel a fool for not knowing Bill well enough?

Ultimately, Eric was a guy with layers though. After a thousand years, I think you build up layers. Maybe my quest to know Eric was doomed from the start. Maybe I could just have a good approximation, and nothing more.

With that thought, that not so comforting thought, I gave a long sigh and my eyes drifted closed.

A/N: The Bossier City incident (Bossier City is a sister city to Shreveport) is mentioned in Chapter 5 of DTTW - in my Ace paperback, it's page 87. All of the things referenced in this fic can be found in the books themselves. Hopefully I've given you little reminders with the prose I've used, but hardly anyone remembers the arson, hence page numbers. :D