Eric gazed out the window as Sam sat whistling in the driver's seat of the latter's blue Ford Bronco. It was probably a sixties model, it certainly smelled and groaned like it.

"You okay there, bubba?"

Eric peeled his eyes off the scenery and gave Sam a stiff nod. Dr. Ludwig, as it turned out, knew what she was talking about when she warned him that as soon as the adrenaline wore off, the pain would set in. He couldn't tell if the pain was from his injury or Sookie's icy rejection. Both hurt equally bad.

"Thanks for the ride, Sam."

Sam replied with a one-shoulder shrug. "Ain't a big deal. 'Sides it's not every day I get to chauffeur royalty."

"You do know that I'm not really a king, right?" Eric said with a slight shake of his head. "Jason just said that to simplify things."

"Oh but it ain't that simple, is it?"

Eric said nothing.

"What's buggin' you? You look like you haven't taken a proper dump in days."

That would be one way to put it. He wished he was merely constipated.

"It's the opposite actually. I got nothing left," Eric murmured, getting the ball rolling for his pity party.

"Oh hell, if you have nothin' left then I'd best be off drinkin' bleach and callin' it a day." Sam grinned at him. Eric wished he could do the same. "Aw, c'mon, man. Cheer the fuck up."

Eric's face remained blank.

"Okay," Sam sighed. "What's the worst that could happen? Are you lookin' at jail time?"

Eric shook his head and turned his eyes back to the window. "Jail time isn't an option." He had top calibre lawyers on retainer to make sure that wouldn't happen. "We were supposed to go public in less than a week. If the Feds step in, they'll launch a federal investigation. Our 'dirty laundry' will be aired out for everyone to see and make fun of. Our investors will pull out their stocks. Even if the FBI retrieves the stolen funds before we go public, our IPO will still be exponentially decimated. No one in his right mind would invest in an insurance firm that could easily be breached. If that happens we'll be lucky to get Chapter 11."

"So, in a way, you're like me."

Eric almost laughed at the irony. "I suppose I am." In Sam's case he was more Chapter 7.

"D'you wanna trade places?" Sam joked.

"You don't wanna trade places with me, Sam. For one, I'm almost as broke as you. The Feds have frozen my assets. I'm poor, poor."

"Oh please. Spare me your champagne problems. At least you have assets. The only assets I have are the frozen patties in my freezer, do you hear me complain?" Sam smiled then sighed. "I know how hard it is to let go of somethin' you worked so hard for. But after what happened last night…" Sam took another deep breath. "What happened last night put things in perspective for me. I almost lost two of my best friends. Arlene said Terry went in early yesterday hopin' to fix the walk-in to save me a few bucks. I haven't talked to Sookie but I'm willin' to bet my last dollar she went in there with the same agenda. I never would've forgiven myself if-"

"They're okay," Eric cut him off. He didn't like where Sam was going with it. "They're okay," he repeated, more to himself than to Sam.

"They are," Sam agreed, bobbing his head. "That's why I've decided to close up shop for good."

"You are?" Eric asked. Sam answered with another series of nods. "What're you goin' to do next?"

"I dunno. Maybe I'll go back to Memphis, or maybe follow Tommy in Nashville. It depends on Tara."

"You're taking her with you?"

"I'll be a fool to let that woman go. She's my fuckin' rock."

"But isn't Bon Temps her home?"

"Home isn't where you're born and raised, my friend. It's the place where you find a purpose."

"Hallmark?"

"Pinterest."

Eric smiled.

"'Sides if all else fails, we can always apply in Burger King," Sam quipped with a wink.

Sam made a quick turn to the parking lot behind the Sheriff's office and hit the brake.

Eric chuckled while shaking his head. "I'm not sure I'll be good at flipping buns."

"Don't worry, with your buns, there's always prostitution. I can be your pimp."

They shared a hearty laugh as Sam leapt out of the driver's seat and Eric followed suit. As they marched toward the entrance, someone beckoned them from behind.

"Sam! Eric! Right here!"

It was Deputy Fortenberry leaning against an old, light blue Buick, wearing a brown flannel shirt and stone wash jeans. This was the first time Eric saw the deputy in plain clothes and it felt oddly unsettling.

Sam and Eric made their way toward the deputy.

"Sam," Deputy Fortenberry greeted Eric's companion with a fist bump and a friendly tap on the shoulder. "I heard Sheriff's lookin' for you."

Sam grimaced and they both laughed.

"Eric," the deputy turned to him. "How's your injury, bud?"

He called him 'bud', that might be a good sign.

"I've been better," Eric replied, ignoring the throbbing of his wound.

"Do you think you're okay to go on a road trip?"

Eric and Sam exchanged a look. "Where?" Eric asked.

"Boyce."

"What's in Boyce?" Sam queried.

"Patek Philippe."

Eric's eyes widened.

"Someone found my watch?"

"Someone tried to sell your watch. Seems like your muggers underestimated its worth, which bode well for the county boys after the pawnshop alerted them of the stolen item. The Rats tried to make a run for it when they sensed something ain't right. It's a good thing the pawnshop was in a strip mall which has CCTV cameras. Caught the plate of their RV on tape. County boys put a BOLO on them and managed to apprehend their sorry asses in Moss Point."

"Hold up. How much is it worth?" Sam asked his brows arched in confusion.

"Roughly around two hundred fifty," the deputy supplied with a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant.

Sam almost choked on his own spit as his eyes bulged out. "You have a quarter-of-a-million-dollar-worth watch?!"

"It was a gift from my brother."

"Does your brother need a best friend?"

"He's dead."

"Oh." Sam looked mortified as he scratched the back of his head. "Sorry bud."

"The good news is I have a buddy in Boyce Substation. She'll arrange the retrieval of your watch along with your wallet. The bad news is you'll have to provide authentic identification, which means you'll also be alerting the FBI that you're in the great state of Louisiana."

Eric merely shrugged. The FBI would find him sooner or later. At least now, he was ready for them. The only thing he was concerned about was the amount of time this trip would take.

"Shall we then?" Deputy Fortenberry asked as he pulled the Buick's driver's door. "It's my day off so can't take the cruiser. We'll have to settle for Momma's car, I hope that's okay."

Eric could not believe these people. They were doing him a favor and they act as though they were beholden to him.

"Is there room for one more?" Sam inquired before Eric could reply.

"You're comin' with us?"

"This might be my only chance to see a Patek Philippe," Sam jested as he circled to passenger seat without waiting for permission. "Eric. What're you standin' there for man? Move your buns!"

Eric didn't move anything.

Deputy Fortenberry, who seemed to have read his mind, patted him on the shoulder.

"Jase knows we're goin' to Boyce, I'm sure he'll tell Sook. But if it'll put your mind at ease, feel free to call her first."

Eric dug for his cell in his jeans' front pocket only to find it empty. He suddenly remembered leaving it on top of the sink in the hospital bathroom after he changed that morning. He reached for his other pocket and felt Sylvie's ring. He wished he had forgotten the ring instead.

"I left my phone in the hospital," he said meekly.

"You can use mine," the deputy offered, already digging for his cell in his back pocket.

Eric shook his head. He wasn't certain Sookie would be thrilled to hear from him right now. Perhaps this road trip would benefit both of them. At least for now.

E/S

The drive took almost three hours. Three hours filled with country songs and small talk about women, weather, women, beer, sports, and had he mentioned women? If there were a Bechdel test for men, Sam and Hoyt would fail miserably.

In the span of two hours and forty-four minutes – yes, he timed it through the dashboard clock – both men in the front seats always found ways to drop the names of either Tara or Jessica - or Jess, as the deputy so fondly called her lady love (Oh God, did I just say lady love?) – in their conversation.

They tried to engage Eric too. But he wasn't the sharing type. Especially when the girl in question was one of their oldest friends.

They asked if he had a girl in New York, which he answered with a shake of the head. It wasn't a lie because Sylvie wasn't his fiancee anymore when he landed in Louisiana. He could sense that both men wanted to drop a certain name, one that rhymed with cookie, but they were either too polite or too scared to tread that particular mine field.

So Sam continued to hum out of tune to fill the occasional silence while the deputy kept his eyes on the road. Eric, on the other hand, practiced his acquired skill of pretending to sleep in the backseat.

Two hours and forty-four minutes later they arrived at their destination. He must have dozed off for real in the last half hour because he was jolted awake when Sam tapped his knee.

"We're here," the deputy announced when Eric opened his eyes. He rubbed his chin, mindful of Sookie's 'drooling' allegation.

They were parked in front of an old red brick office. Sam was already unbuckling his seatbelt while the deputy's hands never left the steering wheel. He noted that Hoyt hadn't turned off the engine, which was confusing. Were Eric and Sam supposed to disembark as Hoyt parked elsewhere?

"Look for Deputy Kenya Jones, she's expectin' you. Use the main entrance, they hate it when civilians stroll in through the staff door. Sam'll gimme a call when it's time to pick you guys up," Hoyt said looking directly at Eric in the rear-view mirror.

"You're not coming in with us?"

"I'm off the clock, remember?" the deputy answered as though that would be enough to clear the confusion. When Eric didn't offer a response nor made a move to leave the car, Hoyt sighed. "I've been here a few times - enough for the guys to remember me - damn my striking resemblance to Jason Bourne."

Sam rolled his eyes at that and shook his head.

"I go inside with you and they'll know you're stayin' in Bon Temps. You said the G-men are lookin' for you. I say let's make 'em break a sweat," Deputy Fortenberry punctuated his explanation with a conspiratorial wink.

"Why're doing this for me?" Eric couldn't help but ask.

Hoyt turned his head around to face Eric. "I'm an only child, Eric. Sookie and Jason are the closest I have to siblings. And last night, you saved my sister. This is me havin' your back."

Eric couldn't find the right words to utter. 'Thank you' didn't seem good enough.

E/S

Try to blend in, was the last piece of advice Deputy Fortenberry gave them before he sped off.

Eric wanted to say that he tried. But as soon as he walked in all eyes seemed to land on them – specifically on him.

"So much for blendin' in," Sam muttered under his breath.

Fortunately for them, a young African-American woman in a tan Sheriff's uniform marched over to them, grinning from ear to ear. "Sammy?" she asked a little too giddy.

"Officer Jones." Sam tipped his head seriously to the woman with high cheekbones and big brown eyes. Eric almost wondered if Sam would genuflect.

They shook hands a bit longer than necessary before the officer diverted his attention to Eric.

"You must be Mister Northman?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Eric answered earnestly.

She gave him a quick once-over before she nudged her head toward the back of the office. "Follow me," she beckoned.

Eric and Sam did as they were told as they tailed the deputy silently, ignoring the curious looks from the other officers in the room. She made a quick stop in one of the desks and rummaged through the pile of thick manila folders until she found what she was looking for. One of the deputies – the one seated on the opposite side of the desk – nudged his chin toward them as if to ask 'who are these clowns?'

"Rats' victim making a claim." Deputy Jones replied succinctly.

That seemed to satisfy the inquiring officer as he went back to his own mountain of paperwork.

They were ushered inside what Eric suspected was an interrogation room with the single metal table, which had a metal hook in the middle - he supposed was designed to hold handcuffs, and four matching chairs, two on both sides. Eric could only hope he picked the right side to sit in.

The officer pushed the paper in front of Eric along with a pen. "Fill in this form," she ordered, "with your real name this time."

Eric's head jerked toward the officer nervously only to find her grinning mischievously.

"Relax. It's only for our record. I won't run your name through the database. If you happen to be a serial killer, I trust Hoyt has enough bullets to put you down." She made her way to the door. "You fellas want coffee?"

Sam nodded while Eric shook his head.

"Cream with dangerous sugar?" the officer asked Sam.

Sam smiled timidly. "Like always."

The officer exited without another word.

"Sammy?" Eric hummed Sam teasingly. "Do I need to get a separate room?"

"Oh shut your mouth."

"Is that why you were so eager to tag along?"

"I swear Eric if you don't shut your trap, I'mma call the Feds myself."

Eric laughed. "Man, you sure have a type."

"Don't you have a form to fill?"

Eric shrugged. "I can multitask."

"Fine," Sam threw his hands in the hair. "We used to date like five years ago, long before I met Tara."

"Then she dumped you."

"It was a mutual break-up, okay? We decided it was for the best when she got in the Academy."

Eric stopped writing. "Wait- FBI Academy?"

Sam nodded slowly. "She lasted three weeks before she got kicked out. Of course, she cried foul. Said she was treated poorly because she didn't have a dick and she was born with a deep tan. I dunno. Let's just say you and Kenya share the same level of fondness toward the FBI. She returned to Louisiana after Quantico but she didn't go back to Bon Temps. She was too damn proud. She moved here in Boyce instead. Never saw her again until, well, today."

"You still like her?"

"I dunno. It ain't like Facebook where you can just hit a button and unlike somethin'."

"You have Tara," Eric reminded him.

"I love Tara. This is just like findin' your childhood blankie givin' you that soft, warm feelin' in your belly. Tara… Tara's - diff'rent."

Eric felt something inside him twitch. Was Sylvie an old security blanket? Something that helped him sleep better during the tough nights? Wow, he sure knew how to elevate his douchebaggery to an art.

Deputy Jones returned with a brown envelope and a cup of piping hot coffee. Eric knew it was hot because Sam almost spat his first sip after he scalded his tongue. Perhaps it was the deputy's way of getting back at him for comparing her to a childhood blankie. Eric glanced around the room suddenly suspicious of any cameras or microphones hidden in the four corners of the room.

Two male uniformed officers walked in behind Deputy Jones, carrying two medium-sized brown boxes and placed them on the floor by the wall.

"These are all the things we found inside the trailer. There used to be four. Other vics already came in yesterday to collect their belongings," Officer Jones said. "Everything's been bagged and tagged. I dunno which belongs to you so feel free to dig in, just don't destroy anything."

Deputy Kenya pulled up a chair in front of them as the other officers left the room. She then plucked two zip lock bags from the envelope and laid them on the table. In one of the bags was Eric's criminally expensive timepiece and in the other was his black leather wallet.

"I believe these belong to you," she said before making the bags skate toward him. "We took the liberty of running the serial number of the watch. Your name came up. You had it re-valued last year when you renewed the insurance. That's how we found out how pricey that darned thing was. Gotta say, if I have a watch like that, well, those perps would have to chop off my hand to get it from me."

Wait till you see the rock in my pocket, Eric thought. He bled for that one.

Eric opened the zip lock with his wallet and flipped it open. To his shock, there was still money left - four, five hundred in large bills.

"They didn't take the money?" Sam asked, peeking at the wallet over Eric's shoulder.

"Large bills, especially hundred-dollar bills are easier to trace. Best guess, they're gonna try to launder it later, maybe in a casino or a strip club," Deputy Jones replied.

All his cards were accounted for, including his driver's license. He thanked Deputy Jones before he slipped off his chair and hunkered down to the floor to plough through the Rats' sequestered loot.

He quickly found his backpack, also inside a ziplock bag and tagged 'Bag Number 3.' Like the bags carrying his wallet and watch, there was memo sticker on the outside with the description of the bag's contents - black leather knapsack, (3) plain t-shirts (1 gray, 2 black), (2) pairs of jeans, (3) underpants and (1) toiletry bag with electric toothbrush and shaving kit.

That seemed about right. He wasn't a fussy dresser and he liked travelling light, besides this trip was supposed to be nothing but a weekend bender.

He placed the backpack on the table as he moved on to inspect the rest of the boxes. The contents of the other two boxes were mostly the same – bags and wallets. No electronic device, which stumped him.

"Is there a problem?" Officer Jones peeled herself off her chair and crouched beside him.

"I can't seem to find my phone and tablet."

"They took your phone?" she asked, a mix of surprise and confusion laced in her tone.

"And iPad."

"That's odd," the deputy murmured.

"Why?" Sam asked behind them.

"They don't take mobile devices. It's not part of their M.O." Deputy Jones straightened up. "One of the vics in New Orleans even included that in her report. She was at knife point when she offered them her iPhone. One of the muggers declined and laughed at her, sayin' they're not stupid enough to take somethin' that'll help the cops find them. Which was actually understandable considering most cell phones have tracking apps these days."

"Maybe they threw it away," Sam theorized.

Eric shook his head, rising to his full height. "I remember one of them getting my phone from my pocket and tossing it to the ground where his partner picked it up."

"Perhaps they didn't want you to call nine-one-one as soon as they left. So they took it to buy them time then disposed it along with the tablet when they ran out of Dodge," the deputy supplied her own conclusion.

That seemed plausible but Eric wasn't entirely convinced. Something didn't feel right here.

"Are they still in custody?" Eric asked the officer.

"Yeah, they're in the holding cell until we can finish with all the reports and make official charges."

"Is there a way I can speak to them?"

"Whoa! Hold it right there tiger, this ain't what Hoyt and I agreed on. What're you plannin' to do, rough them up?"

"Course not. They're not worth the effort." Eric flashed his most charming smile. "I just want to ask them a few questions. My watch might be worth hundreds of thousands but in the hands of a skilled hacker my phone and tablet are worth double."

"Holy shit," Sam gasped behind them.

Deputy Jones became pensive for a moment as she gnawed at her bottom lip. Finally she tilted her head upward and said, "Okay. You can have 10 minutes with one of them."

Before she could exit the room, Eric hastily asked, "Can you get the one who calls himself D?"

If his recollection served him right, Mugger D was the one who stabbed him.

"You mean Dennis?"

"Yeah that's the one."

"Why?"

"He sounded smarter," Eric lied. He preferred D or Dennis because Eric had more leverage against him. He'd be easier to scare.

If Deputy Jones doubted his motives she kept it to herself as she walked out of the room and left Eric and Sam alone in the room full of the Rats' bounty.

Half an hour later, she strolled back in with a handcuffed man, donning dark jeans and black shirt. Even without the ski mask Eric could tell from the rancid smell of body odor wafting off of him that he was the lowlife he had the misfortune of bumping into in Shreveport a few nights ago. The officer sat the perpetrator down and looped his handcuffs around the metal bar in the middle of the table before she took her post by the door, arms crossed, face blank.

"Do you remember me?" Eric started the ball rolling.

The man looked up and scowled. As he stretched his neck, the 'Black Mamba' tattoo scrawled along the length of his neck came to view.

"Am I s'pposed to?"

Eric rose from his chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the lone deputy stiffen at his sudden movement. Slowly, Eric pulled the hem of his shirt to reveal the patch of gauze covering his wound.

"Maybe this'll jog your memory."

The man's eyes twitch as his cuffs rattled against the table. "Ah, fuck," he murmured under his breath.

"I'll take that as a yes." Eric released his shirt and sat back down. "You see, D, you have two choices here. You tell me where you disposed my phone and tablet and if your answer satisfies me, I'll maybe let this one slide."

"That was self defense!" the man squealed.

"You attacked me, asshole. You don't get to play the victim card. Self defense flew out the window the second you pointed your knife in my back," Eric said calmly as he steepled his fingers. "Which brings us to option two. If you don't tell me what I want to know, I'll double down on you with aggravated assault."

The man was in total panic now, his wide eyes oscillating from Eric to the deputy, who was quietly standing guard.

"It was an accident!" the man pealed. The mugger spewed a few incoherent expletives as he stared at his bound hands. Eric kept his face impassive as he said a silent prayer that Dennis Rattray wouldn't have enough wit to lawyer up.

God must have heard Eric's pleas as the mumbling mugger cocked his head and inhaled deeply. "We were out of the game. We're retired for fuck's sake. We're not even s'pposed to be in Louisiana if it ain't for that bitch."

Eric stiffened. "What're you talking about?"

"You're the mark, Eric Northman," Dennis Rattray spat out. "You're the fuckin' reason we went to Louisiana. If it ain't for you we'd still be in Dallas."

A/N: I don't own Eric. Or any characters from True Blood and the SVM Universe.

Sorry for the delay, you guys. RL held me hostage. For those who want the continuation of the last chapter, I'm afraid we'll have to leave that up for now as we deal with Eric's clusterf*ck of a life first.

Thank you for reading and hopefully you'll let me know what you think. To everyone who followed me on WP ( eys1214 . word press . com), thank you so much! It tickles my heart knowing I have my own page to share with you.

Last but not the least, a big hug to my rockstar beta MsStitcher! Thank you, angel.

Laters!