Disclaimer: Mash-up. I merged my favorite book as a kid with my favorite book as an adult. The basic premise is from Elizabeth Cadell's 1955 "The Lark Shall Sing," while the characters and setting are from Charlaine Harris' Southern Vampire Mysteries. Cussing, kids scheming, white trash, anything having to do with sex was NOT in the original Cadell book, okay?

AN: The Lark Shall Sing ends when Bill (Digby) comes to town. Eric (Robert) moves to a hotel to spare Sookie (Lucille) any discomfort. (All they'd shared at that point was a chaste walk in the moonlight. No kisses. No acknowledgment of attraction. I rewrote the plot to fit ERIC and SOOKIE.) A few days pass and Eric hosts a dinner at a restaurant to celebrate JB (Jeff) & Tara's (Roselle) engagement. Lafayette (Jerry) happens to be at the restaurant, misunderstands the situation, and toasts the happy "couple," Eric and Sookie. Bill sees this, sees the fact that neither Eric nor Sookie protest and registers that there's a mutual attraction between them. So he breaks up with Sookie and leaves.

Like Mr. Costanza and his search for Festivus, I knew there had to be a different way. A way to tell the story but make it consistent to the SVM characters. So that's what I did.


IMPORTANT: PLEASE LOOK AT THE LINKS ON MY PROFILE UNDER RETURN OF THE STACKHOUSE SIX.

See Return of the Stackhouse Six page on my blog for character links. See what everyone is wearing.

Chapter 52: Breakfast of Champions Seating Arrangement See where they're sitting.


Chapter Fifty-Two: Breakfast of Champions

Amelia walked into the dining room to see Bill, already seated, eating a bran muffin. As if that wasn't douchey enough he was also reading the New York Times and wearing a hat.

He's so the textbook definition of douche bag, she groaned to herself.

Glancing at the near-empty table, Amelia sat as far away from Bill as possible. Watching him, she waited for him to lower his paper and look at her.

She waited. And waited. And waited.

Eyes wide, incredulous, Amelia muttered, "blind douche bag". Hearing a noise, she swung her head around. Seeing Pam in the doorway with the coffee pot, she smiled at her friend.

Pam responded to Amelia's greeting with a curt nod and an unspoken question punctuated by a jerk of her head. Amelia replied with a frown.

Coffee pot in hand, Pam made her way across the dining room towards Bill. Standing to his right, she waited for him to acknowledge her. He didn't. Piqued, she cleared her throat.

Still there was no indication from Bill that he heard Pam. Sitting like a statue, he just continued to stare at his newspaper.

Pam cleared her throat a second time.

Again Bill showed no response.

Now Pam's gaze was incredulous. She glanced at her young protégé.

Amelia, rolling her eyes, just shrugged.

Pam, turning her attention back to Bill, silently glared at the man.

Amelia, quickly becoming an expert on Pam's facial expressions, could tell Pam wanted to kill Bill. Had the woman been holding a knife instead of a coffee pot, Bill might've found himself embarking on a musical career as a falsetto-singing eunuch. Seeing Pam's eye flicker, Amelia lost it and laughed.

Amelia's snort roused Bill from his perusal of the Times' economy section. He glanced up.

"Ah, Amelia." He gave the girl a once over and a thin-lipped smile. Taking in her "I -Love-Lesbians" t-shirt, he frowned.

FUCK YOU, BILL! Amelia thought triumphantly.

Scowling silently, Bill continued to stare at the girl, his staunch disapproval apparent in his eyes. Finally he spoke.

"Oh my, Amelia," he said in a horrified tone. He shook his head, a frown deeply etched in his face. "Your hair. My goodness. Did someone do that to you? Did you do it to yourself? You didn't do that on purpose, did you? I can't imagine someone doing that to themselves intentionally." He sounded perplexed. "Well, regardless, I'm sorry to say but it does not look good on you."

Amelia, startled that his first words to her would be an insult about her newly black locks, growled silently to herself. Seething, she bit down on her lip to keep herself from letting loose a string of expletives. When she later recounted the incident to her brothers, she acknowledged the fact that she really oughtn't have been surprised. Douche Bag is as Douche Bag does, after all.

Then a light bulb seemed to go off deep inside Douche-Land. Amelia waited.

"Oh!" Bill nodded his head thoughtfully, fluttering his eyelids in a girly kind of way Amelia noted. "I think I understand. It's the witch thing, isn't it?"

Bill's insult to her hair forgotten, Amelia found herself newly infuriated over his making a mockery of her craft. Her eyes dark with anger, Amelia fought the urge to scream at the top of her lungs.

It was moments like this that led so many to compare Amelia to her eldest sister. Sookie and Amelia had both inherited the famous Hale temper. It was passed down on the female side, usually skipping a generation. Adele had passed it down to at least two of her three granddaughters. Tara was generally sweet natured—although even she had her limits. It was too soon to tell about Baby Hadley.

Amelia, her eyes initially glowing with anger, promptly became glassy with unshed tears. Although the Douche Bag had hurt her feelings, she refused to allow herself to cry. She simply could not—would not—give him that satisfaction. Still, pained by his insensitivity, she had a hard time thinking up a comeback.

Fortunately, Pam, who had been silently observing the exchange, had no such problem. Pam, too, must have found something insulting in the way Bill spoke to Amelia. An evil glint in her eye, the woman –her voice saccharine —asked Bill, "Would you like some coffee?"

Bill, finally registering the presence of someone aside from himself and his 13-year old nemesis, glanced over his shoulder and saw Pam.

Replying with a less than gracious bark of "yes," Bill lifted his cup with his right hand, while continuing to hold his folded newspaper in his left hand. He returned his attention to his perusal of the paper.

So engrossed in satisfying his liberal political wonk addiction, Bill didn't notice Pam avert her eyes, lifting them upward just as she tipped the coffee pot to pour Bill's coffee.

Due to her less than stellar coffee-pouring effort, Pam "accidentally" spilled coffee on Bill's outstretched hand.

"Ow! Ow!" Bill shook his hand and then, pursing his lips, proceeded to blow on it. Realizing how close the spilt coffee was to his New York Times, he sopped it up with a napkin. Irritated, Bill looked up and glowered at Pam. "Do you mind? That's my hand."

"La prochaine fois ce sera votre bite," muttered Pam. [Next time it will be your dick.]

Amelia burst out laughing.

"Sorry Bill," Pam smirked at Bill. "I'm Pam, by the way." She lowered the coffee pot.

Bill, lips puckered, just kept blowing on his hand trying to alleviate the sting. Finally taking his first real good look at Pam, he noticed her outfit. Eyes wide, he flared his nostrils and curled his lip.

"Hello. You'll pardon me for not offering my hand as you've just inflicted third degree burns upon it."

"Yes, well. Sorry about that. I'll go grab the first aid for you."

Pam glanced at Amelia as she made her way towards the doorway. "Je vais finir préparer le petit déjeuner." [I'm going to finish preparing breakfast]

"Premiers soins?" [First aid?] Amelia asked.

Pausing at the door, Pam shook her head.

Wondering where the Douche Bag got his muffin, Amelia decided to ask Pam. "Qu'en est-il que les muffins?"

Pam rolled her eyes. "He brought his own."

"Oh!" Amelia nodded. Figures, the Douche Bag would travel with bran muffins.

Bill, oblivious to their exchange, finally stopped blowing on his hand and resumed reading his paper.

Dreading the Douche Bag's arrival for days, now that he was there, Amelia still found herself incredulous. "Il nous faut donc voir cette personne misérable pendant que nous mangeons?" [So we must see this wretched creature while we eat?]

Pam shrugged as she made her way out of the dining room. "Au moins, il porte des vêtements." [At least he is wearing clothes.]

Ha ha, Amelia silently laughed agreeing with Pam. Thank God he was wearing clothes! And what clothes they were!

Amelia, preoccupied as she was while on the receiving end of Bill's micro-penis fueled projected feelings of inadequacy, hadn't realized the full extent of his Designer Douche Apparel. Now that the Douche Bag was back to reading his paper and quietly playing with his muffin, Amelia took the opportunity to conduct a thorough appraisal.

Bill was wearing his typical 'uniform' as Amelia tended to think of it. Khakis. Polo shirt. Penny loafers. A sweater the knitting machine threw up. Topping it all off was his fucktarded hat. Having never seen it before, Amelia wondered if he'd recently ordered it from the Douche Bags R' Us catalogue. Why he was wearing it in the house she couldn't even begin to imagine. It kind of looked like Elmer Fudd's hunting cap. She didn't think the Douche Bag hunted, unless it was for his missing balls. Snickering, she leaned back in her chair to get a better look at Bill's profile.

He's got nerve insulting me, she thought. He looks like he's got a duck nuzzling his head. He could be the centerfold of Douche Bag Magazine.

Just then, like two cannonballs, her younger brothers shot into the room.

Hoyt and Hunter had apparently resurrected their old game of racing in the house. Stumbling and screaming as they made their way into the room, they failed to notice the adult sitting there. At their clamorous entrance, Bill tore his face away from his newspaper with a scowl.

Spotting Amelia, the boys squawked out a greeting to their sister.

"Mornin' Ame." The boys said in near unison.

"Morning guys." Amelia jerked her head towards Bill. "Look over there. It's Bill." Amelia announced this in the same tone she might use to warn of dog poop.

Hunter's eyes widened when he saw Bill sitting at the table. Hoyt froze. Watching their almost-brother-in-law, both boys had the same thought: What the fuck is on his head?

"Boys," Bill nodded at them, in an officious manner. "You really should not run and shout indoors like that. It speaks to very very poor breeding. I know your sister was the one who raised you, but still there is a saying: 'what's good for the goose, is not always what's good for the gander.' Just because she has a tendency to scream and shout and act inappropriately at times does not mean you should emulate her." He nodded his head to emphasize his point. "That means you shouldn't copy her."

Catching flies. It was with shock, Hoyt, Hunter and Amelia listened to this mini-lecture.

He didn't just-, did he? Amelia thought. Fuck. If ever somebody needed a transformative spell, it's the Douche Bag. Dammit! What if I can't figure out a way to make him go away? Why the hell did I promise Sookie I wouldn't cast any more spells? SHIT! FuckShit FuckShit FuckShit…

Geez, he's mean. This was Hoyt's inner thought.

Damn jackass. He'll get his. This was Hunter's.

In one of her increasing moments of maturity, Amelia decided the best course of action would be to ignore the Douche Bag. She would focus on her brothers and just change the subject.

"Hey, where's Long Shadow?" asked Amelia.

Hoyt and Hunter, still recovering from the Douche Bag's litany of self-righteousness, were slow to answer. But the dog, as though he'd heard his name, announced his arrival with a bark, and came bounding into the dining room. Being an easily excitable dog, he made a beeline for the new face: Bill. Standing on his hind legs, Long Shadow brought his front paws onto Bill's lap. Yelping excitedly, the dog swatted at Bill to get him to play with him.

Bill was not amused. He put his paper down on the table to keep it safe from the slobbering dog.

"Oh, oh," he grimaced. "Hey, boys. Whose dog is this? Is this your dog?"

"Woof, woof." Long Shadow started to grind himself into Bill's leg. "Woof, woof."

"Boys, call off your dog. It has me by the leg of my khaki's. Ah," Bill gasped. "I think he's trying to have sex with my leg. Ah…" Bill squawked out, horrified.

Hunter and Hoyt, meanwhile, exchanged a look. Ew! Hoyt's face turned green at the idea of his dog having sex with Bill's leg. Hunter, wide-eyed, was doing his best to stifle a laugh.

"Oh," Bill gasped. "He's trying to get a piece of my muffin!"

The three kids watched as Bill wrestled with Long Shadow, trying to avoid the dog's slobbering, while simultaneously trying to save his beloved New York Times and his equally beloved bran muffin.

Finally, Hoyt asked, "Debemos liberar a los gringos?" [Should we free the gringo?]

Hunter shrugged, responding unenthusiastically, "Supongo que sí." [I guess so.]

"Long Shadow, Long Shadow. Yield, boy. Yield to me." Hoyt called his dog off the 'gringo.'

Hunter, catching wind of his brother's words, threw Hoyt a confused look. "'Yield to me'? What the fuck, Hoyt?" he asked.

Hoyt shrugged. Long Shadow reined in, the two boys joined their sister at the far end of the dining room table.

The three teacup Stackhouses carried on a silent exchange. In the past, each time the kids had encountered Bill it was either at his house or at Sookie's apartment. They always had to be on good behavior because they were somebody's guests. But now they were home. Now, they had the home court advantage. The time for pussyfooting with the Douche Bag was over. They knew they wouldn't have to start with him; he'd do something eventually. He couldn't rein in being a Douche Bag: it was in his nature. They just hoped Sookie or Tara or Jase would hear him when he was being a jerk to them.

Bill, in the meantime, freed from the attack of the rabid dog, was scrutinizing the boys' outfits. He found their wardrobe choices just as appalling as their sister's.

"You know, Hunter," Bill finally started to speak, "your shirt is promoting a fallacy."

Hoyt and Hunter looked at each other. Who knew the Douche Bag had time to notice their t-shirts while fighting off Long Shadow's molestation of him and his 'muffin'?

As for Hunter's t-shirt, it had a picture of a guy sitting on the toilet with the caption "I like to read."

No dummy, Hunter knew what 'fallacy' meant. Douche Bag was calling him a liar, now? "Yeah. How so?" the boy replied.

"Well, your t-shirt implies you like to read. You do not. A more appropriate shirt for you would say 'I like to use my five fingers.'"

The three Stackhouse kids threw disgusted looks at Bill whose eyes had gone back to his newspaper.

Ew, thought Hoyt.

Creeper's getting like Felipe, thought Hunter.

That is so gross! thought Amelia.

"You know," Bill continued. "Because of your perpetual handheld electronic game addiction."

OH! The three kids exchanged a new round of looks.

"In any case—" continued Bill.

Uh-oh, Amelia thought. Douche Bag's gearing up for a lecture. I can feel it. Starting…now.

"I suppose that t-shirt's supposed to be humorous? There's nothing more base than toilet humor. Back in the day, a long time ago, puns were regarded as the highest form of humor. Do you three even know what a pun is? I doubt it. It's when there's a secondary meaning attached to a word's primary meaning. So, when something is said you can take it at it's face value—that is, its primary meaning—but then you must peel away the layers to find the deeper, more humorous meaning—the secondary meaning."

Amelia closed her eyes and counted to ten. She really really didn't understand her sister sometimes. How could Sookie possibly want to marry Bill? This guy was just …unbelievable… If a hemorrhoid could talk, it would be Bill.

Hunter, angry that Douche Bag was calling them dummies, had a retort hot on his lips. He was halted in his tracks by Amelia, who threw him an "I'll take care of this" look. Knowing when not to mess with his sister, Hunter promptly closed his mouth.

"Oh yeah? Hunt wearing that shirt is ironic. That's humor." Amelia informed Bill.

"Yes," agreed Bill, "but irony is a very simple form of humor. For very simple people. Puns are complex. For those with a more evolved sense of humor."

All this was said without Bill ever moving his eyes away from the newspaper. Had he glanced up, he might have actually been taken aback by the look in Amelia's eyes. Furious, Amelia was glaring at Bill with pure, unmitigated hatred. Hoyt and Hunt found themselves slightly worried by the look in Ame's eyes. Amelia didn't miss a beat in her reply.

"Oh I reckon me and the boys can figure out what a pun is alright."

Bill finally lowered his newspaper and threw Amelia a pointedly challenging look. Bill's look said Well, little girl? Let me hear your little pun.

"How about if you were wearing Hunter's t-shirt? While you were sitting on the toilet reading your friggin' newspaper? I'd say that would be a pun. A pretty FUCKING funny one too!"

Hoyt let out a chuckle of nervous laughter. Hunter was undecided as to whether or not Amelia's heated response was funny. Truthfully he had no idea what a pun was—but then he decided the visual of Bill wearing the 'toilet reader' t-shirt while sitting on the toilet reading was hysterical. He started howling.

Bill, for once, was at a loss for words.

Seeing a stumped, silent Billdo, Amelia smiled. Feeling awesome, she did an internal happy dance. She had bested the Douche Bag.

Finally, Bill just harrumphed and went back to reading his paper.

The kids exchanged triumphant glances.

Maxine and Tara came into the dining room next. Tara quickly locked eyes with her younger siblings'. At Amelia's theatrical eye roll toward the head of the table, Tara turned her attention to the strange man seated there. Tara frowned. Jason had grown accustomed to the spot at the head of the table and she knew he'd be irked that a stranger had claimed his spot. The man, engrossed in the New York Times, was eating a disgusting-looking bran muffin and was inexplicably wearing a cap indoors.

Jesus, I sure as hell hope we have a plunger, thought Tara as she glanced again at Bill's muffin.

Tara, pulling her gaze from Bill, made eye contact with Maxine. Wondering why Bill wasn't acknowledging her and Maxine, Tara cleared her throat. He didn't stir. She tried again. Still nothing. Tara was getting annoyed. How was it possible anyone could be that oblivious? Amelia, observing her sister's rising anger, finally just called out, "HEY BILL!"

At Amelia's raised voice, Bill lowered his newspaper and gave the girl a stern look. "Amelia, there is no need to scream like that. I'm sitting right here. I can hear you," Hmmm, apparently Hoyt and Hunter were not the only ones to pick up Sookie's bad habits, he thought. "Also, perhaps you shouldn't drink coffee at your age," he gestured at her cup. "I can hear you are phlegmatic. I heard you clear your throat several times."

Hoyt and Hunter exchanged an exasperated look.

"Este hombre es tonto," Hoyt finally said. [This man is stupid.]

"El hombre es un asno," Hunter replied, nodding. [The man is a jackass.]

Though she again wanted to respond with a string of expletives, Amelia managed to stifle the impulse. Instead, reminding herself that she had just bested him, she issued a calm reply.

"No, Bill. I'm not phlegmatic. I'm not even drinking coffee. My cup is empty." She turned her cup upside down to prove how empty her cup, in fact, was. "Our sister Tara was trying to get your attention to say good morning. But you're too busy being anti-social, Mr. Rude, to pay any attention to the niceties associated with the communal activity of breakfast."

Hoyt and Hunter shifted their gazes to see Bill's reaction to being effectively slammed by Amelia. Tara, proud of her sister, smirked at Bill. Maxine stood there riveted, a small "o" fixed on her face. Suddenly, clapping could be heard from the doorway. Everyone turned to look. Standing there were Jason—'the clapper'—and Eric.

"Ame, way to go," Jason laughed. "I think you're too hard on old Octavia. Sounds like you got a decent vocabulary out of that school." Turning his attention to his future brother-in-law, Jason made his way past the boys, Tara, and Maxine, to the end of the table.

"Hey," he said. "You must be Bill. I'm Jason Stackhouse." Jason held his hand out.

"Oh," Bill, putting down his paper, stood up, and shook Jason's hand. "Nice to meet you Jason. Congratulations on being out of the Army."

"Navy," Jason corrected him.

"Oh, right," Bill nodded absently and sat back down. "Was it a good experience? The travel and all?"

Jason kept his face expressionless—which wasn't easy considering the guy's hat— but inwardly he thought, Is this idiot serious? He turned his head down the length of the table, meeting Eric's gaze, he rolled his eyes. "Uh, yeah, Bill," Jason turned back to face Bill. "It was a lot of fun." Jason grinned but it didn't quite make it to his eyes. "Just so you know, this place at the head table by the doors is mine. Where you're sitting here. Mine."

"Oh?" Bill was startled.

"Yeah. But since you're a guest and you didn't know, we'll let it go. Once. But now you know," Jason raised an eyebrow as he said this.

Puzzled, Bill stared at his future brother-in-law. "Uh, yes," he finally agreed.

"No," Jason corrected him shaking his head.

"Right, no," Bill agreed. Puzzled over the man's possessiveness over a seat, Bill wondered if possibly Jason had returned from the war with a substance abuse problem. From listening to NPR, Bill knew such things happened on occasion.

Jason, mumbling something about "news ink," wiped his palm on his jeans after shaking Bill's hand. He then took the seat to the right of Bill.

Finally, Bill, turning his gaze towards the doorway, registered Eric's presence.

"Eric Northman, the actor," he snarled. With a sweeping glance, he took in Eric's form, immediately fixating on the man's enormous bare feet. Bill's face took on a look of disgust. Did the man know no bounds? He was even barefoot!

"Bill Compton, the fiancé," Eric smiled pleasantly but made no move to go around the table to shake Bill's hand.

AH HA! Bill detected not a glimmer of recognition in Eric's face. Noticing Eric's t-shirt, Bill's face set into a smirk. Another fan of low-brow sarcasm, he thought. Well, two could play at sarcasm. Bill would show him.

"Nice shirt," Bill sneered at Eric.

Knowing full well what t-shirt he was wearing, Eric, startled by Bill's comment, felt his eyes widen. Amelia, having just sipped her orange juice as Bill issued his sarcastic compliment of Eric's shirt, promptly spewed her juice all over the table. Hoyt and Hunter, sitting across from Amelia, found themselves pelted with juice droplets.

"Ew, Ame. What the fuck?" This from Hunter.

"Geez, Ame. Already took a shower." This from Hoyt.

"Yeah," Hunter went on, laughing. "You got our new t-shirts dirty."

At being reminded of her brothers' t-shirts, Amelia's cackle grew louder. Choking with laughter, the girl leaned over the side of the table in hysterics. Once her laughing jag had finally played itself out of her system, she sat up.

Although the room was silent, the tension could be cut with a knife. Eric and Bill continued to stare at one another. Tara, determined to ignore the uncomfortable atmosphere, piped up then.

"Hey, Bill, I'm Tara, Sook's sister. This is," she gestured to Maxine who stood beside her, "our friend, Maxine Fortenberry."

Bill nodded, barely registering Tara and Maxine's presence. He continued to glare at Eric. Eric cooly met Bill's appraisal.

Finally, the pressure in the room was just too much for Tara. Shaking her head, she whispered to Maxine, "Jesus H, lets go help Pam. Pronto." Maxine nodded in agreement. Louder, Tara announced to the room at large, "We're going to go help with breakfast. See you all in a bit."

On her way out, Maxine placed her sunglasses on the table next to Amelia. Their eyes meeting briefly, the older woman smiled encouragingly at the girl. Ame smiled back but also rolled her eyes in a dramatic fashion eliciting a snort from Maxine.

Nodding to Eric who still stood by the doorway, Tara and Maxine hurried off to the kitchen.

Eric, deciding on a seat, passed behind Amelia to sit in the spot next to Maxine's claimed seat.

Bill, meanwhile, hadn't taken his eyes off Eric since the actor had walked into the room. While Eric had appeared to ignore Bill's relentless stare as he walked in, once he sat down, he turned his chair slightly so he could meet Bill's stare head on without craning his neck.

Everyone else in the room was silent. Finally Hunter, in a Stackhouse whisper that could be heard in Shreveport, observed to Hoyt, "What the fuck? If this is breakfast, I'm not liking the looks of today."

Hoyt nodded silently in agreement to his brother's assessment. But he didn't pull his gaze away from the Eric-Bill stare down. Even though nothing was happening, he feared missing something.

Amelia, too, sat riveted at Bill and Eric's stare-down.

Pam, carrying plates and silverware, entered the dining room. About to announce breakfast was ready, her words died on her lips as she realized everyone was in stare-down mode. She rolled her eyes.

"Ont-ils dit quelque chose?" She asked Amelia. [Did they say something?]

"Pas vraiment." [Not really.]

Pam turned to go back to the kitchen to supervise Tara and Maxine. At the doorway, she encountered the one Stackhouse who had yet to make an appearance that morning: Sookie.

"Hmmm, good morning Sookie. We've been waiting for you."

"What?" Puzzled Sookie looked at Pam. "Why? What's going on?"

"Oh, you'll see." Pam winked and continued her trek back to the kitchen.

Shrugging at Pam's bizarre greeting Sookie entered the dining room. Wearing a simple white and flowy low-cut summer dress, it was obvious she to all she had a bikini on underneath it.

"Hey, you all," Sookie sung out, her voice chipper despite the turmoil that raged beneath the surface.

Upon hearing her voice, Eric's eyes immediately flew to Sookie. He thought she looked beautiful. Forgetting about Bill, he smiled at her. Sookie briefly met his gaze but found herself nearly undone by the look in his eyes. Averting her eyes, she turned to look at Bill. It was then she realized Bill was sullenly staring at Eric. Picking up on the fact that she'd walked in on some weird alpha male posturing stand-off, Sookie walked over to Bill. Her focus only on the desire to have a "nice" and "quiet" breakfast, she decided to do what she could to alleviate the palpable tension in the room.

"Hey, Bill," she hugged him and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "You sleep good?"

That seemed to shake Bill from his alpha male trance. Pulling his eyes from Eric, he focused on Sookie. "Well, darling," he replied. "I slept as well as I could—without you beside me."

Bill wrapped his arms possessively around Sookie. Sookie, trying to straighten, found herself trapped in his tight grasp.

Way to go, Bill, Sookie thought. So much for trying to steer him away from the chest thumping. Maybe you'd like to piss on my leg while you're at it.

Attempting repeatedly to pull herself from Bill's grasp, Sookie was finally able to extricate herself from his octopus arms. Looking at Bill, her face contorted in confusion. "Bill, why're you wearing your sunblocker cap in the house?"

A wave of 'Thank God' flowed through the dining room as everyone realized Sookie had asked the million-dollar question. With bated breath they turned to hear Bill's response.

"Darling, you know how sensitive my skin is. My father had a very large mole removed. Though it turned out not to be melanoma, one can never be too careful. It's not just direct sunlight that's dangerous. Non-direct ambient sunlight is a hazard as well." Bill glanced around the table to emphasize his point. "You must all take care to cover your bodies appropriately."

"Je pense que je vais vomir," Amelia muttered to no one. [I think I'm going to vomit.]

Eric, knowing French, snorted in surprise before he could stop himself. He attempted to cover it up by pretending to cough.

Although Sookie didn't know what Amelia had said, she knew her sister well enough to know it couldn't have been nice. Biting her lower lip, she threw a peeved look at Eric.

Bill, in the meantime, had decided he did not like Sookie exposing her "assets" so freely with Northman in the room. He thought his mini-lecture on the hazards of ambient sunlight was the perfect segue.

"Speaking of self-care, darling, I know I cannot convince you to forego with your slow suicide-by-sunbathing rituals, but aren't you cold, dressed like that? You'll catch a chill. I know this is Louisiana but still it's only May, darling. Can't have you sniffling. Here," he started to shrug out of his sweater, "wear my sweater."

Bill stood up and, before Sookie had a chance to register what was happening, he had put his green sweater on her. Sookie looked down at the pukey greenish sweater that now covered up her dress. Without a thought, she inadvertently allowed a scowl to work its way onto her face.

Amelia, watching her sister like a hawk, laughed at Sookie's grimace. Sookie's head shot up to glare at her younger sister. Weighing her options, Sookie finally decided to just roll up the sleeves of the sweater. As much as she detested Bill's possessive bullshit, she really didn't feel like getting into an argument with him right then. All she wanted was a quiet mental health day.

Pam, Maxine, and Tara entered the dining room bearing breakfast trays. Maxine took her seat between Amelia and Eric, while Tara took the vacant spot between Hoyt and Jason. This left two seats open at the table. One was located at the head of the table —directly across from Bill. This was the spot Sookie had grown accustomed to sitting at. The second vacant spot was at the other end of the table, at a corner, sandwiched between Bill and Eric.

Sookie went to take her usual spot only to find that Pam, sprinting around the table in her five-inch pumps, had beaten her to it.

Sookie glowered at the woman. "Pam, you're in my seat."

"Sookie, this isn't grade school. We haven't assigned seats. Besides, I'm sure your fiancé would like it if you sat next to him." Pam smiled sweetly, pointing a finger at the vacant seat between Eric and Bill.

"Sookie, darling." Bill paused. What was the woman's name? Oh, yes, that's right. "Your friend Pat," at this 'Pat's' eyes widened in shock, "is right. I'd love to have you right here beside me." He leaned forward, patting the vacant seat to his left.

Sookie, looking over toward Bill, couldn't help but steal a glance at Eric. The hungry look on his face gave her chills. Stop, stop she told herself.

"Ah, okay. Sure, Bill," Sookie finally acquiesced. Making her way around the table, Sookie threw Pam a dirty look. Pam's smile widened.

Sookie, once settled into her seat between Bill and Eric, finally, glancing around at her siblings, noticed the t-shirts. What the hell? "Hey, where'd you all get the fucked-up t-shirts?"

Amelia was the first one to answer. "Sook, you know I don't have any clothes until Octavia gets off her fat ass." Bill scowled at Amelia's profanity, while Amelia just ignored him. "Pam lent me this shirt. Isn't it cool?"

"Uh, sure, Amelia. It's interesting. Maybe not my first choice," she threw slanted-eyed look at Pam who just smiled, "for a 13-year-old. But, then again, I wouldn't let a 13-year-old drive my car, either."

Pam, pouting, glared at Sookie. Sookie smiled at Amelia to let her know the 'dig' was directed at Pam, not her. Still intent on uncovering the mystery of the t-shirts, Sookie turned to her brothers.

"Hoyt? Hunt? Where'd you get your shirts?"

"I found them in my room," said Hunter.

"Really?"

"Yep. We gave one to Eric." Hunter pointed to Eric.

"Yeah, as a 'thanks for everything.'" Hoyt threw in quickly.

Sookie hadn't gotten a good look at Eric's t-shirt—honestly, she had studiously been trying not to look at Eric because even out of the corner of her eye, it was obvious that his abs were visible through his ridiculously tight t-shirt. Unfortunately, she had taken a sip of orange juice just before turning to glance at Eric. Shocked to see the actor wearing a "Douche Bag" t-shirt with a douche bag character that—sadly—looked way too much like Bill, Sookie's reaction was identical to Amelia's reaction to Bill's comment. Before she could stop herself, Sookie had sprayed Eric with orange juice at zero range.

"Ah!" Sookie, horrified, grabbed a napkin and frantically started patting down Eric's t-shirt. Feeling his solid chest through the thin cotton, she bit her lower lip and a rosy hue quickly covered her face. "Oh, gosh. I'm so sorry. I guess I was…uh…surprised by your shirt" she finished lamely.

"Sookie," Eric, laughing, stilled her hand as she'd been patting him down like she was trying to put out a fire. He held her hand and lowered it to her side. "It's fine. It's just a silly t-shirt. I wasn't planning on leaving it on." As Eric spoke, he emphasized his words by quirking an eyebrow.

Sookie, possibly reading more into his last words than was actually intended, felt her face redden more. Wordlessly, she nodded and turned back to the table.

Bill, from his position a few feet away, had observed the entire interaction. Not liking it in the least, he contracted his brow in disapproval.

As everyone dug into breakfast, some of the awkwardness —blessedly—dissipated. The group turned their collective attention to everyone's respective plans for the day.

Sookie, for the most part, was silent during breakfast. Basking in her mortification, her most ardent desire was for the meal to end without any further incident. All she wanted was to go outside and relax in the sun for a few hours. Sipping her juice, she was startled to feel something on her left leg.

"Oh…" she breathed. She closed her eyes and almost groaned as Eric's fingertips gently grazed her kneecap, then traveled above her knee, finally inching towards her inner thigh. Her eyes shot open with a start and she clamped her legs shut to keep him from any further invasion.

"Ah!" she let out a stifled noise.

Eric barked in laughter, quickly covering it with a cough.

Pam, having a good idea of what was going on, smirked.

Amelia shot a questioning glance at Pam.

"L'acteur se sent ta sœur." [The actor is feeling up your sister.]

"Cela vaut mieux que l'idiot." [Better he than the idiot.]

Pam nodded in agreement.

Bill, watching Sookie, frowned. "Are you okay, darling?"

"Yes. Yes, Bill. I'm fine," she replied. "I just need to run to the bathroom is all."

Bill made a face.

"Now, Bill. You know, every girl's got her human needs," Sookie said, standing.

"Yes, darling." Bill never understood why Sookie's human needs were constantly a topic of conversation. His own lovely mother kept such details thankfully private.

Once Sookie left the room, talk of the day's activities resumed. Jason was taking the kids out to Hotshot to apologize to Cal Myers and, hopefully, talk the Norrises down. Then the plan was to stop by at an electronics store and buy a security camera for the tree house. Time permitting, they might also stop by the Apple store in Shreveport to replace Ame's cell phone and get one for Hunter. Jason might be picking up hours on the road crew though, so he was hoping to meet up with Catfish Hennessey in the late afternoon.

Eric, as much as he didn't want to leave Sookie alone with Bill, did not think his hanging around watching the couple all day would result in anything positive. As high-handed as he could be, Eric wanted Sookie to come to her own conclusions about any decisions she felt she still needed to make regarding himself and Bill. He figured her having some alone time with Bill —Eric stole a glance at the man and buried a snort—might help facilitate the inevitable denouement. So Eric offered to go with Jase and the kids to Hotshot. It was possible his presence might help smooth some ruffled feathers, as Pam had suggested.

"Aw, how far you willing to go to help us get in the clear, Eric?" Jason asked.

"You joke, Jason, but I've been telling Eric for a long time, he could do well as a man-whore."

Tara laughed while Maxine gave Pam a shocked-yet-thrilled look. The kids, oblivious to the adult overtones, focused on their breakfasts.

Bill, observing, just stared at them all with a disgusted look upon his face. So, this is Camp Stackhouse? he thought. Once the inane chatter had died down, Bill decided to ask Eric some questions.

"Eric," Bill said. "I read that you're filming a television show in Shreveport. Is that right?"

"Yes," Eric nodded.

"Is it doing well? I don't watch television—frankly I don't have the time beyond, of course, The McLaughlin Group and several other programs focused on the economy. I am an economist, you know."

"Ah, yes. Of course." Eric couldn't remember if he did, in fact, know that. Considering how crappy the economy was, he figured he shouldn't be surprised. He himself recognized how lucky he had it. Escapism was big during lousy economies. The Great Depression actually correlated with the beginning of Hollywood's heyday. Realizing Bill's droning voice was still directed at him, Eric forced himself to listen.

"So, Eric, is it?" asked Bill.

"What?" replied Eric.

Fuck. Bill actually rolled his eyes at him. Eric, chagrined, realized that to spare himself some embarrassment, he was going to have to pay attention to the ass.

"Your show? Is it doing well? I know how fleeting a career in acting can be. Really, you should be taking all the money you're earning now and placing it in some long-term growth mutual funds. Because, once you're older, your acting opportunities will diminish considerably. Can't live off our good looks forever," Bill laughed, his tone reeking of condescension.

Eric, meanwhile, wanted to throw Bill through the glass doors. "Thanks for the advice, Bill. But, I have plenty of money. Probably enough to live several lifetimes." He was exaggerating, but he didn't care. "I can appreciate your concern, of course. I imagine it's hard being an economist these days, with the economic collapse. Unless you were one of the few who warned that the secondary mortgage markets absorbing junk mortgages and the home equity-fueled spending was just a 'smoke-and-mirrors' bubble that would ultimately tank the world economy, I imagine your credibility as an economist would be quite suspect now, wouldn't it?"

Catching flies. All Stackhouses. Maxine, meanwhile, understood what Eric was talking about. She was just shocked Eric did too.

Pam, as she had known him for years, knew Eric was smart and followed boring, annoying things like economic trends, real estate, and politics. Curious to see the Douche Bag's response, she sat with her eyes riveted to Bill.

Bill, sitting silently, squinted his eyes in anger, as he digested Eric's diatribe. Pam saw him wince, a pained expression on his face. She thought he looked constipated. Or possibly it was the opposite. Maybe he was having a bad reaction to his bran muffin?

"So, where do you live when you're filming?" Bill asked Eric.

"Well, actually, that is an interesting question —" Eric started to explain.

Sookie, who had been gone at least 15 minutes, picked that moment to return. Hot and bothered by Eric's playing 'Discovery Channel' on her lap, she had locked herself in the bathroom to wash up and calm down. After several long minutes of deep breaths, she felt much better. In fact, she felt so much better, she hadn't wanted to rejoin the breakfast club. Conceding that she'd have to return eventually, she managed to delay it as long as she could.

Hearing Bill's question and the opening of Eric's response, Sookie was immediately back on edge. She figured her trepidation was well founded since she'd just heard her soon-to-be-ex-fiancé ask her all-of-a-sudden-new-beau where he lived. Her knee-jerk reaction was fear that Eric was going to spill the beans about the plans for the house. Why Sookie thought revealing this—it was, after all, the truth—seemed like such a bad idea, she couldn't have explained. Without a second thought, she did the one thing she could think of to prevent Eric from responding to Bill's question: she screamed.

"AHHH!"

At the sound of Sookie screaming, all conversation came to a halt. On a dime everyone turned to stare at her. Even Long Shadow, lying on the floor by the side of the table, popped his head up to look at her. They all continued to watch as Sookie stood frozen in the doorway, a "deer in headlights" expression on her face.

Finally Jason broke the awkward silence. "Jesus, Sook," he said, "you got some more of those 'human needs' you gotta take care of?"

"Oh, no," Sookie blushed. "I thought I saw a…panther outside and it startled the hell out of me."

A few of them turned to look toward the glass doors, but no one spotted the offending animal. Although she'd barely eaten, Sookie did not want to sit next to Eric's dangerously wandering hands again. She decided, instead, to go stand over by the glass doors behind Bill. Feeling way too overheated, she removed Bill's 'Irritating Professor Sweater' and dropped it onto an ottoman.

Eric, of course, caught on to the true reason for Sookie's scream. Respecting her obvious preference that he not say anything about his moving to the farm, he told Bill only that he lived in a hotel usually during filming. Looking past Bill, Eric's eyes sought Sookie's.

"But I'm actually looking for something more permanent. More homelike."

Sookie started at his words. Is he really courting me in front of my fiancé? she wondered.

"Oh, I can understand that," Bill replied. Bill, without turning, reached his arm behind him feeling around for Sookie and, finding her, brought her forward and sat her on his lap. Sitting up straight, Sookie was careful not to lean onto Bill's chest. "I'm looking forward to Sookie and I marrying so we can live together and establish our own home together."

Sookie's wan smile was not lost on Eric but her face quickly became expressionless.

As breakfast wrapped up, Pam, Tara and Maxine started to clear out the dining room and return it to its pre-meal state.

Eric looked on, unseeing, his face inscrutable. He glanced over at Sookie, who was sliding open the glass doors that lead out to the front porch. He noted that Bill had resurrected his newspaper from where he'd stashed it under the table and seemed content to pick up where he'd left off.

Traditionally, a 'take charge' type, Eric found it against his nature not to act. This situation wasn't an easy one for him. Although Sookie hadn't broken things off with Bill yet, Eric could tell by her body language that she was doing whatever she could to put space between her and Bill. Of course, she had been ready to kill Pam for forcing her to sit next to him and had screamed bloody murder at his touch, but that was besides the point.

All things considered, Eric thought things were progressing rather well. Despite her hesitance, he knew he and Sookie were good together on a basic, fundamental level. As far as Eric could see, there was only one possible impediment to their future proceeding easily.

That impediment was named Bill.

Now that Eric had met Bill, he saw that the man was his own worst enemy. Eric no longer viewed Bill as competition for Sookie's affections. Rather, he'd come to view Bill just as a potential troublemaker.

During his musings, Eric had leaned back in his chair, he hands linked behind his head. From her spot out on the porch, Sookie had stolen several covert glances in his direction.

Suddenly someone's voice pulled them both out of their reveries.

"What the fuck is that smell?" Tara, frowning, crinkled her nose in displeasure and conducted a quick examination of the room. Suddenly she bent down and peered under the table.

"Oh, shit!"

Eric, sitting up, bent down to look under the table. The kids, back from delivering their plates to the kitchen, came over to look as well. Hunter was the first one to speak.

"Hey, ah, Bill?"

Bill, responding in his usual manner, didn't acknowledge the boy. He continued to read his newspaper.

Tara wasn't having any of his nonsense this time around.

"Oh, for fucks sake, Bill! The dog took a crap on your sweater. I gotta say, it was the color of shit. Maybe he just got confused." With that Tara rolled her eyes, grabbed the condiments, and left to rejoin Maxine and Pam in the kitchen, muttering to herself "what the hell does she see in him?"

Amelia, Hoyt and Hunter looked at their sister's departing form and laughed. Tara was usually pretty ladylike, but when she felt like cutting loose, she really went for it.

"You know something?" Hunter, returning to his inspection of the 'situation' under the table, had a theory. "Hoyt, that's not like his normal turds. See that?" Hunter was pointing. "I think he must've got into Bill's muffin."

At Hunter's innocent comment, Eric and Jason both burst out laughing. Bill, finally lowering his newspaper, settled his angry look at Eric. He bent down to peer under the table. Sure enough, his lovely Lovat Cover Shawl–Collar Cardigan from Orvis that had been a gift from mother was no more.

Bill rose to his feet and, without a word, stalked off with his newspaper. In the aftermath of his sudden, angry departure, those remaining in the room fell silent.

"Wonder where he's going?" Hoyt finally asked.

"Hoyt," Hunter stood up. "You see how tight he was holding his butt? He's obviously going to" Hunter inserted air quotes here, "'read'. Where the hell else would he go? He doesn't do anything else."

That set those remaining in the dining room—Jason, Eric and the three kids—off on a new round of laughter.

Suddenly, Jason realized his most immediate duty as the newly-christened 'head of the household.'

"Aw, fuck. Who's gonna help me clean up this shit?"


AN: Thanks for reading/reviewing. Don't forget to vote for Funniest ROTSS character on my Fanfic profile. Someone's got to vote for Bill. C'mon. The Douche Bag's hysterical! Maybe I'll vote for him.

:D