Ever since the takeover, when Felipe De Castro had become the king of Louisiana, her master had been a complete wreck. And, really, it had all started months before that, almost a year ago at the New Year's Eve party, when he'd lost his memory. His fits of pique had only gotten worse and more frequent since then, and he was broody and angry and sullen all the time now. He took no pleasure in anything. He wasn't even having sex with anyone! He snapped at her for no reason. He disappeared for hours at a time. She was worried about him. And all because of a human.
He claimed that the stresses of the change in regime were responsible for making him so short-tempered, but she knew her maker better than anyone else, and she knew better. She was sure that it was playing a part but, since the takeover, De Castro seemed like he was going to be a good leader. Time would tell, of course, but the new king had progressive ideas, and many of the changes he'd enacted so far had been positive. If anything, having something to concentrate on other than Sookie Stackhouse had kept Eric from being completely miserable all the time.
Like her maker, Pam's feelings for Sookie were… complicated. She enjoyed Sookie's company very much. Pam was still undead because of Sookie; the spunky human had almost certainly saved both her and Eric from their final deaths at the summit. And Sookie was brave and strong and Pam was very fond of her. But whatever it was between Sookie and Eric seemed to make them both crazy. He was so worked up that he hadn't even seen Sookie in well over a month. Not since he had recovered his memories of their time together. Pam wished that they would either get together or stay apart, once and for all. And, as much as her life would be easier if they stayed apart, she really wanted to get them together. For her own selfish reasons — Sookie really was her favourite breather — but also because she thought that they could make each other happy. They had certainly looked like they had been before the witch war. And they had both looked miserable after. If they could learn to communicate, and stopped being so fucking stubborn, she thought that they might be able to make it work. At least if they didn't kill each other in the process.
Bill Compton had come into the bar that evening, and it had sent Eric off into another tizzy. Even though Sookie was still angry at the Antebellum asshole. Eric had flown off to who-knows-where and Pam had been stuck keeping a busload of geriatric tourists safe from Thalia, who was even more bad-tempered than Eric. Pam was surrounded by curmudgeons.
The next evening, shortly after sunset, Pam sat at the dining room table with the newspaper and a martini glass full of blood. She always read the comics first. She didn't really get most of the jokes, but she enjoyed them, regardless. After that, she went straight to Dear Abby. She found her advice so… quaint. It certainly wasn't the way that Pam would handle things most of the time, but the letters and replies were a little like a window into the human psyche. It had been so long since Pam had been alive, and so much of that part of her had slipped away over time. Not that that was a bad thing. But she had to deal with the human staff and customers, and she was very fond of Sookie, and Pam had become very attached to one of her pets, and she wanted to understand them all a little better.
While she was reading Abby's advice for a woman who was having an affair with the copy boy at work, she had a brilliant idea. And, maybe, she could get Eric what he really wanted for Christmas for once. Or, more accurately, who. He was a thousand years old and very difficult to shop for.
Pam found a pen and a piece of paper and started to put her plan into action.
…
Pam had made an excuse to rest for the day with Eric on Christmas Eve. He was so unpredictable that sometimes he didn't show his face for the whole evening, and she couldn't have that happen tonight. Not after she had put in so much effort. He was stuck with her, at least for a little while.
Eric was in the shower when the sun set, and she hurried upstairs to get everything prepared. She had to appear nonchalant and unsuspicious. She was sitting at the table at one end of the combination living room and dining room, reading the newspaper and sipping her glass of blood. Her legs were crossed and she thought the nude negligee with matching robe and pink high-heeled marabou slippers (with matching pink nails peeping out of the open toe, of course) struck just the right note. She heard him coming, but she was ready. Everything was perfect.
His hair was still damp and hung in tangles around his bare shoulders, and his jeans were slung low on his hips. She could tell that he was in a foul mood again, and he scowled at the little Christmas tree that she had set up on a table in the corner the night before.
"Good evening, Eric. I warmed you up some blood. Come sit with me for a few minutes."
He looked like he was going to ignore her, but his shoulders fell just a bit and he changed course, heading to the table instead of the kitchen. He sat down and took a sip. "How is Garfield today?" There was more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"Almost as fractious as you are. I still don't understand why a cat would care what day of the week it is."
He snorted, and her spirits lifted just a bit. She turned the page and went straight for the advice column. She read the letter and reply silently to herself, both to make sure she took enough time to be believable, and to admire her work again. She hadn't known that she had such a flair for writing. She thought that she had nailed smart country bumpkin.
"Eric, listen to this!" She hoped that she sounded convincing.
"Dear Abby,
I'm a small-town girl and work a blue-collar job. I don't make much money, but I own my home and don't have to scrape and pinch too much to survive.
There's a big city guy in my life. He's worldly, and wealthy, and our backgrounds couldn't be more different. It's almost like we aren't even the same species.
We were together for a while almost a year back, and I fell so hard for him, but things just didn't work out. It was nobody's fault, and it was absolutely for the best, but it still hurt. He has made it clear since that he would love to get together again, but nothing has changed. It would be, by necessity, a short-term thing, and I'm not interested in a one night stand.
I love him. We have a very special bond. We've really saved each other a few times now. And we've been able to stay friends since. Sort of. But he had some kind of epiphany about our time together a few weeks back, and I haven't seen him since. I didn't think that this great revelation was a bad thing, but now I'm not so sure.
I don't want to contact someone in his family, because I don't want it to get back to him that I was sticking my nose where it didn't belong. Should I just let it go and wait for him to call me? Should I reach out to him first? Should I tell him how I feel, even though I don't think our circumstances will change? Should I just move on? Please help. I don't know what to do.
Signed,
Lonely in Louisiana"
When she finished, she looked up in anticipation. He was sitting completely stone-faced.
"Eric, what are you going to do?"
He glared at her. "Nothing. I do not understand why you read me this garbage."
"You need to go and talk to her."
"Dear Abby? I have nothing to say to the woman."
Pam rolled her eyes. "Sookie! You need to go to Bon Temps. Hurry up and get ready."
He crossed his arms and set his jaw. God, he was a stubborn man. "Why would I go to Bon Temps? I have nothing to say to her, either. Why would you even bring up her name?"
Pam couldn't hold in the eyeroll. "The letter, Eric! Obviously Sookie wrote it. Special bond? Different species? Saved each other? Great revelation? It's all right there on the page!"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
She was going to kick him in the shin with her mule. She didn't take time out of her night the evening before to glamour the editor and page designer of the entertainment section of the Shreveport Times for nothing. She gave him a taste of his own medicine and glared hard back at him. After all, she'd learned from the best. "Get up, get dressed, get in your damn Corvette and go to her."
They stared at each other. Neither moved nor blinked for a long time. He broke her gaze, got up, and stalked down to the bedroom. She sighed in relief when he came back up a few minutes later with his hair brushed and his boots laced up and a Royalty Blended T-shirt on under his leather jacket. He scowled at her again, but it had no teeth behind it. He went through the kitchen to the garage and she heard the engine start and the garage door open and close before he drove away. She crossed her fingers. It was all up to them now.
…
He almost turned around and went back to the house a dozen times before he'd even left the city, but he didn't. He tried to take his time so he could think but, every time he looked at the speedometer, it was somewhere north of one hundred and forty-five. He would force himself to slow down, and then he would glance down a few moments later and the needle was almost maxed out again.
He passed Merlotte's, and the parking lot was empty. They'd closed early so the servers could spend more time with their families. He was sure that Sookie wouldn't be with her worthless brother, but he wondered if she would be alone.
He wished he'd known that she had apparently missed him as much as he'd missed her. He thought about how much worse it had likely been for her, having to deal not only with him losing the memory of their time together, but also with the dismissive way he'd treated her after. Especially holding those favours over her head. He was sure that, at the time, it had felt like he was a completely different vampire. And, in a way he had been. But not really. Really, that was the part of himself that was the most authentic, just not molded and warped by centuries of experience. That part was still inside of him, but he only allowed Sookie and Pam access to it. Whether she believed it or not, he had shown it to Sookie many times, both before and after he had spent the days in her closet and the nights in her bed. It had just been tempered by hundreds of years of self-preservation. She wasn't the only one who had shields.
He pulled over onto the shoulder of Hummingbird Road, right where she had stopped fifty-one weeks before. He remembered what it had felt like. The sex, which had been surprisingly exceptional, but also the way she had taken care of him and protected him and provided for him. And loved him, even though they hadn't quite said the words. But he knew that they had both fallen in love. He absolutely would have given up everything for her, even though he hadn't known what exactly he would have been giving up. And he wouldn't have cared.
Although he never would have admitted it, he'd still felt that way after his old memories had returned and the new ones, made with her, had been hidden from him. He tried to dismiss that feeling, but he'd only been able to hide it from himself, tucked next to the memories of the week when he had been truly happy for possibly the first time in his existence. Unfortunately, he hadn't hidden the feeling very well. He kept finding it again.
The bond, of course, had complicated things even more. It had been a spur of the moment decision. He could not have let her become bonded with Andre, for both her sake and his own. Nevertheless, at the time, he'd been kicking himself for being so impulsive. Creating a permanent blood bond with such a stubborn and mouthy human woman — and one that he couldn't even control — was a terrible idea. Especially since he knew very well that he would never be able to kill her if it turned out to be a huge mistake. Well, unless he brought her back again. But part of him had been nearly gleeful right from the beginning to have the feisty little fairy as his own. To feel her inside of him. And he was ready to feel himself inside of her first hand, too. As many times as she'd allow him to. If his memories were accurate, she really had been an incredible lover.
He steeled his shoulders and pulled back out onto the road. Her house was very near now, and his bond was almost reaching out to her. He was getting much more calm and content the closer he got. It was part of the reason why he'd stayed away. His blood wanted to be with her, and it was happy when it was.
He pulled into the driveway and, as always, he was pleased — and proud — of the smooth, comfortable ride. It was such an improvement over the rutted mess that it had been before he had taken care of things. He liked taking care of her.
She opened the door and walked out onto the porch as he was getting out of the car. She had her arms crossed tightly over her chest and was holding on to her biceps. She was wearing red, for Christmas and maybe for him, and she looked absolutely beautiful. He didn't notice the section of a newspaper folded up and tucked under her elbow, or how angry she was.
"Sookie, I…" But she cut him off.
"What the hell, Eric? Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?"
Her brows were knitted together in anger. His drew together in confusion.
"I don't understand."
She rolled her eyes. "Did Pam put you up to this?" Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Pam… I'll kill her! For good this time."
Sookie opened the door and stomped back inside. He was glad that she hadn't rescinded his invitation. He certainly never stood on formality, at least with her, so he followed behind.
The red cell phone that he had given her to replace the one he'd destroyed was on the counter. She picked it up and called Fangtasia.
"Elvira. Right. I'm sure. This is Sookie. I need to talk to Pam." He heard the barmaid reply, and Sookie sighed loudly and snapped the phone closed without saying goodbye.
His voice was soft. "She is at my house."
"Of course she is."
"Her cell phone number is programmed in. It is number three on the speed dial."
She glared at him and then called his child. The phone rang five times and then went to voicemail. She ended the call and tried again.
"Sookie, what…?"
She held up a finger at him and then left a message. "Real funny, Pam. You are just a laugh riot. Thanks, but I really could have done without a Christmas Eve prank this year. Especially this one."
She snapped the phone closed hard enough that he worried about her breaking it this time, and slammed the entertainment section of the Shreveport Times onto the counter. It was folded so the Dear Abby column was right in front.
"You've been gone for seven weeks. I know we need to talk, but why did she have to pull this shit tonight? It's Christmas Eve and I am too tired and sad and messed up to deal with you and this today."
She hated that the bond was draining so much of her anger away. She hated how much it made her doubt her own feelings. She hated how it made her feel close to him, and how much it humanized him in her mind. How hard it was to keep up her defenses. He had hurt her in the past every bit as much as Bill had, in a way.
She knuckled the tears out of her eyes. Her shoulders sagged. "Go home, Eric. And make your child stop meddling."
"You did not write the letter."
Her first instinct was to start yelling again, but she just sighed. The tears in her eyes ran over. She didn't bother to wipe them off this time. He wanted so badly to gather her in his arms and hold her and lick away the proof of her pain.
"No. I didn't."
"I am sorry. I didn't know."
She sighed again. "I know. But just go on home. Please. As lonesome as I was a little while ago, I just want to be alone now."
He walked to the front door and put his hand on the doorknob, but then he looked back at her. Her eyes had looked just like that the evening he'd risen in her closet with no memory of the week before.
He took his hand back and walked over to her. He cupped her face with it and stroked her cheek with his thumb. She leaned into it, despite herself.
He smiled down at her. "I remember kissing you here in the kitchen. Making love to you on the table and the counter and almost everywhere else in this house. I remember how it felt with you in my arms. To be taken care of by you. To be loved by you and to fall in love with you. Despite how I've behaved, I never stopped. It was only that I was afraid to admit it to myself. I'm not any longer."
Her eyes were wide and blue. He was no longer frightened, but she was, and he stroked her cheek again. "I love you, Sookie."
The crease was back between her eyebrows, but it was more in indecision and confusion than anger. She searched his face for a long time. It took a while for her to convince herself. She tentatively wrapped her arms around his waist and tucked her head under his chin and held him. He kissed the top of her head and held her back.
Later that night, after they had made love and talked about their week together and their feelings for each other and their plans for the future — at least in the short term — she lay in his arms, playing with the hair below his belly button. He smiled, remembering her doing the same thing before. His cock twitched, but that wasn't what this was about tonight. He wanted her again, always, but there would be lots of time for that. He was going to let her take the lead, at least for a little while, and at least as much as he could. He needed to keep her safe and with him in Louisiana, regardless.
She kissed his chest and snuggled back into his side, completely content for the first time in months. "What did the answer say?"
"Hmmmm?" He sounded very content as well. Almost sleepy, although that was kind of impossible.
"The advice column. I got so mad that I didn't even read what Dear Pam wanted me to do."
He laughed, and she liked how the sound reverberated in his chest. "I didn't read it, either."
She lifted her head and stretched up to kiss him. He obliged and leaned down, pressing his lips to hers. She deepened it and reached down to stroke his cock.
…
It was a week later, and Eric was getting ready for his date with Sookie. They were celebrating their anniversary as well as New Year's Eve. Pam had spent the day again, and she was sitting at the table with her blood and the newspaper. He had asked if she would like to stay, and she had wanted to be close enough to tease him. She read the comics and then turned the page to her favourite section of the paper and read.
Dear Abby,
I have a child who likes to meddle in my affairs. Fortunately for her, I was able to avoid disaster in the most recent instance, but I would like to make sure that she keeps her nose out of my business in the future. What punishment do you recommend? I am loath to use silver, but I am willing to command her to celibacy indefinitely. Is this a fair punishment, or should I find something a little bit harsher?
-Miffed Maker
"Eric!"
