AN: Looky, looky. Another chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 18

It was roughly five in the morning when the knock on the front door woke her. Maria was tired, sore, and angry. She wasn't in the mood to deal with whoever was on the other side, especially since it was likely a tall blonde that exuded nothing but snark.

Another light trio of raps met her ears as she jogged downstairs.

"I'm coming." She grumbled.

When she reached the front door, she opened it without a thought as to who it might be, or what she was wearing. The instant she saw Eric staring down at her, Maria was suddenly well-aware that she had chosen to wear nothing but a loose shirt and panties to bed. Neither of which offered much concealment. She instantly began to tug on the hem of her shirt to pull it down as far as it could go. The inch or two it gave made her feel marginally better.

He grinned, clearly aware of what she was doing, but he didn't remark on it. And it was only when she opened her mouth to ask what he was doing on her porch that Maria realized Eric was filthy. Her brows furrowed as she looked him over.

"Is that cement?"

"It is," He replied casually. "May I come in?"

"Sure," She muttered. Maria stood aside and let the Viking enter, all the while wondering why he bothered to ask. He'd already been invited into her home before. He could, in theory, walk in without bothering to knock.

"I'd like to use your shower, if that's alright." He said as he spun lazily to face her again. Maria closed the door, still staring at him unsurely. "Pam's managed to clog the one at Fangtasia. I can't promise I won't do the same here, but I think her hair's to blame."

"Yeah, sure, but why are you covered in cement?" She asked, speaking quickly because she knew he wasn't one for lingering.

"Bill," He said with little effort. "Up here, isn't it?"

Eric didn't wait for her confirmation as he jogged upstairs and into the bathroom. He closed the door and shortly after, she heard the water running. Maria scowled in his general direction. With a flick of her wrist, she locked her door once again, and returned to her bedroom where she could put on a pair of pants to cover herself. She wished she was surprised by the way he acted (asking permission while still thinking he was entitled regardless) but she wasn't. She'd grown accustomed to it.

Roughly forty-five minutes after he entered the bathroom, Maria heard the water stop. She'd lit a few candles to give them both some light, and had taken to standing on her balcony because she didn't know what to do with herself. It was uncomfortable having Eric under her roof. Pam was at least a buffer between them, the same as Fangtasia, but having him in her house with nothing else made her uneasy. It didn't even feel like this when she was living with him.

Maybe it was because she was a side-line sort of character in those scenarios? In many ways, even when living with Northman, Maria was a background decoration at most. But here, within these walls, she was in the foreground. This was her territory, not theirs.

The floorboards creaked and caused Maria to turn just in time to see Eric enter her bedroom wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. The heat that touched her cheeks was instant. He hadn't even bothered using it to dry off. His marble-white skin still glistened with water and his hair was still spun into damp tendrils. It was deliberate, an intentional choice meant to make her react. She scowled.

"Where are your clothes?" She asked, doing her best to remove anything from her voice that wasn't irritation.

He seemed to sense the truth, however, and smirked again. Her scowl deepened.

"Ruined, I'm afraid." He didn't sound overly put out by the fact. "You wouldn't happen to have anything that I could wear, do you?"

She arched a brow. "That would fit? No."

"Hm," He seemed to think over something briefly before arriving at a conclusion. "Then it looks like I'll have to sleep nude."

"Wait, what?"

Maria barely got the words out before Eric turned and dropped his towel as he exited her room. She caught a brief glimpse of Eric Northman's bare ass that stunned her into silence. She knew he had nothing to be embarrassed about when it came to his body. The few glances she'd seen were very, very well maintained, but did he have absolutely no shame? Who, in their right mind, strips naked in someone else's house?

With cheeks flush and her body a few degrees warmer than before, Maria scampered to her bedroom door and closed it as quickly as she could. For some reason, even doing that made her feel safe –as though she were in danger from the naked man a few yards away.

She was so flustered, in fact, that Eric inviting himself to spend the day didn't even don on her.

Vampires didn't commonly dream, but it wasn't unheard of. Eric could almost count on a single hand how many times he'd dreamt something in the past decade.

Unfortunately, Eric –even asleep- was well aware that the dream he was experiencing wasn't his own, nor a dream. They were memories playing out in random order, and they belonged to Maria.

Because of the chaos surrounding Edgington, very little of Maria's memories had made it to the surface. His mind was already too divided, so the distractions were easy to ignore for the most part. Unfortunately, now, with his mind clear, they were beginning to seep in.

The dream started out nice, sweet even. He saw flashes of her family, of her sisters and brother. He saw her with her parents on vacation near the Black Sea. Eric felt the love that surrounded them and it made his heart ache for his own family, both his human family and his vampire family. It was so disturbingly pure that he wasn't certain how to process it, until the shadow emerged in the periphery.

There was no way to tell how old the memories were when the shadow appeared, but he knew Maria was young. It lingered in the distance at first, but slowly moved closer and closer. The monolithic figure soon stood at Maria's side.

Through her eyes, he remembered looking up at the towering figure in black robes, craning his neck to manage the task. He felt so small in comparison, a feeling exaggerated ten-fold when those eyes met his. On a gaunt, pale face covered with scraggly, unkempt hair, exuding a level of darkness that she had never experienced before were those eyes. They were cold, pale in color, and filled with malice. But they sparkled with life when they landed on the little girl.

The memories progressed, but no longer without the shadow. It didn't matter where the family was, the Man in Black was always there, always lingering and watching. The warmth and joy was gone. Eric never again experienced those feelings, and he felt hollow for it.

More flashes came and went, brief, but progressively worse. At first the shadow was content to remain at arm's length. Soon, it became a hand on the shoulder, a hand on the small of her back, or standing so close that even Eric could smell the alcohol, musk, and cigarette smoke that permeated his robes.

Maria never reacted, though. No matter how badly Eric shouted in his own mind for her to shove the man away, to fight and scream and flail, Maria never did. She was a Grand Duchess, after all, a little princess expected to be proper and polite, so she remained silent, even as the monster crept into the nursery she shared with her siblings at night.

But while it turned his stomach, while it made Eric sick and angry, it wasn't what finally threw him into the waking world. The cause of that was a great deal more violent.

The man Eric knew was the infamous Rasputin had chained Maria in a dark room. She was immobile, helpless, and crying out for help until her throat went hoarse. He stood over her with a knife in hand chanting something he couldn't understand. He was concentrating and not swayed in the least by her whimpering pleas.

Rasputin disappeared to somewhere out of sight behind Maria, and an instant later, while still chanting, Eric felt the blade tear into Maria's back. The sharp pain of it being dragged down her spine threw Eric up in bed. He awoke with a start, breathing heavily and eyes wild as he looked around the room.

Her phantom screams followed him into the real world.

When he managed to calm a bit, Eric laid in bed, bathed in darkness, staring at the ceiling. He breathed heavily through his nose, but refused to breathe through his mouth, as though it somehow proved he wasn't that disturbed by the nightmare. But it was a lie. He was.

Eric remained motionless until he was certain nothing of the dream remained. When it was gone, he rose. Something compelled him to seek her out, though he wasn't certain why.

Without regard to his nudity, Eric opened his bedroom door. The hallway was dark enough he was safe and there, folded neatly outside his door on the floor, was a pair of pajama pants. A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he lifted them. A tag hung from the waistband, illustrating that they were not only brand new, but large enough to fit him. Clearly, Maria had gone out to purchase a pair while he slept.

Still musing to himself, Eric humored her and slid them on. They were a bit short, but fit well enough.

Now clothed, Eric crossed the hall to Maria's bedroom door. It was directly across from his and as silently as possible, he opened it. He paused. The curtains in her room were thick, but not blackout like his, which allowed sparse beams of light to pierce the room. He avoided them carefully after plotting a path in his mind.

Maria's bed was on the wall adjacent the door, nestled between another pair of windows, and set up as though presenting her to him. He closed the majority of the distance between them before she came into view.

Without electricity, there was no air conditioning. The house was a bit drafty, but still warmer than even Eric liked. As a result, Maria had kicked the majority of her blankets off her body, forcing them to gather between her feet and the iron footboard of her bed. She was curled onto her side with her back exposed to him, once again wearing almost nothing. Eric freely ogled her bare legs, and scantily-clad backside as any straight man (with or without a pulse) would, until he noticed the tail end of a pink scar on her back. Her shirt was loose enough that it had gathered a bit, exposing some of her skin and with it the scar on her spine. In that moment, she was immediately transformed into that little girl in his mind.

Eric didn't know how long he stood there staring at her, reliving the nightmare he'd experienced over and over, but it was long enough that Maria moved. She let out a soft sigh, raked her fingernails against her bed, and curled into a smaller ball than before. A spark of fear that wasn't his tickled the back of his neck and he knew instantly that he wasn't the only one who would have a nightmare that day.

There was no hesitation on his part. Eric immediately crawled into bed behind her and wrapped himself around Maria's sweltering body like he had at Russell's mansion. To his surprise, Maria instantly relaxed. She molded against him and went still. Eric waited for a moment or two to see if the nightmare would be persistent, but it wasn't. It never resurfaced, so he allowed himself to relax as well.

As he drifted back to sleep, Eric would have liked to been able to lie to himself and say that he had no idea why he deliberately went out of his way to comfort Maria. He would have liked to pretend he was doing it to simply save himself from the inevitable fear he'd feel on her behalf, but it wasn't. He didn't even bother pretending that it was. Instead, Eric was fully aware that he was comforting Maria because he wanted to. He'd seen and experienced what she'd been through as a child and it touched a very dormant part of himself –his humanity.

Eric Northman's lingering humanity had been getting a thorough workout since Godric died. Things he never thought would happen had, and they tore at the emotions he'd spent a millennia suppressing. He didn't appreciate it, that was true, but just like in the hotel in Dallas, and Edgington's mansion, there was no one else to see them.

Maria's entire body was cool. She wasn't cold, necessarily. To the best of her memory, Maria couldn't think of the last time she was genuinely cold, but she was much cooler than she knew she should have been. It was one of those odd, random things that helped rouse her from her sleep.

Each of her senses was ticked quickly, like a row of dominos –each one falling into place after the previous.

First, she felt the temperature that made no sense in her otherwise warm house. Then, she felt the weight on her body. Shortly after that, she smelled the familiar scent of her soap and hair products, but somehow knew they weren't coming from her.

She opened her eyes and saw why instantly. Eric.

He was so close that she had to draw back just a little bit to better see him. The Viking was on her pillow facing her as he slept. Maria's eyes were wide. She couldn't help but blink repeatedly as though her eyes were somehow lying.

The rest of the situation came into focus quickly. The pressure on her body was his. He wasn't lying on her per se, but his body was angled against hers, overlapping with her right side enough that it was pressed into the mattress. His arm was draped across her body as well, but it was far more indecent than the rest of him. At some point, apparently, Eric had snaked his hand under her shirt and had wrapped it around her ribs just beneath her breast.

The embarrassed flush that she felt swept through her body immediately and raised its temperature quickly, canceling out any coolness she felt from him. This was too personal, too familiar for them, but she was frozen. Maria was so consumed with the awkwardness of the situation she found herself in that even though she knew she had to get up and move, there was a disconnect between her mind knowing it, and her body being able to comply.

As a result, she was stuck.

Maria clenched her jaw repeatedly, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she stared at the ceiling. The fact that it was in desperate need of a scrubbing and a coat of paint was an odd thought, but one that temporarily distracted her.

After lying in bed for untold hours (though in truth it was perhaps seconds) Maria rolled her head to the side. Eric couldn't have been six inches from her, so close she could feel his icy breath, and fully asleep. He was so peaceful and content that, despite knowing she shouldn't, Maria began to relax.

For whatever reason, she simply stared at him while he slept. His ashen hair was messy, tousled and twisted from sleeping. His face was completely at ease and, for the first time, she was able to actually appreciate it. Without him eying her or conscious, Maria was able to take a moment and admire him.

Eric Northman looked like he'd been sculpted from marble with skin as pale as possible. His nose was perfectly straight and slender. His cheekbones were defined and his jaw was sharp. He was a Scandinavian Adonis, which accounted for a great deal of his arrogant attitude. In some regards, it was well-founded.

She didn't know what compelled her, or why her body moved without her permission, but Maria found her arm rising. She reached over to Eric. The tips of her pointed fingernails tenderly trailed down the length of the side of his face, over his cheek and along his jawline. He didn't shift, and for whatever reason, she repeated the action. This time, however, she found herself tenderly cupping his jaw.

Maria gently ran her thumb across his skin. It was an odd sensation for more than a few reasons. It'd been decades since she'd touched someone without fear, since she'd been able to do so without wearing her gloves. That was a benefit of the horrible ordeal of touching someone, though. Once Maria gleaned everything they had to show, it never happened again. Maria had to physically try to read their memories after first contact. If she didn't want to, she could touch them like a normal person.

Eric's lips parted as he took a breath. Any movement from the dead man shocked Maria into stillness. She gradually withdrew her hand, but was sure to do it so slowly it couldn't possibly wake him. The last thing she wanted was for him to wake up and see her in what she considered a compromising position.

That was how she viewed anything emotional between them, and she was sure he was the same.

Eric continued to breathe deep before releasing it in a long sigh. He shifted, buried his face further into the pillow, and pulled Maria closer. She let out a subdued squeak of surprise and a small grunt as he squeezed her close. When he finally settled once more, heat filled her face again. The hand that was wrapped around her ribs, the one nestled just beneath her breast, was moving. His thumb was stroking her skin. Her heart thundered and it was then that Maria decided it was time to end their little slumber party.

She rolled her head to the side to face him again, and leaned back to put more distance between them before she spoke.

"Eric," She said. He didn't immediately respond. A bit louder and sterner, Maria repeated, "Eric,"

"Hm," He mumbled. Maria didn't know if he was aware or not, but she proceeded like he was.

"You're in my bed."

"Hm?" His brows creased slightly before he opened his eyes. It took only a brief moment before he seemed to remember where he was. She knew when he did because he smirked at her. "Good evening."

Maria clenched her jaw. Eric adjusted himself a little more, though made no attempts to let her go. When he went still again, Maria cleared her throat and drew his eye.

"Why are you in my bed?"

"You were about to have another nightmare, so I came to comfort you." He grinned when she stiffened.

"Are… are you still naked?" It was only then that she realized she hadn't bothered to check.

His smile widened even more, until she could see his perfect teeth. Eric arched a single brow. "Would you like me to be?"

That was her limit. With a huff, Maria shoved Eric off of her body and stood. She stared down at him angrily with her hands on her hips. It was stupid. She knew he wasn't intimidated by her, but she still felt oddly compelled to take a stance that denoted some sort of strength.

"Why are you such a lech?"

"I enjoy it." He replied freely.

"Well… stop it. And get up." She kicked her mattress, jostling the vampire on top. "Isn't there stuff to do?"

Maria could tell he was weighing his options. As he looked her up and down, she did her best to appear stronger than she felt. He rattled her, but she didn't want him to know despite being fairly certain he did.

After a moment or two, Eric agreed with her and rose to his feet. He strolled casually out of her room, telling her to be at Fangtasia by ten o'clock. Shortly after, she heard the front door open and close, and she knew that he was gone. When he was, Maria finally allowed herself to relax. She let out a huff as she fell onto her bed again.

"Jerk," She mumbled to herself.

It was roughly two in the morning when the door to Fangtasia burst open. It surprised those there because the club had been completely dead. After Edgington's rampage on national television, humans refused to enter, and they accounted for well over half of the occupancy.

It wasn't a human that charged in, however. In fact, it was a very familiar vampire.

"Eric!" Bill's voice echoed through the vacant building and caused the man in question to roll his eyes.

"How can I help you, Bill?" Eric laced his question with the thickest derision he could manage.

Bill charged for the vampire on the throne and immediately yanked him to his feet. It was comical to Eric, honestly. Not only was he more than five times Bill's age, but he was nearly a foot taller. The fact that Bill was attempting to hold Eric up off the ground in the most threatening way possible caused the blonde to smirk. Despite Bill's best efforts, Eric's toes still comfortably touched the floor.

"You seem distressed." Eric said casually.

In the background, just beyond Bill's shoulder, he saw both Pam and Maria mobilizing, shifting their bodies so that no table or chair would be between them and Compton if they charged.

"Where is she?" Bill growled.

"Where's who?" Eric remained far too calm for the irate vampire.

"Sookie," Bill said through his teeth. "What have you done with her?"

Eric's taunting grin faded and his brows pulled together curiously. There was no denying Bill's conviction. Even Compton wasn't stupid enough to simply try and fight Eric unless there was a reason, so the Viking believed him that Sookie was gone. And, it bore to reason that Eric would be the prime suspect. Given his past obsession with the blonde, anyone would logically approach him. There was just one problem.

"I didn't do anything with her." He replied.

"Don't lie to me." Bill hissed.

He shook Eric sharply to help instill his point, and that was where Northman drew the line. With minimal effort, he shoved Bill in the chest which sent the vampire flying. Pam and Maria stepped fluidly out of the way to allow Bill to slam into the far wall.

Eric took a deep breath and sighed as he brushed off the front of his suit, and swatted the fabric back into place. Bill gradually rose to shaky feet. He stared hatefully at Eric through his brows, but the Viking saw a shift. There was anger, yes, but desperation, too.

"Please, Eric," His voice reflected the look in his eyes. "If you have her, or you've done anything with her, tell me."

"She dumped you, Bill." He said as he slid his hands into his pockets. "It happens every day. Humans are temperamental. Move on. She clearly has."

Eric turned and headed for his dais once more. He heard Bill follow, but the vampire wisely didn't attack again.

"I cannot feel her anymore." He said. Eric reached his throne and sat, staring blankly down at Bill. "Can you?"

For the first time in a while, Eric attempted to sense Sookie. He couldn't. There was an odd void where she used to be, an emptiness that surprised him.

"No," He finally told Bill. "But she isn't here, and I didn't kill her."

Bill looked broken, but it was the truth. Thankfully, he left shortly after. Either he didn't have the energy to continue fighting, or had decided that his attempts to locate her would be better served elsewhere. Whatever the reason, Eric was grateful when he left.

As he sat there and thought about Sookie's disappearance, Eric was shocked by what he felt. Or, how little he felt, rather. He was sad that he couldn't feel her, and a little worried, but to his shock, it wasn't for the girl herself. Eric was genuinely upset by the fact that her blood was no longer within arm's reach.

His gaze drifted along the room that stretched before him and landed on Maria. She was wiping a few glasses and setting them back behind the bar. She was in her own world and unaware of his lingering stare, and while he thought of a great many things looking at her, what she said to him in his daydream echoed in his mind.

"You don't want the waitress. You just want her blood."

Eric propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned into his hand. He ran his index finger along his lips as he thought.

She was right.