Wednesday, Otis drops into the bar. "Got yer parts," he says. "Drop yer car 'round when you can. Couple days, then."

Alaric nods, and Sam's heart drops twelve inches into his stomach. When Alaric turns, the question unasked, curled right there on his tongue, Sam doesn't want him to ask it, so he offers, instead.

"Tomorrow, before the bar opens. We'll drop it 'round." Alaric nods, and doesn't look that happy, and Sam shouldn't smile at that; but he does.

Thursday Sam doesn't even need Alaric, has enough staff, and even Sookie turns up. But he asks him to work anyway, and Lafayette sets him to work in the kitchen. Lafayette corners Sam in the office after the dinner rush has ended and crosses his arms over the pink mesh shirt he's barely wearing.

"Sam Merlotte. Even I got blue balls, lookin' at you two dance around each other." He swings one hip out. "That fine boy still sleepin' on the sofa? Cause if he is, you dumber than Arlene's hairbrush."

"I heard that," she twangs, sticking a third pen into her ponytail. "Just 'cause y'all are the way y'all are, don't mean you cain't be nice." She puts her hands on her hips. "If I can work with y'all – no offense – you can go on and stop calling me dumb. But Sam," and then she's all sweet southern smile again, "he may just have a point. Life's too short, unless y'all are a vampire. Oh…" she covers her mouth with her hand. "Ric's not a vampire, is he?"

"You seen him drinkin' True Blood? Bitch, yo givin' yo hairbrush a run for it's money." Lafayette turns a theatrical finger in the air, and Sam debates nicknaming his stress headache after the two of them. Arfayette. Lafaylene.

"Hey." Alaric sticks his head into the office. "It's quiet. I should go. What?" He looks worried, at Arlene's bright, false smile, at Lafayette's knowing smirk, at Sam's tired expression. "Everything okay?"

Sam nods helplessly, because there is nothing else he can do. "Yeah. See you later."

Alaric nods, caution still dancing across his features like a ghost, and he pulls the door shut with a click. Lafayette and Arlene round on Sam immediately.

"Go! We can close up," Arlene says. "Go do… whatever it is y'all do. Oh, Sam, you won't tell us about it, will you?" She looks anguished.

Sam covers his face with his hands.

"Go." Lafayette points.

"Who's the boss around here?" Sam is irritated now. They're in his face. "Git back to work, the pair a you, or your jobs'll be in the paper Saturday. My sex life is not your concern. Now. Fuck off."

And Arlene saunters out, and Lafayette struts out, but what matters is they go.

It's a quietish night, and Sam locks the front door around one in the morning and he makes his way back to his trailer, where Alaric is shirtless and a little drunk on the couch. The shirtlessness is both a problem and a treat. Sam bites back a little groan, but only for the moment it takes to see Alaric's face, because he looks miserable.

Last couple of days, even with the threat of a working car looming over him, Alaric has looked like he might have found some measure of peace. It's gone now.

"Ric?"

Alaric looks up.

"What happened, man? You alright?"

Alaric laughs softly and there's less humour in it than you'd find at a Methodist prayer meeting.

"So it turns out, my phone's mail box only fits one hundred messages. You want to know how I know that?"

Sam reaches into the cabinet above the small oven and pulls down a bottle of Bushmill's Malt. Nice. Grabs a pair of jelly jars and pours them each a generous slug. "I can guess. You know how many text messages?"

"At least a hundred and seventy-one."

"You listen to the messages?"

"The first few. Variations on a theme. Deleted the rest. I'll read the texts, maybe. When I can bear to."

Sam passes Alaric a drink and settles alongside him on the couch, maybe a little closer than propriety actually allows but damned if Sam isn't hoping they'll bump, maybe, that gravity will do the job he can't do himself, let him reach all the way across the solar system and hold Alaric 'til the sun comes up.

Alaric can't speak, so Sam does instead.

"I saw your scars," he says unnecessarily. "I mean. I c'n see 'em now, too."

Alaric nods. "Yeah. Whaddya think, I should get a tattoo over it? What is it you call people like me down here? Fangbangers?"

Sam wants to protest and say he's never used the term himself but knows it would sound like the lie it is. So.

"Tell me about… Him, her?" Sam's heart flips over, and he takes a step closer. "Your vampire…?"

"Want the truth?"

"If it's alright by you."

"I loved him." Alaric nods, an odd, manic nod. "I did. But they're not like us. People get hurt. And I don't mean broken hearts or wounded feelings. I mean I loved Damon and he still killed me four times. Last time was the last time. I left."

Sam recoils because none of this makes sense. "But he didn't turn -"

Alaric shook his head, showed off his ring, big ugly thing Sam had wondered about more than once. "Protects against supernatural death. Which is great. I've died more times than I care to count. But Damon… It was like he thought it didn't matter, because I'd wake up in a few hours. So if he was in a bad mood or I told him something he didn't want to hear he'd lose his temper, break my neck. Blowing off steam."

Alaric shrugs.

This isn't something you should be able to shrug about.

The phone rings, and a face appears on the small screen; an aquiline face, the palest eyes Sam has ever seen, inky black hair. A name, Damon Salvatore.

Alaric switches the phone off. Drains his glass, and then a second time, when Sam refills it.

"I didn't even tell anyone where I was going." Now that Alaric has started, he can't stop. The words pour from him. "There are these kids I've been watching out for… I mean, they're in college. They won't even know I'm gone, yet, unless Damon's called them looking for me. Still. I walked out on my job, broke my lease. Called the Sheriff, but only so no one would start a search party. I just… left," he says and starts to run out of steam. "Who does that?" At this, he turns and meets Sam's eyes, like he really wants an answer.

Sam has no answer but this one: "Maybe a man who got killed one too many times by a man he should've been able to trust."

Alaric lets his eyes flutter closed, and Sam can't help but feel what he's feeling. So he lets his fingers tangle into Alaric's. Alaric closes his hand over Sam's and when he opens his eyes they are a little red.

"You know I'm completely fucked up, right?" Says it like a disclaimer.

"Well, 'completely' might be oversellin' it a little," Sam answers, heart beat rising by the second. He turns a little and meets Alaric's eyes.

Alaric's eyes drifts to Sam's lips and Sam feels them fill and swell, just a touch.

Alaric shakes his head. Not a no: he's clearing cobwebs, maybe, and he drains his glass again.

"I need some sleep," he says.

Sam nods. Stands flustered as a belle and returns the bottle to the cabinet. Closes his bedroom door without another word and jerks off with his t-shirt packed into his mouth so he can't alert Alaric to what he's doing.

...

Saturday Sam slips out of the house early, shifts, comes back; does this to see the smile on Alaric's face, the joy of it.

Alaric smiles wide, but incredulous. "You always just miss Sam, dog. How do you do that?" He pulls his shoes on, stands. "C'mon. Let's go for a swim."

And the morning is warm, and Sam's doggy mind bounces from 'favourite person' to 'favourite tree' to 'favourite thing to chase' and he sits on a rock by the water waiting for Alaric to strip down and together they jump into the clean water, climb out, jump again. And Alaric laughs, and the sound is like medicine. And Sam's human mind, just below the surface, longs to shift back, just admit what he's been hiding; and other part knows Alaric might run if he does. So he lets his doggy mind do the thinking, favourite person, favourite person, like a drum beat.

And Alaric steps out of the shower, an hour or so later, to find Sam in the kitchen making coffee, and even exasperated he sounds happy; "Agh! How do you do that?"

"Well, you put the coffee in the saucepan…"

"I went for a swim with my dog friend. And you missed him. Again." Alaric's smile is bright as the sun, and Sam doesn't want to tell what he knows but he will.

"Found that," he says, and it's a note: it reads 'CAR DONE FIXED.' "It was under the door when I got back. Otis ain't the literary type."

Alaric's face falls. "This is… great news."

Sam nods. "We'll go pick it up."

Their eyes never meet. And when Sam pulls up outside Otis' shop, Alaric doesn't get out of the car, not all at once. He stares straight ahead.

"This doesn't mean…"

"Oh, I know. Still, good to have your wheels."

Alaric is silent long moments still and when he speaks, he holds Sam's blue eyes in his dark grey-brown ones. "I don't think…" He's nervous. "I'm not going, yet, I don't think. If that's okay."

"'Course." Sam does and doesn't want to say, stay as long as you like, stay forever, but maybe the tension in his arms tells it in a way he can't. Alaric collects his car and they drive in file back to Merlotte's, park side by side in the shady part of the lot.

And then later they set up the bar, silent together, and Alaric polishes glasses, rolls cutlery, and they're silent but nearby, and their eyes never meet; because the car in the parking lot can take Alaric away, now, and it is too sad for words.

And later still, they head back to the trailer.

Once they are inside, Sam feels a heavy hand settle at the base of his spine, just above his jeans. Feels the thumb slip cautiously above it. Feels Alaric's lips at the back of his neck.

Sam shivers.

"Thanks for helping me out, Sam," Alaric whispers, and Sam pulls away a notch.

"You don't owe me shit, Ric," he says, a little disappointed, until Alaric takes his wrist.

"I know. I don't. But I like you," he says like he wasn't expecting to, like the words are saying themselves. "I might be a little rusty when it comes to reading signals, or sending 'em. I'm sorta used to being thrown up against walls and dragged to bed. No ambiguity."

The words sting (what has Alaric been living with?) but Sam is too turned on to be distracted now. "I can be blunt," Sam promises, curling his hand around the back of Alaric's neck and pulling him in; when their lips meet it is impossibly soft, for a moment, and then Alaric meets Sam's eyes, opens his mouth, deepens their kiss. Stubble meets stubble in rough urgency. Alaric draws Sam closer and then shifts his hands to hold Sam's face; Sam in turn tangles his fingers in Alaric's hair, spreads his hand across Alaric's lower back. Up under his t-shirt, over the rich muscles that ripple there.

Alaric pulls away, just a notch.

"Are you in a hurry?"

Sam blinks.

Alaric leans until their foreheads touch. Runs his hands over Sam's ribs, over his hips. Like he wants to learn him before he unwraps him.

Sam leans to kiss Alaric again, again, and it's a little like getting drunk, maybe, when Alaric kisses back, strains forward. Too soon, though, he leans back and away. He breathes for long moments, holding Sam's gaze, and then he opens his mouth to speak, and then he closes it again.

"Talk to me, Ric. I ain't Sookie, can't hear what you're thinkin'." Alaric snaps his eyes to Sam's. "It's a fairy thing. Don't worry about it."

Alaric considers this, nods. Moves on like fairies are just another one of those things.

"I woke up in Damon's bed three weeks ago after he killed me for what I swore would be the last time. And I got in my car. And I hit the road." He shakes his head, but one of his hands wraps Sam's wrist and the other skates over his ribs. "I really am a total mess," he says again.

Sam shrugs. "I like a man who's a little unhinged." He nudges Alaric's nose with his own. "So when you're ready, let's see if we can fuck some peace back into you."

Alaric laughs. "Blunt," he says.

"Come to bed, Ric," Sam says. "Can't be comfortable on the sofa night after night."

Alaric nods, and soon they are naked and stretched out, faces close enough to kiss, bodies angled a little further away. Sam takes Alaric's hand, studies the ring in the bright light of the moon.

"Will the ring work forever?" He wants to know, and he doesn't.

Alaric lowers his eyes, impossibly long eyelashes fluttering away and then up again as he meets Sam's eye. "I have no idea. Thought I'd find somewhere to live where I'm less likely to die, try to never find out."

Sam closes the distance between them, all talk of waiting forgotten, and holds Alaric tight. "Stay here," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "Stay here and let's never find out together." He kisses Alaric's face, his mouth, until the tentative mood is gone; until Alaric is holding him tight too, kissing him back, kissing him hard, firm and determined.

"I might," Alaric says. "Like you said. If you've got nowhere to go. Maybe a reason to stay." He pulls away, just a notch. "But I can't do this tonight. I can sleep on the couch, if it's easier."

"No. Stay put." Sam pulls away, settles a cushion under his head. "I gotta head out early. You tell that furry friend of yours I said hello," he says, and smiling, closes his eyes.

After a long beat, Alaric settles, too.

"G'night, Sam."

"G'night, Ric."

...

"So whaddya think, dog?" Alaric asks, lying on the bank alongside the sparkling creek. "Can't think of any good reason to leave, except the… overblown vamp population. I can think of a couple good reasons to stay."

Sam wonders if Alaric knows his accent is shifting, subtly.

"You'd like Sam," he says, scratching Sam's doggy head, and Sam pants happily. "I should tie you up some time. Make sure you're around when he gets home."

Sam looks up, alarmed; and Alaric laughs, and his expression is so easy. "I wouldn't. You don't look like you'd be very happy with me." He stands reluctantly to dress. "I'm gonna rotate the kegs while Sam's out runnin' errands. See you when I see you." He kneels, roughs Sam's neck, and walks away down the path, while Sam bounds away, back to the car.

And then suddenly it's Monday night again, and quiet, and Sam and Alaric eat burgers a la Lafayette and drink with regulars and try not to touch each other. Until Arlene takes Sam aside and points at the door.

"Will you just go? Y'all are makin' the straight folk uncomfortable."

And they go back to the trailer without a word. Shut the door, without a word, and begin to tear at each other's clothes, without a word.

Sam steps Alaric towards the bedroom; a little cautious, trying not to let Alaric think of Damon. Not too cautious, though, he wants this more than he knew he did, swallows the moans Alaric makes in his throat.

"Are you ready?" Sam asks, speaks the words right into Alaric's mouth, follows them with his tongue.

"Fuck, yes," Alaric answers, putting his big hands all over Sam, touching him everywhere, learning him again. Rougher than Sam expected.

It has been way the fuck too long.

On the bed at last, the too-small bed that holds them cramped at night, Sam eases Alaric out of his jeans, kissing his chest, licking circles around his nipples. He pauses at the scar and after a long moment, kisses it too; time to make new memories, he thinks, and he won't pretend he can rewrite Alaric's history.

Alaric smiles fondly.

Sam licks a careful stripe up the length of Alaric's dick, pausing to kiss circles around the tip, and finally taking it whole in his mouth, while Alaric rolls his hips and reaches for Sam's shoulder. Sam's not sure who is the more relieved, but Alaric makes hot little sounds Sam can't describe and Sam imagines that with his tongue and his mouth and his hands he can clear away the dark clouds, bring some spring rain.

And then a little later, with Alaric buried in him, with Alaric's lips at the back of his neck, with Alaric's hand on his aching dick, with Alaric's other arm over his shoulder, moulded together, Sam thinks they were made to fit each other's bones, just like this; and they come nearly exactly together, and when they do, Alaric is whispering Sam's name like a prayer.

In the early morning light, Alaric kneels between Sam's thighs, wakes him with his mouth, his tongue. Holds Sam's bucking hips and smiles obscenely around the shaft.

"Jesus, Christ, Ric," Sam mutters, fingers tangled in Alaric's hair, anchoring him in place, and Alaric takes him halfway down his throat, swallows the ropy jets of come like communion wine.

They're lazy, there, a little while, until Alaric suggests a swim, to clean up. "Nicer than a shower, and more room," he says. "Maybe dog will join us."

"You really callin' him dog?" Sam asks, and Alaric shrugs.

"Only really matters that he knows who he is. Dog suits him."

...

They're maybe two minutes and change from the creek when Sam makes his decision. As he and Alaric strip down, Alaric watches for any sign of the dog, and seems disappointed when he doesn't materialise.

"Pity," he says.

Sam winces because he's decided, but he doesn't know yet whether it means this is the last he'll see of Alaric.

"You like him, eh? Better swimming companion that me?" Sam's smile is maybe a little forced.

"Yeah. But he can't make coffee." Alaric grins, eyes narrowing in the warm sun.

Sam shifts.

Alaric freezes.

Sam sits down, cautious and patient like he knows he has to be. Pants a little. His doggy mind wavers between 'favourite person' and 'behave'. He wriggles a little, tail wagging.

Alaric drops to his knees. "Sam?"

Sam nods, reaches a paw out to shake. After a moment's hesitation, Alaric shakes it. He looks a little sad, maybe, but dogs like their favourite people deliriously happy and it's hard to distinguish, sometimes, sad from 'not happy enough for one of my favourite people'. Alaric reaches out, roughs Sam's fur.

Alaric stands. "We came for a swim, right?"

Sam stands expectantly, prances in place, tail wagging frantically, and they leap into the water. Dive below it, chase each other. Eventually, treading water, Alaric says simply, quietly "change back," and Sam does it.

"Guess I know why you two were never in the same place at the same time," Alaric says. Quiet still.

"Guess you do at that." They drift to where it's shallower, stand with their heads just barely above the waterline, toes in the cool mud at the bottom.

"Is it… are you like a werewolf?"

Sam smiles. "Naw. Shapeshifter. I can be justabout any animal, long as I c'n picture it clear enough." Alaric takes it in.

"Is it an infection? Like vampirism?"

Sam drifts closer, wraps his arms around Alaric. "Family thing." The way he holds him, it like a test. To see if Alaric will push him away. Alaric doesn't, runs his hands over Sam's ribs instead.

"But you don't drink blood or, fuck, I dunno, eat babies? Kill virgins under a full moon?"

Their lips are close enough to touch.

"Naw. Catch a rabbit every once in a while, cook it up. You ever eaten rabbit?"

Alaric laughs. "Can't say I have." Their bodies meet from knee to lip.

"Well…" and they kiss, then, a long moment. "Maybe that's another reason to stay."

Cocks stirring in close proximity, they kiss again, and Alaric nods. "Maybe. Maybe it is."