A/N- Yes I couldn't do a story without bringing these guys in.

I'd half expected Eric or Pam to call or come over that very night. I slept fitfully, waking every few hours thinking that I heard my window opening or a footfall in my room. I gave up trying to get a decent rest and got up, wrapping my robe around me and slipping from my bedroom, crossing the hall to where my old bedroom was.

Even though Octavia had occupied it for a few months it was still the bedroom I had spent my childhood in. Frilly material and pink everywhere, toys piled up in the corners and a small rocking chair by the window.

I had a lot of work ahead of me.

Going into the kitchen I found a notepad and pencil and returning to my baby's future nursery, started jotting down what changes I needed to make.

By the time Amelia got up I was showered, dressed and eating an early breakfast, determined to get a full day of shopping in.

Amelia had work so I left her showering as I grabbed my cranberry red coat and ducked out the front door, I wondered if I should sent my coat back to Eric as well. I'd decided against it because Eric and I had still been on good terms, he'd given it to me as a friendly love token not as grovelling apology.

Friendly love- the closest I could come to defining what was, what had been, between Eric and I.

He'd wanted me and I hadn't been available or willing at the time but his desire hadn't come between our similar sense of humour, our shared zest for life and acknowledged attraction for each other.

If we hadn't taken each other seriously, it would have been easier on the both of us.

Feeling the tell-tale signs of tears, I give myself a mental shakedown and turn the radio up loud, singing along to every song that played. I was somewhat better by time I pulled into a parking spot in front of my bank, I had my chequebook ready and an old purse to stash the money in until I gathered up the courage to walk back into Merlotte's and get my proper purse back.

Obviously Sam was much too busy to haul his rude arse out to my place and return my property to me. My upset was replaced by indignation and again I had to use musical therapy to get me to the biggest mall in Shreveport in one emotional piece.

I wandered around curiously, looking for the tell-tale signs of a baby store, the pastel colours and the happy toys in the window. I was on the second floor before I found the Mecca of baby stores. An entire wall of the shopping centre was filled with everything a baby could ever need, and some stores that looked so herbal I wondered if my unborn child was able to smell the lavender from across the floor. I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself and stepped into the first store.

I had no idea there were so many unisex colours.

By mid-afternoon I was laden down with so many bags I barely staggered sto my car, my back ached and I had criss-crosses all across my bare arms, not to mention that I was craving every pastel coloured food I could think of. I decided to start with a strawberry milkshake and work my way to something healthy from there.

I locked my car and made a beeline to the food court, resting my hand on my stomach as I felt it rumble, I saw an ice-cream stand and began navigating my way through the crowded food court, with the hyperactive kids, truant teens, worn out sales assistants' and the wired parents gripping to their coffee with an exhausted desperation. I resisted the urge to panic...

Right up to the moment when Mr Cataliades stepped in my path.

"Hello Miss Stackhouse"

I started and yelped in surprise, "Sorry, you scared me. Hello Mr Cataliades...Diantha"

I saw Diantha standing a few feet behind her uncle, but instead of her usual rushed breathless greeting she refused to meet my eyes.

A really bad sign.

"What's going on?" I whisper, my thoughts going straight to Eric and...to my lasting shame focusing first on the ramifications for myself and my child before worrying for his safety.

I was a bad Christian and a decent survivalist.

Mr Cataliades sighed with what I hoped was regret.

"My dear I've been sent to fetch you" he announced, having the grace to look unhappy,

"Sent by whom?"

Even as I asked that question I was pretty sure I knew the answer, I was just mentally crossing every extremity I could in the vain hope I was very, very wrong.

"Victor Madden and, ergo Felipe de Castro"

I wasn't.