A/N

Dear Any Real-Life Estate Attorneys,

I'm sorry. I did my best.

Love,

Chicpea.

Sten Northman died on Monday afternoon, just after four o'clock. It was I who went to retrieve Inge after Eric spoke with one of the doctors. I was sitting with him while he was told that Sten had taken a turn for the worse and the family needed to prepare themselves. My heart went out to the physician doing his difficult job. For all the miracles performed in this ward, there were moments like this where the only thing they could offer a family was time enough to say goodbye.

I phoned Greta to let her know that I was on my way, and the circumstances, while Eric left with the doctor to go and sit with his grandfather. I waited for Inge in their foyer for almost twenty minutes. I'd assumed she had been asleep again and had to be woken. She finally joined me looking much softer than I'd yet seen her. Rather than a neat pants outfit with pearls, she was wearing a floral dress in soft pinks and pale green. She smelled faintly of rosewater and her hair was styled, though she wore no makeup. My chest tightened as I realized that she'd taken the time to make herself pretty for her husband.

When we arrived back at the hospital she went right in and Eric came out a few minutes later. I sat with him for only a short time before his grandmother sent for him again. I was alone in the waiting room for the last couple of hours. I guess they'd suspended the 'only a few minutes' rule for today. I could tell when it happened by the activity at the nurses' station, but Eric and Inge didn't come out for another half hour. When they emerged he told me he was taking her home, managing a nod and a look of confirmation to my unasked question. I went back to the hotel to wait for him, calling Pam on the way with the update.

Alone in his suite, I was unsure what to do with myself. I gathered his laundry into one of the bags for the service. Normally I'd busy myself cleaning at a time like this, but housekeeping had been in so I was left with nothing to do. I called Amelia, who had called the previous night assuming that I'd be home, and let her know what was happening. Pam came up for a while when she got back from their offices. She ordered dinner for us and a sandwich for Eric, in case he was hungry when he got back. She left two thin folders for him, one pertaining to work, and the other pertaining to funeral services.

"I'm not sure what they need," she told me. "But there are good contacts in there for anything I could think of. I've cleared his day for tomorrow, but tell him to call me if he wants anything changed. Everyone is being very accommodating."

I assured her that I would let him know everything. She had seemed to accept that I was being there for Eric, and without any of her usual light-hearted derision. I appreciated that since I felt awkward enough here without it.

He returned to his room late that night, looking exhausted. He let me lead him into the shower and tend to him before bed. I told him about the things Pam had left for him and he took a few minutes to go through everything before returning to join me in the bedroom. Our coupling that night began fervent and passionately, but by the time we found our release together he had grown tender and reverent. I was more than familiar with the concept of death-sex. People in mourning often have the need to find ways to make themselves feel alive. As outlets for that go, sex was probably among the healthiest. I didn't judge him for it. I'd been much the same when Gran had died. I woke early in the morning leaving him to sleep in. He was in sore need of it.

I'd gathered my things together the night before and was resolved to head back to Bon Temps today. His father would be arriving and there would be things for him to do for his family in which I had no part. I planned to stay until Eric's family called to summon him, but the first call he got that day was from Mr. Cataliades. After making the expected condolences, he pressed Eric to come in to his office, having some very urgent matters to discuss. Eric and I said goodbye then, and I asked him to call me if he needed anything, even just company. He assured me that he would. I got a very chaste kiss on the forehead from him as we parted downstairs. I called Pam shortly after I'd left, since I hadn't seen her that morning. I let her know that I was headed home, effectively handing over Eric into her sole care for the rest of the week. That's how it felt, anyway.

My drive home was uneventful. I made several calls on my way, returning most of those I'd received yesterday and Sunday evening, which I'd excused myself from taking at the time. Mrs. Park wanted me to come in at the high school tomorrow and I was happy to agree to that. Back at home, my mailbox contained four letters acknowledging the receipt of my credentials, and saying little else. I read them as "Thanks, but we're not hiring." One of them had been forwarded from Seattle. I called Jason to let him know that I was home, and what had happened to keep me in New Orleans for the extra days. He invited me to come for dinner the next Sunday. I showered and dressed in clean clothes. I'd had to re-wear an outfit mixed of clothes from Friday and Saturday this morning. I ran out to do a few errands. I needed some groceries, and to get to the library. The bank was already closed. I'd go tomorrow.

I thought of calling Eric, but I figured he would be busy enough without hearing from me. I sent him a text saying I hoped he was well before I went to bed that night. At three in the morning I wake to my phone ringing. As soon as I realize I'm not dreaming a horrible dread washes over me. I fumble around in the dark searching for the darned thing, hurrying to discover what can only be bad news. It stops ringing for a moment but quickly starts again which does nothing to soothe my nerves. I finally find it and see that Eric is the caller.

"Hello? Eric?" I demand.

"Sookie, hi, I'm sorry to wake you," he begins.

"Are you alright?" I ask.

"I'm outside," he says.

"Oh. Have you tried to sleep at all?" I ask. I settle back down on my bed. I'd told him to call me if he needed to talk. I'm glad he did, even at this hour. I feel my heart return to its normal pace.

"No, not really. I'm mean that I'm outside your house."

I get up and walk to the front door, twitching aside the curtain at the window. He is indeed, outside my house, leaning against his car, which is parked in my driveway. I hang up the phone and open the door, waving him over. I'm wearing a not-at-all-sexy oversized t-shirt with a cartoon character on it and a pair of what the kids call granny panties. Every girl's got 'em. I pull the shirt down around me a bit in a drowsy effort to make it form fitting, or to shield myself against the sudden chill of the outdoors, or something like that.

"Come in," I beckon.

He crosses to the steps and scales them with a few quick paces. He's right before me, pulling his arms around me gingerly. "I thought the phone was better than trying to pound on the door. I didn't want to scare you," he murmurs into my hair.

I wrap my arms around him in turn. I don't know how to proceed at this point. Asking him what he's doing here would imply that I'm not glad to see him. I am of course, but obviously something has happened.

"Do you have a bag?" I ask him.

"Just some fresh clothes really. Do you mind? I was hoping to stay here tonight."

"Mmm. I am too sleepy to come up with a sassy response to that. You're welcome as long as you like, of course. Go get your stuff. Are you tired? Should I put a pot of coffee on?"

"No thanks," he says, jumping back down the stairs and popping open his tiny trunk to retrieve a proportionally tiny bag. He bounds back to my side in the doorway. "I had some on the way here. More than some," he admits.

Yawning, I murmur with a sleepy smile, "You don't say." He's definitely showing some pep. I take his hand and pull him inside, shutting back out the night. I pull his bag from him and lead him through the entryway. I pause when we get to the intersection of the kitchen, living room, and the hallway leading back to my bedroom. I give him the choice of his options.

"Kitchen," he says, and I nod my agreement. I see this as the heart of a home. It is a good default. Also, the living room is still mostly full of unpacked boxes and antique furniture that is not terribly comfortable. He's made the right choice. I set his bag down in the hallway and pull his hand into the kitchen, flipping on the light. I point him to a chair and immediately go to the refrigerator. I hear him sitting down as I bend over and pull out a pitcher of tea.

"Have you eaten?" I ask.

"Not since this morning," he apologizes.

"Sandwiches okay?" I ask, and he nods. I pour out some sweet tea for both of us and then set the pitcher on the table so he can refill his glass. I pull out some bread and turkey and cheese and set them on the counter, then hold up mustard and mayonnaise for him to choose from. Instead he just nods, so he's getting both. I fix him two sandwiches, trying not to be self-conscious about my ratty outfit. He is wearing another of his well-tailored suits, though he's slipped the jacket off and hung it on the back of his chair. The only thing bespoke about my ensemble is the way it clearly states, "I certainly was not expecting a gentleman caller this evening." He's pulling out his cufflinks and rolling up his sleeves. Good grief, he's attractive. I set his plate down in front of him and stand behind him, running my hands across his shoulders, massaging a little. I pull his hair out where he had it tied back and run my fingers through it. I'd learned it was part of his "now I can relax" routine, but also, I was stealing his hair-tie. He gives a little moan of appreciation, either at the food or at my efforts. Probably both.

I take a seat as I pull my own hair back into something more manageable than its night time tangle. Yes, he's seen it worse. He's been directly responsible for making it worse. But it's three a.m. and Eric Northman is suddenly sitting in my kitchen. I am allowed to be a little fidgety. "How was your day, dear?" I hazard. I'm being a bit sardonic, using this quote. He's clearly had an awful day. I also wouldn't call him any of these pet names. It's a little too familiar just yet. Maybe eventually. Hopefully eventually.

"Abysmal," he says, tonguing his bite into his cheek so he can speak with his mouth full. He finishes chewing and swallows then, taking a long drink. He seems to be pondering where to begin. I see his brow knit while he's thinking.

"How is your grandmother coping?" I ask.

"She was resting when I got to the house. I only saw her briefly," he says.

"Your dad arrive okay then?" I ask. What else would it be?

"Yeah," he says, and stops there.

"How did your meeting with Mister Cataliades go?" I prompt. I'll just keep guessing until I suss out the problems.

He lets out a bark of laughter at that, even while his face shows not a hint of mirth. "Oh, excellent," he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You know, Grandfather actually did the whole thing yesterday. The trite, deathbed regrets, and saying he was proud of me and what I've made for myself, all of that."

I nod at that, waiting for him to continue.

"But evidently the other key person who failed to visit him in the hospital was his estate attorney, who very clearly did not receive this touching last message." I still wait. He is both looking and sounding very tense. I have no idea the scope of what his grandfather's estate could have entailed. When Gran died, it was an hour long visit from Sid Matt Lancaster to receive the deed to this property and split the rest of her modest savings between Jason's and my bank accounts.

"He's left me his business," Eric finally explains. "All of it. His stake in the LLC which comprises their all commercial properties, effectively all of it. Fahma keeps a small percentage." I know enough about LLCs. Amelia has one. It's basically how you separate a business interest from your personal finances. They are very flexible in terms of how they can be set up.

"So, he has forced you into what he always wanted you to choose," I summarize, and he nods. "Did you know this was coming? Can you refuse?"

"Technically I can refuse, and everything will revert to my grandmother. She has made it very clear that she would be unable to manage it all on her own."

"Not your father?"

"He is specifically prohibited from receiving any portion of the LLC, with the way it was set up through the family trust. In order for him to receive anything, Fahma and I would have to dissolve the LLC, and then transfer to him in that way."

"Is that feasible?"

"I would not be able to afford the tax from the assets, on top of the estate tax which is already fucking enormous. Sorry," he apologizes quickly, for cursing at the table I assume. Can't really blame him right at the moment. "That's the genius of the whole scheme. It's my father who has received any liquid assets from the trust."

"Too late to return the new corvette?" I ask. It's a dim joke in a dim circumstance.

"It wouldn't help nearly enough even if I could. No, my options are to accept it, or push all the responsibility back on my grieving, ninety year old grandmother, who has also explicitly stated that she does not wish to go against Grandfather's bequest. So that guilt is personalized as well as implicit," he finishes dryly.

"But what about Area Five?"

"I don't know."

"So they've got you as they wanted you then," I repeat, now with understanding.

"Yes."

"What does your father say? Couldn't he help your grandmother to manage it?"

"Maybe could, but won't. He has no interest in devoting time to a business that will never belong to him. He would have her dissolve it, which again, she's opposed to on principle."

I frown. "Could you? I mean, help her, but not be the main guy," I say.

"I guess? If and when she's up to it. But not to sound like a morbid asshole, that would only be forestalling the inevitable." Because when she dies, it'll just be his problem again anyway, I gather. He takes another angry bite of his sandwich, treating it to a dark glower.

"How much work is it really? I mean surely your grandfather wasn't still going in nine to five every day."

"He was going in one or two days a week, plus monthly trips all over. There's a management company, which is based here. Which I also own as of this morning. Or yesterday morning, now," he says, glancing at the clock on the microwave as though he's just realized the hour. "Did you know that I am now directly responsible for the livelihoods of over nine hundred employees nationwide?" he asks brightly, possibly verging on emotional punch drunkenness.

"I hadn't even thought of that," I say with a gasp. The hotel in New Orleans had maybe forty employees, if you counted up all the maids, the people in the kitchen, the women in the spa, and the valets and drivers, all of that, and it was relatively small. A larger hotel could easily have over a hundred. Sheesh.

"I have," he says grimly. "So even if I wanted to ignore it all, and just abandon the whole thing it to its own devices, I can't."

"Could but wouldn't, Eric," I stress. Finally, I have something encouraging to say.

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes," I say simply. "You're a good man. You will figure this out." He sighs. Maybe I could try to notebook him through this. "Um, if you want...we could do a lab report on this later?"

"What?"

"Amelia and I have a method for problem solving we have used for a while now. It's not foolproof. You have to be mindful of drawing false conclusions based on emotions rather than facts. But regardless, it's really helpful for laying out a problem and organizing your thoughts. I could show you, if you want? It's helpful even for pinpointing the exact problem, which is not always clear."

"You and Amelia have developed a tactical methodology for coping with the shit life throws at you, which resembles a lab report?"

"Basically yes," I say, a little defensively. He had a little bit of a tone right then. He doesn't need to be casting aspersions on the notebook, or the notebook method, since, the first rule of the notebook precludes my telling him about the existence of the actual notebook. "It's very good. It's how I decided to tell you about the thing with Tara."

"That was a good decision," he agrees.

"Yes, we were able to determine that telling you had no moral downside, whereas not telling you would have put lots of people's jobs at risk, and support a vindictive nature, so these were the deciding factors."

"But your telling me may have ultimately cost your friend her job, which you seemed very upset about, if I recall correctly."

I frown at him. "Well I didn't intend that you would be able to figure her out. But we still considered that anyway, and she was one person, versus the potentially many that could be affected otherwise. On a macro level, that is an easy call to make. Even looking at it on the personal level it was you and Pam versus just her, so the scales were in favour of telling you either way."

He is giving me a strange, wondering expression, something mixed between amusement and curiosity.

"What?" I ask. "It works for us. If you don't want to try it, that's okay, I just find it to be a help."

"No, I was just distracted by you for a moment. Your mind seems like an interesting place to visit. I would like to try it. In the morning then?"

"It'll have to be after school. Subbing tomorrow," I explain.

"Alright. Should we go to bed then? Maybe you can get another hour or two more of sleep?"

I nod. That would be a good idea and I tell him so. I take his empty plate away and rinse it quickly in the sink along with our glasses. I just leave them there though. I'll wash them in the later-morning. I scoop up his bag and lead him back into the bedroom.

"It's an old mattress, I'm sorry," I offer, once he emerges from the bathroom in a pair of sleep pants, brushed and washed.

"I think I can handle it," he says as he climbs in on the other side of the bed. "Come here," he says, pulling me gently towards him, but allowing me to adjust myself. I cuddle back into him and he runs his hand over my arm then curls it around me to rest upon my chest. "This okay?" he asks as he burrows into my shoulder. He means the weight of his arm across me. I don't mind it at all.

I lift my arm up over his so I'm sort of holding him to me, while he holds me to himself. "Perfect," I say. A couple of minutes pass in silence before I ask, "Eric?"

"Hm?"

"How are you coping?"

"Beyond the obvious?" Fleeing the city to parts unknown in the middle of the night may raise natural flags about how well one is coping in any given situation, yes.

"With the death," I clarify, giving his hand a squeeze. I haven't heard it all, but I'm pretty sure that what he ran from tonight was a combination of dealing with his father and the prospect of his unwanted new business. I want to know where his head is at though. He takes a long moment to consider his answer.

"All that, with his clichéd regrets... As maudlin as it may sound, it didn't feel clichéd when he said it. If he meant it, if it wasn't just what he thought he should be saying at that time... It's just...It's my remorse too now. On top of everything else, I get that."

I try to puzzle that out, mentally looking to place Eric somewhere in the Kubler-Ross model. It could be anger, though he's not angry at the death, he's angry at his grandfather, and he has been angry at his grandfather for a really long time. It could be the depressed state, but that's such a vague designator, and he doesn't really feel depressed, just normally subdued and thoughtful. I have to stop myself, because I know darn well that the grieving process is not as simple as a five stage road to feeling all happy again. I turn my head around to his and give him a soft kiss, lifting my hand to stroke his cheek with the backs of my fingers. Our eyes meet and we hold each other's gaze for a long moment. He bows his head and kisses me on the forehead and I turn back around and he settles back into the crook of my neck.

"Get some sleep, Sookie," he whispers.

"Goodnight Eric," I say.

"Good night. Thank you."

My alarm is blaring loudly as it wakes me up with a start. Miraculously, Eric has not woken up so I practically leap out of bed and dart to his side to silence the incessant beeping. I whisper to him that I'm sorry if I woke him, in case I did. He's not snoring, so I can't be certain even though he doesn't say anything. I debate using the shower in the hall bathroom but decide against it. With the door closed, it won't be appreciably louder here or there, so I go into my bathroom and set the water running and tend to my teeth brushing and other morning particulars as it heats up. Once it starts to steam, I jump right in, quickly washing my hair. Shoot, how am I going to dry my hair without waking Eric? Hm. My full length mirror's still out in the living room, that could do I guess.

I'm hurrying in here. First, I have a bunch of things to do before I go, with the added task of getting some breakfast up for Eric. Second, I didn't want Eric to catch me in the shower. I did not have time for sexy fun this morning, because of see reason the first. When I was through with my shower, I twitched the taps off and hopped out, being careful to stay on the bathmats as the floor was quite cold. I dried off quickly and towelled through my hair, combing it out. I got caught up choosing between my short pink satin robe and my snugly blue terrycloth one. I went with snugly. I also pulled on some underwear before I left the bedroom. He was still pretending to be asleep.

I made a dozen each of corn muffins and blueberry ones. I cheated on the blueberry and used a boxed mix, but the corn ones were Gran's recipe again. I cooked up some onion, potato, red pepper, and ham, seasoned with salt and pepper in some olive oil, then reduced the heat and covered it to sizzle while I dried my hair in the living room. When I was done, I whisked together four eggs, a drop of milk, and a pinch of nutmeg and poured it over the vegetables and ham. I put the coffee on and sneaked the first cup for myself and sat down to leave a note for Eric. I just wanted to jot down a few things like where the spare towels were and my internet card that we bought, and the extra DVDs I brought home from Seattle which were still packed, but clearly labelled, if he was interested. The muffins were done by the time I was, so I swapped them out for the skillet with my version of a frittata in it and lowered the heat to warm. Then I went to dress in a grey skirt and a blue blouse, and I did my makeup and slid on a pair of pantyhose and shoes.

"Are you still faking over there?" I finally ask his prone form. He doesn't appear to have moved, but I am pretty sure he's conscious. He can't quite pull off the totally serene look he has when he's actually asleep. This is close, but no cigar.

"Yes, but only in the hopes that I'll actually fall back to sleep," he gripes. Giving up, he squints his eyes open looking over at me, then pulls a pillow over his head. I go to sit down next to where he's stretched out.

"Be awake for a minute," I say, pulling at the pillow. He pushes it away looking cross. It's adorable. I make a concentrated effort and succeed in not laughing at his pouting.

"I'm off for now. I should be back by three-thirty or four. Make yourself at home, okay? Breakfast is ready when you are in the kitchen, but it's in the warm oven so no rush at all." I bend and give him a sweet kiss at the corner of his mouth and then make a show of placing his pillow back over his face. He swats it away, and I stand up with a grin.

"See you later then, enjoy your sleep." I blow him a kiss and head outside, making sure to lock up behind me just in case he does fall asleep again, which I hope he does. Not that I exactly need to worry about crime around here. But with the luck that Eric and I seem to have around each other, the first burglary in Bon Temps in living memory will occur while he's napping if I don't lock up. So it's being done. No need to tempt the Fates.

The teacher I was filling in for had a doctor's appointment with a specialist in Jackson that she could not miss. I was taking her French classes. We're one of the few places in the country where French is a better choice than Spanish or anything else as far as second languages go. Maybe way up north where they share a border with Quebec would be the other. Cajun and occasionally Creole French are more common around here, though still relatively rare. I've had only a dozen or so students, ever, who spoke either exclusively at home. It's too bad I think. If I ruled the Louisiana School Board, the whole curriculum would be split between English and French from kindergarten on up. Then they could spend the high school years exploring different dialects. This is such a big part of our culture, as a state.

Language classes tend to be lively as a rule - at least they were back when I was in school. There's so much talking back and forth between students and the teacher, with practicing pronunciations and conversational structure. I'm looking forward to a quick day and am not disappointed. Madame Beaulieu ran a tight ship it seemed. All of the homework was turned in as the students arrived each period without my having to ask for it, and most of the students were ready with their books open by the time the second bell rang. It was like that in every class. They apparently spoke only French in class, something Mrs. Beaulieu had just neglected to mention. The students spoke to me that way so I caught on fast. One or two of them might have been trying to trip me up. I don't think it worked though. My French is okay.

After the final bell I gathered up all of the paperwork for Madame Beaulieu and left it at the main office, then I high-tailed it home. Eric's car was exactly where it had been in the driveway, so he hadn't been so bored or in need of anything that he had to leave. That was a good sign! I call out hello as I come in the kitchen door. I notice that there are a lot of dishes in the drying rack, but I'm glad to see that they're there, rather than the sink. I guess if he uses lots of dishes it's no issue if he's also cleaning them himself. The muffins are nowhere in sight and the frittata is gone from the oven, which is also turned off. The coffee pot is still half full of cold coffee though, so I empty it into the sink. I guess I was a little nervous about what kind of houseguest he would be, knowing that he's accustomed to having service staff to some extent. I'm glad to see there was no need to be concerned. He hasn't responded to my calling out to him, so I head back to the bedroom and find him genuinely asleep.

His laptop is open on the bed next to him, so I just fold it closed and curl up next to him, rubbing my had over his chest until he stirs, pulling me flush against him.

"Hey," I say. "Sorry to wake you, but I figured you won't want to sleep in the day and be awake half the night again."

"Thanks, what time is it?"

"Quarter to four," I answer. I feel him stretching out his legs and back.

"I met your brother today. He came for lunch."

"He did?"

"Yeah. He saw my car when he was passed by which he didn't recognize, and then didn't see your car. I think he was expecting Bill when he first came in. But then he found me eating and said I must be me, and sat down."

"I should have told him you were staying. He didn't come in yelling did he?" I hadn't actually given any thought to introducing Jason to Eric. If had done, I would definitely have been present in the scenario. Who knows what they got up to talking about by themselves.

"Nope. He seems like a nice guy. You're out of cold cuts now though, and bread. At least whatever there was right on that front shelf, is gone."

"Oh, that's fine. I'll make some more bread later."

"You're going to make bread? Like with your hands? And flour?"

"More like with my bread machine and flour. It's very easy. I can show you if you like."

"I'd be curious to see. How was your day?"

"C'était génial," I reply. It was very good, and it was mostly in French. This is a succinct description. "How was your day?"

"Uneventful. I talked to Pam this morning, and made and returned the calls I could not put off."

"Was your dad on that list?"

"No. Pam is talking to his wife, who is here. She is helping to plan...things. With her usual efficiency if not her usual zeal. The funeral is going to be on Saturday."

"Are you staying till then?"

"I don't know. Maybe. If you wouldn't mind, obviously."

He gets a kiss for that. "You're welcome as long as you like. Do you have much you need to do in the city before then?"

"Pam has basically pushed everything back until next week. Sophie Ann is being very accomodating. Her lover, Hadley, died last year and she took an extended leave of absence at that time. So now she is very... hm. Sympathetic to family tragedies, is what she said when we spoke. Ruthless bitch in general, but I guess everyone has a weak point," he finishes. Then as an afterthought, "Arkansas is just sucking it up, not like they have another choice."

"That's good," I say. "About Sophie being understanding that you need the time. I guess she's not aware that you're in the process of coping with anything besides the death though?"

"No. I'd like to have my plans made before I speak with her or the Board."

"That's reasonable. Any luck on that today?"

"Not really."

"You ready to work on that?"

"Not really."

"Okay," I say, giving his hand a little pat. "What do you want to do tonight?"

"I don't have much of a preference. Could we go out maybe? Your brother mentioned a bar they hang out in."

I raise my eyebrows at him. "You want to go eat fried foods and drink cheap beer with my brother and his girlfriend?"

"Well, and you, too. Supposedly there's a pool table and a dart board."

"If that's what you'd like to do, we'll do it. I'm not playing darts though, you will be an inherent cheat with that wingspan of yours."

"Good, I'll call Jason," he says, giving me a kiss on the forehead and rolling away to find his phone. I watch with a bemused smile as he phones my brother and says we will meet them at seven. I suppose they'd exchanged numbers after their impromptu lunch date.

He hangs up after a very brief exchanges and then stretches as he tries to unrumple himself. He is either oblivious to my amused confusion or is ignoring it.

"You acknowledge that is a teensy bit odd, yes?" I finally say to his backside, referring to the apparent ease with which he's struck up accord with my brother. He's hunched over looking for something in his bag now.

"The way you can't stop leering at my ass all the time? I'm getting used to it by now." He glances back toward me and gives me a wink. It's too late to pretend I wasn't looking. I still turn away, caught red-handed. "It was only odd back when you were still with Bill and doing it while brushing off all my flirtations at the same time," he continues. My mouth falls open. I close it. I feel my face burn a vivid pink. I can think of absolutely nothing to say to that. So I just sit there dumb while he plays through. He leans across my bed to grab his laptop. Leans across me to grab his laptop. Putting the admirable feature right in my field of vision. He is doing that on purpose! I resist the urge to reach out and give him a smack right there. I turn my head away and bite my lip. He is there with his thumb again and a soft kiss a moment later.

"Only teasing," he says.

"I know that!" I snap, then I catch my tone and quickly soften my voice. "I'm surprised, though glad of course, that you got on with Jason. I hadn't really pegged you for having much in common." That's what I say to him. Mostly because it's about as great a departure from the other thoughts running through my mind as I can muster right this minute. What I'm actually thinking about is that if Bill had been aware that I thought Eric was attractive when we were together (And if Eric had noticed it, how could he not have been?), maybe that explained part of why he didn't feel bad at all for going a few steps further than just looking at someone else, his own self. I hadn't actually been that obvious had I? Yes, Eric's attractive, you can't really help but notice it, but I hadn't been playing coy. I didn't enjoy all his little remarks back then. He was teasing, but back then it hadn't seemed as playful, it had seemed almost mean.

"...the Saints. Plus we share a hatred of Bill Compton," Eric finishes. I hadn't really heard what he was saying, but that remark brought it right to my attention. I was trying to change that subject, not return to it! Why would he have even brought Bill up? I guess maybe he was ennumerating commonalities between he and Jason? This was the only thing that really made sense, in the context of our conversation. That's still a little tactless. So they were talking about me and Bill over lunch? Just lovely. Eric is waving his hand in my face now, is that supposed to be funny too? I lift my hand to catch his and bring it down to his side again.

"Where did you go there?"

I just shake my head and get up off the bed. I give him a little pat on the chest so he doesn't think I'm mad at him or anything, and just head back out to the kitchen. I'm sure there's something to tidy up in there. I wander out and find the coffee carafe where I left it in the sink and mindlessly take some white vinegar and start scrubbing it out. Since the vinegar is out, I go ahead and decide to clean the whole coffee maker as well. I start putting away all the dishes from the drying rack. I take down the ingredients to make a loaf of bread in the machine. Eric has appeared in the doorway and is watching me, but he doesn't say anything. I look up and ask if he wants to watch. He nods and moves into the room, standing just a couple of paces behind me as I start measuring in the yeast and water, then sifting out the flour and salt. I add some cinnamon and raisons once everything else is mixed in, then I go ahead and close the top and turn it on.

"So then, in about four hours, fresh loaf of cinnamon raison bread, baked and everything." I say. I realize that as I've been talking that I sound a little flat, but I figure that this is better than trying to force cheerfulness and ending up sounding manic. I'm not really in the mood to be Crazy Sookie right now.

"That's pretty cool," he agrees.

"It is, I love this thing. For some things you still need to do it by hand. If I wanted to do the cinnamon as a swirl, for example. You actually need to roll the dough out and then curl it up on itself. But this is mostly very good," I explain.

"Mm. That is very interesting indeed. So what was all that about?"

"What was what about?" Because Eric's bullshit-meter is that easily fooled.

"You appeared to take issue with the fact that I wanted to befriend your brother and then practically ran in here to attend to the urgent monthly cleaning regimen for the coffee pot."

"What? No. I mean it is peculiar that you two get along, just as I said. But I am overall pleased about it."

"So what is wrong then?"

"I was having some unpleasant thoughts," I say evasively.

He rolls his eyes at me. "Please elaborate on that," he requests bluntly.

I sigh. "Bill. I was thinking of Bill. He and Jason did not get along as you know. And what you said about me in regards to you, before... I didn't realize I was doing that, then. If he saw that, perhaps he thought it justfied his...him...with her," I finish. We both know the facts of the matter, but it doesn't make it any more pleasant to speak out loud. Hopefully I've got my point across.

"Sookie, I was making a joke. Call it wishful thinking in retrospect on my part. I thought you realized by now that I enjoy teasing you just a bit. I didn't mean anything serious by it."

I nod, knowing this is true of him. It's as Pam said, Eric likes to pull my pigtails. I like it, most of the time. I take it for a show of his affection, and it's endearing for that reason. It's one of the things that lets me know that he likes me back, as much as I like him, and I appreciate that we can just enjoy each other without the declarations. As he has said, it's implied.

On this subject though, when it comes to Bill? It's just too soon for me for it to be a joking matter. I've been doing my best to not think of him much at all, because it makes me feel bad. Yes, I know that's avoidance, but it helps. Now that the subject has been broached, I'm back to feeling disconsolate. It is not as though it would be appropriate to be comforted by Eric on that score anyway. I don't really want Bill to be any further part in anything to do with Eric and I. This is why I didn't really want to talk about this. Eric's just starting at me, waiting for me to say something.

I frown. "I don't want to...I don't want to be dwelling on him," I say carefully. "I'm sorry, I just got caught up short with a lot of...unanswered questions."

"I think that's normal," he says lightly. It's the fact that I'm doing it in proximity to him that doesn't feel normal. I don't really want to bog him any further down with my issues. I know he knows I have them, but I don't want him to see it.

"Maybe you should just ask him," he suggests.

My eyebrows raise. "Eric, I..." I start, but am unsure how to finish. I don't want him to feel like I was appealing to him for advice about Bill. But I don't want him to feel like I don't want his advice in general either. Ugh. I freaking hate Bill Compton.

"You're probably right. There's a lot that I'd like to say and to hear. I guess this is what people always describe as needing closure."

He nods. "That sounds correct."

"I'm so sorry," I say, staring down rather than looking at him.

"If it makes you feel better, I accept your apology. I don't really feel it's warranted. I think you should write him a letter, and have Cataliades deliver it. I'm going to get off the subject now." He says it all quickly.

"Thank you," I say, looking up again. "So, dinner with Jason and Crystal?"

"Should be fun," he agrees.

A couple hours later we were seated in a booth at Merlotte's, the local bar here in Bon Temps. The one. Small town and all. The owner, Sam Merlotte had only moved out here from Texas a couple of years ago, but the residents of our sleepy hamlet had embraced him as our own and so in turn had embraced his bar. It was just busy enough to seem full and lively without being so busy that we had to wait to sit down. The juke box was going with a nice mix of classic rock and classic country, good time songs that everyone likes. The waitresses were scooting around in tight white t-shirts and short black shorts, and they all had a smile for my brother, who was clearly one of the regulars. Eric and I had shared a couple of looks at some of the flirty greetings he received, but Crystal seemed to take it in her stride. She was the one sitting down here with him, after all.

Jason and Eric were talking cars, with Jason trying to convince Eric of the pickup truck's emminence, which he deemed particularly well suited to a man of Eric's stature. Eric argued back that it was a matter of style, which got Jason going on the sleek trim he'd just had finished on his beloved Dodge Ram. The two of them were really on a roll, and managed to empty our first pitcher of beer before our food arrived. I watched my brother reach over to take the untouched mug he'd poured for Crystal, assuring her he'd replace it from the new pitcher. She just smiled and said she'd be fine with her water. Water sounded like a good idea to me as well since I didn't think the cook skimped on the salt any more than he did the trans fats.

Crystal was one of those women that stayed thin as a rail no matter what she ate, so somehow I didn't think it was a health choice on her part. Unnoticed by the men, I caught her eye with a little smile and glanced at her water so she'd catch the question when I lifted my eyebrows. She gave me a very shy smile. It was a little odd to see such a demure expression on her face, but I was pretty certain we'd just communicated that my brother was soon to be a daddy. I gathered that he didn't know yet. I wondered how he would receive the news. I for one had a little trouble stifling my huge grin.

After she and I had eaten our fill, we nudged Eric and Jason out of the way so we could go avail ourselves of the pool table. She was quite good, and I had a very self-deprecating time of it until they joined us. We played a couple of games in pairs with Eric claiming he needed all his concentration to make up for my poor skill. He managed to close the gap somewhat, but I'd doomed us. He wrenched the cue stick out of my hand theatrically after our second consecutive defeat but then wrapped an arm around my shoulders hugging me to him as he planted it in front of him like a spear.

"If Crystal weren't here, I might be able to blame it on the fact that you just don't have the necessary reach, but I think you're just terrible at this," he says with a grin.

"Short jokes on top of this? Way to kick a girl when she's down!" I retort, letting my fingers tickle up his ribs causing him to flinch and bend, completely destroying his confident chieftain pose. He is trying to wriggle away from me without actually letting go of me. He's probably feeling the beers at this point. Not to a messy degree, just to a boisterous one. I finally duck under his arm and swatted him once on the butt which caused him to whip around and shoot me a very steamy look. Mmm. I nudged him back toward the table where Jason was racking up the balls again. "Alright, see how you do without me then, I need to visit the little girls' room," I say as I move away. Crystal hands over her cue to Jason and joins me.

I wasn't wearing much makeup but I stood in the mirror touching myself up after I'd washed my hands. I was trying real hard to be polite, but I just couldn't. I grinned at Crystal in the mirror when she came out.

"Jason doesn't know yet?" I asked.

"I just found out today for sure," she admits, suddenly looking uneasy. Catching her mood I try to school my face immediately. She's not drinking, but, that doesn't necessarily mean that she's sure what she wants to do.

"Have you ever talked about it?" I ask.

She nods, but she's frowning. "Just in passing, you know, one day he'll do this or that on the house, for the kids." Well, that's encouraging. I really hadn't ever thought about Jason settling down. It was nice to know that he'd at least considered it for himself. "I hope he wants it," she says very quietly. I reach over and give her hand a little squeeze. Immediately my instinct is to reassure her that even if he doesn't, if she decides she does, she'll have support in it. Again it's not my place, so I hope my little gesture and my smile suffice. After that, she fixes up her makeup and we head back out. I can't help but feel a wee bit smug when I see that Eric is losing even without my hinderance. I wander over to the jukebox and make a couple of selections while they get back to playing for a while. I just settle up on a stool tapping my feet along to the music and enjoying the atmosphere.

When they start debating another pitcher, Crystal cuts in to remind us all that she and Jason at least have work in the morning. I catch Jason and Eric sharing one of these looks men give each other that communicates in full, "Yes, I'm going to be bossed around by my woman now, certainly you will understand - Yes, indeed I do, carry on sir." It's a subtle and complex code, man-language. I get a tentative hug from Crystal while Eric and Jason are doing some sort of shoulder cuffing handshake thing. We switch places, and Crystal gets a peck on the cheek from Eric as he tells her it was nice to meet her and we should all hang out again sometime. I get a rib creaking (literally) hug from Jason, and he takes a moment to tell me quietly, "I like 'im." That pretty much plasters the smile to my face as I watch my brother's girlfriend take his keys out of his hand when they exit.

Eric comes back to my side and takes my hand so we can follow them out, walking across the parking lot to where he parked his car a bit away from the others.

"We should have taken yours," he says, frowning at his keys.

"We can catch Jason and Crystal?" I offer.

"You can't drive stick at all?" he asks.

"Technically I can, but I don't claim to excel at it," I hedge.

"It'll have to do," he says resignedly. "Just be really gentle, okay? The clutch is pretty tight." I agree that I'll be careful. I'm not about to encourage him to drive instead if he's hesitant in the slightest.

We get into his car and while I'm waiting for the seat to move up, he goes ahead and starts it, and begins making adjustments to all the levers. He puts my address into the satnav, which amuses me to no end. First because it's all of three turns, and second because it's my address, and I'm driving, in my town. He just grins in response, assuring me that he just wants to make sure we don't get lost. I only stalled twice on the way home, which I considered a victory. This is despite the fact that either time it happened Eric spluttered and winced theatrically as if it were his own heart that were seizing and not the...whatever bits inside the engine that stop working when you shift wrong in a manual transmission. He was taking it personal, is the point.

"Sorry for that," he says. We reached my house intact and he's just taken his keys back. "I didn't realize I'd had too much until we got out in the fresh air."

"You had fun then?" I ask.

"I did. Your brother's great," he says.

"Yeah, I think so too. Some find him to be an acquired taste though."

"She's nice too. She's pregnant?" he asks to confirm.

"How did you know that? She told me she just found out."

"I noticed your reaction to her untouched beer, and caught your little glance-smile exchange there." So much for thinking we'd been slick!

"Did he notice too? She hasn't told him yet, I think she's nervous."

"I don't think he did. It'll go over well though. You'll be an Auntie Sookie soon."

I smile at the thought. "Hard to picture my brother with a baby."

"I don't know him that well, but it seems like it would fit with his whole vibe here."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"He seems like a very by the book kind of guy. So, he's hit the right age, he's got the girl, family follows."

"I guess so."

"You're not happy for him?" he asks.

"Of course I am, if that's what they choose to do."

"Yeah, I don't know what I would do in that situation," he ponders. Wow. I was not expecting him to dwell on this subject. "Probably whatever she wanted to do I guess." Yeah, he's definitely more than a little buzzed.

"Alright, I'm going to stop you there before you family-plan the next batch of dysfunctional Northmans."

"What, you don't want kids?" he asks. Oh boy. Really?

"Aw, honey, it's a bit soon for that doncha think?" I coo with dripping sarcasm.

"I go back and forth between wanting four and wanting none," he says, ignoring my remark. "Part of me wants to prove I could do a good job, and then part of me thinks that no I couldn't."

"Eric, you hide your shitfaced really well in public."

"Thank you," he grins.

"I'm going to the bedroom, do you want to join me?"

"I thought we weren't doing any more family planning?"

"Jesus Christ, Eric! That is not sexy! Stop talking about babies! I am trying to distract you by offering sex!"

"Sookie, you know where babies come from, yes?" he asks in a serious tone, leering at me.

"The stork, right?" I quip.

"No, that's a common misconception," he pauses for a full beat before catching his inadvertent wordplay and grinning. "Ah. Aha. Mis...conception. Do you see?"

At that point, I just give in and crack up because drunk-Eric is hilarious. I don't think he's so drunk that he won't remember this conversation either, so I'll be able to laugh at him tomorrow, too. Very gradually the laughing became tickling, and then petting, and kissing. We did move to the bedroom and no more was said about babies while we practiced the theory of making them.

I wake up with a smile on my face and Eric sprawled halfway across me. I had almost completely wriggled free of his clutches when he tightened his arms around me again and pulled me back. Catlike, he stretches himself and lifts his body over me, caging me in.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

I look up at him, and brush my fingers across his cheek. We'd fallen asleep damp and sated and he had a truly amazing case of bedhead going for him. I smiled.

"Coffee and shower," I say. "You can stay in bed if you want, I'll be back in a bit."

"No, I'll get up. I need some water," he agrees, giving me a quick kiss and then hoisting himself up so that he's kneeling over me. The sight of him makes it difficult to move away. We had not bothered with clothes last night and it was obvious that Eric was very much awake right now. I lick my lips.

"Hold that thought," he says, before jumping up and heading into the bathroom. I wait patiently for him on the bed, listening to the water run and turn off, and him move around, and then stop moving around. Finally he opens the door.

"So, Sookie?"

"Yes, baby?" I ask. He stops short and doesn't say anything. I widen my eyes give him my sweetest of smiles. After a moment, I bat my eyelashes at him.

"Not funny," he says. The smirk he's wearing completely belies his denial.