A/N – A longer chapter in which Sookie recalls her first meeting with her mysterious neighbour and Eric takes a step towards protecting Sookie against the New Orelans werewolves which is sadly going to radically back-fire...

Chapter 8

It had been real kind of Arlene to agree to switch shifts at such short notice. More storms were forecast and Sookie had no intention of driving back alone after midnight on the notorious Shreveport highway in a battered old mini. It was sweet to be driving home in daylight, even if the highway was a little busier than Sookie was used to. This was what passed for rush hour between Bon Temps and Shreveport and, since it was Friday, there was a little more traffic than usual as people fled out of the towns for their weekend breaks. Snookie snorted as a lumbering Winnebago beeped its horn and overtook at a very reckless speed for a large vehicle on a wet road. What must it be like, she wondered, to have such wealth and privilege you could escape each weekend in your own house-on-wheels? She'd barely had a weekend off in years and even if she had, she wouldn't have been able to afford to actually go anywhere. She shook off the self-pity; at least she had a job and two bags of groceries on her passenger seat – many people could not say that these days.

In her rear view mirror, she spotted the bluey-green truck that had pulled out behind her as she'd left Bon Temps. Sookie had keen eyesight and felt that she vaguely recognised the driver. Longish, curly red hair and the beginnings of a beard. Probably someone she'd seen a few times in the Shreveport Wal-Mart, she figured. Yeah, he must be a local – he swung behind her into Jackson Avenue and cruised past as she turned into her parking lot.

Lugging her groceries upstairs she thought of her vampire neighbour, presumably snugly asleep behind the door of apartment 6. A couple of times, when she'd been back after dark, he'd appeared on the steps offering to take her bags and asking her those slightly-too-intimate questions (was that creepy?) in that deep, slightly foreign accent (was that sexy?). She was pleased last night to have made some sort of connection with Eric. He intrigued her and, yes, he was attractive but his strange manner had always been at the very least disconcerting. His behaviour was unpredictable and contradictory: one minute the Southern gentleman, the next arrogantly flirtatious, the next apparently frightened of her and desperate to get away. Sookie knew very few vampires, Bill had always been keen to keep her as far as possible from his own community (and with hindsight, it was heartbreakingly obviously why), but Eric seemed to be a breed apart. She really had no category in which to place him, no means at all of understanding what made him tick.

As she unloaded her groceries and packed them away, she thought back to the first time they'd met. She'd been living on Jackson Avenue for a good few months after splitting with Bill and she was keeping well out of his business. The stories that reached her of what had happened after she'd escaped New Orleans chilled her to the bone and for some time she'd been deeply afraid. She'd thought more than once of quitting Merlotte's and leaving the state. But she'd pulled herself together and was getting into a reasonably contented routine when early one winter evening a blur of something had flashed by her on the stairs. If she hadn't known that vampires could move at such speed (and many humans didn't), she might have thought she'd seen a ghost! The fact that it was, indeed, a vampire was confirmed when the blur flashed past again and appeared in front of her. She'd jumped out of her skin and given a little yelp; the creature was at least a foot taller than her and was staring at her intently.

'Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I just...' he leaned forward, Sookie leaned back. 'I... do you live here, ma'm?'

Ma'm! Sookie smiled at the memory; there was the Southern gentleman! But he clearly wasn't local. He possibly wasn't even American; there was a slight lilt to his voice... German, maybe?

'Yes, on the top floor. My name's Sookie Stackhouse. And you are...?'

'Eric'. The vampire jumped slightly, as if surprised at himself, and looked somewhat nervous. 'I'm just moving in. Apartment 6. It's my first night. Sorry for flying by like that, how rude! I just want to, you know, get my shit together.'

Sookie had grinned at the Americanism rolling oddly off his tongue in what was definitely a faded, but still unmistakably foreign accent.

'Well, I'm pleased to meet you Eric. Let me know if you need anything, I'm actually in the apartment right above you. I hope you settle in.'

He'd paused for a moment, still gazing down into her eyes, and for a moment his expression was a little ... too confident, cocky, almost smirking.

'Er, if you don't mind? I need to go to work.'

Eric had jumped back, seemingly confused, and shook his head as if coming back to himself. She'd carried on down the stairs not quite knowing whether to be offended or amused by his peculiar demeanour. And months later she still had no clue what to make of him. She didn't even know his last name, or the exact origin of that sexy (yes, it was sexy) unusual undertone to his voice. Before last night, he had offered no clues whatsoever as to his history. His breach with his progeny, Pam, must have cut him deeply and she wondered again if Bill had anything to do with it.

She groaned softly, her stomach lurching at the memory of what she'd murmured so foolishly in Eric's presence last night. By way of justification, she told herself she'd had the best part of a bottle of chardonnay; she'd been deeply upset and really thrown off guard by Eric's revelation and the depths of sadness that seemed to lie beneath that hesitant remark, 'Sometimes, we're not the masters of our fate'. That had struck a deep chord with her; Bill had played her, made her feel as if she'd had choices when in fact she was a pawn in his bigger story. And so the words had slipped out, but muffled by her crying, surely, and Eric had been mightily distracted. He gave no sign of having heard her and that was a God-send because, frankly, that dumb confession was downright dangerous. She barely knew Eric and whilst she hardly knew any other vampires either, the ones she had known had been no fans of hers. They'd been alarmingly hostile to her relationship with Bill from the outset. She remembered Franklin Mott, for instance, a deeply unnerving individual even before he'd whispered to her that time at Bill's: 'Don't go getting any ideas, sugar, you're just blood and pussy to him.' And he'd been right. Franklin and Bill, birds of a feather as it turned out. She'd heard from her friend Tara (who'd dated Franklin, briefly and disastrously) that Bill had promoted that scum-bag to sheriff of Area Five! Vampires were all the same: Bill, Franklin, Sophie-Anne...Eric?

Sookie set about scrubbing her kitchen to within an inch of its life, and humming all the most annoying show-tunes she could remember in order to distract herself. Feeling calmer, she showered, flicked on the movie channel and went to get some pop corn. That was weird, she could have sworn she'd bought some earlier. Maybe it had rolled out of the bag in the car? She sprinted downstairs and hoped nobody saw her out in the parking lot in her bath robe. She caught sight of that bluey-green truck again just up the street. The ginger-haired guy must live closer than she'd thought. She wondered if he worked in Bon Temps; it could be real useful to have a neighbour with a car who shared her route to Merlotte's. That mini of hers was on its last legs, after all.

Eric squinted through the blinds having heard Sookie's swift footsteps on the stairs. He was surprised and amused to see her jogging across the parking lot in her bath robe carrying a pot of pop corn. He felt another sweep of emotion, but this time much more recognisable and much less disturbing: protectiveness. What on earth was she doing outside in her night clothes running about with snacks? She must be freezing. Was there nobody to care for Sookie Stackhouse? He should go up to her. Maybe she was watching that daft movie again to make herself cry? Perhaps he could ask about what had happened with Bill?

He tensed. Across the street, maybe twenty metres away, was a dirty, greenish-coloured truck. It was familiar, he thought. His eyes could easily make out the registration, even at that distance, and one advantage (or burden) of his vampire memory was that no detail was lost. That was it. He'd seen that truck a few times, many months before, on the driveway of the house of the leader of the New Orleans pack.

Eric very rarely left his apartment on foot. If he needed fresh air, he'd go out back on to the fire exit and take to the air. The building backed on to disused rail track so he was very unlikely to be seen except by junkies who would assume they were hallucinating. It was with some trepidation, then, that he pulled his hat down low, turned up his collar and slipped into the street. He sniffed – couldn't smell were. He pulled open the back of the truck after a few careful twists of the lock with the knife – the van was decades old and barely secure. Not much in there; a few sleeping bags and old clothes, the usual back-of-vehicle debris. No weapons. Same in the front. Could this be a coincidence? He mustn't over-react. Still, better safe than sorry, and after a sharp look around he knelt down and slashed the two rear tyres. It was a provisional solution, and not that satisfactory if these weres truly meant harm to Sookie, but it would at least stop Clay Fairlee driving off anywhere in a hurry.