Disclaimer: Charlaine Harris owns all.

Rated M for several reasons.

Chpt 23 Home

SPOV

I don't remember much of the journey home, whatever the tiny, square doctor gave me pretty much wiped me out. I know I dreamed.

I dreamed of being trapped in a collapsed building. I refuse to recall those dreams. Or at least I intend to, as soon as I'm mentally able.

I dreamed of heat and warmth. I dreamed of it stealing through my body and not making me afraid. I dreamed of a featureless man who stole the world away from me, leaving me with only him. In my defence it wasn't entirely a sex dream, the pleasure and warmth I felt were so much more than that. I really wanted to hang onto this one but it kept being blasted away by intruding reality.

The car ride. The flight. The limo which took Alcide and I back to my house. Each change punctuated by the floating sensation of being carried, the different qualities to the air around me. I vaguely remember making coffee for Alcide and myself before selfishly collapsing into my bed and passing out properly.

"Sook! Sook!"

Jason's outraged voice jerks me awake uncoiling my body like a jolt of electricity. My muscles protest weakly, my joints pop painfully and the sunlight streaming through the window sears my bleary eyeballs.

"Sookie Stackhouse! You get out here right now and explain why there's a naked man asleep on our couch!"

There is?

Hastily I ping out of bed, reeling from the sudden lack of blood in my head and staggering forward to pull my door open.

Oh.

Jason's in the short hallway leading down to my room and the naked man is hovering behind him, looking about as confused and groggy as I must be. Alcide.

"What the hell Sook?" Jason continues. "You go away on your first vacation ever and come back with a naked man? What would Gran say?"

"I am not naked." Alcide rumbles, pinging the elastic of his jockey shorts for emphasis.

I can't help it, I laugh.

"Jason. This is my friend Alcide. Alcide this is my brother." As you already know.

"I'll put some coffee on." Alcide decides, rubbing his outstanding midriff absently and ambling away.

"He knows how to work Gran's coffee machine?" Jason squeaks.

That machine is notoriously temperamental and has a reputation for only responding to the Stackhouse touch, even Tara can't get it work.

"He does." I nod. "If it accepts him, then so should you."

"Jesus, Sookie, you've a boyfriend, what happened to Bill, how is it I'm the last to know?"

"He's not my boyfriend Jason, he's my friend. And if you'd exchanged more than a handful of words with me since Gran died maybe you'd know that."

He blinks rapidly.

"I'm going in the shower. Go make nice with Alcide. I'll be out in a minute."

His mouth opens and as I've currently no interest in whatever he's about to say I close the door in his face.

Oh Gran. I'm sorry. I know he's family but I really can't be bothered with him right now. Please forgive me, I'll do better after a shower, promise.

Washed and dressed I allow myself a moment to gather my poor neglected thoughts, before making my way to the kitchen to see how much trouble Jason's managed to get himself into with my bodyguard. From years of conscious effort I stay out of Jason's head, instead I check out what I'm about to walk into in Alcide's.

He likes Jason, he's deduced that he isn't the sharpest tool in the box, but he likes him. Everyone likes Jason, not just the ladies, he has an easy charm I've always envied.

The two of them continue to talk boy stuff while I shuffle around the kitchen making breakfast. It's not just for them. I'm so hungry I could eat a scabby horse. They're so engrossed in their huntin', shootin' and fishin' stories that they barely acknowledge me when I slide heaped plates of bacon, eggs and pancakes in front of them, nor when I've eaten my own breakfast and take their empty plates away. I smile ruefully to myself as I wash up, if Alcide really was my boyfriend then this would be one of the happiest mornings of my life to date.

But he isn't and this illusion of normality is just that, an illusion.

Abruptly reality crashes down on my head, like the debris of our hotel suite and I excuse myself and retreat to Gran's room, tangling myself up in the comforter on her bed. My eyes rapidly fill with tears which spill over when I realise I can't even name one particular thing that's feeding them, there's so much I don't know where to start and that just has me curling into a tighter ball and crying harder.

At some point Gran's door creaks open for a moment, then closes again with a soft click. Hushed voices confer in the hall and then move away downstairs. Their concern for me is touching but the guilt dries up my tears. I am so much better off than a lot of people. I'm not lying in a hospital bed in terrible pain. I'm not mourning the loss of a loved one in a bombed hotel. I'm just feeling sorry for myself and I've no right.

I realise that the loss of life could have been worse, but even so each loss I am personally aware of claws at me like talons scraping down my back. I know I did what I could, but it wasn't enough. I know that if I'd figured it out sooner it could have been stopped. And I can't help but wonder that if it wasn't for me it might not have happened at all. That's a hard thought to get my head round because I'm nothing and should never be the cause of so much pain, but two of the minds I got into were looking for me, is it possible that anyone would think getting to me was worth so much death and destruction? No, I just can't see it, I didn't even save Godric from the Fellowship, he saved himself for his own reasons, surely no one could hate me so unreasonably for that? But maybe if they hadn't known I'd be there at the hotel they'd have saved their murderous intentions for another time and place. When I wasn't there to do something about it. It's very hard to see myself in the superhero mould, even harder than imagining being the catalyst for such a heinous act.

I sigh and stretch out on the bed, pulling the comforter over me even though I'm not cold. The whole thing is just making my head hurt, the problem is the only other thing I really need to think about is unlikely to work like Tiger Balm.

Eric.

I'm ashamed for myself that I have even less idea where to start processing him than I do much more important things. And worried for myself that he's been nagging at all my other more significant thoughts, plucking at them like a small child tugging on my sleeve.

I've seen so many sides of him this week he's starting to look like a dodecahedron.

And that's it. That's as far down that train of thought as I can go.

Laundry. No one can lie in bed feeling sorry for themselves when they have laundry to do.

The house is empty and filling with evening shadows when I make my way downstairs. Jason's truck is gone but Alcide's is still there, so he must be about somewhere.

With steely determination I unpack my suitcases, hanging the two dresses I slept in on the back of my door with a view to getting some advice on resuscitating them and taking out dress number three with a deep sigh. I really love that dress, such a shame I'll probably never get to wear it. I hang it in my closet with reverence and turn away to gather up everything else and cart it down to the washer.

When I've completed the Stackhouse Penance, scrubbing all the floors, the washer is done and I heave everything into the dryer and start making something for dinner. I'm not hungry but Alcide probably will be.

Or not.

When I reach across for Gran's iron skillet I finally spot the note on the worktop.

'Sookie

Sorry, gone out to patrol the property since we've been away a while.

If you are not up by the time I get back then sorry I've missed you. I have to leave as soon as it gets dark as there is pack business tonight. Don't worry, Thalia will be here promptly as usual so you won't be unguarded and I'll be back at dawn.

I hate leaving you on your own after what just happened but there are some things I have no choice but to do.

Hope you don't mind me leaving the truck?

Alcide'

Oh.

Deflated I put the skillet back and flop down in one of the kitchen chairs, resting my elbows on the table.

Of course. He has a life. One that I'm keeping him from.

Thalia? The scary little vampire with the glossy dark ringlets. She guards me at night? Why didn't anyone tell me? She hates me. Well, she hates all humans, it's not personal, at least I don't think it is.

I'm not sure whether it's southern hospitality or my inability to be alone with my thoughts at the moment that has me scurrying out onto the porch.

"Thalia." I hiss into the newly gathered dark.

"Eek!" I scream as she literally materialises in front of me.

"Yes?" She asks calmly.

"Um." My thoughts are totally distracted by the sword hilt I can see rearing up over her left shoulder.

Following my eyes she reaches back and unsheathes it. It's nearly as big as she is but she handles it like a wisp of hay. I swear I can hear it cutting through the air.

"Japanese steel." She informs me with a wicked gleam in her eye. "Is best, very sharp."

"Um. That's nice." I swallow convulsively. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were guarding me at night. I mean, I'm really sorry that you have to. Um. Would you like a synthetic blood, I still have some in the house . . . ."

"Thalia better guard than brown dog. Cannot protect effectively if playing friend."

"Okay. Would you like one 'to go'?"

"No. Thank you. I not like, tastes wrong."

"But um, when do you get to eat if you're following me about all night?"

"Princess really want know?" She asks slyly, cocking her head to one side.

"Um. No. I guess not."

"Congratulate Lafayette on cooking, translates nicely." She smirks, licking her lips.

Oh my god. She doesn't?

"It's not that I'm not grateful but I kinda wish you wouldn't snack on my customers." I whisper.

"They no mind." She shrugs. "Thalia very creative with glamour, enhances thrill of going to Shifter's bar."

Ick.

Crickets are the only sound in the protracted silence that follows.

Thalia tilts her head over to the other side, regarding me curiously and I shift uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

"You are very like your Great Grandmother." She observes suddenly in perfect English.

"You knew her?" I gasp, wondering which one she means since I effectively have three.

"I met her once with the Prince. She was his better half I think."

The air whooshes out of my body.

"I will not tell anyone young fairy. I have promised him that your secret is safe with me."

"Eric . . . ." I breathe.

"He will never know unless you tell him. Godric never allowed him to taste fairy out of deference to the Prince."

Relief makes me physically relax and she laughs, like bells tinkling.

"You should consider telling him."

"Are you crazy?" I blurt out, forgetting myself.

"It sad." She drawls, backing away. "That Princess judge book by cover not contents."

"What?"

And, she's gone.

Annoyed I stump back into the house and slam the door behind me, shooting the bolts.

Fine.

If I'm having a night in on my own, then I'm having a night in on my own. Whether I like it or not.

An otherworldly power rips through me even before I've finished crossing the rug, searing me like flames and flinging me to the floor, arms outstretched, fingernails digging into the floorboards . . . .

EPOV

I have awoken late this evening.

The rictus of my silent scream not entirely unexpected under the circumstances. My mind curious as to how Dr Ludwig's sleeping draughts have delayed this reaction.

Growling for nobody's benefit but my own I wait for the feeling to subside so that I can think clearly.

So. I am fairly certain I have completed a second bond with her but nothing feels any different. I know where she is. I know she is alive. But I cannot feel anything else.

I sigh. It was a calculated risk. One that has failed but does not appear to have inconvenienced my any further than I have been already. Desperate is an ugly word but it is beginning to describe my consuming need to understand her and the danger she represents to me and mine. Why else would I have attempted to strengthen my bond with her? She is a complex and cunning enemy.

My cell beeps and I snatch it up, finally realising exactly how late I have risen when I see the text is from Pam.

'Eric, the King of Texas is on his way here. I am at a loss. Your presence is required. P x'

'Coming' I text back.

'Oh ha ha. You had better not have left me to deal with this for a floozy . . . .'

Laughing in spite of myself I roll off the bed and stride into the shower. When you live forever joy must be taken wherever you can find it.