A/N: I am so so so happy that I'm having a writing isn't quite so hard time.

Content warning for this chapter.

Chapter 7

He met two custodians at the door who had just mopped the floor and stage. There was nobody else there. He had a bad moment when he thought he'd left the key to her room back upstairs but he found it in his pocket and was able to get it in the keyhole after a few tries, and then opened the door.

The room was empty. The bathroom door was closed, though, and he could hear the water running inside. He hoped she was just getting cleaned up from whatever had happened after he'd dropped her off earlier that night. The bathroom door didn't have a lock and he was able to open it and get right inside.

The room was hazy with steam and the mirror and shower doors were completely fogged over. The faucets in the sink and bath were both running on full blast. He couldn't see her. He threw open the shower door and she was sitting slumped over in the corner, hidden behind the towel hanging from the door handle. She was unconscious but alive. Barely. Her skin was grey and her lips were turning blue. The tourniquet was tied above her elbow and the syringe still hung from her arm. The spoon and lighter were on the ledge beside her. The empty baggie floated in the shallow water near the drain.

He didn't know what to do. He dropped the bag he'd still been holding, pulled the needle out of her arm and untied the rubber band. He carried her to the bed and laid her down quickly. He was going to be punished — severely — for allowing her to harm herself. Felipe would likely torture him much worse if he gave her his blood, too. But her breathing was very shallow. Her heart was slow and barely beating. He needed to do something to save her. If he turned her, surely it would be much much worse. Possibly his final death. They would need to run and stay hidden, but Felipe would find them eventually.

He thought her torture would be worse. Felipe hadn't even mentioned the bite to Eric but had slapped her face for it. Or punched her. As if she could have stopped him.

He had been given the bag of drugs so nonchalantly and without any instructions. Surely there would be something to help in case of an emergency. Most vampires, especially older ones, knew little about humans, despite their own living histories. He ran back to the bathroom to get the kit and dumped the contents onto the bed. Mixed in with the pill bottles and vials and baggies and zip ties — and Sookie's lipstick — were two capped syringes labeled Naloxone.

He carefully read the directions, got one of the syringes ready, and jabbed her in the thigh before pressing the plunger.

The next two and a half minutes were torture. He turned off the taps and then started to pace, at least as much as he could in such a small area. He couldn't decide whether to give her some of his blood or if he should ready the second syringe, but then her heartbeat started to strengthen and her breaths became much less shallow. After another sixty seconds or so, she started to wake up. Her eyelids fluttered and then closed and then were suddenly wide in panic and horror. She sat up and screamed, "No!" long and loud

"Shh, Sookie…"

He reached out to touch her face and she batted it away.

"No!"

A little softer this time. Rougher. She had begun to cry. He took her upper arms gently in his hands, trying to calm her down and comfort her.

"Sookie…"

"No! No. No. No. No. This can't be happening. I need to die. Please. You can't. You can't do this to me. You have to take it back."

"No, Sookie. No. This isn't the answer. You will get through this."

He tried to pull her in closer and she struggled and started to beat on his chest.

"They're going to kill him this time, goddammit! If I died, they'd have no reason to hurt them any longer. But I didn't. You didn't let me. You made me kill my brother!"

She grabbed two handfuls of his shirt and sobbed into it. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him and held her as she cried. He kissed the top of her head.

He couldn't be sorry she was alive but she had already been so hurt and damaged. And what if he'd saved her only to have her live through even more of Victor's torture for another twenty or thirty years? More? Until the day he or the King got tired of her and killed her? Or, worse, turned her? Not to mention the murder of her brother, if that was indeed what was going to happen. And, knowing Victor Madden, he had no doubt that would be the case.

Deep down, he knew he hadn't really done her a favour by saving her. He had been selfish. He didn't think she would ever forgive him. And, would he, if the roles were reversed? He let her cry into his chest while he thought.

Both of them were liable to be in a world of trouble when Victor and The King found out what had happened. Really, it had been his fault as much as hers, and he blamed her much less than himself. He too had wanted to finally die those early days (and weeks and months and even years) with his master, all while his humanity was draining away. She tried to hide hers. She probably tried to pry it away from her, but he was sure it was impossible. He had now seen her without her mask. No matter how hard she tried to pretend she was unbothered and above it all, he knew it wasn't true. This was obviously not a cold and heartless sexual automaton crying into his chest. She was human and the glimpses of her humanity were part of the reason he'd been so captivated by her.

She cried for a long time. Eventually, it tailed off and she started to sag a little. He tilted up her chin to see her face and her eyes were bleary and half-lidded. She blinked up at him slowly. The Naloxone was wearing off. He laid her back on the bed and reread the instructions and waited to see if she would start to overdose again. He wanted to lie with her but he knew he would likely fall into his rest if he did. He paced the floor for ten minutes longer.

He was tiring quickly. Her heart was a bit slower than usual, but the beats were strong and regular. She was breathing easily. He was sure she was out of danger. He needed to do damage control no matter how much his body was fighting him. He jammed everything back into the bag except her lipstick and the second syringe, which he stuck in his pocket, just in case. He grabbed the needle and baggie and lighter and elastic tie from the bathtub and added those to the rest. He took one last look at her, swept the hair away from her face, and kissed her head. He murmured into her hair, "I will fix this, Sookie."

He pricked his finger on his fang and healed the tiny pinholes at the injection sites, on both her inner arm and her thigh, and then left before she woke up again. The club was still empty. He was afraid her screams had captured someone's attention but he supposed it would be well soundproofed.

There were two large bathrooms and he checked those. There was a door across the room from Sookie's and he tried the doorknob. It turned. He opened it and walked inside.

He'd been afraid at first that there would be another slave inside. Instead, there was a desk and a bank of several screens, showing different angles of the club and of Sookie's room and bath. It looked like she was still asleep. He supposed it made a lot of sense to keep this particular security footage away from those in the rest of the casino. Too many prying human eyes.

The chair in front of the desk was empty. He cursed quietly, afraid security had already left to inform whoever was in charge during the day of what had happened.

He heard voices outside the club and then the click of the door unlocking after someone's key card was swiped. He quietly closed the door before the other one opened.

The footsteps were slow and whomever it was was whistling. Eric smelled fresh coffee and something sweet. The doorknob turned and the guard walked in. He didn't notice Eric in the corner until he turned to close the door behind him. He was startled and dropped his paper cup of coffee on the floor. It splashed all over the man's pants and dress shoes, scalding his ankles. Before he could scream, Eric caught his eyes.

"Be quiet. Have you seen anything notable on the footage today?"

The security guard nodded. "I rewound last night's stage feed and watched the first part. It was really hot."

Eric couldn't be as angry as he wanted to be. He noticed a large pile of tissues in the garbage can next to the desk. The guard's lechery might have saved their hides and her brother's life.

"Does anyone else have access to these cameras?"

"Whoever has a key to the club, I guess."

"Is the footage stored here or elsewhere? Is it copied onto a server?"

The guard shook his head.

"Everything is here. The file writes over itself every twenty-four hours. Victor doesn't want anything to get out. He sometimes has me copy some things for his own personal enjoyment."

"Have you made personal recordings for anyone else?"

The guard nodded.

"Who?"

"Me."

Eric clenched his jaw.

"Destroy them all. Never do it again.

The man nodded. "Ok."

"Have you copied anything today?"

The guard shook his head again.

"Can you delete the footage?"

"Yeah."

"Will anyone be suspicious if it's erased?"

"No. Victor does it all the time."

Thanks to the janitors, he hadn't even had to swipe his key card, so there would be no record of his visit. Not unless someone checked the cameras in the hallway and he didn't think the guard would leave his post unmanned if that were the case. And, even if someone did see him enter and exit, he could say he'd just wanted one last fuck for the night.

"Excellent. If anything happens in her room, alert me and not Victor. Tell nobody else unless you have to call for emergency services. Delete everything between five thirty and nine o'clock. And then clean up your coffee. You spilled it."

The guard sat down at his desk. Eric gave him his cell number and glamoured him to remember it. He thought about glamouring him to not watch the footage going forward, but it had proven useful as a distraction once and might again. The man had been too busy jacking off to Sookie getting assaulted to see anything happening in her bathroom or bed. And he didn't really suppose it made much of a difference. Besides, there would be significantly fewer shows going forward, if the King could be believed.

"Although you will follow my commands, we never spoke. I was never here."

"Right. You were never here."

Eric was nearly dead on his feet, to turn a phrase, but he had one more task to complete before he went back to his room. He unlocked Sookie's door and stepped inside. She was definitely just asleep, with her heart beating normally and her breathing deep and even. He hated to wake her, but it was necessary.

"Sookie. You must wake up."

Her eyelids fluttered again, like they had when she'd come out of her overdose. And, just like then, she sat up, her eyes shot open and opened her mouth to scream.

"Shh, Sookie. You need to be quiet."

He sat on the bed next to her and looked into her eyes, wishing he could just glamour her to forget her pain.

"The guard was gone from his post. He saw nothing. The club was empty. There was no one to see or hear. The footage is being removed now. It will be completely gone before dark. I have the evidence and I will destroy it. Nobody knows but us. It will be alright. He will. Do you understand?"

She looked at him for a couple of seconds and burst into tears. He pulled her into his chest and she sobbed. He kissed her head but he had to leave.

"It is very late. I must go to my rest but I will be back to pick you up at eight."

She pulled back and looked back up at him. Her breath hitched in her chest.

"The King doesn't want to see me. I just didn't want you to have to be the one who found me."

He stroked her hair away from her face.

"Then I will come as soon as I rise."

He leaned down and kissed her head. Her breath stuttered again before she spoke. It was little more than a whisper.

"Thank you. For Jason. Not for saving me. You're a real shit for saving me."

He gave her a sad smile.

"I know. Try to remember that everything will be alright when you wake,"

After the panic was gone, her eyes were back at half mast. She was obviously very tired and likely still under the effects of the opiate. He laid her back down and kissed her forehead again.

"Goodnight, Sookie."

She gave him a sad smile back.

"Good rest, Eric."

He went back up to his room, glad for the cool nothingness of oblivion and wondering what new hell tomorrow — or that night, rather — would bring.