Pam was pissed.

After last night's fiasco, she had deemed Eric unfit to sit on his throne. Instead, she was sitting there, in lavender and black lace, corset tied up too tightly and a sour look on her face befitting a queen. One leg was crossed over the other, a deadly looking stiletto heel bouncing in time with the music as she watched her subjects on the dance floor. She looked good there, Eric decided. There were plenty of fangbangers who agreed, too, some of them daring to approach her only for her to shoot them down with a few choice words.

Eric, on the other hand, was relegated to behind the bar. Tara was in the back taking inventory, which left Eric slinging drinks alone, and quite honestly he preferred it that way. He actually didn't mind mixing drinks and serving his thirsty customers. They tended to forget he was supposed to be something special, something to fawn over, when he was serving them.

He didn't want to be a god anymore. He'd learned about God, and he wanted nothing to do with him.

"A whiskey sour, please." The young brunette with the choker at the end of the bar waved a ten dollar bill at him and he raised two fingers in acknowledgement. He turned to the wall and grabbed the cheaper whiskey, swiping the lemon juice on his way back to the bar, intent on the glasses and the soda gun.

In the few moments he'd had his back turned, a new customer had settled himself at the bar, getting comfortable on the stool directly in front of him. Eric gave him a tight lipped smile as he poured the whiskey sour and zipped down the bar to hand it to the brunette. She batted her eyelashes at Eric and when he returned her change she left a generous tip. He thanked her, let the extra coins clatter into the bucket for tips, and moved back to check on the new customer. He knew the brunette was pouting at his back, but he resolutely ignored her.

"What can I get you?" Eric asked, giving the man a once over. He was a big man, black, with wide shoulders that were beginning to stoop in old age. His hair was cut short to his scalp and the black was shot through with just a bit of white. The short, trim beard had far more in it, giving him an almost grandfatherly look, despite his size. He wore a sweater vest and button-down in a warm burnt orange. He looked like someone who was enjoying retirement. He very much did not look like he belonged in Fangtasia.

It was even more jarring a picture than the time—sorry, every time—Sookie had walked into the bar in her virgin white dress.

This man decidedly was not one of Eric's usual clientele.

"Could I have a glass of the house red?" the man asked, his deep voice friendly.

Eric smirked, wondering if the man knew he was perhaps making a joke. He turned to find a decent bottle of red wine and poured the man a glass, filling it to the brim when the man made an encouraging gesture before he slid the wine glass across the bar to him.

With no other patrons seeking a drink—rather, they were looking to be the drink by this time of the night—Eric looked out over the dance floor, watching the gothic-dressed humans trying to impress the few vampires that were currently in the bar. This life was becoming monotonous, he decided. He wondered how hard it would be to convince Bill that he didn't need a Sheriff for Area 5 anymore. Perhaps he'd go back to Sweden for a while. Leave Pam to manage the bar and just avoid everyone for a couple decades. It had been a while since he'd last done something like that. Perhaps it would help him get out of this funk he was perpetually in.

"Something seems to be eating at you, son," the man in front of him said, taking a sip of the red wine before laying some bills on the bar. He gave Eric an encouraging smile, as if he wanted Eric to talk.

Eric smirked again, realizing there was a pun in the man's words. Something eating at him—a vampire. Ha. Clever human. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?" he asked the stranger, amused for once. "You're on the wrong side of the bar, old man."

"Not the way I see it," the other man said. He extended a hand for Eric to shake. "The name's Jake."

Eric shook. "Eric."

Jake nodded, looking down into his glass of wine. After a few moments, when Eric began to start cleaning up behind the bar, Jake spoke again. "I've been trying to figure out how to broach the subject of life insurance with vampires."

Eric paused from wiping down the bar, gaze going back to the older gentleman. "Life insurance. For vampires." He raised a single eyebrow. "You do know we live forever, right?"

The man shook a single finger, not at Eric, but at Eric's comment. "See, that's the thing. You might never die from old age or an illness, but vampires can die. The sun; an untimely meeting with a piece of wood. I'd say a tornado could kill a vampire just as easily as a human."

"I guess that's true," Eric said. "But I have yet to come across an insurance company that will actually give life insurance to a vampire. We have a hard enough time dealing with home and car insurance. Vampires are technically already dead—and until legislature is set in place to give us the same citizenship rights as humans, the loopholes for insurance companies to get out of paying a vampire's claim are far too large and obvious." He'd spent a millennium thinking humans beneath him. It had only been a few years, but the humans thought the same damn thing about vampires in return. Clearly.

Jake shrugged and smiled.

"Besides, what insurance company in their right mind would offer payouts for the sort of deaths we deal with? If it's not suicide, it's outright murder. Every time." Eric rubbed at a particularly rough spot on the counter—when had those gouges gotten into the wood?

Jake lifted a hand again, pointing at Eric. "Unless it's a tornado," he said, laughter in his voice.

Eric shook his head, unable to hide the smile on his face. He knew the man was trying to be serious about selling insurance, but this entire conversation was hilarious. "And that falls under natural disaster. Another great way to not have to honour the signed contract."

Jake nodded, sipping on his wine as he contemplated Eric's words. "All good points," he admitted. "But I'm happy to tell you that my company has already begun putting new wording in our contracts—it's our belief that everyone deserves affordable life insurance that works for them, not against them. Regardless of what species they are." Jake set his wine down and rummaged in a front pocket of his slacks, pulling out a business card, which he placed on the bar next to his drink.

Eric didn't touch it, just shaking his head. "I'm not looking for insurance, old man."

"I don't see why you wouldn't consider it," Jake replied. "We can offer you a contract for the first thousand years, locked in with a guarantee that we can only adjust the rates to reflect the market at every ten year mark. After a thousand years, we would have to consider doing a health risk assessment, of course, before we would renew for a second term."

"Health assessment?" Eric scoffed. "Again, we don't have health problems."

Jake shrugged his shoulders. "Mental health risks then, if that wording sounds better to you."

Eric shook his head again. "Not interested, old man."

Jake nodded, sipped the wine, seemed to consider Eric. "I only bring this up because you seem like you're worried about something. I figured perhaps it was related to someone's life . . . or perhaps death."

Eric made to roll his eyes, but he suddenly found a warm hand on his wrist, stopping him from cleaning a glass. Jake looked at him, warm brown eyes almost black in the club light. "Tell me what's weighing on your mind, son."

Eric tried to shrug out of the conversation, but he couldn't seem to break Jake's gaze. He found himself wanting to actually confide in the man, and that made him uncomfortable. Deflecting, he gave the older black man a sardonic look. "It's complicated. It might be a bit too much for you to handle."

Jake gave him a disarming smile, and he gestured with one hand, "Try me. You might be surprised."

Eric gave the older man another assessing look. "You look like someone's grandpa, old man. Hardly someone who belongs sitting in a vampire bar, asking a vampire about his problems."

Jake sipped on the wine. "Looks can be deceiving, son."

Eric heard the challenge in Jake's voice and decided he'd meet it. See how Jake liked it when he told him the truth. All of it. He'd probably think Eric insane and would go back to his insurance company and tell them it wasn't worth trying to sell to vampires. "I've got a thousand years of sins at my feet, old man."

"Who doesn't?" Jake said, waving a hand in dismissal before going back to his wine. Those brown eyes never left Eric's.

Not like Lucifer's. No. Not like Lucifer's.

"No, I'm being quite literal here," Eric told him. "I've been a vampire for a thousand years. That means I've got a thousand years' worth of murders to atone for when I die." He mused. "And the ones I committed when I was still alive, too."

"Tell me your sins," Jake said warmly. "I'd hear of them."

Eric snorted. "What do you define as sin?"

Jake shrugged. "What do you define as sin?" he returned the question back to Eric.

"Hard for a vampire to tell," Eric informed Jake. "I've learned we don't have access to a moral compass."

Jake nodded at that, seeming to consider the revelation as he swirled his glass of wine and looked into the dark red depths. "I suppose it could be hard to determine sin from simply trying to survive if you find yourself with no direction."

"And, quite frankly, sin today is not what was considered a sin when I was alive," Eric continued. "By my human religion, some of the things I see as sins today were even considered a guarantee into what people would now consider heaven."

Jake gave a half smile. "Let me guess: Valhalla."

Eric gave a short nod.

"Why am I not surprised?" Jake mused to himself.

"The blond hair gives it away?" Eric asked, a self-conscious hand reaching up to push it back into place. He hadn't slicked it back when he'd gotten up and it was getting in his eyes. And beyond rinsing the blood out of it the night before, he hadn't washed it either. There were a lot of things he didn't feel like doing lately.

Jake just shook his head and gestured for Eric to continue. Clearly Jake the insurance agent wanted to know what sins a vampire committed. Probably so he could determine what he wouldn't insure when vampires eventually lined up to protect the things they coveted the most.

"Well, I think everyone can agree that outright murder is high up on the list," Eric said. "A thousand year's worth."

"How many would that be?" Jake asked.

Eric shrugged. "It's not like I ever kept count. And there were times when I revelled in being the monster, old man."

"Do you still?" Jake asked, curious.

"No." Eric's answer was quick. He didn't have to ponder that, not even for a second.

"When did that change, do you think?" Jake asked. "When Tru Blood was invented and you were able to come out of the coffin?"

This Eric did have to think about. Somewhere between the time he was shuffled into Shreveport in the 80s and the last few years, he decided. "It was before then," he said. "Don't get me wrong. I've definitely killed since, but it's usually for a reason."

"Rather than for the sport of it?" Jake asked, eyebrows raised.

"Yes," Eric replied immediately. He hadn't enjoyed the sport of it in ages. Oh, he had still felt that humans were beneath them, an inferior species. Hell, he still felt that some of the time. But he hadn't killed for fun in decades. "I will kill those who threaten to kill me and mine. I see no issue with that." Even with the anguish he felt about having no soul and no moral compass, he still had no qualms about that idea. Perhaps there truly was still some Viking in him.

"Sort of like punishment?" Jake mused.

Eric shrugged. "Punishment? Or a guarantee there will be no new threat from them in the future?"

Jake nodded. "So not punishment. You don't try to punish those who do bad things?"

Eric snorted a dry laugh at that. "Why would I? So long as you aren't threatening me or my kind, why the fuck should I care what you do?"

Jake gave a single-shouldered shrug. "I know someone who thinks that way. Believes that people deserve just punishment for their crimes."

"Well, it's not me," Eric replied. He soured, thinking of Lucifer. He was the king of torture, the man who meted out punishment to every single soul that deserved it. He'd gotten the impression Lucifer didn't like that job—why else would he be hiding out on earth? Complaining that the system was broken. Trying to assure Eric that he would give Eric special treatment in hell because Eric didn't actually deserve to be there.

"What other sins can a vampire accomplish?" he mused, thinking of all the ways he'd fucked his life up, guaranteeing him that spot down there. "I dare say the outright murder most definitely went along with gluttony." Oh, how it had. The bloodbaths. Literal bloodbaths.

Eric lifted a hand and began to tick off the things he was certain were problems. "Theft. Not just one or two things. I've stolen plenty besides lives—money, cars, valuables, identities, jewelry. If it was something I wanted, I took it." He gave Jake a sarcastic grin. "Bet you don't want to insure me now." Jake drank down the last of his wine.

Eric picked up the wine bottle and poured the man another. "Torture, for sure. Mostly as a vampire—and I enjoyed it. But I can't pretend my human life didn't involve that, too." Jake pursed his lips, nodding as he listened.

"How about lust? Because, oh how I've wallowed in that." Eric considered. "Still do." He stared Jake down. "And not just with women. Or one at a time." He leaned over the bar. "Perhaps I don't consider that one a sin."

He expected the old man to recoil at that, but all he got was a knowing smile instead. As if he hadn't been surprised. Perhaps Jake did belong in Fangtasia. Maybe he wasn't as innocent as he appeared to be.

"A thousand years of sins," Jake mused. "As per the human understanding of sin."

"Yes," Eric said sourly. "And some day I will die and I'll have to account for every single one of them."

"Are you sure about that?" Jake asked. "On whose authority do you base that belief?"

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you," Eric grumped, folding his arms and leaning against the bar.

The ghost of a long-dead witch.

Amenadiel, an actual angel.

Hell, even Lucifer probably believed it. He'd be here if hadn't, right?

Eric's shoulders slumped as he thought about Lucifer. God, how he missed the man. Why hadn't he come? What was keeping him away? You'd think he'd come back, even if it was just to say thanks but no thanks, and then get in his little car and be gone. He felt the tears threatening this time and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the damn feelings to disappear. He wished he could hate Lucifer—but all he felt was desperation and longing.

"Tell me son, do you feel remorse?" Jake didn't seem to mind that Eric hadn't bothered to answer his last question, just moved on to the next like some wise and patient therapist. Was this what it was like for Lucifer, with Linda asking him questions?

"For what?" Eric asked.

Jake opened his arms wide. "For any of it."

"Of course I do," Eric said.

His mood was worsening, as he thought about his soul, off somewhere waiting for him to reunite with it—and bring all his vampiric baggage with him.

"I revelled in being a vampire. I wallowed in all of the dark pleasures it offered me for a very, very long time. And until recently, I didn't think it was a problem." Eric sighed. "But then my maker changed his mind about being a vampire—he wanted to see vampires coexist with humans. My maker, Godric. The man who taught me what it was to fight and fuck and kill like only a vampire could. He changed his fucking mind. Told me, my siblings, his entire nest that we should stop the senseless violence." Eric sighed, looking up at the ceiling as he remembered. "He said he'd had a revelation. He thought he knew what was waiting for him when he met the sun. And then he went willingly."

Eric clenched his fists. "But we've been without our souls for so long. For him? At least two thousand years. Possibly three. That's three thousand years to atone for—and he didn't fucking know that when he reunites with that soul, he would be judged for all those sins committed when he couldn't feel remorse for it."

"But you just said you feel remorse now," Jake countered. "Don't you think he might have felt remorse while he was alive?"

Eric stopped at that. Was that what had happened? Or had Godric gone mad?

Jake shook his head. "I'm sorry. That's neither here nor there. Your maker is already gone, yes? Why do you feel remorse?"

"Because . . ." Eric paused, his thoughts immediately going to Sookie, that stupid fairy waitress. She'd helped give him back emotions that he hadn't felt or even thought of in centuries. It wasn't her fault he gave a shit now, but she sure as hell had played a part in it. Right from the beginning, when she'd stayed with Godric as the sun rose. Like as not, Sookie Stackhouse had opened his heart to feel again—and even if she hadn't been the one to share his heart, she'd knocked something back into place.

Soul or no soul; moral compass or not, Sookie had changed him. And then he'd met Lucifer, the self-professed devil . . . and he'd found someone he wanted to feel something for. Eric sneered, hating himself for caring what someone thought of him. Even the devil. "I was cursed," he finally said. "I forgot who I was, what I'd done. It woke up parts of me that had been turned off for centuries."

"So now you feel guilt for your sins," Jake mused.

"So it seems," Eric agreed, then growled. "I'd rather not feel anything."

"No?" Jake looked surprised. "Does it bother you then? The guilt?"

"All of it," Eric said. "The guilt. The fear. The heartache."

Jake nodded at that in understanding. He paused to drink from his glass, then sat back. "We've all got things that bother us, son. For instance, I recently decided to get my son a gift. Sort of an apology, a way to make reparations, if you will. But it turns out I got him the wrong gift entirely—he already found what he needed, what he wanted. And it's not anything like I had thought was right for him."

"And this is a problem how?" Eric asked, not understanding the change in topic. Or how getting his kid the wrong gift was anything similar to Eric's emotional state.

"Well, how do I fix the rift between us when I can't even find him the perfect gift? I clearly don't know him well enough in that regard . . ."

"How is this related to my problems?" Eric asked, suddenly feeling upset. The man was acting like Eric's problems didn't matter. Why had he even bothered confiding in this stranger who had walked into Fangtasia? God, it was the second time he'd done this. And the last time had led to, well . . .

That didn't matter now, did it?

Eric sighed.

"I can see the connection," Jake said, but then shook his head, deciding he didn't need to explain himself.

"Son, take this from a man with spiritual experience," Jake changed tactics, and Eric felt an urge to roll his eyes like Pam would. Hadn't he heard Eric when he said he had a thousand years of sins? Experience from a sixty-something? Ha. "I think when the time comes to be judged, you're going to be just fine. And this maker of yours, I think he got it right in the end. And that's going to count for something, I promise."

He finished off his second drink, pulling another wad of bills from a pocket to place on the bar. "Now, what about car insurance, son? I noticed a couple pretty cars out there in the lot. Can I assume one might belong to you? Perhaps the one under the tarp?"

Eric laughed at this, the unexpected change of topic entertaining him for a brief moment. "I've already got car insurance, old man. I might be damned, but I take care of my possessions, don't you worry about that."

Jake chuckled. "I had to try."

A vampire sidled up to the bar, asking for an AB+ Tru Blood. Eric turned around, grabbed the bottle, cracked it open, and threw it in the microwave. When he turned back while waiting for it to heat up, he found Jake, the insurance agent, gone. He looked toward the door, but found no one heading that way. A glance at the dance floor showed him nothing but the usual suspects. All that remained of his friendly visitor was the business card that had been placed on the bar near the beginning of their conversation. How the hell had he disappeared so damn quickly?

Eric grabbed the business card, looking at it with curiosity as he turned back to the microwave, the beeping telling him the Tru Blood was warm. Jake Benedict. Life Coach / Life Insurance Agent. The damn thing didn't even have a phone number or email address on it. Just a little feather and smiley face. Eric looked up again, confusion dancing at the edges of his thoughts.

Who the hell had he just been talking to?