Eric's polite conversation with Jake the insurance agent seemed to soothe Pam's anger at Eric. She abandoned the throne and came behind the bar, helping Tara restock the fridge with Tru Blood while Ginger finally showed up to her shift to tend the bar. When Eric asked about the gouges on the bar, Tara and Pam looked at each other, but neither were willing to answer him. Clearly something had happened while he was gone, but unless he commanded the information out of Pam, he knew he wasn't going to get anywhere with either vampire.

He let it slide and that seemed to ease Pam's tension too.

When she told Eric to go back to his throne, he knew he'd been forgiven for trying to bleed a man dry in front of an entire club's worth of witnesses. Not that it had really mattered. If anything, Fangtasia was more crowded tonight than it had been the night before. Nothing like a spot of danger to turn a human on, apparently.

Eric was heading from the bar to the dais when Sookie and her fucking werewolf walked in. Again. Sookie caught sight of him and, pulling Alcide along, made her way directly toward him. Eric sighed, frustrated that she'd come in again. What was she doing? Making Fangtasia her date night of choice in Shreveport? Couldn't she find a better place to take her pet than Eric's bar? He was over his heartache, sure—but did she need to rub it in?

"Eric!" Sookie called his name before he could step foot onto the dais and pretend to ignore her like the vampire god he was to his customers. He stopped, lowering his head to pinch the bridge of his nose. How many people felt they needed to talk to him this night? He slowly turned to meet her.

"Sookie," he greeted her. He nodded at Alcide, about as much as he could stomach doing considering he knew they'd had sex pretty much right when the sun had gone down and Eric had woken up. It wasn't bothering him nearly as much as the first time he'd felt her amorous emotions, but it was tiresome all the same. Most especially since Eric himself hadn't gotten any action since, well . . . he hadn't had sex since Sookie, and he hadn't had a sexual connection since Lucifer. Maybe if he could just vent off some goddamned steam, it wouldn't be so frustrating.

Although he did wonder when their connection would begin to waver. Not anytime soon, he didn't think.

"Eric, I just wanted to make sure you're okay," Sookie said. "You took off like a bat out of hell yesterday and never came back. I got worried."

No, he supposed he hadn't. He'd gotten in his Corvette—his, not Lucifer's—the night before and driven until he didn't fucking hurt anymore. Which was nearly 'till dawn.

"I'm fine," Eric said. "No need to babysit me."

Sookie rolled her eyes at him. "Excuse me for caring," she said. It was clear though, despite her sarcasm, that she was still concerned.

Eric raised a single eyebrow as he looked down at her. "Why do you care?"

Sookie folded her arms over her chest and glared at Eric. "You know why I care," she replied.

Eric cocked his head to the side but then stopped himself, realizing he was imitating a move that Lucifer would do. "Do I though?" he asked, straightening his shoulders.

Sookie scowled at him and reached out to smack him on the chest. It was like a kitten batting at a lion; he barely felt it. "Shut up," she told him, then stopped to give him a once over. Yet again, he was not in his standard leather jacket and jeans. He wasn't going so far as to completely copy Lucifer, but he was dressed in a velvety red button-down dress shirt with black pants. He still fit in in Fangtasia, but he clearly wasn't pandering to the gothic and metalhead fangbangers that frequented the joint, either. "You look good, Eric," Sookie said. "Got yourself a hot date?"

Eric glared back at her. "No," he said, the word short and clipped.

"Sookie, he's fine. Can we go?" Alcide clearly agreed with Eric—Fangtasia did not make for a good date night for the lovebirds. There was simply too much history between them—between all three of them.

Eric's gaze went over Sookie's head toward the door, hoping she would take the hint and leave. But he completely forgot about her when he recognized the woman stalking through his door.

Fuck.

His stomach dropped at the site of Maze, dressed all in leather and looking cross.

Maze, come to take Lucifer's car home.

Maze, come to check on Eric because Lucifer couldn't stomach the idea of doing it himself.

Maze. In Lucifer's stead.

Fuck.

Maze locked eyes with Eric immediately, and with a sashay to her hips strode through the crowd of dancers toward him. Everything that had kept his mind off Lucifer disappeared with the presence of the demon. All he could think was that he wasn't even worth Lucifer's fucking time. If his heart could break, it was certainly breaking right then. It sure as shit felt like it.

"Eric? What's wrong?" He could hear Sookie, but he couldn't even grace her with a sarcastic response.

That empty pit where his hope had been began to crack, and he could feel himself beginning to fall apart again. Like he needed another excuse to attack a fangbanger and get his bar closed permanently by the goddamn Authority, or worse by the humans themselves. But with the arrival of Maze and the decided lack of Lucifer, he either wanted to cry or punch someone—and quite frankly, punching someone would feel better.

"Viking," Maze called out as she shortened the distance between them. Eric got the impression that he wasn't going to get to sit down anytime soon. When it rained, it poured. "Quite the exit you made the other day, wasn't it?"

Eric growled low in his throat and Sookie turned just as Maze approached. "Hi, I'm Sookie," she said, sounding super upbeat, like she always did when she met someone new. "Eric's been making new friends, has he?"

Maze gave her a frosty look and refused to shake the proffered hand. "I guess you could say that." She turned her attention on Eric. "You just fucking leave every time you don't get what you want?" she accused Eric. "I shouldn't be surprised. Like is drawn to like, and Lucifer's no better, is he?"

Eric didn't bother giving her an answer. "Are you here for the car?" he asked, any icy despair settling over his thoughts. Oh God, she was going to take the car and that would be that—never would he see Lucifer or his band of supernatural friends again. "I don't have the keys, so I hope he gave them to you. I've also got his suit in the back. Got the blood out of it." God, was this that kind of breakup? Where you used a mutual friend to get your fucking items back? The devil sure knew how to personalize his torture, because Eric couldn't stomach the idea that Lucifer couldn't even bear to look at him anymore.

This was worse. This was far worse than Sookie dumping his ass. Even worse than Sookie dumping him, then bringing her new boyfriend around.

Maze looked impressed, oblivious to what was going through Eric's mind. "You got the blood out? Damn, I should have asked a vampire for advice ages ago."

Right.

Well.

If she was here for Lucifer's things, she could get them herself. He was about to tell her so when he realized he was being a selfish shit. Just because Lucifer didn't want to see Eric again didn't mean Maze shouldn't mean Pam. Pam could help Maze and Eric would ignore Sookie and go sit on his throne and just—fucking—deal.

"Pam!" he called out, and he caught the glare from his progeny as she stood behind the bar.

"You don't have to yell," she replied back.

"Come here!"

Pam visibly sighed and a moment later was with them, leaving Ginger to hand out drinks. "What do you want, Eric?" she asked. "We've got a bar to run."

"Where's Tara?" Eric asked. "Get her to help Ginger tend the bar. God knows she's got enough experience tending bar."

This, of course, resulted in Pam doing the yelling, which was clearly beginning to annoy Sookie and Alcide. Although Sookie was spending a good amount of time eyeing Maze. "You don't just have a potty mouth," she finally said. "You've got a potty mind." Eric was surprised that she had been spying on Maze's thoughts—a bit rude, even for her.

"Who the fuck are you?" Maze asked Sookie.

"This is Sookie Stackhouse," Pam told Maze. "Magical pain in my ass."

"Oh," Maze gave Sookie another look. "So you're the waitress."

This surprised Eric. He hadn't told the demon about Sookie—it must have been Lucifer. That meant Lucifer had talked about him. When? How often? Was it good? If he was talking about Eric and the things Eric had told him, then why the hell wasn't he here?

Eric was confused, his heart hurt, and he didn't feel like talking to any of these people anymore.

"Pam, this is Maze. She needs access to my office to get something for her boss. I trust you can help her?" It wasn't just that he wanted to be left alone to wallow. Lucifer had been right—these two women would get along fabulously if they got to know each other.

"Why the hell can't you do it yourself?" Pam asked, cocking a hip and placing a perfectly manicured hand on it to show her distaste in being told what to do. Eric could hardly expect her to do as he asked—she never did. It was part of her charm, after all.

"Because I fucking told you to do it," Eric snarled at his progeny. It was the best way to get her to do something—and he really did want to see what would happen if the two women walked off together. Not that he wanted them to know what he was trying to do.

"Your boss is a dick," Maze told Pam.

"Tell me about it," Pam lamented.

"Curse me out all you want, but you will help Maze with whatever she wants," Eric said. "She wants a drink? Give it to her. She wants to see how a vampire bar is run? Show her."

"What if she wants something more esoteric?" Maze asked. "Can I have a Viking?"

Eric growled. "No. But Pam used to be a madam. I'm sure she can find you someone willing and able."

"They're not even talking to each other, and he's still out of bounds," Maze complained. "Show me where the suit is?"

Pam gave Eric a final glare before flourishing with a hand which way for Maze to go. "This way," she said, the sarcasm strong.

Eric watched the two of them walk away, leather and lace. One tall, the other short, both walking like the alpha bitches that they truly were. Something in him felt satisfaction at seeing them together. It was just as he had begun to imagine he and Lucifer looked together. At complete odds yet so perfectly matched. The two women complemented each other in their differences—tall and short, light and dark—yet both with sarcasm etched into their entire personas. And both with a penchant for blood.

Perfection.

Feeling morose that he had missed his chance at such a beautiful thing, he turned back to the dais, stepped up and settled himself in his stupid throne. Sookie huffed, not happy that he'd ended their little chat, but Alcide grabbed her by the arm, gave Eric a knowing look and dragged her away toward the bar and Tara. At least the werewolf knew when to let another man have some silence. For all he'd loved Sookie, she'd never known when to stop prying. Perhaps because she could read people's thoughts, the fact that she couldn't with vampires left her craving the extra intel.

Or maybe she was just nosy.

With the club music drowning his senses, he sat on the hardbacked chair, fingers digging into the wooden arms as he watched Pam interact with Maze. At first, it didn't seem to go well, but when Tara extricated herself from talking to Sookie and caught up with her maker, things suddenly changed. Eric watched, fascinated, as what had been stilted turned animated, the three ladies clearly sizing each other up and finding interest there. Maze said something. Tara laughed. Tara, the ever angry baby vamp, fucking laughed. Pam's look of charged delight at that made Eric realize that there'd been something going on between the two of them in recent weeks. And he'd missed it. Suddenly those gouges in the bar seemed to make a lot more sense. Had they . . . ?

When Pam coyly pushed Maze's shoulder, a sly look on her face, Eric knew she was interested. And with Tara looking between the two women hopefully, he wondered if their night was going to get interesting. At least something good might come of everything he'd put himself through.

"I hadn't thought of a third, but I do quite like the idea now that I see it."

The words came from his right, from one of the smaller chairs, surprising the shit out of Eric. He flew from his throne, jumping back a good three feet and toppling the heavy chair over before he gained control of himself. "Jesus fucking Christ!" he swore, staring in shock at the devil that had been sitting next to him.

Ginger, never one to pass up a chance to freak out—or to stare at her boss—began to scream, and the annoying but familiar sound helped Eric compose himself. Pam yelled at her to shut up and the vampire flunky's screams quickly cut off. All of thirty seconds had passed.

"Can we please not talk about him?" Lucifer asked, crossing his legs and setting his hands against one knee. "I'd rather not think about Dad's favourite son."

Eric felt embarrassed. No one ever snuck up on him. No one. "How the fuck did you do that?" he asked, trying to ignore the tightening in his chest at the sight of the dark-haired man. Lucifer had come. What did that fucking mean?

Lucifer was giving him a look though, as if Eric should know better.

Eric shook his head, embarrassment getting worse. "Right. Angel."

"I think you mean the devil," Lucifer corrected, pretending to look offended.

God, the man looked so good sitting on the smaller throne, impeccably dressed, his hair slightly tousled. He'd either flown or he'd come in a convertible and Eric couldn't decide which. His only thought was that he wished he could run his hands through that hair, fix it, feel it soft against his fingers. But it had been two weeks and Lucifer hadn't come. Eric didn't think he had the right to touch that hair, no matter how much he wanted to. And if there was one lesson that Eric had willingly taken away from being with Sookie, was that consent made all the difference when it came to touching.

"What are you doing here?" he finally asked, righting his throne and dragging it back into place. He sat himself down, trying his best to slow his breathing and look like he didn't give a shit that the man he was in love with had showed up, quite literally, out of the blue. He crossed an ankle over his knee and stared out at the club, looking anywhere but at the man beside him. He didn't need to—he was acutely aware of his presence.

"Why did you leave like you did?" Lucifer answered his question with one of his own. "Was it me?"

That question, laced with self-doubt, took Eric by surprise. He glanced at Lucifer, eyebrows drawn together in concern. Was the devil honestly that unsure of himself? But then he remembered Chloe, barely tolerating the man; Amenadiel, treating him like a child; even Linda, accusing the devil of his inability to be vulnerable. It wasn't that he refused to be vulnerable, Eric realized, it was that the man truly was unsure of himself and his own worthiness. He ran from his problems because he was scared of getting hurt.

Dear God, Lucifer was worse than Eric.

Eric sighed, knowing he would have to explain himself. He suspected that Lucifer was probably blaming himself for the last two weeks of Eric's absence. But if he'd been that worried, why hadn't he tried calling or texting? If Lucifer was unsure, Eric was doubly so. The tension in his chest grew worse. "Lucifer, it had absolutely nothing to do with you. Being told I have to atone for my sins when I die, regardless of my soul being tethered differently than a human's . . . that isn't exactly the sort of thing I was hoping to hear from your brother. That sort of information can make or break a vampire."

"We could have talked it out, Viking. I . . . wanted to talk it out with you." Lucifer frowned, but when Eric tried to make eye contact, it was Lucifer's turn to not meet his gaze.

"I wasn't exactly thinking straight," Eric replied, not even sure he wanted to talk about it now, for that matter. All he wanted to do was stare at Lucifer, drink in the sight of the man. He'd missed being so near him. "Being told you're going straight to hell, no matter how you might try to change for the better, isn't exactly what I had been hoping to hear when we'd set out to find answers."

"And I tried telling you—it wouldn't be so bad. I'm the one bloody ruling the place!"

"I won't be there to be with you!" Eric snapped. His fingers were digging into the arms of the throne, and the wood creaked in protest. If he wasn't careful, he was going to break his stupid throne into matchsticks.

Lucifer waved a hand in dismissal, but it was apparent the idea bothered him too. "Arrangements could be made, Viking. I wouldn't let you suffer through never-ending torture for eternity."

"But why?" Eric asked, not daring to look at Lucifer as he asked. "Why would you do that for me?"

There was a silence between the two men, the club music thumping in the background, people dancing their lives away in front of them. Across the bar, Eric saw Tara look up at Pam with what could only pass as devotion in her eyes, but Pam was busy giving Maze a curious look.

When it was obvious Lucifer wasn't going to reply to Eric, the vampire hung his head in defeat. The devil kept promising him that if he ended up in hell, there would be exceptions for him. But Lucifer was lying, even to himself. Otherwise, he'd just fucking say it. The truth. That he felt what was between them, too.

Lucifer sighed, and Eric braced himself. This was the moment when the devil would admit that he'd made a mistake getting involved with Eric. Eric closed his eyes, not wanting to see him when he said the words.

"Viking, I'm not used to watching other people run from their problems. Usually I'm the one that does the running, as I'm sure you figured when speaking with Linda and Amenadiel. I've never watched someone I care about act out the way I do—but I do know that I normally don't want someone following me when I'm like that."

Eric blinked, hearing an answer hidden within the change of topic. Lucifer wasn't telling him to fuck off—Lucifer was telling him he cared. He shifted on his throne, turning to see Lucifer—only to find the man watching him with big, brown eyes. "Is that true?" Eric finally asked. "Do you really want to be left alone?"

A silence stretched between them, but neither man broke eye contact. Eric could see Lucifer struggling, trying to find the courage to speak his own weaknesses to a man who he had watched fall apart multiple times in the course of the week they'd been together. The day he'd told Eric he could be vulnerable, it hadn't quite been the truth. But now . . .

Lucifer took a deep breath and shook his head. "No, of course not. But no one's ever bothered to follow, you understand."

That admission hurt to hear, and if Eric had been more certain where the two of them stood, he might have reached out to Lucifer.

"I should have come sooner," Lucifer said, answering an unasked question. "But in my defense, it took three bloody days to get here." He gestured toward the bar where Maze was apparently sizing Pam up. "I couldn't come back here and not bring Maze along, after all." His hand went to his hair, fingers running through it to ruin his windswept look.

He'd driven then.

"You could have called," Eric said, sounding like a clingy, pouty girlfriend, even to himself.

"Better to make a grand entrance, don't you think?" Lucifer asked, trying to give Eric a hopeful smile.

When Eric didn't return it, clearly still smarting at the idea that the devil couldn't even reach out for two weeks, Lucifer reached a hand out, laying it against Eric's forearm. "Viking, I've a suspicion you think yourself evil and that perhaps my silence made you think I agree. But Eric, my silence was my problem, not yours. I do apologize that my own shortcomings might have hurt you."

He was apologizing? The devil, apologizing to Eric?

"You're not damned," Lucifer continued, seeming to be on a roll. "You're a Viking, a vampire. You are built to fight, but that doesn't make you unredeemable. My father bloody messed with things, and I can't undo that for you—but I would if I could. I can promise I can make changes down below, though. You're not damned, Viking, regardless of what my brother suggested. Everything will turn out fine when the time comes."

An entire soliloquy from the devil. An admission of his own problems, and a promise that Eric wasn't malicious. He didn't think he'd ever heard Lucifer say so much in one go, much less be this serious. But it was the last sentence that ended up standing out to Eric. Those words echoed in his head, and Eric smiled wryly. "Weirdly enough, you're not the first person to tell me that tonight."

Lucifer sat back in his chair, hands falling to his knee again as he cocked his head to the side. "Oh?" he asked.

"The weirdest thing happened earlier. Some old man came in trying to sell me insurance, and ended up trying to get my life story out of me." Eric glanced back to the bar where the man had sat. The stool was empty at the moment. The man's strange and useless business card was in Eric's pocket and he fished it out to show it to Lucifer.

Lucifer took the business card and studied it for all of ten seconds. "Tell me, Viking. Was your visitor a black man, about my height? Greying beard? Perhaps a bit thick around the middle, but solidly built? Overly friendly?"

"Actually, that's spot on," Eric said, surprised. A friend of Lucifer's, perhaps?

Lucifer's entire demeanour changed, becoming both upset and offended. "You have got to be kidding me," he said. "Dad shows up on earth and doesn't even pop in to say hello to me? How bloody like him." Lucifer sighed in frustration, looking at the card. "A feather and a smiley face. How dare he use emojis." He glared at that little business card for a solid minute, not saying anything. Suddenly, he ripped it up and let the tiny pieces of cardstock fall to the dais. "He comes to spy on you, and can't even bother to talk to me. Why am I never bloody enough?"

"I'm sorry . . . are you saying I spoke to God?" Eric asked, not quite believing what he was hearing from Lucifer.

"I'm afraid you did," Lucifer said, frowning as he looked down at the tiny pieces of what had been his father's literal calling card. "I do apologize. I hope he wasn't too rude to you."

Eric began to laugh as pieces of a puzzle he hadn't understood began to fall in place. That empty pit where his hope had been—suddenly gone. He wasn't damned. God himself had said so, and here was the devil, promising he'd find Eric salvation, too. He'd spent two fucking weeks wallowing in self pity, and now suddenly he was being given a sign that he had nothing to worry about at all. Could he really be so lucky?

"I'm not certain I find any of this humorous," Lucifer snapped, which only made Eric laugh more. Lucifer sighed and gave Eric an imploring look.

"It's just . . ." Eric paused, shaking his head in disbelief. "He told me he'd gotten his son a gift, but that it had been the wrong gift."

Lucifer looked at him, confusion etched across his face.

"I think your father gave me his blessing," Eric said, a strange sense of happiness beginning to replace the bleakness. "You know . . ." Eric gestured between the two of them. "If you were still interested, that is." The last was said with uncertainty. Because really—two whole weeks had gone by, after all. And Eric knew how fleeting love could be.

It didn't take Lucifer to catch on, to understand Eric's words. About a gift being the wrong gift.

Lucifer gave Eric a saucy smile. "Do I need to put it on a billboard?" he asked the Viking.

Eric lit up, smiling wide. "Would you, please?" he returned.