I barely felt the prick of the lancet. Dr. Noura swiftly collected the bead of blood that gathered at my fingertip and wheeled her office chair over to her workstation to prepare the blood smear.

I sucked my fingertip, and kept my attention focused on the eye test poster with its stark black letters. It was mounted on the back of her clinic room door. Those eye-test posters had a name, a strange one, though I couldn't recall it for the life of me. I focused on trying to remember the name for that and not on the thoughts of the doctor examining my blood under a microscope.

The last thirty minutes I'd been subjected to a thorough physical exam, poked and prodded in every manner imaginable, and had to give my entire life's medical history. Which, to be fair, wasn't too long. I'd always been in good health. At least until vampires entered my life.

I'd been lucky to get this appointment. I'd phoned the doctor's office the week before, right after Mr. C had texted me the details of the supe doctor, and the receptionist had informed me that the doctor was booked up for nearly the entire month, but by some stroke of luck a patient had just canceled an appointment, and would I be available to come in later the following week? And so here I was.

I'd been a bundle of nerves all week as the appointment loomed. This last year had been one of personal discovery, that was for sure… And some truths you could only escape for so long. While I knew that I needed to understand what was happening to me physically—why I could seemingly survive death but not heal from a tumble onto concrete—at the same time, I didn't want to know at all. I was scared what it might mean. Scared what that knowledge might bring. I had worked hard to wrap my head around the idea of potentially living …a long time (I wasn't quite ready to say the big "F" word in the cold light of day), but now that all seemed to crumble to dust in the face of my recent injury.

Dr. Noura looked up from her microscope and, in a practiced move, let the glasses slide from where they rested high on her forehead so that they landed on the bridge of her nose. She was young, and certainly more attractive than Dr. Ludwig, but with about the same amount of bedside manner. Perhaps supe doctors didn't get taught bedside manner at supe medical school. Someone really ought to bring it up with their administration.

I felt myself squirm under her steely, assessing gaze.

"I take it from your expression that I'm a freak of nature. Medically speaking," I said, and it was like my voice came from somewhere far away. Not here, where I sat, trying to make sense of myself and my life and how I fit in with it all.

"Conundrum, perhaps, but no freak."

Amelia was waiting for me on a plush couch in the cushy waiting room, and when I eventually emerged from the clinic room her thoughts and questions came bursting into my mind like flood waters. To her credit, she managed to keep them to herself until I'd sorted out billing at reception and we'd walked back to my car.

"Sook, if you don't talk to me right now, I might scream!"

I exhaled in a single big puff. "I'm normal."

"What?"

I unlocked the car and we both got in.

"As normal as a part-fairy telepath can be," I said.

"How can you be 'normal'?"

"She examined me, examined my blood and that is her expert opinion."

"What about your…" She gestured to my abdomen to where I'd been impaled by the sword. "I mean, how can that be normal, even for a fairy? Most supes would consider themselves lucky to be able to walk off an injury like that, let alone to survive without a scratch!"

"Maybe I had a guardian angel that night?" I said, but not really believing it. It wasn't like healing from a fatal injury had been a total surprise for me. I'd witnessed in the preceding months how my cuts, scratches and bruises had healed almost instantly. Hell, a part of me—a deep intuitive part—had known I was going to survive that sword injury when it happened.

"I call bullshit. Something is fucking hinky," Amelia declared.

"Dr. Noura said I gotta go get a proper blood test, and anyway, I'm due for a follow up x-ray next week at the fracture clinic so I guess I'll see if anything unusual comes up then."

"I mean, what kind of supe doctor is she? Did she even read your aura?"

I shrugged and started the car. "I don't know if that's standard protocol." I left the carpark and merged into the busy morning traffic of Mid-City. The day was bright and blue, and for once it wasn't so humid. I'd even managed to get my hair back in a sleek ponytail, no flyaways. I was getting the hang of this broken wrist thing; it hardly slowed me at all. I'd ditched the sling days ago.

"I can see your aura," said Amelia, "and it's different."

I snatched a quick, alarmed glance at her. "What the heck does that mean?"

"You're dark in patches and…" She lifted a hand and wiggled her fingers.

"What does that mean?" I mimicked the movement with my own fingers using my good hand.

"I don't know. I just figured you were heartbroken after Danny maybe? But maybe it's something more."

"Honestly, Amelia, this is all sounding too woo-woo for me. I mean, is that what you're actually seeing when you look at me?"

I thought back to the night at the witch bonfire in Dallas. I'd inadvertently gotten stoned on the thick smoke and seen something like auras around all the people in attendance of the midnight ritual. Maybe that was how she saw me all the time?

"You don't see an aura," she said in a 'well, duh!' tone. "It's something you sense. And you or your psyche is… pained, broken."

I rolled my eyes and kept my focus trained on the traffic. City driving was still a new experience for me. "I am not heartbroken over Danny. I was sad, but I broke up with him because I had to."

"You didn't have to."

"I did." A car cut in front of me, and I applied the brakes to give it more room. "I can't rely on your necklace to maintain a relationship. I love that you went to the effort of making it for me. And it's a big help in so many aspects of our life, really. But…"

"It didn't seem fair to him?" she finished for me.

"Sure. You could say that." I hadn't even told him about my telepathic abilities. "It was more than that. I think I realized that I can never be with someone quote-unquote normal. Even besides all the other weirdness going on in my life. It's been a lot to deal with. Maybe that's what you're seeing—or sensing."

"Ok-ay." She said the word with lashings of uncertainty, and it stoked my annoyance in return.

"Well, then you explain it to me, since you seem to know it all. How does my weird aura figure into all this?"

From my peripheral vision, I saw her cock her head and stare at me. A little like Dr. Noura just had.

"It doesn't…" she said. A second later the sheer volume of her thoughts hit my shields like the rush of flood water. "It doesn't!" She whacked me on the shoulder.

"Hey!" I swatted her back. "Don't assault the driver."

Amelia laughed, brightly and triumphantly. "You're heartbroken but not about Danny!"

I scowled at her.

"Go on, deny it!" She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms, totally satisfied, pleased as punch she'd worked it out. "Huh. It all makes sense now," she said.

"My love life isn't really the topic of discussion here. It's my health."

"Oh, shut up. You're deflecting. It's Eric, isn't it?"

"Amelia," I said warningly.

"It's all connected. Health. Wellbeing. Sexual wellbeing. It all takes a toll. C'mon, say it ain't so…"

Amelia made no secret of the fact that she was a lover of sex. Who was I kidding? I was too. And my sex life had been a veritable desert the last few years, spare the handful of months Danny and I had dated. It was too bad. A girl sure got used to it.

"I'm not hung up on Eric."

"Girl—you are lying. To yourself. To me. To the whole freaking universe."

"Give me a break."

"I'm being serious!"

"I'm not hung up on him." Lie. "I am upset that things are so weird between us now." Somewhat closer to the truth.

"Weird how?"

I bit my lip. I was reluctant to share. Part of me feared that saying the words out loud would make it more real, somehow more painfully true than it already was. And another part just didn't want to poke the emotional wound; it hurt, and it was easier to lock that hurt up in a box and stuff it away where I wouldn't have to look at it, think about it, deal with it. My cheeks puffed out as I exhaled heavily.

That was doing myself a disservice though, wasn't it? I thought back to my resolve after the night of the coronation. I was trying to do things differently now. But why did the trying have to be so dang hard? I pushed aside my misgivings and decided to, for once, lay it all out.

I told her exactly how things had been with Eric since his return. How effortlessly our friendship had resumed, how he'd started up with his flirty ways and then kissed me in Dallas. How then I'd kissed him back after I'd died, only for him to push me away. I swiped a tear from my eye as I told her of the distance he had since imposed. Yes, it hurt to speak the thing out loud, but it also felt better. It wasn't just stewing like some sort of quagmire in my heart; it was out in the daylight, waiting for examination. Finally, I told Amelia of our moment of connection on the night of the coronation when I'd showed up at his apartment, and his subsequent distance since. That I especially didn't know what to make of.

"You have to tell him," Amelia was saying.

"Tell him what?"

"You miss him. You love him."

I cast her a sharp look. "I said it's not like that." What Eric and I were couldn't be reduced to such simple terms.

"You know you're lying. I know you're lying. It's okay to love someone, you don't have to be all avoidant about it."

"It doesn't matter anyway. That door is closed," I said, and tightened my grip on the steering wheel.

"I find that to be highly unlikely."

"One hundred percent. It is closed, locked, deadbolted."

"You sure it's not insecurity talking?"

"Believe me, there's no chance," I said. He'd purposefully taken a big step back. I had to become okay with that.

"I find it really hard to believe there's no chance."

"Stop it," I said sharply. "I know what I'm talking about."

Amelia sighed softly, and placed her small hand on my knee.

I swallowed—or tried to. My throat felt thick. "You didn't see him that night in the car," I said quietly. "He had this… this resolve in his eyes. He is done with me."

"I'm sorry, hon," she said.

"It's fine," I said and gently set aside her comforting hand. "I refuse to cry and mope over any more exes. Lord knows I shed a lifetime of tears over Bill. I won't do it for anyone else."

"Do you want me to talk to him?"

"To Bill?" I pulled a face.

"No, stupid, to Eric."

"Amelia. Don't you dare." I was tempted to pull over and stop the car and grab her by the shoulders just to make my point. "Promise me you won't get involved. Don't talk to him."

"I could get him to see sense! You know, men need a little push sometimes."

"For real. Please. Promise me you won't talk to him."

She crossed her arms again and huffed, her bangs billowing up like a curtain caught in a stiff breeze. "Fine. I promise."

We drove in silence until we got close to her city offices.

"Why do you think he rejected you?" she asked.

It was a question I had ruminated over for a while now. He thought it was because I couldn't accept him for who he was, and maybe that was true, but there was a broader reason at play.

"Because there's too much history between us," I said. "An insurmountable amount."

I took a peek into my friend's thoughts and was convinced she wouldn't get involved. My friend felt bad for me and was picturing how fun it would've been to take Hannah on a double date with Eric and I. Hannah had a wild streak and Amelia thought Eric would really play to that. She wasn't wrong. Eric was a lot of fun to be around on a night out. But that didn't matter now, I told myself sternly. Door closed.

•—•

Amelia dropped me back at my office, and I tried my best to focus on my work the rest of the day. My thoughts kept wandering back to the doctor's appointment that morning. I'd been building up anticipation for an answer for so long that I hadn't honestly been expecting no answer at all. I thought maybe I'd receive some sort of explanation or theory to make sense of what the hell was happening to me, and I'd been trying to guard myself against any potential upset.

I had to admit that receiving no answer at all was more disturbing.

I tried to distract myself, tried to lose myself in my work. It is easy to do when work keeps finding its way to your desk. Intermittently, I'd rise from my seat, stretch my legs and wander over to the top of the stairs that led down from the upper floor of the law offices to the bullpen. The fancy oak and glass stairs were wide and afforded a broad view into the bullpen… where I had a direct line of sight to Curtis's desk. I hadn't forgotten he'd stood me up, and remembering how much that annoyed me was a good distraction. Curtis wouldn't come to me for help willingly, and whatever it was, it clearly wasn't work related. So, what did he want? And who did he think he was, standing me up?

I eventually spotted him mid-afternoon and took the stairs two at a time to meet him at his desk before he had a chance to disappear again.

"I waited for you," I said. He was on his laptop engrossed in whatever he was doing.

"Right. Yeah, sorry about that. I got called away at the last minute." He didn't look up from his screen.

"Whatever you needed me for mustn't have been very important then."

"I'll catch you later. I've got a million things on my plate, you know."

I closed the laptop lid with a clunk. "I do know, and you can look at me when I'm talking to you."

"Hey," he said, throwing his hands up in an exaggerated motion. "I was in the middle of something."

"I don't really care." Our colleagues in our nearest vicinity hardly noticed our heated chat. It was par for course in this office. Especially if you worked for the demon lawyer Lucretius—things were frequently fiery around here. "Did you need my help or not?" I said.

He glowered at me but agreed, and we walked into one of the quiet rooms. These were small glass walled, sound-proof offices that lined the internal wall of the bullpen, allowing people a space for private conversations, or to work in silence. Curtis wore casual attire today and he withdrew a small spiral bound notebook from the back pocket of his jeans. It was well used, judging by its curling and faded edges. He flicked it open to a page with incomprehensible scribbles.

"I need some information on Claire Duvall."

"Sorry?"

"A young woman you met in Oklahoma."

I blinked. "Claire Duvall…"

"Yes, according to my research you met her back in '08. She was a donor under the employ of the then vampire Queen, Freyda of Oklahoma."

"Oh..."

"So you know her?"

"Yeah, I remember her. She was a donor for Oklahoma's vampire court. But why are you looking into this?"

"On behalf of Eric Northman."

"I gathered that," I said, my tone sharp. "But why you?"

"I moonlight on occasion, do private investigative work." He said this with a scowl.

I sighed and pinched my nose. I looked out at the office, out at all the heads hunched over desks. A clerk was scurrying from the direction of the file room, holding a cylinder-shaped leather parchment tube. Heading over to Mr. Lucretius to deliver the document, judging by her thoughts.

Why was Curtis looking into this? Why didn't Eric ask me?

"You're trying to find her?" I asked slowly, trying to make sense of the bigger picture.

"Listen, I've got a pile of casework to get through, especially since you've decided you're too good to stoop to investigative work. Whatever crap you're working through right now, I don't have the time or patience for. Either tell me what you know or get—"

"I met her on a couple of occasions at the Oklahoma palace. You're right, it was last year. Early, like back in April. Are you trying to track her down?"

"Not trying. I am tracking her down."

"Riiight," I said, dragging out the word. His scowl deepened.

"She's gone off the radar."

"I'm aware. Eric filled me in. Her antics are why my arm is in a cast."

This knowledge didn't surprise him. So he knew, then.

"Apparently you interviewed her," he said. "I was wondering if you had any notes from that?"

"None. I left them with the palace, and they were only scant notes anyway. I was assisting them with finding something, and it wasn't to do with her. I interviewed her a couple times, ruled her out as a suspect and that was that."

"And there's nothing you can recall from those conversations with her that would be useful?"

"Useful to tracking her down now? No. Though she struck me as unhealthily obsessed with vampires. In both the mental and physical sense," I said, recalling the bite scars that littered her neck.

Curtis tapped his pen against his pad thoughtfully.

"Her only remaining family is her father," he said. "Who doesn't seem to give a shit. He's too busy traveling the globe for work to care where she is or how she's spending the family money. None of her former friends from the palace know where she is."

"Yet here she is ordering hits out on Eric like it's a Big Mac and fries."

"Exactly," he said.

"Your best bet is catching one of the lackeys she's hiring to harass Eric and shaking them down for information," I said.

"Don't need to tell me."

"And you don't need to get snippy. You asked for my help."

"I didn't ask for your help," he said, his voice going growly. "I asked if you knew anything about her."

"Fine," I said, lifting my hands, palms out, in weary defeat. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more assistance."

I watched his tall form retreat back to his desk and found myself left with strangely hurt feelings. Not because Curtis had been an ass to me, that was how he always was. Hurt that I was presented with further proof of how alienated the tentatively forged friendship with Eric had become.

He could've come to me. I would've helped.

I stayed a little later to make up for the time I lost at my doctor appointment. Diantha stuck around with me; she'd been working at the office too that day, and we rode the streetcar home together. I was grateful for the company.

"I can tell you need liquor tonight," Diantha said when we got inside our condo.

"Yes, ma'am. What have we got?" I wasn't a big drinker but the urge to drown my blues was there all the same.

"Vodka coolers." She always kept them in the fridge. She pulled out a green bottle, Mexican lime, twisted the lid off and handed it to me.

I grinned despite my foul mood. "Gimme a second, would ya? I haven't even taken off my shoes."

She shrugged and opened one for herself. "Vodka doesn't care. I don't either."

Well, she wasn't wrong about that.

I had become accustomed to my cast over the week that I'd had it, and so working together we threw together a quick meal: seasoned chicken and mashed potatoes with a side of steamed and buttered veg.

After the sunset, I went over to check on Bubba and see how he was getting on. Someone had brought over a television and a Nintendo 64 earlier in the week for him to wile away his time, and he'd become quickly addicted. The few times I'd seen him throughout the week, all he'd been talking about was some game called Golden Eye. Since I was on a sort of babysitting nightwatch, I'd taken to staying home every evening, and that suited me fine, truthfully. But tonight I could see he was close to climbing the walls of the sparsely furnished apartment. If he didn't get out soon, he might just leave on his own. It wouldn't surprise me if I started seeing missing posters for the neighborhood's cats… Or reports of small disasters in the surrounding areas.

I checked his fridge and saw it was virtually empty. I left him to go and grab the stash of synthetic blood I kept in my fridge… and practically bumped into Eric on the adjoining porch between our front doors.

"You're the errand-boy tonight, huh?" I nodded to the cooler in Eric's hand.

"Indeed." Though I noticed a crease formed between his brows. I took that to mean he didn't like being called a boy. To my surprise, he placed the cooler down and picked up my injured arm.

"You're not healed?" he said.

"It's broken."

He gave me a perplexed look. "Still?"

"I don't know," I responded honestly, if a little tersely. "If I could explain it, I would."

"I don't… I don't like that." I felt a tingle travel up my arms from where our skin touched. I released myself from his grasp.

"I was just going to get Bubba some synthetic blood from my fridge, but it appears you're on the job already." I stepped past him and bade him good night.

I retreated inside my apartment and hid myself away in my bedroom upstairs. Diantha had left after dinner to meet friends at a bar in the French Quarter. It felt safer to hide out in my room rather than float around the emptiness of the downstairs common rooms in our apartment.

I laid on the bed and picked up one of my study guides to look over, though my eyes glazed after the first sentence. It was hard to focus with two voids on my mental radar in such close vicinity. Especially when one of those voids was the ex you've been trying and failing to get over.

Eric had been right to draw a line in the sand. Too much history had occurred between us. Lives ruined. Bloodshed. Spanning years and states and marriages. Words had been spoken that could not be unsaid. Actions had been taken that could not be taken back. I was no expert, but love shouldn't have to be that hard.

I jumped like a startled cat when Eric appeared tapping at my window.

"What do you want?" I asked when I opened my window.

He climbed through the window in a single smooth movement, somehow making it elegant despite his large frame.

"Catching up," he said and sat with a bounce at the foot of my bed.

"I'm studying." I gestured to the books beside him. He picked one up, Abraxas' Dictionary of Demon Law, and began perusing it.

"Trying to decipher the mysteries of demon law?" he said, flipping pages.

"More like trying to keep my head above water… and attached to my body."

He leaned back, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "Anything particularly hazardous in those demon contracts, or just the usual 'sell your soul for fame and fortune'?"

"Oh, you know, the classics. Trade the life of your firstborn son for a favorable indemnity clause. Make a crappy counter offer and enjoy an involuntary vacation in hellfire." I was joking, kind of.

He smirked and began to flick through the pages. "Sounds tricky."

"Any update about Bubba's condition?" I lifted the law book from his hands and returned it to my desk. That sucker had cost me nearly three hundred bucks.

"Thalia's put some feelers out with allies in Miami to see exactly what happened while Bubba was there."

"Is that where he was in Florida?"

He nodded. "King Erasmus is based out of Jacksonville, so the person in the know would be the local Area Sheriff in Miamil."

"Are we even sure that Florida is where he was cursed?"

"Who's to say he's cursed?" He arched his brow.

"He says, and at length too. It's all about the curse this, and the evil eye that. Apparently it's hard to refute if you're around him long enough sans my presence."

He tutted. "You know what they say about people who assume."

"If you say so," I said. Though he had a point, Amelia was the expert in these matters, and she hadn't been able to confirm it either way. It was Bubba who put the idea of a curse into our heads.

"Whatever it is, it certainly seems to have begun in Miami. He was in Missouri before Florida, and there were no reports of any strange occurrences."

"It's not much to go on, but a start, I suppose." I moved to lower myself onto my desk chair. "Why would anyone want to curse him?"

That seemed to be about as far as his interest in Bubba's affliction extended, because Eric ignored this question, instead asking, "Did I hear you say you had TrueBlood in your fridge?"

"Yes, that would be right," I said, and strained to offer him a smile. He was hanging around, it seemed. Silence extended between us. "I really have to study."

"How kind of you to offer. I'd love one."

I suppressed a smile. Ass.

I followed Eric down the stairs, and my hormones were on high alert and zinging by the time I made it to the first floor. He filled out his jeans nicely. God only knew what Eric Northman's aura looked like. There was no denying he had one. I heated him a blood and watched from the corner of my eye as he spotted the FBI agent's card on the fridge. He made no remark.

"How is the bar coming along?" I asked when we sat down on the couch. I sipped on a diet sprite.

"Fine. Why is your arm not healing?"

Ok-ay, then. Straight to brass tacks, this guy.

"Why did you go to Curtis and not me?" I shot back.

His eyes narrowed. "You need to go to Dr. Ludwig."

"I saw a different supe doctor. Today, in fact. She said there is nothing unusual about my blood that would cause unexpected healing." Well, what she'd actually said was that she detected some residual vampire blood, and that vampire blood alone would not be enough to heal from the fatal injuries I'd described to her. Though I guess residual vampire blood in my system wasn't unusual. "I'm as mortal and human as I've ever been."

Eric's strong features became strangely still as he absorbed this information. "It makes no sense," he said eventually.

"You're telling me. Now answer my question."

"Get a second opinion. See Ludwig."

"Physically, I'm fine."

He didn't comment on the obvious innuendo, which really was a damning indication of how much our relationship had changed in the last few months.

"Take better care of yourself," he said, nay, instructed.

I bristled. "I do take plenty-good care of myself. And you're one to talk, you have literal guns for hire trying to kill you."

"Yes, and I'm doing something about it."

"I'm not sure if hiring Curtis counts as 'doing something about it'."

"How is it that you know I engaged his services?"

"He came to ask me if I knew anything about Claire."

His expression flashed with irritation. "He came highly recommended."

"He's used to digging up dirt on clients or their legal opponents. I don't think tracking down missing people is his strong suit."

"I've got it handled," he said and took a deep swig of the blood with a grimace.

"Really? My broken arm doesn't quite agree with that sentiment."

"You could take my blood." There was no hint of a leer or anything remotely suggestive in his question. In fact, he asked it quite flatly. Like he was testing me.

"Give me a break," I muttered.

"Fine. Then tell me what mess you're in."

I realized then that Eric's visit with me had very little to do with socializing and more to do with interrogating me. I sighed and looked away. I supposed it was my own doing, since I'd been fishing for advice the other night when I'd texted him.

Eric took a polite sip from his blood and gestured for me to speak. And so I told him about my run-in with Agent Ray and the case notes he'd left me with. I wasn't sure if I was divulging confidential information, but it wasn't as though I was brought on to help in an official capacity. The usual rules didn't apply. I told Eric how in the weeks after Katrina a handful of people were attacked and a few even went missing all alongside reports of something strange stalking the neighborhood of Carrollton. Some of the witnesses in the statements even referred to it as a 'specter'.

"Spooky."

"I know, right?" It felt good to talk about it, particularly after having the details of the case turning over in my head all week.

"Could be nothing? A series of unconnected events," he mused.

"The events were connected enough to warrant an FBI investigation," I countered.

"True. I take it you're planning to get involved."

"Agent Ray's trying his level best to get my help. I don't know if I should help. He blames us for his demotion at work."

"He's blackmailing you to gain your help?" His eyes narrowed.

"Not blackmail per se. He's appealing to my good nature."

"He's guilting you."

"Potato, po-tah-to." I shrugged.

"You've always had a habit of helping strays," he remarked, echoing Pam's words from earlier in the week. Eric leaned back into the corner of the couch and propped his feet up.

"Taking them in, maybe," I said with a snort and Eric smirked. "Now get your big clodhoppers off my coffee table."

He got up and instead helped himself to the DVD cabinet. "What season were we up to?"

"Uh, end of season one, I think." I felt my cheeks warm and took a hurried sip of my drink.

He put the X-Files on and sat back on the opposite end of the couch from me. The episode started with Scully and Mulder examining a crime scene in the woods.

"You know, I used to own a trench coat like that," Eric commented after a while, swirling the remaining blood in his bottle.

"You did not," I said, with a disbelieving laugh. Mulder's trench was long and oversized with ridiculous shoulder pads.

"It was trendy for the late 80s. And I was very fashionable, as you're aware given I still am now." He gestured to his outfit. "Obviously."

"I can only imagine your hair back then."

"Pretty much the same, I just spent significantly more time blow-drying it." He stopped speaking, for a brief moment of introspective silence. "Not counting that time when I had it permed."

I laughed until I could hardly breathe, and Eric's mouth drew into a small, displeased, pinch.

"I need to see some photos of this," I gasped.

"The ladies loved it," he said, unable to mask the defensiveness in his tone.

"Oh, I bet. I'm sure they took your photo to their hair stylists just so they could get it lookin' the same."

It was Eric's turn to laugh, as much as he probably didn't want to.