Author's Note: Important, Please Read: To Beth; yes, you're right, Dead to the World is an awesome book. And it honestly my fault that I forgot to mention spoilers for book four; the only reason my story is posted in the 'TV' section is because my original story is a take on Alan Ball's work, not just Charlaine Harris'. Now, i'm mixing and reimagining the two, together, with my own character. This is, after all, Fanfiction. So, thank you, Beth, for reminding me to tell my readers that the storyline was made by Mrs. Charlaine Harris. What follows is the result of my overactive imaginations.

--Radioheaded.

"I'm sorry, I don't know who you are," Eric's eyes tracked mine as I searched for a hint that would tell me this was all a joke, a misunderstanding that would be cleared up in just a moment, that the intelligent, knowing spark would come back to his now-empty, confused gaze.

But as I stared and he drew nothing recognizable from my face; to him, I was a stranger, a passing heartbeat. His inability to make a connection as to who I was only highlighted the fear that pooled in his eyes, making them go wide, so much so that his obvious terror bridged on satire. His body vaulted up, sending me onto my back so forcefully that the air in my lungs was crushed out of me; I counted the long seconds before I could find the ability to breathe in again.

Eric, meanwhile, was looking down at me in horror, probably wondering how he had just done that.

"Uh," I said, finally, and sat up, took the outstretched hand Eric offered and was lifted to my feet delicately, as if he were trying to keep me from breaking, which was a distinct possibility.

"We seem to have a problem here," Pam's words were in my ear, she was suddenly very, very close. My throat closed reflexively and I nodded, looking at the hand that held mine; Eric hadn't let me go. The space between Pam and I increased when I stepped into his space and put my hands lightly, carefully, on his forearms.

"Eric. I'm Elliot. You met me in Dallas and I came down here to work here for you as a day manager."

The silence stretched infinitely as Pam and I waited for a reaction. My body couldn't decide if it was falling through the floor or spinning uncontrollably; both sensations rocked my equilibrium as I wondered what he would do, would say—was he so far gone that he would try to attack me?

"Because I'm…a vampire," He said, finally. "Don't be afraid," he said, softly, bending to speak to me. "I have no intentions of hurting you." He matched my stance, wound his around my forearms. "Do you fear me because you've wronged me?" Though the words sounded threatening, they held no malice.

"No," I said, tacking on an invisible ellipsis. "I'm not afraid of you," I squeezed my hands a little, crept an inch closer, "I'm afraid of what's happened to you."

"Foolish," he said, "Not to be afraid of me. I…." He paused, cocked his head to the side. "I can feel that I'm powerful, and you're just a human woman."

The words stung, but they were true. I'd forgotten about Pam, shoved her existence to the back of my mind in my absorption of Eric's sudden amnesia. When she fell to the floor at my side, into a deep kneel and implored of him a questioning 'Master,' my heart broke.

"I don't—you're my child?"

"Yes," Pam's rise and voice were stiff with disbelief. "You need to get him out of here, now," she said, eyes fixed, unblinking, on my face.

"Me?" I shrugged, held my hands out. "Where am I supposed to take him?"

"Back to his place. No one will be looking for him now, and we can't let anyone see him like this, can't let anyone know anything has happened to him."

"What happened to him?" My voice was high to my own ears. I glanced at Eric, who stood in front of us, looking back and forth as we parried, like he was watching a tennis match. His stance was calm, patient—nothing like what it should have been.

"I don't know," Pam's mouth was set in a firm line; she wasn't going to argue with me, that much was clear enough. "And no one else can, either." She blurred out of my vision, appeared behind Eric's desk and tossed keys at me, which, considering I could barely see them as they flew through the air, was rather impressive.

Pam thought so too. "How much of his blood have you had?"

"Too much." I couldn't take my eyes off the key ring I'd snatched from midair; it was to Eric's pride and joy: the Corvette. I opened my mouth, sucked in air and closed my lips, nodded at Pam and motioned for Eric, held my hand out. His eyes stayed on my outstretched limb for a few beats, then moved up and down my body, assessing. I certainly wasn't a threat, and I guess he saw that, as his fingers curled around mine and we were moving, stalking, to the door. With the hard plastic of the key fob underneath my fingers, I unlocked the doors to Eric's car; the headlights lit up in response and, with Eric still attached to me, I headed toward the light, but Pam stopped me.

"Eric," she spoke kindly, as if to a favored child. "I'm sorry, but I need to talk to Elliot. Will you wait for her in the car?"

He nodded, silent, and left us.

"Don't leave the house," she whispered, as soon as he was out of earshot. "Don't let anyone in; I'll open the bar tomorrow and come straight to you. Clear?"

"Yeah," I said, turning away, gathering myself, and walked quickly to the car, where Eric sat, waiting.

As soon as the door closed behind me, I let my held breath and stress out in a continuous release, closing my eyes and leaning back into the smooth leather of the seats. Without having rid myself of any actual tension, the key in my fingers found its way into the ignition; I turned it sharply and the car roared to life under me. I smiled in spite of myself, excited to drive something so powerful, but then I remembered why I was given this privilege. I was carting around someone who was probably the oldest, most powerful vampire in North America, a man who had just developed an incredible vulnerability—one I didn't want to remind him of, lest he lose his temper. He'd promised not to hurt me, but I had no real reason to trust him; I didn't know this vampire, this 'Eric-lite' who'd taken my—my what? My boyfriend? My lover? I didn't know how to refer to him.

"Your heart is racing," he noted when I pulled onto the main road, the engine reacting with the slightest thought I had of pressing the accelerator; it was like a cat, purring contentedly when I sped up, humming joyfully in the night air.

"It's been an intense night." I didn't look at him, but I sensed his touch before my I processed his contact. My hair was swept back, my neck bared, and the otherwise smooth skin that now bore his marks was brought out into the darkness of the car, though I knew he could see them like he was looking through a telephoto lens. It was like having a tattoo of his name on my neck; they said I was his, and yet he wore no reciprocal badge, nothing that would hint to my existence. I could never really leave myself on him.

"I've had you," he said, his voice loaded, but I refused to acknowledge the second meaning. I'd be conceding my body to a stranger, giving him too much—and this Eric, this being without any of the spark I'd come to know, could try to take advantage of the bond I'd had with Eric, the real Eric.

"We've shared blood," I evaded, my eyes on the dark roads in front of me.

"I could drive, you know. I know I am able, and my reflexes are better."

My eyebrow rose, like it was being pulled by an invisible string. "And you would drive us where, exactly?"

He fell silent.

"What happened tonight, before you woke me up?" I still couldn't look at him, and his fingers were still on my neck, tracing over the wound there lightly, as if he was reassuring himself of his existence. Somehow, I was proof that he was who we said he was—my feelings allowed him to trust me, I guess, though all I was feeling right now was a bone-deep fatigue, vague sorrow, and regret. Regret I hadn't left before, before I'd somehow dragged him into trouble again.

"We'll talk about it when we get to your place."

"My place," he said, and it was hollow, a familiar phrase that held no connotation for him other than the fact that he rested there.

"It's beautiful," I replied. "The first time I saw it, I couldn't believe it was yours."

"Why?"

"Because," I said, hesitantly, wondering how I'd explain my forced servitude, my attitude toward him in the beginning of our arrangement. "Before I saw your home, I'd only had Fangtasia as a representation of your style."

"Fangtasia," he rolled the word around, his lips curling up slightly. "That's my bar?"

"Yeah."

"And you're the manager of it."

"The day manager," my hand went to my head; I'd begun to grasp the depth of Eric's lack of knowledge. "But I only really got a day in before I was kidnapped by the witch who did this to you, I'm assuming."

"You think a spell was placed upon me?" I glanced over at him, took in his surprised expression, furrowed brow, and broke a little inside.

"What's wrong?" He asked immediately, sensing my pain.

"I—" The final turn for the car ride came, and I pulled into Eric's driveway before shutting the car off and putting my hands to my eyes. "I can't believe someone did this to you," I said, finally, and reached for him, needed to have his touch on me again. He gave it willingly, and so I sat there, clasping him to me, pleading silently for him to come back to me. After a few minutes of futility, I looked into his eyes.

"What's your first memory?"

"The first thing I saw," he turned away from me, looked to the roof of the car. "Is you, your face and hands—the warmth of your skin, the fear in your eyes."

I held back a tremor that built in my stomach. "I'm sorry. I was scared for you; she shot you."

"She?"

I didn't answer, turned away and opened the door. "Come on," I said. "Let's go inside." He was at my side when I walked to the house, used the only other key on the ring to open the door, and let him into the not-quite mansion.

"I do well," He said, taking in the expensive furniture, the subtle decorating and obviously authentic Manet that hung over the mantle of the first living room.

"The car didn't give you that hint?" I smirked, but the smile fell off my face when he looked at me, shook his head sadly. This just wasn't Eric, and I couldn't get used to it. But he was in my care—which seemed so wrong it was almost perverse—and I had to keep him at ease, keep him comfortable.

"Ok," I said, sitting on a soft, green couch near the fireplace. "Here's what happened. We met in Dallas, and I came to work for you here in Louisiana. After a few days, I got kidnapped by a witch and a vampire, who thought I was something special because you were with me. They didn't think you would be with a normal human." Eric's eyes were glued on my face, switching back between my lips and my eyes. He didn't seem to be afraid, but his attention was rapt.

"Anyway, they took me, but I killed the vampire, got out and came back here, and tonight, the witch came back and attacked us because she was supposed to have been turned by the vampire. She wanted your position."

"Position?" His brow furrowed.

"Oh, yeah. You're sheriff of area five, how much land that is I'm not sure, but I know it's at least this part of Louisiana. So, anyway, Pam killed the witch, but after she shot you. And that's where you woke up."

"So, we're lovers." His eyes were now definitely on my lips.

"We're…you've told me you want to be with me. That you want to turn me."

"Why haven't you let me?"

"I don't know," I said, and he got closer, hanging on my words. "It just hasn't felt right yet." I shook my head, looked down at my hands and noticed the state of his clothes—he was covered in blood, and his shirt was shredded. Even though I'd fed him after he'd been shot, he looked pale, wan.

"Come on," I said, standing, and held my hand out, which he took, and we walked together, him at my side, not behind, up the stairs to the shower. The upstairs bathroom was bigger than the one I'd used, and it had the same Jacuzzi tub that Pam's had featured. I closed the door behind us, and turned to see Eric standing awkwardly, looking at me, then away, then back.

"Are you afraid?"

"No," He was in front of me, having moved too quickly for me to see. "I can defend myself if I have to, but I can feel you, your intentions. You want to protect me."

"You have no past," I thought out loud. "Your oldest memory is from an hour ago; you're existence is in the moment." I bit my lip, thought of the philosophy of an existence with no past, but shook myself from the trance when he spoke.

"You speak in poetry," he said, and I smiled, reached forward to touch him, to cast his bloody shirt off and away, the small buttons snagging on my nails as I went. I ran my hands over his the pale gleam of his chest; without thinking I found myself moving forward, encircling him, stepping up on my toes to embrace him fully, completely. After a pause, he did the same, buried his head in my neck and breathed in deeply, taking my scent in, I assumed.

"You smell familiar," he said, and my mouth screwed up into a wince. I covered his mouth with mine, and for awhile, I had Eric back, the real man. As we wound around each other, the man I'd fallen in hate with, then an almost-love, was back, in my arms.

But I knew it wasn't him, and so I let go, looked into his eyes and back off.

"I'll let you go," I offered, heading toward the door, but his voice stopped me.

"Don't go," he said, softly. "Please."

That same, familial sadness washed over me, and it hurt to know he would feel what I felt dragging in my blood, weighing me down with each step I took.

"Alright." I turned around, went to the bath and turned it on, settling my hand underneath the stream to find the right temperature, smiling as steam filled the room. My skin took a breath, gathered the condensation of the room and relaxed a bit, let go of some of the tension that had built in my shoulders, my legs.

I was comfortable being naked around Eric, but I was unsure of myself around this stranger. We looked at each other, static, and his stance was so inoffensive that I began to feel foolish, so I stripped off the clothes Pam had given me, down to my bra and underwear, before looking him dead in the eye and removing those two. It was an exercise of trust, a 'this is me, I give myself, you're safe,' and his hands went to his zipper, pulled it down and his jeans fell around his ankles; shortly thereafter his boxers joined them. I turned my back, approached the tub and slipped into the water, which took on a slightly pink tinge when Eric joined me a moment later.

In the heat, the fluid warmth of the bath, I knew that Eric wasn't a threat to me; I'd given him chances, shown myself to be vulnerable, physically, and he'd stayed back, though I could feel the hunger that flowed lightly through him. I doubted he kept any True Blood in the house, though, so when I watched him sink into the water with me, went under for just a moment and resurfaced, hair slicked back, slightly pink, I couldn't help but offer my wrist, allow him to take from me what he'd saved when he'd distracted the witch, promised her the club.

He took my wrist, fingers clasping lightly, the kiss of a butterfly, and silently asked if I was sure; I spread my hand and closed my fingers, a 'come here' motion that he followed, pressing himself into my side before biting, drawing deeply so I flushed through the pleasure his concentration gave. He wanted me to feel this way when he fed, and so I enjoyed the rush, gave into it because it felt good and I had no reason not to.

When he pulled away a few draughts later, with my blood coloring his mouth, a shocking red like a geisha would wear, he bit the inside of his own wrist and let the blood run onto my wounds, healing me instantly.

"We're bonded," he explained, happy with the knowledge that I did truly care for him, would let him take my blood willingly, had agreed to harbor him (though, in his own house).

I replied with a smile, but his trust worried me; I hoped his instincts, his sense of self-preservation would keep him safe, that this trust he was displaying was only because I had demonstrated my loyalty. The thoughts scared me, but I pushed them away, allowed Eric to bring me to his now-warm chest, where I fell into an almost-sleep, undisturbed by the absence of movement from his still chest.

When the water lost its heat, we went to the bedroom without bothering to dress, and fell asleep next to each other in the light-proofed room.

I didn't dream.