Disclaimer: All of the following is thoughtfully rearranged from the original works of Charlaine Harris. So I cannot scream MINE.

This was written with love and thanks (but without ESN) to Thyra10 (Dead without a Work Permit) who has pushed for this fic setting out all the things we've discussed at the Alexander Skarsgård forum, gathered together in one easy format; and with the help and encouragement of the wonderful members of the Alexander Skarsgård Library Forum. Now I can get it all out of my head, and it can bother someone else for a while. Kisses for encouragement and checking to see if it all sounded alright. :-*

Prologue

I have a week.

A whole week to stay at home alone with my thoughts.

I have a week.

Recovering from The Incident.

I don't want to talk about, don't want to think about it. But capitalisation is certainly warranted.

The last thing I want is a whole week alone with these recent thoughts.

Sam has told me I'm not allowed back at work yet.

So I have a week.

I decided to do something "productive" with this week, but thanks to a recent death that I don't want to think about I can't clean my clean house. I can't talk to the cleaner that's cleaning anything. She's broadcasting her need to work through it, and since it's due to me, I figure I should let her go to it.

So I resolve to spend my week sitting around catching the last of the sun, healing, cooking, reading, and thinking about anything but The Incident.

Eric told me he'll be back on the weekend, and we'll talk. Oh. Goody. That provides some thinking topics to be had….and such. Maybe if I work it all out before he arrives, I won't need to talk …least not about what he thinks is necessary. I can just end up with a tell. That's productive. End goal and getting it squared away…sure. I had some stuff I'd been saving up to think about later, and rather than be alone with my own thoughts, or drowned in the thoughts of others, I could give my thoughts some purpose.