Chapter 1 – Mrs. Eric Northman

Picks up in the middle of Chapter 63

I couldn’t wait to get done with work on Friday. I’d been missing Eric all week long and we were finally going to have a few days to spend together, but first I needed to go to my OB/GYN appointment. While I didn’t normally enjoy getting my business all poked and prodded with a spotlight shining down on it, I was looking forward to not having to stop our sextivities in order to rip open a condom just when it was getting good. My period was due to start any minute and I was happy it hadn’t shown up yet so I wouldn’t have to cancel my appointment, but my good mood was dampened considerably when I ran into Headmaster Brigant on my way out where he leveled me with a snide glare as he said, “Well it was nice to actually have you with us for an entire week Mrs. Northman. Let’s see if we can make it two in a row, shall we?”

Asshole.

He was sure to let me know on the previous Monday morning that I actually wasn’t protected by the Family Medical Leave Act since I hadn’t been employed for a full year yet, but considering the circumstances with Gran’s heart attack, they’d decided to go ahead and let me have the time off. He was also sure to let me know it would be in my best interests to not miss any more work.

Asshole.

His poor assistant, a timid man by the name of Preston Pardloe, bore the brunt of the Headmaster’s nastiness and constantly trailed after him like a whipped servant. Sam clued me in that it occurred on a regular basis and we both agreed that neither one of us would ever want his job. When I saw Poor Preston, or P-squared as Sam and I had started calling him, getting reamed in the hallway one afternoon for Christ only knows what this time, the entire setting reminded me of a scene straight out of Harry Potter and I damn near took off one of my socks to throw at him and yell, “Dobby you’re free!” The whole school gave me a Hogwarts vibe, only more like during the evil seventh year when the Deatheaters had taken over. On more than one occasion I’d stare at the fireplace in the Headmaster’s office during a staff meeting and had to restrain myself from standing in front of it and yelling, “Diagon Alley!” I doubted the Headmaster would have appreciated the humor though because like I said…

Asshole.

The more nastiness I witnessed, the less inclined I felt about staying there. Sure, it was a prestigious school, but it was full of pretentious and precocious kids and adults. Sam seemed to be the only normal one there and even he admitted he only remained there for the salary and benefits. Without them he and Terry would be in financial straits, but my stubborn streak kept rearing its ugly head so I wouldn’t quit, even though I knew that was exactly what Eric wanted me to do. But in my mind that meant Lord Voldemort would win and Harry would lose because I would most certainly have been sorted into the House of Gryffindor if I’d received my acceptance letter when I turned eleven. After all, I was brave, loyal, and true, so I had to be brave and go off to work each day; be loyal and keep setting off to work each day, and be true by carting my ass to work each and every fucking day where I wasn’t appreciated. It was a fact that was only reiterated when I had to correct the behavior of one of my five year old pupils and he informed me, quite smugly, that I was nothing more than a servant.

I wanted to serve him one of my shoes up his tiny little ass and hoped he choked on the silver spoon in his mouth.

After hearing Brigant’s remarks to me as I left that day I resolved to speak to Eric about it over the weekend. We hadn’t really had much time at all to talk over the last week, which was something I’d really missed, but I didn’t want to ruin what little time we did have together by bringing up a sore subject, especially when there were many other fun things we could do that involved more nakedness and less talking. Where I would’ve just been venting at the time, I had a feeling Eric would have taken it as just more proof that I should quit. It would have caused a fight between us then, but now I wasn’t so sure anymore. I still wanted to work, but maybe taking the time to find a job I would actually enjoy wouldn’t be such a bad idea. I know Eric had said I wouldn’t have to worry about money, but I still didn’t feel right about depending on him financially. Our relationship was still too new, married or not, for me to be comfortable relying on him in that way. He’d already done so much for me, for Gran…how could I ever repay him?

My head was filled with thoughts of ‘should I stay or should I go’ with The Clash singing in my mental background as I made my way onto the freeway headed for Dr. Ludwig’s office. Perhaps if I’d been paying more attention to my surroundings, instead of my inner musings, I would’ve noticed the car dangerously close to my rear, but I didn’t. Not until it was too late and the last thought (probably the last words too) I had was ‘Oh shit,’ as the car spun out of my control, headed for the guardrail.

SPOV

I woke up feeling like I’d been on the losing end of a heavyweight fight with Mike Tyson the night before. Every part of me ached and for some reason the sensation of it felt familiar, but I couldn’t imagine why.

I’d never willingly jump into a swimming pool with the man, much less a boxing ring.

But seeing as how we were in Las Vegas, I thought it fitting that the last time I’d seen him was in the movie ‘The Hangover’. And feeling punch drunk myself, I figured Amelia and I had had too good of a time the night before. It was all hazy – just like the film covering my tongue – so I tried to force my eyes open to see if she’d actually made it back to our room with me. And if she had, I would wake her up so I could tell her to turn off that fucking alarm clock because HOW COULD SHE SLEEP THROUGH THAT SHIT?

My head was pounding and I could feel every goddamn BEEP BEEP BEEP reverberate in my teeth. But when I finally got my eyes open, I was a bit startled seeing the hospital room I found myself in. That is until my eyes landed on the only other person in the room.

Eric Northman. And he was asleep in the chair beside my bed.

I hadn’t realized my hand was being held until I saw his tentacle-like fingers laced through mine and now that I was awake – so to speak – I was slowly starting to figure out what was going on.

I was still dreaming.

It had been a while since I’d dreamt of my fantasy husband and now that I was a little bit older – and a little more experienced – I figured there was no point in wasting the opportunity because it had also been a while since I’d last had sex. But now that fantasy husband was there I had every intention of ending that year long drought, even if it would only be in my dreams.

Besides, it wasn’t like I’d woken up on the Black Pearl.

I had no idea why I’d dreamt us in a hospital – or why I’d given myself a headache and beeping teeth – but I was grateful my subconscious mind had at least put me in a bed. Tugging on his hand so we could get this party started before Amelia woke me up, I softly whispered, “Eric?”

As though speaking at a normal volume might wake her up in my dream. My still sleeping brain was probably floating in a sea of gin and tonic because I couldn’t make any sense of my own thoughts.

Or perhaps it was just the thought of fucking Eric Northman that had me so befuddled.

His eyes popped open in a flash and I was temporarily stunned by the blue brilliance staring back at me. It put me in mind of the Fourth of July since there was some red mixed in with the whites of his eyes. And despite my throbbing head, I was beginning to feel the fireworks going off south of my border, with a small one managing to escape through my throat in a whispered, “Ooh…”

Other things were escaping from between my thighs.

“Oh my God,” he cried. “You’re awake!” He sounded so relieved – which was so odd – and he pounced on me, with his arms carefully hugging my body.

Just how long had he been waiting for my dream self to wake up? In my own dream?

That’s it Sookie. No more booze for you.

He didn’t smell as good as I’d always imagined he would. Instead of panty dropping sex on a stick, he smelled like hospital antiseptic, but I didn’t care. At least he was halfway on the bed, but I needed to get Dream Eric naked before Reality Amelia was in my face, bitching she wanted pancakes. So I slid my hands up the back of his shirt, trying to facilitate his nakedness in an expedient manner, when I yipped out an, “Ouch!” feeling the tape pulling on the IV in my arm.

Apparently my subconscious self was a masochist.

And apparently my subconscious self was also a sadist because instead of dreaming up the panty-poofing ‘fuck me now!’ version of Eric Northman, in his place was the trembling, sobbing, ‘oh my God is that tears or snot running down my neck?’ version of him.

I felt like such a douchebag – something I’d often assumed he might be – for wondering why I’d dreamt up the pussy version of my lifelong crush, when what I wanted was the pussy-eating version of him. But even in my dream I couldn’t ignore his distress, so I stopped trying to undress him and merely ran my hands soothingly up and down his back with a sigh.

The sigh may or may not have been because I could feel the muscles rippling underneath.

And I really wanted to feel the ripple THE muscle underneath would cause in the stormy seas in my southern port.

“I was so worried,” he snotted against my neck.

“I still am,” I offered, making him finally pull back to look at me. “Amelia’s an early riser,” I warned with my hands going right back to their earlier task of getting him naked. That bitch would wake me up any second and then all hopes of having the Eric Northman Experience would be out the window.

And if she did, I would douse her pancakes in hot sauce when she wasn’t looking as payback.

His eyes grew wide at my explanation, so it seemed even Dream Eric knew her internal alarm clock was a danger to our time together. We really needed to get this X-rated show on the road, only instead of ripping my flimsy gown off and showing me his abs of steel, he pulled back even further asking, “Sookie, what are you talking about? What does Amelia have to do with you being here?”

Multiple parts of me fluttered hearing him say my name, so I started pulling at his shirt again and said, ”She’s gonna wake up any second and then wake me up, so we need to hurry.”

He let me tug on his clothes to my heart’s content, but he didn’t make any moves to help me along either and instead asked, “You think you’re dreaming?”

“Duh,” I replied while my hands dove for the gold.

The gold button holding his jeans closed and keeping me from my prize.

“Sookie,” he said while grabbing my hands with his giant paws. My eyes took a quick glance at his feet and seeing that his Chuck Taylors were big enough to possibly conceal a good-sized Chuck or a Taylor made my insides flip. But they flipped again when he said, “You’re not dreaming. You’re at Cedars Sinai. You were in a car accident two weeks ago.”

Looking back at him, I wondered just how much I had to drink the night before. I honestly couldn’t remember much, but when a nurse came in and saw us, she left muttering out a quick, “I’ll go get the doctor.”

I stared at him for who knows how long wondering if my subconscious mind was also an exhibitionist because I couldn’t imagine having sex with an audience – even in a dream – when it finally clicked.

The beeping.

The pain.

The fact there was a snot trail slowly drying on my neck. Left behind by my fantasy husband who smelled like he hadn’t showered in a few days. And he had enough scruff on his face he could conceivably have his own den of grizzly bears hiding in there.

That could only mean one thing.

“Oh my god!” I yelled and then cringed from the decibel of my own voice. Taking it down a fuck ton of notches, I whisper asked, “Am I dying? Is this some sort of Make-A-Wish thing for grownups? Is that why you’re here?”

My cheeks flooded with warmth, while I buried my face in my hands, unable to stop the verbal vomit when I came to the only conclusion my mind could form. It was the only reason that would bring him to my bedside, so I forced the words through my hands, saying, “I can’t believe Amelia would set this up. I’m sure you’re a very nice guy – or possibly creepy – to agree to whatever she may have told you I would want from you, but you can go. To shower, maybe. Or take your bears on a picnic. I won’t hold you to it, but I may hold her head in the toilet and drown her for this shit.”

My embarrassment overrode everything else I was feeling knowing I’d tried to undress him and very nearly shoved my hands down his pants.

Maybe I could go to the pediatric wing and use their craft supplies to make my own scarlet letter. An ‘S’. Not for ‘Sookie,’ but for ‘Slut’.

A dying slut.

“Gran!” I shouted again, dropping my hands back down onto my chest, and then quickly pulled the blanket up realizing I wasn’t wearing a bra.

See Gran? Not so slutty.

But it would kill her to lose one of her grandchildren. And Eric must have really been a nice guy because despite the fact I had tried to rape him he automatically reached out and held my flying hands still, saying, “She’s here. She only went to the cafeteria with my dad.”

“She’s here?” I asked and then added, “With your dad?”

If Amelia tried to set up a Make-A-Wish-Booty-Call for my Gran, I would definitely kick her ass before I kicked the bucket.

He looked just as confused as I felt and nodded, adding, “He heard about what happened. He…uh…I don’t know. But he seems like he’s legitimately concerned. He didn’t even bring Paprika with him.”

What? Was Gran supposed to make her signature potato salad?

She always sprinkled Paprika on top to give it a splash of color.

Eric continued to stare at me, but I didn’t bother to ask why because I was sure it had something to do with how crazy I was. And how insane Amelia was. And possibly how crazy he was to be involved in some sort of potato salad eating secretive celebrity father/son Fuck-the-Dying bucket list organization.

The Fuck-it List?

My humiliation made it impossible for me to maintain eye contact with him, but when they dropped to my wringing hands another splash of color on my finger caught my eye. Holding it up and squinting through the crust I could feel in the corners of my eyes, it took me a minute to realize what I was seeing.

Eric’s.

“What the hell is this?” I asked angrily, while unsuccessfully trying to wipe away the permanent marker. I’d heard of some patients writing on their bodies ‘Not this arm’ – or whatever relevant body part – prior to surgeries so the doctors wouldn’t get mixed up, but what the fuck?

Was I marked in case any other celebrity who was involved in the underground Fuck-it List happened to mistakenly wander in and think I was dying for their charitable donation in my collection box? Was Johnny Depp a part of their seedy sex underground? Would Amelia have known to write Captain Jack on my hand, so he would know I’d want a costume party thrown in my panties?

“Sookie,” Eric said, pulling me from my pirate porn and appearing in my line of vision a moment later. When my eyes locked onto his, he looked lost and pleaded, “What’s wrong? Why are you acting like you don’t know me?”

Still feeling angry, I snapped, “I do know you! I’m sure Amelia’s told you all about my Eric Northman shrine back home, but that doesn’t mean I want your cock of compassion as my dying wish!”

Even on my literal death bed, I would never admit to that truth out loud.

“You don’t remember,” he whispered, looking even more lost than before.

Oh my god!

Had he already left his donation in my box?

My bedazzled hand flew underneath the blanket and up under my gown, searching for his charitable cum, but found nothing. He could’ve worn a rubber – please God let him have worn a rubber – but aside from finding nothing, I also felt nothing.

Even above my own embarrassment, worry, and horror, I still managed to find the room for yet another emotion.

Disappointment.

His hands and feet were humongous, so I had assumed his cum-pactor would be too.

I hadn’t had sex in over a year, so I knew if I’d been the recipient of anything bigger than a Tampax, it would’ve made me notice.

“Sookie,” he said, pulling my hand out of my panties and looking at me like I was Jenny and he was Forrest.

Run Forrest run. Away from the crazy dying lady and her coochie covered hand.

“We’re married,” he said. Tears filled his eyes as he went on to say, “You’re my wife and I’m your husband. We got married five weeks ago in Las Vegas.”

I heard his words. I didn’t understand them at first, but when they sank in, another realization washed over me.

I wasn’t on a Fuck It List. I was being Punk’d.

“Very funny Amelia,” I snapped, pulling my hand from his and flopping over the side of the bed to try and look for her so-not-funny ass underneath it. Not finding her, I glared at the door I assumed was where the bathroom was located. And where I assumed that same so-not-funny ass was hiding. Fitting considering she was so full of shit, so I yelled out, “I don’t know how much this cost you, but well played bitch!”

Hot sauce on her pancakes would be the least of her worries by the time I was done paying her back.

“Sookie!” Mr. Oscar worthy actor barked at me and then shoved his giant paw in front of my face. While I made the mental note that hand and feet size didn’t necessarily mean Lock Ness monsters lurked in the depths of his dark denim jeans, he flipped his hand over so I could see the matching bedazzling on his finger. And just in case I didn’t recognize my own name – because I apparently didn’t recognize my own husband, according to him – he said, “It’s true! We met at the casino when we were both there five weeks ago. We were drunk. Really fucking drunk. And when we woke up the next morning we found out we were married!”

I hoped there were two toilets in that bathroom.

He was just as full of shit as Amelia.

Before either one of us could say anything else, two handsome doctor-type looking men strode into the room. The brunette smiled at me and said, “Mrs. Northman. It’s good to see you awake.”

Pfft…Mrs. Northman. So they were actors too.

Since they all insisted on keeping up with the charade, I decided to play along and smiled back at him saying, “Doctor McDreamy, it’s nice to meet you.” Glancing at his dirty blond cohort, I extended my smile to him too and added, “Doctor McSteamy.”

Eric may have growled. I couldn’t be sure, but I could be sure I felt a small gush in my non-violated lady parts hearing whatever it was I heard coming from him. And seeing the scowl on his face, I laughed and said, “Hey! Isn’t McSteamy’s real name, Eric too?”

They could be the McFuckMe Twins!

I need a hot beef injection, stat!

“Mrs. Northman?” McDreamy asked.

I had no idea of what Eric’s mom looked like, so I glanced around the room to be sure there weren’t any other females around just to be safe.

Nope. No McMom’s in sight.

“She doesn’t remember,” Eric said to him, all the while looking like he was trying to smack me around with his harsh glare and long pretty eyelashes.

I bet he would make cute babies.

“She doesn’t remember what?” McSteamy asked.

“Me,” he sighed, no longer looking angry. Just forlorn.

He really was a good actor.

“I remember you,” I argued. “We got married in the sixth grade, only it was just on paper. And on my bedroom walls and my Trapper Keeper.”

No point in hiding it now. I was sure Amelia told him all about it, considering we both had stupid fucking hearts dotting the letter ‘i’ in our names.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Mrs. Northman?” McDreamy asked and took a step closer to the bed.

While I tried to recall the last thing I remembered before my Secret Fuck It List/Ashton Kutcher Punk’d Comeback, he reached out and touched my head to move it to the side.

Feeling the slight pain when he did it, reminded me of the game Jason and I played as kids, so I let out a loud, “BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!”

I snickered when he jumped back two feet and said, “Sorry. I figured we were moving on from playing ‘Marrying the Stars’ to ‘Operation’. Don’t give up your day job, McDreamy. You do a fine job acting like a doctor, but you’d suck as one in real life.”

McSteamy snorted, so I looked at him and asked, “Do you want to give it a try? Or do you just trail after him to make all of the nurses swoon?”

“No,” he smiled and came to stand beside my bed. “Doctor McDreamy and I don’t normally have the occasion to work together. The hospital has a strict policy on swooning in the workplace. It’s frowned upon,” he added with a wink.

“Ouch!”

My hand was suddenly in the vice-like grip of Eric’s giant octopus hand, but before I could yell at him or ask for its surgical removal, McSteamy went on to say, “I’m an OB/GYN.”

“BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!” I repeated and added, “Sorry. I can be a good sport and lord knows you all went to a lot of trouble to fu…mess with my head. But I’m not letting you anywhere near my baby maker.”

Eric’s grip both loosened and tightened in turn before he pulled my chin so that I would look at him as he said, “Sookie. He’s here because you’re pregnant.”

“Oh yeah?” I smiled, while my eyes rolled of their own accord. “I guess I’m gonna have to name him Jesus, what with his immaculate conception. Gran is gonna be tickled pink! The Messiah is her great-grandbaby!” Looking back to Dr. McCoochie, I asked, “When’s he due? Christmas?”

He was obviously entertained by the thought of the second coming of Christ coming from where there was no cum. But he tried to wipe the smile from his face when he answered, “Based on the intra-vaginal ultrasound, you appear to be about five weeks along. Our best guess is early June.”

Five weeks. I had to give them credit. They were certainly staying on their marks. Eric had said we’d been married for five weeks.

A honeymoon baby. How sweet.

“Oh, that’s good,” I replied, while my eyes rolled all over again. “At least the school year will be just about done by then. I can push that puppy out and be back in time by the first bell of the new school year. Maybe the three wise men will show up and can babysit when I’m at work.”

Shit!

Work!

My new job!

My eyes started darting around everywhere, but of course there was never a fucking calendar around when you needed one. So I looked up at my fake husband and asked, “What’s today’s date? Really? No fucking around now.”

He thought about it for a moment and said, “I think it’s October 12^th? 13^th? Something like that.”

October something like that?

No. It was September something like that!

Tears welled in my eyes and I stared back at him saying, “This isn’t funny anymore, Eric. I know you have a part to play, but…but I need to know what today’s date is. I got a new job. It took me forever to get that job and if I don’t show up then I’m going to get fired before I even get a chance to start.”

He looked just as sad as I felt, but he kindly wiped the tears away from my cheeks and pulled his phone out of his pocket to show me the date.

Only all I saw was a picture of what must have been his hand – what with the Sookie’s on the finger – placed on my bare back.

And there was side boob!

And a hint of ass!

My tits and ass!

“How dare you!” I screeched. “What? Did you all drug me? Did you take that when I was out cold?”

There was a line and he’d most definitely crossed it. And if Amelia was behind it all, our friendship was over.

“Sookie!” he barked, but instead of saying anything more, he tapped his phone a few times and shoved it back in my face.

To show me a picture of me, Gran, and Eric on her front porch.

“Is…is that photoshopped?” I asked. I couldn’t think of any other explanation.

“No,” he replied much more calmly and then let me scroll through them. There were lots of them. Some were of us together, but mostly they were just of me doing things I had no memory of. When I started crying in earnest, I heard Eric ask the McDoctors to give us a moment before he sat down on the bed. Pulling me into his arms, he let me cry against his chest and whispered, “I hate it when you cry, but at this point, I’ll take it. You had me so worried, Sookie. Fuck, I’m still worried since you don’t know who the fuck I am.” When I was finally able to look up at him, I could see the tears in his own eyes as he said, “I know you don’t remember me or everything that’s led us to this point, but know this. I love you Sookie. More than anything. And if I have to, I’ll do whatever I have to do to get you to fall back in love with me too.”

I still couldn’t wrap my head around it.

Me.

Mrs. Eric Northman.

Glancing at my ring finger and seeing the heart over the ‘i’, I had to start wondering if maybe it was true.

But if that was true…

“I’m…we…we’re having a baby?” I stuttered out, while the machine monitoring my heart rate mimicked a World War II Morse code situation room.

The British are coming! The British are coming!

Oh…wait…wrong war.

Please dear God, don’t let my baby be stupid like its mother.

“We are,” he smiled.

“And…you’re okay with that?”

Not just having a baby, but having a stupid Baby Mama?

“I…” he hesitated, making my heart hesitate a few beats, before smiling wider and saying, “I am. It was unexpected, but thinking I was going to lose you and then finding out I would lose more than just you. I…I couldn’t stand the thought of it. I don’t think I would’ve recovered if something happened to you. Either one of you.”

“Baby girl?”

I’d recognize Gran’s voice anywhere and I looked over at the door to see her standing there, with tears in her eyes and a huge smile on her face.

“You’re awake!” she gushed and came forward to hug me.

Yeah.

I guess I was.