Jason watches Jason fuck Dawn hardcore on the dresser; Jason screams and they fall back on the bed. Their sex is bed-breaking wild and brainlessly intense; Jason flips her over and watches Jason in the mirror. He's just a boy with a girl in bed, like he's always been. And she is human and he is human and this is the way we've always done things. This is what Jason's good at, in life; this is the protective posture he goes into. Every move he makes is closer to clean; sex is about everything else, if you look at it right. Jason points at Jason, congratulates him silently; Jason watches Jason fuck doggy style, and subdue the enemy again. Dawn is clean.
"How old are you? Am I allowed to ask that?" Bill was turned in 1865, when he was thirty "human years" old. (Weird term, but immortality must make those numbers so petty, counting out like the minutes of a dog's life.) Only thirty? He looks older. He's not offended: "Life was harder then." Sookie's excited to remember Gran's request, and asks if he was in the Civil War. Of course he was. "Would you be willing to come talk to my grandmother's club? It's... mostly a bunch of old people who had family in the war. They call themselves the Descendants Of The Glorious Dead." The music goes sort of ridiculously dramatic as Bill offers a short speech about the Glorious Dead, and war: "Bunch of starvin', freezin' boys, killin' each other so the rich people can stay rich. Madness." Sookie acknowledges that this is horrible, and that maybe reminiscing about the glory of war is different for the Descendents than it is for the Glorious Dead themselves; Bill just wants to know if it will make her happy. "Oh, It would make my grandmother ecstatic." Not the point. He asks again, and she nods: what he's handing her is an invitation, to call on him for a favor. To be a woman for a man. "Well... Yes." She stands at her car with a giant smile, and he says he'll do it, and looks forward to meeting Gran. "When may I call on you?" She's flirty, crushing, and says she's off tomorrow. "Just after dark, then," he says, and gives her some kind of vampy weird look that makes her feel shy. "Huh," she says, pointing at Sam Merlotte's trailer: "Sam's still up." But Bill is gone, vanished without a sound. "...That's creepy," Sookie muses to herself, and gets in the car.
Morning. Dawn. Jason wakes up and stares at the ceiling, gauges himself for the new day. Is he clean? Did he fuck it away? Did he find a clean woman and clean himself off? All that death, the curious betrayals of his body. How did he lose control like that? Not the choking, but the way the vampire was a mirror. Where did that come from? Is that normal? Would we all like to occasionally rip somebody's throat out, choke them while we come? Is that just nature? Gross me out. Better to rest your head on a clean woman's breast, to kiss her mouth, go back to the beginning, to be reborn, mouth and hand and cock; to watch Jason watching Jason fuck her. That answers the questions better than anything else; he could stay with her forever, now that he's seen the other side. Now that he's walked it, and been burned for it, twelve hours of torture and twenty-four of fear. Dawn's a nice girl, a beautiful girl. A normal, clean woman for a normal, clean man. He looks over at her, a new man: there are two marks on her collarbone.