Bill sits on the stump with a four-pack of TruBlood, watches as the dirt of their shared grave begins to move. She claws her way into the moonlight, grunting as she comes; her hair is matted with dirt and her face is covered in it: his daughter being born. He stands, and she begins to scream. Unearthly, terrifying, afraid and hungry and wild. Nothing like him; there is nothing of him in her. She is beastly, feral, everything he swears he's not, mainstreaming as he tries desperately to claw his way toward redemption. His face is full of shock and barely disguised disgust as she screams; it's adorable in its shock and WTF. I love Bill Compton in this episode, for the first time, and it's because of this: he's completely out of his depth and has been from the beginning, has been in the weeds for centuries, but this is the first time his face acknowledges it, beyond a few times Sookie acted too weird to ignore. Jessica screams and screams and he stares and shivers, and she finally forms her first words: "Help me."
"Why's the way home always longer than the way there?" asks Sookie, as Sam drives them back toward Bon Temps. He says that's philosophical, which she didn't intend it as, but I would call the central statement of this entire episode, if not this entire season. We spend our days and hours walking further and further into the woods, into the magical and terrifying forest, and then the forest becomes the thing we must walk through to get out again, to get home again. He complains that he's a simple guy and she laughs at him, but he means it: "I may be a shapeshifter, but I want what every man wants: A good life, a good woman." She watches his face and asks if he loves Tara, and he thinks for awhile, shifting in his seat, and decides to tell the truth. "You know, I like her a lot. I care about her for sure. I've been trying to love her, but, you know, she don't make it easy..." Sookie shakes her head. "Well, she can't help it. When you've never had much love..." She's talking about Tara, but she's talking about herself too. And about Sam, who agrees.
"Believe me, I know, but... It's... It's not working. You know, we're friends, is all. And I'm not so easy to love, either," he says, trying to get her to walk here with him. Sookie tells him he's wrong, he's imminently lovable, and they are both pleased with themselves a moment; he takes the next obvious step in this conversation: "Do you love Bill?" He watches her face, now, and she thinks hard too, not about what to hide for once but about the actual truth, saying it aloud, discovering it as it is written. "I think I do, but... Where is he? If vampire politics are more important to him than me... I don't know. I'm so mad at him I could spit." He begged to be her possum, to drown in her rage and soak it up, to take on her hate and sadness and fear and self-loathing and carry it himself, and she told him no: that she'd hate him forever. Like Jason hates and loves Amy, like he hated and loved Eddie for being the possum of their ugliness and the truth behind their beautiful relationship. Sam nods and agrees she has any number of reasons for feeling angry and abandoned; she changes the subject: "I'm sorry you're having to drive so far." Sam plays it off, saying he loves driving and riding in a car, and she laughs affectionately, sharing the new territory with him, rewarding him for trusting her finally with his secrets: "Of course you do!" Flirty: "Go on, hang your head right out the window if you feel like it." He laughs, no shame at all for the first time in his life: two beautiful, strange creatures, called by the night, celebrating their power instead of fearing it. "Yeah, I appreciate that, but it's a private pleasure." Sookie laughs. Private pleasures.