A.N. This came about when I finished re-watching the whole show for the hundredth time, and I just thought 'Hey, why don't I write my own series 4?' I'd put off doing so before because I didn't want to tarnish a show that I honestly love to pieces, but the ending left a lot to be desired. It was, of course, very well acted and heart-breaking, but I think there was so much more that could've been done with the two characters.

I honestly think Nick could cope with the loss of doc Lambert, rather than just giving up and asking LaCroix to kill him, and I wanted to see the father / son thing between them continue, so that will be one of my main focus points of this story.


Nicolas de Brabant was once again sat slumped again the sofa on the floor in a darkened room with a half empty wine bottle clutched in his hand, another one empty at his feet. The only light came from the half dozen candles dripping wax from their candlesticks placed on tables and the surface of the grand piano. With the thick red curtains drawn against the cold winter's night not even the moonlight was granted entry into the shadows.

Every second of every minute of each night and day he wasted his thoughts were stuck constantly in the past, to one specific night; the night he has asked his closest friend, master and father to take his life. He had been awaiting the pain of death, and when the blackness came he welcomed it, but after a while, the shadows had begun to recede and light slowly permeated his senses; surely this was not death. Was it? No, he had awoken; he hadn't been killed like he'd wanted.

He'd awoken just over a month ago in a warm bed, draped in silk sheets in another dark room. Having been expecting hell, to be tormented for all eternity, or at least to see Natalie's smile one last time it had come as something of a shock to see a pristine white ceiling above him; he also sensed a strong, familiar and reassuring presence beside him; a presence he had shunned for so long, but which he now sought.

"LaCroix?" he'd spoke quietly, for the first time in weeks. "Ce qui est…" he'd began to ask but LaCroix spoke over him from the shadows.

"Rest, Nicholas, there is nothing to fear, all is well," he heard the older vampire tell him, Nick wasn't sure in which language though, but suddenly he found it very easy to listen to it.

A subsequent month of mourning and self-imposed isolation had followed, he'd drank far too much blood-whiskey - which had been mostly whiskey, and spent most of his time in a drunken stupor or sleeping of said drunken stupor. He'd not painted once or even touched the piano he'd found in the study of the new place in which he'd awoken in, he'd not even gone outside once. LaCroix had not been best pleased, he knew.

The old General would be even less pleased to discover that Nick had decided to leave the building and walk out into the night, for the first time in over a month...without telling him…

A.N. I know this is short, but it is just the prologue. Please let me know if there's any interest out there!