A/N: So... I wrote this whole thing on MSN in front of my friend in 30 minutes. I'm incredibly proud of myself.

Disclaimer: Derek Landy owns the characters, not I.

It's In Paris.

They didn't cross paths again after The War. Not at first. But that wasn't strange, really. All of The Dead Men had gone in separate directions, and they didn't hear much from each-other.

Fifteen years later or so, when The Midnight Hotel opened and he had the opportunity to visit any place he wanted to, there was really only one place he could think of.

The problem was, he didn't know where that place was.

So he'd asked around, and from one of his guests he had found out the destination of one Erskine Ravel. He had prepared to go visit his old friend, hoping silently that the man still had room for him in his life.

That night, as the Hotel had reached the outskirts of Paris, he had found Erskine in a most dreadful state, surrounded by elegant hookers and socialites.

Ravel had stopped his laughing at something a blonde had said to his left, a more sober expression had taken over his face, and his jovial expression had been replaced with bitterness at the memories that the tall, dark-eyed man in front of him had brought with him.

"It took you long enough. Though I'm not surprised that you forgot about me. I hear you've made quite a name for yourself. Do people still cringe when you walk by?"

His face had seemed to darken, either with sadness or anger. "They do." The voice, as opposed to the expression, was soft.

Pity flashed across the shorter man's face, memories of a stream of dark and light in his mind. The man in front of him had never had a chance. He couldn't get rid of his Mr. Hyde.

"I met Dexter just the other day." Anton continued. "He's doing well."

"Good for him." Erskine's voice was cynical. "Everyone seems to be just fine. I can't complain either, I've got a lovely company." He gestured to the cluster of prostitutes in fancy dresses that still hovered nearby.

"You've got hookers for company."

"So?"

There was a flash of malice in the dark brown eyes. "I had expected you to be the second out of us to marry. What's the matter? Can't you find the right girl?" He put a slight emphasis on the last word.

"That is not a matter to discuss here." Now the blue eyes were hardened, like sapphires. Erskine had always been the beautiful of them, the one that enchanted people, whereas he had been the plague, the danger, the ticking bomb. He missed the others' understanding. He had hoped for Erskine's when he came here.

"I wanted to see you." He said it quietly, calmly. "I'm sad to say that I'm disappointed."

A humourless laugh. "Disappointed? You haven't spent the last 18 years hoping silently, Anton. You haven't been pathetically wishing like some sad schoolgirl."

"How do you know that?"

"It's in your nature to move on. Maybe that's why your current home fits you so well." That bitterness again.

"Well, at least I tried to find you again. I never heard about you asking for me. For any of us."

"What's it worth? If I'd found one of the other's we'd had a good time, then separated for another few years. If I'd found you... Well, you tell me what would've happened then, because I honestly don't know."

"We would've been happier than we are right now, I know that much." The voice, once again, was calm, almost rhythmic. Despite being capable of such violence, he had always been one of the calmest in the group.

"It's not really an accepted lifestyle, though, is it? I'm not surprised you don't care, you seem to have left all of society behind, but I-"

"Come with me."

"What?"

A smile, uneasy, nervous. "Who do you think I made a safe haven for?"

"I won't." The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. "If I did, they'd burn it to the ground, Anton."

"There's an upside to being feared, Erskine. People mind their own business around you."

Pity, once again. "I can't. I could've, once. But not now." And then, too silently for him to hear. "You left me behind."

"Can we at least discuss this somewhere else?" He looked pleading. He'd never seen him plead before, not to anyone.

"Alright," Softly, breathlessly. Anticipating.

Erskine paid for his drink and they both left, the taller of the two leading the way, before Ravel stopped.

"Not to the Hotel." You'll convince me then. "Here."

And he stopped, at a little field outside Paris, as the sun started to rise.

"You left me behind." What he'd said in the bar, but he said it out loud this time.

"We all left each-other. We needed to find our place in the world, Erskine."

"So the Hotel's yours?" The tone was unidentifiable this time.

"No."

"Then what is?" Genuine curiosity this time.

He didn't answer for a long time. "I've been looking for it. It was hard to find, and very good at hiding." The blue eyes had contained a shimmer of hope for a second, before hiding it. "The last time I checked, though, it was in Paris." He'd sucked a breath in. The brown eyes that reflected an evil from within had locked on his. Then, softly, almost stolen by the first rays of sunshine. "It's you."

A smile now, without bitterness. "You sound like Skulduggery's wedding toast."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No." The hope had broken free and spilled out of his eyes. "It's a very good thing."

He had dared to jump the track then. He had taken those thirteen steps forward. He'd reached out and taken a hand that was far bigger than his own.

That was the moment when Erskine Ravel found his place in the world.