This came to me after watching some very emotional videos on YouTube. I couldn't get working on anything else until I finished this. This is set after 3x03, the night after Rebekah is undaggered.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy :)

Disclaimer: I do not own the Vampire Diaries.

Nik was always meant to be an artist, Rebekah knew. He was a warrior, yes, and a vampire. He was all manners of things. But an artist was what he truly was, what he was made to be. When he had been human, still her kind and gentle older brother, he would often carve things out of wood. Small trinkets. She could remember one time when he had given her a tiny wooden wolf, seemingly howling at the moon.

When they became vampires, he stopped carving wood. Instead, he colored the world with blood and so Nik became Klaus. Still, there were times when Rebekah could see him, the real him. She saw it when he was painting, when he sketched. It was there, just under the surface and when you looked at his finished work; you did not see the ferocious vampire, but, instead, the human with human feelings.

So, when Rebekah found her brother sketching, quietly, pencil held deftly in his hand, she knew it was Nik, her Nik, she was seeing and not Klaus. She stood in the doorway, watching as he sat slumped over his pad of paper, barely lit from the firelight. The sight of it brought back memories from years passed, before there was electric light, and all he had to draw by was the moonlight, or the flames of a candle.

Nik sat at his heavy wooden desk, charcoal moving quickly over the parchment. He was strangely silent as Rebekah walked in, choosing to ignore her and draw instead. He seemed somewhat frazzled, to his sister, the top of his doublet undone, chin-length hair mussed. It concerned the youngest Mikaelson as it was a rarity to see her brother so unraveled after his turning.

So, instead of forcing conversation on him, she walked to him, without a word said, standing over him. She watched as he continued, seeing the lines he drew begin to form a familiar picture. Soon there were three people depicted on the parchment. Her, Nik…

And Henrik.

"Do you know how long it's been?" Nik suddenly asked, not glancing up at her, still sketching.

"Too long an age." She replied, her voice thick with unexpected emotion. She now saw the scene form around her and her brothers from the dark lines drawn by Nik's hand. In the picture, they stood in the forest by their home, one of the few places they had known as humans. She watched as the picture became complete, recognizing the scene.

It had been a day when Mikael had gone hunting with his sons, leaving Nik behind as a punishment for some imagined crime and Henrik because he was too young. Rebekah and her elder brother had decided to go exploring in the forest, trying to cheer up the youngest of their family. It had eventually worked, and they had played many childish games in the trees. It had been the most fun they had had in a long while, at least until Mikael caught them. Nik had gotten the all the blame, and, indeed, all of the punishment.

It had been centuries since Rebekah last thought of that memory. She wondered why Nik was remembering it now.

"Our brothers still blame me. I know it. And I know they are right." Nik said, his voice gruff as he placed the finished sketch gently on desk. "I was to blame. I am to blame."

As Rebekah heard his words, she felt her heart sink in understanding and empathy. Nik's guilt over Henrik's death was something that had never washed away, even when he became a vampire. It was the one emotion that seemed to bubble up repeatedly over the years.

"It was not your fault, Nik. The wolves killed him." Rebekah said, trying to get rid of her brother's guilt but knowing she could not. She could only try to help him through it.

"It was I who led him outside that night." He replied, finally glancing at her. His eyes were pain-filled, showing more feeling than words could ever express. He suddenly stood and walked to the fire, sketch in hand. Not hesitating, he crumpled the parchment up and threw it in the flames, watching as the drawing turned to nothing more but ash.

"Why do you always do this, Nik?" Rebekah asked quietly. "You sit and you draw him and then you burn the sketch. Why?" She now stood next to him, looking at the embers. She could not bear to witness this ritual of his any longer; it hurt too much.

"He is gone. I cannot keep them." Is all he said, voice sounding as aged and tired as he truly was.

"I can." She said, abruptly, an idea forming in her head. "Do not burn them. Give them to me." Nik looked down at her, meeting her own blue-eyed gazed. After a moment's hesitation, he nodded.

Rebekah wasn't sure how long they had stood there, but she knows they hadn't moved until the sun had come up into the sky.

The years after that day brought many more sketches with them. She would often find them waiting for her in her room. At first, they had only been pictures of Henrik. Eventually, though, there were some landscapes of their home, long since destroyed. As Rebekah kept receiving them, she began to realize that they were of things her brother missed, deep inside, hidden from all but her. They were things that hurt him, hurt his heart, the heart he tried to keep locked away. Nik had never dealt well with emotional pain, so, he had taken to sharing the burden with his little sister.

Rebekah had never minded.

Still, as she stood steadily in the doorway, Nik sketching away, she wondered what he had done with his pain when he daggered her. Had he burned it away as he did so long ago? Or had he mourned in silence, unable to sketch his feelings away?

Quietly, she wandered into his room and sat herself down beside him. He turned to glance at her, for only a moment, before returning to his drawing. She did not look to what he was creating, already knowing she would see it later and, instead, leant her head on his shoulder, letting him know he was not alone.

Not anymore.

She had already forgiven him for keeping her in a coffin, she realized.

Rebekah knew she couldn't have stayed angry at Nik, for anything. He had daggered her, but, still, she found herself forgiving him. They had simply been through too much together, she and him. She felt him put his pencil down, and looked up at him, surprised to see him looking at her somewhat tenderly and, yet, also sadly. She shot him a small smile, and took her head from his shoulder. He lifted one side of his lips in return, before leaning forward and gently pressing a kiss to her forehead.

It was his way of letting her know she wasn't alone either.

When Rebekah returned to her room that night, she was unsurprised to see the paper on her desk. What did surprise her, however, was the picture on the paper. There, beautifully drawn, was an image of herself, her hair curled in the style of the 1920's, smiling out, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Never before had Nik given her a picture of herself, but she knew immediately what it meant.

It was simply Nik's way of saying he had missed her.

And she was alright with that as well, because, after all, Nik may be an artist, but he was also a person.

Besides, she had missed him too.

FIN

For some reason, I always find myself writing about these two; they just have such a beautiful bond :)

Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!

RW