Author's Note: This was written to Walt's wildcard prompt for the 2015 FK Fic Fest on AO3/DW/LJ. The prompt requested a fic surrounding a one-off character from the series proper. Since I've always felt like Alexandra's story had been left unfinished, I started there, and combined it with my own concept of a mythical Season 4—one that builds on the supernatural elements that the series proper toyed with but never used to their full potential.

There's also the bonus of Season 3's not adhering quite as strictly to the procedural elements (ex. "Night in Question," "Sons of Belial," "Ashes to Ashes," the infamous "Last Knight"). And, since my previous attempts at writing procedural have all fallen flat, I think it's safe to say this change is a better fit for me too as a writer.

The long and short of it is that I'm picking up where LK left off—not the most fun place to be, since too many characters were either dead, scattered to the four winds, or simply enduring a hellish season. But it's always darkest before the dawn, right? I hope everyone enjoys my submission for the fkficfest this year. Comments, thoughts and gentle criticisms are welcome. Flames will be used to make s'mores. (SIDEBAR: You need not have read my Season 3 coda Rock Bottom to enjoy this.)

Full summary: He never should have doubted they'd find their way back to each other somehow. After the hellish experience of their Last Knight together, Nick and Natalie reunite as forces begin to array against them... including one very unhappy barmaid. As they consider the next step in their relationship, Natalie reveals that she has developed a strange power that others may want to use to their own ends.


NO REQUIEM

by Melissa Treglia

Prologue

Nick sighed, his mind bobbing up to reality from the depths of his dream. It wasn't the kind of dream that often jolted him awake, shocking him back to reality and requiring a few moments to reorient himself to the waking world. No, this was the kind of dream that was a fantasia of nameless colors and alien shapes, that held the sleeper down gently but inexorably in its enigmatic waters.

It was the kind that waking up from felt like a gasp of air after being submerged. It was the kind that, when pressed to describe, all words fade and the memory slips away like particles of sand from a broken hourglass.

The only thing that he could recall even mere moments after blinking his eyes open, was that he'd dreamed of her. Again. Not a surprise though, given that his every conscious thought had been followed by the specter of her face and the sound of her voice in his mind.

Where others might feel goaded by their subconscious with such things, Nick felt reassured. He had loved her—in the only way he could—a shadowy, distant but ever-present admirer. The lingering imprint of her upon his memory was proof enough of that.

When she had asked him to make love to her, he could hardly refuse. It was the one thing in the world he'd wanted—and feared—the most. But lovemaking as a vampire was much different than it was as a mortal; what humans considered the pinnacle was merely foreplay, as nothing compared to the darker pleasure of taking someone's life within one's own body.

He had thought she'd understood. He had explained it to her not long before that. For the first month of his (mostly) self-imposed imprisonment, he'd blamed himself for not making it more clear to her, that he wanted to love her the way she deserved but simply couldn't; the perverse logic of the vampire's drive in him was ultimately selfish and stingy with the experience of pleasure, and that pleasure could not be attained without the destruction of human life.

Now he was beginning to wonder if she had understood, completely. That she had known she was playing with fire, and was willing to risk getting burnt. The snippets of memory, the impressions he had received in her blood had faded some time ago, before he'd had the fortitude to analyze them and tuck them away without coming apart at the proverbial seams.

He thought that, after six years, he'd known her well. But the truth was, for all the time he'd spent with her, for all the little crumbs of her life she'd occasionally offered up to him... he didn't really know her at all. Of course, that was because he'd been so trapped in the mire of his own guilt, and hoping that saving some lives would pay the debt he owed humanity as a whole... as if tallying up a large enough number could somehow save his soul...

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment; that similar cream-colored boarding that was supposed to be pleasant but was devoid of personality. He stared up at that blank canvas above him as if it would provide him a clue to the mystery he wanted to unravel, the inner motivations that he'd unconsciously hidden from himself while operating under the self-serving delusion that he deserved to be saved, and that it was only a matter of time...

No, he didn't deserve anything. The world doesn't owe you a damned thing for your failure to die, you idiot, he snarled at himself. Your continued existence has been bought and paid for with the blood of hundreds of thousands of innocent people. Stop acting so damned entitled. The odds of you having been born in the first place are less than one-percent; it's a privilege just to be here in the first place. So start acting like it, and get your moping arse out of bed!

The last bit sounded suspiciously like Natalie's scolding tone whenever he'd backslid, albeit a good deal more acerbic. He stretched, almost catlike in his movements, then finally hauled himself out of bed.

It was true enough that he'd overindulged in a self-pity fest for more than a month now, but that wasn't going to solve anything... and it wasn't going to bring Natalie back. Janette's brief appearance had been a sort of triage for his emotional wounds, but the pain had gone deeper even than she could reach. This was something he had to deal with for himself—and the more he laid himself up in the spare bedroom of LaCroix's latest hotel suite, the longer it would take to get through this.

That decided it: He was DONE with feeling sorry for himself. Everything that had happened in his life, he'd had a hand in and had made decisions toward. Granted, there were some really, really lousy and ill-thought decisions on that very long list, but he alone was responsible for them. He couldn't lay everything at LaCroix's feet or use the vampire in him as a convenient scapegoat.

Not all his bad decisions had been due to the hunger or rage that made up that darker side of himself, or LaCroix's interference—some of it was because Nick had just been a pompous, know-it-all arsehole.

Idly, as Nick moved into the bathroom, he supposed that that was one small—if strange—step towards being human. Knowing one's limitations, perhaps... and a vague memory of something about knowing being half the battle flitted through his mind.

He stared at his refection in the mirror, scowling upon the realization that he resembled some demented mountain man on methamphetamines. First thing's first; a shower and a shave wouldn't go amiss. Baby steps, kid. Baby steps.


After his ablutions, he decided to take a walk around the city. London could be quite beautiful, in its way. He found himself beginning to relax at the rhythmic slap of his own shoes against the damp cobblestoned pavement. There had been precipitation while he'd slept, and the air still smelled of fresh rain, even among the myriad other scents of a bustling little metropolis.

It was comforting. As much as the world changed around him, the little things stayed the same.

He turned off the main road he'd been following for the last little while and ventured down a side street. Briefly looking up, he saw the marks of human life at the windows of the apartments above. A flowerpot here, a lacy set of curtains there, or a family's beloved pet staring out the pane as if guarding their home.

That hadn't changed either. People still had families, and animals were cared for by their human owners. No one seemed to understand how deeply he longed for that normalcy... no one except Natalie, who'd thought it could happen if they both applied themselves, and worked together in the same direction.

As if his errant thought had conjured it, he caught a smell of familiar perfume. It was Provocateur, the perfume he'd once given Natalie as an apology and she'd worn every day after that. It had been the smell of comfort, of friendship, of... well, Natalie. To smell it here was disconcerting, to say the least.

He immediately sought out the source, his gaze rapidly cataloging his surroundings in a more thorough fashion. Half a block up ahead, a woman was walking down the street just like he was. Her long, curly hair fell loose past the shoulders of her battleship gray jacket. Her sneakers were patting against the pavement, her every stride in her pair of comfortable blue jeans light and achingly familiar.

Only one person he'd known had had that particular gait, whether in heels or flats...

He picked up his pace, his steps becoming quieter with the burst of speed. He had to know, had to see, had to make sure that it was just a trick of his overtaxed mind. That this woman wasn't really who he thought she was...

He grasped her arm and, when she whirled with a shocked yell, he found himself staring into the large hazel eyes of Dr. Natalie Lambert. He found himself stumbling back a step, stunned by the revelation. She was alive!

She's alive! She's here! came the paean chant from deep within his psyche. She's here! She's alive!

But the question was... how?

"Natalie?" His voice was soft in entreaty.

Her stunned expression wasn't blunted any. "Who are you?"

He felt his silent heart drop into his stomach. "You... don't remember?" He took a slight breath he didn't need, and stumbled over a brief explanation, "I'm Nick. We... we've known each other for the past six years. We're... we're friends." He grew more troubled when there was no spark of recognition behind her eyes. "You must be dazed or... something."

She gave him a searching look. "We're friends?"

"Yeah."

Her voice was wispy and hesitant, as she replied, "Okay. So who am I?"


Author's Note: "Janette's brief appearance had been a sort of triage for his emotional wounds" - This is a reference to my fic Rock Bottom. The ONLY reference. Told ya that you wouldn't need to read it beforehand.

The women's perfume Provocateur was a plot device for the episode "Dance by the Light of the Moon" (1.06). It was worn by both Natalie and Ann Foley (the stripperific Killer of the Week), and Nick gave Nat a fresh bottle and a single red rose in apology for flirting with Ann.