Part two - not the end, don't worry, there's more to come. It may be a little delayed, though.

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't own, don't particularly want (more freedom in fanfic, right?)

The next day, Tuesday, Robin was up before Vlad was, and found himself joining Bertrand as he ate breakfast.
"You're up early." He grinned at the vampire.
"The early bird catches the worm and all that. Only… I don't know, something more vampiric." Bertrand seemed amused by that; the corner of his mouth twitched up into something approaching a smile.
"You really are obsessed with us, aren't you?" He nodded eagerly and the vampire continued. "Well, if you're interested, vampires tend to say that the early bat catches the blood. And of course we mean early evening." Robin could feel his whole face lighting up and knew he must look like a total idiot, but he didn't really care. This was amazing, a vampire – a vampire drinking real blood, no less – was really taking the time to explain things and indulge his enthusiasm in a way nobody ever had. Even Vlad had only answered his questions reluctantly.
"The early bat, that's so cool. There must be loads of vampire sayings, can you tell me some more?" Bertrand seemed a little bemused, but he obliged with all the old vampire proverbs that sprung to mind. By the time they left the kitchen to go and train, everyone else was at school again.

Bertrand had been more careful this time, but Robin was still covered in dust from the floor by the time he called a halt to the session and Bertrand was fairly sure there would be new bruises coming up soon. The boy didn't seem to mind; on the contrary, he complained when Bertrand told him they had to stop.
"Can't we just practice that last thing one more time-?"
"No. Go and clean yourself up before Vlad comes home and sees you."
"He won't be back for hours yet-"
"I don't care. Training's over." If he pushed himself any further, he'd hurt himself and then Bertrand would be in trouble again.

The boy sloped off, but as Bertrand settled in the throne room later he popped up again, in a new change of clothes and clearly fresh out of the shower. He didn't look up from his book.
"Something you wanted?" Robin was no doubt grinning, as usual.
"Can you tell me some stories?" He closed the book and looked up at him.
"This isn't a story; it's just a book on vampire laws."
"Cool! But I meant… well, you've been around a bit, right?" It took a moment for Bertrand to realise he was referring to his age and not making an assumption about his promiscuity. He nodded warily. "So you must have some stories to tell. What's it like, being a vampire? Have you ever met anyone famous and, like, historical?"

Vlad came in that day and dragged Robin straight off to his room to read comics. After a few hours, though, they'd run out of comics and things to talk about. After all, there was only so long you could spend talking about how little everything had changed, and how much some things had when you really thought about it. Then Erin had turned up, looking for Vlad, and Robin had been almost grateful for the excuse to leave Vlad to it. Judging by the look on the slayer's face, he was abandoning his friend to a fate worse than staking, but it wasn't as if Robin being in the room was helping.

Instead, he found himself lying in his own borrowed coffin – still so cool – and pondering all the fascinating things Bertrand had taught him. He was enjoying spending time with the older vampire and, unusually, the tutor didn't seem to have got annoyed with him yet. He hoped they could keep training tomorrow.

Bertrand had been training the boy for two weeks now; he'd expected him to stop bothering the moment Vlad and the others broke up from school, but he was still there, sometimes attending Vlad's sessions and sometimes arriving alone.

Today, he had turned up to one of Vlad's sessions without Vlad, and Bertrand was irritated. The Chosen One had apparently taken off without a word to anyone last night, taking the slayer with him. Well, that was fine; he could no doubt look after himself for a day. Still, he could have let Bertrand know. He told Robin to come back in an hour, hoping that would give him time to work off his frustration enough to not risk injuring the boy. Robin, however, just looked at him.
"You're angry." Bertrand held in a hiss with difficulty.
"Yes, I am. Leave." Robin hesitated for a moment, then patted Bertrand's arm as he passed.
"Don't overdo it, yeah? I'll be back in an hour."

He stared after him long after he heard him reach the top of the stairs. What on earth did the breather think he was playing at, treating Bertrand like a person, a normal person, with weaknesses like everyone else? It was getting under Bertrand's skin; it felt nice. And Bertrand wasn't one for niceties. He lashed out at the punch bag, at first with his bare hands. After a few minutes he picked up his stick, enjoying the reassuring solidity of the weapon as it struck its target.

Robin Branagh, breather and best friend of the Chosen One, could not be allowed to get under his skin. It wasn't right. He had no idea why he was still allowing the boy to even talk to him, let alone train with him, but he didn't want to stop him doing so. For the last few days, he'd been putting far more effort into Robin's training than Vlad's, which, he reasoned, made sense. After all, he had only a few more days to train Robin, and then the boy would be alone in Stokely with nobody to protect him. This, of course, did not answer the rather important question of why he should care, but it was a good enough reason to be going on with, and really what did it-

"Wow."

Robin knew Bertrand was cross with Vlad, not him, and he'd respected the tutor's request for space without really knowing why. If Vlad had told him to leave, he probably would have stuck around and argued, but Bertrand had seemed so barely in control of himself that it seemed cruel to force that restraint on him for any longer. Robin had noticed that he often seemed to be trying to hold himself back from something when the two of them were together. He supposed it was to do with his blood; the way temptation flowed in a tantalising stream just below his skin, calling to Bertrand with every heartbeat.

That didn't explain why Robin was having to guard himself around the vampire. He was terrified that he would slip up at any moment, and Bertrand would realise that he wasn't really here just for Vlad anymore. They were still friends, of course – they always would be, best friends - but something had shifted between them with the mind wipe and it had never quite shifted back. Robin had to admit, if only to himself, that he probably wouldn't have stayed for two and a half weeks if Vlad had been the only attraction at Garside.

Attraction was the wrong word, he thought – it implied that he was, well, attracted to someone. And he wasn't. That wasn't what was going on here, of course it wasn't. He was just excited to have a vampire friend – if you could call Bertrand a friend – who actually liked being a vampire, who seemed to enjoy showing off to Robin about it.

Speaking of showing off, as he walked into the training room again, the allotted hour having passed, he found Bertrand relentlessly beating the punch bag with a stick. The description didn't do it justice; the power behind each blow, the precision, the grace of Bertrand's movements as he swung the weapon in perfect, flawless, flowing arcs; Robin could have stood and watched him all day.

"Wow." It was all he could say.

Bertrand turned to the doorway; had it been an hour already? He was still a little annoyed with Vlad, but he thought he could probably be trusted with Robin again. Was 'probably' enough? But Robin was talking again, words tumbling from his lips as if he couldn't control them.

"That's amazing. Can you teach me how to do that? That was… so cool, beautiful." The breather's eyes widened – he heard his breath catch, the slight increase in his heartbeat. Then Robin stepped forward, eyes never leaving Bertrand's. "Beautiful." The vampire closed his eyes for a moment, putting all his observations together and coming up with a conclusion. He didn't have to ask; Robin wasn't finished. If he hadn't been expecting the warm hand at his elbow, he would have thrown the boy across the room, but he let it stay, listening as the boy continued. "I've been an idiot… You're amazing, Bertrand. Like, properly amazing. And I think… yeah, I fancy you." He sounded surprised, apologetic… above all, he sounded sincere.

Bertrand opened his eyes for a moment, taking in the sight of the boy before him. Pale, with dark hair, dark eyes, and dark clothing… he could almost be a vampire himself, except for the scent. Yet Bertrand wasn't thinking about blood, or biting, or even training. All he could think of was Robin.

"It's just because I'm a vampire," he argued softly, reminding himself as much as the breather. But the boy only laughed, reading his emotions in a way Bertrand had thought he'd made impossible years ago. Then again, people didn't usually look deep into his eyes like that.
"Bertrand, look around. I'm surrounded by vampires. This is you." Then the warm hand on his elbow ran up his arm to cup his cheek, and Robin was silently asking for permission, and Bertrand realised that if this was going to happen, he needed some control over it.

In the end, they both leant in together.

Not the end!