No one was there. No one was coming. It wouldn't be long before he was disturbed again. He had to get out, quickly. Tearing the drip from his arm he proceeded to relieve himself of the sticky pads connecting him to a machine that traced his heartbeat. For a moment he lifted a hand to his wrist, it stung where he had removed the needle but that would wear off. Pushing away his blankets he swung his legs over the side of the bed. It had been a while since he had last stood but he had to try, he had no choice. Without thinking he stood up but it was too fast a movement for his sense of balance to compensate and he fell backwards onto the bed, his head spinning and lights flashing in front of his eyes.

Not unwilling to try again he forced himself into a sitting position. This time he stood slower, it was time he could ill afford to waste but getting up after falling down took longer. Feeling shaky but still able to remain on his feet he walked over to the locker on the other side of the room. Inside were some clothes he had been given as replacements for his uniforms, all of which had been destroyed when his airship had crashed. He pulled a pair of trousers from the locker and a shirt. He would change into them later. There wasn't time to do that now. Not worried about underwear he closed the locker and hurried over to the door, his legs were stronger already.

Thankfully the corridor was clear. He looked both ways several times before emerging from his room. It was strangely quiet for a night shift, he couldn't fathom why until he saw a flashing light above the door to someone's room. It had been the same sort of light that had been switched on when his daughter had almost died after her machines had been switched off, a memory that chilled him whenever he called it to his mind. Taking advantage of someone else's problems, an action that made him feel sick to his stomach, he headed over to the ward's bathroom. He closed the door softly behind him and locked it. No one would disturb him here.

As he stared at his reflection in the mirror he wondered if he wasn't a different person from the one he had been before. His appearance was shocking even to himself; slight cuts were visible on his face that stood out starkly against his still pale skin. He wasn't as pale as he had been, he knew that, but he was still pale. His cheeks were rough with stubble and his carefully managed moustache was looking a little worse for wear. A thought crossed his mind as he studied it in the mirror, a thought that would never have crossed his mind in a million years if he were not in his current position. If he were to escape from the hospital it was necessary to alter his appearance in the only way he could think. As small a change as it would be it would help to disguise him enough to allow him to make progress through the numerous corridors.

His moustache had to go.

A small trolley laden with numerous implements for personal hygiene stood in the corner. Walking over to it he searched for a razor and some foam. After opening several of the doors affixed to the trolley he found what he was looking for. As an additional precaution he grabbed himself some sticking plaster, it had been some time since he'd shaved underneath his nose and he wasn't feeling too confident in his ability to give himself a clean shave.

Another alleyway, another murder. Three men lying on the ground, slaughtered. Two victims and one a murderer, their murderer, but it was a mystery to the nine men staring at the scene before them as to who had murdered the murderer. In a delayed reaction, one man added vomit to the river of blood flowing into a nearby drain. One of his friends had pulled him away in an attempt to quell his stomach but it seemed that the mental image was still strong enough for him to add some more mess to that which lay all around them.

Nick closed his nostrils off as best he could. It amazed him how much control he was exerting and managing to keep but in these conditions it wouldn't last long. The sound of a phone ringing pulled him back to the present and he pulled his phone from his pocket. Distractedly he answered it; a voice he knew well came over the other end and gave him some directions. After telling him to hurry the voice hung up.

"Schanke, you and uniforms can handle this. I have to go." He said with slight anxiety.

"Go?" Schanke questioned, "Go where!"

"We have to find Robyn and Kit. They're still missing but someone has to stay here and sort this out. I'll give you the honour of breaking the good news to Cohen."

Before anyone could stop him, Nick was away. He ran to where he wouldn't be seen before taking flight. Running through the directions in his mind it wasn't long before he was back on the ground and standing before the door to a butcher's shop. His caller was inside. From what he could tell they were agitated, almost worried, an emotion he hadn't felt from them for a long time. Knowing that every second that passed by could be the prelude to a disaster he walked into the shop. Looking around him he could detect movement in a room beyond the one he was in now. Finding a door easily he passed through it and came face to face with a most unwelcome sight.

Amber eyes tinted with a dangerous red stared at him, daring him to come closer, to interfere. Fangs glinted in the weak glow of a streetlight struggling to reach through the high windows set in the white-washed walls. Hands held her slender body firmly, she looked as if she were asleep but there was something more sinister to the image. He was close, ever so close to claiming a prize that he had no right to and wrecking more lives than he could care to conceive. All that mattered to him was the person that he held in his arms and he would kill anyone that chose to resist him.

Taking a step closer Nick held his hands palms upwards, "LaCroix, don't do this."

"Why not?" A question that defied an answer.

"Because she's not yours to take."

"I don't care! I'll not let you interfere a second time, Nicholas. This time I will have what I want, what I should have had all those years before. I will have my Fleur back."

"Robyn isn't Fleur, LaCroix."

LaCroix shook his head, "Look at her Nicholas. There is something of Fleur in her and you can't deny that. She is pure, she will be mine."

"And the moment you taste her blood, the moment she tastes yours you will take that purity from her. If you love her, as you did Fleur, could you stand to watch that light in her disappear? To see her kill? She would be like us LaCroix, killers condemned to a life of darkness. Surely you can see a time when you would tire of her and what then?"

"And could you stand to watch her die? To watch her being buried again? I don't think you can. She's dying now, you can hear her heart. You can try and save her if you wish but you have to get through me first."

Nick was faced with an almost impossible decision. When LaCroix was so firmly set on something he would kill anyone that stood in his way without a qualm, even his own creation.