Immovable as stone yet gentle as a feather when the mood took him he stood surrounded by candles in his private rooms away from the denizens of the night that frequented the darkness of a club that he knew well, very well. In one hand he held a glass of ruby red liquid, sustenance enough for he that had lived so long and seen so much. Balanced expertly in his other hand was a book that had seen many years but nowhere near as many years as him but it was close enough. Scanning the pages with his ice cold eyes, the same eyes that read the words printed delicately upon the yellowing paper, his attention was temporarily diverted by the distant sound of a door opening and closing some way down the corridor from his rooms. Briefly he rolled his interrupted eyes; it seemed that no matter where he went peace would never find him, even here in his sanctuary it was chased away by the cruelness of time or the importunities of the outside world. Such now was this interruption pressing harshly upon him as the final barrier between him and solitude was broken.

Looking up towards the door to his quarters he beheld the only person that would dare interrupt him here. To his slight satisfaction he noticed the golden features on that unspoilt face flinch as his guest realised what they had done but he didn't push it. Inaudibly he sighed as he placed the book on an end table that had stood by his side all evening. Looking back up at his visitor he raised a questioning eyebrow indicating that he was waiting for an explanation for this uninvited invitation into what was his most valued possession, privacy. Once again his satisfaction was piqued when his guest had accurately interpreted his prompt; it seemed that the evening was looking up. He did so hate it when he had to start a conversation for want of an explanation that he didn't need to give.

Nick tried to find the right way of asking his host for help, once his tongue had loosened itself from the grip of silence he came right out with it.

"LaCroix, I've brought a friend with me, she needs somewhere to stay. Someone's after her and she'll be better protected here than she will be at the loft."

"Nicholas, I am not in the habit of taking in waifs and strays. Nor am I a babysitter for the disenfranchised, you know full well…" LaCroix's rebuke fell to silence as his eyes fell on a woman that had just walked into the room.

A knowing look passed over Nick's features, "She looks like her doesn't she."

LaCroix looked to Nick then back to the woman his expression caught in that of utter confusion, "This…this can't be. It isn't…she isn't…"

"I'm Robyn," The woman said at last her voice sounding to him like the song of angels, "I understand your reluctance to offer me shelter, I know how much you value your privacy. Nick, perhaps we ought to leave Mr LaCroix alone."

"Not at all, my dear," LaCroix replied recovering his senses, "I'm sure that I can make some arrangement for you. After all I believe that I am indebted to Nicholas, a debt that he should like to see paid off as much as I would."

"Thank you, that's very kind."

LaCroix shook his head dismissively before looking at Nick with an expression in his eyes that he knew could not be misinterpreted.

As fine as the thinnest fabric, awareness slipped gently into his mind. His eyes opened as if for the first time and he looked about him. Everything around him looked familiar and yet strange, as if he were looking through someone else's eyes. Shaking his head subconsciously the mist about his mind seemed to clear slightly assuring him that the eyes he was looking through were his own as were his surroundings. With the gentle touch of dawning awareness came a sharp stab of pain which almost made him cry out in spite of himself. His hands burned as if they were on fire, looking down sharply he could see what had made them so painful.

Sores had broken out on his skin where he had been holding the photo frame in a death like grip. Painful as he knew it would be he had to release the frame before further damage was inflicted to his flesh. Carefully he peeled one hand away then he used that hand to release the photo frame from the grip of his other hand. This action did not make the burning cease nor did it lessen it but it gave him the freedom to rinse his hands and attempt to tend to his wounds.

Like a machine whose joints had been bitten into by the cruel decay of rust, he moved stiffly. His limbs spasmed as the muscles within them revolted against being used after being neglected for so long. He had no idea how long he had been sitting nor did he for this moment care, all he wanted to do was ease the burning sensation that held his hands in the grip of pain.

Opening the door to the bathroom with his shoulder he stepped inside. Walking over to the sink he struggled to turn the taps on but eventually his efforts paid off as water spilled out of them. Gingerly he placed his hands underneath the cool water, at first his wounds stung but that soon subsided into relief as the burning sensation cooled. Closing his sleep filled eyes he remembered why he had sat holding the photo for so long, pain had clouded his memory but now it returned in stark realism. She was gone and it was he that had pushed her away.

Shame filled him when he realised that he had yet again let her down, instead of going after her or trying to find her he had sat moping around. She had been right about what she'd said to him, her words had held meaning beyond his comprehension at the time but he knew now that she had spoken the truth; he had lied to her, he had let her down, he was just like the sister he had always claimed to hate. As bitter as the taste of the truth was upon his tongue he couldn't deny that she had a right to hate him, he didn't expect anything less.

All he could now was to try to mend the rift he had made between them in the hope that she might acknowledge him as her father. For too long he had hidden behind the veil of being her uncle but now it was time to face that which he had denied all these years, he was her father.

Seated in a luxuriously soft chair Robyn watched what seemed to be a tense exchange between her new host and her friend. Out of respect for their right to privacy she refrained from letting her mind wander, instead she tried to work out why Cain had attempted to kill her. She had thought that death had changed him, had made him see the error of his ways but she now knew that it had been a mistake for her to trust what she had seen. With his mind back in the diseased state it had been in upon their first meeting she was in danger, he was looking for vengeance.

It dawned on her suddenly that he hadn't wanted to kill her, that he had just wanted to return the favour she had done him in assisting his suicide with her words meant only in truth not spite. In his own sick sense Cain had made a connection with her than was more dangerous than ever before. He had set himself a mission to make sure that she fell to her own hand as he had done, each attack she knew would lead her closer to fulfilling his wish. Now she knew what he wanted from her she knew that she would never be without him, wherever she went he would follow until his wish had been fulfilled.