A/N: Here's part two, which follows on directly from part one, although it stands alone, too. Enjoy!

Final Words

...

2. The Hangover

He was prodded awake to find himself still on the sofa, his head now resting on a throw pillow, and the original walking carpet himself looming over him.

"You have to come to breakfast."

"Says who?" Nikola groaned, batting away a persistent hand threatening to dislodge him from his makeshift bed.

There was a grunt. "Who do you think?"

The Sasquatch left. Nikola levered himself upright and immediately wished he hadn't, groaning as he clutched his head.

It was a miracle he even made it to his feet, let alone the breakfast table.

He groaned as he tossed aside the blanket with which someone - Helen, because who else - had thoughtfully covered him at some point in the night. He kept groaning as he made his way out into the hall and found the nearest bathroom. And he was still giving voice to his extreme discomfort as he eventually dragged himself into the kitchen.

"I'm dying," he announced as he staggered over to the table. "I'm dying. Oh what is this fresh hell?"

"It's called breakfast," Helen said from her place at the head of the table.

"It's called a hangover," corrected Kate, eyeing him with amusement.

He lowered himself gingerly into a chair and cradled his head on his arms. Every movement was agony. Every word from their unfriendly mouths like being beaten over the head anew with the baseball bat of cold hard reality.

"Oh right," Henry, sitting to his right, said. "'Cause you didn't used to get drunk, so no hangovers either."

"My only comfort turned against me," he whimpered.

"Here." A hairy arm appeared in his line of vision and a plate was set next to his head.

He didn't need to look at it - the smell was enough. That couldn't seriously be kippers, could it? No, it was, kippers and fried eggs. It was an affront to him on every level, as a man of discerning taste, and especially as a man with a serious hangover.

"Oh man, he's gonna hurl," Kate said, reaching over to snatch the plate away.

He pressed a hand to his lurching stomach and made a truly valiant effort not to do anything of the sort.

"You know what you need?" Henry said. "A fried bacon and egg sandwich. Great for hangovers, works every time. What? It's the grease, it soaks up the, you know."

"No way, hair of the dog all the way," Kate countered, gesturing with her fork across the table. "Try a bloody Mary, extra bloody. Or if you can't swing it, nothing beats a cold one."

"I just stick to leftover pizza," said Will with a shrug. "It's the only thing I can stand when I'm hungover."

"He needs protein," the Big Guy said, coming to stand over Nikola's shoulder and threatening him again with that abomination he was trying to pass off as breakfast food. "And not to drink so much in the first place."

"Actually, what he needs is to replenish his fluids and electrolytes," Helen said. "Most symptoms of a hangover are due to dehydration, which prevents the system from processing toxins."

Nikola exploded. "What he needs is for everyone to shut up!"

There was a brief, blessed lack of talking. Which lasted approximately five seconds.

"Yeah, I get cranky too when I'm hungover," said Henry.

Nikola dropped his head in his hands again. Death would actually be welcome right now - at least it would be quiet.

"Here," Helen said, reaching over with the teapot. "Start with a cup of tea. I'm sure you'll feel better in no time."

"You know Helen, tea doesn't solve everything," he snapped, annoyed at the empty gesture, her patronising tone. He added for good measure, "You thin-lipped British fish wife."

There was a notable silence around him as everyone waited, wide-eyed, to see what Helen's response to that would be.

"Neither does drinking yourself stupid and then whining your head off about a little headache, you intolerable little manchild. Drink your tea and be quiet."

He glowered into his teacup. "Harpy," he muttered.

"Human," she returned.

Well that stung. She'd been so much nicer to him last night. He couldn't think what had changed.

"I know some perfectly nice Harpies," the Big Guy rumbled, in between bites of his breakfast, "They get a bad rap."

"Tell it, brother," Kate said, and leaned past Will to fist-bump the Big Guy.

"Yeah, it's just common prejudice, is what it is," Henry said.

Nikola very calmly and rationally decided he could no longer be present for such inane drivel under the guise of this smothering veneer of domesticity. Setting his cup down, he lifted his hands. "On second thought, I think hair of the dog is the way to go." He pushed his chair back from the table. "Anyone needs me, I'll be in the wine cellar."

"Nikola."

"Don't scold, Helen. I'm human, I have a hangover. But hey, at least I'm human, which means I can get drunk all over again if I want, which is just as well, as there's no way I'm handling any of this sober."

"You're simply going to become a drunk, that's your plan?"

"No, perhaps you're right, it's too early for libations. You, new girl," he turned to point at Kate across the table. "You look like you've got a host of seedy back-alley connections on speed dial."

"Hey!" Kate said indignantly. Then she shrugged. "I mean I do, yeah, but still. Hey."

"Whatever. You think you could score me some weed?"

"Oh really," Helen said, returning her teacup firmly to its saucer, apparently gearing up for a lecture in earnest.

He waved a hand. "Relax, I'm kidding. And like you can talk? All those so called 'experiments' with LSD in the sixties?"

She blinked, shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and came back with, "Those were legitimate areas of study, we learned a lot about the brain and its capacity for... Wait. You and I had no contact with each other in the sixties, how did you know-?"

"A safe bet. Or should I say, a groovy one." He grinned.

The others at the table hid their amusement with varying degrees of success as Helen huffed, irritated.

"Oh, go and drink yourself into a coma, will you? You'd be far less tiresome that way."

He nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"Just don't come crying to me when your liver fails," she added.

He stood up, blithely ignoring her. Such unsubtle scare tactics wouldn't work on him.

"You'd think a genius like him would be at least a little worried about all those dying brain cells," Will commented as Nikola left the table.

"Or the impotence," the Big Guy added gruffly.

"Big drinker equals big ol' case of the droopies," Kate agreed.

Henry shook his head. "He'll probably gain a bunch of weight, too. Man, Nikola Tesla with a beer gut, that's just sad."

He knew exactly what all of them were doing. It was transparent to an insulting degree.

That didn't mean it wasn't working.

Nikola turned around and sat back down. "What was that about my brain cells?"

"Brain impairment linked with long-term heavy drinking is well documented," Helen said, with a hint of a smile he chose to ignore.

He thought about it a moment. "Is there so much as a single way being human doesn't suck?"

"Uh, well, you learn to appreciate the fleeting nature of existence," Will offered.

"There are almost seven billion of us, not like when you were the only vampire around." Kate shrugged. "Might be less lonely?"

"I'm not human, so, I got nothing," Henry said.

"Me either," said the Big Guy, and shoved breakfast in front of Nikola yet again. He gestured to the steaming pile of hell on a plate. "Brain food. You need it." He punctuated the advice with a smack across the back of the former-vampire's head.

Everyone snickered.

Everyone except the former-vampire in question, whose head was exploding all over again.

Nikola's only consolation was that, when the stench of smoked fish wafting up from his plate finally proved too much for him, and he threw himself away from the table and found the kitchen trash can just in time to empty his stomach into it - to the disgusted protests of his unsympathetic companions - well, at least their breakfast was thoroughly ruined, too.