Nines walked into our shared apartment and looked around. We had gotten the place a couple months after the prince's death. It was nice, simple. It was a two level loft with two bedrooms, one for us and one for Heather. We took all the furniture from the Skyline Apartment that LaCroix had given me, throwing out some of the more battered things Nines owned. Heather mainly did her own thing nowadays. She had enrolled back in school at my insistence and was working towards her design degree. She liked to use me as her model for her designs, which was interesting for some of the more revealing designs when Nines came home.

I was currently sitting on the couch, thumbing through a book Beckett had given me. It was interesting, but I hadn't really been able to concentrate.

"Hey," Nines greeted, taking off his coat.

"Hey, yourself," I said, setting the book aside. He plopped down next to me and leaned back on the couch.

"Hard night?" I asked.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Had to put down some kid who was trying to go spill our secret to anyone who would listen."

"I'm sorry," I said, sincerely. This was part of the job Nines hated, but necessary.

"So, how was your night," he asked, putting his hand on my knee.

"Fine," I said. "I helped Heather with her homework, modeled a bit then went and saw Jeanette."

"Seeing the Santa Monica Baroness behind my back?" he teased. "I might get jealous." I rolled my eyes.

"Oh please," I replied. He grinned and took my hand, kissing it.

"She did give me a little advice, though," I said.

"Oh?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. I could see his mind was reeling with all the possible advice the sex crazy malkavian baroness could have given me.

"Yes," I said, tucking my legs under me and turning to face him. "I want to talk…about…my nightmares…" Nines paused. This had been our biggest obstacle since LaCroix was killed. I would wake up, sweating and screaming and refuse to tell him about it. The things I had seen haunted me, most of all in my dreams.

"Okay," he said carefully. I bit my lip, squeezed his hand and took a deep breath.

I found that once I started, it all just poured out. I told him of the dreams where LaCroix hadn't found his just deserts in the sarcophagus and instead the very thing he sought and used the power to wipe out any kindred that stood in his way, ourselves, Jack, Damsel, Skelter, Isaac, Jeanette. Going so far as to kill any human who had any association with us, knowingly or not. I told him of running through endless ally's pursued by a Sabbat, terrified, only to come to a dead end, turn and face my pursuer then cry out in horror at the sight of myself as a Sabbat, the Beast having consumed me. I spoke of Pisha, who, in my dreams, knelt over rotted corpses to feast, and when she offered some to me, I took up beside her, tearing at the bodies of kine. I told him about watching the Malkavian mansion burn, and hearing the screams from within, attempting to wrench open the doors and save the poor retched souls inside, watching them claw at the windows as their skin sloughed off. I told him of the Fleashcrafter, which snatched anyone I loved and twisted them into the same horrible creatures I had seen in the Warrens, then sent them to kill me. I ran through the warrens, chased by monsters that bore the faces of those I cared about, panicked, but unable to destroy the visage of my loved ones. These dreams terrified me most of all as in them I was forced to watch as my loved ones were torn apart and recrafted. Skinned alive, and torn limb from limb, the screams mirrored my own as I begged the thing to stop.

Nines listened without interrupting, holding my hand and kissing it when he heard something particularly horrifying. When I was done, he pulled me to him.

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching up and wiping my face. It was only then that I realized I had begun to cry. I clung to him and sobbed, recalling the horrifying images that my own shattered mind had produced, giving life to my own fears, creating my own personal hell while I slept. When my tears had dried and I felt in control once again, I looked up at the Baron of Angel Town.

He smiled at me.

"Feel better?" he asked, gently.

"Yeah," I admitted.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" he asked.

"I just figured…" I stopped.

"What'd ya think I'd call you a pussy?" He teased. I bit my lip and looked away.

"You're fuckin' kidding, right?" he asked, suddenly angry. I shrugged.

"Why the hell would I call ya a pussy?" he questioned.

"You're older, I figured you would be used to these things and…"

"Babe," he began, scrubbing his face with one hand. "Lemme tell you something. We all fear the Beast, from the youngest to the oldest, it's somethin' in the back o' our minds at all times. Will this act make me lose my humanity? Will my beast get out if I go a little longer without feeding? LaCroix, well, if he had succeeded, it probably would have gone pretty much the way you dreamed. He didn't, but that doesn't make the fear any less real. Pisha….well that's just fuckin' sick and I can see what ya mean. I don't think I've ever met a vampire that actually ATE people.

As for the malkavian's, regardless of if they're nuts or not, watchin' that kind of shit would give even the most hardened guy at least one days lost sleep. And the Tzimisce…Jesus, where do I begin? Jack tried to tell me about it when I asked, cause I heard you mutter somethin' about it in your sleep once. But, man, I just can't wrap my head around that kind o' sick shit. I had nightmares just hearin' about it, never mind seein' it. Jack told me he figured you would have many a mornin' o' fear from what you'd told him and what he'd seen. Said he still sometimes has nightmares about it."

"So you don't think I'm a wuss?" I asked.

"I think ya got bigger balls then most I know to go up against all that in only a few months and not be talking to the plants in the corner," he said. "I can't say that I'm gonna understand everything you went through, but that doesn't mean I won't listen if you need to get that shit off your chest."

"Thanks," I said, leaning against him. "I do feel a bit better."

"Good," he said. "Whaddya say we go down to the beach and get out feet wet?" he asked.

"Can the city live without you for a few hours," I questioned.

"Damsel's got it in hand," he assured me, standing and going up the stairs to grab our swimsuits.