It's all AU.

Having erotic dreams was nothing new. Having them about Eric, on the other hand, was something he didn't think he'd ever get used to. One of those dreams was why he was wandering around after dark. He wanted to get away from the hotel, catch his breath and try to clear his head.

Given the number of nocturnal predators residing in the town at the moment, that he went wandering around alone, after dark, was likely a good indicator of his need to clear his head. Or to redevelop a survival instinct.

Either way, after a lap around the town he was physically tired, still confused, and still didn't want to go to the hotel. So, instead, he went to the house next door and sat on the porch with his head in his hands.

He was yawning as he walked out onto the street. He was a little pale, but only a very little. Mostly he was confused looking, and more than a little distracted by his thoughts. He didn't even notice River until he was all but on top of her. Then he stopped himself, took a second look, and: "Hey."

Eric was walking aimlessly through the old town, uncharacteristically paying not a bit of attention to his surroundings, staring down at his feet beating the pavement, hands in his pockets.

Of course, someone had to bump into him at some point, and his fangs dropped, eyes flashing. "Watch where you're going," he snapped.

A clear enough sign he was not his usual self. He usually had more self control.

What passed for 'morning' in this fucked-up place found Brant sitting on a roof-top, with a gun in his lap and a half-empty bottle of whiskey beside him. His legs were dangling over the edge of the tallest building with roof access he could find, his hand was resting lightly on top of the gun, and his eyes were bloodshot. He was pale, but he wasn't crying.

When he heard footsteps behind him, he didn't turn. He just said, "I'm not giving it back."

He meant the gun. He'd given up completely on his Jack. Actually, no. Who he'd given up on was himself, or everyone, depending on your point of view. He just didn't think he was going to see his Jack again.

( Potential spoilers for End of Time, Part 1 and 2 )

A figure wrapped in a fur lined coat was huddled up on a street corner, a dark thin face staring out from under the hood. It didn't take a doctor to realize, even wrapped up, that he'd lost a lot of weight recently.

Therem was unsure what to do. This was very, very clearly, not his world. These people - they made him think of the photographs Genly had shown him. Also, it was far too warm for Kerm land in the middle of winter. Where was Genly? He'd been right there.

First things first, he took off his heavy gloves and shed the coat. There was still multiple layers to protect from the cold.

Brant was, not to put too fine a point on it, bored. He was also in an atypically crabby mood. He wasn't lashing out or angry, but he wasn't feeling particularly sunny, either.

He stumbled out of the hotel with a cup of coffee, flopped on a bench and generally looking both very sleepy and very cranky.

Also, very young.

"Hey," he said, immediately upon sending one of the two time lords he knew best.

Romana was, finally, not quite hiding. She was in the middle of New New York, on a park bench, reading. She looked quickly up from her book, at a familiar face. Just a much younger version or it.

"Jack?" she asked, clearly not sure.

Eric was moving to the bar. He had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, filled with his clothes. There was a very decent basement at the bar.

A man was walking a few paces ahead of him, and something was bugging him about him. Until he narrowed it down. Two heartbeats.

Long strides easily had him catch up with the two-hearted creature. "You're one of these aliens," he stated.

It took him several days, but in the end he could no more stay away from Jean-Claude in this place than he could avoid himself. It was less about desire than need -- had it been about desire he certainly wouldn't have found himself rapping lightly at Jean-Claude's door, waiting on the (beautiful) bastard he loved as much as he loathed.

Brant was sitting on a sofa in the lobby of the hotel. There was a cup of tea in his hand, but his hand (and the tea, obviously) were both resting on an end table beside him. He wasn't just pale, he was *white* to the lips, and his eyes were closed. The contrast between his eyelashes and the pallor of his skin would have been pretty. If he'd looked less like a corpse.

Koschei was on the room of a tall building, working on a sensor array to gather data and start on his 'trick time into moving' project. In a slightly foul mood that he couldn't find Theta to show off to and talk at, but not enough to stop working. Driven, was the word for it.

Working made the drums manageable, if not an any way quieter. Everything feel into rhythm. Funny how that worked.

Brant let himself into the room and smiled easily toward Jason. He stepped out of his shoes while he locked the door. "Hey. I hear you need a hot-water bottle with a pulse."

Jack had a bag on his shoulder, and for once, was free of his greatcoat. Back in the t-shirt and jeans that brought back memories of easier times, he was planning on making the most of the sunshine - or planetshine or whatever it was - and there was one person he really wanted to do that with.

"Got a few minutes?"

After indirectly getting confirmation that Brant was appearently getting eaten by a vampire, he couldn't help it. He had to go check on him. So he went and knocked by Brant's door. Easiest thing.

The Doctor literally ran into Brant in the hallway of his TARDIS. Stopped. "Hello, Brant. Did you need something?"

Waking in this pocket universe was not quite similar to waking in Jean-Claude's own world. His body still seemed to follow the cycle of day and night, but with the absence of any true sun, the pull and sense of sunrise and set were lacking. Less demanding.

It meant that he woke slower, opening his eyes on darkness to know from scent and the shifting air currents in the room that he was not alone. "Mon lupe, you have closed the light?"

He spotted the Master and darted across to the sidewalk, where he fell in step with him.

"You." That came out a little steelier than he'd expected, and took even him off guard. He cleared his throat and tried again, aiming for a lighter tone. "You're not avoiding me are you?"

"I need a gun," Brant announced to no one in particular. "A really big one. You want to go shopping for one with me?"

Brant was frustrated and confused. He got himself a cup of coffee, added a lot of cream and sugar and asked the person nearest him in the lobby: "Does being tied up and fucked ever really fix anything?"