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.

On reaching the hotel, Jean-Claude shifted his hold on Jason's hand subtly, moving from holding Jason's hand to resting his fingers against Jason's wrist, just above his pulse. A brief survey of the lobby revealed no sign of Asher, and he nodded towards the stairs. "He will be below, I believe?" he said softly, and led the way down in search of yet another version of the vampire who had, in one way or another, shared most of his existence since he had been brought to Belle's court.

When Asher finally sent him on his way, Jason headed for the old town but took a round about way heading home. Not that Asher probably couldn't have found the house if he wanted to--old town wasn't that small. But he didn't want to lead him directly there. Plus it gave him a moment to figure out what the hell he was going to tell Jean-Claude, because this was going to be difficult.

Finally, though, he reached the house and slipped inside, smelling the ink on his back and almost wishing he could go and get a bath now before Jean-Claude saw it. It wasn't like he couldn't tell the vampire what it said, pretty much. Even if he couldn't see the words (and likely couldn't have translated them even if he could).

"Jean-Claude?" he called, heading for the stairs. Maybe he was out. That'd make this a little easier.

Jason honestly hadn't slept at Jean-Claude's side all day. He had gotten up for a while to do stuff that needed to be done. Like eat, mainly. And pick up laundry. And check in on some people. And go for a run, sans fur.

By the time he came back from the run and grabbed a shower, it was close enough to the end of the day that he went straight downstairs. Which was how he ended up dozing on the free side of the bed, hair still damp and smelling faintly of soap.

Bella did not understand.

She'd woken up in a strange hotel room from one of her usual nightmares (they were usual, by now), and nobody would give her any answers. Not even the cat people, who made her think she was still dreaming. A very vivid dream, an odd one without Edward. She walked through the strange streets, feeling panic swell up in her chest as she could not fight the conviction that this was much worse than a dream. Much more real.

Oh, if only Edward were here, but he'd left. He'd left her.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted the vampire. Unmistakable, with his marble skin and perfect features, the grace of his movements. She wanted to rush to him, yet something held her back. Not all vampires were like her Edward.

Lucian had quickly given up on finding Jason's Jean-Claude, figuring that whenever this place wanted them to meet, they would. Clearly before had been the right time.

Now, however, seemed to be the good time, since the scent suddenly hit his nostrils. Vampire, mixed with Jason's lingering smell underneath the primary, cold one. This had to be the right trail, and he followed it to a house on which door he knocked.

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.

On his second night in this strange place, Eric had plans. A shower, first. Then feeding, off of another unsuspecting, glamoured human, although it was hardly any sort of fun. Maybe he ought to set up another Fangtasia here.

And then, of course, seeking out Jean-Claude. He went back to the basement level and knocked on the door Asher had indicated, hoping the other vampire would be in.

After his conversation with Romana, Asher was forced to admit that he did need Jean-Claude's help. He still had no shoes, he still knew very little of this place that he needed to know. Such as what was meant by not feeding freely and how to handle the day time. He was still uncomfortable, at the very best.

Forced to admit did not mean that he liked either the reality or the admission.

He stopped short of the room he'd seen Jean-Claude in, propped his good shoulder against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. He bowed his head, curtain of shining hair falling around his face and hiding it from view. And, simply and passively, he waited.

Asher was, not to put too fine a point on it, starving. He was also lost, confused and in pain.

It was perhaps not surprising that when he opened his eyes and saw Jean-Claude his reaction was not one of relief. It was quite probably rather surprising, all things considered, that he started to laugh.

How he'd ended up, filthy and near mad with pain and hunger and grief, on Jean-Claude's bed, was anyone's guess. It might even have been the psychic city.

The sun had barely set, but the regular feedings at the club had given Jean-Claude some of his strength back, which meant that he rose earlier. He still could not go out until full dark, but it allowed him time to rise, dress, and sometimes feed before the sun was fully down. And that gave him more hours of awareness to fill.

"Perhaps you might tell me of these houses you have been looking at?" he suggested to Jason, attention bent on fastening his shirt cuffs. "You have a favorite among them?"

When it got closer to the sun going down, Jason walked the Master back to the hotel. He still didn't understand cricket worth a damn, but it had been a nice day. Even with the seriousness of the conversation.

He asked the Master to stay near the stairs while he went to speak with Jean-Claude first. Pushing the door open, he made his way across the room to turn on a lamp. Softer light than the overhead one and easier on the eyes when waking up.

Then he settled in to wait.

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?"

The Master was restless. He'd resigned himself to returning to a base state of unsettled, despite efforts to distract himself until he, well, got certain things more settled. He was feeling very, very aware of many people he'd let himself get invested in. Personally. A decade ago he'd had one person to look after. Precisely one. That had been complicated enough. He'd hit some sort of critical mass somewhere along the way. He wasn't sure how that had happened.

In the mean time, there was a Time Lord stalking around New New York in the middle of the night, oozing frustrated protectiveness and territoriality. He paused when he hit an unfamiliar but very noticeable presence.

"I don't know you," he said flatly, forgetting all niceties.

Night, and Mitchell had been exploring for what seemed to be hours. "Just how big is this place?" he asked of the next person that was passing.

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?"

The hotel, Jean-Claude was pleased to discover, had rooms below ground level. He did not trust the drapes to keep out the sunlight, which might not damage him, though he had not tested the theory yet, for he did continue to die at dawn.

That evening, the sun had barely set when he woke, alone and with both hungers rising, to find someone outside his room. Someone who tasted familiar, even before he opened the door.