chapter thirty-nine,

Kol had never seen so much diversity of species in one place than in Beacon Hills. The town was crawling with werewolves—types he'd never even known existed—and creatures he'd either never heard of before or never seen with his own eyes. He wondered exactly why Marian had brought him here.

She'd been awfully quiet since Denver, and he couldn't understand why. Was it something to do with Ambrose? Kol couldn't shake the feeling that the two had had an argument while he'd been dealing with Damon and Elena

It was mid-afternoon when Marian finally brought him to a pale green house in the middle of the street, the words quarante-cinq, all rusted and worn, written under the shiny '45' next to the front door.

The girl took a shaky breath as she stepped onto the front porch, closing her eyes and frowning as if she were in pain. Kol wondered whose house this was. After a moment, she pulled out a small golden key from her purse and brought it up to the keyhole in the door, turning it to the right and easily unlocking it.

Looking up timidly at Kol, she reached out and took his hand, pulling him into the house with her.

As they entered, Marian caught sight of a woman standing in the front hallway. It was Andrea.

"You came," said the woman.

"Where is he?" Marian asked, swallowing the lump in her throat. This felt wrong. She could feel the coldness surrounding the house—Death was near.

"He's moved into your old room," answered Andrea. "He's probably still asleep."

"Okay."

Marian nodded once and turned. She felt unsure of her footing, though she knew her way around the house. "This used to be my home," she explained quietly to Kol. "I lived here for thirty years before I died." Marian led him up the stairs to the right of the entrance. "Killed by a hunter who thought I was a werewolf." Kol noticed her slowing when she reached the top, and her breaths became shallow and fast.

Upstairs, there was a spacious living area with a comfortable sofa and a tv, a small wooden coffee table in the centre. Large windows lined the walls, thin curtains dulling the brightness from outside as the thicker curtains hung against the walls. Beyond the living room was another hallway with two doors on each side of it.

"Why are we here?" Kol asked. He had so many questions crowding his mind.

She smiled nervously, stopping just before the second door on the right. Inside, Kol could hear the faint drumming of a heart beating steadily. "Do you want to meet your grandson?"

He was shocked. In this life, Marian was still a child. In most of the others, they'd either been separated by magic or by a dagger. He'd only ever met two of his daughter's children.

Taking his silence as a yes, Marian stepped forward once more and entered the room. Kol followed, unsure of what he should expect to see. Inside, he saw his daughter sitting on a queen-sized bed, her hand resting on top of a pale and wrinkled one.

He stared at the old man resting in the bed for a moment before glancing around the room. It was spacious and filled with framed pictures, old and new. Next to the bed were three photos: one of the man with a paper crown on his head and two cheeky-looking dark-haired girls on his lap, one with the man a little younger this time and three others—two young men and one woman who Kol assumed was the old man's wife—smiling happily as they sat at one end of a table at a Chinese restaurant, and one black-and-white photo two boys and a girl standing neatly in front of their parents. While the husband looked tired and worn down, the wife looked ever-so-happy, and a warm smile was spread across her face. It was Marian.

"Wake up, baby," Marian said softly, gently shaking the old man. He stirred, but didn't open his eyes. "Réveille-toi."

Slowly, his eyes flickered open. "Maman?" he asked hopefully.

Marian smiled. "C'est moi," she told him. "It's me"

"You're really here?"

"And I won't leave you until you're better," she said, though they all knew he wouldn't get better. "You promised me you'd take care of yourself while I was away."

"I've missed you," he replied.

"I missed you too, baby." Marian leaned down and kissed his forehead. "There's someone here who'd like to meet you."

Anxiety wasn't something that Kol experienced often, but watching as his grandchild—his frail and sick grandchild—saw him for the first time made him freeze.

"This is your grandfather," she continued, then looked at Kol. "Dad, I want you to meet Henri."

Kol could've sworn that somehow for a moment he couldn't breathe.

"Enchanté, monsieur," greeted the man politely.

"Enchanté," Kol responded. He didn't quite know how to react. This was all so strange.

"I've waited for this moment a long time," Henri continued. "I am glad I got to meet you before I'm gone."

"Don't say that," Marian scolded.

"I've heard the whispers in the trees, Maman. My time is near."

"I won't let you go," she whispered. "You can't."

Kol felt as if his heart were about to shatter into a million pieces as he heard the man's heart grow weaker yet.

Henri tried to laugh, though a strangled noise was all that came out. His mouth was dry, and his eyes were glassy. He suddenly looked sicker than he had when they'd first arrived not five minutes before. "You'll be just as fine as I was when you died all those years ago, Maman," he reassured her. "I'll be with Papa and Arienne and Sébastien. And I'll see my darling Laura again."

"But I only just got back," she replied weakly. Marian felt terrible that she'd taken so long to travel back to him. She'd known all this time where he was; he'd promised to always stay where she could find him. Her insides twisted with regret. "Please don't leave me."

Henri looked up at Kol. "You'll stay with her?"

"I won't be going anywhere anytime soon," came the response. Kol had no plans to leave his daughter ever again, and he was sure that since Marian and Klaus had become as close as they once were a millenia ago he wouldn't be daggered again for a very long time.

"Papa," said Andrea from the doorway. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I could climb every mountain," he lied. The corners of Marian's lips twitched upwards; he'd loved the Sound of Music growing up. "Ah, is that a smile I see?" he joked.

"Don't make me hit you," she threatened, sniffling.

"Don't cry, Maman," Henri told her. "You're far too beautiful a person to cry over a poor old man like me."

She looked up at the ceiling, feeling her eyes well up with tears. "How old does that make me?"

"Ancient."

"Didn't your mother teach you any manners?" she asked, poking his arm.

"She did," he said. "But I always liked to do the opposite of what she told me to do."

Marian looked up at her father. "I blame you for that."

Kol rolled his eyes. "Clearly he had a terrible mother."

"The worst," added Henri with a smile. He reached out his hand to Kol, who took it. He was shocked at how cold the old man's hand was. "She never let me have a biscuit before bed."

"If I knew this is what you two were going to do when you met, I never would've let you meet in the first place," she announced, standing up from the bed. "Andrea, do you have any tea? These two are giving me a headache."

She didn't really want to leave Henri, especially when she could tell just how fragile he was, but she thought that spending some time with Kol would be nice for him. As a child, he'd always asked Marian questions about history that she'd never been able to answer. Maybe now he could ask someone who could.

"Yeah," replied the woman, beckoning her to follow her back down to the kitchen.

"Maman, before you go," Henri called. He coughed into his shoulder. "Will you sing to me?"

Marian rolled her eyes. "Henri..."

"Just one song. My favourite one," he pleaded. "That you wrote about Papa."

She sighed. She despised when people asked her to sing, though she'd sung to her children every night before bed when they were little.

"Just a little bit," she compromised.

Henri smiled. "C'est une chanson," he began, his voice croaky and not at all singing the correct pitch. "Qui nous ressemble."

"Toi tu m'aimais," Marian joined, her melody far nicer than her son's. It was Henri's older brother who'd gotten the musical genes. "Et je t'aimais."

"Nous vivions tous les deux ensemble. Toi qui m'aimais, moi qui t'aimais."

Kol was confused. He'd heard this song before on one of the playlists Marian had made for him. She'd made one for each decade he'd missed, and even some that he'd lived through. This one, he was sure, was from the fifties.

"Mais la vie sépare ceux qui s'aiment / Tout doucement, sans faire de bruit / Et la mer efface sur le sable / Les pas des amants désunis."

Marian gave Henri a quick kiss on his forehead.

"Je serai bientôt avec toi, Papa," he whispered to himself. Marian had to close her eyes to stop herself from beginning to cry again. All she could feel was guilt for not coming to see him sooner.

"I'll just be downstairs if you need me," she told Henri and Kol as she slowly exited the room and went down the stairs.

"She wrote that?" Marian heard Kol ask.

"My father sent us to America in the Second World War," answered Henri. "And she was heartbroken without him. She told me she hadn't been so in love with someone in a long, long time."

"What happened to him?"

"We received a telegram about a month after we'd arrived. He'd been evacuating a bombed building when it collapsed. Maman was never the same."

Marian took a deep breath and continued down the stairs, trying her best not to let her memories and emotions get the best of her. She needed to stay strong.

"I hope you don't mind chamomile," said Andrea.

She forced herself to smile. "That's perfect. Thank you."

"He'll be okay, you know. He's been preparing for this moment for a long time."

Marian shook her head. "It just seems too soon."

"He's seventy-eight. He's tired. He misses his wife, his siblings, his dad..."

The girl looked down. She knew that feeling all too well. "I just... oh god, I should've come back sooner." She began to cry.

Andrea stepped forward, taking the warm cup of tea from Marian's hands and hugging her tightly. "You're here now, that's all that matters."

"But I'm too late. I had so many plans. I wanted him to meet everyone." She held onto the back of Andra's shirt. "If only I'd known. I should've... I should've..."

"He didn't want you to know, Marian," Andra said carefully. "He didn't want you to be sad."

...

Upstairs, Kol now sat on Henri's bed, holding his hand. The old man had told the vampire how glad he was to finally meet him, and how Marian had told him so many stories of him when he was a little boy.

"She told me you were there when they built the Dome in Florence." Kol nodded. It had been a truly remarkable experience. "What was it like? It must've been wonderful."

Closing his eyes, Kol let the memory of 14th Century Florence resurface in his mind. Marian was a child then. She'd relentlessly pulled his arm with excitement to go and explore the city, wanting to see everything that Florence had to offer.

Henri gasped. He was no longer lying in his bed in his mother's old room. Instead, he was inside Kol's memory. He'd altered it slightly, so that only the most beautiful parts of the city were on display; he'd erased the people suffering from the plague, the thieves, and the dirt and grime from the streets, and made sure that the day was bright and sunny.

"Impossible," muttered the old man, looking around in awe. From where they were standing, he could see the dome of the cathedral of Florence being built.

The pair stood around in silence for a few moments before Henri looked up at him. "Be honest," he said quietly. "How long do I have?"

Kol gulped. "A few minutes."

He nodded, moving slowly towards an empty upturned crate on the side of the street so he could sit down.

"You'll take care of her, won't you?" he asked again. "Because she has a nasty habit of getting into trouble."

Kol laughed. "Don't I know it."

"She'll blame herself. I don't know why, but she will. Will you make sure she knows that I love her and that there was nothing she could've done to stop this?"

"What do you mean?"

"The death of a lover kills her. But the death of a child? That destroys her. She was never the same after my sister died. She started drinking when my brother got killed in Vietnam."

"I promise you, she'll be okay," said Kol. "You have my word."

Henri smiled. He leant back on the cool wall behind him, eyes closed. "She loves you so much," he told Kol. "Even though she sometimes called you annoying and psychopathic. She needs you. Don't ever forget that."

"I could never." Marian meant more than anything to him. He would die for his daughter, and he would do just about anything to make her smile.

"Then I can go."

Kol sat beside him and watched quietly as people moved around him. He was able to project the images inside of Henri's head onto the street, and saw a memory of Marian dancing with Henri as a boy. They were singing and laughing as they moved in circles. Both of them looked so happy.

Then, the memory drifted away, and Kol found himself sitting on the crate alone.

He opened his eyes and rested Henri's hand back by his side, before standing up and walking out of the room. He could hear Andrea comforting Marian in the kitchen as he went downstairs. He wished he didn't have to be the one to tell his own daughter that her son was dead.

But Marian was a smart girl, and she knew as soon as she saw her father that he was gone.

"No," she whispered. Her breaths became heavy and ragged as she quickly shook her head in disbelief. "No."

Kol couldn't stop her as she rushed past him and up the stairs to Henri. He and Andrea quickly followed her. When they reached the room, they found her sitting on the bed, sobbing as she hugged the old man.

Andrea began to cry.

"Please, Henri," Marian begged. "Don't leave me. You promised me you'd be okay."

"Marian..." Kol tried, stepping forward and trying to move her away.

"No," she insisted, but she did nothing as he pulled her from the bed and into his arms. Instead she hugged him and cried into his chest. "He's gone," she cried. "They're all gone."

Kol, her aunt and uncles, and Andrea, were all she had left.

And Marian was broken.