CHAPTER TWENTY
LAST GOODBYE

"I can't fix you. I can't save you. However, I can make it a little easier for your lungs to understand the language of breathing."

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     "Henrik," Stefan stuttered out, looking surprised. Henrik had a hard time believing he hadn't known the Mikaelsons were in New Orleans. His siblings had been annoyingly open with the people in Mystic Falls, to the point where they all knew about Klaus's daughter. He slid onto the stool beside Stefan's and signaled for a drink while Stefan collected his thoughts. "What are you—what are you doing here?" Henrik raised his eyebrows, then smiled and rested his cheek against a closed fist. He remembered telling Ethan that he was going to go to Chicago two years prior. That was probably where they all assumed he was now.

"I live here, sweetheart," Henrik said lightly, flashing Stefan a smile before he raised his head from his fist and leaned forward. "What are you doing here? Did you miss my family terribly?" A wide, amused smile spread across his face then. "Truth be told, I think Nik missed you the most." Stefan still seemed at a loss for words, and it wasn't until the bartender slid Henrik's usual drink in front of him that his tongue seemed to start working again.

"I'm traveling," Stefan quickly said, to which Henrik only hummed under his breath. "Had to take a break and ended up here."

"How oddly convenient," Henrik muttered into his glass before he set it down and looked over Stefan, head tilted in consideration. He couldn't see any physical scrapes on him, and he didn't seem to be in pain from a werewolf bite, so his confusion mounted. His eyes flickered up to meet Stefan's and a smile that was colder than it was friendly appeared on Henrik's face. Stefan, to his credit, didn't look away, but he did shift in his seat. "I don't believe you."

"You know," Stefan said conversationally, "I think this is the longest conversation we've ever had." Henrik hummed again. He knew what Stefan was trying to do. He was trying to distract him, trying to steer the conversation into another direction. Henrik had always been the Mikaelson to make everyone in Mystic Falls the most nervous and uncomfortable. He was unbalanced there, not himself. Unpredictable. He was still that way in New Orleans, but he was better at controlling himself now, better at recognizing when he needed to get away from something. Better at stopping himself before he crossed a line.

"A shame," Henrik said flatly, eyes going over Stefan again, analyzing. His right shoulder was stiff, Henrik realized. He kept moving his shoulder slightly, like he was trying to ease an ache. When Stefan noticed Henrik eyeing his shoulder with hooded eyes, it immediately relaxed. Henrik's eyes flickered up to meet Stefan's again. "How's your brother? Still terrible? I heard little Elena turned into Sleeping Beauty. I would offer to break that curse for you, but I don't want to. Oh, how's Caroline? Wait. I don't care. Don't even know why I asked about her. Oh, how's Bonnie? Is she still as gorgeous as I remember? How's Matty? Is he still gorgeous, too?"

The sudden change in mood, the change in tone, even made Henrik surprised, so he didn't blame Stefan for having to take a moment as he floundered for a response. It gave Henrik a moment to frown at his own erratic behavior. He knew he was erratic sometimes—and he knew he had been especially erratic in Mystic Falls two years ago—but he always thought that was something he could control. He'd never considered that Mystic Falls itself, and anyone tied to it, brought it out more than usual. Not until that moment.

"You left out one person there," Stefan pointed out, making Henrik blink and look back at him. For a moment, he was genuinely confused, mind still very far away, replaying all his actions in Mystic Falls and asking himself if he had truly been in control in those moments, or if he simply thought he had been.

"Who?" he asked, then he remembered. His mood darkened considerably. Stefan grimaced as soon as he saw the look on his face, probably wishing he hadn't even brought it up. Henrik wished he hadn't brought it up, either. "Tell me why you're here, Stefan." His smile was gone, and so was his faux-cheerful tone of voice.

"Tell me why you left so suddenly, like a ghost, and then left Ethan to explain everything on top of that, and I will," Stefan challenged. It felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. It had never occurred to him what kind of position he had put Ethan in when he had left, what questions he'd have to answer, what information he was holding. Henrik didn't let any of the things he felt show on his face, but when he opened his mouth, what came out surprised them both.

"Does he hate me?" he whispered. Stefan stared in surprise, then cleared his throat and finally averted his gaze. Henrik's heart sank. "Stefan." He didn't know what he sounded like when he said Stefan's name, but something in his voice made Stefan's expression soften.

"He blamed you," Stefan said in a whisper. Whispering those words didn't help make them less painful. Henrik's jaw clenched. "He said that if you hadn't saved Klaus that day, if you hadn't left, if you had stayed to control your brother, his mother would still be alive. I tried telling him that his argument didn't make sense—if you had let Klaus die, we'd all be dead, and you could never control Klaus anyway—but he was talking in grief. He didn't mean any of it."

"No," Henrik disagreed, voice soft. "No, I think he meant it completely. Everyone always means what they say when they're grieving, even if they apologize for it later." Even in anger, Henrik had said worse things, specifically toward Elijah. He had meant every single one of them as he said them, and only regretted them later, when he was calm and he was remembering the look of pain on Elijah's face. "Maybe he's right," Henrik murmured, downing the rest of his drink. "Maybe his mother would still be alive if I had stayed. But you know who wouldn't be? My brother Kol." Stefan had gone utterly still. Henrik glanced up and tilted his head. "Do you remember him?"

"That was Elena's plan," Stefan said slowly, suddenly very much aware of how much danger he was in. "Not mine." Henrik just hummed and signaled for another drink.

"I don't care whose plan it was," Henrik said coldly. "I don't care who had a hand in it. I want to know who celebrated afterward." Stefan was silent. Henrik leaned closer, anger suddenly burning in his chest. "Who celebrated, Stefan? Who thought my brother's death was justified just to find a cure your precious little doppelgänger bitch didn't even take?"

Stefan stared at him for a long moment, then averted his gaze and whispered, "I'm sorry. I really am." Those five simple words made all the anger evaporate from Henrik's chest, leaving nothing but exhaustion behind. He was tired of being angry. He wanted that happy feeling from that morning back. He sighed and cupped his chin in his hand, resting his elbow on the bar.

"You should be glad I didn't stay. You all should be glad and relieved," he murmured thoughtfully, flashing a quick smile to the bartender when she returned with another glass. "Your lives became forfeit the second Kol died. I wouldn't have spared any of you." There was a tense moment of silence following his words.

"Why are you sparing me now?" Stefan asked. He sounded like he didn't want to know the answer. Henrik gave it to him anyway.

"Two reasons," he said thoughtfully. "The first is because you made Bekah feel human that night. You made her feel normal. I love her more than anything. I don't want to hurt her by killing you." Stefan blinked at that, looking surprised. "But the main reason is that I found a sliver of peace here and I don't want to ruin that by getting your blood on my hands. If I kill you, your brother would come for me. I'd just be making more enemies. That's the last thing anyone needs right now, I have people I need to think of that are far more important than you, and, frankly, I don't want your blood on my hands." Henrik took a sip of his drink. "You're lucky I had such a good morning. Now, mind telling me what you're doing here?"

"Now, now, Henrik," Klaus drawled, finally making an appearance on Stefan's other side. A wide grin was on his face, though he shot a single look at Henrik that made Henrik scowl into his glass. "Let's get him something to drink first. Welcome to New Orleans, old friend." Henrik snorted at that, shooting Klaus a knowing look. Klaus paused to glare before he settled into the stool on the other side of Stefan. "As I live and breathe. Stefan Salvatore in the Crescent City. This ought to be very good, or entertainingly bad."

"I feel like my greeting to you was much better than that," Henrik grumbled. "I called you pretty and everything." Stefan actually laughed in agreement, though it was tinged with nervousness.

"I'm just in town for a little R&R," Stefan dismissed easily, sticking to his original story. Henrik rolled his eyes. "Hate to disappoint. So how are Elijah and, uh, whoever else you've brought back from the dead?" Henrik frowned and set his glass back on the counter.

"Elijah wasn't dead," he corrected, then frowned even harder and shot Klaus a glare. "Was he?"

"You know the Mikaelsons. Never a dull moment. And of course not, Henrik." Henrik scoffed and shot him a look that made Klaus remember the entire Kol situation. Klaus shot him a scowl. On the bar, Stefan's phone buzzed, and Stefan was quick to silence it. It was enough to make Henrik and Klaus focus their attention on him again. "So," Klaus said conversationally. "Of all the gin joints, you pick ours."

"The only place in this entire state where magic doesn't work," Henrik said thoughtfully, "and also the only four walls able to block out one of those pesky locator spells. Bit of a coincidence, isn't it, Nik?"

"Indeed, it is," Klaus agreed. Stefan released a small sigh, almost sounding exasperated.

"Damon's looking for me," he said, finally breaking down, "and I don't want to be found." Henrik raised an eyebrow, then shared a look with Klaus. Stefan didn't seem to notice. "I figure you, of all people, can relate to family drama." This was directed at Henrik, and he was so pleasantly surprised that he momentarily forgot his suspicion.

"Oh, I definitely can," Henrik agreed. "In fact, Nik got me shot today." Klaus rolled his eyes.

"I will never live that down, will I?" he muttered to himself before he signaled for the bartender. "Sylvia, this is an old friend. Please keep his cup brimming. Henrik, I believe your beau is waiting for you." Henrik blinked, thrown off-guard, and then he twisted around. Francis was seated at his and Klaus's previous table. It looked like he had just arrived. Henrik mood brightened considerably once he saw him.

"It was good seeing you, Stefan," he said, turning back toward Stefan and flashing him a smile. "Say hi to Matt, and give him this for me." He leaned forward and placed a quick kiss to Stefan's cheek. He was sliding off his stool and heading toward Francis before Stefan could even process what had happened. Francis raised an eyebrow when Henrik sat down beside him, then nodded in Stefan's direction.

"Friend of yours?" he asked. Henrik hummed.

"More of an acquaintance," Henrik corrected. When Francis arched an eyebrow again, he added, "Something about Mystic Falls makes me flirty." After a moment, he smiled and leaned closer. "Are you jealous, love?" Francis tilted his head, and the smile he gave Henrik was so unbothered that Henrik was surprised. In fact, he was nothing but amused. Francis didn't respond to Henrik's question, but the smile he gave was more than enough. Francis wasn't the type to get jealous when he saw Henrik kiss another man on the cheek. It made Henrik smile, though he didn't know why. He leaned forward and pressed his lips quickly against Francis's in a silent greeting. "How did you know I was here?"

"Klaus texted and I was just down the street," Francis said with a shrug. It was then that Henrik noticed the shopping bag at Francis's feet. It had a few records inside. It was from the music store at the corner. "He said you were upset and to come down. I didn't even know he had my number. You alright?" Henrik blinked and looked back at him, then turned to look at his brother. He was smiling when he turned back toward Francis, who was eating fries off of Henrik's plate. All the food was still warm, so Henrik started in on Klaus's.

"I was just annoyed," Henrik said, shrugging his shoulders. Francis looked him over, then frowned and tilted his head.

"Why do I smell blood on you?" he asked.

"Oh." Henrik shrugged again. "Aurora shot me in the stomach." The fry Francis had just picked up fell back onto the plate. He was staring at Henrik with wide eyes. Henrik could have sworn all the blood leaked from his face.

"What—" Francis started. Henrik waved his concern away. Francis scoffed in disbelief and slid his chair closer, reaching for the zipper of Henrik's jacket. Henrik sighed and let him hover, though he flushed when Francis dipped his hand underneath his shirt to skim his fingers across his stomach, as if making sure the wound was completely healed. Henrik was red-faced and glaring when he pulled away. Francis clicked his tongue and leaned forward to kiss Henrik until his glare was gone. Henrik was chasing after his lips when he heard Klaus shout his name. Francis mumbled something under his breath and Henrik let out an exasperated groan.

"I'll be right back," he sighed. Francis mumbled something else, this one sounding much ruder than the first. It made Henrik smile as he made his way to Klaus and Stefan. They had moved to their own table. The bar was practically empty, so they had a whole room to themselves to discuss whatever Stefan needed help with. He stopped when he reached the table and crossed his arms over his chest. "You shouted?"

"Do you have a vial on you?" Klaus asked.

"Why the bloody hell would I have a vial on me?"

"It seems Damon has gotten himself bitten by a werewolf," Klaus said, sounding like he was talking about a nice picnic during spring instead of someone dying a slow and painful death. Henrik's eyes nearly rolled out of his head.

"Can't we just let him die this time?" Henrik asked, shooting a glance over his shoulder at Francis, who had moved to the bar. He turned back toward the table and let his eyes roam over Stefan. "Why have you continuously healed them, anywa—what is that?" As he watched, blood started to seep through Stefan's shirt, right below the very shoulder Henrik had noticed was stiff earlier. He stared when an x-shape appeared on his shirt, a chill going down his spine. Klaus shot up so fast that his chair was knocked over. He jerked the collar of Stefan's shirt down, and then he and Henrik both backed away from Stefan when they saw the x-shaped scar on his shoulder.

"That," Klaus growled, breath ragged, "is the mark of the Phoenix Sword."

"You've seen this before?" Stefan asked, scrambling to his feet.

"Tell me you haven't been foolish enough to make an enemy of Rayna Cruz," Henrik whispered, eyes still glued to the bloody x on his shirt. When Stefan didn't respond, his eyes flashed up to meet his, sharpening in a glare. "Stefan, tell me you didn't just lead her to our home."

"Why do you think I'm here?" Stefan demanded, motioning around him to show he meant the bar. The only safe place in the entire city for him. He turned desperate eyes to Klaus. "Klaus—"

"So you came here to hide," Klaus seethed, "to seek refuge in my town, to enjoy the perks of my hospitality in the city where my family sleeps, my daughter sleeps, and all the while you lure in a vicious hound with your scent?" Stefan immediately started shaking his head.

"She can't find me in this bar—" he argued.

"Well, maybe not under this roof, but you are aware that she was born in New Orleans?" Klaus snapped. Stefan didn't have a response. "She terrorized the Quarter for years, thrust her blade through the hearts of some of my best men on the steps of St. Anne's Church. She will pursue you until your paranoia and despair far outweigh your desire to live. Here, elsewhere, or in Hell, she will find you."

"If you know how to outrun her, tell me what I should do!"

"What you should do," Henrik cut in, suddenly furious, "is leave this city. Right now. She will cut down anyone in her path to get to you, and that includes innocent people." That included Hope. She wouldn't hesitate. Just the thought made Henrik's blood boil.

"I'll tell you what you don't do," Klaus continued, stepping closer to Stefan and lowering his voice dangerously. "You do not draw a huntress to a town full of vampires. You do not drink my bourbon whilst lying to my face, and you do not dare ask me favors...ever again. Is that clear, old friend?" Stefan's jaw clenched.

"If I leave, she'll kill me," he whispered.

"And if you stay, I will," Klaus responded. "Get. Out." Stefan didn't move fast enough, so Klaus's next words were a booming shout. "Get out!" Henrik watched Stefan leave, watched Klaus slump back down at the table, then twisted and approached Francis, who was at the bar and nursing a glass.

"You," Henrik said immediately, "are not leaving my sight until Stefan is out of the city." His lips curled up into a small smile, and he hummed tunelessly.

"I could think of worse ways to spend the day," he teased. Henrik was going to respond, but stopped when Francis tilted his head, face twisting in curiosity. "Who is Rayna Cruz?"

"A vampire hunter who can't die," Henrik said, sighing. "She was cursed by shamans, similar to the Brotherhood of the Five, only stronger, more deadly. She literally can't stop killing vampires. If she sees one, she has to kill them. If she marks you with her sword—the Phoenix Sword—you can never hide from her, because she can track you. I tried to take her down the one time we came into contact with her in the nineteenth century, but the best I could do was a very strong cloaking spell until she left. Again, you're not leaving my sight." Francis hummed again, and then he was drawing Henrik closer, looping his arms around his waist to keep him there. Henrik leaned into him, tilting his chin up when Francis's mouth landed on his jaw.

"If you insist on touching each other so inappropriately," Klaus said, making Henrik and Francis jerk away from each other, "might I suggest a bedroom? Far away from me?" Henrik gave Klaus a flat look, then blinked in surprise when Klaus shoved something into his hands. It was Stefan's phone. "Keep that. I'm going to go find that moron." Henrik grinned.

"I knew you fancied him," he teased, then proceeded to laugh when Klaus scowled and stormed away. He closed his hand around the phone and looked back at Francis, opening his mouth to suggest they go somewhere more private. He broke off when the phone started buzzing in his hand. He glanced at the screen, then brightened when he saw Bonnie's name. Francis's hands fell away from his hips as he brought the phone to his ear. "Bonnie!" he greeted. "Oh, I haven't spoken to you in forever. Please tell me you didn't lose my number." There was a beat of silence. Henrik opened his mouth to say something else.

"Henrik?" That certainly wasn't Bonnie. All the oxygen flew from his lungs. It felt like someone had swung a hammer into his chest. Francis looked alarmed, and it made Henrik wonder what look was on his face. He didn't ask. He just held up a hand to tell Francis to give him a moment, and then he twisted on his heel and walked to the other side of the bar. By then, he was finally starting to breathe again.

He forced himself to sound as casual as possible when he said, "Now, I could have sworn I told you to get out of Mystic Falls." When he got no response to that, he sighed softly and leaned his shoulder against the wall, glancing out the window. "Hello, Ethan." From the other end of the call, he heard the hybrid suck in a sharp breath.

"Hey, Henrik," Ethan finally said, though he didn't sound nearly as warm as Henrik had always imagined he'd be. He didn't blame him. "Sorry, Bonnie deleted her entire contact list by accident and I told her I'd help figure out who everyone is. It's, um—it's good to hear from you." That got a laugh out of Henrik.

"Come now, sweetheart. Let's not say things we don't mean." He laughed again. "You blame me, remember?" He hadn't meant to let that slip out, but the wound was still fresh. There was a beat of tense silence.

"My mom is dead, and your brother killed her," Ethan said at last, voice shaking in anger. "That's what he does. He kills innocent people. I heard rumors that his entire family is living in New Orleans. I bet that's where you are now."

"If you're waiting for an apology, you're not getting one," Henrik said bluntly. "I am not responsible for the blood on Klaus's hands, and I wouldn't have been able to stop him. I could never stop him before." Henrik paused to collect himself, to control his rising anger. He let out a slow breath. He made an effort to gentle his voice, but that didn't stop the words from bubbling up his throat, couldn't stop them from escaping even though he knew this wasn't the right time or place. "Look, I am sorry for your loss. I really am. But I'm not sorry for leaving, I'm not sorry for saving my brother, and I'm certainly not sorry for choosing my family over you when all of you ended up murdering my other brother a few months later." He got nothing but silence. Henrik was starting to regret answering the phone in the first place, even if he had thought it was Bonnie. "Well, this was fun, but if you'll excuse me—" He started to pull the phone away from his ear, blood boiling.

"Wait." Henrik paused when he heard Ethan's voice, then slowly pressed the phone back to his ear. "I don't—I don't want this to be the last words we say to each other." Henrik waited. Ethan let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry for blaming you. It wasn't your fault, I was just so angry all the time and..." Ethan sighed again, then his voice softened. "Why did you just disappear? When you drove off, I didn't think that'd be the last time anyone ever saw you. I thought you'd stay to say goodbye to Bonnie or Lacy or Morgan. To Matt, at least. But you didn't. You just...left. Like you were never in our lives at all." Henrik swallowed.

"There was never a place for me there," he whispered. Ethan let out a sound of frustration.

"You didn't even try," he argued. Another flash of anger went through Henrik.

"Yes, I did," Henrik seethed. He heard Ethan suck in a sharp breath in surprise. "I tried so hard. I wanted to be happy there, I just wasn't. I destroyed myself trying to be. Hell, I wasn't even myself at all."

"What do you mean, you weren't yourself—"

"God, Ethan, I—" Henrik passed a hand over his face and choked out a disbelieving laugh. He shook his head. "The guy you bumped into at that charity drive, the one who went to school and hung out with cheerleaders and football players and spent time at high school dances—I've literally never done that before in my life. You met a normal teenager, you liked a normal teenager, so I was a normal teenager. I am the most powerful warlock in the world, I'm a thousand-years-old, I can kill multiple people with a snap of my fingers, and I was going to high school. Don't you see how ridiculous that is?"

It wasn't until he actually said the words that he even realized it was true.

"I was trying to be who you met that first night," Henrik said slowly, "and I didn't even realize I was doing it." Just like with Tristan, he thought, feeling sick to his stomach. He had tried desperately to be what Tristan had wanted, and it had screwed him up so badly that he had imitated that same behavior a thousand years later. He wondered how he and Ethan would have ended up if Tristan hadn't tainted his perception of romantic relationships.

"Then who are you really?" Ethan challenged. Henrik tilted his head and let out a soft sigh.

"I'm the person who almost ripped out your brother's heart," he said, keeping his voice emotionless. Ethan let out another frustrated sound.

"Henrik—" Ethan started, then stopped, sucking in a deep breath. "That was an accident, wasn't it? You didn't mean to. Bonnie told me." Henrik was surprised by that. He opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed through his nose.

"I'm dangerous and you pretended like I wasn't," Henrik said softly, and those words seemed to finally drive his point home for Ethan, because he fell silent. "You pretended like I wasn't a Mikaelson, or like I was the good one. I'm not the good one, and that was the problem. Once you saw that I wasn't, things fell apart for us. So no, Ethan, it wouldn't have worked out if I had tried hard enough, because I wasn't even myself in the first place, and you didn't like me when I was." Ethan was silent for a very long time.

"I never meant to make you feel like you had to be someone you weren't," Ethan whispered, and suddenly Henrik was very, very tired. All the anger burned out of him.

"That wasn't your fault, Ethan," he said softly. "I know whose fault it was, and it wasn't yours. You didn't do anything wrong. Things just didn't work out. It happens sometimes. It's normal." There was a beat of silence, this one less tense than the others.

"I'm sorry about Kol," Ethan whispered. "I really am." Henrik didn't respond. Ethan had been involved. There was no way he hadn't been involved. A simple apology would never make up for that.

"Can I ask you something?" Henrik whispered. Ethan said he could, and Henrik sighed. "Are you happy?" The question startled a laugh out of him.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am," Ethan confirmed, and something inside of Henrik's chest softened. A weight fell away. "Are you?" Henrik considered that question for a moment, then turned and looked at Francis. He was still at the bar, and he was currently chatting up the bartender. As Henrik watched, Francis smiled once and caused the bartender to blush and spill the drink she was making. Henrik expected to feel anger, jealousy, anything—but instead he found himself smiling. He let out a small laugh.

"Yes," he said softly, still watching Francis, still smiling. He could hear the smile in Ethan's voice when he responded.

"I told you that you'd find it," he said. Finally, the warmth Henrik had originally expected seeped into his voice.

"I didn't really find it," Henrik admitted. "It just...appeared randomly and never went away." There was another beat of silence, and then Ethan sighed. It was a bittersweet sound, because Henrik knew what it meant.

"Goodbye, Henrik," Ethan whispered. Henrik smiled.

"Goodbye, Ethan."

When he reached Francis's side, he wasn't even mildly surprised when Francis broke off mid-sentence and turned toward him, already offering a soft smile. Henrik leaned into him and pressed a kiss to Francis's mouth. It was short and sweet, but when he pulled away, Francis was smiling even wider than before. His thumb swept across Henrik's cheekbone once, and then he leaned down to press another kiss to Henrik's lips.

"I'm really happy that I met you," Henrik blurted out, surprising them both. Francis leaned away from his lips and stared for a moment, and then he seemed to be trying to fight back a grin. Henrik, face suddenly feeling very hot, groaned and pressed his face into Francis's neck, fists closing around the fabric of his jacket. Francis's arms wrapped around him, one arm slung around his shoulders while the other curled around his waist, keeping him there.

"Come now, darling," Francis said with a small laugh, though his voice was shaky. Emotional. "Don't get me all emotional in public." Henrik scoffed and pressed a kiss to Francis's throat, feeling him swallow.

Even as he teased him, Francis pulled Henrik closer and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, making the same peace from that morning settle in his chest.

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edited: 6.22.18