DO NOT GO GENTLE

Standard disclaimers apply.  Nick, LaCroix, Janette, and 
Natalie aren't mine, I've just taken them for a brief spin. 
Any similarities to real life happenings or other fanfiction 
stories are entirely coincidental/unintentional.  Permission 
is granted to archive at fkfanfic.com and the ftp site, all 
others please ask so I can keep track of it.  For those of 
you who are interested, my other stories are all available 
at http://filebox.vt.edu/users/diharris/Homepage.htm

This fanfiction is a first for me, I'd have to say.  
Although it has some NNPacker undertones, this story is 
mainly about Nick and LaCroix, with a hefty dose of Janette.
I'm no expert on LaCroix factions, so I really don't know 
what category this would really fit into, however.  My best 
guess would be the CoTK and the Cousins.  Anyway, for those 
of you who know my standard LaCroix representation, I can 
assure you that this is most certainly not anywhere close to 
it :)  This story follows series canon until somewhere after 
Human Factor, where it splits off rather drastically (I'm 
one of those people still stuck in denial about LK).    

Do Not Go Gentle contains a bit of disturbing subject matter 
that I think is adult content.  Be warned.

For those of you interested in the translations of the Latin
Headers that are used in this story: 
IN MEDIAS RES = in the middle of things
INITIUM = beginning
REVENIRE AD NUNC = back to the present
FINIS INITII = the end of the beginning
Thanks to my friend Nick, who kindly did these translations 
even though he was super busy!  

Thanks a billion to my beta reader, Lois Frankel!  This 
story took me thereabouts of six months to write (the 
longest I've ever spent actually writing a story before this 
is about three weeks...) and without my beta reader, it 
probably would've taken an additional couple of months :)  
All comments, questions, feedback and whatnot may be sent to 
aria5@vt.edu.

Ok, <deep breath>, I'm done.  You can read now :) 

DO NOT GO GENTLE

IN MEDIAS RES

He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it, the harsh 
light bringing stabs of pain and causing him to immediately
close them again.  He was wet, and cold.  So cold...  
/Nicholas, now do you understand...  I'm your master and you 
will never escape me./  He cried out, but no sound came.  
His voice was gone.  He couldn't move.  He couldn't think.  

He was wet.  And cold.  Splayed on the floor like a rag doll 
left out by a careless three-year-old.  Reaching with his 
good hand, he attempted to pull himself across the cold 
wooden floor, but he couldn't get a grip nor did he have the 
strength.  Wet.  He opened his eyes again.  Pain shot 
through his pupils as they tried to adjust to the light, but 
he had no tears to cry.  He was bled out.  Weak.  He 
couldn't move.  

/You're mine!  Never disobey!/  He realized then why he was
wet.  He was lying in a pool of his own blood.  His life and 
soul were spilling outwards from his ravaged body into the 
cracks in the floor, coagulating ever so slowly.  Why hadn't 
his body absorbed it back into his system?  It didn't make 
sense.  Shivering, he curled up into a ball.  So cold...  
His teeth chattered.  Inhaling sharply, a terrible pain was 
brought to his chest and he felt as if his entire body was 
about to fall apart. 

/You little whelp!  I'll teach you once and for all.../  He 
sobbed mutely, his entire torso lifting up off the floor 
like a marionette operated by a deranged puppeteer.  It 
hurt!  Everything hurt...  His neck and rear in particular.

/No...  Please no.../  Failing when he tried to sit up, he
lay still, shivering as the cold seeped further into his 
bones.  It hurt!  Calming his breathing, he tried to lie 
there silently.  He was hurt.  Very badly...  Why wasn't he 
hungry?  He was cold...  

He was cold.  He was naked...  His pale skin reddened from 
the coating of his own blood.  Cold.  There was a gash in 
his side.  His left hand was crushed and numb.  He reached 
out with his right hand.  /Are you trying to get away?  You
think you can get away?/  He couldn't get away.  If he 
could only get to his refrigerator...  Maybe he would 
heal...  His broken ribs shuddered underneath his skin as 
he took in a quick, panicked breath.

/LaCroix...  please...  don't/  But he did anyway.  He 
sobbed again, his body coming up off the floor as it had 
before and then slapping back onto the cold wet floor with
a painful jolt.  Why couldn't he move anywhere?  God, it 
hurt.  There was a noise.  The door to the lift, maybe 
twenty feet in front of him, opened slowly.  

He struggled.  Had to... had to get away.  Hide...  
"Aughnn..."  The words would not come as he flopped around 
on the floor like a landed fish, trying to get up.  To get 
away.  It hurt.  He cried, but again, no tears came.  
LaCroix...  Please go away...

"Nick!  OHMYGOD, NICK!"  Nat.  When did she get here?  Help
me Nat...  I can't get up...  He hurt.  It was cold.

She was sobbing, and he felt her hand on his shoulder.  No, 
he felt LaCroix...  He had to get away...  He struggled 
despite the awful pain.  His chest rattled as he gasped, 
pulling away from LaCroix with all his might...  He tried 
to scream when LaCroix grabbed him and held him steady, but
all that came out was a hoarse sounding squeak... 

"Nick, it's me!  Nat!  Can you hear me?  It's Nat!"  He 
heard Nat's frantic voice.  When did she get here?  Help me,
Nat, I can't get up...

/Beg me, Nicholas.  Beg me to stop.../  He struggled to get
away, his voice finally succeeding in getting out a pained, 
plaintive whisper, "LaCroix, please stop..."  LaCroix was 
touching him.  He flailed blindly.  His eyes hurt.  His neck
hurt.  He hurt.  

"Nick, calm down.  Shhhh.  It's over, Nick.  LaCroix isn't 
here.  Let me help you..."  He heard Nat's voice above his 
confusion.  When did she get here?  Help me, Nat, I can't 
get up.  She was sobbing.  Why?

Don't cry, Nat.  I'll be ok, just give me a second...  He 
tried to get up to show her that he was indeed ok, but he 
couldn't.  The pain movement brought was like his skin was 
set on fire.  He jerked in shock.    

"Nick, don't try to move!  You've...  you've got a lot of 
broken bones..."  I do?  He did.  His torso and left hand 
had almost the consistency of fine goo, the bones where 
completely shattered.  She was sobbing.  Don't cry, Nat...

Then she was gone.  Gone.  He was alone.  And cold.  Where
did she go?  Nat!  Nat!  Where did you go?  You left me... 
Just like everybody else does...    

"Nick, shhhh.  I'm just getting some blood packs.  Shhhh..."
Don't cry, Nat...  Why is she getting blood packs?  I don't 
need any blood, I'm not hungry...  

She was back.  Her hand was brushing his cheek.  He looked
at her through pained eyes.  He couldn't speak.  It hurt.

He felt a prick in his arm and he tried to jerk away.  But 
then he felt warm where the prick was.  And then the rest 
of him was warm...  But now it hurt more...  It was too 
warm.  It burned.  

"....."  He screamed a scream that made no noise, jerking 
haphazardly about the floor despite the steadying hands on 
him.  She was sobbing.  Don't cry, Nat.  Please don't 
cry...  Why did he always have to make her cry?  It was his 
fault.  It was always his fault.  He was a monster, just 
like LaCroix said.  He hurt.

"Nick..."  She was pushing on his side.  It hurt.  Why was 
she pushing on his side?  Pushing...  /Ah, Nicholas... do 
you feel that?  That's me.  I can possess you totally.../

"No... no no no no..." he cried like a lost lamb, bleating 
for it's mother.  Nat stopped pushing.  But she was still 
crying.  Don't cry, Nat.  I'll do what you want me to, if 
you stop crying...  I can't bear to see you cry...

"Nick, you've got to roll on your side so I can ... clean  
you off..."  Ok.  I can do that...  Strangely, he could move 
now, but it still hurt.  

/You are a monster Nicholas./  I know.  /Embrace it./  No!
He felt a grating sensation and he cried.  Sobbed.  She was
wiping him with a towel.  It hurt!  Why was she hurting him? 
Nat, why are you hurting me?  This hurts!  He cried.  He had 
tears now.  Odd.    

"Shhhh, Nick I'm almost done.  I know it hurts..."  He tried 
vainly to wait patiently while Nat finished, the tears 
streaming down his face and making a mess of the floor.  All 
of the sudden it stopped.  He was cold again.  He shook.  He 
closed his eyes.  Tired.  Suddenly tired.  

"Nick, stay awake!  You're going into shock..."  Oh.  He 
kept his eyes open.  Maybe then she wouldn't cry.  Please, 
Nat don't cry.  

She was hurting him again.  Why was she hurting him?  He 
felt his left hand in hers.  She was doing something with 
it and now he couldn't move it.  There was cardboard on it.  
Nat, I can't move my hand now...  Why was she hurting him 
like this?  Nat, why?  LaCroix had hurt him... but never 
Nat...

He felt her bandaging him on his neck and on other places.  
His neck hurt a lot.  She was touching him again, pressing 
his ribcage this way and that.  That hurts!  Nat, why are 
you hurting me?  He cried.  She stopped.  There was a 
terrible noise.  Now there was chair in front of him.  Nat 
was gently prodding him to stand up.  

He couldn't stand.  It hurt.  God, he couldn't stand up...  
But Nat wanted him to, so he stood.  He wanted to scream.  
/I can possess you totally/.  No... NONONONONO!  Get away!
Dizziness crushed his skull and suddenly nausea flooded 
through his system.  He vomited.  His throat burned and he
wanted to die.  "Here Nick, lean on this chair for a 
second..."  Ok.  He cried uncontrollably as he watched her 
mop up the blood from his wounds and from his recent bout of 
nausea.  

His good arm was going numb.  He couldn't support himself 
much longer...  God, why couldn't he just lie back down on 
the floor?  The floor was... it was horizontal.  But Nat 
wanted him to stand.  His legs felt like rubber.  He wanted 
to fall.  Nat wanted him to stand.  He stood.  He felt blood 
dripping down his legs.  Nat cleaned it off with a towel.  
Please Nat, can I please lie back down now?  

A warm, fuzzy blanket was wrapped around him.  He sobbed and
shook and shook.  Shook.  Why did he hurt so much?  /Do you 
feel that, Nicholas?  I OWN you!/  No...  I don't belong to 
anyone, least of all you...  Why don't you stop?  Stop!  Oh, 
please stop!

Natalie's arms wrapped around his shoulders.  They were 
light, as if they were trying not to hurt him.  LaCroix 
tried to hurt him...  "Nick, let's get you over to the sofa,
ok?"  Ok.  Why did he have to do that though?  The floor was
ok...  He could just lie on the floor...  Nat wanted him to 
walk.  He would walk.  It would hurt.  

The first step brought shoots of pain up his legs.  It hurt!  
"Come on, Nick!  Only a few more..."  Ok.  Now he was 
sitting on the sofa.  Had he gotten there that fast?  He 
hurt.  She was still wrapped around him, rocking him back 
and forth.  He cried.  

"Shhhhh, Nick.  It's ok, Nick.  You'll be all right...  
you'll heal..."  No I won't.  "Drink this."  A bottle 
appeared in front of him.  He drank.  He retched.  It tasted
awful.  

"Nat..." he managed.  It was soft.  He couldn't get much to 
come out of his vocal chords.  Oh, God.  He vomited again, 
shaking violently.  Trembling.  Shaking.  Sobbing. 

"Shhh, Nick.  It's all right.  It's ok..."  No, it's not ok.  
He wouldn't stop...  Why wouldn't he stop?  

"Nat...  Make him stop!" he sobbed, burying himself in the
blanket.  /I own you./  God, he hurt so much.  He cried 
more.  When would it stop hurting?  It would never stop 
hurting...  

"Shhhhh, Nick..."

Help me, Nat.  He reached for her.  She was there.  Help me, 
Nat. 

"Shhhhh, Nick..."

He fell asleep to the lulling sound of her voice.  Thank 
you, Nat.  

*****    

DO NOT GO GENTLE

Lucien LaCroix flew blindly through the freezing night air 
in a cold fury.  Despite the numbing frigidness nipping at 
his skin, he could not help but think of his rebellious son.  
Damn that recalcitrant boy!  Every time he turned around, 
Nicholas was doing _something_ towards his damn quest for 
mortality.  Something for his damn emotional heart!  Didn't 
he realize he was only going to get hurt?

Every single time.  Every single time, he had to go racing 
in to save his errant son when he did something foolish and 
it was getting to be a rather annoying chore.  Damn it!  And 
damn him!  

LaCroix snarled as he picked up speed.  But at the back of 
his mind something was there that wasn't supposed to be, a 
constant murmur underneath his bubbling anger.  Regret?  
Maybe... but it didn't quite seem to fit.  In an effort to 
knock some sense into Nicholas, he'd gotten a little bit 
carried away.  And he knew it.  Regret it?  Yes...  But 
there was something else.

His mind shifted back to his son and it pained him to 
realize that Nicholas was lying cold, alone, and helpless in 
his loft, but he couldn't have stayed.  He'd known that if 
he'd stayed he would've only gotten madder.  His temper was 
simply not a thing to trifle with.  Besides, even if they 
were _just friends_, he was sure that Nicholas's doctor 
friend would stop by soon enough and save the day.  

But...  why did it have to be like this?  Because Nicholas 
was a damn fool, that's why.  Because Nicholas cared.  About 
_her_.  And not about him.  LaCroix grimaced.  He wouldn't 
be surprised if Nicholas wanted him dead.  He'd already 
tried to kill him, once within the past couple years.  

There was no way that he would be able to cash in on his 
debt over Fleur either.  If he were to take the good Dr. 
Lambert's life, which he desperately wanted to do, strong-
willed and vivacious though she was, it would be enough to 
sever his ties to Nicholas forever.  As of now, he was 
barely hanging on by a frayed thread anyway.  

In a flash of thoughtful insight, he realized, suddenly, 
that he envied Nicholas in a way.  His passion, his dreams, 
it was all so damned admirable.  And it made him feel that 
much worse.  He'd overreacted.  That, he knew.  Even if he'd 
refrained from killing the Doctor, he hadn't refrained from 
killing his son.  If not in body, in soul.  Nicholas would 
never, _ever_, forgive him now.  He'd gone too far...

As he set down in a dark, side alley, a small unbid tear 
fell down his cheek.  He wiped it away hastily, denying its 
brief existence with a ferocious, throaty growl.  No!  
Lucien LaCroix did NOT cry.  He was a ruthless, Roman 
general.  Not a crybaby!  

His thoughts of Nicholas, however, refused to stop as his 
tears had.  He tried so hard to renew the family ties that 
had bound them together so well before, but every time he 
turned around Nicholas went off and did something that 
was... unforgivable!  He couldn't just let these infractions 
slide...  But at what cost?  Nicholas had bounced back after 
every disciplinary session with seeming ease, but nobody 
lasted forever.  Like a bad case of metal fatigue, he knew 
his son would eventually snap.  

He sighed loudly as he thought to himself.  If Nicholas 
would just accept what he was!  But he didn't.  That was the 
crux of it right there.  LaCroix groaned as he opened his 
link to Nicholas for a brief second, only to be greeted by a 
fanfare of confusion and pain.  Placing his hands to his 
temples in response to the bombardment, he immediately 
closed the link.  

Why had he done that to Nicholas?  Why?  What had possessed 
him to ruin the progress they'd been making?  Things had 
been going so well lately...  Ever since Nicholas had been 
shot and his memories restored, LaCroix had felt closer to 
his son in a way he hadn't felt since... well... never.  

Even when Nicholas had been a fledgling, LaCroix had known 
Nicholas thought of their relationship as master and slave, 
not as father and son, intimate in more ways than any mortal 
could possibly imagine.  Lately he'd been getting the 
feeling that Nicholas had situated their relationship 
somewhere between the two extremes.  Although not his 
ultimate goal, he had been happy that Nicholas had even 
yielded that much.  

LaCroix broke from his musings and approached the door of 
the Raven with a menacing glare.  The bouncer stepped aside 
immediately to let him pass, not even fazed by the cries of 
protest from the long line of mortal patrons waiting to get 
in.  Apparently, they did not realize that he was the owner 
of the establishment.  

As the pounding bass blasted him in the face, he noticed 
that all the vampire patrons of the establishment were 
staring strangely at him.  He looked around, the dazzling 
lights and noises only momentarily confusing his sensitive 
eyes.  They all wisely averted their eyes when he returned 
their stares with a menacing one of his own, but it was odd.  
Something was not quite right...  Not at all.

The pale-faced, brown-haired bartender waved him over with a 
polite gesture of his hands.  Marcel was his name, or at 
least one of the many that he'd gone by over the course of 
eternity.  He was at least as old as Vachon was, if not 
older.  Those that old did not worry easily, which made it 
all the more strange when LaCroix was able to detect worry 
in Marcel's penetrating gaze.  

LaCroix immediately responded, approaching the bar with a 
certain wariness.  "What is it?" he snapped as he placed his 
hands on the cool black surface of the bar.  

"She's...  She's in the back room.  I told her she could 
stay as long as she liked..." Marcel said hesitantly, barely 
loud enough to be heard over the music. 

LaCroix looked at his vampire bartender with confusion.  
Who?  The bartender merely backed away as if to avoid what 
he thought was going to be a backlash, and LaCroix could 
barely contain his burning curiosity.  What was going on?

He strode across the floor of the Raven, barely preventing 
himself from mowing his patrons flat into the dance floor.  
Although he hesitated at the entrance, gripping the doorknob 
tightly with a foreboding sense of worry, he went into the 
apartments in the back with a sudden determination.  The 
darkness in the room was so thick it was almost tangible, 
but his acute eyes could see well enough to identify the 
figure huddled in the corner and his unbeating heart nearly 
exploded out of his chest when he saw the room's occupant.  
One he hadn't seen since the night she'd given him the deed 
to the Raven.

Janette looked up from where she sat huddled on the floor.  
Bloody tears streamed down her face as she shook 
uncontrollably.  "LaCroix...  What have you done?" she asked 
quietly, in obvious pain.  Her arms clasped tighter around 
her thin, sinuous form as she bit back on a wave of agony 
with a pathetic whimper.  

LaCroix raced to her side with fear developing at the pit of 
his stomach.  She didn't appear to have any injuries, but he 
still felt compelled to offer her his wrist.  Her reaction 
was quite surprising.  She turned her face away with a look 
of disgust, her lips curled up in a pained grimace.  "Ma 
Cherie, what's the matter?" he asked, concerned about the 
fact that she would refuse his fast-healing, ancient blood 
if she was in such pain.

"What have you done to him?" she asked plaintively, her 
teeth chattering relentlessly.  Janette bit off a scream as 
she clutched her abdomen and buried her face in his 
shoulder.  Comprehension began to flood his mind.  Nicholas.  
She was feeling Nicholas.  Her new 'master'.  She'd been 
brought back to Toronto by his pain, and she couldn't shut 
it out.  It was not something he'd taught either of his two 
children, at the time in an effort to maintain more control 
over them.    

Nicholas was incapable of blocking his pain from Janette, 
and Janette was incapable of stopping her reception of it.  
A very bad combination, and something he couldn't teach her
overnight.  He realized painfully that there was no way he 
could help her.

He held her shaking form in his failing grasp.  Janette.  
His sweet, seductive Janette.  Reduced to this.  Because of 
him...

"Janette, I'm so very sorry...  I...  I couldn't stop 
myself...  I was angry..." he whispered softly, his voice 
rich with raw pain.  He'd gone too far...  He'd let his 
anger cloud his judgment.  And he regretted it.    

He winced as she cried out desperately, writhing in his arms 
like a frightened child.  "How could you?  He was starting 
to return!  I felt him returning.  He...  he loved you..." 
she whispered, her face tight with lines of pain. 

The words hit him like a slap in the face.  Nicholas had 
loved him?  No.  Nicholas would never...  NO!  He shook his 
head.  It couldn't be true.  

"I...  I'm sorry..." LaCroix said softly, his voice 
faltering as tears came to his eyes and threatened to fall.  
He was no longer some invincible general...  And it tore him 
apart that he was unable to offer any other words of apology 
to Janette as she fainted from the dizzying agony emanating 
>from his son.  

What had he done?  He wept openly for the first time in 
centuries, Janette limp and unconscious in his arms.  All, 
was lost.        

*****  

INITIUM

Nick groaned as he stepped into the lift that went up to his 
loft.  It had been a long, terrible night, and he was 
exhausted.  A man had gone berserk and killed three people 
in a shopping mall before taking his own life.  Nick and 
Tracy had had to question all the witnesses.  Crying, 
hysterical witnesses in shock.  

Nick shook his head with a look of distaste.  It disgusted 
him that mortals could spurn the gift of life with acts 
violence such as this, but, there was nothing he could 
really do about it.  Leaning back against the wall, he 
thought of nothing but sinking into bed and falling into the 
oblivion of sleep.  That, and feeding.   

His abdominal region burned with raw hunger, and he growled 
bestially as he stepped out of the lift.  He was tired, 
true, but his carnal need would not be silenced until he 
sated it with blood.  He couldn't ignore it, although he'd 
tried so desperately hard to.  His face marred with self-
disgust, he raced to the refrigerator like an abused dog 
desperate for a single scrap of food. 

Grabbing a familiar green bottle from the fridge, he placed 
it to his lips and tipped it upward.  The cow blood slid 
down his throat only too slowly, and he grimaced at the 
terrible bitter taste.  It was awful.  Absolutely awful.  
And for what seemed like the thousandth time that week, he 
wondered why he put himself through this?  He growled in 
frustration and slammed the green bottle onto the kitchen 
counter, looking back longingly in the direction of his 
fridge.  There were human blood packs in the freezer.  He 
could have just one... 

No!  He would not give in to his desires, no matter what the
cost to his health.  He raised the bottle back to his lips 
and took another sip of the dreaded stuff, choking slightly 
on the taste.  At least it didn't make him so nauseated that 
he had to throw it back up, like with Nat's protein drinks.  
Just thinking about it made him shudder.  

In the private atmosphere of the loft, he let a small tear 
descend his cheek.  Why did it have to be so damn hard?  He 
wanted to be mortal so badly... and yet... he continuously 
found himself embracing the vampire.  Contradiction, it 
seemed, was a part of his daily life, but what was _wrong_ 
with him?  He squeezed his eyes shut as he dealt with the 
sickening aftertaste of the cow blood, strangely pleased 
that he was getting no enjoyment out of quenching his 
terrible thirst.  And yet, for some reason he found himself 
contemplating taking another sip.     

Standing there quietly, trying to force himself to put the 
bottle back before taking another sip, he felt an odd 
buzzing in the back of his head, a whisper of something that 
could only be one thing.  LaCroix.  "What do _you_ want, 
LaCroix?" he said with displeasure as he turned to face his 
master, the green bottle still clasped tightly in his hand.  

"Oh, come now, Nicholas.  Why must you greet me with such 
hostility?" LaCroix said smoothly, an eyebrow raised.  He 
appeared out of thin air as he said it, adorned in a suave 
black sport coat, black silk shirt, black pleated pants, 
and a pair of black leather shoes.  Really colorful...  

"Because when ever _you_ take the time to visit _me_ it's 
usually to criticize me or to punish me," Nick said, 
matter-of-factly, but he regretted it as soon as the words 
fell from his lips.  Ugh!  Why did he have to lash back at 
his master, when he knew all it would bring him was pain?  
It seemed his rebellious nature too often got ahead of his 
more logical side.  He felt fear growing in the pit of his 
stomach.  He was too tired to deal with this right now...

LaCroix merely gave him a perplexed look and took the green 
bottle out of Nick's hand, taking a quick sip.  Only 
LaCroix's stoic ability to hide his disgust prevented him 
>from spitting it back out.  "Nicholas, Nicholas...  _must_ 
you drink this infernal swill?  You really should be 
drinking human..." he commented distastefully, not really 
a command, but definitely more than a mere suggestion.  

Nick shook his head.  He wasn't going to allow himself to 
be sucked into that argument now.  He wanted to go to bed.  
What's worse was that he knew that LaCroix knew he wanted to
go to bed.  This was likely to be a long encounter...  "What
do you want, LaCroix?"

LaCroix whipped out a newspaper from under his coat pocket, 
almost faster than Nick's eyes could keep track of.  "I 
merely meant to ask you what the meaning of _this_ was," 
LaCroix said, his voice dripping with contempt.  

Nick swallowed.  Hard.  On the front page of the paper were
the words 'Hero Cop Catches Killer'.  That was ok, pretty 
normal for him, in fact.  He got headlines a lot.  But what 
LaCroix was referring to, was the picture.  Of him and Nat.  
Kissing.  Right on the front page of the daily paper.    

He snatched the paper from LaCroix's hand and read the 
caption quickly to himself.  'Apparently, Detective Nick 
Knight gets a little more help from the Coroner's Building 
than most of Toronto's finest do, but it seems to do him 
well...'.  Nick shook his head, remembering the night before 
with a sense of dread.  He hadn't known there were 
photographers there when he had done that, although he 
should have.  "LaCroix, that's not what it looks like..."  

Under LaCroix's hateful gaze, Nick began to tremble, and at 
the same time he was angry that LaCroix could still 
intimidate him even after eight hundred years.    "Nicholas, 
do you mean to tell you that _this_ was entirely platonic?"  
he questioned with a raised eyebrow, the disbelief in his 
tone practically knocking Nick flat.  LaCroix's annoyance 
was palpable.  

Nick looked at the floor, his voice wavering with fear 
realizing that he didn't have much more time to clear 
himself before LaCroix pounced.  Literally.  "Yes..."  God, 
what was he going to do?  Nat was in danger now, and it 
really had been a platonic kiss...  Or at least in context, 
but looking on it, it had felt _really_ good at the time.  
The guilt from his actions washed over his mind in a flood 
of emotion.  He had hurt Nat by leading her on, and now he 
had endangered her life.  He swallowed, barely noting the 
sudden dryness of his mouth.  

LaCroix slapped him across the cheek so hard it stung.  
"Don't lie to me, boy!"  

Nick's voice escaped in a quick puff of air as he held a
hand to his burning cheek.  His eyes drooped in shame, and 
although he tried to defend himself he knew he had lost 
already and began to prepare himself for a severe beating.  
"I'm not!  It was..." he was cut off when LaCroix's fist 
slammed into his stomach.  Hard.  He gasped as the air was 
pushed out of his lungs and fell to the floor wheezing, his 
hands clutching his abdomen with a fierce grip as he 
spasmed.  

"Did we not have an agreement because of your sister?  I've 
already tried to enforce this before, but you thought you 
could deceive me about your true feelings.  It is obvious to 
me that you have been lying to me for the past year.  The 
good Doctor's life is forfeit!"  LaCroix looked with an 
uncaring glance down to Nicholas's gasping figure and then 
directed his eyes towards the skylight above forebodingly.  
He was going to leave.

Nick stared up at his master from the floor, his wind still 
completely gone.  Gasping frantically, his eyes widened in 
fear.  Nat!  "No!" he cried pathetically, although it was 
more a thought than an actual utterance.  He dashed to his 
feet and grabbed on to LaCroix's shoulders as hard as he 
could, baring his fangs with a ferocity he couldn't have 
mustered under any other circumstances.  

LaCroix turned towards him, ignoring Nick's sudden outburst.  
"Stop this at once," he chided.  "We had a deal.  Fleur's 
mortality for that of your mortal lover, should you ever 
have one.  And I must say it looks like you do," he said, a 
smirk invading his face as he saw Nick's rage. 

Nick snarled loudly, his fangs displayed menacingly.  
"You've already made my life a living Hell!  Don't you think 
that's enough?" he screamed, shaking LaCroix with his hands.  
Nick could feel the hole he was digging becoming deeper, but 
he had to try.  He had to save Nat!  

Suddenly, Nick felt himself up against the wall.  He cried 
out as LaCroix pushed him forcefully into the hard surface, 
his rib cage crunching in his upper torso.  Nick struggled 
to free himself from his master's vice-like grip but he 
couldn't.  The more he struggled, the tighter LaCroix's grip 
on him became.  More bones snapped.  He screamed again, and 
inhuman howl of agony with his fangs bared fully.  

Nick's eyes opened wide when he felt LaCroix's hot breath on  
the back of his neck.  "You're mine!  Never disobey!  I will 
finish our agreement..." LaCroix said possessively, his 
hands almost imperceptibly becoming tighter on Nick's 
shoulders as he said it.  Nick could feel the anger slowly 
building in his master's voice, and he braced himself 
accordingly.  But then, LaCroix let go.  

The shock of being released almost made Nick fall over, but 
he managed to steady himself.  He took a breath, feeling the
vampire surge forth at the sudden stab of pain in his chest.  
He looked at LaCroix through red-hazed vision.  He wanted to
kill him.  To hurt him for hurting him...  For trying to 
hurt Nat...  "No!  Not Natalie!" he screamed.

Ignoring the pain, he lunged at LaCroix, who was watching 
his son's vampiric visage with an arrogant smirk.  Nick knew 
that he was merely making LaCroix happier, embracing the 
vampire in a fit of rage.  Not caring that it only served as 
amusement for the two thousand year old vampire, Nick bit 
his surprised master as hard as he could, but he was flung 
to the floor almost instantly.  The crack that followed as 
Nick hit the floor echoed harshly, but it was bested by 
LaCroix's words of fury.  

"You little whelp!  I'll teach you once and for all, you 
wretched, recalcitrant child!" LaCroix snapped in rage.  The 
dam had broken.  LaCroix's carefully checked fury burst 
forth and flooded the link between himself and Nick.  

Nick was still trying to recover from the shock of hitting 
the floor so hard when the anger hit him like a smack in the 
face.  He was woozy, disoriented to the point that he could 
hear what LaCroix was saying, but he could make no sense of 
it.  What was wrong with him?  He raised himself up so that 
he was on all fours, swaying slightly, only to be slammed 
back onto the floor with such force that that breath was 
knocked out of him.  

God, his chest hurt!  He let out a cry of pain as LaCroix 
held him there, unmercifully.  Reaching backward with his 
left hand, trying to get leverage to throw LaCroix off him, 
he only received a blast of pain when LaCroix took it into a 
harsh grip and crushed it.  He screamed again and felt 
LaCroix lay down on top of him with his full weight.  He 
struggled with all his might, but he was weakened.  
Severely.  With LaCroix's heavy body on top of his, he could 
barely wiggle two inches left and right.  He gasped as the 
crushing weight on him brought more pain to his chest.      

"Are you trying to get away, Nicholas?  Do you think you can
get away?"  his master taunted nastily.  Nick squeezed his 
eyes shut against the pain as LaCroix laughed softly.  
"Foolish child..."  The voice sounded to Nick's ears like an 
echoing thunder as his fear grew to palpable levels.  I'm 
sorry, Nat.  I'm sorry that I can't defend you...  He cursed 
himself as he lay there, completely at LaCroix's mercy.

LaCroix's weight was lifted from him only for a second until 
he felt the tearing pain of his master's fangs in his neck.  
He screamed animalistically as the agony of having his 
life's blood forcefully removed from his body coursed 
through every cell in his body.  Dizzy with sensation, he 
felt himself go tense with pain as all his nerves seemed to 
fire at once.    

Nick opened his eyes, but he couldn't see anything except a 
red haze of pain.  Images flooded through the bloodlink with 
his master and assaulted his brain.  Two thousand years of 
events were packed into a second's worth of imagery, and the 
effect was devastating.  Pain rocketed through his body like 
nothing he had ever felt before.  Thousands dead by 
LaCroix's hand, all racing before his eyes.  Nat!  He was so 
buffeted by such pictures of death and destruction that he 
couldn't keep his mind on the one thing that would help him 
through this.  Her beautiful, shining face was replaced by 
pale dead-looking faces with glassy eyes.  All staring at 
him, pointing their fingers in cold accusation.  LaCroix's 
victims.    

He shook as much as his position underneath LaCroix allowed.  
God.  All those people dead...  How many had he killed?  
Despite his current predicament, he couldn't help but think 
of it.  LaCroix's life superimposed itself upon his as the 
images continued to bombard him.  I killed so many...  He 
screamed in guilt and pain as his own memories were confused 
with those of LaCroix.     

LaCroix sensed what he was feeling.  "Ah, Nicholas, you feel
that don't you?  You're a monster, Nicholas..." he said in a 
low threatening whisper as he leaned close to Nick's ear.  

Through the din of millions of voices from memories long 
past, the voice of his master echoed through his ears and 
threatened to shatter his soul with its intensity, taunting 
him coldly.  He trembled violently as his master forced his 
mind to replay the memories again.  AGONY.  No!  I'm not a 
monster!  I'm not like you!  

"Embrace it, Nicholas..."  NONONONONONO!  That's NOT me!  He
screamed again as the waves of pain flooded his system once 
more.  But this time not from the imagery assault of the 
bloodlink.  LaCroix was consciously pressing him harder into 
the floor, jerking him this way and that.  Nick groaned but 
didn't resist, his body's energy already completely spent in 
the onslaught to his mind.  I'm sorry, Nat.  He trembled.    

Nick suddenly felt cold and realized his clothes were gone.  
Through the agony, he realized what LaCroix was intending to 
do and he felt his heart clench in his chest.  Please no...  
Not that...  LaCroix grabbed his hair and pulled his head 
back at an impossible angle.  "Nicholas, now do you 
understand?  I'm your master and you will _never_ escape 
me!"  

He felt a strange sensation in his rear, burning.  It hurt!  
Nick growled out, helpless to defend himself from the 
blistering pain.  LaCroix had let go of his hair was now 
grasping his shoulders tightly, his grip waxing and waning 
with his fierce thrusting.  "Ah, Nicholas.  Do you feel 
that?  That's me.  I can possess you totally..."

Through the fog, all he could think of was how he let 
himself get stuck in such situations...  It was his fault...  
He was too weak to fight back because he denied his nature, 
and LaCroix took advantage of it when it suited him.  The 
pain was a dizzy merry-go-round of sensation, and Nick felt 
like he was going to be sick.  He shuddered, his body trying 
to get him to respond to the signals it was sending.  

LaCroix wouldn't let him up, and he unceremoniously lost the 
cow blood he had so recently consumed.  Choking as his nose 
and mouth were jammed into the sticky foul-smelling mess, he 
spasmed feverishly while LaCroix continued to thrust into 
him.  His body screamed at the terrible mistreatment.  God, 
he wanted it to end.    

"Do you feel that Nicholas?  I OWN you!"  No.  No, please 
no.  Nick tried to scream out for LaCroix to stop, but his 
vocal chords didn't seem to be working properly and all 
that came out was a strangled moan.  I'm sorry, Nat.  

He felt as if he was tumbling off a cliff, over and over 
again.  He was numb, and he could hardly feel LaCroix 
violating him anymore and yet it hurt more than spears of
sunlight on his sensitive flesh.  God, he just wanted to 
die.  Anything to make it stop!  

Suddenly, from behind him, LaCroix roared in triumph and 
bit hard into Nick's neck.  Nick screamed and screamed and
screamed as he felt the wetness seep into him.  Maybe it 
would stop now...  But it didn't stop.  LaCroix was at it 
again.  

Please stop.  Oh, please stop!  He was too weak to do 
anything but lie there while LaCroix continued his violent 
assault.  The crunching of his bones and LaCroix's base 
grunting melded into one long wail of pain.  Please stop...  

Retreating back into his consciousness, anything to take 
his mind away from what was happening to him, he realized 
that Natalie was next after LaCroix had finished with him.  
He vomited again, dry heaving that only wound up forcing 
his face into the wet coagulating pool of his previous 
stomach contents.  Natalie was next and there was nothing 
he could do.  Nothing.  

"Beg me, Nicholas.  Beg me to stop!"  Oh, God, anything to
make it stop.  Tears were streaming down his face as he 
lay there completely helpless, his body weak and his energy 
spent.    

"LaCroix... please... don't" he managed to mutter through 
the cottony haze.  It was all a blur, and he shuddered and 
shook with shock as LaCroix slowed his painful assault.

"What did you say?"  LaCroix forcefully jammed his hands 
hard into the small of Nick's back, eliciting a strangled 
cry.  He had heard perfectly well what Nick had said, and 
Nick knew it.  

"No...  Please no..." he pleaded, his voice barely above 
a strangled whisper.  And he felt awful for it.  Natalie 
was going to die sooner because he was too cowardly to stay 
quiet and ride through the assault as he should have.  His 
fault...  His fault...  He stared blankly at the floor in 
front of him, his vision long ago blinded by the red haze. 

All at once, it was over.  LaCroix pulled out of him and 
Nick lay there shaking, gasping in short intervals.  I'm 
sorry, Nat.  I couldn't save you.  Please forgive me...    

"Very well, Nicholas.  I think you've learned your lesson, 
at least for the time being," LaCroix said as he got up off 
the floor.  I'm sorry, Nat.  I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.  
Nick shook his head from side to side as he shakily reached 
out with his good hand and pulled himself across the floor, 
slowly.  Towards the lift.  Away from LaCroix.  Got to get 
away...

"If I ever see anything like this again, your Doctor friend 
will die..."  What?  He's not going to do anything?  Oh God, 
thank you!  "Say goodnight, Nicholas..."  Thank you!  
Than...

He screamed as a terrible fire ripped through his side and
the blackness enveloped him.          

REVENIRE AD NUNC

Nick woke up yelling in a fit of terror.  He snarled harshly 
and tried to sit up, the bloodsweat dripping down his 
battered body and soiling the already blood-spattered 
blanket that was covering him.  He regretted it.  A lot.    

Dizziness swept through his pale, naked body as he lay back 
down, shaking so violently that it hurt.  God, why did he 
hurt so much?  Gasping, he felt his fangs descend and his 
eyes turn a harsh shade of crimson.  He growled loudly.  

The hunger burned bright within him, and he screamed when 
his body wouldn't cooperate.  He couldn't get up to assuage 
it and so began the endless loop of agony started by sitting 
up and shifting bones and muscles that shouldn't have been 
shifted.  

Suddenly, he stilled, the predator in him taking over.  
There was a warm thing approaching.  It had a heartbeat. 
Its mesmerizing song of heavy thumps echoed through his ears 
and he couldn't help but lick his parched lips.  But he 
couldn't move.  He howled in rage at his predicament.  There 
was food so close, and he couldn't get it!  

But then there was a prick in his arm and the pain 
overwhelming his body became louder than the hunger.  "Nick?  
Talk to me, Nick.  Nick?"  The familiar feminine voice 
sounded far away, as if she was yelling across a street at 
him, and it barely cut through the haze.  Finally, though, 
recognition shot its way through his aching head.

He stared blankly through crimson eyes as he let out a 
small gasp.  "Nat?" he said, as if someone had punched the
word out of his mouth.  His breathing grew rapid and he 
frenzied a bit as he struggled through the pain.

"Nick, stop moving!  You've been hurt... r... raped...  
You'll only make it worse if you keep moving..." Nat's 
worried voice rocketed through his ears and he immediately 
stopped moving except for the small forced gasps that he 
had no control over.  

The memories came back to him then.  His horrible nightmare 
had been real.  "N... Nat..." he let out, strangledly as he 
felt a warm hand on his bruised cheek.  He blinked, trying 
to stamp out the angry red haze in his eyes that he knew had 
to be scaring her.  He didn't think he'd ever told her that 
his eyes could turn red if he was in enough pain or angry
enough.     

"Shhhhh.  Nick, it's all right now," her words were meant 
to be soothing, but they did nothing of the sort.  He felt 
her hand brushing his forehead and he looked at her, but 
could only see the heat outlining her form.  He wanted to 
pull away from her hand, it was making him nervous for some 
reason.  "It's all right..."    

No, it was _not_ all right!  Not all right!  His breathing
accelerated even more, and his shattered ribs stabbed him 
with every inhale.  He bit his lips with his fangs, drawing
up small wells of blood.  Calm down!  You've got to... calm!  
"Wh... Why haven't... I ... healed?" he asked, panicked, 
the last string of his sentence coming out in a sob.  

Nat seemed to pause for a long while.  "I'm not sure, Nick," 
she said honestly.  "You've lost a lot of blood and your 
body doesn't seem to be acclimating well to the new stuff 
I've transfused you with...  Nick, you were completely bled
out when I found you."  Her voice was weeping with emotional
strain and at once Nick felt responsible.    

He closed his eyes at the information.  God, he hurt.  He 
wished he had a truckload of curare ...  Tears streamed down 
his face.  He was cold.  "Nat, I'm c... cold...  Why am I 
cold?"  There was a blanket on top of him... normally he 
didn't feel the effects of weather at all.  He shivered and
it brought a rocket of pain slamming through his torso.  

Nat only sobbed as she toyed with a stray lock of his hair.  
"Nick, why did he do this to you?" she whispered, her voice
raw with emotion.

Nick's teeth chattered, his fangs clicking as they hit his 
lower incisors.  Why did LaCroix do this?  Why why why? 
LaCroix's methods of punishment had never resulted in sexual 
assault.  Never.  Just severe beatings and mental torture.  
Because he's afraid of losing you, that's why.  He saw that 
picture of me and Nat and he couldn't bear it.  God knows 
I've repaid that damn debt he claims I have ten fold...

"I... I don't know..." he lied weakly.  He couldn't tell 
her it was because of the article.  He just couldn't.  
Generally he was the chief executive of the guilt 
department, but he knew for sure that Nat would blame 
herself unjustly.  This was his fault and his fault alone.  
Not hers.  

Nat looked at him with a wary gaze, but said nothing in 
response.  She merely nodded in resignation.  Nick felt 
terrible for lying to her, it felt so incredible wrong, even 
if it was for her own good...  He cursed himself for letting 
LaCroix do what he did...  There must've been something more 
he could have done.  

Wincing as his broken bones stabbed his innards, he 
continued to shiver harshly.  He felt sick.  Really sick.  
He heaved spasmodically, but nothing came up.  Cold blood 
sweat marred his brow, and he felt his hair dampen and mat 
to his head.  He felt dirty.  Unclean.  

"Nick?" Nat questioned concernedly at Nick's look of 
disgust.  

Nick knew he looked terrible, and all at once he felt 
embarrassed.  She had saved him when he had been helpless to
save himself.  And he had been raped.  Raped.  He felt like 
a worthless, helpless infant.  Nat was the strong one, not 
him.  Through his mental turmoil, he felt as if he were 
one of those tiny little boys standing under the stars.  
Their look of hope as they wished upon the very first bright
speck in the black night sky was soon destroyed when they 
found that their wish had not been granted.  Like that.  
He felt like he was reaching for something that he just 
couldn't quite touch, but he didn't know what it was.  

"I'm fine," he snapped, not knowing whether she had winced 
at his tone or not.  He still couldn't see very well.  Why 
couldn't he stop shivering?  He grew angry and frustrated 
at himself, trying to come to grips with his current 
vulnerability.  At least Nat wasn't harping about the fact 
that he had his fangs out...  He couldn't really fix that 
at the moment anyway.  He shifted uncomfortably.  He felt 
dirty.  Unclean.  Violated.

"Nick?  Please, talk to me.  Don't shut me out, I know this 
is very painful for you..." Nat's voice implored him, but 
he would have none of it. 

Nick narrowed his eyes and growled menacingly.  "Leave me 
alone!  I said I'm fine!"  Damn LaCroix!  He was probably 
laughing his ass off while he was lying here helpless as 
a lamb.  He was so angry he was shaking...  He growled 
again.  Dirty.  Unclean.  Violated.  Helpless.  Damn LaCroix 
and damn himself!  DAMN!

"All... All right Nick..." and with that, the hand on his 
forehead was lifted and Nat retreated back upstairs from 
whence she came.  

He winced at the pain and rejection that emanated from Nat's 
voice.  Damn!  Why had he said that?  Natalie, I'm so 
sorry...  I'm so sorry for hurting you _again_.  Sorry that 
I couldn't defend you.  Sorry that I couldn't defend myself.  
Sorry that I couldn't have made the right choice eight 
hundred years ago and saved everyone a lot of grief.  

Sorry...  He cried freely, his body racked with terrible, 
retching sobs.  But this time it was not from physical pain.  
With the blood tears streaming down his face like tiny 
waterfalls, Nicholas de Brabant wept.      

*****    

He longingly touched the smooth glass of the skylight with a 
cool hand, his fingers leaving marks of moisture that 
evaporated as soon as he lifted his hand away and peered 
down.  Nicholas was sleeping fitfully on the couch below, 
the scars of his disobedience still fresh and ugly on his 
ghostly pale skin.  LaCroix frowned, but made no move to 
enter.  He couldn't bring himself to break Nicholas's well 
earned privacy as he had so many times before.  

Even from this distance, he could see the streaming, 
telltale tear tracks that had traced their way down his 
son's cheeks.  He felt his heart clench in his chest at the 
thought.  True, he'd been driven to extreme measures to 
ensure Nicholas's continuing obedience in the past... but 
this time it was different.  He'd never before felt such... 
regret.  Regret...  

/He... he loved you./  Janette's pained words threatened to 
bring tears to his eyes again.  Had she been truthful?  It 
seemed so hard to believe and yet at the same time, he knew 
she wouldn't deceive him like that.  Those were the words 
that he'd wanted to hear for eight hundred years.  _Eight 
hundred years_ he'd waited and all he'd gotten was hate, 
loathing, and self-disgust from his errant protege.  But... 
what if it had been a front?  All a facade to maintain his 
damn sense of pride...  Nicholas was just the type to do 
that, always trying to appear invincible, untouchable, 
unreachable.  Just like me...  

/You've already made my life a living Hell!  Don't you think 
that's enough?/  He shuddered as he remembered the hateful 
words his son had spoken to him.  He supposed he deserved 
it.    

/He... he loved you./  LaCroix took several deep breaths to 
calm his raging soul.  Hearing it now only made it hurt 
more.  Because all was lost.  There was no way to apologize 
for what he'd done, and even if there was it wasn't like 
he'd had a lot of practice...  He was not the type to 
apologize.  He'd been trained from a very young age that 
emotions and apologies were for the weak.  No one would have 
respected his command had he not followed those teachings.  

He supposed that was another reason why Nicholas had 
attracted him so from the beginning.  He was passionate, 
almost to the point of personal flaw.  More passionate than 
anyone he'd ever known, always so incredibly expressive.  
And more kind and pure than most of the mortals he envied, 
even if he couldn't see it for himself.  

/LaCroix... please... don't/

Shaking his head in regret, LaCroix sighed and brushed his 
hands over his red-rimmed eyes.  He had come to apologize.  
But he couldn't.  Not now.  Not ever...       

/No...  Please no.../

He wouldn't.  Never again...  And with that he fled into the 
fleeting advance of night.

*****

Janette stared down at her sleeping sibling-turned-master 
with a terrible ache in her heart.  The wounds on his face 
were just now disappearing, more than twelve hours later.  
LaCroix had really hurt him badly this time...  And the fact 
that Nichola was still so insistent on drinking that awful 
bovine blood did not help matters at all.  

She touched a hand to his pale face and was startled when he 
flinched, even in his sleep.  Frowning, she sat down on a 
nearby chair.  He need not be woken...  She would wait until 
he rose on his own.  There was so much that they needed to 
talk about... 

Sighing, she leaned back into the black leather chair and 
closed her eyes in private meditation, but the relaxation 
she felt was soon broken.  'Thump-thump...  thump-thump...'  
Janette sat up straight as a board when she heard the tell 
tale heartbeat.  There was a mortal here...  Probably his 
doctor friend.  

Janette flew deftly up to Nichola's bedroom and peered in.  
There, tangled amongst the black sheets was Natalie.  Her 
face was haggard, and sleep did not appear to be serving 
its function.  The brown-haired mortal was tossing back and 
forth, her face riddled with lines of worry.  

It was odd.  Along with jealousy, Janette felt concern for 
this obviously troubled woman.  When she'd been shot, 
Natalie had helped her despite her obvious dislike of her.  
And now she had helped Nick.  Or at least, that was what 
could be concluded.  Judging from what she had felt before, 
there was no way that Nichola could've healed this much 
without aid.

Janette walked over to the sleeping mortal and placed her 
hands on the woman's cheeks.  "Sleep, Natalie...  It's all 
right.  You can sleep soundly..." she said soothingly.  
Since the woman was a resistor, it was doubtful that it 
would help much but she had to try...  Surprisingly, Natalie 
appeared to relax a little bit.  Her muscles visibly 
loosened and she snuggled further into the soft covers.  

Satisfied that she had helped, even just a little bit, she 
returned to her chair to resume her vigil over Nichola.  She 
watched him silently.  He was so still...  The sound of his 
soft, shallow breathing was the only indicator that he was, 
in fact, alive.  

Suddenly, he jerked in his sleep and began mumbling things 
in his native medieval French, no doubt deep in the throws 
of a harrowing nightmare.  "Nichola..." she said quietly as 
she went to his side, placing a hand on his bare and bruised 
chest.  His eyes flashed open, scarlet, glassy, and 
unseeing.  He struggled to sit up, but she held him down.  
"Nichola!  It is me!" she assured him.

He growled and blinked.  "Janette?" he asked weakly, almost 
as if he didn't believed what he'd heard.  He blinked 
furiously, and Janette was worried for a moment that it was 
too bright until she realized his intent.  After several 
seconds his eyes faded to their normal, beautiful blue.  

Janette sighed in relief.  "Yes, Nichola..." she confirmed 
softly as she traced a finger down the side of his face.  
She immediately withdrew when he flinched and pulled away 
>from her touch.  "Nichola?" she asked, hesitantly.  
Something was wrong with him.  Well, of _course_ something 
was wrong with him.  He always pretended to bounce back from 
LaCroix's beatings, but this was different.  And for once, 
she could really sympathize with him.  

He merely glared at her in contempt.  "What are _you_ doing 
here?" he snapped harshly, as if he was actually angry for 
her appearance.  If anything, it should have been the other 
way around.  She was the only one here who had the right to 
be angry.

The more she thought about it, the more Janette was taken 
aback.  She had expected some guilt on his part from her 
arrival, but not this kind of reception.  "I...," she began 
hesitantly, "I felt your pain.  I had to come..."  She 
purposefully remained vague.  She didn't know what he would 
be comfortable discussing, and she figured that he would 
talk when he was ready.  That's the way it had always been 
in the past.

His eyes softened visibly, and his tensed muscles relaxed.  
"I'm sorry..." he began to apologize.  So like him.  He 
always tried to take responsibility for other people's pain, 
almost to the point of it being infuriating.

Janette placed a finger to his lips to silence him.  "You 
need not apologize.  You had no control over what 
happened.  It was LaCroix's fault, and he's terribly 
repentant if that means anything to you," she said firmly, 
but she could see the rage almost glowing in his eyes. 

"Well then why doesn't he come here and tell me that 
himself?" Nichola asked harshly, his tone cold and low.  
Bestial almost.  It was rather disturbing, since Nichola 
did not normally let himself become so angry.  He stewed, 
true.  Even pent up his emotions until they exploded in a 
fit of rage sometime.  But he was never really prone to 
sustained anger.  

Seeing that he was already getting riled up with just that 
small mention of his master's name, she chose to move onto 
other subjects.  "Nichola, about...  about this...," she 
said softly, sweeping her hand back and forth between them 
to indicate both him and her. 

He opened his mouth but he stopped himself before he began 
to speak, his voice catching in the back of his throat.  
"Nichola, I know this has been bothering you...  I...  I do 
not blame you for _before_..." she said, knowing that he 
would understand what she meant.

Nichola looked at her with confusion marring his sky blue 
eyes.  "I thought you didn't want me to bring you back 
across..." he said softly, as if wondering whether he had 
remembered the events that had been so ingrained in his 
head for the past few months incorrectly. 

Janette sighed.  "Nichola, I was lying to myself as well as 
to you.  I am a vampire.  I have been a vampire for a long, 
_long_ time.  That will never change, and I realize now 
that I was trying to be something I am just not cut out to 
be..."  

He nodded in response, although his gaze still showed that 
he was slightly confused.  Janette sighed.  It was so 
strange to have him as a master now, when for so long he 
had been her brother...  And it was very odd to not be 
connected to LaCroix in any measurable amount.  She'd been 
so used to having his controlling and confident presence, 
that when she'd been struck with Nichola's constant guilt 
and self-loathing it'd been very unsettling and very 
overwhelming.  That was why she had gone away...  To give 
herself time to adjust gradually.  

She was ripped from her musings when she noticed Nichola 
struggling to sit up.  "Nichola, what are you doing?"  He 
glanced at the clock on the table quickly as if confirming 
something, and then he looked at her seriously.

"I'm going to work, Janette..."

Janette looked at him as if he were crazy.  He had to be 
kidding...  "You cannot possibly be serious..." she said 
with a snort, barely suppressing a bout of laughter.  But he 
was serious.  

She flinched inwardly when she saw his outrage at her joking 
statement.  "What, do you think I'm helpless or something?!" 
he demanded as he stood up wobbly.  She couldn't help but 
notice the wince that followed and the flush to his cheeks 
when he realized he was stark naked.  It's not like she 
hadn't seen it all before, but he immediately grabbed the 
blanket that had been under him and wrapped it tightly 
around himself.  

He winced again at the sudden movement and without thinking, 
she moved to comfort him.  He shrugged her off violently and 
she bit her lip in frustration when he took a step forward 
and stumbled.  "Nichola..." she said, but she made no move 
to help him.  It was obvious to her that he wanted to work 
this out by himself...  It was so like him.  Stubborn to the 
very end, and yet so vulnerable at the same time...

"I'm FINE!  Just leave me alone!" he screamed at her, 
gesturing with his hands only to grimace at the strain it 
put on his sore muscles.  And with that he stumbled across 
the floor and slammed the door to his bathroom behind him.

Janette sighed in frustration.  Nicholas was so pigheaded!  
So stubborn!  So Goddamned likable that she couldn't stay 
mad.  Janette glanced at the door as she heard the shower 
start from within the mysterious depths, rolling her eyes at 
the ludicrousness of this situation.  Hopefully his mortal 
friend would be able to knock some sense into him where she 
had failed.  

*****

The water streamed down his face in warm soothing sheets, 
and he sighed in relief.  Glancing down, he winced as he saw
the reddish tint of the water flowing rapidly down the drain 
in a flurry of twisting tendrils.  His muscles screamed in 
protest as he rubbed shampoo through his unruly mess of hair 
and he couldn't help but groan.

Who was he kidding?  He couldn't go to work...  Yes I can!  
His pride was just unwilling to concede defeat.  He was not 
some little helpless weakling.  Yes you are...  And his 
situation was all his fault anyway.  If he had been able to 
defend himself properly, this wouldn't have happened...  If 
he hadn't been so damn stubborn... If if if...  It all came 
down to that.  Things he could've done differently but 
hadn't.  

He grimaced.  Burning.  His chest was burning...  He brought 
his hands down from his head and the pain stopped 
momentarily, only to be replaced by one in his gut.  He was 
hungry...  Grabbing his abdomen with his hands he willed it 
away, tears coming to his eyes at the effort.  
nonoNoNoNONONO!  He wouldn't let his beast defeat him now.  
Not now, not ever!  It was the one thing left that he felt 
he had the slightest semblance of control over and now even 
that seemed to be deteriorating.  

Letting out a pitiful sob, he hastily finished his shower 
and toweled himself off despite the fact that the steam 
holding the air in its tightfisted grip was making it a 
futile gesture.  He leaned back against the door with the 
towel loosely wrapped around his waist, the shock of the 
cold wooden door bringing him slightly back to his senses.  
  
On impulse, he approached the mirror and wiped away the 
condensation that had formed on the smooth glass.  What  
stared back at him made his blood run cold.  He looked awful.  
There were angry dark splotches marring his chest and torso, 
and a long jagged red line where his rib cage met the flat 
pale skin of his belly.  It was where LaCroix had stabbed 
him...  

He fingered the remnants of the wound and moaned slightly 
at the pain the tender area brought with touch.  All at once 
he felt incredibly ill, but he forced the feeling down as he 
had the hunger so that it was only a passive observer to 
conscious thought.  

His face was pale and haggard, although not nearly as 
damaged as the rest of him.  The only visible trace of his 
bout with LaCroix was a small gash on the side of his face, 
already closed and healing.  Casually brushing his dripping 
hair away from his eyes, he sighed as new fog replaced the 
moisture that he had swept away with his hand.  His face 
disappeared into the mist of pale white, lost amongst the 
droplets of water on the sheet of glass.  

That was how he felt.  Lost.  Of all the things he had 
thought he felt before, he hadn't realized this one...  A 
small red tear came to his eye, but he brushed it away in 
denial.  No.  I'm not lost, I'm my own person.  I know 
exactly what I am, and where I'm going...  But it felt like 
a lie.  It _was_ a lie.  All of it.  

The hunger flared up in his stomach once again and he 
couldn't stop it.  He would have to feed...  Groaning, he 
opened the door of the bathroom and gingerly stepped out.  
Right into the all-penetrating gaze of Natalie.  

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her arms 
crossed over her chest in a stance of authority.

Nick grabbed the towel at his waist tightly, his knuckles 
turning a milky white from the pressure as he closed his 
eyes and took a deep breath.  "I'm going to work, Nat," he 
said flatly, dangerously, and yet at the same time he felt 
so weak he was growing dizzy.  

She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.  Her stare 
would've knocked any normal person flat, but it affected him 
only slightly.  His eyes narrowed in anger and he felt the 
beast within him slam up in his chest, but he held it back 
with all his might.  She was trying to control him...   Just 
like LaCroix.  

The pain in his gut was equaled by one in his heart.  Why?  
Why couldn't they just let him decide for himself?  He 
suppressed an angry growl and when she made no move to step 
aside he shoved past her, fleeing across the floor.  He 
ignored the pain that the movement brought, because it was 
either that or submit to the hunger and take her where she 
stood, the latter of which was unthinkable no matter how 
angry he was.  

When he got to the fridge, he nearly ripped the hinges off 
in an act of complete desperation.  The smooth, red liquid 
was burning down his throat before he even realized that he 
had opened a fresh bottle.  He gagged slightly at the bitter 
bovine flavor, but he downed the whole bottle anyway.  

Images assaulted him, dull and lazy fields of grass eclipsed 
by the sun's hostile brilliance.  Nick gasped and set the 
bottle down on the smooth counter, leaning down with his 
head resting on his outstretched arms.  He let out a pained 
sob as he processed what he'd just seen.  Images from cattle 
blood were so incredibly rare that they utterly shocked him 
on the infrequent occasions that they did occur.  

The sun.  He'd seen the sun, known what its warmth felt like 
on his unblemished skin, known the touch of it on his heart.  
And all at once, it was gone into the black of night as if 
it had never been.  He sighed lightly, his innards starting 
to shudder.  His stomach suddenly felt like he'd just 
swallowed a brick, and the sickening feeling that was rising 
in his throat committed him to swallowing forcefully just to 
keep everything down.  

"Nick?  Please talk to me..." Nat said softly from behind 
him as she placed a warm hand on his naked shoulder.  He 
flinched away from her unexpected touch and he felt himself 
start to shake, still leaning heavily on the counter.  

"Nat, please.  Please, I _need_ to go to work..." he pleaded 
but didn't look up, his voice coming out in pained gasps as 
he forced himself not to fall apart.  He needed to feel 
important, like he was making a difference.  Like he wasn't 
a victim.  Even despite the overwhelming nausea that he was 
experiencing.  Despite the fact that he could barely stand.  
He needed to go...  His eyes closed, he prayed that she 
would understand...  

"All right, Nick.  If that's what you think you need to do," 
Nat said hesitantly, the authority of her voice gone and 
replaced by a certain compassion that he had grown to 
recognize.  Maybe she realized how he felt...  "But if you 
feel ill, or more hurt than you can cover for, you should 
book off..." she cautioned, the doctor in her still not 
giving in even if her heart had.  

Nick sighed in relief as he pushed himself off the counter 
and turned around to face her.  It would be so much easier 
with at least one person on his side...  "Thank..." he 
choked on a gasp as the nausea came racing back, but he 
forced it down with a few deep breaths.  "Thanks," he said 
simply, but he meant it to say so much more...

Nat smiled and took him into a warm embrace, which he 
accepted readily, practically melting into her caring arms.  
"It's all right, Nick.  You'll be all right..." she assured 
him.

Nick nodded grimly.  But he wasn't sure he was ready to 
believe that just yet.  

*****

Nick stepped out of Caddy all too gingerly and approached 
the door to the precinct, groaning slightly at the ache in 
his body.  The cool air around him was enough to keep him 
well awake, but that also had the awful side effect of 
making him more aware of his own discomfort.  He sighed 
lightly, his breath forming a small visible cloud of 
moisture that lazily swept into the air and disappeared.  
The doubts he was having before struck him again, and he 
wondered how on Earth he expected himself to make it through 
the night if he already felt this exhausted now.  Placing a 
cool hand on the door, he hesitated only briefly before he 
stepped inside.

"Wow, Nick!  Nice of you to join us.  Gee, you don't look 
all that great..." Tracy's voice assailed him the minute he 
walked in the door, starting at an annoyingly fast pace that 
eventually slowed down as she took note of his condition.  
He tiredly watched in grim acceptance of his fate as her 
eyes trailed from his head to his feet in horror.  "I take 
that back, you look... awful!  Did you get in a fight or 
something?  You're so pale..."

"I'm fine, Trace," he snapped.  He didn't need to have yet 
_another_ person commenting on his obvious lack of good 
health...

Tracy just swallowed at his harsh tone and went silent, a 
stricken look marring her usually pristine face that made 
Nick feel guilty almost instantly.  "I'm sorry Tracy, I just 
had a rough night, er, day..." he said apologetically, "You 
know, with the shopping mall shooting case..." 

Her blue eyes widened slightly as she nodded silently, 
accepting his explanation at face value almost immediately.  
"It's ok, Nick...  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry..." she 
started to apologize for her own innocent questions, but 
he cut her off again.

"Don't worry about it, Trace," he said curtly as he raised a 
pale hand to silence her.  He saw her jump back slightly, 
unused to his being so incredibly harsh and snappy with her, 
and again he felt slightly guilty.  "Why don't we just get 
to the case report, ok?  I'd like to close this one for good 
if we can," he said in a softer, more friendly tone, rubbing 
his forehead with his hand.  He was already developing a 
headache, and the nausea from before was only a step away.  
Sitting down heavily at his desk after draping his coat over 
the back of his chair, he desperately attempted to ignore it 
and pulled up the case files on his computer.  

She sat down at her desk across from him in compliance, but 
she didn't even have a chance to pick up her pen before 
Captain Reese came storming out of his office.  "Knight!  
Vetter!"  The sudden intrusion sent shooting pains through 
Nick's head and he bit down on his tongue hard to keep from 
growling.  Why did everything have to be so damn loud?

"What?!" he snapped as Tracy sprang to her feet to meet 
Reese.  She looked at him in slight amazement.  No one was 
stupid enough to snap at their superiors...  Not unless they 
wanted to pull traffic duty for a shift or three.

Reese approached them with eyebrows raised, his tirade 
stopped before it started by Nick's unexpected flouting of 
authority.  "There's been a murder reported, I need you to 
go check it out," he said quickly, handing them the case 
particulars in a manila folder.  "Nick?  Are you all..."

"I'm FINE!" Nick almost clapped his hands over his mouth as 
he blurted out his answer before the Captain had even 
finished his question.  How could he have been so completely 
insubordinate?  He ground his molars together in frustration 
as he struggled for some equilibrium.  Why was he so angry?  

Reese looked at him strangely, but didn't press it as Nick 
snatched up the folder and grabbed his coat from over the 
back of his chair.  Nick stormed out before he could do 
anything else that he regretted, wincing when he heard Reese 
telling Tracy to keep an eye on him...  When he got to his 
Caddy, he sank against the door with his head in his hands.  
He shouldn't have come to work today.  Biting nausea welled 
up in his throat and swallowed hard to keep from losing his 
breakfast.  

"... Nick?"  Oh God...  Not Tracy...  He felt his eyes 
flicker golden briefly before he got control of the vampire.

He couldn't stop his head from swimming long enough to 
respond.  "Nick, you're really ill... maybe you should book 
off..." Tracy's concerned voice echoed through his head, 
originating from somewhere in front of him.  He felt dizzy, 
and the ground seemed to be getting closer to his face until 
a warm hand caught his shoulder and stopped his descent. 

"No!  I'm all right, just give... give me a second..." he 
managed to say before he had to bite back on his tongue.  
Tracy patiently waited while he gained his balance back and 
looked up at her.  "It's all right.  I'm ok now..."  The 
scary thing was that Nick felt like he was trying to 
convince himself more than her.  

She looked at him very strangely.  "Nick... I had to hold 
you up to keep you from diving nose first into the pavement, 
and you're telling me you're fine?" she asked incredulously.    

The look he gave her was enough to silence her protests.  
"Fine.  Fine, if you want to work like this that's your 
decision, but I'm driving whether you like it or not, and if 
we get in a shootout and you die because you were too dizzy 
to dodge, I'll be laughing at your grave..." she said 
sarcastically.  He nodded and gave her the keys, amazed that 
he had given up his sacred driving rights so incredibly 
easily.  He was really sick...  

You really should go home you know.  Tracy's right.  No!  
The war going on in his head was silenced as he got into the 
Caddy on the passenger side and Tracy started up the engine.  
Toronto was passing quickly by the windows before he knew it
and he had almost succeeded in getting lost in thought once 
again when Tracy interrupted his wandering mind.

"Say, Nick.  I feel in a strangely dismal mood tonight, how 
about we listen to that Nightcrawler show you like so 
much..." she joked, her hand reaching for the dials on his 
radio.  

Nick felt his heart clench in his chest and his whole body 
went cold.  He felt his hand slap hers away from the knob  
before he could stop himself.  "NO!" he belted out, loud 
enough to startle Tracy to the point of almost swerving the 
car out of its present lane.  

Silence ensued.  Deafening silence.  He buried his face in 
his hands and felt bloody tears welling up to the surface as 
he began to shake.  Vaguely through the tremors racing about 
his body, he felt the vibrations of the Caddy cease as Tracy 
pulled over.

"Nick, I'm sorry...  Please, what's the matter?" Tracy asked 
him softly.  He didn't answer, and didn't look up.  He 
certainly didn't dare look up.  She'd know him for what he 
really was the minute she saw the trails of blood streaming 
down from his eyes.  

"Nothing... I'm fine..." he managed to say weakly as he 
wiped his eyes on the black sleeves of his shirt.  At least 
nothing would show...

"Nick, this is ridiculous.  Something's wrong and I'm not 
going anywhere unless you spill it.  Now," she demanded and 
he was surprised by the sureness of her tone.  She'd never 
asserted herself very much in the past, and this... well it 
was pretty shocking.  

He glanced at her fingers tapping steadily on the steering 
wheel and he knew he'd have to come up with something or 
they'd be sitting there all night.  "Tracy, look.  I have a 
cold and I didn't get much sleep..." he hedged, but her 
doubting glare told him she didn't buy it.  

"Nick... you've suffered from sleep deprivation before and 
it hasn't had you collapsing in my arms or almost having 
a nervous breakdown when I randomly suggest we listen to 
your favorite radio show..." she responded acerbically.  It 
was obvious she wasn't in the mood to deal with his 
constant avoidance of any personal talk.  

He was about to make up another lame excuse when Tracy made 
one for him.  "It's Nat, isn't it."  It was more of a 
statement than a question.  "You had a fight with her I'll 
bet..." Tracy commented as if she was omniscient.  When he 
didn't respond right away, she nodded to herself in private 
satisfaction and started the car back up.  "I knew it!" she 
cried.  "Don't worry, Nick.  Things will work out, you two 
were meant for each other..." she trailed off as she began 
to focus again on her driving, pulling quickly off from the 
side of the road and speeding through the dark streets.  

Nick sighed in relief.  Disaster had been avoided, at least 
for now.  He sighed as they approached the scene.  Police 
lights were everywhere, and the forensics crews were already 
milling about.  He got out of the Caddy only slightly 
unsteadily and approached the scene with Tracy.  Slightly 
alarmed he glanced around frantically, but relaxed when he 
didn't see Nat anywhere.  This wasn't her district, but it 
would've been just his luck if she'd been assigned to this 
case anyway.  If she saw him like this, she'd send him home 
without a doubt, and he just didn't need that right now.

Nick motioned to Tracy to go have a word with the M.E. while 
he went to speak with the officer who was supervising 
everything.  He walked up to the only man in uniform that he 
could see in the vicinity.  "Excuse me, who's currently in 
charge here?" he asked as he approached the man, his voice 
tired and weak.

"Detective Knight?  Wow, I haven't seen you in a long while, 
how are things?" the man responded cheerfully with a smile 
so wide it threatened to split his face in half, the look of 
recognition in his eyes very prominent.

Nick grimaced when he realized that he should know this 
person.  He looked at the slight brown haired man who had
addressed him and sifted through his memory for a name...  
He recognized from his days with Stonetree, but it took him 
longer to remember specifically who it was.  "Officer 
Durham, I'm fine, how are you?" he said intending to be 
conversational, although his tone was cutting even to his 
own ears.

Durham looked slightly startled at the harshness of the 
address and he unconsciously stepped back a bit, his smile 
fading under Nick's steady gaze.  "I'm... fine.  Um," he 
stuttered and then continued, "Are you one of the detectives 
assigned to this case?"

Upon Nick's nod, Durham lead him to a tall imposing man with 
shoulder-length brown hair, his eyes so bloodshot they 
appeared as if the whites were actually pink.  "This is Mr. 
McKenzie.  He said he wouldn't speak until the person in 
charge got here..." Durham explained quickly.  He began 
nervously fidgeting, looking at Nick oddly until Nick just 
gave up and let him leave.  

Nick watched Durham retreat and sighed.  He'd forgotten how 
intimidating he could be to some people.  Although he hadn't 
meant to snap at Durham so much, there wasn't much he could 
do about it now, so he turned to the large man standing 
there quietly.

"Mr. McKenzie?  I'm Detective Knight, I'm in charge of this 
investigation.  Is there something you wanted to tell me?" 
he questioned calmly, trying ever so hard not to wince as 
his headache came roaring back to life.
  
The man nodded and then burst out sobbing.  "Sir?" Nick 
began to assume that this man had been a witness.  Witnesses 
were usually the hysterical ones...  Now, you know that's 
not fair.  They've been through a trauma...  He was startled 
out of his self-critiquing session when the man responded.  

"I did it," the man whispered.  "God, I'm so sorry..."   
His voice was riddled with pain and guilt, a tone that Nick 
often reserved for himself...

"Pardon?" he asked as several forensics crews bustled past, 
not quite positive that this man was really saying what 
Nick thought he was saying.  

"I did it," the man repeated.  "Please, arrest me.  I 
deserve it.  I... I got carried away, I was angry...  I 
didn't mean it...  Oh, GOD!  I didn't mean it..." he moaned, 
looking at Nick although not quite looking.  Nick felt 
relieved that this person was confessing, it meant there 
wouldn't be a very long investigation unless for some 
reason the man was lying.

At that moment Tracy came over.  Nick glanced sidelong at 
her as she situated herself beside him.  "Sir, can you 
excuse us for a minute?" Tracy asked politely.  Mr. 
McKenzie nodded slightly in-between sobs, and Nick couldn't 
help but feel sorry for the man.  He knew what it was like 
to get carried away all to well.  Much too well...    
  
"Nick, what's the story here?" she whispered once they'd 
gotten a fair distance away from McKenzie.  Nick wondered 
suddenly if he should've sent Durham over to keep an eye on 
him, but when he looked over, the man was just standing 
there now, looking forlorn and lost.  It didn't look like he 
was up to anything.  He was just a guilty man who wanted to 
come clean.
    
"Well Tracy, I think this case is going to be a short one, 
the man just confessed I think, although we'll still have 
to get a formal statement," he said absently.  "Why, what 
do you have?"  

"Nick, what we have here is a dead woman, Elise Brown, age 
26, student at the University of Toronto, brutally raped and 
murdered," Tracy said seriously.  Nick swallowed hard and he 
felt his hands clam up.  Raped.  He looked over discretely 
to Mr. McKenzie, just standing there staring at the ground.  
LaCroix's face flashed before his eyes briefly, but he shut 
it out.

/I got carried away, I was angry.../ Nick shook his head.  
"Are you sure?" he asked, his mouth beginning to feel like 
it was full of cotton.  /Do you feel that, Nicholas?  I OWN 
you!/  He shuddered, forcing himself to focus on what was 
going on around him.  

Tracy nodded.  "She was carrying her I.D. and the M.E. 
confirmed that there's obvious signs of sexual assault," 
Tracy said as she glanced over at the gurney being wheeled 
away, the unmistakable form of a black body bag on it.  

/I'm so sorry.../   The nausea was back, coming in like a 
riptide.  /I got carried away, I was angry.../  

/LaCroix...  please... don't./  Nick brought his hand to his 
mouth as the world began to spin around him.  "Nick?"  

/Are you trying to get away?  You think you can get away?/  
LaCroix's voice screamed though his head and Nick felt a 
crushing panic develop on top of his nausea.

Nick did the only thing he could think of to do before his 
secret and his dignity were destroyed.  He fled.

*****

LaCroix sipped hesitantly from the champagne flute, unsure 
as to what to expect from this particular vintage, but he 
was pleasantly surprised.  He leaned his head back with his 
eyes closed in appreciation as the thick red liquid seeped 
onto his tongue and down his throat.  The tingling sensation 
almost made him dizzy as images from the donor's life 
assaulted his mind with pleasure.  Now _this_, this was 
good bloodwine...  He would have to be sure to order more of 
it for his inventory.

"Shall I get you another bottle, sir?" Marcel asked absently 
as he cleaned the cool shiny surface of the bar with a clean 
rag.  He and LaCroix were the only two in the large room 
that made up the main part of the Raven, as it was closed 
for the night, but still way too early for the vampire 
strays to be coming in to bed down.

LaCroix shook his head, his eyes still closed.  He'd had 
enough to satisfy him for awhile, and it was always best to 
save the good stuff like this for special occasions.  
Licking his lips, he set the glass back down on the bar for 
Marcel to pick up when he was through with the counter.  

"May I try this?  I've not seen this vintage before..."  
Janette asked softly, suddenly appearing beside Lucien in a 
gust of cool air.  

LaCroix had to stop himself from jumping.  It was so odd 
not being able to acutely sense Janette's presence anymore.  
When he let his guard down, just about any vampire as old as 
Janette would be able to approach undetected.  "Certainly, 
my dear," he commented flatly, desperately trying to hide 
how startled he'd been.  No one startled him...  At least, 
no one ever knew if they did...

Janette picked up the flute and drank down the tiny amount 
that was still clinging to the bottom of it as she sat down 
on a barstool beside him.  "Mmmmm," was all she could say as 
the excellence of the wine swept up her senses and shook 
them until she was dizzied.  Almost regretfully, she set the 
glass back down on the table as she regained her composure. 

"This is exquisite!" she said, her eyebrows raised in 
surprise.    

"Yes, I agree.  I intend to order more of it," LaCroix said 
conversationally, purposefully remaining neutral.  She 
looked at him intently with her ice-blue eyes, but said 
nothing for many moments.

When the silence had grown to an almost uncomfortable level, 
Janette finally took the plunge.  "He went to work this 
evening.  I told him that he was being foolish, but he 
wouldn't listen to me..." she said hesitantly, her tone 
betraying the cautiousness she always had when dealing with 
matters regarding the age-old conflict between LaCroix and 
Nick.  

LaCroix bowed his head, looking at the floor.  It was his 
fault that Nicholas had been injured to such an extent that 
going to work would be foolish...  "He must know that he'll 
never heal without my help..." he whispered, denying the 
tears threatening to fall.  He wanted so badly to go and 
offer his cherished son his ancient blood, and yet when 
he'd tried he hadn't been able to find the nerve to enter 
his son's loft.  

Janette looked at him hard.  "Why?  He wasn't staked...  
That's the only wound a vampire cannot heal without the 
blood of his master to aid him..."

"I drained him, Janette.  Completely.  His body will take 
weeks to fully recover without my help," he whispered, his 
voice betraying his pain.  What he wouldn't give to take 
back his actions the night before...

"LaCroix...  you need to go to him!  You should know that he 
will be too stubborn to come to you..."

"I cannot!" LaCroix stood up abruptly, his barstool 
tottering precariously for a moment before settling down as 
he turned his back to her in a gesture of closure.  He 
didn't need to discuss this with her...

But she didn't retreat as she usually did, and he felt her 
cold hand grasping his shoulder.  "Yes, you can.  All he 
wants to hear is an apology.  That's all he's ever wanted, I 
suppose.  You forget that while he is stubborn, he is also 
forgiving..." she whispered reassuringly into his ear as she 
leaned her head over his shoulder.

He turned to her his eyes blazing.  How dare she?  He 
restrained himself from snarling at her viciously.  His 
temper was what had gotten him in this mess, he didn't need 
to dig his hole deeper.  "Janette, this is not about his 
forgiveness!" he snapped coldly, his eyes daring her to just 
try and speak.

Surprisingly, it didn't work.  "Isn't it!?" she demanded 
harshly, her eyes alight with a passionate fire.  

LaCroix stared at her, aghast.  How dare she!?  How _dare_ 
she!?  It was simple...  He wasn't her master any longer, 
and he simply didn't exude the same level of control.  But 
even still, he'd never known anyone so much younger than him 
to defy him so boldly.  It was disconcerting to say the 
least, and he found himself raising a hand to slap her 
before he froze, his mouth agape and his outstretched hand 
poised to strike.

Janette merely stared at him coldly.  "Go ahead and hit me!  
It won't solve anything, but at least you'll still be your 
same invincible, domineering self!  Oh yes, that'll demand 
real respect," she said caustically, her voice low and 
strangely crystal clear.

"I..." he couldn't find the words.  He was lost in a torrent 
of warring emotions.  

"Admit it, LaCroix!  The reason why this is bothering you 
so much is that _you_ have to demand _Nichola's_ 
forgiveness, and it's killing you!  Admit it!  That's all 
this was ever about..." she yelled at him, her blue eyes 
blazing like sunlight reflected off the surface of a placid 
lake.

He sank to the floor against the bar, his knees suddenly 
giving out.  He didn't care anymore.  Didn't care if anyone 
saw him as weak.  Didn't care about anything.  Except...  
"No Janette, this isn't about Nicholas forgiving me, 
although I'm sure that has something to do with it," he 
said, his voice exhausted and strained.  "It's about...  
forgiving myself," he whispered, almost to faint for his 
own ears to hear, let alone Janette's...

Janette sat down next to him quietly, saying nothing as 
she wrapped her arms around him to comfort him.  And then... 
then he started to sob.  It was what he had warned Nicholas 
against day in and day out.  Guilt.  He'd hurt the one 
person in the world that he loved most.  Terribly hurt him.  
And he felt guilty.

Another sob wracked his body and he felt as if he was going 
to burst.  "LaCroix, go to him..." Janette pleaded in his 
ear.

He buried his head in his arms.  "I... I can't, Janette..."  
And then he was struck with a terrible pain.  Nausea flooded 
his system, and he absently noticed Janette clutching her 
temples with an ill look on her face.  

Nicholas...  Janette, surprisingly, was the first one to 
regain her composure.  "Go to him, LaCroix!  He needs 
you..."  She gently shoved him a bit, prodding him to go.  

His resistance broke like a dam under pressure.  And 
somehow, he found himself standing up.

"Go!"

And he went.  

*****

LaCroix flew blindly, recklessly through the ending night 
and into his son's loft.  Nicholas wasn't in his loft, but 
he would be soon.  The sun would rise soon, and Nicholas did 
not have nearly as much tolerance for sunlight as he did, 
especially now.

He looked around, eyes wide as the steel shutters engaged 
and slid down into place, preparing to greet the coming day.  
It was the first time he'd been back in the loft since he'd 
lost his temper.  Even though it was only the night before, 
it felt like an eternity.  

He went quietly to the sofa where Nicholas had lain in the 
evening, wincing when he saw the slightly discolored spots 
that could only be Nicholas's blood.  Absently, he ran his 
hand over the smooth leather, his fingers lingering briefly 
on the faint bloodstains and at once he shivered.  The loft 
was so cold...  So very lonely...    

He stilled when he heard the lift engage, his cold hands 
gripping the black leather couch so hard that they 
threatened to tear a hole in the expensive upholstery.  
Nicholas...  The lift stopped.  LaCroix subconsciously held 
his breath in anticipation of what was sure to be a 
difficult encounter, but no one came out.  Silence.  He 
cocked his head to the side and with his enhanced senses he 
could hear something moving slightly in the lift, but still 
the door did not slide open.  He instantly grew worried.  
Something was really wrong...

Flying faster than the eye could see, he was at the door and
yanking it open with all of his might.  "Nicholas!"  His son 
was leaning heavily on the wall of the lift shaking with his 
head bowed to the raging nausea.  Glancing downward, LaCroix 
saw that Nicholas was standing in a deep red coagulating 
pool of blood.  He painfully realized that it was his 
vomit...  

Without so much as another thought, LaCroix took his son 
into his arms.  "LaCroix..." came a weak reply, and it 
pained him to feel Nicholas flinching away from his touch, 
squirming ever so weakly to free himself from his grasp.

"Nicholas, please, let me help you..." LaCroix pleaded 
softly, yet not relaxing his tight grip.  His son would flee 
if he let go, that he was sure of.

Nicholas was simply too weak to fight, and he collapsed 
sobbing into LaCroix's arms as if he was giving up, 
accepting his fate, whatever LaCroix determined that to be.

LaCroix dragged Nicholas out into the loft, ignoring 
the rusty trails of blood that their feet were leaving.  He 
collapsed onto the floor under Nicholas's limp body and 
rocked his weeping son back and forth.  

"P...  Please don't hurt me anymore..." Nicholas whispered 
with a terrible edge of fear in his voice, shaking and 
trembling uncontrollably in LaCroix's grasp.  It broke his 
heart to hear his son pleading with him.  What... What had 
he done?  Had he finally broken Nicholas's spirit?  He 
realized that Nicholas was mortally afraid of him.  So much 
so that he was quaking.  Although it should've been a 
triumph, it only made LaCroix feel sick to his stomach.  
Guilty.  You're guilty, Lucien.  GUILTY!!!

"I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," he said as he hugged 
his errant crusader to his chest fiercely.  Even Nicholas, 
of all people, realized the value of LaCroix's promises.  
They were always kept.  Always.  

Guilty, Lucien.  You're guilty...  He forcefully pried 
Nicholas's head away from where it was buried in his 
shoulder and held him in a strong headlock, raising his 
free wrist towards his son's mouth.  "Drink, Nicholas..." he 
commanded, "It will heal you..."  

But Nicholas didn't open his mouth.  He was breathing hard, 
panting almost, and LaCroix felt a weak attempt against him 
>from Nicholas to free himself.  His son's feeble hands were 
pushing lightly against his chest, but LaCroix could tell 
>from his son's trembling muscles that the attempt was all 
Nicholas could muster.  He was so weak...  Like a breakable 
plaything.  

"Please, Nicholas!  I'm...  sorry.  For everything.  Please, 
believe me.  Drink my blood.  Heal.  Know what I cannot say 
with words!" he pleaded, his voice soft and low, filled with 
a certain pain that he'd never let show before.  Not to 
Janette, not to Nicholas...  Not to anyone.  

Nicholas's pale lips parted, his glistening fangs revealed, 
but he still made no move to drink.  

"Please, please, believe me..."  He'd never pleaded with 
Nicholas for anything in his life before.  It felt odd, 
and yet, it felt so right.  Like penance for all the pain 
he'd caused his golden child.

The pain in his wrist was a welcome relief and he let out 
a cry of thanks as his son began to drink his life's blood.  
All that he was would be his son's.  For the first time, he 
would not conceal a thing.  Maybe then Nicholas would 
finally understand...

It was weak at first, but LaCroix felt Nick suckling with a
growing fervor.  Nicholas's hands slowly moved to grip his 
wrist to achieve a better angle, and LaCroix leaned his head 
back in pleasure, growling as he felt his own fangs descend 
uncontrollably in response.  He hadn't shared blood with 
Nicholas consensually in so long that he'd almost forgotten 
the sweetness that accompanied willingness.  Even though he 
was not tasting Nicholas's blood for himself, it was still 
a two way sensation.    

LaCroix rolled his head back as fleeting sensations hit him 
in an erotic swirl of emotions.  Light flashed before his 
eyes and he felt images coming through the back-link.  All 
of Nicholas's feelings in a bombardment of imagery, this 
time freely given.  At first his guilt, and pain, and 
anguish.  But then a plea to make peace...  A plea to 
understand his quest for mortality, and that it was not a 
slight against LaCroix himself.

Please, father.  Understand me for what I am, please!  I 
know I'm not what you want me to be...  I know...  But I 
just can't make myself in your image.

Nicholas...  

/Please don't hurt me anymore.../

Nicholas, never.  Never again.  

He clutched Nicholas in his embrace tightly, fiercely, so 
hard it was a good thing that his son didn't need to 
breathe...  It was as if there was a world and the world 
was only them.  The two of them, standing interlocked in a 
deep chasm of empty space.  Coming and going, but never 
staying.  He rocked back and forth on the sweeping tidal 
waves of the bloodlink until it slowly began to fade.  
With the last breaths of untold intimacy fleeting away on 
an invisible breeze of color, he sighed and felt intense 
regret overcome him as the visions faded to black.  He let 
go as Nicholas pulled his fangs out of his wrist.  The 
intimate link was lost.  

Nicholas was silent as stone, unmoving and cold, his eyes 
shut against the dim light of the loft.  Against _him_.  
LaCroix looked at the floor, a pained feeling entering his 
chest, and he felt his heart breaking.  Even after all that 
had been passed between them, it was obvious to him that his 
son didn't want him around...

And this time, he would heed that wish.  He would finally 
let go.  

He got up slowly to his feet, swaying slightly when the 
weakness of blood loss set in.  Nicholas had taken much of 
his blood...  He would have to get some of the good uncut 
stuff when he got back to the Raven.  Maybe Janette would 
have some ready for him...  but no... she wouldn't be 
able to sense his distress anymore.  

And then he realized that the sun was up.  He couldn't 
leave even if he wanted to...  Well... there were other 
floors to this building...

"Don't leave me, LaCroix..." Nicholas whispered softly. 

He stopped cold.  What?  "Nicholas?" he asked, scarcely 
able to find his voice.   

"Don't leave..."        

LaCroix felt his heart shatter.  /Don't leave.../  His son 
had actually asked him to stay.  /Don't leave.../  "I won't, 
Nicholas," he said smoothly, though his emotions were 
anything but.

He would stay.  And he would talk.  And perhaps their broken 
relationship of eight hundred years would finally be healed.  

FINIS INITII

Diane Harris (aria5@vt.edu)