Downfall--a Forever Knight songfic By April French Author's Note: Wasn't intending to write this one quite so soon; in fact, it was rather far down on my list, but it kinda wrote itself. The song is by Matchbox 20, off their album "More Than You Think You Are." Props to Ryan for letting me burn his CD (the stingy bugger). Will be archived with all the others at http://www.geocities.com/knightwalker1228/index.html Permission to archive is given to FKFIC2 and the FTP site. Anyone else wishing to archive, please ask first. Praise, comments, criticisms and kudos will be graciously accepted and rewarded with rum. Nasty flames will be shut into a dark closet. ~~~ Downfall (1/2) Toronto: 1995 Setting up the easel, LaCroix laid out the oils and brushes, slowly and with precision. From the bed, Nick watched him drowsily. "What are you doing?" he yawned, running a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. "Preparing your next lesson." Nick groaned in the back of his throat. "Another one? Already?" "You do want your memories back, I assume?" "Yes, of course I do," replied Nick petulantly. "But it's so tiring." LaCroix couldn't help it; he smiled. "Up," he ordered. With another groan, Nick pushed out of bed. He sat down in front of the easel and picked up a brush. LaCroix positioned himself behind his son, laying his hands lightly on Nick's shoulders. "Where do you want me to start?" "Wherever your mind takes you, mon fils," LaCroix told him, "as always." They had done this several times over the course of the past week, and there were now stacks and stacks of acrylic paintings in LaCroix's closet, easels holding oil paintings in various stages of drying scattered around his apartment, all of the memories that were, by slow degrees, returning to Nick. Everyday they did this: Nick would paint, aimlessly at first, but soon an image would rise up in his mind, encouraged by LaCroix's mental guidance, and his brush strokes would become more confident, the picture more defined, and soon he had a concrete image to attach to an abstract memory. In between the sessions, the two men spent off their time together. LaCroix told Nick stories of their shared past, they fed and slept together; Nick felt a guilty pleasure--very guilty, though he wasn't sure why--in sleeping in LaCroix's arms. He assumed it was because LaCroix was responsible for him, like a parent, but he couldn't place the guilt. This session started out much the same; Nick found his paintbrush coated with a golden-brown, found himself deliberately painting a cascade of chestnut curls. Natalie, he realized abruptly, I'm painting Natalie. He knew Natalie... His face grew hot, and he quickly set down his brush. "What is it?" "Nothing," said Nick quickly, flustered. "I just... lost my focus for a moment." He picked up his brush again. He could feel LaCroix's hands tightening on his shoulders; his mental touch shifted from encouraging to stifling. This image that Nick was trying to form on the canvas, this memory, it seemed to be from a perspective outside his own body, because there was a space on the left for himself. But he couldn't make it come out. The hands on his shoulders, the mind touching his, were forcing the image back. "LaCroix," he ground out. "Let it through." "It's not important," LaCroix retorted. "That's enough for now." Nick struggled, his hand jerking sloppily across the canvas, paint splattering on his face. "Nicholas," the Ancient said through clenched teeth, "stop fighting me." "No," Nick gasped, hand moving faster as the image grew more clear, "I need to see it..." He and Natalie... they were in a park, sitting on a... a picnic table? Yes, that was it, and old wooden picnic table. It was early evening--there were children in the background, and trees--and he and Natalie were kissing-- The hands on his shoulder bit into his flesh and wrenched him from the chair. "I said, that's enough," LaCroix snarled breathlessly. He tore the barely-finished painting from the easel and stormed out of the bedroom. From his place on the floor, Nick heard the breaking of wood, the tearing of cloth, and the unmistakable sound of those oil-soaked materials being burned. He clenched his fists around the paintbrush, trying to hold back the flood LaCroix had inadvertently unleashed. But it would not be stopped. Getting to his feet, Nick walked slowly to the door, shut it and locked it. Then he climbed back into bed. *** Now I understand the guilt. After all the time she and I spent together, working, searching, crying, laughing--after what we shared--how can I ever see her again without guilt? Without longing, without... shame? Wonder how you sleep I wonder what you think of me I made love to a woman in whom I felt complete trust, a sense of belonging, of self--in inherent love. But not the passionate, long-suppressed love she felt for me, a man who had no idea who she was. If I could go back Would you ever have been with me? I can see it now. She's been in love with me forever--for our forever. And I've loved her--haven't been in love with her for always--I think I am now, or the other Nicholas is, the one I'm trying to be again--but I know I've always loved her. As a sister, as a friend... as an extension of myself. Come on and lay it down I've always been with you Here and now She is me, the best parts of me. Working with her, loving her, negates all the horrible things I have--he has--done. She saves me... Give all that's within you Be my savior And I'll be your downfall And now I understand the guilt. *** Nicholas locked himself in his bedroom, while I spent the rest of the evening systematically burning all the paintings we had labored together to craft. All the bright colors, all the demons, all the pieces of his life, in splinters and in ash. Here we go again Ashamed of being broken in And once again, it was all Dr. Lambert's fault. Why did it all have to come back to her? That was not the point. We're getting off track He was supposed to come back to me. I wanna get you back again She can live without him. She does not need his stubborn nobility, his regal childishness, his utterly asinine behavior. She would not be able to accept his persistent need to run away from home. I can handle him. I want you to trouble me I wanted you to linger She wants so much of him--decency, respectability, humanity. I ask for so little. I want you to agree with me All I want is my son back. I want so much so bad And all my chances reduced once more to splinters and to ash. But if there is one thing in this world I have come to do well, it is rebuilding up from the ashes. Come on and lay it down I have always been with you Here and now He and I were brought together by fate--we were meant to be together. Darkness and light, virtue and vice, made in one blood. Give all that's within you Be my savior And I'll be your downfall That's not so much to ask for. Downfall (2/2) I dreamt about Natalie today, the same dream I had that night, after we made love. Holding her, feeling her warmth, kissing her, loving her! Yeah, be my savior Only love can save us now Don't lay me down Only love can save us now And then he was there, in the background, looming and cold, hissing like a hooded cobra. Pushing me, egging me on... urging me to take her. I'll be your downfall I'll be your downfall Ah, love can save us now Don't save me now... *** I was used to sleeping alone. Physically, we are always alone. Lay it down I've always been with you But in the mind... in the blood... that is worlds different. In that sense, we are not of us ever, ever alone. Hear me now With all that's within He'll be back. Be my savior And I'll be your downfall. And I'll be here, waiting. *** Nick packed up and went back to the loft the first thing that evening. LaCroix was in his booth down in the Raven. Nick didn't go inside; he knew that LaCroix could see him perfectly through the one-way mirror. Now I'm back on my own Hear my feet, they're made of stone LaCroix did see him, quite clearly. He met Nick's eyes steadily through the glass. Man, I make you where I go Well hell, you, can I take you home Nick felt the moment his eyes met LaCroix's, and he turned away from the glass with a profound revulsion. Well, I'm coming home on my back Kissing me, your lips painted black With an inward smile, LaCroix turned on his microphone. "I'm here, mes amis." Let me be your downfall ~Finis--March 30th, 2004~ April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/knightwalker1228/index.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire