Forever Sleepless
by Eve

Author's Notes: Okay, so this time it's raining instead of snowing. I give
up; I love inclement weather. It's also a bit of a songfic, which is amusing
considering that I once said I hated the silly things. ;) Blame Jann Arden
for her fantastic lyrics, which I also do not own.

Just now, I find myself fascinated by the early (i.e. pre-FK) life and times
of Nick and Natalie; the first time we see them in DK, their friendship is
already well-developed. In many of the stories I'm currently working on,
I've been exploring how such a friendship could ever come to pass. This is
one theory. There will be others. ;)

Feedback to umdutto3@cc.umanitoba.ca. Praise and criticism alike graciously
accepted. :)

Archive: sure, if you feel like it.

~~

This is how it happened.

It was the best part of a night storm: that moment in the very early morning
where the wind has tapered off to a soft whisper, the rain is quieter and
less emphatic, and you can imagine that the whole world outside your door
has been lulled to sleep by the liquid patter. It felt as though it had been
raining for decades.

I was tucked in on the couch, in my warmest, rattiest flannel pajamas.
Remote in one hand, big bowl of popcorn in my lap, tumbler of pink lemonade
within easy reach. Sydney occupied the opposite end of the couch, warming my
feet and purring loudly. It was my night off; I had rented a stack of
videos, and I had gotten about half-way through them when I heard the first
tap.

It was such a quiet sound that I very nearly ignored it. I blamed the storm:
some stray, wet, windblown thing brushing the window. Then it came again,
louder; unmistakeably a knock.

I got up, to the consternation of Sydney, and padded to the door. I figured
I had about a fifty-fifty chance of the person on the other side being an
insanely ambitious Avon lady. I cracked the door open, leaving the chain on
just in case (those Avon ladies can be awfully pushy).

"Natalie."

Rather than a round-faced cosmetics sales agent, I had a sopping vampire
detective on my doorstep. Well, I'd been right in a way: he was a stray,
wet, and windblown thing.

I'd been acquainted with Nick Knight for over a year, but in a lot of ways
he was as much of a mystery to me as he had been the day we met. We didn't
often spend time together; I saw him more regularly now that he'd joined the
police force, but we weren't exactly in the habit of friendly visits. It had
taken me ages to convince him to stop calling me Dr. Lambert, and he still
managed to be as formal and distant with me as ever. I couldn't have coerced
him to attend any of the usual work-related social functions, unless I had
garlic in one hand and a big old crucifix in the other. Probably not even
then, for that matter. Our relationship was very much a doctor-patient one,
and I suspected he kept it that way deliberately. At times I felt it was for
the best; the last thing I needed was to get mixed up with a bristly,
brooding, manic-depressive type. Spending time with him in any capacity
exhausted me. He was so angry, so dark.

Still, every now and again, I tried to invite him out. I felt it would be
good for him to start living a little more, instead of being holed up in
that warehouse of his whenever he wasn't buried in work. I was careful to
choose activities that didn't involve eating--or anything, really, other
than sitting and sharing the companionship of another person--as well as
outings that I suspected would appeal to his tastes. He listened to CBC One
on his car stereo, so I suggested the symphony, the opera, the theatre.

He accepted precisely once, and we went to see Madama Butterfly. Things
started out well: he turned up, on time, in a very stylish navy blazer
outfit, and actually told me I looked nice (which was already more
conversation than I'd expected). The evening came to an abrupt end during
intermission, when he announced, "This was a mistake," pushed his way
through the heavy crowd, and disappeared into the darkness. He apologized
later, of course, and sent me a cheque for the tickets--despite the fact
that I told him it wasn't necessary. I conceded that it might have been a
little much for me to expect him to sit in a theatre, surrounded by
unsuspecting mortals, so soon after decreasing his blood intake. The matter
was dropped.

I took the chain off, resigned to my fate. Just my luck, I thought. Even
money he didn't bring a catalogue.

"You're soaked," I remarked, stepping back from the door and allowing him to
step inside.

Soaked was a polite understatement. Nick was a deluge unto himself. His hair
was plastered to his forehead, his jeans and t-shirt completely saturated.
He stood there, looking sheepish and blinking the rain from his eyes, while
water sloughed off of his leather jacket and onto my carpet.

"So," I prompted, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

"I just... thought I'd stop in."

I gestured for him to slop his way into the kitchen. He did, then stood,
watching me warily and dripping. I could tell I was going to have to make up
the deficiencies in the conversation. "I'd like you to stop into some dry
clothes, if you intend to stay a while. I like splashing in puddles as much
as the next girl, but I don't think my lease allows for a swimming pool." I
smiled to show that this was, in fact, a joke.

"Okay." Nick Knight, deadest pan in the eastern provinces.

"Just a sec." I went into my room and dug around in the bottom drawer of my
dresser. I had an old t-shirt I slept in that would probably fit him, and a
pair of sweats I'd borrowed from my last boyfriend. It was either that, or
my work scrubs. Or--here was a thought--he just could go home... but,
despite the fact that I found his conversation somewhat lacking at times, I
liked Nick. And here was a rare chance to get to know him better. I wasn't
going to just throw that away.

//take your coat and shoes off
come and sit beside me
we could talk for hours
or we could just do nothing//

I debated whether to get dressed, or at least throw on a robe, while he was
in the bathroom. In the end I decided against it. He'd already seen me, in
all my careworn, fuzzballed glory. And I was comfortable. And it was my
night off, damn it. I went into the kitchen, got down on my hands and knees,
and had managed to wipe up most of Lake Knight before he emerged.

"Sorry about that," he said, the tone softer than his usual low growl. "Need
help?"

"Nope, all done." I stood up and looked him over.

The sweats were a bit short, but otherwise the clothes fit him moderately
well, which was a relief. He'd towel-dried his cropped hair; it now stood
out in hackles all over his head, like a poorly-tended lawn. I elected not
to capitalize on the inherent humour value of this. So much for his hardass
look. Without the leather, the denim, or the laquered-back hair, the scowl
on his face looked more petulant than menacing. He reminded me of Richard,
age ten, grouchy because he'd stayed up past his bedtime.

"Did you want me to throw your stuff in the dryer for you?"

A blank look. "It'll get wet again when I leave." Sometimes, talking to Nick
was the kind of experience that made banging one's head against a brick wall
seem like a welcome respite.

I wanted to shout, Why in the hell are you here? What came out instead was,
"Right. Okay."

I went into the bathroom, expecting random, discarded piles of cloth
congregating in knee-deep puddles on the floor. I was pleasantly surprised,
however, to find his things neatly folded and stacked on the rim of the tub.
He'd even made an attempt to sop up the water with a towel. There was
definite potential in this man. I tossed his jeans and t-shirt over the
curtain rod; the jacket, I hung on the doorknob, for lack of a better place.

When I returned, he was standing in the middle of the living room, surveying
the general disorder with a distinctly critical look. Perfect, I thought. An
eight-hundred-year-old neat freak. I got settled in on the couch again.

"I was just about to watch a movie," I informed him. "You're welcome to
stay." An invitation to socialize was the best way I knew of getting Nick
Knight to disappear, but I proffered it anyhow.

"What movie?"

"The Maltese Falcon."

He considered this for a moment, and then, to my surprise, nodded. "All
right." He sat at Sydney's end of the couch and began picking through my
selection of rented videos: The African Queen, The Treasure of the Sierra
Madre, To Have and Have Not, and Casablanca. Sydney glared, then
deliberately walked across the coffee table and stalked away, tail in the
air.

Nick nodded approvingly at the tapes. "I never pictured you as a Bogart
fan."

I placed the bowl of popcorn in my lap once more. "I guess you're not the
only one full of surprises tonight."

"I had a lot on my mind," he volunteered unexpectedly. "So I went flying.
Somehow I wound up here."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No." He said it quietly, without anger or rancour, but it stung just the
same. "Thank you," he added, almost as an afterthought.

I shrugged, sighed, then aimed the remote at the VCR and pressed play. We
sat, motionless as statues, through the usual FBI warnings. Great, I
thought, knowing I'd find it impossible to enjoy the movie with him there
next to me like a lump of stone. Just... great.


(Continued from Part 1--disclaimers and such there.)

//don't you think it's funny
tell me what the point is
we could die tomorrow
might as well enjoy this//

It was great, though, as things turned out.

As a no-hard-feelings gesture, I offered Nick a corner of the blanket, which
he professed not to need. After a moment's thoughtful contemplation,
however, he tucked it around himself. We watched in silence for a while. I
got up to refill my drink, and when I returned, Nick had edged closer to the
centre of the couch. Not a lot closer, but at least he wasn't clinging to
the armrest.

As I set the tumbler down, he sniffed delicately. "What's that?" he
inquired, pointing to my glass.

"Lemonade." I sat. "Why?"

"Smells strange. Chemical."

"Probably the artificial sweetener. It's Crystal Light. Sugar free. You
know, five calories a glass? Here, try some if you like."

"Ugh, no thanks." He looked at me curiously. "You're on a diet?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Not as such, no." Going on the offensive, I asked, "Why, do you
think I should be?"

He appeared to give the question serious consideration before pronouncing,
"Not at all."

"Ah-ha. Spoken like someone who's never seen me naked." I couldn't believe
I'd said that. I quickly picked up the tumbler and employed it as an
effective way of avoiding his gaze.

"You've never offered," he remarked reasonably. His timing was such that I
discovered what an unpleasant experience it is to have pink lemonade exit
the body via the nose.

As I wiped my face with a tissue, I became conscious of a strange,
unfamiliar noise. It was a moment before I identified it as coming from
Nick, and another, longer moment before I realized the truth: it was a
snicker. He was laughing at me.

Nick never laughed at anything!

At a loss for anything else to do, I flicked a stray kernel of popcorn in
his direction. It bounced off his nose and landed somewhere between us on
the couch. His grin faded to an affable expression that suited him much
better than his customary grim one, the grey light from the television
changing the colour of his eyes from one instant to the next. He ran a hand
through his hair, tamping it down into a mess of tousled waves.

"Trying to feed me again, Natalie?"

"Your guard was down, so I decided to seize the opportunity. Now come on,
open wide like a good boy." I tossed another piece at him. This time it hit
him in the forehead.

His gaze flicked upward momentarily. "Nice aim."

I stuck my tongue out.

"Is this how you always spend your nights off?" he inquired.

"No. Usually, I get to watch the movie."

I only meant to tease, but Nick took this as a hint and turned back to the
screen, stone-faced. So I did the only thing I could think of: I batted him
in the shoulder with a throw pillow.

He started, then stared at me as if I'd just jumped up and bitten him.
(Perhaps not the best analogy.) I grinned, and let him settle back into the
couch before I did it again. And a third time, for good measure.

"Why do you keep doing that?" The perplexed look on his face made it
difficult not to burst out laughing, but somehow I managed.

I shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

I let him get back to watching the movie. Occasionally, out of the corner of
my eye, I caught Nick frowning at me, shaking his head a little, as though I
puzzled him. Considering how rarely he got outside of his own head, I
probably did.

//give me all your disappointments
i'll give you my secrets
we could lay our heads down
or be forever sleepless//

The Maltese Falcon drew to a close. While the tape was rewinding, I looked
over at Nick, taking stock of the situation. There was a vampire on my
couch, and he didn't look like he intended to leave any time soon.

"I think it's stopped raining," I noted, making an effort to sound casual.

"Yes," said Nick.

"Your clothes are probably still damp," I continued, "but you can wear my
stuff home if you want."

"Thank you."

"Why are you here?" I blurted.

It was the first time I'd ever seen Nick Knight look really and truly
embarrassed. "I'm sorry if I bothered you," he said.

"You didn't."

"I'll go if you want me to..."

"I don't, and you haven't answered my question."

"I was out, flying, and I--"

"Thought you'd drop in. I've heard that one. Care to try again?"

He watched me, almost suspiciously, but said nothing.

"Nick, when have you ever just 'dropped in' to see me?"

He shrugged.

"That's right. Never."

"This hasn't been easy for me, you know," he snapped.

"What hasn't?"

"Trusting you. Trusting anyone," he amended, before I could object.

I sighed. "Well, Nick, I wish I knew what to tell you. I really do." At a
loss for anything else to say, I added, "Is there anything I can do to
help?"

He looked at me as though he couldn't quite believe what he'd just heard.
"You really are amazing, Natalie," he told me. For the first time since I
insisted he do it, it actually sounded natural for him to use my first name.

"About time you noticed," I retorted.

"I'm serious. Very few people would do all you've already done for me, and
then offer more."

"Oh, come on. I haven't really done anything..."

"You have. More than you know." He looked away from me a moment, as if
trying to compose his thoughts. When he finally did speak, it was so softly
that I almost had to strain to hear him. "Being here, like this, makes me
feel... almost human."

"Well, good." I leaned forward and patted him on the knee. Slowly, almost
hesitantly, he smiled. It was remarkable how much that changed his
face--made it seem as open and guileless as a child's. I couldn't help but
smile back. "I'm glad, Nick."

"Even though I tracked water all over the place?" he asked, still smiling.

"Well, I wouldn't make that a habit."

"Fair enough."

"And next time you're going to, ah, drop in, if you could call en route..."

"Got it."

"And it's good etiquette bring snacks, you know."

"Oh. Really?"

I laughed. "No, no. Well, unless there's something you feel like eating..."

He shrugged.

"Or not.... So are we watching another movie, or what?"

"I'd like that," he said quietly.

And that was how it all began...

//four billion people surround us
so many souls lose their way
all that we have is each other
and that's all I've ever wanted//