RAGE, RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT 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 is a sequel to a story I sent out awhile ago in March, called Do Not Go Gentle. If you haven't read that story, you're going to be royally confused. Needless to say, DNGG was kinda graphic so if you just want a summary: LaCroix brutalizes Nick and realizes he regrets it. Angst ensues. This story is a major CoTK piece, although Natalie and Janette both get their parts in it, and there are reasonable NNPacker undertones. Anyway, I got lots of feedback on Do Not Go Gentle, and I think I've addressed a lot of the stuff you've brought up :) Sorry this took so long to finish, but I've been suffering from about six billion different cases of severe writer's block, not to mention I found this story very hard to write even when I WAS inspired :) Rage deals with some disturbing subject matter and there are some violent parts in it, and although I do not consider this to be adult content, be warned. I've really tried to delve into the issues that make the entire LaCroix-Nick relationship work (and not work), while at the same time trying to keep every character in form. Also, I've heard some complaints lately that many fanfics tend to have Nick cry a lot, and I discovered after going back to read my stuff that I was a vicious perpetrator of the crime (guilty as charged, what can I say). Hopefully, I've fixed that up somewhat! Any and all comments can be sent to aria5@vt.edu. I thrive on positive and/or constructive feedback and I just recently lost all the backups to my mail files, so I need some new stuff to go back and read from time to time, you know, to keep my inspiration going! Oh yeah, and I'd like to extend a huge thank you to my beta reader, Lois Frankel, and to Marg Yamanaka for her extensive knowledge on the Toronto area :) Goodness, I'm long winded. Okay. I'm done :) RAGE, RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT THE PRESENT The voice echoing through his head like a soft roll of thunder made him snap awake in fear, panting heavily. No! Just barely, and only by clenching his jaws shut with such force that his lips began to bleed where his teeth bit down on them, he was able to stop himself from crying out aloud. He began to tremble furiously as he realized there was an arm wrapped around his abdomen, restraining him from behind. He stilled in terror, but shivery tremors still coursed up and down his body. An arm... Clasped around his abdomen possessively. Holding him... Trapping him... It was like thick metal chains bound him to the bed, he couldn't move. With his eyes wide in inexplicable fear, he fought the urge to flee. If he moved, it might wake up... And for some reason he concluded that that would be a bad thing. Staring straight ahead as he lay there on his side with his head resting gently on his hand, he was afraid to move a muscle, even to wipe the bloody sweat forming on his brow and dripping slowly down onto his black satin sheets where they left small darker blotches of stain. God... He inhaled deeply, but panic still crushed him like a three ton weight on his shoulders. The arm moved and all at once he tensed even more, if that were even possible, his muscles shaking in protest from the sudden and extreme stress placed upon them. "Nicholas... What's the matter?" a voice whispered from behind him softly, the soft warm breath wafting over the nape of Nick's exposed neck. He knew that voice. It was _that_ voice. The voice that had hurt him. Hurt... Get away! No! If I move, he might... Letting a small, muffled whimper escape from his lips, he remained still. Unmoving. "Nicholas?" Another arm and hand snaked around him from behind, this time over the top of his shoulder. It brushed the blond tufts of hair draping over his forehead, the underlayers of which were already pastily matted to the skin with sweat. His eyes widened, and he tried so very hard not to flinch. But he did. Slamming his eyes shut tightly, he waited for retribution. It never came. The hand at his face was gone at once. He wanted to tell LaCroix to move his other hand, but nothing would come out. Get away from me! His mind was screaming, but it was as if his voice had been ripped away, stolen out of his precious possession. "Nicholas, you're trembling. I can feel your fear. Tell me, what is the matter?" the voice demanded a little bit more insistently. Just leave me alone! Get away! He opened his mouth again, but his vocal chords simply refused to work. He was frozen in place with the exception of his shivering muscles. Finally, a blessing from above, the hand that was snaked around his midsection unclasped itself. "Nicholas, I..." He didn't listen to the rest of the speech coming from behind him. He was free. And as if his weakly trembling body had a mind of its own, he found himself bolting downstairs towards his familiar haven. Within seconds he was at the fridge, downing a glass of bovine blood. And another. Another... The bitter taste disgusted him even more than usual, and he curled his lips in a nauseated grimace as his stomach heaved and churned in bitter protest. Even worse than the taste, it wasn't satisfying him at all, and he found himself growling in frustration as his eyes slipped to a glittering amber color. "Nicholas, that pathetic swill won't help you..." LaCroix appeared in front of him, and the fear he'd felt of his sire earlier returned tenfold. Feeling his knees give out, he barely had enough time to set the expensive glass that contained the awful bovine on the countertop before he found himself falling dangerously fast towards the floor. His master caught him with vampiric speed in his strong arms, holding him mere inches above the wooden surface of the floor as he struggled to regain his footing again. But he couldn't. He yelped and thrashed about in wild panic. Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me! Don'thurtmedon't... LaCroix picked him up and carried him over to the nearby, black leather sofa. "Nicholas, stop thrashing about!" LaCroix said, slightly annoyed as he placed Nick onto the sofa as gently as he could without getting kicked. Nick stilled instantly, and LaCroix obviously saw this as an invitation. His breath froze in his chest and he felt his fear bubbling under the surface, deep within his core as LaCroix's finger brushed his cheek... grasped his shoulder... Oh God... Nick closed his eyes as he began to tremble again. Finally, he could stand it no longer. "Don't touch me!" he snapped at his sire, the pent up anger and terror tightly gripping his words in a chokehold. Yet he instantly regretted speaking. He didn't want LaCroix to seek retribution... Not again... Please, please don't be angry. LaCroix, with a pained look of pure shock, withdrew his hand. Nick didn't have time to care about his master's startling reaction as the hunger welled up inside him again. He snarled and clutched at his abdomen as the agony ripped through his gut. "Why..." he gasped as he fell off the sofa and onto the floor. LaCroix wordlessly caught his shoulders and forced his own pale wrist in front of Nick's mouth. "Drink!" he commanded softly, but Nick felt the power behind it. The hidden warning. But he couldn't. He turned his head away... "I can't. I..." he muttered frantically, trying to pry himself out of LaCroix's vice-like grip. He had to get away... Maybe if he could make a dash for the liftmmmmmmph! He growled beastially in protest as LaCroix yanked his head back. "Nicholas, you have to, unless you wish to starve. The bovine swill you keep won't satisfy you," LaCroix said, his voice almost... regretful. "Not anymore..." he added softly, his eyes closing into tiny slits of pain. Nick felt revulsion forming in the pit of his chest, his stomach churning as he stared at the wrist in front of him. This man... This _vampire_ who had violated him to no end expected him to perform such an intimate gesture... No! Nick shook his head and heaved himself backwards, LaCroix careening to the floor for lack of balance as Nick's shoulders teetered about like a punching bag. "Get off of me!" he cried and bolted forward. Towards the lift... Freedom... He was stopped short in his bid for freedom when he was suddenly tumbling towards the floor, a loud crack resounding through the air as LaCroix backhanded him and sent him flying backwards. "Don't you run away from me, boy!" LaCroix cried, a sudden hard edge to his voice, but he immediately softened. "I'm... I'm sorry... I didn't mean..." he stuttered as he realized what he had just done. Oblivious to LaCroix's frantic apologies, Nick floundered on the floor, trying to regain his equilibrium from the blow. He took in a shocked breath as he clawed at the wooden floorboards like a landed fish. He had to get away from LaCroix... <"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...> Nick screamed as a spear of white lighting pierced his head. The memories came slowly at first. A picture... A smell... A sound... A hurt... And then they were bombarding him and he collapsed flat on the floor. He didn't even try to escape the rush of pain. It was futile. THE PREVIOUS NIGHT Nick swallowed dryly as he began to rock himself back and forth, his eyes squeezed shut against the soft, unobtrusive light of the loft. Against the pain... OhGodOhGodOhGod... Was this what dying felt like? Yes, he deliriously decided. It was. Almost as if he were incinerating from the inside out, he felt his veins burning as LaCroix's blood rocketed through them, healing him and making him feel like Hell at the same time. For the first time in several centuries, his master's blood was coursing through him. Making him feel like dying from the pleasure at the same time as making him feel like he wanted to wretch all over the floor until there was no tomorrow. He felt his innards coiling in nausea as his body began to strengthen and heal. God, it was too much. The power... His jaw muscles clenched. Biting back a moan as his stomach flip-flopped around in his belly, he looked up. LaCroix was at the door of the lift, looking about ready to depart despite his obvious weakened state and all at once Nick found him mind protesting. No! He couldn't leave! Not now! He blinked. What the Hell was his mind talking about? Let LaCroix leave, walk into the sun and burn into soot for all he cared. The bloody bastard deserves it, damn it! No he doesn't... Yes he does! His stomach heaved and Nick was forced to place a hand down to the floor to help support himself. Fear flooded through him as he nearly lost what precious little balance he had. Leaving. LaCroix was leaving and it scared him. He couldn't deal with this alone, he couldn't... Yes you can, you're fine. You'll be fine. Shut up, Shut Up, SHUT UP! You don't know anything! Don't leave me, LaCroix. LaCroix turned and after a long hesitation, his lips parted, his eyes wide in silent shock. "I won't, Nicholas," he whispered softly. Nick gasped. Damn, had he said that last part aloud? He hadn't meant OHGOD... The nausea was coming in rolls now. Terrible, agonizing waves of sickening vertigo gripped at his sides, his head, his chest, his very being. Don't leave me... AAAAUGH! God, I can't... I don't... He struggled to remain upright as his thoughts raced away with his mind and into the great beyond. I need... "Here, let me help you," LaCroix said softly, his voice rich and powerful despite the lack of volume. Nick looked up to see a blurry form that could only be his sire crouch down next to him on the cold wooden floor, letting out a small yelp as two strong arms encompassed him tightly. And suddenly, he was in the air, being carried up the stairs like an infant... "Don't worry, Nicholas, it will be all right once the blood fever settles..." And something, perhaps it was his overwhelming fear, allowed him to take comfort in that embrace. The very same one that had hurt him so badly before. That was the last thing he could remember. THE PRESENT He screamed long and loud as the pain riddled his gut. "You bastard! Why did you do this to me?!" Nick cried painfully as he writhed on the floor underneath LaCroix's powerful, unrelenting grip. "Nicholas," LaCroix began calmly, obviously trying to diffuse the situation, "You would not have healed properly if I had not fed you. Your own dietary habits have caused this!" Nick winced and bit his tongue so hard that blood began to trickle out of the side of his mouth. He would not scream again. He wouldn't... LaCroix didn't need to see ANOTHER one of his pathetic weaknesses... "You knew this would happen, damn you! You knew it wouldn't be a onetime thing, you knew I'd have to drink from you again," Nick accused his sire angrily as he swallowed each and every heaving breath he could muster, his eyes glowing crimson with the vampire. LaCroix was getting annoyed now, Nick could see it, but for some reason he didn't care. "YOU KNEW, DAMN YOU!" he yelled as he slapped LaCroix's hands away from him and wobbled to his feet. "I SAID, don't touch me!" He had to get out of here... "Nicholas, I did what I thought was necessary..." LaCroix said as he obviously restrained himself from helping Nick up, but Nick cut him off. "This was all one of your schemes to get me back into the fold! You healed me and as a price I'm a slave to you. I can't believe I ever trusted you!" Nick cried, incensed beyond reason. The world was spinning in a red haze of dizziness as he placed a hand on the wall for support. God, he had to get out of here... "Nicholas, this is only temporary, and you're the one who told me to stay, I thought..." There was something in LaCroix's voice that Nick recognized even through his own distress. Pain. No one else could've ever recognized it for what it was, it was hidden pretty well. His master was... in pain. Nick almost felt some regret before his raging id slammed into his brain and repossessed him. WELL GOOD! "It was a mistake, I can assure you..." Nick said menacingly through clenched teeth as he fumbled towards the lift. He'd stay away from LaCroix and basically all of humanity until this blew over. But when? When would this blow over? LaCroix's powerful blood had reawakened a very strong desire to consume human blood again. He'd already tried bovine, it hadn't sated him whatsoever. And he was hungry. Very hungry. With nothing but the bloodlust in his thoughts, he flung the door to the lift open with a throaty growl. God, he could already feel his body slipping through the clenched fingers of his consciousness into the comfortable and familiar guise of a crazed predator. No! Damn LaCroix for this! He had to get away before all conscious thought ceased and he was prey to his own beast. He didn't know where he would go, but he would have to go somewhere far, far away... But it was too late. He was lost to his hunger before the real battle could even begin. "Nick! What's going... What the HELL are YOU doing here?!" A petite brunette rose from the floor of the lift, where she had obviously been examining the large bloodstain in the corner from the previous night. "Nick?" Nick cocked his head slightly in response. She sounded so familiar, and yet... The noise that had emanated from her mouth was quiet, rich, very feminine, but his concentration waned considerably as the thumping rhythm of her heart blind sided him and forced all other thoughts to the back of his conscience. Blinking as the tiny figure approached him, he instinctively growled deep and low. Her big, light-blue eyes wandered nervously back from his sire to him as he bared his fangs at her in a menacing leer. She gasped, stopping short of him, and he could only find himself grinning more. Blood was always best when the victim was scared. ***** Natalie slowly stepped into the lift. She'd thought of Nick all through her shift the previous night, hoping that he'd at least have one case that required him to come into the lab for results on a body. She had felt a strong sense of dread ever since he'd insisted upon going to work. And later... when she'd heard from Tracy that he'd freaked out in the middle of an investigation and fled the scene, she'd been even more worried. Tired... He was tired, she had tried to rationalize. It was probably too much to handle so soon after such grievous injuries. Yes, that was it, too much to handle. Yet she had found herself pacing through her shift, itching to leave and check on her friend. Somewhat more than friend. Significant other! Yeah, you wish... She snorted. Well whatever he was to her, she couldn't help but worry. Her heart was his even if he didn't know it. She'd then rationalized that she could wait. He would call her if something was really wrong. She could wait until the next evening to look in on him. After all, he'd been pretty annoyed with her continual mothering recently. Okay, very annoyed. Mad even. That is, until he had virtually collapsed in her arms... But that was beside the point. No it's not! He needs you to check on him... No he doesn't! Finally giving in with a silent scream of frustration, she'd waited. She'd suffered a terrible bout of insomnia, counted up to at least 2452 sheep before she'd given up on that avenue and moved to studying the intricacies of the chipped paint on her ceiling, but she'd waited. And she was damn proud at herself for maintaining the willpower to do so. But as her eyes slowly moved to the stained rusty-red puddle in the corner of the lift, she began to doubt the wisdom of that move. She bent down, dreading a closer look but braving one anyway. Touching an index finger into the red mess and drawing it closer towards her for examination, the dread in her mind turned into a palpable, gut-wrenching fear. It was blood. Blood that hadn't been there before, when she'd... When she'd arrived at the loft and found Nick practically dead on the floor in a lake of his own blood. Nat closed her eyes as a strange queasy feeling overwhelmed her. Please don't let it be Nick's... And suddenly, a growl ripped through the air, viciously tearing from her from her thoughts. Her head snapped around of its own accord and she was greeted with Nick's vampire face. Nick's very _hungry_ looking vampire face, but she was too dazed by the suddenness of the encounter to even begin worrying about it... "Nick! What's going..." she heard herself beginning to speak as her eyes involuntarily slipped to the space directly behind Nick. A space occupied by the individual she least wanted to see in the world, and least of all within a mile of Nick... "What the HELL are YOU doing here?!" she screamed at LaCroix as she rose to her feet, barely able to contain her sudden fury at the elder vampire's presence, but LaCroix was barely even paying attention to her. His worried eyes were focused entirely on Nick. Nick... "Nick?" she queried, but it was immediately obvious that he didn't understand a word she was saying. He cocked his head to the side as if contemplating what to do about this newest curiosity, and, as if suddenly coming to a decision, he growled deep and low in his throat. The fear that had been for Nick earlier was slowly beginning to morph into fear _of_ Nick as she warily glanced back and forth between Nick and his sire. She felt the breath catch in her throat as Nick began to smile at her like she was the most delectable thing in the world. Don't scream. Whatever you do, don't scream. She thought frantically of all the things Nick had told her about the hunger, the main thing of which was that he'd remembered reveling in his victim's fear. Fear made it worse... Natalie swallowed harshly. Funny how when you thought about something NOT to do, it was the first thing that you were most likely to obsess about. Hopefully Nick wasn't lucid enough to notice that her hands were shaking enough to cause a small earthquake. He growled again, and she couldn't stop herself from taking a small step backwards into the lift. Please Nick. Recognize me! "Snap out of it, Nick!" she cried in a plea she knew would fall upon deaf ears. She'd never seen him like this. There'd been a few times when he'd been very hungry, but never so completely lost to the bloodlust as he obviously was this time. It was a very fine edge that he walked on, one that she'd never seen him unsuccessfully straddle. Until now. His eyes peered at her, narrowing slightly at her obvious panic, and yet they were sightless. The red, angry pools of inhumanity that stared at her didn't care that she was afraid, didn't care that her life was something that couldn't be rekindled after it was extinguished, didn't care at all except that they were staring at a good, fast meal... So cold... It amazed her how easily she forgot that Nick was _not_ for all intents and purposes, human, despite his constant warnings and reminders. She found herself unable to do anything except stare back at him like a deer caught in the headlights, silently resigning herself to her fate. Her death... And as he lunged towards her with all the power and muscle of a savage beast, she barely flinched. But he never reached her. His body snapped backwards painfully like a ball at the end of its tether. LaCroix, it seemed, had finally intervened. "ENOUGH!" LaCroix cried angrily as he harshly grabbed Nick and dragged him away from Nat towards Nick's large black leather couch. "Nicholas, as much as I'd enjoy seeing you snack on our dear Doctor Lambert, I'd much rather you do it of your own accord..." he explained to the writhing mass desperately trying to escape his grip. Nat sighed in infinite relief, but the fury rushed back as she watched Nick struggling pathetically in LaCroix's arms. "Excuse me," she began coldly, "but would you mind telling me what the HELL is going on?" The fury inside her was about to boil over the top, exploding into a big scalding mess. She closed her eyes briefly. One... Two... Three... Four... "Dr. Lambert, as much as I'd love to discuss this with you," LaCroix snapped as his eyes slipped to an amber hue and his fangs descended, pausing only to bite into the pale flesh of his wrist, "I'd suggest you leave now if you know what's good for you." Nat narrowed her eyes in disbelief. She could not... WOULD NOT trust him. Not with Nick. Not after what he'd done. And she couldn't believe that LaCroix obviously expected her to. "No way. I'm not leaving," she insisted stubbornly, folding her arms across her chest, but wisely not daring to move any closer towards the pair. LaCroix spared her a brief, annoyed glance. "Fine, but next time he tries to eat you for lunch, I'm not going to stop him, I'm still trying to convince myself not to loose him on you now," he whispered with a sick grin, the sarcasm dripping from his voice like thick maple syrup. Without further comment, LaCroix put his wrist to Nick's wildly gnashing canines, and at once Nick's struggling all but ceased as he began to... Nat gasped. As he began to drink... She felt the revulsion burble up from her stomach and into her throat, fighting her gag reflex as she watched the man she loved unconditionally drink the blood of a man she hated relentlessly. Of a man _HE_ hated relentlessly. Of a man who had brutalized him, raped him, and driven him to unspeakable emotional instability. Her lips curled back in a grimace. It was sick, that's what it was. Disgusting. And it was too much for her to bear. Leaping to action, she ran to the small shelf where Nick kept it displayed and grabbed Joan of Arc's cross with utter fury. She rushed at the pair, waving it wildly in their faces. LaCroix hissed in surprise and stepped backwards as Nick slipped dazedly to the ground, no longer supported by his master's firm embrace. "Get away from him!" Nat screamed, slowly backing LaCroix up towards the wall with the old wooden cross. DAMN YOU! She saw Nick lying on the ground, bloodied, unclothed, helpless, writhing around on the ground spasmodically under the throes of an invisible memory. DAMN YOU! She saw Nick curled up in agony on the sofa, red tear tracks racing down his cheeks when he thought she wasn't watching. DAMN YOU! Her grip on the cross tightened, her knuckles turning white as she clenched the holy object in her fingers. BASTARD! The anger erupting out of her was overwhelming as she forced LaCroix backwards, corralling him like some sort of prized cattle put up for slaughter. DAMN YOU!!! Damn you for Nick, and definitely for myself! Finally, there was a loud thump as LaCroix's back connected harshly with the pale back wall of the loft. She shoved the cross in his face until it was scarcely three inches away from the bridge of his nose. "He NEEDED it!" LaCroix whispered, his eyes averted towards the floor and away from the cross. Natalie's eyes narrowed. "Like Hell he did, what the Hell did you do to him?!" she snapped, suddenly not caring that the creature before her had at least two thousand years on her. Not caring that he was a ruthless Roman general who had no qualms about killing mortals whatsoever. Not caring that he was the source of Nick's torment. He wouldn't kill her, she knew that now. He'd had ample opportunity and he hadn't taken it. LaCroix took a deep breath. "He was injured..." he began. "Yeah, by you, you uncaring bastard!" Nat interrupted angrily. He winced at her tone but continued. "He needed my blood to heal, the blood of the master always heals. He was ill, and he would've been for quite some time without my intervention. So I gave him my blood when he came home yesterday," he explained calmly, but Nat could detect something in his voice. Something well hidden... Pain? Regret? No. It couldn't be. She shrugged it off. "Well then how do you explain what just happened? I thought you said Nick was supposed to heal..." Nat said in disbelief. Of all the pathetic excuses she'd heard in her short lifetime, this one took the cake! LaCroix grunted softly as Nat pushed the cross imperceptibly closer. His flesh started to smoke slightly, but his face was still an emotional mask. "He did. But..." "But?" she prodded. She wanted the whole story, and she wanted it now. Before she killed him. "His system had gotten so used to that damn bovine swill that my blood frenzied him. It will wear off, he just needs to readjust," LaCroix assured her. "Well he can readjust fine," she snapped back. Nick would be able to readjust. No problem. They'd work it out just like they always did when their progress took a giant leap backward. She continued to rationalize silently, but the feeling that this wasn't just a simple leap backwards in their progress towards a cure just wouldn't leave her alone. And all at once the anger flared again, if what she'd been feeling before could be considered calm. "And he can do it without you. Now get out before I run the unbeating chunk of ice you call a heart through with this lovely gift of Joan's," she said coldly, withdrawing the cross far enough to allow the two thousand year old vampire to leave before she completely lost it. With the cross out of his face, LaCroix looked at her coldly. "I don't take kindly to threats!" he growled at her, bearing his fangs cruelly for her to see, "Especially from you..." But the smirk on his face that was obviously meant to intimidate her only incensed her further. "Bastard!" she cried, and before she realized what she was doing, she backhanded him across the face, the wooden cross scraping across his cheek, leaving small splinters in the previously flawless flesh. "That was for Nick, you sonofabitch!" The long end of the cross chipped off from all the abuse it had taken and fell to the floor with a thud, but she barely took note of it as she kneed him hard in the groin, collapsing him mercilessly to the floor. "That was for ME!" she screamed as something in-between a whimper and a groan emanated from his pale lips. She raised the cross, noting triumphantly that the shards and splinters that had come off the tips made it as deadly as a genuine stake. LaCroix curled up on the floor, strangely not protesting her actions. "And this is for everyone else's lives that you've screwed up!" And she plunged the make-shift stake home. ***** LaCroix stood against the wall, silently seething that he'd let this tiny woman muscle him into the wall. Yeah, that's right, Lucien. You _LET_ her back you into this corner. You wanted the pain! No I didn't, you're crazy... Damn! He shrugged away his inner turmoil and brought himself back to the situation at hand. For one moment, he'd let his guard down, trusting that confounded woman to let him do what was best for his child, and here she was... "Bastard!" Here she was swearing at him after he'd actually taken the time to explain that which did _not_ need explaining as far as he was concerned. She was supposed to be doctor to the undead, let her figure out the significance of sharing blood. The little witch! Who did she think she was, what on Earth had ever possessed poor Nicholas to become so attracted to... Pain ripped across his cheek as wooden shards of the cross that she was holding embedded themselves in his flesh. OUCH! Good, you bastard, that's what you wanted wasn't it? Pain? Well now you're getting it! Just let it tear you apart, you NEED it! SHUT UP! He grimaced, placing a cool hand to his injured cheek, only eliciting more pain. She... The wench! She had _HIT_ him! How dare she! "That was for Nick, you sonofabitch!" her shrill cry lanced through his head like a spear, and he took a deep, gut- wrenching breath. He'd said he was sorry, damn it all! He didn't need this! Yes you do! You NEED the pain. Let it take you! He shook his head, slightly aghast that he found himself agreeing with her words. He deserved this for what he'd done. And somewhere during this verbal onslaught, he'd begun to realize that he wanted to pay for his transgression. He _wanted_ to be hit, as masochistic as it seemed. Every drop of pain he experienced was supposed to take away some of the guilt that was still festering in his gut. Hadn't he warned Nicholas about this? Hypocrite... Fighting back a small chuckle before it inappropriately erupted, he closed his eyes and waited for the next blow to arrive. An eye for an eye, so they say... His legs collapsed out from underneath him as she kicked him. "That was for ME!" An eye for an eye, an eye for an eye, an eye for an eye. He repeated the phrase in his mind like a mantra as he resigned himself to the pain, instinctively curling up into a tiny ball. Please... Save me. Take my guilt away. Please... "And this is for everyone else's lives that you've screwed up!" Yes, do it. End it. I don't want this guilt anymore. Do it! "Don't." LaCroix's world froze when he heard it, soft, cold, uncaring. He cautiously opened one eye a slit, only to find the cross mere inches from his heart, held at bay by Nicholas's hand clenched around the good doctor's wrist. "Don't, Nat. Don't kill him..." Nicholas had saved him. It was almost laughable really, considering that Nicholas was probably one of the last people on this Earth who would've ever chosen to save his life. He was undeserving, but LaCroix couldn't help but ponder it. Nicholas had saved him. Because? Why in the world would he want to save you? It hit him like ton of bricks. Because he wants to add to his own pain... Just like you were doing to yourself not seconds before this... LaCroix sighed, not really in relief, more in catharsis as his pent up emotions churned up inside him and expelled themselves invisibly into the air. God, he finally understood now why they were such a pair, Nicholas and he. Ha! An epiphany under pressure... Nicholas was bent on self-destruction. Constantly throwing himself in pain's way, casting it off as atonement. LaCroix finally found himself understanding it. Nick wanted pain, and LaCroix wanted to be the aggressor. The dominating factor. He'd had thousands under his command when he was mortal, and now as a vampire, he had but one. And oh, how the mighty had fallen. True, intimidation led other vampires to be wary of him, but he had only one true servant. A man who had once claimed himself to be a servant of God, but in a moment of weakness and disillusionment renounced Him in favor of eternal life. Disillusionment which led to disillusionment which led to pain, and suffering. Nicholas. His son could no longer claim to be in the light of God, but he professed to make his way back into it by spending centuries being beaten by a Roman general bent on sadism and domination for his kicks under the guise of atonement. A love that was truly sprung from hate. One could claim that it was a pretty twisted relationship. "Why the Hell not?! The bastard deserves it for what he's done, God Nick, how can you possibly..." "Just don't, Nat. Leave it..." And they wouldn't be wrong... LaCroix sighed again, closing the eye through which he peered. But there was more to it than that, there had to be. No there isn't, you sick bastard. You kept him with you all these years because you want to beat something, and he wants to be beaten. God, you're sick. When did you ever get to be this sick? "But why..." No. I won't allow it. There _HAS_ to be another reason. And yet, despite how hard he was reaching, he couldn't touch upon another answer. Lucien, you're the most twisted, evil, wretched thing to ever walk this Earth. "Because I SAID so!" He felt Nicholas's hand grab onto his shoulder, pulling him forcefully to his feet. And somehow, LaCroix found the strength to open his eyes and face his child, despite all of what he'd just uncovered for himself, what it had taken _eight-hundred-years_... for him to figure out. Nicholas was staring coldly at him, his ice-blue eyes penetrating and yet strangely expressionless. The damn doctor was standing slightly behind and to the left, but he spared her no more than a glance before he returned to his son. "Nicholas, I..." LaCroix whispered, his voice ragged and weak. The emotional battle was finally over, and it had left his body shriveling in its wake. "Get out," Nicholas snapped harshly, his uncaring eyes never faltering, never blinking. And despite all those discoveries, LaCroix found himself protesting. "But I..." You cretin! Why are you protesting? Get out while you still can. Mend your sick emotional state and get on with your sick undeserving life... Go out on the street, get yourself shot a couple times and then drag yourself in front of an oncoming bus. It won't kill you, but the pain might be nice. You deserve it, after all. Arrogant, sick, bastard... Sick! "LaCroix, I don't want you here. Get. Out," Nicholas enunciated firmly, his voice becoming strangely detached as LaCroix watched him, almost as if he were purposefully distancing himself from the situation. And it struck him like a stake in the heart. So that was that. Get out. It was quite funny, really. Laughable even. He smiled, but the smile turned into a snort, and finally gales of maniacal laughter. "What the Hell are you laughing at, you sick bastard! Are you out of your goddamned mind? I said get out!" Nicholas yelled at him, incensed and looking quite disgusted with him. LaCroix couldn't help but notice that Nicholas's hands were clenching even tighter on his shoulders, so tight that he wouldn't be surprised if they were drawing blood where his fingernails indented into his skin. "Nicholas, do you have _any_ idea what has just happened here tonight?" LaCroix found himself asking curiously, although he didn't know why. It was obvious Nicholas had never really seriously thought about this, or he had and had just not been enlightened with the truth. And yet, he had to know what his son felt about this. For some, strange, inexplicable reason, he had to know. Nicholas looked at him, confused, his eyes almost imperceptibly narrowing. "What are you talking about?" he snapped viciously, as if his sire had suddenly grown two heads and was wearing nothing but a pink tutu to boot. LaCroix smiled, an insanely thick smile that stretched his lips until they were plastered across his face. "Good-bye, Nicholas," he said smoothly, much more calmly than he felt. As he took a step towards the exit, he felt ill, his stomach began to churn like a washing-machine on spin cycle. Another step. The smile left his face, but Nicholas and his silly mortal pet were behind him now. They couldn't see it. His son couldn't see how much this was hurting. Another step. Good-bye. God, it hurts. Well you got what you wanted, Lucien. Pain. He'd said it. And it sickened him, because he was sure that this time, it really meant good-bye. Not see you later, or some other derivative. Good-bye. The feeling of his heart shattering in his chest was truly a strange one, but Nicholas couldn't see him. Couldn't see the tears as they began to trek down his cheek, leaking out of his tear ducts in a slow viscous ooze. It was obvious to him now that Nicholas truly couldn't see... ***** "Good-bye, Nicholas..." Nick watched his sire step into the lift. All at once he wanted to scream out. WAIT! Please, I don't want you to go, I lied... But he couldn't. Something had changed tonight. Something big and when he tried to figure out exactly what it was, he couldn't. Something... He felt it there, floating in the black abyss just out of the reach of his outstretched fingers. Grunting lowly, he could feel the feather touch of enlightenment brushing him gently, but then it was gone. He was grasping at nothing. With a heaving sigh, he collapsed to the floor, letting himself truly feel for the first time since he'd been dropped by LaCroix. It was the only complete emotional detachment that had allowed him to live through that encounter. That had allowed him to kick his sire out despite the hurt he could see deep within his eyes. At least LaCroix hadn't put up much of a protest... "Nat, I'm sorry I... That I..." He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't even say it. Never before had he been so completely out of control, like he was spiraling down into a pit of insanity. And he'd almost... "Shhh, Nick. It's all right. I... I know you were hungry," Nat began softly, sitting down beside him on the cold floor, clasping his shoulders in her soft grip. It felt so good, and yet... "Nat, I still _am_ hungry. I've never felt so hungry in my life..." It was true. It was there. Gnawing at him, slowly chewing his insides, ripping his gut apart in a painstakingly slow tear. But he could deal with it for now. At least LaCroix's second donation had given him back some of the control that he'd lost with the first. Nat smiled and soothingly rubbed his shoulder. "Don't worry, Nick. We'll figure it out. And if you really need it I can probably swipe some expired human blood from the morgue..." Nick shook his head as she prattled on and on. He couldn't. He couldn't listen to this. No! What happened?! I don't get it! Just tell me... "Nat, stop!" he whispered harshly, getting up off the floor and immediately bringing her bout of optimism to a halt. "Nat, please don't act like everything here is all right. Because it's not. You know it. And I know it..." he explained slowly as he brought her in front of him, gripping her shoulders tightly. "Nick, please don't say that," she begged him softly, her fingers subconsciously tugging at his shirt sleeves, the aghast look on her face practically speaking for her. "We can fix it, Nick. We'll be okay..." "Damn it, Nat," he began, slightly annoyed. "It's NOT okay! It's not something that we can just fix and pretend like it didn't happen! How can you even _begin_ to think that? I've somehow managed to forgive, perform the most intimate gesture on this Earth with _twice_, and then once again estrange the man I've hated for the past eight-hundred- years, the man who _violated_ me not even three nights ago, and you somehow think that it's going to be okay? Well it's NOT OKAY!" He felt his innards twist when he saw her sadly look to the ground, and he immediately regretted his angry tone. The last thing on Earth he'd ever wanted was to pull her into this conflict... It was his fault that she'd gotten even remotely involved in this, and now she'd just become a prime player, going so far as to actually almost kill the competition. But still he continued. "Or is it the fact that for some reason I didn't let you kill my sometimes mortal enemy, sometimes friend, most often antagonist of a sire? Does THAT make it OKAY?" That was actually a good question. Why had he stopped her? It was too clichid to assume he'd done it to save her the guilt. Granted, he'd never wish the guilt of ending someone's life on her, but that wasn't why he'd stopped her, he was sure of it somewhere deep down inside. God, why did this feel so _wrong_? Damn it all, no, I haven't a clue! "I don't know," Nat whimpered slightly, her earlier confidence and adrenaline wrought guts deflating. "I don't know! I'm not a goddamn omniscient psychic! But I _do_ know that you've been hurt, I've been hurt, and that between the two of us, we've got a whole slew of hurt..." She was babbling, obviously very upset. Her head started to shake back and forth, denying some unsaid force and he could tell she was about to realize... "My God, Nick... I almost killed a man today..." Her tone was quiet, and there was a tiredness seeping into it that shouldn't have been there. He blinked as she rocked back and forth as if she'd been tipped by an invisible force, wobbling on the balls of her feet like she was going to lose her balance. "I almost..." "Nat, shhhh," he soothed her, pulling her into a tight embrace as she had done so many times for him. "Nat, you didn't." "But I..." she protested, quivering in his grasp, but not really crying. She'd always been so strong, which was one of the many things that he admired her for. Given opposition, she was the type of person to just plow right through it, damn the torpedoes! "But you _didn't_," he assured her softly. "The key word is almost. Don't punish yourself for something you didn't do..." "But..." Her voice was much weaker this time, much softer, less forceful. He placed his index finger over her supple lips to quiet her, lingering there for a moment, relishing the warmth of her mortality and innocence that he found there. "Hey!" he exclaimed, gently patting her nose with the same finger. "You know, at this rate I might have to call you a hypocrite..." he warned playfully, letting a small grin mar his face despite the fact that he felt as far from smiling as he could possibly get. She gave him a small forlorn grin in return. "If I had known how hard my advice was to follow, I wouldn't have said it with such surety..." she whispered with a sigh, finally letting herself fall into his embrace completely, relaxing into his firm grip. Nick sighed softly, inhaling the soft scent of her hair as she leaned into his chest and her muscles untensed. He even felt himself begin to relax until the beast within reared its ugly snarling head. Take her, you fool! Take her now while she's vulnerable! NO! He released her quickly, intending to get away before something regrettable happened. "Nat, I'm sorry," he whispered ashamedly as he purposefully backed away from her curious eyes. "I just can't... be this close to you right now." Nat nodded, understanding flooding her crystalline blue eyes, and backed off a few steps. "It's okay, Nick," she assured him, but Nick noted, curiously, that unlike all of the previous times this had happened, she wasn't making any quick moves to leave despite the hints he was dropping. He began to wonder what exactly she was thinking, but she answered his question for him. "But I'm not leaving, not now... You need company and I need a ride to work," she commented softly with a small grin. Nick sighed. "All right, Nat. All right. Just let me get some of my, um," he grunted, trying to escape mention of _it_, but her nonverbal prodding got him to say it, "the, um, the emergency rations I keep in my, uh, my uh, freezer..." As much as he tried, he just couldn't bring himself to say that he would be going for human tonight. But both he knew, and she knew, that nothing else would do. "Go ahead, Nick. I'll join you at the table in a second, but I need to make a pit stop really quick," she replied as she walked towards the bathroom. And then he was alone. With a wan curl of his lips, he slowly approached the freezer and crouched before the blood packets, similar to the ones that had innocently been mistaken for pasta sauce. He smiled at the memory as the misty cool air of the freezer snaked around his body and gripped his pale skin. He knew why she was doing this. She was trying to get him to come to terms with this without her help. Trying to get him to realize drinking human was okay under these circumstances. That it was donated, no one had died, and everything was okay. But she had misjudged him. That was not at all what he was feeling so uncomfortable about. It was the fact that he was going to drink human, and despite all his misgivings and feelings to the contrary, the fact that he was going to enjoy it. Immensely. Just like he had with LaCroix's rich blood. Haha. You're hungry and you want it... You know, there's an even fresher source right here in this loft. C'mon, you know you'd prefer naturally warm as opposed to thawed... You should try it out. Take her! It'll be great, you won't regret "Um, Nick? I was under the impression that you had to thaw that first," he heard Nat's voice say cautiously from behind him. It startled him enough to bring him out of his brief tjte-`-tjte with the beast, enough to realize that he had just been sitting there in front of the open freezer with a single blood pack cradled in his hands, and that he'd probably been doing so for several minutes. "Yeah, Nat, I was just getting to that," he answered hurriedly as he brought himself up from his haunches and into a standing position. Anything to get this over with... He walked over and tossed the chilled pack into the microwave, thawing it briefly before joining Nat at his small kitchen table. Hearing LaCroix influence him like this even when he wasn't there, was disturbing at best, and he couldn't help but wonder why his mind was doing this to him. Why couldn't he seem to take control of his life? Was it always in his master's hands? Luckily, he caught a growl in his throat before he let it out, suddenly remembering that he had company. He watched Nat watching him, feeling slightly disgusted with himself when she briefly averted her eyes. She may insist that she didn't have problems with this, but she, like him, was often too stubborn to admit the truth. His own stomach coiled as he let his fangs slip into place. He couldn't do this. Not in front of her... God, I want to so badly... He bit into the bag, his fangs tearing through the plastic easily. Nat's eyes, which had so subtly looked away before were now entranced with him, and he couldn't help but feel a small sense of triumph. Maybe she would finally be afraid of him like she was supposed to be... I am a beast. A terrible, horrible beast! But you like it... No! Yessssssssss. He took a small sip, crumbling inward as his beast defeated him. Another... He growled, feeling it's artificial warmth flowing down his throat and settling heavily in his stomach, reveling in the sensation. Another... And he was lost. She was afraid of needles. That much, he gathered right away. Be calm. It's for a good cause, someone will get this who really needs it. You don't have to be afraid of the needle, Marie. He heard her last thoughts as if they were his own. Ha, like I'm a man who really needs it! Yes, I do need it... I _NEED_ it. It's soooooo good... "Nick?" He looked up in a golden haze, finally realizing that he was just sitting there sucking desperately at an empty bag. Nat was glancing at him warily. "Nick, you look awful hungry, are you sure that just that one is enough?" she questioned him innocently as he fought to force his eyes back to their normal blue. He wanted it. Wanted it so badly that he was trembling, the bag in his hands crinkling softly as his fingers subtly flexed and unflexed in his terrible battle for control. "No, I'm fine," he denied hoarsely as he stood up and wiped his mouth on his hand. "Let's go." Grabbing his coat, he quickly ushered her into the lift, barely pausing to check and make sure he was presentable. Anything to get them out of there and away from the blood. Away from the memories... ***** It was a dark night, so black that the thickness of it threatened to strangle the life out of him despite his liking for the color. LaCroix huffed softly into the cold air as he looked into the starless, cloud carpeted sky. It was cold and dark and black and dreary. Just like he felt. Just like he looked. At least he had come to a decision, figured out some things about his life that he hadn't really questioned until now. But... At what cost? Sighing, he withdrew his key and entered the Raven, knowing that Janette would be there waiting eagerly for him. Granted, she could no longer have a good sense of _his_ pain, she had an acute one of Nicholas's. She had demonstrated that already. "LaCroix..." She was sitting at the bar, twirling her long index finger absently around the edge of her goblet, wrapped in an elegant crushed velvet dress the color of the blood she was drinking. Curiously, she was not even facing him, but somehow, she had known it was him the second he had entered. Silently, he sat down next to her. "Where are my patrons?" he asked curtly as he glanced around at the empty Raven, attempting to avoid the unavoidable. "Where is your son?" Janette asked just as curtly, her thinly penciled eyebrows arching upwards in question. She spun around on her stool to face him, sweeping her legs around and recrossing them with the womanly grace he had always admired in her. LaCroix looked at the floor. "He wishes to have nothing to do with me," he admitted sadly. "I wish to have nothing to do with me..." he added in shame. It was funny. He would've never thought himself capable of all these... these _emotions_, but now they were threatening to swallow him whole. "It is understandable. I figured that was how he would react," she said with a small nod, her face expressionless as she looked from him down to her glass. But at her words, LaCroix found himself incensed. "What are you talking about? You're the one who told me to go to him in the first place!" he exclaimed in astonishment. How could I have listened to her? How could I have been so stupid... I am NOT someone who takes advice, I am one who GIVES it! Her eyes widened slightly, but the change in her face was so subtle that anyone who didn't really know her wouldn't have caught it. She was... She was intimidated by him. But she hid it well. "I never said that it would be a happy reunion," she replied quietly, her soft French accent filtering through as she continued. "Nor did I say that it would be all right." "But..." he began to protest, but she stopped him. "When I was still mortal, men took advantage of me the same as you have done to Nicholas, some even worse, and I have never forgiven a single one of them," she stated, the anger dripping from her tone like melting ice. "I was a victim once too, LaCroix. I know the other side of the fence, but I do not think that you are familiar with it. In fact, before last night I wasn't even sure if you cared about the people you hurt at all." A burning pain began to build in his gut as she continued. God, she was right. Why did she have to be so right? He closed his eyes, her words practically melting in the rushing thunderous roar that was overwhelming his ears. "And with Nichola, you have been very unforgiving, very domineering, and very insensitive. Nichola is a passionate man with dreams and ambitions unlike any other man I have ever known, and he suffers from a terrible case of impetuousness that I believe can never be cured. Because of that impetuousness and that passion, he simply cannot stay tethered to you for eternity, no matter how much you may want an eternal companion." The chorus that had been crushing his skull with its intensity began to wail in his head again. He found himself trembling with its intensity. Guilty, Lucien. You're GUILTY! "Janette, please, please stop," he interrupted her, shaking his head in denial, but with a look of refusal, she continued unabated. "Yet despite all of that, I know that he loves you, and at least now he knows that you are regretful of your actions, and _because_ of that very same passion that forces such discord between you, I believe he will have the capacity to forgive you your sins where I have failed to forgive my aggressors of theirs. Just not right away." And with that, she was silent. Her discourse was done as quickly as it had begun. He blinked back a tear that was threatening to fall. He found himself strangely unable to believe what she had said. Nicholas didn't love him. Nicholas hated him with such furious intensity that it threatened to crush his own jaded soul into oblivion then and there. And if it were true, and Nicholas did actually harbor some strange and twisted affection for him, it was misguided at best. Misguided and masochistic and inconceivable. No. It just wasn't true. He'd wanted to believe her yesterday, but he knew now that he was wrong and foolish for even thinking there was some hope of reconciliation. And he himself was twisted just for wanting it. That forgiveness which Nicholas would no doubt refuse to offer for the rest of eternity. Twisted because forgiveness would spur the whole demented relationship back into action. It was better for the both of them if this ended. Now. "Janette, you didn't see him, he wanted me gone... Permanently." I want me gone. I can't forgive me this... I can't forgive me, why should Nicholas? Janette understood a lot, but still not even half of it... I'm a sick, sadistic bastard... "Not a surprising reaction from someone you just raped," she said bluntly, the anger once again filling her voice as her words hit him like a slap in the face. "For Christ's sake, LaCroix, you can't expect him to bounce back in a day! He's always seemed resilient, but he's really not. Not really. Inside, he probably feels like some broken toy that you play with when it suits you, and that you abuse whenever the whim hits you..." It was almost true. And it hit dangerously close to what he'd already thought of. "I want to break the toy..." he admitted softly. Janette looked at him sharply. "What?" she asked harshly. "You were right, Janette. I didn't care about the other side of the fence. I've come to realize that I do these things because I want to hurt people, to assume the master role, with Nicholas worst of all..." "LaCroix..." "No, you were right, Janette. Nicholas may feel like a broken toy, but it's only because I want him to feel that way. Or at least, I used to..." Not now. I could never feel that way now... "And I can't help but think that the reason he's stuck around so long is because he likes being broken..." It felt strange, saying that to someone else. Almost a relief to come clean with someone and at the same time horrifying. It had been different when he had just been thinking rather than verbalizing his feelings. "Surely you can't think that that's the only reason you are bound to each other..." Janette hastily replied, the disbelief in her voice almost tangible. She was disgusted with him. Just as disgusted as he was. She wasn't saying anything to that point, but it was obvious to him. The look in her eyes was screaming volumes to him. "I don't know what to think," he mumbled softly. And it was true. He really didn't. He'd never been regretful before, he simply hadn't allowed it. Suffice it to say, it was unfamiliar territory. Janette didn't respond. They sat in silence. "I'm leaving," he added, eyes closed to her penetrating gaze. "Tonight." To Egypt, perhaps... He needed to wallow in bad memories for awhile, pay penance. Exactly as he had told Nicholas not to do for centuries on end. "What?" she exclaimed. "You can't! You can't run away from this! He _needs_ you!" she tried to dissuade him, but he could not, _would_ not be moved. Nicholas only needed peace, a respite from his constant guilt and torment, the bulk of which LaCroix himself provided by constantly thinking up new lessons in brutality to teach his progeny. "Nicholas is eight-hundred years old. He does _not_ need me. He didn't need me when he was thirty-three either. He never has," he responded in monotone. To Egypt. It was warm and dry, and the days were almost always the same length as the nights. And _she_ was buried there. Another screwed up relationship with his offspring on his conscience. I am sick. Very sick... He got up. "I thought you were a Roman general because you didn't quit. Because you were relentless. And now you're running away?" she frantically tried to stop him, hopping up from her chair as he walked towards the door. He hadn't packed yet, but then, he didn't really intend to. Leaving everything behind would be the perfect way to sever all ties. "Janette, I am over two thousand years old. It is far time that I retired," he stated bluntly, not once tearing his eyes from her beautiful face, hoping that she would see his resolve. He needed to get away from Nicholas. That was the only way that this disturbed relationship would come to an end. True, he could stay here and have Nicholas just avoid him as he always had, except with greater tenacity... But then... It wouldn't really be over. The dominator and the dominated would still be in business. It was sick. And it had to end. Now. He stepped out into the cold night once again, finally intent as to where he was going and what he was doing. "Lucien LaCroix, you are a coward!" she cried from behind him, stomping her stiletto heel into the ground so hard it snapped and broke off. He didn't turn to face her, knowing that if he did he would buckle as he did last time and go crawling back for forgiveness that he didn't deserve despite how much he desperately wanted it. But it didn't matter anymore. He was putting an end to Nicholas's eternal misery. Finally. ***** Nick sighed as he entered the precinct, fairly certain that he would get some backlash for disappearing last night without word. Glancing around he saw Tracy typing away at her desk, no doubt working on the report for the McKenzie case that he had abandoned her on. Her eyes were showing heavy bags, and if he was not mistaken, those were the very same clothes that she had been wearing last night. He heaved a world-weary breath as he removed his duster, running a hand through his hair in a show of apprehension. "Tracy," he said simply as he approached, his feet falling on the floor, soundless and predatory. She jumped, practically flying out of her chair in surprise. "Nick!" she exclaimed, and despite the obvious caffeine running through her veins there was a certain tiredness to her. "I didn't think you'd be coming in today, I already booked you off." "Oh," was all Nick could think of to say as he sat down heavily in his chair, amazed that he hadn't received some sort of verbal lashing. No Captain Reese rushing out to say that partners shouldn't just flee the crime scene with no word. No nothing. "I've taken care of everything. The case is a wrap-up. Mr. McKenzie did a full, on-the-record confession. I notified the girl's parents, got the coroner's reports, typed up all the forms... God, pardon me while I fall asleep..." she exclaimed with a horrific yawn as she flopped down onto her desk. Nick was astounded. Not one mention of how he'd abandoned her, and she had completely finished everything up... "But... Why?" he questioned, barely able to find his voice. Tracy let out a long sigh. "Nick, you may not like me as much as you did Detective Schanke, Hell, you may even hate me for all I know, but it was obvious to me that you were unwell last night. And you're just the type of machismo guy to not admit it when you're feeling under the weather. I figured you just couldn't handle it. Consider it forgotten, I won't ever mention that you got sick at a crime-scene." The mention of Schanke dredged up some painful memories, but he couldn't help but notice how much concern Tracy was showing for him. And he also couldn't help but notice how uncertain she seemed to feel about his professional feelings towards her. An old partner's shoes were always difficult ones to fill. Perhaps he'd misjudged her. "I'm sorry," he began sincerely. "I... that case just hit a little too close to home for me." It wasn't a lie. It also wasn't the total truth either. He didn't feel the need to mention that the close to home part had only happened a mere days before. Tracy's eyes widened and he suddenly regretted adding that last part. She didn't need to know. She had enough of her own problems with her _own_ father. "Too close to... Oh my God, Nick..." she whispered as the pieces finally fell together. "Oh my God, I'm sorry... I didn't know..." Her hands flew to her mouth and she shook her head. "It's all right, Tracy. No one knows," he said simply, still not believing that he'd opened up to her, even that little bit of cryptic interchange. And all at once he began to get a little uncomfortable. "Listen, uh, Tracy, Mr. McKenzie is being held in lockup, right? I'd like to speak with him." Tracy nodded mutely, her face pale with shock, but he didn't have the strength to comfort her now. She was a strong woman, she would deal with it quickly enough. And he didn't need another pair of sympathetic eyes looking at him with horror. He got up quickly, leaving her behind him sitting silently at her desk, and walked down to the lockup. It was dark, as usual, with a lone heavyset guard sitting in a chair at the end of the walkway. There was only one prisoner there at the time. McKenzie. "Detective Knight!" the guard cried out cheerfully. "What can I do you for?" he said, his rosy cheeks almost smiling for him as he stood. "As soon as you give me the keys, you can leave," Nick stated bluntly, impressing his will upon the gregarious guard, feeling his heartbeat thump in his ears until it almost felt like his own. Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump... "I... can..." the man said slowly, beginning to repeat Nick's words as if they were his own, as if in a trace. He then shook his head. "Right, well, I'll just go grab a cup of coffee. See you later," he said with a dazed look of utter confusion on his face, and he shook his head several times as he handed over his keys and slowly walked out. Nick turned. McKenzie was looking at him. "How did you do that?" he asked in amazement, his eyes wide. And yet, he wasn't frightened. Nick could sense no fear in him whatsoever, his mortal heartbeat remained steady and unfailing, his breathing even and relaxed. Nick shrugged as he let himself inside the cell that housed McKenzie and sat down next to the man, hoping feigned ignorance was the best tactic. "I just... I wanted to talk to you," he stated simply. McKenzie shrugged in a similar gesture to what Nick had just performed. "Why? I'm guilty. Case closed, I thought..." he said absently, his voice housing a small hint of sadness as he ran his hands through his rich brown hair. Nick sighed. "This isn't about the case, I just... I wanted to know why?" he asked hesitantly. "Because I wanted to hurt her." Nick stared at the man in disbelief, shocked that he was so open. McKenzie took a deep breath and continued. "Elise was my life, she was _everything_ to me. I did everything I possibly could to let her know that she was the most important thing in the world to me," he stated softly, taking a deep breath as if attempting to cleanse his lungs. "And then she left me, said I was smothering her..." Nick felt his stomach twist in disgust. Here was a man who claimed to be regretful and it almost sounded like he was going to blame it all on... "Don't get me wrong, I don't blame her. I've come to realize that I _was_ smothering her. But... when she did that... I was just. so. angry!" McKenzie exclaimed with a sob. Nick closed his eyes. Play it cool, Nick. Don't you dare get too involved... You just wanted a straight up answer, don't judge yet. McKenzie turned to Nick. "Have you ever been so angry and so in love that you couldn't think straight? That you just _HAD_ to get what you wanted?" he asked, his voice penetrating through Nick's outer shell of cold indifference. Nick's eyes widened in surprise. This man had hit him right on the mark. "Yeah, yeah I can relate to that..." he whispered softly as he looked downwards at the floor in shame, unable to stop himself from thinking about all the times his terrible temper had gotten him into a busload of trouble. They didn't call him 'The Knightmare' for nothing. McKenzie nodded eagerly at him in response. "You lose control a lot too?" he asked curiously, his voice wavering. It was as if McKenzie had actually wondered if he was alone in that respect, and wanted to know if someone out there was like him. Nick blinked against the blinding pain of the memory, it felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. Hard. "God, yes... Sometimes I feel..." "Like you want to hurt everyone around you and damn the consequences," McKenzie finished for him. <"Don't you run away from me, boy!" LaCroix cried, a sudden hard edge to his voice, but he immediately softened. "I'm... I'm sorry... I didn't mean..."> Nick cringed at the memory. He'd been too wrapped up in himself to notice the sincerity in his sire's voice... "And then you do and you feel terrible afterwards," Nick continued the sentence with a heavy sigh. He knew that guilt well, it was quite a good friend of his. McKenzie nodded. "Yes. Yes, precisely. You do understand... You're not all that different from me..." he stated in amazement, obviously startled that he found someone who could so easily relate to him. Yes. Yes, I believe I do. Nick cringed yet again. LaCroix had come to him looking for genuine forgiveness. He cared. He really cared. And Nick had shut him out, sent him away, thinking it was all some ploy to keep him in the fold. God, what had he done? LaCroix had sounded so strange when he'd said goodbye, but at the time it hadn't made sense. LaCroix... _LACROIX_ had apologized _TO HIM_. He'd apologized to him for the very first time in his life and Nick had shot him down like there was no tomorrow. It made sense that he would've been a little distraught over that. A _little_ distraught? Try delusional... It had been rather final... Like he wasn't intending to ever return. Like it really, honestly, truly, was not an attempt at trickery. Like it really, honestly, truly, was really, honestly, true. What, are you crazy? Of COURSE it was a damn ploy. And the sincerity was fake too. It always has been before. Don't let what this man said sway you, even if you can relate to it so much you think it's a goddamn relative. Don't! That's what makes you weak, you fool! You INVITE these instances of pain because you always go crawling back to him. Back to HIM. Don't fall for it AGAIN! No. No, not this time, I think it was real. It had to have been... But is it because you want it to be real or because it truly was real? Why is it that you always find some way to go crawling back to him on your hands and knees like a goddamn beggar? Why? Do you need his approval so badly that you're willing to undergo that violation again? Do you NEED the pain that he gives you? WHY, DAMMIT?! Because... Because WHY?! It was real... I don't care if it was real. TELL ME WHY, YOU WEAK, COWERING FOOL! Because... WHY?! Yes. Yes, I believe I do. Because, I love him. Despite all of the things he's done to me, I care for him as if he were my own father... "Um, Detective Knight? Are you all right?" Nick shook his head, somewhat disoriented. He'd forgotten that he'd been sitting in the jail cell along with Mr. McKenzie all this time. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Thanks for talking with me, I needed that..." he replied hurriedly. McKenzie nodded quietly as Nick got up and let himself out of the cell. But the minute he left the lock up, he knew something was wrong. _She_ was there. Waiting for him at his desk in her usual black leather, Tracy staring at her strangely. "Janette, what are you doing here?" he asked quietly as he approached, not heeding Tracy's questioning eyes. "He is leaving. Tonight," Janette replied softly, hopping deftly off of his desk and onto her leather booted feet as he came up to her. It hit him like a slap in the face. "Why?" he asked, but he knew why. He didn't need to hear it from Janette to know it was true. "He thinks that you hate him." Nick nodded. It was understandable. LaCroix had every reason to think so. And the fact that those feelings had been allowed to fester probably didn't help. "Do you?" Janette asked softly, her eyebrows raised in perfect arcs. "No, Janette. I don't," he said as he grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. He had to find him, to tell him the truth. That even if he wasn't totally forgiven yet, he certainly wasn't hated... "Where did he go?" "I don't know. I cannot sense him anymore, and he didn't tell me. You will have to use your link..." Nick nodded, still ignoring Tracy's silent questioning, and left quickly. The minute he was out the door he was into the cold night air, utilizing one of the few lessons LaCroix had ever taught him. ***** "Flight 424, direct to Heathrow is in the final boarding stages. All stand-by passengers please approach the gate..." LaCroix sighed as the overly cheerful announcer came on the comm. God, what he wouldn't give for the past, when people were friendly because they simply were, and not because the phrase 'Have a nice day' had been minted into their paycheck... He shuddered and stood, noting sadly that he was the only person left in the terminal. Stand-by. That was him. He gathered the few of his belongings that he had with him and made his way towards the gate, bundling his heavy black coat around him in an attempt to warm the coldness that was seeping through his bones. But he knew it wouldn't work. "LaCroix, wait!" The voice was frantic, desperate even. It took him less than a second to realize that it was Nicholas... LaCroix whirled around on the balls of his feet as he heard his name being called. Nicholas was running down the wide expanse of hallways, barreling through what few people there were milling about in an effort to reach him before he departed. He watched silently as his child came to a stop in front of him, narrowing his eyes as he waited for Nicholas to compose himself. "Don't leave, LaCroix..." It was funny. The request was simple enough, and yet as much as his heart leapt at hearing those words, he knew in his mind that it simply wouldn't work. He would have to leave. "Nicholas, you've already asked that of me once this week, and look where it has taken us..." Nicholas took a deep, unnecessary breath. "Look, LaCroix, I know what I said before... I was wrong. Don't leave. I mean it this time," he said seriously, his eyes unwavering, containing none of the cold expressionlessness that they had shown him before. He laughed bitterly, a small hopeless sound even to his own ears. And it surprised him. How had he grown to be so cynical in such a short time? "No you don't, Nicholas. You know that you don't..." he said softly, turning towards the boarding gate once again. "This is the last call for Flight 424..." He attempted to take a step towards the gate, but Nicholas grabbed his shoulder and roughly spun him back around. "LaCroix, what the Hell do you want me to do, beg?" His son was annoyed now, that he could tell. No. No, I don't want you to beg. I want you to let me go. Just like I have finally done for you. That is what you've always wanted, isn't it? ISN'T IT? That was what LaCroix thought, but he failed to say it for some reason. He couldn't. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, surprised at how overwhelming this all was. He could acutely smell Nicholas's aftershave, silently taunting him with its familiarity. "Nicholas, please, I need to go..." he requested softly, gently removing Nicholas's hands from his own, broad shoulders. "Well I don't want you to!" Nicholas cried harshly, and LaCroix could easily detect the pain underlying his tone. Pain that _he_ was causing. "Nicholas, I _cannot_ stay!" he replied just as forcefully. Why did this have to be so hard? Why did Nicholas have to make it even harder? It was obvious to him what had to be done, why couldn't Nicholas see that? He turned again to leave. He would not address this again. He had to go. Now. But I want to stay! Well you're not going to. But he's asking me to stay... Too bad. It's too late. Leave. "NO!" LaCroix sputtered in shock as he found himself on the ground, flung there mercilessly by what was supposed to be his obedient protigi... "I am NOT letting you leave!" Nicholas cried as he slammed his clenched fist into LaCroix's cheek. He was shocked. The slow trickle of blood down his cheek was like a reality check and he was on his feet defending himself immediately. "Nicholas, you will NOT tell me what to do!" he cried, shoving his son backwards and punching him in the stomach with a swift crack, the heavy rings on his fingers leaving what was sure to be some very ugly, bruised dents in what was normally flawless pale skin. "Security!" LaCroix barely heard what was going on around him, completely ignoring the lone individual who went running past to get help. Nicholas went down gasping for breath, but was only deterred for a moment. With a heaving grunt, his son was up on his feet, ramming into him like a rutting bull. Pain ripped through his back as he was flung backwards into the terminal benches, but he paid it no mind as he swung his foot out and stopped Nicholas's charge with a boot to the gut. But as Nicholas rolled backwards to avoid the blow, his fingers grabbed the lapels of LaCroix coat and flipped him over top of him. There was little LaCroix could do to regain his balance, and suddenly Nicholas was on top of him, pummeling his stomach and his chest and his face and any other exposed part he could get his hands on. "Did you think I hated you? Did you think that you could just leave me behind to rot in your wake!? Well I won't have it, you're going to _STAY_!" Nicholas cried. LaCroix could only moan, the blood flowing freely from a gash above his eye was practically blinding him. A uniformed officer was pulling frantically at Nicholas, trying to pry him away, but he wasn't budging. "I want you to stay, damn it!" His syllables were each accentuated with a hard blow to the face. LaCroix choked back on the blood that was oozing from his busted lip. "Nich... Nicholas..." he grunted, in pain. He couldn't fight back, Nicholas had him completely pinned, had him completely at his mercy. And for some reason... a part of him was smiling. Well done, Nicholas... "I want you to stay, I want you to stay!" It was like a mantra now, a lost child crying steadily that he wasn't afraid of the dark, but only because he was... "Sir, please, break it up!" the officer was threatening, still attempting to pull Nicholas off of him without hurting anyone. Nicholas's fist rammed into his jaw like it was a cold steak, a piece of meat that was there for the sole purpose of him beating the crap out of it. "I want you to stay!" "I WANT you to STAY!" "I WANT YOU TO STAY!" "DAMN YOU!" "DAMN YOU FOR MAKING ME WANT YOU TO STAY!" The anger was pouring out of Nicholas strong and hard now, like a bursting hose, so much that he was shaking more than he was hitting now. Despite the pain, despite it all, LaCroix smiled. Nicholas was finally getting his catharsis. Good for you, Nicholas. Good for you... And then, all at once, Nicholas's weight was thrown off of him with a heavy thud. His son let out a small cry as the security guard's night stick impacted with his ribs with a horribly loud whack, and he tried to get to his feet. Wrong move. LaCroix watched from the floor with a lethargic sense of peace as the officer misinterpreted the move as an attempt at aggression. Nicholas heavily fell to the floor as the night stick again impacted with him, this time in the small of his back. The officer stuck a knee heavily where he had just struck, restraining Nicholas while he roughly applied handcuffs to him. "Sir, sir are you all right?" There was another guard there suddenly, asking him with a concerned voice if he was okay. LaCroix nodded as he swayed to his feet and Nicholas was roughly pulled to his. "I am arresting you for assault and resisting arrest. It is my duty to inform you that you have the right..." Nicholas growled, spitting the blood that had welled in his mouth to the tiled floor in disgust. "Shut up, I know my rights, I'm a police officer with the 96th Division of greater Toronto," he spat nastily, barely in control of his temper, but when he turned to LaCroix his face softened. "If you leave, I'll hunt you down and kill you..." he said harshly, quite contradictory to his expression. But as the officer wrenched him away, LaCroix could detect a hint of a smile, and he couldn't help but feel proud. Good for you, Nicholas. Good for you... "Sir, if you'll come with me, we'll escort you to the local police station..." the second officer said as he handed him a handkerchief to wipe away some of the blood spilling from his face. "Do you have any idea how this got started?" LaCroix nodded. He knew, although he knew the police could be spared the sordid details of the whole ordeal. Which, sadly, was most of them. "Will you be pressing charges, sir?" "No, no I don't think so," LaCroix said as he tended to his broken face, watching quietly as Nicholas was taken away, swearing with more words than he thought possibly defined in the English language. He couldn't help but smile at that. Nicholas had certainly gotten riled up about this. And he had every right. Good for you, Nicholas... ***** "I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS! COULD SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT THE HELL MY BEST DETECTIVE IS DOING IN LOCKUP FOR ASSAULT AND RESISTING ARREST, OF ALL THINGS? SOMEONE GET ME A )#$^& ADVIL! SONOFABITCH THIS WATER COOLER STILL DOESN'T WORK, OH WILL SOMEONE PLEASE FIND ME A PAIN RELIEVER..." Nick cringed as he heard Captain Reese's voice ripping through the air like a saw blade, surprised that it had even carried this far, all the way down into lockup from somewhere out in the bullpen. He could just picture the blood vessel popping out of his Captain's forehead, dancing on his temples like some exotically writhing snake. Groaning, he placed his head in his hands. Somehow, LaCroix had 'convinced' the police officers who had apprehended him to truck him to his own precinct rather than the local one in Missagua. And to be honest, he couldn't figure out if that was for punishment or relief. Punishment probably... Granted, the normal assumption would be that he would get more lenient treatment here since they knew him, but upon listening to Reese yell, he was beginning to sorely doubt that... Nick closed his eyes, unable to stop the dread that was overcoming him. He couldn't believe he'd done what he'd done. Going with the intent of bringing LaCroix back with him for a serious talk and then ending up jumping him and beating him to a bloody pulp had not been on his list of things to do... It was odd, though. He felt better than he had in days. Like all the anger and hurt he'd been housing for the last eight centuries had been lifted from his shoulders. "A-HEM!" Nick looked upwards, and there standing outside his cell with the key dangling from his chubby fingers, was Reese, glaring silently. If there was ever a time when Nick knew he was in for it, now was it... He didn't think he'd ever live this one down. Reese was going to kill him... Granted, he'd been in trouble with the law before, a fugitive even, but that hadn't been the same... Well okay, it was kind of the same, but this felt a whole lot different... At least Cohen hadn't yelled at him, and most of the precinct figured he was innocent from the start. Now he was definitely, totally, one-hundred percent guilty. And Reese knew it... "Uh, hi Cap," he said hopefully, a slight, and very fake grin plastered across his face. Oh please, oh please don't give me a reprimand... Don't suspend me... "Do you perhaps feel like telling me what the Hell happened, that made you feel like suddenly attacking an innocent man, and then IGNORING the police officer who tried to pry you off him to the point where you had to be beaten to the floor?" Reese asked with a snort. Nick looked down at the floor. No. Not really. Besides, it's not like he could say, "Yeah sorry, familial conflict, it's been going on for centuries, no biggie..." Reese grunted, his temper barely in check. "I didn't think so. Do you even feel like giving me one good reason why I shouldn't suspend you for the rest of your life?" "Captain, I..." Nick started, but Reese interrupted him before he could even begin rattling off meaningless excuses and pleas. "Nick, you're damn lucky this man has not pressed charges. You're free to go, but if you ever do something like this again I'm going to nail your ass in traffic for the rest of your natural life," Reese said coldly as he unlocked to door to his cell. "Thanks," Nick said sheepishly as he pushed past him, infinitely relieved that he didn't face any formal reprimands or charges. "And Nick?" Nick turned back towards his very displeased Captain. "If you ever cuss out a fellow police officer again I'm going to have you hung out to dry, I don't care if you're the best damned detective I've ever seen, I will demote you to building maintenance! As it is now, I recommend that you take tomorrow off," Reese exclaimed sternly. Nick nodded and departed quickly, wisely fleeing his wrath. He'd gotten off pretty damn lucky, and he knew it. Even the notorious 'Knightmare' was not immune to suspensions... The minute he was in the bullpen, it was dead quiet. Every one was staring at him. It felt rather disconcerting, and he was sure that he would've blushed if he were capable. "Nick, my God, I heard what happened and I came straight here..." Natalie came running towards him, grabbing him into a tight embrace which he couldn't have refused even if he'd tried. He couldn't remember the last time she'd shown such incredible desperation and worry for him, and certainly never enough to do this in the very center of the whole precinct with such a large audience... "Are you all right, he didn't hurt you did he?" she mumbled softly into his neck, ignoring the whispering coworkers, the money changing hands, everything except for him. She was gripping him tightly, and although she was trying to be subtle about it, he could tell she was checking him for injuries. Her fingers were running skillfully underneath his coat, pressing here and there feeling for broken bones and whatnot, but she hid it well under the guise of a slightly gropey embrace. It was immediately obvious she'd gotten the wrong idea about this whole thing, but he couldn't blame her for jumping to conclusions. She'd probably only heard that Nick had gotten into a brawl with 'that radio guy'. Not that Nick himself had actually started it, an act about which Nick was still shaking his head upon, still wondering what on Earth had ever possessed him to take on LaCroix in a fight _willingly_. If it had been anywhere else, LaCroix probably would've clocked him good, but under mortal surveillance he'd been limited to mortal speed. "Don't worry, Nat. I'm fine. In fact, I'm more than fine, I'm the one who started..." his words trailed off when he saw who was at his desk, looking terribly out of place and yet he was there all the same. LaCroix was there, standing humbly by Nick's desk, fiddling haphazardly with a stapler while he was waiting. He was watching them, and despite his attempts to hide it, Nick detected just a small flicker of... something flash across his master's face. Nick didn't want to risk that something being anger... He'd already paid dearly enough for his master's temper over the whole Fleur issue, he didn't want to pay again, and he _especially_ didn't want Nat to pay. "Nat..." he whispered hoarsely and pushed her away from him, eliciting a new flurry of hushed whispers rushing through the crowd like quiet thunder and a small whimper from her. It angered him that he couldn't explain to her what was going on, but after last Valentine's Day and what happened because of it just recently... Oh, it made him shudder just thinking about it. "Nick?" she looked up at him, her large blue eyes filled with hurt, not knowing why he'd released her. "Why?..." she asked, until she looked at where Nick was staring. He was staring at _HIM_. Grabbing the lapels of Nick's duster, she pulled him back towards her. "No, Nick. Don't you go to him, you stay away from him..." she started commanding him, whispering harshly in his ear, the anger very apparent in her voice, but for some reason he simply couldn't tear his eyes away from his master. LaCroix had waited for him. He'd really waited... His master looked up at him. "Nicholas," he said softly, looking down towards the floor as he said it. His tone was neutral, but his expression was far from. Natalie yanked on him again, trying to drag him forcefully out of the precinct, but he continued to stare, still unable to get over the amazement that LaCroix was still there. "Don't do it, don't you do it, Nick..." she was whispering frantically, genuine fear for him in her eyes. She knew what he was planning on doing, she just didn't know why yet. "Shh, Nat," he whispered, turning and giving her a quick platonic kiss on the cheek, not daring anything else in front of LaCroix. "It's all right, it's all right, I'll explain later," he assured her calmly. When she saw that he was serious, she relaxed somewhat, and although she didn't look very happy about the situation, she released his coat. He smiled slightly and turned away from her shocked expression, towards his desk. "LaCroix," he answered just as softly, trying to gauge his master's state of mind. Was he angry? Upset? He didn't look it, but Nick doubted he'd get off with LaCroix as lightly as he'd gotten off with Reese. "We need to talk." "Yes, we do." And surprisingly, LaCroix grabbed him in a tight embrace and silently, yet regally, led him out the door, past everyone's curious and penetrating stares, past Natalie, and into the night. ***** "It's better now... I'm not as hungry as I was before," Nick exclaimed softly as he stared down at his goblet of blood wine. He looked back up at LaCroix, but his master only nodded slightly in response, otherwise providing no reaction. The silence was deafening as LaCroix and Nick stared each other down, Nick sitting opposite LaCroix across the coffee table in the center of his very dreary loft. It was funny, but now that they were there, ready to finally set some stuff out on the table for them to work with, neither knew what to say. LaCroix chuckled nervously. "You know, Nicholas, generally the concept of talking implies that the parties involved verbalize their feelings..." Nick tentatively smiled back, but said nothing. There was nothing he could think of to say. Nothing at all. The seconds ticked by into an hour and they just sat there. Staring. In fact, Nick couldn't remember the last time he'd been in his sire's presence without some violent act occurring between them. It was kind of... refreshing. And then all at once the dam opened for both of them. "Nicholas... I..." "LaCroix are you _REALLY_ sorry?" They both began at the same time, both stopping together when they realized the other was speaking. "You first," Nick offered softly. He'd already said a lot today, albeit while he was pummeling LaCroix into the ground, but he'd said it nonetheless. "Nicholas, there is something that I need to know," LaCroix began hesitantly after several false starts, his mouth opening and closing but with no sound emanating from his lips. "I need... I..." he tried and tried to get it out but it just wasn't coming, and Nick sat astonished. He'd never, EVER seen LaCroix at such a loss for words. "I need to know if you stay with me because you like being hurt..." LaCroix finally managed to utter, obviously fearful of what the response was going to be. Nick sighed. He'd asked himself that numerous times, during many long debates with himself and his inner beast. 'Well, do you?' his mind seemed to be asking him. And to be honest, "LaCroix, I honestly don't know. I've tried to answer that question myself. I do seem to have a passion for pain, don't I?" he asked softly, looking down at his hands, the floor, anywhere but LaCroix. LaCroix nodded and said nothing in response. Nick took a deep breath. "But, LaCroix, even if that is one of the reasons I stick around it's a very small reason. I've come to realize over the last day or two, that I love you like my own father, even despite the fact that a lot of times you make me so angry I want to throttle you into the next century," he said with a bitter laugh. It sounded like something out of a bad talk show. A demented relationship at best. But then he saw how hopefully LaCroix was looking at him. At how shocked his sire was by his admission. He took a deep breath and continued before he lost his nerve. "Look, LaCroix, I'm not ready to forgive you for what happened, but I am ready to start trying, if you're really sorry. Are you really sorry, LaCroix? Or was it all another plot?" There. He'd asked. Under civilized circumstances, when neither one of them was at the other's throat. It was his best chance at getting an honest answer, even if it was an answer he didn't want to hear. He closed his eyes, mentally steeling himself for what his master was about to say. Strange, how one answer had the power to change his life completely, either by making one of the world's longest, most strange relationships just a tad more sane, or by ripping it to pieces in the blink of an eye. "Nicholas, I have never been more sorry in my life. In fact, I don't think I've ever been sorry at all until now..." LaCroix answered quietly, a catch in his voice at the utterance of his son's name. Nick sighed in relief. He had been right. LaCroix was sorry. But... Something still wasn't letting him accept the peace offering for what it was. It was just... "Prove it," he found himself stating bluntly, as if his mouth had a mind of its own. LaCroix closed his eyes briefly, and Nick was practically thrown backwards in shock as the waves of mental energy hit him like a physical slap. LaCroix had opened the link between them completely, something he'd never done before. Emotions that were LaCroix's flooded Nick's mind, almost as if they were his own, and Nick was sure vice versa was also true. He gasped. *Now close it,* LaCroix stated simply. Except he hadn't said it, per se. He'd thought it. Nick was overwhelmed. The intensity, it was... it was too much. His balance wavered, and his torso rocked about like a punching bag as he managed to whisper, "I can't... you never taught me how." *I'm teaching you now. Close it.* Nick panted, not able to control the onslaught. It wasn't painful, really, just... imposing, suffocating. Probably like how someone who was claustrophobic felt in an elevator full of people. "I... I don't know... how," he said between forceful, heaving gasps, collapsing on the couch underneath the nonexistent and yet insurmountable pressure. *Think of it like a door. Just reach for the handle, and close it. It's not as hard as you're making it, Nicholas, although it will take practice...* Nick tried to focus, he really did... Bloody sweat was pouring down his brow from the effort of thinking under the onslaught. *I'm not going to close it for you, Nicholas. You need to do it yourself...* He fell onto the floor. Okay. I've got the damn door, check. It's right there... Close! CLOSE, YOU STUPID PIECE OF WOOD! He cried out, this time in genuine pain, convulsing on the floor, writhing as the link threatened to snake around and strangle him. Oh please, close... Closeclosecloseclose... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH! The voices were overwhelming him as LaCroix's memories threatened to superimpose on top of his own. *Nicholas, it doesn't have to be painful, you can control the flow... Like a faucet, just change the volume of material you're receiving. You will learn in time. Now close it!* "I'm TRYING to bloody close it!" he screamed through gritted teeth as he writhed on the floor like a landed fish. It felt like claws were ripping apart his flesh and tearing it to shreds, only to let it heal again and start all over. Door. Nick, think of a door. Please, close... Damn, but he was shoving really hard on that virtual door, grunting with the physical and yet nonphysical effort it took and it just wasn't budging. Closecloseclosecloseclosecloseclose closeclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclose closeclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclose closeclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclosecloseclose CLOSE! And all of the sudden the link was silent. Nothing was coming through, and he lay there panting on the floor, feeling like he'd just done the Tour de France on a tricycle. "Okay, I'm convinced," he whispered hoarsely from the floor, trying to find the strength to get up but unable to even lift a hand let alone his entire body. "We will continue this lesson tomorrow after you've rested," LaCroix stated simply, getting up from his chair and peering over Nicholas's prone form with some visible concern. "Wonderful," Nicholas commented sarcastically as sweat from his brow dripped into his eyes. Every muscle in his body was refusing to listen to his brain's stern commands. He couldn't move. Hell, he could barely think. "Just warn me next time you're going to open the flood gates or I just might drown next time..." he groaned as a splitting headache started to develop, his words only partially kidding. And suddenly, he was up in the air, being held in LaCroix's strong arms. "Indeed," his sire responded in a whisper, caressing Nick's brow softly with a free hand as he carried him upstairs to bed. Nick accepted LaCroix's aid gratefully, and was very soon sinking into the mattress like it was quicksand. "Thanks," he whispered as LaCroix drew the black silk sheet over top of him. LaCroix smiled in response, but said nothing, silently turning to leave Nick to sleep in peace. But at the last moment, his hands gripping the door frame firmly, he turned back as an afterthought struck him. "Nicholas?" "Yeah?" Nick asked sleepily, not bothering to open his eyes. "You are free from your debt. Pursue Dr. Lambert as you wish," he said softly, and then he was gone in the blink of an eye and a small gust of air. Nick smiled. "I think I just may do that..." he whispered, to no one in particular. FINIS Diane Harris (aria5@vt.edu)