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 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 .

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 . 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

Beg me, Nicholas. Beg me to stop...

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. Beg me, Nicholas. Beg me to stop...
It was _that_ voice. I can possess you totally The voice
that had hurt him. I OWN you! 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. I can possess you totally 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. I OWN you! 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. Do you have _any_ idea what
has just happened here tonight? 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 clichéd 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_? Do you have _any_ idea
what has just happened here tonight? 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
tête-à-tête 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.

Drink, Nicholas...

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...

Drink, Nicholas...

God, I want to so badly...

Drink, Nicholas...

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.

Drink, Nicholas...

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.

Please, Nicholas! I'm... sorry. For everything. Please,
believe me. Drink my blood. Heal. Know what I cannot say
with words!

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.

Do you have _any_ idea what has just happened here
tonight?

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?

Good-bye, Nicholas...

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_.

Please, Nicholas! I'm... sorry. For everything. Please,
believe me. Drink my blood. Heal. Know what I cannot say
with words!

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...

Good-bye, Nicholas...

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?

Do you have _any_ idea what has just happened here
tonight?

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 protégé... "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!"
CRACK! "I WANT you to STAY!" CRACK! "I WANT YOU TO
STAY!" CRACK!

"DAMN YOU!"

CRACK!

"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. Think of it like a door. 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...

!

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.



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