Out of the Ashes

Subject: For Archive: "Out of the Ashes" Part One (Nick/LaCroix)
Date: Wed, 20 Jan 1999 10:58:37 +0000
From: elfin <maddyh@redac.co.uk>
Organization: Z-R R&D Centre
To: stormborn@prodigy.net, LadyLC@ibx.net
disclaimers....
Set after "Ashes To Ashes", with one change; Vachon was attacked, but saved from death (read on...!) .... well why not, I like Vachon!
Oh, and "Human Factor" never happened! (It was all in Nick's imagination or something - afterall, that's the only feasible explanation, surely?!)
With *many*, *many* hugs and thanks to Fenris and Amie for beta reading, and to Pfyre for always being there.
Out of the Ashes
by elfin

*Prologue*
** flashback : September 7th - Vachon's Residence **
        The moment Reese told him where his partner had gone, Nick had known. He had raced to the church in time to watch Vachon hurl himself onto the stake in Tracy's hand. The wood buried itself deep and Nick knew then he did not have long. No longer caring what Tracy thought, determined that Divia was not going to claim another life, he flew down the stairs, and pulled the vampire away from his mortal friend.
        Tracy fought him as hard as she could, grief-stricken as she was, until the futility of her fight became clear. Nick pushed Vachon back against the heavy wooden seat and wrapped his fingers around the stake that protruded from his chest. Behind him, Tracy was crying, begging him to
help Vachon and to leave him alone at the same time. Nick ignored her, placing his foot on the right side of Vachon's chest and pulling at the wood with all his strength. The stake held at first, but then gave up its hold on Vachon's body and soul. Nick pulled it out and flung it behind him. At once, the Spaniard opened his eyes, violent red flares clear behind the lids, angry fire at being betrayed, being denied his right to die at last.
        Immediately his brain was flooded by memories not his own, images of blood, visions of pain. Nick ripped his own wrist open on his extended fangs and seating himself in front of the other vampire, he held his wrist to Vachon's mouth. Instantly he was bitten, fangs sinking into his flesh. Nick pulled on old skills, pouring himself into his blood in the hope that it would defeat whatever Divia had done. He had heard of this, of ancient vampires having the ability to put memories into the
minds of other vampires. It had been done to him once, but with LaCroix there to feed him the healing elixir of his master's blood, the false memories were easily erased. He hoped that he could do the same for Vachon, despite there being no blood connection between them.
        Hesitantly, Tracy stepped up to the two of them, staring at her partner as if she was seeing him for the first time. "Nick...?" He looked up from Vachon's face, smiling briefly.
        "In a minute," he rasped out. "Is there any blood around here?"
        Tracy stammered out "yes" and moved off to find a bottle. When she returned, Nick had pulled his wrist away from the other vampire and was watching him intently, brushing his thumb over Vachon's temple, murmuring to him in the Spaniard's native language. "Javier, find yourself, push away the memories, they are not yours."
        "Nick." Tracy pushed the bottle into his hand.
        "Thank you." He pulled out the cork with his teeth and gulped down half the bottle in one breath. His attention returned to Vachon, who was starting to come back to himself.
        "Nick...." Vachon turned his head toward his saviour, weakly opening his eyes. "I can't get rid of them."
        "You have to," Nick placed his palm at the far side of the other's head, gently stroking his hair back over his ear, trying to comfort and reassure. "These memories have been put into your mind but you can beat them, you have to gather them together and push them away. You have to
beat this."
        Vachon gripped his fingers around Nick's wrist, his dark eyes begging his friend to make it all stop. Nick nodded, ready to try anything. He waited until he heard Vachon's single heartbeat and picked up on it, holding it in his mind, locking their gazes as his thumb kept up a gentle rhythmic stroking at the vampire's temple. In a low, gentle tone, Nick spoke to Vachon's conscious mind, backing up his blood with deep hypnosis. "Javier, listen to me. You're seeing LaCroix kill
another vampire, decapitating her. You're getting a sense of mother, father and child, confusing images of a fight that happened a very long time ago. These memories do not belong to you, you will forget. You will push all these memories to the back of your mind and leave them there. Do you understand me?"
        Vachon nodded slowly. "I... understand."
        Nick kept their gazes locked for a moment longer before he moved his fingers across Vachon's face and closed his eyes gently.
        "Why the hell didn't you tell me?!" Nick started, turning to his furious partner standing behind him. "I can't believe it! Both of you.... I feel like such a fool!"
        Nick sat back, guiltily catching Tracy's stunned expression. Where the hell did he start?
        "Why did you never tell me?" she asked again. "Why did he never tell me? You both know each other, you both know me."
        Nick regarded her with an expression that simply said, 'who knows?'. "Trace, I'm sorry. The more of us you know, the more dangerous it is for you."
        Tracy glared at him for a moment before turning to Vachon. "What have you done to him?"
        "I'm hoping that I've made him forget." Nick gently pushed the vampire's long black hair from his neck and was relieved to see the deep wounds Divia had inflicted were healing finally. "I'm hoping I've saved his life."
        Tracy sat down hard on the battered sofa. Her fear and grief for Vachon, his attempted suicide, and Nick's sudden appearance and revelation had all been too much for one night. Blinking tears from her eyes, she finally settled her gaze on Vachon. "Who did this to him?"
        Carefully Nick told her, "You don't need to know that. Believe me, you don't want to know."
        She glared at him for a moment, before accepting his words. Later, when she felt less like her world had turned inside out, she would ask the questions lining up in her mind. Quietly, she murmured, "I would really appreciate it if we could stop dancing around each other now."
*****
*Part One - The Phoenix*
** flashback : September 7th (later that night) - The Raven **
        ...LaCroix stared at the body of his daughter on the floor of the raven. Kneeling beside her, he found her hand against the wooden floor and took it within his own. Behind him, he could feel Nicholas, and reaching out with his mind he could almost taste the fear and pain that had flowed through his son at Divia's attack. Why had he not felt it before?
        He turned as Nicholas crouched down beside him, and his eyes must have told his son everything, for Nicholas was suddenly hugging his father, his arms winding around the ancient's neck, needing to be close. LaCroix released Divia's hand and wrapped his distraught son in a tight embrace. Nicholas had at least had the hope that he would be in time to save LaCroix. LaCroix had believed Nicholas dead. Both vampires held on to one another as silent tears slid down Nick's face.
        LaCroix brought his hand up to comb his fingers through Nicholas' hair, silently hushing him through their bond. To see his son standing there as Divia fell had been the greatest relief of his long life. If some miracle had occurred to return his child to him, he would thank whichever deity appeared to claim responsibility. To hold Nicholas in his arms now, to know that it was all over and that those who lived now still had eternity, was the greatest gift. Whatever war raged between
them, to know that Nicholas was still alive would from now on be enough. He had come so very close to losing him for eternity.

** present day - September 13th - Nick's loft **
        Nick stood in the darkness, gazing into the liquid flames at his feet, sipping at the ruby bloodwine in his glass. His mind was elsewhere, emerged in memories of different times and different places; memories of Lucien LaCroix. Hanging loosely from his fingers was a letter addressed to him, found on his kitchen table when he had finally returned home from a chaotic night. He wanted to shout and scream, to hurl the glass he held and the bottle from which he had filled it into the fiery grate at his feet, just to the hear the shattering - the pain in his heart given sound.
        This was how he had stood that night, barely a week ago, after leaving his father to cremate Divia in the strange calm of the scrap-yard. He had believed then that things were changing between himself and his demonic master. Maybe LaCroix was not quite the cold, unfeeling figure Nick had long perceived him to be. Maybe there was a soul, nourished by that scant heartbeat, still residing in the stone exterior the ancient vampire presented to the world in which he thrived. Yet, if that were
so, why had LaCroix done this? Why had he chosen this time to leave?
** flashback : September 8th (the early hours) - Nick's loft **
        Nick did not turn as the air was momentarily disturbed and his father stood before him. Nick looked up, his gaze gentle. "It's over. She's gone." Nick nodded, touching LaCroix's arm and squeezing tightly. The elder locked eyes with his son for a moment before turning his head. He
indicated Nick's glass. "Is that...?"
        A nod. "I'll get you one." Nicholas moved to the kitchen area and took another glass from the shelf and the bottle from the table. LaCroix had settled himself by the fireplace, sitting on the rug, gazing into the centre of the fire as if the answers he sought so desperately could be found there. Nick sat down opposite him, sliding the stem of a wine glass into his fingers. "She was beautiful, LaCroix."
        The elder nodded, turning his head from the one person left close to him; the closest one to him. "It's ironic, don't you think, Nicholas?" he whispered. "I betrayed Divia for asking for the one thing I used to force on my mortal enemies."
        Nicholas's eyes flickered closed for a moment. "It was different. She was your daughter."
        "Nicholas," LaCroix shook his head, almost smiling. "I was a general in one of the cruellest armies that ever walked on this damned earth. I took whoever I wanted whenever I wanted. Yet I could not find it within myself to take her, one who offered herself to me freely."
        "She was your flesh and blood, your family."
        Sighing in resignation, LaCroix looked at Nick with a suspicious expression. "Why this sudden wave of altruism towards me? Not that I am not grateful for you saving my life, but..."
        "...but you would not have been surprised if I had let her kill you before staking her?"
        LaCroix shifted his gaze into the fire. "Something like that."
        Nick shrugged with exaggerated pretence. "Maybe I wanted revenge for what she did to Urs and to Vachon. Maybe I could not stand by and watch her kill you. Maybe I did not want to lose you. I don't hate you, LaCroix. Not anymore."
        Silence shrouded them for a time as they sat close together on the rug, warmed by the open fire. Nick absently rubbed his hand down over his face and neck, where Divia had slashed and bitten him.
        "She told me that she had killed you, that you were dead." LaCroix finally spoke, his voice choked. "She had killed my friends, the club was utterly empty and I was sitting alone, yet... when she mentioned you, when she said that she had killed my son ... my world shattered. I could hardly comprehend what she was saying to me, but at that moment I did not care whether I lived or died as long as I took her to the grave with me."
        Touched by his father's words, Nick reached over to place his hand on LaCroix's arm. "She attacked me and left me. She assumed I was dead."
        LaCroix raised his on free hand and touched his son's face lightly, rubbing his thumb over the deep scratches whose marks were now barely visible, yet whose memory would live inside Nicholas' mind for a long time to come. "Did she hurt you badly?"
        Nick hesitated before nodding. "She slashed my face a couple of times, throwing me into the fire, inadvertently I think, but it burnt my arm. As I tried to get up she grabbed my head and bit into me. I could feel her thoughts flowing into my head, images from her vampire existence, memories of you killing her. But somehow I found I could override them, push them away. I think it helped to know, deep down, that it was an image that would never otherwise have been in my mind, that you would never do something like that to me." He caught LaCroix's icy gaze. "Did that sound conceited or what?" He smiled and elicited a small smile in response.
        "Maybe, but it is true." LaCroix sipped at his drink. "You have been very supportive through this difficult time, Nicholas. I owe you much for that."
        "No. I didn't do any of it so that you would owe me. I do care about you, whether you believe it or not. We've been so much closer recently. And no one deserves to be punished for a crime he did not commit."
        "Nicholas, I did..." Nick quickly pressed the tips of his fingers to LaCroix's lips, the gesture surprising the elder into silence.
        "Don't. Whatever, it's over. We lost friends who were dear to us, we are lucky to still have each other." He moved his hand, taking a sip of his drink. "Divia hurt you, she hurt a lot of people. Now it's all over, and you're free."
        The care and understanding in his son's voice touched LaCroix deeply. He gazed into the deep blue eyes that regarded him steadily and felt, for the first time in centuries, that he would cry. "I..." he tore his gaze from the other. "I should return to the club before sunrise."
        Nick dropped his hand from LaCroix's shoulder down his arm, maintaining the physical contact that was so comforting to them both. "No. Stay here today. I'll go back to the Raven with you this evening and help you to start clearing up."
        "Are you sure?" LaCroix really did not wish to return to the scene of his daughter's death quite yet, and he did not relish the prospect of spending the day alone in the silent emptiness of the club.
        "Yes. I... I don't want to be alone either. Just having you here would be good. If you think we can spend so many hours in the same place without yelling at one another...."
        LaCroix chuckled softly. Slowly, he covered Nick's hand with his own. "I think, under the circumstances, we could manage."
        Both felt the sunrise a little later, and Nick closed the blinds against the fatal rays. "I'm going to get some sleep, Lucien. If you'd like to take the bed..."
        LaCroix raised his hand. "No, you've been too kind already. The couch will be more than fine."
        Nicholas nodded, too tired to argue. He finished his drink and put down his glass, taking his master's hand. "If you need me, you only have to call."
        "Thank you."
        Nick held the cool hand for a little while longer, and then rose to his feet. "Good night, Lucien."
        At the rare use of his chosen first name, LaCroix reached for Nicholas' hand again, grasping it for a moment before finally letting go. "Sleep well, Nicholas."
        The elder watched his son climb the stairs. Only when Nick had disappeared from view did he drop his face into his hands and let his tears flow silently. His emotions had been yanked to the surface through the hours of the last two nights; from Urs's early-evening story of headless children, to the fire in the scrap yard that consumed his own daughter's body. Through it all as everyone had deserted him Nicholas had been by his side, listening, caring, offering whatever help he could and, finally, surviving Divia's attack on him and saving his master's life. He had watched as a stake was plunged through his creator's heart and the relief he had felt at seeing his Nicholas standing over him had been immeasurable.
        He could hear Divia's words in his mind still, telling him that Nicholas was dead, that she had killed him. He could feel the remnants of the anger and sorrow that had surged through him. It took time, but his tears subsided slowly. If he listened carefully he could hear the slow, shallow breaths of his sleeping son, and the gentle sound warmed his stony heart. For a time he sat staring into the flames before he rose to make himself comfortable on the couch. He was not going to sleep well, but there would be no nightmares either.
** present day : September 13th - Nick's loft **
        "My Dear Nicholas,
                How do I begin? For eight hundred years I have sought to possess you, to own and to guide you with a master's hand. Divia told me that she killed the one who made her because he tried to shape her in his own image. What right had I to be surprised when you tried to kill me? I should have expected you to turn upon me, moreover I should have learnt my lesson early, from the one who was meant to be my teacher, the one I believed I had taken from the world.
                Time after time I inflicted pain upon you - my only son - in ways physical and emotional. Even the harsh lessons taught me by my master were not enough to override the Roman general within me. I imagined you my slave, as you so rightly pointed out, and never saw you for the
bright spirit that needed so desperately to be free. Had I but released you when you loved me, I know you would never have left my side. I was selfish, wanting to embrace my golden angel to me and never allow another to take that which I so treasured.
                I did not see the suffocation of your soul until it was too late. Can you ever forgive me? Is it too late to ask?"
** flashback : September 8th (evening) - Nick's loft **
        Nick woke suddenly, the images fading quickly from his mind when he opened his eyes. Dressed in his black silk pyjamas, he wondered downstairs for breakfast. LaCroix was already awake, standing in front of a couple of his paintings. The one of the sun had been put back on
its stand. "Good evening, LaCroix," Nick greeted him lightly as he made his way to the fridge and grabbed a bottle, preferring to uncork it and drink it straight. He stepped up to his master, feeling his way after the tragedy and closeness of the early morning hours.
        "Nicholas." LaCroix turned. "These are very good."
        "Thank you." He smiled in slight embarrassment at his work. "I did have some very good tutors." Nick let his gaze fall onto the paintings as silence stretched between them. He felt LaCroix's hand on his upper arm as his father stepped passed him to walk to the still-shuttered window.
        "I have been thinking about what you said last night," the elder started, "about my now being free after Divia's death."
        Nick took a step toward LaCroix, tilting his head in apology. "LaCroix, I didn't mean...."
        But his father raised his hand. "Please, let me finish. This is not easy...." Nick nodded. "If it hadn't been for you last night, I wouldn't be here. After everything that I've done to you, you still
saved my life and I owe you for that." Nick obviously wanted to talk, but a gesture for silence stilled him. "I will give you what you've wanted for so long. I will make arrangements to leave Toronto as soon as possible. I will hand the club over to you, you may do with it what you wish. You will not hear from me again unless you actively seek me out, I give you my word on that. I will let you go, Nicholas."
        Nick stared at his father, unable to string together enough words to make a sentence. He could do nothing but shake his head. A moment later he was standing in front of LaCroix, grasping his father's arms. "No, LaCroix, I won't let you do this to us."
        The elder regarded his son with confusion. "I thought... you've wanted this for so long."
        "I wanted it when you were hurting me. I wanted it when you were killing to get my attention. I wanted it when you were mocking me and everything I was. But recently we've become closer, haven't we? I thought we were finally starting to work things out?" The desperate hurt in his son's voice surprised and distressed LaCroix. He put down his glass, hesitantly placing his large hands on Nick's shoulders.
        "I'm sorry, Nicholas, I did not mean to hurt you or offend you, not this time. I just wanted to give you your wish, to show some appreciation for what you did for me, for your support last night."
        "Find some other way, please." Nick's grasp had become stronger, and the expression on LaCroix's face was slowly changing.
        "I don't understand."
        Nick shook his head. "Just.... Just accept. Don't let me go now, I've only just found you again."
        Stunned at his son's sudden outburst, LaCroix wrapped his arms around Nicholas even as he was hugged. "Are you sure?"
        "Yes. Father." Fighting the surge of emotion, LaCroix tightened his hold.
        "Mon fils. If that is what you want, I will be here for you. And I will endeavour to be a little more understanding and patient with you."
        Nicholas merely nodded. Whatever their future brought, he hoped neither of them would forget this.
** present day : September 13th - Nick's loft **
                "Despite all that has happened recently between us, all you perceived of me in the light shed by Divia's appearance - a strange light for us both - I know that I am making the right decision. You asked me not to let you go, but that is not what you truly desire, my Nicholas. You love too hard and care to much. You give everyone a piece of yourself until you have precious little left. I do not wish to take the last shreds of your soul. I owe you much, this is the only repayment that can possibly measure up to all you have done for me these past days.
                I love you, Nicholas. If ever you doubted that, doubt it no longer. I know that someday our paths will cross again, but I will no longer lay claim to that which is free. I will never forget and ask only that you spare me a thought, touch our bond when the moment takes you. I am bound to you for eternity, that I will never change. Your obligation to me is at an end. Forever is no more.
                Your father, your friend,
                        Lucien LaCroix "
** flashback : September 8th - The Raven **
        LaCroix unlocked the door of the club and pushed it open, mentally preparing himself for what awaited them. From behind, he felt his son gently reassuring him, opening himself slightly to the bond he shared with his father, a bond that had been one-way for a long time. They stepped into the Raven together, and stopped as the door closed behind them.
        A sudden rush of emotion overcame Nick when he thought of Urs. She had been around for only just over a year, but she would be missed, especially around the club. He was just glad that he had got to Vachon in time.
        LaCroix ran his fingers gently down his son's arm, bringing him back to the present. "Nicholas, are you all right?"
        Nick turned and smiled, nodding. "It's a little difficult, that's all."
        "I know. We do this together, yes?"
        "Yes."
        They walked slowly down the steps to the dance floor. There was glass covering the floor from the devastated bar and the smashed window of the CERK broadcast booth. In amongst the debris was the scythe blade Divia had been ready to swing at LaCroix, and the stake that Nick had finally
killed her with. LaCroix crouched down in the shards, fingering the ancient, rusted blade. "I decapitated her with this." Nick dropped his hand to LaCroix's shoulder, squeezing gently. "I loved her so much when we were mortal, when she was my daughter and nothing more." He sighed,
standing, holding the scythe in both hands. "It isn't too often that you hear me lamenting our state, is it? You know, Divia told me that she killed her master for trying to mould her in his image. The very
same thing I then did to you, the exact reason you tried to kill me." He turned to gaze at his son. "You would think I'd have known better, wouldn't you? Would have thought that I could have listened to her and heard her, learnt the lesson her master learnt."
        "LaCroix." The softness of Nick's tone brought tentative ray of light into the blackness of his heavy hert. "Stop this. You're only hurting yourself. This isn't the time to deal with our problems. We both have blame in what has passed between us, but 'us' is not what this is about. We have to get over this and move on, LaCroix, you know there is no choice for us in that. How often have you told me to let things go? The past has already happened, even we cannot change it."
        LaCroix felt an overwhelming urge to grab his son and hold him tight. He would never have believed Nicholas capable of turning all those things he, as his master, had said back at him. Yet he knew everything his child said to him was true. He did have to let go. He stepped away from Nick, comforted simply by his son's close presence. He placed the blade on the edge of the bar. "You saved Vachon, didn't you?"
        "I repressed the memories Divia left him with. I couldn't lose him too, LaCroix."
        The elder nodded, unwilling to rib his son over his rather questionable relationship with the Spaniard. Still, he caught Nick's gaze and held it, hoping his son would answer the silent query that hung between them. Nick gazed into the watery depths of those eyes that were so familiar to him. He knew what LaCroix wanted. The days that he and Vachon had spent together had been born of desperation; Vachon had fallen in love with Tracy and her constant proximity to him, the trust with which she stayed around him and her obvious feelings for him, all combined to drive him infrequently nuts. As for Nick, he had lost his source of release when Janette had left town and spending so much time around mortals drove him to a need for release more often than he would have liked. He had considered getting to know Urs better on many occasions but he was always unsure of Vachon's relationship with her and had long ago decided not to push the issue. Besides, he had not wanted to start anything serious, and Vachon was anything but serious. He had gone to the church one night on a whim when everything in his life was hell....
        Vachon apologetically said that he had nothing to offer Nick in the way of non-human vintage, but Nick dismissed his concerns with a wave of his hand. "Whatever you've got."
        Nodding with some surprise, Vachon pulled a bottle from a nearby cardboard box and poured two goblets, handing one to the other vampire before crashing down onto the old couch. "You here on business?"
        Nick shook his head, then added that he should probably be somewhere on business. As the silence stretched between them it became obvious that Nick's usual mortal play-acting had ceased, at least for the time. Vachon began to watch with interest the vampire that was slowly emerging.
        Finally, Vachon broke the shrouding quiet by asking Nick what was wrong. Usually a private person around the Spaniard, Nick surprised himself by starting to talk. "Nothing. Everything. I've had a really awful week."
        "Tell me." Vachon's tone was softer than he had intended, yet he did nothing to cut the initial threads of a seduction. Sipping at the blood in his glass, Nick immediately felt the intrinsic strength and warmth flood through him. He started to explain how on the previous Monday evening someone had shot him in the head, blowing away a sizeable piece of skull, mashing his brain and shattering his memory. He had woken in hospital not knowing who or what he was. Nat, in her own wisdom, had
decided not to tell Nick that he was a vampire and so he had proceeded to go walkabout outside in the early morning sunshine.
        As he talked, Vachon's sudden, surprising stab of sympathy for his strange friend permeated the space between them, drawing them closer.
        Nick trailed off, staring into the ruby liquid under his nose. Only when Vachon prompted him, did he resume his monologue, cataloguing the numerous events and feelings that had subsequently shaken the foundations of his current, almost mortal incarnation.
        As Nick spoke of his going to see LaCroix, to ask the ancient to fill in the details of his long existence, one he had not then remembered, Vachon shifted across the sofa to curl into the corner nearest the chair Nick was straddling. Nick continued to confusedly speak of his father's gentle handling of him while his memory had been lost, thinking aloud more than actually telling the tale, knowing this was the stem of his upset. Upon finishing with a flourish of 'whatever the hell he's up to,
I wish for once he would allow me the luxury of maintaining my dignity', Nick drained his glass and looked up, across at his listener. In those dark Spanish eyes he saw the flames of desire and within his belly felt an answering flare.
        Vachon swallowed loud enough to wake the rats. He saw, at that moment, the imaginary Nick Knight vanish, leaving only the pure molten spirit of Nicholas De Brabant, proud knight and lusty crusader. His gaze locked with Nick's and a moment later he pushed his fingers into the soft blond
hair of his friend. Nick momentarily wavered, but made no movement away from Vachon's gesture, almost ready to surrender himself to the offer burning in the other vampire's steady gaze.
        In the minutes of silence that followed, only Vachon's voice was heard to say, "It can't be good for local law enforcement to have two forced celibates on a single team." Smiling, shaking his head, Nick ridded himself and Vachon of their glasses, and in the next moment the two vampires came crashing together, Nick winding his arms around Vachon's neck as Vachon pulled him back onto the couch. The blond straddled the dark as their mouths met in a fierce kiss of tongues and fangs....
        "We use each other as substitutes, now and again." Nick told LaCroix finally. "He wants someone he can't have - a mortal. And when Janette left Toronto I lost more than someone to talk to." LaCroix nodded, accepting Nick's explanation, it was basically what he had suspected was
going on. But it was nice to hear it from Nicholas himself.
        "I'm glad you revert to the ways of your kind on occasions, mon fils." His tone remained gentle, he had neither the strength nor the inclination to torment his son further.
        Nick crossed to the bar where his father stood, half turned from him. "LaCroix." He slipped his lithe body between the two, leaning on the polished wood, minding the shards of glass that littered the place. He looked up to meet the elder's harsh gaze; although LaCroix was trying to soften it. "LaCroix, I can't make you any promises." The ancient vampire raised his hand to grasp his son's shoulder.
        "It is enough that you're here, Nicholas." Nick covered his father's hand with his own, wrapping his finger's around the others'. For a moment they stood together, each finding a peace in the other's eyes and nearness that was long overdue to them. Only when they were both smiling did they return to the task at hand.
***
        One thing that was immediately obvious was the need for a glazier. The bar needed restocking completely, as well as cleaning up and LaCroix wanted the beer fridge changed. Nick made the required phone calls after ringing in sick to work. Luckily Tracy had answered the phone and she had not asked for an explanation. Nick told her that he would be off and unavailable until further notice. This unusual cavalier attitude toward his law enforcement career had surprised LaCroix, but
the elder had said nothing. Nick booked cleaners, stocks for the bar and a new window for the CERK broadcast booth, all to come later that afternoon. This time of year it got dark early, thus making their lives a lot easier. All they could do now was wait in each other's company.
        Nick was the one to raid the wine cellar, choosing several bottles of wine-laced blood. LaCroix took a shower and changed, returning to the main club dressed, but bare-footed, to find his son sitting up on the bar, sipping from a crystal goblet. There was a second full glass on the bar. The elder watched from the doorway for a moment as Nicholas sat staring into space. He had almost forgotten how beautiful his son was; somehow he always got caught up in their bickering, and never saw passed his latest irritation with his errant child. Nick turned his head and bestowed a stunning smile on his father. 'My sunlight', LaCroix thought as he remembered a time seven centuries ago when those particular smiles of Nicholas' were kept just for him. They had been so close once. He regretted losing that.
        LaCroix crossed to the bar and climbed up next to where Nick was sitting cross-legged, picking up the glass left poured for him. "We could go up to your rooms if you would feel more comfortable," Nick murmured.
        "No. Thank you, but I feel that I should stay here... a wake perhaps."
        Nick would never have believed that he could ache for LaCroix, but this vulnerable side of his father was something he had not witnessed before. They had spent eight centuries hurting one another, yet in all that time he had been the only one to ever hurt LaCroix. He had imagined his father impervious to everything, with a heart of stone. But Divia had revealed a chink in LaCroix's armour, showed Nick a way to get close to his father without having to give in to the constant
pressure LaCroix placed him under. LaCroix's offer to let Nick go had finally opened his eyes both to LaCroix's devastation and to his own need for the protection and safety his father offered him
unconditionally.
        "It's finished," Nick whispered. "Let it go."
        LaCroix nodded, sipping at the bloodwine. "I've lived almost two thousand years with the certainty that I killed my own master. Yet all that time she was waiting, aware, knowing that her time would come and that she would have her revenge. Her brief life spanned longer than you can imagine."
        "And you wish things had been different."
        LaCroix tilted his head to give Nick a sideways look. "No. If I had done as she asked back then my life now would be empty, I'm sure of that. Instead I've had everything I could have had out of the centuries. And I have two... beautiful children." Nick mirrored LaCroix's humour-filled smile. The sensations of closeness and warmth coursing through him, born of this new accord with his sire, were so like those he had experienced after coming to see LaCroix the night after the shooting. Then it had been he who had needed comfort and reassurance, the strength and stability his of master's presence. Now it was LaCroix's turn to need that reassurance, and Nick found himself all too willing to give it.
        Nick placed his hand on his father's arm. "You've always told me not to dwell on tragedy."
        LaCroix glanced at his son's hand on him but said nothing, merely nodded, taking a long drink from his glass. His eyes played over the devastation on the floor in front of the broadcast booth, watching the lights play in the shattered glass. "I used to think about her, in my more quiet moments, when you were going through one of your more rebellious episodes. I used to wonder how it might have been if ... if she had been different. You and Janette could always - can always - turn to me in times of need, whatever is between us. Yet when we are warring I have no one to turn to. In that respect, I missed her presence. Last night I stood there and watched her die, I ignored her pleas to me...." It seemed to Nick that LaCroix spoke the final words only to himself, but his master turned his head to face him once more. "Strange that it took Divia's attempted murder of us both to bring about this peace between us, don't you think?"
        "Maybe. Maybe anything less would not have brought on this miracle." LaCroix's expression creased at Nick's choice of phrase, but he did not comment, simply returned his attention to the shards scattered across the dance floor.
        After a short while, Nick slipped his hand down LaCroix's arm in a smooth stroke. He longed now, as he had the moment Divia had torn into his face, for the safe refuge of his father's embrace. And he ached to give LaCroix that which he silently asked for; his son's allegiance to him, a support system that would not fail even during times of war between them. Nick knew LaCroix would soon get over this; two thousand years of living - or surviving - could not be stopped by the evil of one
being, no matter how strong the emotional ties. LaCroix would return to his usual frame of mind soon enough and Nick could but hope that this accord would carry through. With only slight hesitation, he slid his hand over LaCroix's wrist and under until their palms were pressed together; he pushed his fingers up between the long pale digits of his father's hand and entwined them, holding gently.
        LaCroix looked down suddenly, and then at Nicholas who had moved closer to his side. His curious expression asked all the right questions, yet Nick chose not to answer any of them.
        When Nicholas had first been born to LaCroix, he had been unsure of what his new father expected of him. He satisfied Janette, obeying every one of her commands, indulging every one of her fantasies, ensuring he did not disappoint her. LaCroix's lessons began early on, his master teaching him to feed, to kill and to dispose of the bodies; he taught him to control the gift of flight and the curse of the hunger. Nick remembered with warmth the nights spent following LaCroix's voice in his mind, tracking his father through the catacombs of Paris. They had been close. LaCroix had loved Nick then and never stopped loving; the unconditional love of a parent. That time had been
many centuries ago.
        As LaCroix stared at him, Nick smiled and lifted his father's hand with his own. Meeting LaCroix's questioning eyes, he lowered his head and touched his lips to LaCroix's ring. Without warning, LaCroix flew from the bar, landing with a muffled crunch as several pieces of glass cut
into his bare feet. Nick caught the scent of blood in the scant seconds before the wounds closed. His eyes though remained their usual deep blue as he watched LaCroix stare back at him. "Why did you do that?"
        Nick smiled uneasily. "Because I wanted to, I wanted to ... to confirm what's happening to us. To reaffirm my promise to you."
        "After all this time?" LaCroix's voice had an edge of discomfort Nick could not understand.
        "After all that has happened, Lucien." Baring his soul to his master was difficult enough but LaCroix's reaction was starting to scare him. "I thought...."
        LaCroix knew it was wrong, but his anger at his son had flared at his words. "You thought what?" He spat harshly.
        "I just wanted to." The words came as a hushed whisper.
        "You wanted to? How long have you pushed me away for, Nicholas? How long have I spent needing you, coming to you only to be turned away?" He came forward again, treading again on the glass shards. "I gave you everything and you turned your back on me." He stepped up to the bar,
facing Nick as the younger vampire shifted back slightly out of a natural need for survival. "Now, in the face of this, now after you've been hurt and scared you come running back to me!" Nick shrunk back from the anger in his father's tone and words. "Maybe I don't want you now, maybe I don't want to be here for your petty fears any longer."
        "Stop it!" Close to tears, Nick stopped moving away. "Stop hurting me. I've been through enough recently. We both have." The steady tone of his voice, despite the emotion etched in his features, surprised LaCroix into silence. Nick slipped from the bar, his shoes crunching the glass beneath. He took several steps away from the other vampire before turning back. When he spoke again his voice had lost some of the desperate emotion, his words becoming almost a plea. "Look at us. We can't even stay civil to one another for a couple of hours! Why is that? Tell me. Tell me why you hate me so much."
        Nick's final words had brought LaCroix to his knees. He thought that if only his son knew that he alone had the ability to break him, Nicholas would have freed himself centuries ago. The elder stared at his beautiful child standing a few feet away, waiting for an answer. Finally he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Nicholas. I... I'm tired and hungry. Every time I close my eyes I still see Divia lying on the floor with the stake through her, calling for me."
        "Is that why you're turning me away now?" Nick's question was no more than a breath. "Because I staked her, and held you from her?"
        Unable to speak, LaCroix shook his head, needing a few moments to really comprehend what Nick's words truly meant. "You saved my life," he said eventually. "You gave me back much of what Divia tried to take away. You saved Vachon's life. You recovered yourself and returned to
me. I can't hate you, Nicholas, I've never hated you. You are my heart and my soul. You're my son. I love you and you'd know that if you thought about it, if you read what I lay freely open to you."
        After a few moments of thought, Nick reached out his hand, and a heartbeat later LaCroix took it. They stood like that in silence as for the first time in centuries, Nick willingly and without coercion dropped all his mental barriers against the link between them. Usually the trickle of thoughts and feelings that linked father and son left Nick with just an imprint of his master's presence whenever he was close by. The sudden barrage of emotion that flooded him was almost too much, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to dampen the input to his mind before it overwhelmed him; finding at last a comfortable medium. Without opening his eyes, he murmured, "I can feel you."
        It was too much for LaCroix. His own personal emotional roller-coaster had been running on perilous tracks for too long. Blood-tears streamed down his face as Nicholas opened to him. He welcomed his son into his mind; what was now a confused presence, a mass of jumbled thoughts and
emotions, would soon calm and settle, leaving a light that the elder knew would cradle him as he had always done for Nicholas. His voice cracked as he confirmed what Nick was feeling. Images ran uncontrolled through his mind, recent memories unfocused yet clear to the ancient. He saw Vachon fighting for his life, felt Nick's desperate fear that the Spaniard would not make it, sensed Dr Lambert's concern that Nick would end up as Urs had, felt her touch on his cheek.... Then Divia, //"Don't take it personally, but you are LaCroix's son. Your death will be the final blow."// He experienced Nick's sudden fear, panic and the agony that poured in as his face was torn, his arm was burnt and her fangs finally piercing his neck, screaming, screaming.... A desperate, clawing fight to survive... pushing the images away, not mine... hers... she has left me with this.... LaCroix, God.... LaCroix will be next.... I have to fight this, have to get up... have to get her out of my mind....
        The whiplash of the final violation of his son forced a low moan from LaCroix's throat as he slowly fell to his knees. He covered his face with his hands, too tired to even start to sort through which thoughts were his and which belonged to Nicholas.... It did not matter. They were each other. They were one now as they had not been in such a long time. This was what Nicholas was, this was what he had to accept.
        Nick opened his eyes and saw suddenly what he was doing. He forced all his mental barriers back in place, an action born of sheer habit, practised in self-defence and now used to save his sire the pain he himself had been put through. He knelt in front of LaCroix, gathering his father into his arms even as he cried out from the sudden mental loss of his son. The elder struggled, fighting that which would hold him back from his child, yet when he could not shake the embrace he opened his reddened eyes to look deep into Nicholas' blue ones. "Come back, please. Don't go. I don't want to lose you again."
        "Ssh," Nick tightened his arms, pulling his father's trembling body against him, trying to calm. "I'll drop the blocks when you're ready, and I'll do it more slowly next time."
        "Please, Nicholas." But LaCroix's struggles were fading as his whole being sank into the comfort being offered.
        "Ssh." Nick kissed his father's head reverently. "I'm here. It's okay to let go once in a while. You're not made of stone. However you see yourself I know you better than that." The glass cut into them both as they knelt, pressed together. Yet neither felt nothing more than a tiny irritant and neither had the inclination to move for a while. "You once told me that all you ever wanted was companionship. I believe that it's only recently that I've found out what that means to us. For a
vampire to be alone, to be cut off from others of his kind, is to deny what he is. And with that denial comes hopelessness, starvation of the spirit, loss of the what we have. I can't deny that any more than I can fully embrace it. But you've been here for me so often recently, now I'm here for you."
        The echo of Nick's soft words hung between them as LaCroix pulled himself together. Only when the mingling scents of their blood began to attract Nick's attention did he release his hold and rise to his feet, taking LaCroix's hand in his as the elder also stood. They walked together over to the bar and sat up, shifting until they were sitting facing each other, cross-legged on the mahogany. Nick turned to reach for the bottle and glasses behind him and as he did so, he felt LaCroix touch his hair. He stilled as his father's fingers wove gently into his thick blond waves. "Je t'aime, Nichola."
        Nick's emotions flared, and after a long moment, he turned back and smiled. Taking his master's hand, he once more drew the long cool fingers to his lips. "If I do this, will you run again?"
        LaCroix shook his head once, and watched as Nicholas' full lips descended on the centre of his ancient ring. As the blond head lifted, LaCroix leaned in slowly, hesitantly, to meet his son's mouth with his own. It seemed like an age before Nicholas accepted the kiss, and he did so hesitantly. But very slowly it deepened, became an exploration for each. Surprised by LaCroix's action and his own reaction, Nick breathed in his father's scent, tasting that which he had not sampled in a long time. Gently, more in control than he had ever felt, Nick opened the link between them once more. He sensed almost immediately his father's gratefulness, his calming as their selves merged with one
another through the bond.
        LaCroix pushed his fingers up into Nicholas' hair, marvelling that such devastation could bring about a change as miraculous as the one he was caught up in. He welcomed Nicholas in to his mind as he was accepted into his son's. As Nick opened his mouth wider against LaCroix's, the ancient wound his arms around him, hugging him tight and close, wanting to laugh for joy as Nick returned the feral embrace. The elder vampire plunged into the other mouth, moaning deep in his throat as he cut his tongue on a protruding incisor.
        As they separated, LaCroix's blazing eyes met the gold-flecked gaze of his beautiful child. He brushed his knuckles gently over Nicholas' cheek, reading the flow of thoughts and emotions emanating from the young vampire before him. "What does this mean for us, Nicholas?"
        Nick blinked, his eyes returning to their natural gypsy blue. "To be honest with you, I don't know. All I can tell you for certain at the moment is that I ... I want to spend time with you, get to know you again. Anything else is going to take a little patience."
        LaCroix nodded. He had more now than he truly believed he would ever have. He had wanted Nicholas from the very beginning, yet nothing more than the sensual sharing of blood had ever occurred between them. As a general in the Emperor's armies he was used to taking that which he wanted, but Nicholas' devotion to him as a fledgling had always stopped him from taking, from raping his doe-eyed child. In later years, in the days and nights spent in each other's company, LaCroix was always either trying to bring his son back to him or hold him there; he would never
have risked alienating Nick further. But in his fantasies things were very different. If there was even a chance.... "We have all the time in the world, Nicholas."
** present day : September 13th - Nick's loft **
        Unheeding of the blood tears sliding silently down his face, Nick balled his fist, scrunching the letter in his hand. In his mind, his emotions were torn. His mental barriers had been ripped away that night in the Raven, opening the bond between father and son; a bond which was now screaming, crying for his sire to return, not to do this to him - to them. Yet the inner turmoil was visible only in the dark flames in his eyes. His body was perfectly still, heated by the fire. His life had come to the same, total stop. His mortal act was over.
** flashback : September 8th - The Raven **
        Janette allowed the doors to close behind her and leaned back against them, smiling as Nicholas and LaCroix broke from a long kiss of exploration to turn guiltily towards the door. Both of them leapt off the bar, smiling with joy as she flew to them, hugging them both at once.
        At this close range both male vampires seemed to Janette to be very emotional. It was so good to see them, to feel them. There had been so much pain in the last 48 hours, all transmitted to her in waves of fear and agony. She had been concerned about them both, and seeing them here together both calmed and worried her.
        "Janette!" Nick wrapped his arms around his sister, hugging her to him, breathing her in as she held him. When he let her go, LaCroix too embraced her.
        "I'm sorry to have brought you all this way, my dear."
        Janette leaned into the innate strength of her father for a moment before releasing him to regard them both. "I was so sure I would find one of you lost to me." She looked past them to the chaos of the club, realizing how close she came to being right. "What happened here?"
        Not wishing to relive his nightmare, LaCroix left his children alone to talk and retired to the back rooms to make some phone calls. Yet once he sat down at his desk his eyes strayed not to his organiser, but to the photograph he kept there. An recent one taken only last year, at the Christmas party Urs had persuaded him to throw at the club. It had been one of Nicholas' happier nights, and Urs had taken the photo of him at the bar. He was resting his arms on the mahogany, his chin on the
back of his hands, his stunning, almost mischievous smile aimed straight at the camera. In a moment LaCroix relived what had passed between them only minutes ago. And he thought back to another memory, to just over a year ago when he had had to tell an already distraught Nicholas that his
one release - his Janette - had left too....
        ....His heart went out to Nicholas as a tear fell from his son's eye to the bar. Hesitantly, keeping in mind his son's reactions to any physical contact he had previously tried to initiate, LaCroix placed his hand on his beloved child's shoulder. "It was her time, Nicholas."
        "She left me." Nick's heartbroken whisper cut LaCroix deeply. "I need her now."
        "I'm sorry, mon petit."
        "I killed Schank."
        LaCroix very subtly tightened his grip. "Non, mon cher, you did not kill your friend. Mortals shorten their own tiny lives, they hurt each other and they have hurt you. I hate to feel such pain emanating from you. I know Janette would... help you, ease your suffering." He opened his hand and moved his palm across Nick's back and shoulders, rubbing lightly. "I wish you would allow me to, but I know you won't."
        Nicholas looked up at him then, swiped at his tears with the back of his hand, and painfully asked his father why he lived to mock him.
        LaCroix felt the stab of emotion as if it were a stake through his heart. "I do not mock you this time, mon fils." He tried to explain. "I can see - sense - the hurt inside you. Whatever you think of me, I am still your father and I do still care for you, love you."
        Nicholas was obviously a little comforted by his father's gentle tone of voice and carefully chosen words. Both were unexpected but far from unwelcome. "Will you be here for me?" he asked quietly, privately. "Will you yell at me, turn from me if I come to you for help?"
        LaCroix moved his hand across his son's shoulders and around his neck, his touch gentle and unthreatening. "No. I will be here."
        Nick hesitated before reaching up to touch and then clutch his father's hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, LaCroix."...
        Janette gazed at the shattered glass, not really seeing it. "Our... grandmother?"
        "In a manner of speaking."
        She looked up at Nick. "What was she like?"
        "Vicious. Angry."
        "And you killed her."
        Nick's smile held a touch of irony. "I didn't have too much choice. She was about to stake our sire."
        Janette rose gracefully to her feet. "Not so long ago, Nichola, you would have let her. Only a couple of years ago you did it yourself."
        "A lot has changed, Janette."
        "So I see, mon amour." She smiled mischievously. "I do hope this is a ... mutual arrangement."
        Nick smiled, "As yet it is not an 'arrangement'." Janette raised a gloved hand to Nick's cheek. "But I would like to stay in Toronto, and I would like LaCroix to stay with me." Nick could feel the amused thrum in his link with Janette, a link quieter and more vague than the blood link he had with LaCroix but still open to strong emotion. "I know, I know. Old habits... but I feel so much now, Janette, so much I need to release, to experience, to know. And we both understand enough to know that only LaCroix can do this for me."
        "And what do you offer him, Nichola?"
        "Myself. What he has always wanted."
** present day : September 13th - Nick's loft **
        Nick picked up the phone and dialled the number that the past had etched into his memory. After a couple of rings, a blissfully knowledgeable voice answered the call. "Nicholas, I do hope you
remember the rules...."
        "Aristotle, tell me where he is and I'll leave the shish-kebab stakes at home."
** flashback : September 11th - The Raven **
        Nick had not been sure how long it would take for the club's regular patrons to return to their favourite haunt. But word in the community travelled fast, and when the doors of the Raven opened for the first time in three nights, a huge crowd began to pour inside. The young vampire stood at his father's side, proud to be there as the Nightcrawler started his first broadcast since Divia's guest appearance on the show four nights previously.
        LaCroix felt his son's hand on the back of his neck as he spoke into the mic. "Some say, gentle listeners, that when a man gets old, he stops listening to any but himself. They say that a man of many years may cease to see the beauty in the world surrounding us, and instead know only its pain. I spoke to you once of the cruellest of evils; a child taken by the darkness. Now I speak to you about the brightest of lights; a child who stands under the stars and still brings sunshine." The ancient felt his son's joy in his mind and sought to lose himself in it. "So tonight, my children, I dedicate this show, this broadcast, and my eternal devotion to my own child of light. And I ask you to call in only if your darkness has been finally, irrevocably illuminated." He moaned softly as Nick's lips brushed the back of his neck. "The Nightcrawler is once again here to listen."
        Vachon drifted in with the crowd, looking around for Nick. The club held many memories for him, good and tragic. His thoughts turned to Urs for a moment, his stark grief returning suddenly, bringing a tear to his eye before he could regain his control. He had felt Urs' death, although at the time his own state of mind had not enabled him to truly acknowledge his loss. Now though he could feel the pull in his heart. He still could only guess at who the little girl had been. He knew only that LaCroix had decapitated her after they had fought, and that he was partially responsible for Urs no longer being with them. Yet the temporary closure of the club, Nick's absence from work and the silence of the Nightcrawler had all served to convince him that LaCroix had not been without pain in this matter.
        He searched the club with his intense gaze, looking for Nick amongst the pulsing crowd of mortals and vampires. His senses picked his friend out, and cautiously he moved down into the club until he could get a clear view of the CERK broadcast booth. He smiled wistfully as he watched Nick brush his fingers over the ancient vampire's cheek before leaving the booth and heading for the bar. Part of him was happy for Nick. His friend had been yearning for some change in his relationship with his sire since before he and Vachon had first laid hands on each other. Yet the Spaniard knew that now the change had come about, their own on-and-off relationship was at its end, at least for a while. LaCroix struck Vachon as the possessive type, especially where Nicholas
was concerned. He sighed softly, his eyes following the blond across the club the short distance. Nick was a stunning lover. Reserved in public, Vachon had discovered to his delight that in private he was outrageously adventurous. His body had been taken at its peak; muscled, smooth, firm and endlessly explorable. His arousal had a sandalwood scent that Vachon could catch in the church for days after one of their liaisons. And his blood... his blood was honey and wine; an intoxicating mix of light and dark, demon and angel.
        Nick thanked Miklos as he took the glasses. He jumped as Vachon dropped a hand to his shoulder. "You're far away."
        "Javier.... Let me just take this to LaCroix." Vachon nodded and ordered himself a glass of whatever Nick was having. He took a seat at the bar and only a moment later Nick returned, sitting close beside him. "How are you?"
        "I'm in your debt. You saved my life, Nick. I owe you one."
        Nick shook his head. "Have all the memories gone?"
        Vachon nodded. "Who was she?"
        "A relation." Nick finished his glass and Miklos poured him another on his way passed. "She attacked me and came after LaCroix."
        "Is she dead?"
        "Yes." Nick reached across to Vachon's arm. "I'm sorry for your loss, Javier."
        Vachon nodded. "Urs.... Did she die quickly?"
        Nick nodded. "Yes. But not without a fight."
        "I couldn't feel her. I felt her die, but.... When I came around Tracy was with me, but Urs wasn't. I knew for certain then." Vachon sighed softly. "All I could feel was you in my mind." He smiled, looking up at Nick. "I can still feel that you've been there. It's... a comfort."
        "It'll pass." Nick whispered, unsure if Vachon wanted his echo out of his mind or not.
        Vachon just nodded and picked up his glass, staring into the ruby liquid. "I take it this family crisis has stopped the war for a while?" There was a hint of regret in the otherwise steady tone.
        "I think so. I hope so." Nick knew there was a lot to be said between the two of them. He picked up his glass and motioned for Vachon to follow him as he headed out of the club into the back rooms. They passed the open lounge nearest to the club where only days ago Vachon
had woken with his Urs in his arms. As the wave of grief overwhelmed him, he felt something else, a soothing whisper in his mind. He looked up at Nick's back and realized some sort of bond - however temporary - had connected them. It was something of Nick that he still had left.
        Nick pushed open the door to the private apartment that was LaCroix's home. The lounge here had LaCroix's possessions on display. The room looked formal at a first glance, but the large sofa was more than comfortable, and between the various ornaments set out on the glass table nestled a couple of remotes, much like those in Nick's loft.
        Nick closed the door behind them and leaned back against it, watching as Vachon perched on the arm of the sofa.
        "I was so scared of losing you," Nick murmured.
        Vachon smiled gently. "You don't have to do this, Nick. You and I were good together. End of story. We're vampires, we fed each others' desires. You're not losing a friend over this."
        "Just a lover."
        "Only for as long as LaCroix keeps you reigned in." There was a grin in Vachon's voice, and it was mirrored on Nick's face.
        "Promise?"
        "Promise."
** present day : September 14th (evening) - Halifax, Nova Scotia **
        Long pale fingers picked up the photo and gazed at the mischievous blond angel pictured there. Cool finger tips brushed over the glass. "Mon Nichola...." The pain in the voice that uttered the low words was almost palpable. Slowly, LaCroix placed the frame down onto the table and sat heavily on the couch. He could not fault Aristotle's work in finding him a residence as quickly as he had. It was frightening how quickly one of their kind could leave behind one life to start another. Before now, he had never bothered with the formalities of moving around the globe. He went where he liked, when he liked, and always as Lucien LaCroix.
        But he had needed to move quickly this time, and knew Nicholas had used Aristotle's services many times in the past. He had known that if he had stayed to say goodbye, he would never have left. And he did have to leave. Nicholas still regarded him as a master, saw himself as the slave. This was the only way he could think of to change that perspective.
** flashback : September 11th (late night) - The Raven **
        LaCroix finished his broadcast and strode back into the main club with a feeling of happiness that he was unfamiliar with. He approached the bar for a fill-up, looking around for Nicholas. A second later the door to the back rooms opened and Vachon stepped out, with Nick in tow.
LaCroix's jealousy fired up immediately, and just as quickly he quashed it. He had no right to dictate his son's life any longer. Vachon was in front of him in a moment, and in a quiet voice he murmured,
"Appreciate him."
        LaCroix was still frowning at Vachon's retreating back when his son's body pressed closely up against his own. He turned into Nicholas' kiss. When he pulled back, Nick was glowing. "Jealousy never has become you, LaCroix." A mischievous grin spread over Nick's face as LaCroix took a moment to find for himself just how open their link was.
       "I'm ... sorry, Nicholas." But the blond vampire was smiling.
        "You mustn't be jealous of Vachon. We're friends, and I don't have that many friends."
        "And what of... the other aspect of your relationship?" LaCroix had asked before he had truly thought about his words, but again his son surprised him.
        "On hold. You're the most important person in my life. I wouldn't risk you for anyone or anything. Remember that."
        LaCroix could do nothing but stare. Finally he recovered his tongue. "I... would you like to stay the day, Nicholas? No... no pressure, no strings. I would just appreciate your company, as I have done often just recently."
        Nick smiled and nodded. To lie in his father's arms, to hold that strong body against him, to share blood with the immortal that made him - that was all the heaven he needed right now.
** present day : September 14th (evening) - Halifax, Nova Scotia **
        "I thought that the most painful thing you could ever do to me, was to kill my dog."
        LaCroix flew to his feet and spun round. Nicholas was standing in the open doorway, staring at his master accusingly. LaCroix's eyes widened. "How did you find me?" There was only amazement in his voice.
        "Aristotle is a friend."
        LaCroix's anger rose immediately, partly at being betrayed, partly because Nicholas was standing before him only days after he had made the painful decision to leave. "He's supposed to work under absolute secrecy." The elder's tone took on a slightly peeved edge. "All the times I've needed to know your whereabouts...."
        "Lucien. He had no choice." Reluctantly, LaCroix let it go. This wasn't about Aristotle. It had been a risk to use such a close friend of Nick's anyway. "I want to know why you left me."
        LaCroix was silent for a time. When he did speak, it was with quiet reverence. "Quite simply, Nicholas, I left because I love you too much to stay."
        Nicholas frowned, the level of his distress starting to show under his barely maintained facade. He stepped closer to his sire, vulnerability shining as a hollow light in his eyes. "There's never been a time when you've been far from me. Never a time when I haven't known in my heart that you would sooner or later be finding me, returning me to your family once more. Knowing over eight hundred years that you'd always be there, or somewhere close by, became habit; something to rely on as the
world around me continued to change." LaCroix watched his son side-step him and start to pace back and forth across the empty lounge. "If you're leaving me now because I bore you, because you have discovered something better to do with eternity than to chase me through time, then I accept your decision and I will never seek you out again." Nick stopped in his tracks and turned his head to gaze pleadingly at his master. "But if what you say is the truth, that you do love me and that is why you left, then I cannot accept it, and I cannot let you leave. I love you too. I know what I want now, I know where I will be happy and the friends I need to keep around me. I know I need you close by. I can't promise to give up my job or my mortal friends. But I can promise to start to reconcile myself with my nature, to try to accept what I am - what we are. And to search my soul for the feelings and needs I know I still have for you." As the emotional flood of words ceased, LaCroix
found himself incapable of speech. He stood staring at his child. "I know I should have told you all this earlier, and if I had thought for one moment that you would leave me I would have sat you down and made you listen. Please believe me."
        "Nicholas..."
        In a blur of motion the two vampires came together, embracing one another, murmuring silent reassurances that originated in centuries long dead. Outwardly, the only signs of the emotion within the reunion was the strength with which each held to the other. Yet silent caresses passed between them and as the need to be yet closer drove through them both, their vampire natures were freed and needle-sharp fangs penetrated. They sank to the floor, LaCroix's teeth descended into his son's neck, Nicholas' mouth locked to his father's throat. The love and need that sang in their mingling blood brought both to their knees, each drowning in the desperation of the other.
        Wrapped securely in the safety and presence of beloved family, Nicholas and Lucien drained one another, pulling blood in a circle that joined them, knowing that for days the blood in the other's veins would be from this expression of bloodlust and soul-sharing. LaCroix clutched Nicholas to him as he sank into that which was his precious son. For a long time they read the thoughts and dreams and emotions that passed between them. Fleeting images of age-old wars, long-dead lovers and the
connection that had bound them together eight hundred years ago, a connection that Nick was starting to believe could never be broken.
        When LaCroix finally pulled gently out of Nick's throat, his beloved soon doing the same, he brought his son's chin up so that their eyes met. 'Windows to the soul, indeed', LaCroix mused as Nicholas watched him. "We go from here as equals, Nicholas. You will always be my son, but not my slave. I never wanted that."
        Slowly, Nick reached around and clasped LaCroix's hand in his own, bringing the large silver ring to his lips. Softly, he kissed it. "Father, brother.... Lover?"
        LaCroix's eyes widened in surprise, and at Nick's soft smile, he moved their hands away to kiss his child's mouth with slow, deliberate tenderness. "Whatever you wish, Nicholas. Now, as ever, I am at your mercy."
***
        They had come back to the scrap-yard. Days before, they had stood here, watching over Divia's body before the flames and the wind had finally taken her from them. For LaCroix, his newly found accord with his son had started here. As Nicholas had bade him goodnight, the ancient had heard permission given for him to follow his son back to the loft.
        The two vampires stood side by side in the dim light of a vagrant's fire. "I thought all was lost that night. I thought our eternity was at an end. But that was not the end. And I found myself flailing, reaching out for a truth that no longer was as it had been."
        Nicholas turned to look at his father. "Everything changes, Lucien."
        LaCroix hesitated before nodding. "When something has been with you for two thousand years, accepting that change is difficult."
        Silently, Nick stepped behind his father, laying a hand on his shoulder. "We have time, Lucien. We have lots and lots of time."
        As they left the scrap-yard, the fire burned itself out behind them. A tendril of smoke curled upwards from the burning embers, reaching for the stars.
*end part one*
elfin
--
************************************************************************
+++ UF : NightHaven Founder : http://www.burble.com/jane/fk.htm +++
                                  ---
"I have seen stranger things in my time - men who walk through fire,
children born speaking long-dead languages... and Harry Houdini had
rather a nifty trick with handcuffs and a tank full of water." - LaCroix