Modestly melancholy, maniacally melodramatic, and moderately 
maudlin, for which I tender my apologies.

Nick & Nat (m/f) showers, no rough stuff, and a little desperation.

* * * *
TO ERR IS HUMAN

a sequel to "Lead Us Not Into Temptation"

by Ophelia5


     The needle sliced through skin, once, then twice, then again.  
Despite the smells of stale blood, antiseptic, and that old-meat 
stench that always accompanied the bodies in the lab no matter 
how fresh they were, Natalie caught a whiff of the victim's 
cologne.
     It reminded her of Nick.  But then, she decided--slipping the 
needle through the skin of the corpse again--that there were a lot of 
things that reminded her of Nick.  Not all of them were good, but 
they were proving equally distracting in their own ways.
     The first week since she and Nick had officially ceased being an 
'item' hadn't been that bad--for her.  Nick kept his word and hadn't 
called her, had sent Tracy for any lab information, and had barely 
spoken to her at crime scenes if they'd happened to bump into one 
another.  His attitude when they did run into one another over a 
corpse gave her more than a clue that his behavior must be 
anything but satisfactory toward the rest of his co-workers.  He was 
curt and if he managed more than three words to her, he added 
nasty to his sullen repertoire for the evening.
     She guessed it was the whole ego thing, that if he pretended to 
himself that their break up was his decision and not her it would be 
easier for him to handle.  Actually, she didn't mind him feeling that 
way because it took some of the pressure off her.  Not having to 
deal with him meant that she wouldn't have to think about him . . . 
or that's what she'd told herself.
     Natalie continued sewing up the chest incision on the gunshot 
victim--definitely a closed-casket funeral--when she felt an x-ray 
beam settle somewhere between her eyes.  She looked up to find 
Grace staring at her over the body, then glanced down again, 
wondering if in her distracted state she'd managed to sew up one or 
two of her instruments inside the deceased's chest cavity.  
     "What?" she'd asked, after noticing that her stitching was just a 
little on the wobbly side that evening.
     Grace was still staring at her, frowning.  "Do you know who she 
was?"
     Natalie matched the stare, now thoroughly confused as the 
gunshot victim was, the last time she'd checked beneath the sheet 
covering the corpse, MOST definitely male.  "What are you talking 
about?"
     "The girl you caught Nick sleeping with.  Do you know who she 
was?"
     Natalie's heart stopped somewhere in the middle of the Grace's 
sentence.  She licked her lips behind the protective surgical mask 
and wondered if she should try to bluff her way out.  Grace's lines 
of communication were legendary.  To pretend ignorance would 
only make Grace suspicious and cause her to dig deeper, which 
might prove dangerous not only for Grace but for the vampire 
community in Toronto.  She didn't want anyone else getting hurt 
because of this.
     Oddly enough, she found herself including Nick in that 
category.  Although it would be fair to admit that she wouldn't 
mind seeing him bruised around the edges a bit.
     "I don't know."  Natalie looked down at the neat edge of the 
scalpel cut she was sewing, pinched the skin together with her 
fingers, and tried to concentrate.  "I don't want to know."
     "But that's it, isn't it?  You caught him with somebody else?"
     She paused again, glad that the surgical mask hid her slight 
smile--she could almost hear the drool, Grace was definitely eager 
for details.  Taking that moment to tie off the sewn section, Natalie 
picked up a pair of surgical scissors and snipped the end of the 
thread.  "Well, I didn't CATCH him--"
     "But he left clues?  Lipstick.  Phone calls.  Motel receipts."  
Grace shook her head.  "You'd think they'd get brighter, especially 
the detectives.  Sometimes I think they WANT to get caught 
running around."
     "Actually--"  Natalie cleared her throat and put the scissors back 
down on the tray.  "He wasn't running around.  It only happened 
once."
     "Uh-huh."  Grace's nod was anything but believing.  "So you 
caught him and he admitted that he'd been sleeping around, but he 
claims it only happened once, huh?"
     "I didn't CATCH him.  He told me . . . he told me that he'd slept 
with someone else."
     "He TOLD you?"
     "That's what I said."  Natalie drew the sheet over the head and 
chest of the corpse and pushed the trolley to one side, aware that 
Grace was hot on her heels.
     "No torture, no confrontation with a pair of frilly panties that 
you'd never bought and sure as shaking didn't remember wearing . . 
. and he actually TOLD you that he'd stepped out on you?"
     Natalie snapped off the latex gloves from her hands, tossing 
then directly into the disposal, then glanced over her shoulder.  
"You're shocked."
     "More like disappointed."  Grace had removed her own gloves, 
her voice becoming more distinct as she untied the surgical mask 
and set it to one side.  "That's the only good thing about something 
like that--you can build up one hell of a head of steam when you've 
got the evidence AND moral outrage on your side."  She rested a 
hand on Natalie's shoulder as Natalie removed her own surgical 
mask.  "You told him to hit the road, right?"  When Natalie didn't 
answer immediately, she moved closer and repeated, "Right?"
     "Yes," she said, in a small and quiet voice.  Then, forcing a 
brave smile, she nodded and faced Grace.  "Well, sort of.  I told 
him that it might be over between us."
     "MIGHT be over between you?"  Grace glared at her.  "Girl, 
you can't tell me you'll ever be able to look yourself in the mirror if 
you go back to that man.  If he's done you dirty once, he'll do it 
again."
     "I didn't say I was going to give him another chance," said 
Natalie defensively.  She turned on the faucet and thrust her hands 
beneath the water, then hit the soap dispenser.
     "No, you didn't."
     Her hands covered in lather, Natalie glanced over at Grace, her 
heart sinking at the disapproval she found in her friend's posture 
and expression.  There was no way to explain to Grace what she 
and Nick had been through together, not just the vampire stuff over 
the past few years, but the history of their recent sexual 
relationship, starting with consenting pseudo-bondage, through that 
horrible night she'd made the deal with LaCroix, and past that, to 
the point where they'd meant something to one another, to the point 
where she'd actually been happy.
     To the point where Nick had been happy.
     Standing there, hands covered in soap, Natalie stared at her 
friend in dismay and realized for the hundredth time how truly 
trapped she was.  She couldn't share everything with Grace.  How 
could she expect Grace to do anything but condemn her for even 
thinking about continuing with Nick?
     Then Grace's expression softened.  She reached out and took 
Natalie's soapy hands between her own and squeezed them.  "You 
still love him, don't you?"
     She nodded, hesitantly, then shut her eyes, thankful that she had 
a friend who could see her heart without all of the trappings of 
experience that she couldn't share.  Grace hugged her tightly and 
added, "It's okay."
     "It's NOT okay," protested Natalie.  She pushed back from 
Grace gently, laughed when she found then both covered with 
soapsuds, then rescued a paper towel to dry herself off.  Sitting 
down in a chair beside her desk, she stared up at Grace.  "You're 
right--I'm out of my mind for even thinking about giving him a 
second chance.  Nick made a decision to--to cheat.  It was HIS 
decision."
     "It was," agreed Grace.  "Maybe that's the worst part of it; he 
made a choice that affected you, broke up something you were both 
a part of.  You were owed a say in this and you didn't get it.  Don't 
think you have to walk away cause that's the only choice you've got 
in this thing.  Make sure if you're leaving, you're leaving because 
YOU want to leave, not because he drove you away."  Then she 
paused and tilted her head slightly.  "You DO want to leave him, 
don't you?"
     Natalie stared down at the tile floor, feeling lost.  "I don't know.  
I don't know what I want to do."
     "Then give it time, girl, give it time."  She felt Grace's hand on 
her shoulder again.  "It's for you to decide, not him.  Let him sweat 
it out for a change.  Never a met a man waiting didn't improve one 
way or another."
     Natalie grimaced, then grinned up at Grace.  "You said the same 
thing about a pint of double-double chocolate brownie fudge ice 
cream."
     "I said that no man was worth a pint of that stuff.  That's pure 
gold.  If the minister would put a ring on one of those, I'd be 
walking down the aisle faster than you could say Haagen Daas."  
She took Natalie's hand, helped her to her feet, and added, "Now, 
c'mon, we've got two more customers to get through this shift."
     With a groan, Natalie had let Grace pull her to her feet.  She had 
a lot to think about and found herself falling into the routine of 
describing injuries, removing and weighing internal organs, and 
assigning various forensic tests and procedures to the samples she 
prepared for the lab.  If she did forgive Nick, what then?  In the 
state he was in now, he didn't act like he wanted to be forgiven . . . 
although she was pretty sure he was still in that wounded-ego part 
of the post break-up denial.  If he were still interested, he'd start 
making overtures again.
     If he did, and she took him back, what would that mean?  A 
return to the relationship they'd managed to work out, after enough 
time had passed and he'd proven that he could control the vampire 
again?  How long might that be?  An involuntary shudder passed 
through her as she briefly considered using the restraints again, but 
she discarded that idea almost immediately.  No, those memories 
were still too fresh and too painful.
     Did it really matter how long it would take?  They'd only go 
back to the same problem they'd had before--he was a vampire and 
she was mortal.  All he had to do was lose his concentration once . 
. . and she would be dead.  Even if they did manage to continue in 
the fashion to which they'd become accustomed, she was aging and 
he wasn't.  They couldn't ignore that problem indefinitely.  Would 
Nick still be as interested and as attentive when she started to really 
show her age?  By taking him back now, wasn't she just setting 
herself up for certain heartache in the not-too-distant future?
     Those thoughts plagued her as she finished up work that night, 
and for days afterward.  The second week since the date of Nick's 
confession of his infidelity arrived . . . accompanied by flowers.
     Lots and lots of flowers.  And cards.  And candy.  And gifts, 
ranging from small, curio style folk-crafts, to toys for Sydney (love 
me, love my cat), to dress boxes from chic designers--the latter of 
which she wouldn't sign for and returned unopened.  The trinkets 
she kept because she couldn't help it--they appeared on the front 
seat of her car, her computer keyboard or clipboard at work, even 
at her front door.
     It was the one that she'd found just outside her apartment door 
that had startled her that afternoon.  Natalie had turned to lock the 
door, looked down, and had seen the box there.  Her breath had 
caught in her throat for a moment and she'd looked around, but it 
was mid-afternoon and Nick was no where to be seen.  She'd 
picked up the box and opened it--it was a small plastic container 
filled with candy hearts.  She smiled as she tipped them out into 
her hand, remembering how she'd teased him about not knowing 
that childhood custom.  After a moment, she realized that the one 
on top said, 'Forgive me?'  
     As did the one beneath it and the one beneath that.  Nick must 
have purchased several pounds of the things and picked out just 
that phrase.  Natalie smiled at the thought of him distastefully 
picking his way through bags of the stuff, knowing how the sweet 
smell of the candy must have turned his vampire-oriented stomach.  
It was a small concession, but it was still a concession.
     Tipping the candy back into the plastic container and closing it, 
she shoved it quickly into her purse and finished locking up.  She 
couldn't bear to think about that.  But it did make her wonder what 
he'd done with the rest of the candy.  Thrown it out, probably.  Or 
given it to children.  
     Nick didn't know any children--his only continued contact had 
been with Schanke's daughter, Jenny.  When Schanke had been 
killed and Myra had taken Jenny to her family's place to start their 
lives anew, he'd lost even that small contact with such an important 
part of mortal life.
     As she drove into work, Natalie thought of the times she'd seen 
Nick around children--when he'd cared for Lisa, their witness in 
that mob hit, or when he'd been shanghaied into helping Jenny 
shop for a present for Schanke's birthday.  She'd watched him 
watching Jenny, laughed behind her smile at his befuddlement at 
Jenny's insistence that the tie have ducks on it, but a special kind of 
duck, merely shrugged when he'd turned bewildered eyes to her for 
assistance and, at the checkout, had wondered where his memories 
took him, a distant look in his eyes as Jenny chattered happily 
about ties and ducks and fathers.
     He hadn't shared his thoughts with her and, at the time, she 
hadn't asked.  Now, she continued to wonder.  If she forgave Nick, 
if she relented and their lives returned to what they had recently 
become, intertwined but still separate, there was no hope for 
children.  No real hope.  Nick had seemed certain that he couldn't 
have children because it simply wasn't possible for male vampires 
to have mortal children.  Paula, Dr. Corey, herself a vampire, had 
also believed this, but then she'd been surprised to find that they'd 
had complete sexual intercourse without Nick biting her and 
drinking her blood.  
     It might JUST be possible.  She'd need some samples of sperm 
to test, but if the sperm was healthy, maybe with artificial 
insemination or in vitro . . . .
     Pulling into a parking space in the morgue's underground lot, 
Natalie turned off the engine, then rested her arms and chin on the 
steering wheel.  She must be crazy.  She WAS crazy.  Nick had 
cheated on her, obviously without a second thought to what it 
would mean to them, what it would do to her.  Why on earth was 
she thinking about how she might possibly find a way for him to 
have a child?
     Because she DID still love him.  She wanted, in her heart of 
hearts, to give him a second chance because there was still a part of 
her heart that wanted to spend her life with him, that wanted to 
SHARE her life with him, work and children and growing old and 
everything.  But life with Nick would mean that he wouldn't grow 
old--she would.  And they couldn't have children together--not 
unless she managed to find a way to break how many centuries or 
millennia of vampire folklore and tradition and so many physical 
obstacles that she couldn't even begin to count them and--
     They'd made part of it work.  They shouldn't have, but it had 
happened.  And it had kept happening, until Nick had done 
something so bone-headed and hurtful and completely, thoroughly 
dim-witted and . . . and typically mortal.  He hadn't cheated on her 
because he was a vampire, he'd cheated on her because he was a 
regular person, with vices and virtues and flaws and all.  Was she 
considering not taking him back because he WAS a vampire, 
because they couldn't have a house with a white picket fence and 
day jobs and 2.5 children and grow old together?  Was she able to 
forgive him for his mortal faults, but not able to forgive him 
because there was no life for them, no picturesque and normal 
future?
     With a sigh, Natalie shook off her gloomy thoughts and went 
into work, certain only that Nick's infidelity had raised a lot more 
questions than she had answers for.  She spent the afternoon 
reading test results, writing reports, and cutting into bodies, half-
dreading and half-anticipating the possibility that Nick would make 
an appearance on the pretext of picking up some evidence, despite 
her wishes to the contrary.  She had no idea what she was going to 
tell him.
     When the hall door opened and Tracy peered around it, Natalie 
dropped the pen onto her blotter and smiled up at her guest, 
relieved that Nick was maintaining the status quo by continuing to 
send his partner for their case results.  "Here for the Silvestor 
report?" she asked.
     Tracy gave her a hopeful look.  "You have it done?"
     "Toxicology came in fifteen minutes ago--I'm just finishing up 
the details."  Natalie glanced down at the folder in front of her, 
signed her name at the bottom of the form, then turned the open 
folder around and held it up for Tracy's inspection.  "Aneurysm.  
Mrs. Silvestor developed a blood clot in the brain--probably never 
knew what hit her."
     Tracy took the folder from her and glanced down at it, then 
back up at Natalie.  "So, the fact that she was coming down the 
staircase at the time was just dumb luck?"
     "It wouldn't have mattered.  The dumb luck was that her son 
was standing behind her.  The fall didn't kill her--the blood clot in 
her brain did that almost immediately."
     With a sigh and a smile, Tracy closed the folder and handed it 
back.  "That's a relief.  One less homicide for the books.  I'll 
contact the family when I get back to the office.  It's bad enough 
most killers are people you know, but when you've got a family 
member as a suspect and it might not even have been a murder--"
     "Congratulations, you get to be the bearer of good tidings for a 
change."
     "For a change, yeah," agreed Tracy, but her smile was half-
hearted at best.  "Actually, I COULD call Nick from here and have 
him phone it in, but . . . ."
     Natalie kept her smile in place, but felt every muscle in her 
body tense at the mention of Nick's name.  "He's been kind of 
tough to work with lately?"
     "He's been a BEAR," complained Tracy.  Glancing behind her, 
she found a wheeled chair by the counter, grabbed it, and then 
looked back at Natalie. "You got a minute?"
     "Be my guest."  Her heart stilled as Tracy pulled a chair up 
beside her desk, but Natalie pretended not to notice.  "I guess that's 
partially my fault."
     "Not from what I'VE heard--"  But Tracy stopped in mid-
sentence, her fair cheeks coloring slightly and she glanced away 
nervously.  "I'm sorry."
     "I understand."  Natalie looked up at the door to the file room, 
where Grace was currently working, a wry smile creeping across 
her features.  "I don't know why they bothered giving us e-mail--
office gossip is a LOT faster."  Then she met Tracy's guilt-ridden 
gaze and smiled wanly, nudging Tracy's shoulder with her fist.  
"It's okay.  He's your partner.  What goes between partners--I 
understand how close the relationship gets.  What affects him, 
affects you."
     "Actually, he affects everything," said Tracy unhappily.  "When 
he was grumpy, he was roughing up the suspects a little, like he 
was on a hair-trigger.  He seems to have gotten over that--" she 
shot a cautious glance at Natalie as if for confirmation, then looked 
away again, "but now it's like Nick can't keep his mind on what 
we're doing.  We were at Eaton Center last night--"
     Natalie nodded, looking toward the freezer out of habit, "The 
double shooting--two white males, late teens?"
     "Right."  Tracy shrugged, as if the information doesn't matter.  
"We're questioning the witnesses, and when I look up, Nick's gone.  
He's standing in front of a store display at the other side of the 
mall, one of those expensive boutiques.  Before I have a chance to 
ask him what the hell he's doing and why he left me with all those 
witnesses--I SHOULD be used to him running off on me in the 
middle of a case by now, huh?--he looks over at me, points to this 
dress in the window and asks if I think that you'd like it.  I mean, 
he asked if YOU'D like it."  
     "If I'D like--?"
     Momentarily flustered, Tracy shook her head and sighed.  
"Natalie, whatever's going on between you two is none of my 
business, but what am I going to do with him?  The captain wasn't 
happy with Nick's 'bad attitude,' but at least he got the work done.  
Now . . . I'm afraid to leave him alone cause I don't know if he's 
gonna wander off or--"  Tracy's hopeless shrug spoke volumes.  "I 
know you're the last person I should probably be asking, but I've 
got no one else.  Nick's got a lot of friends, but not a lot of CLOSE 
friends.  Any suggestions?"
     Natalie drew in a long breath, partially to see if Tracy was 
finished and partially because she needed to take a second to 
regroup.  "I . . . don't know what to tell you."
     Tracy paused for a moment, nodded--her cheeks still more than 
a little red--and then rose to her feet, pushing back her chair in the 
process.  "I guess I shouldn't have bothered you with this."
     "No, it's all right."  Natalie rose as well and caught Tracy's arm, 
stopping her as she moved to leave.  "The fact is, we've--Nick and 
I--we're not exactly on good terms right now."  She swallowed as 
Tracy's gaze met her own and felt her own cheeks color.  "But I 
guess you'd figured that out, or heard as much.  We've been using 
you as a go-between and I have to apologize for that--"
     "It's not a--"
     "It's wrong.  Putting you in that position, between us, wasn't the 
right thing to do.  It's just that I--"  She walked past Tracy and over 
to the sink.  Turning on the faucet, Natalie started to wash her 
hands.  "I couldn't deal with seeing Nick.  I've got some decisions 
to make and us working together doesn't make it any easier, but 
we've got no right to use you like this.  This is our problem and 
we're making it yours."
     "Actually, Nick's sort of been making it EVERYONE'S 
problem."
     Natalie glanced over her shoulder at Tracy's admission, then 
laughed at the rueful expression she saw on Tracy's face.  Turning 
off the faucet, she pulled down a paper towel and began to dry her 
hands.  "Has he really been THAT bad?"
     "He broke all the pencils in his pencil cup--I had to hide mine.  
They've called in maintenance to fix his typewriter and his 
computer keyboards.  And you don't even WANT to know about--"  
Tracy hesitated, then smiled.  "No.  You probably don't."
     Natalie smiled in response, because a part of her DID want to 
know.  She'd heard bits and pieces through the grapevine and 
there'd been oblique questions cast in her general direction, but 
she'd let Grace handle the information dispersal for the office.  
There was a part of her that was happy that he'd been miserable, 
another part that was horrified that he'd taken out his anger on his 
surroundings, and another part was relieved that he'd moved onto 
the reconciliation phase . . . even though it put more pressure on 
her.  "Thanks," she said softly.  Then she reached out and took 
Tracy's hand.  "I'm got a couple of decisions to make.  It won't be 
much longer.  Until then . . . ?"
      "You know, I'm really tempted to buy one of those elastic 
kiddie leashes to keep track of him.  Maybe something in a 
fluorescent orange?" Tracy sighed, then squeezed Natalie's hand.  
"Thanks for the news on the Silvestor case.  And . . . if you need a 
sympathetic ear?"
     "I've got your cell phone number."
     "Day or night," promised Tracy.
     Natalie smiled again at the comment and the simple act of 
friendship.  "Thanks.  I'll keep it in mind."
     She stood there for a few minutes after Tracy left, then slowly 
folded herself into the chair Tracy had vacated and, pointing it 
backwards, leaned her chin on the top of the backrest.  Maybe 
Grace was right in that she should take her time, but she couldn't 
just let this drag out.  It wouldn't be fair to anyone, particularly 
herself.  She had to make a decision.
     They had two stabbings that evening, and a floater, but she 
managed to avoid Nick at all of the crime scenes, one being out of 
his jurisdiction.  By the time her shift was over, she was physically 
and mentally exhausted.  As she walked across the empty garage 
back to her car, she shrugged off the odd feeling of being 
shadowed, chalking it up to the result of a long, busy shift.
     Natalie opened her car door and was about to slip behind the 
wheel when a hand dropped on her shoulder.  She whirled, lips 
parted, ready to scream 'Fire' at the top of her lungs--and also more 
than slightly aware that she was the last person from her shift to 
leave, the garage was empty and security wasn't due for another 
half hour.
     "Dr. Lambert . . . I'm sorry."  Vachon grinned, half embarrassed 
as he released his hold on her.  "I didn't mean to startle you."
     Natalie sagged back against the side of her car, swatted at him 
lightly with the back of her hand, and released a nervous chuckle.  
"Startle?  That wasn't a startle, that was scaring ten years off my 
life!  Don't you have anything better to do than sneak up on an 
unsuspecting mortal?  You could have gotten maced.  And I'm not 
certain you don't deserve it."
     "Next time I'll wear bells," promised Vachon, with mock-
sincerity.
     "Or get one of those alarm systems they put on trucks so you 
know they're backing up."  Taking a deep breath, Natalie shook her 
head.  "Can I help you with something or is scaring unsuspecting 
coroners a sick form of vampire entertainment that no one's warned 
me about?"
     "It's something new."
     "Ah, that could be why."  She swallowed.  "I haven't seen Nick 
in a couple of weeks."
     "I know."  Vachon's expression was serious, almost deathly so.  
With a gesture toward the car, he asked, "Mind if I bum a ride?"
     It was at least a couple of hours till dawn, Vachon's current 
digs--an abandoned church--were nowhere near her apartment, and 
she could say 'ditto' for the Raven.  But, after a second's hesitation, 
Natalie grinned, still a bit nervous, and opened the driver's side 
door again.  "Be my guest."
     She fastened her seatbelt around her, closed the door, and 
inserted the key into the ignition as Vachon headed around the car 
and entered the passenger side.  He closed the door and she waited 
for a moment.  When he looked at her in question, one eye raised, 
she smiled.  "Seatbelt?  You may be indestructible, but I don't need 
the insurance hassles."
     Vachon stared at her in disbelief, then, when he seemed to 
understand that she wasn't about to start the car without his 
compliance, he buckled the belt with a great show of discomfort 
and annoyance.  "Seat belts, airbags . . . they're taking the fun out 
of these things, not making them any safer."
     She opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again, deciding 
that it was better not to argue automotive safety when you had a 
vampire in the passenger seat.  Starting the engine, Natalie backed 
the car out of the space and headed for the doors to that led out 
onto the street.  "Where can I drop you?"
     "I'll let you know."
     "Just give me a one block warning, okay?"  Feeling Vachon's 
gaze on her, she asked, "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your 
company?  Too late to file a flight plan?"
     "Low cloud ceiling--too damp to fly."
     Natalie glanced up through the windshield at the cloudless, star-
filled, pre-dawn sky and her heart skipped a beat.  "Yeah.  I see 
what you mean."  She cleared her throat.  "Then this is a house 
call?  Don't tell me I've become the vampire equivalent of a G.P.?"
     "We don't get sick," answered Vachon quickly.  "That is--" he 
continued, when she gave him a sidelong glance, "we didn't used to 
get sick."
     "You're all right now."
     "You know what it's like--scrapes heal up.  If you fall into a 
window or snag yourself on a beam, maybe, but the physical stuff 
we can generally deal with on our own."
     "Uh-huh."  With a small sigh, Natalie thought back to the 
numerous bullets and shrapnel she'd extricated from Nick during 
his career as a police detective.  That was something else she was 
hoping--that he wouldn't be stupid enough to walk into a bullet 
right now.  Removing a bullet from a vampire wasn't an easy thing 
to refer to another doctor for treatment, besides which Nick could 
be SUCH a baby about things like that.  "But you're fine."
     "Yeah.  Well, sort of."  
     She heard Vachon shift in the seat, his leather jacket rubbing 
against the upholstery--he was nervous.  The last thing she wanted 
to deal with was a nervous vampire.  And why the hell was she 
dealing with vampires at all?  If she walked away from Nick, she'd 
walk away from that world, too.  Although she had a feeling letting 
that particular connection fade into the sunset wouldn't be quite so 
easy.
     "It's not me," said Vachon.  "There's a friend of mine.  Someone 
hurt her."
     "And you want me to take a look at her?" asked Natalie.  
Another glance at the sky gave her a good estimate--she had plenty 
of time until dawn.  "No problem.  Although you should have 
mentioned something back there.  I've got some equipment in my 
emergency bag in the trunk--"
     "No," said Vachon, cutting her off.  "No, she doesn't need that 
kind of help.  Not now.  She doesn't want any help.  She says she 
doesn't need any."
     Natalie's heart leapt into her throat and she felt a small shiver 
going through her, intuition and too much experience at crimes 
scenes kicking in.  A rape.  It had to have been a rape, or 
something of that sort.  "Your friend is mortal?"
     "A vampire."
     "Don't you people have something to handle that sort of thing?  
Some sort of help . . . no, I suppose you wouldn't.  Survival of the 
fittest.  The best predator survives, the weakest falls by the 
wayside."  She was thinking aloud now.  "So, you want me to have 
a talk with her?  I don't know if that's a good idea.  I'm not trained 
for that sort of thing.  There's a doctor who helped me, one of your 
kind, her name's Paula--"
     "No," said Vachon quietly.  "That's not why I'm here."
     She realized that he'd moved between heartbeats--the sound of 
his seatbelt sliding back into the holder was only starting to register 
when she felt him sitting close beside her, his hand on her 
shoulder.  Her mouth was dry; it was an effort to form words.  
"Then why ARE you here?"
     "My friend . . . she was roughed up.  She didn't deserve it--she 
was trying to do someone a favor."  There was a pause; she could 
almost hear him lick his lips, his mouth close to her ear, his voice 
barely above a whisper.  "He took advantage.  He hurt her."
     "A close friend?"
     "Like family."
     Natalie shut down the part of her brain that started to scream 
and concentrated on driving, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.  
"The guy who did the roughing up . . . we wouldn't happen to be 
talking about Nick, would we?"
     "Could be."
     Damn the way he could be so cool, so offhand about this, that 
applying to both Vachon AND Nick.  So Nick's little sexual 
escapade hadn't been pretty.  Why did that not surprise her?  It 
made sense that he'd abuse elsewhere the strength and brutality he 
tried to hard to deny, that he shielded from her--she was just as 
glad she'd never had to deal with that side of him.  She had a 
feeling that she wouldn't have lived through the experience.
     Natalie wasn't all that certain she was going to survive the drive 
home.  "Nick hurt someone you love?"
     There was a pause--THAT had caught him aware, she'd used the 
'l' word!
     "Someone I care for," he corrected.  "Someone I've cared for, 
for a very long time."
     "She wants revenge?"
     Again, a pause.  Good, make him think about it.  It would give 
her time to drive . . . where?  She was on Yonge street.  Short of 
stopping the car dead in traffic, unfastening her seatbelt, and 
bolting for the sidewalk while screaming at the top of her lungs, 
there was nothing she could do.  And the memory of how quickly 
Vachon had changed position--his grip on her arm was light, but 
unmistakable--left her little hope of being able to even get her door 
lock open before he could stop her.
     "No."  He drew back and his voice increased in volume to a 
normal, conversational tone.  "She doesn't want revenge.  She 
wants it forgotten.  She doesn't want anything."
     "But YOU want revenge?"
     "He's hurt someone I . . . someone I love."
     She gave him points for saying the 'l' word--intellectually, at 
least.  Part of her brain was still screaming hysterically, but another 
part was taking precise notes of this conversation.  Whatever you 
say may be held against you in a court of--
     "Now I get it."  She forced a chuckle.  "You want to hurt 
someone Nick loves?  Well, you're too late--Nick's done a better 
job of that than you ever could.  He tore my heart in two, handed it 
to me on a platter, then asked if I wanted more."  She looked over 
at Vachon, meeting his startled gaze for as long as she dared take 
her eyes from the road, adding, "I don't know if you can do better 
than he's done.  You'd have to try pretty hard."
     The grip on her arm loosened, then disappeared, causing the 
screaming in her head to drop a couple of notches.  "I don't WANT 
to hurt you, Dr. Lambert."
     "But you'll hurt me to get back at Nick?"  She forced herself to 
straighten in her seat--her neck muscles were starting to cramp 
from the tension.  It took an effort not to flinch when she felt 
Vachon's fingertips on her neck and she nearly passed out in fear 
before she realized that he was lightly massaging the muscles in 
her back and shoulder.  "How's your friend going to feel about 
that?"
     "She'll be angry."
     "I'll say.  If it were me, I'd hate you."  She took a deep breath, 
thinking of the horrible murder of her godchild, of how the 
murderer had himself been murdered by someone in the name of 
justice, and how she'd felt.  "You should know by now that it won't 
make a difference.  It doesn't last.  It doesn't change anything.  
They're still dead . . . or hurt," she amended quickly, the memories 
filling her eyes with tears that her fear had not.  "It doesn't change 
what happened.  That never changes.  Never."
     There was a break in traffic.  On a hunch, Natalie turned the car 
into a quiet side street, then down another street, then into an alley 
behind a store.  It was deserted and, when she flicked off the car 
lights and shut off the engine, perfectly dark and silent.  Turning 
toward Vachon, she placed her hands calmly in her lap.
     "Dr. Lambert--"
     "You've called me 'Natalie' before," she reminded him, trying to 
sit very still, her voice barely wavering.
     What she was doing was insane and she knew it--that panicked 
part of her brain had started screaming again, but she didn't care.  
Somehow, for once, she felt completely in control of the situation--
either she was going to live or she was going to die, it was all but 
out of her hands.
     "Natalie--"  Vachon glanced away, as if embarrassed or 
nervous.  He reached over and grabbed her hand, holding it tightly.  
She tried not to wince, knowing that he didn't mean for it to be 
painful.  "You saved my life."
     "Such as it is."  After a long breath, she managed a smile.  "Yes, 
I did."
     "It isn't supposed to be . . . it isn't supposed to be like this."
     The smile came easier now and she reached up a hand to touch 
his cheek--cold flesh.  "I guess you thought it would be different.  
But it's not.  Killing is killing."
     He stared at her in amazement.  "You're not afraid?"
     "What--you can't hear my teeth chattering?"  When he frowned, 
she brushed the back of her hand against his cheek, then rested her 
hand over his own.  "I'm scared silly; you could break my neck 
before I could blink.  You're a killer, a predator, but you're also a 
person.  Either you'll kill me or you won't kill me--there's not a lot I 
can do about it."  Natalie took another long breath, trying to 
maintain her composure.  "You don't know HOW sorry I am that 
Nick hurt your friend, not only for her sake and your sake, but for 
his and mine.  He ruined--" 
     Her voice caught in her throat and she paused, looking away, 
until she felt Vachon's hand squeeze her own lightly.  "He ruined 
what we had.  We'd fought SO hard for it, but he'd ruined it.  It 
wasn't out of malice, at least that's what I think.  He just did 
something dumb.  I'm pretty sure he's sorry for it.  I know he's 
trying to tell me that he's sorry.  I don't know if he's said anything 
to her--he should.  I guess he hasn't spoken to you.  I don't know 
that he'd think about it; he doesn't seem to think about things like 
that.  In fact, he doesn't seem to think at ALL sometimes--"
     There were tears in her eyes and her voice, but she didn't much 
care.  Natalie stared out into the darkness of the alley, at the grim 
brick walls.  Somewhere inside she knew that her life wasn't going 
to end here, but she almost hoped it would.  It was too hard 
thinking about all of this, thinking about how she was trapped, no 
matter what she did.  If she left him, Nick would leave and she 
could return, mostly, to her mortal life and her job.  Maybe date 
again, maybe find someone, maybe have kids, or maybe not and 
continue her career without family and a mortgage and a whole 
other set of problems to juggle.  If she stayed with him, it was only 
a matter of time before she got too old and he lost interest in her, if 
it even took him that long to stray again.  Even if he were faithful, 
how long would they really have?  They'd have to move when it 
became apparent that he wasn't aging.  They could adopt, but that 
would be unfair to a child or children--bring them into a two parent 
home that was destined to become a single parent home sooner 
than any of them could know.  Their lives would be dictated by the 
rising and setting of the sun, by the darkness and the light.  It 
would all end long before it should, so soon that she couldn't bear 
to think about it.  There could be a cure in the future . . . which 
would bring problems of another kind.  
     That's what she wanted.  To try it, at least, and see if they could 
make a small miracle for themselves, as they'd had their share of so 
many miracles already.  Her only certitudes were that time was 
against them, that LaCroix would always attempt to undermine 
them, that she could never completely trust Nick again . . . 
     And that she loved him.  And that she wanted to spend 
whatever time she could with him, to share her life with him and 
he share his life with her, whatever it cost.  Maybe, even, to share 
the darkness with him, if that's what it took to keep them together.
     For some reason, it all began to pour out of her, all of her hopes 
and her fears and her desires.  The tears, too, came and went, and 
she eventually gave up trying to control them.  It didn't matter that 
it was Vachon, it could have been anyone, anyone who could have 
understood the unique circumstances of her relationship with a 
vampire who didn't want to be a vampire and who loved her but 
who was as flawed and as magnificent as any mortal she'd ever 
met.  It was embarrassing, a good bit of it probably didn't make 
sense, and when the words finally seemed to slow to a trickle and 
then stop, Natalie pulled herself out of her would-be murderer's 
comforting embrace and blew her nose into the wadded up tissues 
she found in her coat pocket.
     "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dump everything on you like that.  
But who else can I talk to?"  Wiping her nose, she became aware of 
his dark eyes watching her and couldn't help but laugh.  "I must 
look like hell."
     "You are sort of red and puffy."  A cold finger traced the warm, 
tender circle beneath one of her eyes gently and he smiled.
     "All male vampires must go to the same charm school--you 
know exactly what to say to make a woman feel that she hasn't lost 
all of her allure."  Natalie blew her nose again, then tucked the 
tissue in her pocket.  Placing her hands on the steering wheel, she 
looked over at Vachon and asked, "What now?"
     "Now?"
     "Yeah.  If you're going to kill me, you'd better do it soon.  
You're getting close to deadline.  And I do mean that literally."
     "I'm not going to kill you."  He met her eyes for a long moment, 
then added softly, "But I AM going to drive you home."  He 
opened the passenger door and then suddenly he was standing 
outside the driver's side of the car, rapping lightly on the window.
     She contemplated gunning the engine for the barest second, 
before unlocking the car door, scooting across the seat, closing the 
passenger door, and putting her seatbelt in place.  "I'm only letting 
you do this because my eyes are so swollen from crying I can't see 
straight."  She sniffled, then looked over as Vachon slid behind the 
wheel.  "You do have a license, don't you?"
     "Oh, yeah."  He turned the key in the ignition, gunned the 
engine, then gunned it again.  "I think it expired in '72.  Or '73."
     "It's not far from here.  I'm just around the corner, at--"
     "I know."
     Silence fell as she digested that bit of information.  She'd had a 
feeling for the last week that someone had been watching her 
during the evenings . . . she'd thought it might have been Nick 
keeping tabs on her.  Knowing what she knew now, there was a 
good chance it had been Vachon.  And what if LaCroix had 
decided not to honor their truce and it had been him . . . ?
     He seemed to sense her shiver.  Vachon reached for the heat and 
asked, "Cold?"
     "No.  Fear finally kicked in.  I figure by noon I'll have dissolved 
into a frayed bundle of nerves and I'll spend the rest of the day 
under the bed.  I'll have to come out of hiding long enough to do 
wash, of course, but then I'll dive right back underneath and stay 
there."
     "Do you always joke when someone threatens to kill you?"
     "I've found that screaming doesn't help much."
     The eyes that met her own were wide, dark, and all too 
understanding.  "You're right--it doesn't."
     His words sent another shiver down her spine.  Natalie settled 
for folding her arms and trying to regain her composure, just as 
glad that she'd allowed Vachon to drive.  It was only a few more 
blocks to her place, but her sudden verbal catharsis had left her 
more than a little wobbly.  Add that to the delayed fear reaction, 
and she would have been certain to have taken out several hydrants 
and a number of public mailboxes in her path.  At least at this hour 
of the morning there was a minimum of traffic and no pedestrians.
     As Vachon pulled her car into a parking space--the same one 
she'd occupied yesterday morning, she noted automatically--she 
found herself just as glad that the streets were so deserted.  The 
police obviously had better things to do than chase down speeding 
vampires with expired driver's licenses.  
     Vachon took the keys from the ignition, placed them in her 
hand, then folded her fingers over them.  "Should I walk you to the 
door?"
     "I think this is far enough for a first date.  Or--should we call 
this a first assassination attempt?"
     He grimaced and looked out the windshield, as if embarrassed.  
"What I said before--I never wanted to hurt you.  I just got so 
wrapped up with the idea of hurting Nick . . . you got in the way.  
I'm sorry."  Vachon turned to face her, took her other hand, and 
lifted it to his lips, promising, "You'll never have any reason to fear 
me, ever again.  If anyone, ANYONE, ever hurts you, you come to 
me.  All right?"
     The gesture was so gallant and so adolescent that it made her 
want to laugh and cry at the same time.  Instead, Natalie settled for 
a weary smile.  "I don't need your protection.  If you want to do me 
a favor, the next time something like this happens and you're about 
to kill somebody caught in the middle, think about what almost 
happened tonight . . . then let them go.  For me."
     "The next time . . . and the time after that."  Vachon's fingers 
closed around her hand, squeezing it.  "For you."
     He left the driver's side door open and a gust of wind blew in, 
making her shiver.  Natalie sat there for a moment, drew her hand 
back to her chest, then leaned over and closed the driver's side 
door.  "Damnit!  I WISH they wouldn't do that."
     They were vampires, after all, and they didn't seem to remember 
how mortals thought or sensed or felt, unless reminded frequently 
and emphatically.  As she walked up the walk to the apartment 
building, she decided that even though that was something she'd 
learned before, it was also something she should always keep in 
mind  . . . at least while the undead were even a peripheral part of 
her life.
     Natalie wondered, almost as an afterthought, if embroidering 
that slogan on a pillow might help.
     The phone messages left on her answering machine started with 
the third week.  They were short, apologetic, and humble.  By 
Wednesday she'd gotten into the habit of opening the door, walking 
straight to her answering machine, holding her finger over the erase 
button . . . but somehow the finger always slipped to 'play' instead 
and she end up listening to message after message.  She began to 
wonder, after the second set, whether he was sleeping at all during 
the day and found herself relying on her beeper to screen her 
cellular calls, letting Grace know that beeping her in an emergency 
was now imperative.
     The high-fashion boutique boxes stopped arriving, but the 
candy and small gifts continued--nothing too exotic or expensive 
that would start Internal Affairs or the revenue service sniffing 
around either of them for graft or unreported income.  She set 
everything aside in a pile--except for the boxes of candy that she 
donated to the break room at the office--and decided by Friday that 
she had to decide what she was going to do about Nick.
     Friday was her night off and Natalie had everything planned--
she picked up Chinese take-out with her dry cleaning, took a long, 
hot bubble bath, and put on some water for her hot cocoa.  This 
was HER night.  Fortified with as much monosodium glutamate as 
her body could handle, clean as a whistle, and under the soporific 
effect of the cocoa, she figured she'd be as relaxed as she was every 
going to get.  Between her self-censored chats with Grace and 
Tracy and her unintentional heart-felt burbling to Vachon, she'd 
pretty much weighed the pros and cons of every argument.  Now it 
was time to decide.
     She'd just poured the water for the cocoa and was heading for 
the television and the late-evening news--with any luck, the comet 
was coming back and she wouldn't have to make her decision--
when the front door buzzer rang.  Natalie was wearing a nightshirt, 
a pair of sweat pants, and fuzzy blue bedroom slippers and her wet 
hair was wrapped in a towel.  The thought that it might be Nick 
froze her in place, but then she realized that he wouldn't be so 
brazen as to simply ring her door buzzer--he'd have called first.  
Just to make certain, she padded over to the door and peered 
through the keyhole.
     Later, she decided that she never would have guessed at the 
identity of her visitor.
     "I hope you don't mind my dropping by unannounced," said 
LaCroix, when she'd opened the door.  He was, as usual, wearing a 
black silk shirt and black slacks beneath a long black leather coat.  
What WAS unusual was the bouquet of red roses cradled in his 
arms.  "May I come in?  Or am I interrupting something?"
     Natalie got through the shock first, just after he'd thrust the 
flowers into her grasp, pushed her gently to one side, and had 
wandered into the living room of her apartment.  He stopped at the 
back of the couch and gestured down at the open cartons of 
Chinese food that she hadn't started to attack.  "If I'm interrupting 
your meal, I can return at a later--"
     "No.  Now will be fine."  Closing the door, Natalie walked past 
him and placed the flowers on an end table.  "What do you want?"
     She didn't dare look at him, not at first, although she was aware 
that HE was looking around to his heart's content, like a visitor in a 
museum.
     "Must I want something?"
     "You always do."
     "Perhaps I do, at that."  He smiled, almost charmingly, when she 
glanced at him in surprise, then gestured toward the couch.  
"Would you mind if I--?"
     "Please do."
     LaCroix seated himself on the couch and Natalie padded over to 
a chair perpendicular to one side, more than a little conscious of 
her fuzzy blue slippers.  Leaning forward, LaCroix picked up one 
of the white take-out boxes and lifted a long green vegetable out of 
the contents with a pair of chopsticks.
     "That's chow mein," explained Natalie.
     "Is it?"  He raised an eyebrow, regarded it thoughtfully, then 
stuck the chopsticks into the chow mien and abandoned the box to 
the table, not bothering to suppress a shudder of disgust.  "You 
should be eating better fare."
     "I had no idea you were so concerned about my health."
     "I'm not--directly.  Nicholas is concerned about your health.  I 
am concerned about Nicholas.  It follows that--"
     "You want me to stay healthy."  Natalie sighed and folded her 
hands in her lap.  "That might not be a problem for you any more."
     "That's why I'm here.  Have you made your decision, yet?"  
When Natalie looked up at him, surprised, he graced her with a 
thin smile.  "Yes, I know everything.  Who else could Nicholas 
bare his soul to?"
     Natalie licked her lips.  "He's been taking your advice?"
     "Initially, yes.  I suggested that he forget this madness; I had 
him half-convinced that he was in the right and you were in the 
wrong."  LaCroix cleared his throat, then folded his hands and 
looked away.  "The results were less than I had hoped for.  He 
became taciturn, started brooding . . . even I couldn't stand having 
him around."
     "Serves you right.  Especially since you promised--"
     "I KNOW what I promised," said LaCroix sharply, and Natalie 
found herself fixed by a compelling stare.  "I haven't interfered, 
haven't moved to act against you--although the opportunities have 
presented themselves time and again.  I merely . . . advised."  He 
waved his hand, then let it fall.  "Nicholas ceased to listen."
     "Good for him."  She met LaCroix's even stare boldly and felt 
no small amount of pride on Nick's behalf.  
     "But not good for you--either of you--or your relationship.  
Nicholas can be charming at times.  He can also be the very 
essence of obstinacy."  LaCroix rubbed the flats of his palms 
together and Natalie smiled, the movement reminding her vaguely 
of praying.  "I've come to sue for peace on Nicholas' behalf."
     If she'd have been drinking, it would have been a spit-take.  As 
it was, Natalie almost choked.  "NICK sent you?"
     "No.  He has no idea that I'm here.  In fact, the very thought 
would infuriate him."  LaCroix's smile had an edge to it that made 
her shiver.  "All the more reason for me to be here."
     "And a really good reason for you to leave," said Natalie, 
pushing herself out of her chair and to her feet, hoping that he'd 
take the hint.  "I told you, I haven't decided what I want to do."
     Unfortunately, LaCroix remained seated, staring up at her.  "But 
you WILL decide . . . ?"
     "Tonight."
     "Then, I'm not too late."  He glanced down at the carpet.  "You 
know that you'll never have the strength of such absolute trust in 
him again?  There will always be some doubt.  Nicholas is constant 
in his inconstancy if nothing else."
     "I know."
     That half-smile appeared again and LaCroix's gaze returned to 
the food on the coffee table.  "Yet, you still consider forgiving him 
and taking him back?  What a magnificent heart you must have, 
Dr. Lambert, to offer him such clemency at the cost of your own 
pride, your own self respect.  You must love him very much.  And 
trust that he loves you, as well."
     "I haven't said that I'm going to take Nick back," she said 
defensively.
     "Then, there IS still a hope for an alternate suitor?"  Before she 
could quite comprehend the words, LaCroix turned his gaze back 
to her, that clear and mesmerizing stare.  "Would it be reasonable 
to assume that if Roxanne will accept Cyrano's words on 
Christian's behalf, she would accept Cyrano's words on his own 
behalf?"
     Natalie opened her mouth to reply, but found that she couldn't--
she was stunned, not by any hypnotism, but by the fact that 
LaCroix had fallen to one knee before her, had taken her hand, and 
was saying something . . . she didn't understand the language, but it 
was beautiful.  She would have been the first to admit, if pressed, 
that his performance as the Nightcrawler was compelling and there 
were a number of nights she'd found herself listening to his show, 
so entranced with the beauty of his speaking voice that she'd lost 
track of what he'd said.  It had been something that she'd written in 
her notebook, an understanding how such an eloquent speaker 
could have seduced a crusading knight with little more than words, 
twisted the truth over the centuries and still held a struggling and 
captive spirit in thrall.  She often thought about what would have 
happened to her in Nick's place; would she have had the will to 
have broken away from a master like LaCroix?
     Now, at least, she had some part of the answer and found it 
disturbed her.  There was a distant familiarity to his words, as if 
she could almost make sense of them, but the meaning escaped her.  
When he had finished his recitation, he ruined it with a raised 
eyebrow, inviting her comment.
     She drew her hand back from his as if burned and took a step 
away from him, her heart beating all too quickly in her chest.  
"That was . . . French?"
     "Frankish.  Or a later translation of Frankish verse--which in 
some parts became French and in others--"  She could almost hear 
his shrug.  "It is . . . quite old."
     "But, what does it mean, in English?"
     "English?"  There was a sigh.  "The Franks were earthy people--
Charlemagne himself was blunt, though he could ascend to heights 
of brilliant oratory when moved, either by his piety or the swell of 
a woman's breast.  A translation would be somewhat freeform, 
brutal, uninhibited, like many of the later Beat poets.  You might 
not like it."
     Her heart was still pounding.  Natalie cleared her throat, still 
afraid to turn toward him and finding it difficult to breathe.  "Try 
me."
     "If you insist."  He moved closer--she could almost feel the cool 
of his skin and the soft silk of his shirt against her back.  "You are 
sex, lover, mother, lover, all sex, heat and burning lust; me inside 
you, in your burning darkness, the darkness of your sex, your fire, 
your truth--"
     The words were whispered in her ear, his cool breath brushing 
past, tickling.  She straightened, but didn't move away.
     "You are woman, moist and whole and sex; we fuck and fuck 
and fuck because we are all there is; we are heat and light and 
darkness; we fuck the world into being and we fuck it into death; 
we make time and time makes us; I take you, you are lover, sex, 
you take me and I burn and we make time begin and end again . . . 
."
     His voice echoed through her long after he stopped speaking.  
At some point she'd begun to tremble, not quite certain why.  
Natalie closed her eyes and remained still, trying to find some 
wellspring of cool, calm logic within her not touched by the silver 
barbs in his tone or the passion of those raw words.
     She found that cool, logical place, and smiled.  Then she 
chuckled, as she realized that her eyes had closed.  Opening then, 
she turned toward him and seated herself on the arm of the chair.  
"You're good.  You've very, VERY good."
     LaCroix sketched out a half-bow.  "So I've been told."
     "And arrogant."
     "Confident," he corrected, his tone and expression devoid of 
malice.  "Some find that appealing."
     He took a step toward her and Natalie stiffened when she 
realized that she'd given herself no room for retreat.  Staring up at 
him and trying to ignore the feelings he'd stirred at the core of her 
being, she frowned.  "You said you wouldn't interfere."
     "I'm not interfering.  Just . . . offering."
     She took a long breath and still dared to stare up at him 
suspiciously, afraid to look away.  "Offering what?  You want to 
make peace?"
     "Hardly."  There was a grim smile on his features as he hands 
snaked down to her shoulder, his fingertips brushing the edge of 
her nightshirt, baring a portion of her shoulder.  "To make love."
     "I'm a coroner, not the love-doctor."  Natalie grasped the edge 
of the nightshirt and drew it right up to her neck angrily.  "What do 
you think I am, a vampire sex-toy?"
     To her surprise, LaCroix took a few steps back, as if sensing 
that his prey was feeling trapped.  "On the contrary--you're 
intelligent, beautiful, you have a delicious sense of irony.  You're 
well acquainted with vampire psychology and physiology."  He 
clasped his hands together and drew them up to his lips, standing in 
silent regard for a moment, studying her.  "I don't think there's ever 
been any mortal who's been privy to more of our secrets and not 
begged for a chance to be brought across."
     "Maybe I know TOO much to ask," countered Natalie.
     "Too many of our limitations," answered LaCroix.  He walked 
toward her slowly, his gaze locked on her own as if he thought she 
might flee.  Lifting her hand, he stroked the length of her palm 
lightly with his fingers, adding, "But you know nothing of the 
ecstasies our existence offers."
     Shivers ran through her with each stroke of his fingers across 
the flesh of her hand, but to pull away would mean defeat.  Her 
will was stronger than his.  It WAS.  "Like?" she demanded, in an 
attempt to call his bluff.
     "Most of your knowledge is from Nicholas."  He leaned his 
head close to hers, his breath tickling her ear.  "I know things 
Nicholas will NEVER know.  Two thousand years.  Two 
THOUSAND.  Aren't you at all curious?"  LaCroix drew back until 
they were nose to nose, stared into her eyes, and smiled.  "Of 
course you are . . . ."
     The kiss was and wasn't a surprise.  It was telegraphed enough 
so that she could have turned her head, fallen back into the chair 
and pulled away, out of range.
     The surprise, even to herself, was that she didn't.  Closing her 
eyes, Natalie let herself be kissed, something in between a chaste, 
'we're related' type of kiss and a full frontal tongue assault.  After a 
moment, she pulled back and he did the same, straightening, arms 
folded, as if waiting for her critique.  Which she was more than 
happy to deliver.
     "Nick's a better kisser."
     LaCroix seemed stunned for a moment, then a smile slid slowly 
across his lips.  "That IS a surprise--foreplay has never been 
Nicholas' strong suit.  You have to understand, his relationships 
were never meant to be lasting romances."
     "Oh THAT'S good to know."  Natalie folded her arms, 
mimicking LaCroix's posture.  "So, basically, you're saying that a 
male vampire takes what he can get while he can get it?"
     "Not precisely."  LaCroix took a step closer to her and leaned 
down near her again, his hands resting on the chair arm to either 
side of her body.  "An intelligent vampire learns how to please a 
mortal partner.  The ecstasy of pleasured blood is incomparable."  
His hands left their perch and slid up her arms as he added, "The 
taste is fuller, richer, more succulent . . . ."
     The first kiss was a dress rehearsal for the second.  LaCroix's 
mouth began to devour her own, a teasing frenzy of nipping 
followed by him gathering her up into his arms.  At some point, 
she realized that she'd given up complete control of her body--he 
was supporting her weight.  And then, as he nibbled the length of 
her hair to her earlobe and Natalie gasped aloud for air, LaCroix 
whispered, "Nicholas is watching . . . ."
     Her first reaction would have been panic, but her muscles had 
all liquefied at some point during the previous ten to twenty 
seconds.  His lips covered her own again and she couldn't breathe, 
nor was that her main concern.  But when they broke from the kiss, 
she held him near and whispered into his ear as softly as she could, 
"When he's gone . . . ."
     LaCroix's attentions to her continued, one arm in the center of 
her back, supporting her, the other hand traveling her and there--
cool fingertips leaving trails of sensation in their wake.  She didn't 
fully participate, nor did she stop him, waiting to see what he might 
do and if he might tell her the moment when--
     "He's gone."
     LaCroix released her as he spoke the words, but by then Natalie 
had regained enough muscular control to stand, somewhat shakily, 
on her own.  She knew her face was flushed and there were parts of 
her body that felt like they were on fire, but she straightened and 
met his gaze evenly.  "Thanks for the demonstration . . . but no 
thanks."
     The best word to describe the look on LaCroix's face was 
flabbergasted--he simply did not seem to comprehend the words.  
"Dr. Lambert--Natalie--"  Pausing, he cleared his throat and 
resumed his composure almost instantly.  "What I offer--"
     "I don't want."
     "You don't THINK you want--"
     "I want love."  She took a step toward him.  "Not just sex, no 
matter how fantastic it is.  I want love.  I love Nick.  I want Nick--
not you, not what you can offer."
     "If you take what I offer, you can have Nick.  You can have 
anyone, anything--"
     Natalie shook her head.  "Not on those terms.  That's only a last 
resort and even then I'd want Nick to bring me across, not you.  
Besides, you don't want ME.  I'm only interesting to you because 
Nick is interested in me.  You see me as another way of controlling 
Nick; I'd never allow you to do that."  She took another step closer 
to him.  "Can you understand that?  That it has to be an act of 
love?"  
     There was rage in his eyes--sheer anger--but Natalie didn't dare 
turn away, didn't dare show weakness.  For a moment she regretted 
having waited until Nick was gone, wondering if she'd pushed this 
just a little too far . . . you never did know exactly what a vampire 
would do when cornered.  She had a feeling LaCroix hadn't felt 
this cornered in a long time.
     Something in his manner changed.  It was sudden, she might 
have missed it if she wasn't staring into his eyes, trying to 
determine whether she'd just committed suicide by turning him 
down.  "An act of love . . . ?"  He shook his head, glanced at her, 
then pointedly looked away.  "Yes, I understand.  But you don't 
understand.  This needs to be discussed--"
     "I'm asking you to leave.  Nicely."  When he hesitated, she 
added, "Now."
     Again, she thought she might have pushed her luck one too 
many times, LaCroix's grim smile leaving no room for doubt that 
he would have cheerfully torn her limb from limb at that moment if 
he hadn't been bound by his promise not to interfere.  He headed 
for the door, opened it, then paused and looked back at her, his 
expression almost wistful.  "You'll never know what you turned 
down."
     "I do know, in theory."  Natalie took a breath, released it slowly, 
then nodded.  "That's why I turned it down."
     There were no threats, no exhortations, no scenes . . . LaCroix 
simply left, closing the door softly behind him.  He didn't even 
slam the door on his way out.  She was just as glad because at that 
point any loud noise would have caused her to jump out of her 
skin.  Natalie's immediate reaction, once that door had closed 
behind LaCroix and remained closed for at least five minutes, was 
to lock it, then collapse onto the couch.  For an hour or so she 
picked on the cold Chinese food, particularly the garlic beef, and 
wondered how she'd lived this long and how much longer she 
might expect to live, dealing with vampires so cavalierly.
     That WAS the way to treat them, after all.  She'd learned to 
respect their strength and their experience, their intelligence and 
their instincts--survival AND predatory--but she'd also learned that 
they weren't omnipotent.  They had physical weaknesses that could 
be exploited and they were, underneath, still people with psychoses 
and shortcomings and flaws.  One of her psychology professors 
had been fond of quoting a passage that said that both God and the 
devil existed in every man, in varying proportions.  That was 
particularly true of the vampires she'd met, although both their 
strengths and their weaknesses seemed to have been magnified.  
Nick could be the kindest, gentlest, selfless, caring man she'd ever 
known . . . but she also seen him become self-absorbed, obsessive, 
petty, cruel, nasty, and thoughtless without so much as a moment's 
notice.  She was almost certain that he truly loved her.
     However, she was ABSOLUTELY certain that he had 
thoughtlessly cheated on her.
     A decision had to be made.
     Halfway between what was left of the mooshu and the pork-
fried rice, Natalie made that decision.
     The problem was, she wasn't at all certain how to tell Nick what 
she'd decided and why.  By the end of the pork-fried rice and while 
she was picking out the spicy leaves in the tangerine beef 
container, Natalie had decided that it would be better to wait until 
Nick approached her.  It would be easier to stick to her guns if their 
confrontation occurred on her own turf, on her terms.  She didn't 
want anything to go wrong.  Who knew what would happen then?
     It took him three days.  She'd worked a double shift, straight 
through the afternoon, and so had the evening off.  After a nap, 
Natalie had dressed, shrugged into her raincoat, and was about to 
brave the elements in search of cat food and chocolate chip cookie 
dough ice cream.  When she opened her apartment door, she found 
Nick standing there, dripping on her doormat.
     A quick glance at the hall carpeting told her just how long he'd 
been pacing outside her door, probably trying to get up the nerve to 
ring or knock.  The fact that his hair was plastered to his skull and 
water was still beading and pooling on the leather jacket meant that 
he'd probably spent a good long time pacing outside her building, 
as well.
     Opening the door had startled him and she got a brief glimpse 
of sorrow and longing in his eyes before he turned his gaze away.  
"Nat--I know you didn't want to see me, but I needed--"
     "Will you get in here?  You're dripping on the carpet."  
Grabbing his arm, she dragged him into the apartment, through the 
living and dining room, and directly into the kitchen, where the 
water would do the least amount of damage to the tile.  "Take off 
your jacket--you're soaked through!  I know you're damn near 
indestructible," she scolded, attempting to peel the jacket off him, 
"but even you should know enough to come in out of the rain.  You 
won't be able to do this when you're mortal--you'd catch your death 
first--"
     "Nat--"  He caught her arms, holding her there, one arm out of 
the jacket.  "Please--stop.  I have to tell you . . . ."
     The words faltered and fell away.  He simply stared into her 
eyes, his expression so unbearably sad that she felt tears gathering 
in the corners of her eyes.  "We do need to talk," she agreed, finally 
breaking the silence.  She squeezed his arms with her fingers in 
reassurance, then sighed.  "But can you get out of those wet things 
first?  You are not sitting on my couch like that."
     "I'll stand."
     "No--"  Freeing herself from his grasp, she propelled him from 
the kitchen, to the hall, then to the bathroom.  When he paused in 
the doorway, slightly bewildered, she added, "You're gonna strip 
down, hang everything up on the shower rail to dry, and put on my 
fuzzy bathrobe--it should be big enough to fit you.  I'm going to go 
make myself a cup of coffee and then we'll sit in the living room 
and discuss this like grownups.  All right?"
     He hesitated for only a moment, his gaze meeting hers.  
Eventually, a faint smile formed, matching her own, and he ducked 
his head.  "What color's your bathrobe?"
     "Navy blue."
     "Good.  If it was pink, we'd have to hold our conversation 
through the bathroom door."
     "That might NOT be such a bad idea."  With a slight push, she 
ushered him into the bathroom, then closed the door behind him.  
Natalie returned to the kitchen and promptly began coffee 
preparations on automatic pilot.  Taking off her coat, she draped it 
over the back of a kitchen chair, then seated herself and took a 
deep breath, all sense of self-possession rapidly draining from her.  
What should she do?  What should she say?
     When the coffee was finished, she rose and poured a cup.  A 
sound at the kitchen doorway made her turn.
     She tried not to laugh.  Really, she DID try.  But Nick's hair was 
still damp and tousled and the bathrobe barely fit him, stretched to 
its limits across his shoulders and ending just below his knees.  
The two ends of the tied belt barely met and he held the edges 
closed in such a death grip that she instantly realized that he 
probably wasn't wearing anything but the robe at that moment.
     Natalie was relieved when he grinned in response to her 
chuckle.  "This was your idea," he reminded her.
     "Um . . . yeah."  Picking up her coffee cup, she walked toward 
him and then past him, heading for the living room.  "Sorry I don't 
have anything else.  Unless you want a blanket . . . ?"
     "Togas were a little before my time--never did get the hang of 
them."
     Natalie seated herself on the couch, almost directly in the 
middle of the seat.  Nick paused, then took the hint, carefully 
sitting in the chair just to her right.  She held the coffee in her hand 
and tried to soak up the heat, thinking that might stop the nervous 
shivers running through her.  "So."
     "So."  Nick cleared his throat.  "Nat, what do you want me to 
say?  I was wrong.  I'm sorry."  He paused and took a deep breath, 
exhaling slowly.  "You'll never know how sorry I am.  The last 
thing I wanted was to hurt you."
     She closed her eyes, hearing the words and letting them settle 
around her heart.  He meant them.  She knew he meant them.
     "Can you forgive me?"
     Opening her eyes, she set the coffee cup down on the table and 
then turned her head to meet his gaze.  Those blue eyes, so wide 
and earnest and hurting.  Pride wasn't an issue.  He was taking the 
blame; he was asking for forgiveness.  She COULD forgive him, 
but was she strong enough, brave enough, trusting enough to return 
to the precarious balance they'd managed to achieve?  It was like 
living in a house of cards in a perpetual hurricane--sooner or later it 
was all going to come crashing down upon them.
     Natalie looked away and picked up the cup again--her hands 
were shaking.  "LaCroix was here."
     She wasn't even certain she'd said it aloud; it was as if some part 
of her had distanced herself from this, didn't want to have to go 
through it.  There were no guarantees, however much she might 
want them.
     There was another long silence, before Nick answered, "I 
know."  She heard him shift in the chair and his tone was tinted 
with guilt as he added, "I was . . . keeping an eye on you.  I was 
afraid that someone might--that something might happen."
     "He came here on his own," said Natalie.  "He fed me bull 
around Cyrano.  Felt me out about seeing him."  And felt me up, 
she added to herself, still more than a little stunned at the thought 
that she'd survived that encounter.
     "And you told him--?"
     Startled by the edge in his voice, Natalie sat up and met his gaze 
again.  "Why don't you ask HIM?"
     "I don't think that's such a good idea."  He hung his head, then 
gave her a sidelong glance.  "I haven't spoken to LaCroix in over 
two weeks.  I haven't even listened to the radio."  He bit his lip and 
looked down.  "Nat, promise me that you won't see LaCroix again 
unless I'm with you."  
     Bristling, she took a sip from her coffee cup, then set it back on 
the table.  "You don't trust me."
     "I'm frightened for you.  No matter what bargain he made with 
us, he can find a loophole.  I don't want you hurt, by LaCroix or . . . 
anyone."
     She looked at Nick again, annoyed that he was STILL assuming 
that he had a right to protect her, but stopped when she realized 
how pale he was--his lips were pinkish, rather than red, and his 
flesh was almost bone white.  A bolt of fear moved through her and 
she almost knocked her coffee cup over as she rose to her feet.  His 
eyes were fever bright.  "Are you all right?"
     When he didn't answer, looking away, she walked over to him 
and touched his cheek with her fingertips.  He flinched at her 
touch--his skin was colder than she'd ever remember having 
noticed before.  "I was right--you WERE standing out in the rain, 
weren't you?  My God, Nick!"
     "I'm all right.  Just . . . hungry."  There was such guilt in the 
word, but he turned his gaze toward her, eyes desperate.  "I've been 
trying to make up for . . . ."
     "You HAVE been feeding, haven't you?" she asked worriedly.  
Natalie brushed her hand through his hair--even his scalp felt cold.
     "Cow's blood--a cup a day for two weeks."
     "A cup a--Nick!"  She drew back from him, then touched his 
cheek again.  "That's near starvation level."
     "I wanted it to be right between us again.  While there was still 
a chance--Nat, whatever you want from me, just tell me.  I'll do it."  
Nick took her hand from his face and held it tightly between his 
palms.  "Forgive me?  Take me back?"
     Her heart rose in her throat and she felt tears gathering.  "Yes, I 
forgive you.  But--"
     He pulled her close before she got a chance to finish, his face 
pressing against her stomach as his arms went around her waist.
     She could feel the chill of his skin through her clothes, which 
made her want to cry more than ever.  After a moment, she pulled 
back slightly and touched his chin, making him meet her eyes.  
"You won't get another chance," she told him, trying to sound 
stern, even though her voice was on the point of breaking.  "This is 
it.  If you EVER do something like this again--"
     "Never!" he vowed, staring up at her.  "I love you.  I never want 
to hurt you again."
     Sitting on the edge of the chair, she held him close, still alarmed 
by the coldness of his skin.  "But it's going to happen, isn't it?  Not 
you wandering off again," she said quickly, when he pulled back as 
if to vehemently deny that, "I know you're serious about that.  You 
know I'm serious that I'll never see you again if you do.  I mean 
about us getting hurt.  There's so much more than just us, isn't 
there?  So many more people involved.  We're never going to have 
nine-to-five jobs, a mortgage and a car payment and kids--"  A 
lump rose in her throat at the words and she leaned down into his 
shoulder and the terrycloth of her bathrobe in an attempt to fight 
back her tears.  
     "If that's what you want, we'll find a way," Nick whispered in 
her ear.  "Whatever you want, for the rest of your life . . . ."
     "For the rest of MY life," she echoed.  Natalie released a long, 
slow sigh and closed her eyes.  "I love you too much to do that to 
you--tie you down to my mortality."
     "Isn't that MY choice?" asked Nick.
     She opened her eyes and found him smiling at her, which she 
answered with a sad smile of her own.  "I want you to be happy."
     "YOU make me happy."
     His kiss was gentle and tender . . . and his lips were cool, almost 
cold.  Natalie found herself shifting from the chair arm into his lap, 
her arms going beneath the terrycloth robe and around his neck.  
She shivered as he kissed the side of her face and down along the 
length of her neck, saying, "I've missed you," against her warm 
flesh.
     She felt almost fevered, hot and burning against him.  "I've 
missed you too," she answered, just before returning her lips to his.
     She HAD missed him; had missed his presence and his wry 
humor, had missed the sense of him being around, had missed 
sharing bits of her day and her life with him.  If time was against 
them, there was nothing they could do.  She loved him and wanted 
to be with him, but only if he reciprocated.
     Their kisses grew more passionate, lips and tongues against 
flesh.  Nick's hands roamed beneath her sweatshirt and Natalie 
eventually gave into the inevitability, raising her hands over her 
head so that he could slip it off her.  The straps of her bra slid 
down her arms.  Natalie kissed along the line of his ear, her fingers 
brushing through his hair as he held her breasts in his palms.  She 
shivered at the cool touch of his skin against her own, goose 
pimples rising as he stroked her flesh.  His mouth settled on the 
nipple of her left breast and she moaned as he nibbled and sucked 
at the tip and around it, his hand lightly stroking her right breast.
     Her own hands were busy, kneading the muscles of his neck and 
back, her fingers gliding over the surface of his skin.  At one time 
she thought that she might memorize every inch of him and what a 
relief that would be, knowing there was almost no chance of 
having to identify his body on a morgue slab by the contour of his 
muscles.  Her business had made her something of a muscle snob 
and she loved Nick's muscles, particularly the rhomboids.
     Suddenly, Nick drew in a sharp breath and pressed the side of 
his face against her chest.  His arm went around her waist and he 
held her tightly.  Startled, Natalie dropped one hand to his shoulder 
and the other to his arm as he growled against her flesh.  "Nick?"
     Another deep breath--his only answer was to hold her tighter.  
His head lowered slightly and he let out a low moan, as if in pain.
     Natalie rubbed the length of the trapezoids in his neck; his 
muscles were bunched and taut.  She held him as tightly as he held 
her.  "It's all right," she said softly.  "We should take it slow.  You 
may not be ready for this."
     It was too soon.  She should feel the hard lines of the fangs 
beneath his lips as he pressed his face against her breast.  The 
vampire had been freed three weeks ago, tasted vampire and 
human blood, and he'd said he'd have difficulty controlling it again.
     She knew she should have been afraid and she was . . . for him.  
Slowly, she stroked her hand through his hair and whispered 
calming nonsense.  Sitting on his lap put her in a precarious 
position--she couldn't move without leaving him, abandoning him.  
That's the last thing she wanted to do right now.  This was going to 
be another one of their 'little' obstacles.
     A minute passed, then another.  Nick shifted slightly and took a 
deep breath, releasing it slowly.  "It's all right," he answered, his 
voice strained, but quiet.  "It's . . . all right now.  You're safe."
     "You'd never hurt me."
     But fear struck some part deep into her heart when Nick raised 
his head and met her gaze with panicked eyes.  "I would," he 
answered, his voice cold and old and sad.  "Nat, I'd kill you before 
I even knew what was happening.  It's too strong.  It's stronger than 
I am."
     "It's not stronger than us."  She threw her arms around him and 
held him tightly.  His flesh was still cold, still too chilled.
     "Maybe you were right."  He let his head rest against her 
shoulder even as they held one another.  "It's not fair to you--I can't 
ask you to do this, I can't ask you to love me.  I'll kill you.   You 
know I'll-"
     "Ssssh!"  She shifted her weight from him and moved to sit on 
the chair arm again, careful not to release her hold on him.  At 
some point her bra had been completely discarded, but Natalie 
spotted her sweatshirt on the floor beside the chair.  Finally 
releasing Nick, she leaned down and picked up her sweatshirt, then 
slipped her arms and head into it.  "It's just too soon, that's all.  We 
both know how much of a setback it was.  It'll take a while before 
you could control yourself."
     Nick was leaning back in the chair, still breathing heavily.  
"Nat, I want you so badly . . . ."
     She leaned forward to kiss his cheek and brushed his hair with 
her hand.  "I want you, too.  But I want you to be okay with this."
     He caught her hand and pressed it to his lips.  "How long?" he 
asked, after a moment.  "A day?  A week?  A year?"  Swallowing, 
he looked up at her.  "Maybe never.  I won't last that long.  No 
matter how much I want you, it wants you more.  The hunger 
inside, it just--"  Before she could blink, he'd thrown himself out of 
the chair and he was standing at the door, with his back toward her.  
"I'll leave.  You'll never see me again.  It's the only way you'll be 
safe.  It's the only way."
     Natalie rose slowly from the chair, then walked toward him 
with carefully measured steps.  "A cup of blood a day  isn't 
enough--we both know that.  We have to get you up to speed again; 
we have to feed the hunger.  It worked when we took it slow, trial 
and error.  We can do that again.  We . . . ."
     When he didn't turn, she placed her hands against the terrycloth 
of the bathrobe, in the middle of his back, and leaned against him.  
His muscles were tense beneath the cloth, cold and tight.  They 
both knew they couldn't start from the beginning.  The restraints 
weren't an option, not after what LaCroix had put them through.  If 
this was it, if there couldn't be anything physical between them . . . 
it would be impossible to go back to where they'd been before.
     "You don't have to leave," she said firmly.  "We'll get through 
this.  We can do it."
     Nick turned, until he held her in his arms, drawing her close 
against his skin and the bathrobe.  "You don't understand.  Nat, I'll 
kill you.  The vampire will kill you."
     She held onto him for a long moment, then sighed.  Looking up, 
she brushed his cheek with the back of her hand.  "It's not stronger 
than the both of us.  It can't be.  We have to give it time."
     "We don't have that kind of time."  His eyes were blue, but 
burning, intense.  "It wants you and I won't be able to hold it back, 
not if you're so close.  It won't care where you are or who you're 
with.  LaCroix tried to tell me.  He told me to push my feelings for 
you away, to remember what I was, that this was impossible now.  
He said that it wouldn't be denied.  He was right--I felt it.  Even 
now."  He looked past her for a moment, as if he were staring into 
his own soul, then met her eyes again.  "It's so close to the surface . 
. . even a scratch would set it free.  The closer I am to you, the 
more danger you're in."
     "It's hungry," said Natalie.  "Of COURSE it's hungry.  You've 
been starving it.  You've barely been at sustenance level.  
Wandering out in the rain hasn't helped.  And I bet you've been 
flying, rather than driving?"  When he looked away, not answering, 
she pulled back from him and eyed him critically, her heart 
sinking.
     Okay, so she'd forgiven him, but Nick hadn't forgiven himself.  
Cutting back his blood consumption had been a good idea, but he'd 
taken it too far, seeing it as a punishment rather than a way to get 
back on track.  For the last three weeks, he'd done almost 
everything he'd unconsciously could to let the vampire have the 
upper hand.  Maybe it was time he started acting and thinking like 
a mortal.
     Like a mortal . . . . 
     The thought lingered long enough to become an idea.  If she 
was VERY careful and took this slowly, it might just work.
     Then again, it also might just get her killed.  She had another 
choice to make--risk everything on one throw of the dice or let 
Nick guilt his way out of her life forever.
     The fact that she'd decided earlier that she really DID love him 
made the decision a lot easier.
     "Come on," she said, grabbing hold of the bathrobe sleeve and 
his arm in it.  "You're chilled to the bone and you're not thinking 
straight."  She headed toward the bathroom with Nick in tow, 
wishing she had some blood on hand.  It wasn't the sort of thing 
that you could just order in, was it?
     Or . . . was it?
     "Nat, this isn't a good idea--"
     "You want to get out of here?  Fine."  She stopped at the 
bathroom door.  "But you're a block of ice and your clothes are still 
wet.  You give me the clothes and I'll run them downstairs--there's 
a dryer in the basement--"  When he opened his mouth to protest, 
she held up her hand.  "I don't care if they're dry-clean only, that's 
your problem.  I am NOT sending you home in the same condition 
you showed up.  While I'm doing that, you're going to take a long, 
hot shower--maybe that will take the chill off you.  Once you're dry 
AND warm, I'll let you out that door, but not a moment before.  Is 
that understood?"
     He actually thought about protesting--she saw it in the set of his 
chin and that all-too serious look in his eyes.
     Sliding her hand into his grasp, she stared down at the floor for 
a moment, then looked up at him again.  "Please, Nick . . . it's all 
right.  We'll work this out.  Let's just take it one step at a time."
     His hand closed around her own and her drew her closer, his 
other hand moving to her hair, stroking it, running through it.  
"One step at a time?  I wish we could."
     There was such regret and longing in his eyes--  "Was it really 
that bad?"
     He straightened, releasing his grasp on her hand, his other hand 
falling away from her.  "It was too close to call.  I almost didn't 
catch it in time."
     Natalie swallowed, then smiled almost shyly and stepped into 
the bathroom.  She pulled his wet clothing from the shower rod, 
then stopped to pick up his soaked shoes on the way out.  "I'm 
afraid you're going home with wet shoes.  Unless you want the 
slippers that go with that robe?"
     "I don't think I want to chance getting stopped for a traffic 
violation wearing fuzzy blue bedroom slippers."
     "Not one to live dangerously, huh?"
     "I think we've both had enough danger tonight."  Self-
consciously drawing the edges of the robe closed as she passed, 
Nick added, "But I'll take you up on the hot shower."
     "Good.  You take your time, too.  I've got plenty of hot water."  
Natalie paused with a grimace as she held up her arm--some of his 
clothing was still dripping.  "This stuff looks like it's gonna take 
years to dry."
     "Nat?"
     She paused in the hallway, her back toward him.  "Yeah?"
     "I AM sorry.  I guess I really screwed things up, huh?"
     She closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded.  "Once you've 
dried out some, we can talk some more."  Turning her head, she 
met his gaze squarely.  "If we can outlast everything we've run into 
so far, we can outlast this."
     There was a flicker of fear in his eyes, a moment of uncertainty, 
then he looked away.  "I'd give anything to make that happen," 
Nick said, as he closed the bathroom door.
     She stood in the hallway for a moment and took a long, slow 
breath, knowing exactly what she was risking.  The dripping 
clothing reminded her that there was work to be done and Natalie 
snagged two things on her way out of the apartment--her purse, 
which contained her keys and her money, and her cellular phone.  
She began dialing the number on her way to the basement and the 
phone was ringing by the time she entered the empty basement 
laundry room and tossed the clothing into the dryer.  She was on 
hold for a moment and took that opportunity to put the coins in the 
machine and start the cycle going.
     The phone was picked up again.  "Yes?" asked LaCroix's voice, 
cultured, but disinterested.
     "It's Natalie.  I need your help."
     There was a momentary pause and she hoped to God he 
wouldn't laugh.  He actually sounded more than vaguely intrigued.  
"You've reconsidered my offer?"
     "No.  Thanks just the same, but I'll pass."  Natalie hopped onto 
a nearby, empty clothes dryer.  "Nick's in a bad way--I need some 
blood delivered to my place, right now.  I don't know what the 
going rate is, but you know I'm good for it."
     "The going rate is . . . rather expensive.  I think we can still 
come to some arrangement."  There was another pause.  "I'm afraid 
I don't have any bovine blood on hand at the moment.  You'd have 
to settle for aqua vitae.  Will that be a problem?"
     Bastard.  Natalie grit her teeth together for a moment, then 
sighed.  "Okay, that's fine.  Whatever.  I'll need three bottles."
     "Three?  So many?"
     "Three," she repeated, her tone of voice letting him know that 
she was serious.  "Have someone else bring it by--I don't want you 
and Nick in the same room right now.  It's bad enough that you're 
in the same city."
     "I have someone in mind, a disinterested third party."  There 
was another pause and she got the impression that LaCroix was 
laughing at her.  "It will be delivered momentarily."
     Natalie sighed and slipped off the dryer, fighting the urge to 
slump back against it--if this part of her plan hadn't worked, the 
rest would have been sheer suicide.  "Thank you.  I owe you."
     "You do.  It will be a pleasure doing business with you, Dr. 
Lambert.  Good night."
     The dialtone sounded in her ear.  Natalie clicked the phone shut, 
picked up her purse and headed upstairs.  Whatever relief it might 
be to know that she wouldn't have to dash out into that maelstrom 
to a cash machine was over-shadowed by the fact that she now 
owed LaCroix, something that she should have avoided at any cost 
and probably would have if she'd been in her right mind, which she 
hadn't been since the evening Nick had sat up on her examining 
table in the morgue.
     "Love DOES make you crazy," she said aloud, hiking up the 
steps to her apartment.  She let herself back inside, dumped her 
purse on the couch, then stepped over Sydney, who was 
inconveniently sleeping in the middle of her entryway carpet.  For 
a moment, she paused, wondering what she should do about 
Sydney.  No matter what happened, she wanted him to be safe.
     Bending down, she picked up Sydney carefully, trying not to 
waken him.  He stirred slightly and curled up against her as she 
walked across to her hall closet.  With a free hand she pulled a 
sweater from a hanger and dropped it to the closet floor, then 
stared down at her sleeping feline.  Natalie kissed him once on the 
forehead, then rubbed her fingers along his belly--he stretched in 
his sleep.  "You'd better stay here, buddy, out of the line of fire."
     She intended to put him into the closet immediately, but paused 
for a moment longer, content to have the sleeping weight and 
warmth in her arms.  "It'll be okay, Syd.  Mommy loves you.  If 
something happens . . . if something happens to mommy, someone 
will take care of you.  Nick will make sure of that.  I'll tell him.  I'll 
make sure he knows that.  Maybe Grace can . . . ."
     The knock on the front door startled her--she nearly dropped the 
cat.  As it was she blinked back the tears from her eyes and she 
placed him carefully on the sweater and then shut the closet door.  
He'd be safe there.
     A lot safer than she'd be.
     Natalie checked through the keyhole, saw the back of a head--a 
bunch of blonde curls--then opened the door.
     It was Urs.  She was wearing a brown suede jacket, fringed and 
ruined by the rain, her hair still curled but plastered to her skull in 
places.  She smiled almost shyly, then lifted a brown knapsack 
from the floor at her feet by the straps.  "Special delivery?"
     Natalie matched the smile as she took the bag Urs offered, 
nearly dropping it as gravity took over and mortal strength was no 
match for vampire ease.  "Wow, that's a weight.  Thanks for 
bringing it so quickly."
     "I was told it was sort of an emergency."  Urs peered into Nat's 
apartment.  "So, this is your place?"
     "Yeah.  Look, come in and dry off for a minute."  Now she had 
TWO dripping vampires on her conscience.  "I'd offer you a hot 
cup of coffee, but . . . ."  Grinning, Natalie shrugged, then gestured 
for Urs to follow her through the apartment.
     "Can't stand the caffeine.  It shows up in the blood--makes me 
hyper."  Urs touched her finger to her mouth, then shrugged almost 
guiltily.  "Sorry, I'm not used to being able to talk to mortals like 
that.  Kind of different, talking to somebody who knows the score."
     "Do I EVER," agreed Natalie.  She gestured toward the couch.  
"Living room.  Dining room's through here.  And the kitchen is this 
way."
     Urs turned around as she walked, trailing after Natalie.  "This is 
really pretty.  I've been thinking about getting a place like this.  
Curtains and doors and carpets.  I've spent most of the last century 
on the road."
     Natalie continued on to the kitchen, where she removed the 
bottles of blood from the knapsack.  Placing them on the counter, 
she sighed, then returned to the dining room to find Urs studying 
the china on her hutch.  "That's from my grandmother.  She 
brought it with her from the old country."
     "It's lovely."  Urs picked up a plate and ran her fingers lightly 
over the flowered pattern, then turned again to look at the room.  
"A place just like this, that's what I'd want.  Only . . . with smaller 
windows."
     Natalie took the plate from her and put it back in place, then 
picked up the empty knapsack and handed it to Urs.  "Have you 
spent a lot of time traveling?"
     "If you run with Vachon's crew, you travel.  He's spent a long 
time running.  Maybe he'll settle down for a little while."  Urs 
stepped out to the center of the room, then turned slowly.  "It 
seemed a waste, having something like this, to put it together and 
then just run out, leave it behind?"  She ran her finger along the 
lace runner on the dining room table and smiled sadly.  "I guess 
that's part of the trade off.  Nothing last forever . . . but it would be 
nice if it would last for a decade, at least."  Then she looked up and 
swung the bag over her shoulder.  "Guess you've got company, 
huh?  I'd better be on my way."
     Natalie followed her out to the living room and to the front 
door.  "Thanks for the delivery.  Sorry I dragged you out on a night 
like this."
     "It's okay.  It was something different to do."  Another smile, 
this time more honest.  "You should come down to the Raven some 
night.  I sing on Thursdays and Fridays."
     "I'd like that.  Maybe if Nick can get a night off?  I don't think I 
want to face LaCroix on his own ground without back-up."
     "Lucien?  Oh, he's not so bad.  You just have to know how to 
handle him, is all."
     Natalie was stunned for a moment, not certain whether it was 
the fact of someone calling LaCroix 'Lucien' with such ease or the 
thought that he could be 'handled' like some overzealous 
salesperson.  "You . . . um . . . know how to 'handle' LaCroix?"
     Urs opened the door to the hall and paused there for a moment, 
as if thinking.  She glanced over her shoulder, at Natalie.  
"Actually, I think he's the only one who knows how to 'handle' 
me."  There was another pause and she looked past Natalie, to the 
room beyond.  "Could you tell Nick something for me?"
     "Sure."  Puzzled, Natalie, leaned against the door frame.
     "Tell him . . . tell him that it's okay.  Just tell him I said 'it's 
okay.'"  Then she smiled again, shrugged, and headed out, pausing 
only to turn and waved 'bye' with the barest flash of her hand.
     Natalie was closing the door when the realization hit her.  
Nothing overt had been said, nothing substantial, but she KNEW.
     Nick had slept with Urs.  
     Urs was the friend of Vachon's who'd been hurt.
     On impulse, Natalie opened the hall door, but Urs was long 
gone.  She stood there a moment and silently cursed LaCroix.  He'd 
sent her intentionally, perhaps hoping to cause a scene.  Or, maybe, 
just to give her a little test, to see if she'd figure it out.
     Natalie barely kept herself from slamming the door shut in 
anger.  She stood with her back against the front door of her 
apartment, still slightly stunned.  Better to let the anger to drain out 
of her.  She didn't want to face Nick like this.  It was going to be 
tricky enough dealing with him, why make the situation more 
difficult and possibly even more dangerous?
     Her stomach twisted in knots now that she had a name, a face, 
an identity to go with Nick's bout of infidelity.  It was worse 
because she knew Urs--not well, after all, but she was more than a 
name if less than a friend.  Despite the casual, street-smart exterior, 
there was something delicate about Urs that she'd admired, 
something fragile that she'd found intriguing, especially in a 
vampire.  
     Damn LaCroix!
     And now she owed him, as well.
     With a sigh, Natalie returned to the kitchen.  The water was still 
running in the bathroom, but she tucked her feelings tightly within 
her and scouted out a bottle opener and a fairly unbreakable beer 
mug--it was the largest glass she had in the house.  After a 
moment's thought, she opened all three bottles, then tucked one 
beneath her arm, held the other in her hands, and carried the beer 
mug to the bathroom.
     She had a brief moment of panic when she couldn't get the door 
open--her hands were full--and she was afraid that Nick had locked 
it.  It would mean getting the screwdriver from the junk drawer in 
the kitchen, picking the lock, and by then Nick would know what 
was up and any advantage she'd have in surprise would be lost.
     However, tucking the mug under her arm and freeing her hand 
to grasp the knob did the trick.  Natalie opened the bathroom door, 
slipped inside the room, then closed the door softly behind her.
     She was almost slapped in the face by the heavy, hot mist 
produced by the steam from the shower--from the feel of things 
Nick had taken her at her word and was taking a scalding shower, 
because she felt like she'd walked into a sauna.  He'd also left the 
lights off, but there was a faint glow of moonlight through the 
bathroom window, so she could barely see across the small room.  
She set the bottles of blood on the vanity counter, put down the 
glass, and began to pour.
     "Nat--?"  Behind her, she heard the rings of the shower curtain 
rattle as it was drawn aside.  "What's--?"
     "I thought you might need a drink."  Natalie picked up the 
blood-filled mug and turned, only to see Nick half-hidden by the 
curtain, his hair plastered to his skull.
     He drew back into the darkness of the tub alcove as she 
approached.  "That's blood."
     "You bet.  And it's not mine, so don't bother asking."  She 
waited at the edge of the tub, then offered the mug to him, 
wondering how long it would take him to pick up the scent.  "You 
need this and a lot more or you're going to crash and burn.  Do us 
both a favor and drink up, like a good Nick?"
     He'd pulled the shower curtain with him as he drew back, 
shielding the lower half of his body.  In the darkness, she saw the 
red burning beneath the blue depths in his eyes.  The water from 
the shower pattered against the side of the tub and onto the floor--
her shoes were getting wet.
     "It's . . . human," said Nick, finally, his voice deep, thick, and 
very, very scary.
     "It's all they had."
     "Nat, I--"  His voice was still deep, still lost somewhere 
between control and the violent depths of the hunger for blood.  He 
held out his palm as if to push the glass away, but then his hand 
turned, his fingers reaching for the glass.
     Natalie gave it to him, then stepped back quickly, barely 
following the journey of the glass as Nick drew it closer, now 
clasping it with both hands, modesty and the shower curtain 
forgotten.  He all but upended it into his mouth and, for a moment, 
the spray from the shower drained away bright crimson, then pink, 
then faded back to near transparency, as it sluiced away the blood 
that spilled from the glass.  The sounds were almost desperate, a 
continued gulping, without pause for air or breath.  Finishing it, 
Nick groaned and turned his back to her, resting his arm against the 
tile, slumping as if he needed the wall to provide his moral support 
now that his soul had given in to the inevitable.
     The handle of the glass dangled from his other hand, as if 
forgotten.  Reaching forward, Natalie took it from him--he offered 
no resistance.  She backed away slowly, returning to the vanity and 
the bottles of blood.
     It took an effort of will to turn her back to the shadowed and 
partly screened shower, but she did it.  The liquid in the bottle was 
thick; it was undiluted human blood--no wine or water or ice, but 
full strength.  She poured slowly, just as glad that the water had 
washed the glass clean, somehow afraid that the blood would stain 
her, burn her if it touched her flesh.  Once the glass was full and 
she'd emptied one bottle only to begin the next, Natalie walked 
back to the shower.
     Nick hadn't moved; he was standing in the darkest corner of the 
tub, away from the water, shadowed by the shower curtain.  She 
only saw the shadows shift when she approached.  That he could 
smell the blood from that distance should have scared her and, 
perhaps, on some level it did.  It frightened her more, though, to 
think of what might happen if he decided not to drink.
     She wouldn't have blamed him--not once she'd gotten over it.  
She told herself that and tried to believe it.  He'd avoided human 
blood as yet another form of penance, equating the drinking of 
even bottled, donated blood with the predatory aspect of his nature.  
This time, though, was different.  It had to be different.  He had to 
see that, he had to understand it, he had to believe it.
     Even though she didn't really believe it herself.  It might be a 
means to an end, but it was also a betrayal of what she'd told him 
for the past several years, that the blood was what was preventing 
him from coming back across.  Now it was the lack of blood that 
was keeping them apart.
     His hand emerged from the darkness, into the moonlight from 
the window, just past the shower curtain.  She tried to give him the 
mug, but he reached past her hand and grasped her arm, his fingers 
closing around the sleeve of her sweatshirt, as he drew her forward 
into the shower with an unwavering pressure.
     Natalie hesitated at the edge of the bathtub, still dressed, Nick's 
grip on her arm the only thing that kept her hands from shaking the 
blood out of the mug.  She slipped one foot behind the other, 
pushing off her sneaker, then kicking out of the right one.  The 
mug had to be transferred to one hand as she pulled off the first 
damp sock, then the other.  When her feet were bare, she yielded to 
the pressure of his grip and let him draw him into the shower, past 
the spray and into the shadowy darkness behind the shower curtain, 
at the far end of the tub.
     Nick held her close to him, turning his back to the water as if to 
shield her from the brunt of it, but her sweatshirt and pants were 
now as damp as her socks had been and soaked in spots where 
she'd come into direct contact with the spray.  She leaned against 
the length of his skin, which warmed somewhat by the blast of the 
once scalding water.  Letting him hold her, she leaned her head on 
his shoulder, aware of the water beading down his skin of his neck, 
the movement of his adam's apple as he drank down the blood, the 
rise of skin above and below his eyelids that told her just how 
tightly his eyes were closed and what it was costing him to keep 
them that way.
     His body was strong and solid, immovable, but as he held her 
she could feel the hunger within him.  It was something tangible, 
like a cyst or a lump, but a presence that roared to life from the 
momment the blood touched his lips, brought to the surface by the 
smell and held by the lingering traces of the first glass' contents on 
his tongue.  She FELT the hunger, felt the power of it, the ravenous 
quality of it, and began to share something of his fear.  How he had 
ever controlled this part of himself was beyond her ability to 
comprehend.  How he might ever find the means to control it again 
. . . she began to doubt her previous certitude that with time it 
could be possible.
     The second glass was finished--almost four pints, a little more 
than a bottle.  She caught the cup before it could fall and shatter 
against the ceramic tub, pulling back from Nick, fully expecting 
him to retreat into the darkness again, to give in to his shame.
     This time, he drew her back into his arms.  Opening his eyes, he 
threw back his head and took a deep, gasping breath like a 
drowning man about to sink under the dark waters for what he 
thought would be the last time.  Her heart was racing in her chest, 
the sound seeming louder in her ears than the constant patter of the 
water against the tile floor and the shower curtain.  Then he 
lowered his head, his eyes gold as his gaze hesitantly met her own, 
and he kissed her again.
     The desperate need was gone.  He was more tentative this time, 
careful.  When they broke from the kiss, his arms rose to her 
shoulders, hugging her against his skin.  "Better," he whispered, 
after a pause.  "It's better, now."
     Natalie closed her eyes against against the droplets of water that 
were splashing in her face and obscuring her vision.  She raised a 
hand to brush them away and pulled back from him, the other hand 
still cradling the mug to her chest.  "The vampire doesn't want me," 
she told Nick.  "It's like LaCroix--he didn't want me, either, I just 
happened to be convenient."  Her vision finally clearing, she found 
him smiling at her and smiled back.  "It doesn't want to kill me.  
You don't want to kill me.  It was hungry, that's all.  YOU were 
hungry."  She half-turned, suddenly remembering the nearly full 
bottle sitting on the vanity.  "There's more--"
     "No.  Not now.  I'm all right for now."  Nick caught her 
shoulder, stopping her from stepping out of the tub.  He 
deliberately pried her fingers from the glass mug with his other 
hand, then set it on the corner ledge of the tub, still not releasing 
his hold on her shoulder as if he were afraid she'd run away.  When 
the mug was out of danger, he stepped closer and hefted a water 
soaked mass of her hair in his free hand.  "Stay with me."
     Natalie hesitated, trying not to be entranced by that winsome 
smile, which she knew all too well could instantly become the 
deadly grin of a predator.  She didn't feel the presence of the 
vampire as she had a moment before and his eyes, even in those 
few minutes, had changed from gold to a very deep and startling 
blue.  The monster, the predator, was appeased for the moment.  
There was such affection in his eyes, in the play of his fingers on 
the shoulder of her soaked sweatshirt--
     "Oh . . . what the hell," she agreed.
     Nick wasted no time in drawing the sweatshirt up over her head, 
the final pull sending it over the shower rod.  Her equally soaked 
slacks and underwear followed soon after, landing with a distant 
resounding 'smack' on the tile.  Natalie didn't much care.  It felt 
right to have him so near again, right to have the familiarity of his 
muscles beneath her roaming fingertips, his lips on hers, his mouth 
devouring her own.
     At one point she realized that, quite literally, her back was 
against the wall--the tile wall of the shower.  Gazing up at him, 
Natalie smiled and Nick touched his forehead to hers, also smiling-
-they were relaxed, standing together.  "Do you remember our first 
shower?" she asked.
     He groaned in mock despair and lowered his head to rest on her 
shoulder.  "Remember?  I was terrified!"
     Natalie pushed gently at his chest.  "Terrified?  Why?  You had 
nothing to be ashamed of."  She smirked impishly as he lifted his 
head and gave her a hesitant look.  "I didn't mind the view.  You 
have the cutest--"
     He jumped in surprise when she pinched his buttocks, but didn't 
give her a chance to enjoy the tactical advantage.  Almost instantly, 
he caught her hands with his own and held them over her head and 
against the wall, pressing his body against her, trapping her.  "Have 
you no shame, woman?" he scolded lightly.  "I ought to--"
     "What?" dared Natalie.
     In answer, Nick transferred his hold on her wrists to one hand.  
He turned slightly, still pinning her, but exposed her ribcage.  
Crooking a finger, he held it at eye level, the slowly moved it 
downward.
     "Don't you--ow--no--STOP that!"  Natalie shrieked, as Nick ran 
his fingernail lightly over a ticklish spot along the side of her ribs.  
Within seconds she had gone from begging to cursing and back to 
begging again, as he continued to hold her and tickle her, tears 
streaming down her eyes from laughter, washing instantly away by 
the barely luke-warm spray from the shower.  Unfortunately for 
Nick, he got just a little TOO overconfident.  Natalie wasn't even 
thinking consciously about what she was doing, it was purely an 
involuntary muscle response on her part--at least that's what she 
told herself in the horrible stunned silence that followed the 
moment she actually managed to shift her knee in the wrong 
direction at exactly the right time.
     Nick didn't let out so much of a howl as a high-pitched squeal.  
He doubled over, backing directly into the spray and falling against 
the shower controls, instantly changing the water from barely warm 
to freezing.  Pushing back the shower curtain, Natalie jumped out 
of the tub, caught enough of the damp bath-mat to keep her footing 
on the drenched tile, then shut off the water with an even better 
aimed blow, as Nick continued his fall, pitching to his knees down 
into the tub.
     "Oh, God!  I'm sorry!  Nick--are you--I'd didn't mean--well, you 
shouldn't have tickled me like that and--Oh, God, I'm sooooo sorry 
. . . ."  Natalie dropped to her knees beside the tub and placed a 
hand on his back--what lovely rhomboids he had!--then tried to 
peer down, to get a look at his face.  "Nick?"
     There was a deep breath, followed by a slow exhalation.  Nick 
remained huddled over, both hands clasped over the injured area.  
"Ow," he managed finally, his voice oddly strained.
     "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean it."
     He turned his head to look at her, his expression slightly 
accusatory.  "That's a relief."  Managing another long, shaky 
breath, he half-turned, resting on hand one the edge of the tub, then 
leaned his chest against the side as well, droplets of water falling 
from his hair and onto the floor as he rested there for a moment, 
eyes wide.  "Remind me never to tickle you again."
     Natalie patted his back, then kissed the back of his neck.  "You 
can tickle, just don't hold me so tight.  I DO have reflexes, even if 
they are teeny mortal reflexes."
     "I'll keep that in mind," he said resignedly.  Then Nick lifted his 
head, watching as she rose and headed for the bath-towels on the 
towel bar near the door.  "There was nothing 'teeny' about that 
reflex.  I don't think I'll ever worry again about leaving you alone 
with LaCroix."
     Natalie threw a towel at his head, which he caught, then pulled 
another from the rack and began to get rid of the excess moisture, 
wrapping the towel around herself.  "That would be an entirely 
different situation."
     "If it works--"  Nick pried himself up out of the bathtub, the 
towel traveling briefly over his head, back and chest before being--
carefully--tied around his waist.  He limped slightly as he walked 
toward her.  "It's a good way to distract a vampire."
     "A MALE vampire," corrected Natalie.  "It was luck."  She 
grinned as he took another step and winced, then glared at her.  "It 
didn't hurt that you're a fairly large target."
     Nick paused, leaning his hand against the vanity top, his 
features exhibiting dismay.  "FAIRLY large?"
     "VERY large," said Natalie quickly.  She walked toward him, 
reached out her hand for the edge of his towel and--after getting his 
permission with a quick glance at his eyes--pulled one side open 
slightly and inspected the area.  "Positively enormous," she 
amended.  Then , after a second, added, "Is it supposed to change 
color like that?"
     Nick regained control of his towel and tied it around his waist 
apparently in high dungeon.  He stalked out of the bathroom--but 
not without picking up the open bottle of blood as he passed, she 
noted.
     With a grin, Natalie turned to survey the bathroom, then the grin 
fell away and she sighed in dismay.  There was water 
EVERYWHERE.  Dropping the towel from around her to soak up 
a large puddle at the edge of the tub--Nick must have been dripping 
there, because she certainly would never have caused such a mess--
she reached for her bathrobe and slipped her arms into it.  Then 
Natalie picked up her sopping clothes and wrung them out over the 
tub, finally draping them over the shower rod.
     It only gradually dawned on her that she'd won.  She wasn't 
dead, Nick had regained something of his equilibrium by feeding 
the beast within him on human blood belonging to someone other 
than her, and things had actually started on a very promising course 
for the evening, until he'd decided on a course of one-upmanship 
and her body had decided to retaliate.
     It was, however, pretty comforting to know that she could take 
him down with one shot if she had to.  It was also more than a little 
comforting that he was now VERY aware of the fact that she 
wasn't the helpless little mortal he'd thought she was.  Mopping up 
most of the floor with her discarded towel, she was forced to admit 
that it had been a lucky shot.  If things got really serious, she 
doubted that she'd get a second chance at Nick with a shot like that.  
And even if she got a first chance at LaCroix . . . well, the size of 
the target did have something to do with it.
     There was still water just about everywhere and her robe was 
starting to get wet.  Groaning, Natalie pushed herself up off her 
knees--her one knee was kind of sore--tossed the wet towels into 
the tub in disgust, and went in search of Nick, wondering where a 
damp and partially naked vampire who'd bruised a little more than 
his ego would go to sulk.
     He was lying on her couch, towel still in place, a pillow 
propped under his head.  Natalie walked over and glared down at 
him.  "I'd appreciate some help with the mess you left in there."
     "Have pity on the wounded," said Nick .  He blinked up at her, 
eyes all innocent, expression serious.  "You wouldn't want to 
disturb my recuperation."
     "Recuperation?  The way you heal, it would take a sherman tank 
to knock you over."
     Pulling the pillow out from under his head, Nick placed it over 
his face, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a non-
too-favorable comparison between her and a sherman tank.
     Natalie slapped her hand against the pillow.  "And what about 
MY injury?"
     Nick lifted the pillow from his face and tossed it aside, suddenly 
serious.  "Are you hurt?"
     "Unlike you, my pride's still intact."  She grinned to ease his 
sudden alarm, then sat down in the chair just to one side of the 
couch and placed her foot on the coffee table, the bathrobe slipping 
away from either side of her leg as she revealed her bruised knee.  
"See, it's turning purple, just like yours did."
     "I'm back to normal, thank you."  Nick pushed himself up to a 
seated position then leaned forward, as if to examine her knee.  
"Does it hurt?"
     "Only when I touch it."
     "Like this?"  Nick reached out and pushed lightly against the 
purple bruise with his finger.
     "Ouch!"  
     With a frown, Natalie moved as if to cover her leg with her 
bathrobe, but Nick placed his hand over her own, saying, "Let me 
try something else.  Tell me if this hurts."  Then, very carefully, he 
leaned forward and kissed her knee.  Turning his head, he asked, 
"Better?"
     "Much better," agreed Natalie, as his hand slid down the length 
of her calf and then back again.  She sighed as his fingers dug 
slightly into the skin, massaging the uninjured part of her leg.  He 
shifted her leg carefully so that it rested across his lap, then began 
to work over the muscles in earnest, slowly, one at a time.
     He got so into what he was doing that occasionally he'd forget 
the purplish bruise on her knee.  Natalie found herself biting her 
lip, afraid that he'd stop, willing to endure the occasional twinges 
for the rest of the wonderful release her muscles were 
experiencing.  It was like being wound tight and them allowed to 
wind down at her own pace, until her leg muscles felt about as 
shapeless as putty.  
     Nick finally caught her wince when he glanced up at her, his 
hands falling from her instantly.  He bent his head forward and 
kissed the knee lightly again, saying sternly, "Nat, don't let me hurt 
you."
     "You didn't hurt me."  She reached out her hand to take his, then 
suddenly found herself swept into his arms, one arm beneath her 
knees--favoring the injured one--and the other behind her back and 
beneath her shoulder.  "Oh, I think I'm beginning to LIKE this 
recuperation thing, especially if I get to travel in style like this."
     "I'll carry you anywhere you want to go," said Nick.
     "Anywhere?" she teased.  "What about work?"
     "Right up the front steps and into the coroner's office."
     "In a towel?  What would Grace say?"
     "Probably a lot less than if I lost the towel all together."
     Natalie pressed her face against the skin of his shoulder.  "I 
thought you were supposed to be recuperating."
     "If there are any advantages to being a vampire, this is one of 
them," answered Nick, semi-seriously.  "I'm fine now."
     "I'll bet.  Mind if I see for myself?" she asked skeptically.
     "You're the doctor."  Nick half-turned, Natalie still in his arms, 
as if looking for a place to set her down.  "Now, where's your 
examining room?"
     "That way."  Natalie pointed down the hall.
     Nick took a step in that direction, then paused.  "I thought that 
was your bedroom."
     "That's the place I usually play doctor."
     "That's the place we want, then."
     Natalie let her head loll back and enjoyed the brief trip down the 
hall.  It had worked.  Her plan had worked!  She wasn't dead, Nick 
wasn't going to guilt his way out of their relationship or kill her . . . 
and she'd managed to guarantee herself--hopefully--at least a good 
five years of general uncertainty, with a future forecast of blustery 
and troubled times.
     Not bad for a spur of the moment plan, she decided, as Nick 
carefully deposited her onto her bedspread.  She scooted over, 
expecting him to lie down beside her, but he knelt down on the 
floor and crossed his arms atop the edge of the mattress, his head 
resting on them.  "That knee doesn't look very good from here," he 
said seriously.
     "Sez you."  Suddenly self-conscious, Natalie sat up and pulled 
the flap of the bathrobe over her injured knee.  "Who's the patient 
here, anyhow?"
     "We'll take turns."  Nick ran his fingers along her calf, brushing 
aside the bathrobe again as he worked his way from her ankle to 
her knees, then back again.  Pushing up from the floor, he leaned 
across the mattress, still holding the length of her leg against him, 
the sole of her foot in his hand.  "I think I should take a closer look 
at this."
     "A serious look?" asked Natalie, turning her foot as he held it.  
"No tickling?"
     "No tickling," promised Nick.  His fingers closed over the arch 
of her foot, massaging gently, and Natalie sank down onto the 
mattress.  At first she propped herself up on her elbows, but 
eventually allowed herself to fall back against the bed, content to 
close her eyes and enjoy the continuation of the massage Nick had 
begun in the living room.  It was nice to be cared for, not having to 
think, just relaxing as his hands worked and reworked their way 
over and around the muscles in her lower legs and feet.
     At least, that's the way it was at first.  Each trip upward would 
reach just a little higher and each downward sweep would take a 
little longer, prolonging the return.  She realized after a time that 
her eyes were open and that she was staring at the ceiling, her 
breath catching as Nick's hands wandered closer to her torso . . . 
then sighing in frustration as he worked his way down again.
     A light slap against her right thigh got her attention.  Leaning on 
one elbow, she glanced down at him.  "Yes?"
     "Just wondering if I was boring you."
     "Boring--no.  Frustrating the hell out of me--yes."
     "Good."  Nick grinned, then leaned down to plant a quick kiss 
on her injured knee as his hands returned to massaging that leg.  
"It's been a while; I want to memorize every inch of you and I've 
got a lot of ground left to cover."
     Natalie took a long breath as his hand continued to moved 
upward along her inner thigh, right under her bathrobe.  "You 
know . . . a girl could take a statement like that the wrong way."
     "You're right, I should be more careful."  The hand paused on 
its journey beneath her bathrobe and Nick met her eyes, his 
expression innocent.  "Is there a wrong way to take this?"
     Natalie shivered as his finger parted the folds of her flesh and 
trailed lightly upward.  It left her, then returned, a second finger 
exerting equal pressure in its wake.  But this time instead of 
departing, the fingers stayed in place, lightly rubbing the nub of 
flesh at the top of their arc with a slow and insistent pressure.
     Nick's touch sent tingling sensations through her body.  Natalie 
closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensations, nearly jumping when 
those skillful fingers left her . . . and their path was traced by Nick's 
tongue.  She moaned as he continued to manipulate her, his touch 
sure and careful.  Her fingers grasped at the pillow edges to either 
side of her head and her breathing grew more rapid and shallow, 
each wave increasing the tension in her body.  The reaction, when 
she came, was a sudden spike of joy, followed by a lethargic 
feeling of warmth and contentment that washed over her.
     She opened her eyes slowly, and smiled to find Nick lying on 
his side, watching her.  He was lazily rubbing his palm up and 
down her thigh, his eyes filled with adoration and his lips curled 
around a grin that always meant he was pleased with himself for 
having found a way to please her.
     "I enjoyed that," she whispered, reaching out a hand to tousle 
his hair.
     "I thought you might."
     He was SO pleased with himself that she found herself feeling 
just a bit mischievous.  Her intentions must have been written on 
her face, because when she announced, "Okay, now it's MY turn," 
Nick's self-satisfied smile was replaced with a look of trepidation.
     "That WAS your turn," he said defensively.
     "Oh, no--I mean playing doctor.  Now it's my turn."  Rolling 
over, Natalie pushed herself up to her knees, uncaring that the belt 
to her bathrobe had slipped open and that it now revealed far more 
skin than it covered.  Giving Nick's shoulder a push so that he was 
lying on his back, she scooted down to the towel that was still tied 
around his waist . . . although there was a defined 'tent' effect 
happening that was pushing the terrycloth to its limits.  "I love 
unwrapping things," admitted Natalie, slipping her fingers through 
the knotted towel and parting it easily.
     The bath towel fell to either side.  If Nick's erection wasn't quit 
at full mast, it was well on its way.
     "What's your medical opinion, doctor?" asked Nick.  He'd 
linked his fingers behind his head and lay there, grinning up at her.
     "Well, considering I usually deal only with dead people, I think 
you're recovering nicely."  Natalie gently ran a finger the length of 
his shaft and smiled to see it straighten further at her touch.  "And 
so are you, you poor little guy.  You know I didn't mean to hit you; 
you just happened to be in the way."
     Nick cleared his throat.  "I'd appreciate a little more respect, if 
you don't mind."
     "Sorry."  Natalie met Nick's gaze and tried to look apologetic, 
but, failing miserably, turned her attention back to his shaft.  "You, 
too," she told it, giving the side of it a light pat and causing Nick to 
groan aloud.  She brushed her fingers lightly across the base of his 
scrotum, which brought forth a groan for an entirely different 
reason, the skin retaining some of the warmth from the hot shower 
and slightly puckered from the length of time Nick had been 
exposed to the water.  "Everything looks just fine," she announced.  
Leaning back on her heels, Natalie planted her palms flat on her 
thighs and grinned triumphantly as Nick.  "Right as rain."
     She managed to keep her smile in place even as his expression 
fell.  "That's it?" he asked, obviously disappointed.
     "Yep."  Waving her hand toward the equipment in question, she 
added, "Looks fine to me."
     "You don't want to take a closer look?"
     Natalie hesitated, her knuckle to her lip as if considering the 
problem, then met Nick's gaze again with a doubtful expression.  
"Do you really think that's necessary?"
     "There could be internal damage or . . . something."
     "Hmmn."  Natalie turned her gaze back to his groin again, still 
trying to maintain her clinical manner.  She shook her head.  "I 
don't know.  Maybe we could use a second opinion on this . . . ."
     Nick sat up quickly.  "No--I don't think so.  I trust you.  If you 
say it's fine, it's fine."
     Unable to hold back her amusements any longer, Natalie 
planted a hand on his chest and, as he grinned in relief, pushed him 
back down on the bed.  "Maybe I'd better take another look after 
all, just to be certain."
     She slid her hand along his thigh as she leaned closer to his 
body--she really DID like his muscles--and placed her hand at the 
base of his shaft, circling it between the curve of her thumb and 
finger.  His skin was still slightly damp from the shower and with 
some sweat, no doubt from his confinement in the towel.  She 
thought momentarily of the baby oil in her medicine cabinet, but 
didn't want to run off and fetch it at this particular moment.  Which 
brought up another problem . . . there were no condoms in her 
apartment.  If things progressed as she expected them to, this 
particular bout of sex was apt to be more than a little unprotected.
     The thought concerned her only for a second.  Natalie removed 
her hand from the base of his shaft and lowered it to herself.  There 
was more than enough lubrication present from Nick's version of 
'playing doctor'--which certainly brought entirely different 
questions to her mind about his previous medical credentials--to 
help her ascertain if her knee-jerk reaction had left any lasting 
effects.  A single swipe coated her fingers with enough lubrication 
for what she intended and she closed her fist around the base of 
Nick's shaft.
     He moaned aloud at her first, slow stroke upward, his body 
almost rising off the bed to follow the movement of her fist.  She 
varied the position of her hand, not only to please him but to keep 
her fingers from cramping, one time scraping lightly along the 
underside of his penis with the tips of her fingernails and the next 
giving the head a slight pressure as she pulled her fist completely 
over and past it.
     That last sent a shudder through Nick's body that startled her 
and she glanced down at him, only to find his eyes were closed 
tightly, one hand clutching the mattress straight through the sheet 
and the other reached out in her direction, not too far from her foot.  
His mouth was slightly agape and there was a harsh note to his 
breathing but, thankfully, she saw no sign of fangs.
     She tickled or caressed his scrotum with the fingers of her left 
hand, as she pumped with her right, which would elicit another 
occasional moan.  Vaguely, she wondered if she could get another 
reaction like that shudder again and changed her tactic, 
concentrating on the sensitive skin on the underside of the penis 
and just beneath the head.  His shaft grew as she stroked and 
caressed it, hardening and thickening, but although he shivered and 
moaned with delight, there was no shudder.
     Faintly disappointed, Natalie was pretty much finished with her 
immediate creative options when she remembered what Nick had 
said about his recent bout of straying--fellatio.  She'd offered to 
provide oral sex once before, the night of the reconciliation, but 
he'd backed off, telling her that he wouldn't be able to maintain his 
control.  Since then she hadn't broached the subject, thinking that 
when he felt comfortable enough, he might be willing to try it 
again.
     There was no time like the present.  Planting one hand firmly on 
his thigh and the other at the base of his shaft, Natalie leaned 
forward and licked once across the head of his shaft, then took the 
head into her mouth for a second, sucked on it, and released it 
almost immediately.
     The reaction was electric.  Nick half-rose from the bed, the 
fingers of his right hand grasping her upper arm.  Staring at her, he 
shook hi