*WARNING*

This story contains scenes of a sexual nature.  Consider this NC-
17.  If you are under 17, then go away.

This is a story for Natalie's birthday.

So happy birthday, a little bit late, wherever you may be.

And this has no relation to any of the other stories I've written.  At 
all.

N/N, implied kinky stuff (s/m)
________________________________
HAPPY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BABY

By Ophelia5@aol.com



        Natalie hesitated as the elevator door opened, flinching for 
the "Surprise!" she half-dreaded, half-expected.
        There was nothing.
        Still cautious, she held the door open and peered out into the 
loft.  The shades on the windows were open, letting in the bluish-
violet tones of twilight and a few lights were on, but there was no 
sign of Nick.  Unless . . . he was upstairs?
        It would be just like him, to tell her to keep her evening free 
on her birthday, then get caught up in a case and forget about the 
date.  THEIR date.   She let the elevator door close behind her, 
dropped her purse onto the piano and headed for the stairs. 
        "Nick?"
        There was no answer.
        There was, however, a very large box sitting in the middle of 
his living room.  Natalie walked around it, amazed.  It was at least 
four feet high and three feet wide and was covered with 
translucent blue cellophane that reminded her of the inside of shells 
she'd picked up on the beach when she was a child.  The lid was 
fastened to the box a large blue bow on each side and a series of 
smaller bows and baby's breath formed a centerpiece at the middle.  
It was absolutely gorgeous.
        And she had no idea what was in it, although she had a very 
good idea who it might be for.
        Swallowing, she backed away, a hand to her mouth.  My 
God, what HAD he gotten her?  A toaster oven?  No, it was too 
big.  A microwave?  No--same problem.  It was smaller than a 
refrigerator, but then why would he buy her a refrigerator or any 
sort of appliance?  It wasn't as if they were engaged and trying to 
build a home or were intending to be married . . . .
        She swallowed again and forced the thought from her mind.  
No, she'd promised herself she wasn't going to think about it, not 
this year.  Better to solve the puzzle at hand.  
        So she concentrated on the box.  It COULD be a television.  
She'd told him often enough how much she liked his wide screen.  
Although the box seemed too small for even that.
        Taking a step closer, she ran her hand over the wrapping--
she'd be very careful when opening this.  It was lovely paper and 
they must have used rolls of it, layer after layer, for it to simmer 
like that.  Nick would want to throw it out, but if she folded it 
nicely she could use it again.  And Sydney would have hours of fun 
with just one of those bows--
        That's when she saw the edge of the envelope peeking out 
from beneath the centerpiece.
        Natalie looked over her shoulder toward the stairs.  "Nick?" 
she called again.
        No answer.  So she turned the envelope over in her hand and 
thought about opening it.  Nick was probably hiding somewhere, 
watching her right now.  He was probably waiting for her to open 
the package and then he'd spring out and say, "Surprise!" and 
scare her half to death and then laugh and she'd laugh and then 
she'd kiss him and he'd kiss her back . . . and then he'd walk around 
the box or half way across the room to put distance between them-
-that all important distance that protected her from him, from the 
beast inside him.
        It made her want to cry.
        Instead, just in case he was watching, she forced a smile and 
carefully opened the flap on the envelope and pulled out the card.  
Nick's taste in cards had improved recently--at least he was 
learning that Hallmark shouldn't have the last word on what was 
written inside.  Although he'd started signing most of his notes to 
her 'with affection' after she'd explained to him just what a bone-
headed thing he'd done that one birthday.  But he'd learned to put 
other things there, too.  Things, she gathered, he'd seldom spoken 
aloud to anyone, never mind had the audacity to place on a card 
and then hand it to someone.  It was that courage, that willingness 
to finally put some of his feelings for her in writing, that had saved 
their relationship once before.
        The card was unusual for him, a white card picturing a small 
blue and gold cornflower just off-center.  The instant she opened 
it, she knew the handwriting wasn't his.

     Dear Natalie:

     I was in town this week and had thrown together something I
     had hoped to use.  Sadly, I was called away.  Nicholas said that
     it was your birthday, so I thought you might have some fun.  It
     would be such a shame to waste.

        Natalie sighed and looked at the box, having recognized 
Janette's handwriting almost immediately.  Great--it was probably 
a trousseau in a size she would have fit when she was ten years old 
. . . on a good day.
        But there was more on the card.


     The hypnotic effect doesn't last long, about twenty-eight hours,
     and must be prepared in advance, so I've used it sparingly over
     the centuries.  I don't know why this should work on
     Nicholas and LaCroix so well . . . it might be our bloodline.
     I've  tried this on other vampires with differing results--

        Natalie stared down at the card, a sinking feeling in her 
stomach.  "Tried WHAT with other vampires . . . ?" she asked, her 
voice shaking.
        But the box was silent.
        "Oh, no," she whispered.  "Oh, no, oh no--"  Quickly, she 
flipped away the catches on three sides of the box, drew in a 
breath, then threw back the lid.
        The first thing she saw was a gleam of gold--Nick's hair.  On 
tiptoes, she peered down into the darkness of the box and saw that 
he was asleep.  "Nick?  Nick, are you all right?"
        There was no answer.  Her heart in her throat, Natalie 
reached into the box and touched his cheek--his skin was cool but 
not abnormally so . . . normal for a vampire.  She wanted to check 
his pulse, but she wasn't about to wait eleven minutes.  What had 
happened to Nick?  What had Janette done?
        There'd been more writing on the card, hadn't there?
        Natalie turned, scanning the room frantically, then spotted the 
white card atop the couch arm.  Her hands were shaking as she 
opened it again and she rescanned what she'd read, her eyes 
darting back to the box.  All right--it was some form of hypnosis.  
It could be broken, right?

     I'm afraid the effect can't be reversed--

        Damn!

      --And it won't harm him in any way.  He won't require blood
      or sleep until the twenty-eight hours have elapsed.  He's never
      shown any ill effects before and, if you're careful, he need
      never know what happened to him.  At least, he's never shown
      any sign to me that he's remembered anything--

        Natalie sighed.  With Nick, how could you tell?

     Feel free to experiment with him as you will.  For the next
     twenty-eight hours, Nicholas will be your devoted and docile
     slave.  Once you tell him to awaken, he's your responsibility.
      As I said, I shall be out of town.  But if you need help, you
     know where to find LaCroix . . . .

     Happy birthday, Natalie.  I hope you enjoy your gift.

        Staring at the card, Natalie fought the impulse to tear it into 
pieces and throw it into the air.  This was a joke, right?  This HAD 
to be a joke.  This was a joke Nick had rigged up with Janette and 
they were going to jump up any minute and surprise her and then 
she'd beat them to bloody pulp with the first baseball bat she could 
get her hands on.
        But there was no sound or movement.  Natalie peered into 
the box, then reached in and touched his hair.  He looked like a 
sleeping child, the brightness of his hair the only thing she could 
see in the shadowed box.  "Wake up, Nick," she said softly.  "Oh, 
PLEASE wake up."
        He moved.
        Natalie jumped a foot away from the box, then ran back to it 
as she saw him stir.  There was a thump as he knocked into the 
side of the box.  "Hang on, hang on, I'll get you out of there!  Just-
-"  She grabbed onto a corner of one side of the box and felt a 
catch release.  "Bingo!"  Quickly moving to the other side of the 
box, she ran her hand up the joining and found another catch.
        One side of the box fell to the floor with a thud, bouncing off 
the edge of his coffee table.  Natalie wrestled with it a moment, 
tossing it out of the way, then turned--
        Nick was still sitting in the box, half-crouched and half-
leaning.  He was wearing black leather sandals that laced up to his 
thigh, some sort of black leather studded harness thing, a broad, 
tight leather belt with lots of metal rimmed and studded holes of 
varying sizes and a pouched g-string which, if it was one-size-fits-
all was certainly a size too small for him.
        "Oh . . . momma."  Natalie forced herself to take a breath and 
tried not to laugh.  He looked like a leather bar nightmare, cute 
and extremely sexy and . . . she wished to hell she had a camera on 
her, because Janette or no Janette, this was DEFINITELY 
blackmail material for the next time this cop/vampire decided he 
didn't want to drink the protein drink she'd spent eighteen hours 
preparing because it smelled funny.
        That's before he got to his feet and things fell into place.  And 
boy, DID they.  
        He raised a hand to his eyes, shielding them from the lights of 
the room and looked around with an expression of absolute 
bewilderment.  When Natalie took a step toward him, he seemed 
to notice her presence for the first time, at first shying back in fear 
then dropping to his one knee in front of her.  "Your slave awaits 
your command, Mistress," he announced.
        "Slave?" 
        Natalie cleared her throat and glanced over at the card she'd 
left on the table.  Janette was definitely going to get a talking to 
about this one.  IF she could ever find her.  Since Janette had 
become mortal and then become a vampire again--Natalie still 
wasn't entirely certain about the chain of circumstances and Nick 
wasn't volunteering any information . . . SURprise!--she'd 
appeared and disappeared at intervals not always, Natalie was 
certain, making her presence known.  In fact, she hadn't really 
SEEN Janette since she'd been brought back across.
        This did, however, explain why Janette had hung around with 
Nick and LaCroix for so many centuries and not ended up a pile of 
dust or out of her stark raving mind when the pair indulged in their 
private battles.
        Natalie glanced down to find Nick looking up at her in 
absolute worship.  Which wasn't odd in itself--she'd seen the same 
expression on his face the morning she'd tried the litovouterine on 
him and he'd ended up looking up at her . . . or up the extremely 
short skirt she'd had the misfortune to think had been a good idea 
at the time.  But it was a little unnerving.  "Nick?  Do you know 
me?  Who am I?  Tell me who I am."
        He bowed his head again.  "You are my Mistress."
        "And you are?"
        "Your unworthy slave."
        "Uh-huh.  That's what I thought."  Leaning against the arm of 
the couch, Natalie sighed.  "Devoted and docile, huh?  Yeah, 
Janette, I'll bet you were looking forward to a really FUN weekend 
with Nicky."  Leaning down, she ran her fingers through his hair.  
He flinched at her immediate touch, then was still, which made her 
even more wary.
        "Okay, show's over," she decided.  "Up."  When he didn't 
move, she reached down and pulled him upright.  "C'mon Nick--
up, up, up.  Stand up."  He did so, but looked down and away.  
"And stop averting your eyes, dammit.  It makes you look shifty."
        "Pardon, Mistress," he said softly, but there was a tremor in 
his voice.
        Natalie touched his cheek with her hand and nodded.  "It's all 
right.  I think I understand.  You're used to operating within 
certain parameters.  Well, we're going to change those right now.  
So you just do what I say and you'll be fine.  Okay?"
        The bright smile she gave him seemed to help.  His answering 
smile was less hesitant and he nodded almost shyly.  "Yes, 
Mistress."
        "Good.  You didn't look away, either.  Very good.  But you 
don't call me 'Mistress.'  My name is 'Natalie.'  Or 'Nat.'  You call 
me 'Nat,' usually."
        "N-nat?"  He frowned at the word, his brow furrowing as he 
met her eyes.  "N-nata-ta-lie?"
        "Let's stick with 'Nat,' okay?"  She patted him on the 
shoulder and then turned her back to him, rubbing the palms of her 
hands over her eyes.  "Happy birthday to me--oh, yeah, THIS is 
going to be tons of fun.  The first thing I want to do is get you out 
of that outfit.  The second--"
        Then, she paused.  Because she really didn't know.  She 
couldn't leave him like this, not with LaCroix having developed a 
habit of just 'dropping' by to see his favorite errant child.  God 
knows what LaCroix would lead him into in this condition . . . and 
what he'd have to feel guilty about twenty-eight hours later when 
Nick regained his senses, if Janette was to be believed.  Nor could 
she leave him like this on his own.  Nick very obviously had no 
idea who or what he was.  Yeah, he had tonight off.  She could 
call in a vacation or sick day for him tomorrow night and just hope 
Reese and the others would believe that he'd picked up some food 
poisoning from her birthday dinner or that they'd tossed back one 
bottle of champagne too many in celebration.  Right now Nick was 
a danger to himself and others simply because he didn't know any 
better.
        Which meant that she was stuck with him straight through 
nine o'clock tomorrow evening, right here.   Great.  At least the 
video tape place around the corner delivered.  Although she didn't 
have any free cash on her.  And Nick's wallet would be--?
        "Nick," she asked, turning, "where's your--ah!"
        Nick started at her cry, his hand raising to shield his eyes.  
"Mis--Nat?"  He seemed worried and anxious.
        He was also butt naked.
        Natalie turned away quickly, her hand at her throat, but Nick 
hadn't seemed to have lost any of his vampire speed.  He was 
kneeling on the floor before her, forehead against the carpet at her 
feet.  "This slave has not pleased you, Mist--Nat.  He must be 
punished.  Please punish this slave, Mistress."
        Having to acknowledge that the view from above was NOT 
bad, Natalie forced herself to look at the blank wide-screen TV 
behind him, then gave up on that when its reflective properties 
gave her an even more interesting outlook on the situation.  She 
finally settled her gaze on an innocuous circus poster hanging 
above the far stairway to the second level and took a deep breath.  
"No, it's all right, Nick.  You haven't done any thing wrong.  You 
just . . . you just surprised me.  When I said we had to get you out 
of those things--I should have realized how literal your mind was 
at the moment."
        "Slave will not be punished?"
        It pained her to hear the note of disappointment in his voice.  
"No," she said firmly.  "Slave--uh, YOU won't be punished.  It was 
just a little misunderstanding, that's all.  Just a little--"
        Her eyes wandered to the shutters on the window, which 
were wide open.  Swallowing and thanking God that Nick had 
chosen to live on the uppermost floor of the warehouse, Natalie 
very deliberately turned and picked up the remote control, holding 
down the buttons until the window shutters were completely 
closed.  It would be just like Janette to have set this up, then be 
hanging around outside, watching the fun.
     She glanced down at Nick, then looked up across the room 
again, her change in position having given her an even MORE 
interesting angle on the situation.  Walking back to the couch, she 
picked up a granny-square afghan , shook it out, then decided that 
it would have to do for the moment.  Walking back to Nick, she 
held it up at waist level, then said, "Okay, big boy, on your feet."
        He hesitated, turned his head and looking up at her anxiously.
        "Now!" she said sharply and decided she'd taken the right 
tack when he jumped to his feet almost immediately.  Before he 
had a chance to do anything obsequious, Natalie wrapped the 
afghan around his waist, then held it together at his hip.  At the 
lowest, it draped down to knee level at front and back and the 
holes gave her a tantalizing view of the contents, but she brushed 
that thought aside.  Taking his hand in her own, she folded his 
fingers over the gathered edge of the cloth and said, "That's the 
ticket.  Okay, now follow me--we're going upstairs to get you 
some clothes."
        Nick seemed to be responding well to direct orders--
something she filed for future reference.  Although he seemed to 
have a problem concentrating on any one thing at a time.  When 
she glanced back as they went up the stairs, she noticed that his 
grip on the afghan had loosened and it was barely covering 
anything.  Once he reached the stairs at the top of the landing, she 
turned, clasped her hands over his around the joining of the afghan 
to set things right, then, still holding onto his hand, led him into the 
bedroom.
        One pillow was on the floor, the black satin sheets and the 
blanket were crumbled at the bottom of the bed.  Releasing Nick's 
hand, Natalie tried to ignore her surroundings as she walked to the 
dresser, but a small spot of red on the hardwood floor stopped her.  
She hesitated, leaned down and touched it.
        A sniff from her fingertip and she straightened.  Blood.  
Definitely blood, maybe human, maybe vampire . . . ?
        Casting a glance over her shoulder, she saw Nick watching 
her.  He had the edges of the afghan clutched tightly in one hand 
and a lock of his hair had fallen over one of his eyes, which were 
less worried than confused.  "Has this slave not pleased you, Nat?"
        With a sigh, Natalie wiped the blood off on her hands and 
shook her head.  "No, Nick.  It's okay."
        He seemed relieved and looked around the room with open 
curiosity.  Natalie suddenly realized that he probably had no idea 
where he was.  Or who Janette was?  Although Janette had 
obviously had a little more time free than she'd first thought.  The 
question was, BEFORE she'd hypnotized Nick, or after?
        Deciding that she really didn't want to know, especially after 
seeing the outfit he'd had on in the box, Natalie moved to the 
dresser.  "Oh, cool," she said softly, "I finally get to go through 
Nick's drawers."  Then she turned to face him, "This is just to find 
you something to wear, of course.  I wouldn't normally do this--"
        Nick stared at her blankly.
        That blank, trusting look made her feel guilty.  She opened 
the first drawer little more than a half inch, then closed it when she 
saw no sign of pajamas.  The second drawer followed, but in the 
third she hit paydirt--several pairs of clean, black silk pajamas.  
Pulling out a pair, she shook out the carefully folded tops and 
bottoms and turned to him.  "I think these'll do for a start.  Nick, 
put these on."
        She had, of course, neglected to mention that he might want 
to wait until she left the room.  Nick dropped the afghan to the 
floor, walked over to her, and just stood there.  Natalie pressed the 
pajamas into his hands, made a valiant effort not to let her eyes 
wander below eye--okay, CHEST level, and said, "I want you to 
wear these."
        "Yes, Mistress."  He took the pajamas from her, the pants 
slipping from his grasp.  
        He stooped to bend for them at the same time as Natalie.  
She stumbled forward, turning her back toward him and 
straightening when she got a bit more of a view than she bargained 
for.  "Nick--come on!  Stop doing that.  Help me out, here."
        There was a moment of silence behind her.  "This slave has 
not pleased you," said Nick sadly.  "This slave must be punished."
        "No you don't have to be pun--"  She halted in mid-word as 
she turned to face him . . . and found that he was clutching the 
pajamas to his chest almost pitifully.  Working on eye-to-eye 
contact, she walked toward him and said slowly, "No, it's all right.  
I'll help you.  You don't need to be punished.  Let me take that."
        He handed her the pajama tops.
        "Now hold out your arm."
        It took a couple of interesting moves, but Natalie finally got 
the pajama top around Nick's arms and shoulders.  Giving the 
buttoning idea a pass for the moment--besides which, she was 
really starting to like the fact that she got to see so much of his 
chest and, hey, it WAS her birthday after all--Natalie then held the 
pajama bottoms in her hand and sighed.  There was no way he was 
going to work this out on his own.  She'd have to treat him like a 
toddler.
        But she'd never met a toddler capable of filling out a black g-
string like the one Nick had been wearing a short time before . . . . 
        Placing the pajama pants on the floor with the carpet showing 
through the leg holes, she pointed to a hole and said, "Nick--listen 
carefully.  I want you to stand so that one foot is in this hole and 
one foot is in that hole.  Wiping her face with the flat of her hand, 
she added, "Do you think you can do that?"
        Nick looked down at her and nodded.  "Yes, Mistress."
        "Then let's try it.  Go ahead."  Natalie stepped back from the 
pajamas and moved behind him when he stepped forward.  He 
managed to get a foot in each pantleg, she noted with some relief.
        "Great, good boy."  Patting him on the shoulder, she leaned 
her head close to his.  When he turned his head, beaming at her 
praise, it took all her will not to kiss him on the lips.
        But she stopped herself.  Squatting down, she lifted one side 
of the pajamas and started pulling them up his legs.  "Like this," 
she told him, stopping at about the knee, and indicating that he 
should manage the rest of the way.
        There was an awkward moment when the wrong bit of him 
got stuck on the outside of the waistband, but Nick corrected the 
problem quickly.  Once the pajamas were up to his waist, Natalie 
pulled the drawer-string at the top and tied a bow.  "There," she 
said, standing back and surveying her handiwork with pride.  
"That's perfect."
        "Yes, Mistress."
        Frowning, she walked over to him and took his arm.  "Now 
what did we say about that 'Mistress' stuff?" she asked with mock 
severity in her tone.
        Almost immediately, he fell to his knees and prostrated 
himself before her.  "Slave has displeased you, Nat.  Slave must be 
punished."
        Natalie stared down at him and sighed.  "We have GOT to 
get you off this 'punishment' thing."  Catching sight of Nick's 
clothes scattered across the floor on the near side of the bed she 
suddenly remembered that she'd been looking for his wallet earlier.  
There was a pair of jeans and, sure enough, in the back pocket was 
Nick's wallet.
        Again feeling a twinge of guilt, Natalie looked over at Nick, 
who was still face down on the floor, awaiting punishment.  "Um, 
would you mind if I borrowed a couple of bucks for a video?  You 
said we were going out--your treat--so I've got a couple of loonies 
on me and that won't even cover the tip.  Nick?"
        He remained so still that she became worried.  "Nick?"  
Natalie walked over and nudged him in the side with the toe of her 
heeled shoe.  "Nick, say something!"
        "I am awaiting punishment, Mistress."
        They were DEFINITELY going to have to do something 
about that 'punishment' thing.
        Sitting down on the bed, Natalie opened the wallet and 
discovered close to three hundred dollars, at least one hundred of 
which was in easily manageable tens and twenties.  Waving the 
money in Nick's direction, she called, "Nick?  Um . . . slave?"
        He actually looked up.  Natalie frowned, but then glanced 
down at the money in her hands.  Taking two twenties and a few 
smaller bills from the wallet, she set the wallet aside and showed 
him the bills.  "Okay--you see this money?  This is your money.  
I'm going to take it for right now.  That's going to be your 
punishment."
        "Mistress?"
        Shaking her head at his bewildered look, she added sharply.  
"Deal with it, okay?  That's all the punishment you're going to get 
for right now."
        His head went back down to the floor at her stern tone of 
voice.  Then she heard a quiet, "Punishment later, Mistress?"
        "All right, we'll do punishment later, " she relented.  Boy, was 
he good at wearing her down!  "And it's Nat, NOT Mistress.  Got 
it?"  His head rose slightly from the floor in a nod.  "Good.  Now 
get over here where I can keep an eye on you."
        Natalie reached for the phone, then looked down to find Nick 
kneeling beside her legs.  Trying to ignore his presence, she picked 
up the phone and dialed the store down the corner, which she 
knew was well-stocked with a variety of grocery items--
particularly popcorn--and a selection of classic videos.  After a few 
minutes dickering with the clerk--no, she DIDN'T want 'Exit to 
Eden' instead of 'Mary Poppins,' but would settle for 'Bambi'--she 
realized that she was stroking Nick's hair, as if he were some sort 
of pet.  Gulping, she drew her hand back quickly, but he gave her 
such a forlorn look that she decided that if he liked it and it kept 
him quiet, what the hell?
        She glanced at the clock as she returned the phone to its 
cradle--delivery of 'Bambi,' 'Babe,' and a provolone and ham sub, 
no mustard, along with a box of microwave popcorn in fifteen 
minutes or it was free.  So that would take care of part of the 
evening.  For the rest of it--she was stumped.  Janette's note said 
that Nick wouldn't need sleep or blood.  It didn't necessarily say 
that he wouldn't sleep, which was what she was counting on.  She 
had to wear out her vampire sex slave and quick, because she was 
only a mere mortal and sleep would be looking mighty good to her 
around six AM.
        "Now, Nick," she said, then reached down to turn his face 
toward her while she spoke to him, "I want to clear up a few 
things, okay?  I don't want you calling yourself 'slave.'  You're 
Nick.  You're not slave.  Say it--what are you called?"
        "Nick," he answered, after a pause, and seemed very unhappy 
about it.
        "Good.  Very, very good."  She rubbed his head and he 
smiled up at her in response to her praise.  "Now, what do you call 
me?"
        "Mist--"  He stopped, eyes wide, then looked down at the 
floor again.  "Nat."
        "Good.  You're such a smart Nick, I just don't know what to 
do with you.  And I'm going knock Janette right into next Sunday 
if I ever catch up with her--happy birthday, my ass!"  Having 
worked with animals before, Natalie kept her voice at a cheerful 
level, knowing that what was said wasn't really as important as 
HOW it was said.
        And that's what Nick seemed to respond to, smiling up at her 
happily.  Rising from the bed, she made him get to his feet.  "We're 
going downstairs now.  Follow me."
        As long as her commands were firm and uncomplicated, he 
seemed able to follow them.  They made it downstairs without any 
problem.  She set him to clearing away the birthday box to one 
side of the loft while she made herself a cup of coffee and waited 
for the delivery man to arrive.  It seemed an eternity before the 
elevator alarm buzzed and she walked over to the view screen.  
        "Tapes and a sub?" said the delivery boy, squinting into the 
camera lens, then looking down at the paper in his hand.  "For an 
N. Lambert?"
        "Come on up."  Natalie hit the access button, sending the 
elevator down and unlocking the lower access door.  She looked 
up to check on Nick and saw that he was just clearing away the 
last bit of paper from the box.  After looking back at the elevator, 
she walked over to him and took his arm.  "Nick?"
        He started, then fell to his knees before her. 
        "No!" said Natalie quickly, looking over her shoulder and 
grabbing his arm, almost holding him up by it in desperation.  "No!  
Stand up!  Up!"  When Nick was standing, she looked him straight 
in the eye and said, "I want you to sit on the couch.  I don't want 
you to move and I don't want to hear a peep out of you until after 
the boy is gone.  Is that understood?"
        Nick stared at her with wide eyes and nodded solemnly.  
"Yes, Nat."
        "Good.  Then, sit!"
        Nick hit the couch just about the time the elevator arrived.  
Natalie took the bag from the delivery boy, gave him a twenty, 
which included a pretty healthy tip, then sighed in relief when the 
elevator door closed behind him and he left.  
        Nick was suddenly beside her, taking the bag from her and 
Natalie nearly jumped out of her skin.  "Don't do that!" she said 
sharply, shaking her finger at him.  "God, you scared ten years off 
me."
        He was somewhat at a loss, unable to drop down to the floor 
without letting go of the bag.  In response, he hung his head.  
"Slave has displeased Nat.  Slave must be punished."
        "Not 'slave'--'Nick'!"  Frustrated, she grabbed the bag back 
out of his hands and set it on the counter, only to knock over her 
handbag, where she'd put the money she'd borrowed.  It fell to the 
floor, opened, and the contents spilled across the tile.
        "Damn!  Oh . . . damn!"  Bending down, she began to pick up 
the lipstick, the small mirror and tissues, the Certs . . . everything 
she'd gathered into one place expecting a night out on the town.  
        And nearly bumped heads with Nick.  Almost sheepishly, he 
handed over her hairbrush.
        Close to tears, Natalie wrenched the brush from him and 
shook it at him.  "This is all your fault," she told him.  "You!  I'm 
having a rotten birthday all because of you!"
        Nick's eyes widened and his head bowed.  "Slave must be 
punished," he repeated.
        "Punished?  I'LL punish you."  Natalie looked around for 
something to hit him with, then realized she had the hairbrush.  
Grabbing his hand, and almost knocking him over, she turned over 
his palm and smacked it soundly with the back of the brush.  
"There!  There's your punishment!  Are you happy now?"
        He seemed stunned at the slap of the hard plastic, then stared 
down at his palm, marked red where the hairbrush had struck him.  
When Nick looked up at Natalie, his eyes were calm.  "Thank you, 
Mistress."
        She stared at him for a long moment, then scooted over and 
hugged him, trying not to cry.  "I'm sorry!  God, what am I 
thinking.  You have no idea what you're doing."  She hugged him 
again--Nick seemed bewildered, but wasn't fighting her off.  When 
she said, "Let me see your hand--" he produced it quickly for her 
inspection.
        The mark was still there--surprising considering how quickly 
he usually healed.  Natalie bent to kiss his palm and said, "Poor 
hand.  I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to hit you.  I lost my temper.  But 
it's my birthday and we were supposed to go out and . . . ."  She 
couldn't help it--she started to cry.  Frustration and anger finally 
got the better of her and she put her hands over her face.
        It was a moment before she realized that Nick's arms were 
around her.  "Don't cry, Nat," he said softly.  "Don't cry.  Nick will 
be good.  Nick will be very good.  Don't cry--"
        Which made her cry even harder.
        But he held her and there was something safe and comforting 
about having his arms around her.  When she'd finally gotten 
through the worst of it and reached past him for her purse, Nick 
drew back from her, his head bowed.  Natalie fished her tissues 
from her purse and blew her nose, ignored the pocket mirror--
because she REALLY didn't want to know what she looked like 
right now--and decided that it was time to just buck up, accept the 
situation, and do the best she could.
        Getting to her feet was a bit of a bother, but Nick helped her 
up.  Taking a look around, she said, "Look, why don't you sit 
down.  I'll get my dinner and my coffee and we'll watch a movie, 
okay?"
        "No, Nat," said Nick very deliberately.
        "So let's--what was that?"  She'd already pulled her sandwich 
from the grocery sack, then turned to look at him in astonishment, 
having grown accustomed to him agreeing with everything she 
said.  In fact, it was turning out to be THE only good thing about 
this whole adventure.
        "No, Nat.  Nick will serve you.  Nick will be good.  Nat 
won't cry."  He took the sandwich from her, then gestured toward 
the couch and the sitting room.  "Nick will serve you," he 
repeated.
        Natalie hesitated, looked at him, then at the back of 
groceries.  "Okay . . . the sandwich is already cut--all I need is a 
napkin and a plate and the LAST thing I want to see in your hands 
right now is a knife.  The coffee's hot, so don't spill it because 
you'll burn yourself.  And--no, I don't think you should--"
        "Nick will serve you," he said firmly, holding the sandwich so 
tightly that she feared the remainder of the provolone would shoot 
out from beneath the bread and into the wrapping.  "Nick will be 
good."
        "All right.  I'll just . . . I'll just go sit in there."  Natalie walked 
into the living room, then paused and looked back, "But if you 
need something I'm right here.  Okay?"
        More than a little nervous, she sat down on the length of the 
couch, slipped off her heels and stretched her feet out along the 
cushions.  From her vantage point she could see some of what was 
going on in the kitchen, but Nick seemed to be doing okay.  At 
least it kept him busy and off the floor.  God, she couldn't believe 
she'd actually whacked him with that hairbrush!
        She looked up guiltily, saw that he was still busy in the 
kitchen, then sank down until the arm of the couch was beneath 
her head.  It frightened her to think that she might react that way.  
And what was even more alarming was Nick's reaction--not only 
accepting the abuse, but THANKING her for it?
        Frowning, Nat bit down on her lower lip.  She couldn't 
entirely blame Janette for that one.  Whatever conditioning 
Janette's hypnotism had applied probably worked off Nick's basic 
emotions, his natural feelings and reactions.  Deep down inside 
him was a load of guilt that made the spill from the Exxon Valdez 
look like something that could be handled with a paper towel.  
However much he tried to redeem himself, there was a part of him 
that not only believed but demanded that he be punished for the 
things he'd done.
        Natalie sat up quickly as Nick walked over to the couch and 
carefully set down her sandwich, on a plate, and her coffee cup 
and saucer.  Almost immediately, he knelt beside the couch, head 
bowed, as if awaiting further orders.
        Something in her heart tore at the dejected expression on his 
face.  He looked like a lost soul, his pajama top unbuttoned, 
unwilling to meet her eyes.  "Nick--look at me."
        Her command was firm, but not harsh and he responded 
immediately, looking up at her.  Natalie forced a smile and 
reminded herself that she was only ordering him around because he 
responded better to commands.  She reached out her hand to 
touch his hair.  "That was very good.  Thank you, you did a good 
job."
        "Thank you, Nat."  A shy smile played around his lips and his 
gaze shifted, as if to look away, but he remembered in time and 
looked back at her quickly.
        Natalie didn't let her smile waver.  Slipping her legs down 
from the couch, she patted the cushion beside her and said, "Sit up 
here, okay?  I'm getting a knot in my neck from looking down at 
you all the time."
        Nick hesitated and she sensed that his basic conditioning--
absolute debasement and subservience--was warring with the 
imperative to obey her and not cause her any pain.
        "It's all right," Natalie added.  She picked up half the 
sandwich and pretended to concentrate on that.  "It's just while I'm 
eating.  I want you to sit on the couch."
        The little extra push helped.  Nick rose, still a bit reluctantly, 
and sat down on the couch beside her.  He folded his hands 
together in his lap and stared down at them.
        Natalie bit into her sandwich and had to admit, after a few 
chews, that it wasn't that bad . . . even though it wasn't near what 
she'd expected for a birthday dinner.  She watched Nick as she 
took another bite.  It's too bad she couldn't get him to eat 
something.  This would probably be the only time he'd even listen 
to her--
        Stopping, Natalie thought for a moment.  Janette had said 
that Nick wouldn't need blood.  But . . . could she get him to try 
some of her sandwich?  And SHOULD she?  Right now he'd do 
anything she said but it seemed unfair to get Nick to eat something 
when he didn't really have a choice in the matter.
        Deciding to leave the moral debate for another time--and, 
really, when was she ever going to get another chance like this 
again?--Natalie put down her sandwich and picked up the half she 
hadn't yet eaten.  Carefully tearing off a piece that was equal parts 
bread and meat, she said, "Nick?  Are you hungry?"
        "No, Nat."
        He didn't look up at her, didn't even move.
        "I need you to look at me, okay?  We talked about that.  
Look at me when I speak to you, Nick."
        He looked up, that very tentative gaze again.  "Yes, Nat."
        "Good."  Noting that he brightened at her smile, she held out 
the piece of sandwich.  "I want you to eat this."
        Nick looked at the sandwich piece in her hand, then reached 
out and took it from her as if it were something he'd never seen 
before.  He raised it to his mouth, then stopped and looked at it 
again.
        Hoping that he'd learn by example, Natalie picked up her own 
sandwich.  "It's good," she promised, then took a bite and chewed.  
After swallowing, she gestured for him to try it, adding, "Just take 
a small bite."
        Nick raised the sandwich to his mouth again and, as she'd 
ordered, took a small bite, barely getting a bit of bread, some ham, 
and maybe a snip of onion from what Natalie could see.  Almost 
immediately, he made a face.
        "Don't you dare spit it out," warned Natalie quickly, when he 
turned his head away.  "Just chew it and swallow."
        His eyes widened slightly and he looked down at the rest of 
the sandwich in his hand in dismay--Natalie was not about to offer 
sympathy because it wasn't more than two bites worth.  But Nick 
chewed and swallowed the small bit she'd given him.
        "Isn't it good?" she asked, taking another bite of her 
sandwich.
        Nick nodded, his expression letting her know he thought it 
was anything BUT good.  In fact, he looked very much like a man 
who knew he was eating poison.
        A few more seconds of that, then Natalie reached over and 
took the remaining piece of sandwich from his hand.  "You don't 
have to finish that," she told him, suddenly feeling guilty.  "It's all 
right.  You did very well."
        Still chewing--it looked like he was going to grind the bread 
and cheese to nothing before he had to swallow it--Nick managed 
a half-smile and bowed his head again.
        With a sigh, Natalie abandoned the rest of her sandwich and 
took a sip of coffee.  Half-turning, she gestured back toward the 
kitchen.  "The videos!  I'd almost forgotten--"
        "I'll get them, Mistr--Nat."  Nick rose quickly and went into 
the kitchen, as if eager to put as much distance as possible between 
himself and the sandwich.
        "Do you remember how to work the VCR?" asked Natalie, 
picking up her plate and napkin and following him into the kitchen.
        "Yes, Nat."
        "Then go ahead and put in one of the tapes."
        Nick picked up the plastic bag from the counter and looked 
inside.  "One tape?"
        "Either one."  Picking up the tinfoil from the delivery 
container, Natalie wrapped up the remainder of her sandwich as 
Nick walked back into the living room.  "You can start it without 
me--I've seen both of these.  Just put the tape in and sit down."
        "Yes, Nat."  Following orders, Nick walked into the living 
room.  Natalie concentrated on cleaning up the kitchen.  The 
remainder of the sandwich went into the refrigerator, one shelf 
below the bottles of cow blood, and she wiped down the counter 
and threw out the paper bag and plastic wrap.
        Heading up the stairs to clean up the bedroom, she heard the 
plastic bag rattle as he pulled out the tape.  Glancing over her 
shoulder, Natalie saw that Nick had chosen a tape and was 
inserting it into the VCR.  She continued on her way upstairs 
wondering just how selective Janette's conditioning had been--
Nick could operate a VCR but didn't have a clue about dressing 
himself.  Then again, she had a feeling that Janette's interest with 
Nick in that condition didn't necessarily involve clothing . . . for 
either of them.
        The bedroom was still a mess.  Deciding not to make any 
assumptions about the state of the bed and bed linen or the fact 
that Nick's clothing was scattered around the floor--not to mention 
a lacy pair of panties that she hoped belonged to Janette--Natalie 
stripped the bed of sheets in a few seconds.  Piling those and 
Nick's dirty clothes in a laundry hamper in his closet, she then set 
out in search of a clean set of sheets.  Much to her amazement, 
there were at least six brand new, still packaged sets of black satin, 
king sized sheets sitting on one of the shelves in Nick's closet.  She 
merely shook her head, then pulled down a new set and opened the 
package.  He probably saved money, buying in bulk.  And, if you'd 
been around for eight hundred years, you probably had a fairly 
good idea of what you did or did not like.
        Natalie made the bed quickly, slipping the sheets over the bed 
padding and tucking the pillows into clean cases.  In a few minutes 
the bed was sleek, soft, black, and inviting.  She was very tempted 
to turn down the corner and crawl in for a quick cat-nap while 
Nick was watching the movie.  Or movies.  Maybe she'd better run 
down and tell him to watch BOTH movies.  At ninety minutes a 
movie, that would get her three hours of uninterrupted sleep at the 
very least.  She hadn't found anyone who'd ever been hurt by 
watching "Bambi."  And maybe Nick just might learn a thing or 
two from that little pig in "Babe."
        Oddly enough, she realized, she hadn't heard any strains of 
music--and she definitely knew the music from "Bambi" by now.  
Natalie  walked over to the doorway, listening intently.  It didn't 
sound like "Bambi."  And that moaning DEFINITELY didn't 
sound like "Babe."  Alarmed, she left the bedroom and walked to 
the second floor railing.
        This wasn't "Bambi."  At least, it wasn't the Disney version 
SHE knew, because she thought she might have remembered the 
two women and the man rolling over on the floor of this particular 
woodland glade, and one another, stark naked.  Of course, it did 
take her a moment to realize that there were two women and a 
man involved--the cinematographer was rather intent on close-ups 
of certain body parts and flesh pretty much looked like other flesh . 
. . at least from where she was standing.
        Once the initial shock wore off, Natalie ran down the stairs.  
She caught her toe on the iron rail at the bottom, let out a sharp 
cry of pain, but continued to lurch toward the wide screen 
television.  It was when she reached it that she realized she didn't 
know where the controls were on the set, then looked frantically 
for the remote.
        Nick had left it on the coffee table and was doing exactly 
what she'd said--he was sitting on the couch, tilting his head 
slightly to see around her, because he was following her order to 
watch the movie.  Natalie pounced on the remote, whirled and hit 
every button she could to turn it off.  
        The television picture disappeared with a sizzle-pop and the 
VCR whirred and then went dead.  Her toe aching and wondering 
what kind of sick person would tape something like that over 
"Bambi," Natalie reached for the video box with a trembling hand-
-
        And realized that THIS "Bambi" was definitely not to be 
watched by anything less than consenting adults.  Swallowing, she 
picked up "Babe," and discovered from the blurb on the back that 
it wasn't exactly family entertainment.
        The conversation she'd had on the phone with the store clerk 
was finally making sense.  Falling back into a black leather chair, 
Natalie held one tape in each hand and realized that the little video 
place around the corner must have gone porno at some time in the 
recent past.  After all, it had been some time since she and Nick 
had spent an evening watching tapes.  She'd never thought to ask.  
Or, if that wasn't the case, the clerk had heard the address and had 
assumed . . . just what kind of tapes did Nick rent when she wasn't 
around, anyway?
        She looked up at Nick, who was sitting on the couch, as 
she'd ordered.  He seemed confused, now that there was no tape 
on, and held his hands clasped together in his lap, watching her as 
if awaiting further orders.
        "Um, sorry about that," she said unhappily, tossing the tape 
boxes onto the coffee table in disgust.  "I think we're stuck with 
whatever's on the TV tonight."
        "Yes, Nat."
        Picking up the remote, Natalie gestured toward the VCR.  
"Could you take that tape out for me, please?"  She didn't want to 
chance turning on the TV and accidentally playing that tape again.
        "Yes, Nat."
        It was as she moved that the small toe on her right foot hurt 
again.  Natalie sat down in the black leather chair and set the 
remote back on the coffee table as she crossed her legs and 
examined her foot.  She could bend the toe, which meant that it 
wasn't broken.  She'd just given it a good smack--it was swelling 
slightly which meant that it would be bruised.  And that she'd have 
to go home with one bare foot, because the heels she'd worn for an 
evening 'out' with Nick would be hell on her teeny bruised toe.
        Nick finished removing the tape from the VCR and returned 
to kneel at her feet.  She was more than a little surprised when he 
held out his hands and asked, "Nick will help Nat?"
        Natalie wasn't certain at first, but she uncrossed her legs and 
let her foot rest in Nick's hands.  Immediately, he began to 
massage the arch and ankle, his touch firm, careful and, oddly 
enough, almost confidently knowledgeable.  The feel of her hose 
being caressed against her skin was almost sinful, until she decided 
to slip off the hose entirely, stopping him for a very brief moment 
as she stood and slipped them off.  The sharp pain in her toe 
dissolved into a dull ache and she leaned back into the leather of 
the chair, enjoying the sensation.  His fingers traced patterns 
across her flesh, pressing and rubbing, but never tickling--she 
noticed he seemed to avoid a ticklish spot on her sole after her 
foot jerked and she let out a startled laugh.  All the while, he never 
looked up at her, concentrating on her foot, on caressing the joints 
of her toes or kneading the muscles.
        Something within her began to unwind.  Natalie felt all the 
pressure of the past hour or so begin to melt away . . . at least 
from the foot.  For someone who'd spent a good portion of her 
workday on her feet, she'd never investigated this particular 
possibility.  Oh, she'd soaked her feet in Epsom salts and rubbed 
them, especially after double or triple shifts, but this was just too--
        "Ouch!" she exclaimed, sitting up suddenly as Nick's finger 
pressed against the bruised spot on her little toe.
        For the first time, he looked up at her, brow furrowed in 
alarm.  "Nick has displeased you," he said sadly.  Then he raised 
the toe to his lips and kissed the bruised spot tenderly.  After that, 
he bowed his head.  "Nick must be punished."
        "It was an accident.  I'm not hurt--really.  Nick--look at me."  
When he did, she met his gaze and promised.  "I'm NOT going to 
punish you."
        It was just like before--rather than pleasing him, the  promise 
seemed to unsettle him and make him uneasy.  His gaze shifted 
away from him, as if he was trying to puzzle out this problem.
        Natalie sighed, then remembered what had happened upstairs.  
"At least . . . not NOW," she amended.  When he looked back at 
her, eyes hopeful, she added, "Later, okay?  The whole punishment 
thing comes later."
        His positive reaction was immediate.  Smiling, he placed her 
foot carefully on the floor, then lifted her other foot in his hands 
and began to massage it.
        Natalie was torn between enjoying the message and what had 
just happened.  She knew Nick carried around a ton of guilt.  Hell, 
she had quite a wad herself and she was only working on thirty-
something--he'd had eight hundred years of regrets.  If it wasn't a 
mountain, it was certainly one heck of a molehill.  She'd made note 
of his self-destructive behavior in the past and the sense of doom 
he carried with him on his less-than-good days, a feeling that 
nothing could go right for him because of the past and the things 
he'd done.  But there were other times, after bad things had 
happened and he'd gotten through them, that Nick seemed more 
relaxed, almost at ease with himself.  Maybe, for him, the whole 
scale of justice was one-sided--he WANTED to be punished for 
his sins.
        "Nick," she said softly, getting his attention, "do you think 
you're bad?"
        "Oh yes, Nat.  Nick is very bad.  Nick must be punished."  He 
didn't look up at her, but continued to concentrate on massaging 
her foot.
        A curiously warm and not unpleasant feeling was beginning 
to form in the center of Natalie's being, but she tried to ignore it, 
wanting to concentrate on the line of questioning.  The massage 
was proving distracting but . . . well, she didn't really want it to 
end.  She wasn't stupid after all and it WAS her birthday.  
"Punished how?"
        That seemed to stump him for a moment--she looked down 
when he stopped massaging her foot, but then he looked up at her 
quickly, contritely, and his hands continued their work.  "Nick 
must be punished," was the best he could come up with.
        "Physical punishment?"
        "Yes."  He sighed, as if in relief that she'd found the 
explanation that had eluded him, and nodded his head, still rubbing 
her foot.  "Yes, Nat."
        Natalie chewed on a fingernail absently, trying to ignore yet 
another thread of tension in her body that suddenly went 'sprong' 
and disappeared.  That might explain some of the knock-down and 
drag-outs he'd had with LaCroix in the past . . . the few times she'd 
been able to wrestle any part of those stories out of him.  He had a 
fatalistic attitude about fighting LaCroix, a belief that he couldn't 
win against his master.  How much of the fact that he went back 
again and again was a testament to his spirit of independence, his 
need to be free, and how much of it was due to the fact that a 
good thrashing every now and again would clear his conscience?
        "When you're . . . like this," she began carefully, watching 
him, "does Janette ever punish you?"
        Nick placed her foot on the floor--God, it was TINGLING--
and returned to massaging her right foot.  He nodded again, 
emphatically, his voice containing a note of confidence and, 
disturbingly enough, satisfaction.  "Yes, Nat.  Mistress Janette 
punishes slave.  Mistress Janette punishes slave very well."
        For a moment, Natalie felt a bit of envy creep into her heart 
at the absolute adoration in his tone--even with his head bowed 
and his gaze fixed on the work of his hands, there was life in his 
eyes when he spoke about Janette punishing him.  But almost 
immediately, her heart sunk to the pit of her stomach as the 
thought of anyone doing anything to Nick, especially when he was 
in this condition.  Outrage flooded through her.  "HOW does she 
punish you?" she asked, not quite able to keep her tone of voice as 
distanced and collected as she'd have liked.
        Nick looked up at her and then down again--damn, she had 
to remember that he tended to respond to a change in tone--and 
rested her right foot on his thigh, fingers lightly smoothing the 
upper part of her foot.  He seemed confused again--as if there was 
too much information for him to impart properly, or that he 
couldn't get the order right.  "Mistress Janette . . . punishes Nick 
with Nick's toys," he managed after a second or so of thought.  
Then he nodded and repeated, "With Nick's toys."
        "Toys?"
        Nick looked up hopefully.  "Nick should get his toys for 
Mistr--Nat?"
        She stared at him for a moment, had a momentary flash of 
fancy about Nick holding a Raggedy Ann doll, then laughed.  
"Okay.  Go get your toys.  I'd like to see them."
        Nick lifted her right foot, placed a kiss on her sole, did the 
same for the left, then rose to his feet and headed back to the box 
he'd moved to a space under the stairs earlier, at her direction.  
Sighing in regret that the foot massage was over, Natalie watched 
him.  Her foot had brushed against him when he'd placed it on his 
thigh and the realization that he was more than a little aroused had 
startled her.  Of course, the foot massage was doing wonderful 
things for her, too, but she was trying to ignore that for the 
moment.  Maybe he'd gotten turned on by the porno "Bambi"--she 
couldn't believe she'd actually told him to sit and watch that!--or 
their discussion about punishment.
        That actually sent a chill through her.  She hadn't realized 
she'd felt so protective about Nick, but the thought of anyone 
hurting him in any way made her angry.  The fact that he might 
actually find relaxation and release through physical abuse nearly 
broke her heart.
        Nick returned carrying a black leather case not unlike her 
emergency and field medical bag.  He placed it at her feet, then 
knelt before her and touched his forehead to the floor, in complete 
obeisance.
        "Get up," said Natalie, touching his head.  "Come on--you 
know I don't like that."
        Almost instantly, he returned to his knees.  Before Natalie 
could reach for the bag, Nick undid the strap and opened it.  He 
then lifted the bag and presented it to her.
        There was a jumble of items in the bag.  Natalie's heart rose 
in her throat as she took the bag from him and placed it in her lap.  
Curiosity got the better of her and she reached inside to pick up 
something that sparkled--they looked like clip-on earrings.  A 
second too late, she realized that they were clamps, the edges 
serrated and highly unpleasant, meant to pinch the skin and cause 
first pain, then numbness, then pain again when the clips were 
released and blood once again began to flow.  She dropped them 
back into the bag hurriedly.
        Nick's 'toys'--or the items that he claimed Janette has used to 
punish him--had never been meant for the use of children.  Natalie 
wasn't certain whether she should be embarrassed or pleased that 
she recognized what most of the items were and either knew or 
could guess at most of their uses.  The collection ranged from 
small jars of scented oils and lubricants to restraining devices--not 
many of those, so maybe Janette took advantage of Nick's career 
choice and used his handcuffs--to a variety of whips, studded 
gloves, and items of a more . . . personal nature.
        She drew in a breath involuntarily and closed the bag, then 
redid the strap, sealing it.  Knowing that she was blushing, Natalie 
finally got up enough nerve to look at Nick . . . but he was staring 
down at the ground.  From her vantage point, she saw 
disappointment in his expression as she put the bag firmly on the 
floor beside the chair and said, "No.  No, I'm not about to use that 
stuff on you.  And if I ever catch up with Janette, I hope to hell 
you're not there, because I'm going to rip into her--"
        Nick looked up quickly, fear in his eyes and his expression.  
He caught her hands in his and said, "Please Nat, DON'T hurt 
Mistress Janette.  Don't hurt her, please!  Nick will be good.  Nick 
will be very good."
        Natalie swallowed, freed one hand from his grasp to touch 
his hand, then leaned forward to plant a kiss on his forehead.  She 
held him close, promising, "No, I won't hurt her.  I promise.  Don't 
be scared--I'm just angry that she'd even THINK of using this stuff 
on you.  It's all right.  I won't hurt her, okay?"
        "Yes, Nat," he said softly, his breath against her neck and 
shoulder as she held him.  "Nick will be good."
        Tears threatened at the corner of her eyes, but Natalie blinked 
them away.  For the moment she was content to hold him . . . and 
have him hold her.  It was when they finally managed to get close 
enough like this that Nick pushed her away, however gently he'd 
try to do it, and she'd see a glint of gold in his eyes.  
        Danger signals.  They could never be together because of the 
danger.  To her.  To him if he ever did anything to her.  There 
were times that she wanted to push the envelope, but he wouldn't 
let her.  And then there were others when she realized that he was 
vulnerable and he COULD be pushed, like after the plane crash 
that had taken Schanke and Cohen from their lives, when they 
needed to be held and loved and cherished by one another . . . but 
when she'd made the choice to back away because of what it might 
do to him.  
        And now, she had him . . . and yet she didn't.  This was Nick, 
but it wasn't, not of his own will.  This Nick didn't love her--not 
that she was entirely sure that Nick in full possession of his 
faculties actually DID.  This Nick had no other will or purpose 
than to be subservient, to be punished and beaten and abused.
        Or . . . did he?
        She pulled back from him, expecting to see golden eyes and 
that tight smile he wore when his fangs dropped into place, but 
there was no sign of any change.  His eyes were blue and honest 
and open . . . and sad.
        On impulse, she kissed his forehead again and then, after a 
pause, his lips.  It was a careful kiss, not invasive nor insistent, just 
something soft and tender and sharing.  Natalie didn't know what 
Nick's response would be--if he had to be instructed to kiss her 
back, or what.  But he did, meeting the kiss evenly, tasting her lips, 
and then having the good grace to look disappointed as she pulled 
back.
        Natalie searched his eyes and expression, but there was still 
no hint of gold, no sign of the vampire.
        Janette's note had said that Nick wouldn't have to feed or 
sleep during this 'session'--which probably meant that he'd crash 
and burn afterwards.  But did that mean that the vampire was 
completely dormant . . . or just waiting to emerge, fangs bared and 
ravenous, at the right opportunity and instigation?  Since Nick had 
surrendered control of himself, did that mean he'd surrendered 
control of the vampire to her as well?  Could she turn it off and on 
at will?
        Nick looked puzzled.  Caressing his cheek with her hand, 
Natalie thought seriously about the questions she'd just proposed.  
If it COULD work, if this were true, she didn't want to take 
advantage of Nick.  Using him for her pleasure was no better than 
the abuse Janette seemed to subject him to, however much his 
battered psyche might need or enjoy it.  But if she could give this 
Nick some sense of love, that there could be pleasure that didn't 
arise from pain or brutality or degrading servitude . . . could that 
be so bad?
        It was one hell of a rationalization and she was somewhat 
pleased with herself for coming up with it on the spur of the 
moment, but it was STILL a rationalization.  If Nick had any will 
in this, it seemed to be negligible.  He wanted to please her and 
would do everything in his power to make her happy.
        That last thought was just a little TOO tempting.  Yes, she 
wanted to have sex with Nick, but not JUST sex.  She wanted to it 
mean something.
        "Do you love me?" she asked, after a second's pause.
        There was no hesitation in his response, just a very serious 
expression as he answered, "Yes, Nat."
        She sighed in disappointment--that definitely wasn't the 
answer that she'd been looking for.  Then again, what had she been 
expecting?  Florid protestations of eternal and everlasting 
devotion?  She still considered herself lucky to have gotten a 'with 
affection' a while back.  Her possible plans and questions 
disappeared in a puff of fairy dust as she realized that this was 
NOT going to--
        That's when Nick leaned forward and kissed her.  Nothing 
tentative about it.  He was playing 'capture the flag' and her lips 
were the staging area for a serious engagement.  It was entirely 
unexpected and Natalie didn't have a chance to breathe--but at that 
point she really didn't care.  She'd only kissed Nick like this once 
before . . . on Valentine's Day.
        He had almost pulled her off the chair, she was held against 
his chest, her knees bent and resting on his thighs, his hands in her 
hair, her hands on his cheeks, on his shoulder, whatever she could 
grab for a moment.  When they broke she gasped for air, her lips 
wet and dripping with saliva.  She looked at Nick in wonder, her 
palm cupping his cheek tentatively, fingers brushing away his hair 
from his face.  There was no gold in his eyes, no fangs.  There was 
only Nick . . . the vampire was nowhere to be seen.
        "Yes, Nat," he answered again, breathless and eyes shining.  
"Yes."
        When he moved to kiss her again, she placed her fingers on 
his lips, stopping him.  "Wait--wait.  Can you--this is crazy, but--
you won't bite me, will you?  The vampire is gone, right?  For right 
now . . . but you won't kill me?"
        He kissed her fingers, tilted his head to draw one into his 
mouth and sucked on it lightly, then released it.  Natalie's breath 
quickened.  One of his hands held her waist, the only thing that 
kept her from slipping from her perch on his thighs.  She felt hot, 
fevered, against the cool skin of his chest.  
        "Nick will not hurt Nat," he said seriously, then kissed her 
fingers again.  "Nick must not hurt Nat.  Nick will serve Nat."
        She pulled her hand from his lips and placed it on the skin of 
his chest, his pajama top still open.  "I don't want to be SERVED.  
I want to be LOVED.  I want you to make love to me.  Can you 
make love to me without killing me?  Without biting me?"
        "Nick will not hurt Nat," he repeated.
        His expression was so solemn that she believed him.  Even 
trusted him.  This might be her one chance, her only chance to 
have any real, physical relationship with Nick.  If it worked.
        If it worked.
        "Do you WANT to make love to me?"  Natalie shifted on his 
lap, brushed against his shaft, which was straining against the 
bottom of his pajamas, and realized the question was pretty silly, 
considering the circumstances.
        "Yes, Nat."  He kissed her neck, then kissed just below her 
earlobe, whispering, "Yes."
        She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him close, 
then felt his fingers on the zipper at the back of her dress.  The 
zipper slid slowly downward and she felt a light brush of air on her 
back.  When she felt his hands at the base of her dress, she lifted 
her arms and allowed him to draw it up and over her head.  Nick 
dropped the dress to one side, then he took the clip from her hair 
and Natalie shook her head slightly, letting her hair fall down 
around her face.  He touched his knuckles to the side of her face, 
stroking her cheek lightly, then his hand tangled into her hair and 
he drew her to his lips for another kiss.
        Natalie lost herself in that kiss, her legs now straddling one of 
his thighs.  Her left hand held his shoulder, fingers slipping on the 
black silk pajamas.  She felt his hands touch her own shoulders, 
slipping down the straps of her bra and she released her hold on 
him, pressing herself closer to his chest as she lingered in a kiss 
that was broken only by brief pauses for air.  There was a tightness 
in her bra and then it fell free.  Natalie felt Nick's hands on her 
breasts.
        He caressed her, breaking from their kiss to lower his head to 
her chest.  Her back arched and she moaned, pressing into him as 
his lips surrounded her left nipple, sucking and nibbling, his other 
hand toying with her right.  If the foot massage had relaxed her, 
his attentions to her now were beginning to wind something tight 
within her, warmth and a tingling sensation spreading from her 
nipples throughout her chest.
        There was no hurry.  Nick took his time, moving from her 
lips to her breasts and back again.  When he bent his head, she 
kissed his cheek and along his ear, darting her tongue just inside 
the curve of his earlobe.  He shuddered and pulled her closer, so 
she did it again, pleased to have found such an immediate response 
from him.  Her hands drifted over his chest, pushing aside the 
black silk pajama top and reaching beneath, tickling and skidding 
across the muscles.  Her hands ranged lower, touching him 
through the softness of the pajama bottom, them untying the rope 
gather at the top and freeing him through the slit in the front.
        Nick moaned against her breast as her hand groped along the 
length of him--his hair blocked her view so she couldn't see what 
she was doing.  Letting her fingers travel to the base of his shaft, 
Natalie found his scrotum and cupped it in her palm, not quite 
squeezing, but coveting the feel of him, wanting to give him 
pleasure.
        His moans whispered across the flesh of her breasts and then 
his hands moved to her hips.  Nick met her eyes and kissed her 
again, hard, even as his hands pushed down either side of her 
panties.  She released him and reached down to help him in his 
task, sliding the panties down to her knees, where the cloth was 
bent over his thigh.  As he lifted her waist, she managed to snake 
one leg out of her panties and they slipped down past her thigh and 
to her calve.
        Natalie didn't notice.  Her lips were locked with Nick's as he 
devoured her, licking the length of her throat, sucking on the 
corner of her mouth, taking the air from her and giving her no 
respite.  She felt him lift her bare right leg and she swung it around 
his hips, her buttocks resting on the black silk pajamas covering his 
thighs.  One of his hands cupped her left buttock cheek, holding 
her in place as they continued to kiss.  The other of his hands 
rested on her breast, stroking and tweaking the left nipple, then the 
right, before traveling the length of her chest and stomach.
        There was no difference between one kiss and the next--they 
were simply all part of one, prolonged contact, broken sporadically 
by her need for air.  At one point Nick dropped his head again to 
kiss the length of her throat, her breasts and her nipples.  She 
gasped as she discovered that his right hand had begun to explore 
her more sensitive areas.  His fingers stroked her, lulling her into a 
wave of sensation that made her close her eyes and slip backward, 
only her hands linked around his neck still holding her upright . . . 
until two of his fingers met over her tender flesh and she jerked 
upright in his arms, a sudden shock going through her.  She looked 
down at him, startled, then saw the mischievous grin on Nick's 
face.  He whispered, "Nick must be punished," then rose to 
capture her lips again before she could respond.
        She felt a moment of loss when those careful fingers left her, 
but then she felt them slip inside her, finding her slick and waiting.  
One finger thrust in and out, then another, then . . . a third?  
Natalie was past caring.  There were no words between them--
there was no air in her lungs left for TALKING--and their 
communication became the sum of touches and reactions and 
moans.
        Even as those fingers dove between her legs, Natalie realized 
that Nick wasn't receiving much attention.  When she removed one 
hand from around his neck and reached down to touch him, he 
broke their kiss and caught her hand.  His fingers were wet and 
slick with her fluids, but he brought her hand to his lips and asked, 
"Ready, Nat?"
        She nodded, not trusting words, then looked down.  His shaft 
was erect, pale against the dark black of his pajamas, the tip 
swollen and reddish purple.  Placing her arm back around his neck, 
he then slipped his hand beneath her right buttock and lifted her 
slightly.  Balancing her with one hand and with Natalie resting her 
weight around his shoulders, she felt him guide himself within her, 
then slowly lowered her around him.
        Natalie straightened her body at an angle from Nick as he 
entered her.  Closing her eyes, she felt him within her, how tight 
she was around him.  It had been some time since she'd had sex 
and she reveled in the sensations, even the discomfort of trying to 
accommodate him.  Her back arched and she moaned through her 
clenched teeth as she slipped down over him, an inch at a time.
        And then her thighs were resting on his thighs and his hips 
again.  He was inside her.
        The movement had seemed effortless for him.  Nick drew her 
forward and kissed her again.  Her arms wrapping tightly around 
his neck, Natalie wriggled on his lap and caught his moans in their 
kiss.  She raised her hips an inch and brought them down again, 
pulling herself up by the grip around his neck.
        A shudder ran through her, then another one.  Natalie broke 
from the kiss and pressed her face into the skin of Nick's shoulder 
as a wave swept through her, setting her senses alight.  Gasping 
and panting against him, she tried to lift herself from him, to 
continue the thrusts inside her.
        Nick obliged immediately.  He lifted her from him, away from 
him, tilting his hips forward and his chest back so that she was 
almost astride him, then he allowed her to fall down the length of 
him.  She gasped as he filled her, the sensation sending a rush 
upwards that seemed to paralyze her brain--only her fingers had 
any sense left, remaining locked around his neck.  She  felt herself 
being lifted again and again the sudden drop, which Nick met with 
a prolonged groan.  And then another.
        As Natalie drew herself toward him, kissing him again, she 
felt the world shift around her--Nick had rolled her onto her back 
and was now kneeling between her legs, still inside her, her legs 
around his hips locking him into place.  He broke the kiss, his lips 
and mouth traveling to her breasts again, toying with her.
        Natalie felt like she was on fire--her skin was slick with sweat 
which was cooling in the cool temperature of the loft, but she in no 
way felt cold.  There was only the burning within her, her body 
crying desperately for yet another release, before her mind melted 
away entirely.  Catching Nick's face in her hands, she brought him 
back to her lips, then held him close, whispering, "Now, please, I 
need it now . . . ."
        She'd forgotten that her wish was his command.  The instant 
that her hands fell from his face, he leaned back.  With one hand 
on her thigh and the other balancing on the floor, he began to 
thrust in earnest, pulling back and then pushing down inside her.  
Natalie's hands scrambled for purchase, digging into the carpeting 
that covered the cold, hard floor, but comfort wasn't an issue.  His 
thrusts were forceful, but varied from short and slow to deep and 
hard.  Clenching her teeth, she felt a fireball explode within her and 
saw bright lights like fireworks behind her eyelids, but there was 
no respite or chance to enjoy the afterglow, for a second fireball 
followed close behind the first.  She was climbing to the third 
plateau when she heard a whimper from Nick and opened her eyes 
in concern.
        The black silk pajamas were plastered to his skin through her 
sweat and his, the unbuttoned flaps swinging wildly with each 
thrust and withdrawal from her.  His eyes were open, staring at the 
ceiling, somehow . . . lost, as if he didn't dare to look at her.  
"Please, Mistress," he gasped, "may I?  Please?"
        It was something that hadn't occurred to her, that he'd been 
holding off his own release to prolong her pleasure.  And now he 
wanted permission?  "God, yes!" she declared, startled as he 
suddenly thrust even deeper within her--she thought he'd gone as 
far as he could go.  She screamed something, it might even have 
been his name, as she felt each one of his thrusts within her, fast 
and hard and urgent.  They sent her spiraling off somewhere within 
herself, although she maintained enough consciousness to hear 
Nick grunt, then gasp, and realize that there was another sensation 
deep within her as he finally came.
        He didn't withdraw, but lowered himself into her arms.  
Natalie held onto him tightly, tears falling uncontrollably from her 
eyes as she whispered his name over and over, her arms and legs 
wrapped around him to prolong this moment--THEIR moment--as 
long as she could.  Every nerve within her tingled and, exhausted 
as she was, she only wanted more, until her mind burned to a 
cinder and she was too numb to feel anything.
        But even the afterglow began to pass away.  Nick raised his 
body from hers and slipped out from inside her, leaving her feeling 
empty.  Natalie wasn't alone for long, though, because he scooped 
her up in his arms and carried her over to the couch.
        Her tears had stopped.  Natalie smiled up at him and held out 
her arms.  In response, Nick bent to kiss her, kneeling beside the 
couch.  At first his kisses were soft and tender, but after a few 
minutes they grew more passionate.  He nibbled on her lips, 
sucked the air out of her lungs, and before Natalie knew what she 
was doing, she'd gotten her second wind, was sitting upright on 
the couch and was almost completely in his arms.
        "Wait a minute, wait a minute," she said breathlessly, putting 
a hand on his shoulder to keep him at arm's length.
        Abashed, Nick sank back on his heels and looked down at the 
floor.  "Yes, Nat."
        "No, no, no," she said breathlessly, catching his chin with her 
hand and tilting his face up to meet her gaze.  "No, I don't mean 
we have to stop.  Not . . . not yet.  It's just that--well, upstairs 
would be more comfortable.  Like in the bedroom?  This floor is 
murder."
        Nick swallowed and seemed horrified.  He looked back down 
to the floor as soon as Natalie released his chin.  "Nick was bad," 
he said woefully.  "Nick hurt Nat.  Nick must be punished."
        "Oh no!"  Natalie tried to rise to her feet, but her legs gave 
way.  Nick caught her as she fell and she ended up on her knees in 
front of him.  "No," she promised, keeping her voice soft and 
kissing his nose lightly.  "Nick was good.  Trust me on this--Nick 
was very, very good."  She  tousled his hair and gave him another 
quick kiss on the nose.  "In fact, Nick was too good.  I should 
have started off on a training-Nick, I think."  She took a deep 
breath and leaned her elbows on the couch, appraising him.  "Just 
give me a minute to get my legs under me and we'll go upstairs."
        Nick stared at her for a moment, then a smile crossed his lips.  
"Nat doesn't need legs," he told her.  "Nick has legs . . . ."
        As easily as he picked her up and placed her on the couch, 
Nick rose to his feet, bent down, and lifted her into his arms, with 
one arm behind her shoulders and another beneath her knees.  "Nat 
wants to go upstairs?"
        "Nat wants very much to go upstairs," she agreed, then 
snuggled close against him, as he started across the room.  
Brushing aside the pajama top with a toss of her head, she rested 
her cheek against the skin of his chest.  "One thing though--this 
time the pajamas have GOT to go.  If I'm naked, you're naked.  I 
want to see all of you.  And I mean ALL of you."
        "Yes, Nat," said Nick obligingly, as he climbed the stairs with 
her in his arms.
        Natalie settled back to enjoy the ride and decided that it 
might not be a bad birthday after all.  Not only did have sex with 
Nick, but she lived through it and he seemed to enjoy it!  Best of 
all, it looked like it was going to happen again . . . .

        * * * *

        Natalie groaned, yawned, and forced her eyes open . . . to a 
world she didn't recognize at first.  Stiff and sore, yet feeling 
strangely buoyant, she tried to wipe the smile off her face and 
found the task wasn't all that easy.  She felt absolutely thrilled with 
herself.
        A glance at the metal shutters on the window, the black satin 
sheet that covered her, and the realization that she, and a certain 
blond male police detective/vampire of her acquaintance were both 
lying naked between the same sheet pretty much brought the night 
back to her in a rush.
        "Oh boy," she muttered softly, sinking down even further 
beneath the sheets, so that only her eyes peered out above them.  
She felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.  But what did she 
have to be embarrassed about?  She and Nick were consenting 
adults--well, he wasn't exactly completely consenting, but he never 
put in a word of protest--so what did she have to be ashamed of?
        Nick was lying on his back, sound asleep, one arm 
outstretched toward her.  Natalie snuggled closer to him, resting 
her head on his chest.  Even in his sleep, his arm moved around her 
shoulder.  She sighed, closed her eyes, and dozed, trying to recall 
just what went on last night.
        She remembered a second romp right after their first 
downstairs, although the bed had been far more comfortable.  It 
turned out that vampires did have a certain advantage over mortal 
males--at least the mortal males of HER past acquaintance--in that 
their stamina was a bit better.  Nick had been ready for action 
almost immediately after their first encounter and after their 
second, had shown definite interest in a third.
        Natalie grimaced, remember that she'd begged off--God, he'd 
worn her out! Strength was one thing but vampire strength was 
something else entirely.  Still eager to serve her, Nick had started a 
massage . . . that devolved into a bizarre wrestling match, which 
lead to their third bout of the evening.
        After that she swore that she was through, that her body just 
couldn't take any more pounding.  Nick had seemed upset by the 
idea that he'd hurt her and had begged to be punished.  Knowing 
that she didn't have the energy to wield a toothbrush and being that 
he wouldn't let up, Natalie had told him that his punishment was to 
sleep at the foot of the bed while she caught some shut-eye.  She 
awoke, several hours later, to find him licking and sucking on her 
toes . . . a not entirely unpleasant experience.  She'd drowsed for a 
while, enjoying the sensations as he'd worked his way up her torso 
with his tongue and fingers, massaging for all that he was worth, 
and not a half hour had passed before he'd reached something 
sensitive and she found herself hanging onto the headboard for 
dear life and screaming in ecstasy again and again, until she finally 
had enough sense to beg him to stop.
        When she'd finally collapsed, she'd ordered him to fall asleep 
which, thankfully, had worked.  Which was why she was curled up 
in Nick's arms, content, if not completely rested.
        Forcing herself into wakefulness, Natalie glanced over at the 
clock beside the bed and realized that she had to get up--it was 
going to be dusk soon and Janette's little 'gift' was bound to wear 
off at an inconvenient moment.  But Natalie remained where she 
was a moment longer, running her hand lightly across Nick's chest, 
trying to study him, to REMEMBER him, and the night they'd had 
together.  If this was to be a one-time experience, she'd made the 
most of it.  The difficult part would be working around it later.  
How much he'd remember, if anything, would be a problem.  But it 
would sure as hell be payback for what happened to her after the 
night at Azure.
        And it would be hell knowing that Nick had been so close to 
her for at least one night, and now beyond her reach.
        Carefully disentangling herself from his grasp, Natalie 
yawned again, rose from the bed, and found a pair of sweats she'd 
borrowed once or twice before while staying at Nick's.  The next 
stop was the bathroom, where she had a nice, long, hot soak in the 
tub--boy did THAT ease the ache in a few of her less frequently 
used muscles--but she noticed, after dressing, that she still had a 
bit of a hitch in her get-along as she headed downstairs.  Grinning, 
she decided that it was the least of the prices she'd pay for her 
evening of debauchery . . . and one she'd gladly pay again if given 
half a chance.
        She spent the remaining hours of daylight picking up--
breaking up the large box in which her 'present' had arrived into 
small pieces and taking them out to the garbage, shaking out her 
dress, washing her lingerie in the sink and making a mental note to 
rescue it from Nick's shower rod as soon as it was dry or he'd 
catch it full in the face if he stumbled in there still half asleep, 
throwing out her torn hose, dropping the two video tapes into a 
brown paper bag and depositing them in the trunk of her car to 
return to the video store on the way home . . . just a whole bunch 
of little chores that needed to be taken care of.  Thankfully, their 
little adventure on the carpet hadn't left any significant damage or 
stains, although she DID go over the area with a damp sponge just 
in case.  The bedroom, well, he was going to have to work that 
out for himself.  It didn't look too much different from the way 
she'd found it when she'd arrived, although she had a feeling that 
Janette had been involved in THAT little adventure.  Let HER 
explain.
        By the time Natalie was done with cleaning and had called 
the station to let them know that Nick was calling in sick--she had 
someone leave a message for Reese because she didn't really want 
to have to deal with him--it was well past sunset.  She'd hung up 
the phone and was wondering whether to order in dinner when she 
heard, "Nat?" from the top of the stairs.
        Nick was standing there, still half-asleep, hair in disarray.  His 
pajama top, though, was buttoned to his neck, and he was wearing 
his bathrobe over it, the sash tied with a Gordean knot that would 
always elude her.  "Are you feeling better?" she asked, hating the 
lie even before she began it.
        "Better?"  Nick stared down at her, then took the steps 
slowly.  He made a bee-line for the refrigerator as soon as he hit 
the floor.  The door was open and the bottle in his hand before she 
could blink.  At least he had the common sense to pull out the 
cork--with his fingers--before he started drinking.
        One good pull from the bottle later, he turned to her, guiltily.  
But she didn't chastise him.  She couldn't.  Not after last night.  
Smiling, she walked over to him and touched his arm gently.  "You 
weren't yourself."
        "I wasn't?"  He took another pull from the bottle, then closed 
the refrigerator door.  Sitting down at his kitchen table, he looked 
up at her.  "Happy birthday, by the way."
        "That was yesterday."
        "Yesterday?"  He looked around the loft in bewilderment, 
then, as nothing had changed, glanced down at the newspaper 
Natalie had left on the table.  "I've lost a day?"
        "What do you remember about last night?" she asked, sitting 
down across the table from him.
        Nick's brow furrowed as he stared down at the paper.  "You 
were going to be here any minute--I was running late.  Then 
Janette came by . . . she was going to leave you some sort of 
present?"
        "I got it," said Natalie, by way of explanation.  Leaning 
across the table, she placed a hand to his forehead, until he shook 
her off.  Seating herself again, she said, "Yep--you seem back to 
normal."
        "What happened?"  Nick shook his head, then folded the 
paper and placed it to one side.  "Janette came by and--"
        "By the time I showed, she was gone.  She left me a note 
saying that you weren't yourself right now and it would probably 
take a day to run through it.  I guessed it was some vampire 
thing."  Unable to resist, she added, "Has this ever happened 
before?"
        Nick shrugged, still somewhat puzzled.  "Now and again--
maybe once or twice a year.  I'm usually pretty drained 
afterwards."
        "And this time?"
        "I'm hungry."  He picked up the bottle of cow blood and took 
a swig, then set it aside thoughtfully.  "But I feel okay.  Relaxed."
        "Good."  Relieved, Natalie folded her hands and stared down 
at them for a moment.  "Well, as long as you're okay, I guess I'd 
better get back to my place.  I called the station--they don't expect 
you in tonight.  Maybe I'd better leave you alone so you can take it 
easy."
        As she rose, Nick reached across the table and grabbed her 
hands, stopping her.  "You stayed here last night and today?  
Watching over me?"
        Natalie hesitated, then seated herself again.  "Well, yeah.  
Janette wasn't here.  I wanted to make sure you'd be okay."
        "And . . . everything was okay."
        "Everything was fine," said Natalie weakly, as she gazed into 
those blue eyes.  "Just . . . fine."
        Nick raised her fingers to his lips.  "But it was your birthday.  
Nat, I'm so sorry!  I was supposed to take you to dinner.  And you 
wasted the night here--?"
        "I didn't mind staying with you," said Natalie quickly.  
"Really--it was no trouble.  In fact, it was one of the best birthdays 
I've ever spent."
        "But I owe you dinner."  Releasing her, Nick rose to his feet.  
"Why don't I get dressed and--since I've got the night off anyway--
we'll go tonight."
        "But the reservations were for last night--"
        "Reservations AREN'T a problem," said Nick.
        "For one thing, I look like hell.  My dress is unwrinkling in 
your bathroom--"
        "I'll buy you a new dress."
        "I threw out my hose--"
        "I'll buy you those, too."
        Natalie stared at him, a smile creeping across her face.  "I'm 
not getting out of this, am I?"
        "Not on your life," answered Nick.  He walked around the 
table and took her hand, pulling her closer.  "You're getting a 
birthday dinner whether you want one or not."
        "On one condition--"  Natalie held up her hand to stop him.  
"Just so long as it's not one of those restaurants where they sing to 
you and make a big fuss and embarrass the hell out of you."
        "Absolutely not," agreed Nick, with mock horror.
        "Okay, then."  Natalie walked over to the counter and picked 
up her purse and her hair brush, saying, "Just give me twenty 
minutes in the bathroom to put myself back together--I left my 
shoes around here some place . . . ."
        She froze, just for a second, as Nick flinched when she 
walked by him with the hairbrush, but put a brave face on it--at 
least until she spotted the leather bag containing his 'toys,' which 
she'd forgotten to hide.  Natalie made her way around the couch 
and toward the bag, hoping that Nick wouldn't notice--
        "I wouldn't touch that if I were you," he warned.  Joining her, 
he picked up the bag before she could reach it.  "It belongs to 
Janette.  She must have left it here."
        "I wondered about that."  Natalie cleared her throat as Nick 
walked away, still holding the bag.  He placed it in the kitchen 
closet, on the floor.  "I didn't want to open it."
        "Good."  Closing the door, he seemed to breath a sigh of 
relief once it was put away.  "She's always leaving things behind.  I 
just hang onto them until she asks for them again."
        "Really."  Unable to resist, Natalie headed toward the stairs 
and asked lightly, "I don't suppose you ever check to see exactly 
WHAT she's left behind?"
        "Not since the early 1700's."  Nick frowned in memory and 
got that far away look for an instant, before smiling and turning 
back to her.  "We had a . . . discussion about that."
        "You meant you had a fight."
        "Same thing."  Nick met her at the base of the steps.  
"Twenty minutes?"
        "Fifteen.  I already took a shower."
        "Well, I haven't.  At least twenty for me."  Patting her lightly 
on the behind, he said, "Hurry up, Dr. Lambert.  You're not 
getting any younger and your birthday dinner awaits."
        Natalie gave him a sharp glance over her shoulder.  "You do 
that again and I'll smack you one."
        "Promises, promises," answered Nick, with a mock sigh.  He 
leaned forward and planted a light kiss on the back of her neck.  
"Happy birthday, Natalie."
        She hoped that he took her sudden stiffness as a reaction to 
the kiss on the back of the neck, rather than to his comment.  She 
was very thankful that Nick passed her on the steps and made his 
way up the stairs to the bedroom to change, because she barely 
made it into the bathroom before she began to cry.

The End
______________

Comments to Ophelia5@aol.com