Standard disclaimers apply.  Nick, LaCroix, Janette, and
Natalie aren't mine, I've just taken them for a brief spin.
Any similarities to real life happenings or other fanfiction
stories are entirely coincidental/unintentional.  Permission
is granted to archive at fkfanfic.com and the ftp site, all
others please ask so I can keep track of it.  For those of
you who are interested, my other stories are all available
at http://filebox.vt.edu/users/diharris/Homepage.htm.

This fanfiction is a first for me, I'd have to say.
Although it has some NNPacker undertones, this story is
mainly about Nick and LaCroix, with a hefty dose of Janette.
I'm no expert on LaCroix factions, so I really don't know
what category this would really fit into, however.  My best
guess would be the CoTK and the Cousins.  Anyway, for those
of you who know my standard LaCroix representation, I can
assure you that this is most certainly not anywhere close to
it :)  This story follows series canon until somewhere after
Human Factor, where it splits off rather drastically (I'm
one of those people still stuck in denial about LK).

Do Not Go Gentle contains a bit of disturbing subject matter
that I think is adult content, which will be sent out under
adult headers (Part 4).  There is also one part that
contains a lot of graphic violence (Part 3).  Be warned.

For those of you interested in the translations of the Latin
Headers that are used in this story:
IN MEDIAS RES = in the middle of things
INITIUM = beginning
REVENIRE AD NUNC = back to the present
FINIS INITII = the end of the beginning
Thanks to my friend Nick, who kindly did these translations
even though he was super busy!

Thanks a billion to my beta reader, Lois Frankel!  This
story took me thereabouts of six months to write (the
longest I've ever spent actually writing a story before this
is about three weeks...) and without my beta reader, it
probably would've taken an additional couple of months :)
All comments, questions, feedback and whatnot may be sent to
[email protected].

Ok, <deep breath>, I'm done.  You can read now :)

IN MEDIAS RES

He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it, the harsh
light bringing stabs of pain and causing him to immediately
close them again.  He was wet, and cold.  So cold...
/Nicholas, now do you understand...  I'm your master and you
will never escape me./  He cried out, but no sound came.
His voice was gone.  He couldn't move.  He couldn't think.

He was wet.  And cold.  Splayed on the floor like a rag doll
left out by a careless three-year-old.  Reaching with his
good hand, he attempted to pull himself across the cold
wooden floor, but he couldn't get a grip nor did he have the
strength.  Wet.  He opened his eyes again.  Pain shot
through his pupils as they tried to adjust to the light, but
he had no tears to cry.  He was bled out.  Weak.  He
couldn't move.

/You're mine!  Never disobey!/  He realized then why he was
wet.  He was lying in a pool of his own blood.  His life and
soul were spilling outwards from his ravaged body into the
cracks in the floor, coagulating ever so slowly.  Why hadn't
his body absorbed it back into his system?  It didn't make
sense.  Shivering, he curled up into a ball.  So cold...
His teeth chattered.  Inhaling sharply, a terrible pain was
brought to his chest and he felt as if his entire body was
about to fall apart.

/You little whelp!  I'll teach you once and for all.../  He
sobbed mutely, his entire torso lifting up off the floor
like a marionette operated by a deranged puppeteer.  It
hurt!  Everything hurt...  His neck and rear in particular.

/No...  Please no.../  Failing when he tried to sit up, he
lay still, shivering as the cold seeped further into his
bones.  It hurt!  Calming his breathing, he tried to lie
there silently.  He was hurt.  Very badly...  Why wasn't he
hungry?  He was cold...

He was cold.  He was naked...  His pale skin reddened from
the coating of his own blood.  Cold.  There was a gash in
his side.  His left hand was crushed and numb.  He reached
out with his right hand.  /Are you trying to get away?  You
think you can get away?/  He couldn't get away.  If he
could only get to his refrigerator...  Maybe he would
heal...  His broken ribs shuddered underneath his skin as
he took in a quick, panicked breath.

/LaCroix...  please...  don't/  But he did anyway.  He
sobbed again, his body coming up off the floor as it had
before and then slapping back onto the cold wet floor with
a painful jolt.  Why couldn't he move anywhere?  God, it
hurt.  There was a noise.  The door to the lift, maybe
twenty feet in front of him, opened slowly.

He struggled.  Had to... had to get away.  Hide...
"Aughnn..."  The words would not come as he flopped around
on the floor like a landed fish, trying to get up.  To get
away.  It hurt.  He cried, but again, no tears came.
LaCroix...  Please go away...

"Nick!  OHMYGOD, NICK!"  Nat.  When did she get here?  Help
me Nat...  I can't get up...  He hurt.  It was cold.

She was sobbing, and he felt her hand on his shoulder.  No,
he felt LaCroix...  He had to get away...  He struggled
despite the awful pain.  His chest rattled as he gasped,
pulling away from LaCroix with all his might...  He tried
to scream when LaCroix grabbed him and held him steady, but
all that came out was a hoarse sounding squeak...

"Nick, it's me!  Nat!  Can you hear me?  It's Nat!"  He
heard Nat's frantic voice.  When did she get here?  Help me,
Nat, I can't get up...

/Beg me, Nicholas.  Beg me to stop.../  He struggled to get
away, his voice finally succeeding in getting out a pained,
plaintive whisper, "LaCroix, please stop..."  LaCroix was
touching him.  He flailed blindly.  His eyes hurt.  His neck
hurt.  He hurt.

"Nick, calm down.  Shhhh.  It's over, Nick.  LaCroix isn't
here.  Let me help you..."  He heard Nat's voice above his
confusion.  When did she get here?  Help me, Nat, I can't
get up.  She was sobbing.  Why?

Don't cry, Nat.  I'll be ok, just give me a second...  He
tried to get up to show her that he was indeed ok, but he
couldn't.  The pain movement brought was like his skin was
set on fire.  He jerked in shock.

"Nick, don't try to move!  You've...  you've got a lot of
broken bones..."  I do?  He did.  His torso and left hand
had almost the consistency of fine goo, the bones where
completely shattered.  She was sobbing.  Don't cry, Nat...

Then she was gone.  Gone.  He was alone.  And cold.  Where
did she go?  Nat!  Nat!  Where did you go?  You left me...
Just like everybody else does...

"Nick, shhhh.  I'm just getting some blood packs.  Shhhh..."
Don't cry, Nat...  Why is she getting blood packs?  I don't
need any blood, I'm not hungry...

She was back.  Her hand was brushing his cheek.  He looked
at her through pained eyes.  He couldn't speak.  It hurt.

He felt a prick in his arm and he tried to jerk away.  But
then he felt warm where the prick was.  And then the rest
of him was warm...  But now it hurt more...  It was too
warm.  It burned.

"....."  He screamed a scream that made no noise, jerking
haphazardly about the floor despite the steadying hands on
him.  She was sobbing.  Don't cry, Nat.  Please don't
cry...  Why did he always have to make her cry?  It was his
fault.  It was always his fault.  He was a monster, just
like LaCroix said.  He hurt.

"Nick..."  She was pushing on his side.  It hurt.  Why was
she pushing on his side?  Pushing...  /Ah, Nicholas... do
you feel that?  That's me.  I can possess you totally.../

"No... no no no no..." he cried like a lost lamb, bleating
for it's mother.  Nat stopped pushing.  But she was still
crying.  Don't cry, Nat.  I'll do what you want me to, if
you stop crying...  I can't bear to see you cry...

"Nick, you've got to roll on your side so I can ... clean
you off..."  Ok.  I can do that...  Strangely, he could move
now, but it still hurt.

/You are a monster Nicholas/.  I know.  /Embrace it./  No!
He felt a grating sensation and he cried.  Sobbed.  She was
wiping him with a towel.  It hurt!  Why was she hurting him?
Nat, why are you hurting me?  This hurts!  He cried.  He had
tears now.  Odd.

"Shhhh, Nick I'm almost done.  I know it hurts..."  He tried
vainly to wait patiently while Nat finished, the tears
streaming down his face and making a mess of the floor.  All
of the sudden it stopped.  He was cold again.  He shook.  He
closed his eyes.  Tired.  Suddenly tired.

"Nick, stay awake!  You're going into shock..."  Oh.  He
kept his eyes open.  Maybe then she wouldn't cry.  Please,
Nat don't cry.

She was hurting him again.  Why was she hurting him?  He
felt his left hand in hers.  She was doing something with
it and now he couldn't move it.  There was cardboard on it.
Nat, I can't move my hand now...  Why was she hurting him
like this?  Nat, why?  LaCroix had hurt him... but never
Nat...

He felt her bandaging him on his neck and on other places.
His neck hurt a lot.  She was touching him again, pressing
his ribcage this way and that.  That hurts!  Nat, why are
you hurting me?  He cried.  She stopped.  There was a
terrible noise.  Now there was chair in front of him.  Nat
was gently prodding him to stand up.

He couldn't stand.  It hurt.  God, he couldn't stand up...
But Nat wanted him to, so he stood.  He wanted to scream.
/I can possess you totally/.  No... NONONONONO!  Get away!
Dizziness crushed his skull and suddenly nausea flooded
through his system.  He vomited.  His throat burned and he
wanted to die.  "Here Nick, lean on this chair for a
second..."  Ok.  He cried uncontrollably as he watched her
mop up the blood from his wounds and from his recent bout of
nausea.

His good arm was going numb.  He couldn't support himself
much longer...  God, why couldn't he just lie back down on
the floor?  The floor was... it was horizontal.  But Nat
wanted him to stand.  His legs felt like rubber.  He wanted
to fall.  Nat wanted him to stand.  He stood.  He felt blood
dripping down his legs.  Nat cleaned it off with a towel.
Please Nat, can I please lie back down now?

A warm, fuzzy blanket was wrapped around him.  He sobbed and
shook and shook.  Shook.  Why did he hurt so much?  /Do you
feel that, Nicholas?  I OWN you!/  No...  I don't belong to
anyone, least of all you...  Why don't you stop?  Stop!  Oh,
please stop!

Natalie's arms wrapped around his shoulders.  They were
light, as if they were trying not to hurt him.  LaCroix
tried to hurt him...  "Nick, let's get you over to the sofa,
ok?"  Ok.  Why did he have to do that though?  The floor was
ok...  He could just lie on the floor...  Nat wanted him to
walk.  He would walk.  It would hurt.

The first step brought shoots of pain up his legs.  It hurt!
"Come on, Nick!  Only a few more..."  Ok.  Now he was
sitting on the sofa.  Had he gotten there that fast?  He
hurt.  She was still wrapped around him, rocking him back
and forth.  He cried.

"Shhhhh, Nick.  It's ok, Nick.  You'll be all right...
you'll heal..."  No I won't.  "Drink this."  A bottle
appeared in front of him.  He drank.  He retched.  It tasted
awful.

"Nat..." he managed.  It was soft.  He couldn't get much to
come out of his vocal chords.  Oh, God.  He vomited again,
shaking violently.  Trembling.  Shaking.  Sobbing.

"Shhh, Nick.  It's all right.  It's ok..."  No, it's not ok.
He wouldn't stop...  Why wouldn't he stop?

"Nat...  Make him stop!" he sobbed, burying himself in the
blanket.  /I own you./  God, he hurt so much.  He cried
more.  When would it stop hurting?  It would never stop
hurting...

"Shhhhh, Nick..."

Help me, Nat.  He reached for her.  She was there.  Help me,
Nat.

"Shhhhh, Nick..."

He fell asleep to the lulling sound of her voice.  Thank
you, Nat.

This is the end of part 1/10.  All comments may be sent to
[email protected].

*****

DO NOT GO GENTLE (2/10)

Lucien LaCroix flew blindly through the freezing night air
in a cold fury.  Despite the numbing frigidness nipping at
his skin, he could not help but think of his rebellious son.
Damn that recalcitrant boy!  Every time he turned around,
Nicholas was doing _something_ towards his damn quest for
mortality.  Something for his damn emotional heart!  Didn't
he realize he was only going to get hurt?

Every single time.  Every single time, he had to go racing
in to save his errant son when he did something foolish and
it was getting to be a rather annoying chore.  Damn it!  And
damn him!

LaCroix snarled as he picked up speed.  But at the back of
his mind something was there that wasn't supposed to be, a
constant murmur underneath his bubbling anger.  Regret?
Maybe... but it didn't quite seem to fit.  In an effort to
knock some sense into Nicholas, he'd gotten a little bit
carried away.  And he knew it.  Regret it?  Yes...  But
there was something else.

His mind shifted back to his son and it pained him to
realize that Nicholas was lying cold, alone, and helpless in
his loft, but he couldn't have stayed.  He'd known that if
he'd stayed he would've only gotten madder.  His temper was
simply not a thing to trifle with.  Besides, even if they
were _just friends_, he was sure that Nicholas's doctor
friend would stop by soon enough and save the day.

But...  why did it have to be like this?  Because Nicholas
was a damn fool, that's why.  Because Nicholas cared.  About
_her_.  And not about him.  LaCroix grimaced.  He wouldn't
be surprised if Nicholas wanted him dead.  He'd already
tried to kill him, once within the past couple years.

There was no way that he would be able to cash in on his
debt over Fleur either.  If he were to take the good Dr.
Lambert's life, which he desperately wanted to do, strong-
willed and vivacious though she was, it would be enough to
sever his ties to Nicholas forever.  As of now, he was
barely hanging on by a frayed thread anyway.

In a flash of thoughtful insight, he realized, suddenly,
that he envied Nicholas in a way.  His passion, his dreams,
it was all so damned admirable.  And it made him feel that
much worse.  He'd overreacted.  That, he knew.  Even if he'd
refrained from killing the Doctor, he hadn't refrained from
killing his son.  If not in body, in soul.  Nicholas would
never, _ever_, forgive him now.  He'd gone too far...

As he set down in a dark, side alley, a small unbid tear
fell down his cheek.  He wiped it away hastily, denying its
brief existence with a ferocious, throaty growl.  No!
Lucien LaCroix did NOT cry.  He was a ruthless, Roman
general.  Not a crybaby!

His thoughts of Nicholas, however, refused to stop as his
tears had.  He tried so hard to renew the family ties that
had bound them together so well before, but every time he
turned around Nicholas went off and did something that
was... unforgivable!  He couldn't just let these infractions
slide...  But at what cost?  Nicholas had bounced back after
every disciplinary session with seeming ease, but nobody
lasted forever.  Like a bad case of metal fatigue, he knew
his son would eventually snap.

He sighed loudly as he thought to himself.  If Nicholas
would just accept what he was!  But he didn't.  That was the
crux of it right there.  LaCroix groaned as he opened his
link to Nicholas for a brief second, only to be greeted by a
fanfare of confusion and pain.  Placing his hands to his
temples in response to the bombardment, he immediately
closed the link.

Why had he done that to Nicholas?  Why?  What had possessed
him to ruin the progress they'd been making?  Things had
been going so well lately...  Ever since Nicholas had been
shot and his memories restored, LaCroix had felt closer to
his son in a way he hadn't felt since... well... never.

Even when Nicholas had been a fledgling, LaCroix had known
Nicholas thought of their relationship as master and slave,
not as father and son, intimate in more ways than any mortal
could possibly imagine.  Lately he'd been getting the
feeling that Nicholas had situated their relationship
somewhere between the two extremes.  Although not his
ultimate goal, he had been happy that Nicholas had even
yielded that much.

LaCroix broke from his musings and approached the door of
the Raven with a menacing glare.  The bouncer stepped aside
immediately to let him pass, not even fazed by the cries of
protest from the long line of mortal patrons waiting to get
in.  Apparently, they did not realize that he was the owner
of the establishment.

As the pounding bass blasted him in the face, he noticed
that all the vampire patrons of the establishment were
staring strangely at him.  He looked around, the dazzling
lights and noises only momentarily confusing his sensitive
eyes.  They all wisely averted their eyes when he returned
their stares with a menacing one of his own, but it was odd.
Something was not quite right...  Not at all.

The pale-faced, brown-haired bartender waved him over with a
polite gesture of his hands.  Marcel was his name, or at
least one of the many that he'd gone by over the course of
eternity.  He was at least as old as Vachon was, if not
older.  Those that old did not worry easily, which made it
all the more strange when LaCroix was able to detect worry
in Marcel's penetrating gaze.

LaCroix immediately responded, approaching the bar with a
certain wariness.  "What is it?" he snapped as he placed his
hands on the cool black surface of the bar.

"She's...  She's in the back room.  I told her she could
stay as long as she liked..." Marcel said hesitantly, barely
loud enough to be heard over the music.

LaCroix looked at his vampire bartender with confusion.
Who?  The bartender merely backed away as if to avoid what
he thought was going to be a backlash, and LaCroix could
barely contain his burning curiosity.  What was going on?

He strode across the floor of the Raven, barely preventing
himself from mowing his patrons flat into the dance floor.
Although he hesitated at the entrance, gripping the doorknob
tightly with a foreboding sense of worry, he went into the
apartments in the back with a sudden determination.  The
darkness in the room was so thick it was almost tangible,
but his acute eyes could see well enough to identify the
figure huddled in the corner and his unbeating heart nearly
exploded out of his chest when he saw the room's occupant.
One he hadn't seen since the night she'd given him the deed
to the Raven.

Janette looked up from where she sat huddled on the floor.
Bloody tears streamed down her face as she shook
uncontrollably.  "LaCroix...  What have you done?" she asked
quietly, in obvious pain.  Her arms clasped tighter around
her thin, sinuous form as she bit back on a wave of agony
with a pathetic whimper.

LaCroix raced to her side with fear developing at the pit of
his stomach.  She didn't appear to have any injuries, but he
still felt compelled to offer her his wrist.  Her reaction
was quite surprising.  She turned her face away with a look
of disgust, her lips curled up in a pained grimace.  "Ma
Cherie, what's the matter?" he asked, concerned about the
fact that she would refuse his fast-healing, ancient blood
if she was in such pain.

"What have you done to him?" she asked plaintively, her
teeth chattering relentlessly.  Janette bit off a scream as
she clutched her abdomen and buried her face in his
shoulder.  Comprehension began to flood his mind.  Nicholas.
She was feeling Nicholas.  Her new 'master'.  She'd been
brought back to Toronto by his pain, and she couldn't shut
it out.  It was not something he'd taught either of his two
children, at the time in an effort to maintain more control
over them.

Nicholas was incapable of blocking his pain from Janette,
and Janette was incapable of stopping her reception of it.
A very bad combination, and something he couldn't teach her
overnight.  He realized painfully that there was no way he
could help her.

He held her shaking form in his failing grasp.  Janette.
His sweet, seductive Janette.  Reduced to this.  Because of
him...

"Janette, I'm so very sorry...  I...  I couldn't stop
myself...  I was angry..." he whispered softly, his voice
rich with raw pain.  He'd gone too far...  He'd let his
anger cloud his judgment.  And he regretted it.

He winced as she cried out desperately, writhing in his arms
like a frightened child.  "How could you?  He was starting
to return!  I felt him returning.  He...  he loved you..."
she whispered, her face tight with lines of pain.

The words hit him like a slap in the face.  Nicholas had
loved him?  No.  Nicholas would never...  NO!  He shook his
head.  It couldn't be true.

"I...  I'm sorry..." LaCroix said softly, his voice
faltering as tears came to his eyes and threatened to fall.
He was no longer some invincible general...  And it tore him
apart that he was unable to offer any other words of apology
to Janette as she fainted from the dizzying agony emanating
from his son.

What had he done?  He wept openly for the first time in
centuries, Janette limp and unconscious in his arms.  All,
was lost.

This is the end of part 2/10.  All comments may be sent to
[email protected].

*****

DO NOT GO GENTLE (3/10)

INITIUM

Nick groaned as he stepped into the lift that went up to his
loft.  It had been a long, terrible night, and he was
exhausted.  A man had gone berserk and killed three people
in a shopping mall before taking his own life.  Nick and
Tracy had had to question all the witnesses.  Crying,
hysterical witnesses in shock.

Nick shook his head with a look of distaste.  It disgusted
him that mortals could spurn the gift of life with acts
violence such as this, but, there was nothing he could
really do about it.  Leaning back against the wall, he
thought of nothing but sinking into bed and falling into the
oblivion of sleep.  That, and feeding.

His abdominal region burned with raw hunger, and he growled
bestially as he stepped out of the lift.  He was tired,
true, but his carnal need would not be silenced until he
sated it with blood.  He couldn't ignore it, although he'd
tried so desperately hard to.  His face marred with self-
disgust, he raced to the refrigerator like an abused dog
desperate for a single scrap of food.

Grabbing a familiar green bottle from the fridge, he placed
it to his lips and tipped it upward.  The cow blood slid
down his throat only too slowly, and he grimaced at the
terrible bitter taste.  It was awful.  Absolutely awful.
And for what seemed like the thousandth time that week, he
wondered why he put himself through this?  He growled in
frustration and slammed the green bottle onto the kitchen
counter, looking back longingly in the direction of his
fridge.  There were human blood packs in the freezer.  He
could have just one...

No!  He would not give in to his desires, no matter what the
cost to his health.  He raised the bottle back to his lips
and took another sip of the dreaded stuff, choking slightly
on the taste.  At least it didn't make him so nauseated that
he had to throw it back up, like with Nat's protein drinks.
Just thinking about it made him shudder.

In the private atmosphere of the loft, he let a small tear
descend his cheek.  Why did it have to be so damn hard?  He
wanted to be mortal so badly... and yet... he continuously
found himself embracing the vampire.  Contradiction, it
seemed, was a part of his daily life, but what was _wrong_
with him?  He squeezed his eyes shut as he dealt with the
sickening aftertaste of the cow blood, strangely pleased
that he was getting no enjoyment out of quenching his
terrible thirst.  And yet, for some reason he found himself
contemplating taking another sip.

Standing there quietly, trying to force himself to put the
bottle back before taking another sip, he felt an odd
buzzing in the back of his head, a whisper of something that
could only be one thing.  LaCroix.  "What do _you_ want,
LaCroix?" he said with displeasure as he turned to face his
master, the green bottle still clasped tightly in his hand.

"Oh, come now, Nicholas.  Why must you greet me with such
hostility?" LaCroix said smoothly, an eyebrow raised.  He
appeared out of thin air as he said it, adorned in a suave
black sport coat, black silk shirt, black pleated pants,
and a pair of black leather shoes.  Really colorful...

"Because when ever _you_ take the time to visit _me_ it's
usually to criticize me or to punish me," Nick said,
matter-of-factly, but he regretted it as soon as the words
fell from his lips.  Ugh!  Why did he have to lash back at
his master, when he knew all it would bring him was pain?
It seemed his rebellious nature too often got ahead of his
more logical side.  He felt fear growing in the pit of his
stomach.  He was too tired to deal with this right now...

LaCroix merely gave him a perplexed look and took the green
bottle out of Nick's hand, taking a quick sip.  Only
LaCroix's stoic ability to hide his disgust prevented him
from spitting it back out.  "Nicholas, Nicholas...  _must_
you drink this infernal swill?  You really should be
drinking human..." he commented distastefully, not really
a command, but definitely more than a mere suggestion.

Nick shook his head.  He wasn't going to allow himself to
be sucked into that argument now.  He wanted to go to bed.
What's worse was that he knew that LaCroix knew he wanted to
go to bed.  This was likely to be a long encounter...  "What
do you want, LaCroix?"

LaCroix whipped out a newspaper from under his coat pocket,
almost faster than Nick's eyes could keep track of.  "I
merely meant to ask you what the meaning of _this_ was,"
LaCroix said, his voice dripping with contempt.

Nick swallowed.  Hard.  On the front page of the paper were
the words 'Hero Cop Catches Killer'.  That was ok, pretty
normal for him, in fact.  He got headlines a lot.  But what
LaCroix was referring to, was the picture.  Of him and Nat.
Kissing.  Right on the front page of the daily paper.

He snatched the paper from LaCroix's hand and read the
caption quickly to himself.  'Apparently, Detective Nick
Knight gets a little more help from the Coroner's Building
than most of Toronto's finest do, but it seems to do him
well...'.  Nick shook his head, remembering the night before
with a sense of dread.  He hadn't known there were
photographers there when he had done that, although he
should have.  "LaCroix, that's not what it looks like..."

Under LaCroix's hateful gaze, Nick began to tremble, and at
the same time he was angry that LaCroix could still
intimidate him even after eight hundred years.    "Nicholas,
do you mean to tell you that _this_ was entirely platonic?"
he questioned with a raised eyebrow, the disbelief in his
tone practically knocking Nick flat.  LaCroix's annoyance
was palpable.

Nick looked at the floor, his voice wavering with fear
realizing that he didn't have much more time to clear
himself before LaCroix pounced.  Literally.  "Yes..."  God,
what was he going to do?  Nat was in danger now, and it
really had been a platonic kiss...  Or at least in context,
but looking on it, it had felt _really_ good at the time.
The guilt from his actions washed over his mind in a flood
of emotion.  He had hurt Nat by leading her on, and now he
had endangered her life.  He swallowed, barely noting the
sudden dryness of his mouth.

LaCroix slapped him across the cheek so hard it stung.
"Don't lie to me, boy!"

Nick's voice escaped in a quick puff of air as he held a
hand to his burning cheek.  His eyes drooped in shame, and
although he tried to defend himself he knew he had lost
already and began to prepare himself for a severe beating.
"I'm not!  It was..." he was cut off when LaCroix's fist
slammed into his stomach.  Hard.  He gasped as the air was
pushed out of his lungs and fell to the floor wheezing, his
hands clutching his abdomen with a fierce grip as he
spasmed.

"Did we not have an agreement because of your sister?  I've
already tried to enforce this before, but you thought you
could deceive me about your true feelings.  It is obvious to
me that you have been lying to me for the past year.  The
good Doctor's life is forfeit!"  LaCroix looked with an
uncaring glance down to Nicholas's gasping figure and then
directed his eyes towards the skylight above forebodingly.
He was going to leave.

Nick stared up at his master from the floor, his wind still
completely gone.  Gasping frantically, his eyes widened in
fear.  Nat!  "No!" he cried pathetically, although it was
more a thought than an actual utterance.  He dashed to his
feet and grabbed on to LaCroix's shoulders as hard as he
could, baring his fangs with a ferocity he couldn't have
mustered under any other circumstances.

LaCroix turned towards him, ignoring Nick's sudden outburst.
"Stop this at once," he chided.  "We had a deal.  Fleur's
mortality for that of your mortal lover, should you ever
have one.  And I must say it looks like you do," he said, a
smirk invading his face as he saw Nick's rage.

Nick snarled loudly, his fangs displayed menacingly.
"You've already made my life a living Hell!  Don't you think
that's enough?" he screamed, shaking LaCroix with his hands.
Nick could feel the hole he was digging becoming deeper, but
he had to try.  He had to save Nat!

Suddenly, Nick felt himself up against the wall.  He cried
out as LaCroix pushed him forcefully into the hard surface,
his rib cage crunching in his upper torso.  Nick struggled
to free himself from his master's vice-like grip but he
couldn't.  The more he struggled, the tighter LaCroix's grip
on him became.  More bones snapped.  He screamed again, and
inhuman howl of agony with his fangs bared fully.

Nick's eyes opened wide when he felt LaCroix's hot breath on
the back of his neck.  "You're mine!  Never disobey!  I will
finish our agreement..." LaCroix said possessively, his
hands almost imperceptibly becoming tighter on Nick's
shoulders as he said it.  Nick could feel the anger slowly
building in his master's voice, and he braced himself
accordingly.  But then, LaCroix let go.

The shock of being released almost made Nick fall over, but
he managed to steady himself.  He took a breath, feeling the
vampire surge forth at the sudden stab of pain in his chest.
He looked at LaCroix through red-hazed vision.  He wanted to
kill him.  To hurt him for hurting him...  For trying to
hurt Nat...  "No!  Not Natalie!" he screamed.

Ignoring the pain, he lunged at LaCroix, who was watching
his son's vampiric visage with an arrogant smirk.  Nick knew
that he was merely making LaCroix happier, embracing the
vampire in a fit of rage.  Not caring that it only served as
amusement for the two thousand year old vampire, Nick bit
his surprised master as hard as he could, but he was flung
to the floor almost instantly.  The crack that followed as
Nick hit the floor echoed harshly, but it was bested by
LaCroix's words of fury.

"You little whelp!  I'll teach you once and for all, you
wretched, recalcitrant child!" LaCroix snapped in rage.  The
dam had broken.  LaCroix's carefully checked fury burst
forth and flooded the link between himself and Nick.

Nick was still trying to recover from the shock of hitting
the floor so hard when the anger hit him like a smack in the
face.  He was woozy, disoriented to the point that he could
hear what LaCroix was saying, but he could make no sense of
it.  What was wrong with him?  He raised himself up so that
he was on all fours, swaying slightly, only to be slammed
back onto the floor with such force that that breath was
knocked out of him.

God, his chest hurt!  He let out a cry of pain as LaCroix
held him there, unmercifully.  Reaching backward with his
left hand, trying to get leverage to throw LaCroix off him,
he only received a blast of pain when LaCroix took it into a
harsh grip and crushed it.  He screamed again and felt
LaCroix lay down on top of him with his full weight.  He
struggled with all his might, but he was weakened.
Severely.  With LaCroix's heavy body on top of his, he could
barely wiggle two inches left and right.  He gasped as the
crushing weight on him brought more pain to his chest.

"Are you trying to get away, Nicholas?  Do you think you can
get away?"  his master taunted nastily.  Nick squeezed his
eyes shut against the pain as LaCroix laughed softly.
"Foolish child..."  The voice sounded to Nick's ears like an
echoing thunder as his fear grew to palpable levels.  I'm
sorry, Nat.  I'm sorry that I can't defend you...  He cursed
himself as he lay there, completely at LaCroix's mercy.

LaCroix's weight was lifted from him only for a second until
he felt the tearing pain of his master's fangs in his neck.
He screamed animalistically as the agony of having his
life's blood forcefully removed from his body coursed
through every cell in his body.  Dizzy with sensation, he
felt himself go tense with pain as all his nerves seemed to
fire at once.

Nick opened his eyes, but he couldn't see anything except a
red haze of pain.  Images flooded through the bloodlink with
his master and assaulted his brain.  Two thousand years of
events were packed into a second's worth of imagery, and the
effect was devastating.  Pain rocketed through his body like
nothing he had ever felt before.  Thousands dead by
LaCroix's hand, all racing before his eyes.  Nat!  He was so
buffeted by such pictures of death and destruction that he
couldn't keep his mind on the one thing that would help him
through this.  Her beautiful, shining face was replaced by
pale dead-looking faces with glassy eyes.  All staring at
him, pointing their fingers in cold accusation.  LaCroix's
victims.

He shook as much as his position underneath LaCroix allowed.
God.  All those people dead...  How many had he killed?
Despite his current predicament, he couldn't help but think
of it.  LaCroix's life superimposed itself upon his as the
images continued to bombard him.  I killed so many...  He
screamed in guilt and pain as his own memories were confused
with those of LaCroix.

LaCroix sensed what he was feeling.  "Ah, Nicholas, you feel
that don't you?  You're a monster, Nicholas..." he said in a
low threatening whisper as he leaned close to Nick's ear.

Through the din of millions of voices from memories long
past, the voice of his master echoed through his ears and
threatened to shatter his soul with its intensity, taunting
him coldly.  He trembled violently as his master forced his
mind to replay the memories again.  AGONY.  No!  I'm not a
monster!  I'm not like you!

"Embrace it, Nicholas..."  NONONONONONO!  That's NOT me!  He
screamed again as the waves of pain flooded his system once
more.  But this time not from the imagery assault of the
bloodlink.  LaCroix was consciously pressing him harder into
the floor, jerking him this way and that.  Nick groaned but
didn't resist, his body's energy already completely spent in
the onslaught to his mind.  I'm sorry, Nat.  He trembled.

Nick suddenly felt cold and realized his clothes were gone.
Through the agony, he realized what LaCroix was intending to
do and he felt his heart clench in his chest.  Please no...
Not that...  LaCroix grabbed his hair and pulled his head
back at an impossible angle.  "Nicholas, now do you
understand?  I'm your master and you will _never_ escape
me!"

This is the end of part 3/10.  All comments may be sent to
[email protected].  Part 4 will be sent under an adult header
due to graphic content.

DO NOT GO GENTLE (4/10) - ADULT

He felt a strange sensation in his rear, burning.  It hurt!
Nick growled out, helpless to defend himself from the
blistering pain.  LaCroix had let go of his hair was now
grasping his shoulders tightly, his grip waxing and waning
with his fierce thrusting.  "Ah, Nicholas.  Do you feel
that?  That's me.  I can possess you totally..."

Through the fog, all he could think of was how he let
himself get stuck in such situations...  It was his fault...
He was too weak to fight back because he denied his nature,
and LaCroix took advantage of it when it suited him.  The
pain was a dizzy merry-go-round of sensation, and Nick felt
like he was going to be sick.  He shuddered, his body trying
to get him to respond to the signals it was sending.

LaCroix wouldn't let him up, and he unceremoniously lost the
cow blood he had so recently consumed.  Choking as his nose
and mouth were jammed into the sticky foul-smelling mess, he
spasmed feverishly while LaCroix continued to thrust into
him.  His body screamed at the terrible mistreatment.  God,
he wanted it to end.

"Do you feel that Nicholas?  I OWN you!"  No.  No, please
no.  Nick tried to scream out for LaCroix to stop, but his
vocal chords didn't seem to be working properly and all
that came out was a strangled moan.  I'm sorry, Nat.

He felt as if he was tumbling off a cliff, over and over
again.  He was numb, and he could hardly feel LaCroix
violating him anymore and yet it hurt more than spears of
sunlight on his sensitive flesh.  God, he just wanted to
die.  Anything to make it stop!

Suddenly, from behind him, LaCroix roared in triumph and
bit hard into Nick's neck.  Nick screamed and screamed and
screamed as he felt the wetness seep into him.  Maybe it
would stop now...  But it didn't stop.  LaCroix was at it
again.

Please stop.  Oh, please stop!  He was too weak to do
anything but lie there while LaCroix continued his violent
assault.  The crunching of his bones and LaCroix's base
grunting melded into one long wail of pain.  Please stop...

Retreating back into his consciousness, anything to take
his mind away from what was happening to him, he realized
that Natalie was next after LaCroix had finished with him.
He vomited again, dry heaving that only wound up forcing
his face into the wet coagulating pool of his previous
stomach contents.  Natalie was next and there was nothing
he could do.  Nothing.

"Beg me, Nicholas.  Beg me to stop!"  Oh, God, anything to
make it stop.  Tears were streaming down his face as he
lay there completely helpless, his body weak and his energy
spent.

"LaCroix... please... don't" he managed to mutter through
the cottony haze.  It was all a blur, and he shuddered and
shook with shock as LaCroix slowed his painful assault.

"What did you say?"  LaCroix forcefully jammed his hands
hard into the small of Nick's back, eliciting a strangled
cry.  He had heard perfectly well what Nick had said, and
Nick knew it.

"No...  Please no..." he pleaded, his voice barely above
a strangled whisper.  And he felt awful for it.  Natalie
was going to die sooner because he was too cowardly to stay
quiet and ride through the assault as he should have.  His
fault...  His fault...  He stared blankly at the floor in
front of him, his vision long ago blinded by the red haze.

All at once, it was over.  LaCroix pulled out of him and
Nick lay there shaking, gasping in short intervals.  I'm
sorry, Nat.  I couldn't save you.  Please forgive me...

This is the end of part 4/10.  All comments may be sent to
[email protected].

DO NOT GO GENTLE (5/10)

"Very well, Nicholas.  I think you've learned your lesson,
at least for the time being," LaCroix said as he got up off
the floor.  I'm sorry, Nat.  I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.
Nick shook his head from side to side as he shakily reached
out with his good hand and pulled himself across the floor,
slowly.  Towards the lift.  Away from LaCroix.  Got to get
away...

"If I ever see anything like this again, your Doctor friend
will die..."  What?  He's not going to do anything?  Oh God,
thank you!  "Say goodnight, Nicholas..."  Thank you!
Than...

He screamed as a terrible fire ripped through his side and
the blackness enveloped him.

REVENIRE AD NUNC

Nick woke up yelling in a fit of terror.  He snarled harshly
and tried to sit up, the bloodsweat dripping down his
battered body and soiling the already blood-spattered
blanket that was covering him.  He regretted it.  A lot.

Dizziness swept through his pale, naked body as he lay back
down, shaking so violently that it hurt.  God, why did he
hurt so much?  Gasping, he felt his fangs descend and his
eyes turn a harsh shade of crimson.  He growled loudly.

The hunger burned bright within him, and he screamed when
his body wouldn't cooperate.  He couldn't get up to assuage
it and so began the endless loop of agony started by sitting
up and shifting bones and muscles that shouldn't have been
shifted.

Suddenly, he stilled, the predator in him taking over.
There was a warm thing approaching.  It had a heartbeat.
Its mesmerizing song of heavy thumps echoed through his ears
and he couldn't help but lick his parched lips.  But he
couldn't move.  He howled in rage at his predicament.  There
was food so close, and he couldn't get it!

But then there was a prick in his arm and the pain
overwhelming his body became louder than the hunger.  "Nick?
Talk to me, Nick.  Nick?"  The familiar feminine voice
sounded far away, as if she was yelling across a street at
him, and it barely cut through the haze.  Finally, though,
recognition shot its way through his aching head.

He stared blankly through crimson eyes as he let out a
small gasp.  "Nat?" he said, as if someone had punched the
word out of his mouth.  His breathing grew rapid and he
frenzied a bit as he struggled through the pain.

"Nick, stop moving!  You've been hurt... r... raped...
You'll only make it worse if you keep moving..." Nat's
worried voice rocketed through his ears and he immediately
stopped moving except for the small forced gasps that he
had no control over.

The memories came back to him then.  His horrible nightmare
had been real.  "N... Nat..." he let out, strangledly as he
felt a warm hand on his bruised cheek.  He blinked, trying
to stamp out the angry red haze in his eyes that he knew had
to be scaring her.  He didn't think he'd ever told her that
his eyes could turn red if he was in enough pain or angry
enough.

"Shhhhh.  Nick, it's all right now," her words were meant
to be soothing, but they did nothing of the sort.  He felt
her hand brushing his forehead and he looked at her, but
could only see the heat outlining her form.  He wanted to
pull away from her hand, it was making him nervous for some
reason.  "It's all right..."

No, it was _not_ all right!  Not all right!  His breathing
accelerated even more, and his shattered ribs stabbed him
with every inhale.  He bit his lips with his fangs, drawing
up small wells of blood.  Calm down!  You've got to... calm!
"Wh... Why haven't... I ... healed?" he asked, panicked,
the last string of his sentence coming out in a sob.

Nat seemed to pause for a long while.  "I'm not sure, Nick,"
she said honestly.  "You've lost a lot of blood and your
body doesn't seem to be acclimating well to the new stuff
I've transfused you with...  Nick, you were completely bled
out when I found you."  Her voice was weeping with emotional
strain and at once Nick felt responsible.

He closed his eyes at the information.  God, he hurt.  He
wished he had a truckload of curare ...  Tears streamed down
his face.  He was cold.  "Nat, I'm c... cold...  Why am I
cold?"  There was a blanket on top of him... normally he
didn't feel the effects of weather at all.  He shivered and
it brought a rocket of pain slamming through his torso.

Nat only sobbed as she toyed with a stray lock of his hair.
"Nick, why did he do this to you?" she whispered, her voice
raw with emotion.

Nick's teeth chattered, his fangs clicking as they hit his
lower incisors.  Why did LaCroix do this?  Why why why?
LaCroix's methods of punishment had never resulted in sexual
assault.  Never.  Just severe beatings and mental torture.
Because he's afraid of losing you, that's why.  He saw that
picture of me and Nat and he couldn't bear it.  God knows
I've repaid that damn debt he claims I have ten fold...

"I... I don't know..." he lied weakly.  He couldn't tell
her it was because of the article.  He just couldn't.
Generally he was the chief executive of the guilt
department, but he knew for sure that Nat would blame
herself unjustly.  This was his fault and his fault alone.
Not hers.

Nat looked at him with a wary gaze, but said nothing in
response.  She merely nodded in resignation.  Nick felt
terrible for lying to her, it felt so incredible wrong, even
if it was for her own good...  He cursed himself for letting
LaCroix do what he did...  There must've been something more
he could have done.

Wincing as his broken bones stabbed his innards, he
continued to shiver harshly.  He felt sick.  Really sick.
He heaved spasmodically, but nothing came up.  Cold blood
sweat marred his brow, and he felt his hair dampen and mat
to his head.  He felt dirty.  Unclean.

"Nick?" Nat questioned concernedly at Nick's look of
disgust.

Nick knew he looked terrible, and all at once he felt
embarrassed.  She had saved him when he had been helpless to
save himself.  And he had been raped.  Raped.  He felt like
a worthless, helpless infant.  Nat was the strong one, not
him.  Through his mental turmoil, he felt as if he were
one of those tiny little boys standing under the stars.
Their look of hope as they wished upon the very first bright
speck in the black night sky was soon destroyed when they
found that their wish had not been granted.  Like that.
He felt like he was reaching for something that he just
couldn't quite touch, but he didn't know what it was.

"I'm fine," he snapped, not knowing whether she had winced
at his tone or not.  He still couldn't see very well.  Why
couldn't he stop shivering?  He grew angry and frustrated
at himself, trying to come to grips with his current
vulnerability.  At least Nat wasn't harping about the fact
that he had his fangs out...  He couldn't really fix that
at the moment anyway.  He shifted uncomfortably.  He felt
dirty.  Unclean.  Violated.

"Nick?  Please, talk to me.  Don't shut me out, I know this
is very painful for you..." Nat's voice implored him, but
he would have none of it.

Nick narrowed his eyes and growled menacingly.  "Leave me
alone!  I said I'm fine!"  Damn LaCroix!  He was probably
laughing his ass off while he was lying here helpless as
a lamb.  He was so angry he was shaking...  He growled
again.  Dirty.  Unclean.  Violated.  Helpless.  Damn LaCroix
and damn himself!  DAMN!

"All... All right Nick..." and with that, the hand on his
forehead was lifted and Nat retreated back upstairs from
whence she came.

He winced at the pain and rejection that emanated from Nat's
voice.  Damn!  Why had he said that?  Natalie, I'm so
sorry...  I'm so sorry for hurting you _again_.  Sorry that
I couldn't defend you.  Sorry that I couldn't defend myself.
Sorry that I couldn't have made the right choice eight
hundred years ago and saved everyone a lot of grief.

Sorry...  He cried freely, his body racked with terrible,
retching sobs.  But this time it was not from physical pain.
With the blood tears streaming down his face like tiny
waterfalls, Nicholas de Brabant wept.

This is the end of part 5/10.  Comments may be sent to
[email protected].

*****

DO NOT GO GENTLE (6/10)

He longingly touched the smooth glass of the skylight with a
cool hand, his fingers leaving marks of moisture that
evaporated as soon as he lifted his hand away and peered
down.  Nicholas was sleeping fitfully on the couch below,
the scars of his disobedience still fresh and ugly on his
ghostly pale skin.  LaCroix frowned, but made no move to
enter.  He couldn't bring himself to break Nicholas's well
earned privacy as he had so many times before.

Even from this distance, he could see the streaming,
telltale tear tracks that had traced their way down his
son's cheeks.  He felt his heart clench in his chest at the
thought.  True, he'd been driven to extreme measures to
ensure Nicholas's continuing obedience in the past... but
this time it was different.  He'd never before felt such...
regret.  Regret...

/He... he loved you./  Janette's pained words threatened to
bring tears to his eyes again.  Had she been truthful?  It
seemed so hard to believe and yet at the same time, he knew
she wouldn't deceive him like that.  Those were the words
that he'd wanted to hear for eight hundred years.  _Eight
hundred years_ he'd waited and all he'd gotten was hate,
loathing, and self-disgust from his errant protege.  But...
what if it had been a front?  All a facade to maintain his
damn sense of pride...  Nicholas was just the type to do
that, always trying to appear invincible, untouchable,
unreachable.  Just like me...

/You've already made my life a living Hell!  Don't you think
that's enough?/  He shuddered as he remembered the hateful
words his son had spoken to him.  He supposed he deserved
it.

/He... he loved you./  LaCroix took several deep breaths to
calm his raging soul.  Hearing it now only made it hurt
more.  Because all was lost.  There was no way to apologize
for what he'd done, and even if there was it wasn't like
he'd had a lot of practice...  He was not the type to
apologize.  He'd been trained from a very young age that
emotions and apologies were for the weak.  No one would have
respected his command had he not followed those teachings.

He supposed that was another reason why Nicholas had
attracted him so from the beginning.  He was passionate,
almost to the point of personal flaw.  More passionate than
anyone he'd ever known, always so incredibly expressive.
And more kind and pure than most of the mortals he envied,
even if he couldn't see it for himself.

/LaCroix... please... don't/

Shaking his head in regret, LaCroix sighed and brushed his
hands over his red-rimmed eyes.  He had come to apologize.
But he couldn't.  Not now.  Not ever...

/No...  Please no.../

He wouldn't.  Never again...  And with that he fled into the
fleeting advance of night.

*****

Janette stared down at her sleeping sibling-turned-master
with a terrible ache in her heart.  The wounds on his face
were just now disappearing, more than twelve hours later.
LaCroix had really hurt him badly this time...  And the fact
that Nichola was still so insistent on drinking that awful
bovine blood did not help matters at all.

She touched a hand to his pale face and was startled when he
flinched, even in his sleep.  Frowning, she sat down on a
nearby chair.  He need not be woken...  She would wait until
he rose on his own.  There was so much that they needed to
talk about...

Sighing, she leaned back into the black leather chair and
closed her eyes in private meditation, but the relaxation
she felt was soon broken.  'Thump-thump...  thump-thump...'
Janette sat up straight as a board when she heard the tell
tale heartbeat.  There was a mortal here...  Probably his
doctor friend.

Janette flew deftly up to Nichola's bedroom and peered in.
There, tangled amongst the black sheets was Natalie.  Her
face was haggard, and sleep did not appear to be serving
its function.  The brown-haired mortal was tossing back and
forth, her face riddled with lines of worry.

It was odd.  Along with jealousy, Janette felt concern for
this obviously troubled woman.  When she'd been shot,
Natalie had helped her despite her obvious dislike of her.
And now she had helped Nick.  Or at least, that was what
could be concluded.  Judging from what she had felt before,
there was no way that Nichola could've healed this much
without aid.

Janette walked over to the sleeping mortal and placed her
hands on the woman's cheeks.  "Sleep, Natalie...  It's all
right.  You can sleep soundly..." she said soothingly.
Since the woman was a resistor, it was doubtful that it
would help much but she had to try...  Surprisingly, Natalie
appeared to relax a little bit.  Her muscles visibly
loosened and she snuggled further into the soft covers.

Satisfied that she had helped, even just a little bit, she
returned to her chair to resume her vigil over Nichola.  She
watched him silently.  He was so still...  The sound of his
soft, shallow breathing was the only indicator that he was,
in fact, alive.

Suddenly, he jerked in his sleep and began mumbling things
in his native medieval French, no doubt deep in the throws
of a harrowing nightmare.  "Nichola..." she said quietly as
she went to his side, placing a hand on his bare and bruised
chest.  His eyes flashed open, scarlet, glassy, and
unseeing.  He struggled to sit up, but she held him down.
"Nichola!  It is me!" she assured him.

He growled and blinked.  "Janette?" he asked weakly, almost
as if he didn't believed what he'd heard.  He blinked
furiously, and Janette was worried for a moment that it was
too bright until she realized his intent.  After several
seconds his eyes faded to their normal, beautiful blue.

Janette sighed in relief.  "Yes, Nichola..." she confirmed
softly as she traced a finger down the side of his face.
She immediately withdrew when he flinched and pulled away
from her touch.  "Nichola?" she asked, hesitantly.
Something was wrong with him.  Well, of _course_ something
was wrong with him.  He always pretended to bounce back from
LaCroix's beatings, but this was different.  And for once,
she could really sympathize with him.

He merely glared at her in contempt.  "What are _you_ doing
here?" he snapped harshly, as if he was actually angry for
her appearance.  If anything, it should have been the other
way around.  She was the only one here who had the right to
be angry.

The more she thought about it, the more Janette was taken
aback.  She had expected some guilt on his part from her
arrival, but not this kind of reception.  "I...," she began
hesitantly, "I felt your pain.  I had to come..."  She
purposefully remained vague.  She didn't know what he would
be comfortable discussing, and she figured that he would
talk when he was ready.  That's the way it had always been
in the past.

His eyes softened visibly, and his tensed muscles relaxed.
"I'm sorry..." he began to apologize.  So like him.  He
always tried to take responsibility for other people's pain,
almost to the point of it being infuriating.

Janette placed a finger to his lips to silence him.  "You
need not apologize.  You had no control over what
happened.  It was LaCroix's fault, and he's terribly
repentant if that means anything to you," she said firmly,
but she could see the rage almost glowing in his eyes.

"Well then why doesn't he come here and tell me that
himself?" Nichola asked harshly, his tone cold and low.
Bestial almost.  It was rather disturbing, since Nichola
did not normally let himself become so angry.  He stewed,
true.  Even pent up his emotions until they exploded in a
fit of rage sometime.  But he was never really prone to
sustained anger.

Seeing that he was already getting riled up with just that
small mention of his master's name, she chose to move onto
other subjects.  "Nichola, about...  about this...," she
said softly, sweeping her hand back and forth between them
to indicate both him and her.

He opened his mouth but he stopped himself before he began
to speak, his voice catching in the back of his throat.
"Nichola, I know this has been bothering you...  I...  I do
not blame you for _before_..." she said, knowing that he
would understand what she meant.

Nichola looked at her with confusion marring his sky blue
eyes.  "I thought you didn't want me to bring you back
across..." he said softly, as if wondering whether he had
remembered the events that had been so ingrained in his
head for the past few months incorrectly.

Janette sighed.  "Nichola, I was lying to myself as well as
to you.  I am a vampire.  I have been a vampire for a long,
_long_ time.  That will never change, and I realize now
that I was trying to be something I am just not cut out to
be..."

He nodded in response, although his gaze still showed that
he was slightly confused.  Janette sighed.  It was so
strange to have him as a master now, when for so long he
had been her brother...  And it was very odd to not be
connected to LaCroix in any measurable amount.  She'd been
so used to having his controlling and confident presence,
that when she'd been struck with Nichola's constant guilt
and self-loathing it'd been very unsettling and very
overwhelming.  That was why she had gone away...  To give
herself time to adjust gradually.

She was ripped from her musings when she noticed Nichola
struggling to sit up.  "Nichola, what are you doing?"  He
glanced at the clock on the table quickly as if confirming
something, and then he looked at her seriously.

"I'm going to work, Janette..."

Janette looked at him as if he were crazy.  He had to be
kidding...  "You cannot possibly be serious..." she said
with a snort, barely suppressing a bout of laughter.  But he
was serious.

She flinched inwardly when she saw his outrage at her joking
statement.  "What, do you think I'm helpless or something?!"
he demanded as he stood up wobbly.  She couldn't help but
notice the wince that followed and the flush to his cheeks
when he realized he was stark naked.  It's not like she
hadn't seen it all before, but he immediately grabbed the
blanket that had been under him and wrapped it tightly
around himself.

He winced again at the sudden movement and without thinking,
she moved to comfort him.  He shrugged her off violently and
she bit her lip in frustration when he took a step forward
and stumbled.  "Nichola..." she said, but she made no move
to help him.  It was obvious to her that he wanted to work
this out by himself...  It was so like him.  Stubborn to the
very end, and yet so vulnerable at the same time...

"I'm FINE!  Just leave me alone!" he screamed at her,
gesturing with his hands only to grimace at the strain it
put on his sore muscles.  And with that he stumbled across
the floor and slammed the door to his bathroom behind him.

Janette sighed in frustration.  Nicholas was so pigheaded!
So stubborn!  So Goddamned likable that she couldn't stay
mad.  Janette glanced at the door as she heard the shower
start from within the mysterious depths, rolling her eyes at
the ludicrousness of this situation.  Hopefully his mortal
friend would be able to knock some sense into him where she
had failed.

This is the end of part 6/10.  All comments may be sent to
[email protected].

*****

DO NOT GO GENTLE (7/10)

The water streamed down his face in warm soothing sheets,
and he sighed in relief.  Glancing down, he winced as he saw
the reddish tint of the water flowing rapidly down the drain
in a flurry of twisting tendrils.  His muscles screamed in
protest as he rubbed shampoo through his unruly mess of hair
and he couldn't help but groan.

Who was he kidding?  He couldn't go to work...  Yes I can!
His pride was just unwilling to concede defeat.  He was not
some little helpless weakling.  Yes you are...  And his
situation was all his fault anyway.  If he had been able to
defend himself properly, this wouldn't have happened...  If
he hadn't been so damn stubborn... If if if...  It all came
down to that.  Things he could've done differently but
hadn't.

He grimaced.  Burning.  His chest was burning...  He brought
his hands down from his head and the pain stopped
momentarily, only to be replaced by one in his gut.  He was
hungry...  Grabbing his abdomen with his hands he willed it
away, tears coming to his eyes at the effort.
nonoNoNoNONONO!  He wouldn't let his beast defeat him now.
Not now, not ever!  It was the one thing left that he felt
he had the slightest semblance of control over and now even
that seemed to be deteriorating.

Letting out a pitiful sob, he hastily finished his shower
and toweled himself off despite the fact that the steam
holding the air in its tightfisted grip was making it a
futile gesture.  He leaned back against the door with the
towel loosely wrapped around his waist, the shock of the
cold wooden door bringing him slightly back to his senses.

On impulse, he approached the mirror and wiped away the
condensation that had formed on the smooth glass.  What
stared back at him made his blood run cold.  He looked awful.
There were angry dark splotches marring his chest and torso,
and a long jagged red line where his rib cage met the flat
pale skin of his belly.  It was where LaCroix had stabbed
him...

He fingered the remnants of the wound and moaned slightly
at the pain the tender area brought with touch.  All at once
he felt incredibly ill, but he forced the feeling down as he
had the hunger so that it was only a passive observer to
conscious thought.

His face was pale and haggard, although not nearly as
damaged as the rest of him.  The only visible trace of his
bout with LaCroix was a small gash on the side of his face,
already closed and healing.  Casually brushing his dripping
hair away from his eyes, he sighed as new fog replaced the
moisture that he had swept away with his hand.  His face
disappeared into the mist of pale white, lost amongst the
droplets of water on the sheet of glass.

That was how he felt.  Lost.  Of all the things he had
thought he felt before, he hadn't realized this one...  A
small red tear came to his eye, but he brushed it away in
denial.  No.  I'm not lost, I'm my own person.  I know
exactly what I am, and where I'm going...  But it felt like
a lie.  It _was_ a lie.  All of it.

The hunger flared up in his stomach once again and he
couldn't stop it.  He would have to feed...  Groaning, he
opened the door of the bathroom and gingerly stepped out.
Right into the all-penetrating gaze of Natalie.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her arms
crossed over her chest in a stance of authority.

Nick grabbed the towel at his waist tightly, his knuckles
turning a milky white from the pressure as he closed his
eyes and took a deep breath.  "I'm going to work, Nat," he
said flatly, dangerously, and yet at the same time he felt
so weak he was growing dizzy.

She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.  Her stare
would've knocked any normal person flat, but it affected him
only slightly.  His eyes narrowed in anger and he felt the
beast within him slam up in his chest, but he held it back
with all his might.  She was trying to control him...   Just
like LaCroix.

The pain in his gut was equaled by one in his heart.  Why?
Why couldn't they just let him decide for himself?  He
suppressed an angry growl and when she made no move to step
aside he shoved past her, fleeing across the floor.  He
ignored the pain that the movement brought, because it was
either that or submit to the hunger and take her where she
stood, the latter of which was unthinkable no matter how
angry he was.

When he got to the fridge, he nearly ripped the hinges off
in an act of complete desperation.  The smooth, red liquid
was burning down his throat before he even realized that he
had opened a fresh bottle.  He gagged slightly at the bitter
bovine flavor, but he downed the whole bottle anyway.

Images assaulted him, dull and lazy fields of grass eclipsed
by the sun's hostile brilliance.  Nick gasped and set the
bottle down on the smooth counter, leaning down with his
head resting on his outstretched arms.  He let out a pained
sob as he processed what he'd just seen.  Images from cattle
blood were so incredibly rare that they utterly shocked him
on the infrequent occasions that they did occur.

The sun.  He'd seen the sun, known what its warmth felt like
on his unblemished skin, known the touch of it on his heart.
And all at once, it was gone into the black of night as if
it had never been.  He sighed lightly, his innards starting
to shudder.  His stomach suddenly felt like he'd just
swallowed a brick, and the sickening feeling that was rising
in his throat committed him to swallowing forcefully just to
keep everything down.

"Nick?  Please talk to me..." Nat said softly from behind
him as she placed a warm hand on his naked shoulder.  He
flinched away from her unexpected touch and he felt himself
start to shake, still leaning heavily on the counter.

"Nat, please.  Please, I _need_ to go to work..." he pleaded
but didn't look up, his voice coming out in pained gasps as
he forced himself not to fall apart.  He needed to feel
important, like he was making a difference.  Like he wasn't
a victim.  Even despite the overwhelming nausea that he was
experiencing.  Despite the fact that he could barely stand.
He needed to go...  His eyes closed, he prayed that she
would understand...

"All right, Nick.  If that's what you think you need to do,"
Nat said hesitantly, the authority of her voice gone and
replaced by a certain compassion that he had grown to
recognize.  Maybe she realized how he felt...  "But if you
feel ill, or more hurt than you can cover for, you should
book off..." she cautioned, the doctor in her still not
giving in even if her heart had.

Nick sighed in relief as he pushed himself off the counter
and turned around to face her.  It would be so much easier
with at least one person on his side...  "Thank..." he
choked on a gasp as the nausea came racing back, but he
forced it down with a few deep breaths.  "Thanks," he said
simply, but he meant it to say so much more...

Nat smiled and took him into a warm embrace, which he
accepted readily, practically melting into her caring arms.
"It's all right, Nick.  You'll be all right..." she assured
him.

Nick nodded grimly.  But he wasn't sure he was ready to
believe that just yet.

*****

Nick stepped out of Caddy all too gingerly and approached
the door to the precinct, groaning slightly at the ache in
his body.  The cool air around him was enough to keep him
well awake, but that also had the awful side effect of
making him more aware of his own discomfort.  He sighed
lightly, his breath forming a small visible cloud of
moisture that lazily swept into the air and disappeared.
The doubts he was having before struck him again, and he
wondered how on Earth he expected himself to make it through
the night if he already felt this exhausted now.  Placing a
cool hand on the door, he hesitated only briefly before he
stepped inside.

"Wow, Nick!  Nice of you to join us.  Gee, you don't look
all that great..." Tracy's voice assailed him the minute he
walked in the door, starting at an annoyingly fast pace that
eventually slowed down as she took note of his condition.
He tiredly watched in grim acceptance of his fate as her
eyes trailed from his head to his feet in horror.  "I take
that back, you look... awful!  Did you get in a fight or
something?  You're so pale..."

"I'm fine, Trace," he snapped.  He didn't need to have yet
_another_ person commenting on his obvious lack of good
health...

Tracy just swallowed at his harsh tone and went silent, a
stricken look marring her usually pristine face that made
Nick feel guilty almost instantly.  "I'm sorry Tracy, I just
had a rough night, er, day..." he said apologetically, "You
know, with the shopping mall shooting case..."

Her blue eyes widened slightly as she nodded silently,
accepting his explanation at face value almost immediately.
"It's ok, Nick...  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry..." she
started to apologize for her own innocent questions, but
he cut her off again.

"Don't worry about it, Trace," he said curtly as he raised a
pale hand to silence her.  He saw her jump back slightly,
unused to his being so incredibly harsh and snappy with her,
and again he felt slightly guilty.  "Why don't we just get
to the case report, ok?  I'd like to close this one for good
if we can," he said in a softer, more friendly tone, rubbing
his forehead with his hand.  He was already developing a
headache, and the nausea from before was only a step away.
Sitting down heavily at his desk after draping his coat over
the back of his chair, he desperately attempted to ignore it
and pulled up the case files on his computer.

She sat down at her desk across from him in compliance, but
she didn't even have a chance to pick up her pen before
Captain Reese came storming out of his office.  "Knight!
Vetter!"  The sudden intrusion sent shooting pains through
Nick's head and he bit down on his tongue hard to keep from
growling.  Why did everything have to be so damn loud?

"What?!" he snapped as Tracy sprang to her feet to meet
Reese.  She looked at him in slight amazement.  No one was
stupid enough to snap at their superiors...  Not unless they
wanted to pull traffic duty for a shift or three.

Reese approached them with eyebrows raised, his tirade
stopped before it started by Nick's unexpected flouting of
authority.  "There's been a murder reported, I need you to
go check it out," he said quickly, handing them the case
particulars in a manila folder.  "Nick?  Are you all..."

"I'm FINE!" Nick almost clapped his hands over his mouth as
he blurted out his answer before the Captain had even
finished his question.  How could he have been so completely
insubordinate?  He ground his molars together in frustration
as he struggled for some equilibrium.  Why was he so angry?

Reese looked at him strangely, but didn't press it as Nick
snatched up the folder and grabbed his coat from over the
back of his chair.  Nick stormed out before he could do
anything else that he regretted, wincing when he heard Reese
telling Tracy to keep an eye on him...  When he got to his
Caddy, he sank against the door with his head in his hands.
He shouldn't have come to work today.  Biting nausea welled
up in his throat and swallowed hard to keep from losing his
breakfast.

"... Nick?"  Oh God...  Not Tracy...  He felt his eyes
flicker golden briefly before he got control of the vampire.

This is the end of part 7/10.  All comments may be sent to
[email protected].

DO NOT GO GENTLE (8/10)

He couldn't stop his head from swimming long enough to
respond.  "Nick, you're really ill... maybe you should book
off..." Tracy's concerned voice echoed through his head,
originating from somewhere in front of him.  He felt dizzy,
and the ground seemed to be getting closer to his face until
a warm hand caught his shoulder and stopped his descent.

"No!  I'm all right, just give... give me a second..." he
managed to say before he had to bite back on his tongue.
Tracy patiently waited while he gained his balance back and
looked up at her.  "It's all right.  I'm ok now..."  The
scary thing was that Nick felt like he was trying to
convince himself more than her.

She looked at him very strangely.  "Nick... I had to hold
you up to keep you from diving nose first into the pavement,
and you're telling me you're fine?" she asked incredulously.

The look he gave her was enough to silence her protests.
"Fine.  Fine, if you want to work like this that's your
decision, but I'm driving whether you like it or not, and if
we get in a shootout and you die because you were too dizzy
to dodge, I'll be laughing at your grave..." she said
sarcastically.  He nodded and gave her the keys, amazed that
he had given up his sacred driving rights so incredibly
easily.  He was really sick...

You really should go home you know.  Tracy's right.  No!
The war going on in his head was silenced as he got into the
Caddy on the passenger side and Tracy started up the engine.
Toronto was passing quickly by the windows before he knew it
and he had almost succeeded in getting lost in thought once
again when Tracy interrupted his wandering mind.

"Say, Nick.  I feel in a strangely dismal mood tonight, how
about we listen to that Nightcrawler show you like so
much..." she joked, her hand reaching for the dials on his
radio.

Nick felt his heart clench in his chest and his whole body
went cold.  He felt his hand slap hers away from the knob
before he could stop himself.  "NO!" he belted out, loud
enough to startle Tracy to the point of almost swerving the
car out of its present lane.

Silence ensued.  Deafening silence.  He buried his face in
his hands and felt bloody tears welling up to the surface as
he began to shake.  Vaguely through the tremors racing about
his body, he felt the vibrations of the Caddy cease as Tracy
pulled over.

"Nick, I'm sorry...  Please, what's the matter?" Tracy asked
him softly.  He didn't answer, and didn't look up.  He
certainly didn't dare look up.  She'd know him for what he
really was the minute she saw the trails of blood streaming
down from his eyes.

"Nothing... I'm fine..." he managed to say weakly as he
wiped his eyes on the black sleeves of his shirt.  At least
nothing would show...

"Nick, this is ridiculous.  Something's wrong and I'm not
going anywhere unless you spill it.  Now," she demanded and
he was surprised by the sureness of her tone.  She'd never
asserted herself very much in the past, and this... well it
was pretty shocking.

He glanced at her fingers tapping steadily on the steering
wheel and he knew he'd have to come up with something or
they'd be sitting there all night.  "Tracy, look.  I have a
cold and I didn't get much sleep..." he hedged, but her
doubting glare told him she didn't buy it.

"Nick... you've suffered from sleep deprivation before and
it hasn't had you collapsing in my arms or almost having
a nervous breakdown when I randomly suggest we listen to
your favorite radio show..." she responded acerbically.  It
was obvious she wasn't in the mood to deal with his
constant avoidance of any personal talk.

He was about to make up another lame excuse when Tracy made
one for him.  "It's Nat, isn't it."  It was more of a
statement than a question.  "You had a fight with her I'll
bet..." Tracy commented as if she was omniscient.  When he
didn't respond right away, she nodded to herself in private
satisfaction and started the car back up.  "I knew it!" she
cried.  "Don't worry, Nick.  Things will work out, you two
were meant for each other..." she trailed off as she began
to focus again on her driving, pulling quickly off from the
side of the road and speeding through the dark streets.

Nick sighed in relief.  Disaster had been avoided, at least
for now.  He sighed as they approached the scene.  Police
lights were everywhere, and the forensics crews were already
milling about.  He got out of the Caddy only slightly
unsteadily and approached the scene with Tracy.  Slightly
alarmed he glanced around frantically, but relaxed when he
didn't see Nat anywhere.  This wasn't her district, but it
would've been just his luck if she'd been assigned to this
case anyway.  If she saw him like this, she'd send him home
without a doubt, and he just didn't need that right now.

Nick motioned to Tracy to go have a word with the M.E. while
he went to speak with the officer who was supervising
everything.  He walked up to the only man in uniform that he
could see in the vicinity.  "Excuse me, who's currently in
charge here?" he asked as he approached the man, his voice
tired and weak.

"Detective Knight?  Wow, I haven't seen you in a long while,
how are things?" the man responded cheerfully with a smile
so wide it threatened to split his face in half, the look of
recognition in his eyes very prominent.

Nick grimaced when he realized that he should know this
person.  He looked at the slight brown haired man who had
addressed him and sifted through his memory for a name...
He recognized from his days with Stonetree, but it took him
longer to remember specifically who it was.  "Officer
Durham, I'm fine, how are you?" he said intending to be
conversational, although his tone was cutting even to his
own ears.

Durham looked slightly startled at the harshness of the
address and he unconsciously stepped back a bit, his smile
fading under Nick's steady gaze.  "I'm... fine.  Um," he
stuttered and then continued, "Are you one of the detectives
assigned to this case?"

Upon Nick's nod, Durham lead him to a tall imposing man with
shoulder-length brown hair, his eyes so bloodshot they
appeared as if the whites were actually pink.  "This is Mr.
McKenzie.  He said he wouldn't speak until the person in
charge got here..." Durham explained quickly.  He began
nervously fidgeting, looking at Nick oddly until Nick just
gave up and let him leave.

Nick watched Durham retreat and sighed.  He'd forgotten how
intimidating he could be to some people.  Although he hadn't
meant to snap at Durham so much, there wasn't much he could
do about it now, so he turned to the large man standing
there quietly.

"Mr. McKenzie?  I'm Detective Knight, I'm in charge of this
investigation.  Is there something you wanted to tell me?"
he questioned calmly, trying ever so hard not to wince as
his headache came roaring back to life.

The man nodded and then burst out sobbing.  "Sir?" Nick
began to assume that this man had been a witness.  Witnesses
were usually the hysterical ones...  Now, you know that's
not fair.  They've been through a trauma...  He was startled
out of his self-critiquing session when the man responded.

"I did it," the man whispered.  "God, I'm so sorry..."
His voice was riddled with pain and guilt, a tone that Nick
often reserved for himself...

"Pardon?" he asked as several forensics crews bustled past,
not quite positive that this man was really saying what
Nick thought he was saying.

"I did it," the man repeated.  "Please, arrest me.  I
deserve it.  I... I got carried away, I was angry...  I
didn't mean it...  Oh, GOD!  I didn't mean it..." he moaned,
looking at Nick although not quite looking.  Nick felt
relieved that this person was confessing, it meant there
wouldn't be a very long investigation unless for some
reason the man was lying.

At that moment Tracy came over.  Nick glanced sidelong at
her as she situated herself beside him.  "Sir, can you
excuse us for a minute?" Tracy asked politely.  Mr.
McKenzie nodded slightly in-between sobs, and Nick couldn't
help but feel sorry for the man.  He knew what it was like
to get carried away all to well.  Much too well...

"Nick, what's the story here?" she whispered once they'd
gotten a fair distance away from McKenzie.  Nick wondered
suddenly if he should've sent Durham over to keep an eye on
him, but when he looked over, the man was just standing
there now, looking forlorn and lost.  It didn't look like he
was up to anything.  He was just a guilty man who wanted to
come clean.

"Well Tracy, I think this case is going to be a short one,
the man just confessed I think, although we'll still have
to get a formal statement," he said absently.  "Why, what
do you have?"

"Nick, what we have here is a dead woman, Elise Brown, age
26, student at the University of Toronto, brutally raped and
murdered," Tracy said seriously.  Nick swallowed hard and he
felt his hands clam up.  Raped.  He looked over discretely
to Mr. McKenzie, just standing there staring at the ground.
LaCroix's face flashed before his eyes briefly, but he shut
it out.

/I got carried away, I was angry.../ Nick shook his head.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his mouth beginning to feel like
it was full of cotton.  /Do you feel that, Nicholas?  I OWN
you!/  He shuddered, forcing himself to focus on what was
going on around him.

Tracy nodded.  "She was carrying her I.D. and the M.E.
confirmed that there's obvious signs of sexual assault,"
Tracy said as she glanced over at the gurney being wheeled
away, the unmistakable form of a black body bag on it.

/I'm so sorry.../   The nausea was back, coming in like a
riptide.  /I got carried away, I was angry.../

/LaCroix...  please... don't./  Nick brought his hand to his
mouth as the world began to spin around him.  "Nick?"

/Are you trying to get away?  You think you can get away?/
LaCroix's voice screamed though his head and Nick felt a
crushing panic develop on top of his nausea.

Nick did the only thing he could think of to do before his
secret and his dignity were destroyed.  He fled.

This is the end of part 8/10.  All comments may be sent to
[email protected].

*****

DO NOT GO GENTLE (9/10)

LaCroix sipped hesitantly from the champagne flute, unsure
as to what to expect from this particular vintage, but he
was pleasantly surprised.  He leaned his head back with his
eyes closed in appreciation as the thick red liquid seeped
onto his tongue and down his throat.  The tingling sensation
almost made him dizzy as images from the donor's life
assaulted his mind with pleasure.  Now _this_, this was
good bloodwine...  He would have to be sure to order more of
it for his inventory.

"Shall I get you another bottle, sir?" Marcel asked absently
as he cleaned the cool shiny surface of the bar with a clean
rag.  He and LaCroix were the only two in the large room
that made up the main part of the Raven, as it was closed
for the night, but still way too early for the vampire
strays to be coming in to bed down.

LaCroix shook his head, his eyes still closed.  He'd had
enough to satisfy him for awhile, and it was always best to
save the good stuff like this for special occasions.
Licking his lips, he set the glass back down on the bar for
Marcel to pick up when he was through with the counter.

"May I try this?  I've not seen this vintage before..."
Janette asked softly, suddenly appearing beside Lucien in a
gust of cool air.

LaCroix had to stop himself from jumping.  It was so odd
not being able to acutely sense Janette's presence anymore.
When he let his guard down, just about any vampire as old as
Janette would be able to approach undetected.  "Certainly,
my dear," he commented flatly, desperately trying to hide
how startled he'd been.  No one startled him...  At least,
no one ever knew if they did...

Janette picked up the flute and drank down the tiny amount
that was still clinging to the bottom of it as she sat down
on a barstool beside him.  "Mmmmm," was all she could say as
the excellence of the wine swept up her senses and shook
them until she was dizzied.  Almost regretfully, she set the
glass back down on the table as she regained her composure.

"This is exquisite!" she said, her eyebrows raised in
surprise.

"Yes, I agree.  I intend to order more of it," LaCroix said
conversationally, purposefully remaining neutral.  She
looked at him intently with her ice-blue eyes, but said
nothing for many moments.

When the silence had grown to an almost uncomfortable level,
Janette finally took the plunge.  "He went to work this
evening.  I told him that he was being foolish, but he
wouldn't listen to me..." she said hesitantly, her tone
betraying the cautiousness she always had when dealing with
matters regarding the age-old conflict between LaCroix and
Nick.

LaCroix bowed his head, looking at the floor.  It was his
fault that Nicholas had been injured to such an extent that
going to work would be foolish...  "He must know that he'll
never heal without my help..." he whispered, denying the
tears threatening to fall.  He wanted so badly to go and
offer his cherished son his ancient blood, and yet when
he'd tried he hadn't been able to find the nerve to enter
his son's loft.

Janette looked at him hard.  "Why?  He wasn't staked...
That's the only wound a vampire cannot heal without the
blood of his master to aid him..."

"I drained him, Janette.  Completely.  His body will take
weeks to fully recover without my help," he whispered, his
voice betraying his pain.  What he wouldn't give to take
back his actions the night before...

"LaCroix...  you need to go to him!  You should know that he
will be too stubborn to come to you..."

"I cannot!" LaCroix stood up abruptly, his barstool
tottering precariously for a moment before settling down as
he turned his back to her in a gesture of closure.  He
didn't need to discuss this with her...

But she didn't retreat as she usually did, and he felt her
cold hand grasping his shoulder.  "Yes, you can.  All he
wants to hear is an apology.  That's all he's ever wanted, I
suppose.  You forget that while he is stubborn, he is also
forgiving..." she whispered reassuringly into his ear as she
leaned her head over his shoulder.

He turned to her his eyes blazing.  How dare she?  He
restrained himself from snarling at her viciously.  His
temper was what had gotten him in this mess, he didn't need
to dig his hole deeper.  "Janette, this is not about his
forgiveness!" he snapped coldly, his eyes daring her to just
try and speak.

Surprisingly, it didn't work.  "Isn't it!?" she demanded
harshly, her eyes alight with a passionate fire.

LaCroix stared at her, aghast.  How dare she!?  How _dare_
she!?  It was simple...  He wasn't her master any longer,
and he simply didn't exude the same level of control.  But
even still, he'd never known anyone so much younger than him
to defy him so boldly.  It was disconcerting to say the
least, and he found himself raising a hand to slap her
before he froze, his mouth agape and his outstretched hand
poised to strike.

Janette merely stared at him coldly.  "Go ahead and hit me!
It won't solve anything, but at least you'll still be your
same invincible, domineering self!  Oh yes, that'll demand
real respect," she said caustically, her voice low and
strangely crystal clear.

"I..." he couldn't find the words.  He was lost in a torrent
of warring emotions.

"Admit it, LaCroix!  The reason why this is bothering you
so much is that _you_ have to demand _Nichola's_
forgiveness, and it's killing you!  Admit it!  That's all
this was ever about..." she yelled at him, her blue eyes
blazing like sunlight reflected off the surface of a placid
lake.

He sank to the floor against the bar, his knees suddenly
giving out.  He didn't care anymore.  Didn't care if anyone
saw him as weak.  Didn't care about anything.  Except...
"No Janette, this isn't about Nicholas forgiving me,
although I'm sure that has something to do with it," he
said, his voice exhausted and strained.  "It's about...
forgiving myself," he whispered, almost to faint for his
own ears to hear, let alone Janette's...

Janette sat down next to him quietly, saying nothing as
she wrapped her arms around him to comfort him.  And then...
then he started to sob.  It was what he had warned Nicholas
against day in and day out.  Guilt.  He'd hurt the one
person in the world that he loved most.  Terribly hurt him.
And he felt guilty.

Another sob wracked his body and he felt as if he was going
to burst.  "LaCroix, go to him..." Janette pleaded in his
ear.

He buried his head in his arms.  "I... I can't, Janette..."
And then he was struck with a terrible pain.  Nausea flooded
his system, and he absently noticed Janette clutching her
temples with an ill look on her face.

Nicholas...  Janette, surprisingly, was the first one to
regain her composure.  "Go to him, LaCroix!  He needs
you..."  She gently shoved him a bit, prodding him to go.

His resistance broke like a dam under pressure.  And
somehow, he found himself standing up.

"Go!"

And he went.

This is the end of part 9/10.  All comments may be sent to
[email protected].

*****

DO NOT GO GENTLE (10/10)

LaCroix flew blindly, recklessly through the ending night
and into his son's loft.  Nicholas wasn't in his loft, but
he would be soon.  The sun would rise soon, and Nicholas did
not have nearly as much tolerance for sunlight as he did,
especially now.

He looked around, eyes wide as the steel shutters engaged
and slid down into place, preparing to greet the coming day.
It was the first time he'd been back in the loft since he'd
lost his temper.  Even though it was only the night before,
it felt like an eternity.

He went quietly to the sofa where Nicholas had lain in the
evening, wincing when he saw the slightly discolored spots
that could only be Nicholas's blood.  Absently, he ran his
hand over the smooth leather, his fingers lingering briefly
on the faint bloodstains and at once he shivered.  The loft
was so cold...  So very lonely...

He stilled when he heard the lift engage, his cold hands
gripping the black leather couch so hard that they
threatened to tear a hole in the expensive upholstery.
Nicholas...  The lift stopped.  LaCroix subconsciously held
his breath in anticipation of what was sure to be a
difficult encounter, but no one came out.  Silence.  He
cocked his head to the side and with his enhanced senses he
could hear something moving slightly in the lift, but still
the door did not slide open.  He instantly grew worried.
Something was really wrong...

Flying faster than the eye could see, he was at the door and
yanking it open with all of his might.  "Nicholas!"  His son
was leaning heavily on the wall of the lift shaking with his
head bowed to the raging nausea.  Glancing downward, LaCroix
saw that Nicholas was standing in a deep red coagulating
pool of blood.  He painfully realized that it was his
vomit...

Without so much as another thought, LaCroix took his son
into his arms.  "LaCroix..." came a weak reply, and it
pained him to feel Nicholas flinching away from his touch,
squirming ever so weakly to free himself from his grasp.

"Nicholas, please, let me help you..." LaCroix pleaded
softly, yet not relaxing his tight grip.  His son would flee
if he let go, that he was sure of.

Nicholas was simply too weak to fight, and he collapsed
sobbing into LaCroix's arms as if he was giving up,
accepting his fate, whatever LaCroix determined that to be.

LaCroix dragged Nicholas out into the loft, ignoring
the rusty trails of blood that their feet were leaving.  He
collapsed onto the floor under Nicholas's limp body and
rocked his weeping son back and forth.

"P...  Please don't hurt me anymore..." Nicholas whispered
with a terrible edge of fear in his voice, shaking and
trembling uncontrollably in LaCroix's grasp.  It broke his
heart to hear his son pleading with him.  What... What had
he done?  Had he finally broken Nicholas's spirit?  He
realized that Nicholas was mortally afraid of him.  So much
so that he was quaking.  Although it should've been a
triumph, it only made LaCroix feel sick to his stomach.
Guilty.  You're guilty, Lucien.  GUILTY!!!

"I'm not going to hurt you, I promise," he said as he hugged
his errant crusader to his chest fiercely.  Even Nicholas,
of all people, realized the value of LaCroix's promises.
They were always kept.  Always.

Guilty, Lucien.  You're guilty...  He forcefully pried
Nicholas's head away from where it was buried in his
shoulder and held him in a strong headlock, raising his
free wrist towards his son's mouth.  "Drink, Nicholas..." he
commanded, "It will heal you..."

But Nicholas didn't open his mouth.  He was breathing hard,
panting almost, and LaCroix felt a weak attempt against him
from Nicholas to free himself.  His son's feeble hands were
pushing lightly against his chest, but LaCroix could tell
from his son's trembling muscles that the attempt was all
Nicholas could muster.  He was so weak...  Like a breakable
plaything.

"Please, Nicholas!  I'm...  sorry.  For everything.  Please,
believe me.  Drink my blood.  Heal.  Know what I cannot say
with words!" he pleaded, his voice soft and low, filled with
a certain pain that he'd never let show before.  Not to
Janette, not to Nicholas...  Not to anyone.

Nicholas's pale lips parted, his glistening fangs revealed,
but he still made no move to drink.

"Please, please, believe me..."  He'd never pleaded with
Nicholas for anything in his life before.  It felt odd,
and yet, it felt so right.  Like penance for all the pain
he'd caused his golden child.

The pain in his wrist was a welcome relief and he let out
a cry of thanks as his son began to drink his life's blood.
All that he was would be his son's.  For the first time, he
would not conceal a thing.  Maybe then Nicholas would
finally understand...

It was weak at first, but LaCroix felt Nick suckling with a
growing fervor.  Nicholas's hands slowly moved to grip his
wrist to achieve a better angle, and LaCroix leaned his head
back in pleasure, growling as he felt his own fangs descend
uncontrollably in response.  He hadn't shared blood with
Nicholas consensually in so long that he'd almost forgotten
the sweetness that accompanied willingness.  Even though he
was not tasting Nicholas's blood for himself, it was still
a two way sensation.

LaCroix rolled his head back as fleeting sensations hit him
in an erotic swirl of emotions.  Light flashed before his
eyes and he felt images coming through the back-link.  All
of Nicholas's feelings in a bombardment of imagery, this
time freely given.  At first his guilt, and pain, and
anguish.  But then a plea to make peace...  A plea to
understand his quest for mortality, and that it was not a
slight against LaCroix himself.

Please, father.  Understand me for what I am, please!  I
know I'm not what you want me to be...  I know...  But I
just can't make myself in your image.

Nicholas...

/Please don't hurt me anymore.../

Nicholas, never.  Never again.

He clutched Nicholas in his embrace tightly, fiercely, so
hard it was a good thing that his son didn't need to
breathe...  It was as if there was a world and the world
was only them.  The two of them, standing interlocked in a
deep chasm of empty space.  Coming and going, but never
staying.  He rocked back and forth on the sweeping tidal
waves of the bloodlink until it slowly began to fade.
With the last breaths of untold intimacy fleeting away on
an invisible breeze of color, he sighed and felt intense
regret overcome him as the visions faded to black.  He let
go as Nicholas pulled his fangs out of his wrist.  The
intimate link was lost.

Nicholas was silent as stone, unmoving and cold, his eyes
shut against the dim light of the loft.  Against _him_.
LaCroix looked at the floor, a pained feeling entering his
chest, and he felt his heart breaking.  Even after all that
had been passed between them, it was obvious to him that his
son didn't want him around...

And this time, he would heed that wish.  He would finally
let go.

He got up slowly to his feet, swaying slightly when the
weakness of blood loss set in.  Nicholas had taken much of
his blood...  He would have to get some of the good uncut
stuff when he got back to the Raven.  Maybe Janette would
have some ready for him...  but no... she wouldn't be
able to sense his distress anymore.

And then he realized that the sun was up.  He couldn't
leave even if he wanted to...  Well... there were other
floors to this building...

"Don't leave me, LaCroix..." Nicholas whispered softly.

He stopped cold.  What?  "Nicholas?" he asked, scarcely
able to find his voice.

"Don't leave..."

LaCroix felt his heart shatter.  /Don't leave.../  His son
had actually asked him to stay.  /Don't leave.../  "I won't,
Nicholas," he said smoothly, though his emotions were
anything but.

He would stay.  And he would talk.  And perhaps their broken
relationship of eight hundred years would finally be healed.

FINIS INITII

This is the end of part 10/10.  All comments may be sent to
[email protected].

Thanks for staying with the story until the end.  Dare I ask
if you want me to continue this story line?