Nick sighed as he entered the precinct, fairly certain that
he would get some backlash for disappearing last night
without word.  Glancing around he saw Tracy typing away at
her desk, no doubt working on the report for the McKenzie
case that he had abandoned her on.  Her eyes were showing
heavy bags, and if he was not mistaken, those were the very
same clothes that she had been wearing last night.

He heaved a world-weary breath as he removed his duster,
running a hand through his hair in a show of apprehension.
"Tracy," he said simply as he approached, his feet falling
on the floor, soundless and predatory.

She jumped, practically flying out of her chair in surprise.
"Nick!" she exclaimed, and despite the obvious caffeine
running through her veins there was a certain tiredness to
her.  "I didn't think you'd be coming in today, I already
booked you off."

"Oh," was all Nick could think of to say as he sat down
heavily in his chair, amazed that he hadn't received some
sort of verbal lashing.  No Captain Reese rushing out to say
that partners shouldn't just flee the crime scene with no
word.  No nothing.

"I've taken care of everything.  The case is a wrap-up.  Mr.
McKenzie did a full, on-the-record confession.  I notified
the girl's parents, got the coroner's reports, typed up all
the forms...  God, pardon me while I fall asleep..." she
exclaimed with a horrific yawn as she flopped down onto her
desk.

Nick was astounded.  Not one mention of how he'd abandoned
her, and she had completely finished everything up...
"But... Why?" he questioned, barely able to find his voice.

Tracy let out a long sigh.  "Nick, you may not like me as
much as you did Detective Schanke, Hell, you may even hate
me for all I know, but it was obvious to me that you were
unwell last night.  And you're just the type of machismo guy
to not admit it when you're feeling under the weather.  I
figured you just couldn't handle it.  Consider it forgotten,
I won't ever mention that you got sick at a crime-scene."

The mention of Schanke dredged up some painful memories, but
he couldn't help but notice how much concern Tracy was
showing for him.  And he also couldn't help but notice how
uncertain she seemed to feel about his professional feelings
towards her.  An old partner's shoes were always difficult
ones to fill.  Perhaps he'd misjudged her.  "I'm sorry," he
began sincerely.  "I... that case just hit a little too
close to home for me."  It wasn't a lie.  It also wasn't the
total truth either.  He didn't feel the need to mention that
the close to home part had only happened a mere days before.

Tracy's eyes widened and he suddenly regretted adding that
last part.  She didn't need to know.  She had enough of her
own problems with her _own_ father.  "Too close to...  Oh my
God, Nick..." she whispered as the pieces finally fell
together.  "Oh my God, I'm sorry...  I didn't know..."  Her
hands flew to her mouth and she shook her head.

"It's all right, Tracy.  No one knows," he said simply,
still not believing that he'd opened up to her, even that
little bit of cryptic interchange.  And all at once he began
to get a little uncomfortable.  "Listen, uh, Tracy, Mr.
McKenzie is being held in lockup, right?  I'd like to speak
with him."

Tracy nodded mutely, her face pale with shock, but he didn't
have the strength to comfort her now.  She was a strong
woman, she would deal with it quickly enough.  And he didn't
need another pair of sympathetic eyes looking at him with
horror.

He got up quickly, leaving her behind him sitting silently
at her desk, and walked down to the lockup.  It was dark, as
usual, with a lone heavyset guard sitting in a chair at the
end of the walkway.  There was only one prisoner there at
the time.  McKenzie.

"Detective Knight!" the guard cried out cheerfully.  "What
can I do you for?" he said, his rosy cheeks almost smiling
for him as he stood.

"As soon as you give me the keys, you can leave," Nick
stated bluntly, impressing his will upon the gregarious
guard, feeling his heartbeat thump in his ears until it
almost felt like his own.  Thump thump, thump thump, thump
thump...

"I... can..." the man said slowly, beginning to repeat
Nick's words as if they were his own, as if in a trace.  He
then shook his head.  "Right, well, I'll just go grab a cup
of coffee.  See you later," he said with a dazed look of
utter confusion on his face, and he shook his head several
times as he handed over his keys and slowly walked out.

Nick turned.  McKenzie was looking at him.  "How did you do
that?" he asked in amazement, his eyes wide.  And yet, he
wasn't frightened.  Nick could sense no fear in him
whatsoever, his mortal heartbeat remained steady and
unfailing, his breathing even and relaxed.

Nick shrugged as he let himself inside the cell that housed
McKenzie and sat down next to the man, hoping feigned
ignorance was the best tactic.  "I just...  I wanted to talk
to you," he stated simply.

McKenzie shrugged in a similar gesture to what Nick had just
performed.  "Why?  I'm guilty.  Case closed, I thought..."
he said absently, his voice housing a small hint of sadness
as he ran his hands through his rich brown hair.

Nick sighed.  "This isn't about the case, I just...  I
wanted to know why?" he asked hesitantly.

"Because I wanted to hurt her."

Nick stared at the man in disbelief, shocked that he was so
open.  McKenzie took a deep breath and continued.  "Elise
was my life, she was _everything_ to me.  I did everything
I possibly could to let her know that she was the most
important thing in the world to me," he stated softly,
taking a deep breath as if attempting to cleanse his lungs.

"And then she left me, said I was smothering her..."

Nick felt his stomach twist in disgust.  Here was a man who
claimed to be regretful and it almost sounded like he was
going to blame it all on...

"Don't get me wrong, I don't blame her.  I've come to
realize that I _was_ smothering her.  But... when she did
that...  I was just. so. angry!" McKenzie exclaimed with a
sob.

Nick closed his eyes.  Play it cool, Nick.  Don't you dare
get too involved...  You just wanted a straight up answer,
don't judge yet.

McKenzie turned to Nick.  "Have you ever been so angry and
so in love that you couldn't think straight?  That you just
_HAD_ to get what you wanted?" he asked, his voice
penetrating through Nick's outer shell of cold indifference.

Nick's eyes widened in surprise.  This man had hit him right
on the mark.  "Yeah, yeah I can relate to that..." he
whispered softly as he looked downwards at the floor in
shame, unable to stop himself from thinking about all the
times his terrible temper had gotten him into a busload of
trouble.  They didn't call him 'The Knightmare' for nothing.

McKenzie nodded eagerly at him in response.  "You lose
control a lot too?" he asked curiously, his voice wavering.
It was as if McKenzie had actually wondered if he was alone
in that respect, and wanted to know if someone out there was
like him.

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

Nick blinked against the blinding pain of the memory, it
felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.  Hard.  "God,
yes...  Sometimes I feel..."

"Like you want to hurt everyone around you and damn the
consequences," McKenzie finished for him.

<"Don't you run away from me, boy!" LaCroix cried, a sudden
hard edge to his voice, but he immediately softened.
"I'm...  I'm sorry...  I didn't mean...">

Nick cringed at the memory.  He'd been too wrapped up in
himself to notice the sincerity in his sire's voice...
"And then you do and you feel terrible afterwards," Nick
continued the sentence with a heavy sigh.  He knew that
guilt well, it was quite a good friend of his.

McKenzie nodded.  "Yes.  Yes, precisely.  You do
understand...  You're not all that different from me..."
he stated in amazement, obviously startled that he found
someone who could so easily relate to him.

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

Yes.  Yes, I believe I do.

Nick cringed yet again.  LaCroix had come to him looking for
genuine forgiveness.  He cared.  He really cared.  And Nick
had shut him out, sent him away, thinking it was all some
ploy to keep him in the fold.  God, what had he done?

<Good-bye, Nicholas...>

LaCroix had sounded so strange when he'd said goodbye, but
at the time it hadn't made sense.  LaCroix...  _LACROIX_ had
apologized _TO HIM_.

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

He'd apologized to him for the very first time in his life
and Nick had shot him down like there was no tomorrow.  It
made sense that he would've been a little distraught over
that.  A _little_ distraught?  Try delusional...

<Good-bye, Nicholas...>

It had been rather final...  Like he wasn't intending to
ever return.  Like it really, honestly, truly, was not an
attempt at trickery.  Like it really, honestly, truly, was
really, honestly, true.

What, are you crazy?  Of COURSE it was a damn ploy.  And
the sincerity was fake too.  It always has been before.
Don't let what this man said sway you, even if you can
relate to it so much you think it's a goddamn relative.
Don't!  That's what makes you weak, you fool!  You INVITE
these instances of pain because you always go crawling back
to him.  Back to HIM.  Don't fall for it AGAIN!

No.  No, not this time, I think it was real.

It had to have been...

But is it because you want it to be real or because it
truly was real?  Why is it that you always find some way to
go crawling back to him on your hands and knees like a
goddamn beggar?  Why?  Do you need his approval so badly
that you're willing to undergo that violation again?  Do you
NEED the pain that he gives you?  WHY, DAMMIT?!

Because...

Because WHY?!

It was real...

I don't care if it was real.  TELL ME WHY, YOU WEAK,
COWERING FOOL!

Because...

WHY?!

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

Yes.  Yes, I believe I do.

Because, I love him.  Despite all of the things he's done to
me, I care for him as if he were my own father...

"Um, Detective Knight?  Are you all right?"

Nick shook his head, somewhat disoriented.  He'd forgotten
that he'd been sitting in the jail cell along with Mr.
McKenzie all this time.  "Yes, yes, I'm fine.  Thanks for
talking with me, I needed that..." he replied hurriedly.
McKenzie nodded quietly as Nick got up and let himself out
of the cell.

But the minute he left the lock up, he knew something was
wrong.  _She_ was there.  Waiting for him at his desk in her
usual black leather, Tracy staring at her strangely.
"Janette, what are you doing here?" he asked quietly as he
approached, not heeding Tracy's questioning eyes.

"He is leaving.  Tonight," Janette replied softly, hopping
deftly off of his desk and onto her leather booted feet as
he came up to her.

It hit him like a slap in the face.  "Why?" he asked, but he
knew why.  He didn't need to hear it from Janette to know it
was true.

"He thinks that you hate him."

Nick nodded.  It was understandable.  LaCroix had every
reason to think so.  And the fact that those feelings had
been allowed to fester probably didn't help.

"Do you?" Janette asked softly, her eyebrows raised in
perfect arcs.

"No, Janette.  I don't," he said as he grabbed his coat from
the back of his chair.  He had to find him, to tell him the
truth.  That even if he wasn't totally forgiven yet, he
certainly wasn't hated...  "Where did he go?"

"I don't know.  I cannot sense him anymore, and he didn't
tell me.  You will have to use your link..."

Nick nodded, still ignoring Tracy's silent questioning, and
left quickly.  The minute he was out the door he was into
the cold night air, utilizing one of the few lessons LaCroix
had ever taught him.

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

*****

    ---------------------------------------------------------------------
 

RAGE, RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT (8/10)

"Flight 424, direct to Heathrow is in the final boarding
stages.  All stand-by passengers please approach the
gate..."

LaCroix sighed as the overly cheerful announcer came on the
comm.  God, what he wouldn't give for the past, when people
were friendly because they simply were, and not because the
phrase 'Have a nice day' had been minted into their
paycheck...  He shuddered and stood, noting sadly that he was
the only person left in the terminal.

Stand-by.  That was him.  He gathered the few of his
belongings that he had with him and made his way towards the
gate, bundling his heavy black coat around him in an attempt
to warm the coldness that was seeping through his bones.
But he knew it wouldn't work.

"LaCroix, wait!"  The voice was frantic, desperate even.  It
took him less than a second to realize that it was
Nicholas...

LaCroix whirled around on the balls of his feet as he heard
his name being called.  Nicholas was running down the wide
expanse of hallways, barreling through what few people there
were milling about in an effort to reach him before he
departed.

He watched silently as his child came to a stop in front of
him, narrowing his eyes as he waited for Nicholas to compose
himself.  "Don't leave, LaCroix..."

It was funny.  The request was simple enough, and yet as
much as his heart leapt at hearing those words, he knew in
his mind that it simply wouldn't work.  He would have to
leave.  "Nicholas, you've already asked that of me once this
week, and look where it has taken us..."

Nicholas took a deep, unnecessary breath.  "Look, LaCroix, I
know what I said before...  I was wrong.  Don't leave.  I
mean it this time," he said seriously, his eyes unwavering,
containing none of the cold expressionlessness that they had
shown him before.

He laughed bitterly, a small hopeless sound even to his own
ears.  And it surprised him.  How had he grown to be so
cynical in such a short time?  "No you don't, Nicholas.  You
know that you don't..." he said softly, turning towards the
boarding gate once again.

"This is the last call for Flight 424..."

He attempted to take a step towards the gate, but Nicholas
grabbed his shoulder and roughly spun him back around.
"LaCroix, what the Hell do you want me to do, beg?"  His
son was annoyed now, that he could tell.

No.  No, I don't want you to beg.  I want you to let me go.
Just like I have finally done for you.  That is what you've
always wanted, isn't it?  ISN'T IT?  That was what LaCroix
thought, but he failed to say it for some reason.  He
couldn't.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, surprised at how
overwhelming this all was.  He could acutely smell
Nicholas's aftershave, silently taunting him with its
familiarity.  "Nicholas, please, I need to go..." he
requested softly, gently removing Nicholas's hands from his
own, broad shoulders.

"Well I don't want you to!" Nicholas cried harshly, and
LaCroix could easily detect the pain underlying his tone.
Pain that _he_ was causing.

"Nicholas, I _cannot_ stay!" he replied just as forcefully.
Why did this have to be so hard?  Why did Nicholas have to
make it even harder?  It was obvious to him what had to be
done, why couldn't Nicholas see that?

He turned again to leave.  He would not address this again.
He had to go.  Now.  But I want to stay!  Well you're not
going to.  But he's asking me to stay...  Too bad.  It's too
late.  Leave.

"NO!"

LaCroix sputtered in shock as he found himself on the
ground, flung there mercilessly by what was supposed to be
his obedient protégé...  "I am NOT letting you leave!"
Nicholas cried as he slammed his clenched fist into
LaCroix's cheek.

He was shocked.  The slow trickle of blood down his cheek
was like a reality check and he was on his feet defending
himself immediately.  "Nicholas, you will NOT tell me what
to do!" he cried, shoving his son backwards and punching
him in the stomach with a swift crack, the heavy rings on
his fingers leaving what was sure to be some very ugly,
bruised dents in what was normally flawless pale skin.

"Security!"

LaCroix barely heard what was going on around him,
completely ignoring the lone individual who went running
past to get help.  Nicholas went down gasping for breath,
but was only deterred for a moment.  With a heaving grunt,
his son was up on his feet, ramming into him like a rutting
bull.

Pain ripped through his back as he was flung backwards into
the terminal benches, but he paid it no mind as he swung his
foot out and stopped Nicholas's charge with a boot to the
gut.  But as Nicholas rolled backwards to avoid the blow,
his fingers grabbed the lapels of LaCroix coat and flipped
him over top of him.

There was little LaCroix could do to regain his balance, and
suddenly Nicholas was on top of him, pummeling his stomach
and his chest and his face and any other exposed part he
could get his hands on.  "Did you think I hated you?  Did
you think that you could just leave me behind to rot in your
wake!?  Well I won't have it, you're going to _STAY_!"
Nicholas cried.

LaCroix could only moan, the blood flowing freely from a
gash above his eye was practically blinding him.  A
uniformed officer was pulling frantically at Nicholas,
trying to pry him away, but he wasn't budging.  "I want you
to stay, damn it!"  His syllables were each accentuated with
a hard blow to the face.

LaCroix choked back on the blood that was oozing from his
busted lip.  "Nich... Nicholas..." he grunted, in pain.  He
couldn't fight back, Nicholas had him completely pinned, had
him completely at his mercy.  And for some reason... a part
of him was smiling.  Well done, Nicholas...

"I want you to stay, I want you to stay!"  It was like a
mantra now, a lost child crying steadily that he wasn't
afraid of the dark, but only because he was...

"Sir, please, break it up!" the officer was threatening,
still attempting to pull Nicholas off of him without hurting
anyone.

Nicholas's fist rammed into his jaw like it was a cold
steak, a piece of meat that was there for the sole purpose
of him beating the crap out of it.  "I want you to stay!"
<CRACK!>  "I WANT you to STAY!"  <CRACK!>  "I WANT YOU TO
STAY!" <CRACK!>

"DAMN YOU!"

<CRACK!>

"DAMN YOU FOR MAKING ME WANT YOU TO STAY!"

The anger was pouring out of Nicholas strong and hard now,
like a bursting hose, so much that he was shaking more than
he was hitting now.  Despite the pain, despite it all,
LaCroix smiled.  Nicholas was finally getting his catharsis.

Good for you, Nicholas.  Good for you...

And then, all at once, Nicholas's weight was thrown off of
him with a heavy thud.  His son let out a small cry as the
security guard's night stick impacted with his ribs with a
horribly loud whack, and he tried to get to his feet.
Wrong move.

LaCroix watched from the floor with a lethargic sense of
peace as the officer misinterpreted the move as an attempt
at aggression.  Nicholas heavily fell to the floor as the
night stick again impacted with him, this time in the small
of his back.  The officer stuck a knee heavily where he had
just struck, restraining Nicholas while he roughly applied
handcuffs to him.

"Sir, sir are you all right?"

There was another guard there suddenly, asking him with a
concerned voice if he was okay.  LaCroix nodded as he swayed
to his feet and Nicholas was roughly pulled to his.  "I am
arresting you for assault and resisting arrest.  It is my
duty to inform you that you have the right..."

Nicholas growled, spitting the blood that had welled in his
mouth to the tiled floor in disgust.  "Shut up, I know my
rights, I'm a police officer with the 96th Division of
greater Toronto," he spat nastily, barely in control of his
temper, but when he turned to LaCroix his face softened.
"If you leave, I'll hunt you down and kill you..." he said
harshly, quite contradictory to his expression.  But as the
officer wrenched him away, LaCroix could detect a hint of a
smile, and he couldn't help but feel proud.

Good for you, Nicholas.  Good for you...

"Sir, if you'll come with me, we'll escort you to the local
police station..." the second officer said as he handed him
a handkerchief to wipe away some of the blood spilling from
his face.  "Do you have any idea how this got started?"

LaCroix nodded.

He knew, although he knew the police could be spared the
sordid details of the whole ordeal.  Which, sadly, was most
of them.

"Will you be pressing charges, sir?"

"No, no I don't think so," LaCroix said as he tended to his
broken face, watching quietly as Nicholas was taken away,
swearing with more words than he thought possibly defined in
the English language.  He couldn't help but smile at that.
Nicholas had certainly gotten riled up about this.

And he had every right.

Good for you, Nicholas...

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

*****
 

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