When Nick got home he found Vachon in something of a hurry to leave.
"Gotta take this call," he explained hastily, grabbing his cell phone from his pocket as he dashed into the elevator. "No, she didn't even doze off," Vachon answered the unasked question as he darted out the back way to where his Mustang was parked, letting the door slam behind him.
Nick shrugged and shook his head; Vachon was more like a post-adolescent mortal than any vampire he'd ever known, even the fledglings. He hung his jacket up near the door and went to join Maura where she sat on the sofa. Vachon had been wrong, in the past few minutes anyway. Maura was half lying sideways against the pillows at one end of the sofa, eyes closed, and Nick could sense by her quiet even heartbeat that she was asleep. Well, sleep wasn't really the right word for it. "Sleep" was restorative, a chance to rest and recover. Since her abduction Maura fought sleep like a mortal enemy. She lost consciousness now and then, completely against her will, but she didn't sleep, and she didn't rest. Even now fitful sounds came from her, as if she were engaged in a fierce battle to escape something Nick couldn't begin to understand no matter how he tried. The one thing that would guarantee understanding triggered a panic in her that surprised them both. The first time Nick nuzzled into Maura's neck several days after her return home she responded not with warmth but by struggling hysterically to free herself from his embrace. The thought of losing blood, even as part of their accustomed intimacy, triggered a panic Maura couldn't control. "I'm sorry, Nick, I'm sorry, I just can't, not yet." Maura had been raped, in a very real if non-sexual way. As all rapists do Jerry Remillard had stolen her strength and self-assurance, at the same time redefining a loving act and transforming it in Maura's memory into a source of horror.
Nick sat down in the nearby armchair and watched her. Watching Maura sleep was something he'd done often in their time together, marveling at the contrast between her everyday animation and energy and the smooth serenity of her features when she was dreaming. Now the contrast was a painful one, as Nick measured the woman he'd come to know so well against the one who was rapidly becoming a stranger to them both. She wouldn't let him hypnotize her, the one thing he could do to help, something he'd done on more than one occasion when she was edgy or upset. Maura knew he could send her into as deep and long a sleep as she would allow, but she just couldn't believe he could also remove the echoes of her terrifying experience.
"What if you can't?" she'd challenged, "what if it doesn't work this time, and I'm trapped in that place, and can't tell you?"
"That place" was shorthand for the ugly inexpressible feelings and memories that were tormenting her whenever Maura closed her eyes or was left on her own. It was no good trying to reassure her that if she'd give her consent there was no way it couldn't "work". Her anxiety and the insomnia it led to became a catch-22. She couldn't sleep because she was afraid, and sleep deprivation was fraying her judgment and emotional stability. Nick felt at a useless distance, unable to fully grasp what Maura was going through. He was familiar with the effects of PTSD, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to see anything but the gradual unraveling of their life together and he was experiencing a growing frustration with her refusal to consider anything that might help. No hypnosis, no shrinks, and no discussion of how to halt the disintegration. If only he had some grasp of the demons that threatened to defeat her, he might find a way to break through the wall she was building as she was falling apart. Nick decided to try, one more time, and knelt by where she lay on the sofa. As part of him protested against waking her he reminded himself that this uneasy fugue was nothing like the sleep she needed so desperately.
"Sweet," he called to her, took her hand where it lay on her stomach and laid his other in her hair, thumb tracing slow circles on her forehead. She stirred slowly, eyes fluttering open. This time, though, she didn't jerk upright in alarm, didn't deliver some rote phrase to cover, "Just dozed off, I'm fine," all that bullshit it was so obvious she didn't even expect him to believe. She saw him close by her, sad and worried and afraid. She was drawn into the crystal blue eyes, wanting to be able to tell him, wanting to be able to believe what she used to believe before all this had happened, that he could keep her safe from anything when she couldn't do it for herself. He was kissing her hand, palm and fingertips, back and wrist, "Please, you're disappearing inside yourself, please let me in, let me feel what you feel, so we can fight this together, you can't do it yourself, share it with me," his voice was quiet and intense, she remembered how she'd come to love it so soon after they'd met.
"I can't, I'm scared, I can't," Maura whispered, ashamed of feeling helpless and untrusting.
"You can, once you decide what scares you more, the dark, or losing yourself, losing everything you are, losing us, you can let me in if you can decide." Nick felt her hand relax then, saw in her eyes that she was giving up the fight if not the fear. "Just a little, love, just the tiniest bit to help me know what's happening inside," as he continued to cover her hand with kisses he never took his eyes off of hers. Finally the barest pulse of gold tinted the blue and, mouth pressed into her palm, Nick let his fangs descend to release in blood what Maura couldn't let herself share in words.
Just a drop, or perhaps a bit more, barely a mouthful and the knowledge struck Nick like a physical blow. He shut his eyes tight as it came to him, then snapped them open again as he felt what Maura felt nearly every moment since she first lost faith in a darkened motel room. Abandonment, desolation, slow mindful death in solitude beyond hope or love or even grief. Maura felt Nick's sure grip give way to a deep trembling as he withdrew from her hand after kissing shut the tiny wounds. Nick felt a link restored as he focused on Maura's wide-eyed gaze. In that same moment she felt a bit of the fear, just a bit, shift. Not dispelled or taken, but shared. It did make a difference, however small, and if nothing else she was glad he no longer felt exiled.
"Oh, no," it was almost a sob as Nick pulled Maura off the sofa and into his arms, as if by holding her tightly enough he could draw it all out of her like poison. In that moment Nick understood the look he'd seen on Vachon's face as he'd turned to face him that evening at the hospital. Sadness and rage. Sadness was a constant possibility in any sort of existence, but rage was something Nick hadn't visited in a very long time. He wanted, more than wanted, Remillard to be tracked down and apprehended. He knew himself, and the rediscovered fire burning within him, well enough to hope that he wouldn't be the first to find him. If he did, there would be no control for him or anyone else.
In a perfect world Maura would have been rocked to an exhausted sleep with the link between her and Nick finally re-established. It was not a perfect world, unfortunately, and as the first storm of Nick's reaction calmed he looked down to see Maura pressed to his shoulder, bruised bloodshot eyes wide open. Some things had changed, but not enough. She disengaged herself and crawled back up onto the sofa.
"So. Now you know." He didn't answer, his expression so mournful that Maura reached for his hand to pull him up next to her. "See, if I thought it would have led to any sudden enlightenment I'd have said 'yes' before. So now you can feel the same messed up chaos of hell as I do." She touched his face. "And for what reason, Bats?"
He turned his head to kiss the place he'd bitten moments before. "Because I love you. Because I've always been able to know you this way, because this is the one thing that son of a bitch Remillard wasn't able to damage. He could damage your strength and your confidence, and even your pride, but he couldn't touch what's between us if we don't let him. And it does make a difference; I felt it when you did. Maybe just a little, but it's a start."
Maura struggled against tears. She wouldn't cry, she would not cry. She'd cried on the phone, cried in Nick's arms, cried to the dark every time she tried to force herself to get past this. "Damaged, that's hopeful. I think all that stuff is gone from me. He took it; I let him take it because I needed to prove what an independent enlightened upright person I am. He could take it because I trusted him instead of you," her sadness matched his own now and she couldn't look at him. Nick reached out to make Maura face him.
"No, Sweet, it's not gone, it's just out of reach right now." His voice took on a firm edge, "You didn't 'let' anybody do anything. You trusted yourself. It's what we all do, isn't it? And we're not always right, and you and I hate to admit that more than anybody I know. Nothing you could have done or believed or trusted could make you deserve something like this." She opened her mouth to protest, no that's not at all what I mean, but he laid a gentle finger on her lips and managed a smile. "Don't even try. Remember, now I know."
Maura was about to ask what was supposed to happen next when the phone rang. Nick glanced toward the table, then settled an arm around Maura instead. "If you can't sleep yet, just rest a bit. I'm here, the lights are on. It's the best we can do for now." She tensed a bit when the phone rang a third time. "The machine will get it, Sweet. Just breathe, one, two, three," he rearranged her so she lay in his lap, one of his hands resting on her stomach.
The machine kicked on. "Nicolas, c'est moi. I must speak to you as soon as possible, LaCroix has told me something you will find important. Call me, cheri." Another tone, and it switched off.
"LaCroix, LaCroix, LaCroix," Nick repeated in a soft singsong, "always LaCroix. LaCroix can wait."
Not twenty minutes later the phone rang again, but this time it was Schanke on the machine, short and sweet.
"I know you're there but don't bother picking up. We found Remillard. His remains, anyway. I think you should meet me and Natalie at the morgue."
Maura sprang upright as if on a mechanical hinge. "I'm going with you," she stated flatly before Nick could even react to the call.
He was going to ask her if she was sure, but one look in her eyes told him. Without a word he grabbed his jacket, tossed Maura her own, and led the way out the back door. Even without a blood link they'd have known each other's thoughts:
Please let this be an end to it.