Time To Spare, Part 3
As Nick ordered their ice cream, Natalie found a booth for them. She waved him over when he had the goods, and they sat for a moment, spoon in hand, as if waiting for the other's permission. Natalie grinned at their polite behavior, shook her head, "Well, it's not going to eat itself," and plunged in.
"Natalie..."
"Nick, I..."
They both stopped short. She took pity on him, "You go first."
"I was just wondering how long you were going to be in town."
"Well, that kind of depended on you." He raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Natalie fidgeted, just a little. "You see, I... wasn't sure what your situation... your reaction... would be, and I..." she sighed, and decided to try again. "I wasn't sure you wanted to see me," she said simply.
Nick looked a little stunned. He opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly shut it again and moved to her side of the booth instead, wrapping her in a fierce hug. "I *missed* you," he whispered, "and I can't tell you how sorry I am about all the stupid things I said before you left..."
"Nick, they weren't stupid. You were just trying to look out for me," she mumbled into his shoulder.
"And a fine job I did, too. Driving you off was really the coup de grace."
Natalie closed her eyes, and bit her lip to keep from groaning aloud. The more things change... "Nick, it is *not your fault*."
He took her chin and lifted it until she met his eyes. "You can't deny that if I hadn't said what I did, you wouldn't have left."
"Nick, I had to leave anyway. I couldn't maintain my life here while trying to learn how to fight. I have too many ties here, too many memories..." she pursed her lips together, and tried to look away, but he wouldn't let her.
"But if I hadn't made such an ass of myself, I could have gone with you."
Natalie cocked her head and rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, and I'm sure Lacroix would have *loved* that idea..."
"Natalie..." By this time they were both giving each other patiently exasperated looks. Nick shook his head and smiled helplessly at her. "We can't agree on anything, can we?"
"Except that it was a long time ago," she replied, her voice full of soft regret.
He nodded solemnly. "Truce?"
"Truce." She smiled and released him, making shooing motions as she did so. "Now go eat your ice cream. It's melting."
How was it that he could look ten years older, and still make the little boy face? "But it's better melted."
Natalie winced. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."
Nick grinned and took another spoonful of mostly-liquid ice cream. "So where are you staying?"
"I'm at the Best Western down the street," she said between her own mouthfuls, waving her spoon vaguely.
He favored her with a disapproving frown, which he immediately dismissed with a wave. "Well, not anymore. You're staying with me."
She raised her eyebrows. "Nick, that loft of yours only has one bedroom, and I really hate sleeping on your couch." She was *not* going to think about how that last sentence could be taken, she was *not* going to think...
Fortunately, Nick didn't seem to notice. "I'm not staying in the loft anymore. And besides, who said you had to take the couch?" He was *not* going to think about how that last sentence could be taken, he was *not*... "I *like* sleeping on my couch," he amended.
Natalie decided to get off the thin ice while she could. "Why did you move? Your place was huge."
"Exactly. It was too big, now that I really do have to live on a cop's salary."
"No longer rich anymore?" Natalie smiled teasingly. "What happened to the Brabant Foundation?"
"I had to give up the 'Brabant' name when I crossed back over to humanity, along with... a lot of other things." He smiled a little too quickly.
"Are you sure?" She still looked pretty hesitant, and for a moment, Nick wondered if he was pressuring her. But then he saw something in her expression that reassured him somehow, and he baited her just a little more.
"Come on. It'll be fun." He smiled temptingly. "I even learned how to cook..."
He was rewarded by seeing her face relax. "Really?" She laughed. "Well now, this I have to see."
****
"Wow." Natalie surveyed Nick's new apartment with approval. Admittedly, it wasn't as big as the loft, but it had definite style, with all the knick- knacks she knew, plus some hanging plants here and there. And windows. Big *big* windows, with a fair view of the sunset. If he really did buy this with a cop's salary, she was impressed. She smiled back at Nick as he was hanging up their coats. "If you ever decide to leave the force, Nick, I'm sure you'd have a bright future ahead of you as an interior decorator."
He snorted, and helped Natalie move her things into the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway on his way out. "Feel free to anything in the fridge, coffee's in the cabinet above the sink..."
"Shoving off on me?"
Nick smiled. "I'm beat, and unlike some ex-coroners, *I* have to go to work in the morning." At Natalie's saddened face, he added, "I have to find someone to cover for me for the next week or so."
"Why not just take a few days' worth of sick leave? I'm sure your captain wouldn't mind..."
He looked at her tolerantly. "Natalie, I am the captain."
Umm... what? "Oh."
He grinned at her stunned expression. "I'll take that as a compliment. See you in the morning."
"Nick?" When he turned back to look at her from the doorway, she wore an unreadable expression, and spoke softly, "You'll tell me about... this," and her gesture seemed to include all of his aging body, "tomorrow."
He still hesitated, but finally nodded. "As much as I can."
***
Nick stopped to check on Natalie before he walked out the door the next morning. Just to make sure she didn't need anything. Mmm-hmm. He'd already written a note telling her where the food and plates were, he'd only be gone for a few hours, and how much coddling did he think she needed, anyway? It still amazed him how easily he could still hear her voice in his head, even after all these years.
All right, so he was really going in to look at her, really *look* at her, just one last time before he had to go. So many things about her amazed him now, not the least of which was the fact that she had returned, when he'd been certain she would never come back in the time he had left. He'd resigned himself to never seeing her again, and he couldn't believe how lucky he was to have her reappear in his life now, while he was still a healthy man. She couldn't have known, of course, but he was still illogically grateful.
Her hair was longer, and seemed darker somehow, though with the amount of sun she must be getting compared to before she left the night shift behind, it should surely be lighter. She usually kept it away from her face in a long braid, like the one she wore now. Not the best thing to have in a fight, giving your opponent something so tempting to grab, but undoubtedly better than simply having her hair loose and blocking her view. The only other option was cutting it off, and that was something literally unimaginable to him.
Her face was leaner, harder, even as she slept. He'd always thought he brought so much hardship to her life when he rose from her autopsy table and barged into her life; he'd never imagined she'd live to see an even harder life than the one he had thrust upon her. But she was strong, stronger than almost anyone he knew, and it seemed fitting somehow to see that strength reflected physically, for all to see.
And she was *here*, here before him. That was what truly stunned him. That she could have appeared back in his life so abruptly, as if she never left...
But she had left. He clenched and unclenched his hand in front of him, feeling the barest hint of pain in the bottom joint of his thumb. He didn't need Natalie's medical knowledge to know in a few years it would blossom into full-blown arthritis, just as he knew the twinge at the base of his spine from sleeping on the couch would only get worse. And in the end, it would be Natalie who would never know wrinkles or arthritis or slipped disks or broken hips... and now that the situation was here, Nick couldn't say that he would change a thing. He'd opposed Natalie's decisions about her immortality before... no, let's be honest. It wasn't just a disagreement. He'd rejected her, and told her that if she killed to keep her immortality instead of simply remaining on holy ground, she'd become the same kind of soulless thing that he had believed himself to be.
It was just that... he'd always assumed he'd have control, he'd be able to take action, that if her life came into danger of becoming like his, he'd be able to do something about it. He'd be able to prevent it. But this, her immortality, was something so completely out of his control, and he felt as if he'd failed. Again. It was a disappointment he couldn't handle, and he took out his anger at himself on the one person he shouldn't have.
But that was a long time ago. A lifetime, to be exact. Many things had changed since then, and now... now he was glad that she would live. No more, and no less. A simple warm assurance that her voice, her eyes, her life would still be here when he was gone. He smiled faintly and wondered what Lacroix would say.
But he was late, it was time to go. He'd be back in a few hours. Nick closed the bedroom door softly and locked the apartment door behind him on his way out.
****
"Nick, do you have any idea how old those Spaghetti-O's in your cabinet are? You could probably donate them to the Natural History Museum," Natalie cheerfully called out as soon as she heard the door slam.
"Well, I never promised the food would be edible, just that it exists." Nick took one sniff as he entered the kitchen. "This is not my food."
"Yes, Mr. Investigator, there being no tin cans about, however did you guess? I went on a grocery run a couple hours ago, once I saw the state of your refrigerator." She smiled over her shoulder as she stirred the spaghetti sauce. "Now go make yourself useful and set the table."
During dinner they chatted about the inconsequentials... shop talk, of a sort. Natalie asked him about his work now, the increase of crime in the city while she was gone; during dessert, it was catching up on old friends. Captain Reese, sadly, had died two years ago of a heart attack that no one saw coming. Tracy was married and had a daughter, Melissa. She would turn three in September. At Natalie's unspoken question, Nick's only reply was "I don't know where Vachon is." He shrugged helplessly. "I kind of... lost touch."
"Nick...?"
"Natalie..." He opened his mouth to speak, then abruptly shut it and rose to begin clearing the table. She caught his hands.
"Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm not a stranger, Nick, you know that." At the honest concern in her eyes, Nick let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He nodded, and motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen.
"Come on. I'll wash, you dry."
****
"First of all, I can't tell you exactly how I became mortal. I'm sorry."
Natalie tried to squash down her screaming curiosity, and merely frowned. "Why?"
"They still watch me, even now. I barely survived the Enforcers the first time; the moment I betray that secret, I and anyone I told would be immediately destroyed." Natalie whipped her head around, alarmed, and Nick smiled. "Don't worry, they don't really care anymore what I do, as long as this one secret dies with me." She noted the 'they'. Not 'us'.
"How *did* you survive the Enforcers? I can't imagine how they would let you live once you'd become mortal again. You could have destroyed them, their whole way of life."
"I..." Nick's eyes clouded over momentarily, but cleared as he looked back at her. "I'm sorry. I just don't know where to begin. It's a long story."
She pulled her feet up on the couch where they sat, and smiled softly. "You know what they say, Nick; start at the beginning."
"The beginning. I guess that would be when you left." He kept his eyes firmly on the floor in front of him, reliving the past as he had so often before. "Funny that that should be the beginning, since it felt so much like the end." He smiled to himself. "When you left, I... gave up. On a lot of things. I stayed in the loft, even at night, and wouldn't let anyone in. I fed, I slept. I painted a little. But... mostly I spent my time going from one fit of rage to another. I practically destroyed the loft... I broke everything I could get my hands on. I just... didn't care. What you see here," he pointed at the walls and the endtables, "is all that survived unbroken. My friends, my job, my life, it just seemed like none of it really mattered anymore. Nothing was worth the effort."
"That is, until Janette came back."
"She came back?" Natalie remembered when Nick's elegant vampiric sister had just disappeared, with only instructions that Nick not look for her. No explanation, no trace. "Did she say where she had gone?"
"I never asked. We didn't really talk about it." His mouth twitched, but when he looked back at her, he was smiling through it all. "She was wonderful. She brought me back, out of the depths I'd fallen to. She cared about me when I didn't care about myself, and convinced me that there really was something worth living for." Nick paused, his eyes lost in those memories. "If she hadn't returned when she did... I don't know where I'd be right now. Or even if I'd be alive."
"You went back. To vampirism." He looked startled, but the statement was made without accusation, without anger. Maybe that's what he was startled about. He hadn't thought she'd understand... but she did; both the statement, and the reaction.
"Yes. I went back, moved in with Janette after a year. For once, the idea that the cure might never be found was... tolerable. I would still search, I would always search, but now it wasn't an all-or-nothing bid. For the first time, I gave myself the option of failure." His face twisted again. "Of course, with my luck, it was when I stopped looking that mortality fell into my lap."
"The Enforcers were not pleased..."
***
The thick metal door of the warehouse basement slid open, and two bound forms were shoved through. Janette fell heavily on Nick, and heard his gasp of pain. He was still unused to mortal frailties.... Janette still wasn't sure how she felt about that. Therefore, she didn't think about it.
She rose and helped Nick up, or as best she could with her hands tied firmly behind her back. Enforcers were getting better with their knots these days. As they stood, a voice appeared before them.
"Hello. My name is Oreleus." A young man, no more than twenty-five in appearance, with neatly combed black hair and crisp clothes, was seated at the table in front of them. There were two chairs on their side, straight- backed but functional. What caught their attention was the two long wooden stakes lying innocently in the middle. But the boy was speaking again. "Please, sit. We have much to do between now and sunrise."
"What are you going to do with us?" Nick's voice rasped in his chest, and Janette dared not consider what injuries he might have sustained fighting them on the way here. As it was she barely looked at him. His torn and bleeding face was not something she wanted to remember.
The Enforcer made no attempt to hide the truth from them, quirking an eyebrow at the question as if surprised that they needed to ask. "Why, kill you, of course." He motioned toward the stakes, shaking his head slightly in disbelief at their denseness. "What, did you think these were for show?"
"He's mortal, not a vampire. Why do you need a stake?" She really didn't care, but the longer he talked, the longer they lived.
"I don't really, but it is what we're most skilled at, and it will kill our little converted friend just as thoroughly as anything else."
"You will NOT!" The door was flung open, and Lacroix came storming through, eyes flaring red, as furious as even Janette had ever seen him. For a moment she thought he might bodily throw the youngster through the wall, but he came to a halt just in front of him.
The other was completely unperturbed, and simply rose to greet him. "Lucius." He smiled without smiling. "It's good to see you again."
Nick and Janette exchanged glances. This was no youngster.
"You will release my children *immediately*." Lacroix had lowered his voice, but his eyes were still pools of crimson and his tone could dampen the sun.
The Enforcer laughed, obviously either highly invulnerable or highly stupid. "No. Lucius, you've been coddled far too much over the centuries. Your son is worse. An example must be made. You don't have the strength to stop me."
Lacroix raised himself up to his full height, several inches above the other. "There are those with more strength than you, and they have promised me my children's safety. They will be... displeased at the realization that they have broken their word."
The Enforcer glared with pure hatred, only to have the expression vanish without a trace. "No. Your... agreement," you could just hear the covered hiss of 'bribery', "was made to save *one* of your offspring, should he or she discover a method to achieve irreversible mortality." He gestured toward the seated pair. "Here you see two."
Nick couldn't help but stare. Lacroix had bargained with the Enforcers for his life, in case he ever became mortal? Against everything he believed in? How was that possible? He'd been sure that Lacroix would simply allow him to die, as a sort of punishment for defying him. Or at least succeeding in defying him, anyway. The idea that Lacroix could even allow himself to conceive of his own failure was difficult to believe, but to go so far as to act on it? Had he really convinced LaCroix that much of his eventual success in finding mortality? But the two were still speaking.
"Janette is a *vampire*," LaCroix insisted. As if it were more than just a physical state... and isn't it? "She would never become mortal. She can tell you that herself."
"She still KNOWS, LaCroix!" Oreleus' fist made cracks in the plastic table. "She was there when it happened, the knowledge exists in *both* of them! I don't care if neither tells a soul, the danger *still* EXISTS!"
Oreleus stood a long moment, composing himself. Watching LaCroix, watching his children. Calculating. "But I will bargain with you, LaCroix." The Enforcer pursed his lips and paced a moment, turning abruptly to face him. "One of them may live."
He suddenly stepped quickly forward and grabbed one of the stakes, thrusting it into LaCroix's hands.
"But you will choose the one who dies."
A chill settled over LaCroix's heart as he stared at the stake in his hand. He looked up to the eyes of his children, who sat mutely; they seemed as stunned by this sudden turn as he.
Oreleus whispered again, "You have to choose."
Choose? Janette watched him impassively, her black hair falling down into her face, her sculpted features betraying nothing of what was going through her mind. They were so alike, words seemed unnecessary. So precisely in tune, even when their purposes conflicted. His beautiful, perfect daughter... who reminded him so much of Selene, at times it frightened him.
And Nicholas. Always Janette's opposite, from his golden hair to the expression of open agony that weighed his face. He looked as if he were actually feeling LaCroix's pain. Certainly that was how his own face would look, if he allowed it. Nicholas... Nicholas was simply everything he was not: fiery when he was cold, passionate when he was reserved, chaos to his order.
His inner thoughts were bitter, as the wood in his hand began to splinter under the strain he placed on it. *Which do you choose, old man? Your image or your other half? Which to cut off, your right arm or your left?*
*Which to kill? Your daughter?*
*Or your son?*
Helplessly, his perception seemed to fade away as he retreated somewhere very far away, a place where perhaps love could be weighed, measured, tallied, and placed on a scale to see which side tipped. He didn't know where he would find such a place; part of him hoped he never would.
Yet it was in this blackness, these depths, that a third alternative arose. *Why yes, of course. How very simple.* The idea was daring. Bold. Maybe even passionate. Nicholas would be proud.
He raised the stake high...
... and sent it hurtling toward his own heart.
****
The stake never reached its target. A hand snaked out at the last minute and caught the wood before it ever pierced flesh. "Ah, Lucius," The Oreleus' voice was smooth as silk, and twice as mocking, "still ever the noble soul, I see. You truly have an Achilles' Heel with these two, don't you?" He looked hard into LaCroix's eyes, and said flatly, "If you don't choose one of them, both will die. No one will bother to remember any promises made, if you aren't there to refresh their memory. Besides," he commented over his shoulder as he walked back to his chair to watch, "this will do you good. Weaknesses are best confronted head-on, don't you think?"
LaCroix pondered burying the stake in the Enforcer's heart. Then he pondered exactly how many inches he would get before the other stopped him and killed him for his impudence. He ground his teeth slightly and remembered why he heartily despised all vampires more powerful than he.
****
Janette had watched Oreleus hand LaCroix the stake without comment or expression. Perhaps because she didn't want to unduly influence his decision. Perhaps because she didn't know what that decision would be. Or maybe she did know, and was trying to pretend it didn't matter. Trying to tell herself it was the right decision, and for the best. Maybe it was only because she was slowly but surely loosening the knots at her wrists, and didn't want to get distracted.
Whatever the reason, she watched him calmly as he raised the stake in front of her, and looked directly into his eyes. Eyes she had avoided thus far, because she knew what she would see there. His face was safe, passionless as usual, but his eyes... just before the stake began its downward slide, his eyes rose to meet hers.
And what she saw there shook her to the bone. But not for the reasons she thought. She screamed, "NO!" and attempted to lunge out of her chair to bodily knock the stake away from him, but she didn't have the proper leverage, and fell heavily back on the chair.
But her shout had been enough warning for Oreleus, who moved faster than even she could see. She barely heard his words as she stared at LaCroix, her expression now anything but impassive.
She attacked the knots at her wrists with as much ferocity as she wrestled with her incredulity. How could this be? Could he actually not choose between them?
Even she knew who LaCroix's favorite was, and had never envied Nicola the position. She had lived for two hundred years as LaCroix's only daughter, and by the end of that time she had welcomed the transfer of his obsessions. The role of the lesser child had afforded her more freedom and more liberties than even most mortals of her time. No, she had never once maligned Nicola for being first in LaCroix's eyes, even in her thoughts.
It was impossible. She had known LaCroix for what seemed like all her life. She knew the way he thought, his drives, his secrets, and almost all his weaknesses. All except the one most important to her, the one she should have seen a long time ago.
LaCroix was a survivor. He prized his life, his existence, above all things, save Nicola. He could watch famine, plague, and bloodshed without comment, much less action. Yet he went into a rage at the mere idea that his son might become mortal, and lost to him. He would kill a man in an instant, if he threatened his existence; he could not tolerate weakness in himself, nor even the *idea* of weakness. Yet he made bargains and pleaded for the assurance of a single man's life.
A man does not love that way twice. Not in a thousand years.
He had lived two.
Janette would have laughed in a man's face, if he'd told her LaCroix would die to save her. She would have laughed, and then she would have killed him. Had she not seen it with her own eyes. Even now, she couldn't help watching him, staring as if she'd never seen him before. Perhaps she never had.
*With knowledge comes strength.* Yes, LaCroix, you were right. You were always right.
And Janette made her own mind, as she always had.
She watched Nicola for one long moment. On the one hand, he was so pivotal... but on the other, this had nothing to do with him. Nothing at all.
She then turned back to LaCroix as the knots about her wrists finally loosened, and were undone. Remaining still for the moment, she watched LaCroix's face as the walls he built around himself were breaking, and his torn emotions began to leak through.
She couldn't shape what was running through her mind, couldn't put words to them, not even to herself. She didn't try. She looked at LaCroix's face, and her eyes brimmed over with tears she'd never known existed.
*Thank you, father.*
So wrapped up in his own thoughts was he, that LaCroix never saw in her mind what she was planning. That one last thought snapped him out of his own reverie.
But in the instant it took for him to come back to himself, Janette leapt from her chair, snatched up the second stake, and plunged it into her own heart.
He was too late.
***
And Natalie held Nick in her arms as he cried.
As Nick ordered their ice cream, Natalie found a booth for them. She waved him over when he had the goods, and they sat for a moment, spoon in hand, as if waiting for the other's permission. Natalie grinned at their polite behavior, shook her head, "Well, it's not going to eat itself," and plunged in.
"Natalie..."
"Nick, I..."
They both stopped short. She took pity on him, "You go first."
"I was just wondering how long you were going to be in town."
"Well, that kind of depended on you." He raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Natalie fidgeted, just a little. "You see, I... wasn't sure what your situation... your reaction... would be, and I..." she sighed, and decided to try again. "I wasn't sure you wanted to see me," she said simply.
Nick looked a little stunned. He opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly shut it again and moved to her side of the booth instead, wrapping her in a fierce hug. "I *missed* you," he whispered, "and I can't tell you how sorry I am about all the stupid things I said before you left..."
"Nick, they weren't stupid. You were just trying to look out for me," she mumbled into his shoulder.
"And a fine job I did, too. Driving you off was really the coup de grace."
Natalie closed her eyes, and bit her lip to keep from groaning aloud. The more things change... "Nick, it is *not your fault*."
He took her chin and lifted it until she met his eyes. "You can't deny that if I hadn't said what I did, you wouldn't have left."
"Nick, I had to leave anyway. I couldn't maintain my life here while trying to learn how to fight. I have too many ties here, too many memories..." she pursed her lips together, and tried to look away, but he wouldn't let her.
"But if I hadn't made such an ass of myself, I could have gone with you."
Natalie cocked her head and rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, and I'm sure Lacroix would have *loved* that idea..."
"Natalie..." By this time they were both giving each other patiently exasperated looks. Nick shook his head and smiled helplessly at her. "We can't agree on anything, can we?"
"Except that it was a long time ago," she replied, her voice full of soft regret.
He nodded solemnly. "Truce?"
"Truce." She smiled and released him, making shooing motions as she did so. "Now go eat your ice cream. It's melting."
How was it that he could look ten years older, and still make the little boy face? "But it's better melted."
Natalie winced. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."
Nick grinned and took another spoonful of mostly-liquid ice cream. "So where are you staying?"
"I'm at the Best Western down the street," she said between her own mouthfuls, waving her spoon vaguely.
He favored her with a disapproving frown, which he immediately dismissed with a wave. "Well, not anymore. You're staying with me."
She raised her eyebrows. "Nick, that loft of yours only has one bedroom, and I really hate sleeping on your couch." She was *not* going to think about how that last sentence could be taken, she was *not* going to think...
Fortunately, Nick didn't seem to notice. "I'm not staying in the loft anymore. And besides, who said you had to take the couch?" He was *not* going to think about how that last sentence could be taken, he was *not*... "I *like* sleeping on my couch," he amended.
Natalie decided to get off the thin ice while she could. "Why did you move? Your place was huge."
"Exactly. It was too big, now that I really do have to live on a cop's salary."
"No longer rich anymore?" Natalie smiled teasingly. "What happened to the Brabant Foundation?"
"I had to give up the 'Brabant' name when I crossed back over to humanity, along with... a lot of other things." He smiled a little too quickly.
"Are you sure?" She still looked pretty hesitant, and for a moment, Nick wondered if he was pressuring her. But then he saw something in her expression that reassured him somehow, and he baited her just a little more.
"Come on. It'll be fun." He smiled temptingly. "I even learned how to cook..."
He was rewarded by seeing her face relax. "Really?" She laughed. "Well now, this I have to see."
****
"Wow." Natalie surveyed Nick's new apartment with approval. Admittedly, it wasn't as big as the loft, but it had definite style, with all the knick- knacks she knew, plus some hanging plants here and there. And windows. Big *big* windows, with a fair view of the sunset. If he really did buy this with a cop's salary, she was impressed. She smiled back at Nick as he was hanging up their coats. "If you ever decide to leave the force, Nick, I'm sure you'd have a bright future ahead of you as an interior decorator."
He snorted, and helped Natalie move her things into the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway on his way out. "Feel free to anything in the fridge, coffee's in the cabinet above the sink..."
"Shoving off on me?"
Nick smiled. "I'm beat, and unlike some ex-coroners, *I* have to go to work in the morning." At Natalie's saddened face, he added, "I have to find someone to cover for me for the next week or so."
"Why not just take a few days' worth of sick leave? I'm sure your captain wouldn't mind..."
He looked at her tolerantly. "Natalie, I am the captain."
Umm... what? "Oh."
He grinned at her stunned expression. "I'll take that as a compliment. See you in the morning."
"Nick?" When he turned back to look at her from the doorway, she wore an unreadable expression, and spoke softly, "You'll tell me about... this," and her gesture seemed to include all of his aging body, "tomorrow."
He still hesitated, but finally nodded. "As much as I can."
***
Nick stopped to check on Natalie before he walked out the door the next morning. Just to make sure she didn't need anything. Mmm-hmm. He'd already written a note telling her where the food and plates were, he'd only be gone for a few hours, and how much coddling did he think she needed, anyway? It still amazed him how easily he could still hear her voice in his head, even after all these years.
All right, so he was really going in to look at her, really *look* at her, just one last time before he had to go. So many things about her amazed him now, not the least of which was the fact that she had returned, when he'd been certain she would never come back in the time he had left. He'd resigned himself to never seeing her again, and he couldn't believe how lucky he was to have her reappear in his life now, while he was still a healthy man. She couldn't have known, of course, but he was still illogically grateful.
Her hair was longer, and seemed darker somehow, though with the amount of sun she must be getting compared to before she left the night shift behind, it should surely be lighter. She usually kept it away from her face in a long braid, like the one she wore now. Not the best thing to have in a fight, giving your opponent something so tempting to grab, but undoubtedly better than simply having her hair loose and blocking her view. The only other option was cutting it off, and that was something literally unimaginable to him.
Her face was leaner, harder, even as she slept. He'd always thought he brought so much hardship to her life when he rose from her autopsy table and barged into her life; he'd never imagined she'd live to see an even harder life than the one he had thrust upon her. But she was strong, stronger than almost anyone he knew, and it seemed fitting somehow to see that strength reflected physically, for all to see.
And she was *here*, here before him. That was what truly stunned him. That she could have appeared back in his life so abruptly, as if she never left...
But she had left. He clenched and unclenched his hand in front of him, feeling the barest hint of pain in the bottom joint of his thumb. He didn't need Natalie's medical knowledge to know in a few years it would blossom into full-blown arthritis, just as he knew the twinge at the base of his spine from sleeping on the couch would only get worse. And in the end, it would be Natalie who would never know wrinkles or arthritis or slipped disks or broken hips... and now that the situation was here, Nick couldn't say that he would change a thing. He'd opposed Natalie's decisions about her immortality before... no, let's be honest. It wasn't just a disagreement. He'd rejected her, and told her that if she killed to keep her immortality instead of simply remaining on holy ground, she'd become the same kind of soulless thing that he had believed himself to be.
It was just that... he'd always assumed he'd have control, he'd be able to take action, that if her life came into danger of becoming like his, he'd be able to do something about it. He'd be able to prevent it. But this, her immortality, was something so completely out of his control, and he felt as if he'd failed. Again. It was a disappointment he couldn't handle, and he took out his anger at himself on the one person he shouldn't have.
But that was a long time ago. A lifetime, to be exact. Many things had changed since then, and now... now he was glad that she would live. No more, and no less. A simple warm assurance that her voice, her eyes, her life would still be here when he was gone. He smiled faintly and wondered what Lacroix would say.
But he was late, it was time to go. He'd be back in a few hours. Nick closed the bedroom door softly and locked the apartment door behind him on his way out.
****
"Nick, do you have any idea how old those Spaghetti-O's in your cabinet are? You could probably donate them to the Natural History Museum," Natalie cheerfully called out as soon as she heard the door slam.
"Well, I never promised the food would be edible, just that it exists." Nick took one sniff as he entered the kitchen. "This is not my food."
"Yes, Mr. Investigator, there being no tin cans about, however did you guess? I went on a grocery run a couple hours ago, once I saw the state of your refrigerator." She smiled over her shoulder as she stirred the spaghetti sauce. "Now go make yourself useful and set the table."
During dinner they chatted about the inconsequentials... shop talk, of a sort. Natalie asked him about his work now, the increase of crime in the city while she was gone; during dessert, it was catching up on old friends. Captain Reese, sadly, had died two years ago of a heart attack that no one saw coming. Tracy was married and had a daughter, Melissa. She would turn three in September. At Natalie's unspoken question, Nick's only reply was "I don't know where Vachon is." He shrugged helplessly. "I kind of... lost touch."
"Nick...?"
"Natalie..." He opened his mouth to speak, then abruptly shut it and rose to begin clearing the table. She caught his hands.
"Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'm not a stranger, Nick, you know that." At the honest concern in her eyes, Nick let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He nodded, and motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen.
"Come on. I'll wash, you dry."
****
"First of all, I can't tell you exactly how I became mortal. I'm sorry."
Natalie tried to squash down her screaming curiosity, and merely frowned. "Why?"
"They still watch me, even now. I barely survived the Enforcers the first time; the moment I betray that secret, I and anyone I told would be immediately destroyed." Natalie whipped her head around, alarmed, and Nick smiled. "Don't worry, they don't really care anymore what I do, as long as this one secret dies with me." She noted the 'they'. Not 'us'.
"How *did* you survive the Enforcers? I can't imagine how they would let you live once you'd become mortal again. You could have destroyed them, their whole way of life."
"I..." Nick's eyes clouded over momentarily, but cleared as he looked back at her. "I'm sorry. I just don't know where to begin. It's a long story."
She pulled her feet up on the couch where they sat, and smiled softly. "You know what they say, Nick; start at the beginning."
"The beginning. I guess that would be when you left." He kept his eyes firmly on the floor in front of him, reliving the past as he had so often before. "Funny that that should be the beginning, since it felt so much like the end." He smiled to himself. "When you left, I... gave up. On a lot of things. I stayed in the loft, even at night, and wouldn't let anyone in. I fed, I slept. I painted a little. But... mostly I spent my time going from one fit of rage to another. I practically destroyed the loft... I broke everything I could get my hands on. I just... didn't care. What you see here," he pointed at the walls and the endtables, "is all that survived unbroken. My friends, my job, my life, it just seemed like none of it really mattered anymore. Nothing was worth the effort."
"That is, until Janette came back."
"She came back?" Natalie remembered when Nick's elegant vampiric sister had just disappeared, with only instructions that Nick not look for her. No explanation, no trace. "Did she say where she had gone?"
"I never asked. We didn't really talk about it." His mouth twitched, but when he looked back at her, he was smiling through it all. "She was wonderful. She brought me back, out of the depths I'd fallen to. She cared about me when I didn't care about myself, and convinced me that there really was something worth living for." Nick paused, his eyes lost in those memories. "If she hadn't returned when she did... I don't know where I'd be right now. Or even if I'd be alive."
"You went back. To vampirism." He looked startled, but the statement was made without accusation, without anger. Maybe that's what he was startled about. He hadn't thought she'd understand... but she did; both the statement, and the reaction.
"Yes. I went back, moved in with Janette after a year. For once, the idea that the cure might never be found was... tolerable. I would still search, I would always search, but now it wasn't an all-or-nothing bid. For the first time, I gave myself the option of failure." His face twisted again. "Of course, with my luck, it was when I stopped looking that mortality fell into my lap."
"The Enforcers were not pleased..."
***
The thick metal door of the warehouse basement slid open, and two bound forms were shoved through. Janette fell heavily on Nick, and heard his gasp of pain. He was still unused to mortal frailties.... Janette still wasn't sure how she felt about that. Therefore, she didn't think about it.
She rose and helped Nick up, or as best she could with her hands tied firmly behind her back. Enforcers were getting better with their knots these days. As they stood, a voice appeared before them.
"Hello. My name is Oreleus." A young man, no more than twenty-five in appearance, with neatly combed black hair and crisp clothes, was seated at the table in front of them. There were two chairs on their side, straight- backed but functional. What caught their attention was the two long wooden stakes lying innocently in the middle. But the boy was speaking again. "Please, sit. We have much to do between now and sunrise."
"What are you going to do with us?" Nick's voice rasped in his chest, and Janette dared not consider what injuries he might have sustained fighting them on the way here. As it was she barely looked at him. His torn and bleeding face was not something she wanted to remember.
The Enforcer made no attempt to hide the truth from them, quirking an eyebrow at the question as if surprised that they needed to ask. "Why, kill you, of course." He motioned toward the stakes, shaking his head slightly in disbelief at their denseness. "What, did you think these were for show?"
"He's mortal, not a vampire. Why do you need a stake?" She really didn't care, but the longer he talked, the longer they lived.
"I don't really, but it is what we're most skilled at, and it will kill our little converted friend just as thoroughly as anything else."
"You will NOT!" The door was flung open, and Lacroix came storming through, eyes flaring red, as furious as even Janette had ever seen him. For a moment she thought he might bodily throw the youngster through the wall, but he came to a halt just in front of him.
The other was completely unperturbed, and simply rose to greet him. "Lucius." He smiled without smiling. "It's good to see you again."
Nick and Janette exchanged glances. This was no youngster.
"You will release my children *immediately*." Lacroix had lowered his voice, but his eyes were still pools of crimson and his tone could dampen the sun.
The Enforcer laughed, obviously either highly invulnerable or highly stupid. "No. Lucius, you've been coddled far too much over the centuries. Your son is worse. An example must be made. You don't have the strength to stop me."
Lacroix raised himself up to his full height, several inches above the other. "There are those with more strength than you, and they have promised me my children's safety. They will be... displeased at the realization that they have broken their word."
The Enforcer glared with pure hatred, only to have the expression vanish without a trace. "No. Your... agreement," you could just hear the covered hiss of 'bribery', "was made to save *one* of your offspring, should he or she discover a method to achieve irreversible mortality." He gestured toward the seated pair. "Here you see two."
Nick couldn't help but stare. Lacroix had bargained with the Enforcers for his life, in case he ever became mortal? Against everything he believed in? How was that possible? He'd been sure that Lacroix would simply allow him to die, as a sort of punishment for defying him. Or at least succeeding in defying him, anyway. The idea that Lacroix could even allow himself to conceive of his own failure was difficult to believe, but to go so far as to act on it? Had he really convinced LaCroix that much of his eventual success in finding mortality? But the two were still speaking.
"Janette is a *vampire*," LaCroix insisted. As if it were more than just a physical state... and isn't it? "She would never become mortal. She can tell you that herself."
"She still KNOWS, LaCroix!" Oreleus' fist made cracks in the plastic table. "She was there when it happened, the knowledge exists in *both* of them! I don't care if neither tells a soul, the danger *still* EXISTS!"
Oreleus stood a long moment, composing himself. Watching LaCroix, watching his children. Calculating. "But I will bargain with you, LaCroix." The Enforcer pursed his lips and paced a moment, turning abruptly to face him. "One of them may live."
He suddenly stepped quickly forward and grabbed one of the stakes, thrusting it into LaCroix's hands.
"But you will choose the one who dies."
A chill settled over LaCroix's heart as he stared at the stake in his hand. He looked up to the eyes of his children, who sat mutely; they seemed as stunned by this sudden turn as he.
Oreleus whispered again, "You have to choose."
Choose? Janette watched him impassively, her black hair falling down into her face, her sculpted features betraying nothing of what was going through her mind. They were so alike, words seemed unnecessary. So precisely in tune, even when their purposes conflicted. His beautiful, perfect daughter... who reminded him so much of Selene, at times it frightened him.
And Nicholas. Always Janette's opposite, from his golden hair to the expression of open agony that weighed his face. He looked as if he were actually feeling LaCroix's pain. Certainly that was how his own face would look, if he allowed it. Nicholas... Nicholas was simply everything he was not: fiery when he was cold, passionate when he was reserved, chaos to his order.
His inner thoughts were bitter, as the wood in his hand began to splinter under the strain he placed on it. *Which do you choose, old man? Your image or your other half? Which to cut off, your right arm or your left?*
*Which to kill? Your daughter?*
*Or your son?*
Helplessly, his perception seemed to fade away as he retreated somewhere very far away, a place where perhaps love could be weighed, measured, tallied, and placed on a scale to see which side tipped. He didn't know where he would find such a place; part of him hoped he never would.
Yet it was in this blackness, these depths, that a third alternative arose. *Why yes, of course. How very simple.* The idea was daring. Bold. Maybe even passionate. Nicholas would be proud.
He raised the stake high...
... and sent it hurtling toward his own heart.
****
The stake never reached its target. A hand snaked out at the last minute and caught the wood before it ever pierced flesh. "Ah, Lucius," The Oreleus' voice was smooth as silk, and twice as mocking, "still ever the noble soul, I see. You truly have an Achilles' Heel with these two, don't you?" He looked hard into LaCroix's eyes, and said flatly, "If you don't choose one of them, both will die. No one will bother to remember any promises made, if you aren't there to refresh their memory. Besides," he commented over his shoulder as he walked back to his chair to watch, "this will do you good. Weaknesses are best confronted head-on, don't you think?"
LaCroix pondered burying the stake in the Enforcer's heart. Then he pondered exactly how many inches he would get before the other stopped him and killed him for his impudence. He ground his teeth slightly and remembered why he heartily despised all vampires more powerful than he.
****
Janette had watched Oreleus hand LaCroix the stake without comment or expression. Perhaps because she didn't want to unduly influence his decision. Perhaps because she didn't know what that decision would be. Or maybe she did know, and was trying to pretend it didn't matter. Trying to tell herself it was the right decision, and for the best. Maybe it was only because she was slowly but surely loosening the knots at her wrists, and didn't want to get distracted.
Whatever the reason, she watched him calmly as he raised the stake in front of her, and looked directly into his eyes. Eyes she had avoided thus far, because she knew what she would see there. His face was safe, passionless as usual, but his eyes... just before the stake began its downward slide, his eyes rose to meet hers.
And what she saw there shook her to the bone. But not for the reasons she thought. She screamed, "NO!" and attempted to lunge out of her chair to bodily knock the stake away from him, but she didn't have the proper leverage, and fell heavily back on the chair.
But her shout had been enough warning for Oreleus, who moved faster than even she could see. She barely heard his words as she stared at LaCroix, her expression now anything but impassive.
She attacked the knots at her wrists with as much ferocity as she wrestled with her incredulity. How could this be? Could he actually not choose between them?
Even she knew who LaCroix's favorite was, and had never envied Nicola the position. She had lived for two hundred years as LaCroix's only daughter, and by the end of that time she had welcomed the transfer of his obsessions. The role of the lesser child had afforded her more freedom and more liberties than even most mortals of her time. No, she had never once maligned Nicola for being first in LaCroix's eyes, even in her thoughts.
It was impossible. She had known LaCroix for what seemed like all her life. She knew the way he thought, his drives, his secrets, and almost all his weaknesses. All except the one most important to her, the one she should have seen a long time ago.
LaCroix was a survivor. He prized his life, his existence, above all things, save Nicola. He could watch famine, plague, and bloodshed without comment, much less action. Yet he went into a rage at the mere idea that his son might become mortal, and lost to him. He would kill a man in an instant, if he threatened his existence; he could not tolerate weakness in himself, nor even the *idea* of weakness. Yet he made bargains and pleaded for the assurance of a single man's life.
A man does not love that way twice. Not in a thousand years.
He had lived two.
Janette would have laughed in a man's face, if he'd told her LaCroix would die to save her. She would have laughed, and then she would have killed him. Had she not seen it with her own eyes. Even now, she couldn't help watching him, staring as if she'd never seen him before. Perhaps she never had.
*With knowledge comes strength.* Yes, LaCroix, you were right. You were always right.
And Janette made her own mind, as she always had.
She watched Nicola for one long moment. On the one hand, he was so pivotal... but on the other, this had nothing to do with him. Nothing at all.
She then turned back to LaCroix as the knots about her wrists finally loosened, and were undone. Remaining still for the moment, she watched LaCroix's face as the walls he built around himself were breaking, and his torn emotions began to leak through.
She couldn't shape what was running through her mind, couldn't put words to them, not even to herself. She didn't try. She looked at LaCroix's face, and her eyes brimmed over with tears she'd never known existed.
*Thank you, father.*
So wrapped up in his own thoughts was he, that LaCroix never saw in her mind what she was planning. That one last thought snapped him out of his own reverie.
But in the instant it took for him to come back to himself, Janette leapt from her chair, snatched up the second stake, and plunged it into her own heart.
He was too late.
***
And Natalie held Nick in her arms as he cried.