Part: 32: Weeping & Gnashing Of Teeth

The atmosphere within the Raven was as subdued as Aristotle had ever seen it; the battered remains of the fighting force that had gone out just that evening was now back within the safety of their haven and drinking heavily from the stock at the bar.

Outside, the sky was beginning to brighten as the sun approached the horizon. Hanging around the fringes of the dance floor and stage, the younger fledglings who had been unable to find other shelter for the day spoke amongst themselves in hushed tones, trying to glean just what had happened overnight that had the 'adults' in such a state of shock. Within the quarter hour, Aristotle's ears began to pick up whispered comments featuring De Brabant's name circulating through their ranks. Gossip was not only a predilection of the humans, the Greek mused as he listened in on a motely group of four sitting at a nearby table.

"The cow drinker?" one leather-jacketed 'tough' scoffed to his peers, both accent and attire suggesting an American military type or a wannabe. "No loss there."

"Lady seems to think so," a former hippie countered with a sad sigh. "Man, I haven't seen her smile since they got back---she's on a downer."

"Well, if you ask me, its about time she had a better suitor," their Sudanese friend suggested. "Someone strong... worthy."

The former WWI pilot made a face at that, snorting in agreement. "Absolutely, he acted like a carouche-wannabe. Disgusting! Why are they upset about an animal imbiber biting the dust?"

"Chill it, dudes lest ya want to be eating wood pulp fer dinner---the General is like, way upset. Even the Lady won't go near him. And did ya feel the weird vibes last night? Pure freaking, it was!"

The Sudanese lowered his voice. "I heard tell the Enforcers and Elder warred."

"Huh," the pilot snorted in disdain, ignoring the hint. "Wouldn't doubt it. Stupid cow drinker probably almost exposed us all again. Mad as the Hatter. Should have been put down a long time ago."

An older vampire from the next table felt compelled to warn his neighbors.

"Sssh! The Pretty One's friends hears ya trash tha' one and ya'll find ya'selves a'windsurfin'---at noon."

"Maybe," the pilot shrugged. "But its s'truth. De Brabant was a freak."

Scowling, Aristotle was about to go over and offer to personally kick the leather-clad infant outside in Lucien's name. However, before he made it over there he thought better off it. Nicholas, after all, would have shrugged off the remarks as unworthy of his ire.

Or more like he deserved them.

Nicholas... Aristotle felt his heart clench. The young ones could be straightened out later if Janette wished; he and the General had something more important that needed to be done: vampires couldn't very well turn over their dead to the local mortuary.

Foregoing the expensive crystal goblet he'd been given by his fellow Greek, the philosopher took a swig straight from the bottle he had been nursing and procured another from Miklos before heading upstairs. Tentatively, he knocked on the door molding of Lacroix's living space and waited, even though the door was wide open and he could plainly see inside the main area and into part of the bedroom. It was there that the inanimate husk was now, the Elder having laid out the body of his son on his own bed.

"Lacroix? The sun is about ready to show. If we do not do it now, it will have to be done from inside rather than from on the roof." He did not add that it would have been even easier to have simply left Nicholas' remains in the park for the sun to obliterate. So much neater and more fitting to let the morning breeze lift the ashes away and spread them around Toronto. Nicholas would have liked that... the knight had loved this city. But Lacroix had been adamant on bringing him home to the Raven. Was he now going to prove just as stubborn about leaving him on the roof?

"Go away," a surly voice wearily commanded. But there was no real conviction behind the command.

Sighing, Aristotle chose to ignore the directive by stepping inside and moving to the bedroom doorway. Enough was enough. It was borderline madness not to dispose of the corpse as quickly as possible lest mortals stumble across it.

Still as a gargoyle statue on Notre Dame, Lacroix was kneeling over the bed as if in a prayer vigil over the ravaged body of his son; the General's clothes were still stained with the drying blood that now soiled the bed linens.

None of the brightest scarlet was from Nicholas's remains.

Lacroix, Aristotle surmised, had apparently tried to feed his son again just as he had in the park. But you couldn't feed a vampire past the True Death. Nicholas was gone. Just the physical remains waiting for the touch of the sun. Waiting for the grieving parent to be turn them loose.

The philosopher shuddered as he thought on the revelation that Lucius had not only tried to kill Divia, but had interned her body as well. Despite all his past radio broadcasts aimed at Nicholas on the theme, the General certainly seemed to have his own issues when it came to letting go.

Aristotle proffered the unopened bottle of 'Special Reserve'. "I have something for you."

The once proud voice of the General was flat, uncaring as he lifelessly quipped, "They say to beware Greeks bearing gifts.."

Aristotle snorted. "Wise words, but be that as it may..." he raised the bottle "this is actually from DuCharme. She thought you might want it."

"I want nothing. I need nothing. Nothing that can be given back to me. Leave us."

The pain-laden voice of the Roman made Aristotle pause.

"You still have Janette, you know. It's not fair to her to make her worry about you on top of her own mourning."

Silence.

"Lucien... if it is any consolation, what I saw in Andrew's blood.." Aristotle set the bottle down on the end table pretending he hadn't seen the bereft master noticeably twitch at the angel's name, "it was beyond words. I think Nicholas must be very happy right now."

"He should have been happy with me!" Lacroix growled at the him, fists clenched in rage. "I gave him everything... centuries of life, a lover, power.. my leadership.. my eternal protec.." the last word stuck in the Ancient's throat and nearly choked him.

The Greek removed his glasses in order to rub the area above the bridge of his nose.

Stubborn. Unchanging. The consummate predator. Thousands of years of attained perfection. Or were they just stagnant? Had Nicholas' wanting to step back actually been an unconscious desire to go forward?

Sometimes philosophy could give one a headache, Aristotle decided.

"But those things," he cautiously pointed out, "were not what he ultimately wanted."

"He did then."

The philosopher softly countered, "Yes, but Nicholas changed... he evolved." Aristotle frowned, again struck by the intriguing thought that a vampire could grow in more than age induced power.

Lacroix glared at him with eyes just as red from grief as from his Beast's ire before returning his contemplation to the body.

"Vampires" the Roman snarled, each word dripping with sarcasm, "aren't supposed to evolve. We are already at the pinnacle. He was my son. He should always have been mine--at my side!" Raspy intake of breath. "My eternal companion. My magnificent protégé... my Nicholas.. . Damn them all, Aristotle," the Elder raged standing up to hiss in the other's face, "I don't want pity or platitudes! I want my son back!"

"I..I'm... h-h-ere."

Lacroix's and Aristotle's eyes widened like barnyard owls' as the slurred voice spoke up from the 'corpse'.

"Nicholas!"

Sir Nicholas de Brabant, newly returned from the dead---again---smiled weakly at them from the bloody bed.

"H-hun..gr..y.."

Faster than a human eye could follow, Lacroix was sitting on the mattress, the Brabantian's sagging body propped against his chest. A swift slash of his fangs had his wrist artery severed and he thrust it before the knight's mouth. Ice-blue eyes glowed with pride and joy as twin fangs sunk into the torn flesh and sucked away his offering with all the need of a ravenous newborn.

"Oui, mon fils---drink, take what you need. Mon chevalier, mon ami---drink...drink.."

Grinning like a fool, Aristotle decided to discard proper etiquette and used his own fangs to rip out the cork of the Special Reserve. Wordlessly, he passed the bottle of blood to the sire, who accepted it graciously, his lips never ceasing in their litany of encouraging endearments to the one suckling at his wrist save for the split second needed to hurriedly down the food.

The Greek was contemplating running down to the cellar to get more when Nicholas pulled his teeth from the General and fastidiously licked the ragged wound closed. Already the criss-crossed slashes from J'ranor's malicious embrace were fading. Soon, the Brabantian would look good as new.

But was the rest of him healed as well? Aristotle could see the Roman's face silently asking the same question--- dreading the thought of having to have Merlin replace the restraints on his child.

"Nicholas? How do you feel?" Lacroix murmured as his fingers gently carded through the golden hair. The angelic face of his favorite became thoughtful. He twisted to regard the one who was friend, foe, and sire all wrapped up in one.

"Sad. Happy. Peaceful."

"Peaceful?" Lacroix asked, wishing he didn't sound so skeptical.

His son nodded, smiling a wistful smile.

"I talked with Natalie.. with a lot of people, actually... We've reconciled the past." he closed his eyes and snuggled back into Lacroix's chest, letting his head rest on the Elder's shoulder. "I still regret my mistakes with the humans, father... and those I made with you. I'll always regret them. But the wounds are healing. I can let them heal now."

Lacroix held him tighter.

"That's good to hear, my son," the Roman breathed. Then out of long habit could not resist the dig, "I told you centuries ago that guilt was doing you no good."

"Mmm..." His favorite chuckled softly, eyelids drooping. "I thought you'd appreciate my return just so you'd be able to say, 'I told you so'."

Nicholas yawned. Even with his sire's blood filling his veins, the rising sun outside was making him feel very sleepy. It would be a while before he was back up to par and able to move out of the Raven's rooms. Assuming he'd still want to. He felt secure here and felt in no particular hurry to leave.

"Lacroix?"

"Yes, Nicholas?"

Giving in to the exhaustion, (at least it wasn't from Hunger this time, he thought bemusedly), Nicholas let himself slide down until he was laying curled beside the Roman with his head resting in his lap. Reveling in the feel of fingers moving through his hair---fingers that could easily rip his skull off, yet were gently massaging it instead. He let the Vampire within purr, secretly smiling at what his sire must be thinking---he hadn't let himself express pleasure at his master's touch for a terribly long time---let alone willingly allowed himself to be groomed like this.

"Yes, father... I've accepted that too. I won't kill--" he asserted, opening his eyes so that Lacroix could see his determination in that regard, "but I am a vampire. I'll always be a vampire." He decided not to add just then that he'd be a vampire 'representative for God'. No sense in rekindling the fireworks early. Lacroix would like as not find out about that soon enough. He never had been able to keep secrets from his elder for very long.

Nicholas fervently prayed his sire would understand his mission... and hopefully, eventually, the meaning of it. Right now at least, he was loathe to restart their on again/off again battle of wills---which was what would happen if (If? Ha!) Lacroix protested his son's newest 'crusade'. For now, though, he would sleep. Tomorrow night would be busy as the Community welcomed his return. This time he'd come as a full member and not just as Lacroix's prodigal son.

Then, come hell or high water---(Oh, he was going to have to strike that particular expression from his repertoire!)---a certain Miss Jenny Schanke was going to be taken on a trip to a mall that did not feature any Goth-style apparel; with a side-trip to a good florist acquaintance of Felik's for a bouquet. Myra would appreciate the flowers. And the two round-trip tickets to Miami that he'd slip in the card. She and Jenny needed to spend some time together in the sun, have fun at that amusement park, and start reforging their relationship instead of being cooped up this winter separately bemoaning the past.

Mmmm... Don would want them to have fun on the beach as well. He'd have to remember to include women's swim wear shopping at the mall. Hopefully, Jenny would know what size and style to get for her mom.

After that? Well, he had his very first 'assignment' already waiting for him, didn't he?

For a second Nicholas let his gaze lock with the hungry look in Aristotle's---a hunger that had nothing to do with the blood lust. Their was a whispered acknowledgment in his mind that the Greek would be one of his first pupils.

De Brabant purred louder, lips curving into a deeper smile of contentment.

Oh, yes.

He was going to be very busy.

And very, very...

Not alone.

o

TBC

A/N: There is a short epilogue to follow within a day or so (and it will have the Angel Crew in it unlike this post).

Grothekl, you brought up some interesting ideas. In the show, Nicholas was already able to tolerate holding some holy objects (better than others at any rate) because of either his abstainance from drinking human blood (Natalie's hypothesis) or plain remorse for having killed in the past. I think that Nick will eventually attain those things you wrote of, but gradually, as his faith and obediance to God grows. Remember that even the Apostle Paul complained of various physical ailments... wishing to follow the Father does not automatically mean everything will be wine and roses. Old habits die hard and physical damage needs time and faithfullness to the new way in order for new health to emerge. If Nick keeps listening to the Father and following His advice he will gain those 'health benefits'. It just won't happen overnight.

I want to thank all my reviewers for their encouragement. It's always a boost to the ego to get a rave review! lol. However, a special thank you to the reviewer (long gone, I think) who thoughtfully pointed out in the first three chapters that I was really overdoing the exclamation points. She/he was correct and the hint to tone down the hystronics was very much appreciated.

Well... hey, it's been a blast. (And a chore, but we'll overlook that now as the glow of finishing this is currently waxing strong, grin)