Maura rolled over, reached out and found herself alone. "Nick?" she called softly to the dark, not quite awake but alarmed nonetheless. The memory of calling his name so many half-waking nights in recent months was still painfully fresh.
"Right here, Sweet." Then she saw him, sitting up in the velvet armchair near the bed, his outline in shadow and the light of the candle where it touched him burnishing his skin a soft gold.
"What's wrong?" She was sleepy, disoriented, and lay on her side peering at him from her pillow.
"Nothing. Go back to sleep."
"Come back to bed."
"Not just yet."
She was falling asleep but still puzzled. "But why not?"
He was smiling a sad smile. "I just want to look at you for a bit. I need to see you there where you belong. I forgot what it felt like to know you'll be there when I wake up. After all I've nearly lost, it feels good just to watch you sleep and know you're back home again."
"Mmm, okay," she settled deeply into the pillow and covers. "But can't you look at me in the morning? I'll sleep better if you're with me."
Suddenly he was there, arms around her, cradling her against him, all the comfort she'd ever been able to imagine.
"That's better," she murmured. "This feels like home."
Nick woke around noon. Maura was so deeply asleep her breathing didn't even alter as Nick gently disengaged himself and slid out of bed, tucking the covers around her before he dragged on his kimono and steeled himself for another Schanke Morning. To his complete surprise there was coffee waiting (for Maura) and a basket of fruit, but no Schanke. His things were neatly packed and stacked in the corner by the elevator door. There was a note left on the dining room table.
"Partner," it read, "tell Maura I'm sorry I busted up her homecoming. After all you two went through to put things back together it feels pretty shabby for me to give up so easy. I'm at my house; if Myra doesn't kill me I'll be back for my stuff later. Thanks for everything." At the bottom was a ps written more hastily, "I'll call first." Smiling, Nick padded back upstairs to snuggle in with Maura until she woke enough to enjoy the coming-home present he was forced to forego the night before: himself. When an hour had gone by, he nudged Maura awake with kisses and caresses that were greeted with sleepy protests.
"Go 'way, Bats, you got the rest of my life to get laid."
"That's not what I'm after. Yet." He covered her face with kisses and disappeared. Maura rolled onto her face again and was asleep in seconds.
Half an hour later Nick reappeared with a carafe of coffee, a warmed mug, and a bowl of freshly made peaches, yoghurt, and granola on a silver tray. The aroma reached Maura where she lazed not-quite-asleep, and she cracked an eye as he sat down on the bed.
"Rise and whine, Sweet. And welcome home."
"Oh wow..." she struggled upright to lean back against the pillows. "This is all for me?"
"Well not quite," he reached behind him and magically presented a single red rose.
"La Vie Sans Fin?" she asked.
"No. This one will die quite soon, I'm afraid," he regarded it sadly, then smiled into her eyes. "But I'll be here to replace it with another," he kissed her pillow-creased cheek, "and another," and her mouth "and another. As many as you want."
Maura squirmed a little. "Jeez, Bats, you're not going all Byron on me, are you?" But she took the rose and returned his kisses.
He remained leaned forward with a stubborn grin. "Only the good parts. It's high time you were properly appreciated."
She swilled a good dose of the coffee. "Not that this isn't great, but how about coffee in bed, and a 48-hour warning when you're about to go off on another self-redemption crusade? That's really all I need."
Nick's expression lost its humor. "Well it's not all I need. I know I can't make up to you what I screwed up since we met. But I can at least try to make you feel special right now."
Her brow knit. How could she make him understand how unimportant the trappings were to her, without hurting his feelings? She fingered the rose; very sweet, but not necessary, and breakfast, wow nobody in her life had done that, but he just didn't have to... "I don't need to feel 'special'. Shit, being 'special' has fucked me up good, all my life. Besides, you know how I hate being fussed over. Can't we just try to be normal? Normal being relative, of course." She dug into the fruit and yoghurt. "Nick, this is brilliant, who knew someone who can't eat could be so good in the kitchen?" He looked a little relieved as he realized that she could be distracted by the small pleasures he was determined to provide, things they'd both overlooked in their struggle to put something together between two hunted lives.
"Let me treat you nice my way, okay?" he coaxed her with another kiss. "I can do Byron, but I also come from times when the little things could be a big deal. Not all jewels and bowers of flowers, I promise."
Maura pouted. "No jewels? I'm so outta here!"
"Will you please take me seriously for once?" He was so sincerely determined she had to stop laughing and touch his face.
"Bats, Nicolas, you are stuck with a pragmatist. Your lousy luck. But I promise I will accept everything you do for me as a sweet surprise, okay, and I'll try really hard to control my practical streak. I've told you that all the warm fuzzies have been slapped outta me, it's just the way it is."
She'd finished with breakfast, so he moved the tray to the floor and took her in his arms. "Forgive me if I insist on ignoring that." He smoothed her hair back, stroked her face over and over. "I'm so glad you came home, I don't know what I would have done if you didn't." He knew he was repeating himself but he couldn't seem to stop yet.
"Me neither. All the time I was so pissed off and hurt and hating you, all I wanted was you to come and take me home. Yeah, I wanted to pound on you and scream at you, but I just wanted to come home after all that was done. I wanted to get the ugly shit over with and just come home."
What followed for the next two days surprised Maura. She had expected nonstop lovemaking, wearing each other out (though wearing Nick out was a whole lot harder than vice versa), every pent-up hormone to come rushing forth to burn the place down. What she got was coffee in bed, Yeats and Dickinson read aloud, long walks in the park in the moonlight. And kisses, so many kisses she was lost in them, bathed in them, sweet ones, hot ones, soft and hard and coaxing and demanding. He held her on the sofa the second night and they made out like teenagers, pausing only to light the candles.
"Jesus, Nick, how long can you keep this up?" she asked him when he brought her a bowl of honey, peaches, and yoghurt before bed.
"How long have you got? My calendar's free for the next, oh, several hundred years."
"You're gonna make me fat," she observed as she scraped the bowl clean. He took it from her then, leaned in for the millionth gentle kiss since that morning, she figured.
"I'm gonna make you happy."
"I'm already happy. You're gonna make me euphoric."
"That's okay, I'll drive," he tossed off as he left for the kitchen.
By the time Maura returned to work on the third day, she was ready for a little fresh air and different faces, though she was more disgustingly content than she could ever have dreamt of being. All she did was take, take, take, every gesture and touch, every word and kiss and oh-my-god he did make love to her until she thought she'd die. It was all a massive coming-home present, and she accepted it all enthusiastically in spite of her early protests. She'd told herself that she needed to let Nick feel like he was making it up to her, but the fact was she was positively wallowing in his attentions as something she'd never had before.
"Bienvenue encore cherie," Janette greeted her warmly with a kiss on each cheek. "I told you we'd meet again."
"So... you didn't replace me or anything, did you?"
Janette made a face, not responding to the fishing expedition. "Don't think I didn't try. But the customers were terrified of MIklos unless he was behind the bar, and Vachon, well..."
Maura laughed. "Yeah, well." Vachon was simply too sweet and sociable to be seen as an authority figure. "So does this mean you're ready for someone else to do the dirty work?"
"As only you can do, cherie," she smiled. "When would you like to start?"
"How about tonight?"
Janette looked surprised. "But I thought perhaps you and Nicolas would want to... 'catch up'?"
Maura's eyebrows rose. "Sister, if I get any more caught up I may be doing this job from a wheelchair." Both women, mortal and vampire, laughed wickedly.
"Yes, I seem to remember Nicolas does work up a certain, ah, momentum."
Their shared sexual knowledge of Nick had never been a source of awkwardness for either of them, even in the days when he alternated between feeding on Maura and making full-bore love with Janette. Neither questioned it, it was as if they each were referring to different men. And, in a way, they were.
God, it felt good to be back, she thought for the bazillionth time as she cruised the floor that night. It was true that leaving here, both the club and the Toronto Community, had been just as hard as losing Nick. The regulars, mortal and im, welcomed her back and those unfamiliar with the saga accepted without question her bullshit about an extended vacation in the States. At about 10:30, the room well under control, she joined Janette at her table.
"So, cherie, are you finding it difficult leaving the spotlight?" Janette teased.
"Not at all. At least now I'll get to dance once in awhile. Really, I missed this kind of work. And there were times in Boston when there was trouble on the floor I nearly had to be restrained from jumping off the stage to intervene."
"I fear passive observation will never be your strong suit."
They watched the crowd for a bit, and finally Maura worked up the nerve to ask what she'd been wondering since her return.
"Where is LaCroix now? Nick said he wouldn't be leaving the city, but didn't say what his plans are except to hang around until he gets bored. Which in his lifetime could be two weeks, or two centuries."
"He has become a rather surprising success on the radio, CERK. One of those phone-in shows, but of course LaCroix puts a different twist on it. His name is The Night Crawler."
Maura would have laughed, but it sounded way too accurate a name to be humorous. Over her next two nights off (when Nick had to work) she tuned in at home. Each night had a "topic", and each caller found him or herself a willing audience for LaCroix's dark approximation of philosophy. She hated to admit it, but no matter what he was actually getting out of it (at the very least a feeling of immortal superiority, she was certain) the show had a certain bizarre attraction. In his bleak witty way LaCroix seemed to read pretty deeply into what was often the usual life-and-relationship drivel, and no doubt 2000 years of experience gave him the unique perspective that often rendered the callers silent as they absorbed his insight. She'd expected something a bit more satirical from him, or even some dark persuasion to get into worse troubles than his listeners already fancied they had. Her surprise at her wrong expectations was compounded by the certainty, after the second night, that he was actually using it as some kind of therapy of his own. Well therapy was probably too strong and constructive a word; perhaps elegant venting of his own issues. Whatever it was, it certainly drew nonstop attention during his three hours on the air. That anyone could host a three-hour phone in show without it descending into utter nonsense or nonstop raving loonies impressed Maura mightily. LaCroix was nothing if not a master manipulator, and he herded his audience with stunning expertise.
She stood in a shadowed corner, watching in fascination as LaCroix addressed the microphone as if it were a living thing, as if the caller sat there in front of him. Tonight's topic was transformation… what is sufficient to entirely change our substance and direction? It was as if he knew she'd be there… or perhaps it's what drew her. After work she caught a cab, having told Nick she was staying very late to help Vachon with the wine inventory. Maybe she'd come clean later, maybe LaCroix would rat her out, but stacked up against some of Nick's sins of omission this one was strictly bush league. She'd arrived ten minutes before the show would conclude.
"I was wrong about you, LaCroix. You're no antique, you know exactly how to make the most of this city and time. I stand corrected."
He appeared not at all surprised to see her. "I do hope you haven't come to gloat, doucette, the shrewd recognition of reality is never a defeat. Or have you missed our little talks so much you've come for a visit? Do come in. I won't bite, Nicholas would disapprove. And I daresay you'd be more trouble than the pleasure would be worth."
For some reason she didn't mind his use of Nick's affectionate nickname. The lower-case d was clearly audible to them both. She entered the on-air studio and sat in the interview chair across the console from LaCroix.
"You'll never believe we were never at war, will you LaCroix? I never wanted what you had, I don't want it now. In fact you've gained more from this than you've lost."
LaCroix leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. "I haven't lost a son, but I've gained a… what?"
"How about a truce?"
His mouth gathered in distaste. "That sounds so final. A standoff, perhaps… that has a bit of the more accurate mobius strip aspect , don't you agree?"
Maura shook her head with a laugh. "I'll leave the words to you, you've had 2000 years to perfect them. But no, I'm not here to gloat, in any case. I think I just wanted to hear it from you."
Now he returned upright. "What? That I'm not simply retiring to regroup and refine my strategy? Surely Nicholas must have told you about our agreement."
"I want to hear it from you. Nick sometimes has the habit of hearing what he wants to hear."
This elicited a smile from LaCroix that was very nearly genuine. "Nicholas has always been so adept at hiding from himself… how do his illusions survive your scrutiny, I wonder?"
"Kicking and screaming. The ones that are left anyway. Quit hedging. Tell me, just once, tell me what you've decided to do. Don't ask me why, but I'll believe you."
"You know why. I can do whatever I like where you're concerned. Why bother to lie?" She sat patiently, silently, waiting out his display. "Oh very well, I can see you're not in any high intellectual mood tonight. In simple words, I cut my losses where Nicholas is concerned. Nothing I take away from him will alter his grip on this existence, nothing I offer will induce him to move on. After awhile, even I can be bored with trying. So you may have your little life with your flawed hero. When you are dust Nicholas and I will still be bound by blood. Even he cannot deny it."
"You mean an immortal can afford to be patient?"
He laughed richly, rocking his seat back and forth. "My dear, we are speaking of perhaps fifty years. For me, that is barely a distraction."
She knew he wasn't posturing, and it annoyed the hell out of her. "Then why the fuck," and she ignored his disapproving expression at the word, "were you so intent on making life hell? If it's all just a day at the zoo to you, why did you try so hard to ruin it all for me, for Nick?"
He shrugged, and she could have uttered his response in unison with him, "Because I can. But now I have an entire city to play with," he indicated the microphone, "and frankly I have you to thank for it. If you hadn't inspired Nicholas to such… obstinacy, I would never have discovered the joy of counseling mortals in distress."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Maura muttered.
He leaned across the console, looking for all the world like a generous neighbor. "Would you care to have use of some of my collected words? Your vocabulary seems to lack variety."
A standoff. Not the same as surrender or even a truce, but Maura figured in immortal terms it was as good as it was gonna get.