From:         Jennifer Ahn <ao608@LAFN.ORG>

The elevator flung open and out stalked LaCroix, dressed in black and
full of rage.
        "You fool!" LaCroix immediately flew at Nick, picking him up and
slamming him into the wall.  "What kind of <insanity> has possessed you,
Nicholas," he hissed as his son closed his eyes in pain.  "Did you
really think it would be that easy?"  In disgust he turned away.  "Of
course not.  You weren't thinking at all, were you?  Of everything I
taught you about the Code.  And you do this."  In an attempt to vent his
rage somewhat, the ancient vampire hurled an exquisite stone sculpture
against the opposite wall.  The terrific force crumbled into a shower of
fine dust.  Nicholas, dazed, supposed idly that there would be cleaning
after all.  If he survived, that was.
        LaCroix turned back to him, eyes flashing, and Nicholas cringed,
looking away.  "Nicholas, how <could> you?"  Pain tinged the anger this
time.  Nicholas couldn't answer.
        Silence as LaCroix paced the room, and Nicholas sank to the
ground.  Finally LaCroix hauled Nicholas to his feet, gripping his jaw
painfully, forcing his son to look him in the eyes.  Perhaps for the
last time.
        "I can't help you," he whispered, his voice already reflecting the
sorrow, and loss.  And regret.  "I cannot."
        Nicholas returned the gaze of his teacher, his mentor, his father,
realizing in that moment what this meant.  To both of them.  He raised
his hand and covered LaCroix's, gripping it tightly, trying to express
in that one brief, inadequate gesture all the centuries of feeling that
existed between them.
        "I know."  It was a final goodbye.
        A heartbeat as LaCroix drew himself up, taking the time to
remember this moment, of all moments, because he knew from experience
that no matter how painful it was now, he would need it to later sustain
him as he continued alone, without his child.
        With the quiet, cold dignity given to him by the many years of his
life, LaCroix turned his back and walked away.
        The elevator marking his departure was barely heard by Nicholas as
he stumbled away into the kitchen, once again desperate for the comfort
of mortal blood.  He could not humour his dignity now, and ripped into
the second bag with need.  Gluttonous, frenzied feeding smeared and
splattered blood on his face and hands, dripping onto his clothes.  A
waste, but he didn't care.  All that mattered was drinking as much as
possible, as fast as possible.  The bag emptied quickly, and Nicholas
finished with a surge of wild satisfaction.  He really had forgotten how
wonderful human blood was, how vivid the taste--and even the scent--
bloomed and lingered, a heavenly intoxication that he had foolishly
denied himself for far too long.
        He licked the back of his hand, relishing the sweetness of the
spilt blood, and reached for the phone.  He would make the call--He
could not allow whatever awaiting him to happen, not without her.  He
knew that she hadn't heard yet.  If she had, she would have called, or
come by.  He had to tell her.
        He dialed and waited impatiently, with dread.  A ring, then
another, and another...Time was slipping by so quickly, and it was being
wasted so needlessly...
        "Raven," her voice answered.
        "Janette.  I need you."  He wouldn't waste words.  Not now.  "I'm
at home.  Come quickly."  He almost hung up, but then lifted the phone
to his ear again.  "And bring blood.  Vintage."
        He hung up, not waiting for her to say anything.  And then he
started on the last bag of human blood.
        He was about to start on the cow blood, although he now looked
upon the prospect with disdain, when the hum of the elevator announced
the arrival of his second guest.  With relief he met her at the entrance
of his loft.  Her beauty, so eternal, struck him full force and it was
all he could do to wrap his arms tenderly around her.
        "Nichola," was all Janette could manage, stunned.
        He pressed his lips against her cheek, and then took her hand and
led her into the living room.  Her eyes widened as she fully caught
sight of him, covered with human blood, she could tell.
        "What has happened?"  Worry opened her eyes even wider.
        Nicholas pulled a wine bottle from the bag she carried with her.
He pulled out the cork with his teeth and took a long drink.
        "Enforcers."
        Burgeoning fear filled her eyes, so expressive, and they
automatically started to search furtively around the loft, checking the
dark corners, the shadows lurking around the room.
        "I already checked for the boogeyman."
        Her eyes snapped back to him, angry that he could make even a
small joke about something this serious.  The Enforcers...
"What have you done, Nichola?"
        He sat next to her, pulling out another bottle and offering it to
her.  She took it without comment and immediately took a drink.  She
would need it.
        He took a deep breath.
        "I...I killed one of them.  An Enforcer."
        She paled, <very> white, and shakily placed her bottle on the
coffee table.  She sat absolutely still, then looked at him, asking him
to continue, but at the same time, begging him to stop.
        He closed his eyes against the pain of that look.  She needed to
know.
        "One came to the morgue.  I guess they found out about Nat,
decided she knew too much."  She had, they both knew.  But it had gone
unnoticed, unacted upon, for so long, they had managed to convince
themselves that the danger was minimal.  How foolish.  "I found her."
The pain was muffled as his voice thickened.  He took another breath.
"And then I found him."
        The succinct telling was too sparse, but Janette couldn't press
for details yet.  Except for one.
        "Dr. Lambert?"
        He looked away.  "No."  He couldn't tell even Janette how he had
found Natalie too late, broken and covered with blood, in so much pain,
but still awake as she hovered so near to the edge of death.  Nor how he
begged her to allow him to bring her over.  He could still hear the
echoes of her last words, choked out in almost incoherent fragments as
she so adamantly refused, mumbling about the "light" and Richard, and
then, "Nick, don't ever give up.  There is a way."  That shuddering,
gurgling gasp.  And then, "I love you."
        Janette looked away too, from the pain in that one word, from the
pain in his heart.  In her heart.
        "What are you going to do?"  Her voice was low, anguished.
        He looked up, touching her cheek.  "Janette, you know.  There's
nothing I <can> do.  It's all over.  Except for the waiting..."
        "No."  The denial was empty.  Her head came up.  "LaCroix?"
        "He was just here.  There's nothing he can do."
        "<No>."  This time the denial was angry.  "LaCroix is not
powerless against the Enforcers!"  Her eyes blazed.  "He <must> be able
to do something."  She sprang up from the black leather couch, all fire
and fury and desperation, but he caught her before she could go
anywhere.
        "Janette!"  He held her close.  "Please, Janette.  There is
<nothing>."
        She struggled against him, starting to sob.
        "Shhh..." he murmured.  "I can do nothing but wait.  LaCroix
cannot help me, nor can you."  With dread he caught sight of the dawn
creeping in.  He hadn't realized it was getting so late.  It tore his
heart.
        He stroked her hair, then whispered, "Janette, you must go."
        She stiffened, disbelieving that he expected for her to leave him
now.
        "The day is coming, Janette.  Please."
        She shook her head against his shoulder, although her eyes winced
slightly as they detected the steady lightening of the grey sky outside.
        She raised her head to look into his eyes with her plea.  "I
cannot leave you now.  Do not ask."
        He gazed back at her, with love, with thanks, knowing that he did
not have the heart to refuse her.  But also knowing that he could not
place her in danger.  "Until sunset.  Then you must go."  They would be
safe until then.
        She knew she had to agree.  "Until sunset, then."
        "Now close the blinds."

        They spent the day with memories, cherishing each with such
bittersweet reminiscence it was almost painful.  Soon it was as if they
were no longer living in the present, but instead reliving each dance,
each kiss, each glance they shared over the years.  They spent the day
drinking human blood, which fortunately, Janette had brought in
quantity, and making endless toasts to each other, setting aside their
worries as best they could and finding solace in each other.
        They both refused to look at the time, to notice the approach of
darkness, always before welcome, now so ominous.
        Sometime during the day, the phone rang and the answering machine
kicked in.
        "Nick, are you there?"  Detective Don Schanke's voice blared
through the machine's tiny speaker.  "Nick?"
        He was tempted to not pick up, but knowing this could be the last
time he would speak with his partner, and friend... With a look of
apology for Janette, Nicholas picked up the phone.
        "Yeah, Schank."
        "Nick, have you heard?  It's Natalie..."
        "...Yes.  I know."  Those three quiet words were all he could
manage to acknowledge the news.
        "Where are you?  I figured you'd be here, daylight or no."
Schanke's voice was almost accusing.
        "...I can't.  I'm sorry, but I can't."  The pain in his voice was
enough to make Schanke backtrack a little.
        "Listen, partner, I understand.  I'll take care of it, okay?  Do
you need anything?"
        "No...no, thanks.  I just need to take some time."
        "Sure, you do that.  You want me to tell Cohen?"
        "Yeah, thanks."  Nicholas paused.  "Thank you."  It was a thanks
for their partnership, their friendship... And a goodbye.
        "Don't mention it."  A pause on his side.  "Are you sure I can't
do anything else?"
        "Just... take care of her, okay?"  Nicholas could see in his
mind's eye how he had had to leave Natalie, lying on the cold floor,
alone.
        "Sure, partner.  Take care.  Bye."
        "...Bye."

        As the day started to come to an end, far, far too soon, Nicholas
turned on the Nightcrawler, wanting to hear the voice that had haunted
and guided him through the centuries possibly one last time.
        As the weary voice filled the room, the buzz of the intercomm
interrupted, and he and Janette looked at each other with shock.  It
couldn't be time yet, could it?  So soon...
        As Janette fumbled to turn off the radio, Nicholas took the
formality of going to the intercomm and asking, "Who is it?"
        "Let us in."  Death was beating at the door.
        Closing his eyes and swallowing hard, Nicholas pushed the button
that would invite Death in.  He crossed to Janette, who stood frozen,
panicked, and hugged her tightly, kissed her one last time.
        "You must go."  He opened the window and pushed her towards it,
hearing the rumble of the elevator growing louder.  "Je t'aime.  <Go>.
<Please>."
        Her eyes filled with tears and she knew she had no choice.  She
stepped out the window, hovering there, stealing a last glimpse of his
face.  He used the remote control to close the shutters.
        The door to the elevator opened, and three vampires, as somber as
death, entered.
        "Nicholas de Brabant."
        He turned to face them, awaiting their judgement, his sentence.
        One of the three, seemingly the one in charge, took a step
forward, and with exquisite courtesy invited Nicholas to be seated.  The
politeness confused him, as well as terrified him.
        "Do you know why we are here?"  The question was laid out
innocently enough.
        Nicholas frowned, wondering what kind of trick this was.
        "Yes."
        "Ah... Undoubtedly.  Silly question, I suppose."  The vampire idly
began to straighten his black suit, taking his time.  Nicholas went from
confusion to irritation, the suspense of waiting becoming unbearable.
Angrily he looked from face to face to face, all stoic, calm, unaffected
by what they had come here to do.
        He growled despite himself, eyes glowing sullenly, and instantly
the other two vampires were on him.  The attack was almost welcome as he
was able to struggle physically against them, and perhaps provoke them
into ending this as quickly and painlessly as possible.  Slow, torturous
deaths were not uncommon ways of the Enforcers, and certainly the
killing of one of their own would merit in such a death.
        Calmly the first vampire rose and walked to the window, then
turned back.
        "I'm afraid that I have something to confess."
        The words didn't reach Nicholas, who was trying to lose himself in
the static of his own rage, to provide himself one last protection
against the awareness of death.
        Unheedful of this fact, the vampire continued to speak while his
companions struggled to keep Nicholas restrained.
        "It seems that the vampire you killed was not an Enforcer.  Or
more strictly speaking, not enforcing <our> orders.  Why he killed a
mortal, particularly <your> mortal, frankly does not concern you.  Not
directly.  I advise you not to pursue it."  He looked at Nicholas, his
face serious.  "However," he continued, "you <did> kill one of our kind,
so consider this a warning."  He walked to Nicholas, who had begun to
listen at some time.  Grabbing him by the throat, he forced Nicholas to
be still, pressing his face close.  His eyes began to glow, and he
snarled, fangs extended, dangerous.  "If you <ever> even try this again,
there will be no warnings."
        At his signal, the other two vampires casually flung Nicholas down
and followed the first into the elevator.
        It took a minute for Nicholas to realize that he was indeed still
alive.  He began to shake in reaction, very well realizing that by all
rights, he <should> be dead.  And by some miracle, he wasn't.
        <Janette>.
        He needed to find her, to be with her.
        He tore out of the loft, desperate to get to her, to see her
again.  He took the elevator down, hitting the button repeatedly, trying
to get it to go faster, faster.  He flung the door open and ran to the
parking lot and ...
        He stopped.
        He began to laugh, unable to believe it.
        His Caddy was gone.


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