This is my first fiction post so I hope I'm doing this right. It is actually a Christmas story and my apologies for being late - it was floating around in my head for most of December but there was not time to write until the holidays were over. Disclaimers: Forever Knight chracters belong to Parriott/Cohen et al and Columbia/Tristar/Sony. No copyright infringement intended. The song - A Winter's Tale - is by M. Batt and T. Rice (April Music Ltd./Batt Song Ltd./64 Square/ Pendulum/Warner Bros. Music ltd.). Personal Disclaimer: This isn't really how I want to see Nick and Nat end up but when I heard the song, the story formed almost instantly in my head. So call it an alternate universe .) A Winter's Tale By Ellen Ashton-Haiste Copyright (c) 1996 The heavy doors of the lift ground open and Natalie stepped into the welcoming warmth, shaking snowflakes out of her chestnut curls and brushing them from the shoulders of her wool coat. With a sigh, she shrugged out of the garment and hung it on the coat tree beside the elevator. A flick of a switch illuminated lamps throughout the main floor of the loft and Natalie moved to light a blaze in the massive central fireplace. A plump grey feline moved appreciatively towards the fire as the flames began to generate heat. "Hiya Sydney," Natalie murmured, rubbing him gently behind the ears. She noted how age was creeping up on him and the arthritic limp of his rear right leg. "You don't appreciate this cold weather at all do you?" Leaving the warmth of the fire, she moved to the window and gazed out on the bright lights of the city, flickering through enormous snowflakes. Opening the window a crack she listened to the muted hum of Toronto and heard the faint strains of street carolers on some nearby corner. Christmas Eve. A deep sense of lonliness seem to permeate her very soul and, shivering, she shut the window. ********************************************************* "The nights are colder now Maybe I should close the door, And anyway the snow has covered all your footsteps And I can follow you no more. The fire still burns at night, My memories are warm and clear, But everybody knows it's hard to be alone At this time of year." ********************************************************* A discordant buzzing interrupted her reverie and she turned back to the lift to activate the security camera at the outer door below. The TV screen showed a delivery boy, carrying a long, narrow box and, with the faintest hint of a smile curling her lips, Natalie buzzed him up. When he'd left she laid the box tenderly on the table and untied the red ribbon that circled it end to end and around the middle. She knew before she lifted the lid what she'd find inside: ten blood red roses nestled in a bed of green sprigs of pine and holly berries. A similar offering arrived every Christmas Eve, and had for the past ten years. There was never a card. Natalie didn't need one. She knew from whom the flowers came, just as she knew who was responsible for the abundant bouquet of the most beautiful wildflowers imaginable that arrived each year on her birthday. "Nick," she sighed softly. "Oh Nick!" But she couldn't put words to the rest of the thought or the wish in her heart. She carefully placed the floral arrangement in the tall white vase, encircled by red and green swirls, that she'd bought years ago to hold this annual offering. Such a long time -- ten years. "How did we ever get to this," she wondered silently. But she knew. It had seemed like the right decision at the time. It had been decision time for Nick; a vampire can only stay in one incarnation so long before people start to notice that he's not looking much older than the day he arrived. And Natalie, at the time, felt burnt out from years of emotional turmoil and had spent considerable effort building walls to shut out the pain, the hopelessness - and Nick. Yet she had stayed here, in the place where they had shared so much, where so many memories still lingered in every corner. Practical reasons, she had told herself. Hard to turn down a lifetime lease and free rent. But she knew it was so much more than that. She needed to feel somehow close to him. Oh, she had tried to develop her social life again after he left, and there'd been no lack of opportunities. She had dated, once or twice seriously. Just when, she wondered, along the continuum of the decade, had she realized how futile that was, realized that she had given away her heart irrevocably and couldn't get it back no matter how much she wanted it. Still, she couldn't turn back the clock to change what had happened, the fact that he was gone. Truth was she was unwilling to pull him back into her life, unwilling to subject him to a life of watching her grow old and eventually die. Especially now, when that possibility seemed even more imminent and the growing old part no more than a faint hope. But she knew there was a way, if she chose to take it. He'd made that clear the day he left. Slowly she went to the hulking antique sideboard that had been her grandmother's, and opened one of the small, velvet-lined drawers along the top. She took out the jewellry box and held it in her hand for a long time, just looking at it. "Nat," he'd said, a strange huskiness in his voice, as he put the box in her hand and closed her other one over it. "Take this, keep it always. And, if you ever want me, wear it. I can't tell you how, but I'll know and, I promise I'll come." Finally, fighting the pricking of tears behind her eyes, Natalie flipped open the box. Inside on its bed of white velvet lay the most exquisite broach she'd ever seen: a delicate gold outline of a heart with one perfect diamond sparkling at its centre, and crossing the heart a gold filigree rose, its petals encrusted with tiny red rubies. Unique, one-of-a-kind, worth a fortune on the market, but worth so much more for what it meant. And Natalie knew very well what it meant, what it cost Nick in more than money. Swallowing the lump that kept rising in her throat, she closed the box and started to put it back in the drawer. Then, changing her mind she left it open, set it on top of the sideboard and headed for the stairs. ********************************************************* "It was only a winter's tale, Just another winter's tale, And why should the world take notice Of one more love that's failed. A love that can never be Though it meant a lot to you and me On a worldwide scale We're just another winter's tale." ********************************************************* A few hours later, Natalie stood again at the window of the loft, a glass of white wine in her hand. Sydney was contentedly curled in front of the hearth and most of the lights had been turned down, leaving the flickering firelight to cast its eerie shadows through the room. The small clock on the mantle struck twelve and, as if in response, church bells began to peel across the city, their faint clear ring carried on the cold night air. Midnight mass. It used to be a tradition but Natalie had long since given up most traditions, drawing more and more into her hermetic lifestyle and throwing herself into her work. But on a very few occasions, like Christmas Eve, she would let her guard down, if only privately, and allow herself to really think about Nick, about what she had lost, to remember, to call up the ghosts that lived in this loft and look them in the eye. Where was he tonight, she wondered. It could be as close as St. Catharines or as far away as Paris. She really had no idea. When a vampire is reborn in a new life, the old one is almost always left completely behind. There were exceptions in this case - the apartment, and the flowers which demonstrated clearly that he had not forgotten her. But it was more than that. Natalie always felt a somewhat comforting sense of being watched, watched tenderly, of never quite being alone even in her loneliest moments. Every so often little things seemed to get taken care of, little problems cleared up, as if by magic, or a very old power. She knew he was watching over her somehow and, at times, the desire to call out to him, to bring him to her, was overwhelming. But, just as she had shut away her feelings, pretending her love for him didn't exist when she let him go, she now used that very love to keep him away. She understood much more now what Nick's love for her had meant to both of them and how much more painful it would be, for him, to revive it. It's strange, she thought, how looking death in the face makes so many things clearer. "God grant me the strength to do this alone," she whispered. "And let Nick be happy." ******************************************************** "While I stand alone, A bell is ringing far away. I wonder if you hear it I wonder if you're listening I wonder where you are today. Good luck, I wish you well, For all that wishes may be worth. I hope that love and strength are with you For the length of your time on earth. ********************************************************* End of part 1 Continued in part 2 Ellen Ashton-Haiste ellen@execulink.com FreelanceInk P.O. Box 286 Innerkip, Ont., N0J 1M0 Disclaimers in part 1. A Winter's Tale Part Two By Ellen Ashton-Haiste From the window of his penthouse apartment in Carleton University= 's Glengarry House residence, Nicholas Garrison, once Nick Knight Metro Toronto homicide detective, looked contemplatively over the campus. The window was open slightly but he didn't feel the cold as he perched on the sill, sipping from a glass filled with a thick liquid. In the distance, beyond the university buildings, the lights of downtown Ottawa lit up the night sky. His acute hearing picked up the sound of the Rideau River as it cascaded over rocks and around miniature ice flows in the shallow section that cut along the far side of the campus. Behind him was a stack of essays, left behind by his medieval history students as they fled the campus for Christmas break. For ten years, this campus, nestled in the heart of Canada's capital, had been his home and an ideal one for a vampire. With most of t= he university buildings connected by a maze of underground tunnels, it was possible for him to get to his office and classroom in the windowless inn= er core of the arts tower at any time of day. But he knew that even ideal existences must sooner or later be le= ft behind and time was growing short in this one. It was a decision he'd hav= e to deal with but now he pushed it from his mind. His thoughts were drifting back rather than ahead, back to his la= st change of incarnations. He doubted any one in the future could be more painful than that one had been. In eight centuries he could hardly remember feeling such pain and loss. And while it had diminished somewhat over time, there was always an ache inside him, a longing that refused to go away. It was more acute lately. He knew what Natalie had been going through in the last two years. He had felt her pain, her fear, her despai= r. And he knew the cause. Natalie might not know his wherabouts but he kept a close eye on her. It had taken some considerable manoeuvring and calling in a few favours. But, in the end, even Aristotle had been glad to help the woman who had saved an entire vampire community from extinction by administerin= g an antidote for the plague that threatened to wipe them out. Throughout history there were precious few mortals who had been aware of the communi= ty and kept its secrets and Natalie had taken that one step further. So Aristotle =1F- the master creator of vampire incarnations - ma= de sure there was always someone working near her, close enough to know what was happening in her life but insignificant enough to escape her notice, someone to report back to him and ultimately to Nick. And now, Nick wanted nothing more than to be at her side, comforting her, supporting her and, above all, loving her. But she'd give= n no indication that she wanted him there and he wouldn't intrude again, wouldn't cause her more pain and grief. But as long as she was in the world, no matter how distant from him, a light shone in his life. When she ceased to exist, Nick felt how desolate a place it would be and doubted whether he wanted to continue in this incarnation or any other. Better, he thought to finally walk out into the warmth of the sunshine. There was always the chance he might find Natalie again, there = in the light. "Dangerous thoughts, mon ch=E9r." Nick jumped at the voice behind him and wondered that he had been so deep in thought that he hadn't sensed her presence. "Janette!" he said, turning into the room. "What are you doing here? And how do you know what I am thinking?" "I'm here, Nicola, because it is Christmas Eve and one shouldn't = be alone this night. Miklos can easily handle the few customers who aren't home with their families. "And after so many years, does it really surprise you that I can read your thoughts? We are more closely bonded than ever, after all, ch=E9rie." He stood and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Janette had develop= ed a profitable successor to the Raven just across the border in Hull, Quebe= c, where she revelled in the tastes of European culture in Canada's francophone province. She looked closely into his deep blue eyes and saw the pain that was almost always there. It was stronger tonight and it wasn't difficult = to know the reason. Nick sat on the couch and Janette perched herself on the arm, taking his hand in her two. "Why don't you go to her, Nicola?" she asked. He looked up, startled. "How can I?" "Easily. I understand there are daily flights between Ottawa and Toronto, even a red eye." "That's not what I mean and you know it," he replied sourly, looking away. She said nothing for a moment but sat contemplatively as if deciding on what she was about to say. "You know she needs you Nick," Janette said, finally. "And you kn= ow that you, above all others, could help her. Perhaps where no one else can= ." She didn't elaborate but Nick didn't need her to. It was a though= t that had been often in his mind. He knew Natalie was facing death and he knew that he could give her life in exchange, but his kind of life, and a life he'd refused her in the past. That, alone, was a never-quite-resolve= d issue between them and memories of it were painful for him and, he was sure, for her. He shook his head. "Janette, she doesn't want me in her life," he said, sadly. "She'= s always known how to call me back and she hasn't done it." Looking down at him affectionately, Janette reached out one hand and ran it through his tousled blond hair, slightly longer now than it ha= d ever been when he was with the police department. When she spoke her voic= e held an intense tenderness and gentleness and the faintest hint of amusement. "Oh Nicola, for someone who has lived for more than eight hundred years and courted dozens of women in that time, you still have such naivi= ty when it comes to our sex." He looked up at her with a puzzled expression. "Don't you know Natalie well enough to know that she would not ca= ll you back to her, especially now? She would not inflict that pain - or at least what she perceives as that pain - on anyone, espcially someone she cares very much about. And, despite everything that happened ten years ag= o Nick, she loved you very much." She paused for just a moment. "She needs you now more than ever and that is precisely why she will not ask for you." The puzzled expression remained on Nick's face, but in his eyes there was a dawning of something that Janette had not seen there for a ve= ry long time. Hope. End of part 2 Continued in part 3 Ellen Ashton-Haiste ellen@execulink.com FreelanceInk P.O. Box 286 Innerkip, Ont., N0J 1M0 Disclaimers in part 1. A Winter's Tale Part 3 By Ellen Ashton-Haiste With a tired sigh, Natalie put away the last of the dishes from the sink, poured another glass of wine and slowly turned back towards the fire. Carols played softly on the stereo. A small artificial tree on a wooden stand beside the fireplace glowed with coloured lights. Behind her she could hear Sydney munching happily on the remains of a Cornish hen, her concession to Christmas dinner. Cooking a turkey, even a small one, for one person seemed ridiculous, particularly since her meagre appetite barely allowed her to consume one small hen. Curling up on the couch she sipped the wine and put the glass down on the coffee table. There beside it was the jewellry box, the gold heart and rose. She picked it up and held it tightly, holding it with her gaze as if that might open a magical doorway to a connection with Nick. Emotions swept over her in a wave. It seemed so hard to keep them in check anymore. She looked around the loft and everywhere she saw him - standing by the fireplace, smiling with that delightfully boyish grin and holding out his hand to her; on the stair landing just wakened and still dishelveled from sleep; in the kitchen taking one of the once-so-familiar green bottles from the fridge; seated at the now-phantom grand piano playing tunes he had learned from Beethoven. She could almost feel his cool, light kisses on her cheek and forehead. "Oh God, Nick," she moaned softly and, finally, let the tears come, streaming unchecked down her face. Such welcome release. She was startled by the sound of the lift settling into its upper perch; her head snapped up in alarm. There were a still few people who had keys to her apartment, but none who should be coming by unexpectedly on Christmas night. Before she had a chance to do more than jump to her feet and turn, the heavy doors slid back. She was sure she must have fallen asleep and be dreaming. He was there, stepping into the apartment, long black coat billowing behind him. "Nick!" it was more a breath, a sigh being released than a word spoken. For a few long moments time seemed to hang suspended. "Nat," he said. "I..." His voice broke the dream and she suddenly felt her knees begin to buckle. She reached out futilely to hold something and in less than a heartbeat he was beside her, his arm holding her lightly around the waist. God, she'd forgotten that speed! He held her easily. Her extreme thinness had not been lost on him when he entered and now he noted that holding her was like holding onto a feather. "Nat, I'm sorry I startled you," he began. "I had to come. I needed to see you." He stopped as he caught sight of the jewellry box she still clutched in her hand and he was aware, for the first time, of the fresh tears on her face. She followed his gaze to the gold heart and raised her eyes back to his, glistening again with the tears welling up inside her. She didn't trust her voice and was almost afraid if she spoke this magic would disappear and she'd find herself alone again in her desolation. So instead she allowed herself to lean into him, resting her head on his shoulder. The action was word enough for Nick and he encircled her in his embrace and held her to him, tenderly as if he was afraid he might crush her. Nick buried his face in her hair, allowing himself momentarily to breathe in the sweet, overpowering scent of her blood. She still smelled like roses, but he detected the faint, unpleasant odour of the medication beneath it and that caused a physical pain in his heart. After a few minutes, which seemed to Natalie at the same time an eternity and all too short, he released her and guided her to the couch, forcing her to sit. Shedding his coat, he seated himself next to her, his arm draped casually over the back, his hand just behind her head. A faint smile curled the corners of his lips. "Well, you haven't kicked me out yet. That's a good sign I think." She was still looking at him in wonderment. "I'm not sure you're real," she whispered finally. "As real as a vampire gets," he assured her, his smile widening a bit. Suddenly the woman in Nat was acutely aware of the tear streaks on her face, of the stirrup pants and oversize sweatshirt that accentuated how thin she had become and of the fact that, expecting no one, she had forgone her usual 45-minute ritual at the make-up mirror, covering what she saw as the ravages of sickness on her face. "My God I'm such a mess," she said, lowering her face and letting her hair fall over it while she wiped away the wetness on her sleeve. Nick reached over and gently turned her face back to him, looking deep into her eyes. The hand behind her head tangled itself in her curls and the other moved to take hers and held it gently but firmly. "You're beautiful, Nat," he said softly. "Just as beautiful as I remember." He paused a moment and added . "And even if you were old and wrinkled and shriveled up, you would still be beautiful. It's impossible to destroy beauty that comes from within." Tears welled up in her eyes again and spilled down her cheeks. "Oh God," she said. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me these days." And she swiped at them again with her sleeve. "It's okay, Nat." She looked at him finally and took a long, quavering breath as she spoke the truth from her heart. "God, Nick, it is good to see you. I never thought I would. And, I have wanted you... so much... so often!" "Then why?..." "Why? Because I couldn't bring myself to cause you any more pain. Because I think I hurt you enough in the past to last 20 lifetimes. Because I love you far too much to ask you to watch me die." He felt his heart constrict in his chest and the rare feeling of tears prickling at his own eyes. "We have a lot to talk about, Nat," he said. She nooded silently, holding his eyes with hers. ********************************************************* "It was only a winter's tale, Just another winter's tale And, why should the world take notice Of one more love that's failed. It's a love that can never be Though it meant a lot to you and me On a worldwide scale We're just another winter's tale." ********************************************************* Her attention was diverted by the words of the Christmas song, playing on the stereo. He saw the diversion and listened, picking up every soft word clearly. "Always such a sad song," she murmured. "It always makes me think of us." Closing his eyes tightly to hold in the tears, Nick slid closer to her on the couch and pulled her gently into his side, planting soft kisses on her forehead and the tip of her nose. But there was a hint of a smile on his lips as he said. "Well, Nat, we may be a winter's tale, but the end of that tale hasn't been written yet." The End Ellen Ashton-Haiste ellen@execulink.com FreelanceInk P.O. Box 286 Innerkip, Ont., N0J 1M0