Date: Fri, 20 Dec 1996 16:22:38 +0800 Reply-To: Michelle David Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Michelle David Subject: Another Day (01/?) To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L A story that's been floating around in my head lately. Not finished yet, but I'm pretty sure of how it will turn out. It's more COTK than NNP, tho. I'm working on several stories, along with battling the chaos of Real Life of the holidays, but I should finish it soon. Also, LC complains about Fleur a lot (Faithful Faithful Faithful, yaaah!). Standard disclaimers. Send Ribena, M&M's (preferably w/ lots of reds in 'em ;-), Nick-on-a-stick (Nat got a crispy-fried for her b-day!), Nick & Uncle Collector's Edition Playsets (if you're an 18 or older UFer, I'll explain how you use 'em ) and flames, comments, and feedback to: cuznmd@philonline.com.ph or GabeKnight@hotmail.com Another Day By Michelle David ******* I walk slowly into the dark room, not bothering to turn on a light. I can see him without one. And yet, a fancy enters me, and I reach for a candle, which I light. Carefully, I place it on the bedside table. A wave of hunger courses through me, and I think in distaste of the highly disgusting bovine drink he so carefully keeps stock of. The strain of what I had done to her had drained me, and the thought of the hunt flashes through my mind. But no. I must stay here, with him, until he recovers. I walk back into the kitchen, past her staring form, getting a bottle, pouring myself a glass of the liquid. It slightly nauseates me, but I sip it. A slight grimace at the cold, stale taste. Another glance at the new vampire. She has of course sated her first hunger, and wants nothing- I took her out, and she successfully fed within an hour. So I return to the bedroom, again past her silent form, who now looks out a window. Back to his bedside, back to his sleeping body. I gaze at his face, and although he thinks himself the farthest thing possible, I cannot help but to deify his angelic beauty, see him as a god. He would never allow it were he conscious, but I reach out with a pale hand and caress his cheek quickly, trying hard to savor this too rare moment, a fleeting chance that I feel I will never have again. When he recovers, he will hate me. I know it. The pain in his face, when he asked me to do the unthinkable, was genuine. Am I jealous of his deep affections for her? Perhaps. Because it has burned inside me, the rage and envy that he loved another. Love I have pined for, needed for the seven hundred plus years he has lived on and on, lived beside me, yet not with me. Love I tried to sate with his almost equally charming sister, which I had painfully severed. At his pleading, of course. Only when he begged. Had he not, I would have brought her across in a second. But, why do I fear his hate? So many times I have tried to manipulate him, to change his course. To veer him away from his illogical fantasies of mortality, to bring him back into the fold, back with me. And every time he has come back with more wounds that are forever open, that never have healed. Not even the powerful physiology we possess as vampires can heal wounds of the heart. But this time, I fear it is the last time, for him, for his wanting heart. Why? I do not know. Why do I stay with him by his side, trail after him, remain three steps ahead of him? Why don't I abandon him, let him pursue his childish quest, find another like him? So many times I have thought to. But where will I ever find another of his beauty, of his sensitive soul, of his grace and charm? He is my savior, but will not accept it. He does not see, he does not realize, how much he means to me. He doesn't to see, or does not want to see, how he, and he alone, has filled my heart. But only if he would fill it completely, acknowledge that I love him and need him. To fill me finally, with the peace and calm to have been tormented by, like a mongrel searching for a few scraps left by careless owners. How can I abandon my child? After 800 years, I can't see myself up and leaving him, starting anew. He sees me as spiteful, hateful. He sees me as one who does not care, who will not care, one who is cruel and sadistic. How far from the truth that is. But I must keep my facade, I must remain this way while with him, I can not let any weakness show, for I too dearly know the consequences of letting my emotions out. He should know it by now, especially when the lust overtook him last night. As I look at this quiet child, I am mildly surprised that I have not touched my drink. One part of me thinks it is no small wonder, no self-respecting denizen of the night would drink this. But another part, a part steadily growing larger and larger, tells me that it is because my love for him, the sorrow and love that racks my body, has driven away any hunger, eliminated the craving for blood. I examine him carefully. He is quickly recovering from the wound I have inflicted on him, cleanly through the shoulder. I regret having hurt him, but it was vital, he would have objected to anything I would do to his 'love' while he was conscious. I suddenly feel hateful of her, the woman who had stolen his heart, led him away from me with her talk of a 'cure', her encouragement to tear away from his natural instincts. But I have waited at the sidelines, stepping in occasionally to see him, talk, glimpse into his psyche. Why have I now intloor, I had finally come to the limit. Like it or not, he was leaving her. Even in death, she would haunt him. But when he had asked me to do *it*, to end his life, I had felt an incredible void, as though my heart had been ripped out. Or that perhaps it was the part he had filled, drained away like blood, with the lethal request. It had been a selfish gesture, true, to hurt him, but I was not completely filled with remorse. But bringing her across... why had I done it? To make him happy? This seemed to be the most logical choice. But could I really face it, could I really face seeing them together every night together? Two happy lovers, content, while I wait here in the shadows, writhing in so many emotions? To endure for an eternity her face, a face he would have easily died for, and yet, he would as easily kill me? Or, at least he would have once. He wouldn't now. Recent events- my daughter's terrifying return, the amnesia incident, has brought us so much closer together. And I feel solace, comfort in this fact. ************ Michelle cuznmd@philonline.com.ph GabeKnight@hotmail.com Cousin, COTK, Faithful, Valentine, UF, Nick&Natpacker "And all the scars of the nevers and maybes die..."-Rent Date: Fri, 20 Dec 1996 16:22:46 +0800 Reply-To: Michelle David Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Michelle David Subject: Another Day (02/?) To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Part Two of "Another Day", otherwise known as the grande angst-o-rama. cuznmd@philonline.com.ph or GabeKnight@hotmail.com Note: Nat just exits the *room*, not the loft. At least, not at this point. Standard disclaimers. ****** He's going to hate me, I know it. I'm not blind, he regrets bringing me across. He's been silent all night, hasn't spoken to me, refuses to look at me. Just brought me across, took me out, knocked someone out, let me feed, and disposed of the body. Hardly the sensuous sense of nirvana Nick spoke of in such rich detail. Why did he bring me across? I was still alive, of course, but that wasn't all. I was still able to hear, and when I heard Nick ask for death, I wanted to grab him, tell him no, no, he was strong, he could go on without me. That he couldn't throw away his life for a mortal, that he should keep on going, keep on searching for mortality, don't give up. If he died, he should die of natural causes, not with a stake through the heart. After a moment of debate, I walk into the bedroom. LaCroix is sitting on the mattress, watching over Nick. He senses my presence, and stiffens somewhat. "Can I come in?" I ask. I'm surprised, my voice is a little rough, and I nervously clear it. "Certainly, Natalie," he says, his voice understandably cold. Hesitantly, I walk in, and stand by LaCroix. Even more than when I was mortal, his presence, the power he extrudes, almost overwhelms me. "I... how's he doing?" LaCroix shrugs. "He's recovering as well as he can." "Oh," I say lamely. I sit on the other side of Nick, and don't fail to notice the symbolism. Nick in the middle of the two of us. I speak. "When- where are you going?" He seems surprised by this question. "Why do you ask?" Of course, he had not taken into account an extra traveler to wherever he's going. He had been prepared and hoped for up to two, no more. "I... I want to know. I want to know if I may stay with Nick," I say. A night old, and I have already humbled myself to my maker. "Do you think Nicholas would want you?" Blunt. I'm surprised. "I... I don't know," I answer honestly. *Would* Nick still want me? He loved me as a mortal, but maybe it was he loved me *because* I was mortal. Now that I'm a vampire, now that I've lost the innocence and purity he craves, will he still love me? The woman, not the mortality? Will he hate me, seeing my humanity stripped away? LaCroix knows what I'm thinking, of course. He can sense my doubts and fears. He can sense that I'm honestly scared, truly worried, that I don't know where to go, who to go to. Perhaps he takes pity on me. Gently, he says, "He will awaken soon. Perhaps you'd like to be alone with him." He stands and leaves. "Thank you." It's all I can say. I clear my mind and hold Nick's hand, amazed to find myself here with him, amazed that he is still alive, that I'm still alive. For five minutes, I just sit there with him. He begins to stir. I can sense it, his breathing is a bit deeper, I can almost feel a pulse. "Nick," I whisper softly. "It's Nat." "Nat?" he rasps. Suddenly, he remembers everything. His eyes shoot open. I strain to comfort him. "Shh," I say. "You've got a bad injury, a shoulder wound. Don't tax yourself." He relaxes a bit. "Nat... he brought you across, didn't he?" he asks, and he is bitter. I grasp his hand even tighter. "Yes... yes he did," I admit. "Nat... Nat, I'm so sorry," he mutters. "No, it's a good thing. I would have died, but I'm alive," I say. Feeble consolation. "I'm alive, Nick. I'm right here, with you." I pause. Can he answer this? "Why? You're... you're not happy that I'm here?" Feebly, he attempts to sit up. He succeeds to some extent. "I... I just can't believe he brought you across," he says. "I... I do love you, Nat, but..." Frantic attempt to find the right words, "You're a vampire! It's... it's unbelieveable." "You can't love another vampire this time around, Nick?" I asked, suddenly angry, annoyed at his feebleness, his inability to accept me. Of course I'm surprised, but damn! I'm truly sick of it, of all of the angst. "Oh, with Janette it was great, but not with Natalie..." I bite my lip. "Dammit, Nick!" Angry, I stand. "Nick... I'll see you later. Get some rest." Eloquent way to say farewell for now. "Nat, please, I-" By now, I've already stormed out of the room. ******* Michelle cuznmd@philonline.com.ph GabeKnight@hotmail.com Cousin, COTK, Faithful, Valentine, UF, Nick&Natpacker "And all the scars of the nevers and maybes die..."-Rent Date: Thu, 2 Jan 1997 22:43:58 +0800 Reply-To: Michelle David Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Michelle David Subject: Another Day (3/?) To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L X-Status: Part three of "Another Day". Sorry if I spelled the name of the dancer from Love You to Death wrong. Haven't seen it for a while. Also, apologies for how late this is. I went on an unexpected trip, then had to wrestle w/ ISP troubles. I've got *600*+ messages downloading right now. I'm sorry for any typos or grammatical errors you may encounter. I'm workin' on this story whenever I have free time, tho (unless I'm rotting my already fragile brain playing SimCity2000...). If you want to offer any suggestions at all, just drop a line, huh? (read: Help!) :-) Standard disclaimers. Nick, LC, and all of the characters mentioned belong to TriStar- at least according to their name tage. Suggestions, flames, comments, M&M's (lots of reds&blues(, Nick-on-a-sticks, Janette & Uncle Collector's Edition Playsets (although my Nick & Uncle Playset's already broken- don't ask) and ribena to: cuznmd@philonline.com.ph or GabeKnight@hotmail.com I'm *really* interested in gettin' feedback, people! My COTK side, and NNP side, my Valentine side are all battling each other over this story! Grrr... ********** Natalie emerges from the bedroom slowly, silent. She goes to the refrigerator, pulls out a bottle of cow's blood. Reluctantly, she drinks from it, and promptly gags. "Not too quickly, Natalie," I instruct. "Nicholas is used to it." She smiles weakly. "I guess he has more willpower than I thought," she jokes. I am serious. "How is he, Natalie?" I ask. I sense her emotions, but they are in a turmoil. Anger, sadness, confusion... She stands in front of the refrigerator, back to me. "I... can I go to my apartment? I need to change, take a bath." I glance out the window. We have been here a long time, and it is already 6:30 at night. "You must return quickly." Let her sort her thoughts out. I need to talk with her brother. I trust her judgement for now will prevent her from doing anything too harsh. Noticeably, I don't comment on her non-response to my question. I don't feel like speaking to her. "Thank you." She's intimidated by me, I know. What I don't know if that is good or bad. She opens the elevator door. "Do you want to speak to him?" she asks. "Yes, I would." Without waiting for a response, I walk into the bedroom, hearing the elevator slide shut. Nicholas has lain back, his eyes closed, but he is not sleeping. He is troubled, troubled by Natalie, troubled by the fact he still lives. I had heard their conversation earlier; he is most likely drained from it, emotionally. Eyes still closed, he speaks to me, voice soft and even. "LaCroix. You brought her across." Suddenly, I am filled with an incredible fear. I cannot face him, I can't tell him I went against something he had begged me for, that I had torn him from the comforting hold of death, both him and Natalie, that I had 'condemned' Natalie, that I had doubly damned Nicholas. I turn away, gathering my courage. "Yes. I brought her across, and she lives. She lives for you." "She's not a toy," he whispers. I suddenly recall once, when Nicholas tried to leave, Janette had attempted to comfort me. "We... we can get a new one," she said. "I dont want a *new* one, I like *that* one!" I had rasped to her. I had brought Nicholas across mostly on the whim of Janette, for a new plaything, and now I treasured him more than she ever had. I brought Natalie across for Nicholas, who desired her, even if he denied it to himself. I wanted to grab him, strike him, tell him to stop his infernal angst, to accept the new child, the one born expressly for him. Only for him. How many sacrifices had I made for Nicholas? Countless. How many times had Nicholas caused me emotional distress, indescribable anger? Too many times. I gave him what he wanted, I gave him everything, even if he protested transparently, I knew when he craved something, someone, and I got it for him, procured it in any way possible. Whatever kept him close as possible to me. Most of the time. And, touched as I was, I would like to think I was something more than his closest friend. Through blood and time, I am his father and brother, his master. But I suppose that this has shown how far we have come since my first appearance in Toronto. For a century, we have not enjoyed the kind of hesitant harmony we did in the last few months. Never so intimate a moment as when he came for guidance with a bout of amnesia. "I suppose you weren't?" I ask sharply. I turn away from the bed, keep my back to him, stare at the wall hard enough to burn a hole. I turn to him, and he opens his eyes. "I... But I don't want her," he feebly protests. "I can't love her this way." "Alyssa." Bring out into the open dark memories, remind Nicholas of past follies. The candle is still on the nightstand. Nicholas focuses on it. "I was younger than, ignorant. With Natalie, I've discovered a woman who defies what I embody, yet loves me all the same. How can I love her now that she is... one of us?" "One of us?" I snap. "I'm so sorry, Nicholas, if I've damaged your lady love." I should have killed her on Valentine's Day, before the emotional bond was too tightly bound, before they developed the intimacy for each other they had that had almost driven Nicholas to killing her. He feels my rage, he feels my hate. Love is low priority compared to these other emotions when they flow in my blood. Nicholas cannot feel it. He has not felt it. Ever. And I suppose he never will. He counters the reminder of his once bride. "Sylavaine," he says. "I loved her, too." "It was an infatuation." But I think for a moment. Despite what he said about Fleur, he was a victim of falling in love with a woman's simple innocence more than anything else. True, he was manipulated, but he willingly killed her himself. I had not realized then what a terrible price that would pay her- her death, his realiztion of my manipulation, is what kept finally tore him from my fragile grip, what caused him to begin to turn away. At the time, I had simply been annoyed at the prospect of the dancer as an immortal. "You loved her innocence, nothing more." I want to keep my child happy, true, but I also want it to be of a benifical nature. When the dancer would lose her 'innocence', as Nicholas called it, he would be repelled by her, see beyond the fresh-and-innocent facade. Lost time, and the inconviencience of an undesired companion. With Natalie, it was different. The end of the rope. He had taken too many blows by the time of draining Natalie; the loss of his vampire friends, then his partner, coupled with the other factors, such as the demon posession, had worn him down. I'm not yet sure how Natalie will turn out in a hundred years or so- should she live to be that old-, but something tells me she will be vital for Nicholas' sanity, peace of mind, now. He sees the truth in it, and remains silent on that issue, letting the issue hang above us, unresolved. But not on others. "It still doesn't change the fact that I asked you to kill me," he says firmly. "I meant that, I really did." "When Natalie was almost dead and you thought she was long gone, only then you wanted death. 'Condemn her'? How can you condemn her? How could you condemn her? She was too far gone. *You* were too far gone." Spoken bitterly, angrily. "You'll live another day, Nicholas. As will she. And if she is condemned, at least cherish the fact the two of you will be together. Burning or blessed. You will be together, as you have begged. Don't start it with me now, going on forever about your past regrets that involve Natalie. You have her. Don't ask for anything else. Don't accuse me of cheating you." I bite my lip, drawing blood for a few seconds. We keep our positions for several moments. Nicholas is still in pain, and lies in the bed. I stand away from him. Suddenly, I realize that he must be thirsty. "Do you want something to drink?" I ask, pretending the entire conversation had not happened. For now. He is surprised at my abrupt change in topic. "Ah, yes, I suppose," he lamely responds. "Have you anything else but cow? You really do need a better sustenance right now." I suspect he does have a bottle, for an emergency. He nods. "It's in the kitchen, bottom left cabinet." Back to the bedroom, equipped with a bottle of human blood and a glass. Sitting on the mattress to his left, I open the bottle for him and carefully pour a glass; the shoulder wound has inhibited the use of his right hand severely. Luckily, it should fully heal within twenty four hours. He takes it awkwardly in his left hand, and drains it quickly. I raise an eyebrow and merely hand him the bottle. "Thanks," he mutters. I watch him as he sips more slowly from the bottle, obviously hesitant. I then think of something, something which had also flashed through my mind upon confronting him with the almost-dead Natalie. "Are you giving up?" I ask hesitantly, hoping against hope what he will say. "My search?" Cautious voice, unsure. "Yes." He closes his eyes in thought. "I... I don't know. Losing Natalie's mortality, all of the backsliding, all the people I've hurt... Tracy wouldn't have died if I wasn't there." Not a definite response. I can't sense his decision, his mind is clouded with confusion. "Is that a yes or no?" He opens his eyes and stares directly at me. His voice is calm, but uneven. "I... I honestly don't know." The words hang, dark, heavy, and pendulous. "I don't know." He explains, hesitant. "Nat didn't find the cure, though... she tried, she really tried. And look what I gave her. I condemned her." I flinch. "And... I think about everything I've done to the people around me. All because of my cure, because I became a police officer. But then I think of everyone I've saved, all the cases I've solved, because I'm a vampire. Because of my powers." "There's a happy medium," I offer. "Resume your job as detective if you like. But don't involve other people in... side projects." Often he has endeavored to function as a mortal, I see why not again, if much caution is excercised. But still, "It is only when you let people know of your true identity and let them live, only then do you encounter problems." No response, he is deep in thought. He looks tired, withdrawn. I know why. "She'll forgive you in due time," I tell him. "She has an eternity to think about it." With a bitter smile, I think to myself that Nicholas has yet to fully forgive me for bringing him across. Nicholas seems to be on the same train of thought, because his eyes suddenly catch mine, and he stares intently at me for a few moments. I return the gaze, looking into his clear blue eyes, not as clouded, not as dark as I would think they would be here and now. Finally he speaks. "Yes, LaCroix. I just don't know when." Leaving as to what exactly he is speaking about ambiguous. I glance at the clock on the nightstand. 7:00 PM. I wonder briefly how Natalie is holding out. My newest child, sitting in her apartment, clutching a bottle in one hand, her cat in the other. I suddenly smile at the thought, then sigh. She is most likely moping about. Nevertheless, she will return eventually. They always do. Nicholas has lowered his gaze, awkwardly playing with his bedsheets. He looks tired, very tired. But I am moved to say something else. As I am sitting to his left, it is easy to carefully and deliberately take his left hand in my right hand. His hand is not rough, but strong and ready. I'm surprised I've noticed a detail such as this, and wonder why I've never observed this before. There are no scars on his hands, no hint of how eight hundred years ago he was a solider. An almost perfect hand. He stares at me, obviously surprised at this unusually intimate gesture. Yet he does not say anything, waits for me to make the first move. I do. Speaking in a low voice, and keeping my eyes on our hands, I say, "I understand you do not fully comprehend my motives for bringing Natalie across. Yet I remain confident you have a good understanding as to why I have allowed you to remain... why I have not killed you. I myself do not quite know why I did it, exactly." I look up at him. "But it was indeed a sacrifice, Nicholas. I hope you appreciate it." I don't move for a moment, and he does not respond. Then quite suddenly, I let go of his hand and stand. "I'll... leave you to rest, Nicholas," I conclude, heading out of the room. When I sit down on the sofa, trying to relax, I realize I was trembling. ***** End Part 3 Date: Wed, 15 Jan 1997 20:53:02 +0800 Reply-To: Michelle David Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Michelle David Subject: Another Day (04/?) To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Part Four! Thanx to everyone for the emails of encouragement and suggestions. Standard disclaimers. Nat, LC, Sydney, Nick, et. al. belong to TPTB, and I'll return them as soon as I'm finished. Note: Knowledge of Richard Lambert's trials 'n tribulations (IWR) is nessecary for maximum enjoyment of this story. I'm using mentions his family from the Virtual Season Ep 'The Outcast State'. Ribena, chocolate, Nick & Uncle Collector's Edition Playsets, questions, comments, req. for missing parts, please send 'em to: cuznmd@philonline.com.ph All flames go straight to hell, BTW. ******** I land quickly in an alleyway next to my apartment building, and my hands instantly shoot out to get support from a nearby wall. The entire sensation of flight *stuns* me. Taking to air, not being constrained by the ground... it's truly amazing. LaCroix had taught me how to fly. In fact, it's the only thing he's taught me, in my brief time of being under his tutelage. Slowly and furitively, I enter my apartment, not bothering to turn on a light; my eyes adjust quickly, and there's no need for lights. Besides, the moon shines in through a window, early evening rays casting shadows and light over the room. I'm hungry again, and strain to remember if I have any blood. With a smile, I realize I do- I bottle of cow blood in the fridge. Crossing over to the kitchen (by walking), I open the fridge. The bottle is in the vegetable crisper, next to lettuce. "I suppose I won't need *that* anymore," I say aloud. In response comes a planitive "Meow", and I turn from the fridge to smile at the little tabby staring curiously at me. "Hey there, Sydney," I coo, taking him into my arms. He meows again. I scratch him behind his ears. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry for neglecting you," I apologize to the tabby. Suddenly, I smell his blood. His fur feels warm, almost hot. I can hear his feline heartbeat, and catch a whiff of his blood. It smells thick and warm, sweet. Horrified, I sit him on the counter, and grab the bottle. Quickly, I look for a bottle opener. Finding none, I tear the cork out, and drink deep, ignoring the nausea my stomach reports. After a few moments, I let go. The bottle is three-fourths of the way empty. The taste in my mouth is cold, lingering. And yet, the sudden, furious hunger is gone. I sigh shakily, and put it back in the refrigerator, among last week's leftovers, various drinks, junk food, and things I won't use again. "Sorry," I mutter to the curious cat. I set Sydney down on the tiled floor. "Hold on," I tell him, fetching a can of cat food (Whiskas) and his dish. He's probably even hungrier than I am, considering he hasn't eaten in almost 24 hours. Opening the can, I dump all of it in his dish at once, then drop it unceremoniously on the floor. Watching him eat, I speak aloud. "Oh, Sydney. What am I going to do?" My hand picks up the bottle again, and I stare at its cold red depths. I've only fed once, my first hunger. He had been a pusher, loitering in a filthy alleyway, looking for more lost souls. Tall, lanky, wearing black to blend in with the shadows of the night. We had landed in an alley next to him, and LaCroix had quickly decided to have me feed from him. LaCroix snuck up to him with hunter's prowess, and delivered a blow to the head. A mild one for his standards, devastating for the pusher's, who promptly slipped into unconsciousness. LaCroix pulled him behind a dumpster, and then looked directly at me. Cold blue eyes. A hand went to the man's head. Pushed it back, exposing the ripeness of the jugular. "Drink." A single word, containing everything I was to live for. Fangs bared before I knew it. Teeth brought down to the rich blood, drinking deep. Feeling the white hot expolsion of red in my mouth. Warm liquid caressing my lips, tounge, the inside of my throat. Tasting warm sweetness. The rush of stimulants. Sensual. Drinking deep, pulling away from him and into me intoxicating rapture. And suddenly, it was over. LaCroix put a firm hand on my shoulder, pushed me away. "He's gone." Everything Nick had said. And I felt it all. Disgusted, I put the bottle down and glance at Sydney, who has finished his food. "Oh, you're a hungry one," I say, picking up his dish and putting it in the sink. Sydney meows and begins grooming. The ring of the telephone startles me. I hurry over and pick it up before the second ring. "Natalie's Bed and Breakfast," I sing, despite myself. "Hey, Nat?" the voice asks. I smile. "Oh, hi, Sara," I say, sitting down on the sofa with the phone. "How's it going?" I haven't spoken to my sister-in-law- my former sister in law- in ages. There was the funeral, then a brief conversation a couple of months back, very casual yet stiff... "Fine, fine. Uh, I was calling because I had a question..." "Yeah?" "Um... this is sort of hard for me to say..." her voice trailed off. Then, hesitantly, "It's about Richard." I froze on the sofa. I wasn't comfortable talking about him, and I knew it would take a long time- hell, I had that- before I could. "Oh," I managed. "What is it?" I asked gently. "Well... I have a question. He... in his will..." she sighed, and I could tell she was as uncomfortable as me. "I just got the stuff out of storage now. And there's some stuff... albums, books... I don't really know the half of what these things might have meant to him." Pause. "Would you like them? I've got several boxes..." I remember. I think of an album he put together in high school, pictures of him, me, the whole family, indulging in various frivolous activites, going on a picnic at this great park, at my college graduation... "Nat?" the other voice asks. "Oh. Um... yeah. Hey, we can work out shipping costs," I say, trying to keep as light a tone to the conversation as possible. "Great." Pause. "Listen, I have to go. Amy has a doctor's appointment in half an hour." "Okay. I'll call you later." The click at the other end of the phone line. I stare at the phone reciever for a moment, lost in a reverie of memories. Richard... he was like me. Almost dead, at the brink. But Nick had brought him back, hadn't he? Worked blood magic on him... And then he had spun out of control, too far gone. I bite my lip, and cut it. Before it heals, I feel droplets enter my mouth. Awakening the overactive bloodlust again. The cow's blood is in the kitchen, I realize, putting down the phone to head there. But I pass a mirror, and can't help but look. My eyes are feral gold, flecks of normal brownish-hazel in them, and I scare myself looking at the image. I calm down, and carefully open my mouth. God, the canines seem enormous. Large, deadly teeth. Horrified, I close my mouth, and turn away, closing my eyes. Through the obstacle of the fangs, I ask aloud, "Is this what I am?" A solitary blood tear. Richard, god, what did you go through? Nick, did you know that would happen? The bloodlust receeds quickly, eyes and mouth returning to normal. Leaning against the wall for support, I realize I am in dire need of a shower. Blood and dirt cake my clothes, my hair is dull and in a disarray. Carefully, I head over to the bathroom, turning the water to steaming hot. Stripping, I put the clothes in the hamper, wondering if i'll ever get the stains out. The shower takes at least half an hour, during which I try my best to focus on the hot water, trying to distance myself from thoughts of Nick, LaCroix, Richard, my new vampyric status. Reveling in the heat, relaxing as much as I can. I finally bring myself back to reality, stepping out of the shower and savoring the steam of the bathroom. Drying my hair, I head into the bedroom, wondering what I should wear. I'm going back to Nick's loft, I realize. It's the only place I can go to now. I want to be by Nick, even if I have to endure being by LaCroix. Sitting on my bed, I start to think. My life was in a mess, I accuarately sumrised. Nick... well, I suppose he was being Nick. He was pushing me away, he was shocked. For obvious reasons. I'm trying my damndest to forgive him, but I can't. I suppose I'm simply angry at him because... he's betrayed me. I trusted him. I had faith in him. And look what happened. I bet Nick won't even look at me, now that I'm not mortal. When I was mortal, Nick saw me in a totally different way. He saw a mortal who cared for him in spite of what he was, not because of it, who didn't run from him or start drooling over him. He loved me, I know that. But now, as a vampire- as his sister, not even his child- he sees me completely different. As a corrupted being, damned because of what he did, because he couldn't control the beast. Of course I was mad at him, I still am. But i'm willing to forgive him. But the fact that he won't forgive himself, that he'll berate himself endlessly, that's what is stinging me. The realization helps me calm down somewhat, and I decide I should get dressed now. Digging through my closet, I select a pair of black slacks and a deep blue blouse. Tossing on my coat, I exit the apartment, after promising Sydney that I will return. ******** The loft is silent as I slide the door open, but I sense both LaCroix and Nick in there. As I had predicted, LaCroix is sitting on the sofa in the living room. He glances up at me from the sofa, but doesn't move. "Nicholas is sleeping," he states, obviously not wanting me to go up to his room. Nevertheless, I head up the stairs. To my surprise, LaCroix doesn't try to stop me. Nick isn't sleeping. He has settled into a reclining position, but isn't sleeping. I note the empty bottle and winegless next to him. He looks at me as I enter the room, but doesn't speak. I smile tenatively. "Hey," I say softly. "How's it going?" I sit by him, to his left, where there's more room; he's lying on the right side of the bed. He stares at me. He's surprised, I know. "Nat," he says softly. "Nick," I interrupt. "I'm sorry for blowing up at you earlier. But there's a lot that's misunderstood between us. I mean, I know I shouldn't have started ranting about love and death so soon. I just... I was rushing into it too quick, and I shouldn't have." There's a moment of silence as he thinks about what I've said. Then, "It's just... when I found out that LaCroix had brought you across, I felt so powerless. I felt like someone pulled the rug out from under me, but that I'd been setting myself up. I was so confused... I am confused, actually. I don't know..." his voice trailed off. I am touched by all of this, and suddenly hug him tightly. "Oh, Nick..." I whisper. His lips brush mine, and I feel a tear trickle down his cheek. But I don't move to brush it away, but try to hold him forever. ****** Michelle cuznmd@philonline.com.ph Cousin, COTK, Faithful, Valentine, UF, Nick&Natpacker, giving in to my MLC side "With all my heart, I still love the man I killed." 'The Letter', 1940 Date: Sun, 26 Jan 1997 14:01:13 +0800 Reply-To: Michelle David Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Michelle David Subject: Another Day (05/05) To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Part Five. We're back to LC's POV. Sorry for the delay, but RL and all... I wrote this part in one sitting, actually. One *long* sitting, admittedly, but still one sitting. One long sitting that went late into the night... forgive any typos, please. It's the last part, so PLEAAAASSSSEEEEE send in comments! Or else I may never write again! (I can hear the cheers myself, thank you very much. :-) I'm sorry if it seems a bit contrived, also. But I was feeling guilty for not having finished it at *all* considering I started it over a month ago. Send all comments, feedback, ribena, Nat & Nick & 200,000 Gallons of Whipped Cream (JADFE story in progress? ) Collector's Edition Playsets and M&M's to: cuznmd@philonline.com.ph Please send all flames to complaints@hell.com *smile* I'm reaaalllly sorry if you don't like the character mindsets. But still, no flames please. I mean, *I* thought it nessecary to beat Nat up a bit. P.S. I fiddled around with format, so the lines should wrap for Netscape users if it previously didn't. Heyyy... we don't need no stinkin' disclaimers, I hear! Kewl!!! ******* "Nick, don't worry. I still love you." Sweet, saccharine voices, soothing and sickening at the same time. Her sweet, calm, gentle reassurances to my child, convincing him that ahead lay 'salvation', as they so pathetically call the slow arduous journey to death. "Nat... do you forgive me?" A hesitation. "We'll see, Nick." I try to wait the exchanges out, but do not. Gliding up the stairs, I glance inside, loathe to discover what adulations of love they have encompassed themselves in this time. Indeed, my newest child is wrapped securely in his embrace, content in enjoying his love. I remain hidden from their sight, watching from the shadows. Suddenly, she pulls back, her eyes glowing with familiar feral need. "Oh, Nick-" He puts a hand her lips, avoiding the fangs. "Shh." Taking her in his arms, he lifts her chin up, her vampyrism still alert. "It's only natural. Here." And he takes her and leans her forward, letting her primal needs unleash themselves, letting her feed. He closes his eyes in pleasure, and feels the draining affect him. "Nat-" I'm a vouyer, I realize. Quiet in the sanctity of the darkness, seeing before my own eyes my children, seperated by centuries, together. Nicholas, beautiful and rapturous in his pleasure of the forgotten experience, my golden child. And Natalie, the newest of all of my progeny, experiencing new lusts. I shouldn't watch. And yet I can't help it. Nicholas pulls his sister away, and she gasps softly, most likely with unsaited lusts. "Not too much. I'm bedridden," he says with a slight smile. Natalie laughs with him, then leans contened on his chest. Time for me to intervene. For some reason, I cannot tolerate this. I don't know why, exactly, but I don't like their intimacy right now. Stepping into the room, I let my presence, intimidating and intrustive, fill the room, my eyes cutting wherever I glance. I know it does; I can see it in their eyes, fear and awe, most of the time more of the former than the latter. "Nicholas, Natalie," I aknowledge with a nod. They look up at me, and Natalie unconsiously moves closer to her brother. "What is it?" Nicholas asks. He's annoyed at my presence, when they are in a state of reconciliation. I suppose I shouldn't be offended. "We're moving on soon," I state calmly. Natalie is shocked. "I'm currently entertaining Paris, but-" "Wait, wait," Natalie interrupts, standing. "Moving on?" I sigh, as though frustrated with an imbecile child. "Yes, Natalie." "I'm not going to Paris," she says. A smirk. "And why not?" A gesture to Nicholas. "*We* are going, Natalie. And *you* are my child. I intend to keep it that way." A threatening note enters my voice. "You are coming with us." Natalie turns to Nick, who has thrown off the covers and stood, standing by her, although still weak; Natalie grabs his hand. "LaCroix, no," he says softly. "What?" "I'm not going." For teh briefest of moments, I feel a strange look cross my face. Sad, hurt. But I also know neither of my children would have seen it. They're blind. As quickly as possible, the emotional shields are up again. I open my mouth to make some scathing remark, the two of them, weaklings, out there. But nothing comes out. And I know why. Becaue there's nothing mean or scathing I can say. I can let him go. With his Natalie. I can let him go to wherever he wants to go. I can let him move on. With his Natalie. He'll come back. And yet now I realize why my previous vouyerism has gone to leave me silmultaneously so enraged and anoyed. I am jealous of them. The instant rapport, the obvious love the two share. It's been centuries... The thoughts are only bitter, empty, emotionally charged, I know. and yet I taste them all too well. Natalie beams up at Nicholas, her smile sweetly pure and innocent, in spite of the faint smear her beloved's blood on her chin. And he smiles back at her. And his own face is warm and open to her. "Take her," I mutter, before leaving the loft. ****** A quiet glass of blood to quell the senses, laced with wine, sweet and delicous from my private stock. Sitting morosely at the bar, patrons lazily dancing about, the usual mix again restored to normal. I sense my daughter's pesence the moment she enters the bar, of course, but do not move from my position, preferring to wait for her to come to me. She does, weaving through the people over to me. "LaCroix," she mutters. I turn to look at her, and am alarmed to see that her vampyric nature is prominent, fangs and feral eyes. I hand her a bottle, take her hand, and lead her into my office. As soon as we enter, she drains the bottle quickly, then casting it on the ground. It shatters. "I warned you, Natalie," I tell her, like a parent punishing his child. "You're *much* too young to go public." "I'm sorry," she sas, awkwardly picking up the pieces of the bottle. She glances up to me, and her eyes and mouth have returned to normal. "Nick- I-" Her hand stills on the neck of the bottle for a moment, and then she returns to cleaning it up. "Nick asked me to come here." "Why?" I snap, angry. Lovely, Natalie. Quite the prompt child, aren't you? "I've already stated it quite clearly. You may go with him." She glances down, averting her eyes. "No, that's not it. Nick... Nick says he'll go with you. And I'm going too." A bit shocked, I am still for a moment. Suddenly feeling umcomfortable, I grab a handkerchief and beging wiping off the last few droplets of blood off the ground. "And what has caused this sudden change of heart, my dear? Just a half hour ago, as I recall, you were adamant to have your way." Natalie sighs. "I... I don't know. Me and Nick started talking, after you left." She stands and throws the glass away, getting a small cut on her hand. It heals quickly, but she puts it to her lips and briefly closes her eyes. "About what?" I press. The floor is now clean. She opens her eyes, and I can see the briefest flash of gold. Then, "I... I guess I was too quick to go at you like that. But Nick and I, we just made up." She sits on the couch and keeps her eyes down. "And... I was so shocked at the concept of moving on, at throwing it all away." "What do you have here now, Natalie?" I ask suddenly, my voice sharp. "Your job?" She nods sadly. "My job... I guess not. But, you just came in and said it so matter-of-factly, I... I'm used to asserting myself, okay?" She sighs heavily as though fed up with the very subject. "You made me mad. I'm sorry." "And what does Nicholas have to do with this open reconciliation, Natalie?" "We... Nick told me that I shouldn't judge you so quickly." A soft laugh. "He said to ignore the past. And..." "You asked him what gave him the right to say that." She almost blushed. "Yes." A pause. "But... he said... I'd be running. And... I don't want to be running. Not like Nick." In the blink of an eye, I have her by the throat, against the wall. I wouldn't be surprised if the sound reverberated through the club. "I could kill you in an instant, you realize that," I hiss, eyes golden. "How *dare* you say that to me. It is *he* who initated the running, not I." Her eyes are still hazel, too afraid to defend herself. "I... I didn't mean that. I meant... I meant that I was sorry! I meant that I wanted to learn from what he's done." Her plainitive pleading touches something in me, and I slowly release her. She collapses on the floor, breathing heavily. Not nessecary, but a mortal habit. "I'm sorry," she repeats again. Golden eyes return to ice blue. "I do not appreciate the infraction, Natalie." My tone softens. "I admit I am quick to judge." She heals, and stands up again. Biting her lip, she says, "Don't worry. I'm high strung too. I just can't really do anything about it." Not an insult. "Sincerely. I need you as my teacher. Nick can't handle it. I can tell." "You're too young. Look at just five minutes ago. You barely avoided killing." "I'm sorry. I *am* too young. I guess I need the training." "You do," I agree. A comfortable silence. Then, "May I offer you something to drink?" She looks up, and sees the private stock. "Certainly." I get two glasses and pour ourselves some blood. The sweet frangance wafts in the air, and I can see that she has a hard time even now controlling the beast. I hand her a glass, but before I do, I say, "A fine example. You're primed for the hunt by the mere smell." I sit with my own glass, bringing along the bottle. The incredible tension of a few minutes ago a thing of the past. "What do you want to do, Natalie? When we settle." "I don't know any French, LaCroix. I took Latin in High School." I refill her glass. "Of no matter. We'll find you something to do." Suddenly, she jerks her head up. "Nick." ***** I don't know why she felt him before me. She must have been more preoccupied than I, I am sure of that. And yet, a millisecond after her sensing him, I did too. He opens the door to the office, and slowly enters, closing it behind him. He wears a leather jacket over his wound, shielding it. He appears tired, drained from the flight, and quickly sits down. Natalie rushes over to him. "Nick, what are you *doing* here? I told you to stay in bed..." As for myself, I go over and get another bottle and glass, serving it to him. He drains the glass before answering Natalie's questions. "I... I just... It's weird, I thought you were in danger." A smile ghosts across his tired features. "Were you?" My daughter glances up briefly at me, and I prepare myself. "Yes, Nick. LaCroix just tried to kill me," she'll say. And Nicholas will wrap his arms around her and vow not to go to Paris and... "No, Nick," she murmurs in a soothing tone, pouring him another glass. "No. I was hungry, though. But don't worry about it. You're tired, Nick." The flight has indeed drained him, and his eyelids droop. "I... I..." He turns to me, as though seeing me for the first time. "LaCroix. Has Nat told you the news? We're going." A pause. "I think this is best for Nat, since she's a fledgling and all." "She has, Nicholas." Nicholas yawns. After a moments hesitation, I help him to the sofa, and he drifts off into sleep. "Natalie, come here," I mutter, taking her into the radio booth. I slip an old monolouge into the booth, before speaking to her, making sure the microphones are off; I just need the silence. "Why... why didn't you tell him, Natalie?" I ask softly, looking out the glass window. There's a moment of hesitation. "I couldn't help it. LaCroix, I understand... I wasn't too tactful in my explanation. You had a right to round up on me, I guess. And... Nick doesn't need to know. It's in the past," she says with a smile. "I know sometimes you and Nick don't follow that, but I'm determined to. I am determined, LaCroix, to accept myself." A look at her, as though for the first time. Her eyes are bright and understanding, accepting. And I realize what a gift she is, beyond the glaring fact she and Nicholas possess each other. Beyond that, she has a remarkable understanding of me, more than I truly have of myself. She will be radiant throughout the ages, moreso than Janette, because of her acceptance of Nicholas' quest, something I do not posses. "Thank you," I whisper. ***** We return to my office a while later, after sharing a bottle of blood at the bar; I know I should take her hunting soon, though. She is anxious for the opprotunity. She *is* a diamond, this much I have discovered. She has great ambition, great potential. Her love for her brother is deep, and she is made even more radiant by this fact. I know I will enjoy her company throughout the ages. Nicholas is awake when we return, and his face lights up at Natalie's arrival. They embrace tightly, and I note Natalie is able to keep the bloodlust down. He then adresses me. "I'm calling Aristotle tomorrow night," he says. Natalie is puzzled. "Aristotle?" Nicholas nods. "Yeah. You see, when we move on, we need someone who essentially generates out backgrounds, gets us a place to live, a job, etcetera." Natalie nods in understanding. "Excellent." I turn my attention to my newest child. "What plans do you have? Perhaps assist in running another nightclub endeavor?" Natalie beams at me, and I note that a look of confusion crosses Nicholas' face. "Oh... Uh, LaCroix?" she asks. "Yes?" "I need to go back to my apartment... I need to call someone. About getting some stuff mailed." I am a bit puzzled, but assent. "Be back quickly." After she leaves, Nicholas turns to me. "I'm surprised, LaCroix." "At what?" I ask, casually rifling through paperwork at my desk, wondering idly about the fate of The Raven, whether or not it remain a vampire refuge, or change after my departure. "Natalie. She certainly seems to have no adverse feelings towards you." "And why should she, Nicholas? She... unlike other people, accepts herself wholly." The biting tone enters my voice again. "Will that change your feelings for her?" I am surprised to find myself defending her. "No," he answers a bit too quickly. "Not at all. I love her. But... I didn't expect that." I sigh heavily. "Nicholas, there is very little you ever expect in life besides eternal damnation." "That's not true," Nicholas protests. "Did you ever expect this? Six years ago, did you ever expect that Janette would taste mortality and return, or that your beautiful Natalie would enter immortality? I didn't think so. But for too long you have expected the flames of hell, and that is all." Nicholas sighs, but I continue. "Furthermore, you have given me no definite sign as to what you plan to do with this infernal angst of yours. Continue the foolish quest?" "Yes. With Natalie." "'With Natalie,'" I repeat through gritted teeth. "Lovely." But I have a counteroffensive. "As you said before, Natalie seems to accept her new life. Will she so readily want you to journey back to mortality?" Nicholas obviously hasn't thought of this, as seen through his crestfallen face. I continue. "She will not help you, most likely. Admit it! Accept it, Nicholas, you are staying. With Natalie, with me. That's how it should be, not this self abuse and not this emotional humiltation." "It's not humiliation." "To who?" The words could slice through rock. Quietly, Nicholas responds, "I wouldn't expect it to be that hard of an ordeal to you, LaCroix." I stand from the desk and sigh loudly. "Do you know how this makes me feel?" I say, repeating a line I've said in the past yet again. "You don't think I've suffered for you? Over you? You are wrong on that, I have lain awake for days on end, boiling with the hatred only knowing the one you love is trying his damndest to get away." This stops him. "I find that hard to believe. The one you love." "Eight hundred years. And counting." When I get no response, I slowly venture on, turning to face him. This takes all of my courage. "You are my son, Nicholas. I chose you- Janette chose too- out of the millions of people on earth. We offered you immorality. You chose it. And over the centuries, I have seen what a splendid choice it has been, throughout all of the ordeals I must face as you fathe. Despite the numerous offspring I have sired, I feel I have had only three true children of the blood." He remains silent, but appears deep in thought. Finally, "And you accept Natalie?" "She has enchanted me." "She chose Paris of her own free will, after we spoke." "A beautiful city." "Indeed." Stale conversation. But Nicholas finally truly answers. "I love Natalie. I can't leave her." I move away and turn my back. "Then you will not...?" "No." I turn back to him, and see the sincerity in his face, echoing the words. Awkwardly, he offers his left hand; the right still is not fully healed. I take it. "She told me you told her to come here." "She needs you." "Is she the only one?" A pause. "No." "Thank you, Nicholas," I say, grateful to both of my children, the exquite ones. Both of who I had misjudged. Natalie was a woman of depth and clarity, Nicholas... Nicholas has returned. And the thought warms my cold heart. Emotions overtake me, and I lean over into a full embrace. "You're welcome," he whispers, and I feel the acceptance of eight centuries in those two words. After almost an eternity, I feel Natalie, and pull away from my son, anticipating seeing my daughter again. I am surprised to find a tear in the corner of my eye, and wipe it away just before she arrives. To set off a new era of my family. **** The End Michelle cuznmd@philonline.com.ph Cuzn/COTK/Faithful/Valentine/UF/NNP/Fleur-Booster/MLC tend./Bridging Envy "I am too old not to have learned this much about the light- you cannot shut it out. Better to let it