From the Ashes

From the Ashes



This story is set just after “Ashes to Ashes”. “The Human Factor” never happened.



Thanks to Cousin Shelley for her wonderful beta reading! She also suggested the title. Make sure to read her great stories if you haven’t already.



Disclaimer: Not mine. Big surprise, eh?







After cleaning up, the pair spent the rest of the day downstairs. Nick read and LaCroix pretended to. Nick had shut the link between them, as well as he was able. LaCroix mechanically turned pages while he went over Nick’s statement. He’d felt the deep pain that accompanied those words. Divia’s reappearance was making him consider his life in an entirely new light, especially his relationship with his children.



He’d made them for entirely different reasons, which affected his treatment of them. Janette, he’d admired; the prostitute with the carriage of a queen. Her training had been focused on developing that potential. By the time they’d made Nicholas, Janette was elegant, cultured, and educated. She was strong and confident. He’d helped her hone her natural beauty into a deadly weapon.



Nicholas appealed to both the father and lover in him. He’d want to teach and comfort him; to take care of him. And he’d lusted for him. So, he’d taught Nicholas how to be his son, and, when the boy was ready, how to be his lover.



He’d taught Janette to be strong, confident, and ruthless; to need no one. He’d taught Nicholas to be obedient and dependent; to need him. He’d been proud of Janette; he’d been possessive of Nicholas.



He sighed. Nicholas glanced at him, gauging his mood. Nothing amiss, he returned to his book.



Janette was not so wary of him. She respected him, and was cautious of his temper. But Nicholas was afraid of him. He’d often mocked Nicholas for his cowardice, but truthfully, Janette had never needed to be afraid of him.



~~~~~Flashback: 6 months after Nicholas’s Conversion~~~~~~~



LaCroix sat staring into the fire. Nicholas tapped on the door and poked his head into his master’s study.



“Father?”



“I told you to be home before sunrise.”



“Yes, I’m sorry. I flew further than I meant to, and by the time I realized how far I was, it was almost sunrise.” The boy made a face and scrubbed at the dirt on his cheek. “I had to bury myself under a log.” He smiled tentatively at his master.



Coldly, “I told you to be home before sunrise. You disobeyed me.”



The shy smile died. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”



LaCroix slowly rose from his seat and lifted something from his desk. Nicholas’s eyes widened as his master swung the scourge casually, the chips of sharpened metal gleaming in the firelight.



“Take off your tunic.”



Nicholas clutched nervously at the item in question, “Why?”



The scourge struck him across the face. “Don’t disobey me again.”



The boy touched his cheek, then stared in astonishment at his bloody hand. Impatient, LaCroix threw him to the floor, ripping the garment from his body, baring his back.



The deadly whip rose again and again. Nicholas’s blood spotted the room. He cried out at the first blow, then remained silent, except for the occasional gasp, until the last strike. A muffled cry escaped him, and then he passed out. LaCroix tossed the whip back onto his desk, and grabbed one of Nicholas’s arms. The boy came to as his master dragged him down the stairs, the rough stone steps scraping at his bloody back.



“Master, I’m sorry!”



“You certainly will be.” LaCroix flung Nicholas into the tiny cell. Not the small room where Nicholas stayed when the world overwhelmed his new senses and appetites, but a filthy damp room that smelled of mold and death. LaCroix slid the heavy bolt home and turned, gliding up the stairs.



“Master, please don’t leave me here! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disobey. Master, please!”



LaCroix turned at the head of the stairs. “You’ll learn to obey me, Nicholas. I will not tolerate insubordination.” He turned and closed the door.



~~~~~End Flashback~~~~~



LaCroix scowled at the memory. He’d left Nicholas down there for two days. Alone in the dark, his fledgling appetites clawing at him, Nicholas had screamed for him. He’d been quiet and subdued for months after the incident, watching his master fearfully. His burgeoning confidence in his new family had been crushed. Nicholas had never looked at him with complete trust again. LaCroix had been angered and hurt by that loss. He’d punished his son for that, as well.



Why had he done that? Though he rarely indulged in introspection, a small voice inside him had asked the question every time Nicholas had flinched at his touch, every time those beautiful eyes had filled with fear at the sight of him. He'd told himself it was for Nicholas's own good. To teach him to respect his limits. To keep him safe. After all, new vampires were remarkably weak, even fragile, considering the strength that they would eventually possess. But his other children had committed far greater infractions and been punished more moderately.



He still couldn’t answer the question, not really. But he had finally realized that such tactics would not bring him the love and respect he sought. Not with Nicholas.



But it had seemed to work, in those early years. Nicholas had struggled desperately to please him, though now his longing for his master’s approval was tainted with fear of his wrath. LaCroix knew how much his new childe wanted his love and approval, and had used that as a tool and a weapon. But Nicholas had been a strong and independent man before his conversion. Eventually, he decided that since his master’s love was so fickle and so easily withheld, he would look elsewhere.



Nicholas had fastened onto Janette, his lover and elder sister. He worshiped her and treated her like a queen. During their marriage, Nicholas acted more like her servant than her husband. And in return, Janette made a cuckold of him.



Poor Nicholas. He’d be shattered when Janette had finally ended the farce. He’d started fighting for his freedom in truth then. In the following centuries, he weaned himself free of the emotional dependence his master had engendered in him.



With that last covenant with his family broken, Nicholas had gone from quiet resentment to open rebellion. He’d openly and repeatedly disobeyed his master with full knowledge of the wages of mutiny. He'd flaunted his defiance, practically daring LaCroix to punish him.



They’d had their moments of peace. A few years spent as a family, a month or two as traveling companions, a handful of days spent in passionate, joyous lust and pleasure. Brief oases of happiness in lonely desert they’d made of their relationship.







LaCroix had thought of himself as an exemplary parent, at least to his vampire offspring. Other vampires had often complimented him on the skill, beauty, and obedience of his children. He’d never even dreamt of asking his children if they thought he’d been a good father.



But Natalie Lambert had.



~~~~~Flashback~~~~~



“It was strange, seeing her again, Nick. She asked me why I hadn’t visited her in the hospital.”



“Why didn’t you?” his son asked softly. LaCroix grimaced and glared up at the stars. He hated their maudlin conversations…but he needed to keep an eye on the good doctor. Ever since the Lidovuterine incident, he’d kept careful tabs on their activities. He spent hours on the roofs of their respective homes, like some sort of nocturnal pigeon.



“After my parents died, Nana took care of Richie and me. But…”



“But what, Nat?”



“She hit me; abused me. It took me a lot of time, but I got over it.”



His son made an encouraging noise.



“But I feel bad. I mean, I didn’t deserve to be abused like that…but maybe she didn’t deserve to be left alone.” She turned suddenly. LaCroix could almost feel her flash of insight. “Is this how you felt when you staked LaCroix?”



LaCroix’s interest sharpened. He’d wondered how Nicholas felt about that.



Nick sighed. “I did feel guilty, yes. But, I just didn’t see any other way out.”



Softly, Nat said, “Seeing her ghost, I realized that she really did love me…she just wasn’t good at expressing it. Do you think LaCroix loves you?”



Nick flinched a little. “I don’t know, Nat. When I was young…I wanted his love more than anything in the world. My mortal father died when I was very young. His brother took over running the lands, and married my mother; it was a custom back then. He never really liked me. He pawned me off on Lord Dellabarre as soon as he decently could.



“At first, LaCroix seemed pleased with me. But I just…I just didn’t turn out the way he wanted, I guess. Even when I was killing, I always fell short of his expectations.” Nick’s voice fell quiet.



“I wanted him to love me, and he knew it. I think he enjoyed watching me struggle for his love, his approval. So he’d offer me some tidbit, and just…snatch it away whenever I failed. And I failed a lot.”



Finally, his voice soft, he said, “No matter what I did, I was a disappointment to him.”



Nick forced his voice into brisk tones. “But that was centuries ago. I’ve learned not to need him. Or any of the rest of them, for that matter.”



“Well, good for you Nick,” the doctor said, her voice falsely hearty. In a softer tone, she said, “Nick, I’ve been going to this support group for survivors of abuse sometimes…maybe you’d like to go with me.”



Nicholas laughed harshly, “What would I say, Nat? ‘My vampire father chained me to a wall and starved me for a month when I accidentally ate his concubine?’ Get real.”



The doctor’s voice was sharp, “It might be worth a try, Nick.”



“Nat, if I could be honest with people like that, it might help. But I can’t…I can’t explain it to mortals. I’ve been dealing with this by myself for a long time. I’m used to it.”



“You’re right, Nick. But you can talk to me.”



“I know. And I appreciate that. I haven’t had anyone to talk to since…well, in a long time.”



~~~~~End Flashback~~~~~





Nicholas moved towards the figure huddled on the bed, snapping LaCroix out of his reverie. This time LaCroix got the head and Nicholas pinned the legs. Vachon struggled, swearing and screaming at them.



Though the fit lasted only a few moments, LaCroix had a broken nose and Nicholas had a few cracked ribs by the time it was finished. Vachon lay quietly in their grip, panting. He opened his eyes and blinked at the two faces staring down at him.



“You okay, Javier?” Nick asked.



Vachon nodded doubtfully. At his gesture, LaCroix rose and poured each of them a glass of blood. Nick continued to study him, still concerned.



Vachon took his glass and downed it. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he nodded to the elder. “Thanks, LaCroix.” Nick was still watching him. “Dammit, Nick, I’m fine, will you stop staring at me,” he snapped. Nick looked away, studying his drink.



LaCroix said smoothly, “You are right, Nicholas; the poison is losing its grip on him.” Though Vachon could detect no trace of it in his voice, he somehow knew that the elder was amused by his show of temper.



In fact, the elder seemed more pleasant than he had in the two years Vachon had known him. He took a surreptitious sniff, confirming his suspicions. LaCroix’s scent had obliterated all traces of his own from Nick’s body. The ancient had reclaimed his territory. Unconsciously, Vachon flicked an annoyed glance at LaCroix, only to meet the elder’s smug gaze. Their eyes met over Nick’s head, still bowed over his glass. LaCroix raised an eyebrow and Vachon lowered his gaze. His scowl melted into a smile, which he hid behind his glass. He glanced at Nick, who remained totally oblivious to being an object of contention. Typical.



***

Vachon was bored. He’d been locked up in LaCroix’s ‘nursery’ for five days now. The seizures had been reduced to brief hallucinations lasting only a few seconds, and the occasional dizzy spell. Still, the ancient insisted he stay under lock and key.



Fortunately, Vachon was an easy going guy. Nick was going out of his way to make him comfortable and keep him entertained. Except for one trip to Toronto for blood, LaCroix hadn’t left them alone for more than five minutes. He and Nick whiled away the hours with stories of their travels and adventures. LaCroix pretended to ignore them.



Vachon found it a bit strange that LaCroix and Nick weren’t screwing every time he took a nap, considering the that the air practically hummed with sexual tension whenever they were in the same room. But LaCroix’s scent was slowly fading; he hadn’t renewed his claim. Thinking back over the last two years, Nick had never smelled of his master, at least when Vachon had met with him.



Vachon sighed as Nick started to deal another hand of gin. The blonde glanced up. “Bored, Javier?” Ever since their little tryst, Nick had called him by his first name. It was nice to hear it said by someone who could actually pronounce it correctly.



“We’ve been playing card games and board games and dice games for days, Nick. I’m gonna go loony toons.” LaCroix snorted, but didn’t deign to look up from his book.



Nick looked sympathetic. “I know, but you’re still not completely well.”



“Yeah, I know. But I was wondering…would you mind going to the church and grabbing my guitar?” He grinned impishly, “and maybe some of my clothes?” He plucked at the front oversized Bluejays t-shirt he was wearing. For such a sweet lay, Nick had the most uninteresting sleepwear Vachon had ever seen. The two of them were wearing t-shirts and gray cotton boxers, like kids at a sleepover. Anything heavier aggravated Vachon’s healing wounds. LaCroix was, of course, always impeccably dressed.



Nick mentally calculated the time; it was early evening. He had more than enough time to pick up some of Vachon’s things and get back before sunrise. Nick stood, and addressed the room at large, “I’ll be back in a few hours.”



After the trapdoor closed behind Nick, LaCroix marked the page in his book and looked at Vachon. “So, what did you want to discuss with me?”



Vachon grinned, refusing to be intimidated. “Am I that obvious?” The elder’s condescendingly amused expression answered him. “You think Nick noticed?”



“Nicholas tends to take people at face value.”



“And it would never occur to him that people might want him out of the way so they can fight over him?” Vachon couldn’t believe his own gall.



One patrician eyebrow raised. “Fight over him? You may want to reconsider that course of action, *Javier*.” His voice was mocking. “You wouldn’t be the first to challenge me for possession of Nicholas.”



Considering the look in LaCroix’s eyes, Vachon really didn’t need ask what had happened to any challengers to LaCroix’s claim. And he certainly didn’t want to experience it for himself. Backing down a little, he said, “I don’t want ‘possession’ of Nick,” he said, making quotes in the air. “I just wanna hang out with him.”



“So you are seeking my permission to court my Nicholas, as it were?”



Vachon stopped himself from saying he didn’t need LaCroix’s permission. All things considered, it would probably be easier for him and Nick if LaCroix didn’t feel threatened. So he just nodded, “Yeah, court him.” He refrained from rolling his eyes at LaCroix’s archaic terminology.



LaCroix smiled. “Why not? Nicholas’s social life could use a little spicing up.”



“Great. Thanks.”



“But make no mistake, Vachon. Nicholas is mine. I will brook no interference.”



Vachon nodded, saying hurriedly, “Right. I get it. “



***



Nick trotted down the stairs, the strap of Vachon’s guitar case slung over his shoulder, a plastic shopping bag in one hand.



“I moved your bike and some of your other stuff to my place. And I’m running a load of your clothes as we speak. Oh, by the way, I brought you something to read.” He tossed Vachon the bag.



“I already offered him the use of your little library here, Nicholas.”



Vachon crowed jubilantly, “Spiderman! X-men! Excellent!”



“Comic books, Nicholas?”



Nick shrugged. “He didn’t seem too keen on Jane Austin.”



LaCroix shook his head and sighed.



***



Ten days after Divia’s death, LaCroix pronounced Vachon recovered. He still tired more easily than he liked, and he drank more blood each day than he usually did in a week. But the hellish hallucinations and fits of rage had stopped.



Nick was neatly packing Vachon’s clothes into a duffel bag. “Javier, you want to stay at my place for a while?”



“That’d be great. I’m still feeling a little peaked and the church isn’t all that secure. Thanks for the offer, roomie.” He slung an arm over Nick’s shoulders, tossing Knight’s master a smug look as they left.



***

Nick dropped Vachon at the loft and started driving towards the coroner’s building. He still had a few days of vacation left, but after his recent immersion in his vampire life, he felt the need for some mortal contact. He hadn’t called Natalie from LaCroix’s farmhouse, not wanting to antagonize his master.



“Nick, are you okay?” Nat’s voice was concerned when he stepped into the morgue.



“Yeah, I’m fine.” He was relaxed, practically glowing with good health and good humor. She studied him, realizing how gaunt and weary he’d become.



“And Vachon, how’s he?”



“He’s better. Not completely well but—better.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stared blankly at the shrouded corpse on the table. “I thought I knew every horrible thing about vampirism. But this…” he shook his head, and lifted his gaze to Nat’s. “It’s…it’s made me think about some things. How much of LaCroix’s behavior during the past was influenced by his experiences with his own master? Hell, Natalie, she could have been influencing him through their bond the whole—”



Nat slammed the metal tray in her hands onto the table, making Nick wince at the harsh, metallic noises. Her expression was enraged. “So now you’re making excuses for him, Nick? Or are these excuses for yourself? After all, it’s always easier to fall back into those nice, comfortable habits, isn’t it? How much human blood have you drunk this week, Nick?”



He glanced away, “Nat, please…”



She turned her back on him, movements jerky as she prepared for the autopsy. “Forget it, Nick. Just…just get out.”



“Nat, I—”



“I’ve got a lot of work to do. Work I just can’t blow off for ten days to screw around.”



Nick didn’t say anything. When Natalie turned around to tell him to get the hell out, the morgue was empty.



***



Nick drove his Caddy aimlessly. The radio was off. He knew the Nightcrawler would have something to say about friendship or betrayal or moving on or family, something Nick wasn’t really interested in hearing.



“81 kilo. 81 kilo, respond.”



“Yeah, 81 kilo.”



The Caddy’s tires squealed as Nick made a fast u-turn and roared towards the precinct.



***







Their first real conversation. Their first night as partners.







Her last words.



Nick stared at Tracy, listening to her faltering heartbeat.

***



Vachon rubbed his wet hair with a towel as he flung himself onto Nick’s leather couch. His church’s water was sporadic at best, and the farmhouse’s plumbing was at least forty years old.



The phone rang. “This is Nick Knight, I’m either in bed or incommunicado. You know what to do.”



“Knight, this is Reese.” The police captain. Tracy talked about him a lot. “Dammit, Nick! I know this is rough on you, but call in! Where the hell are you?” Reese sighed. “Knight, Tracy’s awake. She might not last the night. She’s asking about you. Call in, okay?”



Vachon stared at the phone. “God, Tracy…”



***



He followed her scent to the small room. He stared at the maze of tubes and wires, the antiseptic scents making him feel ill.



“Tracy. Tracy, you awake?”



She smiled, eyes still closed. “Vachon…” her eyelids fluttered. “Vachon?” Her eyes opened, then widened with shock. She clutched at the bedrails. “Vachon?!”



“Tracy, chill out!” The monitors were making alarming noises.



“You left…you…” her heart rate fluttered as his appearance triggered her recall of the true events of that horrible night.



Vachon rushed the side of the bed and seized her small, pale hand. “It’s okay, Trace! Shh!” He patted her hand, keeping one eye on the doorway.

Tracy took a weak breath. The frantic beeping of the heart monitor eased. Vachon heaved a relieved sigh.



“Man, kid, you’re sure banged up.”



She smiled weakly. “Yeah. I got shot. It sucks.”



Vachon stroked her hair. “Yeah. I bet it does.”



“Nick…where’s Nick? He's...is Nick a vampire?”



Vachon shushed her. “Jeez, announce it to the world.”



“I saw him…I think…I…” her voice trailed off.



“Yeah, Trace. He’s one of us.”



She lay back against the pillows. “And I didn’t see it. How stupid am I?” She stared at the wall for a few moments. “Vachon, did I…stake you?”



“Trace, do I look like someone staked me?”



“Dammit, Vachon!”



“Okay, don’t get your panties in a wad.” He ran a hand through his hair, then patted her hand again. “Tracy, some weird shit happened. Let’s just say that, yeah, you staked me and yeah, I’m okay now. Okay?”



She nodded and said, her voice wispy, “Okay.” She paused. Vachon winced, listening to her punctured lung labor as she drew a shallow breath. “I’m glad you’re here, Vachon.”



His carefree smile faded as he studied her. He wasn’t a medical expert, but vampires could smell Death. And it was coming for Tracy.



“Tracy…do you want me too…I could bring you across.”



“Across?” She blinked at him, brow furrowed.



“You know, make you like me. A vampire.”



A hissing snarl rumbled behind him. “Don’t. You. Dare.”



Startled, Vachon whipped around, staring into Nick Knight’s enraged golden gaze, his expression shocked. He licked his lips and tried to compose his expression. “Look, Nick, this isn’t your call. If she—” He stopped, shocked into silence as Nick’s nearly 800 years of power rolled over him. He back up, wedged between a piece of hospital equipment and Tracy’s bed.



After several false starts, he managed to speak. “Nick, please. She’s dying. Please…” Tear-filled sapphire eyes stared at him.



“I know.” His hand tightened into a fist, and he pressed his knuckles to his mouth. Pinkish streams trickled down his face.



“Nick…” Tracy reached a hand out to him. Vachon blinked at the speed with which he was at her side. He took her hand in his as if it were as fragile as a butterfly. Vachon was vaguely glad that Tracy’s bed separated them.



“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I trusted you, I did—I wanted to, I just couldn’t…” Nick took a breath, bringing himself back under control.



“Nick, please. Let it be her choice.”



Nick took a breath and nodded. “Okay. But *tell* her, Javier. Tell her all of it.”



“Tracy, listen to me, okay? I can make you like me. You’ll heal. But there’s a chance you…you won’t make it.”



He licked his lips. “You know the sunlight and stakes and garlic part. You’ll want to kill. I’ll do my best to stop you, but I can’t guarantee that you won’t. In this century, we have blood banks. You won’t *have* to kill, but you probably will at some point.” Vachon tried to think of anything else.



“The bond.” Nick picked up the thread. “I don’t think Vachon really understands it.” Vachon shot him a dirty look. “But you’ll be tied to him for eternity.” He gave a sad, tormented half-smile. “In sickness and in health, et cetera.”



Tracy glanced between them. “It sounds like a marriage.”



“In way. He’ll own you for the rest of your life.” He glanced at Vachon, and relented a little. “I think he’ll be a pretty easy-going master. But there are no guarantees.”



He cleared his throat. “On the more practical side, you’ll be dead here. You’ll never be able to see your family again.”



Tracy rolled her head to stare at Vachon. “But if I don’t, I’ll die anyway.”



Nick’s voice was soft. “Probably. But there *is* a chance you’ll come through. Slim but…but it’s there.”



Tracy stared at the ceiling. She thought of the vampires she knew. Screed, who despite his threats had always been kind, in his own way. The Inca, who had spent his centuries trying to do good. Vachon, who took her for rides on his bike and watched out for her. And Nick…who’d put away dozens of killers, who’d treated her like a detective instead of the Commissioner’s daughter.



And she thought of the mortals she knew. Her mother, who was probably drunk at some bar. Her father, who never really saw *her*, only what he wanted her to be. The other officers at the 96th, who would never have given her a chance if it hadn’t been for Nick.



The vampires would see to it she didn’t die alone. Or, if she made the choice and joined them, that she was never alone again.



She looked from Vachon’s warm brown eyes to Nick’s brilliant blue ones.



She turned to Vachon, and nodded. “Make me one of you, Vachon. I want to live. With you.”



At those words, the deep grief in the room seemed to evaporate. Nick stood up. “Javier, take her to my place. There’s blood. It’s secure. I’ll handle things here. A cremation.” He eyed the machines and monitors, and started disconnecting everything with a businesslike efficiency. Vachon scooped her up, and Nick opened the window. He smiled at Tracy. “You’re such a pain in the ass, Tracy.” He touched her cheek fondly. “I’ll see you two later.”



~~~The End~~~





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