Reclaiming

Notes and Warnings

The story "Reclaiming" is my version of the final episode of Forever Knight written with a decidedly Nick/LaCroix implied, Unnamed slant. It's rated PG-13, maybe R for violence, but be warned -- it ends . . . differently than the actual episode. Still darkly, but differently. This story will not thrill NNPackers.

I've taken some liberties with the actual dialogue in the show, letting some take place behind the scenes, and changing some slightly to fit my particular version of the story.

These characters are owned by Tristar and Jim Parriot. No money is being made, no disrespect intended.

Chronology: During Last Knight

Reclaiming

May 2001
Cousin Shelley
csnshelley@yahoo.com


Prologue

Natalie hadn't been waiting long for Nick. When he walked into the loft, she surprised herself with the calmness in her voice. "Tracy Vetter passed away twenty minutes ago."

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Chapter 1

The vibrations LaCroix constantly received from Nicholas had grown more and more disturbing over the last few months. And particularly over the last day. Nick almost always felt things to extremes but lately there'd been too many lows, each one deeper and more desperate than the one before. LaCroix knew that no being, immortal or not, could survive very long in the absolute depths of despair; not when all hope for something better was lost.

And judging by what LaCroix felt from Nicholas right now, he was in a quick spiral toward the bottom of the pit.

When would he learn? LaCroix wondered. It was a familiar pattern. Mortals die, details get messy. It couldn't be helped, LaCroix had tried to explain so many times. It was simply a sign that one needed to move on. But Nicholas' guilt would become too much; his emotional state would start to corrode.

And such a shame all this turmoil should arise now, he thought. His bond with Nicholas had been fortified in recent months and they'd reached a sort of tentative peace with one another, the likes of which they hadn't shared in years. Perhaps that was part of the pattern, too, another sign that it's time to move on. After all, the wolf can't play with the sheep and still run with its pack.

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"Faith's a mortal folly, Nat," Nick said.

"LaCroix' words, or yours?" she asked. "Do you really believe that's true?" Natalie felt desperate, frustrated. Nick had listed names of those who'd died before their time: Cohen, Schanke, now Tracy. She'd been trying to pull Nick out of his guilt, but she felt they were talking in circles. Nat mourned for these people, too, but he seemed determined to shoulder the guilt for the death of everyone he loved.

"I'm not sure," Nick said.

She'd discovered he'd planned to leave without her, without even saying goodbye. Now, she tried to convince him that these things were not his fault. And that they belonged together, no matter what. She talked about faith.

"I won't accept that the sum of our existence can be measured in the few short years that we're alive here. It would make everything that we believe ... meaningless. It would make our whole lives here meaningless. I know that's not true and so do you.

"You have faith, Nick. And if it's a mortal folly, then you’re the most mortal man I've ever known."

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LaCroix' clothes, books and various items were in a large trunk to be left in the capable hands of Aristotle, the leader of the vampire community's equivalent of the witness protection program. Only a few small items remained, and those he'd long preferred to keep with him. Sentimentality held little appeal for LaCroix, but these weren't just any offhand mementos--these were symbols of his children.

His beautiful, beautiful daughters. The large, ancient cameo he carried served as symbol of, what? Pain and guilt he'd condemned himself to eternally feel for what he'd done to Divia--what he hadn't done? Or a reminder of how he'd loved her once? Both, he thought bitterly, as he closed his eyes and willed himself to remember the innocent child he'd cherished beyond reason. He smiled slightly, then jerked himself back to the present as Divia's enraged death-mask transposed itself over the wide-eyed face of a fair, quiet child.

And Janette. Janette who, despite her protective streak for Nicholas, had always seen her master's point of view. She'd never been ashamed of what LaCroix had given her, until . . . .When she'd called him to the Raven and told him of her plans to leave, LaCroix knew with certainty that, though it may be decades, even centuries, before he'd see his dark daughter again, he would see her again. Now, after her brief bout of mortality and her consequent re-birth, he couldn't be sure. In fact, the 2000-year-old vampire guessed that neither he, nor Nicholas, would ever hear from her again.

He carried one of the gloves Janette had worn the day she gave him The Raven. Long, black mesh, intricate, slinky, he couldn't have found a more perfect representation of Janette had he tried. Though he'd thoroughly searched the entire place, he'd never found the other glove. Just the one smoothed down onto the middle of Janette's neatly made bed. He'd taken to wrapping it around the cameo, and now he closed his eyes, thinking how appropriate a symbol that had become.

LaCroix marveled at his suddenly maudlin state. Surely moving on would remedy these unsettling moments of nostalgia. Moving on, and ever-increasing time between LaCroix and recent disturbing events. Time does heal wounds, he thought. Most wounds.

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Nick looked at her, his face softening. But then he turned away. "You cannot deny what I am."

Natalie followed Nick as he walked away from her. "You can't deny what's in your heart."

"What are you saying?"

"I have faith there's a future for us," Natalie said softly. "Here as we are, or somewhere else. I believe in *you*." Natalie placed her hand on Nicholas' chest. "I trust *you*." She stroked Nick's cool cheek. "Make love to me, Nick. Just take a little at a time."

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LaCroix touched his chest and felt the hard circle of Nicholas' watch. He'd given it to Nicholas as a gift, and Nicholas had returned it on a mortal's 'Father's Day'. Though LaCroix had carried it since, he'd always thought of it as Nicholas' watch. Always thought someday he'd give it back.

Always thought, hoped, someday it might be happily received. Thoughts of Nicholas made LaCroix even more aware of their bond. He could sense Nicholas's guilt, sorrow, pain, overwhelming in their intensity. Despair. And, odd, LaCroix thought, the first whisper-thin stirrings of . . . arousal.

Ordinarily LaCroix would mentally feel his way down the length of their link, drink in Nicholas' sexual excitement like an elixir. But, strange though it was to come at such a time, LaCroix tuned it out as best he could. Anything to interrupt his pain, he thought. Let him have it fully and wholly to himself.

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"I'm afraid of what might happen." Nick's resolve weakened.

"Don’t be afraid. I'm not afraid of death. Or of an eternity in darkness as long as I can spend it with you. All I have is faith and love. All I'm asking is for you to make love to me. I trust *you*."

Nick stared into her eyes, then took her hands in his, lowering his gaze. As he raised his head, his incisors dropped, and his eyes turned to gold.

"I won't leave you," he promised. "Whatever happens, we'll be together."

Natalie stared into the golden eyes. "Forever," she whispered.

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One last glance to be sure all things were accounted for. They were.

All but one.

LaCroix smiled to himself as he thought of trying to stuff a struggling Nicholas into a steamer trunk. He had voyaged in one before, after all. The smile faded rapidly when he realized that as long as Nicholas didn't choose to go, or at least give in a bit, LaCroix wouldn't want him along anyway.

LaCroix closed his eyes and sighed.

Nicholas had always been prone to mortal attachments. But, though he hated to admit it to himself, this time was different. Nicholas' doctor friend had an effect on him that intrigued LaCroix. She was pretty; Nick had had prettier. She was smart; Nicholas' nature and resulting wealth had allowed them to spend time with the intellectual upper-crust of society whenever they chose to socialize with mortals.

She had fire; so had many others.

But LaCroix had felt that special *life* in the few occasions she'd been in his presence. He idly wondered if it was something that all vampires felt coming from her. Surely not.

Perhaps it was the combination of a remarkable woman and the right era. Many remarkable women had been stifled in ages that kept women dumb and subservient, after all. He wondered how different Dr. Lambert would have been had she been a child of the Roman Empire. She'd have made a fine mistress in his day. All that fire and will held inside as dictated by the times -- he imagined what it would be like to be the one to release that pent up strength and emotion, to help her release her inhibitions . . . .

LaCroix blinked and lowered his head, unbelieving. He'd actually been wondering what it might be like to touch the stubborn doctor. No, not wondering--imagining, experiencing. Her lips beneath his, the warm taste--

That's when he felt it.

Despite LaCroix' decision to block out the sensation coming from his son, Nicholas was wide open, more so than he'd ever been. Fear, dread, and arousal was coursing through him, and through his connection to LaCroix. If LaCroix relaxed and went with the feeling, as he unconsciously had moments before, he knew that Nick was kissing Dr. Lambert, caressing her, devouring her.

He could feel the hunger coming through the bond, the need, the unbidden desire. LaCroix gasped.

Nicholas was going to take her.
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End Chapter 1 of 3

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Cousin Shelley
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