This is a story that I wrote last year for the Shades of Eternity charity
zine put out by Barb Goddeau and Sue Clark, which raised an impressive
amount for a worthy cause and is no longer in print.

Dutiful Disclaimers: This story is based on the "Forever Knight" TV series
to which I have no claim, other than a deep and abiding fondness and
respect for the talent involved. The FK characters aren't mine, though I'd
be awfully proud if they were.

Permission granted to archive this story on Mel's FK fanfic site and the
ftp site.

====================
Through the Fire
by Cindy Ingram
Posted July 1999
====================

With one hand resting on the small wooden gate, Nick glanced around,
extending his senses for any sign that the area might not be as deserted as
it appeared. Aside from a dog barking some distance away, however, and the
rapid heartbeats of a few small animals sequestered in the nearby woods,
all was quiet.

There was only the person he'd come to see, sitting inside the modest
cottage that lay beyond the gate. Someone who was entirely oblivious to his
presence here.

But that would change soon enough.

He had never visited this place before, though he had seen many communities
like it. The residents dwelled apart from the rest of the world, much in
the way the Amish had during previous centuries. But unlike the Amish,
their ways were not centered around a single faith, but were instead built
around a philosophy of lifestyles.

As technology had grown increasingly advanced, so had mankind's dependence
on it. There were those who did not necessarily see this as a good thing.
Thus, over the previous one hundred years or so, like-minded individuals
had banded together, forming enclaves peopled with those who chose to live
by the old ways. They neither feared nor entirely rejected the wonders of
twenty-first century technology, but preferred to live in a manner
reminiscent of a simpler time. This particular community where he now found
himself was one of many such enclaves scattered around the world, with more
popping up every year.

Nick had traveled a long way to reach this place, in more ways than one. It
had been a journey, not only of the body, but also of the spirit and the
mind.

He had come here tonight, determined to fulfill a promise made long ago --
one he had been prevented from keeping, first by circumstance and later by
despair. But it had always been with him, just as *she* had always been
with him, every moment, waking or sleeping, consciously or subconsciously.

He had promised they would be together, that he would not leave her. And he
had failed her on both counts. Now, he might have a chance to rectify that.

The memories of that long-ago night and its devastating aftermath were his
constant companions. Driven by sorrow and desperation, he and Natalie had
done the unthinkable. They had gambled with her life and his sanity. They
had defied the beast, and the beast had won.

Afterward, Nick had cradled her body in his arms, gently lowering her to
the floor. He had taken too much, unable to control the fierce hunger that
had ignited inside him at the first taste of her blood. She was gone, or
soon would be, and he would join her in the only way possible. He would
follow her to death's door and beyond. LaCroix would help him keep his vow.

But his sire had instead rendered him unconscious and carried him away,
leaving Natalie lying there on the cold, hard floor of the loft. Leaving
her to die there ... alone. Nick had never forgiven him that. For many
other things, yes, but never that.

Days had turned into weeks, then months, but the passage of time had held
no meaning for him. Grief and guilt had robbed him of any capacity to care.
His only thought was to put an end to a miserable existence, if not with
the aid of his master, then by his own hand.

But LaCroix had not allowed it. Even when Nick had attempted to starve
himself into oblivion, his sire had found a way to prevent it ...

******** Flashback

"If you will not live for yourself, Nicholas, then live for her!" LaCroix
hissed. He captured Nick's chin in his hand, forcing the younger vampire to
look at him. With a jerk, Nick freed his head from LaCroix's grasp but
could go no further. He tugged in vain at the chains that held him captive
as he glared defiantly up at his master.

"What game are you playing now, LaCroix?" The words echoed coldly around
them, bouncing off the stone walls of the dank, windowless chamber that had
been his only "home" since that awful night. Its meager furnishings
consisted of a chair, a table and the metal cot on which he now sat.

"No game, Nicholas," LaCroix said, refuting the familiar accusation. "I
simply suggest that if she is, indeed, waiting for you in some afterlife
utopia, then by destroying yourself, you will lose any chance you might
have of someday joining her. Doing away with oneself ... it *is* a grave
sin, is it not? By your own reasoning, you would lose her forever. Are you
willing to forfeit any chance you have left of stepping into the light?"

LaCroix paused, apparently giving careful consideration to his next words.
When he spoke again, his voice was calm and measured. "Nicholas, if you
take this path, there will be nothing to gain and everything to lose. In
these last few months, we have reached an understanding, and you see my
actions now as a betrayal of your trust." His tone hardened. "You are
wrong. It is no different than the choice you made for her. You know this,
even if you refuse to admit it."

When Nick remained silent, LaCroix grasped him by the shoulders, his
fingers closing in an iron grip. He stared Nick squarely in the face, his
eyes brimming with anger ... and something else. Desperation, perhaps?

"Believe me when I say that the pain you feel will pass. It will make you
stronger, and you *will* survive. It is pointless to deny what you are. But
if you must, then so be it. But do *not* throw your life away on a fool's
hope!"

Nick met his gaze for what seemed an eternity, then stubbornly turned his
face to the wall. There was a crack in his resolve, however, and his master
sensed it.

"Live, Nicholas." LaCroix's smooth voice reverberated with the same kind of
intensity that had summoned a Crusader knight back from the light almost
eight centuries earlier. "Live!"

********** End Flashback

And he had.

But the way had been hard, and the subsequent years had not been kind. His
bitterness and disillusionment had eventually led him to embrace the
darkness once more, just as LaCroix had known he would. He killed -- both
for the sustenance he needed and for the sheer pleasure of it. If he could
not have the release he sought, then he would find another form of
oblivion. He thrilled to the hunt. He reveled in the bloodlust. He gloried
in the power that was his.

And then, one night, everything changed.

He had been stalking his next victim, a woman who had crossed his path
quite by accident but one he was determined to have.

She looked like her. She looked like ... Natalie.

It was far from a perfect resemblance -- an intangible something in the
tilt of her head and the timbre of her voice. And though the face was quite
different, the flowing chestnut curls and the large, soft eyes were so like
hers it took his breath away.

He had stopped her with a smile and a softly spoken question. He couldn't
remember now what he'd said. She'd been hesitant at first, wary of speaking
to a stranger in such a deserted place. But his smile had charmed her,
breaching her defenses with an ease that would have been frightening -- to
anyone but him.

A matter of seconds, and she was in his thrall. Her will was his ... *she*
was his ... to do with as he pleased. He closed his eyes to better savor
the heady scent of her blood, coursing beneath the surface of her porcelain
skin. He was drawn irresistibly to the throbbing vein in her neck with its
promises of sweet completion. He reared his head back, mouth open, fangs
aching in anticipation, poised to strike ...

And found he could not.

Instead, he buried his face in that soft hair ... *her* hair ... inhaling
deeply as though his lungs might burst from the effort. A blood-red tear
slid from beneath one tightly closed eyelid, trailing slowly down his face
until it disappeared into the mass of curls. His arms clutched at her
convulsively and, as if from a distance, he heard himself whispering over
and over, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Several minutes passed before he could rein in his emotions. So many
centuries, so much pain. But at last, he had felt his inner turmoil
subside, and his grip on her eased. He had released her then and vanished
into the night.

With a renewed fervor, Nick had once again turned his back on the darkness,
seeking to recapture his lost humanity, remembering all that he had
forgotten over that long, dark interim and all that he had repressed in a
vain attempt to escape from himself. And this time, there was no LaCroix to
stop him, to make him doubt, to thwart his efforts. There was no one there
waiting to draw him back in if he stumbled and fell.

For LaCroix, surrounded and vastly outnumbered by hunters, had found that
even eternity has its limits.

Nick had mourned his sire's passing. But no longer swayed by LaCroix's
seductive pull, he had found it surprisingly easy to resume life in the
mortal world. From then on, he had little contact with his own kind,
focusing his energy on acts of atonement. But through it all, he remained
apart, erecting a wall between himself and his mortal companions, gently
rebuffing any attempts to breach those defenses.

He wasn't ready for that -- not yet. Not when the pain of her loss was
still so fresh and fierce, as if it had happened mere days ago.

Despite the passage of time, however, he had maintained a tenuous
connection with Janette. They had crossed paths every few decades, and each
time the strain between them lessened until they had finally settled into
an easy companionship that suited them both. The passion that had once
flared so brightly burned no longer, replaced instead with a deep and
abiding friendship.

It had been Janette, in fact, who had led him to this place. Janette, who
had urged him to continue his search for salvation.

His mind drifted back to their last meeting ...

********** Flashback

Janette's arms slid around his neck as she gave him a soft kiss of
farewell. "I have enjoyed our visit, mon cher," she said. "But the sun will
be up soon, and I must be going."

"You're welcome to spend the day here," Nick told her, then grinned. "It
may not be The Ritz, but we've seen worse."

She shook her head. "I must refuse ... though not because of the
surroundings, which I find uncharacteristically civilized in comparison to
some places you have chosen to call home." She smiled mischievously. "There
is someone waiting, you see, and I do not wish to disappoint him."

"Ah," he nodded. He was curious but knew better than to ask. If Janette
wanted him to know more, she would tell him.

"Before I go, however, there is something else ..." She sobered, placing
her hand on his arm as she leaned forward. "I know of one who can help you,
Nicolas. Someone who may have the answers you seek."

He looked at her in silent inquiry, smiling faintly as he waited to hear
more, but she simply returned his stare. Though her expression was serious,
her eyes sparkled with ill-concealed amusement. He finally gave up.

"And who is this person who can work such miracles?" he asked.

"A woman."

Nick shook his head, his smile growing wider.

"A very *special* woman," she added with mock solemnity.

"I'm sure she is," he agreed, "but that's not the kind of help I'm looking
for, Janette." Planting a light kiss on the tip of her nose, he turned
away, but her voice stopped him.

"She is quite wise in the ways of the vampire, mon cher."

He hesitated, curious in spite of himself as he wondered why Janette had
chosen to broach this subject. They had agreed long ago not to speak of
Nick's quest -- past or present. It raised too many painful memories,
called to mind too many unfulfilled longings. But now ...

"She's one of us?"

"Non. She is mortal. But it is said she knows more about us than any other.
She has devoted her life to the study of our kind." Janette smiled again.
"Or so they say."

********** End Flashback

And so he had come, despite his misgivings ... or perhaps because of them.
He didn't know if he would find the answers he sought here, but he had to
try -- for himself, yes, but most of all, for Natalie. And if there proved
to be a way back, and he took it, at the end of that journey he would at
last be able to keep his promise to her.

If God would grant him that.

Inhaling deeply, Nick raised his fist to rap on the cottage door. Seconds
later, his ears detected the faint rustling of fabric and the steady
thumping of a mortal heartbeat as someone inside the dwelling drew near.
The knob turned, the hinges creaked ... and all rational thought fled.

"Natalie," he breathed, his eyes devouring the apparition standing in the
open doorway. The heart-shaped face, the chestnut curls, the sweet curve of
the mouth -- they were all exactly as he remembered. But the eyes ... the
eyes were wrong. They held no recognition, only mild puzzlement.

"No, I'm sorry. You must have the wrong house." With a polite smile, she
moved to close the door, but his hand shot out and halted its forward
progress.

"Wait!" He broke off, his eyes pleading with her not to turn him away,
though he could tell she was alarmed at his abrupt reaction. But when he
made no further move, she seemed to relax, her curiosity clearly getting
the better of her.

"Are you lost?" Tilting her head, she looked at him more closely. "Or ill,
perhaps? You're very pale," she added, almost as an afterthought.

Was it his imagination, or had there been a flicker of something in her
eyes as she'd made that statement, a hidden meaning behind the innocent
observation?

"Yes ... I ...I mean, no." He inhaled deeply, his voice steadying as he
fought to compose himself. "I'm not ill. At least, not in the way you mean.
I was sent here ... by someone who thought you could help me. Her name is
Janette."

This time, there was a definite spark of recognition in those large,
expressive eyes.

"Janette ... yes, I know her. Not very well, but we have met a few times."
The smile returned, warm and welcoming now as she moved back and motioned
him inside. "Please, come in. I know you're not from around here, so you
must have had a long trip. Come inside where we can talk."

Nick stepped across the threshold and followed her into a room that lay
just to the right of the door. His eyes automatically scanned his
surroundings, taking in the simple furnishings and the personal possessions
scattered about.

The area they had entered apparently doubled as both a parlor and a study.
There were four chairs arranged in front of the fireplace, with a desk
tucked away in a corner. One wall was lined with shelves, and each shelf
was crowded to capacity with books of all kinds. It was the only sign of
excess in the room, which by modern standards was sparsely decorated. But
Nick found the atmosphere both inviting and comforting.

Or perhaps it was the company.

"I'd offer you something to drink," she said, interrupting his brief
reverie, "but I'm afraid I don't have anything suitable. I wasn't expecting
visitors ... of any kind."

He saw again that flicker of something in her eyes. This time, he knew what
it was. His surprise must have shown on his face.

"Oh, please!" She laughed as her eyes sparkled with amusement. "You're
obviously not the first vampire I've met. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here."
At his slightly confused look, she added, "Janette ... remember?"

"Yes, of course." He nodded, and his gaze turned speculative. "But Janette
isn't the only one, is she?"

She laughed again. "Guilty as charged, I'm afraid. But I'd rather you
didn't spread it around. I prefer to keep a low profile. It's safer that
way." She shrugged. "Or so I've been told."

Without waiting for a reply, she motioned him to take a seat in front of
the fireplace, settling into the chair across from his. They were both
quiet for a moment as she searched his face. Still trying to regain his
equilibrium, Nick was content to simply sit and stare.

It was inconceivable to him that this stranger should look so much like
Natalie. It had been a long time, yes, but there were some things he could
never forget, and she would always be one of those. How could there be two
women so far removed in time and circumstance yet so identical to one
another? He searched her face for some sign of recognition, something that
would tell him one way or the other ...

And found nothing, aside from the obvious, leaving him more confused than ever.

Caught up in his thoughts, Nick started slightly as she broke the silence.

"When I answered the door, you looked surprised. You said a name ...
Natalie. What was that all about?"

Suddenly uncomfortable, he looked away, then back, his gaze drawn
irresistibly to hers.

"Forgive me," he said softly. "You look ... very much like someone I once knew."

"Really? In what way?"

"In every way," he whispered, his voice surprisingly intense.
Unconsciously, he leaned toward her, half rising from his seat. As he did
so, she drew away from him. It was a slight movement, barely perceptible,
but enough to stop him. He sank back into his chair and saw the tension in
her body ease.

"The resemblance ... it's uncanny," he faltered, trying to explain his odd
behavior. He didn't want her to be frightened of him. He didn't want that
at all. "Even your voice ... the way you speak ... it's so like her. I
would have sworn ... " His voice trailed away, leaving an awkward silence
between them.

"She's someone you know well?" she ventured, at last.

He nodded.

"Perhaps ... a distant relative of mine?"

"No." He shook his head. "It was a long time ago." His gaze said more than
his words.

"Ah." She paused. "An ancestor then?"

Again he shook his head. "She had no children."

"Well, I don't suppose it has to be a direct link. It could have been
through a brother or a sister."

Nick found himself struck by the thought. Her niece, Amy -- he'd never
known what had become of her. In truth, he hadn't wanted to know. It had
been better that way. But now ...

"Perhaps," he softly allowed, then changed the subject, afraid to pursue
the thought any further. "Janette said you could help me."

She accepted the sudden change of subject without batting an eyelash.

"That depends."

"On what?" he asked.

"On the kind of help you need. What is it, exactly, that you think I can do
for you?"

Nick hesitated, no longer sure he should follow through with this. But he'd
come this far. And she was so like his Natalie ...

"I want to be mortal."

The room fell silent again. Then she sighed.

"You don't ask much, do you?" Her smile robbed the words of their sting.
"Around these parts I have some reputation as a healer, but it sounds to me
like you're more in need of a miracle worker."

Despite his earlier resolve not to get his hopes up, Nick felt the bitter
taste of disappointment rising in his throat.

"Then you can't help me," he said, resigned.

She regarded him with somber eyes. "I didn't say that. I may be able to
help ... or I may not. But before that can be determined, you'll have to
answer a few questions. Honest answers," she added. "If they're not, I'll
know."

She waited until he had nodded his consent, then settled back in her chair,
head tilted, arms folded across her chest.

"Why do you want to be mortal?"

Nick wondered if she asked the same question of all those who came seeking
the cure. For how else could she help him, if there wasn't, in fact, a
cure?

"I hate what I am ... what I've become."

She regarded him quizzically.

"Are you such a monster, then?"

"I have been," he said. He lowered his gaze to the floor, unable to meet
her eyes.

"And you're afraid you will be again," she guessed. It wasn't really a
question, but he nodded anyway.

"Regaining your mortality won't change what you've done. You realize that,
don't you?"

"Yes," he replied stiffly, annoyed that she felt the need to point that out
to him. "Nothing can change that. For as long as I exist, the evil that
I've done will always haunt me."

"And is that why you're so eager to reject your immortality? Do you see it as some form of punishment for your sins?"

"No."

"Maybe you see it as an escape. Is that it? Do you want to be mortal so you
can die?"

"No!"

"Because if you do, there are other ways to go about it."

She was coming uncomfortably close to the truth, and it fueled his anger.
"What difference does it make what my reasons are? Will you help me or
not?"

Though he'd kept his voice calm, he could tell she was aware of his
frustration. Her eyebrows rose as she uncrossed her arms and stiffened her
back. When she looked at him that way, it was as if Natalie lived inside
her. She seemed to gaze into his very soul, laying bare all the secrets
hidden there.

"This woman I resemble ... she was important to you?"

Inexplicably, Nick's anger faded away, and though he tried to resist, he
felt compelled to answer.

"Yes," he said, his voice the merest whisper of a breath. But she heard him.

"You loved her?"

As images of Natalie surfaced in his mind, his voice failed him completely.
He nodded, eyes bright with unshed tears of loss and remorse.

"What happened to her?" She posed the question gently, as if she knew how
near the breaking point he was.

"She died." There was a long pause. "I killed her."

For several moments, the slow ticking of the clock on the mantle was the
only sound in the room. Then ...

"Why? If you loved her ... why?"

"It was my love that killed her." He forced the words out. "It destroyed
her. *I* destroyed her."

"And yet, you still love her, don't you? Even after so long a time." She
paused. "Just how long has it been?"

He looked away, retreating behind a mask of cold indifference. "It doesn't
matter," he said flatly. "I love her, yes. I always have. That will never
change, no matter how much time passes."

She fell silent again for a moment.

"You're a religious man, aren't you?"

He frowned, surprised and disoriented by the apparent non sequitur. With a
wry smile, she rephrased the question. "*Were* you a religious man?"

"I believed in God."

"Believed. Past tense. You don't anymore?"

"I have no right to believe in anything."

"No? How do you figure that?

"I turned my back on Him when I chose this accursed existence. As long as I
continue this way, I can never --" He broke off, unwilling to finish.
"Never mind," he said, dismissing the thought.

"I see," she said, nodding slowly, and he could tell that she did. "One
last question then." Taking his silence for assent, she continued. "Do you
think getting your mortality back will bring you forgiveness?"

"Yes ... no ... I don't know!" Surging to his feet, he turned away from the
fireplace and her chair, shaking his head in frustration. Then, slightly
calmer, he turned back to look at her. "Perhaps. It would be a start. It
would mean there was a chance. Otherwise, why would He allow it?"

"Why indeed? Oops, sorry. That was another question." Turning her face up
to his, she smiled. It was a brilliant smile. It was Natalie's smile.

But it wasn't Natalie. He had to accept that.

As he stared down at her, Nick felt a sudden surge of despair. Nothing he
could do would ever make things right. Though his quest for mortality had
begun long before he'd ever met Natalie, and for very different reasons, it
had been her memory that had kept him going, long after he'd given up hope
of ever earning salvation in his own right.

But if he hadn't been before, he was certain now that his subsequent return
to the darkness had cost him any chance of joining her. If indeed, such a
chance had ever existed. Perhaps LaCroix had been right and he was a fool
for ever believing it possible.

Seeing this woman, gazing into eyes that should have been Natalie's, but
weren't, he knew there would be no magic answers. Perhaps Janette had
thought that finding this living likeness of the woman he loved would be
enough for him. But she'd been wrong. And now it was time to leave.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I was wrong to come here. There's nothing you can do
for me. Please, forgive the intrusion." With that, he turned and headed for
the door. He heard her rise to her feet behind him, but hedidn't look
back.

Until her voice stopped him cold.

"What are you?"

The familiar words echoed strangely in his head and sent an odd tingle of
anticipation up his spine. He turned to find her staring at him.

This time, what he saw in her eyes ...

"Something very different from you," he whispered, gazing at her in
breathless wonder. "I ... am a vampire."

As he spoke, she moved toward him, and he advanced to meet her. Slowly, she
reached toward his face. Just as slowly, his hand rose to capture hers, and
as he'd done that first night so very long ago, he carefully placed it
against his cheek.

"You're cold," she whispered.

"I'm dead," he replied. His voice broke on the words.

"No," she said softly, shaking her head. "No, you're not. You're not dead."
She paused. "And neither am I."

"Natalie --" he choked, eyes alight with wordless wonder.

Her smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds.

"Yes," she answered.

And without his quite knowing how she got there, she was in his arms.

+++++++

Some time later, they sat before the fire, Nick on the floor with his back
against a chair and Natalie leaning against his shoulder, still cradled in
his embrace.

"I don't understand. How is it you're alive ... and mortal?" They were the
first coherent sentences he'd been able to form since her stunning
revelation.

"How do you think?" She smiled up at him, eyes shining with suppressed
laughter ... and something more. "Janette proved it was possible, Nick, but
her cure wasn't the only way back. It just took me awhile to find it."

"Nat --" He stopped, uncertain how to ask what he needed to know. He chose
another question instead. "How did Janette find out? About you, I mean."

Resting her head on his shoulder, she gazed into the fire. "I told you
earlier that I like to keep a low profile. That's very true. I found out
the hard way there are some vampires out there who would prefer I not share
the cure with anyone else. But still, word gets around, and I'm not about
to turn anyone away. One of Janette's 'orphans' heard about it and asked
for her help in finding me. But Janette was pretty protective of her and
decided that, first, she'd check me out herself."

Natalie smiled wryly. "Imagine our surprise when she showed up on my front
doorstep."

Nick smiled, too, in spite of himself. But he quickly sobered.

"Natalie ... why did you pretend not to know me?"

Lifting her head from his shoulder, she stared into his eyes. "Like you
said, Nick, it's been a long time. I knew Janette was sending you here, but
I asked her not to tell you anything else. I didn't know how you'd feel ...
about me ... about anything. She tried to tell me, but I had to find out
for myself." Her hand touched his cheek in a soft caress. "I'm sorry."

Capturing the hand, he brought it to his lips, pressing a fervent kiss into
her open palm. "I'm the one who's sorry, Nat. For everything. What I did to
you --"

"Nick, don't," she protested.

"You must despise me." His voice dropped to a whisper as shame and remorse
welled up inside him. He tried to turn away, but Natalie stopped him,
grabbing his face between both hands, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"Do I *look* like I hate you?" she demanded, clearly exasperated. "If I
hated you, would I be sitting here practically in your lap? Would I have
stood there and let you kiss me senseless for I don't know how long? And
would I be wasting my time now trying to drum some sense into the hardest
head in creation?"

Her eyes narrowed. "If I hated you, you'd be toast by now," she informed
him, raising her chin to stare at him belligerently. "I *know* how to
handle vampires, buster."

By this time, Nick was smiling again. Exactly as she'd intended, of course.
She answered him with one of her own, but his expression quickly sobered.

"Natalie, where have you been all this time? How did you survive? LaCroix
didn't help you, I know. He was with me. How did you manage?"

Her smile dimmed and a shadow crossed her face as her gaze dropped to the
floor. "That's a conversation for another time," she answered softly, and
Nick accepted it, even as his heart sank. He understood all too well that
haunted look in her eyes.

They would talk. She needed that release as much as he did. But as she'd
said, now was not the time. There was something else, though, that they
needed to discuss, something that couldn't wait any longer. He felt he had
no right to ask. But he did anyway.

"Can you forgive me?"

She stared at him for several seconds, not bothering to ask what he meant.
They both knew.

"No. I can't."

A pang shot through him even as she reached up to touch his face. "Because
there's nothing to forgive," she added, then pressed her lips to his in a
gentle kiss. When she pulled away, he found he was trembling.

"As for whatever else you've done, it's not my place to forgive. You have
to do that yourself. That's what really matters, Nick. Forgive yourself,
and know that God will forgive you, too. The rest will follow."

"I can't, Nat," he protested, sorrow deepening his voice.

"Yes. You can. Maybe not now, but someday. Someday you will, I promise you."

She spoke with the certainty of someone with firsthand knowledge, someone
who had asked the question and received the answer. But Nick realized he
would have to be patient and wait  for her to confide in him.

Natalie smiled suddenly as a teasing note crept into her voice. "You know,
I'm a little surprised at you. In fact, I'm starting to feel downright
insulted." Seeing the puzzled frown that creased his brow, her smile
widened to a grin. "We've been sitting here for ... how long, now? And you
haven't once asked me about the cure. You aren't getting cold feet on me,
are you?" she accused.

He stared at her, not quite certain he could speak.

"Well, *are* you?"

And then he found he could.

"No," he said softly, then more loudly, "No!"

She smiled, another brilliant smile. "Good. Because I don't know about you,
but I'm awfully tired of waiting for the big payoff."

Though momentarily distracted by the interesting images that statement
conjured up, Nick was struck by a sudden thought.

"What about Janette?"

Nonplused, Natalie stared at him. "What *about* Janette?" she asked warily.

"You know what I did to her. I took away her mortality against her will.
Doesn't she want to go back?"

Natalie relaxed, smiling up at Nick. "She hasn't decided yet. But ... she
knows where to find me when she does."

Taking a deep breath, Natalie stood, reaching down to tug him to his feet.
Then, her hands firmly locked with his, she started walking backwards,
pulling him toward the door. He followed willingly.

"Nat?"

"Hmm?"

"Where are we going?"

"To my office, so to speak. It's out back."

"Oh."

She stopped to peer up at him with narrowed eyes.

"Where did you *think* we were going, Nick?"

He flashed a teasing grin. "Well, it *was* a long trip here. I thought
maybe we were going to bed."

She shook her head, her expression serious, though her eyes sparkled with
mischief. "No, Nick," she told him firmly. "That part comes *after* you're
cured."

Then, with a wicked smile, she pulled him out the door.

=======
Finis
=======

Side note: The theme of the charity zine for which this story was written
specified a post-LK story with a N&N focus. In the course of trying to
decide on something, several story lines came to mind -- not all of them
N&N-centered and not all of them serious. Someday, I hope to write and post
a few of them.

Be afraid. Be very afraid. <g>

And thanks for reading!


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Comments, complaints and lavish words of praise to:
"Cindy Ingram" <cgi271@airmail.net>
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My FK fiction page:
http://people.mn.mediaone.net/nancykam/cific.html
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What's another word for thesaurus?
("Say good Knight, Gracie." -- G. Burns)