=====================================================================
TURNING POINT
by Cindy Ingram
=====================================================================

This story takes place late in Third Season, shortly after "Fallen
Idol" and assumes that "Ashes to Ashes" and "Last Knight" won't
happen. It's based on characters created by J. Parriott and B. Cohen
for the "Forever Knight" television series. Nick, Nat, LaCroix,
Tracy, Vachon, Janette and Schanke all belong to TPTB. I'm merely
borrowing them for a short time with the very best of intentions. 

"Turning Point" includes references and dialogue from several
episodes throughout all three seasons of "Forever Knight." 

Permission is granted to archive this story at Mel Moser's FK fanfic
site, the FK ftp site and Soul's Mortal Love site. If anyone else
would like it, by all means ask.


====================
Part One
====================

The package was small but heavy, wrapped in plain brown paper, its
edges taped down securely. More so than absolutely necessary perhaps,
as if the sender hoped an excess of packing tape would discourage any
unauthorized tampering. 

Carrying the parcel in one hand, Nick turned away from the old
freight elevator that served as the main access point to his
warehouse loft and made his way over to the dining table. He barely
noticed the rumble of the elevator on its return trip to the ground
floor, carrying the courier that had, just moments before, delivered
both the package and a thick, white envelope that accompanied it. 

The surprise he'd felt when he'd heard the buzzer go off in the
middle of the afternoon, heralding the unexpected delivery, gave way
to puzzlement as soon as he recognized the handwriting that graced
both the package and the envelope. 

"Read the letter first, before opening the package," the delivery boy
had said. Those were the instructions he had been told to pass on to
Nick. With a bemused smile on his face, Nick started to reach for the
parcel now resting on the table but stopped himself at the last
moment. He picked up the envelope instead. 

Carefully tearing it open, he removed the letter inside, wondering
with more than a little amusement what it was Natalie had sent him
and why. It was a long letter -- several pages, in fact. Just what
was she up to? 

Realizing there was only one way to find out, Nick leaned back in his
chair and began to read.

+++++++ 

Nick, 

Boy, how do I begin? I know you're probably sitting there wondering
why the heck you're reading a letter from me. Why I didn't just call
you or drop by the loft like I usually do when I have something to
say. The truth is, there are a lot of reasons, and I'll get around to
telling you about them all. Just be patient with me, okay? I mean, no
fair skipping ahead to the end for the punchline. It'll come soon
enough. 

We haven't talked much lately. You've been busy. I've been busy. The
whole world's been busy, it seems -- especially all the bad guys.
They don't ever take a vacation, do they? Which makes it kind of hard
for us to take one. Of course, when we have talked, it's mostly been
about work. Think we're a little anal retentive, here? Or just trying
to postpone the inevitable? 

You probably thought I hadn't noticed. But Nick, I gotta tell you,
it's hard to miss the signs. Maybe if we'd talked more -- really
talked, like we used to -- it wouldn't have happened so soon. I know,
I know, it's been almost six years, which on the one hand is
practically nothing to you, but on the other hand is a long time for
you to stay in one place. At least, I think it is. That's another
thing we've never really talked about. 

I know you've been getting discouraged about our search for ... well,
you know. I'm really sorry about that, Nick. I feel like I've let you
down. I know I never promised anything, except to try, but I made you
hope. I made us both hope. 

I've seen that hope fade over the last few months, not just in you
but in me, too. I just didn't want to admit it. I never could stand
to give up on anything. The more hopeless it seems, the more stubborn
I get. I guess I've always felt that every problem has a solution --
I just have to look hard enough to find it. Only I'm learning now it
doesn't always work that way. 

But I'm getting off track. What I mean to say is that I know you've
been feeling the urge to move on for some time now. I didn't want to
admit it. Maybe I thought that if I didn't accept it, then it
wouldn't be true. Another big mistake. I think, too, that recent
events, and you know which ones I'm talking about, may have caused
you to have second thoughts about our work together. I know that's
something you probably don't want to think about, but you really
should. Delving into one's own psyche may not be fun, but I've found
it to be pretty useful these past few weeks. 

Okay, why don't I just come out and say it? I think the only reason
you're still here, at this point, is because you feel some sense of
loyalty and obligation to me. That's what keeps you here even though
everything inside you is screaming out to move on. To leave this
place and never look back. 

I think that's what you really want to do, and I think you're feeling
guilty because of it. Hah! Imagine that. You've been so worried about
hurting me by leaving that you don't see how much you're hurting me
by staying. Staying because you think you owe it to me, not because
it's what you really want anymore. 

And I realize I've given you every reason to think that. I stopped
you when you wanted to leave after Schanke and Cohen died. I was
wrong. I shouldn't have shamed you into staying. I still think you
were leaving for the wrong reasons then, but the point is that it was
your decision to make, and I had no right to be so angry about it. 

I want you to know now I understand, Nick, I really do. All the
hurts, all the disappointments and setbacks, all the losses. It takes
a toll. It wears you down. It's natural to feel the urge to run away
and hide from all the pain. It's a very *human* reaction. Trust me, I
know. 

This probably isn't making much sense, and it isn't quite leading
where I'm sure you think it's leading. Just bear with me a little
longer, okay? 

Remember when we thought the asteroid was going to hit us and
everyone would die? Being a victim of perfect recall, I'm sure you
do. Remember what I asked you to do? 

Okay. I wasn't going to get too specific in case anyone else happened
to see this. It's not likely, I know, but hey, I've always been a
little bit paranoid. Only I can't really say what I need to say if I
don't. Soooo .... 

When I begged you to bring me across, it wasn't so much that I was
afraid of dying. It was more an excuse to ask for something that I
never would have dreamed of asking for under different circumstances.
Okay, that's not true. It wasn't the first time I'd thought about it,
but I was ashamed of myself for it. I knew you'd be horrified.
Wanting it felt like a betrayal -- of myself and all the things I'd
ever believed in. Of our work and everything we'd been through. 

But most of all, it felt like a betrayal of you. Because I couldn't
see it the way you did -- that death was preferable to the darkness.
A darkness where we could finally be together. 

I love you, Nick. 

There it is. I should have said it a long time ago. I owed that to
myself. But I knew it wasn't something you wanted to hear. Who am I
kidding? I wasn't any more willing to say it than you were to hear
it. If it didn't get said, then we wouldn't have to deal with it,
right? We already had so much to deal with as it was. 

Well, I've said it now. No going back. You realize that's one of the
reasons you got this letter, instead of me on your doorstep. It's
something I knew I wouldn't have the nerve to say if I were standing
there in front of you looking into your eyes. I know because I've
chickened out before. You have no idea what a close call you've had
on more than one occasion. 

And while we're at it, I have another confession to make. I just
can't bring myself to look at your existence with the same horror and
loathing you feel when you look at yourself and others of your kind.
Not even after what happened with Richard. That was a mistake, yes,
but it was my mistake, not yours. I made a decision for my brother
that I had no right to make -- one that he wasn't properly prepared
to handle. And I pressured you to do something you believed in your
heart was wrong. I know you did it for me, Nick. And I've carried
that guilt with me ever since. Another in a long line of mistakes, a
la Natalie Lambert. 

In the beginning, I saw your ... unique nature ... as a challenge --
a puzzle to solve, a riddle to answer, uncharted territory to be
explored. Bet you never thought of yourself that way, huh? Well, I
didn't think of you that way either, not for long. As our friendship
grew, it became my own personal cause. As our feelings deepened -- or
should I say, as *my* feelings deepened -- it became the enemy. A
dark and seductive rival that would take you away from me if I didn't
fight hard enough, if I didn't have enough faith and hope to get us
both past all the obstacles that were in our way. 

But all along, somewhere deep inside, I recognized it for what it was
-- the answer. It was a way that we could be together -- a way to buy
the time we needed to find a cure. 

And then I thought I was going to die. And it all became so clear. I
had to ask. 

I still don't know why I was surprised when you refused. I guess I
thought (hoped?) that you were secretly waiting for an excuse, too.
That you would consider it worth the price if it meant we could be
together for even a brief time. Boy, was that a wake-up call or what?
Only problem is, I just turned over and went back to sleep. 

I became even more determined ... desperate ... to find a cure. And
naturally, the harder I tried, the less progress we seemed to make.
We even lost a lot of ground, what with one thing and another. 

I realize I'm saying a lot of things that are probably better left
unsaid. I know you, Nick, and I know you'll take this too much to
heart. You'll blame yourself for things you shouldn't -- situations
and dilemmas that *I'm* responsible for, not you. But I really feel
that I have to be completely honest here. I owe you that. As honest
as humanly possible, anyway. I think you finally figured out I'm not
perfect, despite what you used to think back in those early days. 

By now, I know you're wondering if I'll ever get to the point. Okay.
I will. I haven't been feeling so great these past few months. Mostly
tired, which is hardly surprising for a workaholic like me. But I
finally gave in and went to see a doctor. 

Are you ready for the punchline I promised you at the start of this
major dissertation of mine? Well, I'll give you three guesses what
the final verdict was. I'll spare you the details -- let's just say
that he advised me to start getting my affairs in order. And that I
shouldn't wait too long. 

So that's what I'm doing. And that's why you got this letter. This
time, I got a wake-up call I just couldn't ignore. By the time you
get this, I'll be gone -- out of town, I mean. You see, we've come
full circle again. Back to where we were, with the asteroid and all. 

I know that if I stayed, at some point I'd end up begging you to
bring me across, no matter how hard I tried not to. I don't want to
put either one of us through that again. Frankly, I don't think I
could bear it. And I don't think you could either. 

And the possibility that you might give in, only to wind up resenting
me and hating yourself all the more, terrifies me beyond belief. 

I wish I could convince you somehow not to blame yourself for the way
things turned out, but I think we both know that's not very likely. 

Listen to me, Nick. And even if you've never believed me about
anything else, believe this. 

All the pain that came with loving you is *nothing* compared to the
joy that loving you has brought me. How much sadder it would be to
die without ever having known the kind of feelings I have for you.
It's a precious gift you gave me, Nick. And it's the one thing that's
going to get me through this. 

Don't look for me, Nick. Don't try to find me, you won't be able to.
I've made sure of that. Just know that I'll be okay. If you truly
care for me, then you have to trust me on this and respect my wishes. 

And above all, remember that I loved you. Because as long as you
remember, I'll still be here ... 

     Natalie 

+++++++ 

Slowly, as if in a daze, Nick laid the last page of the letter down
on the table to join the others. With shaking hands, he reached out
for the package, opening it with great care -- almost reverently.
Inside lay the journals Natalie had been keeping for the last six
years -- meticulous notes on every treatment, each attempted cure and
every setback that had come their way. 

On top, lay a single piece of paper with her final message to him:
"As long as it's something you truly want, never give up. Promise
me." 

And with that, blood tears began to fall.


====================
Part Two
====================

LaCroix smiled as he sensed Nicholas' approach. Though he refused to
admit it, even to himself, he was somewhat surprised it had taken his
son so long to seek him out. Almost three weeks had passed since
Natalie Lambert had departed Toronto for places unknown, and Nicholas
was only now finding his way to The Raven. 

But he *had* come. It was all that mattered -- that, and what the
future now held in store for them. Yes, he had indeed made the right
decision. Events were proceeding exactly as they must. 

+++++++ 

He was here, somewhere. Nick had felt LaCroix's presence even before
he entered The Raven. Nothing could mask the link they shared --
stronger at this time, perhaps, than it had been in years. Neither
the music's pounding rhythm, nor the almost overpowering scent of
mortal blood emanating from the writhing, gyrating bodies on the
dance floor below could hide the fact that his master was close at
hand. 

Standing motionless, he scanned the room, tuning out external
distractions to focus on LaCroix. His failure to spot the ancient
vampire among the club's patrons came as no surprise. LaCroix had
kept an unexpectedly low profile of late. In fact, Nick had neither
seen nor heard from him since Natalie had left. 

*Natalie.* 

The day he had received her letter was among the worst Nick had ever
experienced. He cursed the sun for its lazy descent, and he cursed
himself for his inability to venture outside while the sun's rays
were at their zenith. When at last the sun had neared the horizon,
Nick braved the waning daylight in a fruitless race against time. 

Bolting from the Caddy, his face obscured by dark glasses and a black
scarf, his hands protected by thick gloves, his body swathed in a
heavy wool coat, Nick raced into the Coroner's Building. In
retrospect, he couldn't say why he'd gone there first. Perhaps it was
because repeated phone calls to her home went unanswered. Or maybe it
was the fact that the morgue was where they'd first met. 

When he thought of Natalie, he most often pictured her there, in that
cold and sterile place that was so unlike her -- laughing at him,
teasing him, lecturing him or sharing her findings in an endless
string of cases. She wouldn't be there, of course. Even under normal
circumstances, it would have been far too early to find her at work.
But it gave him a place to start. 

Not one of the faces that turned his way as he barged into the morgue
belonged to her, and the sound of Natalie's familiar heartbeat was
missing from the building. Still, he continued down the hall,
irrationally hoping his vampiric senses had failed him and that he
would discover her sitting in her office, hidden behind a mountain of
paper work. 

Instead, he found Dr. Leonard Dayton, Natalie's supervisor, who had
apparently been told about the detective's tumultuous arrival and who
was obviously intent on intercepting Nick before he proceeded any
further. 

+++++++ 

Leonard Dayton was definitely not looking forward to the coming
confrontation with a certain blond homicide detective. But that's
exactly what he feared it would be -- a confrontation, and a very
*public* one at that. While Natalie Lambert had not told him why she
was leaving -- except to attribute the move to "personal reasons" --
Nick Knight's presence here indicated that she hadn't been
forthcoming with her detective friend, either. 

Perhaps because Knight, himself, was one of those "personal" reasons? 

No. Dayton wasn't looking forward to this at all. 

"Nick," he said, nodding a casual greeting as the two met outside
what had, until yesterday, been Natalie's office. His easy manner
belied the trepidation he felt. "It's a little early for you, isn't
it? Is there something I can help you with?" 

"Where's Dr. Lambert?" Knight's tone made it clear he was in no mood
for small talk. 

Dayton fell silent for a moment, looking into eyes that were suddenly
much harder than he remembered -- eyes that almost, but not quite,
hid the carefully suppressed panic he saw lurking in their depths.
He, along with everyone else in the precinct, knew of the close
friendship between his favorite medical examiner and Knight. And like
others, he had wondered from time to time just how far that
friendship had progressed. With Nick's abrupt and tumultuous
appearance here tonight, he felt he had his answer. 

That was all he had, however, as reluctant as Knight might be to
believe it. That, and the sympathy he felt for the unhappy man before
him. 

"I'm sorry, Nick, but I don't know," Dayton replied at last. "She
handed in her resignation yesterday, effective immediately. I assume
you know that already. I really can't tell you anything else. Have
you tried her home?" 

Knight failed to respond, and Dayton grew uneasy. The detective's
cold eyes bored into him with breathless intensity as he began to
lose his train of thought. Suddenly, all he could focus on were those
eyes, the pupils dilating and contracting in rapid succession, flecks
of ... gold, was it? ... dancing around the edges of each blue iris.
He vaguely realized he could hear the sound of his own heart beating. 

He watched with befuddled interest as Knight opened his mouth to
speak ... 

And was suddenly snapped out of his strange lethargy by the shrill
beeping of a pager. 

"I ... I need to get that," Dayton stammered, shaking his head in an
attempt to clear his foggy brain. Obviously, he needed a good, stiff
dose of caffeine if he planned to make it through the next shift, he
thought. There hadn't been time to bring in a replacement for
Natalie, as yet, so he would be taking over part of her caseload for
the time being. It was important that he keep a clear head. 

Feeling somewhat better, Dayton checked the pager's digital display,
then glanced back up at the blond detective. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't help you, Nick. We all miss Natalie ...
already. Tell her that, would you?" 

He hesitated, then added, "When you see her." 

+++++++ 

Nick glared at Dayton's retreating back as the doctor hurried off
down the hall. There was something in the way the man had looked at
him there at the last -- a look that came dangerously close to pity. 

Nick had tried to gauge how much Dayton knew about Natalie's
departure -- how much he might be "persuaded" to tell. But the
untimely beeping of the man's pager had robbed the vampire of that
ill-considered opportunity. He was *certain* Dayton knew the truth.
The question was whether he had refused to discuss it with Nick
because Natalie had asked him not to do so or simply because he was
unsure of how much Nick knew and had no wish to be the one to tell
him. 

It didn't really matter, of course. He was wasting precious minutes
here. 

This time, with the darkness to welcome him, Nick took to the sky,
leaving the Caddy behind as he headed for Natalie's apartment
building. Without bothering to knock, Nick used the key she had given
him to gain entry, then stopped just inside the door. The apartment
was black and silent, like the fear that gnawed at the edges of his
mind. The furniture was draped in ghostly white dust covers, and the
rooms were now devoid of any personal possessions. 

By the time Nick reached the bedroom and found the closet door
standing ajar, the fear had all but consumed him. Sinking down onto
the bed, he stayed there for some time, staring into the empty
closet.

+++++++ 

In the days and weeks that followed, Nick did everything he could to
locate Natalie -- both humanly and otherwise. That she had asked him
not to look for her was a fact he chose to ignore. 

It was true that, with increasing frequency of late, he had felt the
compulsion to move on -- to leave this life in search of another. But
of all the ways he had envisioned their inevitable parting, he had
never once pictured it happening this way. *He* was the one who left.
He was always the one who left. Only once before in his 800 years had
he been the one left behind. 

He didn't like it any better now than he had then. But at least when
Janette had left him, he'd had a chance to talk to her first. He'd
had a chance to persuade her to change her mind and stay. He'd failed
miserably in that respect, and some small portion of the resentment
he felt then had followed him through the centuries until a marital
spat between Don and Myra Schanke had finally helped him to
understand. 

Now he could feel the anger building inside him once again, fueled by
a pain that cut deep into his soul -- or would have, if he'd had a
soul. All the setbacks they'd faced, all the times Natalie had
bullied or cajoled or reasoned him into picking himself up and trying
again, all the times she'd encouraged him not to give up and
applauded his progress -- all these scenes played themselves out over
and over again in his mind. 

And in the end, Nick was left with one inescapable truth. *She* had
been the one to give up. She had left without coming to him first.
She hadn't trusted him enough to let him help her. 

He ruthlessly silenced a small voice inside his head that mockingly
inquired just what that "help" might have entailed. 

+++++++ 

Now, having exhausted every possible avenue of search but one, Nick
had come to the Raven. Despite his preoccupation with the search for
Natalie and his attempts to fend off the unrelenting sympathy offered
by friends and co-workers, Nick admitted to himself that LaCroix's
unusual silence during this time had preyed heavily on his mind. The
anguish he'd felt after reading Natalie's letter and the emotional
turmoil he continued to experience would, in the past, have proved an
irresistible lure to his master. 

And yet, LaCroix had remained strangely absent. He had made no
attempt to contact the younger vampire at all -- not even through
their link. Tonight, Nick intended to find out why.


====================
Part Three
====================

Nick slowly descended the steps to the Raven's dance floor and began
to push his way through the crowd. Perhaps it was the dangerously
deliberate way in which he moved or the hard, foreboding expression
on his face. Whatever the reason, as he pressed forward, those
crowding the floor -- both vampire and mortal -- gave way, taking
care not to hinder his progress or attract unwanted attention. 

When he reached the bar, he locked eyes with the bartender. 

"LaCroix." 

The man nodded toward a small door at the back of the club as he
silently held up a bottle of wine. Without comment, Nick turned and
headed for the wine cellar, where he would no doubt find LaCroix
taking inventory of his extensive stock -- and of the special house
vintage, in particular. 

Reaching the bottom of the cellar stairs, he stepped out into the
room, spotting LaCroix near a row of shelves off to one side. The
elder vampire glanced over at him. 

"Why, Nicholas," he said, feigning surprise. "How nice to see you. I
thought you had forgotten me. I confess I have rather enjoyed our
little visits together of late. But it's been ... what? Almost three
weeks?" 

Arching one eyebrow in silent rebuke, LaCroix pointedly turned his
attention back to the clipboard he held, all but dismissing his son.
Nick, however, had not come there to be ignored. 

"This isn't a social visit, LaCroix." 

The elder vampire raised his head, regarding him with a dispassionate
gaze. 

"Ah. I see. Are we playing mortal detective tonight? Well, *officer*,
what is it I can help you with this time? A jealous lover who killed
his inamorata in a moment of passion? They met here, no doubt, and
you wish to ascertain his present whereabouts. 

"Or perhaps, someone in the Community has been a bit careless, hmm?"
The smooth voice carried a sudden impish quality Nick had learned to
dread. "Didn't dispose of the body properly? Well, well, you're quite
right, Nicholas. He really *must* be dealt with immediately." 

Nick glared at LaCroix but said nothing. If his master thought he
could bait him so easily, Nick was determined to disappoint him. He
would not let himself be distracted by LaCroix's taunts -- not
tonight. 

Instead, he carefully scrutinized the elder vampire, hoping he would
detect a reaction to what he was about to say -- no matter how minute
it might be. He knew all too well that his sire was more than adept
at controlling the link between them. He would allow Nick to sense
only as much as he wished -- and no more. But then, Nick had rarely
challenged LaCroix in this matter, choosing ... even welcoming ...
the limits LaCroix placed on their bond. 

This time, however, he planned to stick his foot in the door, so to
speak, if LaCroix attempted to deny him full access to their link. As
Nick moved to close the distance between them, both mentally and
physically, his eyes never left LaCroix's face. 

"Natalie's gone," he said, halting his steady advance mere inches
away from the other vampire. "She quit her job and left Toronto." 

LaCroix's eyebrows lifted, and he tilted his head slightly as he
examined his son with guarded interest. 

"Yes," he responded at last. "I had heard something to that effect.
But I assumed -- incorrectly, it would seem -- that you would have
gone after her. Patched up any little misunderstandings the two of
you may have had ... as you have done so often in the past." 

Ignoring LaCroix's words, Nick reached out through their link,
straining to extend the contact beyond the normal level of vampiric
awareness, before attempting, at last, to force his way into
LaCroix's consciousness. He could sense nothing -- except the slight
amusement now reflected on the older vampire's face. 

"Really, Nicholas," LaCroix murmured. "I would hardly have expected
you to be so tactless. Have I taught you nothing of proper manners
toward your elders?" 

He turned and fixed his gaze on the younger vampire. 

"If there's something you wish to know, my son, why don't you simply
ask?" 

"Because I know you, LaCroix!" a frustrated Nick shot back, his voice
deepening with the guttural growl of the vampire. "You wouldn't tell
me. You like to taunt me with your silence or tease me with senseless
riddles and half-truths!" 

"I am, in fact, the root of all evil, n'est-ce pas?" LaCroix
countered, his gaze hardening, his expression cold. "It's an old
refrain you're singing, my boy. One I've grown weary of hearing.
Perhaps you should say whatever it is you came to say and leave." 

A taut silence stretched between the two, filled only by the muted
bass rhythm pounding through the thick ceiling that served as the
Raven's dance floor. The atmosphere in the room fairly pulsated with
tension. 

Finally, Nick looked away. He drew a deep breath and spoke. 

"I can't find Natalie," he said. He turned an accusing gaze back to
LaCroix. "I've looked for her, but she's vanished completely. There's
no trace of her in any data base I've been able to access. Her bank
account has been closed. All of her credit cards have been cancelled.
She didn't take her car, but there hasn't been a plane, train or bus
ticket purchased in her name during the past two months -- not in
Toronto or any of the surrounding areas . No rental cars, either.
I've had others searching for her, as well. So far, nothing." 

The amused look returned to LaCroix's face. 

"Well, I must say, you have certainly been thorough. You must allow
me, however, to point out the obvious -- *much* as it pains me to do
so. From what you've just told me, I would say the good doctor
prefers not to be found. Really, Nicholas," he sighed, shaking his
head in mock resignation. "What *did* you do this time?" 

LaCroix was baiting him again, and Nick was sorely tempted to bite.
But as before, he fought back the urge, determined to stay focused on
his goal. 

"She's gone," he stoically repeated. "You and I both know she
couldn't have disappeared like this on her own. She had help -- the
kind of help you can't get in the mortal world." 

"Indeed?" 

"I've already talked to Vachon. She didn't go to him. That leaves one
other possibility." 

A smile of genuine amusement touched LaCroix's face, and he chuckled
as he shook his head. 

"Really, Nicholas. What would possess you to think Dr. Lambert would
turn to me, of all people, for help of any kind?" 

"She wanted to disappear from my life!" Nick's anger resurfaced full
force. "Who better to help her? You've always resented our friendship
-- our search for a way to bring me back. You've done everything you
could to make it impossible --" 

Nick broke off as he realized what he had been about to say, and to
whom. LaCroix waited quietly, a questioning look fixed upon the
younger vampire. 

"Please, Nicholas, don't stop now. I find this quite enlightening, if
not altogether accurate. What exactly was it that I made impossible?" 

 When Nick merely stared back in stony silence, LaCroix suddenly
 abandoned his nonchalant pose and stalked over to his son. 

"The good doctor *left* you, Nicholas!" he hissed. "She *abandoned*
both you and your quest, apparently with considerable forethought and
even, shall we say ... malice? Why would you wish to chase after her
like a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs begging for
another cuff on the ear? 

"Or could it be something else you want?" LaCroix circled behind
Nick, leaning in close as he whispered a final taunting question.
"Could it be ... *revenge* ... that you seek?" 

As LaCroix stepped back with a derisive smile, Nick whirled to face
him, goaded to the point of attacking. His eyes had reverted to
vampire gold filled with tell-tale flecks of red. He felt the
stirring beast inside him awaken and yearned to unleash it. 

"Now that *would* be a pleasant change," LaCroix remarked. 

Almost as abruptly as he had begun, the elder vampire abandoned his
verbal attack. 

"Have you contacted Aristotle? If she did have help from the
Community, that is where she would have been taken." 

Nick struggled to calm himself, closing his eyes and bowing his head.
He mustn't lose control now. He would not succumb to LaCroix's mind
games. There was too much at stake. 

He took several deep breaths before answering. 

"I went to him as soon as I realized what must have happened," he
replied at last, his voice a ragged whisper. 

"And?" 

"And he told me nothing! What did you expect? You know it's
impossible to get him to give up any information about the new
identities he creates or those who assume them. You were counting on
that when you took her there, weren't you?" 

LaCroix sighed. "What is it you want from me, Nicholas?" 

"The truth. Tell me where she is." 

LaCroix stood silent, his gaze locked with that of his son, revealing
nothing. 

And Nick felt his anger and resentment rise yet again. In recent
months, he had begun to feel a reluctant kinship with LaCroix.
Circumstances -- and his master's more lenient attitude -- had helped
them establish a truce of sorts. They had actually seemed to be
building a newer, stronger relationship, one that placed them on more
equal footing than the master-fledgling interaction of the past. 

Or so Nick had thought. 

Now, he wanted nothing more than to pin the ancient vampire against
the wall and promise to destroy him for good this time if he didn't
tell him where to find Natalie. But what would be the point? Both he
and LaCroix would recognize it for the empty threat it was. 

Instead, he turned to go, accepting at last that LaCroix would do
nothing to help him. When he reached the door, he stopped, hand on
the doorknob, his back still turned to his master. 

"Did she tell you she's dying?" he whispered. 

For a brief instant, Nick felt a flicker of something from LaCroix
... surprise? It vanished so quickly, he couldn't be certain. When he
turned to face LaCroix again, the vampire's expression was as
impassive as ever. 

"That is unfortunate, Nicholas. But it *is* what mortals do, is it
not?" 

Silence fell again. 

This time, when Nick finally answered, his voice was quiet and steady
and filled with resolve. 

"If she dies before I find her ... if she dies alone ... I swear on
my sister's grave, LaCroix, that I will never forgive you." 

Nick turned and left the room.


====================
Part Four
====================

LaCroix was furious. The rage welled up in him until it finally
boiled over, dark and dangerous and directed entirely at Nicholas. 

It was fortunate for his self-righteous, self-deluded,
mortal-worshiping offspring that he had wasted no time in leaving the
Raven. As it was, LaCroix was forced to call upon every last ounce of
his considerable willpower to stop himself from flying after the
insolent pup and tearing out his heart on the spot. 

"Never ... forgive ... *me*?!" 

He roared the final word, shouting out his displeasure to the stone
walls of the club's wine cellar. 

"How *dare* he!" 

Snarling, his eyes blazing red, LaCroix picked up a wine bottle and
hurled it across the room where it hit the wall, shattering in a
tantalizing spray of red liquid and sparkling glass fragments. He
closed his eyes tightly, breathing heavily and fighting to contain
the black rage sweeping through him. 

No matter how many times over the centuries his wayward child had
provoked him, LaCroix had kept a tight hold on his anger, rarely
allowing it to override his control. But tonight, Nicholas'
ill-conceived parting shot had struck too close to its mark, cracking
that icy veneer. 

Scant moments later, however, LaCroix had regained his composure.
Making his way up the stairs and into his office, he closed the door
and settled into the overstuffed chair behind the desk. Then, and
only then, did his thoughts turn back to the confrontation in the
wine cellar. 

How dare his son seek to judge him. *He* was the one owed
retribution. *He* was the one who had allowed Nicholas to keep his
precious mortal close to him, despite their agreement to the
contrary. And to swear on *her* grave? That was the most unforgivable
insult of all. 

Fleur. That Nicholas had had the temerity to invoke her name against
him astounded LaCroix, though he couldn't say why. Bitter experience
had taught him long ago that his son rarely bothered to look beyond
his own pain and petty longings. 

'He begs me to leave his sister behind to wither and die,' LaCroix
thought, incensed, 'then has the utter gall to demand I tell him
where he can find his dear doctor before she meets the same fate.' 

His willful child hadn't even asked nicely. As usual, Nicholas had
simply barged in and accused him of being responsible for spiriting
her away. 

When in truth, *she* had made the first overture ... 

Almost a month had passed since that night. At the time, LaCroix had
been sitting at his desk reflecting on the cautious progress he was
making with Nicholas. His son had paid him a visit the previous
evening, apparently for no other reason than to enjoy the pleasure of
his father's company. A remarkable departure indeed from Nicholas'
habitual attitude this century. 

They had, of course, avoided the more sensitive topics -- unpleasant
episodes from the past, Janette, the search for a cure ... and
Natalie Lambert. Instead, they had talked of better days. Nicholas'
memory of past events was improving, but still hazy and incomplete in
some areas. There were many questions he still had, not all of which
LaCroix chose to answer with complete honesty, but neither did he lie
since presumably Nicholas would eventually remember the truth on his
own. 

LaCroix had even been persuaded to perform a piece on the violin,
with his son taking on the role of appreciative audience. Yes, it had
been a most enjoyable visit. 

His reverie was interrupted, however, as his vampiric senses detected
the approach of a mortal. He could tell from the heartbeat and the
familiar gait that Joseph, the early evening bartender, had arrived
for his shift and was heading toward the office. At the hesitant
knock on the door, he gave the bartender leave to enter, wondering
idly what unexpected occurrence had compelled Joseph to brave the
lion's den. 

"Sir? There's a woman here to see you," the man informed LaCroix
apologetically. "I told her you wouldn't want to be disturbed, but
she said it was a matter of life and death." 

The vampire dropped his pen onto the desk and leaned back in his
chair, amused by the comment. 

"Isn't it always?" he asked. 

At Joseph's blank stare, LaCroix sighed and shook his head. "Does
this woman, perchance, have a name?" 

"I think she said it was Dr. Lambert, sir." 

One eyebrow rose, LaCroix's only outward concession to the surprise
he felt at that moment. What an intriguing development. Nicholas'
mortal coming to see him. Most diverting. This promised to be quite
interesting. 

"Well, Joseph. You heard the lady. It's a matter of life and death,
therefore, I suggest you waste no time in showing her to my office." 

As Joseph retreated to fetch the unexpected visitor, LaCroix leaned
forward in his chair. Yes, this could be very interesting, indeed.

+++++++ 

Moments later, Natalie Lambert was seated across the desk from him.
Neither chose to speak until Joseph was well out of earshot. It was
LaCroix who finally broke the silence. 

"Well, I must say, Doctor, that of all the visitors I might have
expected to see here, you were certainly not among them. Does
Nicholas know you've come?" 

Instead of ignoring his question, as LaCroix fully expected, Natalie
gazed at him steadily, answering quietly. 

"No, he doesn't. And I would appreciate it if you wouldn't tell him." 

This time, LaCroix allowed his face to register his surprise. Natalie
smiled in wry amusement. 

"I think we both know what Nick's reaction would be, and I don't know
about you, but I'd rather not deal with it right now. I have other
things to worry about." 

"Such as?" LaCroix countered. 

"Such as trying to convince a 2,000-year-old vampire who considers
me, at worst, a 'mortal' enemy," she smiled grimly, "and at best, a
royal pain in the butt, to set aside our differences in pursuit of a
common goal." 

"Which would be?" 

LaCroix regarded her with a mild smirk, certain he knew where this
was heading. One more in a long line of attempts to convince him to
let his foolish son chase after that ridiculous dream of becoming
mortal again, with no further interference from a concerned father.
As if *she* could succeed in influencing his actions when his own
beloved, albeit exasperating, Nicholas could not. 

"Which would be ... " Natalie paused briefly, as if carefully
weighing her next words, then raised her eyes to meet LaCroix's.
"Which would be helping me to disappear from Toronto ... and from
Nick's life." 

To say LaCroix was surprised could hardly do justice to the feeling
that assailed him. It was not a state he readily embraced. Centuries
upon centuries of observing the mortal world and all the havoc its
inhabitants could wreak upon one another had left no place for the
unforeseen in his existence. He was considered by most in the
Community to be all but omniscient. And that's the way he liked it. 

He had always made it a point to know what transpired among those who
dwelled within his realm of influence. Natalie Lambert, by sheer
virtue of her knowledge of the Community, had placed herself in the
outer fringes of that world. Her irritating friendship with his son
made it doubly imperative that he know exactly what to expect from
her. 

The fact that she had caught him off guard with this annoyed him no
end. 

"I see," LaCroix said, though he really didn't. "And I suppose you
*will* tell me exactly why it is that after six years of fighting to
stay a part of Nicholas' life, you now wish to remove yourself from
it? I confess, I expect to be quite fascinated." 

He stared at her intently, waiting. 

"And I would expect you to be more interested in the end result,"
Natalie replied. "Does it really matter why?" 

"Most definitely," he assured her. 

She glanced quickly around the room, apparently considering her
response. Her gaze returned to LaCroix. "I won't lie to you ... won't
try to tell you that I don't care about Nick, anymore. That I don't
still want him to become mortal again. I don't think I'd be very
convincing. 

"But it's been almost six years since we started, and I think you
know we're no closer now than we ever were. Less, in fact, thanks in
large part to you." At the bitter look she cast his way, he smiled
and nodded his head graciously, as though accepting a compliment. 

"But like I said, it's been six years, and I'm not getting any
younger. Lately ... I've had visions of my life slipping away from
me. Like things are spinning out of control. I can't stop them by
myself, and I'm not sure Nick --" Natalie broke off, apparently
rethinking what she had been about to say. 

When she finally continued, LaCroix could see acceptance and a
renewed determination shining in her eyes. 

"The truth is, we're not getting anywhere. All we're doing is hurting
one another. I don't have the strength or the heart to go on this
way. But Nick and I have both tried to walk away before, and we've
always come back. The only way we can make the break permanent is for
one of us to leave. 

"I have no right to ask Nick to do that ... and I *won't*," Natalie
warned, aware of what LaCroix was thinking and cutting him off before
he could voice it. "Look at it this way, LaCroix. I'm sure you'll
waste no time in talking Nick into leaving here once I'm gone. And I
don't think he'll give you much trouble about it this time." 

She fell silent, watching him warily as she waited for his response. 

Eyes downcast, lips pursed in concentration, LaCroix rose from his
chair and walked around the desk, approaching her from behind. She
continued to stare straight ahead, pointedly refusing to track his
movements around the room, even when he drew quite close to her. 

How odd. Unlike their previous encounters, he could sense no fear in
her, not even the slightest tremor of uncertainty. While her defiant
attitude and refusal to give in to that fear had always amused him,
even impressed him somewhat, it had always been there. Carefully
controlled, but ever present. 

Until now. 

His hand deliberately brushed her hair away from her neck as he
leaned over to whisper in her ear. "Tell me something, Doctor. Why
did you really come here? If you simply wish to abandon Nicholas and
your life here -- to pack up and move away -- it hardly necessitates
*my* assistance. Mortals do it every day." 

He listened carefully to her heartbeat, and what he heard puzzled him
all the more. While there had been a momentary acceleration in her
heart rate as he leaned over her shoulder, it had quickly settled
back into its normal, steady rhythm. And her breathing had remained
quiet and even. 

Odd, indeed. And damned annoying. 

"Moving away isn't good enough," Natalie said. "Not to overestimate
my importance in Nick's life, but there *is* a chance he would come
after me. The only way I can be sure is to disappear. And I don't
know anybody who does that better than your kind." 

LaCroix straightened as he gave careful thought to her words. There
was more behind her decision to leave than she was willing to reveal,
of this he was certain. But as she so aptly pointed out, did it
really matter? When all was said and done, she would be gone and
Nicholas would be reeling from yet another betrayal by a beloved
mortal. 

And who better to offer support and guidance than a loving father? 

LaCroix returned to his seat behind the desk and leaned forward, his
fingers pressed together to form a steeple. Drawing in a deep breath,
he flashed her a wicked smile. 

"Tell me, Doctor, has Nicholas ever mentioned Aristotle?" 

+++++++ 

No, indeed, LaCroix thought, as his mind was drawn from that fateful
conversation back to the present. It seemed the good doctor had not
told him everything. And it *did* make a difference. It made a very
great difference to his carefully constructed scenario of
abandonment, betrayal and reconciliation. 

No. This simply wouldn't do at all.


====================
Part Five
====================

Swearing under his breath, Nick slammed the phone down with a barely
restrained ferocity that threatened to break the receiver in half.
But unlike his equanimity, it remained intact. Which was fortunate,
since he still had one last call to make before conceding that the
ongoing search for Natalie Lambert had hit yet another dead end. 

Punching in the final number on his list, Nick lowered his head and
began counting the rings. The last three weeks had been an emotional
whirlwind of worry, anger, frustration and despair. It had swept him
up and carried him along. What little patience he still possessed was
worn precariously thin, making the struggle to rein in his temper
that much harder. Perhaps that's why he didn't immediately notice the
abrupt silence that had descended upon the squad room. 

When Nick finally looked up, a number of curious faces hastily turned
away. With clenched jaw and narrowed eyes he glared around the room,
sending a silent yet unmistakable warning to anyone foolish enough to
be caught gawking. 

Nine rings. Ten. Still no answer. His hand tightened around the
receiver, the pressure increasing with each ring. At fifteen, another
crash resounded through the squad room. 

This time, it was pointedly ignored. 

Earlier that evening, Nick had arrived at the precinct, almost before
the sun had set. With a single-mindedness Natalie would have
recognized all too well, he ignored the greetings of his co-workers
and crossed to his desk where he settled in at the computer terminal.
He planned to spend the night retracing old leads in hopes of turning
up something he'd missed the first time around. 

He wasn't supposed to be there, of course, having entered into a
self-imposed exile of sorts almost two weeks ago. Though Natalie's
stunning revelation and departure had left Nick reeling, in those
first few days, he'd struggled to maintain some semblance of a normal
routine -- showing up for work, more or less on time, and going
through the motions of tracking down leads in two unresolved homicide
cases. But the attention he had given them was minimal at best. Then,
as now, the vast majority of his time had been spent at the computer,
doggedly searching for some kind of paper trail, some clue -- no
matter how small or insignificant -- that would lead him to Natalie. 

And then came the night when, in a particularly distracted frame of
mind, he had made a mistake. A big one. One that had almost allowed a
suspect in a particularly nasty murder case to go free. And Nick had
been forced to make a choice. 

He had requested an extended leave of absence, citing "personal
reasons." Reese hadn't been happy about it but had grudgingly advised
his detective to "get things settled, one way or another." The
captain hadn't specified what "things." They both knew. 

Oddly enough, Nick's unofficial presence in the squad room tonight
had, thus far, been deliberately overlooked by Reese. And for this,
he was grateful. 

While the investigative agency he'd hired to search for Natalie was
the best money could buy, Nick was understandably limited in what he
could tell those assigned to the case. His deliberate omission of
certain facts would seriously hamper their efforts to locate Natalie
if she had, indeed, turned to the Community for help. He had little
choice in the matter, however, since revealing those details would
place both the Community and the mortal investigators at risk. 

So, here he was -- chasing down leads the agency would never think to
pursue while trying to keep his total lack of progress from driving
him insane. 

Not even Sarah Lambert could help with the search. Natalie, well
aware her sister-in-law was not a resister, had steadfastly refused
to disclose her intended destination, despite Sarah's pleas to the
contrary. A necessary precaution on her part since Nick, unwilling to
leave anything to chance, had "persuaded" Sarah to repeat, word for
word, that final conversation between the two women. 

And now Nick wasn't certain what pained him more -- his failure to
learn Natalie's whereabouts or the knowledge that, because of him,
she had isolated herself from what little family she had left. 

Nick recalled the desperate flight he'd made to Natalie's place after
reading her letter, hoping to catch her there but knowing all the
while that he would be too late. Sitting on her bed, staring into her
empty closet, he had, for a few brief moments, actually considered
honoring the request she'd made of him -- that he not look for her.
But he had quickly discarded that idea. She wasn't thinking clearly,
he'd told himself, and ignored the small voice that mocked him for
latching on to such a feeble excuse. 

The truth was, he couldn't let her go. Not this way. 

*He* had tried to leave once, after Don Schanke and Amanda Cohen had
died. He'd turned in his resignation and steeled himself to walk away
from the life he'd built here. Natalie had found him at the loft --
bags packed, possessions crated, furniture swathed in white
dustcovers ... 

"So you were just going to leave." Standing beside the piano, she had
waited for his response. 

"It's been better that way in the past." He had tried not to look at
her. He hadn't wanted to acknowledge the anguish and betrayed trust
he knew he would find in her eyes. But there was no hope of hiding
from the pain and anger that had colored her voice. 

"I had to find out from a *desk sergeant.* Do you have any idea how
that makes me feel?" 

He hadn't. Not really. Not then. 

And during the outbreak of the fever that had threatened not only his
continued existence, but also that of the entire Community, he had
hurt her again by describing the plague as "divine justice." 

"Is that the kind of mortality you've been looking for?" she had
asked him. 

"Maybe it's the only kind I'm allowed," he had replied. 

"Don't you give me that crap!" This time, her anger had taken him by
surprise. He had looked at her, then looked away. 

"How can you stand there and not care if you die?" she'd continued.
"Not care how that's going to make *me* feel. Maybe you'd like to
explain that to someone like Cal -- someone who would give anything
just to live a little longer." 

Those words came back to haunt him now. They shamed him. Mocked him.
Someone like Cal ... or someone like Natalie, who knew the way to
immortality but had chosen not to ask for it this time. Had chosen to
leave her family and friends, rather than stay here, where she might
be tempted ... where *he* might be tempted ... 

So often, he had accused her of not understanding. And perhaps she
hadn't. But neither had he, until now. 

Maybe that had been their biggest obstacle all along -- their failure
to truly understand one another. 

As much as Nick wanted to, and as hard as he'd tried over the past
century, the ability to view the world from a completely mortal
perspective eluded him. His very nature prevented it -- what he'd
been, what he still was. It was his inescapable reality -- one that
colored every thought, influenced every decision, regulated every
action. 

As did his determination to deny that nature. He was lost somewhere
between the two worlds -- mortal and vampire -- struggling so hard to
make sense of that narrow realm he inhabited in his dual existence. 

But now he felt closer to a mortal mindset than he had since the
night he'd been brought across. Eight centuries, and he'd never felt
the passage of time -- never appreciated the extreme fragility of
mortal life -- as keenly as he did at this moment. For once, time was
his enemy, just as it had been hers. 

Just as it continued to be hers, he hoped. 

What he would do if ... no, *when* he located her, he hadn't a clue.
What he would say to her, he didn't dare imagine. He just knew he had
to find her, and it mattered very little that she'd asked him not to
do so. He simply had no choice. 

"Nick? What are you doing here?" 

Startled out of his musings, Nick looked up to find a strangely
solemn Tracy Vetter standing beside him. He turned away, ostensibly
to retrieve a file folder from his desk drawer, while simultaneously
reaching out to clear the computer screen before she had a chance to
scrutinize the information he had pulled up. Not wanting to meet his
partner's eyes as he lied to her about his reasons for being there,
Nick hunched forward and made a show of shuffling through the papers
contained in the folder. 

"Just ... following up on something," he shrugged. "I had a hunch
about the McMartin case, but it didn't pan out." 

"I thought the McMartin case had been shelved," Tracy said quietly,
moving to take a seat at her own desk. 

"Yeah. But you know how I hate loose ends," Nick hedged, maintaining
his pretense of perusing the folder's contents. 

He was vaguely surprised when Tracy chose not to pursue the subject.
But when she failed to speak at all, Nick's curiosity got the better
of him. Raising his head, he took a closer look at his silent partner
and found her gazing off into space, her arms wrapped tightly around
her body and her eyes red, the tender skin beneath them dark and
puffy, as if she'd been crying for hours. 

He was startled by the deep sorrow that darkened her normally bright
eyes. Setting aside his own concerns for the moment, he reached over,
gently touching her hand. 

"Trace?" 

She started slightly, self-consciously tucking a loose strand of hair
behind her ear as she focused on Nick's face. 

"My Uncle Sonny passed away this morning." She dropped her gaze,
taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it. "He, uh ... he'd taken
a turn for the worse, so it wasn't really a surprise. We just didn't
expect it to happen so fast." 

Nick squeezed Tracy's hand in silent sympathy, watching as she
hastily brushed away a tear intent on escaping from the corner of one
eye. She swallowed and cleared her throat, clearly struggling to keep
her emotions in check. 

"It's just so hard, you know? You think you're prepared for it. You
think maybe it's better this way -- at least he's not suffering
anymore. But then it happens, and it's so much harder than you ever
thought it would be." 

"Tracy, you shouldn't be here," Nick said. "Book off. Go be with your
family." 

She responded with a weak smile and a slight shrug. "I can't just
yet. The captain told me last night they picked up Tony Dawson in
Edmonton, and they're bringing him back to Toronto tomorrow. That
means our report has to be finished tonight so he can send it on to
the Crown Prosecutor's office." 

"I'll take care of it, Tracy." 

"But you're on a leave of absence," she protested. 

"I'll take care of it, Tracy," Nick repeated. "You just concentrate
on looking after yourself and your family." 

"Are you sure?" 

"I'm sure." 

She nodded, pushing away from the desk. "Thanks." 

He nodded back. "If you like, I can come by and check on you later.
See how you're doing." 

"It's okay." Tracy shook her head. "I've got a friend who's going to
stay with me. He should be there when I get home." 

Vachon, of course. Nick nodded again. 

Tracy moved to leave, then hesitated, turning back to her partner.
"Any word on Natalie?" 

This time, it was Nick's turn to look away as he wordlessly shook his
head. 

"Nick? Whatever's wrong between the two of you ... whatever happened
... you can fix it. She loves you, Nick, I know it. There's nothing
so bad that you can't work it out if you really want to. Just
remember that, okay?" 

While Nick understood that Tracy's words were meant to reassure and
comfort him, they instead reawakened all the anguish and heartache
he'd been trying so hard to suppress. 

"Don't worry about me, Trace," he answered softly. "Your family needs
you." 

"You're my partner, Nick," Tracy said, placing a hand on his
shoulder. "That means you're family, too." 

Not trusting himself to speak, Nick stared down at his desk and
nodded. 

"If you really want to do something for me, Nick, you could say a
prayer for my Uncle Sonny. That would be nice." She paused, then
added, "And maybe you could say one for you and Natalie, too." 

Nick smiled slightly, covering the hand that rested on his shoulder
and giving it a quick squeeze. As Tracy turned and exited the squad
room, Nick's smile faltered and vanished, giving way to a look of
infinite sadness.


====================
Part Six
====================

Natalie closed her eyes, relishing the feel of the cool ocean breeze
on her face as it swept through her hair -- lifting it, caressing it,
sending the soft strands dancing about her shoulders. With no visual
distractions, the sound of the waves seemed that much louder now. The
distant roar increasing in volume, the waves gathering speed in their
inevitable race to the shore, ending in a soft hissing sound as the
water reached out across the sand and almost touched her feet. 

She could swear she even heard the foam bubble and pop as a new batch
was left behind by each retreating wave, only to vanish as quickly as
it appeared. The darkness behind her closed eyelids lifted a bit as
she raised her face to a brilliant sun suspended high overhead. 

She'd always loved the ocean. Some of her happiest moments had been
spent at the seashore. It seemed appropriate, somehow, that she
should be here now. 

Natalie smiled, thinking about all the summer vacations she had spent
at the beach with her family. Not here, of course, but a place very
much like it. 

Those warm and glorious childhood days when she and Richie had combed
the beach, scooping up colored rocks and an endless array of
seashells that had washed ashore. Chasing each other up and down the
sandy stretch, giggling and shrieking as they ran in carefree
abandon, the waves tugging at their ankles and nipping at their
heels. 

They were so precious to her, those memories. She'd tucked them away
for so long, preoccupied with other things. She'd almost forgotten.
But now she called them forth again, playing them over and over in
her mind, longing to recapture that lost joy -- that sense of
absolute freedom and contentment. 

She couldn't, of course. But she had finally found a kind of peace
that had eluded her back in Toronto. Here, at least, she could
remember her brother without sorrow. Without regret and a sense of
possibilities lost. 

Without guilt. 

Yes, she really loved the ocean. 

Funny that she'd stayed away from it for so long. Not once in the
last six years had she visited the seashore. Not once, since meeting
Nick. There were a great many things she hadn't done in the years
she'd known him. Things she hadn't found time to do. Things she'd
never thought to do. Things that she hoped one day she and Nick would
do together. 

Now it was too late. 

Natalie sighed and opened her eyes. 

Three weeks since she'd left Toronto. Three weeks and two days,
actually. And in that time, not an hour -- barely a moment, even --
went by without Nick forcing his way into her consciousness. She'd
hoped that distance and a firm resolve would keep him at bay. But
that was a peace she *hadn't* been able to find. 

Instead, the more she dwelled on her chosen course of action, the
stronger her doubts became. 

Had she done the right thing in leaving Toronto -- in leaving Nick?
As carefully as she'd considered her options at the time and as
certain as she was that staying would have merely led to a greater
tragedy, hadn't she, in the end, taken the coward's way out? 

The irony of the situation was painfully apparent to her. Less than a
year ago, she had berated Nick for attempting to leave the city and
his life there without telling her. For running away from a problem
instead of facing it head on and dealing with it together. For
deciding, on his own, what would be best for her ... for them. 

Now, in effect, she was guilty of the same crime. Were her reasons
any more noble -- or any less misguided -- than his had been? 

'Be honest, Lambert,' she scolded herself. 'No matter why you did it,
all things considered, you took the easy way out.' She knew it. And
she also knew her decision would stand. There was no turning back. At
this point, it could only make things worse. 

And so, just as she'd done many times over the past several days, she
laid all doubts -- and thoughts of Nick -- to rest. 

Of course, just like a damned vampire, they wouldn't stay that way. 


====================
Part Seven
====================

As LaCroix descended the stairs to the cluttered basement office that
was Aristotle's domain, his mind flashed back to his last visit there
-- a call made in the unlikely company of Dr. Natalie Lambert. 

The pair had found the reclusive Aristotle seated at a computer
terminal, completely immersed, as usual, in the technological
intricacies of forging new identities for vampires on the move ... 

"Ah, Lucien," Aristotle exclaimed, glancing up just long enough to
acknowledge their presence. "Prompt as always, I see. It's good to
know some things never change. I'll be with you in juuust ... one ...
moment ..." 

Turning back to the computer, he squinted at the screen, a look of
intense concentration furrowing his brow as his fingers danced across
the keyboard in an almost undetectable blur of motion. 

"Aha! Done!" 

Grinning triumphantly, Aristotle unleashed another flurry of
activity, rapidly saving the data and clearing the screen. With a
final flick of the wrist, he turned to greet his visitors, focusing
at once on the lone mortal in the room. 

"You're Dr. Lambert, I suppose," he observed as LaCroix advanced,
Natalie trailing in his wake. "Yes, of course. I can see that you
would be." 

Having dispensed with what he considered to be the social niceties,
Aristotle moved on to an obviously more pressing matter -- satisfying
his own curiosity. 

"I must say, I was quite surprised when Lucien called with his rather
odd request. It's the kind of thing I've come to expect from
Nicholas, you understand. But from an old dog like LaCroix?
Completely unforeseen. Still, an interesting challenge -- and one I'm
quite happy to take on under the circumstances. The Community owes
you a considerable debt of gratitude, Doctor, for your help during
that *horrendous* epidemic." He paused just long enough to shudder
dramatically then leaned forward, assuming a slightly conspiratorial
air. 

"I don't usually do mortals, you know," he confided in a loud
whisper. "Only in rare cases. In fact --" 

The bespectacled vampire stopped abruptly, cocking his head as if
struck by a sudden thought. "In fact ... " he repeated slowly, "it's
only happened once before." 

Turning, he lowered his head to peer intently at LaCroix over the rim
of his glasses. 

"Hmmm. Yes. *Apparently*, it runs in the family." 

Arching one eyebrow, LaCroix returned the appraising look with a
glacial stare of his own, deciding to overlook the unflattering
implication. He also chose to ignore the obvious delight Aristotle
was taking in flouting those ridiculous spectacles, which he
considered an irritatingly mortal affectation. A *vampire* with
*bifocals*, indeed. He deplored the very idea, as Aristotle knew all
too well. 

Suppressing his momentary flash of annoyance, LaCroix opted instead
to nudge the conversation in a more productive direction. 

"As I told you earlier, it is imperative -- for reasons we will *not*
discuss -- that Dr. Lambert should, in effect ... cease to exist."
LaCroix paused, regarding the mortal in question with a wicked gleam
in his eyes. When she failed to react, merely staring back at him in
stony silence, he allowed the barest hint of a smile to escape before
refocusing his attention on Aristotle. 

"And it is *equally* imperative that *no one* be told of the new
identity you will create for her -- or of her whereabouts once she
leaves Toronto." 

To hammer home the point, LaCroix fixed the other vampire with
another icy glare. Though Aristotle was notoriously tight-lipped
about his "clients," one could never be too careful. He knew how
determined Nicholas could be, especially when the situation involved
one of his precious mortals. LaCroix would take nothing for granted,
especially not when he was so close to drawing his son back into the
fold. 

And he *was* close. He could feel it. This ultimate act of betrayal
by the very mortal on whom Nicholas had so foolishly pinned his hopes
would lead his son to the brink. The final push would come with a few
well-chosen remarks and a disillusioning revelation or two. Then,
Nicholas would be his once more. 

The look Aristotle gave LaCroix made it quite clear he understood the
implied threat and equally clear that he was less than impressed by
it. There was obviously, however, another concern that weighed
heavily on his mind. 

"This doesn't have anything to do with the Enforcers, does it,
Lucien?" he asked bluntly. "I would just as soon not have them
dropping by for any unannounced visits --" 

"I assure you, there is nothing here that would attract the interest
of our saber-toothed friends," LaCroix interrupted smoothly. When the
other vampire continued to hesitate, he stared at him intently. "You
have my word." 

Seemingly satisfied with that, Aristotle nodded, once again seating
himself at his computer. With one hand poised over the keyboard, he
glanced up at LaCroix then turned his head to stare pointedly at a
spot on the far side of the desk -- a spot where any information
pulled up on the screen would not be visible. When LaCroix merely
gazed back in silent inquiry, Aristotle frowned, leaning back and
folding his arms across his chest. 

With an exasperated sigh, LaCroix stepped around Natalie, circling
the desk until he reached the designated position. Once there, he
arched both eyebrows and looked across at the other two occupants of
the room. The faint smirk he detected on the doctor's face annoyed
him, but in truth, he was willing to tolerate far worse if it would
rid himself -- and Nicholas -- of this mortal inconvenience. 

It took Aristotle mere seconds to call up the information they
sought. 

"Now, this will be your new identity, my dear," he said, drawing
Natalie' s attention to the spot on the screen where he'd placed his
forefinger. "And this ... " he hit another key, "is your new home. I
trust it meets with your approval? While Lucien didn't mention any
*particular* destination, he was quite specific about your
preferences." 

Natalie stared at the screen for several moments as both vampires
waited expectantly. At last, she turned her gaze to Aristotle and
nodded. 

"Thanks. That'll do just fine." 

Clearly disappointed by her lack of enthusiasm, Aristotle sighed.
Shaking his head, he reached across the desk to scoop up a thick
manila envelope, which he then handed to Natalie. 

"You'll find all of the appropriate paper work in here -- driver's
license, birth certificate, bank account number, along with a
statement reflecting the full balance that Feliks arranged for me to
place into your account --" 

"Wait a minute!" Natalie interrupted. "Exactly what bank account are
we talking about here?" 

Aristotle shot a puzzled glance at LaCroix before answering the
question. "Lucien instructed another vampire of our acquaintance, one
who is quite adept at financial matters, to make available a rather
large sum of money for me to place into your new bank account." 

"*How* large?" Natalie asked grimly. 

Aristotle simply nodded at the manila envelope she held in her hands,
then watched as she quickly opened it and extracted a small bank
book. Her face tightened with anger as she raised her head and locked
gazes with LaCroix. 

"I don't want your money." She ground out the words, her eyes
flashing with anger. 

"But you *do* want my help," LaCroix pointed out. "That is why you
came to me, is it not?" 

"Because I had no other choice!" 

"Really? I was under the impression that Nicholas and I are not the
only vampires of your acquaintance. You *are* familiar with an
upstart young Spaniard, I believe. One Javier Vachon?" 

"I met him once -- briefly," Natalie replied evenly, regaining
control of her temper. "I have no reason to think he would agree to
help me. But even if he had, do you seriously think he wouldn't tell
Nick? I can count on you not to say anything. You're nothing if not
predictable -- at least in one respect." 

LaCroix suppressed the brief twinge of anger her words summoned
forth, but her expression told him she knew she had scored a hit. 

"Nope," she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I was caught
between the devil and the deep blue sea, LaCroix. And the devil won
out." 

LaCroix gifted her with a chilling smile. "It is my understanding
that the devil usually demands payment for services rendered. In this
case, consider your acceptance of this money the price of my
continued discretion." 

"I don't understand." 

"You don't have to." 

For several moments, they regarded each other in wary silence.
LaCroix watched as she weighed her need for his help against her
obvious reluctance to accept more from him than she'd already asked.
When she finally nodded her agreement, he could almost hear the inner
resolve she made not to use any more of his money than absolutely
necessary. 

Fine. She didn't have to use it. All that mattered was that she had
agreed to take it. That would be enough. At the appropriate moment,
Nicholas would fall privy to this illuminating bit of information. It
would be the final blow to his misplaced trust -- as well as to his
pride -- when Nicholas learned that his dear Dr. Lambert had accepted
a substantial sum of money in order to escape his grasp. 

The remainder of their business with Aristotle was concluded in short
order. In the interests of maintaining the client confidentiality on
which Aristotle prided himself, the vampire insisted that LaCroix
wait outside the building while he and Natalie discussed the details
of her new identity and the undisclosed place she would soon call
home. 

Satisfied that his plan was proceeding smoothly, LaCroix simply
nodded and climbed the stairs to the upper floor. When the doctor
emerged from the building a short time later, he was waiting beside
her car. Without a word, she walked to the driver's side and got in.
As soon as LaCroix had settled himself in the passenger's seat, she
started the engine and pulled away from the curb. 

"Everything is in order, I trust?" 

He examined her profile -- such a lovely profile, it was, too -- as
she stared straight ahead. The nod she gave in response to his
question was almost imperceptible. 

Neither said a word for the remainder of the drive. She refused even
to acknowledge his presence until they had stopped in front of the
Raven and he stood on the sidewalk, on the verge of shutting the car
door. It was then LaCroix suddenly wondered why he had chosen to ride
back to the club with her. Why had he not simply parted company with
her outside Aristotle's building? 

He realized the answer almost immediately. It was her damned lack of
fear -- so apparent to him during their last two meetings, and so
puzzling. LaCroix didn't like mysteries. Unless, of course, they were
of his own making. 

"LaCroix." 

Her voice interrupted his thoughts, although it was pitched so low
that, had he been mortal, he might not have heard it. Slowly, he
leaned down until his face was level with her own. She turned to him
with a look that was both resolute and ... pleading? 

"I know you think you've won something here," she said. "But if
you're not careful, you might wind up losing more than you gain." 

"I'm not in the habit of accepting advice from mortals, Doctor,"
LaCroix responded coldly. "I find such useless platitudes quite
irritating, in fact." 

"Well, if you liked that, you're gonna *love* this." While her
comment seemed flippant, there was no trace of humor in her face. Her
voice was deadly serious. 

"You say you care about Nick. If that's true, then prove it. Let him
make his own decisions, his own choices -- whatever those may be. If
you keep whittling away at him ... if you try to force him to live
the way you want him to live, you'll only succeed in destroying him.
And you really *will* lose him then." 

"I'm touched, Doctor, that you're so concerned about my relationship
with my son." 

"I care about *Nick*, LaCroix. My leaving doesn't change that. I want
him to be happy." 

"Nicholas' well being is no longer your affair, Doctor. I believe you
have forfeited the right to be concerned." 

Without waiting for a reply, LaCroix straightened and shut the car
door, then headed for the entrance to the Raven. When the doors
closed behind him, she was still sitting where he'd left her. 

+++++++ 

Everything had seemed to go so smoothly -- *too* smoothly, LaCroix
now chided himself, his thoughts drawn back to his present
predicament. He smiled grimly as he recalled how Nicholas' startling
revelation during their recent confrontation had finally sent every
piece of the puzzle tumbling into place. 

He now understood the reason behind the newly acquired fearlessness
that Natalie Lambert had displayed in his presence. He also
understood how she had used him, while simultaneously thwarting his
plan to pry Nicholas loose from this pseudo-mortal existence his son
so foolishly refused to relinquish. 

Whether she had done it deliberately or inadvertently, it mattered
not. She had encouraged LaCroix to think she was abandoning Nicholas,
that she was leaving his son without a backward glance. 

Instead, she had revealed to Nicholas the real reason behind her
departure -- not face-to-face, of course, or he would never have
allowed her to leave. But she *had* told him the truth, the same
truth she had so maddeningly withheld from LaCroix. And in so doing,
she had turned his son against him, unraveling all the progress they
had made over the last few months. 

Now, she must be held accountable. If the good doctor thought she
could escape his wrath by leaving Toronto for parts unknown, she
would soon learn otherwise. All he had to do was persuade Aristotle
to tell him where she'd gone ... 


====================
Part Eight
====================

As the Caddie rounded the corner to Nick's warehouse loft, the bright
beam of the headlights flashed across a lone figure standing
motionless in the middle of the road. With inhumanly fast reflexes,
Nick slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a tire-screeching
halt mere inches from the dark-haired vampire that blocked its path. 

Releasing his death-grip on the steering wheel, Nick glared at the
figure now illuminated by the twin beams. 

Vachon. 

The Spaniard smiled faintly as he squinted into the glare of the
headlights and raised both hands above his shoulders. Whether in mock
surrender or silent apology, Nick neither knew nor cared. He was in
no mood for company, particularly the vampire kind, and hadn't been
since the day Natalie Lambert had disappeared. 

Apparently sensing Nick's displeasure, Vachon lowered his hands and
shrugged. The larger-than-life shadow that stretched across the
warehouse wall behind him eerily mimicked the action, then vanished
in an eye-blink as the Spaniard abruptly appeared in the front seat
of the Caddie. His solemn expression was belied by the irreverent
twinkle dancing in his dark eyes. 

"It's even more fun with airbags." 

Obviously choosing to ignore Nick's deepening scowl, Vachon smiled
again. "Got a minute?" His gaze intensified as his expression grew
serious. "It's important." 

Nick's intended refusal died unspoken on his lips. He almost forgot
to breath as a fierce surge of elation swept through him. 

Natalie. He knows something about Nat. 

"What is it?" he asked, then silently cursed the telltale trace of
eagerness in his voice. He couldn't let anyone in the Community know
how much this meant to him, not even Vachon. It was bad enough he had
already drawn unwanted attention to the situation -- asking risky
questions and calling in favors that were centuries overdue. It was
even worse that LaCroix knew ... 

"Not here," Vachon said, derailing Nick's train of thought. Tilting
his head back, he gazed up at the windows of the darkened loft and
grinned. "Why don't you invite me up to see your etchings?" 

Without wasting time on a reply, Nick set the Caddie in motion and
drove the remaining distance to the warehouse garage. An uneasy
silence prevailed as the two vampires rode the freight elevator up to
the loft. Once there, Nick ignored the urge to head for the
refrigerator and the bottled blood that waited within, instead
motioning for Vachon to take a seat at the dining table. Then,
snagging a chair for himself, he straddled it, resting his arms on
the back as he stared intently at his visitor. 

"Seen your partner lately?" 

The Spaniard's question took him by surprise, as did the brief surge
of despair he felt when he realized Vachon's visit had nothing to do
with Natalie. Nick frowned, pausing a moment to mentally shift gears. 

"Why?" he finally asked. 

Vachon leaned back in his chair, almost slouching, and glanced around
the loft before returning his gaze to Nick. "Did you know she's
quitting the force?" 

Nick stared, this time in shocked silence. The younger vampire sighed
and shook his head. "Didn't think so." 

"What are you talking about, Vachon?" Finding his voice, Nick's
response was almost angry. "That's crazy. Why would Tracy quit the
force? Why wouldn't she talk to me about it first?" 

"To answer your last question, maybe she figured you had other things
to worry about," Vachon replied, widening his eyes meaningfully. "Or
maybe because ... you never asked? As to why she would quit --" 

Vachon stopped short, staring off into a dark corner of the loft, no
doubt wondering how much he should reveal. With a nearly undetectable
shake of the head he returned his gaze to Nick. When he spoke, his
voice was soft, his tone uncharacteristically serious. 

"You remember the organ harvesters? The black market ring you and
Tracy shut down a while back?" 

Did he remember? Better to ask if he could ever forget, Nick thought.
He'd come close to losing Natalie then. If not for Tracy, she would
have died at the hands of those organ thieves. They would have cut
out her heart and disposed of her body while he blithely pursued
leads halfway across town, as oblivious to the danger as Natalie
herself had been. The fact that her death would nevertheless have
resulted in the ring's downfall would have been cold consolation
indeed -- and something he preferred not to contemplate. 

"That whole case hit a little too close to home for her." Vachon's
voice pulled Nick back to the present. "When she first came to me, I
didn't want to tell her anything. Figured it wouldn't be a good idea,
seeing as how some of our kind were involved. But then she told me
about her uncle. I thought she was looking for a way to save him." 

"That's what she wanted *them* to think," Nick contradicted, still
unsure where this was headed. "It was a way in -- pretending to be a
prospective client." 

Vachon cocked his head and dropped his gaze, suddenly studying the
table top with what appeared to be great interest. 

"There's where we run into the problem. Tracy's not convinced it was
all an act. She says part of her really wanted to save her uncle, no
matter what she had to do. It's been eating away at her ever since.
She can't stop wondering what would have happened if they'd accepted
him as a candidate." 

"It wouldn't have changed anything," Nick insisted. "She'd never have
gone along with it." 

"You think not?" Vachon smiled, but without any real humor. "Tracy's
not so sure. She thinks that makes her a bad cop -- and a bad
person." 

The loft was silent for several seconds as the two vampires stared at
each other across the table. 

"Why are you here, Vachon?" Nick's voice was soft but intense. The
Spaniard broke eye contact, drawing in a quick breath and letting it
out in a gusty sigh before pinning his gaze on Nick once again. 

"She needs someone to talk to about this -- someone besides me. For
some reason, she doesn't quite trust my take on things," he said,
grinning wryly. "At least, not when it comes to something like this.
You're the logical choice." 

"Why would you think that?" Nick persisted. 

"You asked why Tracy didn't come to you," Vachon reminded him. "I
think the real reason is ... she was afraid of what you'd think. 

"As far as Tracy is concerned, you're supercop. She looks up to you.
Respects you. Always talks about what a great detective you are.
*Nick* thinks this ... *Nick* says that ... *Nick* does ... *Nick*
doesn't ... " Vachon looked at him and smirked. "Sometimes I feel
like I'm on Nick Knight overload. Here a Nick, there a Nick,
everywhere a Nick, Nick ... " 

The object of this brief irreverancy shot Vachon a reproving look
before returning to the subject at hand. 

"So you want me to go and talk to Tracy. Try to talk her out of
resigning?" 

Vachon nodded. 

"Why are you getting involved?" 

"Funny you should ask, seeing as how you're the one who made me
responsible for her." 

"I made you responsible for keeping her safe from the Community, not
for her emotional health and well being," Nick pointed out. 

"*Now* he tells me," Vachon complained. As he stood up, a faint,
lopsided grin appeared on his face. "Well ... I don't have a lot of
experience in being responsible. Guess I haven't got the hang of it,
yet." 

Before Nick could reply, he was gone. 

+++++++ 

"Absolutely not, Lucien! It's quite impossible. I'm sorry, but I
simply can't do it." 

LaCroix's eyes narrowed as he regarded Aristotle in stony silence, a
cold mask quickly supplanting the disarmingly mild expression he had
worn upon entering the other vampire's basement abode. 

"Exactly what do you mean by ... impossible?" LaCroix's voice, though
quiet and controlled, could no longer be described as congenial.
There was a dangerous edge to the smooth tones, one perfectly
complimented by the steely glint in his eyes as he stared across the
desk at the source of his displeasure. 

The abrupt change in demeanor did not go unnoticed. Still resolved,
but somewhat ill at ease, Aristotle cleared his throat and opted for
a more diplomatic approach. 

"Now, Lucien, you must understand my position," he reasoned in a
placating tone. "When you brought Dr. Lambert to me, it was on the
condition that no one would know her new identity or where she was
going. You insisted on that yourself! I'm only following your
orders." 

It was a patently ridiculous statement. LaCroix gazed at the other
vampire through narrowed eyes, ready to point out as much in somewhat
scathing terms. He never got the chance. 

"I know what you're going to say," Aristotle rushed on. "You never
intended for those restrictions to apply to yourself. But must I
remind you that you did agree to the condition? And if I make an
exception for you, I'll have to make an exception for everyone." 

Again, LaCroix started to speak. And again, he was interrupted. 

"*Including* Nicholas," Aristotle emphasized, lowering his chin to
peer over his spectacles. "You know, of course, that he's been here
asking questions." 

"Of course," LaCroix calmly acknowledged, despite the anger that
arose within him. The words were an unwelcome reminder of how the
good doctor had deceived him -- or thought she had. She *would* learn
otherwise. But in order to deal with her, he must first locate her.
And for that, he would readily -- if not happily -- conceal his
animosity behind a concerned facade. 

"I am well aware of my son's interest in locating Dr. Lambert. That
is why I am here -- to intercede on Nicholas' behalf." 

At the understandably skeptical look he encountered, LaCroix smiled
grimly. "I have come across information that changes everything. For
Nicholas' sake, I must find her. It's also in the doctor's best
interests, I assure you. I'm certain you'll agree, once I've properly
explained." 

"I'm sorry, Lucien, but --" 

"You owe your life to my son, I believe?" LaCroix interjected,
raising one eyebrow at the now silent vampire. Like many others in
the Community, LaCroix was familiar with Aristotle's countless
eccentricities, not the least of which was his ability to remember
the most insignificant details of every identity he created.
Unfortunately, and perhaps because of this, Aristotle's gift for
phenomenal recall did not always extend to his own personal
experiences. 

For reasons unknown, he had in recent centuries confused a vampire of
little consequence with a former crusading knight from the 13th
century -- one Nicholas de Brabant. This forgotten vampire, destroyed
long ago in an unfortunate encounter with a mob of angry Armenian
peasants, had once saved Aristotle's hide at the Battle of Hastings.
Though the incident had taken place well before Nicholas' birth,
mortal or otherwise, Aristotle persisted in attributing the deed to
LaCroix's son. 

LaCroix knew Nick wasn't above using that misguided gratitude when it
suited him. And neither was he. 

"You have a strange way of repaying a debt, my friend -- refusing to
help Nicholas in his time of need," he chided. 

Aristotle stood firm. "It won't work, Lucien. I won't compromise my
principals on this -- not for any reason. Besides, Nicholas has
already called in that particular favor, more than once." 

Without batting an eye, LaCroix switched tactics. "And what of the
debt you owe Dr. Lambert? You were quite ill during the fever, as I
recall." 

Aristotle stared back at him. "Exactly how will it help her if I tell
you where she is?" he challenged. 

You're aware of my son's friendship with Dr. Lambert?" 

"Of course." 

"Are you aware that their relationship extends beyond mere
friendship? Or it would, I should say, if not for the obvious
constraints placed upon them. Now, it has recently come to my
attention that the good doctor is dying. *That* is why she wanted to
leave Toronto. She wished to spare herself the humiliation of begging
Nicholas to bring her across when she knew very well that he would
never grant her request." 

Aristotle was both horrified and flabbergasted. 

"Why ever not?" he gasped. 

Meeting the other vampire's dismayed stare, LaCroix assumed a
martyred expression but said nothing. 

"Ah ... of course," Aristotle nodded. "That silly mortality thing."
His voice turned consoling. "Don't worry, Lucien. I'm sure it's just
a phase he's going through." 

"As am I, my friend, which is why I must find Dr. Lambert before it's
too late. It is my duty as a father to intervene." 

Seating himself at his desk, Aristotle fell silent, pondering the
matter at some length. As he did so, he absent-mindedly shuffled
through a stack of computer disks, then carefully placed them one by
one into the file box in front of him. Apparently reaching a decision
at last, he stood up and shook his head, sighing heavily. 

"No. I'm sorry, Lucien, but I just can't tell you. I'm sure you
understand." 

"On the contrary," LaCroix hissed, all pretense cast aside. "I do
*not* understand your feeble-minded insistence --" 

"Now, look here, Lucien!" the normally mild-mannered Aristotle
interrupted, snatching up a computer disk and waving it under
LaCroix's nose. "I would help Nicholas and Dr. Lambert if I could,
but there are more things at stake here than you realize! I simply
can't let it be said that I go around violating client
confidentiality at the drop of a hat! 

"What do you think would happen if I did, eh?" The disk waved even
more furiously as his agitation increased. "No one would trust me,
that's what! They wouldn't feel secure in their new identities. And
if they couldn't trust *me*, then they couldn't trust *anyone*. We'd
have vampires making up their own identities and messing up
everything. And who would keep track of it all? 

Just as LaCroix's eyes began to take on a distinctly amber hue,
Aristotle tossed the disk back onto his desk where he jabbed it
repeatedly with his forefinger, punctuating each impassioned word.
"Chaos! That's what it would be! Absolute chaos!" 

And with that, he whisked himself out of the basement, leaving behind
a severely disgruntled LaCroix. With a fierce frown on his face, the
ancient vampire glared down at the offending disk, which now rested
innocently between two stacks of folders. With a speculative gleam,
his eyes narrowed in sudden understanding. 

Picking up the computer disk, he slowly inserted it into the hard
drive, then called up the data it contained. A cold smile crossed his
face as he committed the information to memory. 

"Thank you, my friend," he murmured to the conveniently absent
Aristotle. "It seems I am in your debt." 


====================
Part Nine
====================

The haunting strains of yet another torch song drifted in the air
around Natalie as -- eyes closed, head tilted back against the sofa
cushions, face pointed toward the ceiling -- she gave herself over to
the music and the moment. The only illumination in the otherwise
darkened room came from the flickering red lights that danced across
the face of the stereo unit, improvising a silent counterpoint to
Lena Horne's mournful rendition of "All Night Long." 

I never felt the softness of his tender kiss.

I never felt his heart beat strong.

All I know is he's in every dream I dream,

All night long, all night long. 

I never heard him speak a single word of love.

I never knew his favorite song.

'Cause he only speaks to me in dreams I dream,

All night long. 

The song spoke to her, on more than one level, invoking thoughts and
images almost too painful to contemplate. But instead of pushing them
away, Natalie welcomed them -- perversely reveling in the ache that
settled deep inside her, in each tear that escaped from beneath
closed eyelids as she sat brooding in the dark. 

She was dimly aware of a throbbing pain, still blessedly mild at this
point, and knew that it signaled the onset of another headache. But
as she'd done many times of late, she pushed it away, refusing to
give in to it. She would *not* submit until it reached an intensity
she could no longer ignore. 

The despair that fought to overwhelm her this night, however, was
infinitely harder to deny. Always present, but never acknowledged, it
had followed her here from Toronto -- growing stronger with each
passing day. Instead of the peace and acceptance she'd hoped to find
-- thought she *had* found, in some small measure -- the last few
days had brought a growing sense of despondency. Until finally, in a
moment of weakness, she'd given up the struggle -- without thought,
without protest. 

 Now, here she was, sitting alone in the dark as the final notes of
 the song faded out, gradually giving way to the ever-present murmur
 of waves washing up on the beach outside the house. For endless
 moments it seemed, she remained transfixed -- unwilling, or unable,
 to break the spell. 

Until at last, she moved. Covering her face with both hands, she
inhaled sharply and emitted a shaky laugh. 

That's right, Lambert. Go ahead and waste what little time you have
left in your own private pity party, why don't you? 

Natalie took another deep breath and released it, this time blowing a
wayward strand of hair from her eyes as she angrily wiped away the
tears. 

So your life didn't turn out the way you wanted it to. Tough. Deal
with it. 

A furry head butted against Natalie's arm, cutting short her mental
tirade. She looked down to find Sydney nudging his way under her
elbow and onto her lap. Balancing carefully, the cat craned his neck
upward until his nose almost touched hers, whiskers twitching
slightly with each tickling breath she expelled. 

He stared, unblinking, into her eyes. Natalie stared back ... and
smiled, albeit reluctantly. 

Feeling the anger subside, she reached out to stroke the cat's head,
giving him a quick scratch under the chin for good measure. Scooping
him up and cradling him in her arms, Natalie thought again how glad
she was she had decided to bring Sydney with her. 

When the time came, he would go to live with Sarah and Amy, of
course. But not yet. Not now. She needed him too much. He was the
only connection to her life before -- the one remaining tie to
Toronto and to Nick, but most of all, to the Natalie Lambert she'd
left behind. His quiet company was a comfort to her, and his more
outrageous feline antics never failed to make her laugh. 

And she did so need to laugh. 

The final arrangements Natalie had made with Aristotle prior to
leaving Toronto had ensured that Sydney would be delivered to her
sister-in-law's home safe and sound once she was no longer able to
care for him. Of course, she hadn't told Aristotle why, merely that
she didn't plan on keeping Sydney with her indefinitely. She'd also
made certain that a portion of the money LaCroix had insisted she
take would find its way into an account for Sarah and Amy -- not an
outrageous sum, but enough to guarantee they would never want for
anything. 

The rest would go to various charities, although she had yet to
determine which ones. But she had, with an almost wicked glee,
briefly fantasized about leaving a hefty portion to The de Brabant
Foundation with the strict understanding that it be used to establish
a safe haven for vampires seeking shelter from their oppressive
masters. 

The thought of how LaCroix would react to *that* particular use of
his money had kept her thoroughly entertained for almost an entire
day. 

LaCroix. She'd had serious doubts about her sanity when she'd first
considered turning to him for help. But it had been easier than she'd
expected. Deciding to leave was the hardest part. Once that choice
had been made, however, the rest had fallen into place. And somehow,
she'd found the strength to follow through, despite an almost
overpowering urge to run to Nick and tell him everything. To ask him
to save her -- or damn her. 

Instead, she'd gone to LaCroix and then to Aristotle. 

When Natalie had told Aristotle she had a condition that required
medical supervision, the vampire had obligingly arranged for the
transfer of her records to a local doctor's office, no questions
asked. She had duly checked in with the doctor upon her arrival, but
in the end had opted not to undergo treatment. 

The prognosis hadn't changed since Natalie had left Toronto. There
had been no mistake and no miraculous healing. The headaches would
increase in both frequency and severity. And the final stage of
deterioration in her overall condition, when it came, would be swift
and merciless. 

Natalie had never been one to give up without a fight, but she'd
always been a realist. And reconciling those two aspects of her
personality had proven to be an ongoing challenge for most of her
adult life -- never more so than now. 

Any time that she might gain through conventional treatments,
however, would be negligible at best and would most assuredly detract
from what little quality time she had left. Her doctor had raised no
objections when she declined the chemotherapy, which in Natalie's
mind, had only served to reaffirm the validity of that decision. 

She could even appreciate the irony of the situation. After all,
she'd had the secret of immortality within her grasp and walked away
from it. 

Of course, the sad truth was she hadn't walked away from it -- not
really. She couldn't stop thinking about Nick and the cure he so
desperately sought. No matter how sternly she admonished herself to
let it go -- to let *him* go -- her heart refused to listen. 

She couldn't accept the idea that all those years of hard work had
been wasted. And although Natalie no longer had her research
journals, her mind retained most of the pertinent details. Time and
again she caught herself jotting down notes as she mentally reviewed
past treatments and test results. Other times, she would let her mind
float -- waiting for the blinding flash of insight that would finally
lead her to an answer. 

The insight she had found, however, was of a somewhat different
nature. 

Despite the recent choices she'd made, Natalie wanted to live. But
more than that, she wanted Nick to live -- as a mortal. She wanted
him to realize his dream of walking in the sun again, of living and
loving and dying as a human being and not as a vampire. And above
all, *she* wanted to be the one to give him that. 

She'd failed Richard. She'd failed herself. She didn't want to fail
Nick. 

Before she'd left Toronto, she'd even thought about attempting the
cure Janette had found. If it had succeeded, it would have been her
final gift to him. The circumstances wouldn't have been identical, of
course, but maybe close enough -- making love, taking a little at a
time, her eventual death and his resulting grief ... 

It might have worked. Assuming, of course, that Nick's feelings for
her were at least as strong as Janette's love for Robert had been.
And that *was* the question, wasn't it? Natalie had no doubt that
Nick cared for her. But she'd never been sure of the exact nature of
that love or the degree to which he felt it. There were times she'd
been almost certain he loved her deeply. Other times, she feared that
he loved her because he *needed* her, instead of needing her because
he loved her. 

What bothered her most was that she'd never heard the words from him
-- except for those he spoke in her dreams. Such beautiful dreams and
such beautiful words ... 

Even if Nick's feelings for her *were* strong enough, however,
without knowing exactly what had triggered the change, there would
have been no guarantee of success. But at least it would have offered
Nick a chance. 

One that he would have refused, of course -- hurt and angry, no
doubt, that she would even suggest he might trade her life for his
mortality. No matter that she was going to die anyway. For Nick, that
would be strictly beside the point. 

Which was why she'd finally abandoned the idea. 

Natalie let her head fall back against the sofa. A faint smile
quirking her lips as she felt her warped sense of humor kick in. 'A
shame, really,' she thought, 'since as long as I have to die, what a
way to go.' 

The only other option open to them she'd also discarded, but not
until after she'd discussed it with Nick -- in a roundabout way, of
course. It had been that very conversation, in fact, that had
precipitated her departure from Toronto ... 

How ironic, looking back on it now, to realize what a bright and
sunny morning it had been. Natalie couldn't recall that she'd paid
much attention at the time. It had been the kind of day that once
beckoned to her so irresistibly, luring her outdoors even at the tail
end of a grueling 12-hour shift. But that was before a certain
blond-haired, blue-eyed vampire had entered her life and begun to
exert an even stronger pull. 

More than a week had passed since her last visit to the doctor, and
for once, Natalie had been grateful she and Nick no longer spent so
much of their free time together. As adept as she was at hiding her
feelings from the rest of the world, she had never seemed to get away
with that around him. Not for long. Unless, of course, it happened to
be a feeling Nick felt it best not to recognize. 

But on that particular day, Natalie had finally summoned up the
courage to stop off at Nick's loft on her way home from the morgue.
He'd ended his shift a bit earlier than she had, but she took the
chance that he'd still be awake. And he had been. 

He was obviously surprised to see her, although he recovered quickly.
It was another sign of the recent change in their relationship. Once
upon a time, she'd spent more waking hours at his loft than she had
in her own apartment. But not anymore. 

As he always did when she visited, Nick settled into his chair,
leaving the sofa free for Natalie. After a quick detour by the
kitchen to track down his elusive can of coffee -- it seemed to
sprout legs every time she turned her back -- she brewed up a cup of
the rich, dark liquid and joined him there. 

Then, not quite certain how to begin, she stalled for time, carefully
sipping the coffee as her eyes wandered in every direction but
Nick's. 

"Nat?" 

She froze, cup halfway to her lips, then reluctantly raised her eyes
to meet his curious gaze. 

"Hmm?" 

He shook his head and grinned, clearly amused at her hesitant
response. 

"What is it, Nat?" He regarded her closely. "You're not usually at a
loss for words. Is something wrong?" 

Feeling much like the proverbial deer pinned in the glare of oncoming
headlights, Natalie's mind shut down, all of her carefully rehearsed
opening gambits lost. But Nick was waiting, and she knew if she let
this moment pass, she'd never again find the courage to raise the
subject. Which left her no choice but to dive right in. 

Setting aside the coffee, she took a deep breath. 

"Nick, what is it ... that makes you evil?" 

Now it was Nick's turn to freeze. Warm blue eyes, shining with
suppressed amusement mere seconds before, were suddenly hurt and
confused. Natalie hastened to clarify the question. 

"I mean, you're always saying that vampires are evil -- that *you*,
by your very nature, are part of that evil." She shook her head. "How
do you define that?" 

Nick stared at her, and for an instant, Natalie longed to take back
the question. But she couldn't, the answer was too important. She
wasn't even sure why. All she knew was that she had to understand
Nick's basic perception of himself -- to reach beyond layer upon
layer of self-contempt, remorse and guilt. To discover just how deep
his self-hatred extended. To listen in a way she'd never listened
before -- as if her very life depended on it. 

Because it might. 

"Nat ... " Nick faltered, then found his voice. "I don't understand
what you're asking me. You know what I am ... what I've done. You've
seen the vampire. You know about the killing --" 

He broke off, an expression of self-loathing marring his handsome
face. His eyes, as he gazed at Natalie, reflected a mixture of anger
and confusion. 

"I know that you've killed," she acknowledged. "And you've done
things ... things that haunt you. But, Nick, you're not the same
person you were then. You try so hard to make up for it." 

"And that makes it all right?" he asked bitterly. "I had no idea it
was that simple, Nat. I feed on the blood of innocents for almost
seven centuries, but I'm sorry now, so the slate is wiped clean?" 

"Don't put words in my mouth, Nick, that's not what I said." She
could sense his growing resentment at being forced into this
conversation. But she wouldn't let it stop her. "That really isn't
what I came here to talk about, anyway." 

"Isn't it? You wanted to know what makes me evil --" 

"No. I asked what makes a *vampire* evil. *Any* vampire," Natalie
stressed, "not you, specifically." 

"Ah." His answering smile was cold as he leaned back in his chair.
"That's an easy one, Nat. The answer is ... everything." He spread
his arms wide as if to encompass all of his kind. "Everything about
us is evil. I thought you knew that." 

The silence between them grew almost deafening as Natalie's steady
gaze clashed with Nick's stony glare. Her outwardly calm demeanor
belied the inner turmoil that had plagued her from the moment she'd
first sat in the doctor's office and come face to face with her own
mortality. 

She knew that Nick trusted her, perhaps as much as he'd ever trusted
anyone. But he'd never been able to accept her good opinion of him.
Although it pleased him, it was also discounted by him. Natalie had
never known Nicholas de Brabant or any of his other countless
incarnations. She only knew the man he was now and what little he'd
told her about his past, which in Nick's mind meant that she didn't
*really* know him at all. 

Maybe he was right. As far as she was concerned, Nicholas de Brabant
no longer existed. Now there was only Nick Knight, homicide detective
-- the man who struggled so hard to atone for centuries of preying on
hapless mortals. The man who found it impossible to turn his back on
anyone in distress. 

The man she loved. 

She could admit that to herself, even though she couldn't say it to
him. She loved the inner strength that enabled him to withstand an
endless string of soul-shattering blows, though he repeatedly denied
its existence. She cherished his caring heart and his painfully good
intentions, applauding the fact that he always tried so hard to do
the right thing. 

But Natalie wasn't blind to Nick's faults. How could she be? He'd
hurt her more times than she cared to remember, too wrapped up in his
own pain to notice hers. Too quick to decide what was best for
others. Too willing to assume the blame for things beyond his
control. Too ready to dismiss her opinions and wishes when they
conflicted with his own. And always, always certain she could never
comprehend the full extent of his inner torment. 

Perhaps, in that last respect, he was right. As for the rest, none of
those things were evil. They were, in fact, very human failings. 

And in all fairness, Natalie had to admit that she had hurt him, too
-- without meaning to, sometimes without even realizing it. She was
hurting him now, and she knew it. But he had forgiven her in the
past, just as she had always forgiven him. 

As she hoped he would forgive her now. 

"Everything," she repeated slowly. "Well, I'd say that pretty much
covers it. But just for the sake of argument, let's single out one
thing in particular. Say ... the killing. Mortals kill each other
every day, for one reason or another. You can't just label everyone
who kills as evil. What about soldiers who go to war? Or --" 

"It's hardly the same thing!" Nick interrupted, clearly losing
patience. "It's a soldier's duty to fight. A true soldier doesn't
kill for his own purposes, and a true soldier doesn't kill for the
pure pleasure of it." 

"Then what you're saying ... is that the *motivation* behind the
killing determines whether the act itself is evil." Natalie reasoned. 

"A vampire doesn't need a reason to kill, Nat! The killing is reason
enough. It's all there is." His voice had deepened to a husky
whisper, sending an involuntary shiver running down her spine. As he
spoke, there was an intensity to his gaze that threatened to burn
right through her. "Even bottled blood can never fully satisfy the
hunger that lurks inside, always waiting for the chance to break
free. It's something that goes beyond the need for mere sustenance.
It's the indescribable thrill of the hunt ... the irresistible lure
of stalking live prey ... the seductive intoxication of the final
kill ... " 

He trailed off as Natalie stared at him, unable to tear her eyes from
his face. She'd never heard him talk about it so openly, so
passionately. It frightened her. And fascinated her. Which frightened
her even more. 

She found herself grabbing on to Nick's words as if reaching for a
life preserver. Taking them and shoving them back into a mortal
context. 

"The thrill of the hunt ... You know, they say that man is the
biggest predator of them all. Of course, they weren't counting
vampires. Isn't that your motivation, right there, Nick?" Natalie
asked. 

"And playing devil's advocate here for a minute," she continued,
"aren't you describing what a mortal hunter feels when he goes after
an animal? Maybe not quite so intense in our case, but then again,
I've known some pretty dedicated hunters. We prey on other living
creatures for food. So do vampires. We hunt for the thrill and the
challenge of it. So do vampires. We follow our nature. You follow
yours -- at least, most of you, anyway. When you get right down to
it, how is it any different, Nick?" 

"The prey that we choose to hunt and kill isn't some lower life form,
Nat!" 

"And I'm not saying I think mortals should be one step down on the
food chain!" Natalie shot back. "But I doubt LaCroix would agree." 

At the mention of his master's name, Natalie could almost hear the
doors slam shut. Nick surged to his feet and stalked over to the
fireplace. Reaching out to grasp the mantle, he deliberately turned
his back to her. 

Invoking LaCroix's name had been a mistake, Natalie realized. True,
recent developments had brought about a lessening of the longstanding
hostilities between them. But despite that, Nick remained no more
objective in his view of LaCroix and their past together than he was
in his opinion of himself. 

She decided it would be wiser to steer the conversation in a less
volatile direction. 

"What about Vachon?" 

She wasn't certain, at first, if Nick would even respond. But after
several moments, he turned his head enough to allow a glimpse of his
profile. 

"What about him?" 

Nick's guarded tone, combined with the ominously low timbre of his
voice, sent a warning shiver through Natalie. But she'd started this,
and as much as she wanted to, she couldn't turn back now. 

"He's a vampire. Therefore, in your eyes, he's evil. Yet you trust
him to be around Tracy." 

"He knows what I would do to him if he hurt her." 

For an instant, Natalie's mind flashed back to the unlucky fate of
another vampire of brief acquaintance -- Spark. 

"And what would that be?" she asked quietly. 

When he didn't answer, Natalie let it drop, returning instead to her
original question. 

"*If* Vachon is truly evil, would that be enough to stop him? Could
he even help himself? I mean, if someone is inherently evil, it's not
something that can be turned on and off at will, is it? It's not
something that can be controlled ... right? But if it *can* be
controlled, then --" 

"Where is all this heading, Nat?" Nick turned to face her, eyes
narrowing as he waited for the answer. 

"I don't know," she lied. "I'm just trying to understand." 

"Understand what?" 

"How it is that you can be so forgiving of others but so relentlessly
*unforgiving* when it comes to yourself and the things you've done." 

"You know why, Nat!" He no longer fought to contain the anger and
frustration her questions had stirred up. "All the things I've done,
all the mortals I've killed over the centuries --" 

"And what about Janette?" she countered. 

Nick went deathly still, and once again Natalie silently cursed
herself. She knew that Nick's grief over Janette's death mere weeks
before was still too raw and painful for him. After that night, he'd
withdrawn for a time -- from her, from everything -- as he had
apparently struggled to come to terms with the death of his former
lover. 

He'd never spoken to her about it, offering only a terse outline of
what had transpired after he and Janette had left the morgue. Nick
had never even told her what he'd done with the remains, and Natalie
hadn't asked. 

But now there was a question she *would* ask. 

"Did you think of Janette that way?" 

Nick looked at her. "What way?" 

"Did you think of her ... as being evil?" 

"Nat ... " Again he turned away, unwilling or unable to answer. 

"You still cared for her ... loved her, I think. I know you did. I
don't believe you could see her as evil and still feel that way about
her." 

Nick spun about abruptly and stalked over to her, halting less than a
foot away to stare into her eyes. "Why is this so important to you,
Natalie? Why all these questions?" 

"Maybe it's time. In all these years, we've never really talked about
it -- around it, yes. But we've never really looked at it head on."
She paused a moment, summoning up her courage one last time. "I have
to know, Nick. *Would* you have saved her?" 

"What?" An odd expression flitted across his face but was gone so
quickly Natalie thought she might have imagined it. 

"If you could have saved her ... if you'd been able to get to her in
time ... would you have brought her back across?" 

Nick averted his gaze, refusing to meet her eyes. 

"Why would you ask something like that, Nat?" he asked stiffly. 

"I'm just trying to sort things out. I know how important she was to
you. And Janette always seemed happy with what she was -- at least,
as far as I could tell the few times I saw her. If it hadn't been too
late for her, would it have made a difference?" 

Again, she could have sworn she saw something flash in his eyes. 

"Natalie, I can't talk about this." So cold and formal. So final. 

"Nick, please. I know how you feel, but --" 

"You don't know! There's no way you could possibly understand!" 

And there they were again -- in the same place they always ended
up...

+++++++ 

There'd been nothing more to say after that. Natalie had left the
loft that morning with the certain knowledge that Nick would never
agree to bring her across, even if she wanted it. She'd been
surprised at how much it had hurt, and even more surprised at how
relieved she'd been. Later, they had apologized to each other, and as
far as Nick had been concerned, the status quo was once more in
effect. 

Natalie had known differently, of course. Nothing could ever be the
same again. And it was then she'd begun to plan her departure from
Toronto. 

Pulling herself back to the present, Natalie heaved a deep sigh and
reached down to stroke a purring Sydney, now contentedly curled up in
her lap. Suddenly, an odd prickling sensation spread across the back
of her neck. Almost simultaneously, Sydney leapt up, claws digging
painfully into her legs as he arched his back and hissed at a shadow
across the room. 

Turning her head, Natalie saw a dark figure silhouetted against the
large bay window ... 

====================
Part Ten
====================

"Nick!" The surprised tone of Tracy's greeting, not to mention the
startled expression that crossed her face when she saw him, told Nick
he was probably the last person she'd expected to find standing in
her doorway. 

"Hi, Trace." He offered an apologetic smile. "Sorry to stop by
without calling first, but I was in the area and took a chance you'd
still be up." A few seconds of awkward silence passed. "Can I come
in?" 

"What? Oh ... sure." Recovering quickly, Tracy moved aside, allowing
him to enter. Nick halted a few steps inside the apartment and waited
as she closed the door and turned to face him. 

"Sorry." She summoned up a half-hearted smile. "Took me off guard. I
wasn't expecting anyone. What is it? Is something wrong?" 

"No. Not really. I just thought I'd stop by and see how you were
doing." 

Nick was surprised at how uncomfortable the lie felt. It wasn't the
first time he'd been less than truthful with her. And it certainly
wouldn't be the last. But for some reason, it bothered him more now
than it ever had before, even though he'd come here hoping to help in
some way. 

"I know your uncle's funeral was today. Tracy ... I'm really sorry I
couldn't be there for you --" 

"It's okay, Nick." She cut short his apology. "I understand, and so
does Dad. I know if it weren't for that sunlight allergy thing, you
would've been there. Oh ... and ... we got the flowers you sent. They
were beautiful. Thank you." 

Instead of putting him at ease, as was intended, Tracy's words only
served to increase Nick's discomfort. The truth was, he'd been so
wrapped up in his search for Natalie that he'd given very little
thought to Tracy's loss. He hadn't even remembered the funeral until
Vachon's visit the previous night had called it to mind -- barely in
time to order the flowers. 

A pang of remorse shot through him, strengthened by the guilty
realization that, even now, he didn't really want to be here. He
couldn't help it. Time had become a precious commodity to him, and he
begrudged every second not spent searching for news of Natalie's
whereabouts. 

His attention was drawn back to Tracy as she gestured uncertainly
toward the living room. "Look ... um, would you like to sit down?" 

At his silent nod, she brushed past him, glancing back over her
shoulder as he moved to follow her. "Can I get you something?" she
asked. "Coffee? Orange juice?" 

 Shaking his head, he offered her a fleeting smile. "No. I'm fine,
 thanks." 

Tracy bypassed the small kitchen, heading straight for the living
room where she sank down into an overstuffed armchair. She waited
without comment as Nick took a seat on the couch. Her eyes were red
from crying, he noticed, just as they had been the last time he'd
seen her -- when she'd told him of her uncle's death. 

Another awkward silence fell between them, and Nick wondered again
how best to bring up the real reason for his visit -- Tracy's plan to
resign from the police force. A plan he wasn't supposed to know
about. During the short drive from his loft to her apartment, he'd
tried and failed to think of a way in which to broach the subject
without betraying the source of that knowledge -- Vachon. 

Tracy herself put a merciful end to his dilemma. 

"Actually, Nick, I'm glad you stopped by." The forced brightness in
her voice must have been as obvious to her as it was to him, but she
gamely persevered. "There's something I need to tell you." 

"Oh?" Nick kept his own voice carefully neutral. 

"I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I realize that I made
a mistake." 

"A mistake about what, Trace?" 

"About becoming a cop." She looked down, refusing to meet his eyes.
"Like I said, I've been doing a lot of thinking since my Uncle Sonny
passed away, and ... I realized that maybe it wasn't the right thing
for me. I mean, I had a lot of trouble deciding what I wanted to do
with my life, and ... well ... with it being sort of a family
tradition and all ... " 

Her voice trailed off for a few beats, then grew resolute. "I guess I
wanted to do something that would make my Dad proud of me. And Uncle
Sonny, too. I just didn't think things through, you know?" 

"Trace --" 

"Anyway, I've decided I'm not cut out for police work, after all, so
I'm going to turn in my badge ... " 

Again her voice faded away. Nick glanced down at the tightly clenched
fists resting in her lap, watching without comment as she made a
conscious effort to relax them. 

"Tracy?" His tone was gentle but intractable. He leaned forward,
trying to catch her eyes. "Why are you doing this?" 

"I just told you why," she replied defensively, still refusing to
look at him. 

"No. I mean the *real* reason. There's more to this than you're
telling me." 

She raised her head, staring wordlessly across at him. It was obvious
to Nick she wanted to confide in him but also feared his reaction.
She dreaded the disillusionment she would see on his face, the
contempt she would hear in his voice when he learned the truth. The
irony of the situation did not escape him, and he smiled grimly to
himself. He'd lost count of all the times Nat had tried to get him to
open up to her -- and failed, for the very same reason. 

Natalie. If he had it to do over again ... 

Frowning, he shook off the thought and the sense of despair that
accompanied it. He knew how easily it would consume him if he let it
take hold. But he'd come here for a reason, and he mustn't lose sight
of that. 

"I know what this job means to you, Trace," Nick said. "It wasn't a
mistake, and entering the academy wasn't something you did out of a
misguided attempt to please your family. I *know* that. If you've
decided to quit, it's for some other reason. Tell me what it is." 

He watched as tears welled up in her eyes. She shook her head, biting
her lip in a vain attempt to hold back the emotions building inside
her. 

"I can't help you if you won't talk to me," Nick told her quietly,
hearing in that familiar phrase a haunting echo of the past. How many
times had Nat said those words to him? 

"I don't want to disappoint you." She said it softly, reluctantly.
Nick shook his head in wordless denial, reaching out to touch her
hand. 

"Tell me, Trace. It'll be okay. Just tell me." 

And she did. Starting with the unnamed "snitch" who had pointed her
toward the clinic that served as a front for the organ harvesters and
ending just after her hallway confrontation with Dr. Valerie Freeman
and her dying daughter. 

"And the thing is, when Dr. Freeman was begging for a chance to save
her daughter, when she was pleading with me to understand and to look
the other way ... I knew exactly how she felt. My whole life, Uncle
Sonny was always there for me. When Dad was too busy playing politics
and impressing the brass, Uncle Sonny always had time for me. When I
entered the academy, he was the one who took me out on the streets
and tried to show me the ropes. And every time I got discouraged and
thought about quitting, he was the one who listened and helped me
reason things out. 

"When I went to the clinic and talked to that doctor, I remember
thinking how easy it would be just to go along with it. To not ask
questions. To just give them anything they wanted, so they would save
him. 

"I really wanted to do that, Nick," she whispered, unable to hold
back the tears any longer. "I wanted it more than anything." She
buried her face in her hands. 

Nick hesitated, then slowly moved from the couch to the arm of
Tracy's chair, where he carefully cradled her head against his chest
as she cried. When at last she quieted, he spoke. 

"You loved your uncle very much, Tracy. Of course, you'd want to do
anything you could to help him. But, Trace, you didn't do anything
wrong. Even if you wanted to at the time, you didn't." 

Using both hands to wipe the tears from her cheeks, Tracy shook her
head. 

"I went to the clinic to track down a lead. At least, that's what I
told myself. But the truth is, I don't *know* what I meant to do,
Nick. I keep wondering what would've happened if they hadn't turned
me down ... if they'd said yes. And what if it hadn't been Nat that
they grabbed that night? If it had been somebody else ... a stranger
... would I have looked the other way? That I even *thought* about it
--" 

She broke off and shook her head in horrified disbelief. When she
looked up at Nick, her eyes were filled with an anguish he found
heartbreakingly familiar. 

 "What kind of cop does that make me?" she asked. 

Nick closed his eyes. The pain in her voice was almost palpable, a
disturbing reflection of his own inner torment. How innocent her near
transgression seemed compared to those that haunted him. Yet she
suffered for it. He took a deep breath and gave her the only answer
he could. 

"A very human one." 

She looked up at him, then pulled away as though trying to distance
herself from Nick and the solace he offered. 

"I bet you've never done anything like that." 

He suppressed a bitter smile. No, he'd done far worse, only he
couldn't tell her that. But there *was* something ... 

"Tracy, listen to me. Back in April of '92, I was investigating the
murder of a young woman. We knew who the killer was, but we couldn't
prove it. So we wired an informant and sent him in, hoping to get a
confession on tape. 

"The guy we were after ... his name was Murray Kozac ... he was a
real scumbag. The department had been after him for years, but they
could never make anything stick. Somehow, he always slithered away.
He exploited underaged girls, used them to make his sleazy porno
flicks. Only he finally went too far. He wound up killing one of
them. 

"And it looked like we were going to nail him for it. The night our
informant went in, Schanke --" Nick broke off, almost choking on the
name as an unexpected wave of grief washed over him. Even now, months
after his first partner's death, the wound Nick carried was as deep
and fresh as the night he'd knelt amidst the wreckage of the plane
crash. A part of him feared it would never heal. Another part of him
feared that it would. 

Nick glanced over to find Tracy watching him, the sorrow in her eyes
replaced by compassion. It gave him the strength to continue. 

"Schanke ... was in a surveillance van outside the warehouse where
the meeting took place. I was parked up on a hill on the other side.
Something went wrong, and Kozac found the wire. 

"I got there as fast as I could, but I was too late. Pete Farber --
our informant -- was dead. Kozac was standing over him with a gun in
his hand. He claimed he didn't do it ... that Pete shot himself, and
he'd only picked up the gun after Pete dropped it. He said we
couldn't *prove* anything, and he was right. It was happening again.
He'd killed someone, and he was all set to walk away from it." 

"So what happened?" 

"I lied." Nick nodded slowly in response to Tracy's disbelieving
stare. "I told everyone that I saw Kozac pull the trigger ... that I
saw him shoot Pete in cold blood. I made a statement to that effect
to the Crown Prosecutor's office, and I went to court with every
intention of testifying to that lie." 

"But you didn't?" 

"No. When it came right down to it, I couldn't, Trace. I knew Kozac
was guilty, and there wasn't a cop on the force who didn't want to
see him put away for good. Some of them felt the ends justified the
means, but ... there was that one-in-a-million chance he was telling
the truth. And I couldn't do it." 

He gazed at her steadily. "No more than you could have gone along
with the organ thieves, no matter how tempting it was." She tried to
look away, but Nick wouldn't let her. "I know it, Tracy. Even if you
don't." 

For several moments, neither spoke. At last, she attempted a smile,
but the effort it took was not lost on Nick. 

"I guess that means you know me better than I know myself." Another
long silence passed. Finally, Tracy took a deep breath and blew it
out. "But you know what really gets to me, Nick? It's how
disappointed in me Uncle Sonny would have been. He never would've
chosen that way, no matter what, and he would've been really mad that
I even thought about making that kind of decision for him. 

"And I *knew* that. The whole time. I knew he wouldn't want it, but
it didn't matter. All I could think about was how I couldn't stand to
lose him. And it scares me, Nick. That if things had gone a little
differently, maybe I would have done whatever it took to keep him
alive." 

Nick struggled to conceal the strong emotions her words evoked. But
she must have seen something in his eyes. This time, it was Tracy who
reached out, gently resting her hand on his arm. 

"You know what I'm talking about, don't you, Nick?" she whispered. 

Yes. He knew. He knew all too well. 

The memory rushed over him, vivid and painfully detailed. He could
almost feel the flames licking at his back, the heat pressing in from
all sides -- just as it had that night when he had held a dying
Janette in his arms and roared his anguish to the heavens ... 

Afterward, in the cool darkness of the loft where he had taken her to
recover, he'd felt an overwhelming