*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* FK Fanfic Archivers Note: Comments, questions, and feedback on this story can be sent to webmistress@fkfanfic.com, where they will be forwarded on to the author. Thank you. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* "Alternatives" Forever Knight shorts for Susan Garrett's birthday by Cagey August 1996 Legalese: None of the FK characters belong to me, but no copyright infringement is intended. The stories are mine, however, so please do not repost or reprint without permission. Other fanfiction by Cagey may be found at http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/1263/ ****** Alternatives 1/5 "You've got to help him!" Janette regarded the petitioner impassively. Finally she stretched out a hand to be sure that the young man was dead. It was redundant, really, because she could no longer hear a mortal heartbeat. She closed his staring eyes, the gesture serving to silence her frantic companion. "Cheri," she said gently, "you must learn to control your strength and your hunger. If you do not wish to kill them, you must learn moderation." The woman was sprawled on the hotel bed with the pale corpse of the fair young man cradled in her arms. When she raised her face, Janette saw the blood tears trickling down her ebony cheeks. "Janette, I didn't mean to do it. I only wanted to have a little fun." Janette sighed, but it was tinged with patience and understanding. "I know, ma soeur, but you must think of the consequences." She brushed one of the tears from the girl's face. "Go clean up. We will need to dispose of the body, and we must not draw attention." "Oui, Mama." It was an address too childish for the grown woman before her, but Janette understood well the sentiment which lay behind it. It pleased her, and she was struck with a fierce sense of warmth. And possessiveness. She felt a flash of sympathy for LaCroix and his years of torment--the agony of watching one's child make mistakes and be hurt by them. Oh, how bitterly it stung. But it was a comforting pain, nonetheless--she had spent too long as a daughter herself. As she listened to the sound of running water in the bathroom, she thought about the girl. It had been so long since she had felt part of a family, since she had truly felt needed and loved by someone of her own kind. The girl was her companion. Lover. Friend. Daughter. Her choice. She felt the cool touch on her shoulder. "I'm ready, Janette." Janette smiled at her in encouragement. "Good. We shall take care of this together." ***** Alternatives 2/5 "You've got to help him!" Natalie Lambert extracted her hand from the tight grip of the frantic mother, and said to her soothingly, "We're doing all we can. We'll take care of him." The woman looked at her blankly, her wild eyes clawing at the glass which separated them both from the room in which a crew of ER doctors tried desperately to revive her unconscious son. Natalie sighed internally at the sight of the young boy--he couldn't be more than five or six--who had fallen into the family pool. She gave a silent prayer for his recovery, then grasped the woman by the shoulder. "Come on," she said, trying to steer the mother to the waiting room. "We can wait out here." She looked to the main desk and, spotting a victim, asked, "Judy? Can you give me a hand?" "I'll take care of her, Dr. Lambert," the nurse nodded, leading the distraught mother away from Natalie with professional ease. "You're supposed to be going on vacation, aren't you?" Natalie nodded, not willing to intrude on the mother's worry any further, and gave the nurse a grateful smile. She watched the mother disappear--still shooting frantic glances towards the room where her son lay--and sighed. "There but for the grace of God...." she thought. "Mommy!" a voice which could only belong to an impatient, excited and worried six year old proclaimed, as two small hands wrapped themselves around her waist. "Daddy's waiting outside." Brown eyes gazed up at her mournfully. "We are still going to see Uncle Richard, aren't we?" Natalie laughed at the solemn tone and scooped her daughter up into her arms. "Yes, Grace. Mommy just got delayed by work." She sat the little girl on the admissions desk while she found a pen to finish signing some paperwork. "You work too hard," the girl chided her, sounding like a recording of her father. She tapped the girl lightly on the nose. "And you worry too much." With a flourish she replaced the cap on her pen, sketched a wave goodbye to her colleagues, scooped her daughter up once again, and set out for a well-deserved, much needed vacation. As she stepped out into the bright sunlight, blinking a little to adjust her eyes to the change of light after a twelve- hour shift in the ER, she smiled. she thought to herself, "Come on, Mom," the girl ordered. "Let's go." She smiled at her daughter in the sunlight. ************* Alternatives 3/5 "You've got to help him!" Lucien LaCroix heard the words slip from his lips, but he was not sure to whom they were addressed. A nameless god to whom he had not prayed in centuries? A Christian deity who had never shown him the slightest kindness? The ghost of his beloved Fleur, whose death still tore at his soul, and whose end had put him in this unimaginable situation? LaCroix cradled the body of Fleur's son in his arms, watching the life slip away from the frail creature as the ravages of the plague took their toll. He cursed inwardly at the loss of this last link to his happiness. After this, there would be nothing left for him. Nothing but aging. Frailty. Death. He who had thought to live forever, now cursed by Nicholas, it seemed. LaCroix thought back to his parting from Fleur, a demand made by a possessive brother. He had acquiesced then, but a few years later, after Nicholas and Janette had parted from his company, LaCroix had found himself back at her home, watching silently in the shadows, hoping to see her one more time. She had been crying in the garden. It ripped through his resolve, and he had appeared before her. "Lucien?" she'd asked hesitantly, then thrown herself into his arms. "Oh, Lucien--I knew that you would come back to me!" She was a widow, with a son. This young boy dying in his arms. They had spent many happy months together. LaCroix had fed from her, never taking too much--her blood like the sweetest wine sparkling on his tongue. He had felt her dying breath on his lips. A group of thugs, untouched by the waning king's justice, had stumbled upon her. He saw the blow that killed her, just as he was returning home. A fire so deep that it blinded him with madness consumed him. When he came to himself, he lay with her body cradled in his arms, the blood of her attackers on his hands. And he was human. Mortal, once again. A cursed gift. He was cursed to bury his Fleur. To feel the aches and annoyances of an existence which he no longer coveted. To watch her son die in his arms. To feel the cough and fever which marked his own imminent illness. To wait for death. ************* Alternatives 4/5 "You've got to help him!" Tracy Vetter glared at LaCroix furiously, Vachon's body still leaning heavily against her. "I know that you're like him," she continued. "You must be able to do something for him." She did not know what had compelled her to bring Vachon to the Raven. After he had so idiotically tried to make her kill him with a stake which she had tossed aside, the madness seemed to take hold of him completely. He had whirled on her, his eyes burning with what she assumed was blood lust, and she feared the worst. But then he had raised trembling hands to his head and shouted an anguished, "No!", right before he collapsed. So she had brought him here. The club had been ominously empty, but she had easily spotted the proprietor, LaCroix, sitting alone at the bar. LaCroix finally stirred, moving a hand to tilt Vachon's unconscious face up towards him. "Why should I help him?" Tracy felt the anger and desperation clouding her mind. "Because," she spat out. "He doesn't deserve this." These words seemed to strike some chord in the elder vampire-- because she had no doubt now that he was one. "No," LaCroix whispered, undercurrents of emotion which she could not even begin to fathom lacing his words, "Nobody deserves this." "Then *help* him." She knew that she was pleading, but there seemed so little time. LaCroix hesitated, then took Vachon from her and lay him on the ground. "I don't know if I can," he admitted. "But I will try." He raised his wrist to his mouth, and Tracy winced as he tore the flesh. Cradling Vachon's head in one hand, LaCroix forced some of the precious blood down his throat. Even in the throes of Divia's poison, some instinct in the almost-dead vampire seemed to be urging him to drink. Tracy noticed that LaCroix was gazing at her curiously. "What?" she asked defensively. LaCroix seemed to start a thought, but then he changed tracks. "He may not thank you for this, you know," he said finally. Tracy shook her head. "I don't care. I won't let him leave me. Not like this, anyway." A sad smile touched the man's lips, but he did not respond, as Tracy caressed Vachon's cheek, waiting for a miracle. ************* Alternatives 5/5 "You've got to help him!" "He must help himself." "He won't survive." "I won't make his choices for him. He has made too many for others. Let him suffer the consequences." "You don't mean that." "Maybe not." "I mean that I won't make the choice for him. He would only find a way to use it against me." "You're still angry at him." "No...I stopped being angry a long time ago. Rather, I understood *my* mistake, and learned from it." "Unfortunately, he didn't." "Will you regret it later?" "I will live too long for regret. Would that he had too." "But he's *not* gone yet!" "No...but he will be." And Nicholas slipped into darkness... And Nick slipped into darkness... And Nichola slipped into darkness... *end*