Date: Tue, 27 Jul 1999 12:47:26 -0400 From: Mary Lou Manzie Subject: Every Gift, 01 of 01 To: FKFIC-L@lists.psu.edu Permission to archive on Mel's FKFAN Fic site as well as the FTP site. = Any others, please ask first. Disclaimer: The original Forever Knight characters were created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and are owned by Sony/TriStar/Paragon Films. I am only borrowing them. No profit is intended to be made from this story. All rights reserved. Spoilers: Black Buddah 1 and 2, 1966, Only The Lonely and The Fire Inside. My thanks to the world's best Beta readers, Katherine Robert, Jeanine Hornby, Debra Ann Fiorini and StormyNite. Please read the Author's Notes at the end of the text. Every Gift by Mary Lou Manzie Natalie Lambert parked her car on the street and glanced quickly at the second floor windows of the brick warehouse, surprised that no light was visible. Grabbing the movie she had rented, she exited her vehicle, nervously wondering if Nick had forgotten the video date they had arranged earlier in the week. She left the lift and opened the door to the loft. The room was familiar to her by now, even though costumed in shadow. In the living room, a small reading light stood as sole beacon, drawing her to the leather sofa. Natalie reached to click on a second lamp positioned on an end table and was about to call out for Nick when she realized he was sitting on the sofa. She chuckled softly and walked around the furniture to face him. "Nick," she greeted, "I was afraid you'd forgotten." No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she realized he had not stirred. His eyes were open but seemed unfocused. In fact, he appeared to be unaware of anything around him, including her. Natalie slipped out of her trenchcoat and knelt before him, placing her hands over his. "Nick," she repeated gently, tugging lightly at his hands which were holding a magazine in his lap. "Nick," she crooned a little louder, this time cupping his cheek with one hand. Her touch forced his eyes to focus, although slowly, as if he were returning from a far off place. He recognized her, she could see that, but it seemed for a moment that words had not followed him on his journey back. Minutes later Nick found her eyes and his voice almost simultaneously. "Nat," he choked, as if speech were a newfound skill. "What are you doing here?" "We had a video date," she answered, pulling the rented cassette from her coat pocket as evidence. "I see you've forgotten." "Video date?" he echoed, remembrance suddenly barreling in from all sides. "Oh, Nat, I'm sorry. I didn't forget, well, not exactly..." "That's okay," she assured him. "You just had me worried, sitting here in the dark like that. I thought you were in a coma or something!" She looked into his eyes, forgiving him with her smile. Natalie's hand again caressed his cheek. "You want to tell me where you were because you sure as heck weren't here," she reasoned. Nick caught her hand and held it to his chest. "I--I was just reading about this." He raised the copy of Time magazine from his lap. Nat studied the edition and noted that a photograph of a U.S. President's son was on the cover, the articles inside surely documenting the son's recent tragic demise in an airplane accident. "It is so sad. Such a young man..." she began but realized she did not really know what to say. Looking back at Nick, she saw for the first time that his eyes, though clear, were watery, and she wondered if he had been crying. As if to confirm her thoughts, Nick wearily rubbed his eyes with both hands. "I met his father," Nick stated matter-of-factly. "His mother too, but just once." Natalie stared at Nick, holding her breath, almost fearing that to release it would cause his memories to evaporate. She peered into his eyes, willing him for once to open a piece of his past to her. "Tell me," she urged. He took her hands in his and directed her to sit on the sofa beside him. He turned to face her, but his eyes remained fixed on the magazine cover for moments longer. Nick blinked several times, then directed his gaze to Natalie. "I want to tell you, Nat, I really do. Sometimes I think you imagine I deliberately keep my past from you, and you're right. There are some things I'm not ready to share and other times..." "Go on," Nat invited softly. "Other times, Nat, I just don't know if you can understand. I don't mean to insult you, but you just haven't lived long enough to relate to what I'm saying." Exasperation tinged his voice, and he looked away. "Nick, you can tell me anything and I'll try to understand. We're friends, remember? And even if I haven't seen the things you have, I've had my own experiences, too." She paused gathering her thoughts. "This young man's death has affected you, I can see that. Tell me your story, Nick. I want to hear it." "All right, Nat," he sighed before continuing. "I met his father during the 1960 U.S. presidential campaign. It's probably hard to understand it now, but the country, the world really, was in sort of a daze during the 1950's. The war had brought so much destruction and devastation, not only to the countries where it was fought, but almost every country was affected. The U. S. and Canada lost many young people, and it seemed that when peace finally came, families wanted to draw inward. They clung to one another because they wanted 'normalcy' if you will, after so many years of unspeakable horror and sacrifice. The young men who returned wanted to love their sweethearts and raise their families. They wanted to put the war behind them, and in so doing, they wanted to maintain a status quo. "Even though there was the so-called 'Red Scare' in the early 1950's and the Korean Conflict, that status quo was pretty much maintained. In some respects, it seems almost pastoral as I look back on it and remember the turmoil that followed in the 1960's. But imagine, if you can, a continent asleep, then North America waking up and stretching after a long nap. That's what I felt when his father ran for office and during the heady days of his presidency. "It's the same feeling I had at the beginning of the Renaissance, when America and then France established their independence in the 1700's, the joyful spirit of adventure when families in the east migrated west in the 1800's for land and new lives, the discovery of electricity. I've seen history, felt it. I've *been* history, Nat. And that's what I saw and felt when this man entered a room. "It didn't matter whether or not I agreed with everything he said and did, I could see that he stood for idealism--the kind of idealism that changes cultures, that baptizes new thoughts and hopes. I wanted to be a part of that once again." Nick looked away as if settling his thoughts before he continued. "When you've existed as long as I have, you sometimes feel like a piece of flotsam, tossed and twirled by the currents of time. Every once in a while a tidal wave comes along and completely shakes you up, moves you in a new direction, gives you a reason to care again. That's what his father's legacy meant to me." A peaceful silence cradled the room as Nat allowed him to continue his reflections. Nick looked at her again with a faint smile. "His mother," his breath caught sharply for a moment before he continued. "His mother would have graced any age into which she'd been born. I saw her enter a busy campaign office one evening. She'd come unannounced, just to say hello, she said. Although I suspect a shy person at heart, she also had a strong sense of purpose. She grasped every hand that greeted her, had a kind word for one and all," he finished, his voice lowering to a whisper. Natalie took both his hands in hers. "It must have been an exciting time, Nick. The way you've described it, I can almost feel the electricity in the air." She shifted slightly bringing one of his hands to her cheek. "It must have been hard to see your symbol of reawakening die," she stated. Nick's hand softly stroked her cheek. "It wasn't that, really, Nat. Like I said, I didn't agree with everything he did and said, but it did feel as if he'd started something or at least tapped into an idealism that needed to be awakened. And it did continue in other people and other ways." "Then what is it, Nick? Something has you deeply troubled," she noted. "I remember the promise of both the father and the son. Have you read the uncle's eulogy?" Nick asked. "No, I haven't," she answered. "This magazine has it," he responded, flipping through the pages until he found the text. "It's a moving speech, full of fond remembrances and hopes unfulfilled, yet this is the part that struck me the most, 'But like his father, he had every gift but length of years.'"* Nick gazed at Natalie, but seemed to be looking 'through' her not 'at' her. "How can I have the curse of years when both father and son were robbed of its gift?" Nick dropped his hands to his lap and looked away, unable to accept Natalie's healing touch. Nat thought for several minutes before daring a response. Cradling his hand in hers, she began, "I have to admit that I didn't know much about the father other than what I've read in books and seen on tv. But I think of you as more like the son." Nick sent her a questioning look replete with furrowed brow. "This young man was born into a life not of his choosing yet he seemed to have lived it fully, on his own terms," she continued. "Oh I know you'll tell me you had a choice, but I wonder if you really did. If you had known the anguish the choice has caused you, would you have taken this path? I think not. "At any rate, this young man lived his life on his own terms, in the shadow of the family of his birth. He seems to have respected them and yet gone his own way. I've heard there were times when he used his status for the benefit of others and different times when he worked quietly behind the scenes for social and charitable causes." "It's true," Nick interrupted. "The Brabant Foundation sometimes partnered in charitable work he supported." "You're like him, Nick. You have quietly decided to help people without ever taking credit for yourself. And I don't mean just money either. I know you've helped street youth and the homeless yourself, not just through the Foundation. "This man could have let his family's history dictate his choices, but he made his own--about where and how he lived his life. That's why I say you are much alike, Nick. You could be like the rest of your 'family,' but you live your own life, and it's one you've crafted for yourself over time. I know it hasn't been easy." She squeezed his hand gently for emphasis. "But Nat, I curse the years even more when I see these two lives cut short," Nick anguished. "Who is to say how many years it takes for a life well lived?" Natalie ventured. "It has taken you many lifetimes to come to where you are, but most of us have to do the best we can with just one, albeit a short one sometimes. What I'm saying, Nick, is that he lived life as well as he could in the time given to him. He helped others and married a woman he loved deeply. A longer life might have given them children and other challenges and rewards, but it wasn't to be. So my question is, 'did he waste the years given to him?'" Nick thought for several moments. "No, I guess he didn't," he replied. "And I don't think you've wasted the years given to you either, even if you've had a lot more of them," Natalie declared. "Although short, his life was well lived, Nick. That's a legacy we all should aspire to reach." In the silence that followed, Natalie surmised that Nick was conducting a personal inventory, desperately trying to find a counterbalancing good for every evil he acknowledged. Yet she knew instinctively he would count himself a failure. "Nick, in this life alone you've done so much good," she declared. "You helped that East German family escape Berlin back in the 60's." He thought a moment, then conceded with a faint smile. "They both had children and now grandchildren," he answered. "The homeless people you and Schanke found living underground, the street kids I've seen you help, all the innocent lives that would have been lost if you hadn't stopped the bomber who killed Schanke and Cohen," she insisted. "And me," she concluded. "If you hadn't stopped Roger Jamieson..." Nick nodded thoughtfully, carefully weighing her words in his heart. Slowly he wove the goodness she outlined into the tapestry of his very long life. "Come here," he finally directed, pulling Natalie into his embrace. "I still can't help but wonder what the gift of years would have meant for them both, but you're right, Nat, a life well lived is something everyone should aspire to." "We never know where our lives will take us, either, so we need to let those who matter to us know it, too," Nat dared. Nick pulled her closer to him and kissed her forehead. "Nat, there's something I've been meaning to tell you..." -------------------------------------------- FIN Constructive comments may be sent to mmanzie1@maine.rr.com or visit my website: http://home.maine.rr.com/marylou/ Author's Notes: *Quote from the text of the eulogy delivered by Senator Edward Kennedy as reported by MSNBC on 7/23/99. In no way do I mean to trivialize the work of any real life individuals by suggesting that the fictional Brabant Foundation participated in their charitable activities. For Bernhardt, whose short life was also well lived, from one who loved him dearly. Until the next time...