From:         Jennifer Ahn <ao608@LAFN.ORG>

Well.  Here's another one.  I'll cut out all the apologetic comments I
usually write here... not because there aren't any, but because it's
starting to get old, even for me... :)


Gabrielle  by J.Ahn


She recognized the piece he was playing almost absently.  La fille aux
cheveux de lin.
        She knocked on the window, asking to be let in.  He stopped,
startled--it had been only weeks since they had parted, after LaCroix
had taken her away.  To him, it was almost as if she had been called out
of the music, as in a dream.  He had been thinking of her, wondering...
        And to see her so soon... With a heavy heart, he knew...
        The disappointment she felt from him was sharp, but not
unexpected.
        Pleading, she laid the palm of her hand against the glass.
        He smiled, and let her in.
        She was little more than a child, with the fine features of
innocence, so much like Fleur, but for the eyes.  They were of the aged,
the old, the knowing.  With surprise he realized that they reminded him
of Natalie, whose eyes reflected at unguarded moments the death she saw
night after night.  He knew, too, what such eyes meant.
        He spoke her name, a simple greeting.
        "Gabrielle."

        The elegance of his movements as he poured her a glass of blood
made her want to weep.  Watching those white hands, knowing their power,
and their gentleness, hearing in her mind the sweet touch of the piano.
        He started to speak, of ordinary, mundane things, hoping they
would lend her comfort, and give her time before she told him what he
already knew.  Later, she would never be able to recall what he said--
the first words after weeks of longing to hear them--only that
underneath the dreaminess of his light tenor lay such joy that it
reverbrated and echoed in her mind, and she could feel the tremors of
her heart as it jumped in response to that joy.  It had always been like
this for her.
        Others would say that they heard only his sorrow, his regrets.
But she never did.  Only the joy.
        She wanted so much to be what he was.  There had been a chance,
once, but now that she had tasted, had truly tasted, the alien thing
that she had become, she would not be able to walk away, as he had done.
Or rather, was trying to do.  She could not even bring herself to try.
        She realized suddenly that there had been a long silence.  She
looked at him, to find him looking at her.
        "Tell me," he said softly.
        She could feel the memories of it pulling at her, the feelings so
undefinable, but so vivid, so necessary.  She began to shake, needing
even as she told him.
        She remembered the killing rage...
        Eyes blind, she attacked, feeling such emotion, such _hunger_--
        Heart beats, faster, and the knowledge that her prey is helpless,
terrified, only feeds her eagerness...
        Sinking into hot, fluid ecstacy
        Drinking greedily from the thick, gentle gush
        Savoring the taste of
        _Death_
        Those moments of power last an eternity--
        --she was gasping, trying to get away from it.
        The thing which she had done would weigh upon her, as it did upon
him, but the glorious thrill would linger even more definitely, always
teasing, tempting, enticing the corners of her mind, making her remember
the thick welling of crimson life against the torn and ravaged softness
of wet, sticky flesh.
        "I understand."
        "_Do_ you understand, Nicholas?  I _liked_ it."  She said the
words in a hushed tone, half afraid that he would turn away in anger and
disgust.  But the words had to be said.  Even if she risked losing him.
Again, whispered, but no less vehemently, "I like it."
        "Yes."  His answer was soundless.  Had she looked at him then, she
would have known that he too was reliving the bloodlust, and the first
kill.
        She cried then, and with pity, he held her, remembering when he
realized what the killing had done to him, and what the pleasure of
death had taken away from him.  He remembered that it was the first time
he had no one to turn to, knowing that neither Janette nor LaCroix would
ever understand.
        He hadn't been able to help her, but the least he could do for her
now was to hold her while her tears fell hot against his shoulder.
        She cried until exhausted, and on the verge of sleep, and even
then the tears continued to trickle down her face, welling up, one after
another, ceaselessly.
        He carried her to his bedroom and lay her down, tucking her in as
if she were a helpless child.
        His little sister.
        Another of LaCroix's little games.


        He heard the elevator and knew it was Natalie.
        "Nick?  Nick are you here?"
        "Shh..." he cautioned her, coming down the stairs.  "I have a
houseguest asleep upstairs."
        "Oh, sorry, Nick, I didn't know," Natalie said a little awkwardly.
"If this is a bad time, I can do this later.  I just wanted to get a
blood sample."
        "No, that's okay.  Now's fine."
        "Okay."  She spotted the glass on the table.  With a pointed look,
she arched her eyebrow questioningly at Nicholas.
        "Ah--it was for her."  He gestured vaguely, quick to explain.
"Don't worry, Nat.  I'm sticking to my rations."
        "Good.  So you won't need this."  She dropped her medical bag onto
a chair and scooped up the glass, emptying it into the sink and rinsing
it out.
        She went back to the living room where he was watching her, pulled
out a needle and held it up.  She grinned at him.  He rolled up his
sleeve automatically.  As she drew blood, her expression remote, she
asked, "So who is she?"
        Nicholas paused for a moment, wondering what to tell her.
        "I wish I knew."
        She paused in her work, seeming to sense his heartfelt regret, but
this time it wasn't for himself, for his own actions, but for the no
longer innocent girl that lay sleeping upstairs.
        She sat back, still holding the needle filled with his blood,
waiting, ready to listen if he wished to tell her, wanting him to tell
her.
        He felt confused, almost exasperated, at her unending willingness
to hear about his life.  And he still could not understand how, even
knowing about some of the more lurid parts of his past, how she could
still sit so calmly across from a vampire.  A killer.  The disgust that
he felt towards himself never seemed to affect her, and while he did not
understand, he was grateful.  For her friendship.  And more.
        If she wanted to know, he would tell her.


        The darkness settled over the city, its deep brilliance bringing
those who hid in its shadows to life.  LaCroix was in a rare mood,
smiling with a satisfaction that disturbed Janette, that screamed to her
a warning--she was well familiar with her Master's amusements.  She
became even more apprehensive when she saw Nicholas moving through the
crowd towards them.
        The three of them together--an unusual occurance these days,
certainly.  Without realizing, she stood, bracing herself as Nicholas
came near.
        "What do you want?" Nicholas asked abruptly.
        "Nicholas," LaCroix chided gently.  "What a way to greet your
family.  Not even a hello?"
        "What do you want, LaCroix?" he repeated, wary now.  He, too, was
familiar with the games his father played, and hearing the rich
amusement in LaCroix's voice almost frightened him.
        LaCroix only smiled, pleased.  He gestured to four wine glasses
waiting on the counter.  Janette hesitantly took the one closest to her.
Nicholas ignored the gesture, impatiently waiting.
        "Come, Nicholas.  Join us.  In a toast to our family."  LaCroix
picked up one of the glasses and handed it to his son.
        With some surprise, Nicholas realized that the glass was filled
with cow's blood.  And then he noticed the extra glass.  _To our
family_.  His eyes widened as he searched, finding it difficult with so
many others about, but... _There_.
        "No," Nicholas whispered.  "LaCroix, you did not."
        LaCroix smile widened, very pleased now.  "But I _did_."  He
continued without turning, "Come out, ma cherie.  Come join your new
family."
        A tiny, almost imperceptible movement in the shadows behind
LaCroix drew Janette's and Nicholas' eyes, and then stilled under their
weight.
        LaCroix turned then, extending his hand coaxingly.  A smaller hand
laid itself in his, and its owner stepped closer, reluctant.
        "This is Gabrielle.  Your sister."
        The words repeated themselves in Nicholas' mind.  "_Your sister_."
Shock, quickly followed by fury-- _Fleur_.  He stared at her,
disbelieving.
        The resemblance was very strong.  The girl who had held LaCroix's
infatuation for so many centuries stood living in front of them.  A
vampire.  A mockery of Nicholas' memories.
        And of LaCroix's.  Janette, speechless, looked from Fleur--no,
_Gabrielle_?--to LaCroix, and saw the faint, obscure flicker of pain
that sat haunting in his eyes as he looked to the girl.
        Nicholas tore his stare away to demand explanation from LaCroix,
and saw nothing but the taunting satisfaction on his face.
        An explosion of hatred and blinding assault erupted, suddenly and
unnaturally stilled as LaCroix easily caught Nicholas, holding him
immobile as he attempted to struggle free.
        Janette quickly moved to lay a calming hand on Nicholas' shoulder.
"Not here," she said sharply.  She glared warningly at an interested
passerby.
        "Yes, Nicholas," LaCroix added sweetly.  "You're making a rather
poor impression on Gabrielle."
        With a muttered oath Nicholas jerked himself free.  "I want
nothing to do with this, LaCroix," he raged.  "Whatever this is, leave
me out of it."
        He looked once more at the girl, who was looking back at him with
frightened eyes.  They scared him, threatening him with the power of old
memories, and with an ominous promise of the future.  His words meant
less than nothing--he would not be able to escape whatever LaCroix had
planned; it was obvious that this farce was designed specifically for
his benefit.
        The past had already cost him--...so much.  What more would he
lose?


        The next night found him looking for her.
        Nicholas hadn't been able to get her out of his mind, plagued by
the wide-eyed hurt that he had seen in her face before he left the
Raven.  She wasn't very old, either by mortal appearances, or as a
vampire.
        Where had LaCroix found her?  She looked so much like Fleur.  How
could he abandon her to him?  He hadn't allowed it with Fleur, and he
couldn't now, with Gabrielle.
        Gabrielle.
        His...sister.
        She was already a vampire, but not corrupt, not yet.  He had
already seen that she had no experience, had no idea what a vampire was
capable of.  Her fear had been evident the night before.  And fear was
not something a fledgling vampire often felt; at least, not one who had
exercised her power, and had felt her own immortality.
        He could help her.
        It would be like having Fleur back.  For eternity.
        Little sister.
        He went back to the Raven, eager now, and worried for her, with
only LaCroix to look to.
        "Janette, where is she?"
        She turned to look pointedly towards the back of the club, to the
private quarters there.  He brushed past her, moving away quickly.
        She watched him go.

-----

        "Nicholah!  You're back!"
        He brushed past Janette and LaCroix as a flurry of movement rushed
down the stairs and leapt into Nicholas' arms.  "Nicholah.  Oh, my
dearest brother.  Thank God you're home.  Can it be you after all these
years?"
        He stepped back to look down at his sister, his look of adoration
matching hers.  "And you a woman now.  I can't believe my eyes.  My
little flower has blossomed."  He held her close to him, kissing her
hair.  "My little Fleur."

        "Ma petite Fleur," Nicholas whispered.
        Gabrielle turned, surprised to see him, and not surprised at all.
She smiled happily, and he was struck again by the resemblance.
        "Bon soir, ma soeur."
        "I'm sorry, I don't know any French...Nicholas."  Her voice had a
questioning lilt to it.
        "Yes," he smiled, a little embarrassed.  "Please forgive last
night.  We weren't well-introduced."
        "We are now."  A pause.  "Lucien said you would come.  I didn't
believe him.  Is he always right?"
        The smile disappeared from Nicholas' face.  "Where is he?"
        "Lucien?  At the radio station.  I listened to his programme.  The
Nightcrawler."  She wrinkled her nose a little.  "He was talking about
Valentine's Day.  In June?"
        Nicholas grimaced.
        They talked for the rest of the evening, and for the next, and the
next.  After work each night, he went to the Raven.  It was like having
Fleur back.  He had spent so many years away from her, and his mother,
when he went to join the Crusades, and then he had left them forever.
And now it was as if all those years had been given back to him with
Gabrielle.
        Nicholas had been correct; she had not killed.  LaCroix had been
feeding her human blood, yes, but he found that she drank cow's blood,
as he did, when they were together.  The gesture touched him; he knew
that the flavour of cow was a pitiful comparison to human.
        He did not see LaCroix.
        Janette watched Nicholas and Gabrielle night after night.  She
could see the growing adoration in the girl's eyes when she looked at
Nicholas.  With some relief she knew that it was _only_ a sisterly love.
Never would they share what she had with Nicholas.  Never would they be
lovers.
        But she was still uneasy.  She remembered all too clearly the
fascination one girl held for both Nicholas and LaCroix, eight centuries
ago.

        She stepped out into the garden with Nicholas behind her to see
LaCroix handing the girl a white rosebud.
        "For you."
        A gasp.  The bloodscent from Fleur's pricked finger drifted
tantalizingly on the night air.  LaCroix grasped her hand, pulling the
finger slowly towards him, entranced, then suddenly brought it to his
lips.
        Janette stopped Nicholas, restraining him, her hand on his arm.
"Let them be, Nicholas," she said softly.  A sound of disbelief, and
amusement.  "The attraction seems mutual."
        "It cannot be," Nicholas denied adamantly.  "Fleur is one who has
always brought light.  The world needs her mortal love.  Excuse us," he
called, his voice carrying to the two gazing into each other's eyes,
breaking the spell woven between them.  "We've been asked to invite you
to dinner."

        It had first amused her to see LaCroix in that garden, so taken
with this mortal child, and to see Nicholas so protective, so much the
big brother.  He had been so very young and irresponsible then, reckless
with his youth, reveling in his newfound immortality.  He hadn't been
burdened with the tiresome regrets of morality that overshadowed him
now.
        And LaCroix... In all the years that they had been together, she
had never seen him...in love.
        But her amusement had worn off quickly.  The situation became
volitile, to say the least.  She had been relieved when the three had
left Nicholas' home, had left a forgetful Fleur behind.  The tension for
a long time afterward was terrible; a silent LaCroix bitterly resentful,
grieving over his lost love, and Nicholas, knowing that he had left his
mortal family behind forever, only comforted by the fact that Fleur
would never follow him into darkness.
        And now Gabrielle was here, reviving all those old memories that
had never really been put to rest.
        A new sister for Nicholas.
        And for LaCroix... Janette wondered what Gabrielle meant to him.


        LaCroix watched Nicholas bid Gabrielle goodnight.  His pale, feral
eyes followed his son as he moved through the thinning crowd to kiss
Janette, murmuring something in her ear, and then he left.
        He went to join his daughter.  He sat, and as he did frequently,
he took a long moment, just looking at her face, feeling the incessant
pull of the past.  She waited quietly, slightly unnerved from these
haunting silences, and from the feeling of his eyes on her.
        Finally he poured her a glass of blood--human blood--from the
bottle he had brought her, and handed it to her.
        With relief, and a quick glance to make sure that Nicholas had
really left, she accepted with a smile.  Drinking deeply, the sweet
warmth filled her, and she shuddered with its heavy pleasure.  She still
wasn't used to its intensity, and she thought again how difficult it
must be for Nicholas, to deny himself this.
        Finishing the glass, she held it out to him for more.
        He shook his head.  Instead, LaCroix pushed his chair back and
stood, holding his hand out to her.
        "Shall we?"

-----

        She considered carefully before pointing from the rooftop.  She
glanced questioningly at LaCroix.
        He nodded approvingly.

-----

        Nicholas drove his Caddy through the deserted streets, smiling
absently, thinking of the evening, already anticipating the next.
        Then screams from the distance.
        He pulled over, tires screeching, and took to the air.
        He quickly found the source of the screams.  To his horror.
        Gabrielle stood in the alley with the limp body of a homeless
person in her arms.  He caught the lone heartbeat, thankfully, then
cursed himself for not talking to her about the killing.  He had meant
to at first, but-- He had stupidly ignored the knowledge that this would
come.  He had _known_.  But he never really imagined she could be like
this, that she could do this.
        And now he was seeing it.  Eyes glowing, fangs extended, she
pushed the head aside to give her better access.  She brought her head
down--
        "Stop!"  He hurtled towards her, wrestling her victim away from
her.  "Stop!" he shouted into her face.  She struggled briefly, just
trying to get past him to the body.  The blood.
        "Gabrielle.  _No_."  She stopped this time, breathing heavily.
        "Nicholas!"  LaCroix stepped from the shadows, glaring
malevolently.  "What are you doing?  It would have been a good kill."
Angrily he snatched up the stirring body lying in the ground and
viciously snapped the neck with one swift motion.  He threw it
contemptuously at Gabrielle's feet.  "There.  You may as well drink."
        "No."  Nicholas turned to Gabrielle.  "You don't have to be like
him.  Look at what he is!" he implored.
        "It's what you are, as well, Nicholas," LaCroix snarled.  "And
it's what she is."
        "_No_.  She is _not_.  Not yet." He turned pleadingly to Gabrielle
again.  "It's wrong.  Please.  Don't do this."
        Gabrielle looked from LaCroix to Nicholas, to the lifeless body
that lay at her feet, clearly torn by indecision.
        Finally she shook her head.  "Lucien, I'm sorry.  I won't kill--I
won't feed like this."  Her eyes flickered to Nicholas.  "Not as long as
Nicholas asks me not to."
        "That, my dear, is unacceptable," LaCroix snapped.  "I have
allowed you to see her without interfering, Nicholas.  But enough.  Now
you will not interfere with _me_.  She is not Fleur.  Do not interfere.
She _will_ learn how to hunt, and she _will kill_, and she _will_ feed
from her prey.  She is a vampire, and _you.will.not.interfere_."
        "But I _won't_," Gabrielle stated quietly.  She was shaken by the
by his rage--she had never seen him like this.  Lucien had always been
kind to her, and she had never seen him angry.
        "Ah, but you _will_."  Suddenly his hands were on her, grabbing
her in terrifyingly strong arms.  She screamed.  Nicholas flew at them,
but LaCroix struck him violently across the face, hurling him halfway
down the alley.
        "Nicholas!" she screamed.
        "Shut up," LaCroix hissed, and dragged the struggling Gabrielle
away into the night.

-----

        "Where are they?"  Nicholas burst into the Raven, grabbing
Janette.
        "Nicholah, stop it."  She pulled away from him.  "Who?"
        "LaCroix, and Gabrielle.  He took her.  They must have come here.
Where are they?"
        "They did not come here."  Janette was filled with dread.  "What
has happened, Nicholah?"
        He just shook his head.  "He took her."

"That was weeks ago.  She came back tonight."
        "Wow."  Natalie sat back, taking in everything he had told her.
"And before...?  Where did LaCroix find her?"
        "All I know is that she was...lonely.  No family to speak of.  I
never asked where LaCroix found her.  I...I didn't want to hear it."  He
paused.  "I didn't really think of her as one of us.  It was so easy to
pretend she wasn't."  He took a breath.  "Now she is.  No turning back."
        Natalie made a puzzled sound.  He looked at her and smiled sadly.
        "When she came here tonight, I knew.  I could smell the bloodscent
on her.  She's killed.  LaCroix must have forced her.  He's done the
same to me before."  He fell silent.
        Natalie made herself busy putting her things away, knowing that he
would not want to talk about those memories.
        "Nicholas?"  They both started, and turned to see Gabrielle
standing on the stairs.
        "Gabrielle, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine."  He smiled at
her, inviting her to join them.  "This is Natalie Lambert.  Nat, this is
Gabrielle."  They smiled awkwardly at each other.  Nicholas had
mentioned Natalie to Gabrielle, and he knew she was a little bewildered
about the relationship, knowing there was something more than friendship
there, but there wasn't.
        Nicholas put his arm around Gabrielle, intending to have her join
them, but she hissed and drew away.  "What is it?" he asked.  She turned
so he could see the angry red marks peppering her neck, pulling her
shirt aside so he could see that they continued down onto her shoulder.
He winced.
        "Nat?  Would you mind looking at these?"
        "Sure, what is it?"  She moved closer to peer carefully at
Gabrielle's shoulder.  "Looks like...wood splinters.  Laced under the
skin."  She went to retrieve her medical bag.  "Lucky for you I came
prepared."
        Gabrielle shot a look at Nicholas.  He smiled back reassuringly.
"Don't worry.  She's had lots of practice with me."
        Natalie chuckled, coming back over to where they stood.  "Have a
seat."  She bent, starting to gingerly dig around underneath the skin.
        Gabrielle closed her eyes, grimacing with pain.  She could feel
the splinter moving, being pulled out of her.  Nicholas sympathized with
her.
        Natalie worked in silence.  "Almost finished, Gabrielle.  Just
hold still for a little more..."  Her voice trailed off as she leaned in
closer, concentrating intently.
        Gabrielle was shuddering a little.  Nicholas thought it was
because of the pain, but then she opened her eyes, gleaming gold,
looking wide-eyed with desperation at Nicholas.  With horror he realized
how close Natalie's neck was, unprotected from Gabrielle's lips, just
inches away.
        "Nat!"  He pulled her away.  "I think I can finish up."
        "Nick, what are you doing?  I'm almost done.  Just let me..."
        "No!  I mean, no, it's okay.  I really think I should finish up."
He smiled a bit nervously.  "Really.  Thanks."
        Natalie looked back at Gabrielle, whose eyes had closed again.
She knew something was wrong, but she didn't know what.  She looked at
Nicholas' pleading face.
        "Ummm...well, okay then."  Natalie started to collect her things,
Nicholas helping her.  "I'll see you tomorrow night."
        Nicholas hustled Natalie to the elevator.  "Yeah, tomorrow night.
I'll see you then.  Thanks."
        "Goodnight, Gabrielle," Natalie called over her shoulder.
        "Goodnight, Dr. Lambert."  Gabrielle's voice was a little
strained.  "Thank you."
        When she was gone, Gabrielle opened her eyes, trying to control
herself.  She looked away from Nicholas, ashamed.  "I'm sorry,
Nicholas."
        He shook his head sadly.  "Don't be.  You didn't.  That's all that
matters.  I know how hard it is."  He bent to continue where Natalie
left off.  "How did you get these?"
        She hesitated.  "...LaCroix."  She couldn't say anymore.
        Nicholas didn't ask for anymore.  He knew the lengths LaCroix
would go to.

-----

        Janette brought LaCroix a wine glass and a bottle of blood.  He
had returned that night, sitting at a secluded table at the Raven for
most of the evening.
        She slid in the seat across from him.
        Her screams echoed in his mind.  He took a drink.
        "LaCroix?"
        He ignored her, staring stonily into his memories.

        "You cannot be in love."  Nicholas' voice was filled with scorn.
"You've not one shred of humanity left in you."
        His own voice.  "I would have agreed before we arrived.  How do
you think this makes me feel?  I can't control it.  I can't accept it.
And yet it _is_."
        "Let go of your mortal bonds.  Have you forgotten your own
lesson?"
        "No, of course I haven't forgotten.  But Fleur is everything that
I am not.  She is pure, life, giving.  My immortality has nothing to do
with my feeling--"  He broke off.
        "Love."

        "Love."  His voice was soft, scornful.  Nicholas was right.  After
all these many years, he could accept it.  Perhaps even forgive it.  How
he could do...that, to her...
        "She may look like Fleur, but she is not."  Janette's voice broke
in softly.
        He looked up, and she almost flinched at what she saw in his eyes.
        Not one shred of humanity...
        He smiled, but it didn't look like a smile.
        "No," he agreed.  "She is not."

-----

        Gabrielle looked out into the night.  She had to leave.  To get
away.  From Lucien.  From Nicholas.
        From the memory of Fleur.  It was hurting all of them.
        Leaving Nicholas would be the most difficult.  After spending so
much time alone, LaCroix had found her, and had brought her to Nicholas.
He treated her like family, his little sister.  She knew that it was
because of her resemblance to Fleur, but it didn't seem to matter.
        Now, it was different.  She was what he most despised--a vampire.
A killer.  And she liked the killing.
        "Gabrielle?"
        She turned and smiled at Nicholas, then turned away again.  "I
have to leave.
        He was still.  "I know."
        "Will he follow me?"
        "...Probably.  Yes."  A pause.  "Will you come back?"
        "Someday."  When she could live with who she was now.  When she
could control her insatiable desire for blood.  When she knew he could
live with who she had become.  She knew it may never be.
        She clung to him, one last time.  "Goodbye, Nicholas."  Her voice
was heavy with tears.
        Before he could say anything, she broke away from him and flew out
into the night.
        "Un jour, ma soeur.  Someday."

-----

--J.Ahn
ao608@lafn.org

What do you think?