Generations by Imajiru imajiru@mindspring.com imajiru@unicorn-x.net February 8, 1996 "Are you Doctor Natalie Lambert?" asked the slender young woman in the bulky coat, standing nervously in the threshold of her office. "That's me," said Nat, with a professional smile, more preoccupied with her latest autopsy than anything else. "How can I help you?" The woman came in, unfastening the sash of her coat. "It's kind of hard to explain," she said, advancing toward Nat. At closer range, Natalie was able to tell that the woman was in fact barely postadolescent, and bore a look of wide- eyed fear. And as the stranger reached out and took her hand, she knew that the girl was not human. The girl placed Nat's fingertips against her rounded belly -- and after a few moments' stunned shock, Nat glanced up at her. "I'm a vampire," said the girl soberly, quietly. "And I'm pregnant." Nat closed her eyes and counted to ten rapidly, letting herself absorb that. "Who sent you to me?" she asked, without opening her eyes, already half-knowing the answer. When her eyelids flickered open, the young woman was gazing at her steadily. "Janette," she said, "of course." ------- Nick arrived after she'd finished examining Marie -- "it's Mary, actually, but I've become used to being called Mah- reee," the young woman had said -- and though it had been years since the long-ago time when she'd considered making ob/gyn her specialty, Nat had been gratified to discover that she still retained enough knowledge to ascertain that there was indeed what appeared to be a human baby inside there, though Marie herself shared Nick's six-per-hour heartbeat and nearly non-existent blood pressure. He stared at the young woman, seeing (as Natalie had) the superficial resemblance to the one who'd directed her there: the luminous dark curls and vividly blue eyes, though set in an angular face whose features did not mimic the other's at all. "How is Janette?" were the first words out of his mouth, spoken in a hushed tone that spoke eloquently of hidden pain. Marie in turn was sizing him up -- probably, Nat thought, comparing him to the pictures and portraits Janette had no doubt shown her. "She hasn't forgiven you," the girl said, "if that's what you mean," and Nick turned away quickly, hiding his face from view. "But she told me that I could find sanctuary here," Marie continued, and her eyes fastened on Natalie. "That you would help me... even if you didn't want to." Surprised, Natalie considered the statement. "She was right," she conceded, feeling unaccountably warmed by the second-hand gesture of trust, even as the presumption annoyed her. "Tell me... how did it happen?" The young woman shrugged. "Not much to tell," she said. "He was a one-night stand -- except that I took a fancy to him, and decided to prolong things a bit. For seven days and seven nights, we had sex, and I fed... and when it was done, I disposed of the corpse and I left. Except... not long after that, I began to feel very strange. I went to Janette, and she was the one who figured it out..." "And she sent you here," Nick murmured. "I told you, she knew I'd find sanctuary here. And besides... she said I should give you a message." Again, her eyes flickered to meet Nat's. "If there is a cure to be found in this," and all at once Marie's tone was a bit lower, and softer, and bore a familiar accent, in almost perfect mimicry, "I want what was taken from me. He has infected me with his cursed quest, and destroyed me with his selfish love, and now I can find no happiness until I am freed from this darkness." Her voice returned to normal. "That's what Janette told me," said Marie. Watching Nick in anticipation of something like this, Nat saw his face color -- visibly, to an almost human shade -- saw him flinch at her words. "I did what I thought was right..." he began. "No, you did what you wanted to do," Marie said unhesitatingly. "You couldn't bear the loss, so you took the easy way out." Guilt settled over his face, to be quickly banished by an expression of annoyance. "Excuse me, do I even know your *name*?" he said pointedly. "I mean, if you're going to lecture me, I think we ought to be properly introduced." "I am Marie," she said, and Nick flinched again as she gave it the French pronunciation in that eerily Janette-like tone. "And I have heard the entire story; and I do not think you are a person I particularly want to know, Nicolas de Brabant." "Then why are you here?" he said angrily. "Because Natalie can help me," said Marie, with an air of defiance. "I want to bring this baby to term." And a flicker of deep worry crossed her face. "Whatever it might turn out to be." Nat's breath caught in her throat. "You think it might not be fully human," she said, not as a question. "I don't *know*," the girl moaned. "Nobody's ever heard of this before; Janette is the only person I know who even believes this is happening to me... and I feel so strange, I don't know what to think." "Strange how?" Nat wanted to know. "Strange, like mortal," Marie clarified. "It's only been a century for me, I still remember what it was like... I'm weak, I can't fly anymore. I get cravings for food -- raw meat and fish -- and I have to eat, though I'm drinking more blood than ever. But then I get nauseous..." She made a face. "Physically, this hasn't exactly been fun for me." "I'll bet," Natalie sympathized. "The morning sickness is the worst part. Believe me, I know." Her hand settled on the young woman's shoulder. "We'll get you through this," she said, with determination. "Both of you." "Thank you," Marie said shyly, with a small smile. ------- "So you brought her back across," Nat said to the wall. She hadn't let herself react to the revelation in Marie's presence, but now the young woman was asleep in Nat's spare bedroom, and there was a sinking sensation inside her stomach as she considered what she had learned. "I thought you wanted to be human, Nick," she heard herself say, as if from a very great distance. "What does that have to do with anything?" came his reply; and the fact that he couldn't see the connection made her want to cry. "Janette was human, Nick. And you brought her back across." //He doesn't understand,// Natalie thought, //he just doesn't get it.// "She was dying!" In his voice, she could hear the anguish he'd felt at that crucial moment, and she sympathized -- after all, hadn't it been her own response in an equivalent situation? -- but that wasn't the point, no, not the point at all. "She was dying a mortal death," she countered. "Which was what she apparently wanted. And you took that away from her." Behind her, Nick was utterly silent. "Which makes you, what?" Natalie wondered. "LaCroix?" She felt his hands grasp her shoulders roughly and whirl her around to face him. "That's not *fair*," he protested fiercely. "Yes, it is! You've done to Janette exactly what LaCroix's done to you!" How could he not see that? How could he be so blind? "Not exactly," he shot back. "*I've* never regained *my* humanity," and the tone of his voice, nearly a snarl, made her eyes widen in sudden realization. "Was it envy?" she said suddenly, without thinking. "Were you *jealous*?" Nick opened his mouth to deny it, then hesitated. "A little, I guess," he admitted slowly. "But that's not why I brought her across." "Why, then?" Nat probed quietly. Another silence. "Because," he said, at last, "I couldn't bear to lose her." She thought about it, then nodded. "Ah," she said. "I see. Then you *are* LaCroix, aren't you?" He shuddered, as if she'd managed to inflict a savage wound with her words. "And what about me, Nick?" she continued, failing to keep a small tremor from her voice. "If I was dying, would you bring me across?" "I..." His voice faltered. "What if I begged you to do it?" Nat wondered. "What if I begged you not to? Would my wishes make *any* difference to you?" "Why are you *doing* this to me?" It was a child's plaintive plea, so pained that she nearly relented; but this was too important. "You say you want to be human again," she said evenly. "But I don't think you know what you want... or what you believe." She shook her head. "If it's true that humanity is the only redemption, you've just damned Janette all over again." "Do you think I don't know that?" he whispered, and there were blood-tears welling in his eyes. "I've lost so much, so many people... I didn't stop to think about what I was doing. It wasn't a conscious choice. I just... couldn't let her go. Nat nodded. "Believe it or not, Nick," she said gently, "I do understand. But the fact still remains: if LaCroix had done to you what you've done to Janette..." "Don't say it." The tears were gaining dominion; one slid down his cheek. "You're right. I know you're right. But please don't say it." And again, there it was: the scared, lost, lonely little boy hidden within him, coexisting with the dark demon vampire; the pain within him, with which she empathized so deeply that she could never quite stop caring, no matter how much it hurt. She pulled him closer, let him hold her, and felt his tears dampen her hair with saline and blood. ------- Much later, after he had gone, after she had spent several hours watching television without ever really seeing it, in a vain attempt to clear her mind... much later, just before dawn, just before going to sleep herself, Natalie went to check on her house-guest -- opened the door to see two figures silhouetted by the moon's fading glow. One of them jumped, startled; "It's all right," said Marie softly, "it's only Natalie." Nat looked at the visitor, searched for the aura of world- weary disdain and casual superiority she'd once associated with that face -- was struck instead by the open vulnerability there, and wondered if she would ever again see such cool unconcern on her face. Janette looked so different... skin pale and flawless as ever, a classic beauty; but now her eyes were haunted, revealing an all- too-familiar turmoil. Composure, but a very human composure, not the icy vampiric walls Nat had once confronted. And behind the composure, such sadness... "Natalie." Janette's voice was weary. "Please don't be angry with me." "Why would I be angry?" Nat asked, honestly surprised. Marie was sitting up in bed, blankets securely tucked around her, and Janette was curled up beside her; Nat seated herself cross-legged at the foot of the bed, and Janette rearranged her legs obligingly to make room. "For sending Marie to you. I knew you would help her. I... I wasn't entirely certain you would help me." "You could have come to me, Janette." Their eyes met, and Janette sighed and took Nat's hand. "I never understood," she said. "I thought you were a fool to let yourself languish for want of what you could not have. I thought Nicolas was an even bigger fool, for his sentimentality and his reckless dreams. And then it happened to me. And now, I understand." There was nothing Natalie could say to that; the stark simplicity of the words spoke volumes. "He betrayed me," and the cool slender fingers tightened around Nat's hand. "He instilled the first seed of doubt in me and then he betrayed me. Nicolas, of all people..." Involuntarily, a short bark of sardonic laughter emerged from Nat's throat. "Nick is extraordinarily sensitive to emotional pain," she said. "But mostly his own." Janette managed a small smile through her anguish, and Nat wondered how she had ever thought this woman aloof and cold-hearted. "Don't love him, Natalie," she said earnestly. "He'll only break your heart, in the end." A long, long sigh. "He already has," Nat said. She glanced at Marie's only slightly-swollen belly. "I was pregnant myself, once," she murmured; it was the first time she'd ever spoken the words, had ever admitted the fact aloud. Janette took one look at her face, and knew. "Nicolas," she said, and brought her other hand to enfold Natalie's as well. "He never knew," said Nat, fighting to keep her voice level; if she let herself feel it, she would never be able to say the words. "I had... obtained a semen sample, at one point in our research. And one night, when I was feeling very, shall we say, mortal, I decided..." She swallowed, hard. "I was so surprised when it took... I was waiting for the right moment to tell him. And then there was the bombing -- Schanke and Cohen died -- I was working all those long hours, with the burned bodies..." Nat shrugged, as if it didn't matter. "I had a miscarriage. There didn't seem any point in telling him then... he was talking about relocating..." She glanced up, expecting to see the old look of condescension in Janette's eyes, and was jarred to the roots of her soul by the pain she found there instead. "Natalie, I am so sorry," and Janette leaned forward and embraced her, with tears in her eyes. Stunned, Natalie allowed it; and the unexpected kindness of it, the warmth where she had expected coldness, seeped through her habitual barriers and battered them to rubble, leaving her defenseless against Janette's empathy. She cried in Janette's arms, as she had not allowed herself in Nick's embrace; they sobbed together, tears of pain and grief for what had been lost and what had never been found. She cried for the child that might have been and the love that might never be: she cried for Janette and her mortal love, lost as Janette's mortality was again lost... though a certain humanity had been regained, and could never again cease to reside in Janette's soul. Just as, in some sense, the vampire lived within Natalie -- her knowledge, her complicity with Nick's secrets had compromised her humanity in a way that could never be erased. She cried salt tears on the shoulder of Janette's faded sweater, and Janette sobbed blood tears into her favorite old scrub shirt; and there was comfort in it, consolation in the sharing of the pain, this agony which no other creature on earth could know. Pain kept ruthlessly in check, behind vampiric shields and human facades, suppressed and concealed for so long that denial had become a habit... they were kindred spirits beneath the superficial differences in lifestyle and metabolism; and for the first time in a very long time, Natalie didn't feel as if she were all alone in the world. "How could he bring me back?" Janette whispered, in a voice torn by sobs. "How could Nicolas bring me back across? Nicolas, who longs to die human... I trusted him, Natalie. I truly believed that I could trust him with this, as I could trust no other. I could not go to LaCroix -- I sat outside the Raven and listened to him, and I knew that he would not help. But Nicolas..." Her sobs grew stronger, and Nat stroked the silken hair as she cried. After awhile, Janette grew sufficiently composed to attempt speech again. "Your baby," she said. "My baby," Natalie echoed, feeling her own tears start afresh. "You lost so much... why, Natalie? Why must this happen?" Anger as well as pain washed through the Janette's voice. "Why must we love, and always lose? Centuries, I kept myself from falling prey to such disaster, and now..." "It's not fair," was all Nat could manage before the misery overcame her again. After a long while, when her tears where spent, Natalie pulled away, raked her fingers through the damp, tangled hair by her face -- glanced at Janette, and noted with fondness and mild annoyance that even red-eyed and disheveled, the other woman still managed to look absolutely beautiful. "Could you hand me the tissues from the nightstand?" she asked, since Janette was closer. Janette dug out a couple of tissues before handing the box to Natalie, began dabbing at her tear-stained face. "He doesn't deserve either of us," remarked the vampire casually. Nat shrugged. "He's in as much pain as we are," she stated, just as matter-of-factly. "But we comprehend his pain. How often does he understand ours?" There was no answer for that, and accordingly, Nat was silent. Janette glanced at Marie, who'd fallen asleep sometime during their shared crying jag. "I don't suppose you've arranged a source of... sustenance, for Marie," she said tentatively. Nat smiled a little. "There's human blood in the fridge," she said. "O-positive, not too stale. Come into the kitchen, let's let her sleep in peace -- you can have a drink, and I'll make some coffee, and we can talk some more, if you want." "I can make coffee," Janette said softly, shyly. "I learned... for him." She blinked hard, and Natalie caught the look of a too-fresh memory not yet dealt with properly, a grief that had not been, could never be fully expunged. "I miss making coffee," Janette continued, struggling to keep her voice carefully level. "I would like to make coffee for you." Natalie got up, stretched her legs, and offered Janette her hand. "I would be honored to drink it," she said gravely. Janette took Nat's hand and clasped it briefly, firmly; but for all that the vampire lived inside her again, the strength in the grip was merely human. ------- At eleven-fifteen that morning, as they were drinking coffee and blood on Nat's sofa, a sharp cry from the bedroom alerted them that something was wrong. At twelve-forty-seven, Marie's miscarriage was over; the remains smouldered in sunlight. Natalie kept a few samples and disposed of the rest, and was unsurprised afterwards to find that her hands were shaking. "At least now I know," she said to Janette, in passing. "It probably wasn't anything I did wrong... it probably would have happened anyway." Janette's answering smile was sad. "Can we ever really know?" she said, and went back to finish cleaning up Marie. The younger vampire was badly shaken. "It's over," she said, in a dazed voice, not believing. "I wanted the baby, but... I guess this is for the best... right?" she queried Janette, in a trembling voice, just before bursting into tears. Janette caught and held her, soothed Marie as she cried; and Natalie went to fetch a fresh box of tissues. ------- By twilight, Marie was healed; and the vampiric women prepared for their departure. "You *will* visit," Natalie told them both. Marie smiled with only a trace of wistfulness -- resilient youth, she would recover from her ordeal swiftly, with a speed that Natalie envied. "Sure," she said. Janette's smile held more than a trace of sadness -- her eyes caught and held Nat's. "I shall," she said. She reached out and snagged a ringlet of Natalie's hair with one index finger, a gesture that was appealing for its awkwardness. "Friends?" Janette asked, and her voice was that of a young child, outcast, hesitantly asking if she might be permitted to play jump rope with the popular clique. Natalie took Janette's hand in both of hers. "Friends," she reiterated firmly. She watched as the women took flight and disappeared; and when she descended again to her apartment, Nick was there. His eyes queried, and she told him what had happened, omitting the fact of Janette's presence; the bare flicker of hope haunting his eyes sputtered and died at Natalie's words, leaving Nick looking more forlorn than ever. Nat looked at him, and recognized his pain, and his loneliness; wondered why it had been so easy to reach out to Janette and pour out her anguish -- Janette, her erstwhile rival: while the man who supposedly loved her seemed so distant and remote. "So that's that," he murmured, and gazed at Natalie as if he longed to hold her, but didn't dare. Stared at her neck, in a way that made her wonder if he had spent the day dreaming of the love they could not have, spinning vampiric fantasies in his sleep the same way her mind manufactured tales of their imagined lovemaking as she slumbered. Natalie thought of Janette, who had found her mortal love, and dared to take that one final step -- who had gained so much, and lost so much; and Natalie wondered how much more she could bear to lose before the last fragile crystal of strength within her shattered under the pressure. Richard, Cynthia, the child she had never had the time to name... Schanke, and Nick almost; he'd been making noises about relocating more and more frequently lately, dropping hints maybe... did she dare take the chance of losing again? Of driving Nick away, even more quickly than he would otherwise depart? She longed to know whether the cure that had transformed Janette might somehow prove to be their dream-come-true as well; but there was no way in hell that she could stand any more pain. But there was Nick's pain, standing right in front of her, one big seething emotional trauma manifesting itself as a blond vampire with blood-tears forming in his eyes; and though it frightened her to reach out to him, she could not bear to allow him to suffer alone. She reached out to him tentatively, and he responded to that hesitant embrace with alacrity bordering on desperation -- wrapped his arms around her and clung to her as if she were his lifeline, his sole anchor to any form of light or hope. And she knew that it was true, she was his last hope -- and she knew as well that it was more of a burden than she could bear. It was only a matter of time before her strength gave out... ...and would there be enough time, in that short span, to recreate that miracle of rebirth, for Janette and Nick and herself? Natalie didn't know -- only knew that she was as trapped as the vampires were in their world; she was no freer than they to escape. But things were looking up. She had, in Janette, a new friend and companion she'd not thought to find -- and she had Nick, and no matter how much grief his existence and his world cost her, she still treasured him too greatly to even imagine letting go. Somehow, she would endure. They all would. =====================================/end?