Date: Fri, 26 May 1995 02:11:32 -0700 From: Jennifer Ahn Subject: Gone I was working on a crossover, but I've temporarily lost the desire to continue it, so I've clipped a few sections and thought that I would send it to you-all, see what you think. I know that it feels a bit unfinished .. because, well, it is. This is actually my first attempt at writing any fanfiction .. actually my first attempt at writing anything creative .. so I'm a bit nervous. Anyway, let me know if it's any good at all -- all comments, suggestions, and constructive criticism can be sent to ao608@lafn.org .. But please, be kind. And to all the authors of this list, I just want to let you know how much I am enjoying your stories! Please, keep writing them!! ----- Gone by J. Ahn *Damn* Nicolah, Janette cursed silently as she and Natalie rushed from the Raven. She practically shoved the other woman toward the blue Cadillac parked haphazardly outside the club. "Drive!" she snapped. Natalie Lambert got into the car without argument and started the engine. As they sped away from the Raven, she tried to push her thoughts of Nick out of her mind, blocking her frustration with her concentration on the road. Thank God there wasn't much traffic this time of night. She couldn't chance getting pulled over. No telling what Janette would do if they were delayed. Natalie glanced over nervously. Janette's fingernail tapped impatiently against her leg, her face a cross between irritability and worry. "Tell me again. What happened?" "I don't know. Nick hasn't shown up to work for the past two nights. He hasn't called in, either. He's disappeared before, but I got worried. Tonight I went over to his place to check to see he was there, or if there was anything that would say where he was, and when I got there..." Natalie paused. "..when I got there the shades were open, and there was that burnt smell, that he...you... get when you've been...caught out. In the sunlight." She choked a little. "Were there clothes? Ashes?" Janette's voice was dreadfully intense. "I...I don't know. All I know was that *Nick* wasn't there. But there's something wrong, and I didn't know what to do, other than to come find you." Her voice trembled a bit as she thought about what might have happened. They arrived at Nick's warehouse and Natalie hurried to the elevator, punching in the security code to let her in. Janette flew up and smashed through the window, ignoring the shards of glass that rained around her as she landed in Nick's living room. The sharp acrid odour of charred remains hung heavily in the air, making Janette want to retch. A vampire had died, she knew that. "Nicolah!" she called to the emptiness of the loft. She closed her eyes and concentrated, searching for his presence. The clang and clatter of the elevator opened her eyes to see Natalie coming into the room towards her. "Janette?" "I can't feel him." The shock of loss echoed in her voice, incredulous. Natalie stopped dead, not even breathing. "I can't feel him." Rage bubbled up, turning her eyes gold, and she felt the powerful urge to kill. Her fangs extended, she snarled at Natalie, and stalked towards her. A vicious swipe at a chair blocking her way sent it hurling against the wall, smashing it into pieces with a resounding crash. The noise shocked an instinctive scream from Natalie, and she fumbled with her bag. Janette growled, gracefully and swiftly coming towards the doctor, but suddenly recoiled, snarling even more ferociously as she flung up her arms to ward away the pain. The cross shook in Natalie's hand and she scrambled backward a step or two. She paused, briefly trying to decide whether to stay and protect herself from Janette with the cross, or to just get the hell out of there. Common sense came through (Stay? Are you nuts?) and the latter option won. She enclosed herself in the elevator, holding the cross a little more firmly now, and the rumble of the antiquated machinery accompanied her descent. Janette, left alone in the apartment, let her prey escape as tears of blood started to well up in her eyes. They left tracks of death down her pale skin, and blended beautifully with the crimson of her dress. She sank to the polished floor. She moaned. "I can't feel him." ----- Natalie sat at her desk, fingering the smooth cross. It had been a gift from Nick, who had insisted repeatedly that she carry it with her. Just in case, he had said... Just in case she encountered a hungry vampire... Just in case the Enforcers came after her... Just in case LaCroix came after her.... Just in case Janette came after her... ...Just in case Nick came after her... Like it would make a difference, they had both thought. A puny defense. But this one instance, it had saved her. With a shudder she remembered the fangs, the realization that she was going to be Janette's *meal* for God's sake... For God's sake. She smiled. Exactly. So Nick had saved her... Again. And she couldn't save him. She stiffened as her mind played once again the crushed disappointment in his face, that last time she saw him... "Nick, I'm sorry. It isn't working." "C'mon, Nat, check again. It's got to be working." His voice, and his face, was filled with the light that was his hope. "Nick..." "Please, Nat. We're so close." So she checked. And checked again. And again. She shook her head. "Nick..." He turned away from her, his head bowed as he accepted the failure of yet another vampire cure. After so many years of searching, each failure brought him closer to the brink of believing that he could never come back across. "We can try something else..." Nat reached to salvage something, anything...but the failure was heavy for her, too. She had been so sure that they had been on the right track this time. So sure... Nick turned and smiled sadly, his eyes saying that he knew better than to believe in fairy tales now. She faltered, and looked away. It hurt so much to see him losing hope, right in front of her, and she couldn't do a damn thing about it. She sighed. He picked up his coat and turned to go. "Nick, come back tomorrow night. I'll have thought of something else by then." But he didn't come back. Natalie blinked back tears. As much as she was ashamed to even think of it, the thought that Nick had willingly opened those shades in the midday, to let in death, to welcome it -- She couldn't stop thinking it. She felt traitorous, and it was ridiculous -- Normally she would never accept it. She had never known anyone more dedicated to redeeming himself by helping others. Never known anyone more dedicated to *life.* Even in his darkest, bleakest moments, she knew that he had never lost the goodness within. It was what kept LaCroix and Janette so drawn to him, unable to ever let him go. But that look... She mulled over the other possibilities. LaCroix could have come after Nick, finally, giving him the choice to either rejoin the "family," or to die. But the two had reached a truce of sorts, and she knew Nick often listened to the Nightcrawler on the radio, often enjoying LaCroix's ironies with bittersweet fondness. ...that look of utter hopelessness... ----- LaCroix strode into the Raven, the purposeful, menacing energy emanating off of him catching every eye. Those who knew him watched with awe, and not a little bit of fear, as he went to the bar. "Where is she?" he hissed at the bartender. A jerk of the thumb indicated the doorway to Janette's private suite downstairs in the cellar. An imperious hand demanded a couple of bottles of blood, and without a word they were given to him. The ancient vampire disappeared through the doorway, bursting into Janette's luxurious rooms unannounced. "Janette!" LaCroix practically flew to the bed where Janette lay huddled in a lifeless pile. "Janette, what has happened?" One eye painfully opened, blood leaking out of the corner, and closed again. "Janette, sit up and have some of this." He pulled her up by main force, because she would not help him. He pulled out the cork of one of the wine bottles with his teeth and held it up to her lips, but she wouldn't open her mouth to drink, and turned her head away. LaCroix frowned. He had felt her sharp despair in the middle of his broadcast, and he had abandoned the airwaves to silence. He could not understand this. From Janette, he had felt many things...her impatience, her hunger...He had shared these with his child. But this...She had never been able to shut him out as she did after that one brief moment of agony...as she did now. And she had never, ever, refused blood. He held her a little closer. "Janette." He wouldn't show his fear, but it was there. He shook her a little, very gently. Her eyes opened and she whispered, "Nicholah..." "Nicholas?" LaCroix's tone was utterly blank. He could not fathom what his son had done to make Janette like this. He lowered his head to speak directly into her ear. "What is it, ma cherie? Tell me." His voice, velvety smooth, compelled her briefly out of her catatonic langour. "The sunlight...He's...gone." LaCroix stopped, then gave a bark of laughter. "No, my dear, you are quite mistaken." Janette's eyes flashed open, grabbing at his arm in sudden, desperate hope. "You can feel him, then?" His eyes, always so pale and frightening, turned blind as they turned inward to search out the darkness inside him, the dark, inescapable link that had tied his family together for centuries. And there was nothing. Janette was there again, her raw desperation blasting full force, making him wince. With an effort, he shut her out and... Nicholas. He couldn't feel him. He couldn't feel his son. The loss was vicious, finally crushing LaCroix's endless desire to bring Nicholas back to him irrevocably and forever. Gone. ----- --Jennifer Ahn ao608@lafn.org