Hotel Crash Space by Imajiru imajiru@mindspring.com imajiru@unicorn-x.net August 22, 1995 "Damned sunrise," she muttered, pulling her long black cloak more tightly around herself to shield her from the faint glow of impending daylight on the horizon and incidentally, the raging thunderstorm that had slowed her departure, forced her from the sky. She had spent too long in the same place, doing the same things had spent too long with Nicolas. His ridiculous quest for humanity, his infatuation with his mortal friends, with the mortal coroner... she'd endured it for long enough. Now it was time for her to depart, to get on with her own life. Best that it be done swiftly, before Nicolas could discover her plans, and object. She scribbled information on the hotel check-in form, a part of her mind registering wistfully that this would be the last time she used that name, that address and birthdate: her erstwhile life as club-owner was all but over. Another pseudo-mortal existence left behind and though it tugged at her, that was nothing compared to the agony Nicolas would surely feel when the time came for him to arrange the demise of 'Detective Nicholas Knight'. He'd never learned how to deflect and defuse his pain; that was reason enough for Janette to leave him to his own devices. But even as she mulled over a new existence without him, even as she contemplated his absence from her life-to-be, she felt a familiar twinge in the back of her mind; an instant later, a strong hand gripped her arm. "Janette...? What are you doing here?" She sighed heavily. "Nicolas," she muttered. "I should have known. Don't bother to argue with me; my decision is not open to debate." As she turned to face him, though, she noted the perplexment etched across his face. "Decision? What decision?" Inwardly, Janette cursed herself. If she'd only kept her mouth shut... The hand tightened. "*What* decision?" She realized that she should have known she couldn't make a swift and silent exit; her partings with Nicolas were always messy. "I'm leaving," she said. He flinched, looked stricken. "Leaving Toronto?" he said, in a low, intense voice. "Or... leaving me?" "Oh, Nicolas," she said scornfully, "it's been centuries since you were mine to leave." "Janette..." he began, but got no further, for all at once there was another voice one far too familiar for her comfort. "What are you doing here?" To Janette's eyes, Dr. Lambert seemed far too cool and poised; hair tousled, true, makeup smudged infinitesimally (to Janette's disgust, the raccoon- like eyeliner only made Natalie's eyes look huger and more lovely), clothes crumpled. What disturbed her far more than the mortal's composure, however, was the look on Nicolas' face as he glimpsed her: relief and delight mingled with a hesitancy that spoke eloquently of his feelings for the human. His 'other woman' look, one Janette couldn't help but notice. It was also telling that Natalie noticed it, too. "Nat... what are you doing here?" he wanted to know, with that concerned protectiveness of his that Janette had once loathed that she wished, now, could be hers to command once more. "I was on my way home from that medical conference, and the plane..." Natalie began. "Ran into a spell of bad weather," Janette completed. "As did I, during my own... flight." The human woman glanced at her, discerning with uncanny perceptiveness that all was not well between the long-time lovers. Was that a tiny spark of triumph in those too- large eyes? Janette seethed at the very thought... But if so, that triumph was masked by a much greater sympathy and that was far worse; the very idea of being the subject of the human's pity was absolutely appalling. "Well, well," said a familiar velvety tone, "it seems that I've stumbled upon a family reunion of sorts..." As one, they turned to face LaCroix. "What are *you* doing here?" the other three chorused in unison. The elder vampire shrugged, managing to look both smug and nonchalant. "I was passing by," he said casually, "and I couldn't help but notice that my children were close at hand. I thought it might be interesting to investigate the situation." A slight, sardonic chuckle. "Ah, but this is even more interesting than I'd imagined." "Wonderful," Nick muttered under his breath, glancing from one face to another, looking very much like a stray cat caught between two feral dogs and one very nasty wolf. In the grim silence that ensued, the desk clerk's voice carried clearly. "I'm sorry," she said, "but we only have one vacant room left." ------- "Immortal beings," grumbled Natalie under her breath as she busied herself at the window, sealing the drapes shut with a plethora of safety pins from her travel bag, "a bunch of vampires, all of them centuries old and incredibly wealthy, and who ends up paying for the room?" "I left home in a hurry," Nick said apologetically, "forgot my wallet." "I destroyed the last of my old credit cards before I departed," Janette said smoothly. LaCroix glanced up from the complimentary newspaper he was reading; comfortably ensconsed on one of the two beds furnishing the room, he looked for all the world like a king on his throne. "Oh, really," he said, "you weren't expecting *me* to pay the bill, were you?" Nat muttered something under her breath that clearly wasn't complimentary, and advanced toward the second of the two beds, where it appeared as if Janette had every intention of settling herself for the day. "Oh, no, you don't," she said sternly. "*I* put the room on *my* credit card, and *I* am sleeping in a bed. Got it?" With regal grace, Janette made her way to the small sofa, curled up catlike and seductive. "As you wish," she acceded smoothly, in a voice that indicated that the coroner had won no significant victory. Nicholas looked at the bed where LaCroix reclined with his newspaper at the other bed, by the window, where Natalie was sitting cross-legged and rummaging through her bag at the couch, where Janette was stretching provocatively. "No rollaway beds," he said forlornly. "Nope," Nat confirmed, her voice hovering on the edge of laughter, "no rollaway beds." "So, Nicolas," Janette picked up the thread right away, "where do you intend to sleep today?" Again, Nick glanced around helplessly, evaluating his choices: none of them were particularly palatable. To be more precise, one was relatively harmless, but unthinkable and of the other two, any gesture that might seem preferential toward one was certain to enrage the other. As he debated with himself silently, he watched Nat's eyes meet Janette's, saw the two women share a brief moment of communion. Rivals they might be, but at the moment, they were both enjoying his discomfiture as he wrestled with his dilemma. "That chair looks awfully comfortable," he ventured, at last. Distracted from the financial section he was perusing, LaCroix laughed aloud. "A very sensible form of cowardice," he said agreeably. Nick glared at him. "I didn't ask you for your opinion," he snapped, which was about as quarrelsome as he dared to be, under the circumstances. They were trapped together in the tiny room until evening, with no way to escape well, except for Natalie, who was nearly as hampered by the extreme weather as the vampires were by the sunlight. No way to get away from LaCroix; no option other than to tolerate him, no matter how difficult that might be. And no way to speak with Janette privately, to find out what was really going on, where she was going and why... and how he might stop her. He settled himself into a padded chair, wishing fervently that he was home, in his loft... or hell, anywhere but here, with this lot. Janette, Natalie *and* LaCroix, all at the same time; his worst nightmare come true. No, not quite: his *worst* nightmare would have included Schanke showing up on the doorstep as well, bearing souvlaki. And at least he knew *that* wasn't going to happen, because Schanke was with Cohen, accompanying a suspect in transit. Thank heaven for small miracles... Meanwhile, there was still LaCroix, and Janette, and it had been many years since he'd been comfortable in the presence of both of them at once and Nat, who should have been his ally, seemed oddly remote. Curled up on her bed, she had all but withdrawn into herself: alertly aware of every nuance of what was going on, every silent glance exchanged between the others, yet disinclined to comment or participate. Which made a certain amount of sense of the four occupants of the room, Natalie was physically the weakest; and he, her protector, was the next most vulnerable. But he could have used her support; he would have given anything for one of her warm don't-give-up-hope smiles, to thaw the slow buildup of frost emanating from his 'family'. He sought out her gaze, but Nat avoided his eyes; Janette didn't even pretend not to be ignoring him. And LaCroix merely smirked at him, and continued leafing his way through the financial pages. Nick sighed heavily. It was going to be a long, long day... ------- She longed to sleep, she yearned to sleep, but who could sleep in a room full of vampires? Oh, sure, Nick was there but she was dubious of his ability to protect her against *these* two. Janette had never actually done anything to harm her, but LaCroix... Although it seemed fairly obvious that LaCroix wasn't planning her slaughter tonight. He was too busy scanning the financial pages and giving instructions to his broker over his cellular phone. Nat had to force herself not to stare at him: he seemed so, well, *normal*. Like a regular businessman or something. But then, appearances were deceiving. Especially with *that* one. She still remembered the moment in the restaurant when she'd realized that in taking on LaCroix alone, she'd bitten off more than she could chew... remembered it vividly, despite both men's best efforts to the contrary. She'd thought she could handle him, and she'd been wrong -- as wrong as she'd been with Spark. And she didn't trust Janette not to turn on her, either. There was something going on between them, something big. Janette's close-lipped silence, Nick's plaintive glances in her direction, indicated a definite problem. What had she heard, about Janette leaving? Why would she do that? and what did it mean to Nick? More importantly, what did that mean to Natalie? She felt acutely vulnerable in the midst of the vipers' nest, and so tried to summon up her usual air of confident calm. The effort was only moderately successful. Darting a quick look at Nick, half-asleep in his chair, she wished that she could go to him and be taken in his arms but that would never be. Not as long as Nick was a vampire. Only in the prospect of a cure was there any hope for their shared future. And these two, they were the ones who stood to lose the most, if that cure should ever be found. At that moment, Natalie devoutly longed for Schanke's garlic breath, or her grandmother's silver crucifix pendant; anything that might bring her a measure of defense in a crunch. A wooden stake would have been useful... ....but unfortunately, all Nat had was a couple of paper- wrapped mint-flavored toothpicks. //Shove it in the right place and it'll still hurt,// she thought grimly, and concealed one in her folded hand as she tried once more to sleep. A random thought drifting across her fatigued mind brought her back to alertness; she levered herself up on one elbow and reached for the phone. "Turn that down," she directed LaCroix, who'd finished with his newspaper and had commandeered the television remote control; he raised one eyebrow at her and obeyed, but she hardly noticed. Her fingers stabbed out Grace's number, and she waited for the line to connect. No luck at her home, or at work, but when Nat tried her own home number, her friend answered. "Don't worry, honey," was the precis of the conversation, "Sidney's being fed, and he's just fine," which placed her mind at ease on that count, at least. "I'm surprised you didn't have Nicolas care for your pet while you were gone," Janette said absently, from her place on the couch; she was scanning the fashion-and-arts section of the newspaper. Natalie was tired and stressed out, enough so that the answer which tumbled forth from her lips was more honest than it might otherwise have been. "Are you crazy? Like I'm going to trust Nick to look after my *cat*?" Nick glanced up from the sports section he'd commandeered, with that particular neutral expression that meant he was hurt and determined not to show it; but he didn't say a word. "You trusted him to look after your brother," LaCroix interjected, into Nick's silence. //And look at how that turned out!// "It was necessary," Natalie said shortly, thinking, //you bastard! thanks ever so much for mentioning it,// and hoping for once that the elder vampire was reading her thoughts. Nick, she noticed, had returned his attention to the sports pages, reading the text there with uncommon intensity. Anything to avoid the conversation, to distract himself from his guilt. Or *did* he feel guilty? It wasn't something they'd discussed. After the business with Richie was over, they'd both behaved as if it had never happened... Nick had never broached the subject, and Natalie had done her best to forget it all. She'd always assumed that Nick felt as awful about things as she did, as any human man would have... but did he? There was so much she didn't know about Nick, about his motivations and feelings. And yet she'd given him so much of herself: her heart, her soul, virtually her entire life... ....and who was he, really? 'Detective Nick Knight', her colleague and friend? Or Nicolas the vampire...? She'd always believed in Nick's latent humanity, but seeing him here, like this, with his family he was... He was huddled in his chair in the corner, barricading himself behind the newspaper, emitting an aura of extreme discomfort, as if he'd rather be outside in the sunlight than in the room with present company. //Maybe,// Natalie thought, //he doesn't know where he belongs, either?// "You got the scores on last night's Bluejays game?" she asked Nick. From his expression, one might have thought that she'd just expressed her undying affection for him which, in a way, she had. "They lost, four to two," he told her, with a smile that warmed her all through. Nat smiled back, curled up and tried to sleep. Tried. It was going to be a long, long day... ------- "You can't leave, Janette," he said, in a low, urgent voice. "You *can't*." Nat and LaCroix were either asleep or pretending to be, and Nicolas had come to sit on the edge of the couch to 'talk' to her actually, to convince her not to leave. Often enough in their past, he'd been successful in such attempts but he would not be, this time; it only remained for her to let him know that. "Nicolas, I must," she said, as gently as she could. "I am tired of the life I've been living... and I am even more tired of yours. How can you expect me to stay here and watch your folly, knowing as I do how it all will end?" "But that's just the point," he began. "I need you..." "Yes," Janette cut him off, "you do. You need me every time your mortal existence becomes too difficult for you to bear. You need me every time your needs overwhelm your moral imperatives. You need me, because this so-called life you've built for yourself just doesn't work for you. Don't you see, Nicolas? You can't live like a mortal, not without someone waiting in the wings to care for you when your efforts falter. And it's high time you learn that for yourself." "Janette..." "*No,* Nicolas!" Her long-repressed anger came surging to the fore. "I won't allow you to use me any longer! I'm sick of being a substitute for Natalie!" He shushed her with a quick, nervous motion, glancing at the coroner, and emitting a sigh of relief at the fact that she still appeared to be asleep... //oh, Nicolas, you really are slipping,// Janette thought with pity. Hadn't he heard Natalie's heartbeat speed up at the words? The sudden shallow swiftness of her respiration? Much as she resented his involvement with the woman, she couldn't help but empathize with Natalie: how dare Nicolas treat her so shabbily? Of course, it was stupid of Natalie to allow him such latitude... but then, it was a sort of stupidity she well understood. "When you want me, Nicolas, you will find me," she told him. "When you want *me* -- not my body or my blood." And that time would surely come... how many years did Natalie have left? A few decades? Janette could afford to wait. In the meantime, Natalie would have a clear field, so to speak: let her discover for herself the joys and agonies of loving Nicolas, without interference. Let her have her few years of glory: in the end, it wouldn't matter. Nicolas would never bring her over... //A shame, really,// Janette thought absently. //Natalie and I have so much in common. Nicolas, for one thing...// "Janette, please..." But his voice indicated that he knew it was hopeless; when her mind was made up, no one would change it. "How will I manage?" he whispered. "You won't," she said bluntly. "*That* is the point." Eventually, his vampiric drives and desires would triumph, compelling him to do something that he would surely regret his was an impossible quest, doomed to failure. Let him discover that for himself. She picked up the newspaper again, though she'd already read it through; the act was more a demonstration that their conversation was over. Eventually, Nicolas took the hint and left her alone, returning to his own chair; she could feel his misery from across the room, and resolved that she would not let it sway her. Leaving was hard enough, without adding his feelings into the equation. Janette let out a small sigh. It was going to be a long, long day... * * * * * * * "If you don't stop that," LaCroix said pleasantly, "I will break your hands." Nicholas glared at him, but set down the remote control he'd been channel-surfing restlessly; flashing past stations with only a fraction of a second in between, click-click-click, for the past fifteen minutes; it had really begun to get on his nerves. "Oh, come now; how could you expect her to do anything else?" he added. "I'm only surprised she's lingered this long." His protege shot a glance at the bathroom door; Janette had barricaded herself inside, saying something about a bubble bath. "Stop her!" he spat venomously. "Prevent her from leaving, as you always did to me..." "And what good did it do, other than to engender resentment? Really, Nicholas. After all your complaints about my treatment of you, now you want me to behave the same way toward Janette?" He considered. "Although I must admit, it's very typical of you. You're as self-centered and hypocritical as you always were, I'm pleased to see; perhaps you're not as hopeless as I'd thought." "Self-centered? Hypocritical?" Nicholas' astonishment was genuine, and all the more amusing for that. "I've spent years trying to make up for my mistakes..." "In the manner that suits you, and only when you choose to. For someone who says he wishes to become mortal at any cost, you feel no compunctions against using your powers for your own benefit. You rail against my interference in your life, yet now you want me to treat Janette the same way, again for your own benefit... shall I continue? Or would you prefer to keep your illusions intact?" LaCroix didn't really expect Nicholas to listen; he never did but apparently, some of what he'd said was sinking in; Nick's face crumpled slowly, from righteous indignation into defeat. "What else can I do?" he protested. "I can't cross back, and I can't go back to what I was; what can I do besides try to keep some sort of balance between the two...?" "When one spends one's life walking tightropes," LaCroix said, "it's inevitable that one must fall. And when you fall, Nicholas... who will die of it? Your colleagues, your friends, your..." He waved a hand in the direction of Natalie's sleeping form. "Not Natalie." Nick's face was set, determined. "Ravenous hunger and unfulfilled desire can be powerful motivators." LaCroix paused, to let that one sink in as well. "Stop this madness, Nicholas," he urged. "Leave this mortal life behind, come with us before you do something that she will never forgive." Nicholas opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, movement in the other bed stopped him cold; Natalie sat up, wide awake and alert, and gazed steadily at them both. "You underestimate me," she said to LaCroix, her voice soft yet firm. "There's nothing Nick could do to me that I wouldn't forgive." Now *this* was interesting. "Your death?" LaCroix probed. "Or... your eternal life?" "Nothing," Natalie repeated, still with that steadfast certainty. Nicholas stared at her, disbelief and dawning awareness written across his face. "Nat...?" "Nothing," she said again then shrugged, as if it was of no import, lay back down and rolled over, away from them. Nick continued to stare, as if he'd never seen her before, and LaCroix watched them both. //Perhaps I have underestimated her,// he thought. //With Janette out of the picture, this situation certainly has potential...// But it would be a long, uphill climb, trying to get Nicholas to see reason. It always was. In the meantime, here he was, stuck in the midst of his protege's dilemma, offering advice that his son would surely ignore and Nicholas had reclaimed the remote control, was restlessly channel-surfing again, click-click- click; it was enough to drive anyone slowly mad. This promised to be a long, long day. ------- LaCroix shuffled the deck with all the skill of a consummate cardplayer, dealt seven cards to each; the others picked up their hands and began to study the cards. Sleep had proven impossible for all of them, nobody could agree on a television program to watch, and Natalie had had a pack of cards in her purse; it seemed the only sensible solution. Conversation was treacherous; too many pitfalls, too many impending arguments stood in the way of any form of casual small talk. Natalie sat cross-legged at the south end of the bed, munching on a tray of appetizers procured from room service; Janette was on the western edge, hair wrapped in a towel, the rest of her ensconced in one of the courtesy bathrobes, looking edgy -- she'd been all for taking the delivery boy, as her own form of room service, and only a stern warning glance from LaCroix had stopped her. It was a standing rule that one should not feed in a way that might attract attention, particularly during daylight hours, when they were so vulnerable... but Janette was just hungry enough to forget that. She was young, and hadn't Nick's practice in controlling her needs. Nick was sprawled across the eastern side of the bed; his knee kept nudging Nat's hip, in a gesture that might have been accidental, or might not. He chewed on a fingertip as he surveyed his cards, poker face slipping; it must have been a lousy hand. And LaCroix occupied the northern sector, leaning against the headboard, maintaining an expression that would keep the others from guessing at his own hand -- not easy; purely by coincidence, he'd managed to deal himself a wonderful array of cards. Janette took a card, glanced at it and tossed it in the discard pile. "The storm seems to be letting up," she mentioned casually. Natalie selected a card, tucked it into her hand, discarded a three of spades. "Good," she said. "I just hope they can get me on the standby flight tonight." "I could..." Nick began, then shut his mouth abruptly; he picked up a card, kept it, threw out a nine of clubs. LaCroix took a card, discarded it. "Could what?" he inquired innocently. Janette picked up LaCroix's discarded ten of hearts, took two cards from her hand and placed the three side by side on the bed: three tens, equalling thirty points. "He could always fly her home himself," she answered for Nick, and if a certain venom colored her voice, well, that was only natural. "If, that is, he dared to extend the offer." She picked out a card, threw it on the discard pile -- the king of spades: the one card LaCroix needed to complete his winning hand. Natalie picked up the king. "If I don't get on that standby flight," she said, "I'd take him up on it." And she began placing cards on the bed: three kings and four aces. "I'm out," she stated, tossing her last card face down on the discard pile, with a faint note of smug satisfaction in her voice. There was a moment's stunned silence. "Beaten by a mortal," came Janette's voice, tiredly. "How humiliating." "That was *my* king," LaCroix said sharply. Nick was grinning. "Way to go, Nat," he said, and nudged her in the hip with his knee, deliberately this time. She grinned back. "Don't you know?" she said sweetly. "I *always* win, in the end." With glares of assorted intensity -- all except Nick, whose grin widened even further -- the vampires handed their cards to Natalie, to be tallied in with her total. ------ By dusk, LaCroix had reclaimed his status as best cardplayer in the room, although Nat was running a close second; Janette had never been much good at rummy 500, and Nick had seemed more interested in observing the interplay between the two main contestants. As the last embers of sunlight died, the room's occupants prepared to vacate the premises. "The airport shuttle's leaving in ten minutes," Natalie announced, hanging up the phone. "I'll go with you," Nick told her. "In case you need a... lift home." And he glanced at Janette, immaculately dressed and coiffed once more (although she'd brought nothing with her in the way of cosmetics or hairstyling aids; how *did* she do it?). She sighed and went to him, and he enfolded her in his arms; they clung to each other for a long moment. "Farewell, Nicolas," Janette whispered. "See you in the twenty-first century." Nick said nothing; he didn't seem capable of speech. They kissed, deeply and at length; and then Janette pulled away from him, gathered herself and departed. The door closed behind her with a thud of utter finality, and Nick stared at the door for long moments afterwards, as if trying to comprehend Janette's abrupt absence. He turned to Nat, seeming almost afraid of how she might react -- but in her face, there was nothing but understanding. "We oughta go," she said softly, reaching out to grasp his arm in empathy. Janette's departure might have made a number of things easier for her, but there was no way she could fail to sympathize with Nick's evident pain. Nick rallied, managed to smile. "We should," he agreed, and accompanied her to the door; as they left together, his arm slipped around Nat's shoulders, holding her close. "Aren't you going to say goodbye?" a quiet voice inquired. Nicholas turned. "Why should I?" he responded. "I'll see you again, soon enough. I always do." And then they were gone, as well. LaCroix strolled through the empty room, ensuring that he'd forgotten nothing of import (his wallet, his cellular phone, et cetera). As he moved to vacate the room, however, a shadow in one corner caught his eye. Natalie had packed her overnight bag in haste; apparently, she hadn't packed it very carefully. He inspected the objects she'd left behind, holding them up by thin black straps. "She forgot her shoes," he said, to empty air. //Well, now, I'll just have to return them to her, won't I?// Wrapping the high-heeled footwear in a plastic laundry bag, he took them with him when he left. And behind him, the empty room was soundless and quiescent, curtains still pinned together in silent legacy of the unlikely day that had just passed within its confines. end