Date:         Fri, 29 Jan 1999 11:49:40 -0500 
From: vampwrtr@INNOCENT.COM 
Subject:      In the Wee Small Hours 1/1 
To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU 


usual disclaimers.  permission to mel moser and to molly schneider for
archival on their respective web sites.  comments to author at
vampwrtr@aol.com.  this one is just sort of a ditty that i wasn't going to
send to the list, but then thought, what the hey....

FOREVER KNIGHT

"In the Wee Small Hours"

LaCroix sat quite still, surrounded only by the darkness of the room, and
the loneliness of his heart.  He hadn't moved in hours.  He simply sat at
his desk, perfectly straight, staring into the nothingness of the outside
world through a window.  The wind howled against the glass.  The bare
branches of a nearby tree threatened to scratch the pane, but he didn't
notice.

The antique clock on the nearby mantle ticked loudly, in the dead silence
of the room.  The only source of light was emanating from the moon, which
shimmered through the window in front of him.  His icy eyes reflected the
dreariness of his soul, instead of the pale glow of the moonlight.

If one were to ask him exactly when he had become so obdurate, he couldn't
have answered.  As far as his memory stretched, he knew his heart to be as
cold as his icy blue eyes.  Most of the time, LaCroix was able to keep it
all locked away; there was always something to do, someone with whom to
occupy his time and his mind.  It was only in these moments, when silence
gripped his soul, and the last hours of the night overtook his wisdom, that
he found himself wallowing in self pity.  It disgusted him.

He stared at a leaf which fell off the tree outside the window.  It blew
aimlessly, at the mercy of the wind, until it was gone from his view.  He
sighed.  The leaf reminded him of a lost mortal in the night, wandering
arbitrarily; a mortal at the mercy of his kind.  He looked down at his desk
and shook his head.  No more.  He could allow himself no more plaintive
musings;  such destructive indulgences were most dangerous to an immortal.

What tonic did the wee small hours of the morning possess, that it could
cause a being as callous as he, to turn meditative and gloomy regarding
matters of the heart?  A rueful smile suddenly appeared upon his face:  No
such thing as a lonely heart learning its lesson.  He knew the truth; the
heart was merely an empty vessel, crying out for contentment, but meeting
instead with only bitterness and pain.  Perhaps he needed to remind
himself, that his prison of loneliness was for his own survival, as well as
for those around him.

Still, he missed her.  He would never have admitted it to another living
soul, but, he missed her terribly.  LaCroix' eyes threatened to mist over
as his mind staggered back into the still fresh tracks of memory.  It was
more like a fresh wound.

He remembered with perfect clarity the look in her eyes as she told them.
It was at that moment, that he knew.  He knew it wasn't about her
independence, nor about discovering herself.  No, it had been a test.
Nicholas had performed perfectly, just as Janette knew he would.  He had
begged her to stay.  And she had known that Nicholas would plead with her;
it wasn't from Nicholas whom she had longed to hear it.

She had turned to LaCroix, her eyes staring into his, silently waiting.
Waiting to hear him say anything indicating that he wanted, indeed, that he
needed her to stay.  His dead eyes had simply stared back into her
beautiful blue ones, not allowing for so much as a drop of emotion to
spill.  It was with that stoicism, that he had inflicted the final blow.
When he had said nothing, Janette had turned to Nicholas, kissed him
lovingly, and then left without so much as another glance in her father's
direction.

As he had watched her walk out of the apartment, bag in hand, his heart had
broken into a million pieces; though no observer would ever have known.
His facade of indifference had continued to serve him well.  He had simply
turned to Nick, and made some comment regarding the amount of extra space
he would now have in the closets.  That was the last time they had spoken
of her.  It was more than two months ago.

LaCroix looked at the phone on the desk in front of him, unconsciously
willing it to ring.  But it remained silent, like the night.  Whatever did
he think he would say if she did call?  He certainly would not, could not,
admit that he missed her.  He shook his head.  What a waste of time.  He
knew better.  His very immortality depended upon his ability to remain
detached; there could be no exception.  Still, some small part of him felt
vulnerable to her.  And how he hated her for it.

Frost had begun to form on the outside of the window pane.  He had not
bothered to turn the heat on.  He had no use for it.  The first few snow
flakes began to fall.  He watched them for awhile, spiraling in a flurry to
the ground.  LaCroix sat motionless for almost an hour, watching the snow
continue to fall outside, like a silent army descending upon the
unsuspecting masses in the night.  The temperature in the apartment had
dropped at least ten degrees, but he hadn't noticed it.

There was nothing he could do; he knew that.  It wasn't in his nature to
acknowledge anything that could even remotely be described as an emotion,
much less demonstrate it candidly.  Why Janette had so openly challenged
him in this manner, he could not fathom.  Surely she had suspected how he
would react.  It was not as if she did not know him intimately.

His face took on a sad countenance.  He didn't want to think of it; but his
mind wandered into a dark corner he had thought long buried.  He slammed
his eyes shut against it, willing his mind to go another way.  It was a
battle he could not win.  He could recall the feel of her skin, the smell
of her hair, the passion of her blood.  He found himself momentarily
overwhelmed by the memory of Janette's love.  And oh, how she had loved
him.  LaCroix swallowed hard, as he opened his eyes.  He knew, that Janette
had never expected him to voice his love for her; nor had she really
expected him to show it.  No, she had merely expected him to accept her
love for him.  But he couldn't accept it; not then, not now.  In the end he
knew, it was this, that had driven her away.

And now Nicholas was once again making himself scarce, angry with his
father's failings.  LaCroix could sense both of his children pushing him
away.  How could he really blame them?  They had made the choice to get
away from the indifference of a being so controlled by his fear of love,
that he couldn't bring himself to experience an honest emotion if his very
life depended upon it.

The pain of it gripped LaCroix.  His heart felt so empty, he thought it
would shatter right there, on his desk.  A void so black, even he could not
face it.  It terrified him.  LaCroix could feel his heart in his throat.
Loneliness.  His oldest enemy, his darkest friend.  He closed his eyes,
trying to regain control of his crashing emotions.  Wasn't it easier to be
alone?  Easier, and oh so much harder.

His eyes were moist with unshed tears of pain.  So engrossed in his own
self pity was he, that he didn't notice when the door to the apartment
quietly opened.  He didn't hear the footsteps gliding across the wood
floor, nor the light sound of a suitcase being set down in the entryway.
Were it not for his practiced facade of indifference, when he felt the hand
gently caress his shoulder, he would have started.  He recognised the
touch.  His eyes closed, as he inhaled a sharp intake of air.  She had come
back to him.  Relief filled him, yet he said not a word.

Janette could sense little from him, save for something she could only
describe as a kind of release.  She frowned as she touched him; he felt
very cold, even for one of their kind.  Then she realised it was due to the
general lack of heat in the room.

"LaCroix, why is there no heat?"

His voice was fairly even, but there was a slight thickness to it as he
spoke, "I hadn't noticed that it was cold."

Janette gently stroked his face, "You feel like ice."

He said nothing.  He couldn't bring himself to voice the emotions he was
feeling.  Instead, he just sat there, allowing Janette to gently caress his
shoulders.  She wasn't really surprised by his lack of reaction; she knew
he would say nothing.  Janette leaned in and placed a loving kiss on his
head.  Still he said nothing.

As she started to walk away, she felt his hand suddenly grab ahold of her.
She looked down at him sharply; and his eyes finally met hers.  In that
brief moment, he allowed her to look into his soul with utter clarity.  The
icy blue orbs that could be so glacial, were shiny with barely contained
tears, the love in them unabashedly showing.  It stopped Janette cold.

"LaCroix...."

He shook his head slightly, his eyes pleading silently with her.  He
couldn't beare for her to say anything.  He stood, as he took both of her
hands in his.  He leaned down and kissed her very softly on the lips.  She
allowed him to linger there, lovingly accepting the affection she could
feel from him.  When she sensed him pulling away, she put her arms around
his waist and drew him back toward her.

LaCroix allowed himself to be embraced, and responded by pulling her closer
into him.  The clock on the mantle chimed.  While the rest of the world
remained fast asleep, the night belonged to them.  She closed her eyes in
contentment, and he cradled her head into his chest.  Words had become
unnecessary, in the wee small hours of the morning.

fin

26 January 1999

end
vampwrtr@innocent.com
http://members.aol.com/vampwrtr/forever_lacroix/