Challenge for August 24th:  Just Another Day 1/1

for Jules

by Vampwrtr

He pushed viciously against the memory.  It didn't matter.  The memory once
again insinuated itself into his mind, as he drifted between sleep and
restlessness.  Finally, LaCroix gave up, and rose from bed.  He felt empty
and listless.

After a quick shower, he went to the small bar in his living room, and
poured himself a glass of blood wine.  There it was again, shoving its way
into his consciousness.  LaCroix slammed his eyes shut, in a useless
attempt to block out the painful memory.  He was not surprised that the
anniversary of the day he was given his new life, would also trigger his
sadness regarding Divia; the sadness that he had tried so hard to keep
locked up.  Time had not yet healed the still open wound of his daughter's
death.  But then, two years was nothing more than the blink of an eye, to
an immortal.

Irritated at his own lack of self discipline, LaCroix roughly set the
goblet down and carefully peered out the window.  Dusk had arrived.  He
decided an evening stroll might help him clear his mind.

He walked out of the Raven and headed in no particular direction.  He
passed many people but noticed none, as he made his way through the streets
of Toronto.  His mood had quite literally snuck up on him.  He was alone;
there was no one around, who was interesting enough to distract him.  Nick
and Janette decided to spend the week in Montreal; exactly why, LaCroix
didn't know.  Naturally, LaCroix had breathed not a word regarding his
upcoming anniversary, when Janette mentioned that she and Nick would be
gone.  He had never before reacted to the anniversary of his vampirism in
this manner, and he was finding it most distressing, not to mention,
unbecoming to one of his years.  No, it was better that his children
remained unaware of the onslaught of guilt and sadness which now filled his
heart.

LaCroix tried to shake off his mood, as he walked.  Before he realized it,
he was at the park by the lake.  Water always made him feel better, or at
least, more peaceful.  And why not?  As a mortal, LaCroix spent most of his
time living on an island surrounded by water.  He made his way over to the
railing, and allowing himself to lean on the rail, he gazed out into the
blue water.

He could still see her face if he concentrated; and if he closed his eyes,
he could hear her call to him.  When he least expected it, he would see her
image before him, or hear her voice cry out, "Father".  It still hurt.  He
didn't want to remember all of it; he did not wish to remember what she had
turned into, nor his part in it.  His favourite memories of Divia would
always be from when they were both mortal.  The nights that he would
quietly slip into her room when she was a baby, lift her up and cradle her
to himself, were among his most cherished moments in his long life.  But
that was long ago, from a life that had withered into ancient dust.  Why
could he not rid these thoughts from his consciousness now?

LaCroix shook his head to clear it of the useless trip he had allowed his
mind to take.  What a waste of time; he would allow no more wallowing in
self pity, about what once existed.  He was nothing if not a realist.
After a quick glance around, LaCroix took to the air.

He landed about two blocks away from the Raven, and began walking toward
the club.  With his head down, he quickly entered the already busy club.
Patrons scattered out of his way as he stormed through the crowd, on his
way to his broadcast booth.  He hadn't realized he'd been gone so long, he
was now almost late for his stint as the Nightcrawler.

One thousand, nine hundred and nineteen years to the day, Divia gave him
his true life.  He had embraced that life fully, vowing that he would
always be grateful.  Grateful.  He had repaid her by killing her.  Twice.
He fought the urge to feel sorry for himself, though it was mercilessly
nagging at him.  He opened the door to his broadcast booth and stepped
inside.  A small sigh escaped his lips as he plopped into the chair at his
console.

He needed a subject for his monologue.  He had been so preoccupied, he had
not given so much as a wandering thought regarding what he wanted to convey
to his audience.  He pursed his lips and furrowed his brow, thinking.
Something would undoubtedly come to him.  LaCroix pulled the microphone
close to his mouth and inhaled a deep breath as he flicked a switch on his
console.  The broadcast light engaged, and cast a red glow across his regal
features.

"Memories, mes amis.  Those oft small occurrences from a different time and
place, that ebb and flow through life, like a tide in the moonlight.
Subtle in their appearances; yet they can carry a weight ten times their
own size.  A long memory is nothing more than a troublesome burden.  A
heavy weight which hangs from one's neck, like the proverbial
albatross....."

He reached into his pocket and extracted Divia's cameo.  He stroked the
picture of the child with love, and his voice turned as soft as velvet as
he continued his meanderings.

"Year after year we walk the earth, experiencing all life has to offer.
And yet, the more this world changes, the more one realizes it stays the
same.  The consistancy is not to be found in the outward contents, as over
millennia, those cosmetic substances alter; no, it is within, that one
discovers the continuity.  No matter what situation or complication may
arise, it is the heart which stubbornly clings to its ideas, its desires,
its.... ...feelings."

LaCroix swallowed hard, as his mind filled with memories.  The little
child, whom in mortality, he had loved more than even he had realized,
appeared before his mind.  He took another long breath of air.

"No matter what outward influences present, a father's heart never changes.
It never weakens in its resolve, its.......love."

An emotion was rising in LaCroix' throat.  He slammed it quickly down, as
he put the cameo back into his pocket.  He waited a moment, until he was
sure he was in control.  He swallowed yet again.

"Perhaps the heart should be as the moonlight, my children; cool in its
demeanor and hard in its appearance.  It is the softness of a weak heart's
resolve that can shred it so completely, when one is betrayed by one's own
child."

LaCroix' thoughts turned toward Nicholas and Janette.

"And what of those children who remain?  They grow up, no longer seeing
their own need for a father."

He paused yet again, collecting his thoughts.

"Perhaps, the best solution is to not become a parent at all.  You'll most
likely find more company and solace from a good book, then you will from an
ungrateful child."

LaCroix slapped a button on his console, and the "On Air" light went out.
He sighed as he stood, and slammed the door to the booth, feeling even
worse now then he did before.  He walked out into the club, and looked
around at all the patrons having a good time.  He couldn't remember the
last time he had allowed himself to feel such desolation and despair.  The
loneliness that is sometimes eternity, was certainly not what he had
envisioned on this day 1919 years ago.

Ever since the night he lost her, he had not let himself feel what had been
brimming just underneath his facade of a cool exterior.  He could not let
Nicholas see the full extent of his pain, so he covered it up with rhetoric
and logical thought.  Indeed, he had not really allowed himself time to
grieve; the appropriate moment had never presented itself.  At least, that
is what he had been telling himself.  Now, he could feel that he was close
to losing the lid on his carefully controlled feelings.

Maurice spotted LaCroix as he zipped by, and brought the Ancient out of his
reverie.  The bartender lightly tapped LaCroix on the arm, "Are you okay,
boss? You look at little pale."

LaCroix responded quietly, "I'm fine, Maurice.  Not to worry."

Maurice was gone as quickly as he had appeared.  LaCroix turned and walked
slowly toward the back staircase, and the safety of his private apartment.
He noted that his feet felt unnaturally heavy as he ascended the stairs.
Upon reaching the landing in front of his door, he pulled out his keys.  He
stopped and frowned.  For a brief moment, he thought he sensed a presence.
He shrugged it off quickly though, and entered his apartment.  As LaCroix
closed the door, he felt him.  Nicholas.  The Ancient turned toward the
direction he knew his progeny was standing.

"I thought you were in Montreal," LaCroix intoned without inflection.

Nick stepped forward tentatively, "I decided to come home early."

"So I see."  LaCroix paused, "And, Janette?"

"She understood."

"She understood what?"

Nick moved even closer, "She understood that I needed to come back here, now."

"And why did you so desperately need to come back here, Nicholas?"

LaCroix walked away, heading toward the window.  Nick followed him.

"LaCroix, I do remember what today is....."

"Today?  There is nothing significant about today, Nicholas."

Nick shook his head at his father.  It was obviously a good thing that he
decided to come back to Toronto; LaCroix was upset, and clearly in a foul
mood.  Nick stepped up, next to LaCroix, so that they could both stare out
the window.

"I heard your monologue, LaCroix."

LaCroix neither looked at Nicholas, nor did he acknowledge the comment.  He
waited for Nick to continue.  He did not have to wait long.

"You sounded....sad."

"A passing moment of vulnerability, I assure you.  Nothing to concern
yourself with.  You should have stayed in Montreal."

LaCroix moved away, taking up a position on the couch.  Nick followed him
and sat on the opposite end.

Noting the Ancient's discomfort, Nick tried to ease his mind, "Janette has
no idea why I came back, LaCroix.  That is your story to tell, not mine."

LaCroix smiled at his son, "Thank you, Nicholas.  I do appreciate that."

Sensing that his mentor was calming down a little, Nick stood and walked
over to the bar.  He poured two glasses of a good vintage and brought one
over to LaCroix.  The Ancient raised an eyebrow at his son.

Nick smiled as he raised his own glass, "This is a special occasion....."

"A bitter sweet one, really," LaCroix answered quietly.

"LaCroix.....if you need to talk about her, about any of it--"

"--No....thank you, Nicholas.  I do appreciate it, but, I will be fine.  It
is enough that you are here, mon fils.  Merci."

"I didn't want you to be alone.  Not today.  Not now."

LaCroix quickly looked away.  He did not want his son to see the moisture
which had suddenly appeared in his icy blue eyes.  Nick leaned down and
gently squeezed his father's shoulder, in a gesture of love and support.
LaCroix smiled at him.  Eternity suddenly seemed less lonely, and once
again, it was tolerable.

fin