Date: Sun, 19 May 1996 19:12:30 -0500 From: Stephanie Babbitt Subject: Last Knight Plus One (1/1) (LK spoilers) This is my version of what happens immediately after Last Knight. I wrote this while in a particularly grim mood, and it made me feel much, much better. I hope you all enjoy the tongue-in-cheek tone. At least I feel like I've got everyone back in character. This story contains major spoilers for Last Knight and Ashes to Ashes. The Forever Knight characters don't belong to me. They belong to Tri-Star. I promise not to profit from them. Feedback, virtual incendiary devices, kudos, sympathy, and commiseration to stephanie.babbitt@gtri.gatech.edu. ************* Last Knight Plus One a Forever Knight story by Stephanie Babbitt "You are my closest friend," Nick said to LaCroix in a voice that was barely a whisper. He reached out and grasped the stake he had placed in LaCroix's hands; the message was unmistakable. Kill me. Please. Let me be with the one I love. Nick turned away from LaCroix and knelt beside Natalie's body on the floor. Gently, he took her hand and bent his body over hers, waiting for the blow. "Damn you, Nicholas!" said LaCroix, raising the stake. Nick braced himself for the feel of the wood piercing his flesh, entering his heart. It never came. Instead, he heard the splintering crash of the stake as LaCroix flung it across the room, shattering it against the fireplace. Nick looked up wildly, betrayal clear on his face. "Why?" he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Really, Nicholas," came LaCroix's voice, as if from a distance. Nick could see that LaCroix was standing still, and his lips weren't moving. "Don't you think you've taken this little melodramatic episode far enough?" Nick stared hard through a haze of tears at LaCroix. The ancient vampire was laughing, but without sound. He looked as much like a demon as anything Nick had ever seen. Suddenly, with a sharp click, all the blinds flew open, and sunlight poured into the room. Driven by instinct, Nick looked frantically for a shadowed spot in which to hide but saw none. LaCroix stood unaffected in the bright sunlight, still laughing... Nick's eyes flew open then. The light seemed so bright! Was it the sun? But no, it was only a naked incandescent bulb burning directly overhead. He was lying on a couch. LaCroix sat beside him with a tolerant smirk on his face, unselfconsciously licking the blood away from a cut on his wrist even as it healed. "Well, Nicholas, it seems you have finally elected to return to the world of the sentient, such as it is," said LaCroix. Nick looked at his master carefully. Yes the lips were moving, and the words matched. At least that much was back in synch. But...they weren't in the loft! And where was... "Natalie!" he cried out, leaping to his feet and looking around in desperation. LaCroix reached out, a motion like a snake's strike, and grabbed one of Nick's wrists with no-nonsense firmness. "Sit down, Nicholas," he commanded. Dazedly, Nick sat. He looked around and gradually recognized one of the rooms in the basement of the Raven. "Why are we here?" asked Nick with a lost expression. "Didn't you close the Raven?" LaCroix smiled benevolently. "No, Nicholas. Although, thanks to Divia, it will probably be some time before the club regains its previous popularity." His wrist completely healed, LaCroix leaned closer to Nick. Nick's face suddenly grew dark. "Why didn't you do as I asked?" he demanded. "I asked you to..." LaCroix's face changed to a look of unpleasant impatience, and he held up a hand to interrupt Nick. "Stop it. That's quite enough," he said. Nick's fury began to mount, but before he could reply, LaCroix's expression shifted to a more tolerant arrangement. "Although I found your 'closest friend' speech to be quite...charming, Nicholas, I must confess that I thought your solution to be rather extreme, given the circumstances. I would have expected you to show more intelligence. But I suppose your physical condition might have contributed to this display of foolishness." Nick looked at LaCroix blankly, confused. Gradually, he became aware of a stinging sensation in his own wrist. He looked at the wrist just in time to see a cut close itself. "What day is it, Nicholas?" asked LaCroix, leaning back in his chair and propping his chin on tented fingers. Nick thought quickly. "It must still be Thursday," he replied. "Lora's suicide was Monday night..." LaCroix chuckled softly. "No, dear Nicholas. It is Sunday afternoon, the fourteenth of April. While your mind has wandered ahead by at least a week, I fear that your body has remained immovably in the present day." Nick stared at LaCroix, his mouth open. April? "My, but this *has* affected you, hasn't it?" said LaCroix. "You have no memory of what happened to you last Friday night?" Nick shook his head, wordless. "Ah, well. That would explain some of the strange images I've been reading in your blood, then," said LaCroix. "Divia's poison is stronger than even I realized." "Divia," said Nick, sounding like an echo. A memory tickled the back of his mind, but he couldn't seem to grasp it. He looked at LaCroix helplessly. "Let's try this approach, Nicholas," said LaCroix, with uncharacteristic patience. "You tell me what you remember, and I'll provide you with the facts where our versions diverge." He sat back and crossed his legs, picking up a glass of blood from the table beside his chair. "I don't even know where to start," said Nick. "Ah. Well, do you remember responding to an "anonymous tip" that a body had been placed at the Raven?" "Yes," said Nick quickly. "We found the decapitated body of an Egyptian grave-robber in the beer cooler." "Very good," said LaCroix, setting down the glass and folding his hands again. "And you remember releasing me from custody when the evidence pointed to *someone* else?" "Yes," said Nick, smiling in spite of himself. "The men in the holding cell looked like a pack of sheep caged with a wolf." "An apt observation," said LaCroix, without humor. He leaned forward intently. "What happened next?" Nick furrowed his brows. "I went home, and I slept." He concentrated as hard as he could, then he looked up at LaCroix as the memory flooded back. "Right before I left for the precinct that night, Urs came to see me. She said she had to talk to me. I buzzed her up, but when I opened the elevator door, she was dead." His face fell. LaCroix was silent for some time. "Do you remember who Divia was?" he finally asked. Nick wasn't sure how best to respond. "Your daughter," he said. Then, softly, "Your master." LaCroix nodded. "And the killer of your decapitated corpse," he added. Nick nodded, remembering. The two vampires sat in silence. Gradually, LaCroix's face took on an expression of intensity, much like the face he presented to those he would hypnotize. He held Nick's eyes without blinking. "It was not Urs calling to see you, Nicholas," said LaCroix, his voice low and toneless. "It was Divia. Do you remember?" Divia? Nick shook his head. "No, LaCroix. That was later. She was waiting in my loft when I came back from seeing Natalie, after I found Tracy with Vachon's body." "Listen to me, Nicholas," said LaCroix quickly. "Very little is as you seem to remember it." Nick drew back, surprised. This was beginning to feel too much like the time a year or so ago when he'd had that breakdown. He looked intently at LaCroix's glass to see if the color of the liquid had changed. But no, it was still blood-red. He looked back at LaCroix's face, his own a picture of confusion. "Divia came to your apartment to destroy you, to take revenge on me for what I did to her after Pompeii," said LaCroix. "She clawed you rather severely; in fact, you still have some interesting scars that will be amusing to explain to your colleagues. The wounds she inflicted do not seem to heal in the manner to which we are accustomed." He waited briefly for Nick to absorb this information and to feel about his face and look at the claw marks on his arms. "She also bit you, and for the most part, drained you." LaCroix seemed almost to sag with this statement. Nick just could remember being bitten and clawed. "But I recovered!" he protested. "I came to the Raven as soon as I could..." "No," interrupted LaCroix, glancing up sharply. "Urs did come to ask you for help with the young Spaniard, as you remember. But when she arrived, she found you lying in a pool of blood that fairly bubbled with Divia's poison, thrashing and screaming nonsense. She realized that the same fate had befallen the both of you, and she came to me for assistance." Nick sat, bewildered. He looked at LaCroix with a perplexed expression. "Urs isn't dead?" he finally managed. "Oh, no. She's sleeping a couple of rooms down," he replied, almost cheerfully. "You, however, were almost another matter entirely." "So--Divia attacked me, and I...did what?" said Nick. "I brought you back here and began giving you my blood in what volumes you could tolerate," said LaCroix, with little emotion. "Of course, at first, each transfusion caused you to revert to a screaming psychopath. It is most unenjoyable behavior to observe, Nicholas. I'm quite thankful that you passed that stage relatively quickly." Nick tried to absorb this statement. "What then?" he asked. "Well, I merely continued to nourish you as I could, in between the more exciting events taking place upstairs," said LaCroix. At Nick's blank look, LaCroix smiled and tipped his head slightly to one side. "What do you think happened to Divia?" he asked. "I killed her...we burned her body," said Nick automatically, then he caught himself. "But wait...if I was here?" LaCroix nodded slightly. "Some of this story *is* as you remember it, Nicholas, though the details seem to have been...revised...as a result of your illness. I'm sure my blood told you much of the tale, just as the transfer told me what was happening in the reality you were conjuring for yourself." His face became quiet and serious. "Actually, Divia did come to take her revenge on me, and we had quite the family row. Her strength was remarkable." He shook his head slowly, remembering. "Unfortunately for her, she still planned her strategy with the inexperience of her youth...her *mental* youth, of course." He gestured airily with one hand. Nick sat quietly, feeling like he was watching a play instead of carrying on a conversation about his own life. "Fighting a battle, Nicholas, is rather like playing chess," said LaCroix. "One must anticipate every possible move one's enemy might make and then plan an appropriate response to each move--if one expects to win. Winning a chess game with a child opponent is easy, because the child does not have the experience or the skill to anticipate all the potential moves." He was silent for a moment. "Divia planned her attack quite thoroughly, and she made every effort to make her campaign as unpleasant as possible. In that, she succeeded. But she did not take sufficient account of my allies." LaCroix sat quietly for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. Pain and sorrow flashed briefly over his face, then he set his features in an impassive stare. "When Divia was at the peak of her attack, she was so caught up in the heady feeling of impending victory that she neglected to leave her senses open to the presence of other vampires," he said, very softly. Nick had to listen carefully. "As she stood in triumph over me where she had knocked me to the floor, Urs shot her from behind with a crossbow." Nick's eyes opened wide in amazement. LaCroix noticed the reaction, and his face twisted briefly in cruel amusement. "Fascinating implement, that. I really must learn how to use one," he said. Nick turned his face away. "As you might imagine, the wooden arrow through her heart distracted Divia's attention from me," continued LaCroix. "While she was busy extracting that diversion, I went to her and divested her body of her head." He inclined his head slightly. "_Deja vu_ is a remarkably unpleasant thing," he remarked, as if to himself. "Did you burn her body and scatter the ashes?" asked Nick quickly. LaCroix smiled at him with a hint of sadness in his eyes. "I did," he replied. "The car roof you envisioned was an interesting touch, Nicholas. Actually, I did the deed in the alley here next to the Raven. Incidentally, I did appreciate the sentiments you expressed. It was satisfying to know that you recognized my loss." Nick's mind reeled. The events with Divia seemed so real to him, yet nothing had happened as he remembered. Nonetheless, the *feelings* associated with it all had been real, for LaCroix had sensed them in his blood. It was so complex, so confusing.... A light tap sounded on the door, and LaCroix looked up calmly. "Come in, Urs," he said. The door opened a crack, and Urs peered in. "Oh, you're awake!" she exclaimed, stepping into the room and looking at Nick with an expression of fondness and relief. Nick, in response, looked at Urs with astonishment. "Please forgive dear Nicholas," said LaCroix in a droll voice. "He seems to have believed you were dead. That is, permanently dead." He looked at Nick with amusement. "I believe he is glad to have found out otherwise?" Nick had risen abruptly to his feet and moved to Urs's side. He reached out a hand slowly to touch her face where he'd seen the flesh torn away. His fingers found only smooth white skin. Urs watched him with an expression of sisterly tolerance. "How is young Javier?" said LaCroix from behind them, causing Nick to whirl around. "About the same," sighed Urs. "He's not screaming and throwing things around anymore, thank goodness, but the images in his blood aren't making any sense yet." She shook her head wearily. "I hope he gets better soon. He's taking an awful lot of my blood, and I'm using up way too much of your stock trying to stay strong myself." She shrugged. "But what else could I do? He is my master, after all." "The stock isn't important, Urs," said LaCroix. "There's always more where that came from." Nick tensed at that statement, but a warning look from LaCroix kept him from speaking. "Duty to your master *is* the most important thing now, Urs. Do let me know if you require my assistance." She smiled sweetly. "Thank you, LaCroix. But helping me get him back here and giving me access to the stock is more than generous enough." She put a hand on Nick's arm. "It's good to see you doing better," she said. "Don't do too much too soon, though, okay?" Nick nodded. Urs stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek, then she turned and left the room. Shaking his head in confusion, Nick walked back to the couch and sat down. "This is just too much," he said, more to himself than LaCroix. "Urs is alive. Vachon is alive--Tracy didn't find him dead." Suddenly, an awful thought jumped into his head. Tracy! The escaped prisoner had shot her, and she'd been dying...he'd almost brought her across...he struggled to remember. Had Tracy made it? He looked up a LaCroix, a frantic expression on his face, and started to get to his feet again. LaCroix put out a hand to stop him. "Your partner is just fine, Detective," he said, dropping the title with a patronizing tone. "She was a trifle upset when Urs and I arrived at the church to take charge of the young Spaniard, but between the two of us, we managed to convince her that it was for the best." He smiled wickedly. Nick imagined Tracy faced with two snarling vampires, and he shuddered. "So you got there before Vachon asked Tracy to kill her?" he asked. LaCroix chortled. "Self-destruction is your...hangup...Nicholas, not Vachon's," he said. "That young man has quite a lust for life... among other things. No, when we got there, he was espousing--at the top of his voice, I might add--the joys of drinking the blood of adolescent virgins. Of course, some of that might have been Divia's madness, but, I suspect, not all." His expression was one of tacit approval. "But back to Tracy Vetter," he said, shifting in his chair. "Your young partner is quite courageous, if somewhat misguided. She's also an impressive resister. It took our combined efforts, but she currently believes that her--'supernatural friend', I believe, is Javier's term?-- merely had to leave town for a week or two. By then, he should have recovered sufficiently to entertain her again." LaCroix sighed and shook his head in an expressly paternal fashion. "You know, Nicholas, I probably should have killed the girl on the spot, but her dedication to Vachon's well-being at such grave risk to her own survival actually impressed me." He smiled to himself. "Perhaps I am going somewhat dotty in my old age. What do you think?" He glanced at Nick, who knew perfectly well from the absurd terminology that the question wasn't meant to be answered. LaCroix sighed and picked up the glass again. "You know, Nicholas, you might as well tell her what you are," he said. Nick's eyes grew round, and he looked at LaCroix with astonishment. LaCroix sipped from the glass and stared at it briefly before setting it back down and meeting Nick's eyes. "Well, it's not as if the child doesn't already know of our existence," he said. "She'll be safer from the Community and the Enforcers--and we'll be safer from her meddling--if she asks you to handle those affairs that concern us instead of trying to do it herself. Also, your anxious brooding that she's going to get killed trying unnecessarily to protect you is prompting some rather peculiar thought processes." LaCroix grimaced slightly. "Bringing her across? Really, Nicholas, I don't think the Community could bear it." Nick was about to protest when he contemplated the implications of Tracy Vetter as a vampire. LaCroix was right. It would be like...like... having to deal with Barney the Dinosaur for all eternity. The thought made him smile even as it made him feel guilty. He glanced sheepishly at LaCroix. "I'm glad to see that you agree with me, Nicholas," said LaCroix with camaraderie in his voice. Then, more seriously, he added, "I found it interesting that in your fantasy, you mentally recreated the situation that took place with Dr. Lambert's brother to clarify your feelings on the matter." Nick was listening intently to LaCroix, realizing the truth in his statement, when suddenly, the name registered. Dr. Lambert--Natalie! Oh, God, Nat! He jumped up and grabbed LaCroix by the shoulders, trying to get the question out, but the words stuck in his throat. Rather than being angered at this handling, LaCroix merely looked at Nick with uncharacteristic tolerance. "Settle down, Nicholas," he said. "Your doctor friend is quite alive and remains in possession of all her lovely AB-negative blood." Nick's knees buckled under him, and he dropped to the couch like a sack of sand. He leaned his head on the couch's back, breathing hard, and clutched one hand to his forehead. When the first rush subsided, he looked quickly back to LaCroix to gauge his master's reaction. LaCroix showed only indulgent amusement. "Oh, don't worry, Nicholas," he said. "While I found your fatalistic fantasy to be highly interesting, I do not feel threatened either by the images you showed me or by the person of the doctor herself. I'm sure you know that I would not surrender my creation so easily, but then you also know that your strong-willed coroner would not sacrifice her life so readily to your questionable passions." He sighed. "Nicholas, you know perfectly well that she cannot cure you with physical affection alone. If you must continue to have your association with her, please plan your agenda carefully. I do not wish to be faced, ever, with the scenario you presented me in your blood this morning." The warning tone in the voice was clear. LaCroix sighed and stood up, taking his glass. "Well, Nicholas, it's been an interesting conversation, but I have a club to open. Do help yourself to the stock. It may not be your preferred vintage, but you must have it to regain your strength. Oh, and you should probably call your doctor friend. I convinced her to stay away from the club on the condition that she be informed when you were lucid again." He looked at Nicholas with the expression of a parent who has just been informed that his son wants to be a motorcycle mechanic instead of a doctor. After a moment, he turned and walked toward the door with customary grace. As he reached for the doorknob, Nick said, "LaCroix?" The elder vampire, looking somehow worn, turned back to his son, one eyebrow up in question. Nick looked on the pale face with a remarkable mixture of emotions. Then he smiled slightly and said, "Thank you. For everything." The fierce face softened briefly. "You're welcome," he said with tremendous dignity. He was silent for a moment, then added quietly, "It's as I told you once before. You really do like me, Nicholas. You just don't know that you do." With a slight inclination of his head, he was gone. Nick sat on the couch, feeling tired and somewhat dazed, but at the same time almost giddy with relief. Then he remembered what LaCroix had said about the day. Sunday, the fourteenth of April? Smiling to himself, he got up and climbed the stairs to LaCroix's office. Closing the door behind himself, he picked up the phone and dialed. Two rings later, he heard a click and a bright, energetic female voice. "Hello?" Warmth flooded through him. "Hello, Nat. It's me. I just wanted to let you know that I'm okay--and to wish you a happy birthday." The silence from the other end surprised him--but maybe Nat was just too touched to speak? "Uh, I'm glad you're feeling better, Nick. And thanks for thinking of me...but my birthday's in June, remember? END