Heartfelt thanks to everyone who sent advice and encouragement.

Standard disclaimers apply.

The following takes place some time between Fever and Last Knight.  Comments,
critiques, requests for missing parts to: iocaste@aol.com.


Masquerade
by Iocaste@aol.com 


"There must have been a moment, at the beginning, where we could have said -
no.  But somehow we missed it."
          -- Tom Stoppard, _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead_



Part One: The Meet


       Natalie stood at the bottom of the stairs and called up to the
bedroom.  "Nick?  Aren't you ready yet?"
       "Almost," his voice floated down to her.
       She paced, smoothing invisible wrinkles out of her dress.  She should
never have chosen to wear something like this, it was too ....
       She glanced at her wrist before remembering she had neglected to wear
a watch this evening.
       "Damn," she muttered.  She wasn't sure how she'd be able to get
through an entire evening without a wristwatch.  But wearing one would have
spoiled the effect.
       It would have been irresponsible to have abandoned her pager, though,
and it was tucked safely into the small satin bag dangling from her arm.  She
seized the drawstrings and peered inside.
       Eight thirty.  They were already half an hour late.
       She took a deep breath to call out again when she felt the soft tap on
her shoulder.  She started and turned around.
       "Hello," he said with a small smile.
       "Nick."  She was momentarily shocked out of her nervousness by the
sight of him, dazzling in a tuxedo.  His smooth blond hair shimmered like a
halo.  She caught her breath.
       "You look ... beautiful," he told her.  His eyes skimmed over the blue
satin nineteenth-century dress.  Trimmed in black lace, it hugged her figure,
revealing quite a bit of cleavage before flowing into a wide, billowing
skirt.  She wore more cosmetics than usual --her lips painted a dark,
wine-red, and shadow making her eyes appear huge and deep.  Her hair had been
pulled back into a complicated series of twists and curls.
       "Beautiful, Nat," he said again.
       She shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks reddening.  Because she didn't
know how else to react, she said with annoyance, "Is that all you're going to
wear?  For a Halloween ball?"
       He held up a finger.  "Wait."  He moved to the kitchen and scooped up
a handful of dark cloth from one of the chairs.
       "Close your eyes," he instructed.
       "Nick --"
       "Close them," he repeated.  Frustrated, she complied.  She heard quite
a bit of rustling before he told her she could look.
       "You're making me nervous --" she said, lifting her lids.  And let out
a strangled gurgle of laughter.
       He stood before her, still in his tux, but now with a long
black-and-red cape, white plastic fangs, and a smear of fake blood trickling
down his chin.
       "Hiding in plain sight?" she asked, not sure whether to smile or
scold.  "Don't you think it's a little risky?  Tracy might --"
       "If Tracy hasn't suspected up until now, I don't think she'll put it
together from a vampire Halloween costume."
       "But --"
       "Come on, Nat, we're running late.  We don't want to offend the
commissioner."

       Natalie felt the draft on her skin and shivered, the chill reminding
her of just how daring her costume really was.  She winced, wishing she had
chosen a more conservative dress.
       "Are you okay?" Nick asked, sensing her stiffness.  She nodded
quickly.
       "Fine," she answered as they moved through the hotel lobby towards the
ballroom.
       "I was wondering when you two would show up!" Tracy greeted them at
the door.  She grinned widely, twirling the long white tail of her cat
costume.  "You look great!  That's -- quite an outfit, Nick.  I thought you
weren't a believer."
       "It's all in fun."  He looked around the ornate hall, seething with
off-duty police, as well as movers and shakers from all over the city.
 White-jacketed waiters circled with bubbling glasses of champagne.  "Your
father throws a hell of a party."
       "He also sets a hell of a table.  You should check out the hors
d'oevres before the little crab cakes disappear.  I can't wait until I can
get over there."
       "How long do you have to stand in the reception line?"
       "Oh, maybe another ten minutes or so.  To catch the fashionably late."
       Natalie nudged him.  "Hear that, Nick?  We're fashionable."
       "Well, not completely.  You're both still missing something."  At
their blank looks, Tracy laughed and tapped the cloth covering the top half
of her face.
       "Masks.  If you don't have your own, there's a pile over there in the
corner."
       A few minutes later, Natalie had found a blue satin mask that was a
pretty decent match for her dress.  Slipping it over her eyes, she found that
with the small amount of anonymity, she was infinitely more comfortable.
 Sighing, she felt some of the tension leak out of her muscles.
       "I don't know how much it hides our identities," Nick was saying,
donning a black disguise.  "So what is the appeal of these things?"
       "Taking on a new persona may be old hat to you, but for those of us
who are stuck with just one lifetime, a little escape can be a nice change of
pace," Natalie told him tartly.  She snagged a glass from a passing waiter.
 "As can a little champagne.  Join me?"
       Nick eyed her drink warily.  "I'll pass."
       She shook her head.  "Oh, no, you don't get off that easy.  Come on,
one sip."  She handed him the glass.
       He offered her a weak toast before touching his lips to the rim.  He
allowed the merest hint of the fizz to tickle his tongue before grimacing and
returning the glass to Natalie.  She narrowed her eyes at him and took a
swallow.
       "Coward," she murmured.
       "Dance?" he offered, mainly as a distraction.  Natalie's expression
told him she saw through his ploy, but she graciously accepted his proffered
arm as they moved to the floor.
       "You dance very well," she complimented as they glided around the
floor.  He looked down into her face, and from his angle, only her eyes were
visible, sparkling out of the blue mask.  His knuckles brushed caressingly
across her jaw.
       "Surprised?"
       "A little.  Although I suppose I shouldn't be.  You must have attended
many balls and festivals in your time."
       "Some," he admitted.
       "And danced with history's most beautiful women," she added with a
tinge of bitterness.  He pulled back, his brow furrowed.
       "Nat?  Where is this coming from?"
       She managed a small smile.  "It's nothing.  Just -- thinking aloud."
        Hesitantly, he drew her back into his embrace and continued their
slow movement around the room.  As she nestled closer, his mouth rested in
her hair, then on her cheek, the warmth of her skin radiating through his
lips until he could almost imagine it heated his whole body.
        Her heart beat at a slightly elevated pace.  In some instinctive way
he sensed it, and each beat seemed to echo through him, calling forth an
answering tremor.  His lips slid down her cheek, inching lower, and lower
still, until they rested on the pulse that throbbed in her neck.  The scent
of her blood filled his nostrils, making him dizzy, as though he'd somehow
become drunk on the champagne he'd tasted.
       "Nick ... ?" Natalie asked uncertainly.
       There was an uncomfortable pressure against his tongue, and he
realized suddenly that his fangs had descended, forcing the false plastic
ones out of position.  Gasping, he released her with enough force to send her
staggering.
       "I -- have to leave," he said hoarsely.  She grabbed his arm.
       "Nick -- wait!"
       "I can't."  He stopped, looked into her eyes.  She caught a glimpse of
gold, startling in contrast to the darkness of his mask, before it faded to
sky-blue.  "I can't stay, Nat.  I'm sorry."
       Natalie watched him leave, the heaviness in her chest almost
unbearable.  She noticed she still held her champagne glass, and
unconcernedly downed the rest of its contents in one swallow.
       Gone again.  Why was she surprised?  Why should this night have been
any different from dozens of others?
       She willed back the tears fluttering just behind her lashes.  Taking a
deep breath, she was about to seek out Tracy to make her apologies and take
her leave when she heard a dark, too-familiar voice come from behind her.
       "Dr. Lambert," the voice rasped.  "May I join you?"

                                       End Part One

The following takes place some time between Fever and Last Knight.  Comments,
critiques, requests for missing parts to: iocaste@aol.com.


Masquerade


Part Two: The Conversation


       He stood before her, a towering figure in his traditional black, his
face half-concealed by a startlingly white mask.
       She spoke the first words that came to mind.  "You're not wearing a
costume."
       A brow arched above the mask.  "Do I need one?"
       She considered the aura of menace that settled around him like a
cloak.  "No."
       "You appear to have lost your escort.  May I be of any service?"
       The mention of Nick brought a fresh stab of pain, but she ruthlessly
forced it aside.  Instead she asked, "Why are you here?" and was proud to
note that her voice was almost perfectly steady.
       "I came for Nicholas," he explained smoothly.  "Such a confused child,
I look in on him from time to time."
       "But he's left."
       "Yes.  That _was_ a pity, wasn't it?"
       There was nothing in his expression to so much as hint at it, but
somehow Natalie knew, with complete certainty, that he had been responsible
for Nick's sudden departure.
       "You -- drove him away, didn't you?"
       Was that surprise reflected in Lacroix's eyes?  It was impossible to
be sure.
       "How perceptive of you, Doctor.  Oh, not to worry," he assured her,
catching her expression.  "By now he's quite himself again."
       "What did you do to him?"
       "I merely took advantage of our ... bond ... to remind him of his
needs.  They would have surfaced eventually, of course, but I -- accelerated
the process."  A small smile touched his lips.  "I'm afraid it became
impossible for him to remain in your presence.  Although," he added, his
words slow and measuring, "even I thought he might try a little longer."
       She looked down at her hands.  "Nick cares about me; he refuses to
take any risks with my life."
       "Oh, is that what you call it?  An odd form of care, to be sure, that
it chiefly expresses itself in a desire to be as far away from the object of
its affection as possible."
       Only the slightest tightening of her jaw betrayed how well the barb
had hit its mark.  She forced a grin.  "Well.  All of this, for the pleasure
of baiting me.  I'm touched."
       "Dr. Lambert, though I do not deny that matching wits with you is
indeed a pleasure, my motives on this occasion were far more -- altruistic."
       She stared.  "Altruistic?  You?"
       "I am not incapable of it, when it suits me."
       "And I'm supposed to believe that it 'suits you' now?"
       "My dear Doctor, if you doubt my motives, all you have to do is tell
me to leave."  His eyes locked with hers.  "Do you want me to leave?"
       Maybe the champagne was affecting her oddly, or maybe it was the mask
that lent her a strange sort of courage.  Whatever the cause, she found
herself answering, in a voice too low for human hearing, "No."
       A slight relaxing of his lips revealed his satisfaction.  "Good."  He
glanced around the room.  "Perhaps we are in need of a little more privacy."
       They found a small bar in the hotel lobby, dimly lit, empty but for a
few quiet stragglers.  The round white candle burning in the center of their
table lent an orange glow to Lacroix's features, making him appear even more
other-worldly.  They ordered wine, and Natalie sipped from her glass while
Lacroix toyed with the stem of his, not even making a pretense of drinking.
       "I thought you could tolerate wine, on occasion," Natalie said,
watching him.
       "Only when it has been mixed with a more ... human vintage."
       "And it never bothers you?  Your hunger for blood?"
       Instead of answering, he leaned forward.   His voice dropped until,
rather than hearing his words, she sensed them, their smoothness slithering
across her skin.
       "What about you, Doctor?  Does your own -- hunger -- never trouble
you?"
       She blinked slowly, looked away.  "I don't know what --"
       "Come now, let us not be coy.  You want Nicholas very badly, don't
you?  Why do you suppose that is?"
       Her eyes sparked defiantly behind her mask.  "I suppose I could ask
the same of you."
       His lips quirked, and he offered her a small toast with his still-full
glass.  "Touche.  Very well, then.  I have always been attracted to the
violence, to the _death_, that Nicholas carries with him.  That he has always
carried with him, his temporary fascination with mortality notwithstanding.
 You and I are very alike, in that respect."
       She shook her head in vigorous denial.  "You're wrong.  I'm a doctor,
I'm devoted to saving lives.  I want to help Nick, I want to help him
overcome the violence."
       "Really?  Tell me, Doctor, was it your desire to save lives that led
you to specialize in corpses?"
       Fingers trembling, she took another sip of her drink.  "I chose
forensic pathology because I enjoy solving puzzles."
       "Of course.  And then you befriended a vampire because your work
failed to provide you with adequate intellectual stimulation?"  He continued
ruthlessly as she remained silent, "You are certainly not the only mortal to
develop such an interest in ... our kind.  Though few, I admit, take their
fantasies to such extremes as yours."
        "What do you mean?" she asked slowly.
       He reached for her then, the tips of his fingers brushing lightly over
her hair as she remained frozen.  "You're a lovely woman, Doctor."  He leaned
back in his chair.  "Particularly so tonight.  Such a shame Nicholas could
not stay to enjoy your beauty."
       "That was your doing."
       "Only partially."  He continued speaking in that same calm, slow,
rational tone.  "The truth of the matter is, the more attractive you are to
him, the more intolerable he finds you.  I suppose that explains why your
looks have faded over the last few years, why your mortal friends have
dropped out of your life one by one.  Nicholas cannot be permitted to see you
as something to be desired, can he?  Not if you wish him to remain with you."
       "I --"
       "You know that he will stay as long as you continue to dangle the
possibility of mortality before him.  So much more dependable, if managed
correctly, than a mortal paramour, wouldn't you agree?  But there is a catch,
as always.  If he cannot see you as a lover, how can you hope to ever truly
have him?"
       By the end of his speech, Natalie was shaking so badly she could no
longer hold her glass steady.  She set it on the table with an unsteady hand,
her gaze riveted to the flickering candle, as though she might draw strength
from the flame.
       "Last call," came a voice by her ear.  She gasped, half jumping out of
her seat in fear.
       "I'm sorry, did I startle you?" asked the young waiter.  Lacroix
watched her with unwavering eyes, his fingers steepled in front of his lower
lip.
       "We're fine," Natalie managed to answer.  Muttering apologies for
disturbing them, the waiter melted into the background.  Natalie touched her
tongue to her lips and met Lacroix's stare.  "All right," she said quietly.
 "You want to hurt me.  You want to punish me for my relationship with Nick."
       "On the contrary, Doctor.  It appears that you are the one who is
punishing yourself."
        "But what about you?" she continued, determinedly ignoring the jeer.
 "Just how proud are you of your own history with him?"
       Some of the smugness faded from his expression.  "My history with
Nicholas is none of your concern."
       "Nick has made it my concern."
       "Has he?"  Lacroix's voice vibrated with the first stirrings of his
rage.  "And I imagine he's come brooding to you in the middle of the night,
full of tales of the horrors I have perpetrated on him over the years?"
       "There have been a few."
       "And you, no doubt, offered him a sympathetic shoulder to comfort him
and a vast array of platitudes to heal the pain that I inflicted?" He bit out
each word with vicious intensity.  Natalie watched his anger with a kind of
detached fascination, surprised and intrigued by the reaction she had
triggered.  Distantly, she was aware that she should be afraid, but somehow
no fear touched her.
       "On occasion," she answered his question.
       "But he has never told you, I suppose, of how I chose him, how I
taught him, how I _made_ him who he is," he snarled.  "Everything you admire
in him, Doctor, is _my_ doing.  Nicholas is my _creation_!"
       "Your creation ...." Natalie repeated softly.  "Of course."
       The thoughtfulness of her tone caught his attention, and he stilled.
 "My creation," he whispered.  "Yes."
       "Of course," Natalie said again.  She shook her head slightly.  "I
don't know why I didn't see it before ... Creation.  That's what you lose,
isn't it, when you're brought across?  Humans -- we don't live forever, so we
try to leave our mark any way we can, with art, with song, with children.
 But vampires ...."  She bit her lip.  "Nick paints, sometimes.  He's not a
master, and he knows it.  Erica -- she wrote from the heart, but it wasn't a
human heart anymore.  And you."  She looked up at him, and froze when she
realized he was watching her with vampiric eyes.
       "Yes?  And me," he said with deceptive calm.
       "You're -- trying to leave your mark, as well," she said, sounding
slightly breathless.  "You gained all the time in the world when you came
across, but without that knowledge of your own demise ... how can you leave
something behind when you're eternal?  You're impotent --"  The ghost of a
smile flitted across her face.  "Immortality may increase the desire, but it
takes away the ability."
       Lacroix said nothing, just continued to stare at her out of eerily
gold irises.  Her heart caught in her throat as she realized she had never
been closer to death than she was at this moment.
       "Closing time," the bartender called.  Natalie shot him a quick,
nervous look.
       "They're closing," she said to Lacroix, urgently trying to jolt him
out of his predatory trance.  Slowly, his eyes dimmed to their normal colour.
       "You surprise me, Doctor," he told her huskily.  He stood.  "Allow me
to escort you home."

                                         End Part Two

The following takes place some time between Fever and Last Knight.  Comments,
critiques, requests for missing parts to: iocaste@aol.com.


Masquerade


Part Three: The Seduction


       They chose to walk.
       It was bitterly cold, and Natalie wrapped her coat tightly around her,
her breath coming in white puffs almost invisible in the darkness.  The chill
added colour to her cheeks and to the tip of her nose.
       Lacroix did not even seem to notice the temperature.
       "You said --" Natalie began uncertainly, and stopped.  Lacroix looked
at her.
       "Yes?"
       She took a breath.  "You said before that you had come for ...
altruistic reasons.  What did you mean?"
       He was silent for so long that she thought he wasn't going to answer.
 Then he said, "You recently did my people a great service.  I am -- grateful
-- for that."  He hesitated over the unfamiliar word.
       Natalie shrugged.  "I took an oath," she said simply.
       "So you did.  To save humans.  You may have broken that vow when you
chose to assist us."
       She kept her eyes trained on the pavement.  "_I_ don't get to decide
who lives and who dies," she muttered, but her tone lacked bite.
       He chuckled.  "More jabs, Doctor?  Still, I believe there are few
mortals who would work so tirelessly for the welfare of those who prey upon
them."
       "I must be an unusual specimen, then."
       "Yes.  You are."
       They drew to a stop in front of her building.  She hesitated, unsure
of how to react to him.
       "Good night, Lacroix," she whispered.
       "I'll see you to your door."
       Wordlessly, the two climbed the stairs to Natalie's apartment.  She
fumbled in her purse for her key and inserted it into the lock.  Lacroix
watched her for a long moment before saying quietly,  "Your involvement with
us, with our kind, can end in only one of two ways.  I wonder if you realize
that yet."
       He leaned forward until his lips just barely skimmed her ear.  She
closed her eyes.
       "Do you know how close you are to making that decision, Doctor?"
       She stared into the face still concealed by the white mask, and
thought that the serpent in the Garden must have appeared so.
       Their mouths touched.
       He drew back suddenly, sharply, looking down at her with an enigmatic
expression.  And then he was crushing his lips to hers with enough force that
she thought her neck might snap from the pressure.
       She moaned.
       Her hands grasped at his nape, her fingers tangling in the short,
silky strands of his hair.
       "Lacroix ...." she breathed, in disbelief, in fear, as he maneuvered
her inside the apartment.  He caught her jaw between his thumb and
forefinger, forcing her mouth open to receive the caress of his tongue.
       "Which will you choose, Doctor?" he rasped against her skin.
       She felt the sting of his teeth as they grazed along the side of her
neck, and then the moist coolness of his mouth lapping at the blood that
welled from the scrape.  His fingers tightened painfully as he tasted it.
       Her coat dropped to the floor, and his hands moved to her back, deftly
undoing the fastenings of her gown.  Heat flooded her, in stark contrast to
the cold hands moving on her bare flesh.  She stiffened.
       "No."  She attempted, fruitlessly, to escape his embrace.  "I can't --
I can't do this."
       He tongued her ear, and her legs were suddenly too weak to support her
weight.  "Does Nicholas have you so paralyzed that you are unable to take
what you want?" he taunted.
       She shook her head mindlessly.  "Don't, don't ...." she pleaded, not
wanting to think of Nick.
       He bit her lobe, his voice harsh.  "Will you accept your fate so
meekly, then?"  His thumb brushed lightly ... oh, so lightly! ... over the
tip of one breast.  "Ask me.  Show me what you want."
       The golden eyes watching for her response were hypnotic in their
intensity.  And at that moment, Natalie wanted what he offered more than
anything else in her entire life.
       She reached for him, frantically working at the buttons on his shirt
until she could slide her palms over the marble smooth, marble hard skin.  He
growled as her mouth caressed his chest, her teeth capturing one nipple and
her tongue teasing it erect.
       "_Yes_," he grated, gripping her shoulders.  "Come to me.  Don't let
it win."
       He tore his mask from his face, and moved to do the same with hers.
 Panic fluttered in her chest, and she jerked away.  He dropped his hand, an
unidentifiable emotion darkening his features.
       But a moment later the expression was gone, leaving Natalie to wonder
if it had merely been a trick of the light.  Then his lips came down on hers
in a fierce kiss, and any further thinking became impossible.
       Together, they made their way to the bedroom.  Lacroix quickly shed
the last of his clothes, and the two of them tumbled to the bed.
       His hands traveled roughly over her, reddening her skin, making her
writhe under him with a passion that shocked her.  His fingers skimmed over
her lips, her breasts, her thighs, once, and then again, each pass bringing
him closer to the part of her that ached for his touch.  A whimper escaped
the back of her throat.
       "Lacroix!" she groaned, biting her lip in frustration.  His tongue
traced the tiny hurt, laving the small drop of blood that clung there.  The
muscles of his back clenched under her palms.
       "Ask me," he demanded roughly.
       "I can't --"
       "Overcome it, Doctor.  _Ask_me_ for what you want."  His palm drifted
over her, and her hips bucked in response.
       "Touch me," she whispered.
       "How?  Where?"
       Unable to answer, she caught his wrist, dragging his hand down her
body, then forcing upward until he filled her.  She closed her eyes and
shivered from the sensations that rushed over her.
       He moved then, pushing deep, pulling back, allowing her to savour the
cool length of his fingers.  The pleasure climbed higher and higher until,
shuddering, she peaked, her nails digging small crescents into his flesh.
       She looked at him.  He was staring at her, his eyes burning so
brightly she thought they might burst into flame.  She reached out
tentatively, allowing her hand to lightly skim over the length of him.
       He trembled.
       She leaned over and, pressing him onto his back, took him gently in
her mouth, her tongue moving in swirling caress.  He arched towards her.
       "Natalie," he gasped.
       And then she found herself on her back, with Lacroix thrusting inside
of her, her hips rising to meet each stroke.
       "Don't ... accept," he told her hoarsely.  "Come to me.  Come _for_
me."
       And she did, crying out, her body rising off the bed with the force of
her orgasm.
       A moment later, she screamed as Lacroix let out a vicious snarl and
sank his fangs into the tender skin of her shoulder.  The pain was
unbelievable.  Tears rolled down her cheeks and she struggled to pull away,
but he held her still, his fingers tangling tightly in her hair as he fought
for control.
       Finally, he withdrew and lowered his head to the pillow.
       They slept.

                                           End Part Three

The following takes place some time between Fever and Last Knight.  Comments,
critiques, requests for missing parts to: iocaste@aol.com.


Masquerade


Part Four: The Choice


       Natalie awoke to find a small arrow of light gently tracing a path
across her face.  Idly, she raised a hand to shield her eyes, and found the
blue mask from the previous evening, now quite the worse for wear, twisted
around her neck.
       She started as memory came flooding back to her in a rush.  Wincing
with the pain the movement caused, she crawled out of bed to close the drapes
before the wandering sun could make any further forays.  In the brief stretch
of light, she caught sight of the myriad bruises, most in the shape of hand
or finger prints, that had been left on her body.  The punctures in her
shoulder burned terribly.
       Lacroix was still asleep, on the far side of the bed.  Natalie eyed
the white skin, and her lips twisted as she realized that while every part of
her own body ached, any marks she may have left on him had long since
disappeared.
       It had really happened.  She had spent the night with a vampire.  And
it hadn't been Nick.
       She brought her hand to her mouth.
       Don't think about it.  Concentrate on something else.
       It struck her that he would need blood when he awoke.  She dressed
quickly and slipped out the door.
       Luckily, the Coroner's Building was almost completely empty.  She had
no trouble maneuvering around the few sleepy orderlies roaming the halls.
 Quietly padding to the morgue, she switched on the lights and opened for the
large steel refrigerator and reached inside.
       "Natalie," a soft voice called.  Her heart stopped.
       "Nick!"  She hurriedly tucked the pouches of blood under her coat
before turning to face him.  He was slumped in the chair by her desk, a
night's worth of unshaven growth dotting his chin.  "It's daylight!  What are
you doing here?"
       "I came last night.  I needed ...."  He stopped.  "I didn't want to go
to the Raven."
       That was when she noticed the empty plastic IV bags scattered around
him.  Misery rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. "You can't leave
those lying around."  Moving with an awful efficiency, she began to gather
them up.  He caught her wrist as she neared him.
       "Nat -- I'm sorry, for what happened."
       Her gaze clung to where his fingers rested on her skin.  She nodded
curtly.  "You've already apologized.  You shouldn't have come here, anyone
could have seen you."
       "Maybe I didn't care anymore."
       "And what is that supposed to mean?"
       His lip curled in self-disgust.  "I can't even go to a party without
the vampire taking over.  It would be better for everyone if I were forced
out.  Or destroyed."
       It briefly occurred to Natalie to tell him about Lacroix's role in his
loss of control the previous evening, but she dismissed the thought
immediately.  As Lacroix had pointed out, ultimately Nick's reaction had been
as inevitable as the sunrise.  She pulled out of his grasp.
       "You don't believe that," she told him, tossing the IV bags in the
infectious waste bin.  "You wouldn't have come to me for help if you believed
that."
       "Maybe that was a mistake as well."
       She clenched her teeth to keep from screaming.  "I'll find the answer,
Nick, I know I will.  But it's going to take time.  You can't give up on me,
and you can't have binges like this one!"  Deja vu all over again, she
thought wildly.  She ought to just make a tape recording of these
interchanges and play them back as needed.
       "I try, Nat, you know I try --"
       She peered at him.  "Do I?"
       "Natalie --"
       "Don't," she interrupted him.  "I can't --" She stopped.  Swallowed.
 "I can't do this anymore, Nick."
       He froze.  "What are you saying?"
       She closed her eyes.  "I'm saying ... that I want to be free again.
 Because I can't keep doing this over and over."  Her eyes opened, and now
they glistened with unshed tears.  "Do you understand?  I want to be free."
       "And you think I'm restricting your freedom," he said flatly.
       She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness.  "I don't know!
 Yes, maybe, in a way."  She shook her head.  "I don't want to be responsible
for you anymore, Nick.  It's too much, it's too --"  She fell silent.  "I've
shown you what needs to be done," she said finally.  Now you're the one who
has to make up your mind to do it."
       "Without you."
       "Yes.  Without me."
       There didn't seem to be much to say after that.  Natalie, unwilling to
leave Nick trapped in the morgue all day, drove him home in the trunk of his
car.  They parted at his loft, Natalie returning to the Coroner's Building to
retrieve her own car before heading home.
       As it turned out, Lacroix slept almost until sundown.  Upon awakening,
he accepted the blood from her wordlessly, swallowing without complaint what
she suspected would be considered a very inferior vintage.
       God, now she was thinking like them.
       "Are you working this evening?" he asked after he had dressed.  She
shook her head.
       "No, I have the night off."
       "Then perhaps you would accompany me to the Raven for a drink."
       She met his eyes warily.  Last night, that could maybe be dismissed as
a moment of madness, due to the champagne, to Nick's abandonment, to the
masquerade.  She would have no such excuses for her decision now.
       She took a breath.  "I'd like that."

       Natalie sat quietly at the bar, nursing her wine, as Lacroix and his
staff prepared for the club's opening.  The bartender, polishing his glasses,
made no secret of his curiosity.  Natalie studiously avoided his eyes,
infinitely relieved when Lacroix completed his tasks and joined her.  He made
a subtle gesture of dismissal, and the bartender disappeared in search of
duties that could be completed elsewhere.
       Lacroix poured himself a drink from an unmarked green bottle before
taking the stool next to hers.
       "I don't believe you've been here since I assumed ownership."
       "No.  It's very -- different, now."
       His lips twitched.  "What do you think of the changes?"
       "They're very -- different, too."
       He smiled, baring teeth just slightly extended in reaction to the
contents of his glass.  "It amuses me to toy with the human conceptions of
darkness.  This --" he indicated the room " -- is precisely what lures them,
and what repels them.  So trite, aren't they?"
       She didn't look at him.  "I'm one of 'them,' too."
       "I have no need of reminders."  His gaze ran over her consideringly.
 "I broadcast from that booth over there."
       "I don't listen to the show much," she admitted.  He cocked an
eyebrow.
       "A shame.  It would have been an excellent way for you to come to know
me, since we are to spend -- a great deal of time together."  He paused.  "We
_are_ to spend time together, aren't we, Natalie?"
       Her eyes were riveted to the sensual motion of his fingers stroking
the stem of his goblet.
       "Yes."  There was almost no sound behind the word, only the movement
of her mouth forming the syllable.
       He nodded as though he'd expected no other answer.  "A toast, then.
 To ... long ... friendships."  He touched the rim of his glass to hers, the
two reds contrasting in the glow of the coloured lights.
       As she watched the different liquids settle, her mouth stretched into
a wide, strange sort of smile.
       "It's done, isn't it?"
       His eyes glittered.  "Indeed it is."
       "I found a way out."  She laughed then, a desperately joyful sound
that startled the Raven's employees into temporarily halting their work.
 "It's over."
       "Hardly that.  For you, my dear, it is just beginning.  However, I
understand your delight.  It is not every day that one manages to thwart
destiny."
       "It's not every day that one is granted eternal life," she corrected
him, making short work of her wine.  "Another, please."
       Watching her closely, Lacroix reached around the bar for the bottle
and refilled her glass.  "By all means, indulge in mortal pleasures while you
are still capable of enjoying them."
       "I intend to."  She knocked back her second glass.  "Have I thanked
you yet, for all of this?"
       "No."
       "Then it's long overdue."  She set her glass back down on the bar.
       He looked amused.  "I was certain you would get around to it
eventually."
       "Thank you, Lacroix, for --"
       A loud, high-pitched noise from within her purse interrupted the
tribute she was about to offer.  Reaching inside, she pulled out her pager.
 "Tracy," she sighed.  She indicated the telephone on the edge of the bar.
 "Do you mind?"  He said nothing.  Taking that as an assent, she dialed the
number.
       "Hi, it's Natalie," she spoke into the receiver.  "You beeped?"
       "Natalie!  Thanks for calling.  Listen, I was wondering if you've
heard anything from Nick since the ball."
       Natalie's eyes darted to Lacroix as she wondered whether he could hear
the other end of the conversation.
       "No," she lied.  "Why?"
       "I'm just -- concerned about him.  He left so abruptly last night, he
called in sick today, and now he's not answering his phone or his pager."
 She paused.  "Natalie?  Are you still there?"
       A cold knot was beginning to form in her chest.  She kept her eyes on
Lacroix, who was now staring at her, making no attempt to conceal his
interest.  "Yes.  Yes, I'm still here."
       "I was thinking -- do you suppose you could go over there?  Just to
check on him, make sure he's okay?"
       Not answering his phone, not answering his pager.  That meant he was
probably holed up in his apartment, downing bottle after bottle of cow's
blood, aching so terribly that no matter how hard she tried, she would never
be able to soothe the hurt.
       The knowledge of his pain tore at her.  The knowledge of her own
helplessness tore even more.
       Not her responsibility.  Not any longer.
       "Natalie?"
       "Yes.  Tracy."
       "Will you go over there?  He sounded awful when I spoke to him earlier
... I don't -- I don't know what to think."
       Natalie turned away from Lacroix, keeping her voice low though she
knew the effort was useless.  "It isn't a good time to talk about this, right
now."
       Tracy sounded surprised.  "I'm -- sorry to bug you on your night off.
 I'd go over there myself, but you're a lot closer to him than I am."
       "I'm not ... I don't think I'm the best person to handle Nick,"
 Natalie said faintly.
       "Did you two have a fight or something?  I know it's none of my
business, but he sounded ... Nick has his moods, of course, but this was
different.  Can't you try to work things out?"
       "Please -- please don't do this."  Her voice was shaking.
       "Are you okay?"
       "I'm fine."  She tried to steady herself.  "I'm fine."
       "Natalie, if he's hurting this badly, there has to be some way to
patch things up.  Just talk to him, all right?  He needs you."
       A need that called to her, compelled her, tugged at her soul.  A siren
song of despair.
       "Goodbye, Tracy."  Gently, she replaced the receiver in its cradle and
looked up at Lacroix, stricken.  "You heard?"
       "Yes.  Nicholas is depressed.  Quite a revelation."
       "I have to go to him."
       He took a swallow of blood.  "Do you?"
       "Just tonight.  Just to -- make him understand."
       "Of course.  You'll simply explain to him that you are about to
embrace everything he despises about himself.  I'm sure it won't take him
more than a few minutes to accept the situation.  We all know how well
Nicholas deals with things he cannot change."
       She lowered her eyes.  "I can't -- I can't _abandon_ him."
       "And why not?  All of your efforts on his behalf only result in more
pain when they fail, do they not?  Your encouragement is a torture in itself.
 No, Nicholas will be quite improved by your 'abandonment.'"
       She shook her head stubbornly.  "I have to _try_."
       "Doctor."
       Her head came up sharply at his tone.
       "The time for consideration has passed.  You must decide which path
you wish to take.  I am waiting for your answer."
       She hesitated.  "Nothing's changed.  I just need to talk to him one
last time before --"
       "You don't seriously believe that, do you?"
       She met his gaze before saying softly, "I don't suppose I do."
       His face darkened at her reply, his expression slowly turning
thunderous.  "Don't you see what I'm offering you?" he asked harshly.  "You
can cheat fate.  _Take_ what you _want_."
       "I am."  It was true, she realized.  Frighteningly, irrefutably true.
 "I am taking what I want.  This is what I want, Lacroix."
       "You do understand what this means?" His tone was ragged.  "How this
_must_ end?"
       She wiped at the wetness on her cheeks.  "Yes.  It means I have to go
back to Nick.  He needs me."
       "Or perhaps it is the other way around."  His face froze into a blank
mask.  "Very well, then.  You've made your choice."  He paused.  "A long time
ago, I suspect."
       "No," she whispered.  "I don't think -- there was never a choice to be
made."
       And as he disappeared into the bowels of the club, she gathered up her
belongings, and stepped out into the bright city night.

                                                     End