Date: Mon, 19 Jul 1999 14:12:32 -0400 
From: dansieja <dansieja@MWT.NET> 
Subject: Unfixed, 01/03 
To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU 


Permission granted to archive at Mel's fkfanfic site, the
JADFE site.  Others please inquire.

This short story is set at the close of Nick's one day in
the sun, "The Fix".  It is rated PG-13 for violence and
adult themes.  Not overly graphic.



Unfixed

By Lorelei Sieja


Nick leaned against the elevator wall as it slowly
ascended.  He was so tired.  It had taken too much effort to
get Natalie to just go home.  He didn't want to be near her
tonight.  There was too much pain.

First, there was the pain in her expression, at yet another
failed attempt for a cure.  For one glorious morning he had
been so sure they had won!  And what was the first thing he
did?  Run run to Janette to share his good news, dragging an
unwilling Natalie with him.  Janette hadn't been happy at
all. In fact, she'd been decidedly cold and impatient, that
he continued to torture himself.

Then, he'd rediscovered the joy of eating!  Spaghetti, wine,
hot dogs with onions, a couple of donuts, some pizza, soda-
most of it hadn't even existed the last time he had eaten
solid food.  Just the thought of it now, as it still sat
like so many bricks in his wounded stomach made him feel
ill.

But the drug, the Lidovuterine B, had been addictive from
just the first dose.  He craved it, in ever increasing
doses, and he lost control of his thoughts and emotions.
He'd become paranoid, believing even Schanke and Natalie
were against him!  The entire day's events were little more
than a blur now.  He couldn't remember exactly what had
happened and what had been only imagined.  The pain in his
stomach was very real, though.

At last the lift stopped and he slid the door open.
Wearily, he stepped inside.  The door closed behind him and
he leaned against it, struggling to still the disquiet.  He
lifted a shaky hand to his forehead and rubbed at the
pounding sensations.

A whisper of wind settled and he glanced up to see his
master standing a few paces away.  LaCroix folded his arms
across his chest, his face a stony mask.
"What are you doing here," Nick snapped at him.

LaCroix smiled a small, wicked smile.  "You <know>,
Nicholas, why I am here."  His voice was smooth, deceptively
calm.

A chill ran down his spine.  He fought the fear that
threatened to overpower him.  Of course.  It was the eternal
dance they played: LaCroix sets the rules.  Nick breaks
them.  LaCroix rescues Nick then beats him for his
disobedience.

Except LaCroix hadn't rescued him today.  Nick had lain,
shot and bleeding on the pavement, the late afternoon sun
hot on his back as the protective shield of the drug
weakened, and he'd tried to reach out to his master.  But
LaCroix was no where to be found.  The link between them had
fallen silent.  If the would-be assassins hadn't decided to
clean up their own mess and toss him in the trunk of their
car, he might be no more than a pile of ash right now.

Nick buried his fear behind a look of defiance.  "Fine
then.  Do it and get it over with!"

LaCroix glared at his disrespectful offspring.  The boy had
gone too far this time!  His behavior was atrocious.  And to
cap it all off, the boy had finally discovered the ability
to close their link- the one thread of connection that still
tied them together.  Even now, although LaCroix caught the
look of fear that ghosted across his son's face, he could
not sense it at all.  The emptiness between them was
complete.  And now the whelp dared to show indifference and
defiance, when he should be groveling on the floor for
forgiveness!

His rage was almost blinding him.  Yet, he still loved this
most difficult child.  LaCroix's first desire, to break
every bone in his body, would be far too dangerous.  In his
fury, he might destroy that which he desired.  Yet, the
defiance simply could not go unpunished.  They both knew
that.

"Drop your pants," LaCroix hissed.

Nick swallowed the lump of solid fear and stared up at his
maker.  NO!  Not that!  LaCroix had not raped him, not in
nearly seven centuries, since their early beginnings
together... But he was too weak from the day's events to
even consider resisting the powerful ancient.

"Now!"

Nick bowed his head, afraid of the anger and rage he saw in
LaCroix.  He fumbled with his belt with trembling hands.
But what hurt more than the fear of punishment was the
absence of LaCroix in his mind.  Never in all his existence
had the master been so angry with him that he severed
completely the link they shared.  Always, Nick had been able
to sense something of the master.  A mood, a thought, a
desire... yet for the first time since that long ago night
in 1228, Nick was completely alone.  And terrified.

He slipped his trousers and silk boxers down, stepping out
of his shoes.  He leaned back against the elevator door,
struggling to find the strength to endure the next event.
Then maybe he could feed and begin to heal from his wounds.

LaCroix had unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the belt
loops, but there he stopped.  Grabbing Nick's arm fiercely,
he dragged his son and threw him across the kitchen table.
Nick gasped at the new bruises on his hips as tender flesh
met unyielding wood.  Then he cried in surprise as LaCroix
brought his belt down viciously.

"Since you continue to behave like a recalcitrant child,"
LaCroix shouted, enforcing each word with his belt, "then so
you shall be treated!"

Again and again the belt struck pale flesh, leaving vicious
red welts in its wake.  Again and again, LaCroix expected
the beating to lessen his anger, but as his child continued
to hold their mind-link tightly closed, LaCroix found no
satisfaction.

Nick clenched his teeth, blood tears flowing freely.  He
longed for an end and the forgiveness to follow.  Always,
when LaCroix had punished him, no matter how brutal he had
been, there had been forgiveness.  Only now Nick could sense
nothing between them.  That hurt more than the beating.
Still, he knew that even this choice of punishment was one
of love.  A vampire would never die from a beating.

Gunshot wounds were nothing to a healthy vampire, and broken
bones were only mildly painful.  Both would heal quickly
with feeding.  Usually LaCroix just threw Nick around.  That
was seldom serious, either, but it was very messy.
Furniture and heirlooms tended to get broken.  And once a
chair had splintered, embedding wood in Nick's chest,
dangerously close to his heart.

But immortal vampires, symbols of violence and strength,
seductive creatures of evil, were at the mercy of their very
tender, sensitive skin.  A beating was the most painful and
the least dangerous of options.  LaCroix's choice was both a
sign of his fierce rage and also his love.  Nick cried out
to him, trying to find the place in his mind where LaCroix
had always been.  Still, the place was empty.  Nick cried
bitter tears.

LaCroix swung his belt one last time, tearing the silk shirt
and leaving a welt across Nick's arm and back.  Then he
tossed the belt down on the table in disgust.

Nick pushed himself up weakly.  "Please don't go," he
whispered.

LaCroix shoved his hands deep into his pockets to keep from
tearing his rebellious son to shreds.  He glowered at the
boy's tear-stained face and frightened expression.

Nick lunged for him, grabbing onto his shirt and burying his
face in his shoulder.  "Please, don't leave me!  I'm sorry!
Please come back!"

LaCroix remained motionless, trying to read his son's
emotions.  Was he truly repentant or was this still just
another game?  But, the boy had never been especially
talented at the mind-link... it had been mostly LaCroix's
doing that kept them united.  So why was Nick so
successfully cut off from him just now?

Nick's tears were soaking through the front of his shirt.
The scent of his tears was strange, different some how.
Something was wrong with him.  LaCroix put a hand on his
son's back tentatively.  Blood seeped through the torn silk
shirt and covered his palm.  A cold finger of dread lodged
in his gut as the anger left him, to be replaced with a
parent's concern.  Supporting Nick with his other hand, he
brought the bloodstained palm to his mouth and licked at
it.  He spat it back out.  Nick's blood was poisoned.

Nick was hanging from him, clinging to his shirt and
trembling.  LaCroix took his arms firmly and shook him,
trying to make eye contact.

"Nicholas.  Tell me everything!"

Nick's blue eyes were glazed, his pale face still damp with
red tears.  "I think I'm going to be sick," he confessed.

With vampiric speed, LaCroix rushed his son to the bathroom
and held him face down over the toilet.  He watched,
horrified, at the assorted foods his son had tried to
consume.  There was enough to have made any mortal sick!
And since the vampire's stomach had no digestive fluids to
break down the food, eating was truly a painful experience.
This was no cure the "good" doctor had given his precious
child!  This was torture, plain and simple!

After vomiting up the foods, Nick heaved again, this time
blood.  Not cow blood or even human.  The blood he lost was
his own.

LaCroix growled.  He needed answers now!

Nick became limp in his hands.  He turned the boy around,
hoping that his retching was over for now.  "Nicholas," he
spoke softly.

One hand weakly grabbed for his shirt.  "Where are you,
father?" he whispered.  "I can't find you!"

LaCroix blinked back a sudden tear of his own.  His foolish
son and his miserable quest!  Why must he torture himself
so?  He placed his hand over Nick's and clasped it.

"I am here, Nicholas.  I will not leave you."

Then Nick passed out.

Gently, LaCroix lowered him to the bathroom floor, tugging
the bathmat to comfort his son from the cold tile.  He
loosened the buttons on the ruined shirt and pulled it off.
He saw the wounds of three bullet holes, only partially
healed.  At least one must have nicked the stomach.
Carefully rolling Nick onto his side, LaCroix found three
exit wounds, partially scabbed over.  At least there were no
bullets still inside him.  LaCroix lightly fingered the red
welt on one arm.  Foolish child.  He deserved the beating.
LaCroix would not regret giving it.  But perhaps, if he had
known his son was still so weak and injured, he would have
waited.

Lifting Nick in his arms, he flew to the bedroom and placed
him in the center of the large bed.  Natalie had given him a
drug... that must have poisoned him.  Somehow, it was
blocking the vampire's ability to heal, and somehow, it was
probably responsible for severing their psychic link.  But
how should he go about helping his son?  Feeding him blood-
any kind of blood- was out, until the boy's stomach healed.
LaCroix went quickly to the kitchen for a knife.  Then,
sitting carefully next to Nicholas, he made a slit in his
wrist and another in his son's.  Holding the wounds
together, he waited, expecting to feel the lightly erotic
sensation of his blood being sucked into Nicholas.  But
there was nothing.

"Damn," he cursed.  The drug was also inhibiting Nick's
blood from taking what it so desperately needed!  So what
now?  How to heal him?  How to get the drug from his
system?

Blood oozed between their wrists and flowed down Nick's
almost lifeless arm.  LaCroix's wrist had already healed.
Nick's continued to bleed freely, pumping, gushing...
LaCroix stared in horror for long moments.  Such a small,
slight wrist wound, and yet, Nick could easily bleed out.
He wouldn't die... vampires didn't die.  But he could become
too weak to ever heal.  He could be trapped for the rest of
eternity in a broken body, forbidden life or even death.

LaCroix flew to the bathroom and searched the cupboards for
help.  He found a box of gauze bandages and adhesive tape-
obviously left here by the coroner, as a vampire would not
normally need such things.  Rushing back to Nick, he folded
a wad of gauze into a pad, then held it to the wound with
enough pressure to slow the flood, wrapping gauze around and
around, then securing it with the tape.  The gauze was soon
stained dark red, but the flow stopped.

He gently turned Nick onto his side again, and taped gauze
over the exit wounds.  Taking a towel, he wiped at the
spilled blood, then settled Nick back down.  The wounds in
front had slightly scabbed.  The surrounding tissue was dark
red with yellow-orange coloring striating outward.  LaCroix
was not a doctor, but he recognized the signs of infection.
Anger filled him completely.  He contemplated a hundred
painful ends for the coroner.... But later.  Not now.  Not
when she might still be useful.

He pulled up a chair and settled in for the night, knowing
he would never be able to sleep.  He brought a bottle of
blood and sipped at the horrible bovine product.  Perhaps he
should call Janette to bring him some supplies.  He
certainly did not wish to leave Nicholas alone, at the mercy
of whatever mortal or enforcer happened by.  He must remain
here, alert and strong, to protect his favorite child.

Nick grew restless.  He grunted, at times shouting, yet his
words were unintelligible.  His arms flailed about, warding
off the phantom of his nightmare.  Then he sat bolt upright;
his eyes blue yet glazed with pain and terror.

LaCroix rushed to him, grasping his arms securely.  "Sh,
Nicholas.  Just rest, my son," he whispered, first in
English, and then in medieval French, hoping to reach beyond
his son's delirium to comfort him.  At least, with his
vampiric abilities blocked, Nicholas was no stronger than a
mortal and holding him was not difficult.  He continued to
struggle in his arms, though.  LaCroix lay down, pulling
Nick close to him.  He held his arms pinned against his
chest and gently stroking Nick's hair with one hand.  He
continued to whisper soothing words with a silken voice.

Gradually, Nicholas quieted.  His body felt very warm and a
fine sheen of red perspiration broke out all over.  LaCroix
shuddered before bending down to lightly taste the sweat.
It tasted heavily of the drug.  Perhaps the sweating was a
good sign?  Perhaps it would flush the drug from his system,
given time.  But was there any way to slow the spread of
infection?  LaCroix pulled the sheet down and examined the
wounds on Nick's stomach again.  The scabs had cracked and
small streams of blood oozed around them.  The red and
orange coloring around each wound had grown, and now smelled
foul.  He covered them with gauze as well.

Perhaps the coroner would need to be called, after all.  He
just could not do it.  Nor could he be here with her.
Nicholas would never forgive him if he killed her, but in
all honesty, he doubted that his legendary control would
protect her when he saw her again.  Pulling his cell phone
from a pocket, he placed a call to Janette.

End, Part 1.

Permission granted to archive at Mel's site and Jadfe, all
others please inquire.


"Unfixed" by Lorelei Sieja
Part 2.

Nick had another hellish spell while LaCroix waited for his
daughter to come with the supplies he requested.  He held
him close, trying to calm the fears.  Nick struggled against
him, injuring himself more.  The hallucinations must have
been terrifying, as with mortal strength alone, he was far
stronger than he should have been.  Janette might be able to
hold him, but Natalie never would.  How ironic, if Nicholas
should kill her himself, as a result of the failed "cure"?
But no, LaCroix must prevent even that happy resolution, for
Nick's sake.

Janette entered through the skylight, depositing a case of
vintage human on the floor, and holding the handcuffs he had
requested.  "First, tell me why I should give these to you,"
she demanded quietly.

LaCroix stood, in a rare display of courtesy towards his
daughter.  Strange, he thought.  She had always been easier
to control, so why was it that Nicholas was the one he
favored?  True, when he had been mortal, women were
considered less than nothing.  And yet, he had learned to
love his mortal daughter... Still, the lovely Janette, the
aristocratic vampire, obeyed him only because he was her
master and stronger.  She enjoyed the sex between them when
it was shared.  But love?  Through the blood exchange, he
read such conflicting emotions in her.  LaCroix wondered if
she loved anyone.  Even herself.

LaCroix indicated Nicholas, lying weak and helpless in the
bed.  "His "cure" has backfired yet again.  I don't know if
it is withdrawal from the drug, or from the fever of
infection, but he is a danger to himself and should be
restrained."

Janette must have sensed something in his words, perhaps the
pain and anguish of a suffering parent.  She handed the
cuffs to him and watched wordlessly as LaCroix used them.
First he wrapped extra layers of gauze around both wrists
for padding, then snugly handcuffed him, running the center
chain around a rail of the headboard.  Most handcuffs would
never hold a vampire, but LaCroix kept only the
titanium-alloy heavy-duty variety.  He had restrained
Nicholas often in the past.  Sometimes as punishment...
sometimes in play.

"He looks terrible, LaCroix.  I cannot even feel him," she
whispered.

He nodded sadly, placing a tender kiss upon Nicholas's hot
forehead.  "When I have left, you will call the coroner and
request that she come look at him."

"Hasn't she done enough harm for one lifetime?" Janette's
words were filled with loathing.

"Yes, child.  But she must live, at least for now, for
Nicholas's sake.  And I do not trust myself to even look at
her.  May I trust you?"

Janette glared at him.  "Why must she be called?"

"The drug she has given him has repressed the vampire.  He
is not healing.  He cannot take in blood- not even my own.
And the infection of these wounds is further poisoning him.
I don't know if she can help, but she must face the extent
of the harm she has caused."

LaCroix looked up at the skylight briefly, assuring himself
of the length of time yet before sunrise.  Normally, he just
knew these things, as the inner clock that had preserved him
for two millennia warned him of impending dawn, but under
times of stress he needed reassurance.   He would need to
feed very well tonight.  In times like this, even the best
bottled vintage did not provide the benefits of a fresh
kill.

"I will return at dawn.  See that the doctor is still here,
and I will speak to her then."

Janette nodded.  "Very well," she said.  "You may trust me
not to harm his little playmate."

LaCroix hugged her tightly, impulsively, shocking her with
the strength of his concern.  "Thank you, my daughter," he
whispered. Then, in a moment, he was gone.   The skylight
thudded into place.

Janette had to look up the number, as memorizing the
coroner's home phone had never been a priority.  Even while
she dialed, Nick began to struggle against the bonds that
held him.  She saw his eyes wide in fear yet completely blue
as he screamed incoherently.  He yanked on the chains,
causing the bandage on one wrist to darken more with fresh
blood.  The entire bed trembled as he shook the headboard.

"Hello?" called a voice.

Janette put the phone to her ear and spoke.  "Doctor.  This
is Janette.  You need to come look at Nichola.
Immediately."

The other woman sounded sleepy, yet concerned.  "What is
going on over there?  What is all the shouting about?"

"It is Nichola.  He is having some kind of seizure or
something.  He is really very ill, and it is all your
fault."

Natalie stammered.  "He seemed better last night when we
said good-bye.  I wanted to come over then, but he assured
me he was fine..."

"He is a man!" Janette spat with exasperation.  "At least,
he thinks he is a man.  What else would you expect him to
say?  He would have to be dying before he confessed to
feeling less than perfect."

"I'll be right there," she answered before hanging up.

Janette stared smugly at the phone before returning it to
her purse.  Intimidation was such a useful skill.  Then she
slid next to Nick and tenderly touched his hot, sweaty
face.  "Mon amour, mon amour idiot!" <my love, my foolish
love!>

Nick stared at her and for one moment the haze of his
confusion seemed to lift.  His eyes looked clear and
frightened.  "He has left me, Janette," he whispered
miserably.  "I am alone!"

"No no, mon Cherie!  He has only gone for a moment.  He will
return before dawn."

"I feel... cold," he whispered, still frightened and unsure.

Janette patted his cheek tenderly.  "But my love, you are
very hot.  You are burning with fever."

Nick started to tremble.  Even his teeth chattered weirdly.
Goose bumps prickled the skin of his arms even as red
blood-sweat dripped from his forehead.  Janette pulled the
sheet and cover up around his chest and tucked it in.  He
had a fit of coughing then, until a trickle of dark blood
oozed from his lips.  He closed his eyes and fell back into
dreamless sleep.

Janette heard the gears and chains rattle as the elevator
first lowered to accept the mortal visitor, then raised to
bring her near.  Janette closed her eyes, willing her poorly
tamed beast to withdraw.  She must keep her promise to
LaCroix, that she would not harm the doctor in righteous
anger.  She waited, silently, listening as Natalie did all
those mortal little rituals, like removing her coat, and
calling out that she was there, as if the perfect hearing of
the vampire couldn't detect the presence of her heartbeat,
or the perfect vampire nose couldn't catch her blood scent.
Eventually, the annoying doctor climbed the stairs to the
bedroom, where any one who was sick should be found.

Natalie opened the door and entered, gasping at the sight.
Nick's arms were above his head and chained to the
headboard.  "What the hell!" she demanded, rushing to his
side.

Janette fought back her beast again.  This presumptuous
mortal!  Making judgements, without even bothering to gather
the facts!

Natalie glared up at Janette, Nick's one-time lover and
immortal sister.  "Remove these at once!"

"Foolish child," Janette stately haughtily.  "They are for
his own protection, nothing else.  He is trapped in his
nightmares and would hurt himself."

Natalie stared at her, taking many moments to comprehend.
She blinked, then sat back down on the edge of the bed.
Tenderly she brushed the sweat-damp golden hair from his
brow.  He did feel hot.  Too hot, even for a mortal.  She
looked again at the metal cuffs, noting the gauze to comfort
his wrists, and the dark red stains on one.

"So, what is that?  For his own good again?" Natalie
snapped.  "At least let me rebandage his wrist."

Janette sighed.  LaCroix owed her big for this favor!
Mortals were so... annoying.  She drew the key from her
pocket and released the injured wrist, clamping the empty
cuff around the headboard.  It wouldn't do for Nichola to
awaken and hurt either them.  LaCroix would not understand.

Natalie held his arm, tenderly stroking it, as she unwrapped
the soiled bandage.  Beneath was a small cut in the flesh,
still open and oozing although not gushing blood as a mortal
would have with a cut in that location.  She noted a slight
color of infection around the edges of the cut, which
surprised her.  Nick never got infections.  And she knew he
was allergic to penicillin.  She drew a topical antibiotic
from her bag, and rebandaged the wrist.

"Why was he cut?  Why hasn't it healed yet?" Natalie asked.
Talking with vampires was always so exacting.  They never
volunteered information.  For that matter, they seldom
answered direct questions either.

Janette lit a cigarette, more to annoy the mortal doctor
than for any calming nicotine benefit.  She puffed on it
once, sensually, the way she did anything.  Natalie swore
that woman could even make brushing her teeth an act of
foreplay!
"LaCroix must have tried to heal him with the exchange of
blood.  That must mean that Nichola was unable to drink.
The wound did not heal because of whatever drugs you gave
him.  He will not heal until he can feed, and he cannot feed
until the wounds to his stomach have healed.  And LaCroix
can do nothing for him until the poisons are out of his
system."

Janette smiled as she saw the look of guilt on the doctor's
face.  Good.  She should feel guilty.

Natalie noticed then another wound, a red welt on his arm.
She gasped, pulling the sheet lower.  Other welts appeared
on his ribs.  He was heavy, but she struggled to roll him to
one side as she saw further proof that he had been beaten.
Tears of anger and rage sprang to her eyes.

"This is despicable!" she cried.  "This is an outrage!
How-- How dare he!"  She was too angry even to speak.

Janette clasped firm hands around Natalie's arms.  "You are
here to treat the infection.  Nothing more.  Your own life
should be your first concern, "doctor", as no one who
torture's LaCroix's son has ever survived!"

"I didn't torture him!  I'd say LaCroix was doing that all
on his own.  I was trying to help him!"

"Nevertheless.  He is weak, injured, and maybe dying, and it
is because of a drug, which you gave him.  Now help him or
get out!"  Janette released her then and backed away,
struggling for composure.

Natalie sat again beside Nick and slowly removed the fouled
bandages over the stomach wounds.  She had known he'd been
shot yesterday, but she hadn't realized that the wounds were
still open.  If he were mortal, she'd say his chances now
were slim.  She'd pump him full of antibiotics, cleanse the
wounds, and stitch them closed.  But the vampire's body
rejected stitches and she knew he was allergic to
penicillin.  She didn't know how he would react to any other
antibiotics.  Now, with him so weak and still under the
influence of the Lidovuterine was not the time to
experiment.

"Does salt harm vampires?" she asked her unwilling hostess.

"It is no picnic, my dear," Janette replied coldly.

"But it won't endanger him?  Can I use salt against the
infection?"

Janette nodded.  "Perhaps.  I've never had to try it."

Natalie groaned.  How could they have existed for so long
without even the slightest knowledge of their own
condition?  She hurried to the bathroom for towels, then the
kitchen for a basin of hot water and some salt.  Returning,
she began to slowly cleanse the festering wounds with hot
salt water.  The washrag quickly became blood-colored.  She
rinsed the rag and repeated, slowly, tenderly, as Nick in
his unconscious state flinched at her every touch.  She
cleansed three wounds on his stomach, bandaging them lightly
with gauze, then turning him on his side to treat his back.

Then she dumped the bloody wash water, returning shortly
with lukewarm water and rubbing alcohol.  With a clean rag,
she slowly wiped the blood sweat from him, cooling his
fevered flesh.  Knowing that the vampire would never ask
what she was doing, she chose to tell her anyway.

"This is to bring down the fever.  In mortals, a fever can
be a good thing, as it fights infection, but a high fever
can cause more problems.  So we slowly lower the body
temperature but we do not want to cause him to shiver, which
will only increase the fever.  It is a tricky thing to do,
without aspirin or other drug."

For some time Natalie sat in silence, bathing Nick's fevered
skin and worrying for him.  Had he known LaCroix would beat
him for attempting this cure?  Why would he choose to go
ahead with it?  If only it had worked!  For one brief day
she had hope of a life with him.  Of marriage, children,
intimacy, and love.  How she loved this thickheaded
vampire!  Why, why of all the males in the country, did she
have to fall for the one that was so completely
untouchable?

Nick became restless.  Quickly, he succumbed to the
deliriums that she had only heard of.  Straining against the
cuffs, eyes wide and frightened, he shouted at her.  She
didn't understand his words, only that he was alone.  He
didn't seem to understand her or even realize she was
there.  Janette joined her, sitting at Nick's other side,
and tenderly stroking his face.  Janette whispered to him in
French, Natalie spoke in English.  Neither of them could
reach that dark corner where his consciousness was trapped.
More blood sweat broke out, matting his hair and coating his
chest.  Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.  He
collapsed, exhausted.  His eyes closed.  Natalie sniffed
even as her tears fell onto him.  She set the basin of water
and alcohol on the nightstand.  She had to get away, if only
for a minute.

Janette followed her down the stairs into the kitchen,
watching her as she made herself a cup of instant coffee in
the microwave.  "You judge what you do not understand,"
Janette said softly.

"We don't beat our children, Janette.  That is a crime!  No
wonder Nick fights so hard for his freedom."

"Better a beating than death, Natalie.  Nichola has broken
our code.  The enforcers could kill him for that.  But they
know that LaCroix watches over him, and will clean up any
mess he creates."

"Is it so wrong for him to want to become mortal!  What are
you all so afraid of!"

"We are afraid of nothing!"  Janette glared at her with
golden eyes.  Both women were silent for a moment,
struggling to regain control.

"Nichola must always confide in some mortal in this quest
for a cure.  This is the law he breaks.  You have been told
that knowledge of our existence is forbidden.  And many
times the mortal he finds is a quack, intending to use him,
like some freak in a circus show.  Always, Nichola knows
that if he tries again, LaCroix will find him.  Always,
LaCroix must find him before the enforcers, and protect him
from killing himself.  Why do you not see the foolishness of
this ridiculous quest!  If Nichola were ever to succeed and
actually become mortal, he would be dead before one day
passes!"

Natalie shook her head and sank into a chair.  How could she
continue to help Nick now, knowing that it would only bring
him more pain?  And yet, how could she stop, when it was
what he so desired?  And what was there left then for either
of them?  She drained her coffee and set the cup in the
sink.  "I should take a blood sample to see how the drug is
dissipating.  Then, I'll go."

Janette followed her back into Nick's bedroom, glancing at
the skylight.  Soon she would need to close the blinds, but
LaCroix had promised he would return in time.

Natalie took a syringe from her bag and stroked Nick's arm
tenderly.  Then, as infection was now a possibility, she
rubbed the area with alcohol before inserting the needle.
She drew the sample and removed the needle, pressing a
square of gauze over the tiny puncture wound.  She put the
samples in her bag, then gasped in alarm.  The tiny puncture
wound continued to spray forth a stream of blood.

"Why?" she asked Janette.  "Why doesn't it stop?  Even
mortals don't bleed like that from just a blood sample!"
She'd forgotten that she was asking a vampire.  They were so
clueless.

"I don't think our blood clots, my dear," she said slowly,
thinking aloud.  "I mean, we use a drop of vampire blood in
every bottle, to preserve the mortal product.  Our wounds
heal fast, the injuries heal, but the blood does not
thicken."

Natalie nodded, tucking that bit of information away.  She
held a sterile gauze tightly over the puncture wound and
taped it.  "I will be going, then.  I want to look at this
sample right away.  I can return shortly and check in on
him."

"That will not be necessary, doctor," hissed LaCroix, as he
settled down in the far corner of the bedroom.

End, Part 2.

"Unfixed" by Lorelei Sieja
Part 3.

Natalie jumped, startled by his sudden appearance, and yet
it had not been entirely unexpected.  She glared at him,
letting all her fury show in her expression.  "I think it
is, LaCroix.  Someone should protect him from you."

LaCroix laughed.  It was not a pleasant sound, but rather
condescending.  When he stopped, his eyes were fully golden
and his fangs glistened in the dim light of the room.  "But
who then would protect him from you?"

She started to protest, but he held up a hand.  "You did
this to him, doctor.  You, and you alone.  If you ever
experiment on my son again--"

"I know, you'll kill me, right?"  She interrupted,
indignantly.

"Oh no, my dear."  His words were chillingly cold.  "I will
not allow you to come between me and my son.  Ever.  But I
can play these silly little mortal games.  If you ever
experiment on him again, I will have your medical license.
What you've done is unethical, even by your own standards.
I will simply see that you are ruined, that you never
practice medicine again!"

Natalie sat down on Nick's bed, momentarily too weak to
stand.  There was a grain of truth in what he said.  She had
hurt Nick.  Every bit as much as LaCroix had, at least, this
time.  She hadn't meant to hurt him, but good intentions
alone would not clear her of guilt.  She caressed Nick's
arm, feeling the hot touch of his normally cold skin.

"But what will I tell him?  He will be devastated if I give
up."

LaCroix shrugged.  "Tell him whatever you like, doctor.  Or
tell him nothing."

"But, if I stop searching, he will want to know why."

"Then continue your fruitless search."

Natalie glanced up at him.  "But, you just told me-"

"Not to experiment on my son!  Use rats, or mice, or guinea
pigs!  They can all be made into carrouche for whatever test
you devise."

"So you aren't afraid of the search?  Is it because you
don't believe I will succeed?"

LaCroix didn't respond, other than to smile smugly.

She stood up, eager to go.  The ancient vampire made her
nervous and her tears were too near the surface right now.
She would need to think, to work out what she would tell
Nick-- if anything-- of this conversation.  And the samples
would tell her a lot about his current condition.  "I'll
drop by later," she started.

"No, doctor.  That won't be necessary.  Good day."

Fire danced into her eyes briefly, even as Janette took her
arm firmly and walked her to the elevator.  Turning to her,
Natalie spoke softly, knowing LaCroix could probably still
hear her.  "Call me if he gets any worse.  I will let you
know what I find."

Janette simply nodded, closing the door behind Natalie with
a final thud.  Then she flew back to LaCroix.  "I think you
handled that very well," she soothed.

The ancient vampire clenched his eyes shut and said
nothing.

"Well, unless you require anything else?"

He shook his head.

"Then I shall go.  Dawn is nearly upon us.  Good luck."  She
lifted onto her toes and placed a tender kiss on his cheek.
LaCroix grabbed her small hand and held it firmly for a
moment, his only gesture of gratitude.  Then he released
her, and she flew out of the skylight.

LaCroix tapped the remotes closing Nick's loft into
darkness.  He would sit and wait.  Tonight, when most of the
poison had sweated from his son, he would feed him and heal
him.  He had only to wait.

Shortly the phone rang.  LaCroix awoke, as he always slept
lightly when one of his favorites was ill.  He didn't bother
to answer it, but he listened in as the caller left a
message.  Natalie only told him what he'd already
suspected.  The sweat was his body's way of dealing with the
poison.  It was slowly leaving him, and then he should begin
to heal.  She apologized then, to Nick, saying she'd had no
idea he would react so strongly to the drug.  LaCroix
settled back to sleep.

Late in the day Nick awoke.  He opened his eyes wearily.
There dozing in a chair, ever present and ever watchful, was
his father and master.  LaCroix looked ashen, worried, even
in his sleep.  Nick smiled, feeling strangely comforted that
LaCroix cared for him so deeply.  Now Nick could feel
however faintly the threads of their connection.  LaCroix no
longer shut him out.
Pain was very real and immediate.  His wrist was throbbing
and his fingers tingled with the pins and needles of poor
circulation.  His gut burned like fire.  He hurt elsewhere,
reminding him again of LaCroix's brutal wrath.  Still, he
smiled.  He had come through a trial of fire and now he knew
more than he had yesterday.

He still yearned for his mortality, like a dream that just
did not want to fade.  But if Natalie walked in today with a
sure cure and not merely another risky experiment, would he
take it? What would a few years of intimacy with her be,
compared against the centuries with his family?

Natalie didn't really love him.  She thought she did... but
the "man" she loved didn't really exist.  She had this
warped impression of him, as a basically noble crusader with
a slightly tarnished halo.  She was so wrong!  Sometimes he
wanted to tell her the truth about himself, about his evil
past, to put her view in better perspective, but then he was
afraid.  He wasn't ready to lose her friendship, and he
surely would when she found out.  How could she love him,
when she knew he was a beast?  When she finally acknowledged
that his beast was not some small part of him, something
that could be cut off and thrown away, like the length of
his hair, but rather that it was an integral part of his
very nature?

How could she ever know him, or love him, as his family
did?  She was infatuated with him... perhaps because of his
boyish looks, or his gentler, old-fashioned nature honed
when chivalry and honor meant something.  But, she could
never love all of him.  She could never love the beast that
was he.  She could never understand his darker side, that
which would remain with him, even if he became mortal.

But his family knew him.  LaCroix knew everything there was
to know, through centuries of sharing blood.  They had
forged a past- sometimes brutal, but it had not always been
so.  They had been together for forty lifetimes, and still
his master loved him.  He loved him even when Nick did not
seem to return that love.  He loved Nick, even when he was
dead wrong.  The past day, separated from the psychic link
he shared with LaCroix, and to a lesser degree with Janette,
had been the most frightening experience of his eternal
life.  He never wanted to go through that again.

LaCroix stirred, then awoke with a start, staring about him
with golden eyes and extended fangs.  The vampire always
woke first.  It was part of their innate survival instinct.
Nick smiled up at him.

The golden eyes receded, turning to the familiar ice blue.
The pale white face couldn't quite disguise his relief
behind the stony mask of indifference.  "Nicholas," he said
softly.

"Good evening, father," he replied.

LaCroix startled again at the gentle, loving tone in his
son's voice.  "You terrible child!  I ought to leave you
here for a decade, chained and unfed!"

"Yes, you should," Nick agreed.  He was too weak to argue,
and for once he fully agreed with the ancient.

LaCroix's ice cold eyes burned into Nick, scrutinizing him
for signs of deception.  "Do you play me for a fool?"

Nick shook his head, although the slight movement caused him
more pain.  He winced, struggling to force the pain from his
mind and swallowed, tasting his own blood still.  "No,
LaCroix," he whispered.  "I have been the fool.  Forgive
me?"

For a moment, LaCroix looked vulnerable.  His stony mask
slipped, revealing the depth of his hope and love for this
child.  Nick felt stung, and forced an honest smile on his
face for the only father he remembered.

"Well, I suppose you'll want me to unchain you."

Nick just smiled.

"And feed you as well," LaCroix complained.  He pulled the
key from his pocket, releasing the handcuffs.

Nick winced again, trying to move stiff joints.  LaCroix
took his arms gently, and brought his fingers to his lips to
press a kiss upon them.  Then he laid Nick's arms at his
side.  Next he pushed the box of blood nearer the head of
the bed and sat down, arranging the pillows for his own
comfort.  He pulled his child up against his chest, one arm
gently around Nick's chest yet mindful of the still open
wounds.  The other arm brushed tenderly at Nick's soft hair,
lifting the tangled curls from  his forehead.

"My son," he whispered, his breath touching Nick's ear like
a caress.  "Do you have any idea how much I love you?"

Nick was silent.  There was no answer he could make.  For
the moment he simply relaxed against his maker, allowing his
feelings to flood the still-faint link between them.  "Show
me, father?" he pleaded.

LaCroix opened the buttons at his cuff and rolled back the
long, black sleeve.  He held his wrist out to Nick.  "Drink,
my child.  Drink for ever and be healed."

Nick raised weak hands to take his master's wrist.  He
brought it to his mouth and licked at the smooth, cold
flesh.  The scent that was LaCroix comforted him.  He
inhaled deeply, gasping again at the pain in his gut.
Something between the pain and the promise of blood brought
out his fangs.  Weakly, he bit into the wrist to suck the
precious fluid.

LaCroix shuddered at the first bite.  The sensation of
having his own blood sucked, drained away, was always oddly
stimulating.  He didn't often share it with anyone else, but
when Nicholas drank from him it touched his soul.  He was
never as strong, never as powerful, as when he was joined
with his son in this ancient blood dance.

Nicholas was so weak, so injured.  He knew the boy would
feed hard, even dangerously so.  LaCroix reached for the
first bottle and uncorked it with his teeth.  He up-ended
it, draining it quickly.

Nick started to withdraw from LaCroix, trying to make his
beast obey against its survival instincts, for he didn't
want to hurt his master.

"No, Nicholas," the ancient whispered.  "Drink on.  Take all
that you need.  I have fed well.  Let me do this for you!"

He needed no further urging.  Now, beginning to feel the
healing effects of the ancient blood, he bit harder, opening
the wounds in the wrist wider and sucked.  The cold blood
spurted into his mouth, nearly choking him.  He gulped it
quickly, taking more and more, sucking fiercely, still
tearing at the wrist to keep the small wounds open.

LaCroix opened and drained two more bottles, feeding himself
even as he fed his son.  It was the gift of unlife, the
power of creation.  He shuddered convulsively, still pouring
in the bottled human blood, as his ancient body quickly
claimed it and poured out his own essence filled with the
power to heal.  Nick's sucking became firmer, more
passionate.  His son's body quivered, nearly fully healed
and completely satisfied.  Still Nick sucked a while longer,
just for comfort.

LaCroix smiled to himself, as he permitted the boy's
gluttony just this once.  At last Nick withdrew, tenderly
lapping at his torn wrist until the jagged wound closed and
healed.  Then he took LaCroix's arm and hugged it tightly.
"Thank you," he whispered.

LaCroix laughed, a deep rumbling sound in his chest.  "You
are welcome, Nicholas.  This once."

He pressed a kiss on the top of Nick's head.  Then he moved
from behind his child to sit facing him on the edge of the
bed.  Gently, he removed the bandages at Nick's wrists,
smiling at the new, smooth skin.  He continued lower,
removing soiled bandages from the wounds, front and back.
Even the last welts from his son's well-deserved beating had
faded, leaving only smooth, beautiful skin.
Nick smiled at him.  His son's expression was so innocent.
It was what had first attracted him, so long ago.  Nicholas
was more than his son...  Nicholas was the sun.  From before
the beginning, Nicholas had brought the golden rays of day
into LaCroix's dark world.  His smile, wide and guileless,
was so seductive... and Nicholas was completely clueless.

"Satisfied?" Nick asked.

"Not yet, my child," LaCroix admitted, intentionally
misinterpreting the question.

"Come to bed then?"  Nick inched away, only to make room for
him.

LaCroix shook his head.  "You should rest.  And you need a
bath."

"Okay.  You can give me one."

"To what do I owe this sudden agreeable disposition,
Nicholas?  And how long will it last?"

"I'm just happy, father.  And lucky.  Thank you."

LaCroix grunted.  "I guess I should beat you more often.  It
seems to have done you some good."

Nick shuddered involuntarily.

LaCroix merely chuckled.  He stood, lifting his son as
easily as if he weighed little at all.  Nick leaned his head
against LaCroix's shoulder.  Bathtime.  It was one of his
favorite times of day.


The end.


Comments welcome.  lorisieja@hotmail.com