I got this idea while hanging out at the pool this weekend (tough
job, but somebody had to do it...).  I wanted to do something
that focused on Natalie, so I hope this does her  justice.  It
takes place after The Fix, Be My Valentine and soon after A More
Permanent Hell.  Let me know what you think!
*****

Waiting for the Sun
by L.A. Wolters


Natalie turned over on the chaise lounge and propped the novel
she'd been skimming on her bare stomach.  She lifted her
sunglasses and squinted in the harsh sunlight that streamed onto
her apartment balcony, and inspected her arms, torso and legs. 
Definitely redder; time for more of that SPF 15.  As she reached
down for the bottle, Sydney stretched one grey paw from where he
lay sprawled beneath the chair.  She absently stroked the warm,
furry apendage and sighed.  Yes, it felt good to have a few
_days_ off, to be back among the living...and there was something
else in her mood that she couldn't define.
     The phone rang suddenly, and she jumped, then lay motionless
as her machine picked up.  She listened intently through the open
sliding door.
     *Nat?  It's me...*  She sat up slightly.  Nick sounded wide
awake, and he didn't usually bother her on her rare vacation
days.  *I just...called to say hello.  If you get home soon and
feel like company, come on over.  I mean, if you don't have
plans.  I'm...I'll be up.  I'll even turn the air conditioner on. 
Well...goodbye.*
     She smiled.  The air inside the loft did get oppressive on
these long, hot summer days--not that Nick noticed.  And he
thought _she_ might need company, eh?  More likely, he was
suffering from insomnia again and felt isolated inside his
"fortress."
     "He's definitely lonely, Syd," she told the dozing cat. 
"But, you know what?  I don't feel like vampire-sitting.  And I
don't want to feel guilty about it."  Let him wonder where she
was, and with whom.  That would be good--for both of them.  She'd
already started the day right by actually _going_ to the gym she
belonged to instead of just sending them her money every month,
then following up the activity by working on her nonexistent tan
in the bikini that she'd bought last year but never worn.  Maybe
now she'd pull on shorts and a t-shirt and treat herself to
shopping and a solo lunch out.
     When exactly, she wondered, had she given up most of her
life for Nick?  She'd never lost herself completely in a
relationship before; the thought made her laugh.  What
relationship?  A lousy couple of words spoken just before
Valentine's Day, ruined, perhaps forever, by LaCroix?  (The
memory of what transpired in Azure gave her gooseflesh despite
the searing heat.)  A quick hug after the litovuterine-B kicked
in, just before he dragged her off to _her_?  Refusing to save
her life when they thought the world was ending?  So he'd staked
a vamp on her behalf.  Big deal.  Oh sure, he stayed until
sunrise, but where was he when she needed him after that?  On
days like these, she wondered where Natalie Lambert, sane and
rational human being, had gone, and whether she would ever see
that person again...
     The phone rang again.
     *Nat?  I'm sorry to bother you again...*  It was the
slightly nervous--worried? anxious?--tone that got to her.  She'd
rushed inside and grabbed the phone before she could stop
herself.
     "Nick?  What's up?"
     "Hi."  He sounded sheepish.  She wished she could gauge his
mood...  "Nothing's up.  I was just...checking in."
     "I see."  She didn't feel like letting him off the hook.
     "Yeah, so now I've checked in, and...I guess I'll talk to
you later.  Enjoy the nice weather, okay?"
     "Okay."
     A long pause, and then Nick plunged in breathlessly. 
"Actually, I'm sort of stuck on this painting...not sure I've got
the colors right.  Do you think maybe later you could just...
swing by?  Have a look at it?"  She imagined the
self-depriciating shrug, the slight shake of his head as he
struggled to make it sound insignificant.
     Dammit, she thought.  He was painting another sunrise,
wasn't he?  Knowing that, she relented--just a bit.
     "Hey, you know I like watching the 'Artist at Work.'  How
about if I stop by say, after dinner?  Around seven?"
     "Sure."  God, he sounded so...relieved?  Pleased?  And a
tiny bit disappointed, too?  "I'll see you then."
     Natalie hung up the phone, deep in thought.  She used to
think that painting the sun was good for Nick, like therapy to
keep him focused on his goal of becoming mortal.  But then she'd
realized that he painted the sun when he was felt trapped by his
existence--and was looking for a way out--much more frequently
than when he was optimistic.  She _could_ go right over; she
probably _should_, but she simply didn't want to.  If she went
over now, he'd find some way to keep her there at least until
sundown--not that he'd have to try very hard--and that wouldn't
be until close to nine o'clock.  Natalie worked vampire's hours
enough as it was; didn't _she_ deserve to see the sun?
     She lured Sydney inside by opening the refigerator door--the
signal for fresh tuna--and filling his dish.  Then she showered,
pulled on a pair of sandals, denim shorts and a V-necked t-shirt
and headed for the elevator.  She was fishing in her purse for
car keys when she collided with him.
     "I'm sorry," she and the stranger laughed at exactly the
same moment.  Natalie appraised the tall man before her.  Short,
curly brown hair, blue eyes, a great tan and not bad looking in
jeans and a work shirt.  She caught him give her an equally
admiring once-over before she turned away, blushing.  When she
looked back, he had already headed down the hall.  Did all her
neighbors look like that?  If so, she'd definitely have to get
out in the daylight more often!
     She didn't want to think about Nick, but she wondered what
he would really look like in the sun.  When he'd rushed outside
after she'd given him the first shot of mortality drug, he'd
looked so fragile in the morning light...  She tried to picture
Nick walking down the hall in her building in the middle of the
day, or along a busy street, and failed. 
     Natalie shook off such thoughts as she reached her car.  She
rolled the window down to better feel the sun on the side of her
face and arm, turned the radio to a station that Nick would
describe only as 20th century and too loud, and headed off to
rejoin the human race, at least for an afternoon.


The blonde kid, the _waiter_, Natalie reminded herself, although
he didn't look a day over 20, flirted with her all the way to her
table, then held out her seat with a flourish.
     "So, why's a pretty lady like you having lunch alone?"
     She laughed self-consciously, at a loss for one of her usual
comebacks.  "Because my boyfriend's a bloodsucking creature of
the night" did spring readily to mind, but she restrained
herself.  *Get a grip, Nat* she commanded *He's _not_ your
boyfriend.*
     She arranged the shopping bags beneath her chair and settled
back to scan the menu.  Eating was one of the pleasures of
life--wasn't that what she'd told LaCroix, and what she tried to
share with Nick with every new protein shake, every bite of rare
steak she urged him to swallow and willed him to keep down?
     She shook her head; now both of them were invading her
thoughts, ruining her summer afternoon without actually being
there.  She'd come close to telling Nick that she remembered
everything several times, but she always stopped herself, knowing
that he wouldn't want to talk about it.  Still, she couldn't stop
dwelling on those terrifying moments with both of them, or on the
ugly scene between her and Nick in the morgue when he'd turned
her down, or on that other, horrifying scene with Spark in her
bedroom...  She slept with the lights on now--all of them.  And
just when Nick thought he'd cornered the market on nightmares. 
So if he couldn't sleep today...good.  After all, cruel as it
sounded, he was the one who'd chosen this life, not her.
     Still, she thought, what good was it doing them--doing
_her_--to deny that these things had happened?  Wasn't she always
telling Nick to let his feelings out?  She glanced at her watch:
only 4:30.  She drummed her fingernails on the table.
     The boyish waiter returned to take her order, grinning
mischieviously at her over the top of his notepad.  She frowned
slightly, wishing he'd stop.
     Later, she tore into her chef's salad, thinking yet again
about Nick.  By now, she'd forgotten that she'd vowed not to
today.  Nick, trapped in that stuffy warehouse with just his
thoughts and a paint brush.  Waiting for her to stop by, probably
sad as hell that he couldn't get the color of the sky right
again, and, she forced herself to admit, that he probably
wouldn't, ever.  They'd really shared some catastophic failures
lately, hadn't they?
     And where would it lead them?  Natalie stared at a young
couple across the restaurant, backlit by the sun shining through
the window.  Slowly, they leaned across the table to kiss. 
Natalie remembered the taste of Nick's cool lips, his
feather-light touch, the warm his embrace had filled her with
although his flesh was cold.  How he'd stayed spent so many days
at her apartment, resting on the couch, before Valentine's
Day...how he never had again afterwards.  She often wished that
those few days in February had never happened.
     Sadly, she realized the answer to her question: nowhere. 
She'd sustained Nick for as long as she could, but the toll it
was taking on her was becoming unbearable.  She was tired of
having enough faith for both of them.  She was tired of being his
punching bag when he needed one, of being his caretaker, of using
her career to cover for him, of listening to Schanke tell her how
often he was going to the Raven these days.  She wasn't anybody's
saviour; she was just Natalie Lambert.
     She finished her meal because she'd paid for it, but the
food didn't sit well.  She drove home slowly from the restaurant,
dreading this evening but also still looking foward to seeing
him.  She just hoped that his own melancholy mood had passed,
beasue she didn't think she could deal with it right now.
     The sky was pale blue, like Nick's eyes (*there I go again*
she thought disgustedly), and she concentrated on its hue,
memorizing the details that she normally took for granted and
trying to recall any sunrise she'd ever witnessed, trying to
capture the images in her mind so she could convey them to Nick.
     She had a lot of time to kill until seven o'clock.


At 7:15 p.m., Natalie nervously rode the elevator up to Nick's
loft, half ready to forgive him for everything and go on as if
nothing were wrong, half ready to stake him for the mess her life
had become--in other words, the way she usually felt lately.  A
day spent away from him in the sunshine hadn't helped; she'd
basically been killing time, waiting for him ever since he
called.  And driving around the block for the past 15 minutes
just so it wouldn't look like she'd rushed right over at the
appointed hour--that had been torture.
     As the door slid open, a blast of near-arctic air made her
shiver and forced a slight smile to her lips.  He must have left
the air running all day for her.
     "Nick?"
     She crossed to the thermostat to adjust it as she scanned
the candle-lit room.
     She found him on the sofa--and her heart skipped a beat as
her guilty conscience made her imagine the worst.  He was
stretched out on his stomach, with one arm tucked under his head
and the other dangling off the side: sound asleep.  He was
barefooted and wearing grey paint-splattered sweats, his
naturally curly hair mussed the way she loved it.  At a glance,
he looked little like a bloodsucking creature of the night, she
thought wryly.  But the small things belied that--like the
unnatural pallor of his skin, much more obvious when he
slumbered, and the fact that he wasn't breathing.  Unnatural. 
Not...normal.  Not like the oh-so-tan-and-handsome stranger in
her hallway, or the so-full-of-life waiter in the restaurant. 
Not...human.  When had she ever thought of him that way before?
     Her eyes rested next on the empty glass on the table before
him; it contained the residue of her latest version of the
protein drink.  From the ring around it, she knew he'd drunk a
full glass--an accomplishment worth celebrating.  But next to it
sat a smaller, red-tinged glass.  She felt the lump rise in her
throat.  He'd washed her concoction down with cow blood.
     That was the problem, wasn't it?  One step forward, two
steps back--a dance they'd been doing for four years now. 
Although they'd made progress here and there--slightly improving
on Nick's self-control and self-image, and isolating the vampire
virus--it still hadn't been enough, might never be enough, at
least during her lifetime...whether or not LaCroix had ever
interfered.
     She sounded so much like Nick...why did all of those
encouraging words she'd lavished on him sound so hollow to her
now?
     She crossed softly to his studio, as if, like a mortal, he
could be disturbed by her movements.  She wanted to study his
latest wrok-in-progress before he woke up, to see if his sunrise
offered any answers to the questions that plagued her.
     Natalie stopped in front of the easel and gasped, her hand
flying up to cover her mouth and stifle the sob.
     Instead of an unfinished abstract, the wooden stand held a
completed work of art, painted in the realistic style of the
Renaissance.  How long had he been working on this?  She
recognized both of them instantly: Nick, in the profile of the
nude, fair-haired man who clutched at the edge of the precipice,
the straining muscles of his arms, back and legs painted in
excruciating detail, with nothing but blackness, done in harsh,
sweeping strokes, below him; her, in the darker-haired woman
dressed in a white and gold billowing gown, who knelt to offer
one delicate hand to him.  He'd painted the sky behind the woman
a brilliant blue, softened with several white clouds and dotted
with cherubim.
     Something in the corner of the canvas caught her attention:
in tiny lettering, barely readable to her blurry eyes as she
fought back the tears, he'd scribbled his name, his real
name--Nicholas de Brabant.  He never signed his paintings, he'd
once told her, because they weren't intended for anyone else's
eyes, he never kept them long, and he wouldn't know what name to
put. 

     It was too much for Natalie to bear.  The emotions that
she'd kept buried inside for the past several month threatened to
spill out in a rush.  She sat heavily at the kitchen table, and
jumped as her elbow came to rest on the card.  Next to it, on
plain, lined paper, lay several longer, illegible versions filled
with crossed out words and sentences.
     "Dearest Natalie," the card said simply, "I hope the
surprise is a pleasant one.  Love, Nick."
     She didn't know how long she sat there crying.  She was only
suddenly aware of the cool hand that hesitantly touched her
forearm.  She raised her head reluctantly, ashamed to let him see
how red and swollen her eyes must be, to let him see how much his
hope, as he was fond of calling her, had lost hope.
     "Nat?" Nick queried softly.  "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Nick asked again, bringing a chair to sit beside
her.
     Natalie simply stared at him, numbly registering the concern
and confusion in those crystal-blue eyes, not trusting herself to
speak.  Her eyes wandered back to the painting, where she
imagined the woman in white mocking her.  *See how easy it is?*
the angelic being smiled sweetly.  *Just hold out your hand to
him, like me.  Why can't you hold out _your_ hand, Natalie?*
     Nick must have followed her gaze.  She felt his breath on
her cheek and suppressed a shudder as a memory of him--no, not
him, the _vampire_, but then he _was_ the vampire, wasn't
he?--pawing at her in Azure passed through her.  She felt him
carefully wrap her in a hug, felt him smile against her hair and
whisper, "Oh, Nat.  Then you _do_ like it?"
     She closed her eyes.
     This was where she was supposed to say, "I love it, and I
love you," and let him hold her, kiss her, lead her upstairs and
make all the monsters under her bed disappear.  But, of course,
he couldn't do that.  *Well,* she thought calmly, *maybe the
first two things, on a good night.*   She took one long, ragged
breath before choosing her words.
     "It's a beautiful work of art," she answered evasively.
     The fierceness of his embrace startled her and she tensed,
drawing her arms up in front of her in defense as she'd done with
Spark in the alley behind the Raven.  Nick didn't notice.
     "I'm sorry it wasn't wrapped," he murmured against her, "but
I finished it this afternoon, and wanted to give it to you right
away, so I thought I'd lure you over.  I wanted everything to be
perfect, my love, but I guess I...drifted off."  He pulled back
expectantly, breaking into one of those rare and genuine smiles
that were usually worth waiting for.
     Natalie smiled weakly back at him, and that hollow gesture
seemed to sustain him, as he continued to gaze longingly at her. 
*My love...* 
     She was everything to him, wasn't she?  As often as he hurt
her, whether intentionally or by accident, he _depended_ on her
for his very existence.  She'd known it before, but had never
borne the full weight of the burden.  Four years, and instead of
teaching Nick to draw from his own inner strength, all she'd
taught him was how to lean on her, how to hide the darker parts
of himself from her--including drinking blood on the sly and
sneaking off to Janette--rather than confront and conquer
them...all because he loved her, because she loved him back.
     That wasn't what Nick needed, not if they didn't find the
cure, not if he had to go on for 50 more years, or a hundred, or
eight hundred without her.  And that sure as hell wasn't what she
needed now.
     It just wasn't fair.  There weren't supposed to be vampires
in the world, and especially not like this one.  She wasn't
supposed to be sitting in a candle-lit, fortified warehouse on a
warm summer's evening at the age of 32, playing spiritual guide
to an 800-year-old immortal.  She should never have seen a corpse
wake up on her lab table, never lost her brother to a tragic fate
twice...never been nearly raped and drained of blood in her own
apartment.  Should she?
     There was no easy way to do this.
     But she had to get herself and Nick back on track before
those few moments in February, which were causing them both to
act out in self-destructive ways, destroyed them both--before
they let LaCroix win.
     She rose carefully, aware of Nick's eyes on her as she
crossed to the painting that he'd poured his heart into.
     "Nick," her voice faltered.  Then she looked at herself
idealized on canvas again, and knew that just as she could and
would reach out to Nick, she could also push him away.  "It _is_
a beautiful painting, but it's wrong.  It's not you, and it's not
me, and I can't accept it."
     He shook his head slightly, a worried expression on his
face.  "I don't understand."
     "No.  You don't.  And that's the problem.  You're
not...evil, or damned.  You're not powerless.  And I'm not your
salvation.  I can help you, and I _will_ help you, but in the
end, it's _your_ choice, Nick.  You've got to save yourself."
     She watched his face darken and harden as his hurt turned
into the anger that he always hid behind.
     "I see," he nodded.  "I can't say I'm surprised.  Nobody
stays with me for long."  He nodded again.  "Goodbye, Natalie. 
I'll cherish the painting."  He turned toward the kitchen.
     "Oh, good!  Drink some more blood.  That'll make it all
better!" she spat at his back.  A smile played at the corners of
her mouth when he stopped and slammed his fist on the counter.
     "What difference does it make now?" he demanded, refusing to
face her.  "You've given up on me, haven't you?"
     "Damn straight, I have!  Listen to me, Nick.  I do love you,
but--"
     "But what?"  He spun and stalked toward her, moving in a
menacing way that chilled her to the bone.  He was circling her
now, his voice as silky as LaCroix's.  An even uglier sound,
coming from Nick.  "Are you bored, mon cher?  Do you need to move
on with your life?  Hmmm?"  He stroked her hair in a cruel parody
of his usual display of affection.  "I thought as much.  You see,
I've heard it all before.  I was right about you all along.  You
are just like them."
     Natalie clenched her teeth.  "No, Nick, I'm not.  I'm just
sorry that after four years, you still refuse refuse to believe
that.  I'm here for you, Nick.  Whenever you're serious about
wanting to be mortal again, whenever you're ready to be honest
with me and with yourself about what happened that night between
you and me and LaCroix, I'll be here.  Just call."
     She stormed into the elevator and slammed the sliding door
shut, not waiting to see the effects of her revelation.  She
rested her head on the cool metal and laid her palm against it,
drawing in deep breaths.  *That was one damned fine exit* she
thought, as the tears finally coursed down her cheeks.

A child was crying, and Natalie was momentarily confused.  Why
wasn't someone trying to comfort it?
     She glanced around the pool, shielding her eyes in the
blinding light, but she appeared to be the only person there. 
The sounds were coming from the water, and she slowly realized
that it was her son calling to her.  She raised her sunglasses
and peered at the little boy clutching at the edge, his blonde
curls so like his father's.
     "I can't swim," he wailed.
     "You know how to swim," she told him patiently.  "You did it
before, remember?  Just let go and let the water carry you.  You
can do it yourself, Nicky."
     "I can't!  I need you to hold me!" he insisted.
     "Nicky," she said with endless patience, "you are a big boy
now, and you can swim."  She put her sunglasses back on and
settled back to work on her nonexistant tan and skim her novel.   
When she glanced up seconds later, the boy had disappeared from
view.  Only a small circle of ripples remained on the water's
surface.

Natalie sat up in bed, clutching the sheets to her sweat-soaked
body.  Sydney jumped off in disgust.  *Only a dream* she prayed
fervently.  *Only a dream.*


Natalie awkwardly balanced the grocery bags in one arm as she
unlocked her front door.  She put a foot out to block Sydney's
escape attempt, and glanced automatically at the answering
machine.  No messages.
     She set the bags down heavily and stared at the machine's
accusing red light.  Three days, and he still hadn't called. 
Three of the longest days of her life.  But then, why should he
call?  She told him that she'd given up on him, hadn't she? 
Knowing Nick, he was too terrified to talk to her now.  *Stupid,
Nat* she cursed herself.  She hadn't meant it, but she'd been
angry at the time, still was angry, and was growing more worried
as the hours ticked by.  Though she was still on vacation, she'd
found an excuse to call Schanke at the station yesterday after
she'd ironed things out with the Coroner's Office, just to
confirm that Nick was there.  The nightmares she'd experienced
these past few nights were too frightening; she had to know that
he was still...alive.  *Undead* she corrected herself.  But he
was at work, functioning, apparently.  He hadn't given up on
himself yet, then.
     She would _not_ call him first.  She'd done everything she
could for Nick--more than should be humanly possible.  It was up
to him now.
     She carried the groceries to the kitchen and mechanically
began putting food away.  How could he possibly think that a
painting could make up for everything that she'd gone through
since February?  And how dare he paint something
so...special...while he was running to Janette every chance he
got, and sneak-drinking blood with her protein drinks?  Yes, he'd
painted it out of guilt, not love.
     An offering to make himself feel better and keep her
blissfully in the dark.
     Still, a small part of her admitted that that wasn't
entirely it.  He was still making some effort, and he did love
her.  She'd seen it in his smile when he'd mistaken her tears for
joy, and in the anger with which he'd masked the pain of her
rejection.  But what good was love between them?  LaCroix would
always be waiting to tear it apart.  Nick expected her to save
him, but what could she ever receive from him in return?
     There.  The groceries were put away, including all the lunch
parts she'd need starting tomorrow when she went back to
work...on the day shift.
     She wondered what he'd make of that, then decided that if he
really wanted to know, he could always call.  She'd been pushing
too hard, too long for a cure and something resembling a
relationship.   It was time to put some distance between them and
let whatever was going to happen, happen.  She'd needed this
change for a long time.
     When the doorbell rang shortly after sunset and she spied
him through the peephole, nervously running a hand through his
hair, she felt a pang of regret--and a glimmer of hope.  *Good,
Nick* she sighed.  *You're doing the right thing.*
     She opened the door.
     "Hi," he said awkwardly, not quite meeting her gaze.  "Am I
still welcome here?"
     She raised an eyebrow and waved him in.  He stopped just
inside the door.  He was paler than she'd seen him in a while,
almost the same color as his plain white shirt.  He looked tired. 
He stared intently at some invisible spot on her floor, as if
willing himself to disappear into it.
     Natalie sat on the couch, leaned back, crossed her legs, and
folded her hands in her lap--her "well, I'm waiting" pose.  Nick
noticed and nodded, glancing skyward and pulling absently on his
thumb.
     "I heard you...requested the day shift?" he asked quietly.
     "Yeah," she said with forced cheer.  "I thought it might do
me some good to get out in the world for a while.  Make new
friends, see new sights.  You know," she shrugged.
     "Yeah."  He started to pace.  Natalie almost smiled.  He'd
been a nervous wreck when he'd come to her before Valentine's
Day, but that was nothing compared to the man who stood before
her now.  If she said "boo," she thought he might combust on the
spot.  "Nat...'I'm sorry' doesn't even begin to cover it."
     "No, it doesn't," she agreed amiably.
     "I...haven't been honest with you lately.  About a lot of
things."
     "Yup," she agreed again.
     "I've put you through hell for it."
     "Right again," she nodded.
     He dared to flash that shy half-grin that she loved so well. 
"You aren't going to make this easy on me, are you?"
     She bit her lip.  "No."  It was amazing how far a little
added guilt would go in modifying his behavior.
     His expression sobered as he looked directly at her for the
first time.  "I'll tell you everything, Nat, about what
happened...but there are some other things I have to tell you
first."  He paused, waiting for a reaction.  She held herself
motionless, kept the look of detached curiosity on her face.
     Hours later, he was sitting next to her, holding both of her
warm hands in his cold ones.  They'd both finally run out of
words.
     Nick had come clean about the blood, admitting at long last
that he couldn't stomach her drinks, that he'd covered up the
fact that they weren't helping him because he'd wanted to please
her.  He'd haltingly confessed to seeing more of Janette than
usual, and swore that he'd stay away from the Raven entirely.  He
told her everything about Fleur and LaCroix, and Natalie wanted
to scream at Nick that if he knew he'd placed her life in danger
by revealing his love for her, then why didn't he tell her
that--or keep his feelings to himself altogether?  But she
didn't.  He told her that, more than anything, he still wanted to
become mortal, so that he could give her all that she deserved,
and more.  But, he added in a small voice, he admitted that he
didn't know when--or if--that could ever happen, and that he
didn't want her to ruin her life for a dream.  He knew that he'd
gone about loving her all wrong.  He still felt trapped by his
condition most of the time.  He was willing to try to change
himself--as long as she'd meant what she'd said, that she'd still
be there for him, as a friend.
     "As a _friend_," he emphasized.  "Not my keeper."
     Hearing that, Natalie knew that, for now, she'd made the
right decision.

     She squeezed his hands gently.  "Thank you for your honesty. 
You know now that I'll still help you?  That I'll still care
about you?  That that's why we need this break?"
     "I know," he smiled bravely for her, although his voice was
tinged with regret.  "You're right, as always.  I'll wait, and
I'll keep trying.  For myself, and for you."  He raised her hands
lightly to his lips and kissed them; she savored his touch,
knowing that it would, quite possibly, be the last time they
touched like this.
     "Thank you, Nick," she whispered, and held out her arms to
him.  He drew her close and kissed the top of her head.
     "No.  Thank you, Nat.  I guess I needed a wake-up call." 
And then he left her, closing the door carefully behind him.
     Natalie laid down on the couch, closed her eyes, and
stretched.  For the first time in months, she felt at peace.  She
yawned.  Morning would arrive soon enough, and with it, that old
cliche: the first day of the rest of her life.  And the rest of
Nick's, as well, as he seemed to have found some measure of the
strength she'd been trying to give him for four years.  She hoped
he'd find even more in the years ahead, and that maybe,
eventually, he'd come to her free of the demons that plagued him,
and that then they'd find the cure--or at least the way toward a
healthy relationship-- and a way to deal with LaCroix, together.
     Until that day--for their sanity--she'd go on with her life,
and he with his, overlapping occasionally at work for as long as
he stayed in Toronto, testing new theories about mortality as
they arose, sharing insights into the human condition...maybe
even watching a video together once in a while if she weren't
romantically involved with someone else.
    It would be difficult, Natalie knew.  But love between them
would have to wait, and they both had to believe that the wait
was worth it.

*****