Date: Sat, 17 Aug 1996 23:35:14 -0500

Warning: Strong language alert! They play the song on the radio, but it
still may be a little much for some folks.

Natalie made me write this one. It contains spoilers for Last Knight, some
pretty graphic language, some steamy m/f interpersonal relations, and all
manner of stuff that belongs to other folks. "You Oughta Know" is written
and performed by Alanis Morrissette, who writes some unbelievably powerful
stuff. The Forever Knight characters are legally owned by Sony and
Tri-Star, but we all know they really belong to us. I promise not to profit
from this.

If I am forced to accept Last Knight as canon (something I currently refuse
to do!), then this seems to be the next logical place to go. Comments to
stephanie.babbitt@gtri.gatech.edu.

********************

Song Challenge: You Oughta Know
by Stephanie Babbitt


Nick Knight stood by the window of the small apartment in Syracuse, New
York, watching the last of the day's light fade from the sky. Though less
than an hour by flight across the lake from his previous home in Toronto,
Syracuse featured considerably nastier weather. His eyes roamed idly over
the snowdrifts piling up and rested on the lump in the street that
suggested the presence of his Cadillac, recently painted beige to make it
less noticeable. Colorless. Mundane. Like his life now.

He sighed and turned from the window, letting the heavy thermal drapes fall
into place. He would not have chosen to live in this city, and especially
not in this run-down apartment, but Janette had insisted. They must be
inconspicuous; after all, he had caused such a ruckus when he left Toronto.

He knew she was right, of course. It would have been bad enough, not
showing up for the IA investigation of Dawkins' accidental death. But
Natalie's disappearance had probably caused a reaction just shy of hysteria
at Toronto's Metro P.D.

          I want you to know that I'm happy for you
          I wish nothing but the best for you both
          An older version of me
          Is she perverted like me
          Would she go down on you in a theatre

Natalie. He cringed even at the thought of her name. He loved her, loved
her frantically, missed her with every fiber of his being, longed for the
sound of her voice, ached with a surprisingly physical pain for want of her
touch. Still, every time he thought of her, the image was marred by the
memory of her death at his own hands. He'd wanted to die, too. Instead, he
perished in tiny increments a hundred times a day, a thousand times, every
time the memory of Natalie's  trusting gray eyes rose before him--Chinese
water torture of the soul. It would never end. He was immortal, eternal. He
would live forever. Janette would see to that.

          Does she speak eloquently
          And would she have your baby
          I'm sure she'd make a really excellent mother

Janette was eternal as he, much the same as always, and yet changed. She
had insisted on Syracuse so she could easily watch over Patrick, the young
son of the mortal man she had loved, the man who had loved her even after
learning her secrets, the man whose death rattle still sounded like a war
cry in her brain. The murder case was officially closed, but Janette still
feared for Patrick's safety. There was a strange look in her eyes now, the
look of a lioness who has been deprived of her cubs--and who would kill in
a second to get them back.

Nick listened without interest as Janette put on her coat and slipped out
the door into the night. In this shabby part of town there were
hookers--sad little runaways, mostly, who hadn't quite made it to the
big-time dreamland of New York City before they ran out of money or
courage. Janette looked after them as well; she was the quiet but
persuasive benefactor who wasn't beyond bringing one or more to the
apartment to spend the night in warm safety on the couch. Nick grimaced
with embarrassment at the memory of the times she'd made him pose as a
trick to give one of the kids a plausible excuse for coming home with them.

He walked slowly to the small refrigerator hidden in the bedroom he shared
with Janette and opened the door. There were five bottles left. He knew
those would last almost the rest of the week, since Janette rarely touched
them. The fire in her eyes had been redder last night, and their lovemaking
had been even more fierce than usual, so he knew she'd taken another of the
lowlifes that preyed on the children. She almost never drank from bottles
any more. Revenge was too sweet.

          'Cause the love that you gave that we made
          wasn't able to make it enough for you to be open wide

Lovemaking? Not exactly. Nick shook his head at the thought as he took a
bottle and pulled out the cork with his teeth. Sex with Janette was more
like a battle, every time. She worked out her anger on him, tearing at his
skin with her nails, draining his blood with violent  urgency as though she
could obliterate the pain that coursed through her own veins. She never
opened her eyes, never looked at him, never whispered against his neck
before she bit down. He knew it wasn't really him she wanted, wasn't him
she saw when she studied the insides of her eyelids through the vampire's
golden haze.

          And every time you speak her name
          Does she know how you told me you'd hold me
          Until you died, 'til you died
          But you're still alive

Likewise, Nick could scarcely bear the feel of Janette's petite form--once
so precious to him!--under his hands, beneath his own body. It was another
he saw, another whose legs he wanted wrapped around his back, another's
blood he wanted to taste dancing across his eager tongue. He had promised
Natalie forever--how could everything have possibly gone so wrong?

          And I'm here to remind you
          Of the mess you left when you went away
          It's not fair to deny me
          Of the cross I bear that you gave to me
          You, you, you oughta know

He'd tried a hundred times if he'd tried once to remember exactly what had
happened that evening. He remembered coming to his senses only to find
Natalie insensible on the floor beside him and LaCroix towering over him
like a god. "I've taken too much." Oh, if only he could have those few
seconds back! But time was the least forgiving master of all.

Nick frowned, reliving it, grasping for details. He placed the stake in
LaCroix's hands. "You are my closest friend." And then he knelt beside her,
his beloved, where she lay dying. He took her cold hand in his and waited.
The pain told him that LaCroix had driven the stake home, but it was a
precious pain, a healing pain. He was grateful.

The gravelly path, the low hills, the placid lake were all familiar. This
was his third time, after all. There was the door, over the rise there. It
was shut. He walked slowly toward it, still aware somehow of the pain in
his chest--it seemed to slow his pace. Suddenly the door swung open, and
blazing bright light poured forth. He shielded his eyes briefly, and when
he looked up again, he saw Natalie standing beside the door, looking
frightened and puzzled.

His heart leaped for joy, and he called her name as he moved toward her.
She didn't seem to hear him--her head was canted to the side as though she
were listening to another voice. The guide's, perhaps? He tried to run, but
he fell. The pain was worse. He shouted her name this time, but still she
didn't seem to hear. He collapsed to the ground, then pushed himself to his
hands and knees. He looked toward the door. It was still open, but Natalie
was gone. He cried out then, a scream of desperation and pain, and it
sounded like her name. He crawled toward the door, shouting until his voice
was gone.

He came to abruptly only to find himself back on the floor of the loft.
Natalie was gone. There was only . . . Janette. Janette, holding the
bloodied stake in her hands. "Now you will know, Nicola, what it means to
wish for an end to your suffering and to have another choose for you
whether you will live or die." And then her chilling, exquisite smile. With
Janette, it was always revenge.

          You seem very well, things look peaceful
          I'm not quite as well, I thought you should know

Janette had taken him almost immediately as her lover, after a manner of
speaking. It would have been nearly impossible for him to deny the desire
she sparked in him, even though his soul were dead. The neighbors thought
them to be happy young marrieds--how appearances could deceive! He needed
her as he needed nourishment, yet each time they merged was an act of
violence. In Janette's blood, he read the desperate longing for a mortal
now dead, and he felt the resentment she bore him for denying her the
release that death would have brought. She brutalized him each and every
time he sank his fangs into her neck, just as he was sure he tormented her
with the bottomless grief that accompanied the image of Natalie, there on
the hill, so close, and then gone from him. How could you do this to me?
How? The question ran in a vicious circle between them, from her blood to
his, and back again.

          Did you forget about me Mr. Duplicity
          I hate to bug you in the middle of dinner

He took a deep drink from the bottle. He drank human blood these days--what
was to stop him, after all, or whom? With every swallow, he tried to erase
the memory of Natalie's hot, living blood, to forget the taste that sang
sweetly of undying devotion and unshakable faith. It was a losing battle.
Her essence lived with him as inescapably as a dead squirrel in the wall.
He dreamed of her, smelled her in his sleep, tasted her as if she were
there--but when he awoke, it was Janette that lay restless in bed beside
him, lost in nightmares of senseless death on a frigid Montreal sidewalk.

          It was a slap in the face how quickly I was replaced
          Are you thinking of me when you fuck her

He'd tried to pull from Janette's blood any clue of what might have
happened to Natalie. Had she died peacefully? Had she ever realized what
had happened? Did she die hating him for his weakness, his lack of control?
Had she felt, even for an instant, the depth of his love for her?

He probably would never know everything. Janette carefully concealed her
memories from him, except for those she wanted him to have. Still, he
managed to draw scattered impressions from her blood. There was the stab of
horror that he eventually realized was her sensing the stake entering his
body. There was a flash of her kneeling beside his prone body, pulling with
all her strength to remove the stake. But most upsetting was a glimpse he
caught more than once, a glimpse of LaCroix sitting in the black leather
chair, Natalie's limp white body cradled in his arms. Once, when Janette
was careless, Nick saw the image long enough to realize that LaCroix's face
looked impossibly old and drawn, and that there were tears coursing down
his cheeks.

          'Cause the love that you gave that we made
          wasn't able to make it enough for you to be open wide
          And every time you speak her name
          Does she know how you told me you'd hold me
          Until you died, 'til you died
          But you're still alive

How he wished for death! Yet he could not bring himself to leave Janette to
walk into the sun. He had condemned her again to this existence selfishly,
against her wishes. It was only fair that he should share this hell with
her, every day, and then again at nightfall when they woke to fondle one
another, sink their teeth into one another's veins, and reel back in the
ecstatic agony.

          And I'm here to remind you
          Of the mess you left when you went away
          It's not fair to deny me
          Of the cross I bear that you gave to me
          You, you, you oughta know

Natalie. He pulled the curtain back again, whispered her name against the
frosty windowpane, traced her initials slowly in the steam of his breath on
the glass. Her blood had not made him mortal. Instead, she lived forever,
immortal in his memory, as clear as the stars that sparkled in the bitterly
cold winter sky.

          'Cause the joke that you laid in the bed that was me
          And I'm not gonna fade
          As soon as you close your eyes and you know it

She had asked to be brought across, more than once. Each time, he had
denied her. Now, he asked himself, would it have been so unreasonable, so
cruel, to have kept her by his side for eternity, or at least until they'd
discovered the cure? Janette had told him his quest for mortality was
correct, yet she had not hesitated to try to bring her Robert across. Nick
revered mortal life and everything it represented, yet he had let Natalie
die. Who was right?

          And every time I scratch my nails down someone else's back
          I hope you feel it ...well can you feel it

It drove him crazy that the last one to touch her had been LaCroix. He
lived the glimpse he'd taken from Janette over and over in his mind.
LaCroix, holding his beloved Natalie, and the tears. What had the tears
meant? What had LaCroix done with Natalie's body?

Nick hadn't seen his master since that night. He loved him for respecting
his wishes. He hated him for possibly being the last face Natalie saw in
life. He missed him. But there was just himself and Janette, battling out
their pain.

          And I'm here to remind you
          Of the mess you left when you went away

The lock on the door clicked, and he turned, startled. He'd been too lost
in thought to sense Janette coming, and she wasn't alone. Another street
waif, Nick assumed. He quickly tucked the bottle out of sight behind the
drape--he'd get it later, after the kid was asleep. He arranged his
features to appear gentle and nonthreatening.

The door swung open, and Janette stood there with LaCroix by her side,
resplendent in an impeccable black overcoat. The two of them together
conjured such a powerful memory of their times as a contented family that
Nick's throat caught. LaCroix sensed the emotion Nick did not express, and
his face creased in the barest hint of a smile. His beloved son, alive and
well--the sight satisfied him, pleased him no end.

Nick took a step toward his family to greet them, but LaCroix held up a
hand imperiously. Nick stopped, confused. He watched as LaCroix reached
slightly behind him and drew forth someone smaller than he, wrapped in a
heavy black wool cape with a hood. Nick frowned slightly. The little
hookers weren't usually dressed that way, but maybe the wrap was Janette's.

LaCroix reached possessively to the figure's shoulders and carefully lifted
the heavy wrap away from a slight, pale female form. Long auburn curls fell
about her shoulders, and she slowly raised her white face to reveal blazing
golden eyes, eyes that held a fire hotter than the sun.

"Nicholas, allow me to introduce my newest child," said LaCroix with
malicious humor. He reached forward to caress Natalie's cheek
proprietarily, and she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch in
passionate obedience. "She is learning well; she may prove to be my best
yet."

          It's not fair to deny me
          Of the cross I bear that you gave to me

Nick tried to speak, tried to move, but all he could manage was a small
choking sound deep in his throat. Natalie's eyes snapped open, and they
burned red. "So here you are," she whispered malevolently. With a swirl of
air, she was in front of him.

"Tell me. What does 'forever' mean to you, Nick?" she demanded, her voice
crystalline with cold fury. She advanced on him with a presence so strong
he backed away. She was LaCroix's progeny, all right.

"Does it mean 'just until I can get my teeth into you?' Does it mean 'until
I decide something else is more interesting?' Or was it just the most
convenient term you could use to trick me? To steal my life from me, to let
me die, so you could leave me and your quest for humanity behind more
easily? So you could shack up again with Janette?" At the doorway,
Janette's eyes flared gold with indignation, and she stepped forward, but
LaCroix held her back with a firm grip and a raised eyebrow that matched
his satisfied smirk.

"Natalie," Nick finally managed, his voice still clogged with emotion. "Let
me try to explain . . ."

She backed him all the way to the wall. "You'll explain, all right," she
said, her voice more as he remembered, but with an additional fierce power
that sent a thrill along his skin. She reached up, grasped his shoulders in
her hands, and pinned him to the wall with extraordinary strength. He
sensed what was coming and shivered deliciously, turning his head to offer
ready access to his soul.

"Yes," she said, licking her fangs. "You'll explain." She tipped her head
back, and with the roar of a beast sank her teeth into his neck. He
surrendered completely, giving her everything that he was, freeing all his
secrets for her perusal. He moaned in the ecstasy of her power, in the
relief of relinquishing all his pain, all that he was, to her. He spoke
with his blood of his fierce love, of his terrible regret, of his hunger
for her that had overwhelmed any possibility of rational thought.

He could feel her quiver as his blood confessed all, and he gasped in
blinding delight as he sensed her desire for him overcoming her anger. Her
hands released their binding grip and slid down his shoulder blades, her
fingers clutching at the silk of his shirt. Crying out, he pulled her
close, as close as breath, and plunged his own fangs into her pulsing vein.
Round and round the cycle went, joy as hot as liquid fire passing from his
blood to hers and back again.

LaCroix looked on with pleasure, for he sensed the restoration taking place
in the heart of his most beloved child as well as the fiery rise of the
vampire that would not be denied, either in Natalie or Nicholas. He reached
fondly for Janette's hand. "Come, my good daughter," he whispered in her
ear as he lifted the hand elegantly to his lips. "Allow me to assuage your
own suffering." He nodded almost imperceptibly toward the bedroom. Janette
cast him a sly smile and a knowing look from beneath slightly lowered lids.
He escorted her regally, the two of them the picture of ageless dignity.

LaCroix stopped at the doorway and spoke authoritatively. "We will leave
this place tomorrow, Nicholas," he said. With that, he swept Janette ahead
of him into the room and shut the door firmly.

Nick scarcely heard him. He stood trembling against the wall, clutching his
Natalie against him, whispering nonsensical sounds of adoration into her
unruly curls, feeling her blood pulsing alive in his veins. Nothing else in
the world mattered. She knew now. She knew everything.

She looked up at him, eyes piercingly gray against her pale skin. For a
moment, she was very still, then she set her chin in a determined gesture
so familiar it melted his heart.

"You know, Nick," she said, tapping his chest lightly with a closed fist,
"you *are* going to make this up to me. And if you're sufficiently devoted
and penitent, then someday, I might even forgive you." She smiled, new
white fangs glinting against lips stained with his blood. "You thought
LaCroix was a tough taskmaster, but you ain't seen nothin' yet."

Nick leaned his head back against the wall joyfully and breathed deeply of
her scent, then he bent and kissed her gently on the forehead, as he had
always done before. "I'll make it up to you, Nat," he said, looking into
her eyes without fear. "Even if it takes forever."

          You, you, you oughta know


END