#7...Tap Dance

"Forever."

LaCroix blinked, the stab that pierced his cold heart was immediate. He could never lose this one. Their lives had been so entwined for centuries. If anything ever happened to Nicholas, it would be like losing a part of himself, the best part. If only they could work through whatever kept them in constant conflict and return to the relationship they had once enjoyed. Didn't Nicholas know by now that he only wanted what was best for him? To protect him from himself?

Nicholas was still so weak. LaCroix would stay with him tonight, but first he must speak to Natalie. She was in danger because of her ignorance. He would have to enlighten her before he could finally succumb to his own weariness.

Slowly so as not to disturb his child, LaCroix eased himself from the guest bed. A scowl crossed the younger vampire's face, even as he reached out blindly in his sleep for the comforting presence already missed. LaCroix would hurry back. His son needed rest.

The apartment was silent although day had not yet dawned. Young Vachon had redeemed himself immeasurably in the ancient's estimation for the way that he plunged into the icy waters last night. LaCroix had sensed his son, and knew with a certainty that he lay on the lake bottom, but he searched for what felt like hours as the cold sapped his strength. When he finally found Nicholas, the distance to the shore seemed almost insurmountable. He snapped the ropes that bound Nicholas to cement blocks and started to swim. His sodden clothing dragged him back with the current. The rushing waters of the Humber River where they joined Lake Ontario tried to push him further away. On he went, straining himself beyond his limits, determined to save his child or they would remain in the icy lake together.

Then Vachon dove in and grabbed a hold of Nick. Youthful, strong, not yet affected by the cold, the Spaniard pulled them both to safety. LaCroix wasn't certain that Vachon was even aware of how much he had needed his assistance just then. Still, he owed the Spaniard, and he always paid his debts.

The arctic swim had exhausted Vachon, and Tracy was tired because of her youthfulness and because her master and brother to whom she was closely bonded were both exhausted. LaCroix smiled paternally at the young pair sleeping entwined in Janette's room. Vachon, dark as night and innocent in sleep, Tracy pale as the moon yet possessing a maturity even Nicholas lacked, together they made a perfect pair, two complementing halves of a greater whole.

Natalie was not his other half. She was too much like him. She was strong-willed, intelligent, skeptical of anything she did not understand. She was too independent. He knew she was falling in love with him. LaCroix thought for a moment, searching his heart, and he realized that if he were to be truthful with himself, the feeling was mutual. But love was all that tied them.

Nicholas was his better half. The boy was youthfulness to his antiquity, fire to his ice, energy to his lassitude, passion to his indifference. He needed him! Damn, but he needed him! When LaCroix had first realized just how much, he had turned angry, hateful, brutally punishing Nicholas for any infraction, as he strove to drive a wedge between them that would give him his freedom at last. Only, it had not succeeded. Each time he had hurt the golden vampire, it had been self-torture. Nicholas would stare at him with those deep, stormy blue eyes, a look of longing on his face even more profound than the hate with which he shielded himself, and LaCroix would want to clutch him to his breast and beg his forgiveness… only he never did.

He felt a stirring from Nicholas. A sense of fear, and he hurried to complete his task that he could return to comfort his son. Natalie lay in his bed, her chestnut hair splayed across the black satin pillowcase, one stray lock partially concealing her tired face. He could hear her breathing, and knew she was nearly asleep.

"Good day, my dear," he whispered as he perched on the edge of the bed beside her.

"Is it that late already?" she asked, covering a yawn.

"You must lock the door tonight, my dear," he said then. She opened her eyes and looked at him without understanding.

"You are safe from me," he answered quickly, "but there are other vampires here today. Although you would like to trust them, I am certain that Nicholas must have told you on more than once occasion that he is dangerous. Vachon is as well. The vampire wakes up at first, exceedingly hungry, especially after such a trying night. Instinct drives them. If they catch your scent, they will feed from you before they are fully awake."

"What about Tracy?" Nat asked, not liking what she heard at all. "Is she dangerous as well?"

LaCroix scowled. "No. Although I am not sure why. She seems to be able to control her instinct to feed far greater than Nicholas."

Natalie thought about it for a minute, then she laughed. LaCroix didn't see the humor at the moment. "It's probably the difference between 20th century women and 13th century knights," she explained. When he still didn't seem to understand, she laughed again. "Tracy was young and slim as a mortal. Most women try to stay that way by constant dieting. We regularly practice denying our hunger. You might say she was "born" with control."

LaCroix gave a slight nod as he considered it. Perhaps then, Natalie would also exhibit such ability? A seductive smile spread across his features as he considered the day she would join him. Another tremor through the link disturbed that line of thought. He must return.

"What if I wake up before you guys," Natalie asked, growing concerned.

"I will keep watch over Nicholas, and in the future I will ask Tracy to watch over Vachon, although she sleeps soundly. If you must be up before us, try to move as quickly as possible. Lock the bathroom door behind you. Or prepare your breakfast and return in here to eat. If you need anything else, wake me."

Natalie nodded. He was scaring her, but then, she knew that was his intention. Still, it meant that he cared about her. She got up then and followed him to the door. He kissed her once, but his mind was elsewhere. Then she locked the door behind him. She blinked back the urge to weep. She would not be jealous of Nick!

LaCroix returned to Nicholas's bed and at once his son relaxed in sleep. He pulled him closer in his protective embrace, hoping to drive away the monsters of his dreams. With a heavy sigh, LaCroix returned to sleep.

Fear. The sun. Warmth. Children laughing. Remorse. The dreams overlapped, a confused miasma, distorted and misshapen. LaCroix gasped to wakefulness, wiping a red sheen from his forehead. The nightmare was his son's. "Nicholas, wake up," he commanded, gently shaking him.

Nicholas had always been difficult to waken. Whenever LaCroix had tried in the past, the younger vampire would react on instinct, attacking fully fanged to bite him viciously before awareness came. It was one of his more sensual moments. However, the ancient was to be disappointed, for this time Nicholas merely yawned and smiled contentedly. "What is it, LaCroix?"

"Your nightmares are most distressing," he snapped.

"Hmm. It wasn't a nightmare," he said dreamily. "It was a memory."

Impossible, the ancient felt! Nicholas had no mortal memories from before that night he'd come across. He could not possibly remember staring at the sun. "Do you hunger?" he asked, attempting to change the subject.

Nicholas stretched his arms above his head and yawned again. "It was beautiful, LaCroix. So beautiful."

"Well, it was keeping me awake," he said.

"I love you, you know," Nicholas said then. His hand reached out towards the sound of his master's voice and touched the familiar face. He stroked the eternally smooth-shaven jaw, his thumb tracing the lower lip.

"I believe the cold dunking has affected your mind," the ancient stated coldly.

Nicholas laughed. "On the contrary, LaCroix. It opened my eyes... so to speak. I thought I was going to die. Really die. I was trapped, and the sun was shining on me. I knew you weren't going to be able to come for me. Not this time. So I stared at it. For hours."

"But you're home now," LaCroix said, attempting to end the tension of the moment.

"And do you know, after I grieved for all the harm I have caused, for failing all those near to me, and even as I thrilled at finally seeing the sun again, all I could think about then was you. How I was going to die, and I never told you how much I loved you."

LaCroix tried to turn away as a tear slipped from his tight control, but his son's hand swept it up and brought it to his lips. LaCroix stared as the boy's tongue tasted and savored the minute offering, a sweet smile on his beautiful face.

"You don't have to say it, Father. I know."

He tried to. LaCroix wanted to, for ages now, he wanted to tell him. It had been so easy to say those three little words to Natalie, words he could not remember having ever spoken before, not since he suckled at his mother's breast. Then he felt his son withdraw from him and the moment had passed. LaCroix berated himself for the coward that he was.

"I'm blind, aren't I?" Nicholas asked.

"It would seem," the ancient stalled.

"That's what I thought. For how long?"

LaCroix wondered. It would be a frightening experience to lose one's eyesight, yet Nicholas did not seem overly distraught. He seemed more content than LaCroix could ever remember. It must be some strange apathy induced from the cold water. "I am uncertain, Nicholas. Sun-injuries take longer to heal than most, and you still seem unable to feed properly. It may be awhile."

A small tremor shook him then, and LaCroix felt oddly relieved, as though his son had at last returned. "Will you stay with me?" Nicholas asked in a small voice.

A smile spread on the ancient's face. The image came to mind of Nicholas at the age of five, clinging to his neck because he was afraid of the dark. Of course, Nicholas no longer remembered the incident. LaCroix pulled his grown son in closer and settled back down to sleep. "Forever," he promised.

Natalie was the first to waken, and then only because she was in pain. Her leg would not allow her the freedom to roll about in her sleep freely, and the position she held too long caused both arms to lose circulation. Needle sharp pain shot up her arms as the blood began to stir. She clenched her hands and stretched them, trying to speed the process.

"Damn," she muttered. Now she was awake and she really had to use the bathroom. All those times Nick had pushed her away, not letting her sleep at his loft - not even on the couch, not wanting to sleep at her apartment… and she had thought he was just being pig-headed. Now she wondered just how dangerous he could be. Only once had she ever came to his loft and woke him, to see the uncontrolled beast within. He had nearly attacked her, stark naked and fully fanged, and definitely not her sweet Nicholas. That he was probably still weak from last night's ordeal, and probably still blind, did not comfort her at all. Like injured wildlife, an injured vampire was twice as deadly.

She eased her heavy cast off the bed and reached for the awkward crutches. She pulled on an over-sized Tee shirt and her bathrobe, but still hesitated to venture forth. She was not going to wake her Roman lover just to take her to the bathroom! Frantically, she looked around the room.

Her coat lay over a chair in the corner. She reached into a pocket and pulled out the acrylic scarf, wrapping it around her neck again and again, before tucking the ends inside her bathrobe. She grinned self-consciously, knowing what an odd sight she must make, but one of the interesting tidbits of vampire lore she had managed to glean from Nick over the years was that he hated man-made fabrics. His skin was very sensitive and could only tolerate 100% natural fibers - cotton, linen, and silk. Wool was acceptable, but any blend in the wool fiber was painful. She didn't know if the scarf was as much protection as a braided garlic necklace, but it would have to do for now. She unlocked the door and ventured forth as fast as her crutches would allow.

Her stomach reminded her rather loudly that she had not had three meals yesterday. She felt a little lightheaded as she finished her sponge bath, her hunger stronger than her longing for a hot soak in the tub. Wrapping the scarf securely again, she went into the kitchen to scrounge up breakfast. Before long coffee was brewing in the tiny, two-cup pot and her oatmeal warmed in the microwave. She drank a glass of juice while she waited.

Then she heard sounds in the hallway. Her heart skipped and she brought one crutch up defensively. Her eyes grew wider. The sounds emerged as Tracy stepped into the kitchen wearing a little teddy and a sleepy grin.

"Not a morning person, are you?" Tracy asked teasingly.

Nat lowered her crutch feeling a little foolish. "Actually, Tracy, it's almost four in the afternoon. That hardly counts as morning."

Tracy poured herself a drink and sat at the table. Natalie felt a little cold even in the long bathrobe, but of course Tracy wouldn't feel that discomfort anymore. She poured herself the coffee and took the oatmeal to the table. Maybe since Tracy was here, it would be okay to remain? Lap eating was so awkward.

"So how's Nick?" Tracy asked.

"I haven't looked in on him yet," Natalie answered. "But I'm sure he's going to need some time off. Not like Reese is going to expect him back anyway."

"So why the scarf? Do you have a sore throat?" Tracy was starting to look more awake as she sipped her drink.

Natalie blushed. "Um, this must look really strange," she stammered. "But, LaCroix implied that Vachon and Nick could be... rather, um, dangerous, in the morning."

Tracy laughed. Her eyes were filled with amusement, but not really directed at the mortal. Natalie tried to laugh as well. "So he warned you about them, but not me. I can be like your protector then?"

"Something like that," Nat said, forcing the cooling oatmeal down. They sat in quiet companionship then. Natalie considered the young woman before her. Tracy was much deeper than she first appeared - not the ditsy blonde bimbo that some disgruntled cops on the force thought she was. Although, Tracy seemed to use the dumb-blonde stereotype when it suited her. Was it a role that she had learned to manipulate, though, or had it been forced upon her because it was what others expected? Natalie was suddenly grateful for her unruly chestnut mane.

Tracy was the youngest vampire Natalie had ever met, although she hadn't met that many, actually. Even so, she had a quiet maturity about her that even LaCroix lacked. Suddenly, Natalie knew what it was. Tracy was a woman. It had been ages since Natalie had had a girlfriend to confide in. Maybe Tracy was someone she could really get to know, to trust, and to develop that kind of relationship with. The thought made her smile.

Tracy bolted from the table, tipping the chair over in her haste. She grabbed a bottle from the refrigerator and blocked Vachon's path as the vampire rushed into the kitchen, fully fanged and hungry. "Drink up," she said, pushing the bottle into his hands.

He ripped the cork and drained half the contents in a few swallows. Natalie stared, not even breathing, until the amber light faded from his eyes and the dangerous beast receded behind the childlike innocence of the eternally youthful conquistador. "Good day, Vachon," she said nervously.

He grinned, unaware of the fright he had given her. "Morning, doctor," he answered.

"I'm going to get dressed," Nat said, putting her dish in the sink. "I want to see Nick before I go in to work. Will you be able to drive me?" she asked, looking at Tracy.

"Yeah, sure," she agreed. She wasn't sure what was going to happen. Reese didn't want her alone, period, and LaCroix didn't want her alone among mortals. Those two men were making her life incredibly complicated.

Natalie pulled on another pair of sweatpants with one leg removed, but opted this time for a more feminine sweater. She pulled a brush through her tangled hair. Maybe she'd make a salon appointment to have it shampooed. In a few days she could get a fiberglass walking cast and then a shower wouldn't be impossible, but in the meantime she was beginning to feel sorry for herself. "Enough of that, Lambert!"

The door to the guestroom was open. Natalie peeked around the corner. Nick sat up in bed, pillows propped behind him, and held a glass of breakfast. LaCroix was standing nearby, gently scolding him. Life was getting back to normal, she realized.

"You must feed, Nicholas," LaCroix said.

Nick brought the glass to his lips slowly. Natalie saw the amber light of hunger, and yet she could see the slight tremble of his hands. He wanted it, craved it, but seemed afraid.

"Wait, Lucien," she said, coming inside. "Maybe it is too soon? Surely he will drink when he gets hungry."

LaCroix squared his shoulders obstinately. "He must feed before you may examine him, doctor."

Nick took a drink then. His fangs erupted and he downed the glass, holding the now empty container out for his master. Natalie was about to sigh with something like relief when she saw Nick stiffen and gag as he heaved back the contents of his stomach. LaCroix must have been expecting as much, for he swiftly produced a container and caught most of the mess.

A dark sweat broke out on Nick's brow and his coloring turned a pale gray. He rolled over to his side and pulled the cover up over his face. Natalie hurt for him. She wanted to go and comfort him, but wasn't sure right now if he was safe to be around.

LaCroix patted his shoulder gently. "You may rest a few moments, Nicholas. Then I will return to assist you with your bath."

There was no response from the mound beneath the covers. LaCroix rose, took the container and left. Natalie turned and followed him.

Once away from the guestroom, he held the container towards her, leaning away from it as much as his long arms would allow. "Perhaps, doctor, you would care to examine this and tell me what is wrong with my son?"

It would be a good idea, she thought, although there was probably a better way than to intentionally make a sick man puke. "Put a lid on it, and Tracy can carry it for me," Natalie said curtly. "And don't worry, it won't bite you."

"It has a most foul odor," he said, sneering scornfully.

Natalie looked at the blood in the container. It had a faintly metallic scent like blood should, but only a trace of the odor associated with the bile of the human counterpart. "I hardly smell a thing," she said.

"You should smell nothing."

Natalie looked at him with surprise. She knew that vampires still had the same organs as mortals, but they used them differently. She'd never really thought about how a healthy vampire stomach was supposed to work. All her work had been directed at changing a vampire into a mortal, not how to keep him healthy. "Explain," she said, wishing there was a vampire doctor somewhere to share a long discussion.

LaCroix fastened a lid on the container and set it down. "We have no need for digestive fluids, as we don't digest our food as much as absorb it. That is why there is no waste by-product," he said briefly. He turned to leave in an attempt to end the private discussion of vampire biology. He was obviously very uncomfortable with it.

"So what are you planning to do for him, then?" she asked.

LaCroix remained with his back to her, but his shoulders slumped slightly, and she sensed his distress quite clearly. "Whatever I can," he responded.

"I'm working in the dark here, Lucien. I don't know what is wrong or how to fix it. But I have a suggestion."

She waited for any sign that he was interested in her advice. He gave a slight nod of his head, and then she continued. "Mortals - especially children - sometimes get a flu, and they start vomiting, and then their stomachs get so irritated, that they can't keep anything down. We tell parents not to let their children eat anything for ten hours, not even water. Then they can try sips of water, then maybe a saltine cracker… the trick is to slowly work food back into their systems without upsetting their stomach again."

"I really am not interested, doctor," LaCroix sniffed.

"What I mean is, maybe Nick shouldn't eat anything all night. No blood. Nothing. Just let his stomach rest."

"I must go to him," LaCroix said.

Natalie moved closer and touched his shoulder tenderly. "We will lick this, Lucien. He will be well again."

LaCroix turned sharply and pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace. He kissed the top of her head before pulling back. "I... thank you, for your concern," he whispered.

Damn, she was a lot more than concerned! But she knew he had not meant to slight her feelings. "I will call you, after I've had a chance to run some tests on this," she said.

Tracy came bounding around the corner then. "LaCroix! Just the one I want to see."

LaCroix permitted a slight smile for her. "What is it, Tracy?"

"Um, it's work, sir," she stammered. "My partner isn't going to show up, and I really have to."

He nodded as he understood her dilemma. He should have realized it himself, but he'd been so concerned for Nicholas that he almost forgot about her entirely. It probably wouldn't be wise to let her know that. "Do you feel up to working solo tonight, or should I send someone to keep an eye on you?"

Tracy's mouth dropped open. She was speechless for a few seconds. "Solo? You mean, alone without a vampire bodyguard? I think I can handle it, really!"

"Remember the lessons I have taught you, my child," he said as he kissed her farewell. Then he slipped into the guestroom and pulled the door shut behind him.

Nicholas had fallen back to sleep. LaCroix hesitated to disturb him, but he was dirty. The scent of lake water clung to his hair, sand and algae had dried on his skin, and now some of his breakfast stained his front. LaCroix pulled the covers back and nudged his son. "Come, Nicholas. It is time."

He awoke, only this time LaCroix was pleased to see fangs. Some things were getting back to normal. He tugged his arm gently, prodding him to get out of bed. Nicholas shrank back, fearful.

"No, not now," he pleaded. "Let me sleep. I don't want to go anywhere."

LaCroix scowled. "Come, my son. You will not be permitted to hide in here until your sight returns. You might as well learn to navigate the halls right now. Let us go!"

Nick allowed his master to pull him from the bed then, but he clutched LaCroix's arm tightly. LaCroix walked a little slower than normal, but he made no other concession. Nicholas walked beside him, feeling disoriented. LaCroix had lived here for four years, but tonight the apartment was an alien land. He found himself thinking more, concentrating more, and his stomach hurt from the worry. Turn right at the door, sixteen steps to the bathroom. Then LaCroix started to leave.

"Don't go!" Nick said.

"You will figure out where everything is, Nicholas."

"Please?" His voice had dropped to a whisper. LaCroix hesitated. There had to be a fine line between helping him and doing so much that it actually hindered him. Right now Nicholas was frightened, and still very weak. It would not hurt to comfort him this once. LaCroix nodded, then realizing that his son would not understand the gesture, he spoke. "Very well, Nicholas."

Nick pulled off his own soiled clothing, but his movements bore none of his usual grace. LaCroix could not help but stare at the gray complexion, the prominent ribs, and the old scar from his crusader days that was more livid now against the pallor of his illness. LaCroix moved to fill the tub; the younger vampire was too weak to stand in the shower just now. Once safety situated in the hot water Nicholas seemed less distressed. LaCroix excused himself. "I'll bring clean pajamas," he said.

Nick nodded. The hot water was very soothing. Briefly he relived the cold of the lake and shivered. If there was a heaven on earth, it had to be like a hot bath.

The phone rang again. LaCroix glared at it, but Tracy must have already left and Vachon wouldn't answer it. He put down the pajamas and lifted the phone. "Speak," he said.

"Diggon, sir," the voice said nervously.

One of the two vampires he'd placed at the hospital to guard over the mortal boy, Jeep. LaCroix could care less if the mortal lived or died, but it would matter a great deal to his son. He didn't want Nicholas any more upset at the moment than necessary.

"We got someone, forty-year old male, Jon Blakely. He slipped past the police officers and came after the boy with a knife. The police have arrested him."

LaCroix sighed. This could get very messy. He would probably have to let Nicholas's mortal friends apprehend the criminal. But if they failed to incarcerate him then LaCroix would see to a more permanent retribution. "You have done well."

"The hospital will be releasing the boy tomorrow," Diggon continued.

The unspoken question was what would LaCroix like him to do next? The mortal child could still be in danger. It was highly probable that the attempt on his life was not made by the one in charge but merely a hired associate. So where should the boy go? He indulged in a sly smile. The safest place in the city was probably in the home of the biggest crook, which happened to be one of his children. The young vampire owed him some favors. It was time to call one in.

"Remain with the boy. I will see to it that Detective Vetter takes him to a safe house. You will accompany them there, and give whatever assistance to my child as he shall require. Have Samson follow my daughter Tracy. He is to be very discreet and not let her know he is there. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

The line was disconnected. Tracy would try her wings tonight, but still be protected. Diggon was a trustworthy lackey. LaCroix wasn't certain of his lineage or even his intelligence. He was stocky and dark, a little heavy set, and the dourest vampire LaCroix had ever met. LaCroix had never seen him smile or heard him laugh in all the centuries that he had been using his services. Diggon had only recently moved in to Toronto, and the first thing he had done was look up LaCroix. He must have gambled away his money again, the ancient thought distractedly. That was usually the case. After he had worked for a few years and stashed more away, he would disappear.

While the issue was still on his mind, LaCroix dialed Don Constantine, his youngest "son", whom he had brought across very late in life. In mortal years, he was somewhere in his 90's. LaCroix had chosen not to train him, to cultivate him into his family. He had had a few dealings with Constantine over the years and making him immortal was merely a way to repay an old debt. If Constantine failed to survive his infancy, it would not affect LaCroix in the slightest.

LaCroix had access to Constantine's private line, however, so he was able to bypass the ranks of secretaries and bodyguards. "My son," he said coolly. "I require a favor." Then he briefly informed him the nature of the favor. Later he would need to speak with Nicholas's captain, to ensure that Tracy was placed in charge of the boy. Now, it was time to return to Nicholas.

Nicholas was nearly asleep. LaCroix smiled indulgently at him. "It is time to get out. The water will soon turn cold."

"I don't want to get out yet," Nick said. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever feel warm again."

It was a common belief that vampires were unaffected by the temperature. This was only partly true. Vampires could not regulate their own body temperature. They did not sweat when too warm, and seldom shivered. But, if they got cold enough, their undead existence would slow and simulate death until they were warmed again.

"Then perhaps you would be more comfortable in my hot tub," LaCroix suggested.

"You have it set up already?" Nicholas had known he was planning to have one installed.

"Yes," he said. "It is in the back den. Shall I take you there?"

Nicholas nodded. He stood and accepted the towel LaCroix placed in his hands. He put a hand on LaCroix's arm and walked beside him silently. Again, Nicholas memorized the steps and directions, strengthening his other senses until sight was restored. LaCroix hoped he would make this adjustment quickly, although he didn't mind at all the opportunity to take care of his favorite son.

"Will you join me?" Nick asked as his stepped into the hot tub.

LaCroix smiled. "If you wish."

For long moments they sat in companionable silence. LaCroix would spend most of the night with him, he decided.

"Have you spoken with Captain Reese yet?" Nicholas asked.

"Not yet." "Maybe I should give him a call. I really am not up to going in tonight," Nicholas said.

LaCroix almost laughed at the absurdity. Nicholas would not be going in for a long time! But he wisely kept quiet. That they would argue about it eventually, he was certain, but he would not waste this peaceful evening. "Your captain will not expect to see you, Nicholas. He was there when I pulled you from the lake. According to their perception, you were dead. You spent a number of hours "clinically dead", but had a miraculous recovery when Tracy started CPR. Unless you feel like hypnotizing your captain, the paramedics, and Natalie, you will not be returning to work for a while.

Nicholas looked solemn. His head cocked wistfully to the side. "I cannot hypnotize now, can I," he stated. Without sight, that was another skill he lacked.

"You should not hypnotize your captain again, anyway, my son," LaCroix said gently. "He is a persistor."

"A what?"

"One who persists. It is rare and more common among children than adults. Persistors are easily hypnotized, but they seem to sense that something has been taken from them. They worry at it, subconsciously perhaps, trying to reclaim their memories.... This causes severe headaches, and if it continues, can even cause minimal brain damage. One can give a persistor a suggestion to act, but cannot safely alter memories of past actions."

"So that explains why he's been so crabby," Nicholas said, smiling sheepishly.

"I expect him to come by much later," LaCroix said. "You may speak with him then, if you wish." He told him then of his intention to place Jeep MacPete with Don Constantine for safekeeping, until the murderer was captured. He enjoyed the sly smile that spread on Nicholas's face.

"So now you're going to say "I told you so" for bringing him across," Nicholas said with a laugh.

"I would never stoop to such childish nonsense," LaCroix sniffed.

"Sure you would," Nicholas taunted, splashing water in the direction of his master's voice. LaCroix blinked the hot chlorinated water from his eyes and dunked his mischievous son. They splashed quite an amount of water from the tub before the game ended. Suddenly Nicholas was too tired to play. LaCroix helped him from the tub and into his pajamas, half carrying him back to bed. LaCroix sliced his wrist then to nourish his son's weakened body before letting him drift back to sleep.

Natalie looked at the slides she'd made again and again. It would be easier if she knew more about vampire biology, but if LaCroix's description was accurate, then Nick was one sick vampire. The slides showed an equal mix of hydrochloric acid, mortal blood, and vampire blood, and the only part that was normal was the mortal blood. Nick's stomach was bleeding.

She called Tracy then and coaxed her to pay a visit to the morgue. Tracy wasn't too interested in the experiment Nat suggested, but she was easily coerced. Nat gave her a pint of mortal blood, then told her to make herself vomit, so Nat could study what normal would be. Tracy's contained no vampire blood at all and only minute quantities of hydrochloric acid and pepsin. There was none of the other digestive enzymes found in mortals. It explained why they could digest small amounts of wine, but why Nick said her milk-based shakes tasted like poison. Without the chemical rennin, milk would be indigestible.

So why did Nick have so much hydrochloric acid? Had forcing him to consume protein shakes for years somehow stimulated it, causing it to multiply? Was it then a positive step? But why wasn't he able to digest the shakes then? Why were they coming back?

"Maybe it is like an ulcer," Tracy suggested.

Nat glanced at her skeptically.

"I mean, I've only seen him lose it a few times. The first time was at your car accident. I'd say he was pretty distraught then. The next was the night he brought you some cat food. He was really intense about seeing you again. Then last night, he heaved up the lake water. Nick's been morose and bitchy ever since Christmas, and I'd bet that is at least part of it."

"You may be on to something, Tracy," Nat admitted. It was a comforting thought as well. Otherwise, she'd have to accept full responsibility, that her tests and experiments were to blame.

Tracy smiled. "So, what's the cure?"

Nat shrugged. "We're still in the dark there. All we can do is try one thing, and if it doesn't work, then try another. Either way, he's not going in to work for a while."

The young detective shrugged. Reese hadn't paired her up with anyone else yet. He already mentioned that he wanted to go talk with Nick later and ask him what he remembered from his assault. Tracy hadn't seen Nick since last night. She didn't know how much he had improved, if at all.

"I'll see you later then," Tracy said. "Call me when you're ready to go home?"

Captain Reese shook his head. Jon Blakely's lawyer had come through, bail had been set and if he couldn't bring more serious charges against the crook, he would walk. That Blakely was probably linked to the murders of Jason Wilton Jr. and Janice Whitcomb didn't matter. Without more evidence, like an eyewitness, all they had on him was attempted assault on the MacPete boy.

He still wasn't sure who the concerned citizens were that had come to MacPete's aid. It seems that Blakely had made it past the officers disguised in nurse's garb - one of the oldest tricks in the book - so old that it should not have been successful, and yet it was. Before Blakely could harm the boy, two unidentified men disarmed and immobilized him, handing him over to the much-chagrined police.

Well, the MacPete-Whitcomb case was one of Nick's. Maybe it was time to pay him a visit. Reese had already tried calling Nick three times, but the phone number he'd been given was for the nightclub and the lackey who answered the phone refused to forward his call. Grabbing his coat and keys he left his office.

The bullpen seemed quiet tonight without Nick there. The officers were all a little subdued. One of their own had nearly died. No matter what they felt about Knight personally, he was one of them and they protected their own. Schultz smiled at him as he went past her desk.

"Here, Captain. Take these to him, will you?" She indicated a bouquet of daisies with a helium "Get Well Soon" balloon attached with a few ribbon streamers. "It's from all of us."

Reese gave her a smile. "Thanks, Schultz. All of you. I'll tell him."

The roads were mostly clear tonight; the traffic, road salt, and plows had managed to clear all but a few scattered patches of ice. It was still damn cold out. His breath made cloud puffs inside the car although the heater buzzed on high. Winter wasn't so bad, really.

He didn't mind the snow, the storms, the short days... but did it have to be so blasted cold!

He couldn't park within easy distance of the Raven. Since it reopened on New Years Eve, it had been doing a booming business. He grumbled as he pulled the scarf tighter around his mouth and nose and hunched over to walk the rest of the way. Why couldn't Toronto be further south- like near Cancun? He pushed past the bouncer at the door and made his way to the bar.

The young bartender smiled at the bouquet in his arms. "Gee, are those for me? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Reese grunted. "I came to see Detective Nicholas Knight. Where is he?"

"In bed, I hear. Someone tried to do in the miserable bastard again." The bartender grinned as he wiped a damp spot on the immaculate, newly refinished dark cherry wood bar. "Would you care for a drink?"

"Take me to him," Reese said, pulling out his badge. It didn't hurt to try intimidation once in a while.

The bartender shrugged, unimpressed. "He's upstairs, if you're a brave sort. I'll wait for you here, in case you change your mind about that drink."

He did point Reese in the direction of the stairs. The captain turned down a hall, past the pool table, to find the stairs. Grabbing onto the railing, he pulled himself up, huffing uncomfortably long before he neared the top. He shifted the flowers and knocked.

Moments later, he knocked again. Then the door opened and Nick's father, Mr. LaCroix, loomed at the entrance. He didn't speak, but merely narrowed his eyes at Reese, the way one might inspect a particularly annoying insect.

Reese pushed the flowers forward. "The officers sent these for Nick," he said, as though that gave him the right to be there. Then the captain forced himself inside before LaCroix could shut the door on him. "I'd like to speak to him."

"Nicholas is resting," LaCroix stated.

"Yes, I can believe that. He had a rather traumatic night last night. How is he doing?"

"As he is asleep, I do not wish to ask him how he is doing right now," LaCroix said. He looked irritated.

"Look, you don't like me, LaCroix, and believe me, the feeling is mutual. But Nick is still my officer. He owes me an explanation for last night. He also needs to give a statement concerning his assault, and he may be able to keep a criminal behind bars tonight. I really need to speak with him. If you could tell him I am here, I will be brief, and he can go back to sleep." Reese felt his voice rising, and he struggled to keep it controlled.

"On the contrary," LaCroix said.

Reese waited. He glared at Nick's father, because being angry was better than being scared.

"I don't dislike you at all," LaCroix explained. He smiled at Reese's look of surprise. "You have a lovely wife who works as a secretary at the elementary school, where your younger daughter attends the third grade. Both girls are bright, well-adjusted students. The oldest plays the violin- or attempts to play it, but the second daughter is more interested in soccer. You were promoted to captain after Cohen's demise, and you bowl on weekends..."

"What the hell," Reese shouted, taking a step closer him.

LaCroix leaned against the wall with a look of indifference. "I figured that since you were investigating me, perhaps I should learn a bit more about you myself."

Reese clamped his mouth shut. That stupid, incompetent private investigator had blown his cover. This intimidating man had known he was tailing him- had probably been feeding him false clues intentionally. Denise had been right when she told him to fire the investigator.

"That was an error in judgement, on my part," Reese said. That was as much of an apology as he would give. "The investigator was fired last week."

"Ah. But, I still see him in my club, snooping into my affairs. Perhaps, he doesn't understand simple English?"

"He is still tailing you?" Why wasn't Reese surprised? The jerk couldn't take no for an answer. "I will speak to him again."

"Why? Have you been satisfied? Am I no longer under suspicion?" LaCroix was enjoying this far too well.

Reese gritted his teeth. He was tired of feeling like a cheap amusement. "Oh, I still suspect you, Mr. LaCroix. You are guilty of something, I am sure of it. But I have decided not to go behind Nick's back to prove it. I'm gonna keep my eyes on you, mister."

LaCroix laughed then, but there was no joy in the sound. "And that is why I like you. Nicholas is still so gullible. If Voodoo were to apologize for all the pain he had caused, my son would believe him. However, you at least seem worthy of the regard he has for you."

Reese didn't know how to answer that. He shifted the flowers again; the vase seemed a few pounds heavier suddenly. "So, I still need to see Nick," he said.

"Absolutely not. You are welcome to sit and wait, but I will not wake him," LaCroix said firmly.

"You don't seem to understand," Reese shouted, losing his control.

"I understand perfectly," LaCroix shouted back.

A weak voice called out in the silence that loomed between the two men. "LaCroix?"

The angry father glared at Reese, then turned away, dismissing him. Reese followed him as he walked down the hallway. LaCroix opened a door and stepped inside.

"Yes, Nicholas?"

"Is something wrong? Are you angry?"

Reese looked around LaCroix at the young man in the bed. Nick's always-pale color looked ashen. He struggled just to sit up. He looked a little lost and confused, more like a small boy than the formidable police detective of the 96th precinct. Reese knew he'd come close to dying- hell, he'd been dead until the CPR revived him- but still the captain had not been prepared for just how awful he looked tonight.

"It doesn't concern you, my son," LaCroix answered gently, none of his former anger evident now. "Your captain is here to see you. Are you up to visitors?"

Nick hesitated before he nodded. "I guess. Will you show him in?"

Reese looked at him. Was this some sort of archaic etiquette? Show him in? He was right here. He grunted. "Ah, hello, Nick," he stammered. "These are from all the folks at work. They're concerned for you, and wish you a speedy recovery."

Nick sniffed, closing his eyes as he did so. "Flowers," he said. "Thanks. Just set them down anywhere."

Reese put them on the dresser at the foot of Nick's bed. "Mind telling me what the hell you were doing last night? You went out without clearing it with me, and no back-up. You're partner didn't even know where you were. What were you thinking?"

LaCroix watched the interplay between Reese and his son. The captain had not said anything to Nicholas that LaCroix hadn't tried to tell him, and yet Nicholas seemed to listen better to his captain. When LaCroix had forbidden him to go undercover, his obstinate child had merely gone ahead and done so anyway.

"I'm sorry," Nick whispered. There it was again. The now familiar ache in his gut, the foul taste in his throat and the metallic tingling in his mouth. He swallowed hard, breathing slowly, struggling to keep it down.

"I found Jacob Schloss," Nick said, when he felt he had quieted his stomach.

Reese hesitated. In what shape had he found him? "Where?"

"At the bottom of the lake. He'd been tied and thrown over, just like me."

Reese shivered. There could only be one thing worse than being hog-tied to cement and dumped in a frigid lake in winter, and that would be to share a watery grave with a corpse. It must have been awful. If Nick hadn't needed counseling before, surely he would now.

"I'm so sorry, Nick," he said softly. "This is from another case of yours, but we have a Jon Blakely in lock-up," Reese said. "We have him for the attempted assault of Jeep MacPete. Tracy's been running a background on him, but his rap sheet's been petty stuff before now. We have to let him out on bail tonight, unless you have anything else on him. I brought some mug shots. Wondered if you could pick him out."

"Could be he's the one who attacked me, and killed Schloss, too," Nick said. He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes. He was so tired. He could feel his father's presence in the room. If he sent him any message of his exhaustion, he was certain that LaCroix would drive Reese away. The thought of his father's protectiveness made him smile.

"Are you saying that the MacPete/Whitcomb killer is also Schloss's killer? Are you sure?" Reese wondered if Nick was quite awake.

"Hmm. Could be. MacPete said his boss wanted him to alter the description on a piece of land he was selling, saying it was in the middle of Amish country. MacPete grew suspicious, and that's when the bodies started to pile up."

"Nick, take a look at these mug shots. Tell me if any of them look like the man who attacked you. I'd love to keep him locked up, if I could."

Nick hesitated. "I don't know, captain. He hit me from behind."

"Just look at the photos," Reese said again, waving the file.

"I think it is time for you to leave," LaCroix said firmly.

Suddenly Nick clamped a hand over his mouth. LaCroix flew to him, holding a basin to his chest with the air of much practice. Nick threw up then, the vile liquid slipping past his hand and into the basin. Nick trembled, looking far weaker than he had only moments ago. LaCroix set the basin aside, then taking a damp washrag he cleaned Nick's hand. He refolded the rag and placed it in Nick's still outstretched hand for Nick to wipe his face. LaCroix touched his cheek affectionately.

"Is there anything I can bring you," he asked solicitously.

Nick shook his head. "Maybe in a little while," he whispered.

"Would you like me to stay?"

"No, Father. I'll be all right for now," he said.

LaCroix rose and carried the basin and rag. He gave Reese a chilling glare. "Do not upset him again, or I will have to ask you to leave," he warned, and then he was gone.

"Jees, Nick. You look like hell," Reese said awkwardly. He'd known Nick had been thoroughly chilled last night, but he really looked ill. Maybe he had been wrong not to insist that LaCroix take him in to the hospital?

"I'll live," Nick said.

"If you would just look at these mug shots, Nick, then I'll go and you can get some sleep."

Nick sighed. "Fine. I'll look," he said. He held out his hand. Reese picked up the file from where he'd dropped it on the foot of the bed and placed it in Nick's hand. Nick grabbed it awkwardly. Then he felt it with both hands, laying it in his lap and opening it. He touched the pictures without really looking at them. He picked up one, moving his fingers across the backside, then flipping it over to feel the glossy side. "What's this one look like?" he asked.

Reese swallowed, just beginning to understand what Nick was telling him. "Oh dear God, Nick! Are you blind?"

Nick looked at him, perhaps just responding to the sound of his voice, for Reese saw now that there was no recognition in the deep, blue eyes. "I got whacked pretty hard on the back of the head," Nick explained. "It's temporary, but Natalie doesn't know for how long."

Reese sank onto the side of the bed. Nick shifted his legs over to make more room for him. With a heavy sigh, Reese gathered up the photos and closed the file. Blakely had won. City of Toronto had lost again.

"Nick, I don't know what to say," he stumbled. "I'm sorry to bother you. You get well, you hear?"

"Captain," Nick asked, picking up the sound of defeat in the man's voice. "Wait. Maybe I can still help?"

"I don't see how," Reese said awkwardly, immediately sorry for his choice of words. But Nick didn't seem to notice or take offense.

"Well, the man who hit me doesn't know I'm temporarily blinded. And I'll bet he never expects to see me again- not up and alive, at least. Maybe, if he does, it will shock him into saying something he shouldn't."

Reese nodded. It was a long shot, expecting a clever crook to hang himself, but seeing a corpse could give one a shock. "I hate to ask you to come in tonight, Nick, when you're so sick, but we could really use you."

Nick leaned back against his pillow. He felt so weary. Did he have the strength to do as he had suggested? Probably not. Maybe LaCroix would help him? Yeah, when pigs fly. But he would ask.

"Do you want to come back with me, Nick?" Reese asked.

"No." He closed his sightless eyes. "Let me speak to my father. I'll try to come in before midnight. Okay?"

Reese didn't like it, but he wasn't going to argue with a sick man. "Fine. I'll try to hold him until you get there, then."

Nick didn't say anything. Reese noticed that he didn't even seem to be breathing anymore. He must have fallen asleep. Well, maybe Blakely had still won... Slowly, Reese left the room.

LaCroix was sitting in the living room. He didn't say a word as Reese left, closing the door behind him. Reese shrugged. He'd felt sorry for Nick before, tied to such a man, but now, being sightless for however long, Nick's life must be pure hell.

LaCroix rose and went to sit beside his son. He sensed he was not really sleeping, but merely pretending. If he wanted to send his captain away, LaCroix wasn't going to criticize him. Nicholas still seemed to require much sleep.

"Father, may I go in to work tonight, for just little while?"

LaCroix laughed. "That is absurd, Nicholas. You cannot possibly expect me to say "yes"."

Nick tried to explain their plan to him. LaCroix listened, but he also observed. Nick was exhausted. Gray shadows shaded his face. His hands trembled. And Nick was afraid to face his co-workers without his sight. Although Nick asked to go, his entire body language was begging LaCroix not to let him. LaCroix hesitated. Which should he listen to?

"I don't think you should go," LaCroix said firmly.

Nick sighed. He squirmed down in his bed and pulled the covers up. He rolled onto his side, preparing to go back to sleep. And that was it? No argument? No pouting?

"However," LaCroix continued. "If you rest first, and allow me to nourish you again, then I will take you in, briefly."

Nick leaned up on his elbow, looking towards LaCroix's direction. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes, Nicholas," he said. "I do not think it is wise, but then, with you, nothing ever is."

Nick ignored the jibe. "Thank you, Father," he said, yawning a wide, toothy yawn. He was asleep before LaCroix left the room.

An hour later LaCroix sat beside his son, holding their wrists together yet again. This was not as pleasant as the blood kiss, but it was necessary. He still felt the gentle tug, as Nicholas's blood sucked his ancient, potent elixir, drawing it inside him to heal and nourish. LaCroix experienced faint, chaotic sensations from his son through the blood exchange.

Nicholas was terrified. Although he tried to appear in control of his emotions, his son was once again afraid of the dark, only this time it wasn't a child's fear. He was afraid of eternal dark, of being permanently disabled, a burden and perhaps even a target for the enforcers. Well, that was one fear LaCroix could lay to rest. He had a call to place later to Aristotle. There was a certain carouche he felt could make a real difference, if she could be located.

Nick stirred to wakefulness in the middle of the blood exchange. For a short time, he would feel more energetic, almost invincible again, but the sensation would fade. He needed his master now. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. He was grateful for the nourishment, grateful that LaCroix was being so solicitous at the moment, but if this were to be a permanent situation, would he survive? Would he even want to?

LaCroix stared at his son's sleepy expression. Nicholas was so much more open now. His sightless eyes were ultimately readable, conveying his fears and feelings more eloquently than speech. "Do you think you are up to this now, my son?" he asked.

Nick nodded weakly. "Yes, thank you. Can you find some clothes for me?"

LaCroix pulled items from the drawers and laid them on the bed. He waited, willing to offer assistance when it was needed, but hesitating to do too much. It was hard to watch him struggle. His motions lacked his usual grace and he tired quickly. Finally, however, he managed to dress himself, even to tying his shoes. LaCroix took his hand then and placed it on his own arm. Nick walked a half step behind him, following him with only the arm for guidance. At the stairs Nick transferred his hand to LaCroix's shoulder, allowing the ancient to descend first.

The limo waited at the back entrance. LaCroix opened the door and waited for his son to get in, then he walked around to the other side. He observed his son openly. He'd selected dark pants again, white shirt, and a simple, older jacket, so that Nicholas would more closely resemble the "Amish" undercover agent the murder-suspect would have met. He saw his son shiver once, and he instructed the driver to turn up the heat. A vampire shouldn't be bothered by the cold. It was yet one more sign of his son's illness.

At the precinct Nicholas again held on to his arm. He suspected that none of his co-workers had been told yet of his blindness. If the news reached their murder suspect, it would ruin their plans. No one seemed to think it odd that LaCroix assisted him, though, as Nick moved slowly past them. The short trip in the limo had exhausted him. This meeting had better be brief, LaCroix fumed silently.

Captain Reese nodded at them and opened a door, gesturing for LaCroix to precede him. Inside were the suspect, Tracy, another detective, and a police officer standing guard. LaCroix stopped, letting Nick come to his side. He glared at the suspect, wishing to get him alone. He would first interrogate him and then he would drain him... but that would make Nicholas angry. LaCroix would have to let the mortals play around with their idea of justice first, then he could always kill him later.

The suspect's mouth dropped open. He jumped to his feet, toppling his chair over in his haste. "You! You're dead!" he exclaimed.

Nick nodded in his direction. "If you say so."

The man stammered awkwardly, not yet realizing his own mistake.

"You hit me, tied me, and threw me in the lake," Nick stated firmly.

"I- I- it was, a mistake. It wasn't you."

Tracy righted his chair and slammed him down into it. "You, Mr. Blakely, can add assaulting of a police officer to your charges. I guess you'll want to mention that to your lawyer. To bad you've already made your one phone call."

"But, but," the man was stammering.

"Thanks for coming in, partner," Tracy said to Nick.

He nodded in her direction.

"Let's go," Nick whispered to LaCroix. Reese went out as well. He gently touched Nick's shoulder.

"That went well," he said. "Thanks for coming down here."

"He didn't do it," Nick said heavily.

"But, he confessed!"

"He may have been the one to hit me," Nick clarified. "But I never saw him before. I met an older, heavyset man with thinning hair. I think the man I met is the leader. This man may be an employee, but he is not the master behind it."

"Good Lord," Reese muttered under his breath. That meant there was still another crazy out there, and Jeep MacPete was still in danger. Hell, now even Nick was as well. "Jeep's going to be discharged in the morning, too," he said aloud.

LaCroix sent him a quick suggestion, catching the police captain with just a glance. "You will put Detective Vetter in charge of him. She will bring him to a safe house."

"Guess I'll let Vetter handle that," he continued, unaware that his mind had just been altered.

Detective Sherman came up and clapped Nick roughly on the shoulder, speaking with a loud, boorish voice. "Good to see ya, Nick. Heard you joined the polar bear club last night. Too damned cold for me to take a swim, I can assure you. But, since you're here, why don't I take your statement now, and we can get that out of the way."

Nick's hand tightened on LaCroix's arm. He was so tired he almost felt like weeping. Sherman wasn't really a bad cop, just an insensitive one. He wasn't incredibly bright, either, but he was as loyal as a hound and just as doggedly determined. "Later Sherman," he said.

"Now come on, detective. You know the wheels of justice don't slow down for anybody. This won't be too bad."

The sounds of the bullpen were terrible. The thunder of mortal heartbeats stirred his cold heart, even as his own hunger threatened to escape his tight control. Nick felt his fangs throb and wondered what shade his eyes were now. "Help me, Father," he whispered, turning to bury his face against his master's breast.

LaCroix saw the faint red hue around Nick's closed eyelashes, saw the tips of fangs. He wrapped his arms around his son securely. What may have looked like a loving, supportive gesture to the mortals was really all that stood between them and death at this moment.

Nick trembled against him, the beast demanding food. LaCroix whispered softly into his ear, opening the link between them to comfort and subdue his child. It was very difficult to hypnotize a blind person, as they used the eyes as the link to the brain. LaCroix was only able to influence Nicholas because of the close bond he maintained. He quieted the beast and commanded him to sleep.

The strength went out of Nick's legs. Then LaCroix lifted him into his arms. He dismissed Sherman with a gesture and faced the police captain. "I will take him home now," he said firmly.

"Yes, of course," Reese replied. He preceded LaCroix and opened the door for him. "I appreciate you bringing him down here. Tell him we all hope he gets better soon."

"Jees," Sherman was saying as the door closed. "Didn't realize he was feeling so poorly."

Reese glanced at him. "Sorry, Sherman. You're off this one. LaCroix can be most difficult to work with. I'm going to send Vetter to take his statement tomorrow."

At the Raven, LaCroix felt Natalie's presence as he carried his son up the stairs. He felt a smile pull at his lips. It had been a long, stressful few days, beginning with Natalie's car accident, and LaCroix felt the need for a little relaxation. Shifting his precious load somewhat to reach the door handle, LaCroix stepped inside, the smile still on his face.

"Lucian, I can't believe you took him anywhere! He is too sick to go out. Now what's wrong? What did you do to him?" Natalie's tone was biting. The ancient was tempted to respond in kind, but he heard the concern behind her angry words.

"Shush, my dear, or you might disturb him," LaCroix said softly. "I will explain it all in a moment."

She followed him as he laid his son on the bed. Removing only his shoes, LaCroix drew the covers over him. Quietly, he turned to leave, pulling Natalie out with him.

"Captain Reese needed him to identify the man they have arrested," LaCroix explained briefly. "It was against my better judgement, but Nicholas seemed to feel it was important. He nearly lost control in a room full of beating hearts and I put him to sleep. End of story."

Nat pushed a hand through her thick hair, tugging at it in frustration. "What do you mean, "identify"? Has his sight returned then?"

"No." LaCroix went into the kitchen. "May I fix you some tea?"

Natalie considered it. "Sounds great. Thanks. I'm sorry, I've just been so worried, and I didn't mean to sound like such a shrew."

"I know, my dear. Why don't you sit down? This will only take a minute."

Natalie opted for the couch, pulling her heavy cast up on the seat beside her, and laying the crutches on the floor within easy reach. She should be getting back to the morgue, but she just couldn't concentrate when she worried about Nick like this. Then coming here to see him, and he wasn't anywhere to be seen, she had feared the worst.

The microwave beeped, and shortly LaCroix joined her, placing a steaming cup of green tea in her hands. He took his favorite chair and sipped from his own beverage. Then, he explained in more detail, until Natalie had no more questions. "So, my dear. What is it that brought you here tonight?"

"Has he vomited again?" she asked.

LaCroix nodded sadly. "Repeatedly."

She shook her head. "Then that is what is keeping him from recovering. He's losing more than what he drinks. His own blood is coming up as well. If we can't find what is causing this and stop it, he will not recover."

LaCroix closed his eyes. Nicholas must recover. Anything else was simply not an option. "Have you any idea what this is?"

She shrugged. "It seems similar to a peptic ulcer, although without x-rays it would be hard to diagnose for certain."

"This is a mortal illness?" he sneered.

Natalie nodded. "As far as I know, the only vampire illness was the Fever."

"And tell me, how would you treat a peptic ulcer in a mortal?"

"When the ulcer perforates - bleeds - then the patient may be hospitalized for a month, to receive proper nutrition and remove him from stress of job or family that may be at least partially causing the over-production of hydrochloric acids in the stomach. Severe bleeding would require surgery, or it can be fatal."

"You cannot operate on a vampire," LaCroix commented. The incisions would heal before the surgery was completed if the vampire's system was functioning normally, and if not, then the incision might not heal at all and the vampire could bleed out, since their blood did not clot.

"I know. But maybe the x-ray isn't a bad idea. It's a start, anyway."

"Where would this be done?"

"I have x-ray equipment at the morgue. But tomorrow night should be soon enough. I think maybe he's had enough tonight."

"I agree," LaCroix said. "If it is similar to an ulcer, as you suggest, then how will that help? What will you recommend?"

"I honestly don't know, Lucien. Ulcer patients are put on a restrictive diet - soft foods only, and antacids to counter the destructive hydrochloric acid. If I were to try and relate that to a vampire, I guess I could say only the best quality of his natural food, and only in small amounts, offered frequently throughout the day and night - a glass every hour. Never let the stomach become empty. And maybe he should get some counseling, to help him deal with stress in a more constructive manner."

LaCroix was silent and contemplative. Getting Nicholas to agree to the dietary restrictions might be half the battle. Still, his son was so weak right now that he seemed more malleable than normal. "And how are you doing, my dear?" he asked suddenly. "This has all been a bit much for you I suspect."

Natalie smiled. "It has been a hell of a week, hasn't it?" She finished her tea. It had warmed her a little. She was tempted to lean back and take a nap herself, but knew she would be missed if she didn't get back to the morgue shortly.

"I'd like to examine him later then, this morning maybe? I want to see if there's been any change to the retina."

LaCroix nodded his assent. "Just promise me, dear, that you will not enter his room, ever, without me, until he has recovered."

Months ago she would have balked at what she felt was a possessive nature, but now she realized that LaCroix was right, at least, in this instance. Nicholas was not safe to be around. "I'd better be going then." She reached for her crutches and struggled to her feet.

LaCroix put his arms around her, inhaling the fresh scent of her hair and the warm, intoxicating aroma of her human blood. "I have missed you," he whispered, holding her close.

"I have missed you, as well," she said. "I get a new cast tomorrow. I'm hoping that it will make... things... easier for us."

LaCroix chuckled. "Here's to new casts then, my love."

Tracy climbed into her car and shut the door for privacy before pulling out her cellphone. This was just too weird. LaCroix had to be behind it. When he finally answered, on the fifth ring, she asked him.

"Um, dad? Captain Reese put me in charge of Jeep MacPete, and then he had this fuzzy-disoriented look. Did you have anything to do with this?"

"When you pick up the boy at the hospital, you will meet Diggon. He has my instructions to see you both to the safe house of my choosing. We will not discuss this over an open line. I will explain it in detail when you return home, my daughter."

"LaCroix, I'm a big girl now," she said, sighing into the mouthpiece. "I don't need a body guard."

"Yes. And the murderer is an even bigger boy. This is for Jeep's safety as much as your own."

"See you later, then," she said. She was itching to go home. The precinct had been talking nonstop about Nick's visit, and how he'd collapsed into LaCroix's arms. They were worried for him, as it was such a surprise to see the "Knightmare" in this weakened state. Tracy had to see him for herself. Vampires weren't supposed to be affected like this. Her world was shaking, and she felt scared.

Taking Gypsy up to Father's House tonight hadn't helped. Since she drove alone, she was more aware of the lighted cross and other religious symbols, unable to turn away from them and still keep her eyes on her driving. Mr. Whitcomb had wept as he clutched Gypsy in his trembling hands. The dog licked at his tears, whining mournfully. They both missed Janice. Tracy suspected that his recovery might be helped along, now that the canine was there with him.

"We found her a few days ago, actually," Tracy had told him. "Nick, my partner, wanted to keep her for a while, because he had a hunch that the dog would help with this case. But he was only partially correct. Nick found some important information, and someone tried to kill him, throwing him in the lake. Gypsy found him in time. He's still under the weather, but she saved his life."

"You're a hero," he told his new pet. "I'm very glad for you, Detective. I hope your partner gets better soon."

"Me too," she whispered as she stepped into the silence of the night.

Tracy parked in the nearest visitor space and went into the hospital. Somehow, LaCroix had arranged for all the paperwork regarding Jeep's release to have been handled, and the boy was dressed and waiting for her.

It was unusual, as most discharges occurred in the morning hours, after the doctors had made their rounds, but perhaps releasing him early was for the safety of the other patients. Someone could still be gunning for this disabled boy.

A uniformed officer followed them to the car and waited until another man approached. Tracy sensed he was a vampire before he arrived. This must be her bodyguard she thought, eyeing him critically. At his nod, the mortal officer left them. "And you are?" she asked, just as a precaution.

"Diggon," he answered briefly, giving the appropriate response. "Do you want to drive or ride in back with the boy," the vampire asked.

Tracy almost laughed. If it were Nick, she wouldn't have a choice. "I drive," she said firmly. "It's my car."

The vampire shrugged and climbed in the back without another word. She drove through Toronto traffic following his cryptic directions. She wasn't sure if he didn't know his way around the city, or if he was trying to throw potential threats off their trail, but his route was circuitous at best. Finally, she pulled up at a wrought-iron gate that stood impressively twelve feet high, surrounding the monumental home of the biggest crime lord in Ontario. She felt her pulse quicken as the uniformed guard asked to see her ID.

She flashed her badge, wondering if that was wise, under the circumstances. The guard merely nodded and pressed the buttons to open the gate and give her admittance. She drove slowly towards the main door.

"Are you sure this is right?" she asked Diggon.

"Yes," he answered. Well, it was a good thing he didn't try a career in communications, she thought snidely.

A valet waited by the front door to park her car. Another valet held the door open for her, Diggon and Jeep. The front hall was magnificent. Polished wood walls, glass chandeliers, imported carpets - all spoke of wealth and power in a manner she had not ever seen before. Yet another member of the household staff greeted them now. This one was a woman of about forty. She wore a black dress with a white apron, but her smile was friendly.

"Hello there, young man! You must be Jimmy MacPete!"

"Yes, ma'am," Jeep answered. "But my family calls me "Jeep" because I have another brother named Jimmy."

"Jeep. That's unique. If that is what you like to be called, then Jeep it is. Now, if you'll follow me, I'll show you around."

Tracy coughed nervously into her hand. "Excuse me, miss -"

"Mrs. White," the woman answered promptly. "I'm his housekeeper and all-around right-hand woman, I guess. I'm supposed to show you some of the security he's added, so Jeep will feel safer, and then take him to his wing." The rest of her comments were directed to Jeep. "You're being given Master David's old wing. He doesn't live here any more. So you can have access to his toys, computers, books, whatever, for as long as you need to stay here."

She pointed out the guards that stood around the house, both inside and out, the high gate, the security cameras, and the burglar system. Jeep visibly relaxed. The attempt on his life had thoroughly frightened him, more so than even seeing his sister and best friend dead. Then Mrs. White took them to an elevator that brought them up to the third floor.

"Mr. Constantine used to be in a wheelchair," she explained, when Jeep seemed impressed by the elevator. "But he's had a miraculous recovery. I swear that man will outlive all of us!"

Tracy glanced at Diggon, trying to hide her smile. She knew she and the vampire would outlive all of the mortals. Diggon didn't seem to find it funny. Maybe he had no sense of humor.

Jeep exclaimed at the posh rooms that were to be his, even if only temporarily. "Is this real? Can I really stay here? Does he like, even know, that I'm... you know, black and crippled? Am I going to get in trouble?"

"Oh you poor boy," Mrs. White exclaimed. She gave him a quick hug. "Mr. Constantine looks like an ornery, ugly old man, but he's not really awful on the inside. You'll be just fine here, Jeep. And you're to tell me if there is anything, anything at all, that you want."

Jeep nodded, blinking back tears before they could fall and embarrass him. "I would like to call my brother Jimmy, if I could. Let him know I'm safe. Is that okay?"

Mrs. White nodded. "Certainly. You have to dial "8" first to get an outside line. Don Constantine has a very high-tech system, I don't know enough about it to explain it, but your calls cannot be traced. There's a phone right beside the bed, and another at the computer desk. If you would like to nap then, or what ever, breakfast can be served whenever you're hungry. You won't meet Don Constantine until tomorrow night. He sleeps most of the day."

A knock sounded at the door, and Mrs. White opened it. Yet another man stood there, looking like he'd swallowed too large a pill and had to give up breathing permanently. "Miss Vetter," he said, a nasal quality to his squeaky voice, "if you'll follow me, Don Constantine will see you now."

Tracy swallowed. She should not fear this crime lord. He was just a mortal after all! But why was she being singled out? She glanced at Diggon nervously. He seemed unconcerned. Well, he was either a lousy bodyguard, or she truly had nothing to worry about. She gave Jeep a parting smile and followed the pinch-faced secretary through the massive house to a small but cozy library on the ground floor at the opposite end.

"You couldn't have found a room farther away for the boy, could you," she said, foolishly opening her mouth with sarcasm to the most powerful mortal in all of Toronto. Then, she felt an icy dread creep up her spine as the old man approached her. He felt familiar.

The hairs on her neck tingled with the sense of a vampire!

"Ohmygosh," she blurted, feeling faintly nauseated.

Don Constantine laughed. "Forgive me, child, if I have frightened you. I merely wanted the opportunity to meet you. I met your brother several times in the past, and indirectly, I can thank him for my eternity." He poured two drinks and passed one to her. The scent of blood stirred her and her fangs erupted.

The old man smiled broadly, showing her his own needle-sharp fangs. He looked to be at least ninety years old if he was a day, with a well -wrinkled face and sagging skin. His hands had enlarged knuckles, although he didn't seem to suffer the pain of arthritis any longer. In fact, he stood erect and seemed to exude perfect health, despite his ancient appearance.

Tracy sipped her beverage to still her nervousness. Still, there was something about this vampire. He seemed more than familiar although she was certain she had never laid eyes on him before. He felt, almost like Nick... Her eyes widened at the possibility. "Are you... um, are you by chance related?"

Don Constantine laughed heartily. "You're bright as well as beautiful! I couldn't ask for a nicer little sister, although I'm sure you didn't fare as well in the bargain. I am also a child of LaCroix... until you, I was his youngest, although to look at me I think others might feel I was instead his parent! Amusing, no?"

Tracy searched for a chair and sank into it. "You are Nick's little brother?" she whispered incredulously.

Constantine continued to laugh. "Vampire families are such complicated things, aren't they?"

"But you live alone. LaCroix doesn't boss you around?"

Constantine settled onto another chair and surveyed his library with an odd sense of both pride and humility. "It is a long story, my dear. I'd be glad to tell you sometime. But LaCroix brought me across as payment of an old debt. It had nothing to do with wanting me to join his family. I don't think he particularly cared whether I survived my conversion or not. I managed. If I needed his assistance, I think he would come to my aid, but it is a delicate situation. Much of my wealth was not gained through legal means, and his favorite son is a police officer. So, we keep my connection to the family mostly secret. I, in exchange, have been slowly ending my illicit connections as I prepare to move on.

"I can't stay here much longer. Eventually the mortals would notice that I am in better health than most of them. And I feel damn good for a man who just celebrated his hundredth birthday!"

Tracy laughed. The old crook was charming, and she felt very comfortable around him as she sensed now that he was also a very young vampire. His abilities would not be much better than hers, and as a brother he would not dare to harm her. Still, it was weird to have such a crooked brother, when all of her mortal relatives and even her vampire brother were cops. Constantine then told her a few stories, how he'd helped Nick to hide from LaCroix, then helped LaCroix to find him again... and briefly told how Nick had helped his great-grandson two years ago.

"Do you ever see him any more?" she asked, referring to David Constantine.

"Yes, but not as often as I would like. I go every Father's Day, and I go alone - flying, so that I do not lead any of my mortal enemies to him and his family. When David passes on, I will break those ties as well. I cannot keep in touch with his son, my great-great grandson, forever."

Tracy felt a sense of urgency then, and a yawn shook her. It was time to go. Dawn must be approaching.

Constantine seemed to feel it as well. "Now, don't you worry about a thing, Tracy. LaCroix thought that this was the safest house in Toronto for Jeep, and I happen to agree. As for his rooms being so far from mine, that is because I do not want to accidentally drain him if I wake up hungry."

Tracy blushed. "I'm sorry, sir. I do tend to run on at the mouth."

"Don't ever change. I like it. It's fresh and honest. And, welcome to the family. Although I'm sure it would not look good to associate with a criminal, perhaps when you move on, we could become more acquainted."

"I think I'd like that," she said, surprising even herself. He seemed more like a kindly, somewhat doddering old uncle than a powerful crime lord. She gave him an impulsive hug before she turned to leave.

"One more thing, Tracy. You'd better call me "cousin" instead of "brother". It tends to raise a lot of eyebrows. I like "cousin". It implies the family relationship, without getting down to specifics."

"Cousin Constantine?" she asked, trying the name out.

He laughed, wiping moisture from his eyes. "You may use my given name, Thomas."

"Cousin Tommy," she said, grinning broadly.

"Cousin Tracy. Have a safe journey, my dear."

Diggon was waiting for her by the front door. The valet returned her car keys to her. It had been a long, strange night. She still had to pick Natalie up at the morgue, but then she could look forward to a soft bed and a sound sleep.

"So how's Nick really doing," Tracy asked Nat later as they were driving home.

"I'm not sure," she answered. "I had suggested one treatment, and now I think it was the worst possible one to suggest, and we're going to try the opposite. I feel like I'm doing more harm than good."

Tracy gave her a reassuring smile. "Nat, Nick's alive, right?"

"He would debate that."

"Hey, it's Nick we're talking about though. He would argue the spots off a Dalmatian. But he is more alive now than when LaCroix pulled him up from the bottom of the lake?"

Nat smiled. "I guess you're right."

"I heard he fainted at the precinct tonight."

That made the coroner laugh. "That's not even close. Don't you just love how gossip works? Actually, Nick got a little too hungry, and LaCroix restrained him and put him to sleep."

Tracy had a good laugh at that too. They were still chuckling as they ascended the stairs into the apartment. Sydney wrapped himself around Nat's cast, rubbing against the plaster and purring loudly.

"Hi boy," Nat called to him. "Did you miss me?"

"Hello, we're home," Tracy called to the empty apartment. No one sat in the living room, and a quick peek in Nick's room revealed an empty bed.

LaCroix's door was closed, and Nat was reluctant to open it. She heard muffled sounds within. She didn't have to work hard to imagine what they were doing. Tracy's sudden fangs and golden eyes were further proof. Tracy blinked, regaining her control instantly. "Um, sorry, Nat," she said awkwardly.

Nat shrugged, trying to conceal her embarrassment. "I think I'll go find something to eat."

The kitchen table was set with a place setting for one, and a hand-written card in LaCroix's bold script stated that dinner would arrive shortly. Tracy whistled as she caught sight of the note.

"Looks like he's buttering you up for something," she teased.

"Yeah, right. With this ton of bricks leg of mine."

The doorbell rang then. Tracy volunteered to answer it. A delivery boy handed her the Chinese takeout: LaCroix's idea of "fixing dinner". She handed him a tip, but he said the meal had already been paid for.

Natalie sat at the table, suddenly ravenous, as she examined the assorted items. Tracy sat with her, enjoying her own meal. "I met another big brother today," she said, and went on to tell Nat about Constantine. Nat didn't seem too surprised. She hadn't ever met him, but she remembered when Nick went up against the old crime lord to try to help his great-grandson escape.

"Strange how that all worked out," Nat said. "At the time, I thought that turning a criminal into an immortal was about the stupidest, dumbest thing LaCroix had ever done, but he actually helped to put Constantine out of business. The old man is slowly closing his operation down. Guess he's got other interests than money and power now."

Nat finished most of her food, closing the containers and storing the leftovers in the refrigerator. She could take it in to work tomorrow for "lunch" at around midnight. Then she heard LaCroix and Nick approach. She glanced up and smiled at them.

LaCroix looked much the same as always, completely dressed in immaculate black, only his eyes held a hint of amusement. Nicholas was the most changed. His eyes, too, looked amused. His hair was tousled and hung boyishly over his forehead, and he wore only a pair of black jersey lounge pants, his feet and chest were bare. Telltale red bite marks were still visible on his pale throat. He held LaCroix's arm tightly, the only outward sign that his vision had not improved. LaCroix directed him to sit at the kitchen chair.

"I believe you wanted to examine this irascible child," LaCroix commented. He placed a friendly kiss on her cheek.

"Yes, I do," she said. Knowing that Nick had just been fed on what LaCroix considered the best possible food, now was probably a good time to examine him. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

Nick grinned. "Pretty good."

She took her stethoscope to listen to the sounds of his stomach. "How often are you vomiting, Nick?"

His smile faded. Guys always hated to talk about their health, she realized, and that apparently didn't fade with time.

"Almost every hour," LaCroix answered for him.

She took the otoscope then and shined it in his eyes. Nick never flinched, nor did he show any sign that the small bright light was painful. What the light revealed was not encouraging either. There had been no visible change.

"So what's the verdict, doc?" Nick asked. Although he tried for casual nonchalance, Nat heard the silent plea. She really didn't know what to tell him. Vampires always healed, didn't they? But the sun always killed… what if this was permanent?

"It's too soon to tell, Nick. But, you get to come in to the morgue tomorrow. I'm going to take some x-rays to see what's going on inside."

"I have given my consent," LaCroix added.

Nick shrugged. The morgue wasn't top on his list of places he wanted to be. He wasn't sure what was. He was missing Urs, but he didn't want her to see him like this. He felt strangely restless. Sleeping most of the day and night, he was no longer really tired. He accepted LaCroix's assistance to the couch in the living room.

"Is there anything else you require," LaCroix asked.

Nick shook his head. "No, thanks."

"Then, I think that I shall retire. Call me if you need anything."

"Good day, LaCroix. Good day, Natalie."

Natalie kissed the top of his head. "Don't stay up too late," she said.

Tracy watched the couple leave, just beginning to wonder where Vachon was. She plopped on the other end of the couch. Nick turned, putting his feet on the center cushion and smiled at her. Tracy pulled her feet up as well, feeling very much at home now with her older brother. Six months ago she hadn't really known anything about him. She'd thought he was some straight-laced, old-fashioned, teetotaling geek. The only part that had been true was the old-fashioned part, although she'd been off by more than a few centuries on that one as well. Now she knew him to be passionate, sensitive, moody, and even full of fun at times.

"So what was that with the light, Nick? You didn't even flinch."

Nick shrugged. "I damaged my eyes staring at the sun." "Smart. Real smart, bro."

He laughed. Tracy was the only person treating him just like always. She wasn't tiptoeing around, acting like he was made of eggshells and might break. For some reason, that pleased him. He relaxed in her company. "I guess," he said. "But for centuries I have missed the sun. Then suddenly, I thought I was dying. The sun was shining on me and I was powerless to seek shelter. So I just stared at it. It is beautiful."

"Well, I hope you're eyes heal quickly. I am not looking forward to breaking in a new partner," Tracy said, teasing him. "I got to meet another brother tonight." Then she told Nick about Don Constantine, "Cousin Tommy", in as amusing a tale as she could make it. Nick laughed and laughed, but she noticed as she continued that he looked tired and his complexion turned gray. "Maybe it's time to go to bed," Tracy suggested.

Nick shrugged. "You go ahead. I've been there all night."

Tracy pecked him on the cheek, just as a knock sounded at the door. She pulled it open, knowing it was Vachon.

"Hi, love," she said, "Hello, Urs. I was beginning to think you weren't coming."

Vachon gave a toothy yawn. "The Raven was really hopping tonight. The band just didn't want to quit. But I'm beat. I feel like I could sleep until Tuesday."

"Good night, then, Nick," Tracy said again, as she pulled her Spanish lover into her room.

Urs came in hesitantly, closing the door behind her. She hadn't seen Nick since a few days before he drowned, and then they had quarreled. She wasn't sure if he even wanted to see her. But LaCroix had called earlier, and specifically asked her to come. "Hello, Nick," she whispered.

"Hello, Urs." His face looked neutral. At first she thought she had seen a smile, but now he seemed indifferent. He didn't get up and hug her, or kiss her, or even look at her. She fidgeted nervously. Maybe this hadn't been a good idea after all.

"I'm glad to see you up."

An awkward silence fell between them. Urs came further into the room. She leaned against LaCroix's favorite chair for support. Nick looked tired. She yearned to comfort him, but there was a stubborn look that would deny any attempt. He could be so obstinate!

"I've been worried about you," she said.

"Well, don't be. LaCroix's always there, making sure to pick up the pieces, to keep me out of trouble. No one else needs to ever worry about Nicky, LaCroix's favorite pet."

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, blinking back tears. He was intentionally pushing her away. She knew that, and yet, it was working. As much as she wanted to be with him, to help and to comfort him, she wouldn't stay if he truly didn't want her.

"I'm just not very good company right now, Urs. Maybe you'd rather sleep somewhere else today."

Urs sniffed. She wiped away a tear and backed up towards the door. "Good day, Nick. Call me sometime." She wouldn't come back otherwise. She looked at him longingly one last time, wondering if it really was going to be the last time.

LaCroix stormed into the living room. "Urs, stay," he commanded. "Nicholas, don't be such an ass."

"Sir, please," Urs whispered. "Don't. Maybe it's better if I just go."

"Better? Nonsense. Nicholas, Urs is here because I asked her to come. As much as I enjoy your company, I'm sure that you tire of mine. And I don't want you to be alone. Now apologize to her this minute."

Nick got to his feet, his face contorted in anger, his jaw set firmly. "You bastard! Stop running my life!"

"Or what, Nicholas?"

Nick flew at him, but LaCroix took one step to the side. Nick missed him, crashing in to the wall. Urs gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth. Nick slid to the floor and stayed there. How had he not seen his master move? How had he missed? Her gallant knight looked small and lost as he drew his knees up to his chin.

LaCroix folded his arms across his chest. "I'm waiting, Nicholas," he said.

Nick blinked back tears of frustration and embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Urs," he said softly.

LaCroix heaved a sigh. "I am going back to bed. Good day, children."

"LaCroix!" Nick cried. "Don't go yet?" He stretched out his hand.

LaCroix looked at his son. Part of him wanted to bring this child to his breast and hold him there forever, but part of him was furious with him. No matter how much he proved his love for this son, Nicholas still rebelled against him. "Help yourself," he said. "Since you object to my "interfering" in your life."

"LaCroix!" Nick sounded scared. "I'm sorry. Please don't leave me here."

Urs stared. She didn't understand any of this. What help did Nick need? Why was he so frightened? What new torture had LaCroix discovered to visit upon him? The ancient turned to her. "You will stay the day with him. I will see you when I wake." Then he left.

Nick hid his face in his arms. Urs saw him shake and knew he wept, but she still felt clueless. She sat down beside him, putting an arm around his shoulders and just stayed with him. Shortly, her own tears mixed with his. She felt lethargic, drained and weary. Day had arrived. The apartment was filled with the sleeping, but this troubled, sensitive man she loved needed something. If only she knew what.

Nick was quiet now. His shoulders no longer shook, but still his face was concealed. Urs wiped her eyes, then tentatively touched his tousled hair. When he did not resist, she grew a little bolder. She put an arm around his shoulder and hugged him. "Nick? Come to bed?"

He looked up then, but not quite at her. His eyes seemed strange and unfocused. If he was really ill, maybe she should wake LaCroix? Nick pressed a hand against the wall and struggled to his feet. When she would have moved away, he reached out awkwardly and grabbed her, pulling her close.

"Urs. Don't leave me here. I… I can't see. I don't know where I am, exactly."

Urs looked at him in shock. Now it made sense. He had tried to push her away, being stupidly male, rather than let her see him this way. "LaCroix was right," she said. "You were being an ass."

Nick shrugged. "I'm sorry, Urs." He put his hand on her arm. "Just lead. I will follow."

Urs walked slowly, suddenly grateful that LaCroix's apartment was always so tidy. She wanted to know how long this would last, but if Nick had known, he most likely would have said something. Instead she would take him to bed and make love to him. In the blood kiss, she would discover what he seemed unable to share through any other means. And once they were in bed, their naked bodies pressed together, Nick was no longer disabled. It was as if everything that had happened since the last time he had held her was all just a nightmare and this was the only reality that mattered.

Nearly an hour later, Urs cuddled up against him, stroking his bare chest although he was sound asleep. For a short time she felt linked to him, sensing his dreams and thoughts more closely than she would have ever believed possible. On the plane of the imagined, he danced beneath a golden sun, felt its warmth on his flesh, and yet he was neither frightened nor hurt. Later the sun faded, replaced with darkness. Her stomach hurt then. She rubbed at it, wondering at the sensation of pain. The door opened and LaCroix came inside.

She gazed at him curiously, pulling the blanket around her. He gestured to her to stay. Lifting a bucket she just noticed sitting on the end table, he sat down on the edge of the bed near Nick and waited. Nick groaned in his sleep, moving about restlessly. Then suddenly his hands flailed out and he sat bolt upright, vomiting into the waiting bucket.

LaCroix rubbed his back between the shoulders until the spasms ceased. Then he helped Nick to lie down again. Within moments Nick was sound asleep, oblivious to his master's presence.

"I am sorry, Urs, for bringing you here. You do not need to stay with him if you find this too distasteful," LaCroix said.

She placed her hands over his and took the bucket from him. "It is not so bad," she said softly. "Just strange. I hadn't known what was wrong. I will be able to help him next time. Does this happen much?"

"Unfortunately," he sighed. He brushed at Nick's hair.

Urs emptied the bucket in the bathroom and returned. She curled up in Nick's arm, offering LaCroix a shy smile. He returned her smile before leaving. Odd, he thought. Vampires usually slept rather soundly. How could he and Urs keep waking when Nick needed them? He was too tired to think about it now. He returned to his bed, to Natalie's warm embrace and to his own pleasant dreams.

Nick was exhausting, Urs grumbled to herself. He was constantly hungry, probably because he couldn't seem to keep anything down. He'd vomit and then he'd need to feed. Finally when the sun hung low in the evening sky and it was nearly time to get up, she gave him her blood through the wrist, bypassing his sick stomach. He was much too sleepy to notice or to care. No wonder why LaCroix had summoned her! After spending a night and day with his son, the ancient must have been about at his wit's end. She hoped that Natalie would know how to help him, and soon! Rolling away from him and pulling the pillow over her head, she struggled back to sleep. An hour later when she felt the others arise, Urs remained in bed. Maybe she'd go late to work tonight. Her boss should understand.... When LaCroix came in to help Nick she feigned sleep.

Nicholas seemed petulant today, LaCroix quickly realized. He had hoped that reuniting him with his lover would comfort him. It had comforted LaCroix. After a full day's sleep with few interruptions he felt better able to deal with this most difficult child. He led him into the bathroom to assist with his shower.

"Do we have to go in to the morgue tonight?" Nick complained. "I don't want to go. Can't it wait?"

"We do have to go in tonight," LaCroix said firmly. He smiled at the stubble of beard on his son's face. It was so charming, in a way. It made him look boyish somehow, and Nick often went for days without shaving. It would never grow into a beard. This was as long as it would get, for the same reason that LaCroix himself never needed to shave at all. LaCroix had been immaculate when Divia brought him across - his hair recently cut and his face clean-shaven. That was his immortality. Nicholas, however, had been on a two-day drunk. His hair had been shoulder-length and his jaw covered with several days' stubble. Now his hair grew very fast, as his vampire nature strove to maintain him as he was exactly at the moment of his conversion, and his beard would grow just this far and stop.

Nicholas preferred the shorter hairstyles that were currently popular, which meant that he required frequent cuts, but the dark blonde stubble on his chin was there as often as not.

"Do you wish me to shave you?" LaCroix asked.

Nicholas cocked his head slightly as he considered it. "Show me how to do it myself?"

That would be time-consuming. However, they were in no particular rush, and LaCroix felt solicitous at the moment. He pulled his son in front of him as they both stood at the sink. Taking Nicholas's hand, he guided it to the mirrored cabinet and to the razor and shaving cream inside. Nicholas seemed very absorbed in the activity as he smoothed the cream over his face, while LaCroix merely enjoyed watching him. It seemed that as long as he kept him busy, Nicholas's mood was much improved. It would take serious thought to come up with enough activities to occupy his son, but certainly it would be worth it.

Nicholas felt for the faucets and rinsed the razor, then continued to scrape at his face. He wasn't doing too badly, considering. "Am I finished?" he asked shortly.

"You've missed two spots," LaCroix answered. "You can find them, as the shaving cream is there still."

He scowled with concentration as he felt his face, removing the last of the shaving cream with the razor. Leaning over the sink, he washed his face and accepted the towel LaCroix passed to him. Nicholas beamed proudly.

LaCroix told him then to find the shower and adjust the water temperature. Nicholas swallowed nervously. "It's easier to do in your shower," he answered as he felt his way around the small bathroom awkwardly.

"And why is that?"

"Because your faucet leaks. The faint sound of the dripping water leads me there."

LaCroix laughed. "Shall I then remove the washers on all the faucets and cause them to leak for you, my son?"

"Don't laugh at me," Nicholas whispered, already sinking back into the petulant mood.

LaCroix chuckled more as he pulled his son closer. "I am not laughing at you, Nicholas. At least, not at your present disability. But you make me laugh. You are my sun, the light of my world. You have the power to make me happy, even as you can burn and injure me with no more than a careless word or glance."

Nick became thoughtful; LaCroix was seldom so poetic. Then he felt his master's hands begin to undress him and he pulled away. "I can do that myself," he insisted.

LaCroix took his son's hands and placed them on his own shirt. "Then undress me instead," he offered. Together they showered and shared blood. It was the only way to start a new day.

Tracy and Nat had left for work already by the time the two vampires settled in the kitchen for their breakfast. LaCroix poured Nick's mug only half full and warmed it in the microwave. "Drink as much as you can, my son, and leave the rest," he said. His own glass he filled, three times. Caring for Nicholas required a lot of work. He checked in on Urs once, before they left. The day must have worn her out. Perhaps it had been devious and underhanded to bring her here… but he felt much better.

"Are you sorry that I invited Urs?" he asked Nicholas.

"No," he sighed. "I'm sorry that I've been so awful to her. I love her. But I just can't seem to tell her that. I mean, I seem to always say or do the wrong thing and hurt her feelings."

"I know exactly how you feel," LaCroix said ironically. He led his son away then, fully aware of the sweet smile on Urs's face before he closed her door.

Natalie was waiting for them when they arrived and lead them to the lab. The cold, steel shelf usually held only corpses and she felt awkward as she directed Nick to lay there. She slipped on the lead protective apron, but LaCroix refused to wear one. He even refused to leave Nick's side during the process. Stubborn old Roman, she muttered under her breath. Secretly, she was glad that Nick could depend on him during this crisis. She took several views of his abdomen, then had him remain there while she developed the films.

The images were not encouraging. He did have a large ulcer on the stomach lining. She pulled at her hair in frustration. All her work, six years of trying to help him, and she had made him this way. It was really all her fault. She would work forever to help him recover, even though it meant joining him in immortality, but nothing would ever erase her guilt. She grabbed the films and brought them out into the lab.

"So what's the bad news," Nick asked.

"What makes you think it's bad?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light.

"I can smell your fear, Nat," Nick answered softly. "You are nervous, anxious."

Nat glanced at LaCroix. He merely shrugged. "Okay, Nick. I'll be straight. You have a hole in your stomach. You have too much hydrochloric acid, which is making you vomit. This hole is also bleeding, which is keeping you weak and inhibiting your ability to heal. And there isn't anything I can do for you."

Nick gulped nervously. A dark sheen appeared on his brow at once as his fear nearly overwhelmed him. "You mean," he whispered. "I'm going to stay like this?"

"I didn't say that," she said, more gently now. She took a facial tissue and dabbed at the blood sweat on his face tenderly. "But, you are going to have to help yourself on this one, Nick."

"How?"

Nat glanced at LaCroix for encouragement. They had discussed this before and it would not come as much of a surprise to him. He nodded. She drew a deep breath and continued.

"You have to learn to deal with your life differently."

Nick snorted disgustedly.

"I mean it, Nick. You get so upset about things. You brood, and you always feel that everything that goes wrong is your fault. This irritates your stomach; it in turn produces more acid."

"So you're telling me this is all my fault?" he demanded.

"No, Nick," she said. "It is mine."

He jumped down from the steel table. Reaching out towards her, he found her shoulder, then her face. He brushed at the tears he knew where there. "How could it be your fault, Natalie," he asked quietly.

"I'm afraid that forcing you to drink mortal food caused this in the first place," she confessed.

"You forced me to do nothing, Nat. I'm stronger than you, even as weak as I am now. I did it on my own. You are only guilty of trying to help me. For that, I will always love you." Nick knew his master was there, and sensed his unease. But Nick drew her into his arms anyway and patted her back. This wasn't about sex. This was friendship. LaCroix would have to deal with it.

Nat pulled away first, drying her eyes. She continued quickly, using her role as physician to help deal with her feelings. "Anyway, Nick. No more guilt trips. Maybe you should find a counselor or someone you trust that you can talk to. You must learn new ways of handling your emotions. Other than that, I recommend small, frequent feedings, only pure blood uncut with wine, hourly if possible. Next week I will x-ray your stomach again, to see if there has been any improvement. I expect that when your stomach has healed, then your vision will return as well."

"But you don't know that."

Nat didn't answer at first. He was her best friend, though, and he deserved the truth. "No, Nick. I don't. However, I have no reason to believe that it won't. You have always healed before. Broken bones, stab wounds, gun shots, even drowning. Don't worry about it. And that's the whole secret. You can't worry about things any more. Not if you want to get well."

Nick nodded glumly. He buttoned back up his shirt.

"Nicholas," LaCroix said. "I wish to speak to Natalie about a private matter. I will return shortly."

He shrugged, feigning indifference. As he heard the door close behind them, however, his stomach lurched and twisted. The lab loomed around him, suddenly a frightening and lonely place. He couldn't remember where everything was, although he had been here lots of times before. The steel bed was in the center, and there was a sink somewhere. Without warning, he needed to find the sink. The metallic taste in his mouth intensified. He clenched his jaw and breathed slowly, willing the nausea to pass even as he groped blindly. He didn't know why being alone in the dark frightened him so, only that it did. He hadn't been in the dark for eight hundred years! Always before, no matter how late it was, or how much fog blocked out the moon, he could see something. Now there was just nothingness. It was like death. Lonely. Terrifying. Blood filled his mouth.

Then he heard it - the faint drip, drip. He reached out with his other senses. The room was empty of life. There was no one to see him stumble, no one to help him or to laugh at him. With his hands in front to protect him, slowly he moved one foot in front of the other in the direction of the sink. He walked right into the sink, then felt around its steel sides until he reached the faucets. A feeling of accomplishment overwhelmed him. He heaved into it, turned on the faucets to rinse it down, and straightened in time to smile at LaCroix and Natalie when they returned.

LaCroix brought Natalie down the hall and into her room, closing the door before speaking. He knew Nicholas had excellent hearing, and it seemed to have magnified since his blindness. "I discovered this evening that when he is able to do something for himself he seems much happier," LaCroix told her. "I let him shave himself, although I was willing to do it for him, and through the entire experience, he seemed more pleasant."

"That makes sense," Nat agreed. "A disability can make anyone feel stupid and incapable, like a burden. And some of it is true. They need help doing thinks they used to take for granted. Anything he can learn to still do for himself should help him feel better about it."

"But there is still a mortal out there somewhere with murderous intent towards my son," LaCroix reminded her. "Normally, I would not give that a second thought. However, I fear for him now. He is not healing. Even something as insignificant as a bullet wound might further injure him."

"You have a point. You should speak to Reese about getting police protection."

LaCroix sniffed indignantly, but Nat continued. "Think about it, Lucien. This is a police matter. Nick will know if a vampire is tailing him. In your apartment he is probably safe enough, but sooner or later - and the sooner the better, actually - he is going to want to venture beyond those four walls. If you have a vampire tailing him, he will resist, maybe even try to lose him. If the police are discreet, Nick shouldn't be aware of them at all."

LaCroix kissed her. Not a chaste kiss, but a passionate one. Natalie responded, although she felt a bit like he was merely staking his territory. These possessive old-fashioned vampires were somewhat amusing, in a way. Suddenly LaCroix ended the kiss. He looked concerned. It had to be Nick, she realized. She and LaCroix returned quickly to the lab down the hall, not sure what she expected to find. Instead, Nick smiled at them from the sink. She rushed to him and saw the telltale red mixed with water at the bottom. She looked at him curiously.

"Nick?"

He shrugged, starting to feel a little foolish. "I found it. Without any help."

She blinked back tears again. If only she could wave a wand and make his life easier. If she could believe in vampires, surely there must be fairy godmothers, too? "Thanks for coming in, boys," she said lightly. "See you later?"

LaCroix offered Nick his arm to escort him away. "Yes, Nat. And good luck with your new cast. Perhaps you would like to try the hot tub after work?"

"Yes!" she said emphatically.

Nick settled into LaCroix's limo and sipped at the small flask his master handed him. Going to the morgue hadn't been too bad after all, but now it was over. What would he do with the rest of the night? He sighed, leaning back on the comfortable leather seat.

The limo didn't travel far before Nick heard the engine shut off. He sat up curiously. They couldn't be home already. He heard street noises, an ambulance in the distance, doors swishing closed, and mortal hearts in syncopated rhythm beating all around. "Where are we?" he asked.

"At your precinct, Nicholas," LaCroix said. "Captain Reese was quite insistent about something he called "your statement"."

Nick wrinkled his nose. The expression was similar to a child facing a plate of vegetables. LaCroix almost laughed. "I will stay with you," he said. "Now try to drink a little more before we journey inside."

Nicholas complied, then opened his door and stood, waiting for LaCroix's arm to guide him further. He was dreading this. During the last visit he had managed to conceal his blindness from everyone. He had been so weak still, that LaCroix's support could have been misinterpreted. Now he felt a little better, although he still doubted his control. They would know. They would all talk about him, unaware that he could hear every word. That was the worst part.

"Stand tall," LaCroix admonished him. "When preparing for battle, you must act as though you have already won the war."

Nick gripped his arm more tightly. He understood the metaphor for what it was, encouragement more than criticism. He squared his shoulders, striving for the pride and confidence that he usually brought to work with him. LaCroix lead then, and Nick walked surely, using his vampire senses and his trust in his master to keep him from harm.

"Hi Nick!" called a woman's voice as soon as he entered the bullpen.

He noted the direction, the slight sibilance in her voice, the scent of her blood, and knew at once who had spoken. "Good evening, Schultz," he replied. "Thanks for the photos you gave to Tracy. That was really sweet."

Nick guessed she would be blushing now. He heard her pulse quicken and she shifted nervously at her desk. He gave her what he hoped was a pleasant smile.

"Where to, Nicholas?" LaCroix asked, surveying the busy, noisy room.

"Captain Reese's office, I guess," Nick said.

LaCroix steered him through the room, trying to discourage the mortals, and yet they swarmed around Nick, welcoming him back and asking about him. "When are you getting back to work?" they asked repeatedly. So far, not one of them seemed to notice his disability. LaCroix wondered how long his son would continue this charade. Then he felt Nick's presence seem to double, as his son exuded the air of a prince.

"I won't be returning for a while," he informed them. "Maybe not until my eye-sight returns."

Many of them gasped, stunned to speechlessness by his statement. A few whispered words of sympathy, but Nicholas shrugged it off. "It is nothing. Merely a temporary inconvenience. Come, Father. Let's see the captain."

LaCroix smiled. His son was many things - arrogant, stubborn, foolish, defiant, but one of the things he loved most was that he could be so unpredictable. "As you wish, Nicholas," he answered, parting the crowds.

Reese set them up in a small room with Detectives Vetter and Roberts to take Nick's statement regarding his assault. It took over an hour, during which time Reese noticed Nick's health deteriorate rapidly. He had never seen anyone go downhill like that. Twice his father pulled what looked like a liquor flask from his pocket and passed it to Nick. He tried to hurry them along, so that LaCroix could take him back home, but he still wanted to try something.

"Nick, do you think I could set you up with a sketch artist, and have you describe the man you spoke to? We'd have no way of knowing how close she follows your description, but it might give us a start."

"It's worth a try," Nick agreed.

Reese went to the door and signaled. The young artist came in with her charcoal and paper, ready to begin the sketch. Reese listened for a few moments. He nodded as he heard Nick describe the man in great detail. This had been Tracy's suggestion actually. He touched LaCroix's shoulder then and gestured. "If I might have a word with you?"

LaCroix hesitated. It was not a good time to leave Nick alone with mortals. Tracy smiled. "I'll stay, sir," she said. He stood and followed the captain into his office.

"I'm worried for Nick's safety," Reese began. "I think I should assign a few blues to watch your place."

"I agree," LaCroix said.

Reese stuttered his surprise. "You do? I mean, of course. Good. I'll take care of it."

"Not quite," LaCroix said. "Nicholas will object. If he senses you have placed guards around him, he will become elusive and uncooperative."

Reese laughed. "Yep. Sounds like him."

"Also, I suspect that Nicholas will want to return to work soon. Maybe I can get him to agree to only part-time. I'm sure you have noticed that he simply is not up to a full shift yet."

Reese grumbled awkwardly. "LaCroix, that man is sick. I don't know what he needs, but work is the last thing you should be considering."

"Nicholas is a man. And he needs to be doing something, to feel important and useful, as though he is contributing to your mortal society," LaCroix snapped. At once he realized his slip, but the captain didn't seem to. "We don't know how long his blindness will last. I know that will limit his usefulness to the force, but there have been blind investigators in the past. I am certain that Tracy will still want him for her partner."

"I just don't know," Reese continued, stalling. "HQ isn't going to like this, not one bit."

"That is their problem. If I learn that Nicholas has been fired because of this disability, I will slap a lawsuit against the city immediately. This IS an equal-opportunity employer."

Reese clenched his teeth and glared at Nick's father. Having met LaCroix sure explained a lot about Nick. The bullish arrogance and stubborn independence, for sure. But Nick was often right. Going off on his own, breaking rules and procedures… he'd done it before when he believed Rita Whats-her-name was playing a virtual vampire game with him, and again when he went undercover to find Joseph Schloss. So he had his own way of doing things… he did have good instincts.

"All right, LaCroix. I'll speak to my superiors about it. I'll let him and Tracy try it out for a few weeks, but I want to see a clean bill of health from his doctor before I put him on the streets."

LaCroix agreed. Satisfied that he had accomplished what he intended, he returned to collect his son. The sketch artist showed her picture to them. It was a middle-aged man, rather overweight, with nondescript eyes. His thinning hair was brushed back. The eyes were so deeply set that he had a somewhat cross-eyed look. His teeth were slightly crooked. Reese whistled. "Jees, Nick. You remember all this from a single, brief encounter? That's fantastic."

Tracy got up from the table where she'd positioned herself between Nick and the artist. She smiled broadly, but her eyes betrayed her concern. "Thanks for dropping by, Nick" she said.

LaCroix saw then how tightly his son clenched the arms of his chair. There were dents in the wood. He hunched down in front of Nick, covering his trembling hands with his own. Reese looked on curiously, ignoring LaCroix's glare. "Please leave us alone," he stated.

Tracy helped to herd the mortals from the room, Detective Roberts, the artist, and her captain, pulling the door shut. Nick relaxed a little when he sensed they had left. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. His fangs descended. "Will it ever be safe for me to be around them again?" he asked miserably.

"No more guilt, Nicholas," LaCroix chided gently. "Come, feed from me, enough so that you can walk out of here."

Nick leaned forward hesitantly. LaCroix pulled him into an embrace, cradling his head in one large hand. He craned his neck to expose the tender skin. Nicholas sank his teeth and sucked hungrily for a few moments only. He withdrew, turning to lay his head against his master's shoulder. LaCroix reveled in the moment. If only there were more of them. "Come, Nicholas. It is time to go."

Urs wasn't there when they arrived at the apartment. LaCroix suspected she was down in the bar, but if he wanted her to spend the days with Nick, then she would probably need her nights to recover. Nick, however, was exhausted, and was no longer pleasant to be around. He didn't want to undress and return to bed. He did not want a drink before bed. He did not want to be alone. When LaCroix lost his patience and scolded him, Nick promptly vomited all over himself, the bedding, and the carpet. He apologized immediately, weeping in his guilt and shame, which further annoyed LaCroix.

"Nicholas, stop it at once," he snapped.

Nick fell silent, the picture of dejection. LaCroix sighed. What to do with such a one!

"You will clean up this mess yourself," he ordered. "Then you will wash yourself. After which, if you would like to join me, I will be in the hot tub."

Nick's mouth dropped open. He hardly ever cleaned anything when he was healthy, and never had he cleaned LaCroix's apartment. He wouldn't have the faintest idea where to look for anything. "But, Father?" he pleaded.

LaCroix hesitated. Perhaps he had been a little harsh. Then again, perhaps not. "The bucket is next to you on the end table. Sponges are underneath the sinks in the kitchen and the bathroom. You may pile your soiled clothes on the bed and I will wash them for you."

Nicholas was mute. LaCroix turned and left before he could change his mind. He took a beverage and slipped into his hot tub, but kept his thoughts on his son as he sensed his progress through their link. He would not relax until Nicholas had completed the task. Sitting and waiting was much worse than doing it himself.

Nick wasn't sure where to begin, but sitting on the bed in his own vomit and feeling sorry for himself was getting him no where. He unbuttoned his shirt as the wet fabric was getting uncomfortable. Wadding it up, he wiped his chest, then laid the shirt on the bed. Shortly his jeans followed. He felt for the bucket, knocking it to the floor. He found it, then hesitantly made his way to the door, stepping wide around the wet stain on the carpet. He could smell it, and therefore avoid it.

The sink in the bathroom was a little closer, and he had been there a few times since his blindness. He touched the wall with the knuckles of one hand as he walked, counting the steps. Then a left turn. He fumbled to get the bucket beneath the faucet, but the bucket was too large. He had to fill it in the tub. The sponge was exactly where LaCroix said it would be. There were other bottles and containers there. Some of them were probably cleaners, but Nick hesitated to try them. What if he tried to clean the carpet with mouthwash? Of course, he might be able to discern some products by their odors, but he was too nauseated to sniff them. No, plain cold water was probably best.

He walked more slowly back towards his room, not wanting to trip and spill the full bucket. He patted at the spill, rinsed the sponge, and patted at it again, repeatedly. It seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. He'd have to try harder to hit the bucket in the future, as cleaning up was nasty. Stripping the sheets and blankets from the bed was easier, and nothing had soaked through on to the mattress. He dumped the bucket water down the toilet, returned the sponge under the sink, and the bucket to the end table by his bed. He was more than worn out. But he also felt pleased. Cleaning up a mess wasn't an accomplishment he would brag over, but he did feel a little less like an invalid. Emboldened, he found his way to the refrigerator and drew out a bottle. He sniffed the cork - yes, it was blood, not wine. Then he broke a glass when he reached for one, though, and he cut his finger when he tried to pick up the shards. Maybe this was a mess he couldn't handle. Taking the bottle with him, he tried to retrace his steps. The hot tub was past the bathroom. He listened for the quiet hum of its pumps. Shortly, he stood beside it.

"Well done, Nicholas," LaCroix said. "I'm pleased you decided to join me."

Nick showed his still bleeding finger to LaCroix. The ancient took the digit in his mouth and sucked away the blood until the shallow wound closed. "Perhaps, you would not object to using a plastic mug for now," LaCroix suggested.

Nick pulled the cork from the bottle and took a few small sips. Replacing the cork, he floated it in the tub to warm it, and snuggled back against his master. He felt oddly like a fledgling again. He had to relearn how to do so much, but he also felt very safe and protected. Nick closed his eyes and dozed.

LaCroix remained in the hot tub far longer than he had intended. With Nick asleep against his chest, he hated to move. Periodically, the bottle Nick had brought would float past, and LaCroix took a sip, although he generally avoided drinking straight from the bottle like a boorish plebeian. All through his nap, Nicholas didn't seem to dream. Neither his memories of the sun, nor any of his other nightmares plagued him, but instead he remained in restful slumber. The time came though, and LaCroix knew he must move.

Nicholas did not want to waken. LaCroix was half tempted to leave him. Instead, he remembered the child Nicholas had been, feigning sleep in order to be carried to bed. LaCroix pulled his bathrobe on, and carried Nicholas. He would have to lay him in his bed, as the other was still unmade. He set a bucket near the bed on the end table, and a bathrobe in easy reach, should he awake. Then LaCroix dressed. Perhaps he would venture into the Raven for a while.

"Nicholas," he said. "I will be downstairs. Call me if you need anything."

"Hmm," was the only response.

Nick struggled. A ton of water pressed on him, pinning him down. He gasped, drawing in a breath, and sat up suddenly. It had been only a dream. He was safe, in his room in LaCroix's apartment.

He was also naked. "LaCroix?" he called. There was no response. Nick shook his head, trying to drive away the muzzy feeling. He remembered going to the morgue and the precinct… then he must have fallen asleep in the hot tub. He took a deep, even breath. No nausea, yet. Just in case, he felt the bucket on the end table. Something soft rubbed against his ankles. Nick felt around and found his robe. He pulled it on and cinched the belt. Rising, he groped around for the dresser that was just like LaCroix's. He opened a drawer and felt through the folded pants until he found some denims. He pulled them on, but they were too big. Some how a pair of LaCroix's must have been put in his drawer by mistake. Too lazy to change again, he just cuffed up the hem for LaCroix was taller than he was. The waist was a little loose, too, and the jeans rode low on his hips. It was a good thing he wasn't expecting any company. He was ravenous. The contemptible pains and nausea were returning. He grabbed the bucket, just in case, to carry it with him to the kitchen.

Nick counted the steps to the door, but it wasn't there. A moment of panic washed over him. Disoriented, he fought against rising fear. Hesitantly, with one hand outstretched, he took another step and then another. Finally, he found a wall, then the doorframe. He must have miscounted, he decided, or taken smaller steps. Gathering his courage, he released the doorframe. Turning to the left he counted steps again, moving his feet slowly over the carpeted floor.

He bumped into a piece of furniture that should not have been there. The panic returned. Nick set the bucket down by his feet and reached for the object. He touched smooth black leather and a soft furry ball. Sydney hissed, clawing at Nick's groping hands. Nick pulled his hand back with a surprised cry. His right hand hurt. Bringing it to his mouth, he licked at the bleeding scratch, fully three inches long. "Damn cat," he cursed, baring his fangs and hissing at it. Sydney hissed back before scampering away. Nick heard something tip over as the cat flew past.

He felt the leather again. It was the couch, but it shouldn't be over here! The kitchen table belonged here. Had someone redecorated while he slept? Nick felt so turned around; he no longer knew where to go. He sat on the floor, pulling the bucket into his lap and held on tight. Within moments he heaved into it.

'Calm yourself,' Nick thought, remembering his master saying as much to him a thousand times over. Calm down. He was in the living room. LaCroix's pants had been in his dresser. The door had not been where he expected. The obvious answer was that LaCroix had laid him in his room. Of course… Nick had stripped his own bed. He laughed at himself, but the sound came out shallow and nervous.

"Okay. I'm in the living room," he said aloud. "But can I find the kitchen?"

He wasn't really hungry any more, but it had become his objective, as though achieving it would give him purpose. He set the bucket down, unwilling to carry it around any more. The bedroom should be back the way he'd come. The kitchen would be at 2:00, roughly. There would be a coffee table and another chair in his path. Nick stood and reached out with his senses.

Chairs and tables did not emit vibrations like living beings, but somewhere that damn cat still lurked and Nick didn't want to step on it. Moving slowly, he felt the coffee table with his shin, then next he came to the chair. From there on was empty floor space until the kitchen table. He was starting to feel better about himself, until he stepped on something sharp.

"Damn," he swore again. The glass he'd broken earlier… now his foot was bleeding. Nick was sorry he'd ever gotten out of bed. He tried to pull the glass from his foot. The bigger pieces came, but a smaller one eluded his clumsy attempts. Nick's fangs erupted with his anger.

He gave up. Walking wide to avoid more glass, he finally reached the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle. Limping, leaving spots of blood as he walked, Nick tried to retrace his steps to LaCroix's bedroom. Only, he was disoriented again. He banged into a corner and didn't know where to go. Frustrated, weak, bleeding and depressed, he sat down. Eventually someone would come. They would find him and rescue him. Nick the gimp. Nick the useless. He wiped tears of anger and chugged from the bottle. He tugged off the robe and wadded it into a ball for a pillow. This was as good a place as any for a nap. Nick lay on his side, pulling his knees up until the pain in his stomach was less noticeable.

Something tickled his hand. Nick felt a warm, rough tongue lick at his scratch and heard a rumbling sound that could only be Nat's cat Sydney. He was still mad at it, but he didn't want it to leave him all alone. He remained motionless as the cat continued to lick the blood from his hand.

"Did you come to apologize then?" he asked softly.

"Prrrup?" the cat seemed to ask.

"I'm sorry then too, for all those times I hissed at you."

Sydney moved closer, almost touching noses with this big, fanged furless cat. He liked Nick better now that he seemed less like competition. Deciding to let bygones be bygones, Sydney curled up under Nick's chin and settled in to share a nap. Nick draped an arm around the cat, hugging him close and drifted to sleep.

An hour later Nat and Tracy stared at the strange sight of the half-dressed vampire and a cat napping in the middle of the hallway.

Natalie had come home a little early, having signed out before her doctor visit. She felt so much more mobile with the smaller, lighter fiberglass cast in fashionable black. She'd had her choice of colors and almost settled on the hot pink, but a strange quirk had made her take the black. After all, it was a vampire's favorite color.

Tracy had brought her home, and together they talked about Nick and the struggle to help him rediscover some independence. As they stared at him, they wondered at the circumstances that brought him there. They looked around, seeing the broken glass in the kitchen, the bloody footprints, the bucket in the living room, the mess in his bedroom… and signs that LaCroix's bed had been slept on as well.

"Looks like he's had a rough night," Tracy commented.

"But it wasn't all bad," Nat said. "I've been hoping he and Sydney would become friends. Looks like I got my wish."

Sydney glanced at Nat scornfully, then closed his eyes again, contented to remain curled up against his new friend. She pulled out a coin and flipped it, leaving Tracy to handle the laundry and Nat would sweep up the broken glass.

LaCroix came in shortly. His eyebrows raised at the sight of his son on the floor. "Just leave him there," Nat suggested. She patted the couch. "Come join me?"

He sat on the other end and pulled her new black cast onto his lap. He stroked her cold, bare toes, warming her. "You do know, my dear, that your leg could heal tonight if you chose to join me," he said lightly.

Natalie laughed. "Believe me, I have thought of that!"

"And?"

She smiled at the longing she heard in his simple request. "Not yet, Lucien. You have enough on your hands, with Nick and Tracy. When I join you, I may be very jealous, wanting you exclusively for myself. I'll wait."

They watched the end of a movie then in companionable quiet. Urs joined them, and then Vachon. Tracy curled up in Vachon's lap, dozing off. The phone rang, interrupting them. LaCroix answered it, walking into his room and closing the door for privacy.

"Yes," he said.

"I found the carouche you were looking for. Jody has more than a few questions. What shall I tell her?"

LaCroix hesitated. "Is she there?"

"Yes.

"Please put her on," LaCroix said. The voice of a young woman came over the phone. LaCroix could hear her nervousness. He told her then, briefly, that he had need of a favor and would she meet him at dusk. She listened without comment.

"I will see you tomorrow," she said, before hanging up.

LaCroix sighed. He hoped this was not going to be a mistake.

He glanced again at his son. The floor could not be very comfortable. The carpet was not pure wool; Nicholas's bare skin would be irritated. He knelt by his son and began the process of trying to wake him. Nick didn't respond to his gentle caress, or the images he sent through their bond. He nudged him a little more firmly, speaking to him in his native French.

Suddenly, the vampire lunged at him, fanged and fearsome, striking his jugular with deadly accuracy in spite of his disability. LaCroix smiled broadly, pleased with his son, and patted his back affectionately. He relished the sensual tug as his blood nourished his hungry child. Then Nicholas pulled back. The vampire was under control, but the man was disoriented and fearful.

"LaCroix? What happened? Where am I?"

The master reached out to comfort his son, resting his hand on one bare shoulder. "I'm sorry I had to wake you. We are on the floor of my apartment, in the hallway. Do you remember how you got here?"

Nick touched a small bump on his forehead, wincing slightly. It came back to him. "I woke up in your room, I guess. Only, I thought I was in mine. I got turned around."

LaCroix closed his eyes and shuddered. "Forgive me, Nicholas. I never even thought about that."

Nick shrugged his indifference and cocked an impish half-smile. "I figured it out, eventually. What ever's knocked over in the living room, I didn't do it, Sydney did. Then I cut my foot on the broken glass in the kitchen. When I ran into the wall over here I just gave up."

"Come into the kitchen, Nicholas, and Natalie will look at your foot," LaCroix said.

Nick let LaCroix help him up. He tested his foot. It was still sore. LaCroix put an arm around him, so he hopped along without putting weight on it.

Natalie hopped along on her crutches. "You know, Nick, between you and me, we make quite a pair," she said, lightly teasing. Nick just grinned.

Urs brought over her medical bag. Natalie took out the magnifying glasses and a tweezers. She put his foot on her lap. There were several large cuts, and they were still open wounds.

"I pulled out the bigger glass chunks," he said, reaching for his foot. "This is the only one that still feels like something's in there."

"You're right," she answered, pulling a thin shard a half an inch long out of his flesh. She wiped it with hydrogen peroxide then, since she no longer trusted his vampire nature to heal it. As the wounds were still open even after more than an hour, she wrapped it in a gauze bandage. "All done," she said, as she lifted his foot from her lap.

"Thanks, Nat."

She grabbed his hand then. "And what's this?" There was a long fresh scratch as well.

"Ask Sydney," Nick replied with a shrug. "It's okay. I guess we've called a truce."

Nat gave him an impulsive hug. "Glad to hear it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think it's bed time."

Nick heard the rhythmic sounds of her crutches, the softer shuffling of Vachon's easy gait, Tracy's sleepy giggle as she whispered "good night, -," to LaCroix, and even the almost silent movement of air as LaCroix departed. Only one remained. "Aren't you tired, Urs?"

She gathered up the empty bottles and glasses to put them in the sink. The others didn't seem to realize yet that such insignificant clutter posed a real danger to a blind person. She pushed in the kitchen chairs, and picked up the bathrobe Nick himself had left on the floor.

"I'm a little sleepy, but I'll wait up with you for a bit. I suppose since you just woke up, you're not ready for bed?"

"Come here?" he asked. Urs came. Nick stood, trying not to wince at putting pressure on his sore foot. He reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders, then pulled her in for an embrace. "Why do you put up with me?" he whispered.

Urs held him tight, inhaling deeply. She loved the scent of him. She loved everything about him! She could tell him it was because she loved him, but she had said so before... how could she make him believe it?

Nick straightened, pulling back a little to end the intimate moment. "Take me to the door of our room, please."

Urs let him lean on her a little as she walked to the room they shared. At the door he stopped her. "Now, in the room, is everything where it belongs? Nothing on the floor?"

"Everything looks fine, Nick," she said.

"Good. I remember that LaCroix put in a piano recently. Will you take me there? Then you can go to sleep. I'll join you in a little while."

Urs looked across the living room. The coffee table would be in the way, as the baby grand was tucked in the back corner near a window. She walked to the table, as Nick counted the steps, then around it, and on to the piano. Nick smiled wistfully as he touched the satin finish of the new instrument. He had yet to play it. He hugged Urs quickly and gave her a kiss. "Thanks, love," he said dutifully, but his thoughts were already someplace else.

"Enjoy yourself, Nicky," she said sweetly.

Nick pulled out the bench and sat down. He hadn't played in weeks. Lightly, he trailed his fingers over the tops of the keys, locating middle C. Then he began to play. Solfegetto first, by the younger Bach. It was a simple piece, but sweet, and it gave him confidence. He didn't need to see to play. If his eyesight never returned, he could always do his Ray Charles imitation in the nightclub. Next he played Rachmaninov, then Tchaikovsky, then Chopin. On and on. For a while he forgot that the apartment was filled with the sleeping. He even forgot about his blindness, and the hunger and pain that was becoming his constant companions. As he brought the Raindrop prelude to a close, he laid his hands in his lap. That was enough.

Urs was like a raindrop, he mused. He'd heard a poem once that claimed joy was rain. "Bit by bit the river grows, till all at once it overflows…" Later, the poem said joy was tried by storm. Well, his life was a storm right now, but Urs was constant. She was a jewel of morning dew, clear and sweet and fresh. He didn't deserve her.

Now came the hard part. He closed the lid over the keys and stood up. It was ten steps to the coffee table, if he started at the right angle. When he felt ready, he retraced the path, feeling pleased when he bumped into the low table. Around that, twelve steps to his door, then eight to the bed. His reward was to nibble on Urs's ear and share with her the peace he had discovered in music.

LaCroix sighed contentedly. He had always loved to listen to Nicholas play. Today's concert was a milestone, of sorts. It seemed that his son was beginning to find himself again. His choice of pieces had all been sweet, perhaps bittersweet, but not tragic. Then with a sudden insight, LaCroix knew what career his son should consider whenever they did move on. He had been a teacher before, sharing his knowledge and love of archaeology, but perhaps he could try teaching music. Nicholas Chevalier, Music Professor at Oxford perhaps? Or maybe some small university in Vienna? He would speak to Aristotle about setting up such an identity, for when the time came.

He shuddered then. On a foolish whim he had invited not one, but two carouche to visit this coming evening. He had better get some rest.

Natalie was the first one to wake up again. She remained in bed with LaCroix for as long as she possibly could, but there was just no way she could put off the inevitable any longer. Still, LaCroix had convinced her that Nick was not the sanest person when he first awoke. Last night when LaCroix tried to wake him, he had attacked the old Roman! She took her scarf again and wrapped it around her neck several times. Then donning a nightgown and bathrobe, she unlocked the door left the safety of LaCroix's room.

It was fully dark outside, she realized with surprise. The vampires didn't usually sleep that long, but then they had been up late. She had breakfast and was just fixing a cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. Natalie opened it.

A pretty young woman and her golden retriever stood on the landing. The woman looked as surprised to see Nat as Nat was to be facing the strange vampire.

"You live here?" the woman asked nervously. "I must have the wrong address, please forgive me."

"No, wait," Nat said. "This isn't my place. Whom are you looking for?"

"Mr. LaCroix."

Natalie smiled. She motioned for the woman to come inside. "Then you found him. My name is Natalie Lambert."

The woman stepped inside. She stared at Natalie's outstretched hand before accepting it. She walked too erect, held herself too aloof, almost as if she had to prove something. Natalie tried to make her feel more welcomed, but really didn't have a clue what the woman's problem was. She went to the refrigerator then and sorted through the bottles for the one she knew LaCroix preferred. She poured a generous amount in a crystal glass and offered it to the vampire.

"I was just having some coffee," Nat said, giving her a friendly smile. "Would you care to join me? I'm afraid the others aren't up yet."

The woman stared at the glass, her pretty brown eyes widened in surprise. Nat was shocked to see red tears before the woman blinked them away. Her hand shook nervously as she accepted the glass. "My name is Jody," she said.

Nat smiled. Jody Something. The rest didn't matter. As she had learned, most vampires changed their surnames every time they moved. Only LaCroix seemed brazen enough to break with that tradition. Nat took the couch, as she still found that propping her cast up as much as possible eased her discomfort. Jody perched on the edge of LaCroix's black leather chair, remaining alert and ready to bolt. She sipped at the bloodwine Natalie had given her and smiled appreciatively.

"Not bad, for human," she remarked.

Nat gasped, inhaling a little coffee, which started a coughing jag. She blushed in embarrassment.

Jody fidgeted. "I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

The coroner took another sip of coffee and set it down on the table. "Knew? I haven't a clue what's going on, Jody. Other than, I am the only mortal in a house full of vampires."

"And carouche," she whispered.

Carouche. Nat had only heard the term once before, during the fever. Screed had been carouche. He had been a limey, an uneducated sailor from England's past, and he fed on the blood of rats. Nat shuddered at the thought. She recalled how Nick had reacted around him, a little superior and incredibly tactless. Only Vachon had mourned Screed's passing.

But this pretty young woman was nothing like the dirty sailor with the unintelligible accent. Her hair was cut short and stylish; her make-up was subtle, almost completely concealing the pale complexion of the undead. She wore snug-fitting blue jeans and a rose colored sweater- she was the most "un-vampire" looking vampire Nat had ever met.

The dog sat beside her, gazing adoringly at the young woman. Then Natalie smiled. "You mean your dog is carouche? Should I get him something to drink, as well?"

Jody nodded hesitantly. "And he is my master."

Life had taken some strange twists since Natalie had first discovered Nicholas Knight undead upon the slab in her morgue, but this was definitely one of the strangest. She got up to fetch a bowl of something for the dog. She got a cereal bowl and one of Nick's bottles without the wine.

"Thank you," Jody said, as she set it on the floor for Perry. He lapped at it eagerly, his eyes became golden, glowing orbs and his already long canine teeth seemed to grow more deadly looking, even as he wagged his tail in typical doggy fashion.

Jody pulled her fingers through her hair as she gave a nervous little laugh. "When I left Toronto, I swore I would never return."

"Why is that?" Nat asked.

"Oh, no good memories, I guess. First, my mortal friends kind of forgot I was still alive, after the MS struck. They were uncomfortable around me, and avoided me. Then a carouche attacked my dog, and Nick wanted to destroy him. When Perry brought me across, it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. Did you ever have a really great day - like, imagine winning the lottery, and getting promoted, and falling in love, all at once, and you're just bursting with joy, but you can't tell anyone. And what's worse, no one would really care, anyway."

"It's too bad that Nick wouldn't let you talk to Tracy before you moved on," Natalie said softly.

"But she's not a vampire!"

"Well, no, at the time she wasn't, but she did know about vampires. Only, Nick knew she knew, but didn't want her to know he was, and it is really very, very confusing."

Jody stared at her. "Do you mean Tracy is a vampire now?"

Natalie nodded. "Actually, she's Nick's little sister."

Briefly, a bright happy smile came to Jody's face, turning her pretty looks into something truly eye stopping gorgeous. But then the smile faded and her nervousness doubled. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea," she stammered. "Maybe I should just go."

"Would you tell me more about yourself? You said you are carouche. What does that mean? Is that what makes you so nervous? Does it bother you to be around vampires?"

Jody laughed without humor. "Oh no. It doesn't bother me a bit. But carouche are second or even third class creatures. Most vampires refuse to associate with us, or to come to our aid, and some would prefer that we were denied the right to exist."

"But what makes you carouche? What makes you different from them?"

"We have the blood of animals in us," she whispered. "Carouche are considered abominations by some because of this. Carouche can be animals, brought across by vampires, or people brought across by carouche… either way, we are "impure". Most carouche prefer to drink animal blood, although human is acceptable."

Natalie nodded slowly as she listened. It reminded her a little of the racial problems that had been more prevalent in the recent past. Things were starting to change - there were more racially mixed marriages and multi-ethnic children in the schools… but change was slow in coming.

"Did Nick treat you unkindly?" she asked.

Jody shook her head. "Never. When I was a blind dispatcher, he was very kind. He made me feel like a woman again, instead of a cripple. After Perry brought me across, Nick seemed only very sorry. I tried to tell him how happy I was, but I don't think he really understood. He spent the rest of the night with me, giving me a crash course I guess, as he tried to teach me what I would need to know to survive. He begged me to stay longer, but I had to get out of Toronto. I couldn't let anyone see my sudden, miraculous recovery. So Nick sent Screed to look after me for a while. The only thing he hadn't taught me, was how other vampires would despise me. That I learned from experience."

"So, why did you come? Do you know why LaCroix wants to see you?"

"Only that he said he needed a favor, and I owe him my life."

Natalie looked up as Vachon, Tracy and Urs joined them, observing their reactions to Jody. Urs seemed a little formal, but that was just Urs. Jody, however, might have read it as prejudice. Vachon smiled his lazy, sexy smile and waved. Tracy reacted with her same childish excitement, bouncing into the room with a squeal.

"Jody! Jody! Is that you! I just can't believe it! How are you!" She almost attacked her old friend, eliciting a warning growl from Perry, which she ignored. Drawing Jody in for a hug, she stammered on enthusiastically. "You look great! How've you been? Where've you been? How long can you stay? It's so good to see you!"

Jody was quite overwhelmed, unable to get a word in to answer a single question. After a moment, she returned the embrace. Tracy, like her other mortal friends, had abandoned her when the illness struck, but Tracy then apologized. She had forgiven Tracy last year, before she'd come across.

LaCroix cleared his throat, tugging Tracy's attention through their link. "Calm yourself, child. You'll frighten my guest away with such nonsense." He hadn't realized that Tracy knew this carouche. If he had, he might have reviewed his plan with her first. Now, it was too late.

Tracy stopped bouncing, but her smile was just as infectious. "Oooo, a guest of LaCroix! I didn't know you had friends in such high places, Jody!"

"I didn't, either," she said, giving Tracy a meaningful look. "So how long? When did you do it?"

"She's still a baby," Vachon answered lightly, as he passed Tracy something for breakfast.

LaCroix listened as the younger vampires conversed. He was pleased that they were making Jody feel welcomed. He would have been hard-pressed to do it sincerely, and yet it was imperative if his plan was to succeed. But he wished to speak to Jody alone, while his son still slept. It was time to hurry the children and Natalie along.

Tracy was reluctant to leave. "I'd really like to talk some more, Jody. Will you be in town for a while? Do you have a place to stay?"

Jody glanced at LaCroix hesitantly. "I don't know," she answered.

LaCroix put his hands firmly on Tracy's shoulders as he guided her towards the door. "I will be sure to get her phone number for you, my dear. Now run along, or you'll make Natalie late."

Tracy reached up and pecked him on the cheek. "Be good to her."

Finally, the door closed and a peaceful silence filled his living room. He leaned against the door as he studied the young carouche before him. Jody was pretty woman. Such a shame that his son had not brought her across. It would have saved her much heart ache and embarrassment. As for the dog beside her, it was quite unusual that he still lived. Dogs made the worst carouche. They could be quite vicious.

"I never thanked you properly," Jody said to break the silence.

LaCroix waved her comment aside, but she persisted.

"You stood up for me, when no one else would. I will never forget it."

Now was the time, he realized. He had come to her aid last summer, when the council raised a stink about the two new carouche, and discussed sending enforcers to destroy them both.

He had argued that as long as they adhered to the code they be permitted to exist. He had to call in a lot of favors in order to sway enough votes on the council, but he had done it for Nicholas. Although the boy knew nothing of the issue, LaCroix hadn't wanted him to suffer any more guilt on Jody's behalf.

Then the moment was shattered with Nicholas's frantic cries for help. LaCroix flew to his room. Nicholas was still mostly asleep, trapped in his nightmares. His arms flailed at the air, struggling with the phantoms in his mind. LaCroix sat beside him. He'd learned from experience that to take the flailing arms was the worst thing to do. Instead, he tried to wake him, baring his throat in expectation for his son's attack.

He didn't have long to wait. Nicholas tore into his neck savagely, but what began as self-defense quickly turned to need. Nicholas clung to him desperately, as he drank his master's blood. LaCroix held him, comforting him for a few moments before pulling away.

"Come now, my son. Enough of this," he chided softly.

Nicholas withdrew his teeth. His fingers stroked LaCroix's face almost hungrily. "It's all true, isn't it," he whispered, still trembling.

"I did not share your nightmare, my son, but I have learned that they seldom bare any resemblance to reality."

Nicholas shrugged, trying to feign indifference, although he still seemed shaky.

"I have a visitor, Nicholas. Can you dress yourself and join us in the living room?"

"I don't want to see anybody," he said petulantly.

"Au contraire. You do want to see, very much, I think. And so you will come and you will mind your manners. My only question is if you require any assistance."

Nicholas's expressive face scowled his displeasure only moments before he lunged for the bucket on his nightstand. LaCroix sighed. Nicholas hadn't heaved once all day long, and he had hoped that this part of his strange affliction was over. Such hopes had been premature. This bout was particularly violent. Nicholas's shoulders shook as he continued to cough. LaCroix didn't need a doctor's skill to catch the scent of his son's blood wafting from the container. Nicholas returned it to the nightstand, his strength spent. He sank back onto the pillows.

"Please, Father. Don't make me do this," he pleaded softly.

LaCroix wished he could comfort him then. He wanted to do anything to make life easier for his precious child. Only the belief that the best thing for him now was to come out and meet the two carouche gave him the resolve.

"You will do this, now, Nicholas. Later, we will do whatever you wish."

Nicholas set his jaw stubbornly. "Promise?"

LaCroix nodded, forgetting for a moment that such a gesture was useless. "Yes."

Nick tossed back the covers. "Will you lay out my clothes, then?"

LaCroix pulled open the dresser drawers. Until recently, nearly everything Nicholas owned had been black, which simplified dressing. Perhaps Urs wouldn't mind putting away the brighter colors for a while. "I will see you shortly, my son," he said, pulling the door closed behind him.

Jody stood there, speechless. LaCroix guided her back into the living room before answering her questions.

"He didn't know I was here," she stammered. "Why didn't he sense me?"

LaCroix shrugged. Of all Nicholas's problems, this was probably of the least concern. "He has always been rather excitable. Strong emotions sometimes weaken our senses."

"So what's going on? Why is he sick? I heard about the Fever that swept through Toronto last year, and then something about a vampire with the power to poison. Did he meet her? Is he poisoned?"

LaCroix refilled their glasses, bringing one out for Nicholas as well. Then he briefly explained Nicholas's unique condition. "I don't think there has ever been a blind vampire before. Oh, we've all suffered injuries to the eyes, straying a moment too long in the sun, but once we feed, the injury heals promptly. Forgive me, child, but since you were once blind, I thought perhaps you might help him to face this condition. We have no idea how long it will remain. So far, there has been no sign that it has begun to heal."

Jody gave a sigh of relief. She settled more comfortably in her chair, pulling her feet up and tucking them underneath. She gave LaCroix a beautiful smile. "You only want me to help your son?"

He nodded, scowling. She didn't seem to realize the seriousness of the situation.

"Whew… I was thinking you were going kill me."

"What ever for," he snapped.

Jody lowered her eyes. "Because when you spoke for me at the council, I heard their sentence. I was free, but if I failed to live up their code, then the task of seeing me dead fell on your shoulders."

"You were afraid I might destroy you, and yet you came at my summons? Why?" This dainty carouche puzzled him. He needed to understand her. Understanding was important to manipulation. Without it, he felt powerless.

"Because, after I licked the disease, I decided I'd never run away again. Life is too precious to hide in fear."

LaCroix heard his son's approach then. He changed the subject, discussing nothing of importance, but allowing the sound of his voice to guide his son safely to him. Nicholas came straight to the couch, trailing a hand along the back of it as he moved to sit at the other end.

"Nicholas," LaCroix began. "Do you remember Miss Jody Fraser?"

Nick held out his hand. She took it, and he clasped it firmly. "Jody? Jody Fraser! My favorite pilot. How have you been?"

LaCroix sat back and listened to them visit for a while, before he left them alone. He put the empty bottles in the dishwasher and tidied the little kitchen, remaining close but unobtrusive. He wasn't even sure what he wanted Jody to do for him, but as their conversation continued and Nicholas seemed more relaxed, LaCroix felt that the encounter had been worthwhile.

"I found that I had to rejoice in all the things that I could do for myself, and not to grieve for the things I had to give up," Jody was saying. "I still had my mind. I had a voice, and I was able to work dispatch. It wasn't anywhere near as exciting as flying rescues, but it was no less important."

Nick shrugged. "I know I need to go back to work. I haven't even tried to speak to my captain about it yet, as I really haven't been up to it. But I have to do something. Merely existing isn't enough."

"Working homicide is pretty dangerous, Nick. Even for a sighted man. You might not be able to do that now."

"But it's my job. It's what I do, what I'm good at. And I like to think it's important," Nick said.

"I know. Like I once flew helicopters. Don't worry, though. You'll find your dance."

"My what?

Jody laughed. "Think of it this way. You used to waltz. You probably knew a lot of dances, the Fox Trot, maybe even the Charleston. But those are for sighted people. If you tried to dance them now, you'd look like a blind man. You'd step on a lot of toes and be a real klutz."

The thought of not dancing again hadn't even occurred to him. She was really depressing.

"So," she said, trying to get his attention back. "You've got to learn how to tap."

"Who says I don't?" he grumbled.

"Tap dancing is something you can do. You don't need a whole ballroom, just a small stage. You don't need a fancy costume or even a partner. You just find the rhythm and let go. And pretty soon, people will be paying real money to come and watch you tap. And they won't say "look at that blind man", they'll be watching an artist perform."

Nick fell silent. He knew she was the voice of experience, and she was probably right about working homicide. But was there a place for him in the department somewhere?

Jody reached down to pet her dog affectionately, as she reached a decision. "Nick? Would you like to keep Perry for a while? Until your eyesight returns?"

Nick shook his head. "No. LaCroix hates dogs. He would never let me keep one."

"But LaCroix is the one who invited me here. Surely that is what he had in mind."

"And just how could Perry help him," LaCroix asked, keeping his voice neutral. Inviting the carouche to visit was quite enough for one day, allowing one to dwell under his roof was probably more than he could tolerate.

"Perry can give him independence and freedom. Perry is still a guide dog. He is trained to be the eyes for the blind. With him, Nicholas can go almost anywhere. In an emergency, he can even fly with Perry, but a dog doesn't have the discernment to conceal his nature from mortals. I have to be very careful with I take him flying."

LaCroix wanted to forbid it. His lovely apartment was becoming crowded. For years he had lived alone, and now he shared it with Tracy, Vachon, Urs, Nick, Natalie, and the cat. Was there even room to add a carouche? As he considered it, he wondered whom would he want to leave? Not any of them, really. Except maybe the cat. "Show us how Perry could be of assistance."

Jody left briefly, to get Perry's harness. Nicholas called to him. "LaCroix? You can't seriously be considering letting him stay. You hate dogs. You know you do. Don't do this to me."

"I absolutely detest cats," LaCroix said. "I cannot stand the vile, furry, bewitched little creatures. I hate how their hair clings to my clothing, or the way it flies up my nose. I hate how they claw up the furniture. I hate the way they smell. However, I find that I must endure a cat to please my lover, and so the little beast and I will learn to get along. Because I love you, if this guide dog will help you, I will tolerate it."

Nicholas blinked, swallowing past a thickness in his throat. He reached out for LaCroix timidly, first holding him close, then nuzzling his sensitive throat with his fangs. LaCroix returned the embrace. "May I, Father?" he whispered hoarsely.

LaCroix's answer was to nip his son and crane his neck to bare the vein. Nicholas sank his fangs and drank. LaCroix tried to hold back, tried not to take too much, but Nicholas's sweet elixir was almost intoxicating. Reluctantly, LaCroix withdrew, while still holding his child close. He felt Nicholas tremble. The weakness that seemed to plague him was replaced with new vigor, if only temporarily. Nicholas seemed greatly improved when Jody returned.

LaCroix stepped back and watched. Perry knew just what to do, but Nicholas needed to be trained to recognize the dog's gestures. Perry leaned against his leg, pushing him away from colliding with the furniture. The dog warned him about stairs, and steered him safely around potential hazards that Jody placed on the floor. After they had drilled in the apartment, Jody took them out for a walk around the block. LaCroix flew to the rooftop to watch, feeling strangely wistful. Perry would restore a sense of independence to Nicholas, and Nicholas would not need him as much. He heaved a sigh. This was a good thing, wasn't it?

Then he saw the two men following his son. He felt a moment of concern until he recognized them from the precinct. Captain Reese had placed guards around Nicholas, as they had discussed. The officers kept a discreet distance and Nicholas didn't seem aware of them. This was also a good thing, in that the guards would be free to do their job, but it also concerned LaCroix. If he was unaware of the guards, then the killer could also take him by surprise. LaCroix looked all around from his position on the roof. The drive to hunt had not been this strong in decades!

As he saw Nicholas and the carouche enter the back door to return to the apartment, he entered from the skylight. He didn't have to ask them how it went, as Nicholas was grinning broadly. He knelt down and patted the carouche affectionately, uttering the kind of nonsense that mortals often spoke to their pets. LaCroix shuddered. And so now his home would have to include the carouche. Certainly, there must be something Natalie could do to speed his son's recovery!

"When you finish with Perry, then you need to remember to take off his harness," Jody said. "Have one place to hang it, so you'll know where to find it. And don't forget to love him. Dogs are pack animals, and very social. They crave attention and affection."

Nicholas fumbled with the straps on the harness, but Jody just let him figure it out. Then he hung it on the doorknob of the front hall closet. "Jody, I know how hard this must be for you. Are you sure you want to leave him here?"

He heard her sniff and knew she was very close to tears.

"Do you have a place to stay while you're in town?"

"No, I just got in last night. Aristotle let me bunk on his couch."

"Why don't you stay at my loft, then? I won't be using it for a while. I know Tracy will want to see you," Nick said. "And that will give us all a chance to see how this works out."

LaCroix got Nick's keys from his bedroom for him and handed them to Jody. "That is an excellent idea, Nicholas. If you don't mind cow, there is even a supply in his refrigerator."

Jody laughed nervously. "Cow is fine. Thank you. I can't tell you when I've ever felt quite so… welcome. If you don't mind, it's been a long couple of nights, and I'd like to get settled in."

LaCroix gave her directions to the loft. He volunteered to have his limo take her, but Jody said she'd rather fly. At the door, Perry whined, expecting to go with her, and unsure of what to do.

"You stay with Nick," she whispered. "You can help him now, just like you always helped me. I'll see you around."

Perry lay down with his head on his paws. Jody turned her back sadly and left.

"LaCroix?" Nick asked.

"I'm here, my son."

"You promised. We could do whatever I wanted, if I came out to meet your guest. Remember?"

Inwardly LaCroix groaned, wondering what mischief his son was cooking up now. "But you look worn out, Nicholas. I think you should rest."

"That's not what you promised."

"Tell me then, what it is you wish to do," LaCroix said, hoping to steer him away from what could become a tense moment.

"Would you take me flying," he whispered hopefully. "I haven't been in over a week, and I'm afraid to go alone."

LaCroix smiled. This was a simple request, and one that he would enjoy as well. But Nicholas did look tired. "If you will lie down for a little while, then I will gladly take you."

Nicholas shrugged agreeably. When he started to walk, Perry jumped up and went with him. The dog didn't know his destination, but kept him from walking into the furniture wherever he went. At his room, Nick sprawled on the covers. He patted the space beside him. Perry jumped up, turning around and around, then plopped down comfortably. Nick rubbed his fingers through the sleek coat for a few moments, until he fell into a sound sleep.

LaCroix scowled at the furred beast on the bed. There would have to be a few ground rules laid out if this was going to succeed. Still, the dog didn't have a bed of his own here, and Nicholas did seem to be resting soundly. LaCroix decided to slip downstairs into the Raven for a while.

"Hello," Reese spoke into the phone. It was that damned PI again. This guy really didn't seem to understand English. If he kept it up, and LaCroix pressed charges against him, then it would all come out how Reese had hired him in the first place. This was one mistake that just did not want to go away.

"You are not going to believe this," the PI said excitedly. "I found the connection you were looking for. He's not only crooked, he's from an entire family of thieves! That man is a Constantine!"

"You are really nuts. I've never heard anything more ridiculous," Reese snapped. "And I told you, this case is closed. You're fired. Now leave LaCroix alone and don't call me again!" He hung up, but within moments it rang again.

"He's a Constantine, I'm telling you," the PI insisted.

"He is French. Constantines are Italian," Reese pointed out.

"Ha! "LaCroix" is a French name, but it isn't really his. He's Italian. He served as a General once, stationed in Rome, I think. He is a cousin to the notorious Don Constantine, right here in Toronto!"

Reese shuddered. Somewhere along the line the PI started making sense. LaCroix did have a certain Roman look about him. Maybe it was the nose. Or the aristocratic bearing. But just being related to the Constantines was not a crime in itself. Actually, it made him think more highly of LaCroix. The man had changed his name, his identity, even tried to change his nationality. He obviously wanted nothing to do with the powerful crime lord.

"I'm going to say this very, very slowly," Reese growled, losing what little patience he used to have. "You are fired. F-I-R-E-D- Fired! Do not call me again! Do not continue to follow him. Or I will have you arrested!"

Strange, but as irritated as he was, the awful headaches were over. He hadn't had one in over a week. He stood in his doorway and looked over the officers as they worked. The place seemed empty somehow, yet only Knight's desk was vacant. Tracy's desk was almost empty. She'd been mostly doing paperwork while her partner was out. He'd probably have to pair her up with some one soon. It just seemed kind of final. Like maybe Knight wouldn't be coming back.

"Tracy," he called. She looked up and smiled. Getting up from her desk, she came into his office.

"You want to see me?"

"Tell me where you took Jeep MacPete," he said.

Tracy hedged.

"Look. This is just I. And it will go nowhere else. I want you to tell me where you took him. Where you think is the safest place for him."

She swallowed. "I took him to Don Constantine," she said.

Reese nodded. The PI was probably right. "I guess it was LaCroix's idea, wasn't it?"

She didn't answer.

Reese sighed. "Fine," he grumbled. "How's Nick doing?"

Tracy smiled. "Better, I think."

"Tell him we're thinking about him. Now get out of here."

Nicholas awoke on his own with a wide, sensual yawn. LaCroix smiled as he watched him. At first he looked young and innocent, wiping the sleep away, then he became disoriented when he remained in the dark… then finally he came to a kind of quiet acceptance. LaCroix spoke to announce his presence. "Are you hungry?

Nicholas seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking his head.

"Then I believe we have a date," LaCroix reminded him. Nicholas stood, and took LaCroix's arm. With Nicholas in tow, LaCroix left the room, lifted through the skylight, and soared out over the city. Nicholas's hold tightened, clinging to him as to a lifeline at first. Eventually, he relaxed, as he rediscovered the joy of floating so effortlessly, defying the laws of physics. The moon accompanied them, a thin sliver of its former glory, but even Nicholas seemed to sense its mystery and power. LaCroix flew until his own hunger warned him it was time to stop.

The others were all home, waiting for them, wondering where they had gone. Natalie looked disapproving as he had tired Nicholas severely. Nicholas sat on the floor in front of the couch. He called to Perry, who licked at the sweat on his face affectionately. Urs brought beverages for him and LaCroix, setting his on the coffee table. As the conversations drifted around him, Nicholas smiled contentedly. It had been a pleasant evening. He'd made a new friend in Perry, and had been in LaCroix's company all night long without a fight. He leaned against Perry, and the two fell asleep. Much later LaCroix carried him to bed, but Nicholas had no memory of it.

Keith Crowley cursed as he straightened the clerical collar. These things were blasted uncomfortable, how did a man of the cloth stand it, unless it was meant to be a penance? It was necessary, though. Somehow, the police had a fairly accurate description of him and it was no longer safe to walk freely in Toronto. He was closing down his businesses, preparing to leave town, and the disguise as a minister permitted him some measure of freedom. He would visit the jail tonight, to see what that nephew of his was up to. He used a shampoo-in hair color, and hoped that with the costume, he would not draw too much attention.

"I didn't ask to see no priest," the younger Crowley complained.

Keith shook his head with a sad patient look until the police officer left. "Shut up, you incompetent fool!"

His nephew gasped. "Uncle?"

"Tell me about this!" Keith demanded, as he pulled a sketch of himself from a vest pocket.

"It's not me, I didn't say nothing! It's that dang Amish guy. The second one. He didn't drown, and he's an undercover cop!"

Keith grabbed a part of his anatomy and glared at him threateningly. "You're lying. I saw him puke blood. We watched for half an hour, and he never came up for air. He was dead!"

"Well, he had a miraculous recovery. Go see him for yourself. They called him Detective Knight. Now what are you going to do to get me out of here?"

"I'm working on it," Keith lied. "But it's harder to work now that my face is plastered all over town. I may have to move out, and help you from somewhere else."

His brother's son wiped his nose on a sleeve. "Whatever you say, boss."

He called for the officer to let him out, without a single backward glance. He wouldn't miss that incompetent fool. He believed him though, as his nephew lacked the intelligence to tell a convincing lie. He would have to find out where this Detective Knight lived. This time, he would make sure the cop died, if for no other reason than because he was annoying.

The apartment had an empty feel. Nick stirred, stretching as he awoke. Perry sniffed him hesitantly, then licked his face. Nick patted him affectionately. "It's just you and me, boy. I guess we're alone here."

He sensed that it was night. The instinct to avoid the sun remained strong even without his eyesight. Reaching out through his mind, he sensed LaCroix was nearby, perhaps in his soundbooth downstairs. Nick knew if he called him, LaCroix would come. Tonight was different. For the first time since he'd lost his sight, he didn't mind being alone, not with Perry there.

An hour later, he had showered and dressed and slowly sipped at pure human, while Perry lapped up cow blood. Nick was feeling emancipated, and he wanted to go out to celebrate. He considered several destinations. It didn't really matter where he went; only that he needed to go somewhere, as though to prove to himself that he could do it. He wasn't quite ready to go to the precinct. He wanted to feel more confident before facing his coworkers. He didn't really want to go to the Mall, and listening to some videos seemed about as interesting as watching paint dry. Then he knew where he wanted to go. He needed to go visit Jimmy MacPete, Jeep's older brother.

It didn't really have anything to do with the case. He didn't know what, if anything, had been happening since his swim in the lake. He'd given them a description of the man he'd met on the bridge, but as far as he knew, no one had been apprehended. But Jimmy had severe disabilities. He discovered his own "tap dance", as Jody had called it, his skill with computers, and turned it into a thriving business. Nick needed some reassurance. He knew Captain Reese was not going to want him back on the force until his eyesight returned. Nick didn't want to wait. He would have to be confident in his own ability, before he tried to convince the captain.

Nick called the bus depot first for information on which busses to take, and how close they would bring him to his destination. He memorized the times, as he would need to take the bus back, as well. The blood wasn't sitting well tonight. He forced himself to drink more, knowing he would need the strength before he went out among mortals. When all was ready, he called to Perry and put his harness on.

Perry seemed eager to go outside as well. Although being carouche, he would not need the frequent walks to visit fire hydrants like mortal dogs, Perry still required exercise. Nick felt his father's presence stronger as he went down the stairs, and he felt the old knot of dread.

"Nicholas," the ancient said with deceptive calm. "What a surprise to see you."

"Good evening, LaCroix," Nick answered, trying to sound more self-assured than he felt.

"Where do you think you are going, my son?"

Nick turned his head, listening. The Raven was busy. He felt vampires and mortal heartbeats all around. This was not a private place. LaCroix noticed his hesitancy. "Would you care to step into my office?"

Nick allowed LaCroix to lead him and Perry inside. "I am going for a walk," he stated then. When LaCroix didn't launch immediately into a list of a thousand reasons why he could not go, Nick continued. "Please. I must do this. I've called the busses, and I know where I'm going. If I get lost, I will call a cab. I even brought my phone."

LaCroix eyed his son critically. Nicholas had managed quite well this evening. He was dressed, black shirt, black jeans, and black coat. Urs must have taken his suggestion to heart. He did seem to have his heart set on going out. LaCroix was not inclined to disappoint him again.

Still, there was a killer out there. By now he should have figured that the Amish man he'd tried to drown and Detective Knight were one and the same. LaCroix was tired of waiting for the police to find this tiresome mortal. He wanted him found and punished severely for the pain he caused his son. But would he allow Nicholas to be the unwitting bait, luring the killer to act?

Nicholas's skills of sense and perception still seemed weakened. Perhaps LaCroix would accompany him on this journey, and if the killer appeared, he could deal with him.

"Please, Father? I need to do to this, alone," Nicholas whispered, a quiet desperation in his voice.

"Very well," LaCroix heard himself answer. "Tell me exactly the route you plan to take, the address of this MacPete, and when you expect to return."

Nicholas gave him the information. LaCroix clapped his shoulder affectionately. "Go then. But do me a favor, and be careful?"

Nicholas cocked a boyish grin. "Always," he answered. As soon as he had left, LaCroix dialed the police to give them Nick's agenda. Then he discreetly lifted into the night sky to follow him at an unobtrusive distance.

Nick inhaled deeply as he and Perry stepped outside the Raven. The night air was cold and crisp. He felt a tingle of excitement and a trace of fear, but he had prepared well for this outing, and it was certainly harmless enough. He turned and Perry walked beside him, guiding him to step down at the curbs, to wait for the red traffic lights, to avoid a patch of ice. Four blocks away, he waited ten minutes for the bus. He had counted out the fare at home, over and over, to make sure that he had the right coins and wouldn't keep the other passengers waiting while he fumbled clumsily. Nick told the driver what exit he wanted, before taking a seat near the front.

He detested busses. They smelled and they were dirty and they had an almost tomb-like feel about them, but tonight as he rode alone but for Perry, he felt like a king. He made the transfer to another bus without incident, and soon was knocking on MacPete's door.

There was no response at first. Nick felt a moment of panic. What if Jimmy wasn't home? But when he knocked again, he heard Jimmy call. He announced himself and the door opened.

"Detective! I didn't expect to see you," Jimmy said. "Sorry I didn't hear you at first. I had the music turned up kind of loud."

"That's fine," Nick answered, feeling a little foolish now for coming. "I should have called. This isn't work related. I've been unofficially laid off for a while."

"Hmm," he answered. "Well come in. Can I get you something to drink?"

Nick shook his head. He heard the soft metallic sounds as Jimmy steered his wheelchair through the living room.

"Well, come in then, and sit down for a bit. If you remember, the couch is at 11 o'clock, and I have no low furniture blocking the way. I keep the aisles wide enough for the chair to get through."

Nick found the couch and relaxed a bit when he was safely seated. He had only been here twice before. Now, he struggled against the frightening feeling of becoming disoriented. He had to remain alert, to keep everything clear in his mind.

"So you got a dog already? That's pretty amazing. I've heard how there's never enough guide dogs for all the people that want them, and some folks are on a waiting list for years."

Nick nodded. "Well, Perry belonged to a friend of mine. He's on loan until I get my sight back."

Jimmy conversed easily. They talked first about Jeep, and the case, but moved on to discussing computers and Jimmy's business and then disabilities in general. Nick found himself relaxing even more, like he didn't have to pretend to be brave in front of him.

"So have you talked about going back to work?" Jimmy asked later.

Nick tried an indifferent shrug, but Jimmy wasn't blind. "That's what you're really here about, isn't it?" he asked.

Nick felt embarrassed. "I guess. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bothered you," he mumbled.

Jimmy laughed. "It's no bother. I'm glad that you felt you could talk to me. People always like to seek out others who share a common bond. That's why we have horse and pony clubs, dog clubs, homemakers clubs and fan clubs. You are suddenly in a different world, and none of your friends can share this experience with you. Maybe they are very nice and solicitous, but they really do not know what it is like."

"So what do I do?" Nick asked.

"You'll have to figure that out on your own. It should be something you enjoy. Maybe you'll do something very similar to what you used to do, maybe you'll switch careers entirely."

Nick quickly thought about some of the other departments. He'd worked two shifts in juvenile division with Roberts, when he had met Pony and her friends. He had helped those kids, but he had felt grossly out of his element the entire time. If only his vision would just return. Suddenly his stomach started to twist and the foul taste tingled in his mouth. "May I use your restroom," he said.

Jimmy gave him specific directions. He reached for Perry's harness and left, praying he'd get there in time.

LaCroix had followed his son the entire time, but he was not entirely pleased that Nicholas had not suspected he was being followed. He seemed oblivious to LaCroix, the police, and the three mortal hoodlums that appeared to be following him as well. When the thugs overpowered the two police officers, knocking them unconscious, LaCroix seethed with indignation. How dare these mere mortals threaten his son's safety!

LaCroix flew down immediately, showing great restraint when he stopped himself from killing them. He knocked them out, possibly using what might be called "excessive force", but tossing them around helped to relieve some of his anger. Partly, he was angry because this trip had seemed so important to Nicholas. Having his father come to rescue him was not going to sit well.

But perhaps Nicholas didn't need to know? Quickly, he roused the two police officers and adjusted their memories, until they took out their handcuffs and tossed the thugs in the back of their car. When he heard them call in for back-up, he went to the MacPete house to check on his son.

An older man stood inside, holding a gun to the throat of a disabled young man that fit Nick's description of Jimmy MacPete. His son was coming down the hall, his hands raised. No where could he see the dog. Nick was walking alone, speaking. LaCroix opened his senses, trying to discern what was happening, without yet giving away his presence.

"Ah, it's you, again," Nick was saying. "The man from the bridge. You were going to tell me where Jacob Schloss was, but I didn't quite catch what you said."

"You'll have to tell me how you survived the lake, Detective Knight," the man sneered.

Nick had cleared the hallway and stood now in the center of the room, both hands up. His voice was calm. "How are you doing, Jimmy?"

Jimmy swallowed. "I've been better," he answered.

The man laughed. "Well, Detective Knight. You've put a real kink in my business since you've seen me, and posted that stupid picture of me. You can't believe how difficult business had become. I'm going to have to pull up stakes now and move. But first, you and I and your buddy here, we're all going to take a little trip. You're going to drive, and if you do anything to call attention to us, you're buddy's going bite it."

Nick moved closer, turned a little. LaCroix watched, wondering what game his son was playing. The man didn't seem to realize that Nick was blind, and Nick didn't seem to be fearful. LaCroix hesitated. Bullets were not harmful to healthy vampires, but he was not going to let this man target practice on his son! Still, he watched and waited. The man lifted his gun from MacPete's throat and aimed it at Nick, turning with Nick to keep him in view. When his back was to the hallway, Perry made his appearance. He leaped from the bathroom and knocked the man to the ground. His jaws wrapped around the man's throat. He did not bite, but his angry snarls were threatening.

"The gun, Nick! He's still got the gun!" Jimmy shouted.

Nick flipped over Jimmy's wheelchair, tossing him to the floor just as a bullet fired. There was a pinging sound as it struck the wheelchair, but he didn't smell blood. It had missed Jimmy. The sound the bullet made told him exactly where the gun was. Nick lunged for it, flinging it from the man's hand. Perry growled, tightening his grip. The skin broke and a spot of blood oozed. The man started to scream.

Then the front door was kicked in and the officers shouted, "Freeze!"

Nick smiled at them. "Glad you could make it. Arrest this man for the murders of Jason Wilton, Janice Whitcomb, and Jacob Schloss." Then, he commanded Perry to let the man up.

"Damn dog!" he cursed. "I should have shot him back when I shot Janice."

Nick chuckled. "Oh, it's a different dog. This is my guide dog." It didn't hurt to let the man know that he'd been brought down by a blind man. Nick felt rather proud of himself. He had managed alone. Wait until he told LaCroix!

LaCroix was tempted to run inside and congratulate his son along with the officers, but he remained outside, enjoying the look of confidence on that dear face. Then, he lifted into the air and slowly flew home. It would be interesting to hear Nicholas's version of the story.

Jimmy righted his chair and pulled himself back into it. "Thanks, Knight. You saved my life," he said. "Me and Jeep, we owe you."

"Just doing my job," Nick answered, still basking in his own success. He rode to the precinct in a squad car and walked proudly inside. Schultz greeted him cheerfully, admiring Perry. "It's so good to have you back," she exclaimed. "The place just hasn't been the same without you."

"You did it, Nick," Tracy cheered. "You solved the case. But you know, you should keep your partner more informed."

He listened to more good-natured teasing, and he sat in on the questioning of the man they had arrested. It was all getting to be a bit much, though. Suddenly he was very, very tired. Tracy whispered to him, as she passed him a pair of sunglasses.

"Your eyes, Nick. You're losing it."

He slipped the glasses on. Before he'd always known when his eyes were golden because of the way things looked. With vampire vision, warm-blooded things pulsed in tasty crimson hues… but apparently, when he was both blind and tired, he lacked control. He needed to go home very soon, but there was something else he had to do first.

He remembered where Reese's office was. He'd been called in there hundreds of times. Concentrating, he approached the door and knocked. When Reese answered, he and Perry went inside.

"Good to see you, Nick. Alive and well. Glad we finally got that bastard. But you were damn lucky tonight, do you know that?"

Nick nodded. "Yes, I do. But I still want to come back to work. I'm ready for this. Maybe I can't see, but I still can think. There is a lot I can do. I want you to give me a chance."

Reese cleared his throat. He'd already spoken to the higher ups, and they were not happy. Still, legally, they did not have a right to fire him. "Nick, homicide is just too dangerous. Think about it. This year you've been shot at, how many times? You were hit once. You almost died. This is not the place for you."

"So transfer me. But just don't fire me. There's got to be something I can do. What about working in juvenile again? Obviously traffic cop is out." Nick grinned. There were almost as many jokes about blind traffic cops as blind umpires.

"Fine, Nick. Your father already had this conversation with me a week ago. And I've already cleared it with the commissioner."

Nick was shocked. "LaCroix? He came to see you?"

"Yes, he did," Reese answered. "He threatened me with a law suit if we didn't give you a chance."

Nick grinned and shook his head. The more he thought he knew his master, the more the ancient could still surprise him.

"As soon as you get the okay from your doctor, you can come back to work."

Nick held out his hand. When Reese took it, he shook warmly. "Thank you, Captain. You can expect to see me next Monday, I think."

"You take care then, Nick. And have a good week end."

"Do you want me to take you home," Tracy asked, when he left the captain's office.

"No, thanks," he answered. "Perry and I are going to drop in on Nat, for old times sake, and then I'll call a cab. But thanks for the offer."

She gave his hand a squeeze, not wanting to start the rumor mills again if she kissed him. Nick endured a dozen farewells as he left. He used to think that he had no friends there. They were just annoying, with their constant gossip, their betting pools, their smelly food and boiled coffee, and the way they were always trying to get him matched up with one girl or another. But now he realized that he missed their teasing. It was a different sort of friendship. They weren't the kind of friends for whom he would grieve when he moved on, but they were friends just the same. Folks who treated him like any other mortal.

It was only a few blocks to the morgue, but by the time he got there he was ravenous and the flask he carried was empty. When he pushed open Nat's door, she smiled with surprise and started towards him.

"Stay away, Nat," he warned, leaning against the door. He cocked his head and listened. Only one heart, beating a little too fast. They were alone. "I am hungry."

She opened her cooler. Nick felt his fangs erupt. She placed the bag in his hand. Then he pierced the plastic and tried to drink. Small sips. As the packet emptied, he felt calmer. Then he gave her an embarrassed grin. "Hi, Nat. It's been a long night. I caught a killer and I got my job back."

Nat came closer then. She lifted his sunglasses, relieved to see the clear blue eyes. Reaching up, she kissed his cheek. "I'm proud of you, Detective Knight."

"I'm kind of proud myself," he answered.

"Since you're here, do you mind if I take another x-ray of your stomach before you go? I'll have them developed, and tell you what I see when I get home."

Nick shrugged. It wasn't really why he'd stopped in, but he would need her signature before Reese let him back to work. It didn't take long, and then he kissed her good-bye. By the time the cab dropped him off at the Raven, Nick was thoroughly exhausted.

LaCroix greeted him at the door, and drew him into his bedroom, where the ancient began to undress him.

"I can do that myself," Nick insisted.

"Hmm, I'm sure you can," LaCroix answered gently, without stopping.

"I caught a killer tonight," Nick said, unable to conceal a yawn.

"Good for you," LaCroix said. He helped Nick into a silk pajama top and began to do up the buttons. Nicholas stood patiently, half asleep on his feet.

"And Reese says I can go back to work on Monday."

LaCroix thought Monday was a little premature, but he would speak with Natalie before starting this argument. Nick sat on the bed as LaCroix helped him with the pajama bottoms.

"Thanks for speaking to Reese about my job," Nick said.

"You're welcome." He pulled back the covers, guiding his son to lie down, before he pulled them back up.

Nick yawned again, his fangs full and beautiful in the dim light. "Master?" he whispered. LaCroix loved this moment best, when Nicholas was guileless, for he was so like the child he had once been.

"Will you stay with me for a little while?"

LaCroix smiled. He stretched out on the bed, pulling his son in to his embrace. Not much had changed in over 800 years. He felt his son's hair, still as soft as silk. He felt the quiet peace steal over Nicholas, as he relaxed for the day. The boy was nearly asleep, and yet the ancient remained, reluctant to leave.

"LaCroix," Nicholas whispered.

"Sh-sh. Time to rest," he said.

"I love you."

LaCroix blinked. He felt his own fangs descend then as his emotions threatened to spill over. He remembered all the moments like this that he had allowed to pass, too cowardly to speak what had always been in his heart. He recalled the carouche's words that she was not going to live in fear any more. It was time that he stopped permitting his fear of rejection and abandonment keep him from speaking. He hugged Nicholas closer. "I love you, too, my son."

The end.

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