Evening came, and the loft was astir with sleepy, dislocated children. They were irritable, as their routines had been disrupted, and they were as lost sheep. LaCroix quickly hurried from the shower to bring peace among them before any of Nicholas's antiques were destroyed.

"Quiet!" he demanded, as he descended among them. They scattered out of his way and their squabbling ceased. LaCroix opened the refrigerator and passed around the mortal blood he had shipped there for Urs.

"The hunters are dead," he repeated, to remind them of their debt to him. "Tonight you will clean the Raven, and you may stay there if you have no other place to sleep." He sensed grumbling from a few, but none dared to voice it. He nodded regally. Age had its privileges. He went one step further and telephoned the precinct for Nicholas, asking to speak with Captain Reese.

"I understand," the captain replied. "I'm just grateful that no one was seriously injured in last night's blaze. Tell Nick we've taken the fire under investigation, and I'll let him know if anything comes up."

LaCroix smiled. They would find nothing, and no one. Caspian was too old to make mistakes. "Thank you, Captain," he answered agreeably, just as Nick came down the stairs.

His son glared at him briefly.

LaCroix held his glare without apology. Nick broke off and turned away. Then the master addressed him. "I require your assistance tonight. Your captain is very understanding."

"Fine," Nick shrugged. He was too tired to go to work, anyway. Today had passed all too quickly.

"Come here," LaCroix demanded. He fought down a fear that his son would again defy him, while hoping that Nicholas had finally learned a thing or two.

Nick stretched and gave a toothy yawn. LaCroix loved him like this, sensual, passionate, and utterly clueless. His undead heart beat twice as the boy obeyed and came to him. Nick hesitated only a moment, then embraced him, and laid his head against the ancient's breast.

"Are you fully recovered," LaCroix asked hoarsely.

"Uh-huh," Nick answered sleepily.

LaCroix placed a chaste kiss on his head then broke off the embrace. "Come, children," he called the vampires. "Time to get to work."

Nick stared at the gutted remains of Janette's Raven and felt a heaviness settle around his heart. Everything was charred black with soot and soaking wet. The fire department had given it a thorough dunking. He turned a circle, not knowing where to begin and feeling overwhelmed already.

Urs took charge. She brought out the shop-vacs and set two volunteers to vacuuming up the water. Opening the back door to the alley, she directed the rest to begin heaving out the debris. Two waitresses and Patrick were to sort out the undamaged bloodwine and wash ash and soot from the bottles. Nicholas and Vachon sorted the tables and chairs that were repairable, and began to clean them up. The damaged windows had been replaced that afternoon, but she went around with a razor blade to scrape off the gluey labels, and then washed them down with vinegar. The vampires listened to her, not because of her age or authority, but because of her quiet, unassuming take-charge attitude, and she seemed to know just what needed to be done.

LaCroix came down periodically to check on their progress, and he piped his radio station into the room so they could have music to clean by. He gave only a brief talk tonight, in which he discussed the fire, and how the club would be closed indefinitely until the repairs were completed. That started a call-in session, as countless mortals needed to share their experiences of loss from fires. He was about ready to puke from their angst-filled confessions. He brought it to an abrupt halt with a sardonic sense of humor as he stacked the CDs to play: Scotland's Burning, Burn Bright My Baby, You Light My Fire, and half a dozen more numbers of the same theme. He smiled as he heard the busy vampires in the next room singing along the words of fire and flame while cheerfully cleaning up the ash. They sounded very happy; Nicholas must have offered free drinks again. That his son could afford it was no matter; he was pleased that Nicholas seemed contented among his own kind again.

He heard Natalie's car approach and went to greet her. She was attractively dressed in a peach colored sweater and crème pants, and wore just a trace of peach perfume. He inhaled, savoring her delicious mix of scents. Nick jumped up to greet her, grinning from ear to ear as he extended a hand to shake that was covered in soot.

"You're not dressed very good for working," Nick said lightly.

LaCroix stood behind her tensely, worrying if the inevitable moment of confrontation had arrived already. Natalie just laughed. "I'm not here to clean, Nick," she answered, and stepped past him.

Tracy tugged on Nick's sleeve, distracting him. "Nick? Do you think this if fixable?" she asked, wobbling a chair's leg for him to see. While he turned to answer her, LaCroix lead Natalie away, picking his way through the mess.

Nick glanced up at Nat, and noticed LaCroix's hand on the small of her back. He frowned, unsure what it meant.

Tracy tugged on his sleeve again. "Nick. She's not jealous about Urs anymore. Can you let her find her own happiness?"

"But LaCroix's not in love with her, is he?" Nick asked softly.

"I think he is," Tracy said. "And I don't think he's doing this just to piss you off. I think he's loved her all along, and that's why he's tormented you so for the past few years."

Nick closed his eyes and reached out tentatively, half-afraid of what he would find. LaCroix sensed his son's presence and permitted it. Nick felt love and concern from him. Love for Nicholas, concern how he would react, and passion for Miss Lambert, along with resignation that she would not become a vampire for some time. Nick wondered about his own feelings. Natalie was just a friend. A very special friend. Someone to watch videos with, and to ask advice. Someone to share confidences. But, as he watched Urs wipe the chandeliers, and the soft curves of her hips sway on the wobbly stool, he felt intense desire for her. It was Urs he loved. He strengthened the bond with his master. "Have a pleasant evening, LaCroix," he thought. Then LaCroix gently closed their bond. Nick smiled.

Natalie touched the piano in LaCroix's living room, trying to understand more about him through his home. "Do you play?" she asked.

"No," he answered. "I purchased that recently for Nicholas to use when he visits."

She nodded, and continued to observe the Spartan furnishings. It was dark, like Nick's loft, but it was barren of the many treasures Nick collected. There were two paintings on the walls- she recognized Nick's style in them. The furniture was black leather but comfortable. They must clean up well from bloodstains, she mused. There were many candles set around the room, all lit, and soft music coming from the CD player. There wasn't much of LaCroix here at all.

"I would have thought that after 2000 years you'd have collected more trinkets," she said.

LaCroix shrugged indifferently. "I'm not sentimental about inanimate objects, my dear. The only thing I want with me when I leave are my children."

Her eyes fell then on the strange stringed instrument. "You play this, don't you," she said, remembering the times she'd heard it's music over LaCroix's radio station. She hadn't known what it was, but guessed it was similar to a viola- deeper sounding than the violin, and a little melancholy. "Will you play it for me?"

"Some other night, perhaps," he said vaguely. "Would you like to dine?"

"You cook?" she blurted with surprise.

LaCroix's eyebrows shot upwards and a disdainful sneer flicked across his patrician features. "Absolutely not. I ordered take-out."

Natalie almost laughed, but caught herself. She didn't want to insult her host. The smell of hot Chinese was making her mouth water. Nick had ordered her Chinese before, too. Was the scent of ginger tolerated easier than Italian foods with their predominant garlic sauce?

LaCroix held her chair for her, then joined her at the small table elegantly set with fine china, crystal goblets, and rose-shaped candles floating in a glass bowl. She held her red wine, and waited as he lifted his glass. She wondered if he would make a toast, but he just stared at her for a moment, his expression almost hungry, then he smiled and drank. Of course, toasting was too mortal a custom, she realized.

But conversation was not. LaCroix made excellent conversation, and she found she was enjoying herself more than she could ever remember. Whether anything came of this or not, she knew the time they shared together was special.

The cleaning was boring. Nick lost interest, as he yawned a few times. He drank plenty, and was feeling sleepy and contented. His hands were black with charcoal, his clothing was smudged, and he tried hard not to breathe, as the ash was unpleasant in his lungs.

The vampire strays were still working, but they too seemed to be running out of steam. Only Tracy was still bubbling along with her usual perky grin and childish enthusiasm. Nick grinned and he picked up a small handful of ash. When she bent to pick something up, he sprinkled the ash over her.

She didn't seem to notice, so he did it again and again. She brushed it out of her hair, and sneezed when it got in her mouth. Finally, she looked up just as Nick dumped another handful. "You!" she yelled.

She lunged for him. He wasn't really caught off guard, but he was laughing pretty hard. He fell back onto the charred dance floor, and she landed on top of him.

"You are such a brat!" she said, grabbing a handful of ash and rubbing it into his hair.

Nick coughed as some of the ash went into his mouth, then he rolled her over and pinned her down. "I'd rather be a brat than a baby," he teased, stuffing ash inside her shirt.

"Nick! Stop! Don't!" she screamed, struggling uselessly beneath him.

Vachon joined in, intending only to pull Nick off his lover, but Urs dumped a clump of crud down his back. Within seconds the entire club was pandemonium as the other vampires joined in the ash-fight. Anything was more interesting than the boring clean-up task.

LaCroix heard the racket downstairs build, but tried to ignore it until the sounds were so loud that Natalie took notice.

"Do you think they're all right?" she asked.

"The Natives are restless," he commented dryly. "Wait here. I will settle this."

As he descended the stairs, vampires that had been playfully fighting began to sense his approach and quickly returned to work. All of them except two. His children were still rolling around in the ash, oblivious to his presence. He cleared his throat. When they still did not respond, he spoke firmly. "What is the meaning of this!"

Nick and Tracy got to their feet and faced him. It was hard to tell who they were, as they were covered with black soot from their once golden hair to the soles of their shoes. He sensed Tracy's fear and submission at once, but Nick was not afraid. He stepped forward bravely, pulling Tracy behind him. LaCroix smiled inwardly at Nick's action. Once a knight... but then, he was not treating Tracy like his Lady-fair, but like his kid sister.

"I'm sorry, LaCroix," Nicholas said. "It is my fault. I started it."

Tracy peeked around his shoulder, smiling up at LaCroix cautiously. "Um, I'm sorry, too," she said. "But I couldn't let him get away with it. He dumped ash in my hair!"

Nicholas turned towards her and brushed at her hair, wiping the ash off her face with blackened, grubby hands. The gesture was sweet and loving, even if it was rather fruitless. LaCroix felt a hard lump in his throat, as he sensed his son.

Tracy was the missing part in Nick's life! It wasn't Natalie, or Urs, or even LaCroix. He had been missing his little sister! LaCroix replaced his mortal father long ago, and somehow, Natalie had become more motherly towards him, even if he didn't quite realize it yet. He was surrounded by friends- mortal and vampire- and he had a home. But now that he had Tracy to love, to tease, to protect, as he had done for Fleur for most of his mortal years, his life was once again complete. Why hadn't LaCroix ever thought of that before?

Nicholas turned back towards him then, waiting. He must have half expected to be knocked down, or at least to be scolded. LaCroix saw the familiar stance, yet his son's face was not angry or defiant. His children really were very amusing together. "I must be getting old," LaCroix thought to himself.

"You will wash up elsewhere," he admonished them, "before you set foot upstairs."

They nodded in unison. Then LaCroix surprised them both by just leaving. Being old definitely had its advantages, he thought, as he sensed their confusion. Natalie had waited for him at the top of the stairs and greeted him with a smile.

"Are you getting soft?" she whispered, a teasing grin on her face.

"Sh-sh. Don't tell anyone," he answered. He changed the CDs then to play the waltzes of Johann Strauss. He made a courtly bow, then took Natalie's hands and stepped into a waltz. She moved into his arms and danced. He was pleasantly surprised- not many still knew how to waltz.

"Nick taught me this a few years ago," she said. "I dragged him to my cousin's wedding, and he said he'd only go if I would waltz with him."

LaCroix nodded. How like his son. But would he always come up when LaCroix was with Natalie? She moved closer, leaning her head against his breast as they waltzed. LaCroix closed his eyes and he swirled through the open living room. Perhaps not. She was here with him now, while Nicholas was slaving away downstairs. LaCroix felt a lightness in his step that he hadn't felt in a long time.

Natalie noticed they were flying as her feet no longer made contact with the floor. LaCroix held her firmly, continuing to dance the broad, sweeping waltz, even as he rose towards the ceiling. Pushing aside the skylight with one hand, he brought her out onto the roof and beyond.

Natalie stared at him. She saw his eyelashes resting on pale cheeks and softly illumined from the amber eyes behind closed lids. Snow was falling silently in the still night. She felt the wet flakes kiss her cheeks and arms, and wished she had a coat, but she wouldn't break the spell of the dance for anything. His arms were around her protectively, and there was no breeze.

The music grew more faint and they danced ever higher up, until Natalie wondered if even LaCroix could still hear it. The city of Toronto was very small now. It looked clean and bright, the many city lights looking like strings of tiny Christmas lights in a porcelain village.

Suddenly LaCroix stopped. His eyes opened and he looked almost embarrassed. "You are cold," he stated sheepishly.

"Oh, please don't take me back yet," Natalie said. "It is so beautiful up here!"

LaCroix closed his mouth before he spoke his surprise. So Nicholas had never taken her flying before? Perhaps, they never were as close as he had assumed they were. He felt strangely pleased that he was the first to share this experience with her.

She shivered, and loosened a button on his shirt to lay her icy cheeks against his cool chest. LaCroix felt his fangs slip at her nearness. She looked up at him and smiled.

The face of the vampire had once frightened her. Now she found it strangely erotic. Lucien did not turn from her, or look embarrassed. He was proud of his existence, and in control of himself. It wasn't that she wasn't afraid of him hurting her, only that she knew he would never do something in a moment of weakness, for that would never occur. Her lips parted and her face lifted to meet his, as they moved together.

His lips were no colder than hers were right now. His tongue met hers. Her breath caught and she no longer felt the cold. Then, even though she was high above the ground, she released her tight hold on him and gently caressed his face, knowing he would protect her.

"My dear Natalie," he breathed, and the dance resumed. In wide, sweeping movements, he swirled her to the phantom strains of a waltz as all life below continued oblivious of the joy she knew.

The End.

Christmas Waltz

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