Vengeance 1: What Comes Around...

In the darkness, Natalie stirred, roused from slumber by causes indiscernible. "'s tha'?" she mumbled groggily, too tired to come to full consciousness, too aware of something amiss to slide readily back into sleep.

A hand touched her hair, fingertips stroking the curls with exquisite gentleness, soothing her not-fully-realized apprehension. "It's all right," said Nick's voice, laced with tenderness. "Go back to sleep."

Fatigue-fogged, Natalie believed him, and slept.

He listened, waiting for her respiration to even and slow; and when he was certain she was asleep, rose soundlessly from the bedside. Silently, he gestured to his visitor with a sharp jerk of his head, indicating that they were to move from the bedroom to a place where they might talk freely, without disturbing her anew.

Nick didn't speak again until the bedroom door was securely closed, until they'd moved to another floor entirely. The simple decor of the living room seemed jarringly incongruous with the inhuman nature of his visitor. "What do you want?" he asked, without preamble.

In the twilight darkness, Tracy's eyes gleamed gold, the feral flash of a leopard's eyes in deepest jungle. "We need to talk," she said.

Javier Vachon was not happy. The sounds of things crashing into walls and shattering was proof enough of that. The younger, weaker vampires unlucky enough to have been caught in the vicinity cringed at the evidence of his anger, fearfully wondering if they might be next to suffer the force of his wrath.

Lucien LaCroix, of course, had no such fear; by contrast, he seemed amused. "Patience, my young friend," he counseled. "Patience."

"I am not your friend," snarled Vachon, quite clearly at the end of his rope, "and what the hell do you know about patience?"

This time, LaCroix laughed outright; the laughter was genuinely mirthful, rather than sardonic, but still it was not a pleasant sound. "My dear boy, I am far more of a friend to you than you realize," and the exaggerated tolerance in the velvety voice was an insult in itself. "And I have had cause to learn patience. As have you. A pity that you've been such a slow pupil."

"Enough of your games, LaCroix!" In a saner mood, Vachon would have known better than to issue such a statement, but his fury had progressed too far for such rational judgement. "You know something," he challenged. "Tell me!"

Again LaCroix laughed -- he hadn't been treated to any diversion so vastly amusing in quite some time -- and told him.

"No," Nick said, with finality. "Absolutely not."

"Nick, please," Tracy begged. The fiery gold hue had long since faded from her eyes, replaced by desperation.

He hesitated, and for the barest moment, she thought he might relent... As he moved toward her, pacing restlessly across the carpeted floor, his foot caught on something, and he nearly tripped. Reaching down, he picked it up, turned it over in his hands -- a remote-controlled racing car, shiny turquoise-green like the Caddy Nick had once owned, before circumstances had necessitated the station wagon he now drove.

"I told Richie to put his toys away," he murmured, as if to himself. Glancing up at Tracy, his face altered, shifting into an expression of resolve -- and she was startled by the lines etched into his skin, the greying in his hair. Had it really been so long? Absently, she counted the years in her head, and realized that it had.

"No, Tracy," said Nick, his voice gentler than it had been. "I understand, I empathize -- how could I not? But the risk is far too great." Worry altered his face further, deepening the wrinkles. "Our children need their mother," he said softly, "and so do I."

"Natalie would help me!" An argument, and a cry of anguish; a final, heart-rending plea.

"I know she would," replied Nick evenly. "Which is why you're not going to ask her." His eyes narrowed. "I'm just a mortal man," he continued, his words paralleling Tracy's thoughts exactly, "and there's very little I can do to stop you from doing as you wish. But I am not without resources of my own," and even that so-oblique mention of LaCroix caused Tracy to shiver involuntarily. "Leave Natalie be," Nick stated quietly, and his tone left no room for further debate.

Tracy's expression hardened; she could feel the heat of the golden vampiric gaze creeping back into her eyes, and made no attempt to stop it. "I thought we were friends," she said, and the implication was clear: not anymore.

Nick nodded, nearly imperceptibly; his voice, when he spoke, held regretful sadness. "I wish I didn't have to do this," he said softly. "But you're asking me to trade Natalie's life for yours, Tracy. And there are some things one cannot ask of friendship."

Then the subliminal sound of vampiric movement caught their attention, and all at once, Vachon stood before them.

His eyes were blazing, his entire posture bespoke of his rage; but his voice was even and perfectly polite. "Good evening, Mr. Knight," he said, as courteously as if addressing a stranger.

"Good evening," Nick responded, warily.

"I thought I might drop by and say hello," Vachon continued, paused a beat, then added, "and remind you of the terms of the agreement you made, so long ago."

Nick's chin lifted slightly, defiantly; but his answer was respectful, even deferential. Once he had been the stronger one, but that time had faded into the past; and caution dictated his words. "I remember it well," he said, though of course they both knew it. "Natalie's... specialized knowledge... is to remain hers alone, and not to be shared with any other. Those are the terms the Community agreed to, upon which her continued safety is contingent. I need no reminder of that."

Vachon nodded, his expression softening just a bit. "In that case," he said, almost nonchalantly, "I shall be on my way. Come, Tracy," and suddenly his voice was steel; he extended one hand toward her, an invitation and a threat.

Tracy glared at him, and for one chill second, it seemed as if she might refuse; finally she wilted, took the hand and let Vachon pull her toward him -- but her last glance back at Nick was pure venom.

Her vampire master slid one arm around her shoulder, less an embrace than a restraining grip. "You're a wise man, Knight," Vachon commented, a trace of the old devil-may- care tone in his voice. "More so than I would have given you credit for."

Nick didn't answer, instead meeting Tracy's gaze steadfastly, and not flinching from the accusation and hurt betrayal he found there.

Then a rush of swift movement; then, they were gone.

Alone at last, standing in his living room amidst the litter of toys and clothing and dirty dishes and all the detritus of a too-busy mortal family, Nick expelled a long, long breath.

He put aside the toy that he still held, making a mental note to scold the children about the sorry state of the living room in the morning -- or then again, maybe not. Nat complained sometimes that he spoiled the kids rotten, but he'd long ago come to the conclusion that life was something to be savored, enjoyed to its fullest -- and children were children for such a little while. What was a little clutter, after all? Nowhere near as important as life, and living.

Carefully, he tiptoed up the stairs. A quick check in the children's rooms, just to reassure himself that they were safe and sound and sleeping; then back to the master bedroom where Natalie sprawled in slumber, blissfully unaware of what had transpired. No doubt, she would be furious with him should she ever discover that he had assumed the right to make her choice for her -- but then, Natalie had always had a certain cavalier disregard for the dangers that vampires represented, to mortals like themselves.

That courage had saved his life and his soul and given him back his humanity, once upon a time. It might have done the same for Tracy -- but it might also have resulted in death for Natalie, perhaps for them all. Nick had no intention of letting her find out.

She woke up a little as he drew back the covers and slid into bed beside her. "Whassamatter?" she murmured querulously, as perceptive as ever even half-asleep. "Is something wrong?"

He slid his arms around her and snuggled close. "Nothing, Nat," he whispered into her ear. "Nothing at all."

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