Peel back the layers

Liselle had been beautiful. As lovely as he'd ever seen. Flesh the colour of fresh cream, pale blonde hair. She had tasted as sweet as she had looked, like wine and honey. He had savoured her, saved her, allowing the anticipation to grow and sweeten the moment of the final kill. She had loved him, had been his. And now....

Well. He had known what Nicolas was up to as soon as he had entered the room. The light in his eyes had been unmistakable. But that did not mean that LaCroix had to like it.

Nicolas hit the wall before Liselle's body had even had a chance to settle. He growled low in his throat, and reached out, taking the last traces of her blood from his lip, savoring it.

"Intoxicating, wasn't she?"

LaCroix had known what he was from the first moment he saw him. Once you knew what to look for, it was not something easily missed. And the way he had stood out amongst the other knights... more than his beauty if was his presence which had drawn LaCroix's eyes to him from across the room. He had known this boy was special, had seen it writ in every detail. And he had wanted him.

It was forbidden of course. But it had been done before, once at least that LaCroix knew of. And LaCroix had never been one to allow others laws to keep him from what he wanted. From what was truelly his. It had taken little enough effort on his part to convince Janette to bring him to her. If she had known what he was, she had not let it stop her either. This boy called to them, demanded their attention. Really, it was almost amazing he had gone this long without catching the eye of others of their kind. All the better for LaCroix, of course. He would have this boy. He would make him his.

For his part, the boy had been easily convinced to leave his fellows. He had laughed at the crude comments from his fellows when approached by the beautiful maiden, but left with her none the less. And if he had seemed somewhat confused when she had brought him to her, well... that too was understandable. It was not the way of prostitutes to take you to meet their fathers.

He had taken the knight with ease, mixing their blood and making him his. All he need do now was sit back and wait. The future depended on Nicolas now.

LaCroix sits in the armchair in his room, legs pulled up to his chin as he stares at the wall across from him. It isn't often that he stays in Milliways these days, so close to Nicolas and his little toy, and so far from the Spartan comforts of home, but he isn't about to return home in his current condition. He would not survive long if word got out.

He had hoped to be able to avoid running into Nicolas again by remaining up here, but three days with nothing but water is beginning to tell. Although nothing in comparison to the Hunger which he had lived with for centuries, this mortal body is obviously not equipped to handle the strain. His hands had been shaking this morning when he woke, and he'd had a headache since yesterday sfternoon. He had forgotten how aggravating headaches could be. It was little wonder they had once been attributed to demons.

He leans his forehead against his knee with a sigh. It was well known that he had never been one for trying new things, but if this kept up as it was going he doubted his condition at the end of this trial. It would be worth the embarrasment to relieve this pain.

"Taste this."

The voice of his oldest friend, Aristotle, is as clear to him now as it had been then, when he had first experienced the new blood/wine combination. It had not gone down well.

"Turned wine and dead blood? Have your wits melted at long last, to be drinking such swill?"
"Not in the least. Taste again. I assure you the wine is not turned."
"I regret me greatly that I must decline this courtesy. Is your mind full bewildered? 'Tis mortal poison, and that's to name its charm."
"Some of us are looking to the future, my friend. Have you not seen what sea travels we may take eftsoons? To the Orient, to Araby, perhaps the New World? We durst not sup on crew nor passengers through a voyage of nine weeks, so what will serve? This will."
"If we perish not from this venom en route. How sad is the wreck of a mighty brain - or be this sly reckoning? Purpose you to kill us all?"
"I was ever of a solitary bent, Lucius. Perhaps I mislike my company enow for such a shift."
"You wound me. Indeed you cut me to the quick. But then, I cannot die so."

LaCroix chuckles wryly to himself, with little humour, and rubs at the back of his neck. He could not make such a boast at the moment. But he had learned to accept Aristotle's invention, as he would accept mortal fare for the week. After all, had he not claimed only moments later that he was more able to accept change and the future than Aristotle?

As often happened with him, the conversation had turned towards his wayward son.

"Nicolas refuses to know himself."
"Then you must present him. Master Nicolas the Sullen, meet Master Nicolas the Wiser, a lad famed for how he heeds his sire. Do you not mark his happy countenance, his well-favoured house? Situate you so, young Nick, leave off your sorry leave takings."
LaCroix chuckled, but said nothing.
"Were he mine, I'd hoodwink and leash him straitly. He spoke to me of passage to the Japans, Lucius. It is not proper in a son to plot so; I mind me greatly of days when it was not possible. Lex patria potestas, good Lucius, do you not recall?"
Under the Roman law of LaCroix's mortal era, a father's dominion over a son had been absolute as long as he lived. Indeed the Roman paterfamilias could even sell his children into bondage if he wished.
"Shall I vend Nicolas for a galley slave then?"
LaCroix produced a cool smile. "You look rearward too much, old friend, it is a fault in you. The past is ash, and well so. Let it be forgot, and its habits with it. such as we must make our own mores, or we will be buried ere we die. And how someher I shall deal with Nicolas is mine own concern."*

LaCroix rubs shaking hands over his face. It was not like him to be so lost in the past. Dwelling on the past was more Nicolas' realm.

Nicolas...

I don't need an edge, LaCroix. I have a husband.

LaCroix shakes his head and stands, too quickly. The sudden loss of blood pressure causes his head to spin and he clings to the edge of his chair for a moment. Like lichen to a stone No good would come of sitting in his room brooding, denying his body what it currently needed. If he ran into Nicolas, so be it. They would deal with it as it occured.

The past is ash. Let it be forgot.

LaCroix sighs, and heads downstairs.

*Taken from Forever Knight: These Our Revels by Anne Hathaway-Nayne

lucius_lacroix's Halloween party:

_divia_ dressed as the King of The Gambia.
_not_special_ dressed as a first baseman for the Devil Rays.
a_fell dressed as a vampire, and it suited them all too well.
aj_crawley dressed as a character from Harry Potter and the Parliament of Gold, though it looked more like a skunk.
alas_alas dressed as a new superhero: Dynamo Albino.
always_k_i_t_t dressed as a devil.
angelus_amadeo dressed as the love child of Dennis Miller and Dolly Parton.
animation_inc dressed as a pirate.
anthy_rosebride dressed as the Viscount of Massena.
asar_suti didn't even show up and doesn't get any candy.
azeroth_raven dressed as John Tyler.
balletrat dressed as something frozen, but what, specifically, you can't tell.
bloody_rockgod dressed as Janeane Garofalo.
bob_the_skull dressed as a elk.
boundxkitty dressed as Dave Chappelle riding a penguin.
captain_emerald dressed as the Lord of Old Flodow.
creator_raven didn't even show up and doesn't get any candy.
cywyllog dressed as Osama bin Laden.
devils_dandy dressed as a cup of coffee.
emrys_lost dressed as Ted Williams.
faithful_slayer dressed as the main character of "Rashômon".
female_were dressed as Tori Amos.
henry_jones_jr dressed as your grandfather.
honest_iago_ dressed as Optimus Prime, and it suited them all too well.
i_read dressed as the spirit of their dead grandmother Bernadette.
imperfecthero01 dressed as Mary-Kate Olsen with her very own conjoined Ashley.
iseefrank gets drunk, strips naked, and somehow emerges dressed as a substitute bastard operator from hell.
knights_past_ dressed as a Level 10 barbarian.
kudou_youji dressed as Superman.
la_calice dressed as your father.
lavender_cat dressed as the Governor of South Carolina.
locked_holmes dressed as the spirit of their dead grandmother Lila.
lonestar_csi dressed as a safety for the Broncos.
lucius_lacroix dressed as a chimney.
lvpd_sidle dressed as Jerry Springer.
lyker_kaia dressed as Elsa Benitez.
macleod_connor dressed as a third baseman for the Rockies.
maxwellsdemon02 didn't dress up, spoilsport.
merenthan dressed as a bottle of Synquadrimax.
morgue_matron dressed as a gross mummy.
muddypetticoats dressed as Ronaldo's uncle.
nick_b_knight dressed as Michelle Trachtenberg.
nofaceforme dressed as a can of Coke.
not_cecily dressed as a bottle of Pentaline.
not_that_spike dressed as the Earl of Vantrul.
notsoyoung didn't even show up and doesn't get any candy.
orphanedcalling dressed as Warren G. Harding.
puckishly dressed as the Fat Power Ranger.
red_notebooks dressed as Dr. Crusher from "Star Trek".
street_sparrow dressed as a quarterback for the Chargers.
theprettiestone dressed as a rust fan.
timsbooks dressed as a Seamless Content Management, Corp. employee.
tweak_ears dressed as a disturbing self-made character called "Stinky Pottyhonker", and it suited them all too well.
underwater_owl dressed as a cow.
vampirehunterd_ dressed as a gate.
wellthrownstone dressed as a behind.
wer_storm dressed as Radioactive Man.
witchy_rebel dressed as a 1980's yuppie child.
wizard_dresden dressed as a new member of the Wu-Tang Clan, Quiet Watcher, though it looked more like Mary-Kate Olsen with her very own conjoined Ashley.
x_van_helsing_x didn't even show up and doesn't get any candy.
yami_no_yugioh dressed as a efficiency.

Throw your own party at the Hallomeme!
Created with phpNonsense

There is a soft click-hiss as the microphone turns on, and the Nightcrawler leans forward, ready to begin.

"A relatively unheard of Spanish philosopher* once said that life means to have something definite to do - a mission to fulfill - and in the measure in which we avoid setting our life to something, we make it empty. Human life, by its very nature, has to be dedicated to something. So what are you dedicated to, Gentle Listeners? A better life, a better future? More money, toys, sex, and all of the above? A life spent with the purpose of gather more possessions, more wealth, more fame. Tangible evidence that you are not empty. That you are something more.

"You are not fooling anyone. You are still empty. Floating from moment to moment, existing in a world of store-bought comforts. The gaping chasm of uselessness within you has so filled you with your own pain and loneliness that you are incapable of action. You live a life without purpose, without meaning, surrounded by false friends and meager accomplishments. You name will not go down in history. You will not be remembered. Ten years after your death, only your children will mourn you. Ten years after their death, you will be forgotten. An existence of materialism and pointless actions, forgotten in two generations. An eternity, gone in the blink of an eye."

LaCroix trails off, and the microphone clicks off without a thought. He leans back, pressing steepled fingers against his bottom lip as he stares out at the writhing crowd on the Raven dancefloor, without seeing. An eternity... 2,000 years, gone in the blink of an eye.

Never truer words were spoken.


The preceeding was a drabble submited for in_the_blue's monthly writing challenge. I felt it fit LC's mood at the current moment, and so decided to make it canon. Sue me if you don't like it.

LaCroix steps carefully through the door, into the Raven. He looks around, almost nervously for a moment, but then calms down when he realises that the Enforcers have no reason to be here. He closes the door behind him, shutting out Milliways.

His clothes are slept in, and he knows that he probably looks a bit ruffled. However, he doesn't let this knowledge show, and instead moves towards the back room confidentaly. He nods to the bartender, and slips past. He returns a moment later with a small bundle under his arm, nods farewell and walks out into the Toronto night. One present down, two to go.

Before he bothers getting anything for the other two people on his list, he must first get clean clothes. It is only a short flight to his apartment.

Once inside, he slips out of his old clothes, and into a new suit. Fresh pressed black pants, a soft blue silk shirt, and a suit coat. He carefully loads a few extra outfits into a suitcase, lays his package inside, wrapped in cloth to protect it, and looks around the apartment. The Enforcers don't seem to have returned, yet, as nothing has been destroyed. This worries him momentarily. The Enforcers will come here, eventually, to see if they can find any clues to their location. Of course, they will ransack Nicolas' apartment first, but that can't take them forever.

He sighs softly. He hates being hunted.

He gathers his packages together, and heads out of the apartment. Better to not stay in one place too long.

Public places have never been an attraction for LaCroix, and none less so than a mall the week before Christams. The poor boy must be so awkward, wandering through the stores, searching for the perfect gift. It's all well and good to get somone something they like, but something that they will cherish and keep through the ages is altogether different. He slips into an art supply store first, emerging with fresh paints and supplies. Nicolas has complained on more than one occassion about not being able to paint while at the bar. Natalie is a bit harder, as he doesn't know her well. However, he finally decides on a bit of jewelry. Women like jewelry, right? It isn't overly fancy, as Natalie isn't a fancy girl. It is a silver chain, with a diamond dove pendant that will hang right at the hollow on her throat. A bit of a peace offering, he supposes.

While searching for the perfect pendant for her, he comes across something else. Something for the both of them. He grins, pays the woman, and pockets his findings.

He is headed back to the Raven to return to Milliways when he decides that he might as well get clothes for the others while he's at it. Natalie, of course, will need a new wardrobe as LaCroix is fairly sure nothing she owns is really stylish enough for her to be seen with him in. And so with a reluctant sigh he returns to the mall. Several hundred dollars later, he emerges with several outfits, all of them the height of fashion, all of them stylish, and more than a few of them a bit risque. Another present for Nicolas?

He decides to err on the side of caution with Nicolas, and so heads towards the loft, to gather some of his sons own clothes.

LaCroix stands just inside the room, leaning heavily against the door. If the door weren't there, perhaps he would have fallen. He looks around the room. Not much to look at, really. There is a bed in the centre of the room, with a night stand on either side. In the corner there is an armchair. There is also a window in the wall directly across from the door, but the curtains are heavy, and so he pulls them closed, blocking out the slowly rising sun.

He moves towards the armchair and collapses into it. Not as comfortable as the one at home, but better than nothing. He pulls his legs into the chair, wrapping his arms around his knees as he thinks.

He can't go home. He's trapped now, stuck in the bar as surely as if he were bound. The Enforcers will kill him the second he leaves the bar. He has managed to evade them for centuries, staying on their good side. He has even worked with them at times, dealing with matters which seemed too domestic to trouble them with. Of course, none of that matters. He broke one of the founding laws of vampire kind, and even though it was 800 years ago, the repercussions of this act mean certain death.

Why can't things every be simple? Until a few months ago, everything had been fine. He had followed Nicolas, watched him from a distance, loved him from a distance. But all of that had changed. And for one brief moment it had been wonderful. There had been conflict, of course, over the little mortal, but he had been willing to share. They had compromised. And then he had spent time in her body. And it was as though everything had gone down hill from there. And now, here he was. Trapped in a bar, with no connection to home but a mortician, and Nicolas.

He was trapped with Nicolas. He was trapped with Him. He shudders as he thinks about this fact. LaCroix isn't sure where He came from, or what triggered Him to show up now. It terrifies him that he has no way of knowing if He will show up again. Or what will happen if He does. He pushes the idea aside, forcing himself not to think about it. Brooding will not help matters.

He stands and moves towards the bed, stretching out on top of the sheets. Perhaps he has had too much of Nicolas' blood. He seems to have picked up his habit of angsting. He closes his eyes, and forces himself to stop thinking. He is too old to behave like this. He is 2000 years old. He has survived volcanoes, plagues, wars, and vampire hunters. He can survive staying at a hotel.

As he finally drifts off to sleep, he isn't thinking about how lonely the bed seems without Nicolas in it. Because he refuses to let himself.

He almost wishes he'd taken his chances with the Enforcers.

LaCroix stumbles from Milliways. And into the Raven. He looks around, a bit shell-shocked. For a moment he can't remember where he is, but then Patrick is beside him, looking worried and flustered and frightened and LaCroix remembers. He remembers everything. But he doesn't collapse. He doesn't cry. He doesn't do any of the number of the things he wants to do. After all, it wouldn't do to have any of the vampires of mortals who are all staring at him see him in distress. He brushes Patrick away, straightening himself and attempting to straighten what is left of his shirt. It's a hopeless cause, of course, but you can't blame him for trying.

"I'm fine Patrick. Really. I had a bit of trouble on the way here, but I'm fine. If I could have a glass of my usual, please?"

And he moves to the bar as though nothing is wrong. And he does bar business, because it's been far too long since he was here. And he sips his wine and he studiously ignores the worried glances he keeps getting. And finally, as it is growing dangerously light outside, he leaves. It's a short flight home, but there is still some smoke as LaCroix enters through an upstairs window, and lowers the shutters. The pain helps, though.

He removes his torn shirt and looks at it. No wonder everyone looked so worried. There's an awful lot of blood on it. He sighs, and throws it into a convenient waste bin (yes, even LaCroix has trash). He moves towards the bathroom, and slips into an ice cold shower. The freezing water helps clear his head. And if he's shivering it's just because of the cold. Even though vampires can't feel the cold.

He stays in the shower longer than would be healthy for a mortal. He can't help it. He feels... dirty. Finally he can't hide anymore, and he climbs reluctantly from the shower, slipping on a warm terrycloth robe. He moves towards the bed in the centre of the room, and climbs in, curling up under the sheets looking for all the world like a frightened child. If he had just a bit less dignity, he would pull the covers over his head.

He can't stop thinking about it. He can't stop seeing it. Feeling it. It had been so... painful. So terrifying. And he had enjoyed it. Gods how he had enjoyed it. Nicolas... so forceful. Reveling in his dark gifts, so eager to please. It had been everything LaCroix had hoped for and more. And it was the more that terrified him so much. LaCroix was submissive to no one. He hadn't allowed himself to be for over 2000 years. In fact, he had killed people just for suggesting it. But... with Him it had been so easy. He had wanted to submit. He had wanted .... everything that he had gotten. He still wanted it.

As the sun continues to rise and LaCroix finally forces himself to sleep, there are fresh tears staining his cheeks red. But he doesn't notice.

He's lying on a couch, shafts of sunlight falling dangerously close to his already burned body. The stake is buried deep in his heart, and he can feel himself dying. A noise alerts him to a presence in the room, and he opens his eyes with a gasp.

"Nicolas, be so good as to relieve me of this, will you?"

LaCroix knows this place. He has not remembered this particular moment in years. He doesn't like thinking about those times when he was weak. Those times he relied on Nicolas' help. He knows what Nicolas' response will be, and so waits. They will fight, as they did that day, and then Nicolas will relieve him of his pain. Because he really did like him, he just didn't know that he did. At least not then.

"No, I don't think I will."

LaCroix starts. This isn't what Nicolas is supposed to say. He struggles against the pain, growing more and more unbearable with each moment, as he tries to sit up, tries to move, tries to do something other than just lie here. He can see Nicolas now, standing over the couch, looking down at him with glowing red eyes.

"You see, I rather like you like this, LaCroix. So weak. So... helpless." He reaches out towards LaCroix, and he tries to pull away. The hand that touches his face burns, worse than the pale sunlight he came here to avoid. Nicolas leans forward, and kisses him gently on the nose.

"Nicolas. What....?" He's once again at a lose for words. The pain in his shoulder is making it difficult to concentrate, and the pain from His touch is making it difficult to think. All he can do is react, which he does by struggling futilely against both pains.

"Don't you want to scream, LaCroix? You should, if you want to. If you keep the screams in, they turn into something else." Those words, over and over in his mind. But this time he refuses to let Him win. He refuses to scream. He does perhaps moan a bit. But that can be forgiven, as it hurts a great deal.

"I'm just...looking out for you, LaCroix. I could kill you, you know."

"If you wait much longer, you won't have to."

"No, LaCroix, you won't die. I won't let you. But that's the best part, isn't it? It's all up to me. If I wanted to, I could kill you. The only reason you're alive is because I thought it would be fun to keep you like that." His crimson eyes narrow, and the grin lessons. "But if you keep acting like this, I'm going to lose interest. Now... scream for me, LaCroix. Do as I say."

And he shoves the stake in further, twisting it as he does. And LaCroix tries not to scream. He can taste the blood from where he is biting his lower lip. But it's no good.

LaCroix wakes with a scream, sitting up in bed. He reaches for Nicolas, knowing that it was only a dream, but praying none-the-less that he will be himself. That he will look at him with those same blue eyes and comfort him for his groundless fears.

No one is there. LaCroix looks, but Nicolas is gone. There isn't even much of a dent left where he would have been. For a moment he's afraid, and his eyes scan the room as his mind scans his link, just checking to make sure He isn't there, and there's nothing wrong with Nick. When he senses him in the bar, his fear turns to anger.

He left him! He left him alone up here, to go downstairs and flirt with another vampire. After what he had done to him.

He stands and heads downstairs, still disheveled from the previous night.

LaCroix paces in his apartment, wine glass held empty in his hand. He cannot forget last night, he cannot forget the look in Nicolas' eyes, the fear, the confusion, the hatred. Everything has suddenly gone terribly wrong, and LaCroix feels just a bit like he's falling. It all comes down to that damned bar, he's sure of it. Since finding himself there, he's found his twice-dead daughter and lost her, made love to his son and been beaten by his son, been a woman, and become involved with a mortal. He shakes his head. He can't figure it out. He can't figure out how he lost control.

He snarls and hurls his glass against the far wall. The tinkling crash of broken glass is oddly satisfying, but accomplishes nothing, except forcing him to go to the cabinet and remove another one. He fills it, and drains it almost in one motion. The rush from the blood calms him, soothes him, and he settles down, slowly lowering himself into a chair in an attempt to order his thoughts.

Something odd is going on with Nicolas, something related to his new memories of his mortal life. He had known from the instant he saw him, wandering the dark streets with the other knights, that Nicolas was special. Of course, he hadn't realised just how special until after he had first tasted his blood.

He smiles as he leans back in his chair, remembering that first moment.

The Paris streets glowed under a full moon, as he watched the group of drunken Knights, just come home from the war. He could hear them laughing to themselves, a truelly hilarious joke about one of the local women from what he could tell. He wasn't amused. These knights were all the same, all bluster and talk, with none of the real drive that warriors in his age had known. They were hollow, lacking any sort of life or individuality. The Church's lackeys. He prepared to move on. There were too many of them, and they were not yet inebriated enough to warrent him making any sort of move at the moment. He would come back later, if he decided it was worth his while.

He was just turning away when he saw him. Moonlight gleamed off of soft golden hair, and for a moment LaCroix actually felt blinded. He gasped, turning fully back, and studying the young knight. There was something very special about him. He stood with the other knights, laughed with them, and in general seemed to be one of the crew, but he was not. Even as he stood firmly on the Parisian street, he seemed to be floating, disconnected from this reality. LaCroix blinked, and the moment was gone. But not before he had made up his mind that he wanted this boy.

He should have known back then that there would be trouble. But, he had brushed it aside, and when the first rush of blood had revealed the true story to LaCroix, he had been too far gone to turn back. Something about the boy's memories, how desperately he had tried to forget them pulled at LaCroix, and he had helped him that very knight, as he lay dying, to push those memories even further away. They had at times come through, but a well placed barb and a brief argument had been enough to distract him from the brooding, at least for the time being.

LaCroix pauses briefly here to curse fathers, and all their kind. A sharp sting alerts him to the fact that he has broken yet another glass, this time the soft tinkling being muffled through the flesh of his hand. He sighs, and drops the bloody pieces. Sitting here brooding is going to get him nowhere.

He is tempted to return to the bar, to confront Nicolas and ... well, he isn't sure what he would do once he confronted him. The memory of himself, pinned helplessly to the wall is too fresh for him to be foolish enough to think he could win a fight with him, at least at the moment, and so he decides on safer routes.

Natalie should be around somewhere, he's sure. And they havn't really spoken since the body swapping incidence. Perhaps he should go to her. He promised Nicolas he wouldn't tell her about him... but that doesn't mean he can't torment her with the knowledge that he knows something which she does not. And should she surmise the situation, perhaps she may be able to fix it.

The rising sun prevents him from leaving the appartment immediately, and so he settles himself down as best he can to sleep through the day.

His dreams are not pleasant, and when he awakens the next night it will be to a cold sweat and the image of a dark shadow, looming over him, holding him down, hurting him, humiliating him. The images are ancient, and the nightmare just as old, but that makes it no less potent.

LaCroix wanders the Toronto night aimlessly. He really doesn't have anywhere to be, or anything to do. He supposes he could go to the Loft to check on Natalie (and then mentally smacks himself for worrying about the silly mortal), and there was always the Bar... but somehow neither of those places are places he wants to be. The bar... complicates things. Of course, he wasn't complaining.

While at the bar he had managed to accomplish in one day what it had taken him 800 years to build up to, and for that he was grateful. However, also while at the bar he had run into the daughter he had twice been forced to kill, been turned into a woman, and been kidnapped. All in all, he was wondering if the benefits really did outway the risks.

He touches his hand gently to his lips. The benefits. He can still taste Nicolas' blood, mingling strangly with Natalie's. He isn't sure when he stopped thinking of her as Dr. Lambert, but somehow it seems strange now to call someone he has been with by such a formal name. Things are very complicated right now, that is true, but somehow he feels happier than he has in several centuries.

With a shrug, LaCroix changes direction, walking with a purpose. He is headed towards the Raven, and whether he will actually see his bar again, or enter into the other he doesn't really care.

At least it'll give him something to do.

LaCroix flies quickly through the air, making a straight flight for his apartment. He stumbles as he makes one of his least graceful landings, and sits Nicolas carefully on his couch. He watches Nicolas for a moment, and then heads to his refrigerator. He grabs one of the bottles of blood, and pops the top off, draining half the bottle in one swallow. Feeling slightly stronger, he carries another bottle to Nicolas.

Once he is sure that he has done what he can for Nicolas, he finally reaches for his phone. Natalie should be at the loft now.

LaCroix sat in an overstuffed arm chair, legs pulled up tightly against his chest. He had his head propped on his knees in an entirely un-LaCroix-is manner. He would never let anyone see him like this, but this was his prefered postion for deep thinking. He stared into space, thinking.

Things were going very quickly. Far too quickly for his liking. He had felt for Nicolas for almost 800 years, and had never really expected the feelings to be mutual. And now, after only two days, he had everything he had dreamed of, everything he had been working towards all of these years. And he was... lost. He had always warned himself about puttig such energies into a single quest, but somehow he had lost interest in everything but Nicolas. And now, he had Nicolas. And he didn't know what to do. The entire purpose of his life for more than a millinia had been met, and he was left... well, without purpose.

No matter how he thought about it, he had problems. And if there was one thing that he knew, it was that he could always go to a bar to solve his problems. Wait... he had never thought that before. He shook his head, trying to clear the traces of Nick that were still clinging to his psyche.

Well, it was as good an idea as any, at this moment. He stood, and flew out of the window, headed towards the Raven. It had been several nights since he had stopped by, and although he trusted his staff to handle things without him, he should still make an appearance, or else the others would think he had moved on.

LaCroix's ears were ringing. He wasn't entirely sure why his ears were ringing. Last night, it would have been understandable for them to ring. I mean, with all the other noise going on, he wouldn't really have noticed any sort of extra ringing.

Damn, there they go again!

He was lying in bed beside the man he had been trying to catch for the last 800 years, surprisingly warm wrapped in the others arms. But damn his ringing ears.

He sat up suddenly. His ears weren't ringing, the phone was!

He reached for the phone, which for some reason seemed to be in Nick's jacket pocket, on the floor next to the bed.

"Salut?" He answers.

***"Oh thank God Nick! Where have you been? I've been waiting here all night for you. Are you alright?"***

Oh, oops. It seems he answered Nicolas' phone. He grins into it. After all, he had won.

"Why good morning to you, Dr. Lambert. How have you been?"

There was a pause on the phone, as Natalie attempted to place the voice. She knew she knew who he was... but why on earth would he be answering Nick's phone.

He smiles into the phone. "I'm assuming your evening has not been as pleasurable as mine, then?"

The fun started here.

LaCroix struggled to catch his breath after the fervor Nicolas had shown, before he remembered he didn't need to breath.

He leant forward again, running his tongue along the inside of Nicolas' mouth, tasting fresh blood and desire, no, sheer need, before pulling back.

"Yes, of course. We can talk more later."

He gripped Nicolas' hand, and stood shakily, leaning heavily against the bar so that he would not fall over when he put weight on his shaky legs.