This story was originally posted in 1998 under the title "The Return." I re-christened it "Coming Home" after a few chapters, thanks to a suggestion from Erika Wilson. Thanks also to Susan Bennett for serving as a Canadian cultural resource.

Another variation on the aftermath of "Last Knight," but not a sequel to "A Time to Heal" or any of my other stories.

There's some PG-13 romance, and the John Donne poem at the end is PG-13.

This story is full of allusions (some of them very fleeting) to many episodes, and there is a paraphrase from "The Human Factor."

It is set in the Fall of 1996.

Coming Home
Chapter 1
By Mary Combs

For one fleeting moment she thought the man standing in the lift was a stranger, but when she saw his eyes, she knew it was Nick.

It was the beard that had thrown her -- she'd seen him unshaven often enough, but never with a full beard. It was darker than his hair and only roughly trimmed, as if he were a shipwrecked sailor or some old voyageur. His clothes were all brand-new, from the very expensive running shoes to the jeans to the signature black duster. She wouldn't have been surprised to see a price tag hanging from his shirtsleeve.

Her first impulse was to throw her arms around him and kiss him as hard as she could, but something told her to hold back. Standing there, staring down at her, utterly bewildered, he seemed terribly fragile. He reminded her of pictures of hostages or POWs newly released after long imprisonment. Quite clean and tidy for the cameras, but ravaged, with the ghosts of hunger, filth and torture still hovering around them.

Clearly, he was stunned to find her here, in the loft.

"Nat?" His voice was hoarse with disuse, and he stared at her as if he thought she might vanish at any moment.

"Yes. I'm here." She tried to put a world of meaning into those words and into her smile. "I knew you'd come back... if you could." She stepped to the side, holding the sliding door open, leaning against it and praying that her knees would not give way.

He just stood there, looking at her with a combination of joy and anguish in his face that threatened to break her heart and unleash the tears she thought she had finished shedding. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reach out a trembling hand to touch her elbow and then pull back.

"Are you coming in?" she asked, trying to keep the tone light. He just stared. She held out her hand to him and he looked at it as a man long lost in the desert might look at a pool of water, uncertain whether or not it was a mirage. At last, he put his hand in hers, very gently, and let her lead him across the threshold. The door clanged shut behind them.

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze and then moved briskly ahead of him, closing her eyes tight and forcing back the tears so he wouldn't see.

Nick followed her into the room in a daze, looking around the loft as if he were seeing things for the first time, running his fingertips along the edge of the piano, the mantelpiece, the table behind the sofa. He drifted into the kitchen to stand looking at her as she rummaged in the fridge.

"I was about to make dinner. You need something to eat, too." she said, taking refuge in the task.

"It's all spoiled," he said. Nat turned quickly and faced him, frightened at the possible meaning, but his face was unreadable. She took a deep breath and decided to take the words at face value. "Nope. I've kept your 'wine' cellar up to date. Voila." she produced two green glass bottles with a flourish. "And the freezer's stocked too, see...."

Nick said nothing but looked down over her shoulder into shelves filled about half and half with blood bags and frozen dinners. "I told you I knew you'd come back." she said softly, her voice melting. *No, not yet,* she thought, and switched back to a brisk, normal tone as she put the food on the counter.

"Why don't you go wash up while I get this ready?"

Nick nodded, but didn't move. She propelled him toward the stairs with a gentle shove in the middle of his back, watched as he slowly made his way up and listened until she heard the sound of the shower.

Then she turned the faucet on full blast in the kitchen sink and gave herself 5 minutes to cry, muffling her sobs in a dish towel.

When he came down 20 minutes later, he was clean-shaven, minus the coat but wearing the same clothes. She had a sudden vivid picture of him standing in front of the closet, unable to decide what to wear. Something wrenched in her heart when she realized how thin he was. *Oh God,* she prayed, *help me to do this without hurting him.*

They sat on the sofa, in awkward silence, she eating her microwave dinner and salad, Nick refilling his wineglass, steadily consuming the contents of two bottles. Human blood. He had taken it from her hands without question, and now he drank it without comment. It seemed to give him no more pleasure than cow. She finished her meal first, put the dishes in the sink and sat watching as he stared into the fire.

She wanted to hit him and hold him and smother him with kisses and drown him with questions. But she had rehearsed this reunion in her mind a thousand times, and she waited. Waited for the silence and her presence to work on him. At last, he put down the empty glass and rested his hands in his lap. He spoke very softly, without looking at her, staring into the fire.

"He told me that I had killed you. That I did not deserve to join you. That he would not send me to you. That we would never be together in this or any other life.....

"And then he starved me." He said it quite simply and calmly, but Natalie knew the horror behind those words. He had told her about LaCroix' reaction to his doubts centuries before, how the older vampire had let him get so close to death that the hunger turned him into a ravening animal, ready to devour any prey within reach. LaCroix had chosen victims guaranteed to fill him with an agony of remorse, to compound the horror until the thought of ever being forgiven, much less rejoining the human race, seemed impossible.

Still she said nothing, literally sitting on her hands to keep from throwing her arms around him.

"This time, it didn't work." There was no sense of triumph there, only an intense weariness. "In the end, he had to give me a transfusion of his own blood to bring me back to consciousness. And even then, I don't think I'd have survived if he hadn't told me...."

He paused for so long that she had to speak. "Told you what?"

"That you were alive." He whispered the words with a kind of agonized gratitude, lifted his eyes to hers briefly, then looked swiftly back at his hands, as if the gentle smile on her face was too much to bear.

"I think he finally faced the truth."

"Which one?" Nat asked softly.

Nick was too exhausted, too weak for anything but honesty, even if it might mean hurting her. "I can't live without you." he said, even more softly. "He promised to leave me alone, for as long as...as long as you live." He cleared his throat and began to speak with more determination.

"Natalie, I know what I did was unforgivable, but I'm asking, I'm begging you to find it in your heart to make a little place for me, somewhere in your life. I haven't any right to promise you anything, after the way I betrayed you that night, but I will do my very best not to make a nuisance of myself. I know....."

He kept on talking, but Natalie let the words flow by. Clearly, he had thought through everything he was saying -- perhaps even rehearsed it -- and a part of her was sorry that all that effort was being wasted, because she wasn't paying any attention at all, not to a word.

She knew everything she needed to know, now.

So she sat and watched him, drinking in the joy of having him near, loving each familiar gesture, the tilt of his head, the lift of his eyebrow, the sound of his voice, the way he fidgeted with the fingers on his left hand, the way that lock of hair fell onto his forehead.....

She reached out and smoothed it back with her fingertips, and then bit her lip to keep from laughing -- he was so intent on what he was saying, he hadn't noticed her touch.

She moved a little closer, and did it again...and again. She slid next to him and sat there, running her fingers gently through his hair, the way one soothes a fretful child, until at long last Nick faltered in his speech and turned to look at her.

"Nat, are you listening to me?"

"No," she said calmly, still running her fingertips through his hair.

"But Nat..."

She smiled and shook her head. "You're just telling me the same thing, over and over and over again, Nick. And the answer is very simple."

"The answer?"

"I love you too." And she kissed him, very gently, on the tip of his nose.

He gazed at her, the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth, and shook his head in adoring exasperation.

"Natalie Lambert, what *am* I going to do with you?"

"Oh, that's easy, Nicholas de Brabant. You are going to love me forever." She was serious now, every bit of love and faith and desire and hope shining in her eyes, and leaving Nick no choice in all the world but to take her in his arms.

He drew her onto his lap and held her close, tangling his right hand in her hair. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against the side of his face. They said nothing, rocking very slightly. Either of them would have been hard put to say who was cradling whom.

It didn't matter, anyway.

At last, Nick released his grip on her just enough to turn his head and manage a tentative kiss. It was sweet and gentle -- the way he had kissed her that night -- and she could feel the tension in him, the fear. He released her lips and bowed his head, but when she took his face in her hands and gently turned it back up to hers, there was no trace of gold in the weary blue eyes.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too, Nick, so very dearly. And now, we don't have to be afraid to say it." She smoothed the hair away from his face with her fingertips and dropped her right hand to his shoulder. "He's forgiven you that debt, at least." Nick's eyes widened. "Oh yes, I remember. It came back while I was in the hospital. At first, I thought it was a nightmare, but then I realized what had happened."

"How much...?"

"All of it. That night in my apartment. Azure, LaCroix. What you said...." He groaned and bowed his head again. "Shhhhhh. Nick." She bent her head and whispered in his ear. "You must believe this. I knew what you were doing, even while you were doing it. I knew they were lies. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I couldn't turn my head or open my eyes or kiss you back, but I knew. I knew you were trying to save me. I never, never doubted that you loved me, not for a moment. I was astonished that he believed you."

"Only for a moment. Only just long enough." Nick's voice was muffled against her shoulder. "He was so full of his own pain and rage, and I was so desperate.... For those few minutes he couldn't feel the truth. When he realized that I had deceived him and that I was going to erase your memories of that day, he decided that he had indeed 'deprived' us of each other very effectively." For a moment, his voice held a chillingly accurate echo of LaCroix'.

He lifted his head and looked at her with a countenance so open and vulnerable that she felt her heart turn to water as she realized her power over this man. *He may have lived 10 lifetimes, but I can hurt him far more than he can ever hurt me,* she thought. *...'a life of everlasting pain'....*

"Forgive me, Nat."

She nodded. "Yes, I forgive you. But Nick... You were wrong. I know you were trying to keep from hurting me, but I could have borne it. It would have been better, loving you in silence, knowing the truth, than it was living with doubts. Remember what Reese told you and Tracey, 'The best defense against evil is: Open your damn eyes.' I could have fought better with my eyes open."

He nodded and sighed, and pulled her closer. She smiled and looked at her watch. "Time for bed. For both of us. I'll be right back." She kissed him on the forehead and disappeared into the bathroom.

Nick leaned his head back, closed his eyes and let wave after wave of conflicting emotion wash over him..... "Oh, God," he whispered. He didn't know whether to give thanks or pray for the strength to leave.

He heard the sound of the door opening and the soft pad of her feet as she crossed the room, then felt the warmth of her hand on his shoulder. "Nick? Hey, you should be doing that in bed." He opened his eyes to see her smiling down at him as she tossed a comforter and pillow onto the sofa. She was wearing a red plaid flannel nightshirt, leggings and thick wool socks. Her hair was pulled back in a scrunchy. She looked all of 12 years old. He couldn't help but grin back at her.

"Don't you like my outfit? Well, keep your comments to yourself fella -- I can't get the thermostat on the heating system to behave for me, so...." Nick managed a faint chuckle, but it faded quickly, and his face was suddenly very grave.

"Nat, it's not safe for you to stay here."

"Oh yes it is." *Resistance is futile, my friend,* she thought. "Sorry to bruise your male ego, but my niece Amy could beat you in an arm-wrestling contest right now. You're already fading on me, and when the sun comes up in 15 minutes, you are probably going to be comatose. I couldn't be safer." She set her chin and stared at him, hands on her hips.

He nodded. She could see the fatigue in his eyes, sweeping over him as dawn approached. "Okay, okay, I give up. But Nat, you take the bed, I'll sleep down here."

"Uh-uh." She shook her head. "Besides, I have ulterior motives." She gestured toward the refrigerator. " I want to be near the ice cream."

That won her another soft laugh. "I thought you said the apartment was cold."

She shook her head in mock despair. "Nick, it is never too cold for ice cream. Now, off with you." She gave him one quick, firm kiss, then took hold of his hands and pulled him up, turned him toward the stairs and gently pushed him away.

He climbed very slowly, pausing briefly on the landing. "Nat?" he called from the top of the stairs.

"What?" She turned to look up at him.

"I just wanted to be sure you're really there."

"I'm here. And I'll be here when you wake up tonight..." *and tomorrow night and every night for as long as I live, please God* she thought.

Nick sat on the bed and looked around the room. It was familiar, yet somehow strange. The closet door was still open. He looked at the jackets and pants and shirts. They seemed alien, as if they were from a distant part of his life, as remote as doublet and hose or buckskin breeches....

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Natalie. Her scent was everywhere. So far, it only stirred his heart, not the Hunger. How long would it be before he became a danger to her again? Emerging from the depths of the hell LaCroix had constructed for him, he had dared to dream that she would forgive him enough to see him from time to time, keeping a safe distance. And now....

He picked up a pillow and buried his face in it, inhaling her fragrance. *She's right,* he thought, *tonight she's safe. But it's only a matter of time, isn't it? I did what I did. Dare we, no matter how much we love each other. Or must we dare, must we take that leap of faith again? And if we do, and it works....Oh God, if it works....*

Down in the living room, Natalie sat watching the sun rise, tears running down her cheeks and some of the same thoughts running through her mind. She dried her eyes, closed the shutters, and went upstairs to the bedroom.

Nick had fallen asleep sitting on the bed, the pillow still clutched in his arms. She smiled fondly and touched his shoulder. "Nick?" There was no response, and she tried to rouse him, without success. *Dead to the world, indeed* she thought, *No wonder they worry so much about protecting their homes.*

She set to the task of undressing him and getting him under the covers, no easy feat considering his height and weight. She gave up on the idea of putting his pajamas on, and stretched him out as best she could, crossing his hands on his chest. *Like a knight on a tomb,* she thought ruefully. *Only I've never seen one wearing boxers.*

She pulled the covers up, tucked him in, bent down, smoothed his hair back, kissed his forehead, whispered "Sleep well, my love," and laughed as his face softened into a sweet smile. Nat stood and stared at him for a long time, trying to make up her mind. Then she turned and ran downstairs.

She was back in a moment with her comforter and lay down next to Nick, on top of the covers. "What did they used to call this? Bundling?" she whispered to him as she wrapped herself in the quilt and snuggled up to him. "Interesting custom. Remind me to ask you about it in the morning."

She propped herself up on one elbow to look at him, and lightly caressed the cheek closest to her with the back of her hand. There was no change in his expression, but after a while, she felt him relax. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he turned his head toward her, still deeply asleep. She reached over to pull the covers up over his shoulder, and suddenly he rolled on his side and moved into her embrace. She held him, half curled against her, arms still drawn into his chest, until sleep finally took her as well.

Chapter 2

He was on the lake, in a sailboat, with Natalie. The sun was high in the sky, the air was warm and fresh, and they were flying across the water. It was so vivid, so completely real. He could feel the line in his hand, the smooth wood of the tiller under his arm, the faint sense of tightness on the bridge of his nose that meant sunburn.

The wind blew the collar of his shirt against the back of his neck and snatched tendrils of Nat's hair from her ponytail, whipping them forward around her laughing face. She leaned back against the edge of the boat and grinned at him, sunlight gilding her hair and arms and, just visible beneath the life jacket, the soft rounding of her belly where their child lay.........

Nick struggled against waking. The dream was too sweet. And with that thought he flew up -- or down -- into darkness.

There was one fleeting moment of disorientation, a flash of fear, before he realized where he was -- in his own bed. But not, he noticed, in his pajamas. He smiled faintly at the thought of Natalie undressing him, then relaxed back into the pillow, stretching his arms out as far as he could, relishing the freedom.

He lifted his hands up over his face and looked at his wrists. Not a mark. Not a trace of manacle or rope or wire. When he had been taken prisoner in Egypt, all those centuries ago, he had been held in chains for weeks until his captors had discovered the importance of his family and his superior value as a captive. Was it youthful idealism or just stubborn pride that had made him hide his rank, so he could share the imprisonment of less prosperous comrades? The festered wounds had taken weeks to heal, and the scars had remained.... until that night when all his mortal scars had vanished and he had dealt his soul a wound for which there was no remedy.

The memory made him tremble, and he thrust it away. His ties to LaCroix had been well and truly broken in this last battle, but something inside him had been shattered as well.

Perhaps it would turn out to be a good thing. Perhaps he would be like the man who endures surgery to remove a terrible disease and finds new vigor at the end of his recovery. Perhaps. But at the moment, he only felt drained, empty. To think of a future beyond the next few minutes was exhausting.

*'Then don't do it!'* he imagined Natalie's reaction. *'Just do the next thing.'* He smiled and shook his head. No, not quite empty. She was still there, twined about his heart like a wild rose around ancient stone.

Amazing, how intense the scent of her was in this room, even after a day. He turned on his side and found the rumpled comforter where she had left it. So, that part had not been a dream. He buried his face in the quilt, took a deep breath, and then rolled out of bed to face a new night.....

Nat was sitting on the sofa, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. She looked up to see him coming slowly down the stairs, carrying the comforter over his arm. In jeans, bare feet and a loose gray T-shirt, he looked like a skinny kid, except for the sober expression on his face.

"You're flirting with danger, Natalie," he said as he gently placed the comforter on the arm of the sofa.

"Sounds like a line from a James Bond movie," she said evenly, getting up and walking into the kitchen. She too was in jeans, and a long, deep-blue chenille sweater. "You know the heroines never listen

"I'm serious, Nat."

"I know. So am I." She reached into the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle and turned her back to him as she uncorked it and poured the contents into a coffee mug.

"Whatever choices may lie ahead for us, Nick, there's one we don't have. We can't go back. You told LaCroix that you couldn't live without me. Well, I can't live without you. I know, I've tried. That's not to say that I would jump off the nearest cliff if you died, or if you... left." Her voice trembled very slightly on the last phrase. "But I will never love anyone as I love you. And as long as I knew you were alive in the world, in my heart, I'd be waiting for you."

She turned to face him with a defiant smile. "I don't know whether it's a blessing or a curse. But it's what we are." She offered him the cup. "Here's your breakfast."

"Thank you." He reached out and took the mug, covering her fingers with his, but with eyes only for her. He slowly bent his head toward hers, and she lifted her face to meet his shy, lingering, kiss. He pulled back with a puzzled look on his face. "Nat?" he said, looking down at the cup she had handed him. "This is.... human."

"Yes."

He held it a little closer to his face and then looked at her, eyes wide. "It's yours."

She nodded. "Yes. A lot of this is, too." She patted the door to the freezer. "I've had time to, ummm, stock up."

"Nat, what in the name of Heaven do you think you are doing?"

"Giving you breakfast. Would you rather have an egg? Or two?" Unbelievably, she grinned at him, daring him to remember the sumptuous and revolting feast Schanke had prepared so carefully for him.

"It might be better for both of us," he sighed. Knees suddenly weak, he walked gingerly over to the table and sat down, gripping the mug between his hands.

She turned to face his back.

"Natalie, we have to talk."

"You're right. We have to talk. About everything. But not all at once, and not right now." She came to stand beside him, put her right hand on his shoulder and reached down to tap the rim of the mug with her forefinger. "Drink me."

He refused to rise to the bait. She expected him to laugh, or make a joke about Alice, and he wasn't going to do it. He kept his eyes on the cup, but reached up with his left hand and circled her wrist with a firm grip. "I wouldn't bet on Amy this morning, would you?" he said softly. He waited for a moment, then gently released her.

"Here, will this make you feel better?" Nat walked over to the coffee table and opened the wooden box that held Nick's greatest treasure. She came back to the kitchen table and sat down opposite him, cradling Joan's cross in her left arm as if it were a sheaf of flowers -- or a sleeping child. "If you fly at me, I promise I'll shove this in your face. But you won't."

He stared at her, blue eyes filled with longing and fear...

"Nick," she said softly, resting her right hand on the precious relic lying against her breast, "what would she tell you to do?"

"To have faith."

"Well?"

He was silent.

"Nick, the fact that you want something doesn't make it wrong."

He frowned at her a moment, deciphering her words, then shook his head in frustration.

"You won't regret it."

"How can you be so sure?" He looked at her beseechingly. But she was sure. Even more sure than she had been that night. There was an aura of absolute conviction about her. She suddenly reminded him very much of Joan. He gave her a wry smile. "And why is it that I can't deny you? I held out against LaCroix for half a year. But you're too much for me, Nat."

She smiled and raised her coffee mug. "Sláinte!"

Nick mirrored the toast half-heartedly with "Santé" and a few murmured words that might have been a prayer or an imprecation, then carefully lifted the cup to his lips.

The first taste was sweetly familiar, the jumble of memories and feelings that was his Natalie. Nothing had ever touched him like this, moved him so deeply. Not even Janette. He closed his eyes.

With the second sip, one set of images became clearer. She had concentrated, very deliberately, on shaping a vision for him. *How did she do this?* one small, practical corner of his mind wondered. *Didn't anyone notice?* Then he was swept away by the beauty of it.

The sky was brilliantly, cloudlessly blue and sunlight danced over everything -- the grass, the trees, the water. "Is this the lake?" he whispered, his voice awed.

"Yes," she answered softly.

"It's beautiful."

"Yes." She sat calmly watching as he accepted this first offering of herself. His face was relaxed, with the traces of a smile at the corners of his lips. She looked carefully at the lines of his mouth, resisting the temptation to touch him. There was no sign of his fangs.

He drank slowly but steadily. She gave him 20 minutes of a summer day -- the sights, sounds, textures and tastes. Children at play, a garden full of flowers, the cool sweetness of ice cream, the scent of freshly cut grass -- a thousand precious seconds, each shining like a pearl in the sunlight.

And beneath it all lay the brighter warmth of her love, reaching out to him.

He knew that she had been willing to die for him that night -- dear God, he knew it all too well. Now he knew with absolute certainty the depth of her love and the fact that she was still willing to hazard her life -- not denying the danger, but convinced that his reclamation was worth the risk.

He lifted his head and gazed at her with infinite tenderness, speechless. There was a fading flicker of gold in his eyes, gone almost before Nat could focus on it.

"I'm not a poet, or a musician, or an artist," she said quietly. "And even if I borrowed the most beautiful words ever written, I couldn't have made you understand as well as this did. You told me this is how you feel life. So I knew this was the way to make you feel my love."

He pushed his chair back and held out his hand. "C'mere." She rose and walked around the table to put her hand in his. He drew her down into his lap and they simply held each other for a long time.

At last, they drew apart a little, Nick brushing her hair away from her face, Nat smoothing the fabric of his shirt over his shoulders, where she'd crumpled it.

"Speaking of poetry," Nick said. "How do you feel about the Victorians?"

"Depends," she smiled. "A little Tennyson goes a long way.... I had an English teacher in high school who was obsessed. We had to memorize 'The Lady of Shalott.'" She made a face and Nick laughed.

"How about the Brownings?"

"Liked her. Couldn't understand him." She looked at him speculatively, her head tilted a little to the side. "Of course, there is one particular poem.....one of the 'Sonnets from the Portuguese'....."

"Forty-three?"

She nodded.

"Did you have to learn that by heart, too?" he asked softly.

"No. But I remember the beginning..... 'How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach.....'" She frowned slightly and shook her head. "I can't remember the next bit..."

".... I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace." He reached up to cup the side of her face in his hand, gently caressing her cheek with his thumb. "'I love thee to the level of everyday's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light."

His voice grew stronger and more certain.... "'I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise, I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.'" .... and then quiet again... "I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints --'"

They said the last lines together "'I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.'"

She smiled sweetly and kissed his forehead. "You know, I was 16 the first time I read that, and I thought I knew exactly what it meant. Foolish child...."

"I was almost 660 the first time I read it, and I thought I would never know what it meant. I guess that makes me an old fool.'"

"Well, now we can be foolish together." She bent her head and kissed him.

Nick kissed her back -- very thoroughly -- leaving both of them a little breathless. "Natalie.... " he whispered, with a hint of desperation in his voice.

"We don't have to do this all at once and right away, either," she said softly, and saw the relief in his eyes.

Nat kissed him lightly on the nose and grinned at his bare feet. She could have sworn she'd seen his toes uncurl. Hers certainly had. "C'mon. Get some shoes on. We're going out."

"Out? Where?"

"Out. Around. For a drive. You know. Driving and thinking." She grinned at him reassuringly as she retrieved her coat and scarf. "Maybe a little talking. And then to my place, to check on Sidney. And Nick, don't forget to put on a coat."

"Yes ma'am." Her confidence was infectious. He took the stairs two at a time and was back in seconds. He opened the door to the lift and bowed her in with a flourish.

They stepped out of the lift into the empty garage. Nat was surprised -- he always put the caddy inside at this time of year. "Nick, is your car in the alley?" He shook his head.

"Where is it?"

"Gone." There was an odd, detached quality to his voice. She touched his arm and he came back from wherever he was and gave her half a smile. "I forgot. We'll have to take yours, Nat."

She bit her lip against a flood of questions, and they walked out into the alley and around the corner to where she had parked her car, out of sight from the street. She offered him the keys, but he shook his head, looking at them as if they were some strange, ancient artifact.

He slid the passenger seat back and waited for her to start the car. "Nick... seatbelt?"

"Sorry," he grimaced and buckled up.

For an hour and a half, she drove around the city, through busy streets and sleepy neighborhoods, occasionally stealing a glance at her passenger. For the first 20 minutes, he was very quiet, staring straight ahead. But after a while, he began to take more notice of the passing scene, sharing an observation or a memory with her. The memories were usually of Schanke.

She pulled the car over on a quiet side street. He looked at her curiously.

"Coffee," she said, nodding toward a window where the words "La Colombe" glowed in artistic neon script. You're buying."

"Sounds good to me but...." Nick patted his pockets in some distress. "Nat, I don't seem to have my wallet."

"That's okay. I've got your credit card." She pulled a platinum Visa from her pocket and slipped it into his hand. "Don't forget to sign the back of it."

"How?"

"I didn't stop your mail. There are a couple more back at the apartment. I got you an extension on your driver's license renewal." She smiled serenely at him. "I told you. I knew you'd be back."

Natalie was welcomed with all the enthusiasm due a regular, and Nick was swept up in the current of good will. The cafe reminded him of the little restaurants of Paris between the wars. Tables and chairs well-worn, but the linen crisp and snow-white. Judging by the expressions of the other patrons, the food was superb.

They were shown to a corner booth and the instant they were seated, a waiter appeared at Nat's elbow with a steaming cup, crested with foam.

"They make the best cappucino in Canada," she explained, eyes sparkling wickedly. "Mark, my friend here will have a double latte."

"And?" Mark raised an eyebrow knowingly and tilted his head toward the dessert table.

"Nope, not tonight."

He sighed a deep sigh and shook his head. "My mother will have something to say about this," he said with exaggerated gloom.

"What was that all about?" Nick asked as soon as Mark was out of earshot.

Nat blushed very faintly and replied in an affected accent. "I have acquired... ummm.... a certain reputation as a connoisseuse...." Nick held up a hand.

"Let me guess. His mother is the pastry chef, and she tries out all her chocolate recipes on you."

"Brilliant. No wonder you're such a good detective."

Their smiles slowly faded. Nick's coffee arrived. Nat sipped at her cappucino and he stirred his latte in tense silence. At last he put down the spoon, pushed the cup aside, clasped his hands and rested his arms on the table, leaning toward her. She mirrored his actions, waiting patiently as he searched for the next words.

"Tell me," he whispered. She nodded.

"It was Joe Reese. He came to tell you about Tracey. He saw my car, and when there was no answer he thought -- well, he almost left. But some instinct told him something was wrong. He broke in."

She was very calm, as if she were reading from a report.

"I was lying on the floor in front of the fireplace. The carpet was soaked with blood. There was a badly damaged and stained carved walking stick shoved between the logs, and signs of a struggle. The skylight was shattered from the inside.

"He called 911, and they got me to the hospital in time. It's amazing what they can do with hypobaric oxygen treatment, Nick. A patient with as little as 1 gram of hemoglobin....." She stopped and laughed at herself. "Anyway, I had more than that."

"Joe said he had two choices -- either you'd lost it and... attacked me, or someone had come after both of us and taken you with them, either as a hostage or for something worse. IA was down on the scene almost immediately, pushing for the first scenario. But Reese insisted the walking stick and blood on the carpet were evidence that you'd been hurt, too. He said from the pattern, some of the blood had to have come from you."

Nick laughed bitterly. "Even so, it was yours." She defied the bleak look in his eyes and put her hand over his tightly clenched fingers. "What's done is done, Nick. We can't go back. We can't undo it. The only way out for us now is through."

He covered her hand with his own and nodded. "Go on."

"The shutters were still open and the skylight was gone. When the sunlight reached the carpet it caught fire. No evidence. They blamed it on a spark from the fireplace. What else could they do? Reese won the argument. They put out an APB on you, as a victim."

She gave his hand a squeeze and then reached over and appropriated his coffee cup for herself. It gave Nick an odd little thrill of pleasure, and he was momentarily distracted by a vision of actually being able to share such a sweet intimacy.

"When I came to, three days later, Grace was at my bedside. She'd heard about the investigation, and she told me everything. By the time Joe came to see me, I was ready with a story that confirmed all his suspicions. I had come to tell you about Tracey. Someone else was in the apartment. I didn't see his face. I remembered being grabbed from behind and nothing else." She smiled at him bravely. "I figured it would be easier to have amnesia than to try to remember a complicated lie....

"In fact, I think that's probably how we should explain where you've been for the past six months. I'm not sure how we'll deal with the medical exams, but you do have a prior history...."

There it was. Or rather, there it wasn't. No reproach for leaving her. Nick focused his eyes on their clasped hands, his heart filled with anguish at the pain he must have caused her. "But Nat. What did you think about.... about me?"

"I was like Joe. I had two choices. I didn't hear everything, but I heard a lot of what you said to LaCroix." Her voice trembled a bit. "I could believe he'd killed you, or I could believe that he'd forced you to leave with him. I wanted -- I needed to believe that you were alive. And something deep inside me told me that I *would* know if you were dead."

She waved a hand in the air as if to shoo away the awed look on Nick's face. "Don't hand me a halo just yet. Oh, I had my bad days. I had some very bad days. But underneath, I had faith, in you, in what brought us together. And then later on, it got easier."

"Easier?" Nick was flabbergasted. "I would have thought that the more time passed, the harder it would have been."

"Well, I had a little help..... And no, I am not going to tell you about that now. It's a very, very long story. We'll save it for tomorrow. Now I have to go see the other man in my life. Shall we walk? My apartment's just a few blocks away."

"So it is," Nick said, suddenly recognizing the neighborhood. They strolled easily along the sidewalk. After a while Nat slipped her hand into his. He gave it a squeeze, then tucked it into the crook of his arm.

"Tell me something, Doctor....Why the long drive?"

"To show you that it's all still there. That it's real."

He thought about it for a while, then smiled and nodded. "My wise love."

"Am I? Wise that is. I know I'm your love."

"Yes. Although perhaps not so wise, to love me."

"Hmmm. This is beginning to sound like one of those difficult Shakespearean conversations....."

"Shakespeare? I can do Shakespeare..." His voice took on an odd accent, more reminiscent of the American South than BBC English. "'Beshrew me but I love her heartily; For she is wise, if I can judge of her, And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true, And true she is, as she hath proved herself, And therefore, like herself, wise, fair and true, Shall she be placed in my constant soul.' Merchant of Venice Act 2, Scene 6."

"Hmmmm. Are you sure that middle initial of yours isn't B for Bartlett? As in 'Familiar Quotations'? Not that I'm complaining, of course." She looked up at him and grinned as she turned the key in the front door.

Nick stole a kiss in the elevator, and when the door opened on Nat's floor Mrs. Morris from across the hall and two doors down added a juicy piece of gossip to her store.

"Well, that's done it," Nat groaned in mock despair as the elevator carried her self-satisfied neighbor and her equally smug Pekinese down to the lobby. "She'll have us married and me pregnant -- or vice versa -- in a week."

"I dreamed about that once," Nick said wistfully. Then he did a double-take that made it clear he hadn't meant to speak out loud. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I dreamed about it too. And more than once." She wiggled her eyebrows at him and was rewarded with an honest-to-goodness laugh as they walked into the apartment.

A blur of gray-and-white fur flew across the room and entwined itself around Natalie's ankles. She scooped up the furiously purring cat and murmured incoherent endearments. Sidney struggled loose and scampered toward the kitchen, turning and meowing insistently.

"What a ham," she said affectionately. "You'd think he hadn't eaten in days. Save it Sid. I know Pam fed you this morning." She sat cross-legged on the floor and scritched his head while he ate. Nick leaned against the door frame and watched fondly. Natalie's hands always had a gentle touch, for cats and corpses and wounded vampires.

He tried to let himself just be in the moment, not worrying about the future, simply enjoying now. His mind drifted to the past, to pleasant times spent with Raleigh, before LaCroix had had him turned. He refused to dwell on the dark part of the memory and turned his attention back to Nat, who was getting up off the floor.

"I want to get some things in the bedroom. I'll be right back. You guys keep each other company, okay?"

"Okay."

Sidney, having finished his meal and had a quick wash, sauntered over to inspect Nick. He jumped up on the counter to get a closer look.

"I bet you don't do that when she's around. And I bet you don't fool her anymore than I do." He reached out a cautious hand for the cat to sniff. He never knew what effect he was going to have on animals. Some took to him; some snarled in rage; some treated him no differently than they did mortals. And a creature that was friendly one day might be terror-stricken the next.

Sidney apparently considered him acceptable, since he deigned to allow Nick to scratch behind his ears. "Whattaya say Sid? Do you think we'd make a good team?"

Natalie's hands trembled a bit as she packed a few extra clothes and some odds and ends into a small bag. They hadn't really talked about this. *Get real,* she thought, *we haven't talked about this at all.* But it felt right. She was inclined to go with feelings these days, for a lot of reasons.

Should she try to sit him down and have a conversation, risk starting the vicious cycle of doubt -- *Nick Knight's Top 10 Reasons Why Living With a Vampire is a Bad Idea* -- or should she just brazen it out? Taking a deep breath, she walked purposefully into the living room. "Okay, I'm ready."

"So are we."

After a moment of shocked surprise, she burst into peals of laughter.

"What's so funny? I don't get it Sid, what's so funny?" Nick said innocently to the cat, who was lying serenely on his shoulders. Sydney blinked and licked the tip of Nick's nose. It tickled, but he was unable to scratch it, because he had a bag of kitty litter under one arm and a bag of cat food under the other. "Women." Nick shook his head sadly.

"My men," Natalie sighed, wiping her eyes. "I'd kiss you, but I'm afraid I'd dislodge Sydney."

"I'll take a rain check. We'd better get home."

Sláinte! is Gaelic for "To your health!" The pronounciation has been described as "saying 'It's a lawn chair!' very quickly, after a few pints." Santé is short for "à votre santé," which means "To your health."

Chapter 3

On the way back to the loft, Nick asked her to stop by the video store. He made her wait in the car, supposedly to keep Sidney company. She offered no objection. "So, he wants to surprise us," she said to the cat, who was stretched out in the passenger's seat, giving himself a thorough wash. "That's a good sign."

She was still worried about him. There was an aura of sadness and exhaustion, and from time to time he would zone out -- not in the old familiar lost-in-a-memory way, but with a bleak emptiness in his eyes that wrenched at her heart. His body would heal quickly, with the proper care, but his mind and spirit had been deeply wounded.

She had already promised herself not to press him for details about his imprisonment. She had the feeling that it had been worse than anything she could imagine, and that it was probably beyond the power of words to describe.

Theoretically, she ought not to have remembered much about that night. Shock and the long unconsciousness should have blurred if not erased it. Yet her memories of what she had seen as her blood flowed into him were crisp and vivid, as if they had been recorded in her soul as well as her brain.

Much of it was horrifying. She had understood his past intellectually, perhaps better than he suspected. She knew precisely how much blood he needed to live comfortably; she could do the math. But there was a difference between knowing that Nicholas de Brabant had killed at least 200,000 human beings, and touching his memories of those deaths.

She had sensed more than the vampire's insatiable hunger. She had seen glimpses of Nick's life with LaCroix, sensed the power of the complex bond between them and Nick's despair at the relentlessness of his master's eternal pursuit. Janette had been there, in the vampire's memories of its birth, and in Nick's memories of their last meeting.

She had felt the strength of his battered faith, burning in the darkness like a torch in a windstorm, flames beaten by the wind but inextinguishable, illuminating hopes and dreams he had seldom shaped in words -- hope that they might have a life together in the sunlight, hope that he would be forgiven, hope that they might share a true eternity.

His love for her had resonated through it all....

She jumped at the sharp rat-a-tat on the car window and looked up to see Nick peering at her with some concern. "Are you all right?" he asked as she unlocked the car door and he slid in, a somewhat overstuffed bag in his hand.

"I'm fine. Just thinking. What do you have there? That looks like enough movies for a weekend."

"The first feature is already scheduled. You get a choice for the second. And there's popcorn." He looked at her carefully. "Thinking about what?"

It would be so easy so say, "Nothing." She didn't say it.

"That night. What I saw when.... we were together."

A shadow fell across his face. She put her hand on his arm before he could speak.

"The images weren't all dark, Nick. One memory was particularly beautiful -- galloping through the countryside on a spring morning. You were very happy."

"Life was full of promise." He sighed. "I wish I could somehow go back in time and bring you the man I was then."

"I don't want the man you were. I love the man you are."

Nat propped open the door of the lift while Nick brought in Sidney's bags and her own. Sidney -- who had refused to be carried during the ascent -- scampered into the loft and began to investigate his new domain.

Nick disappeared upstairs and returned with a plastic storage box. "Think this is big enough?"

"Oh yes, that's great," Nat said, suppressing a laugh. It was about three times the size of the litterbox at her apartment. "I'm going to make myself a sandwich. Are you hungry?"

"Nat, I don't usually..... eat lunch."

"That wasn't the question. Are you hungry?"

He nodded.

"Okay. Here." She handed him a bottle and a glass. "It's human, but it isn't mine," she added, answering the question in his eyes. This time, they sat on the couch, in companionable silence. Nick waited until she had finished.

"Nat," he said softly. "Tell me about Tracey."

She turned towards him, tucking her legs underneath her and resting her left arm on the back of the couch. She held out her right hand, and he accepted the invitation, sliding closer.

"Her father came to the hospital. She regained consciousness while he was there. She said it was her fault. She had gone in too far, put herself where Dawkins could see her, and when he did see her, he lost it. She said you weren't to blame."

Nick closed his eyes and shook his head. She rubbed his arm gently. "There's a letter waiting for you. Something she dictated to her father. He held onto it, said he wanted to give it to you personally. He wouldn't tell me what's in it but -- he said he wants to thank you..... Anyway, there wasn't much IA could do with Commissioner Vetter on your side. There's some language in the report about excessive force, but there's nothing standing in your way if you want to go back."

"If?"

"If, or when. I can think of some reasons why you might not want to stay with the department. It's not a decision you have to make now or tomorrow or next week, but whatever you decide, I'll back you up. However, unless we're going to do a complete disappearing act, you do have to let people know you're back. Which means we'd better get the story straight."

They talked for a while, planning what they would say, then circling back to Tracey again, and to Laura and Schanke and others. They did not talk about vampires or eternity or dark hungers. No one eavesdropping on their conversation would have heard anything strange. Just a man and a woman remembering lost friends, wrestling gently with the mystery of pain....

"Well, I have some work to do." Nat looked at her watch and pulled her briefcase out from under the coffee table. "If I don't finish this paperwork, I'll have to stay late tomorrow. And I definitely do not want to do that." She grinned at him and was pleased to see a faint reflection of her smile on his face.

"Okay. I'll find something to amuse myself. Do you want to set your laptop up on the kitchen table? I've got an extension cord around here somewhere."

"No, thanks. It's more comfortable like this," Nat said, sliding down to sit on the floor in front of the sofa and stretching her legs out underneath the coffee table. "But I won't say no to the extension cord. I hate it when the battery runs low."

Nick provided for her electrical needs and then sat down in the armchair to read. Natalie lost herself in her project, which was actually quite fascinating. After awhile, she became aware that Nick was no longer in the chair, but was wandering around the apartment.

His movements were too restless to be called pacing. She could tell he was trying to be absolutely silent and his success made it even more distracting. Nat tried to focus all her attention on the screen and failed. She couldn't help watching him out of the corner of her eye. At last, he settled at the piano.

"Play, if you like," she said.

"Sure it won't bother you?"

"It'll probably help -- as long as it isn't hard rock or Beethoven's Ninth."

Nick chuckled and turned back to the keyboard, and soon the strains of "Clair de Lune" rippled through the loft.

He played for two hours, hopping back and forth among the centuries, between Debussy and Mozart, Cole Porter and Bach, Schumann and Andrew Lloyd Webber. There was a little Ragtime, a little Beatles, a little Country Western, and here and there a piece she didn't recognize. *His?* she wondered, briefly.

Sidney emerged from a corner, batting a cork around the floor until he saw what Nat was doing. He jumped onto the coffee table and inserted himself between her and the computer, purring energetically. "No you don't," she laughed, pushing his tail out of her face. "I'm almost finished. Go bother Nick."

She gently but firmly dumped him on the floor, and after a quick wash to restore his dignity, Sidney sauntered over to the piano and surveyed the situation, tail twitching slightly. Nick played on, unaware that he was under observation. The cat picked his moment and leapt first to the bench and then onto the keyboard. Apparently unconcerned by the cacophony created by each step, he strolled up through the registers to meet Nick's amused gaze.

"Nat, you didn't tell me he was a critic."

"He's a glutton for attention, that's what he is," she said, turning off the computer and coming over to sit on the bench beside him. "Aren't you, you ham?" She gathered the cat into her arms and, his goal achieved, Sidney offered his chin to be scratched.

"He will also lie on top of books and newspapers, and sit in front of the television, if he can. He sleeps through thunderstorms, but he can hear the sound of a can of tuna being opened a mile away. He's also the perfect roommate. He's a great listener; he never criticizes or gives bad advice; he never borrows my clothes or eats the last of the ice cream or leaves the bathroom in a mess. He also keeps my feet warm."

"Well, I know I can manage at least three of those."

"You underestimate yourself." She smiled at him, then winced slightly, gingerly hunching her shoulders. "One thing he doesn't do is back rubs."

"Is that a hint?"

"Nope. It's a request." She turned her back to him. Nick rubbed his hands together quickly to make them just a little warmer, then began to massage her neck. "Better?"

"Mmmmhmmmm." She took a deep breath and tried to relax. "That's one of the problems with living on the night shift. Just about this time every morning, I think how nice it would be to go for a swim or a walk or a workout. But it's too late -- or too early."

"You could always jog around the loft."

"Oh? And what would you be doing?"

"Watching, of course." He chuckled softly.

"As if." She sighed. "Not that I couldn't do with the exercise."

He thought for a minute, still rubbing her shoulders. "Well, if it's exercise you need, I think I may have a solution to that problem. It's a little old-fashioned, but very effective."

She lifted her head, but didn't turn to look at him. "Just what did you have in mind?" she asked, her heart beating just a bit faster.

"Wait here." He kissed the top of her head and went over to his wall of electronic gear. He fiddled briefly with the CD player, and the unmistakable sound of Glenn Miller filled the loft. She gave him a dubious look as he bowed and held out his hand. "Nick, I don't really know how to dance to this."

"So, now you'll learn." He grinned at her. "C'mon, Nat, pretend it's a movie."

"I'm not exactly Ginger Rogers."

"I'm not exactly Fred Astaire."

"No. You're a lot cuter."

"You're stalling. C'mon. You can step on my toes all you want to and it won't hurt me a bit."

It was easier than she thought it would be. Nick was not only a very good dancer, he was also a very, very good teacher. *Now why am I surprised at that?* Nat thought. *No wonder his students loved him.*

A parade of greatest dance hits from the '30s and '40s led her gently from fox trot to jitterbug, and some two hours later she collapsed on the sofa, happily exhausted. "That was wonderful. Thanks..." she said as she accepted a huge glass of water. Nick sat down next to her feet, looking very pleased with himself, and began to take off her shoes. "Now what?" she asked, peering at him over the rim of her glass.

"Drink." While she did, he gave her right foot a thorough massage. Then he refilled her glass and gave her left foot similar treatment. When he was finished, he sat back and smiled at her, absently caressing her ankles with one hand.

Their reverie was interrupted by a loud gurgling noise coming from Nat's midsection. She blushed and Nick laughed out loud. "I take it that means that Madame is ready to dine?"

Chapter 4

...."I'll do those," he said, taking her dishes into the kitchen. He was drinking his meal from a wine glass. Human. There wasn't any cow's blood in the fridge. He'd checked every bottle.

Whatever the source, there had been no violence in the taking -- it had been donated freely. He still didn't understand why Nat had changed her mind about this. He certainly didn't understand his own reaction -- it was so easy to accept this from her, when he would have dashed it from LaCroix' hand.

It satisfied him more than the cow's blood, that was true. But it gave him less pleasure than before. This puzzled him. In his weakened condition, the effect should have been the opposite -- he should have felt the emotions and memories *more* intensely. He should have been intoxicated. Perhaps it was the contrast with Natalie's blood....

Natalie's blood. So far, he had not been tempted to drink it all down -- either from the cold store in the refrigerator or the warm bounty in her veins. That didn't mean she was safe. He had been on this road before, with Amalia and others. The vampire could be patient, if the pleasure were great enough. He was mightily afraid that his beast was simply savoring the long process.

"Nick?" He felt her hand on his arm and realized that he had been staring at the wineglass. "Are you okay?"

"Are you sure about this, Nat?" he touched the rim of the crystal with his finger. "I stopped drinking it because I thought it would only whet my appetite....."

"Does it? Does it whet your appetite?" He shook his head. "You're not hunting. You're not killing. It's satisfying your hunger."

"For now." Sidney trotted into the kitchen and rubbed against their ankles, meowing hopefully. He smiled sadly at the cat, and then at her. "You can't domesticate the vampire, Nat. It's not that kind of beast."

"Maybe not. But if you have to live with a tiger in the house, it's best to keep it well-fed and contented."

He looked at her skeptically. "Where did that come from?"

"Manjula Srinivasam. One of my neighbors. Of course she was talking about her mother-in-law, but the general principle is the same."

He laughed and took her in his arms. "You just won't give up, will you?"

"Never. I love you."

"I love you, too." His eyes darkened. "I loved you that night, it didn't keep me from...

"As I keep reminding you, you didn't kill me. I did *not* die."

"By the grace of God...." he whispered in her ear.

"Exactly."

"And you want to try it again. Janette's cure." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes."

He was silent for a long time, and when he spoke, there was no plaintiveness in his voice, only a kind of hurt wonder. "I know how much she loved Robert -- how much they loved each other. I love you at least as much -- it seems to me I love you even more, Nat. But it didn't work for us. Why, Nat? Why? I love you so. I know how much you love me. Yet Janette....."

"Janette wasn't half-starved." Her voice was very calm. "That's one big difference." She pulled back and waited until he met her eyes -- waited until he nodded, acknowledging the truth of her words.

"I was wrong about a lot of things, Nick. I was wrong about the blood. And I was wrong when I told you there was 'nothing metaphysical' about your condition. After that night, I stopped looking at it solely as a problem in viral research, and I started trying to see the whole picture." She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder.

"And you want to talk about this tomorrow." She nodded. "Then we'll talk about it tomorrow." He kissed her temple, very gently, then stepped back just a little and lifted her chin.

"It'll be all right Nat. I need to hear all about it, to try to understand what you're thinking. And there are things I have to tell you.... I am still very afraid of hurting you. But you're right. We can't go back, and the only way to go on is together. You'll be preaching to the choir."

He kissed her gently on the lips. "I won't run away.... So, just to show that we aren't making a habit of procrastination, I guess I'd better bite the bullet and call the Captain. How's that for a mixed metaphor?" He took a deep breath and turned to the telephone. "Wish me luck."

Joe Reese put the receiver back in its cradle, sank back in his chair and stared at his phone as if he expected a genie to pop out of it. A slow smile spread across his face, and he started to laugh, a great rolling sound of joy that started somewhere deep in his heart and just kept on coming. Startled faces peeked in his door and disappeared as quickly as they came. When he finally caught his breath, he wiped the tears from his eyes and called his wife....

"Well, that wasn't so bad," Nick said gruffly. Nat suppressed a smile. She'd heard enough of the conversation to know that Reese had been overjoyed and hadn't tried to hide it. Nick was touched and a little embarrassed. Time for a change of subject.

"So, ummm, just what is the programme for this evening," she asked archly, reaching for the bag full of movies on the kitchen counter. Nick was there before she could blink, holding it behind his back.

"Popcorn first. One bag or two?"

"One, please...."

Nat carried her bowl to the sofa. Sidney appeared, sniffing curiously. "Sorry Sid, not tonight."

"Not *tonight*?" Nick asked, dropping a large box of kleenex on the table and sitting down in the armchair.

"Too much salt. If it's unsalted, I save some out for him and pinch off the kernels. He likes it." She eyed the box of tissues warily. "What's the first feature, Nick?"

"You'll like it. Trust me." He pushed the play button on the remote.......

This time, he didn't laugh at her when she cried over King Kong. This time, he held her in his lap while the credits rolled.

Natalie grabbed another tissue, blew her nose thoroughly and settled back against Nick's shoulder. "That was so sweet," she said thickly. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome. Are you up for another?"

She had mixed feelings about that. Watching another movie meant that he would have to get up. And she was very happy right where she was.

"You get to choose...." He put the bag in her lap. She peered at the tape cases.

"Nick, these are the same."

"Not quite. One's a cartoon, the other isn't."

"This one." Reluctantly, she slid off his lap and sat cross-legged on the couch while he changed tapes.....

"Now, where were we? Oh yes," he reached out and gathered her back into his arms.

The opening credits were jumpy, but the problem disappeared once the movie began, and they let themselves be caught up in the black-and-white magic of Jean Cocteau's "Beauty and the Beast." Nick occasionally improved on the subtitles, particularly for the vain sisters, but they watched most of the film in silence.

When Belle fainted at first sight of the Beast, Nick laughed softly and gave Nat a squeeze. She chuckled and socked his chest lightly, recognizing his tribute to her own courage.

When the Beast, covered in blood from a slaughtered deer, cringed in shame before his love, Nat slipped her left arm around Nick and leaned into his shoulder, holding him close.

And when the transformed Prince asked Belle "Aren't you afraid?" and she answered "I like to be afraid -- with you," Nat lifted her head and met Nick's kiss. They kissed while the fairy-tale couple soared through clouds to the Prince's kingdom, and they were still kissing when "Fin" faded to black.

At last, they released each other. Nick reached for the remote and turned off the TV and VCR. They sat in silence. Neither of them wanted to move.

He had a pretty good idea of what she was doing. Trying to take the edge off the vampire's hunger by feeding him human blood. Trying to take the edge off the vampire's desire by feeding him her blood. He had no idea if it would make any difference. He could not imagine why she was so confident.

He hadn't felt it yet. That insatiable hunger. He wondered at times if the vampire could have been damaged permanently by the events of the past six months. Or was it just lurking beneath the surface, gathering strength? Would it surge forth when he least expected it? He could hear LaCroix' voice, an echo from their parting -- *It's only a matter of time, Nicholas. Only a matter of time before you kill her.*

"No." He had said it aloud, and Nat raised her head to look at him with concern.

"Nick?"

"Sorry. Thinking out loud."

"Loud is right. Who were you 'thinking' at?"

"LaCroix. But he, too, is a subject for another day."

"Okay. What *do* you want to talk about?"

"Shall I tell you a story? From my past?"

She nodded. "Long past?"

"Very long. I'll tell you a story from 'before'....Are you warm enough?"

"I'm fine."

"I don't think so." He reached over to the arm of the sofa to get the comforter and draped it around them both. "That's better. Okay. Once upon a time, long, long ago, there was a little boy who had more curiosity than was good for him.... "

He told her of adventures and escapades as timeless as childhood. *Replace the pony with a bicycle, the river with a swimming pool, the ailing falcon with a sick puppy, and he sounds a lot like Richie,* she thought.

The last tale was different.

"When I was 18, my cousin Guibert was married. It was a very important alliance, and my uncle invited every relative and ally, great and small. It was spring, which meant most everyone was moving anyway......"

With his words, he painted a vivid picture of a vanished world, of friends and family long-dead. Some of the references escaped her, but she didn't interrupt with questions. At first she thought of images from an old manuscript, but as Nick went on, the characters came to life in her mind.

"..... The celebration lasted a week. On the third day, most of the men went out to hunt. I suspect the womenfolk were glad to see the back of us," he chuckled.

"Nat, you can't imagine how different the world was -- not just the way we lived, the world itself. I don't know if there's a 'real' forest left on the face of the Earth. You have never experienced 'silence' and 'darkness,' -- or the glory of a night sky -- as we knew them...."

"We had a good day's hunting, riding well out into the countryside. I was carrying a new hawk, a peregrine. She was just out of molt, and still sulky. I guess she decided she had had enough and, to borrow a phrase from the '60s, she 'split.' I rode after her, but she kept moving from tree to tree and ignoring the lure."

"There was a sudden gust of wind, then another. In the space of 10 minutes, the sky turned black, the temperature plunged, and I was caught in the midst of the tempest..... Nowadays, satellites track a storm like that from the start. Everyone knows that it's coming and, if you are caught, it's not so hard to find shelter. Back then...."

"I was drenched in sleet and freezing rain. I had never been so cold in my life. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face -- and I couldn't feel it either. I thought I was going to die...."

"To this day, I don't know how long I wandered around in the dark. And then, at long last, I saw a flicker of light in the distance." He paused and gently ran his hand through her hair. "It was light and hope, and safety and warmth, and everyone dear to me was there. We didn't have a word for it yet, Nat, but what I felt was 'home.'"

He whispered into her hair. "It's what I felt when I opened the door yesterday, and found you standing there." She lifted her head, smiled drowsily at him and pulled his head down for a kiss.

She fell asleep in the middle of it.

The sun was rising. Nick felt it as keenly as any fledgling. He just had time to draw his legs up and lie back on the sofa. Nat stretched out against him, making contented little snuffling noises her sleep. His last conscious thought was the realization that Sidney was treading one his stomach, looking for a place to settle.....

He dreamed the sailing dream again, only this time, the boat was a little bit bigger, and sitting next to Nat was a toddler with curly blond hair.

Chapter 5

Nick woke slowly, turning his head toward the warm weight nestled on his shoulder... and got a mouthful of fur.

He sat up spluttering and laughing. "Sorry, Sid," he said to the indignant cat. "Next time, I'll look. Where's your mistress?" The sound of the shower answered that question. "C'mon, I'll make it up to you...."

An hour later, each of the loft's inhabitants had finished a satisfying breakfast -- Sidney his tuna, Natalie her bagel and cream cheese and two cups of coffee, and Nick his mugful of Nat.

"So, how do I taste?"

He met her grin with a shy smile. "Words fail me." He had read her intention in the blood. Each half pint would be a gift -- a concentrated image or memory, carefully chosen. This time, she had given him part of Jenny Schanke's softball game...."Nat, how did you do this? Didn't anyone notice?"

She shrugged and grinned. "Gravity works. I developed this sudden passion for big shawls and large tote bags. I'll admit some places were easier than others. Wait'll you get to the rollercoaster...."

He reached out for her left hand, turning the palm up, and gently caressed the faint scars in the crook of her arm with his fingertips. "You might have hurt yourself. Or gotten an infection."

"I'm a doctor, you know, I do know what I'm doing."

"Do you?" He put his mug aside and held out both hands.

Nat's smile faded. "'The time has come, the Walrus said...'" He nodded. She took a deep breath and took his hands in hers, squeezing hard. It wasn't that hard to begin, actually. She, too, had been rehearsing a speech.

"Nick, do you remember how angry I was when Janette told us about how she became mortal? That's a rhetorical question, of course, you remember everything." He nodded and said nothing, but his eyes darkened at the memory. "I'm ashamed, now, of the way I acted."

"You were afraid, Nat," he whispered, looking down at their joined hands. "And you had every reason. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I was *not* afraid." She said it with such emphasis he was forced to look up at her. "At least not the way you mean. I wasn't afraid of you." She set her chin and met his gaze defiantly. "When she told us what happened between her and Robert, she said 'perhaps we were simply meant to be.' And I felt my whole world turn upside down.."

"You see Nick, almost from the very beginning, I believed that Fate had brought *us* together. That you had been sent to me so I could find a cure and help you regain your mortality and... so we could love each other. When Janette told us, I should have been overjoyed. Instead...." She shook her head in disgust. "It hurt my pride Nick. It hurt my pride to consider the possibility that Providence had brought us together not so I could *find* the cure, but so I could *be* the cure."

"Is that what you think, Nat, that we, too, are... 'meant to be'?"

She nodded.

"And what about 'the terrible price'?"

"You know what I think about destiny. God didn't send those thugs to kill Robert, any more than he sent Gault to kill Cynthia. He sends us the strength to bear the consequences of our own choices and the consequences of other people's choices -- and the consequences of pure chance. And sometimes... sometimes He sends us miracles."

She smiled at him sweetly, and, speechless, Nick lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips. "That's the way Janette felt about Robert -- that their love was a gift," Nat continued. "Who knows what would have happened if they had been able to go on loving each other?"

"You certainly were a miracle for me," he whispered. "But still, Nat, the danger, the risk...."

"It's partly my choice...."

"It's not what I would have wanted for you...."

"What *do* you want for me Nick?"

"I want you to be happy. I want you to be safe. I want you to be safe and happy." He sighed.

"Nobody's safe. Not in this world. If I'd wanted safe, I would have kept on walking that night."

He nodded. "Instead, you challenged me."

She answered his smile, then grew serious. "You told me 'Evil is a metaphysical condition.' And I said....."

"You said, 'You're not evil.' "

"You aren't evil, Nick. But the thing inside you is."

He had not expected this, and the expression on his face was a mix of surprise and shame. His next words came with difficulty.

"Nat, I know I talk about 'the beast' as if it were separate from me, but it isn't really like that. It's not like...." His voice faltered. "It's not like possession. The vampire isn't a demon that can be exorcised, driven out." Nick met her gaze, fighting the urge to hide his face in his hands. "I know you... saw the truth about me that night..... "

"Yes, I saw. I felt it. 'It,' Nick, not just 'you.' That ravenous, all-consuming hunger that is the essence of evil. Call the entity what you like -- beast, demon -- Janette called it 'the killer.' It's a parasite. Something that feeds on darkness and death."

"'And this is what makes me what I am?'" he asked, quoting himself. "It's a far cry from altered DNA, Nat."

"The virus and the 'beast' are two sides of the same coin. That's why no attack on the DNA ever worked for more than a few hours. The vampire rallies to defend itself." Her tone was as matter-of-fact as if she were discussing routine case findings. "Just as the virus infects the body, the vampire infects the soul. Without the living soul, the assault fails. But if the person turns away from the light...."

Nick nodded gravely, remembering Alyssa, and for the first time, considered the possibility that she had been saved from eternal darkness not by his clumsiness, but by her own choice.

"And, what happens to -- the living soul?"

"It fights back -- or it doesn't."

Eight centuries of struggle lay in the silence between them. At last, Nick spoke, very softly.

"At Vanderwal's, the demon said to Lacroix, 'You are one of us.'" The look on his face tore at her heart. "Nat, I can't...."

"You can't think of him that way." Nick shook his head, mute with anguish. "I'm not saying you should." She reached out and gripped his right hand in both of hers.

"This isn't the end of his story, Nick, anymore than it's the end of ours. If I believe, as I do with all my heart, that you can be forgiven, then I have to believe that he could be, too.... Yes, you chose this. But you also chose to fight it. And now we can fight it together, with weapons far more powerful than ancient jade cups or experimental hormones."

"Faith and love." He cupped her face with his left hand, lightly brushing his thumb over the warm softness of her lips. "I thought we had both that night. And then....."

"We did. But we were surrounded by desperation and grief and remorse and anger and fear. All things that feed the darkness. And when you bit me...." She closed her eyes for a moment. *Here goes,* she thought. *No going back after this.*

"... When you bit me, I felt your love reaching out to me. It was beyond anything I had ever imagined. Then, I saw your past, and I felt the vampire clawing its way up to the surface, trying to batter through our love. Darkness and death and hunger -- ravenous, all-consuming hunger -- spiraling back to the very first moments, all those centuries ago, in Paris, in... in Janette's arms."

The words poured out of her -- Nick had no chance to speak.

"....When Janette and Robert tried that first time, they had no idea that they were on the brink of a cure. They only wanted to love each other. Robert's love wasn't deeper than mine. Janette's faith wasn't stronger than yours. She was afraid, profoundly afraid of what might happen. And it wasn't as easy as it sounded when she told us about it that night in the lab...."

"Hunger and Death. That's what it's all about, the vampire. Even when you love. Only you can kill each other over and over and over again.... Even though Robert's blood warmed her heart, she did have to fight against the urge to fill herself with him. But she wasn't starving. She didn't have to battle her body's need, only the vampire's desire. And the love between them was enough to carry her over that first hurdle."

"Maybe it would have been easier for us, too, if we had waited. If I had persuaded you to let me come with you, and hadn't pushed for more. I could have done that, couldn't I?"

He nodded. "Yes, yes, Nat, you probably could have......" He looked at her sharply, eyes narrowed. "Nat, how do you know all this? You couldn't have learned all that just from.... " She watched gravely as he rose and walked to the fridge, retrieved a bottle and brought it back to the table.

"Natalie," he said quietly, staring at the bottle and feeling like a fool, "Where did you get this?"

"I've been wondering when you were going to ask that." She nodded at his chair. "I think you'd better sit down."

He sat. She told him.

He didn't know whether to laugh or cry -- or scream.

Chapter 6

"Janette." Nick stared at her, and then at the bottle again, appalled. "You've been...." He put the bottle down on the table, very deliberately, very gently, resisting the temptation to hurl it across the room.

He gripped the edge of the table for a moment, as if expecting an earthquake, and then, very slowly, he folded his hands together and rested his elbows on the table, fixing his gaze on a spot halfway between them. Natalie could see the tension in his hands and the muscles of his forearms. His knuckles were bone white.

When he spoke, his voice was low but filled with suppressed emotion. "Nat, Janette... Janette has every reason to hate me."

"Yes. But she doesn't." There was disbelief in his eyes, absolute certainty in hers. "She came to my apartment, the night after I came home from the rehab center. And many more times after that. At first, I suspected what you suspect now, but after I got to know her better, I understood. You'd be surprised how much we have in common -- and I don't just mean you."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "When it comes to matters of revenge, she....... *we* can be very patient."

"I believe it. From some of the stories she's told me...." Nick managed to look perplexed and horrified at the same time. Nat smiled sadly and shook her head. "She doesn't want revenge, my love. She could have had it several times over by now if she did....

"Janette could have made my life a living hell. Instead, she gave me hope. 'He's alive.' Those were the very first words she said to me. And the last thing she said before she left that night was, 'I don't think you have any doubts, Natalie, but if it will help you to hear it from me, he absolutely loves you.'"

Nick just stared at her, trying to take it in. He felt an echo of the emotions that had swept through him when Natalie had opened the door to the loft -- disorientation, astonishment, and a passionate desire to believe the unbelievable.....

He had told Nat the bare, essential truth about Janette -- that in the face of death, he had brought his old love back across. He had spared her the details -- spared himself the agony of telling her the details. Now the image rose in his mind of the two women, sitting on the sofa in Nat's apartment, talking -- perhaps even laughing together..... and he began to laugh, slightly hysterically.

Sidney chose this moment to jump up on the table to see what was going on. Nick shook his head and reached out automatically to stroke him. "Women," he said to the cat, in awed resignation.

Nat chuckled softly and came around the table to stand behind him. She ruffled his hair and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and whispering into his ear. "Can't live with us. Can't live without us."

Nick sighed and sat back, leaning his cheek against hers. "In my case, that's true in more ways than one."

"She left a letter for you." Nat kissed his cheek and handed him an envelope. The paper was thick and silky to the touch. There was only one word inscribed on the creamy white surface: Nicholas.

Nat kissed him on the crown of his head, re-filled his mug from the bottle, scooped up Sydney and retired to the sofa. Nick ran his thumb under the flap of the envelope and pulled out three sheets thickly covered with Janette's elegant script.

Mon cher --

So, he has told you that she lives. I sensed it an hour ago, a stab of joy so different from the agonies of the past months. Yes, I felt those too. Never strong enough to guide me to you, but enough. Enough so that I could assure her that you were alive, and explain that you were not free.

Now he will either let you go, or he will end it. I do not believe that he can kill you. I do not think that he knew this, until now. It is a great weapon, should you ever choose to use it against him. Somehow, I think you will not.

Poor Nicholas. Your head is still spinning, is it not? Since you are reading this, you have come home and found her waiting, her heart full of hope, her mind full of plans. As I found her. I take no credit for the hope, but I think I have made some small contribution to the plans.

And you are afraid still, no matter how hard she has tried to reassure you. I think you will not understand this friendship of ours, cheri. For one thing, you are a man. But believe in it, I beg you.

You may wonder why I write to you in English. It is true, the old familiar tongue would be more suitable -- but I will show her this when I am done, and I wish there to be no misunderstanding between us.

You have every reason to doubt me, of course. How could I make you believe? I might leave a taste of myself, but I do not think that would be wise, considering the state of your health, and what you desire.

What I desire for you.

Yes, I want you to have with Natalie what I knew with Robert.

She does not believe that Robert's death was part of my destiny. She thinks that it might simply have been a matter of time -- or that joy might one day have proved as much a catalyst as grief. Perhaps she is right. In any case, I pray that you will be spared what I suffered.

I did love you, but it was nothing compared to what I felt for him. You and Natalie have such a love. This, I have known for a long time. Truly, I believe I knew before you did. I tasted it in your blood.

"Ah," you will think, "this is jealousy's revenge." No, cheri, for I never was jealous of her. As long as you came to my arms, why should I have cared? She would die eventually, and you would always be mine. Or so I once believed.

I cannot absolve you of what you did to me when you called me back. That is not in my power. But I do forgive you. And I understand -- how could I not understand? It was, after all, in the end, my choice.

I turned away from the light, a second time, Nicholas. Partly because of the strength of your call, partly because I was afraid. I was afraid all those centuries ago, and this time, with so much more to my account, and so little to weigh in my favor.

Natalie believes that I was wrong in this, that choosing the light would have been enough.But you and I remember a time when forgiveness demanded reparation..... So I will go home, to Paris, and find a way to shelter the lost, the strays, while I learn to tame my "beast." In a thousand years, I never thought of it that way, not for a moment. Now I have discovered both the beast and the soul I thought was lost. And I shall learn how to live so that when death does come, I will not be afraid to step through that door. If the only way back is through the blood of true love, then I will be a vampire when death finds me.

Sometimes, I dream of the light... and when I do, there is no fear.

I shall arrange an address where you may write to me, but Nicolas, do not search for me, nor expect to see me -- at least not for a long time. This is a road I must travel alone. Who knows that better than you?

I will come to you, someday, when I am ready. Perhaps you and Natalie will show me your beautiful grandbabies. You see, I do believe in your future together.

Je t'embrasse, mon cher, mon brave, mon preux chevalier.

Janette

Nick wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, carefully folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope, which he placed on the table and smoothed flat with his palms.

"Nat?" His voice was soft and choked with emotion.

"I'm here," she said, coming to stand beside him, resting her hands lightly on his shoulders.

He reached out with one arm and gathered her close, still not lifting his eyes from the envelope, leaning against her. She kissed the top of his head again, gently smoothing his hair.

"She forgave me, Nat."

"Yes, I know."

And she did know, all of it, which was a blessed, blessed relief, because he didn't have to try to find the words to say anything more. All he had to do was to close his eyes and let her hold him while the spinning universe fell gently back into place, made quite new by this wholly unexpected act of grace.

"We have to get ready to go, Nick." Nat laughed softly. "And I need to change."

Nick shook his head ruefully at the faint pink stains on her sweater. "I'm sorry..."

"Nonsense. It's just a sweater. You can buy me a new one, if it will make you feel better. Or if you feel the need to suffer more, I'll teach you to knit, and you can make me one."

"Lassie, what makes ye think I dinna know how to knit?" he countered, with a Scots accent as thick as porridge and a twinkle in his eye. "It's a proper occupation for a man..."

She rolled her eyes and pushed him away, laughing. "Okay, then, you're on. One sweater. And no cheating when it comes to speed, laddie."

Nick stood and put his arms around her, running his hands lightly along the length of her back.

"Nick...."

"Well, I have to take measurements, haven't I?" he said innocently.

Nat disengaged herself and changed while Nick gave his face a quick scrub and prepared himself for the ordeal ahead. In all his many "lives," the many times he had moved on, this was something he had never tried to do.... He had never tried to go back....

They pulled into the station parking lot. Nick looked apprehensively at the door, then at Nat, who gave him a reassuring grin.

"Here goes."

Arm in arm, they walked into the precinct.....

One exhausting hour later, they walked out again, turning to look back over their shoulders at Reese, who stood on the steps beaming on them like a warm brown sun.

Natalie had watched Nick and Joe's meeting with some amusement. They were like a couple of friendly but nervous bears. She suspected that if this had been happening in a more private place, there would have been a good solid hug to break the ice. But that was impossible in the precinct.

So, after shaking Nick's hand warmly, Reese had been all business and formality, listening soberly to their carefully prepared story, occasionally nodding. When they were done, he got up and moved slowly around the office, asking a few less-than-incisive questions, coming to rest on the front edge of his desk.

The Captain loomed over them slightly, looking back and forth, from one carefully composed face to the other. At last he cleared his throat and addressed the floor at his feet.

"I really hope that someday the two of you can tell me the truth about this." He silenced them with a look. "In the meantime, that's one hell of a good story. There'll be some paperwork, but I think I can safely say that, if you want it, there's a place for you here, Nick." He grinned at them both. "Welcome home."

They had run a gauntlet of stares and whispers on their way in. The return trip was punctuated with smiles, extended hands, slaps on the back and occasionally a kiss for Nick. During one such pause, Reese leaned over and whispered in Natalie's ear. "Is he eating properly, yet?"

Caught off-guard, she whispered back "Yet?"

"Yeah. I saw it in Nam. POWs. It takes them two ways, after they come back. Either they can barely eat at all, or they can't get enough."

Before she could answer him Nick had reached out his hand and pulled her close again. "Protect me," he whispered, as they headed for the exit.

"I don't know about that, but I can clean you up a little," she said, wiping faint smears of lipstick from each cheek and one corner of his mouth as they made a dash for the exit, with Reese guarding their backs......

As they pulled up in front of the Coroner's Office, Nick asked, "What did the Captain say to you?"

"Didn't you hear?"

"No, I was.... a little distracted."

"I noticed. He just wanted to know if I was feeding you properly." She laughed at the look on his face. "Little does he know. So, Nick, do you want to take the car tonight? You could drop me off at work and pick me up when my shift's over."

"I'll do better than that. I'll pick you up and take you to 'lunch.' Deal?"

"Deal." She leaned over and very deliberately put her face up to be kissed. Nick chuckled and complied, whispering something about "public demonstrations of affection" against her lips......

Nick was right on time. Nat stared, open-mouthed, as he jumped eagerly out of the car and ran to meet her.

"So, what do you think, Nat?"

She swallowed and took a deep breath. "A car. You bought a car."

"Yeah." Nick gazed fondly at his new acquisition. "The engine is in great shape and so is the interior....." he babbled on and Nat stared, trying to stay calm.

It was a Cadillac. Another huge, '60s-something boat of a car, with a trunk big enough for a 6-foot vampire and a day's worth of provisions. Utterly practical for the life he had now. Completely useless for the life they were hoping for.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to hit him.

"....It really needs a paint job, Nat. Would you like to pick the color? Anything you like.... except pink. Unless you really, really want pink. I suppose I could get used to pink..."

Nat's voice was deceptively even. "Nick," she said slowly, keeping her eyes on the car. "I thought maybe this time you wouldn't care so much about -- trunk space."

"Oh." He was puzzled for a moment, then nodded in understanding. "Oh. Well, then it'll be great for the beach umbrella."

He watched her closely as she stared at the car, trying to decipher her expression and failing miserably. Her brow was furrowed, her lips (oh, that adorable mouth) slightly pursed. Her heartbeat was up a bit, but that could be surprise. Or he could be in deep, deep trouble. He knew that was a possibility -- although he really couldn't imagine why.

At last, she spoke.

"Red."

"Red?"

"Red."

She smiled at him and Nick ushered her to the car, beaming. "I thought we'd go back to that little caf'e you like so much. I dropped your car off at home. I can't believe I found this....."

He rattled on about the car as he drove. Nat watched his face. Her first impulse had been anger and disappointment -- she had thought that he believed as strongly in their future as she did. But she had bitten back her bitter words, and now she was very glad. Now, she was realizing something she should have known all along.....

"Nick, tell me something."

"Sure, what?"

"The trunk space is just an excuse, isn't it? Even if you were 100% mortal, you still would want this car."

He grinned a little sheepishly. "Yeah. Yeah, I would. Do you mind, Nat?"

"No," she said, shaking her head and letting out a long deep sigh of satisfaction as she leaned back into the seat. "No, I don't mind in the slightest."

"Now you tell me something. Why red?"

"It'll be easy to find at the beach," she said with a sly smile.

He laughed softly. "Tell you what. You pick the shade of red, and I'll knit you a sweater to match."

Chapter 7

Nick was as good as his word. Two weeks later, he'd finished the front and back and was starting on the sleeves. Natalie had insisted on a long, roomy, over-sized design. "So I can wear it over slacks," she had added, disingenuously. "Oh ye of of little faith," Nick had teased, seeing through the fib.

She need not have worried. The finished shape -- in custom-dyed lambswool so soft it felt like a caress -- fit perfectly.

And the color matched the Caddy. Exactly.

They'd chosen the paint first, spending an hour and a half in the body shop while a man named Frankie patiently mixed and remixed samples and smeared them on scrap, and she gingerly held them up to see which color suited her best.....

Nat was a little embarrassed at first, but Frankie never so much as raised an eyebrow, so she decided it wasn't unusual for a customer to pick a color that suited his girl. *His girl.* Well that's what she was, wasn't she, Nick's girl? *And he's my guy.* She flashed Nick a smile and, catching her mood if not the precise thought, he returned a grin and a wink.

When they'd narrowed the choice down to two shades, Nick abruptly ended the discussion, took one piece of paint-smeared scrap in each hand, told Frankie he'd be back the next evening and followed a puzzled Natalie out to the car.

"Is something wrong, Nick?"

"No. It's just that there's one more test I want to do, and we can't do it there."

The next morning, when she came off shift, she found Nick waiting impatiently.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, returning his welcoming kiss. "Somebody goofed, and a half-dozen rookies showed up unexpectedly for a forensic orientation. Fortunately, there was a case to show them."

Nick chuckled at the wicked gleam in her eye. "How many did you have to scrape off the floor?"

"Three. But I don't do the scraping, I leave that to Charlie. We'll try them again next Thursday. They'll be fine, it just takes time. Remember how squeamish Tracey was....?"

"Yeah." Nick was helping her off with her coat, so she couldn't see his face, but the sadness in his voice was unmistakable.

"So," Nat said softly, kissing him again. "I thought you'd be in bed. The sun's up."

"That's the point. C'mon." He took her by the hand and drew her close to the far window, then handed her the pieces of scrap. "Just stand there."

Nat waited obediently as Nick retreated to the sofa and retrieved the remote. As the shutters at her end of the room began to rise and the sunlight poured over her, she understood, and her eyes filled with tears.

"I think the one on the left..." Nick leaned on the arm of the sofa, resting his chin in his hand, and struggled unsuccessfully to stifle a gaping yawn. "On my left, that is." He smiled and blinked at her, fighting exhaustion. She held the piece under her chin and struck a mocking model's pose. "Yes, that's it." He yawned again, and by the time she got to the sofa he was fast asleep.

With a skill perfected through years of handling corpses, she deftly maneuvered his inert body into a more comfortable position, kissed him on the forehead and went up to bed.....

He told her how he had learned to knit during long winter nights in the Highlands of Scotland.

"How long ago was this?"

"Two and half, three centuries."

"Bonnie Prince Charlie and all." Nat sobered as she recalled the history. "Nick, were you.... did you see Culloden?"

He nodded grimly. "Yes, I was there for 'The '45.' And 'The '15' for that matter." He smiled, sadly, dropping the work into his lap. "I admired the people, their passion for freedom. There was a wild beauty to the place..... Of course, it's easy for me to say that. I didn't have to worry about cold or starvation. And," he gave her a wry grin, "it was not very much to LaCroix' taste."

"No, I can't see him in that setting."

"He doesn't like to lose."

They stared silently into the fire for a moment, and then Nick looked over to see Natalie frowning in concentration.

"Nat?"

"I was trying to imagine him wearing a kilt."

Curious about the noise, Sidney scampered down from his observation point high in the loft and leapt up on the back of the sofa to survey the spectacle of his people rolling around on the floor, laughing.......

They tried to take each day as it came.

There was a stilted meeting with Commissioner Vetter. Tracy had left her affairs in perfect order, and her papers included a letter for Nick, which Vetter had gruffly handed over. Then, jaw tense, eyes glued to the notebook where he had neatly printed his daughter's last words, he had read aloud, ".......Tell Nick and the Captain I'm sorry. I screwed up."

Nick busied himself with the Brabant Foundation. There was a lot of catching up to do, and the work was deeply satisfying.

He finished the sweater and started giving Nat lessons, after she confessed that everything she had ever knitted had come out stiff as a board and four sizes too small. "I do sculpture, not sweaters," she sighed.

They agreed to put aside the question of whether or not he would go back to the force. They talked about it just once, on the drive home.....

"Nick, the decision has to be yours. I have just one question for you. How long have you been a cop?"

He frowned at the traffic ahead of him, puzzled. "You know the answer to that Nat, you were there the day I came in."

"No, that's how long you've been on the force here in Toronto. How long have you been a cop?"

"Oh. You mean like, back in Chicago. I started in '64."

"And you've pretty much stayed with it since then." He nodded. "More than 30 years, Nick. Not bad, as careers go." She put her hand lightly on his arm. "I'm not telling you it's time to change. But you have so much to offer, Nick. There are other ways to make a difference. You could go back to teaching, you know."

He drove in silence for a few minutes, then cleared his throat hesitantly. "It would mean.... changing things, Nat. A new identity, for me at least. Moving on. It's too much to ask."

"You mean, it's too much to ask of me."

He nodded.

"My great-great-great grandparents left Ireland without the slightest expectation of ever seeing home again. Would this be so very different for us? Besides, I know your friends are computer whizzes, but just how solid is Nicholas B. Knight's past? I'd guess it's built to last about 10 years. So we'll have to face the problem sooner or later. And will they help you when you're human?"

She kept her tone casual and her eyes fixed on the road, but she felt Nick's cool hand covering her own in unspoken acknowledgment of that "when."

Nick's body continued to heal, more slowly than in the past. Whether it was the aftermath of his imprisonment or the effect of a daily dose of Natalie's blood, the beast seemed quiescent. Her presence was tempting to him, but his desire for her contained a healthy portion of mortal passion that both baffled and pleased him.

He did worry about his growing strength and did not entirely trust himself, but Nat's only concession to those feelings was to hear him out, to make the point that he still spent the daylight hours dead to the world and, occasionally, to sleep on the sofa. More often than not, they shared the bed.

They kept up the dancing lessons, and Natalie surprised herself by being an apt pupil -- most of the time. "Of course, you never complain when I step on you," she pointed out.

"My dearest one, I would walk barefoot on hot coals for the opportunity to hold you in my arms," Nick replied, somewhat theatrically.

"Why do I think that is not an original sentiment?"

"It's a quotation, actually."

"That's *not* Shakespeare."

"No. It's Merrifield Pettibone."

"Who?"

"Merrifield Pettibone. One of the more prolific writers of Victorian melodrama."

She swatted him lightly on the nose and they went back to the tango lessons.

So the days stretched on and became weeks...... and Natalie watched, and waited, for the inevitable.

Chapter 8

It started, as Days from Hell so often do, with a Domestic Nuisance. No hot water.

Nick dragged out a box of tools and moved around the loft opening panels in walls and cheerfully cursing the plumbing in several different languages. Sidney seized the opportunity to inspect these newly revealed corners of his territory, and Nat observed discreetly from a distance, coffee cup in hand, refraining from comment and occasionally handing over a tool when asked.

"Okay, try it now....... Nat? Are you still out there? Try it now."

"Oh, sorry." She had been distracted by the spectacle of Nick stretched out on the kitchen floor with his head under the sink and by an unreasonable temptation to tickle the soles of his bare feet. She reached over and turned on the faucet. "Congratulations. You did it."

"Great." Nick extracted himself and gazed with satisfaction at the stream of steaming water. "Now you can take your shower."

"You need it a lot more than I do," Nat replied, scanning his now-grimy jeans and T-shirt and wiping a smudge from his cheek.

He looked down at himself and chuckled. "Point taken. I'll be quick." He kissed her lightly on the cheek, bent down to pick up his tools and stepped back from the sink -- onto Sidney.

Sydney yowled, scratched and hissed.

Nick hissed back.

He recovered himself instantly and apologized profusely to Nat and to the cat. Sidney went off in a state of high dudgeon, and Natalie was reassuring. But there it was, as clear as could be -- the vampire was still very much with them, a sleeping tiger.

"Don't worry, Nick. He'll punish you for awhile by ignoring you, but he'll pardon you eventually." Nick remained grim-faced as he wiped the nearly healed scratches on his foot with a paper towel. "Not a great way to start our night off."

"We'll go to the pet store at the mall tonight and get him some catnip. For future reference, when you need to make up with Sidney in a hurry, catnip does the trick."

Catching a little of her mood, Nick smiled slightly. "Well, that's good to know. And, for future reference, what about his mistress?"

"Oh that's easy. Chocolate ice cream. Preferably Haagen-Dazs. You go get washed up. I'll get the paper and the mail."

The newspaper was full of bad news and the mail wasn't any better.

There was a thick envelope containing information from the administrator of one of the Brabant Foundation's favorite charities, confirming the embezzlement of half-a-million dollars by a trusted employee. There was a snide document from deep in the Toronto bureaucracy demanding confirmation of Nick's employment status.

There was a bundle of letters Nick had written to an old friend marked "Return to sender, recipient deceased." And there was a large blue envelope that looked like a greeting card but turned out to be a very nasty piece of hate mail directed at the two of them.

"Well, I guess not everyone's glad to see you back -- or us together," Nat said in a small voice.

Nick stared at the paper, lips tight. "It's obscene but not precisely threatening," he said with chilling calm. "I don't think you need to worry, Nat. Still, we'd better call the precinct now."

Reese was not surprised. "There must be dozens of those things all over the city, Nick. Whoever it is has it in for most of the staff of the 96th -- including guys who've been retired for five years."

Nick sighed. He had too much experience not to understand. "Sounds like someone inside, Cap."

"Yeah." He could hear the sadness in Reese's voice.

"We can bring this by the station tonight..."

"It can wait. We have more than enough in the way of samples to work on.... You two enjoy the weekend."

Nick put down the phone and stared at the card.

"You know, if you had heat vision like Superman, that would be ashes by now."

"As a matter of fact, I'd like nothing better than to throw it in the fire."

"Doesn't really help. It feels better to hand it over to Forensics." She calmly met his startled look. "Did you think this was my first anonymous letter? It comes with the territory, Nick. Testify in court on high-profile cases and sooner or later, somebody decides its time to set you straight."

"This is a little different. This time it's because of m....."

Natalie put her hand firmly over his mouth. He looked at her sadly for a moment, then she felt his lips move against her palm in a halfhearted smile and a very definite kiss. She released him and returned the kiss.

"D'you still want to go out tonight, Nick?"

He nodded. "I do have to make up with Sidney, remember? And if I'm not the best of company.... Well, they have ice cream at the mall, too, don't they?"

It was a mistake.

Somehow, she'd missed the ads. Special sales were everywhere. The stores and walkways were crowded and noisy, and if the press of people was putting her nerves on edge, she hated to think what it was doing to Nick.

Their few errands did not go well -- half the shops seemed to be having computer trouble. At the pet shop, a trainee who had apparently been abandoned by management burst into tears and fled to the back of the store. Nick glared at the customer responsible and followed her. Nat watched, smiling, as he helped the woman regain her composure, escorted her back to the front desk -- and subdued the waiting customers with a single look.

"Not exactly humanity at its best," she said quietly as they headed for the escalator.

"Not its worst either," Nick replied. His tone was light, but Nat could feel the tension vibrating beneath it. She slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze.

"I'm okay, really, Nat. I'm not hungry."

"I believe you. But you're not okay, either. And after everything you've been through, you can consider that a very normal human reaction." She squeezed his hand again. "This isn't supposed to be an endurance test, Nick. Let's go home."

He put his arm around her shoulders and they walked toward the parking lot -- where they found two flat tires waiting.

Back at the loft, Natalie scrambled herself some eggs and sat down in front of the television. Nick had offered to take her to the movies, but she had refused. "The way our luck is going, the projector would break down just at the most interesting part. If there isn't anything good on, we can make fun of the late show...."

Nick couldn't settle. He prowled around the loft the way Sidney did just before a thunderstorm, fidgeting and distracted. She could feel the tension in him building instead of easing. And then came the last straw.

The evening news was unrelentingly lurid, and the long tale of human stupidity and violence was crowned with a report of a horrifying traffic accident involving a rental truck and two school buses. The drunken driver of the truck -- a wanted criminal -- was unscathed, and a dozen children had burned to death.

Natalie sat staring at the screen, her face a blank. Nick bent over her. "Nat," he whispered softly, "Shall I turn it off?" She shook her head, and he put his hands on her shoulders and turned his eyes, if not his attention, back to the television.

Her two worst nightmares -- fire and children. On top of everything else, he felt helpless to comfort her. They waited in silence until the broadcast ended, resonating with sorrow and anger like the twin tines of a tuning fork.

She touched his hand, then reached out wordlessly. Nick passed her the telephone, then stepped away to the refrigerator while she called the office.

When she finished, she came over to kitchen. Nick was holding an empty bottle by the neck -- so tightly she would not have been surprised to see it snap in his hand. He spoke without looking up. "When do they want you?"

"In the morning, first thing." She shuddered involuntarily and saw his fingers move on the bottle. "Throw it, if it'll make you feel better."

"It won't. It'll just make a mess. I'm sorry, Nat, I don't know what's gotten into me."

"Don't you?" She paused, trying to find the right words. "Maybe if you talk to me Nick," she said, very gently. "Can you tell me what you're feeling?"

"Frustrated. At a loss. Helpless. Helpless to do anything for them -- or for you. Frustrated and helpless and......"

"And what?" she whispered, knowing the answer already.

He looked down at her, his face bleak. "Angry. Angry. I'm angry. I'm so angry it scares me." He carefully put the bottle in the sink and backed away from her. "Nat, I have to..... I have to go...... Don't worry, it'll be all right. But I just... I have to...." And he was gone, out the skylight.

Natalie stood in the empty loft, arms wrapped around herself as if chilled by the wind of his passing. She wished that wrapping them around him could be enough. Part of her had wanted to demand that he stay, talk about it, try to deal with it here, with her, but she knew better.

If he were mortal, that might work. Then she could tell him to try work it off physically -- playing squash or running or heaving weights -- or even pummeling a few pillows to a pulp. His strength made that impossible..... "Please God, help him," she prayed as she lay down on the couch to wait....

Nick came back just before dawn. He was a mess. His clothes were dirty and torn and darkly stained.

"You look awful." Nat got up and came to where he stood in front of the fireplace, holding out the bottle she had ready. She watched quietly as he drained it, observing the fading marks on his knuckles and face. "What hit you?"

"Actually, I did most of the hitting." He sounded chastened rather than triumphant.

"You look as if you'd had a close encounter with a mountain." Nat pulled a piece of evergreen from his hair and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, for starters."

"And?" She fingered the rents in what was left of his shirt and lightly touched the pink parallel scars on his arms and chest.

"A bear."

"A bear." She took a deep breath. "Well I guess we know who won."

"Actually, it was more like a draw."

"A draw?"

"Yeah. I let him go." He shrugged and flashed a sheepish grin. "After all, it wasn't his fault. I started it."

"Well, that sounds fair," Nat cleared her throat and resisted the temptation to burst into hysterical giggles. She looked at him. "I thought maybe...."

"No. I didn't go out there to hunt, Nat, I needed......" He paused, still at a loss for words.

"I know." She rested her hands on his chest. "I've been expecting this, Nick. It wasn't just because of tonight. This has been building for a while. In fact, it's a good sign. It's a very normal human reaction."

He rolled his eyes, put the bottle on the mantelpiece and covered her hands lightly with his own. "Flying off to punch out a few rocks and wrestle a bear aren't exactly normal human reactions."

"No, but releasing the anger is. It isn't as if you could work it off at the gym. At least, not without making the morning news.....I do understand, Nick. It's not as if I don't have my bad moments too."

"I haven't noticed any lately."

She sighed. "Yeah, well, you know me. Just give me time. I work it out at work -- too long and too hard. I get exhausted and strung out and lose all common sense and make a fool of myself." She faced him, chin up and smiling wryly. "I'll start ranting at you, you'll be bewildered, and all the while, there will be this little voice inside telling me, 'Girl, you're acting like an idiot. The poor guy hasn't a clue what's wrong, and he can't read your mind.' And we'll both wonder if that bear of yours has a brother."

Nick chuckled, and Natalie sighed and freed her right hand and laid it against his cheek. "And when that does happen, know that it isn't your fault. And forgive me. You can try to tell me that I should 'just say no,' although I don't think you'll have much luck I'm awfully stubborn." She grinned halfheartedly. "I'll be too tired to make sense, and there won't be anything you can do about that. When I do come to my senses, you can remind me about tonight." Nat sighed and looked at the silent television. "You might have that opportunity pretty soon."

She picked another piece of greenery out of his hair and handed him the bottle. "Here, finish drinking this and go get cleaned up." Nick walked slowly up the stairs as she turned back to the kitchen, muttering under her breath. He only caught two words ".... Davy Crockett...."

Nat came back to the loft 14 hours later, somewhere near the end of her rope. It had been a grueling and heart-rending day. She leaned wearily back against the door to the elevator, trying to summon enough energy to walk the rest of the way into the room, when she realized there was an odd silhouette in the leather armchair.

"Nick?" she called. There was no movement in the chair, but she heard his voice from upstairs... "Be right down." She moved cautiously toward the fireplace, circling around the far end of the sofa until she could see the armchair clearly..... and burst out laughing.

It was a bear. A huge, plush black bear with big brown eyes and a sweet smile. He was dressed in wrestling gear, and the name on his shirt was Nikolai. Still laughing, Nat swept him up in her arms and squeezed him tight. Somewhere in the midst of the hug her laughter turned to tears and she found herself weeping uncontrollably into the soft fur. She felt a pair of strong, cool arms gently circling both her and the bear.....

"I must look awful," she said, when the tears had been exhausted.

"A lot better than I did after my bear finished with me," Nick replied, turning her around and gently wiping the tears from her eyes.

"He's beautiful, Nick." Nat gave him a watery smile, and kissed the bear on the nose.

Nick sighed melodramatically and shook his head. "These athletes get all the attention." Nat chuckled and kissed him on the nose. Then she tossed Nikolai unceremoniously into the armchair and put her arms around Nick to kiss him properly.

She almost fell asleep in his arms.

Laughing softly, Nick swept her off her feet, carried her upstairs and sat her on the edge of the bed. He caught her by the shoulders as she drooped forward somewhat precariously. "Nat, do you need help getting undressed?"

"Nope." She shook her head, eyes closed. "Nope, I can do it. Just get me my nightshirt, please?"

"Okay." He returned to find her feebly wrestling with her sweater, which was half over her head. "C'mon sleepyhead. Let me help." He gently extracted her from the sweater, shoes and socks, unbuttoned her blouse and undid the button on her jeans. "Thank heaven for zippers," he muttered as he pressed the nightshirt into her arms and propelled her toward the bathroom door. "Nat, take a shower, I don't want you drowning in the bathtub, okay?"

"You betcha."

Nick stayed glued to the door, listening carefully to be sure she was safe. At last the door opened to reveal Natalie wearing the nightshirt like a tent. "Nick, I can't find my hands," she said happily.

"That's okay. I'm a detective. I can find anything....."

Nat's insistence on brushing her teeth led to a moment or two of high comedy, but he eventually succeeded in tucking her up safely in the big bed. Nick kissed her lightly on the lips and the forehead. "Sleep well, my love." He paused in the doorway to take in the sight of her smiling face and indulged himself for a moment, imagining a little girl with Nat's blue eyes and curls.

Chapter 9

Natalie dragged herself from the depths of sleep, yawned and stretched and looked at the clock. It read 3 -- 3 p.m. "I don't believe it. 18 hours." The sound of music floated up from downstairs. Nick was playing the piano. Apparently he was in a Cole Porter mood.... that was the end of "You Do Something to Me." *....Let me live 'neath your spell, do do that voodoo that you do so well. 'Cause you do something to me that nobody else can do.* Nat sighed. "Amen."

She closed her eyes and waited for the next melody -- ah, "In the Still of the Night." She listened for a bit, then slid out of bed and padded out to the balcony. The last strains of the wistful song died away. Nick stopped playing.

"Yes, Yes and Never," she said firmly as she walked down the stairs. Nick turned and his face lit up, but he looked puzzled, until she nodded toward the piano. Then he nodded and laughed. "Hello, sleepyhead," he said as she sat down on the bench beside him.

The music stand was down, and Sidney had arrayed himself across its surface. He yawned, stretched luxuriously and meowed for Nat's attention. "Good morning to you, too, big fella. So, you've made it up with Nick." She scritched him around the ears and chin, laughing. "Nick, this cat is definitely......"

"..... I believe the expression you are looking for is 'blissed out.'"

"Uh-huh. That's it."

Sidney stretched and rolled, offering his tummy to be scratched and revealing leaves of paper, creamy white against the piano's gleaming black lacquer. Janette's letter.

Nat reached out and lightly touched it with her fingertip. Nick picked it up and looked at her hesitantly, unsure of her reaction. She traced the edge of the stationery with her finger and smiled, sadly. "It's a beautiful letter."

He nodded, and a look of pain moved across his face. "She sounds.... changed." He sighed, and Nat nodded, but her mouth quirked slightly.

"Yes... but.... " She paused, at a loss for words. "Nick... I....Janette....." She made a small sound of frustration. "I don't know quite how to say this without sounding.... catty. It *is* a beautiful letter, but...."

He looked at her seriously for a moment, and then a trace of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Janette always had a flair for the dramatic." The smile began to reach his eyes. "Nat, are you by any chance trying to tell me that she... hasn't lost her sense of humor?"

"Yes. Yes." Nat sighed in relief and nodded vigorously. "That is a *very* good way of putting it."

"Good, I'm glad. She'll need it." His smile grew a little more, and he looked at Nat with and odd expression, his eyes narrowed.

"What, Nick?"

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me how you know this?" Nat smiled with the unmistakable expression of a woman enjoying a private joke. "Nope. I think it comes under the heading of privileged communication."

"Doctor - Patient?"

"No. Girl-talk." She grinned at the bewildered expression on Nick's face.

"Nat, should be worried about this?"

At that, she laughed out loud and shook her head, "No my darling. you do not have to be *worried* at all."

Nick looked at her with wary eyes of a man debating whether his future holds deep trouble or a pleasant surprise. He shook his head. "I can't quite get the picture.... the two of you...'girl-talking.' Next thing, you'll be telling me she wanted your recipe for protein shakes."

Nat chuckled and leaned her head against his shoulder, idly rubbing Sidney under his chin.

"No, she didn't. Janette doesn't believe in the scientific approach very much. Oh, she was very nice about it. She even offered to give me blood samples. Of course, after talking to her, I didn't believe in it quite so much, either."

Nick said nothing, but leaned his head against hers.

"We had a lot to talk about. And not just you." Her tone changed from teasing to serious. "She even told me about..... before." Nick pulled away to stare at her in astonishment.

"Nat, she's never done that. She's never told anyone.... ever."

"But you..."

"I know about it. But she never *told* me Nat. It isn't the same."

She nodded. "No, I see that."

"And just what else did you talk about?" She smiled and shook her head. "Privileged communication again?"

"No.... I just don't think it would be good for you."

"I can think of two ways to take that."

"Oh?" she said innocently.

"One, that the truth might feed my insufferable male vanity and give me a swelled head. B, that my poor fragile male ego might not survive the experience intact." She just smiled at him, giving no answer. "Or maybe a little of both?"

"I tell you what, Nick. Ask me again in 30 years, okay?"

His smile faded only slightly, and he nodded in agreement. "Okay." He lost himself in the love in her eyes, until Nat punched him lightly in the chest and picked out the first six notes on the piano....

"Play it, Nick." she said, doing a very good imitation of Don Schanke doing Humphrey Bogart.

As he played the last phrases, neither of them spoke the lyrics aloud, but the words ran through their hearts....

<Do you love me, as I love you?> "Yes," she whispered, putting her arm around his shoulders.

<Are you my life to be, my dream come true? "Yes..."

<Or will this dream of mine fade out of sight,> "Never..."

<Like the moon growing dim, on the rim of the hill, in the still chill of the night.>

The kiss was interrupted by an insistent, low growling.

"That was *not* me," Nick said, laughing, against her lips. "And it wasn't Sidney, either."

"What do you expect? I haven't eaten in ages."

"Then I'd better feed you. Take a glass of orange juice upstairs with you while you dress, and as soon as it's dark I'll take you to La Colombe."

They took their time at the café, slowly working their way through a half-dozen courses, with Nat helping to conceal Nick's lack of appetite by eating from his plate.

She opened her eyes after savoring her first bite of chocolate mousse to see Nick watching her over his folded hands, his eyes dancing.

"What?"

"Nothing. I just like watching you enjoying yourself."

"'Enjoying' is a feeble word to describe the chocolate experience, Nick," she said with mock severity.

"I wouldn't know. It's one of those things Columbus brought back It came to Europe a little late for me."

Nat put her spoon down and leaned back, smiling. "Like vanilla. And avocados, and tomatoes and corn-on-the-cob, and potatoes and maple syrup." Nick nodded.

She looked at him speculatively for a moment, then pulled her purse into her lap and fumbled in it with both hands. Nick started, nostrils flaring, a flicker of gold in his eyes as he scented her blood. "Nat, what are you doing?"

"Just a little experiment." She removed her left hand from her purse and casually dragged the tip of her index finger along the edge of the plate. Nick stared at the red smear, momentarily fascinated, while she reached back into her purse for a moment.

He forced his eyes back to her face as she rested her left elbow on the table and leaned her chin in her left hand. He could see the bandage on her finger through her hair. Then, just as casually, she dipped her right forefinger in the chocolate mousse and slowly swiped it through the trace of her blood. Then she held out her hand, offering it to him. He laughed at the sheer audacity of it.

"Nat, what will people think?" he asked, not taking his eyes from hers.

"That we're lovers," she shrugged and waggled her chocolate-tipped finger at him. "They've thought that for weeks, anyway."

"Well, we mustn't disappoint our public." He gently licked the chocolate from her finger tip, closing his eyes to hide the gold that flashed there for a moment.

"So, how does it taste?"

"Wonderful." He opened his eyes -- quite blue -- and grinned at her. "But I don't know whether it's you or the chocolate." He frowned suddenly. "Nat, you aren't going to try that trick with broccoli, are you?"

"No," she chuckled "I think that had better wait. However," she grinned at him mischievously, "we might try it with pasta -- or a hot dog."

Nick laughed. "Poor Schank. For once I outdid him in the eating department." His smile faded. "I could feel it almost immediately, Nat. The high. I should have known right away I wasn't in my right mind." He cleared his throat. "If I had been, I would have thought of a better way to spend that day."

She blushed under the intensity of his look, and Nick reached across the table and cupped her flaming cheek in his cool palm, then dropped his hand to hers.

They both knew that this dance of love between them was very different from the advances and retreats of the past. Still dangerous, perhaps, but now they shared the unspoken promise that there would soon be no retreat -- and faith that they could be together.

Lyrics to Cole Porter's "In the Still of the Night,"

Lyrics to "In the Still of the Night" by Cole Porter
In the still of the night
As I gaze from my window
At the moon in its flight
My thoughts all stray to you.
In the still of the night
While the world is in slumber
Oh the times without number
Darling I have prayed to you.
Do you love me, as I love you?
Are you my life to be, my dream come true?
Or will this dream of mine
Fade out of sight?
Like the moon growing dim
On the rim of the hill
In the still chill of the night.

Chapter 10

It was the sailing dream again. He and Nat and their child -- a boy -- out on the lake. Sunlight danced on the waves and in their blue eyes.

Suddenly the wind grew cold on the back of his neck. He glanced over his shoulder to see a huge, rolling darkness towering behind them -- cloud or smoke, he couldn't tell which. He turned back to look at his family, who seemed oblivious to any danger. Another glance over his shoulder, and the blackness swept down on them.

"Don't be afraid, Nick," Natalie's voice purred softly.

"Don't be afraid, Daddy." Their eyes glowed red in the darkness, fangs glinting white against smiling lips.

"You cannot deny what we are...."

They floated toward him, and he threw himself over the side into the icy water. But it wasn't water, it was blood. He was sinking in it, drowning in blood, thick and bitter and sweet and cold, as cold as death, as cold as hate, as cold as indifference.... Somewhere, LaCroix was laughing.

He woke up screaming, tangled in sheets gleaming darkly with bloodsweat, reaching out blindly...... and she was there, the warm center of his universe.....

Natalie held him close, soothing him until he was fully awake.

"I'm sorry, Nat. Boy, that was something." He ran a trembling hand through his hair. "I guess I was overdue. That's the first nightmare I've had in a long time."

"No, it isn't."

"What?"

"Nick, you have a nightmare every afternoon, just about this time."

He looked at her in astonishment, suddenly aware of the fact that she was wiping his face with a damp washcloth that she must have had ready for the purpose.

"This must have been a pretty bad one," Nat said calmly. "Usually I just change your pajama top. I think this time we'd better change the sheets."

"Maybe I should just get dressed...."

"No. It's only 1:30. Go get cleaned up and then come back to bed. You need your rest." Nick padded obediently off to the bathroom, and by the time he was back, in a fresh pair of pajamas, Nat had almost finished changing the bed.

"Hungry?"

"Not at all." He shuddered as he slipped back into bed and stretched out on his back. Nat propped herself up on one elbow and rested her hand lightly on his chest. "It wasn't that kind of dream."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No. Yes." He sighed. "There isn't anyone else to tell. I doubt if there are any vampires out there practicing psychotherapy....." He laughed bitterly. "We're not big on the 'helping professions' Nat -- except as a way to get close to handy blood supplies. LaCroix didn't really have a problem with my working as a surgeon during the American Civil War or with the Red Cross in Vietnam. What he hated was the fact that I took it seriously......"

He told her about the nightmare and about the other dreams, the sweet ones, as an antidote to the terror. She listened in silence, touching him gently now and then, but letting the words flow unabated.

"....LaCroix. It all comes back to him. It all began with him....No matter how much Janette wanted me, he would never have brought me across unless it had suited his own purposes. And I was exactly what he wanted to complete his 'family.' He's had dozens of 'children,' Nat, but he never kept any of them as close as he did the two of us...."

"When I knew there was no way back, I pledged him loyalty and filial obedience, but he wanted... more than I had to give him. I'm not certain that even he knows what it was." Nick closed his eyes and quoted softly. " 'It's all about possession.' Maybe it's just as simple as that."

He paused to clear his throat, and Nat could see him swallowing back the tears. "I thought he'd changed, you see. At Vanderwal's... and later, the night that Divia died.... I saw a glimmer of something in him I never dreamed was still there: a 'shred of humanity.' And I thought I saw the beginning, if not of acceptance, at least of understanding." He sighed. "I thought when we stood by Divia's funeral pyre, that we had found some common ground. But it was all illusion."

Nick closed his eyes and shook his head. "Maybe he *had* changed. Maybe he wasn't lying ...... But when it came down to it, he couldn't let me go. He just couldn't. He put the stake through my chest, but not my heart." His hand moved to the place that burned in his memory. "When he knew I was too weak to fight him, he pulled it out, threw it in the fireplace, and took me away, leaving you for dead."

He was quiet for so long that Natalie wondered if he had fallen asleep. Then he opened his eyes and looked at her longingly, as if he needed help getting started again.

"Did he know that I was alive?"

"No. I asked him, at the end, just before he set me free. He said that the question was irrelevant. That means that he didn't bother to notice one way or another -- or care what would happen when you were found. He isn't just posturing when he says that mortals are beneath our notice. He felt that way about most people when he was human. After more than 19 centuries....."

"He began by trying to take care of me, as if I were a sick child. But that didn't last, once he saw I truly meant to die. So he thrashed me thoroughly and put me in chains -- for starters. His strategy was simple: Starvation followed by a compliant victim. He thought that if he could get me to kill that way again, I would see mortals as he sees them. That I would be seduced by it, give way to the beast, bury my grief in the lust -- and at long last drown the embers of my conscience in a sea of blood."

*That last part sounds like LaCroix,* Nat thought as she slid down a bit, rested her head on Nick's shoulder and put her hand over his.

"Strange isn't it? I didn't have the strength to stop with you," (she tightened her grip on his hand) "yet you gave me the strength to resist him. Your hope, your faith.... even though I thought I'd killed you."

She shook her head. "That faith and strength was inside you already, Nick, you know that." He kissed the top of her head. When he spoke next, his voice was soft and close to breaking with emotion.

"I told him that night that he wasn't the devil, Nat. I still can't think of him that way. I can't condemn him for wanting to keep me. Not after what I did to Janette... "

Nat raised herself up so he could see her face. "And I can't condemn either of you, Nick, not after what I made you do to Richie."

"Nat, there's something I never told you about what happened at Vanderwal's. The demon -- It wasn't trying to kill you."

Her confusion lasted no more than a second. She met his gaze steadily and spoke with absolute certainty. "It wanted to bring me across." Nick nodded. "Because that would have been the worst thing." He nodded again. She looked at him for a moment, then slipped down again to pillow her head on his shoulder.

In a less than a minute, they were asleep.

They slept later than usual, and Sidney finally took it upon himself to rouse them by settling himself on Nick's chest and alternately licking their noses. Nat struggled up to consciousness and coherence first. "Sidney, stop it," she mumbled, without budging.

"Is that Sidney?" Nick asked, similarly motionless.

"Who else? You didn't think it was me, I hope?"

"No, no.... I thought it might be another dream."

"A nightmare with tuna breath. All right, all ready. We'll get up..."

"Nat.... Did you say we?"

"Yes. You, me, us, we. One for all and all for the refrigerator...."

They were sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, with the Sunday papers piled between them on their stretched-out legs. Nat was chuckling over "Cathy" and rejecting the idea of showing the strip to Nick. *800 years old or not, he's a man, and he just won't get it.* She looked up to see him staring into space over the Sports section.

"Nick?" He gave her a crooked smile. "Penny for your thoughts."

"Not worth a farthing," he said absently, then laughed. "Sorry. I guess that's a little out of date. I was trying to remember."

"Your dream?"

"The others. I'll take your word for it that I've been having nightmares, but I can't recall a single one." He shook his head as if to clear it. "Did I talk at all? Say something that would tell you what they were about?"

"No. I couldn't understand anything you said, except.... except for some names. One name...."

"LaCroix." He sighed. "Nat, do you think that this is a good thing -- the fact that I can remember what I dreamed last night?"

"'Dammit Jim, I'm a coroner, not a psychotherapist!' Seriously Nick, I think it might be better. How does it feel when you think about it? Do you feel .... haunted?"

He gave a short, bitter laugh. "I've been haunted by LaCroix for so long.... He'll never let me go."

Nat frowned. "He's let you go, now."

"Yes. For as long as you live," he said simply. He came to sit on the floor next to her, leaning back against the sofa.

"Well, my great-grandmother lived to be 106 and baked her own bread until she was 105. I plan to live a very long time."

She ran the back of her hand gently along his neck, lightly tweaking the blond curls, then lifted her arm and dropped it over his shoulder. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss into the palm.

"He knows how much I love you, Nat. He knows you are..." she could hear the smile in his voice "my 'one and only.' But he thinks Janette's cure was a fluke, a one-in-a-billion happenstance, and that once you're gone -- if not before -- he'll be able to draw me back into the darkness. He thinks I'll run to it, to him, because there will be nowhere else to go...." He was quiet for a long time. "I'd rather end it."

"Promise me something, Nick."

"What?"

"If the time ever comes when you feel you have no choice but to.... destroy the vampire, promise me you'll walk into the sun. No stakes, no fire. Those will do a pretty thorough job on the most mortal of men."

He turned to look at her and nodded, understanding. "Yes, Nat, I promise. I'll leave it in God's hands."

The next week passed uneventfully.

Reese found the anonymous-letter writer -- a clerk who had very slowly and quietly fallen to pieces since the death of her husband, a veteran cop. For once the bureaucracy was flexible, and she was allowed to retire on medical disability, on condition she receive counseling. Thanks to an unknown benefactor, she ended up on the patient list of the best psychiatrist in Toronto.

The next visit to the Mall was a success.

They tried going to the movies, and Nick stayed so relaxed that he threw a handful of popcorn at Nat during the credits.

A visit to a church went less well..... By the time they got halfway down the center aisle, Nick was pale and wobbly, and when they reached the transept he passed out and dropped like a stone. He revived enough to stagger out to the car, with Nat's help. She smiled wanly at him. "Welcome back. I guess that wasn't such a good idea."

Nick took a deep breath, brushed a hand through his hair and leaned his head back against the seat, staring out through the windshield with an indecipherable expression on his face.

"Nick?"

"It's okay, Nat. It was.... different."

"Worse than before...."

He shook his head. "No. No, I wouldn't say that. It made me feel weak, but...... I wasn't afraid. I wasn't afraid at all..... "

Nick sent in a formal resignation. "You're right about Nicholas B. Knight," he said to Nat when he told her of his decision. "He'll do fine for the next four or five years, but he won't hold up indefinitely. And he'd present a lot of problems if... when... I.... change."

"So, who are you going to be next?"

"*We* have plenty of time to decide about that. If anyone asks about money, I'll tell them I've come into an inheritance -- there'll be records to back it up. Or, I can just say that you are keeping me very nicely, thank you....." That earned him a thwack as well as a kiss.....

They didn't talk at all about the next step. Nick was sweetly affectionate, though at times hesitant. Natalie let him set the pace -- long, sweet kisses and caresses that might have led to much more, but never did....

"I wish I didn't have to breathe," Nat said, reluctantly pushing herself away for a moment. "It really isn't fair, you know."

"I could order in some oxygen, if you think it would help," Nick said mischievously.

"That's very thoughtful of you."

"Anything to oblige," and, at Nat's nod, the conversation continued, punctuated with kisses...

"You are awfully good at this...."

"What?"

"*This*"

"I ought to be.... I had good teachers."

"Teachers?"

"Mmmhmmm.... You might say it was a team effort."

"So, just who was on this team?"

"Marie.... Isobel.... and Alys. Two third cousins and an aunt."

"An *aunt*?"

"My father's .... brother's..... youngest sister. She was 18..... The rest of us were 15." Nick leaned back, thoughtfully allowing Nat some breathing space.

"The three of them decided that my knightly education would not be complete without learning how to kiss properly. So they dedicated the better portion of a winter season to the proper tutoring....Actually, it would be more accurate to say that Alys was the coach. After all, she was an old married woman with two children....."

He laughed at Nat's expression. "They had very strict rules. For example, I had to keep my hands behind my back for the first three weeks."

"I didn't think that sort of thing was allowed."

Nick laughed. "This was 13th-century Europe, not Victorian England. One of the few good things about living in castles -- they are full of dark corners, especially in winter. Besides, a lot of guardians were willing to turn a blind eye to a stolen kiss, as long as nothing more serious happened. Especially when they had hopes of a congenial marriage."

"So which one was to be the lucky girl, Marie or Isobel?"

"Either one. Their parents would have been just as happy either way."

"Were they pretty?"

"You know, I don't remember."

"Good answer. Well, I can't complain about the results. Obviously you graduated with high honors.... I'm curious, what happened after the three weeks were up?"

"Well, we moved on to the next lesson...." Smiling, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, running his fingertips up her spine to her neck, then out to her shoulders, down her arms and back again. His left hand lingered on her shoulder while the other traced a path up and along her jaw line. She started to speak, but he touched his forefinger against her lips and then slowly drew it down the column of her throat to her collarbone.

Nat ducked her head to see where he was heading, but he captured her mouth in a kiss..... She felt the delicate, cool touch of his hand through the silk of her blouse and leaned closer, smiling against his lips....

Nick felt her heart beating rapidly beneath his hand and offered a silent prayer of gratitude for the beast's apparent indifference to this turn of events. The desire stirring in him now had nothing to do with the Hunger. Suddenly, Nat pulled away. He heard her gasp and felt her shudder in his arms. Then she buried her head in the crook of his neck.

"Nat....Nat, are you okay?" There was no answer, but he felt her face burning hot against him. "Nat, what is it, what's wrong?" She shook her head and groaned faintly -- not a sound of pain, but of exasperation. Nick thought for a moment, and then a slow grin spread across his face.

He whispered into her ear. "Ummm..... Nat....did you just...?" There was still no answer, and she kept her head buried in his shoulder, but she nodded vigorously. Nick stifled a chuckle and said gently. "I didn't know you were so... sensitive."

This time she answered, but her voice was muffled against him, a pleasant buzzing sensation but completely incomprehensible. He bent his head and whispered into her ear. "That felt nice, but I didn't understand a word." Her second attempt wasn't much more distinct, but he caught the words "only you," which was more than enough.

"Oh...." Suddenly, Nicholas de Brabant felt ridiculously pleased with himself. A wave of unadulterated, 100-percent-human pride swept over him. He recognized it for the insufferable male arrogance it was, and he embraced it with all his heart. *You smug idiot,* he said to himself. *Yeah. Isn't it great?*

"Oh" He laughed softly into her hair. "Ummm, Nat." He cleared his throat and asked hesitantly, "D'you... Would you ...Want me to do it again?"

As he had hoped, that brought her up laughing, face flushed and eyes bright. "You are terrible."

"That's not what you just said."

She laughed and put her arms around his neck, blushing furiously. "This *really* isn't fair, Nick."

"Why not?"

"What about you?"

"Seeing you happy makes me happy, Nat." He held her eyes with his own as he gently smoothed a few loose tendrils of hair back from her face. They gazed at each other for a long moment, sharing the same unspoken thoughts.

Although she had replenished it as often as possible, the supply of her blood was dwindling, and they didn't know what would happen when it ran out. Neither of them wanted the next step to be driven by a crisis. Nick could taste her willingness to wait, but also her desire for him and her faith in their future together.

With each passing day, they grew more deeply, passionately in love.

Nick broke the silence. "Nat, when does Mark Ellis come back from vacation?"

She frowned slightly, puzzled by the change of subject. "A week from Friday. Why?"

"Can you get some time off? Maybe enough for a long weekend?"

She was quite still for a moment, her eyes suddenly very large, and then she nodded slowly. "Yes."

Nick lifted her chin, lightly brushing his thumb across her lips. "Would you like to go somewhere, Nat?"

"Where?"

"Somewhere.... else. Anywhere you like."

"No. I like it here."

He nodded. "Very well, then, here. But I'll take you out to dinner first. Name the place, milady, your wish is my command."

She thought about it for a moment. "You're going to think I'm crazy."

"I already know you're crazy -- you're in love with me."

"Good. Then it won't be such a shock when I tell you that I want you to take me to Azure."

Nick nodded, slowly. "If we're going to lay the ghosts, we should do it properly, is that the idea?"

"Yes."

They stared at each other for a long moment, then smiled as they each caught an echo of the past.

"Are you afraid....." she asked him, knowing the answer.

"No."

That afternoon, the nightmare came and went, and he dreamed of driving through a starry night in the red Caddie, with two tow heads nodding in the back and Nat scootched over into the middle seat belt so she could lean against his shoulder. A small voice came from the back... "Are we there yet, Daddy?"

"No, not yet, sweetheart. But look up ahead, and you can see the sunrise...."

Note on Chapter 10 -- Nick's line about "leaving it in God's hands" refers to material that appeared in the Canadian version of "I Will Repay" in the loft, when Nat is trying to persuade him to bring Richard across.

Chapter 11

The decision made, the days seemed to slow to a crawl, but at long last the night came. Nick picked Natalie up at her apartment. She had made the excuse that it was close to the hairdresser, but in fact, she wanted to make an entrance. Judging by the look on his face when she came to the door, she had succeeded.

The dress was deep blue velvet, with a wide, scooped neckline and long, fitted sleeves. It was made for dancing, cut on a princess line, fitting close to the waist and then flaring to a hemline just above her ankles. She wore her hair up, her only jewelry the pearl earrings Nick had given her as a belated birthday present.

"Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come in?" she asked at last.

"Sorry. You take my breath away -- so to speak."

"You don't look so bad yourself." *In fact,* she thought *stunning would be a good word.*

Nick helped her on with her wrap. "This is beautiful," he said, lightly touching her hair.

"Well, I can't take credit for it. I had a lot of help putting it up."

"Mmmm. It looks as if you might need some help taking it down."

"That was the general idea." she replied, eyes dancing merrily as she slipped her arm through his.

He took her to Azure, as promised. The restaurant was full of people and music and laughter, and the ghosts of Valentine's Day dissolved in the light of their happiness.

Nat dined and they danced. At one point, Nick whispered into her ear, "I have to admit, I *am* a little afraid, sweetheart..... I'm afraid that this might be a dream...."

They didn't talk during the ride back to the loft. A sudden wave of shyness swept over both of them, and they rode up in the elevator in silence, just holding hands.

Nick slipped off her wrap, draped it over a chair and led her to the fireplace, taking both her hands in his.

"Nat, are you sure about this?"

"Yes."

"Then.... There's something I want to ask you." He paused for a moment, looking down at their clasped hands, then turned his face back to hers, his eyes full of love.

"Nat, when I was...... young, and for a long time after, a marriage wasn't made by church or state. A marriage was in the promises between a man and a woman and .... what came after." He reached into his pocket and showed her an ancient gold and enamel ring. He didn't have to say another word. The answer was in her radiant smile.

Nick took her left hand and slipped the ring on her finger. "Natalie, I pledge to you all my love, all that I have, all that I am, all that I hope to be, Forever." He braced himself and continued, "In nomine Patrii et Fillii and Spiritus Sancti, Amen."

Natalie took his hand in hers. "Nicholas, I pledge to you all my love, all that I have, all that I am, all that I hope to be, Forever." She hesitated, but Nick nodded encouragingly. "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen." He winced, but gave her a brave smile, followed by a tender kiss.

"This is beautiful, Nick," she said, holding up her hand so that the firelight glinted on the fine gold pattern.

"It was my mother's. It's Celtic, and very, very old. My father said he found it on a beach, that it must have been part of a sea monster's hoard." He smiled and kissed her hand, and then he took her into his arms.

When he lifted his head from the kiss, Nat saw the gold flickering in his eyes. Knowing without asking what he needed, she stretched out her hand toward his face, as she had that very first night, and again he caught it in his own. This time, he brought the palm to his cheek and held it there for a moment.

"You're so warm," he whispered. Without taking his eyes from hers, he kissed her wrist, and she felt the prick of his fangs and the cool pressure of his lips. For a long moment, everything in her was rushing toward those two tiny points of contact; then he released her.

Natalie began to turn her head, offering him her neck, but he reached up with his left hand and turned her face back to his. He leaned forward and kissed her, lightly touching her cheek and brushing his nose against hers, knowing that she would remember.

"Trust me on this, Nat," he said, smiling. "We have to go slow. We have to go very, very slow." Hand in hand, they walked up the stairs to the bedroom.

Nick struck a match and carefully lit the candelabra on the dresser. Natalie turned toward the mirror and reached up to undo her hair, but he gently pushed her hands away. "Let's save that for last." He slowly unzipped her dress and slipped it from her shoulders so that it fell in a dark pool around her feet. He moved to one side and offered her his hand, and she stepped out of her shoes and on to the soft carpet, the white satin of her slip gleaming in the candlelight.

"'In such white robes heaven's angels used to be Received by men; thou angel bring'st with thee A heaven like Mahomet's paradise...'"

Nat blushed and laughed. "John Donne. I *know* that poem, Nick," she added meaningfully, pushing his hands away from the straps of her slip.

Nick chuckled and sketched a small bow. "As my lady wishes." He undressed almost literally in the blink of an eye. "Satisfied?"

"Not yet, but I plan to be."

Nick made short work of removing the rest of her clothes, then reached into a drawer to retrieve a hairbrush and drew her onto the bed, so that she sat in front of him, facing the mirror. He began delicately removing the combs and pins from her hair, pausing occasionally to place a kiss on her shoulder or the back of her neck.

"I think I've got all the hardware," he said softly, running his fingers gently through the tangled mass. Then he picked up the brush and began drawing it carefully through the ends of her hair...

"So, tell me, how did you get to be so good at *this*?" Nat sighed with pleasure.

"Watching my parents." He grinned at her surprised reflection. "Privacy is a fairly new invention Nat. When I was small, we all slept in the same space." He chuckled. "I remember my grandfather bewailing the new-fangled notion of a separate bedchamber. He thought it would be bad for morale....

"Anyway, I can remember lying on my pallet, watching through half-closed eyes. It was a nightly ritual with them, when he was with us. He would dismiss the maidservants, undo her hair himself and brush it until it shone like a river of molten gold. They didn't talk much, but I saw the bond between them....

"In those days, people of our class didn't often marry for love. My parents never talked about it, of course, so I never knew whether they cared for each other before or whether the love grew afterwards. But it was there." He laughed softly. "I think it spoiled me a bit. I wanted what they had."

"So that's why you were still a bachelor at the ripe old age of 35?"

"Yes, that -- and being in the East for seven years." He smiled at her reflection and slid out from behind her, putting the brush and hairpins carefully on the dresser and turning to face her. "No one has ever touched my heart the way you have Nat. No one ever," he said simply as he gathered her into his arms.

It was as sweet as they had dreamed and more.

Nat blushed under his caresses and the words of adoration that accompanied them, a mix of English and French, some of it oddly accented but still intelligible..."Comme une rose... miel doré.....les neiges de printemps.... mon coeur.... mon âme..." There were snatches of poetry too.... "'License my roving hands...'"

At last came the moment to which all this tenderness had been the sweet prelude. Nick looked down on her, his blue-gold eyes full of love, and spoke in an anguished whisper. "Oh Natalie, I'm so cold." It might have been a plea or a warning. It didn't matter. She smiled and reached up to draw him into her embrace. "Then come in where it's warm, my love. Come home."

She enfolded him in her warmth, and when at last he buried his face in the sweet hollow of her throat and bit -- oh so gently -- into the vein pulsing there, her life's blood filled him..... and calmed his heart........

"You're awfully quiet down there, Nick. What are you doing?"

"Imphlinsomtrhrnbohm."

Nat giggled, craned her neck slightly and kissed the top of his head. "I felt that, but I didn't understand a word."

Nick turned his head and replied with exaggerated diction: "I said, I'm listening to your heart beat." Then he resumed his original position.

"Oh, how does it sound?"

Instead of answering, he planted a firm kiss over the relevant spot.

"I'll take that as a positive response." She ran her fingers through his hair and asked softly. "How much did you take?"

She felt him smile, and he lifted his head up to rest his chin on her sternum. "You know that 'Star Trek' mug that Grace gave you?" She nodded. "About that much." He grinned at her.

It was Nat's turn to laugh and she looked down into his face, his expression an endearing mixture of tenderness and pride. "My, feeling a little full of ourselves are we?"

"Nope. Full of you, maybe... How do you feel, Nat?"

"Wonderful. How do you feel?"

"Blessed."

Weeks became months. Each time they made love, she let him feed, and each time, he needed less and less......

She woke one day to find him looking down at her, watching her sleep. They had made a nest of pillows and quilts in front of the hearth, and the light from the fire created a halo around him, leaving his face in shadow. She smiled up into the darkness. "Nat," he whispered, "Do you think it's possible to die of happiness?" She reached up and touched his face, felt it wet with tears, and wordlessly pulled him down against her....

Nick woke to the sound of Sidney batting his water dish impatiently around the kitchen floor. Natalie stirred in his arms but didn't speak. Her back felt cool beneath his hands and he pulled more of the comforter over her shoulders, making a mental note to be more careful about keeping her warm.

"Nat, are you okay? You feel a little chilly."

"Me? I'm fine." Her breath whispered against his chest.

"What are you doing down there?"

She turned her head and rested her chin on her hand. "Listening to your heart beat."

"Yeah, right."

She smiled at him. "Think I'm wasting my time?"

"I can think of better ways to spend half an hour."

She cocked her head to one side and looked at him through narrowed eyes. Then, like a diver getting ready for a plunge, she took a deep breath and pounced, kissing him relentlessly, until Nick pushed her away, red-faced and gasping for breath.

She put her ear to his chest for a moment and then looked up with a mischievous smile. "Beating fast enough for you now?"

Nick could only stare at her in speechless astonishment.

"You're warm, silly. It happened last night. It was like holding the sun in my arms....."

"Bon Dieu," Nick whispered.

"He certainly is."

They opened the shutters and made love again in the sunlight.

"Nat," Nick whispered dreamily, "I'm afraid I'm going to fall asleep on you."

"Where else?" she laughed softly.

They slept and woke, and slept again, until the line between sweet dreams and sweeter reality blurred for both of them. "Pinch me, Nat, I want to be sure this isn't a dream......"

The blow came sharp and hard between his ribs as he knelt beside Natalie. It sent him toppling forward on his knees, and he flung out his arms to keep from falling on top of her. He turned and seized his assailant and held him high in the air, looking up grim-faced into pale blue eyes and wild laughter.

"Fly me, Daddy, Fly me *now*!"

"How many times is this?" Nick asked, struggling in vain to maintain a severe expression as he disarmed his youngest son by extracting a plastic shovel from the toddler's chubby fingers. He grimaced and rubbed his back. Young Nicholas packed quite a wallop.

"Fifteen," Natalie replied serenely, brushing the sand thrown up by Nick's fall from her swimsuit, but not looking up from her book.

"I'm getting too old for this," Nick muttered under his breath, amiably spinning first one way and then another, making airplane noises.

"More," crowed Nicky, waving his arms enthusiastically.

"Later" said Nick as he collapsed gracefully into the shade of the beach umbrella. He pillowed his head comfortably on Nat's stomach and deposited the boy between his knees. Natalie still didn't look up from her book, but acknowledged her husband's presence by mussing up his already wind-blown hair.

Nicky soon tired of the game of trying to extricate himself from between his father's legs and began to show unmistakable signs of a manful but losing battle with sleep. With the ease born of long practice, Nick retrieved the drowsy child and arranged him comfortably face down on his chest.

Nat looked up and smiled at the sight of Nicky's angelic face, pink and white baby flesh and rosebud mouth against his father's golden tan.

Nick caught her eye. "What?"

"He looks like a cherub."

Nick chuckled. "Asleep, yes. Awake is something else. Speaking of which, where's the rest of the mob?"

Nat gestured toward the stretch of beach beyond her feet. "They're helping the N'Diaye boys with Frank" Nick turned his head in the direction indicated to see Richie, 9, and Donnie, 10, cheerfully engaged in burying their next-door neighbor in the sand -- a monumental task, since Frank N'Diaye was roughly 7 feet tall.

The boys were easy to pick out, their sun-bleached tow heads shining among the dark-haired N'Diaye crew. There was much shrieking and hollering going on. "Do you think he needs help?" Nick asked.

"No, not Frank. He can pick up all five of them at once if they get out of hand."

"Boys," said 4-year-old Fleur, with all the superiority of the sole girlchild of four. "*Bad* boys," she added with emphasis, her strawberry-blonde curls bobbing as she carefully smeared sunblock on a well-worn, much-loved baby doll.

"Why are boys bad?" she asked Nick conversationally, as she gently transferred her ministrations to his face.

"Sweetheart, I don't know. But we often are," Nick sighed, holding quite still under her anointing.

"*You're* not bad, Daddy," she said soothingly, patting his cheek with one chubby hand.

"That's good to hear." Nick winked at Nat. "Why not?" he added with the self-satisfied expression of a man expecting to hear a litany of his virtues."

"Because you're *mine* " his daughter replied, kissing him firmly in the middle of his forehead and returning her attentions to her doll.

Nick grinned sheepishly at his wife.

"That's what you get, fishing for compliments." Nat said. She smiled and added in a covetous whisper. "Because you're *mine.*"

Nick reached up and caressed her cheek, then took her hand in his, kissing the constellation of tiny scars on her wrist. "Now that, my heart, is God's own truth."

The End

comme une rose = like a rose
miel doré = gilded honey
les neiges de printemps = Spring snow
mon coeur = my heart
mon âme = my soul

Bon Dieu = Literally, "Good God." but "Dear God" is probably more accurate.

N'Diaye is pronounced "En-ji" to rhyme with "Hi," with the accent on the second syllable.

The quotes from John Donne are from "To his Mistress Going to Bed." There is more than one version, but the variations aren't important for our purposes <gr>. NB: This poem is PG-13.

Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy,
Until I labor, I in labor lie.
The foe oft-times having the foe in sight,
Is tir'd with standing though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's Zone glittering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breastplate which you wear,
That th'eyes of busy fools may be stopt there.
Unlace your self, for that harmonious chime,
Tells me from you, that now it is bed time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envie,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off, such beautious state reveals,
As when from flow'ry meads th'hills shadow steals.
Off with that wiry Coronet and show
The hairy diadem which on you doth grow:
Now off with those shoes, and then softly tread
In this, love's hallow'd temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes, heaven's Angels us'd to be
Receiv'd by men: thou Angel bringst with thee?
A heaven like Mahomet's Paradice, and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we eas'ly know,
By this these Angels from an evil sprite,
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
License my roving hands, and let them go,
Behind, before, above, between, below.
O my America! my new-found-land,
My kingdom, safeliest when with one man man'd,
My mine of precious stones: my emperie,
How blest am I in this discovering thee!
To enter in these bonds, is to be free;
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.
Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee,
As souls unbodied, bodies uncloth'd must be,
To taste whole joyes. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta's balls, cast in mens views,
That when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem,
His earthly soul may covet theirs, not them:
Like pictures or like books gay coverings made
For lay-men, are all women thus array'd.
Themselves are mystick books, which only wee
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify)
Must see rever'd. Then since that I may know;
As liberally, as to a midwife show
Thyself: cast all, yea, this white linen hence,
There is no penance due to innocence.
To teach thee I am naked first; why than,
What needst thou have more covering then a man?