Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Even As You and I"
by MonaR.
[email protected]

He was almost certain that this was going to be one situation that Nicholas would simply never understand. Truth be told, he couldn't quite grasp it himself, yet here he was, lying on the cold and deserted rooftop, holding in his arms his newest child.

"Lucien, this is definitely not an evening you are going to remember fondly, I fear."

It was so easy to tell the ones who were high - the rapid, erratic heartbeat, the excessive dampness of the skin, the dilated, glassy eyes. Of course, they were the least predictable to try and take down, too. You could never be sure how they would react to being cornered.

It had been a busy night - a routine traffic stop had led to an officer down when the driver, coked to the gills and carrying, panicked. Crashing his car into a pole, he then fled, on foot, through the darkened alleys of Cascade's red-light district. There were a thousand places to hide there, but Jim Ellison already knew most of them from several years on Vice patrol. The Sentinel senses were just an added bonus.

Ordering Blair to stay with the truck, he was amazed when his erstwhile partner actually did it. Obviously, a violent, armed, and high suspect was more than even SuperGuide could handle. Jim had lately taken to teasing Blair about his exaggerated sense of invincibility, all the while hoping that his unofficial-partner-cumroommate -cum-best-friend would just cool it a little, and leave the police work to the police. At least the work that involved crazies with guns, anyway - as if there was any other kind.

He cocked his ear, trying to pick up the tell-tale sound of his suspect. There were several heartbeats in the vicinity, but he managed to pick out the one he was searching for and zone in on it. Just a little to the left - the second building. That had to be it.

LaCroix was bored. He was asking himself what the hell had brought him here, of all places on earth - the city seemed even more relentlessly goody-goody than Toronto, if that was possible. Worse, there was nothing at all for him to do while he waited for Nicholas to finish his night's business at Cascade P.D. A ridiculous case involving a kidnapping crossing national borders, and here he was, stuck in the middle of Pleasantville, USA.

Except - what was that? /Rapid heartbeat, and - that was definitely a gunshot. Might be worth checking out, after all. I am feeling a trifle hungry tonight./ He took to the sky to gain a vantage point over what he hoped would be a very satisfying meal.

He had no compunction about taking a human life, of course, but it was so much more enjoyable when it was unexpected, so much more rewarding when he was, in his own small way, making the streets a little safer. He rolled his eyes - he'd definitely been spending too much time around Nicholas, lately. Not that killing was any sort of a moral decision, of course; evil just tasted better.

Which was the only reason that he found himself in Cascade, of all places, wandering around in the middle of nowhere in the middle of a miserable night. When Nicholas had casually mentioned two days previous that he'd be away from Toronto on police business for an undetermined amount of time, he'd obviously expected LaCroix to wish him well and send him on his way. It was the way they'd always done it, in the past.

Of course, in the past they'd never gotten along as well as they were at this particular time. They'd reached an agreement in their relationship - Nicholas only berated him his vampiric ways on even-numbered days, he only taunted Nicholas about his desire to be mortal again on odd-numbered days. It was ridiculous, it was funny, and they were truly enjoying each other for the first time since - well, for the first time ever. And he wasn't prepared to do without it just yet, even for a few days. So he'd looked up calmly from where he was sitting on the couch in Nicholas' apartment and asked, much to the surprise of not only his favourite child, but to himself, as well, "When are we leaving?"

Nicholas had managed to nearly cover his shock, but only nearly. Picking up his maker's casual tone, he replied, "Two hours."

"I'd better pack, then."

Nicholas had just nodded, and moved on his way up the stairs to do his own packing. He'd been blindsided by LaCroix, and pushed backwards to land on the couch, a hungry, horny vampire at his throat. "We have to get ready," he protested weakly, all the while thrusting his hips up towards his lover's body, small gasps coming out of his mouth.

"I'll be very quick." Nicholas looked disappointed for a moment, /dear boy/, before LaCroix relented and added, "I can pack in ten minutes," and carefully tore the shirt off of his lover.

"For me, as well?"

"Make it fifteen."

"Wonderful," he moaned, and cried out as LaCroix dragged the pants away from him, sinking his fangs into a surprisingly tender spot on his thigh. Nicholas was on the brink of ecstasy when he felt the connection broken. "Wha - what's wrong?" he panted.

"The blonde isn't going with you, is she?" he asked, teasing the wound with his tongue.

"Tracy? No, no, she's staying here."

"Good. I hate sneaking around."

"LaCroix, please!" The gentle teasing was driving him to distraction. Changing tactics, he purred, "Lucien. . ."

"Mmm?"

/Damn!/ He pulled LaCroix up and off of him, and pushed him around until he was on his back on the couch. He thrust his tongue into his maker's mouth, and pierced it on one sharp fang, letting the blood flow in between them. The clothing was only a momentary distraction - soon they were both equally naked, thrusting at each other. The trickle of blood wasn't enough however, and they dove for each other - Lucien attaching himself directly below his son's nipple, Nicholas piercing his maker's wrist, drinking in the blood, the emotions, and the orgasm in a wild rush.

By the time they'd recovered and cleaned the blood up, they'd just barely had enough time to pack and make it to the airport. /Nicholas would be prosaic and insist on taking his ridiculous car there./

He hadn't expected much from the trip, but the city seemed even less promising than he could have imagined. The citizens were seeming to be hopelessly upstanding, until he caught the interesting sounds of crime, and a flash of a scent that just proved to be too interesting to pass up.

/An alley? Why don't they ever realize that that's the first place to look?/ Dismissing the obvious lack of planning on the part of his prey, he descended, closing his eyes and straining his hearing to pinpoint that tell-tale heartbeat. . .

Jim crept around the edge of the building. The guy had moved out of the building and into the alley - the quiet must have convinced him that he'd shed all of the police that had been tailing him. Jim had almost stopped breathing, trying to make as little noise as possible. He took the corner and stumbled slightly, cursing himself as he nearly went down, before he realized what it was that he'd tripped on - a gun. Police issue. Recently fired. That meant he was probably unarmed. Probably.

Not taking any chances, Jim didn't lower his gun as he continued into the alley. /Where the hell is that backup?/ he thought, ducking behind an oversized trash bin. A faint rustle of noise behind him - one that would have been unheard by anyone without Sentinel hearing - made him whirl around suddenly, aiming his gun at the dark figure.

"Freeze! Cascade Police!"

He never even felt the bullet that stuck him in the back as he went down in a crumpled heap at the feet of the vampire.

What happened next was complete slow-motion: the dark figure seemed to leap straight over him at least ten feet in the air, snarling and taking down his assailant with a single blow. There was the noise of cracking, and then he was being lifted. He only knew this because his perspective changed; he couldn't feel any part of his body, but he seemed to be raising straight up into the air. Then he closed his eyes, knowing instinctively that he was dying.

"Dammit!"

The man was dying - would die, and soon, unless he made a decision. In any other circumstances it would be unthinkable - he'd merely take the man's life for him, and let him die in peace. But this man - who by all accounts should not have been able to hear him in that alley, but somehow had and had gotten himself shot for it - was dying in his arms, and, just to make it all the more difficult, he was a cop, too. He'd made LaCroix responsible for his life, and it was a situation that he just hated.

There was nothing that he could possibly do differently, he'd tell himself. If he let the man die, Nicholas would know, instinctively. And even if he did not, there would be an instant, sometime when they were together, when he would forget, let himself be vulnerable, and his righteous son would find out by mistake. A cop killing was something that he would never be able to forgive - especially when it seemed to be LaCroix's fault.

He was simply not willing to lose him again - even when doing the only thing that he could might push him further away than ever.

He made the decision.

It was swift - a quick death, considering the amount of blood the man had already lost - and then the sharp puncture of his own skin, and the draining as the life-force ebbed away from him. He had to muster all of his remaining strength to push the solidly-built man off of him, and break their bond. From then it was a short matter of the regeneration of his wounds - just a few moments of peace before he would be faced with the questions, and the recrimination, and the anger.

He took those few moments and cradled the head of the dead detective, watching as the new life filled him.

It was growing colder on the rooftop, as the shadows of the night lengthened. LaCroix knew that they wouldn't have much time before the police would be arriving on the crime scene, finding the body of the suspect, possibly tracking some of the blood from the detective, as well, but he couldn't risk moving him and having the man awaken mid-flight - it could be dangerous for both of them. So he stayed on the rooftop, studying the features of his newest child. He reached inside the destroyed clothing in search of some identification. He'd never before created one without even knowing the name.

"Hm. Detective James Ellison. Cascade Police. You're older than you look." He felt the body in his arms begin to stir. He could sense the change in him even before the detective opened his eyes.

"What happened to me?" Jim said, groggily. He struggled to sit up, but LaCroix held him down.

"Give yourself a minute to recover. You were rather badly hurt."

Jim held his hands up, seeing the blood - his blood - on them. "I don't feel anything. What's going on?"

"What exactly do you feel?"

"I feel fine. I think I'm hungry, but other than that - "

He didn't see LaCroix's feral smile flicker over his face. "Yes, you will be."

"I was following the suspect - " He tried to get up again, this time successfully managing it. "In the alley."

"You don't have to worry about him. He's been taken care of."

"And I heard you," Jim continued, as if LaCroix had never spoken. "I turned and - " He was struggling with it, trying to remember. "There was a gunshot - He shot me." His voice was completely without emotion, and he craned his neck in an attempt to see the remains of his torn jacket. He pulled it off and looked at it, instantly feeling the draft of the night air against his skin. "What the hell - What the - ?" He was struggling to believe what he was seeing - he was pale, his eyes huge. He turned as if seeing LaCroix for the first time. "What the hell are you? What did you do to me?"

LaCroix pulled himself up to his full height. "I am a vampire. I made you my child."

"You made - "

"Yes, detective. Remember. You were dying. The blood was draining from your body. You were seconds away from death when I saved you - "

"You - "

"You are a vampire, Detective Ellison. Forgive me." He sketched a bow. "I am LaCroix." He perched on the edge of the rooftop. "If you would prefer to die, there are many ways to grant your wish, believe me. But before you decide, think. Is there not one person in this 'mortal coil' who makes it all worthwhile for you?"

Jim was terrified, unable to think, to believe any of what he was being told. But the question broke through the rational part of his brain and dug deep into his psyche, answering itself, unbidden: Blair.

"Ah, so there is someone," LaCroix said. "Your 'partner'. And he doesn't know of your feelings." He shook his head. "Tsk, tsk."

"Stop it!" Jim turned and put his hands up over his ears, as if that futile gesture could stop LaCroix from reading his thoughts.

A second later, LaCroix was beside him, whispering in his ear. "You could have him with you for eternity, you know. He could be yours."

"No." The reply was faulty, weak. "I wouldn't - "

"You wouldn't even ask him?"

"To kill for me? To drink blood?"

"You have never killed?"

There was no answer he could give. He had killed many, in the service, on the force. He was no stranger to death.

"I will never understand why these deaths are so different for you - the ones in the 'name of duty' and the ones in the name of survival." LaCroix's voice was angry. "Especially for you keepers of the law." He shook his head. "But you needn't worry about that. There are other ways to survive, if it is what you wish. My wayward child could explain it all to you." He held his hand out. "But that is a question for later. We need to leave. Are you strong enough to travel on your own, or do you want me to carry you?"

"Travel?"

"Fly," LaCroix said, patiently. "It may take some getting used to, but it's a very efficient way to travel." He rose straight up in the air. "Think 'up.'"

Before he could really grasp what it was he was doing, Jim found himself in the air, following this strange creature only because he knew there was nowhere else in the world that he could go.

It wasn't until they'd come to rest in the back of a hotel on the outskirts of Cascade that Jim realized what he'd done: in the rush of so many impossible things happening, he'd forgotten about Blair. There would be the dead suspect in the alley, his gun, lost somewhere in the shuffle, but no sign of him anywhere. Blair would freak out.

He opened his mouth to speak, as LaCroix opened the service entrance at the back of the hotel. "I have to go - "

"Where?" LaCroix asked. "To your friend? And what will you tell him happened to you, Detective? What would he say if he were to see you like this, in this condition - your clothes are ruined, you're bloody, and shaking. You're in no shape to see anyone. You need to rest, and clean yourself up. And feed."

"Feed?" The remaining colour drained from Jim's face as he realized just what that word entailed. "Oh, god."

"It's not as bad as you may think, and, as I don't sense any self-destructive urges in you, it's necessary. But clean up, first. There's clothing in the bedroom - you can take anything that will fit you."

Jim nodded and walked numbly into the bathroom, stripping himself down and turning on the shower, standing under the water, blasting heat down onto his body. He'd never felt so cold in his entire life.

He felt as if he'd stayed in there for hours, but the bedside clock only said 20 minutes when he emerged, and threw his clothes on the bed. The pants were caked with dirt and mud from the alley, and some blood - he didn't know if it was from his wound or from the 'transformation'. The shirt was ripped through with the bullet hole that had ended his life, his jacket was somewhere still on the rooftop. He rummaged through the clothing he found in the closet and dresser and pulled on pants that were just a little tight, and a sweater.

"Much better," LaCroix said, after he'd emerged into the main room of the suite. He looked just as he had in the alley - composed and unharmed. None of the dirt of the evening seemed to have dared to stick to him. "You said before that you were hungry - "

"I don't think that I can - "

"I wouldn't expect you to kill, even if you wanted to try it. My son has brought provisions with him. I'm sure that he'd allow you to borrow a bottle." He crossed to the small fridge in the corner of the room and withdrew a green bottle. Opening it, he handed it to Jim. "I'm afraid it isn't human, but it's edible, and it is nourishing, however distasteful."

Jim expected to be completely appalled at the very thought of drinking blood, but he surprised himself by taking the bottle. The scent of the rich substance, even as cold as it was, filled his nostrils from the instant LaCroix had removed the cork, and, far from nauseating him, he found himself almost inexplicably drawn to it. He was actually starving for something, and he greedily tipped up the bottle, downing the first few swallows without actually tasting what it was.

But after that it was impossible to pretend. He was drinking blood - cow's blood, if he wasn't mistaken, but still blood. The thought more than the taste was enough to gag him, and he rushed for the bathroom sink, only to realize that nothing would come up. His body had accepted what his mind could not.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, noticing for the first time the sharpened tips of his canines, now fangs, protruding because of his hunger, and the brightened gleam in his eyes. Other than that, he seemed just the same as he had been when he'd left home that morning for work. In just a few hours his life had changed from normality to the makings of a really bad horror movie.

"I have to go," he said, when he returned to the outer room. He handed the bottle back to LaCroix. "I can't stay here. It isn't possible."

"I'm afraid you don't really understand what's happened to you yet, Detective. You cannot simply go on with the rest of your life as if nothing's happened. In any event, it will be light soon. If you emerge into the sunlight, you will die before your new life has even begun."

"You said something about another son - "

"Yes, Nicholas," LaCroix said. "It may be difficult to explain what's happened, but I'm sure that together we will manage it."

"I should call him. He'll be worried." Jim felt as if he were ready to collapse - to sleep and then wake up from what had to be a dream.

LaCroix realized that the man wasn't even really listening to him, so fixated was he on his friend, and his injury, and his re-birth. "Call him, then, and get some rest. Don't tell him where you are. The last thing that we need is a mortal in here in the daytime. None of us would be safe - and neither would he."

He went into the bedroom and picked up the phone beside the bed. He stared at it for minutes, wondering what it was that he could say, how he could modulate the tone of his voice so that Blair would know that he was all right. /No,/ he thought, /he knows me better than anyone. He know that I'd never leave a crime scene of my own will. He'll think that I'm dead, or kidnapped, or something. I'd be at the loft by now, or the station. He'll be frantic./ He hung up the phone, the decision made. Without thinking twice about it, he opened the bedroom window and was gone.

The loft was empty when he arrived. He checked the machine - no messages. It was too late for him to go anywhere else - the morning sun had just started to rise as he made it into the building, and he was trapped. It was not a way that he wanted to die, and he realized that LaCroix was right when he'd said there was a primal survival instinct in him that would be hard to overcome. He tried the cell phone, but when it rang from the kitchen, he knew that there was nothing else he could do. He was just so exhausted that he went up to his room and collapsed in the bed.

He slept for hours, the sleep of the dead, never hearing the phone ringing, and was still unconscious when Blair barreled into the loft hours later.

"Jim? Thank god you're here! Jim?" His partner didn't stir. "Jim? Man, you must be tired." Satisfying himself that Jim was still breathing, Blair went down to the phone.

"Simon? Yeah, he's here. No, I don't know why he didn't go - Simon - Simon, just listen for a moment, okay? He's fine. He's just sleeping. I'll bring him in when he wakes up, and we'll find out everything then, okay? Okay." Cutting off the captain's protests, he hung up the phone, and, just for good measure, unplugged it. Yawning, he pulled off his shirt and headed for bed.

"Nicholas? Cutting it a bit close this morning, aren't we?"

Nick smiled. "I didn't think I'd be able to get away at all. There were several people who kept insisting that I join them for breakfast. I had to yawn quite vigorously before I convinced them to give me a raincheck. Did you have a good evening?"

Marvelling at his control, LaCroix nodded his head. "Fair. There isn't much to do in this town."

"I warned you. I hope you weren't too bored."

"No, Nicholas. Things always seem to find me."

Ever since he'd realized that Detective Ellison had 'flown the coop', so to speak, he had been resigned to doing what he had to do - nothing. He couldn't make it across town and back before the sun rose, and he couldn't afford to get caught at the good detective's apartment all day. No, he'd have to wait it out until the sun set again and he could retrieve his newest child. Until then, he'd simply have to make the best of it - and make sure that Nicholas didn't find out anything of what happened. It was idiotic, but it was necessary - at least until he knew what was going on with the fledgling. Until then, the less said, the better.

Nicholas, however, seemed intent on breaking him of his vow. "I'm glad you came," he said, sliding his arms around LaCroix. "It felt good to know that you'd be here when I came." He kissed him, taking his lips suggestively. "Let's go to bed."

"Yes, I'm quite tired, actually."

Nick looked at him, surprised. "I thought you didn't do anything last night."

"On the contrary - I said that there wasn't much to do, I didn't say I didn't do anything. I travelled around. It was a lot of work for very little return, but it served to make the night pass."

"Oh." Nick was a little disappointed. Spying something on the table, he picked it up. "You've been drinking this?" he asked, holding out the half-full bottle of blood.

"I didn't have a chance to hunt when I was out," LaCroix lied easily. "Sometimes you have to make do with what's available."

Nick nodded. It was all too odd - there was something that LaCroix was hiding, he knew that, but he didn't know how he could make him talk about it. They'd come so far lately, he couldn't help but fear the breaking up of their fragile peace, and so decided not to press the issue. Even if something had happened, it was daylight, and there was nowhere that either of them could go. Once night fell again, then would be the time to decipher this mystery. "Well, let's go to bed then," he said, walking into the bedroom.

Unable to mask his relief, LaCroix followed, casting one last look towards the now-curtained window before locking the door behind him.

He didn't know what it was that woke him up, hours later, rousing him from the sleep of the dead. It couldn't have been the extra heartbeat, because that had always been there, underneath everything else that he heard, and it had always comforted him to hear it. It had been his touchstone, it grounded him. But now, the sound had changed, from a signal of the presence of a trusted friend to something more, something deeper. And it wasn't just the sound, either. /Oh, god, he just smells so good./ The blood that he'd always been able to smell, down deep, underneath it all, it sang in his ears, and called to him. A second later, he was there.

He didn't realize what the glint he was seeing was until he was scant millimeters away from the throbbing vein in Blair's neck. It was two eyes - so deeply terrified as to be fully black, the pupils taking over the entire iris. He launched himself back off the bed and watched Blair's lips move as he drew the blanket up around him. He'd zoned - on the sound of Blair's blood rushing through his veins.

And he could still hear it.

He ran from the room so quickly that the motion had no meaning at all to him, ripping the door open with so much strength that he nearly removed it from it's hinges, and left the building - running, running, running.

He was able to stave off Nicholas' questions, and, finally, his son had left to finish off his business. Immediately afterward, he took to the air, leaving in such haste that the window was still open behind him.

He headed straight for the detective's apartment, the address remembered from his police identification. He only hoped that the man remained inside. He couldn't feel him anywhere, but their connection had been so fleeting - a single encounter - that the weaves of their bond were still forging themselves.

He entered the apartment through the still-shattered door, but there was only one person there - the mortal. The one that he had met only psychically.

"Jim?" Blair turned away from the phone, hanging it up. "Who the hell are you?"

"A friend of Detective Ellison's."

"Since when? I've never met you before."

"Actually, we only met last night. Where is he?"

"Last night? When? I was with him until - " He came right over then, the desperation clear in his eyes. "What happened to him? He was like a completely different person when I saw him tonight. He looked like - I thought he wanted to - " He shook his head, cutting himself off. "Nothing makes sense. Do you have any idea where he could be?"

"I'm afraid that you would have a better idea of that than I."

"I don't, dammit! I don't know what's going on! He was so deeply asleep when I came in that nothing I did could wake him up - this from a guy who yells when I write too loud at night! And then tonight, he - " Again he stopped before he said anything.

"What did he do?"

"Nothing, but - "

"I have to find him before he harms himself. He doesn't understand what's happened to him yet, and he could endanger himself unnecessarily. Is there anywhere in particular that he might have gone?"

"Endanger himself? What are you talking about? Why would he endanger himself? What happened? What the hell did you do to him?" Blair was livid, shattered, enraged. He felt that he could tear the man in front of him apart with his bare hands, and damn the consequences.

"He saved his life."

This voice came from behind him, and Blair turned. The blond man was a stranger, but something about him was familiar - The look in his eyes was the same as Jim's.

"Oh, God," Blair said. Some ridiculous thought was beginning to push itself out of his subconscious, unwillingly. Some idea of just what his partner had become - but it wasn't possible.

"He may be the only one who can help any of us," said the blond, staring beyond Blair to the vampire behind him.

"Oh, Nicholas, sentimental as always," the taller one said, dryly. "I don't recall you having much success in that arena in the past."

"LaCroix! Can't you see that he's terrified?" To Blair he said, "Don't worry - he won't hurt you. I'll make sure of it."

"Unless, of course, the young man wants me to hurt him."

"What are you talking about?"

"LaCroix," Nicholas said, "I hardly think that this is the opportune time -"

"On the contrary, Nicholas - what better time could there be?" LaCroix turned to Blair, who was backing slowly up and away, until he hit the couch and went down. "Don't tell me that you haven't considered it?"

"You mean you want to turn me into a - "

"Vampire." It was finally said, out in the open. "Yes."

Blair surprised himself by neither passing out nor running for the nearest exit, now that his suspicions had been made fact. "But - "

"Eternity with your lover," LaCroix continued. "Everlasting youth. Only a fraction, perhaps, of the extraordinary sensory abilities that he has, but much more power than you could ever imagine. What more could you possibly want?"

"I don't know." He hadn't even thought to add 'We're not lovers' to his statement. Somehow every rational thought was being driven from his head. The guy's eyes were strangely mesmerizing, just like Jim's had been that evening. He felt as if he could stare into them for hours, and they were getting closer to him by the second.

"LaCroix! Stop it!"

Blair was yanked off of the couch by Nick. "Go. I'll find Detective Ellison for you, and call you when I know he's okay."

Blair was still under the effects of LaCroix' hypnotic gaze. "I - "

"Go." Nick gave him a gentle push.

Blair nodded wordlessly at him and ran from the room.

Nick turned to LaCroix.

"I won't ask you why you followed me."

"I knew you were hiding something. This - " he spread his hands, wordlessly. "I couldn't have imagined. Not content with one new child?"

"Really Nicholas, you're not being quite fair, are you? I mean, if the boy wants to stay with his lover, who are we - "

"Shut up, LaCroix!" Nick was so angry he was seething, and it took all of his willpower not to do something which would destroy their relationship altogether. "I cannot believe that you did this again, without consulting me."

"You said yourself - "

"I said be quiet!"

Pressing his lips into a thin line, his anger beginning to rise, LaCroix nevertheless didn't speak again.

Nick was pacing the small room. "What the hell are we going to do with him now? A new fledgling, and we don't even know where he is, roaming the city. God knows what he's capable of - "

"May I say something?"

Nick glared at him, half-considering not letting him speak, but he was already aware that he was pushing things just a little far with his master's patience. "What?"

"I was just going to suggest that perhaps we should go and find him, before he does something to get himself killed."

Nick just hated to admit when he was right. He wasn't nearly finished discussing this, but the impetus did seem to be on finding the detective, and sunlight would approach again, as it always did. Time was of the essence. "I'll go North, you go South."

"As you wish, Nicholas." LaCroix declined his head, then headed out of the window with a rush.

He hadn't taken the truck, which was definitely a good thing. But how could he get around without -

"God, Blair, get a grip. If he is a - " He swallowed hard, angry with himself for actually believing what he was saying, "A vampire, then he can probably get around any way he wants." It was impossible, none of it could be true - he'd pinch himself, wake up, and be back at the loft, in bed, Jim upstairs, and this all would be a ridiculous dream. He pinched, hard.

He turned the truck onto the highway leading out of town. If he knew Jim - and who would know him better, after three years? - he knew exactly where he'd be headed. Back to nature, back to where they camped, and fished, where he went to think when the job and the responsibilities were too much for him.

"Please, Jim, please be there. Please."

Streaks of earliest light were filtering into the sky by the time he approached the cabin. It would be full sunrise in just a few hours. He turned the lights off in the truck and hopped out. There wasn't a light on in the place, no smoke from the chimney, nothing, yet he still had hope that he hadn't been wrong in coming here.

He eased the door open, calling out, "Jim? Jim, are you here?" He moved towards window, to draw back the heavy curtain, when he heard it.

"Don't."

Blair froze, his hand still on the material.

"You shouldn't have come, Blair."

The voice was right beside him, in his ear. The breath was warm, and he could feel the shiver go straight through his body. He remained completely still as he felt Jim's hand push aside the hair at the side of his neck and move closer to him, finally fastening his mouth right over the vein throbbing there.

It was a kiss that he'd been waiting for for months, for years, praying that someday he'd have the courage to ask for it, certain that it wasn't what Jim wanted. And now, it wasn't anything like what he'd wanted then. Jim wanted to take him, not as a lover, but as a child.

And he was powerless to do anything but wait for the fangs to sink into the soft tissue of his neck, and take him completely.

He shifted back a little, surprised when he brushed against what was obviously Jim's erection. It brought another shiver to his body, harder this time, and he could feel himself swelling inside his jeans. "Jim, do it," he breathed, closing his eyes. "Do it."

"No!" Jim said, tearing himself away. "I won't."

"Jim," Blair said, turning and pulling at him, capturing one large, strong hand and bringing it to his groin. "I want you."

"Not like this, Blair. You don't want this."

"I want you! I want to be with you - whatever that means."

"No!" He reached out with a flash and lit the kerosene lamp that sat on a nearby table. "This is what I am, now, Blair," he said, as the room was suddenly illuminated.

And Blair gasped at what he saw - there were small animals littered across the room, all dead, some with wounds so fresh they were still bleeding. He held his breath when he saw Jim, the blood around his mouth, the eyes as powerfully intense as they had been when he awoke and saw his best friend - his partner, his love - poised over top of him, so close that it would have been a matter of bare inches before the fangs were in his neck. And he still wanted it. He pulled Jim back to him, and kissed him, tasting a bit of the blood - the warm, salty-sweet richness of it. Mostly, he tasted Jim, and the taste of him was better than anything that he could have imagined.

"Blair - "

"I don't care, Jim. Whatever you are, whatever happens to you, I want to be there. You're my Blessed Protector, remember? And I'm your Guide. We stay together, always. Always, Jim." He pulled him down for another kiss.

"Blair - " His resolve was weakening. The small, compact man fit as well in his arms as he always knew that he would. /Why didn't I do this before, when we had a chance, instead of waiting until everything was ruined?/ He told himself that he couldn't ask Blair to join him, that there was nothing in the world for him except the blessed release of death, but nothing that he told himself could make him release the man in his arms.

"I love you, Jim."

It was his undoing. The three words that he had so longed to hear, whispered against his mouth. He had no hope left. They were both doomed.

He picked Blair up in his arms and took him to the bedroom, depositing him on the naked bed, stripping the clothing away from him, and taking him deep into his mouth. His hunger for sex was almost as great as his hunger for blood, which he had thought had been completely sated for that night. But with every cry that Blair let out, he felt his hunger grow, until it was bigger than anything else inside him, and when Blair finally came, he could control himself no longer. He launched himself up the bed, kissing Blair ferociously, feeling Blair's strong hands reach down for him, bringing him to the brink of climax much too soon.

Blair whispered in his ear, "Do you love me, Jim?"

The last thing he said was, "Yes," and then he felt himself explode, and the fangs, so close to Blair's ear, sank gratefully into the offered vein, and he drank of his lover until there was nothing left of Blair that was not him, as well. He cut himself sharply, and revived his young lover, feeding him the very essence of what his life was, watching him share the most powerful connection that they would ever have, feeding him thought and feeling and emotion and love along with the blood.

They fell back, finally, Blair sated and Jim drained to the point of unconsciousness, echoing deep ragged breaths around the room.

"Oh, Blair, what have I done to you?" Jim said, his voice full of despair, when he found that he finally could speak again.

"You made me yours, Jim," Blair said, still feeling the flashes of their connection sizzling through his body. "It was exhilarating. It was unreal. It was - "

"I've damned you to a life without sunlight, Blair. A life of the night alone. There are so many things that we'll never be able to go back to. Do you just think that we're going to be able to go into work on Monday as if nothing ever happened? Everything has changed!"

"And you think that it would have been better for me if I had lost you, Jim, without ever being able to tell you how I feel? If you had died in that alley, I would have followed you, I swear it. And if you choose to go into the sun now, you bring me with you." He opened his eyes. "I can see things now that I never thought were possible. He was right - it's as if I were the Sentinel now. Jim, I can smell your blood, and it's making me hungry." He moved to nibble at the side of Jim's neck.

"Blair," Jim said, pushing him slightly away, "notwithstanding that I did feed tonight, I think you took everything that I have to give right now. If you feed from me now, you'll probably kill me yourself."

"Then I'll just have to go and find something for myself, won't I?"

"Do you know what you're saying? Blair, what's going on?" He grabbed Blair's wrist. Blair, empowered by Jim's strength, easily pushed him off.

"I'm hungry, and I'm going to feed. Do you want to join me?" His lips curled back in a feral smile, bearing his newly-sharpened fangs. "I could bring you something, if you want to stay here."

"Blair - "

"You're really cute when you're being all macho and protective, you know?"

"It'll be sunrise soon," he protested weakly. Blair couldn't be serious, could he? His Blair, the gentle Guide, was actually looking forward to the kill? It couldn't be possible.

"Then I'd better hurry, hadn't I?" Blair kissed him, a searing kiss that held promise, love, and a touch of menace, as well.

Jim watched him leave with a growing sense of fear. Just what exactly had he done to Blair - and what would this change mean to him?

Nicholas stood in the woods, drawn to the place, but his thoughts in such disarray that he couldn't think clearly. He was so angry with LaCroix, again acting without thought - but that wasn't completely true, was it? Wouldn't it have been better to let the man just die in that alley? Wouldn't it? He whirled at a sudden movement directly beside him. "LaCroix?"

"Did you honestly think that I'd let you go anywhere without me?"

He shook his head, exasperated. "LaCroix, we're wasting time."

"No we're not. Listen, Nicholas - he's here. They're both here."

Nick shut his eyes, hearing the faint tell-tale sign of vampiric presence. "Oh, God, both of them, LaCroix."

He nodded. "It seems that they've made their choice. I wonder how difficult it was for them?"

"Not everything is about us, you know."

"Isn't it?" He turned towards the rough-hewn building. "Should we go and 'rescue' them?"

"We can't go in there now. We should give them some time."

"For what? Surely they must both be regretting their choice of the life of darkness by now. Why not simply end it for them? We could torch the cabin - "

"All right, LaCroix! It is their decision to make. We'll go there tomorrow and explain things to them. Today, we leave them alone."

"As you wish, Nicholas." He prepared to rise into the air. "You don't honestly expect to spend all day exposed in these woods, do you?"

"No. I'm coming." They rose into the night together. Tomorrow they would come back, to find what, Nick couldn't imagine. But LaCroix was right, there was nothing that they could do in the daytime. For now, they would just have to wait.

A newborn vampire watched them take to the sky. "I swear," he said, "if you even attempt to come between Jim and I, I will kill you both. . ."

The End
MonaR.
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