Work Text:
Title: No Greater Desire
Author: Poodle
Rating: PG
Summary: Knight and Vachon share a drink and a bit of soul-searching conversation.
No Greater Desire
By Poodle~
"Come on. It couldn't have been that bad." Javier Vachon protested. His eyes traveled across the crowded bar until they came to rest on the imposing presence of the Raven's proprietor absorbed in his own pursuits, surrounded by a bevy of beauties.
"Consider this conversation closed." Knight's tone was flat with finality.
Still the impetuous youth persisted. "My god, Nick. You should consider yourself lucky, and all you do is mope."
"*Lucky.*" The word cut the room with an icy chill.
"Damn straight. You're such an insufferable snob, born-again into aristocracy. You have no idea what it's like out there alone." Vachon's eyes darkened with inner memory and he gazed aside.
"Solitude is a luxury you'd be ill-advised to relinquish."
"You have no idea," Vachon repeated in a whisper too subtle for human ears. "Family."
"Prison."
"Acceptance...love."
"Obsession."
"Guidance."
"Dominance."
Vachon sighed with exasperation. "It couldn't have been *that* bad."
Nick declined to respond, staring into the amber liquid in the glass resting on the bar as he pondered the naiveté of one who had never endured the shackles of a master.
Vachon dared to fill the silence. "I've often fantasized what it would have been like if..." The young vampire took a deep gulp of his drink then continued, "My master hadn't gone into the light. Things might have been so different."
Nick responded with silence, allowing him to ramble on.
"I dream of her, you know, what she might have been like. Of course, I know her in the sense that one always touches the soul of the one who brings them across, but there's so very much more I might have known." He squeezed his eyes shut and turned aside. "Why?"
"It was simply her time." Nick found himself offering an answer that sounded suspiciously like a LaCroixism.
Music from the live band rose with a roar to fill the sudden void, and Nick allowed his eyes to steal a look in LaCroix's direction. He gave a start when two ice-blue eyes stared back at him from across the room. He quickly looked away, feeling strangely...guilty?
The youth seated at his side regained his attention.
"I've roamed the world, the centuries, in disjointed packs, myself and others like me; orphans, if you will. Often, living more like wild dogs than self-respecting vampires. And though I'm not ashamed to admit that I was seldom at the bottom of the pack, it would have been nice to possess a sense of purpose -- identity."
"And you believe this master of yours would have given you this sense of identity?" He broke in, the scorn unmistakable in his tone.
"Maybe." Vachon's voice was wistful. "One can always dream."
"Dreams are for those who lay sleeping." The words almost caught in Nick's throat as he realized for the second time that evening how dangerously close he was coming to sounding just like LaCroix. He shook his head in bewilderment. What was it about this intrepid vampire that generated such responses?
"Sometimes dreams are all we have."
Vachon's reply regained Knight's attention and he focused intense blue eyes on Tracy Vetter's "snitch" in speculation.
Indeed. Sometimes dreams were all any of them had.
The silence stretched between them until Vachon dared to breach it with a continuance of their earlier topic. "It couldn't have been all bad, *verdad*?"
Nick caught him with an icy stare. What motivation caused this creature to persist in such a vein? He sighed. For that matter, what had compelled Nick to accept his invitation to share a drink before heading home for the evening? He could have been safe, now, in the sanctuary of his lair, comforted by the familiarity of his possessions, instead of suffering this interrogation.
"No." Knight's confession crept out in a whisper, as again, he peeked across the room at the Raven's proprietor then quickly looked away. "It wasn't *all* bad."
"There." A smile lit Vachon's darkly handsome features.
"And no, I don't want to discuss it." He countered before the other could pursue the subject. The last thing Nick wanted was to encourage this wayward vampire, who had somehow managed to insinuate himself into his ordered existence. "*Tread carefully, Nicholas,*" a familiar voice taunted his mind, "*Unless you wish to further your compulsive need for self-flagellation by becoming Daddy Nick to this orphan.*"
Intuitively, Vachon allowed the subject to be swallowed in the mayhem of the band's rising crescendo, and Nick allowed his mind to drift, pulling back the pages of time...
~*~*~*~*~*
"Impertinent cur!" LaCroix demanded in outrage, "Don't force me to come in there after you."
A pair of amber eyes glared back from the darkened crevice where Nicholas had wedged himself.
"I'll tolerate no more of this," the master vampire warned, his tone dropping to an icy chill.
A hiss and a flash of fangs were the only response.
LaCroix returned the hiss in exasperation. Whatever demon had possessed the youth to dash into the wine cellar and dig himself into such an undignified position would surely answer to him.
"Come to me *now.*"
It was unlike the knight to refuse a direct order, so when he did, LaCroix's anger flashed in a white rage that threatened to consume what remained of his patience. He was not in the mood to punish the youth. Another time he could have generated the passion for such sport, but not tonight. "Have you taken leave of your senses?"
Were Janette's recent absences to roam the streets of Paris the catalyst?
Since the night Nicholas first enfolded into LaCroix's immortal embrace almost a year ago, he and Janette were inseparable, gnawing and tearing at one another from dawn till dusk, shredding no less than three feather beds in the last six months, alone, and almost driving LaCroix to seek shelter elsewhere. But Janette was a free spirit, much like himself, and her solitary pursuits were to be expected. Janette, LaCroix understood.
Nicholas was quite a different matter.
"*Come out.*" LaCroix's summons left no room for argument and finally Nicholas relented, digging himself from the crevice in the ancient mortar of the wall. "What's the meaning of this nonsense?"
"Lady Natasha," he offered in way of explanation.
"Ah, the fair, Natasha. Your most recent *amourette.*"
Beneath Janette's cunning tutelage the youth had learned the art of "romancing" his victims, sometimes months at a time, before claiming the final, glorious conquest.
"Has the wine's exquisite fruit gone sour on the vine? Perhaps you should have picked it sooner."
"She's dead."
"Some rogue has beaten you to the prize; mores the pity. Timing is a quintessential element in such pursuits. We are not the only ones of our kind, you know." He leaned near, resting a hand on the knight's shoulder. "Be forewarned, though it can be stimulating sport, revenge is best left to those more experienced than yourself."
"*I killed her.*" The words ripped from his throat.
"Was your repast so unsatisfactory as all that?" LaCroix frowned and leaned close to study his eyes with concern. "Was she tainted? Poxed, perhaps? Such things play havoc with the digestive system."
"No!"
"If it is lack of control that distresses you, my insatiable one, be comforted by the knowledge that in time you shall master the art of the 'little kiss', which will enable you to savor your paramours a bit at a time. Such dalliances can linger for weeks, even months, if you wish."
"You don't understand. It wasn't my desire to kill her. She was my friend."
"Friend!" The revelation struck LaCroix a physical blow. "What utter nonsense. Are you certain she wasn't tainted? *Maiden, indeed.*"
Nicholas' eyes flashed amber, and he began to tremble beneath LaCroix's touch. "She was my friend," he repeated in a confused whisper. "I didn't intend to kill her."
"Pray tell, what did you intend?" LaCroix demanded, losing patience with this fiasco.
Nicholas seemed at a loss for explanation as he struggled to respond. "To touch...to love her--"
"To *take* her."
"Yes," he confessed. "But not like that."
"There is no other way for us." LaCroix began to chuckle as he realized the irony of Nicholas' dilemma. "You're a vampire. There is but one way to possess a mortal."
His eyes widened in shock and he opened his mouth to protest then shut it as the truth of LaCroix's words struck deep.
"Surely you knew."
"But Janette and I..." His words trailed in desperation as his eyes sought guidance in LaCroix's face.
"Have the tatters of your bedchamber taught you nothing, *mon enfant*? Last month's carnage, alone, cost me a king's ransom."
"Even so, I thought that--"
"You could go back? Relinquish the majesty of what I've bestowed?"
"Never," he rasped with conviction. "It is only that..." he swallowed hard. "I wanted to make love to her."
"And so you did." LaCroix beamed with pleasure. "To pass from life in the throes of passion. No greater desire can a mortal possess than this. You delivered her, gently, in the prime of her existence, into that which is inevitable. And did she thank you, fair Nicholas?"
He nodded, still trembling. "She died with my name upon her lips."
"Death's sweet messenger. There is nothing grim in the souls you reap." He pulled his child near to rest against his chest, and Nicholas did not protest but relaxed gently in his embrace. "Cherubic angel of deliverance. Accept your position in the scheme of the gods, as all creatures must."
"But if my touch can deliver only death, where does that leave me?" He beseeched.
"Where you belong," LaCroix breathed. "In the bosom of your family. Would you have it otherwise?"
The trembling slowly subsided as he shook his head. "You have given me life as surely as my mortal father. How could you ask such a thing?"
"How, indeed." He rested a possessive hand at the base of the youth's throat, where it lingered. "Come. The night is young and there is much you've yet to learn..."
~*~*~*~*~*
...As the music peeked, ebbed and slowly faded, the dancers on the floor dispersed and Vachon again turned to his companion.
"Could you commit such an act?" The question confused Knight, drawing him from his thoughts, and it must have shown on his face because Vachon continued, "Create life, only to commit yourself to the flames."
The raw emotion in the vampire's voice prevented Nick from delivering the callous response that sprang to his lips. Create life? The question brought him up short. Certainly Nick had done so in the past, usually as an act of passion. But that wasn't the nature of the young vampire's inquiry; the life to which he was referring was life in the sense of *familla*. Family.
A child.
Lovers brought across, were not necessarily intended to exist as an extension of oneself.
Nick found himself unaccountably restless, and he took a swig from his glass. "No," he said softly. "I could never...commit such an act." But to which act was he referring? The abandonment of an intended child or the establishment of a family of his own?
Vachon seemed content with the response. He quickly finished his drink and stood. "Well, it's been...nice."
The finality of his tone came as a relief to the detective who stood as well.
"Perhaps...another time?" Vachon ventured.
Did Knight see a light of veiled expectation flicker in the dark eyes? He swallowed then relented. "Sure, why not."
A smile lit the other's face. "Till next time." With that, the Spaniard turned and disappeared into the Raven's shifting shadows.
Nick did not follow his trek toward the door but, instead, he turned to find LaCroix across the room absorbed in his own activities. The ancient vampire seemed oblivious to the scrutiny; but was LaCroix ever truly oblivious to anything? Nick turned to leave.
*Surely, it wasn't all bad*.
The orphan's words echoed in his mind, and Nick paused long enough for two blue eyes to penetrate his from across the room. He drew a deep breath and his attention fell to the half emptied glass setting on the bar before him.
"Care to share a drink?" The question came in mellow tones from a presence suddenly at Nick's side. He gave a start and looked up.
LaCroix reached out with a long finger and deftly traced the rim of Nick's unattended glass. "*Gratis*. On the house."
"Nothing's free." The words came out harsher than he'd intended and he looked away.
"True." The response was a rustle of the finest silk across Nick's senses. "Even so, the offer stands."
Nick raised his eyes and found them lost in the infinite blue of his master's unwavering stare. Had it all been...bad? "I have to go," he mumbled, turning away.
The band began another number and the room exploded with sound as he fled toward the door.
"By all means, Nicholas, run with your street urchins and orphans." The words taunted after him. "*Orphelin de père.*"
The words gave him reason to pause.
Fatherless.
Try though he might, the roots of his existence ran deep. He could no more deny the lineage of his rebirth than he could those of his original birth. He pulled in his breath and released it slowly before turning around and facing the room.
LaCroix had returned to his earlier activities, drifting through the patrons, honoring a few attractive mortals with a subtle brush of his fingers against their skin. They smiled as if blessed in the wake of his trek.
Nick stood frozen in the doorway, oblivious to the disgruntled expressions of people jostling past. The roar of the music assaulted his senses.
A drink?
*You should consider yourself lucky.*
No. Not lucky, still...
Roaming the streets without direction. Forever lacking the stern yet disciplined guidance of hands intent upon impressing their own unique set of values, intent upon revealing the wonders inherent in the nature of what he'd become beneath the touch of those very hands...
Family?
Nothing in life was free.
The sanctuary of his lair beckoned, offering him the solace of ordered familiarity. So why did his feet compel him back into the room?
A pair of graceful hands, tracing their journey over the slope of a mortal throat, captured his eyes. He swallowed.
*Petite gorgée.*
A single drink couldn't hurt....
Ice-blue eyes caught his.
...Or could it?
The End..?