You start to sing-
  - from Berryman Tea by Kathleen Byrne

The past few years had seen a positive change in the relationship the ancient Roman held with his rebellious offspring. The challenges each had faced, both separately and together, had worn at the wall of hate and resentment between them until they were now closer than they'd been in centuries. In response, however, Nicholas's relationship with the mortal doctor who'd dedicated herself to "curing" his son of his vampirism had deteriorated. It would seem that the closer Nicholas grew to his vampire father, the closer he came to accepting his own nature, the more upset the good Dr. Lambert became with her reluctant patient, and in turn, the worse their friendship became.

LaCroix found it all immensely satisfying, and somewhat amusing. Though for the sake of rebuilding his relationship with his son, he was careful to present a more commiserate appearance.

Still, Nicholas did seem to be in an interesting mood tonight. LaCroix looked at his notes, considered what work remained to be done before his evening's presentation, weighed it against his curiosity . . . then thought "the hell with it" and went downstairs to find out what was going on.

As he left his apartment, not bothering to lock the door (since, after all, who would be stupid enough to break into his home?), the stately old Roman couldn't help but smirk.

For all the trouble Nicholas's mercurial moods usually caused, LaCroix could say something for his son's passion . . . it certainly kept things interesting. And wasn't that one of the reasons why he loved the boy so, even after all these years of strife? After all, none of his other vampire children could hold his undivided attention as long as his favored.

His smirk softening into a smile, LaCroix acknowledged, if only to himself, that there was far more behind his obsession with his knightly Crusader than just Nicholas's passion.

Unlife hadn't been easy for him in centuries, but it had become particularly dreary over the last few years. His dream of finally becoming human was looking less and less likely as cure after cure failed. The effort to control his demon was becoming more difficult as he starved the vampire of nutrient-rich human blood, and -- frankly -- his will to keep fighting was starting to fracture. Ever since he'd realized that no matter how Natalie tried, she wasn't going to succeed in her lifetime. That modern science just wasn't enough to reverse the vampirism, anymore than ancient mysticism had been. Ever since, he'd all but given up trying. He still couldn't fathom killing someone to feed himself, but he didn't think he could stomach another glass of flat, tasteless, enervating cow. And since he and LaCroix were patching up their relationship, he no longer felt like he needed to.

Vampires in this day and age didn't need to hunt and kill for food. Places like the Raven supplied enough fresh, willingly acquired bottled blood to support any fair-sized Community. Many of the youngest fledglings had probably never hunted in their lives; nor would they necessarily need to. For the older ones who did seek live prey, the motivation was more for the joy of the hunt than for the kill itself. Even Nicholas, with his heavy weight of guilt, could not deny the pleasure he took in tracking, cornering, and finally capturing his prey -- it's just when he caught his "prey", he arrested them instead of draining them. Vampires were predators, no one could argue that . . . but it didn't mean they had to kill.

So Nick had begun to let go of his failed Quest and rediscover the joys of being a vampire. And found it wasn't as bad as he remembered.

But no, that wasn't true either. Not all of his memories over the last 800 years were bad. There'd been, in fact, entire centuries of nothing but pleasure before he'd ever begun to rediscover his conscience. Long nights of hunting by his father's side; long days of passion in Janette's arms. Exciting outings of music and dancing; quiet evenings of reading and painting.

"Hey, you got a problem, buddy?"

The belligerent voice of the bouncer brought Nick's mental reflection to a screeching halt. He automatically looked up toward the source of the voice, unsurprised to find it less than six inches away -- most of that up. In his distraction, he'd walked right up to the big vampire he'd been stalking and bumped into him. Not the best hunting performance, but effective nonetheless. A small oasis of calm descended upon them as the two males stared at one another.

Dropping his gaze from the bouncer's without answering, Nick looked instead at the two young women clutched tightly against the big man's sides. He cast them a consolatory smile to which the brunette fledgling only looked confused, while the blonde mortal started to acquire a hopeful glint in her soft hazel eyes. That one hesitantly smiled back at him.

"Hey, asshole, why don't you get out of my fucking way? The girls and I are having a bit of fun here." Rick flexed his biceps in counterpoint, squeezing the girls tighter and making the mortal wince.

Despite the anger that was beginning to boil in his veins, Nick's only outward response was a raised eyebrow as he traded a glance between the girls and the bouncer himself. His chivalrous nature inwardly seethed at the mistreatment of the women, but he allowed himself only a slightly predatory grin when he finally spoke.

"I don't think the ladies are having as much fun as you are," he said, calmly reaching out to unsnag first the blonde, then the brunette. Both reacted quickly, smiling in gratitude as they pushed past him and vanished into the crowd. The vacuum their departure created was instantly filled as Vachon stepped up to Nick's right -- close enough to present a united front, far enough away to block any possible escape. The prey was surrounded, and he didn't even know it. Nick's grin increased incrementally.

The bouncer must have been momentarily stunned by Nick's unexpected actions, because it took him a minute to react. When he did, it was to loose a low growl and lunge forward to grab the interfering detective by his lapels. Nick was partially hauled off his feet as the younger vampire dragged him close to snarl in his face.

"Listen, you stupid sonofabitch . . . I don't care how old you are, you don't get off with messing with me. I've heard about you," he sneered, "the weak little freak who can't even feed himself right, who drinks cow like some stupid carouche. And you think you have the right to come into my club and tell me how to conduct my business?" Rick spat in Nick's face, then tossed his head in Vachon's direction without loosening his hold. Nick didn't twitch one way or the other, his toothy grin never fading. "You and that damn spic of yours should just fuck off, if you know what's good for you. The Boss don't take kindly to dumbshits fucking with his staff."

They'd begun to attract a bit of an audience as the confrontation escalated, but Nick couldn't bring himself to care. He also couldn't stop smiling. He hadn't made a move against his opponent, even though he could have easily broken his hold. He was just having too much fun! He hadn't toyed with his prey like this in centuries; he'd forgotten how exhilarating it could be!

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Vachon cast him a laid-back smirk. The Spaniard had figured out the same thing he had: Rick the Bouncer didn't have a clue who he was threatening!

Oh, this was going to be good, Nick thought, preparing to shatter the big idiot's arrogance. Too bad vampire digestive tracts didn't work like mortals. It would have been immensely satisfying if he could have driven the foolish jerk to dirty his drawers . . .

"Is there a problem, gentlemen?" a regal ice-toned voice intruded before Nicholas could see if he still had what it took to make a grown man cry.

He was only mildly disgruntled that their argument was interrupted before it could come to blows -- or fangs. Because as his father glided up to let his ancient presence tower imperiously over them, Nick kept grinning as an even better plan of attack came to him.

Oh yes, turned out he did still have it after all.

But Nicholas did not react as he expected him too, for there were no exclamations of outrage or anger. Instead, his son's lips pulled back over his fine white teeth, the tips of the elongated canines gleaming in the strobe lights. The expression was one LaCroix had not seen for centuries. It caused him to gasp in anticipation, feeling the borrowed blood in his veins pulse as his loins tightened and his fangs tingled in remembered pleasure.

His son was hunting!

"Not at all, LaCroix," Nicholas was saying, and LaCroix snapped his attention back onto the drama playing out in the centre of his dance floor.

"Rick and I," his son continued, grinding out the bouncer's name between his fangs, "were just having a friendly little discussion on how to treat a lady. He was just about to explain to me why the manner in which he comports himself was not of my concern."

Ah, so that was Nicholas's game . . . LaCroix nodded and smiled benignly at the bouncer, tilting his head slightly as if granting a subject the right to speak. Inside his mind, a thrum of dark welcome flowed along the master-childe bond, heightening his desire.

Rick looked nervous as he met the icy gaze of Toronto's Elder. He seemed to have forgotten the smaller man he still held clutched in his grip as he rushed to explain himself. "Ah, Mr. LaCroix, sir. I, uh, I was just telling this guy that the Raven don't put up with his kind."

LaCroix quirked an eyebrow.

Rick swallowed. "Uh, you know, trouble-makers? I was, er, I was just dancing with these girls on my break, see? And he just butted right in like he owned the place. I was just straightening him out, sir." By the end of his little spiel, Rick seemed to have regained his confidence as his boss neither said nor did anything to contradict him. His arrogant nature was reasserting itself.

"Indeed," LaCroix replied mildly. He was beginning to get the picture now. The bouncer, whatever his name was, had done something to set off his son's strange sense of honour and Nicholas was having a spot of fun dealing with him. That the bouncer did not know who Nicholas was was also apparent. LaCroix looked at Nicholas to gauge what his part was to be in his favorite's game.

With a quick, pleased little grin, Nicholas dipped his head toward the bully holding him captive. LaCroix, familiar with his body language, felt a spark of melancholy for how long those signals had gone disused. Then he stepped into his role with relish.

With a carefully hidden jolt of malicious glee, LaCroix cast a gentle smile upon his son. He made sure to keep the bouncer's visage in his field of view. The big fool's expression was bound to be priceless.

"Well, my son," he said, and Rick's eyes went wide as he realized his folly. "What do you have to say for yourself? Surely you can see that my friend here is just doing his job. I demand you apologize at once for this affront."

Nodding solemnly, Nicholas used the grip the big vampire had on him to pull the bouncer off-balance. With an easy, apologetic smile, he said, "Oh, yes Father. Quite right. I'm terribly sorry, Rick. So sorry for interrupting your fun," and brought his hands up to break Rick's hold and gain his own.

Still smiling, Nicholas casually hefted the larger man a few inches into the air and began to walk toward the exit. The crowd parted smoothly before him, and LaCroix and Vachon -- all smiles themselves -- slipped in behind. Nicholas continued to apologize profusely every step of the way, up to the moment an unsuspecting mortal opened the Raven's door and he tossed the stunned vampire out into the snow.

"My deepest apologies, Rick," Nicholas said with sweet sincerity. "Just a difference in opinion, you see. Nothing personal." And he walked back into the club.

LaCroix took one look at the dazed and confused vampire, shook his head and turned to follow. On his way in, he tossed a last comment over his shoulder before he closed the door. "Oh, and Rick, was it? You're fired."

"Score one for the old guys," Nick whispered in his ear, and Vachon cracked up.

"Quite so," LaCroix concurred, nodding at the band to start up again. As they segued into an upbeat cacophony with a vaguely wasp-like buzz, the Roman led his compatriots over to the bar for some refreshment. "A most amusing diversion, Nicholas. I am delighted to find you in such a joyful disposition. What, may I ask, triggered this pleasant state of affairs?"

"I don't know," Nick shrugged. "I just feel good."

"Hmm..." LaCroix hummed, but refrained from making his typical biting comment. Vachon smirked as he watched the two interact, each carefully editing their words so as to preserve the genial atmosphere. Sometimes, they were more fascinating than TV!

The band brought the wild pounding song to a close and moved immediately into a gentle, old-time waltz. As the Raven's patrons settled down, Vachon saw Nick cast a coy glance at his father. Looking up through his eyelashes at the older man, Nick had never looked younger. Vachon froze; spellbound by the unfolding spectacle in a way no fight could ever hold him.

"Would you care to dance, Father?" Nick, no Nicholas, asked shyly, a strangely youthful expression gracing his face.

LaCroix took a long moment to reply, and Vachon was consternated to find his own hands grow clammy with nerves as he waited along with his friend for the answer. But then the usually cool, inhumanly stoic Roman smiled gently and held out his hand. Vachon breathed a sigh of relief as Nick took it and the pair moved off to the dance floor.

Urs walked up to him, passing the couple on their way. "It's good to see them happy, isn't it Javier?"

"Yeah," he said. "Things are a lot more fun around here when they're not fighting, that's for sure. I wonder how long this truce will last?" he added pessimistically.

But Urs just smiled. "I think they really want it this time. They're both working so hard not to get on each other's bad sides."

Yeah, they were, too. It was strange, watching them dance with each other instead of the dancing about one another they usually did. Nick Knight had always been a strange one to Vachon's reckoning, though he liked him well enough. And LaCroix? Well, who could fathom the mind of an ancient -- especially one who'd been a General in the Roman Empire?

They'd spent centuries longer than he'd been alive living, hunting, and loving together. They'd spent centuries running from each other, hating and fighting one another, only to return again and again for more. They'd never been able to give the other up, to move on without the other in their life. Nick fled, hid, yelled and pouted about the unfairness of it all -- but always ran straight *to* his master whenever he needed help, and never once doubted it would be given. LaCroix, too, was unable to let his son go. He chased him around the world, taunted and berated him incessantly, but always dropped everything to go to his aid should Nick need him.

For all their problems, it was plain to Vachon that the bond between them was strong. It would never be broken, no matter what they said or did.

They were one.

"C'mon, Urs," Vachon smiled. "Looks like they've got the right idea." He held out a gallant hand. "Dance with me."

Urs looked up at her dark-haired sire, the indolent vampire that had never tried to master her, and had to smile. She slipped her petite hand in his, her fingers dwarfed by his large ones. The pale white of her skin contrasted sharply with the tawny tone of his. "I'd be delighted to, Javier."

Together, the younger pair of master and childe moved out beside the older. Swaying together with the ebb and swell of the music, Vachon and Urs watched their elders dance as one.

Unconcerned about the spectacle of two males clasped arm in arm in this of all places (for who would judge them here?) Nick and LaCroix floated across the dance floor with all the natural grace each had in abundance. They looked beautiful together; two tall, lean blondes pressed chest to chest, their arms wound around one another. Like this, it was easy to see how so many believed them to be biological relatives, rather than just of the same blood. Like this, it was easy to see the history between them -- the passion of the ages was thick in the air around them.

Like this, it was easy to understand why LaCroix would spend centuries chasing a rebellious childe. Like this, it was easy to see why the rebellious childe would return, time after time, to his master's arms. Like this, it was easy to see the strength of the tie between them. Vachon watched, riveted, as the mystery that had long plagued his thoughts was finally illuminated.

As close as they were to the oblivious couple, it was no difficulty for Vachon and Urs to stand witness to the renewal of ancient vows. Urs' grip around Vachon's waist tightened in empathic pleasure as Nicholas, eyes locked with his master's, raised a finger to his mouth. With a subtle, sensual touch to his distended fangs, a drop of blood welled up on his fingertip. Smiling, the long-lost son pressed the finger to his father's lips.

"Forever," Nick breathed, reiterating an old promise that made LaCroix's dead heart jump. The ancient pulled his childe closer and sucked the finger to savor the offered gift. Vachon had never seen such a tender look in his eyes.

As the finger withdrew, the ancient pressed a light kiss to its tip. A new light glinted in his cool blue eyes. "You think about swallowing but/ love the way he dances on/ your tongue. You want to be/ the song he's lost in--" LaCroix whispered, his majestic voice feathering the lyrical words over his son.

Nicholas's eyes turned soft as the poetry sparked an old, much cherished memory of a happier time. "So/ You start to sing--," he whispered in return, drawing his moistened fingertip in a gentle caress across his father's cheek.

Vachon would have shook his head at the romantic scene, if it weren't for the emotion encompassing it. Somehow, like this, the sensual verse was the most natural accoutrement imaginable. Like this, with the air thick with promise, it hinted at a depth of meaning that effused the moment.

Then LaCroix sparked that potential. Like a striking snake, he darted forward to claim possession of that which was his. Just dipped toward that turned up face, that smiling mouth, and plunged in. Slanted his lips across his childe's, absorbed his son's startled exhalation, and thrust his tongue into the cool haven to wrap around Nicholas's own.