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Unfixed

By Lorelei Sieja

Nick leaned against the elevator wall as it slowly ascended. He was so tired. It had taken too much effort to get Natalie to just go home. He didn't want to be near her tonight. There was too much pain.

First, there was the pain in her expression, at yet another failed attempt for a cure. For one glorious morning he had been so sure they had won! And what was the first thing he did? Run run to Janette to share his good news, dragging an unwilling Natalie with him. Janette hadn't been happy at all. In fact, she'd been decidedly cold and impatient, that he continued to torture himself.

Then, he'd rediscovered the joy of eating! Spaghetti, wine, hot dogs with onions, a couple of donuts, some pizza, soda- most of it hadn't even existed the last time he had eaten solid food. Just the thought of it now, as it still sat like so many bricks in his wounded stomach made him feel ill.

But the drug, the Lidovuterine B, had been addictive from just the first dose. He craved it, in ever increasing doses, and he lost control of his thoughts and emotions. He'd become paranoid, believing even Schanke and Natalie were against him! The entire day's events were little more than a blur now. He couldn't remember exactly what had happened and what had been only imagined. The pain in his stomach was very real, though.

At last the lift stopped and he slid the door open. Wearily, he stepped inside. The door closed behind him and he leaned against it, struggling to still the disquiet. He lifted a shaky hand to his forehead and rubbed at the pounding sensations.

A whisper of wind settled and he glanced up to see his master standing a few paces away. LaCroix folded his arms across his chest, his face a stony mask. "What are you doing here," Nick snapped at him.

LaCroix smiled a small, wicked smile. "You know, Nicholas, why I am here." His voice was smooth, deceptively calm.

A chill ran down his spine. He fought the fear that threatened to overpower him. Of course. It was the eternal dance they played: LaCroix sets the rules. Nick breaks them. LaCroix rescues Nick then beats him for his disobedience.

Except LaCroix hadn't rescued him today. Nick had lain, shot and bleeding on the pavement, the late afternoon sun hot on his back as the protective shield of the drug weakened, and he'd tried to reach out to his master. But LaCroix was no where to be found. The link between them had fallen silent. If the would-be assassins hadn't decided to clean up their own mess and toss him in the trunk of their car, he might be no more than a pile of ash right now.

Nick buried his fear behind a look of defiance. "Fine then. Do it and get it over with!"

LaCroix glared at his disrespectful offspring. The boy had gone too far this time! His behavior was atrocious. And to cap it all off, the boy had finally discovered the ability to close their link- the one thread of connection that still tied them together. Even now, although LaCroix caught the look of fear that ghosted across his son's face, he could not sense it at all. The emptiness between them was complete. And now the whelp dared to show indifference and defiance, when he should be groveling on the floor for forgiveness!

His rage was almost blinding him. Yet, he still loved this most difficult child. LaCroix's first desire, to break every bone in his body, would be far too dangerous. In his fury, he might destroy that which he desired. Yet, the defiance simply could not go unpunished. They both knew that.

"Drop your pants," LaCroix hissed.

Nick swallowed the lump of solid fear and stared up at his maker. NO! Not that! LaCroix had not raped him, not in nearly seven centuries, since their early beginnings together... But he was too weak from the day's events to even consider resisting the powerful ancient.

"Now!"

Nick bowed his head, afraid of the anger and rage he saw in LaCroix. He fumbled with his belt with trembling hands. But what hurt more than the fear of punishment was the absence of LaCroix in his mind. Never in all his existence had the master been so angry with him that he severed completely the link they shared. Always, Nick had been able to sense something of the master. A mood, a thought, a desire... yet for the first time since that long ago night in 1228, Nick was completely alone. And terrified.

He slipped his trousers and silk boxers down, stepping out of his shoes. He leaned back against the elevator door, struggling to find the strength to endure the next event. Then maybe he could feed and begin to heal from his wounds.

LaCroix had unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the belt loops, but there he stopped. Grabbing Nick's arm fiercely, he dragged his son and threw him across the kitchen table. Nick gasped at the new bruises on his hips as tender flesh met unyielding wood. Then he cried in surprise as LaCroix brought his belt down viciously.

"Since you continue to behave like a recalcitrant child," LaCroix shouted, enforcing each word with his belt, "then so you shall be treated!"

Again and again the belt struck pale flesh, leaving vicious red welts in its wake. Again and again, LaCroix expected the beating to lessen his anger, but as his child continued to hold their mind-link tightly closed, LaCroix found no satisfaction.

Nick clenched his teeth, blood tears flowing freely. He longed for an end and the forgiveness to follow. Always, when LaCroix had punished him, no matter how brutal he had been, there had been forgiveness. Only now Nick could sense nothing between them. That hurt more than the beating. Still, he knew that even this choice of punishment was one of love. A vampire would never die from a beating.

Gunshot wounds were nothing to a healthy vampire, and broken bones were only mildly painful. Both would heal quickly with feeding. Usually LaCroix just threw Nick around. That was seldom serious, either, but it was very messy. Furniture and heirlooms tended to get broken. And once a chair had splintered, embedding wood in Nick's chest, dangerously close to his heart.

But immortal vampires, symbols of violence and strength, seductive creatures of evil, were at the mercy of their very tender, sensitive skin. A beating was the most painful and the least dangerous of options. LaCroix's choice was both a sign of his fierce rage and also his love. Nick cried out to him, trying to find the place in his mind where LaCroix had always been. Still, the place was empty. Nick cried bitter tears.

LaCroix swung his belt one last time, tearing the silk shirt and leaving a welt across Nick's arm and back. Then he tossed the belt down on the table in disgust.

Nick pushed himself up weakly. "Please don't go," he whispered.

LaCroix shoved his hands deep into his pockets to keep from tearing his rebellious son to shreds. He glowered at the boy's tear-stained face and frightened expression.

Nick lunged for him, grabbing onto his shirt and burying his face in his shoulder. "Please, don't leave me! I'm sorry! Please come back!"

LaCroix remained motionless, trying to read his son's emotions. Was he truly repentant or was this still just another game? But, the boy had never been especially talented at the mind-link... it had been mostly LaCroix's doing that kept them united. So why was Nick so successfully cut off from him just now?

Nick's tears were soaking through the front of his shirt. The scent of his tears was strange, different some how. Something was wrong with him. LaCroix put a hand on his son's back tentatively. Blood seeped through the torn silk shirt and covered his palm. A cold finger of dread lodged in his gut as the anger left him, to be replaced with a parent's concern. Supporting Nick with his other hand, he brought the bloodstained palm to his mouth and licked at it. He spat it back out. Nick's blood was poisoned.

Nick was hanging from him, clinging to his shirt and trembling. LaCroix took his arms firmly and shook him, trying to make eye contact.

"Nicholas. Tell me everything!"

Nick's blue eyes were glazed, his pale face still damp with red tears. "I think I'm going to be sick," he confessed.

With vampiric speed, LaCroix rushed his son to the bathroom and held him face down over the toilet. He watched, horrified, at the assorted foods his son had tried to consume. There was enough to have made any mortal sick! And since the vampire's stomach had no digestive fluids to break down the food, eating was truly a painful experience. This was no cure the "good" doctor had given his precious child! This was torture, plain and simple!

After vomiting up the foods, Nick heaved again, this time blood. Not cow blood or even human. The blood he lost was his own.

LaCroix growled. He needed answers now!

Nick became limp in his hands. He turned the boy around, hoping that his retching was over for now. "Nicholas," he spoke softly.

One hand weakly grabbed for his shirt. "Where are you, father?" he whispered. "I can't find you!"

LaCroix blinked back a sudden tear of his own. His foolish son and his miserable quest! Why must he torture himself so? He placed his hand over Nick's and clasped it.

"I am here, Nicholas. I will not leave you."

Then Nick passed out.

Gently, LaCroix lowered him to the bathroom floor, tugging the bathmat to comfort his son from the cold tile. He loosened the buttons on the ruined shirt and pulled it off. He saw the wounds of three bullet holes, only partially healed. At least one must have nicked the stomach. Carefully rolling Nick onto his side, LaCroix found three exit wounds, partially scabbed over. At least there were no bullets still inside him. LaCroix lightly fingered the red welt on one arm. Foolish child. He deserved the beating. LaCroix would not regret giving it. But perhaps, if he had known his son was still so weak and injured, he would have waited.

Lifting Nick in his arms, he flew to the bedroom and placed him in the center of the large bed. Natalie had given him a drug... that must have poisoned him. Somehow, it was blocking the vampire's ability to heal, and somehow, it was probably responsible for severing their psychic link. But how should he go about helping his son? Feeding him blood- any kind of blood- was out, until the boy's stomach healed. LaCroix went quickly to the kitchen for a knife. Then, sitting carefully next to Nicholas, he made a slit in his wrist and another in his son's. Holding the wounds together, he waited, expecting to feel the lightly erotic sensation of his blood being sucked into Nicholas. But there was nothing.

"Damn," he cursed. The drug was also inhibiting Nick's blood from taking what it so desperately needed! So what now? How to heal him? How to get the drug from his system?

Blood oozed between their wrists and flowed down Nick's almost lifeless arm. LaCroix's wrist had already healed. Nick's continued to bleed freely, pumping, gushing... LaCroix stared in horror for long moments. Such a small, slight wrist wound, and yet, Nick could easily bleed out. He wouldn't die... vampires didn't die. But he could become too weak to ever heal. He could be trapped for the rest of eternity in a broken body, forbidden life or even death.

LaCroix flew to the bathroom and searched the cupboards for help. He found a box of gauze bandages and adhesive tape- obviously left here by the coroner, as a vampire would not normally need such things. Rushing back to Nick, he folded a wad of gauze into a pad, then held it to the wound with enough pressure to slow the flood, wrapping gauze around and around, then securing it with the tape. The gauze was soon stained dark red, but the flow stopped.

He gently turned Nick onto his side again, and taped gauze over the exit wounds. Taking a towel, he wiped at the spilled blood, then settled Nick back down. The wounds in front had slightly scabbed. The surrounding tissue was dark red with yellow-orange coloring striating outward. LaCroix was not a doctor, but he recognized the signs of infection. Anger filled him completely. He contemplated a hundred painful ends for the coroner.... But later. Not now. Not when she might still be useful.

He pulled up a chair and settled in for the night, knowing he would never be able to sleep. He brought a bottle of blood and sipped at the horrible bovine product. Perhaps he should call Janette to bring him some supplies. He certainly did not wish to leave Nicholas alone, at the mercy of whatever mortal or enforcer happened by. He must remain here, alert and strong, to protect his favorite child.

Nick grew restless. He grunted, at times shouting, yet his words were unintelligible. His arms flailed about, warding off the phantom of his nightmare. Then he sat bolt upright; his eyes blue yet glazed with pain and terror.

LaCroix rushed to him, grasping his arms securely. "Sh, Nicholas. Just rest, my son," he whispered, first in English, and then in medieval French, hoping to reach beyond his son's delirium to comfort him. At least, with his vampiric abilities blocked, Nicholas was no stronger than a mortal and holding him was not difficult. He continued to struggle in his arms, though. LaCroix lay down, pulling Nick close to him. He held his arms pinned against his chest and gently stroking Nick's hair with one hand. He continued to whisper soothing words with a silken voice.

Gradually, Nicholas quieted. His body felt very warm and a fine sheen of red perspiration broke out all over. LaCroix shuddered before bending down to lightly taste the sweat. It tasted heavily of the drug. Perhaps the sweating was a good sign? Perhaps it would flush the drug from his system, given time. But was there any way to slow the spread of infection? LaCroix pulled the sheet down and examined the wounds on Nick's stomach again. The scabs had cracked and small streams of blood oozed around them. The red and orange coloring around each wound had grown, and now smelled foul. He covered them with gauze as well. Perhaps the coroner would need to be called, after all. He just could not do it. Nor could he be here with her. Nicholas would never forgive him if he killed her, but in all honesty, he doubted that his legendary control would protect her when he saw her again. Pulling his cell phone from a pocket, he placed a call to Janette.

Nick had another hellish spell while LaCroix waited for his daughter to come with the supplies he requested. He held him close, trying to calm the fears. Nick struggled against him, injuring himself more. The hallucinations must have been terrifying, as with mortal strength alone, he was far stronger than he should have been. Janette might be able to hold him, but Natalie never would. How ironic, if Nicholas should kill her himself, as a result of the failed "cure"? But no, LaCroix must prevent even that happy resolution, for Nick's sake.

Janette entered through the skylight, depositing a case of vintage human on the floor, and holding the handcuffs he had requested. "First, tell me why I should give these to you," she demanded quietly.

LaCroix stood, in a rare display of courtesy towards his daughter. Strange, he thought. She had always been easier to control, so why was it that Nicholas was the one he favored? True, when he had been mortal, women were considered less than nothing. And yet, he had learned to love his mortal daughter... Still, the lovely Janette, the aristocratic vampire, obeyed him only because he was her master and stronger. She enjoyed the sex between them when it was shared. But love? Through the blood exchange, he read such conflicting emotions in her. LaCroix wondered if she loved anyone. Even herself.

LaCroix indicated Nicholas, lying weak and helpless in the bed. "His "cure" has backfired yet again. I don't know if it is withdrawal from the drug, or from the fever of infection, but he is a danger to himself and should be restrained."

Janette must have sensed something in his words, perhaps the pain and anguish of a suffering parent. She handed the cuffs to him and watched wordlessly as LaCroix used them. First he wrapped extra layers of gauze around both wrists for padding, then snugly handcuffed him, running the center chain around a rail of the headboard. Most handcuffs would never hold a vampire, but LaCroix kept only the titanium-alloy heavy-duty variety. He had restrained Nicholas often in the past. Sometimes as punishment... sometimes in play.

"He looks terrible, LaCroix. I cannot even feel him," she whispered.

He nodded sadly, placing a tender kiss upon Nicholas's hot forehead. "When I have left, you will call the coroner and request that she come look at him."

"Hasn't she done enough harm for one lifetime?" Janette's words were filled with loathing.

"Yes, child. But she must live, at least for now, for Nicholas's sake. And I do not trust myself to even look at her. May I trust you?"

Janette glared at him. "Why must she be called?"

"The drug she has given him has repressed the vampire. He is not healing. He cannot take in blood- not even my own. And the infection of these wounds is further poisoning him. I don't know if she can help, but she must face the extent of the harm she has caused."

LaCroix looked up at the skylight briefly, assuring himself of the length of time yet before sunrise. Normally, he just knew these things, as the inner clock that had preserved him for two millennia warned him of impending dawn, but under times of stress he needed reassurance. He would need to feed very well tonight. In times like this, even the best bottled vintage did not provide the benefits of a fresh kill.

"I will return at dawn. See that the doctor is still here, and I will speak to her then."

Janette nodded. "Very well," she said. "You may trust me not to harm his little playmate."

LaCroix hugged her tightly, impulsively, shocking her with the strength of his concern. "Thank you, my daughter," he whispered. Then, in a moment, he was gone. The skylight thudded into place.

Janette had to look up the number, as memorizing the coroner's home phone had never been a priority. Even while she dialed, Nick began to struggle against the bonds that held him. She saw his eyes wide in fear yet completely blue as he screamed incoherently. He yanked on the chains, causing the bandage on one wrist to darken more with fresh blood. The entire bed trembled as he shook the headboard.

"Hello?" called a voice.

Janette put the phone to her ear and spoke. "Doctor. This is Janette. You need to come look at Nichola. Immediately."

The other woman sounded sleepy, yet concerned. "What is going on over there? What is all the shouting about?"

"It is Nichola. He is having some kind of seizure or something. He is really very ill, and it is all your fault."

Natalie stammered. "He seemed better last night when we said good-bye. I wanted to come over then, but he assured me he was fine..."

"He is a man!" Janette spat with exasperation. "At least, he thinks he is a man. What else would you expect him to say? He would have to be dying before he confessed to feeling less than perfect."

"I'll be right there," she answered before hanging up.

Janette stared smugly at the phone before returning it to her purse. Intimidation was such a useful skill. Then she slid next to Nick and tenderly touched his hot, sweaty face. "Mon amour, mon amour idiot!"

Nick stared at her and for one moment the haze of his confusion seemed to lift. His eyes looked clear and frightened. "He has left me, Janette," he whispered miserably. "I am alone!"

"No no, mon Cherie! He has only gone for a moment. He will return before dawn."

"I feel... cold," he whispered, still frightened and unsure.

Janette patted his cheek tenderly. "But my love, you are very hot. You are burning with fever."

Nick started to tremble. Even his teeth chattered weirdly. Goose bumps prickled the skin of his arms even as red blood-sweat dripped from his forehead. Janette pulled the sheet and cover up around his chest and tucked it in. He had a fit of coughing then, until a trickle of dark blood oozed from his lips. He closed his eyes and fell back into dreamless sleep.

"Unfixed" part two
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