Casualties of War (largely based on NiQ written by Gary Stephen Riek)
by Luc, March 2003

A Toronto Hospital, the present


Lacroix stood by Nick's hospital bed and looked down on his son. Nicholas lay 
unconscious, a thick bandage around his head. They had attached all the usual 
machines to him and he had made sure that these apparatuses transmitted 
'correct' human data. The expression on Lacroix's face was hard to read, a 
mixture of worry and satisfaction.
"Poor Nicholas. See where your mortal fascination has led you. He lifted 
Nick's arm from the bed and pulled the IV line from Nick's vein. "I suppose 
this was something important, wasn't it."  A sad smile stole across Lacroix's 
face as he took the scalpel from his pocket. Those machines couldn't help his 
son who was lying there with a bullet lodged in his brain. Nicholas needed a 
much stronger elixir. He pulled the sharp blade across his wrist, then took 
Nick's arm to repeat the procedure. As he pressed the wounds together so the 
blood could mingle, he closed his eyes. He felt only a soft tingling. It was 
no comparison to the ecstasy of sharing blood the 'usual' way.
"Quid pro quo, Nicholas. I always repay my debts. I do hope this wave of 
altruism passes quickly. It's quite distressing." He let out a derisive snort, 
"Welcome back to the world of the living, such as it is."
Nicholas started to toss in his bed and Lacroix looked at his wounded child. 
"Now we're even, Nicholas." His face darkened when he thought of the events of 
one fateful night. Sometimes he cursed the perfect memory of the vampire.


***

The Crimea 1853

Tiny shafts of sunlight fell through the cracked boards nailed over the 
windows, the torn drapes barely adequate to cover them. The sun illuminated 
the desolate state the house was in. Its owners had fled long before, 
abandoning their dwelling to seek refuge from the English and French troops. 
The soldiers had plundered the house, destroyed the furniture and left a 
barely habitable ruin.

Nicholas watched the minute particles of dust dance in the golden haze, 
keeping himself out of reach of the sun's deadly rays.  
He had his back to the prone figure lying on the bench behind him. A low moan 
made him turn and look down on his master. Lacroix was deathly pale except for 
the angry red burn marks on his face and hands. His white skin was a stark 
contrast to the deep blue of his uniform. Had he not been in this pitiable 
state, Lacroix could have posed for the model of a general. But as it was, the 
ancient vampire was hardly able to pose for anything: a large jagged splinter 
of wood was protruding from his chest.

He had found his master outside the ruined villa, barely conscious. For a tiny 
moment he had contemplated the possibility of leaving Lacroix to his fate, to 
let the rising sun finish what someone else had started. But then he had knelt 
down and cradled the mangled body of his sire in his arms and had carried him 
inside. 

Lacroix's eyes fluttered open but he was hardly able to focus on Nicholas. His 
voice was nothing but a whisper as he finally croaked, "Nicholas, be so good 
as to relieve me of this, will you." He indicated the stake in his chest with 
a barely discernible nod of his head. Nicholas looked down on him.
"Only if you tell me first how it got there."

Lacroix closed his eyes for a moment. The pain was excruciating. Every second 
the stake remained buried in his flesh brought him closer to death. The only 
reason that he wasn't dead yet was that he had been feeding as the staff was 
driven through his chest.
"An instant of improvidence. A soldier's last lucky blow in battle. I was 
about to dispense a merciful end to his suffering when he managed to inflict 
this inconvenience on me."

Nicholas turned away in disgust. Like a vulture, Lacroix followed war and fed 
off the unfortunate ones that remained on the battlefield. The same 
unfortunate souls that he, in his current incarnation as a doctor, tried to 
save.
"Such ingratitude," he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. Lacroix chose to 
ignore it.
"Yes, it is increasingly unpleasant, and more than a little annoying. The 
soldier has been dispatched to hell," he gulped visibly, " as I will shortly 
be, if you do not help me, that is."
Nicholas brought his face close to his father's. The smile playing around his 
lips was utterly cruel. "It is an interesting dilemma, isn't it?"
"Yes, I wish you would remember that our relationship hasn't always been that 
difficult."
The smile vanished from Nicholas' face as unbidden memories flooded his mind. 
He turned his back to Lacroix so that the elder one wouldn't be able to see 
his expression. Lacroix was right, of course. Their relationship had been 
different once. For a short time after he had become a vampire, he had been 
happy in Lacroix's presence, had felt loved and cherished by his sire. But 
then he had begun to seek independence and Lacroix had started to torture him, 
mentally and physically, to secure his 'loyalty'.
A spark of hope ignited in the back of his mind. This could be his chance, 
Lacroix was at his mercy.

He turned back and steeled his voice, "I will help you and then I will go on 
my own way without you. It's time I moved on  at least for a while." The last 
words had been meant as a thought only but Nicholas heard himself speak them 
aloud.
Lacroix closed his eyes in consent.
"Of course. I only hope that you will consider that you chose to remain with 
me for so long of your own volition. You really do like me, you just don't 
know that you do"
Nicholas gnashed his teeth as Lacroix's last remark hit home. The older one 
gasped as a new wave of agony hit him.
"Now, s'il vous plait."
  
Nicholas walked around the bench, then placed his foot on Lacroix's shoulder 
to pin him down. He gripped the stake tightly and felt his master tense in 
anticipation.
Nicholas yanked hard and the stake came free, leaving Lacroix's flesh with a 
sickening sucking sound that was drowned by the older vampire's animalistic 
scream of pain.
Lacroix fell back, unconscious.

Nicholas towered over him, waiting for his father to open his eyes. But 
nothing happened. Lacroix still lay there, deadly still and surprisingly frail 
looking, no longer imposing and intimidating. Nicholas started to feel 
uncomfortable. The gaping hole in Lacroix's chest wasn't closing as it should 
have. Could it be that instead of saving his sire he had killed him, damaging 
the heart beyond repair? He strained his ears for any sound from the older 
man.

There, a slight tremor, almost invisible, then a soft moan. Then Lacroix 
opened his eyes and licked his parched lips. Nicholas knew what to do. He 
loosened his cuff, rolled back his sleeve and cut his wrist with a small pen-
knife he had taken out of his pocket. Blood welled up in the gash and formed a 
small rivulet that ran down his arm. He placed it over Lacroix's mouth and let 
the blood drip onto the elder's lips. Lacroix greedily lapped at the blood, 
then reached for Nicholas' arm and tore into the proffered wrist, drawing 
deeply of his son's essence.
The burns started to heal immediately and the hole in his chest was closing as 
new flesh knitted itself over bones. 

Nicholas closed his eyes that had surely turned amber and let the orgasmic 
sensation of his father's feeding wash over him. Every time felt like that 
first time when Lacroix's fangs had  pierced his still mortal flesh. This was 
different from their usual blood sharing, though. They hadn't completed the 
circle, so only very little came back from across their link now and he felt 
his fangs itch to bury themselves in his master's neck. But Lacroix was too 
weak to share and Nicholas knew that. So he concentrated on their mental bond 
to make out his father's feelings.

What he found there left him speechless.
He could feel rage that Nicholas wanted to leave, humiliation that his son had 
seen him like this and  sadness, deep, true sadness. His master was afraid to 
be left alone.

He wanted to draw back but Lacroix held his wrist in a vicelike grip. So 
Nicholas let him feed longer than he had wanted to. Finally, after Lacroix 
loosened his hold, he shook his arm free. Lacroix fell back down and with a 
little sigh drifted off to healing sleep. Knowing they were trapped for the 
remainder of the day, Nicholas looked around to make himself comfortable. He 
cleared the floor next to the wall that faced the bench where Lacroix lay, 
gathered some cushions to sit on and slid down, back slumped against the wall. 
He licked the wounds on his wrist and the taste of his own blood calmed him, 
but it didn't satisfy his growing hunger. Lacroix had taken a lot and Nicholas 
felt dizzy. He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to 
make sense of what he had experienced through their link.

He and Lacroix had shared blood countless times over the centuries they had 
traveled together, and not only blood. Lacroix had told him that he loved him, 
usually in the heat of passion, but Nicholas couldn't remember a single time 
when his master had told him that he'd miss him if he left. If he needs me, 
why hasn't he told me? Nicholas felt a lump in his throat. Tears welled up in 
his eyes and knowing that Lacroix wouldn't see him crying, he let them come. 
All these centuries he had been treated like a prized pet, a favorite toy, but 
never as an equal. He felt exhaustion overwhelm him and with a last look upon 
his father's sleeping form he sobbed, "Why didn't you just tell me?"

Nicholas tried to concentrate on what to do next. Although he would heal much 
more quickly than any young vampire, Lacroix, having escaped death too 
narrowly, would need care for a couple of days and he would stay with him. 
Lacroix would have done the same for him, Nicholas knew that. 


***

Shortly before sunset, Nicholas awoke with a start, the hunger gnawing 
mercilessly at his innards. Before he could do anything about Lacroix, he 
would have to feed. He listened but the sounds of battle had subsided and only 
the groans of the wounded and dying reached his ears.
A shiver of self-disgust ran through him at the thought of what he was about 
to do. He would have to resort to the same method of feeding he loathed 
Lacroix for: taking blood from the casualties of war.

He stepped out of the house and the last dying rays of the sun prickled on his 
skin, not strong enough to cause real pain. He cast out his senses and 
searched for the sound of a dying heart. If he was forced to feed this way, he 
would at least take it from someone who was beyond help.

He followed the slowing, faltering heartbeat to a fallen Russian. The man 
looked at him with glassy eyes and when Nicholas bit down and drained the rest 
of his life away, his face radiated peace. Nicholas fed on two other dying 
soldiers to replenish what Lacroix had taken and what his master was about to 
take, as he would have to feed from him again.

He took to the air to quickly reach the village. He procured a room in one of 
the inns and made sure it could be sealed off against the daylight. Then he 
returned to the ruined house where Lacroix was tossing in a restless sleep. He 
shook him slightly to bring him to consciousness, then offered him his wrist. 
While Lacroix fed, Nicholas once again concentrated on his father's emotions. 
This time he was not saddened by the feelings. Instead he felt immeasurable 
rage well up inside him. How dare the elder one treat him like a possession. 
Nicholas shook his hand free and grabbed Lacroix's arms. He heaved the other 
over his shoulder and flew them both back to the inn. 

He put Lacroix on the wide bed.
The other had dropped off to sleep again but it wouldn't be long until he 
would have regained his former strength and his old arrogance. There was one 
way to revenge himself on Lacroix and Nicholas was prepared to take it. He 
threw himself across his master, ripped away the collar of the uniform and 
buried his fangs deep in the alabaster flesh. He would only take little but 
enough to make sure Lacroix would remain weak enough to be controlled. The 
elder vampire's eyes had shot open at the attack and he snarled and writhed 
under him, trying to fight him off, but Nicholas' weight pinned him down and 
the iron grip of his son's hand held his head and fangs to the side.

Nicholas drew heavily, reading his father's emotions in the blood and making 
them his own. His eyes flared crimson when Lacroix's realization of his son's 
betrayal came through to him in the blood. Nicholas didn't care. He reveled in 
his own power over his master and as he withdrew his fangs from Lacroix's neck 
he threw his head back and laughed. A laughter so cold and cruel that Lacroix, 
only half-conscious beneath him, cringed.

"Nicholas, what has gotten into you? Stop this foolish behavior at once! Who 
do you think you are?"
"I'm me, Lacroix, Nicholas de Brabant. I am not your possession or slave. I am 
me and if you are not willing to accept this, I will force you.!"
Lacroix struggled to get his hands free but Nicholas was simply too strong for 
him at the moment.
"Nicholas, I warn you. This will not go unpunished!" Lacroix tried to keep his 
voice calm but he couldn't quite hide the tremor.
"Do you remember Dublin, Lacroix?"
"No!"
"Liar. But if you insist, I will freshen up your memory."
"Nicholas, don't. Please." 
The last was only a whisper but Lacroix didn't want to be reminded of what he 
had done to Nicholas then. But of course he remembered it as clearly as if it 
had happened yesterday and not more than two centuries before.

He and Nicholas had given in to their passion and during their lovemaking he 
had allowed Nicholas to take him, for the first time ever. The morning after, 
frightened by his own slip of control, he had brutalized and raped Nicholas. 
His son had taken the first chance to escape, boarding a ship to the new 
colonies in America, seeking refuge among Puritan settlers. Of course he had 
found him. That's when this annoying habit of Nicholas trying to run away had 
started.

"I see that you do remember."
Lacroix looked up. Nicholas had sent these words through their link. That 
meant that he had read his thoughts before. Lacroix groaned. He was so weak 
that he couldn't even shield his thoughts anymore.
"I am your master, Nicholas, I do as I please. I needed to teach you a lesson 
that day."
"'Teach me a lesson'," Nicholas snorted. "Oh, you taught me a fine lesson. Do 
you have any idea of what you did to me."
Lacroix turned away, not wanting to see the look of anguish in his son's face. 
Nicholas cupped his father's chin with one hand and forced Lacroix to look at 
him.
"I loved you. I felt safe in your arms and protected by you, but you had to 
destroy it all."

At this Lacroix was at a loss for words. He simply didn't know what to say. Of 
course he felt sorry for what he did, but he would never tell Nicholas that. 
He, Lucien Lacroix, was Nicholas' master. He would never apologize to his 
creation. 

Nicholas felt Lacroix's rage in the movements of the body beneath him. He was 
aroused by the older one squirming against him and every 'moral' barrier he 
might have had against attacking his master crumbled away. He tilted Lacroix's 
head to the side and sank his fangs in once again. He was deliberately fierce 
in his bite and as his fangs tore his sire's flesh, the other groaned in pain.

He couldn't take too much, it was never his intention to kill Lacroix. No, he 
wanted him to feel what it was like to be abused by the one you thought loved 
you. He drew slowly, tasting the growing hatred and rage, the desperate need 
for retaliation and … something he had never tasted in Lacroix's blood before: 
fear.

"You fear me, Lacroix. Admit it."
"Don't be childish, Nicholas," the other seethed. He closed his eyes, trying 
to shield his feelings from his son. Obviously without much success.
He felt the little strength he had regained since the staking slowly drain out 
of his veins. He was in no position to fight. If Nicholas wanted to kill him, 
he couldn't put up much resistance.

A stinging pain brought him back. Nicholas was slapping him. Gods, this was 
the exact replaying of the scene in the dark bedroom two hundred years before, 
when he had forced Nicholas to admit his need for punishment.
Only, the principal roles were reversed. 
"You know, Nicholas, that I will kill you for this," he hissed weakly.
"Oh," Nicholas replied in mock fear, then in cold earnest, "Why should I fear 
death? You've already killed me a thousand times over, and I would finally be 
free."
"Then why don't you put an end to this? Take the axe from the wall over there 
and finish me off."
"Don't tempt me, Lacroix, but  …I haven't finished with you yet. I will pay 
you back in full." He started to undo his trousers.
Lacroix closed his eyes.
 
***
Nicholas breathed in the salty air as he walked along the beach. He had left 
Lacroix lying on the bed at the inn, after…
He closed his eyes. Shame burned on his cheeks when he thought of what he had 
done. Sure, it had felt good at the moment. He had taken revenge for every 
injury his father had inflicted on him that day so long ago. But now…
How could he have sunk to the same depths as him. He was no better, no, he was 
exactly the same monster that Lacroix was.
He stopped dead in his tracks as something hit him across the link with 
Lacroix. Death and blood. His sire had killed and was feeding. I will get you 
for this, Nicholas. No matter how far you run, I will get you!
Nicholas panicked and ran off into the night.

***

The Present

His footsteps rang hollow as Lacroix crossed the Raven's empty dancefloor to 
the bar. A bottle of the house special was waiting for him there. Of course he 
had sensed Nicholas the very second he had entered. His son was physically 
healed but his confusion was palpable. Not all of his memories had come back 
yet. Lacroix wondered if it wouldn't be better if this remained so.
As Nicholas stepped out of the shadows, he barely acknowledged him but instead 
poured himself a glass.

"Nicholas, I'm so glad that you're well," he couldn't quite hide the sarcasm 
in his voice, "What brings you in? A social call? Some urgent police matter 
perhaps?"
Nick leaned on the bar and looked at him, slightly confused at his sire's dark 
mood, but then he picked up Lacroix's mocking tone.
"No, just a feeling. I'm guessing you can fill in the blanks for me."
Lacroix arched his brows as Nick leaned closer. "Help me figure out who I am," 
the smile on Nick's lips was mischievously sensual, "All of who I am."
"It's nearly dawn. You'll have to spend the day here with me I'm afraid. You 
have plenty of time?"
"Eternity so I'm told."
"Good. Because what you are, Nicholas, is a long, long story." 

A half-smile appeared on Lacroix's lips. Nicholas felt something radiate from 
him, but he couldn't make out what it was.
"Lacroix, has something happened?"
Lacroix flinched a little as Nick put his hand on his father's arm in a 
consoling gesture.
"It's only something I remembered. Something from long ago." He closed his 
eyes briefly and his face became level again. "Would you care for a drink 
before we begin?"
Nick nodded and watched intently as Lacroix poured him a glass. A stab of 
hunger bolted through him at the sight of the blood, but deep inside he knew 
that he craved more than that.
"Come, Nicholas, let's get a little more comfortable, shall we?" 

Lacroix got up, took the bottle from the bar and led them to the backroom of 
the Raven. He sat down on the comfortable couch and somewhat absentmindedly 
sipped his drink.
"Lacroix?" Nick looked at him expectantly.
"Yes, let's begin. What would you like to know?"
"Well, I remember quite a lot now and Nat put me up to date with what happened 
during my time here in Toronto. I think most of it will come back with time, 
but some things are still … I don't remember much about us, Lacroix."
"Us?"
"What kind of relationship do we have?"
"One too complicated to explain in these short hours until sunset. Do you 
really want to know everything about us, Nicholas?"
"Yes."
"Then come. This is the fastest and most 'comprehensive' way to experience 
it."

The elder unbuttoned his shirt and let it slide over his shoulders. Nick held 
his breath at the sight of the ancient vampire's perfect form. His skin was 
glowing in the dim light of the room. Lacroix turned to him and opened his 
arms.
"Come my son, feed, and you will know everything."
Nicholas let himself be swept into the embrace and as his head was guided to 
that perfect neck, he felt his eyes glow and his fangs drop.
 
The images coming to him in the blood were overwhelming. He re-experienced the 
night of his creation, the time of being tutored by Lacroix, loving Janette. 
At the memories of shared passion with both his companions, a low moan escaped 
his lips. But all of a sudden he tore away from Lacroix, the expression on his 
face one of shock and horror, and the older one knew what memories Nicholas 
had just re-lived.
"Lacroix, I … I … there was something. You hurt me and … I hurt you back. It 
was horrible. Did we really do that to each other?"
"Yes, Nicholas, I'm afraid we did."
"But why didn't you kill me."
"You only avenged yourself, Nicholas, and revenge is a feeling that I can 
relate to. And," he cupped Nick's face in his hands, "how could I have killed 
you? You have always been my most precious child."
"But you swore revenge."
"And I tried to get it by hurting everyone who was dear to you. What did I get 
from it? In the end you almost managed to kill me."
"Father, I'm sorry."
Lacroix looked into Nicholas' eyes and he saw that the remorse was real.
He ran his hand through Nick's hair and pulled his son's head back to his 
chest. He cradled him like one would hold a frightened child.
"I'm sorry too, my son. Can you ever forgive me?"
Nick looked up.
"I can and I will forgive you, father."

He settled again against Lacroix's chest. Nick closed his eyes and enjoyed the 
silky cool feeling of the skin against his cheek. Some of the other memories 
were slowly coming back, drifting into his consciousness like shadows. 
Lacroix's voice was only a soft breath, "Did you read in my blood why I …," he 
swallowed hard, "…abused you?"  
"Yes, you were afraid to lose your control over me because…"
"Because I loved you so much, because I still love you so much."
"I never wanted to turn against you, Lucien. I was always just running from 
myself. What hurt me so much back then, made me rage against you in the end, 
was that you never told me that, instead you treated me like a possession."
"I know that, Nicholas. That's what we are, you and I, mon fils, we are both 
casualties of our own war. It is still very difficult for me to tell you all 
that now. Give us time, give me time, please?"
"Yes, Lucien."
"And you must see my point as well, Nicholas: I can't treat you as my equal. I 
am so much older than you and you are my son. Treating you as my equal would 
ruin my standing within the community, but there is something I can promise 
you. I will stop interfering with your life."
"I can accept that, Lucien." Nick turned and fixed his gaze to Lacroix's.
"There were other things I saw in your blood. Good times…," His voice dwindled 
into a whisper, a slight hint of embarrassment in it. "…I saw passion between 
us and I want to experience it again."
Lacroix only arched his brows and poured Nick another glass.
Who knows, maybe there's hope after all.

The End (for now)