Always two there are. No more. No less.

~tarotgal

 

            Huddled in a dark corner of a Parisian alleyway, he felt the feeling pass through him. He was near. Nicholas clung to the crumbling brinks of the wall. Perhaps if he did not move…

            The great shadow of his master appeared through the smoke. “Nicholas,” he spoke with his usual air of nobility and condescension. “Behind all that filth, yes, I know it is you. Come out of there and start behaving like the creature you are.”

            A pair of hurt eyes gleamed back. Then he hissed. But there was no place for him, no others like him he could possibly turn to, no friendly smile waiting for him an alley over. As much as he did not like it, he had to turn to this man to learn. He had to live. He stood, wiping his sleeve under his nose. “LaCroix…”

            “Hush, Nicholas. I shall take you home. Janette has missed you. I… have missed you.”

*          *            *

“The night's over, Knight. Hey, that sounds kinda funny, huh?” Detective Skankee patted his partner on the back. “Go home before you get the whole office sick.”             “What?” Detective Nick Knight lifted his head from his desk. “Oh I'm not sick, just tired.”             Skankee shrugged. “Whatever, Partner. Just take it easy. We've got a big case to crack and I don't want to be flying solo. G'night.”             With a glance at his watch, he smiled. 4:55am. “G'morning. See you tonight.” He packed up and drove home.

            The loft was as empty as always. He was having another strong craving and something about it was not sitting well with him. After grabbing a half bottle from the fridge, he collapsed onto his couch and punched at the remote. The blinds slowly came closed and locked into place for the day. And the stereo came on with the sweet, soft sounds of a forgotten French composition. He licked his lips, letting the warming blood sit in his mouth a moment before sliding down his throat. Too cold. Too dead. Too cow. It was making his head hurt and his stomach churn, but he was too hungry to stop until it was drained to the last drop. He wondered how much he would have to do to get a fresh batch of real blood from Natalie. Or perhaps… perhaps he would find some druggie scum to bust and take him down in his own way…  Nick snapped out of his thoughts. No. This was fine, he assured himself. He rubbed at his head, hoping the sick feeling would remove itself from his body long enough to finish and nap for the day. All would be right after this dinner and a good day's sleep.

            Leaving the empty bottle on the coffee table, he retired to his black silk sheets of the otherwise empty King-sized bed. His body gave way to them and in the darkness his eyes fell closed.

 

 

            Nick awoke sometime around four in the afternoon, finding himself in a truly miserable state. His nose was clogged with congestion; so much so that it had been his own terrible snoring that woke him. Very disconcerting. He felt warmer than usual, and though not hungry, he craved the taste of warm, French blood. Suddenly a strange feeling passed over him- one he had not felt for hundreds of years. His face scrunched up, then relaxed, then tightened to form a strong, “ahchah!” His hand quickly clamped over his mouth and nose. Had he really sneezed? Understandable had it been dust or a misplaced feather, but simply sneeze? Surely not. Vampires do not get— “ehchoo! ahh-Choo!” Vampires do not— “ahhTchah!” Vampires don't get si— “ahh-chaoo!” Vampires don't get sick!

            He groaned, dragging himself to stand and acquire a few squares of toilet tissue to clean himself off. One look at the paper showed him tiny spots of blood. This couldn't be good. “ahhChishh! ahhChah! ehChooo! Sniff!” Feeling the need to sleep, he dragged himself back to bed. But the sneezey feeling in his nose would simply not leave. Nick brought his arm up to sneeze into the crook of his elbow. “Ahhchich! Ah-chumph!” He blinked teary eyes and got up to retrieve the entire roll of toilet paper. This wasn't natural. This wasn't supposed to be happening. In all his centuries, he'd never so much as caught a sniffle, and had never heard of a vampire having so much as one.  It was a miserable, liquidy feeling throughout him. Too weak to get up and do anything and too unsettled to fall back to sleep. His nose felt stuffy, his sinuses congested, and he couldn't remember how to blow his nose. Frustrated, he willed himself back to sleep, hoping this was simply a terrible nightmare he would soon awake from.

            It was only a few hours later when Nick again woke and to his surprise, it was indeed real and felt much worse. “ehhChoo! AhhTichoo!” Was this what a mortal cold felt like? He could not remember. Dressing warmly for work, he decided that he'd do his best to hide whatever this was. He was a vampire, after all, and they were the most skilled at hiding of any creature alive.

 

            Skankee was already there, sifting through work on his desk. He looked up with a fading smile to see Nick. “Hey… whoa, you don't look so good.”

            He sniffed strongly. On the drive over, his nose has begun running, which made it tickle, and he learned that by sniffling enough the urge to sneeze died down. “I'm fine.”

            “You look pale. Even moreso than usual.”

            “I'm fine,” Nick reiterated with a tone that told his partner to drop the observations.

            “K… sure… you ready to get going with this case? We've got some interviews to conduct… Knight?”

            Nick was wiggling his nose, staring forward with concentration. Maybe if he got in control and willed it… “ehCHIISHHH!” No such luck.

            Skankee pulled out his handkerchief and handed it over. “I'll do the interviews right after I drop you at home.”

            As much as Nick did not want to give in and take mortal sick leave… he wasn't quite sure what was happening, either. And if something wrong were happening, the best place he could be was home. But at the same time, he could feel his eyes straying to Skankee's neck in thirst and he wasn't at all sure he should be left alone with his friend. All together too dangerous. There was no way he could trust himself in this mysterious condition.

            “Thanks, but I'll drive home myself. sniffle Need to pick up sniffle some things, anyway.”

            Skeptically, “You sure, Bud?”

            “Yes.” With a decisive nod. “I'll be fine.”

            Skankee grabbed his coat. “All right, Nick. See you tomorrow night. Feel better!”

            Another nod. “Thanks.” After paying a visit to the captain and getting a similar 'feel better' from her, he left for home and bed. He stopped by a drug store on the way back to purchase some tissues, just in case he should have to suffer with this longer than expected. On the way home, he habitually flipped on the radio.

            There was silence a while, then LaCroix's deep, rich voice poured from the airwaves. “We can never escape what we are. Every organism on this pathetic little planet has a sense of it, right down to the smallest bloodworm. All… save the humans. Lives are lived as if they will all become more than what they were born to. Each has dreams, each has some degree intelligence, but each is limited and bound by the sense that they are what they are. There is no going against the laws of ones' species. And yet, there are those times of special, unique circumstances… Listen, my children, to the Nightcrawler.”

            He turned it off as he parked the car, then flew to his room rather than taking the lift. He felt tired and did not want to bother with the human way right now. He could feel that no one was watching. Nick changed into his red silk pajamas and made straight for the fridge. As he rummaged through a few bottles he felt a cold shadow creep up behind him.

            Turning on heel, he faced the intruder with a grumble and an impatient sigh. “LaCroix. What are you doing here?”

            The vampire master paced in front of Nick for a full minute, in which time Nick did all he could short of holding his nose shut to keep from sneezing. Finally, LaCroix stopped and peered down at him. “I have once heard of this, but never would have believed it. Perhaps…” he spoke lightly, with a grin, “perhaps it was someone you ate, Nicholas?”

            Nick scowled. His master knew very well that he did not drink human blood any more. There were morals. There were standards. There were hopes. There was the fact that he could not drink of what he once was, or what he wanted to again become. “Is there… ahhh…” he rubbed at his nose, scared to show his sneeze to his master. But it was too strong. He covered his nose and mouth with his hand. “ah-Ehshoo! AhhChoo! AhHehtchh!”

            LaCroix flinched and backed up, bringing a proper handkerchief up and over his own nose and mouth. “Ug… how revolting. You could almost pass for a human in this condition, Nicholas.”

            Nick muttered something hateful under his breath.

            “I pray, tell me how you feel?”

            Nick shrugged. “I feel as if I could let out another one of these sniffle horrid sneezes any second. Sniff! My nose is clogged, throat a little dry, and I'm a little warmer than I should be. Hold… hold on. I think another-ahhh…ahhIhshoo! AhhCheoo! Sniffle.”

            LaCroix backed up another few steps, warily.

            Nick caught it this time. “You sniff don't think this could spread, do you?”

            “I know not. But I know of some who might. I will see what I can find.”

            Nick rolled his eyes as walked to his bed, two bottles and the box of tissues in his hands. He scowled again and grumbled, “Don't sniff do me any sniff favors.”

            LaCroix hovered a moment, as if wanting to say something or do something else, and then was gone in his usual manor, leaving Nick to his own devices.

            He covered up in bed, propping himself up enough to make drinking easier, then set to work on gulping down the blood as fast as he could. With every taste, his hunger diminished but his thirst for the real thing increased. By the second bottle, he'd just about had it and it was all he could do to keep inside his room. His fangs grew in, his eyes grew yellow, and he pounded weakly at the window of his bedroom every time a bit of movement on the street below caught his heightened senses. Warm, lush, rich blood. His nails scratched against the glass and his morals pulled him back. “EhhTshah! Ahtchah!” The sneezes whipped his head downward in loose, spraying spasms. They only made him grow angrier as his nose ran uncontrollably.

            Suddenly, there was the buzzer.

            Eyes glowing in curiosity, he was at the door in a flash. Perhaps… just one little bite would not hurt too much…

            “Nick? It's Nat. Come on, it's me.”

            He snapped back to reality, fear and morality outweighing his instincts—this time. “Natalie?” He undid the locks and let her in. “What are you doing here?”

            She stepped inside, putting down a bag. Nick was instantly overcome with the smell of blood. Had she brought some for him or was he simply attracted to her? Either way, she was here and looked gorgeous. Long dirty-blond hair flowing down in curls. Stunning blue eyes. “I heard you'd taken a sick day and got a bit concerned. You look horrible, Nick. I thought vampires didn't get sick.”

            He sniffled, rubbing his wrist beneath his nose. “We aren't sniff supposed to.”

            “Poor baby,” she cooed, reaching up and feeling his forehead. “You even feel a little warm.” She brought her hand down, looking at the tiny droplets of blood he had sweat. This couldn't be good for him. “Why don't you go lie down in bed. I've brought you a few things.”

            He was hesitant. “Nat, I…”

            “Hush. You're sick. Somehow, you're sick. And until I can figure out what it is and how to help, we're going to treat you like any other sick human being on this planet, all right?”

            He nodded. “Except that I'm not sniffle a human being.” He made his way back to bed and she set the package down on the end of it, taking out some of the usuals -tissues, a hot/cold pack- and some of the unusuals- a small cooler with packs of blood therein, a needle and blood-testing kit.

            “Are you thirsty?” she asked, rubbing his leg comfortingly as she prepared the needle.

            He nodded, despite himself.

            “Just a small bit here and then you can have some of the refreshments I brought along.”

            Nick barely felt the needle or draining of his blood, but he did feel the soft touch of her skin against his. Her heart beat in his ears, the sound of her blood rushed through his veins. The smell of her hair caught his nose as a lock brushed his cheek, so near that he could have caught her neck without even having to move from under the covers. The thought immediately disturbed him. “Nat, I need something now.”

            She caught the urgency in his voice. “All right.” She took out a pack and handed it to him.

            Thirsty as he was, he hesitated. He didn't want to suck out of a plastic baggy. He wanted it live, pumping into his mouth, warming his bones. “Is it…”

            “Cow, yes, sure is.”

            His stomach churned and he thought for a moment he might burst. But he pushed it back towards her. “Can you sniffle warm it for me?”

            Puzzled a moment, she then nodded. “Of course. Be back in a few minutes.”

            It was all he could do to keep from going to her in the kitchen, but the smell of the blood and the assurance that it would soon be his kept him firmly anchored.

            “Here you go, Nick.”

            He grabbed the cup out of her hands, pouring it into his mouth like the basest of animals. Trails ran from the corners of his mouth to his chin, then down his neck. In the middle of it all, he felt a tickle come forth in his nose and he swallowed before it happened. “AhhChoo! EhhCheoo! Sniff!”

            Natalie was there with tissues, handing them to him.

            “Thags,” he replied, taking them and rubbing at his still ticklish nose.

“Blow you nose,” she commanded, stroking his head in comfort.

            He froze a moment, puzzled.

            She took a tissue and put it to her own nose. “Like this,” she explained, muffled through the tissue. She blew lightly, not having much there to blow. He watched carefully and imitated her, blowing hard into the tissue. He found his nose in a much better state afterward but looked down at the tissue to find it had been diluted blood to come out. It only made him feel thirstier.

            “Nat…”

            “Call me if you need anything and I'll bring it right over. I'll be at the lab analyzing this and trying to figure out what's happened… Nick? Are you all right?”

            He closed his eyes. He'd been staring at her neck… intently. Just a little was all he needed. She would understand, wouldn't she? He needed something, after all. But there was no way he could do it. This was Natalie. Natalie was sweet, she was pure, she was angelic, she was love. She needed to go. She had to go. In a whisper, “Go, Nat.”

            “Really, Nick, if you need—“

            “GO!” he yelled, opening his eyes to reveal bright green pupils. “And don't come back until I am better!” He hissed and grabbed at the second cup she had warmed for him, hoping it would appease him until she was far from his place. Natalie turned with her purse and kit and darted out, closing everything behind her.

*                      *                      *

By early the next night, Nick was fairly confident that this was no minor tickle in his nose. His sneezes came seconds apart now, and the blood loss was massive. He was drinking twice his normal amount and had to have Janette send over more from The Raven. He warned her not to send a vampire with the delivery and to certainly not comer herself. Given the sound of his voice and sneezes, she understood the urgency and importance. Nick was miserable. Not the angst-ridden I-want-to-be-human-or-die-trying miserable, but truly I-think-I-am-dying miserable. She followed his request to the tee and promised him a kiss from when he recovered. Sweet Janette.

            “hah-choo! hehChumph! ahcheoo!” he sneezed freely, grabbing a tissue from the box just on the next pillow over and rubbing at his nose with it. He blew until he blew through it, then took up a few more tissues. His nose ran profusely and the urge to sneeze simply wouldn't leave. He sat there panting, tongue practically hanging out, eyes half open, nostrils flaring. His handsome face was paler than death itself. His curly dark blonde hair was tangled and matted. “ahhShish! cah-choo!” His bedclothes hung loosely over his thin form, soaked in a few places from blood sweat. His sheets were a tangled mess, but covered him as much as they could in attempts at staying warm, or at the least comfortable in his misery. Tissues lay strewn about in every direction on floor and bed, and empty bottles, packages, and containers lay everywhere else. “ahhchoo! hehshoo! ihhhhh… ahhCHISHH!” This was death. It had to be.

            Riiiiiiiiing! Riiiiiiiing! Riiiiiiiiing! Click. 'Hello, you've reached Nick night. I'm either not home or asleep. Leave your message at the tone.' Beeep!

            “Nick? It's Nat. I'm still working on this. From what these tests tell me, you… well, you simply have a bad cold. It doesn't look like it's fighting it too well, but considering you're supposed to be dead… I'll keep working, Nick. I'll find something; I know I will. Feel better.”

            Beeep!

            He groaned and rolled over, arms around his stomach. All he wanted was to feel like his old self again. All he wanted was to be normal, not sick. Natalie could do nothing for him except give herself over, and he feared that more than any sneezes from any illness.

            A sudden chill passed over him.

            “How are you, Nicholas?”

            Nick looked up weakly to find LaCroix standing at the foot of his bed. “Whad sniff do you wadt?”

            His voice was low, raspy, and perfectly normal for him. “Despite what you may think, my son, I want to help you.”

            Nick perked up a little. “Do you sniffle dow whad dis is? ahhh… hehAhshoo! Sniff!”

            “I believe I may have come upon both problem and solution. Are you having cravings, Nicholas?” he spoke his name gently, over-pronouncing the 'k' sound and leaving off the 's' as was his style when speaking perfect French. “Tell me, do you long for the rich, hot blood of a beautiful woman?”

            Weak and ailing, his urges came before his morals. There was will to survive if there was a way. “ah-ahCHISH! Sniff! Yes, sniff, Baster.”

            “Nicholas,” he paced in front of the bed with as much explanation as was needed, or as much as he felt his son could take in his present condition. “For years you've hated me for what you are. You've hated yourself. You've wanted to become,” he spoke the word as if it were the greatest of foul words in the history of the world, “human.” He spat out the sentiment then cleared his throat. “And a cold, Nicholas, is what these humans get. Whatever means you are taking of becoming what you want to be, is opening you up to such problems of humanity. However, unlike mortals, we vampires cannot repair ourselves to fight against illness. Your blood is not like that of a human's… you were not meant to have a cold, and you were not meant to drink the blood of a cow. For as long as you deny what you are, Nicholas, you will suffer like this. You will sneeze and sniffle and do all the extremely typical things that mortals do when with a cold until you are too weak to do them any longer.  That is, until you die. Are you weak, Nicholas?”

            A head bobbed up and down, then snapped forward from the force of another sneeze. “ehhCheoo! Sniff!”

            “What are you, Nicholas? Are you a dead mortal… or a live vampire?”

            He was slow to reply. To die in a hundred degrees of suffering, or to admit what he was to the man who made his world grow cold?

            “What do you feel like, my son?”

            After a moment, he whispered with a hiss, “I ab… a vabbire.”

            LaCroix went to his bed and lifted his student out. Nick's shivering body clung to his master's for what little warmth the cold man had. LaCroix offered over his wrist to the young vampire and Nicholas sunk his teeth into it, gaining threads of strength from the pure bloodstream. Then he buried his face against his Master's chest, almost sobbing at the thought of what he must do. LaCroix held him close, offering what he could but still letting him know what must happen.

LaCroix flew with Nick to the outskirts of the town, to a back alleyway, where a woman lay dying a slow death of the mugged homeless. Without even thinking, Nick pounced on the pray, delivering her to Heaven as her blood went to his own personal Hellish cause. It was hot, strong, rich, healthy blood, and he drained every ounce of it, sucking, gulping, licking. When he was done, he stood, feeling the tickle back down from his nose. He blew his nose a last time into a tissue from his pocket and reveled in the change as the strength returned to him. With tears in his eyes, he picked up the dead body and kissed the forehead gently. He would give her a beautiful burial. He owed her that much.

            “Your morals are not too overcome by this, I see?” LaCroix asked rhetorically, patting Nick on the back. "It was about life, Nicholas... not immortality."

            Nick gave a soft nod, placing his hand upon his Master's chest, a chest he had once dreamed of running a steak through. “Merci beaucoup, Master.”

            A strong hand patted his back once more. “De rein, mon fils.”