HAPPILY EVER AFTER...
(Forever Knight)
by Nancy W.
e-mail: tannervin@aol.com
Rating PG
Characters: All

This is a sequel to the collectively unhappy events of the third
season.

----------------------------------------------

--- ONE ---

LaCroix hadn't staked him. He knew that from the throbbing headache
that woke him up...

Wait a minute. Vampires didn't get headaches. Unless they had been
shot in the head with a teflon-coated, armor-piercing, cop-killer
bullet. Not LaCroix's style.

Where was Natalie?

Gone... GONE!! And so was LaCroix. Damn him!

Was it daylight outside? He should know, but he didn't. He opened
the blinds for a peek. Good. Still dark.

He threw open the window and leaped through it...

When he awoke the second time, his headache was even worse, and this
time his chin and his knees and his elbows hurt, too. He was lying on
someone's fire escape. . . a dozen feet below the window he had
jumped from.

How long before the sun came up? How long did he have to find Natalie?

He'd have to go back into his apartment for his car keys. Apparently
the whack on the head - the first one - had grounded him.

His keys were in the apartment, and the door was locked. It wasn't
going to be cheap to replace that steel door, but he gave it a good
shove, anyway. It didn't budge. He pulled on it with all his might.
Still, it wouldn't budge.

Natalie. He had to get to her. That was his only thought.

He put all the supernatural strength he could muster behind his
headlong rush at the door. . .

The third time he regained consciousness, his head, chin, knees,
elbows and shoulder hurt. In fact, his shoulder hurt a lot. He
reached up with his good arm and found it was dislocated. Angrily, he
gave the door a good kick. There was a sharp cracking sound that was
not made by the door, and an instant flash of pain that told him that
had *not* been a good idea...

*   *   *   *   *

He'd gone to Tracy before he'd washed the dirt off.

All a big mistake, he couldn't wait to tell her.

Once that little bitch Divia was dead, he'd started to recover. It
was a lucky thing Tracy hadn't left the stake in him. That made it
easier. So did a few slaps on the face, and the shock of opening his
eyes to find Screed standing over him.

Usually, he was one of the handful of people in the Known Universe
who understood everything Screed said, but in his dazed condition,
Vachon had only been able to decipher bits and pieces. It was enough
to determine two things, however:

One, Screed had risen from his grave, apparently having recovered
from the ravages of The Fever, and two, he'd taken up residence it
the storm sewers under the docks.

"But why didn't you tell me you were alive?"

"It was in me plans to do jus' that in due time, mate. Y'might say I
was ok-you-pied, like. . . C'mere, Lolly, meet the V-Man."

Another vampire stepped out of the shadows. At least, Vachon sensed
it was a vampire. It didn't look like one, but maybe he was
stereotyping. To describe her - and it was only a pair of boobs that
told him it was a she - as 'homely' was a kindness. She had fangs,
but no other teeth that he could see. She held a rat in each hand,
but shifted one to extend her right hand to him, expecting him to
kiss it.

"Chahmed Ah'm sure," she said with the fakest British accent he'd
heard since seeing Kevin Costner play Robin Hood.

She was a carouche, and when she looked at Screed, Vachon swore he
saw little valentines pouring from her eyes.

"We'as plannin' to invite ye over fer a proper housewarmnin' once we
g'the place fixed up," Screed explained.  "But, like I says, we get
ok-you-pied..."

Lolly and Screed gave each other a lascivious look and erupted in
raucous giggles.

This was too much. Vachon sat up. He wanted to get out of there
before they offered him a rat. But his head spun dizzily and Screed
grabbed him.

He offered him his wrist. "Drink up, mate!"

"Uh... no thanks. I'll just lie here until I feel better."

"Oh, no time for that me friend!" Screed said urgently. "Lolly here
tells me yer little blond constable-type acquaintance got 'erself
whacked this eve."

"Tracy?? Is she okay?"

Screed winked. "Nope. But she will be if y'get t'her in time to do
The Deed... "

"Deed?"

Screed thumped the side of Vachon's head. "The DEED, V-Man, the ol'
fang-bang."

"Uh... yeah.  I gotta go to her... Just tell me where she is." He
got up quickly. He had to get to Tracy...

But he fell flat on his face. No food and Divia's poison had taken
its toll.

When Screed offered his arm again, Vachon drank. It tasted worse
than he had even dared to imagine - of rats and the garbage eaten by
the rats, and the bugs that had crawled on the garbage before the
rats had eaten it. No way he'd keep enough of it down to get his
strength back.

"You have to come with me, Screed."

Screed agreed readily, and kissed Lolly good-bye. She stood waving
at them as Screed half-carried him towards an opening in the drains,
the very picture of domestic bliss.

*   *   *   *   *

"Javier! Wake up!" It was a familiar voice, but usually, it wasn't
accompanied by a kick like it was then. "NOW!"

"Urs?"

"Yeah, Urs. Nice of you to remember."

She was mad. He'd almost rather face Divia again than Urs when she
was mad at him.

"Uh, what's the matter?"

"Oh, right. Pretend you don't know."

He didn't have to pretend. He didn't even know where he was. He sat
up. On a bed. He looked around. Tracy. Right next to him.

He was in bed with Tracy Vetter. Funny that should give him the
nightmare he'd just had, of being staked and buried by her.

He shook his head to clear it. Dirt fell out of his hair. He looked
at Tracy again, and blinked. Maybe it wasn't a nightmare.

But she looked fine. Screed had said she was dying. Had taken him to
her - or rather, had carried him to her. He'd been too weak to fly...
Too weak to bring her across...

Dead? Had he let her die? "Tracy?" his voice choked.

Urs folded her arms across her chest. "Traaaaaccceeee," she mocked.
"Sure, Javier. You're half-dead yourself, but you drag yourself to
*her* side to bring *her* across and leave *me* to rot in an unmarked
locker at the city morgue!"

She kicked him again.

"Morgue?"

"Yes, dammit.  LaCroix's little demon spawn ripped me to shreds and
Nick Knight took me to the morgue!  No 'Here Urs, have some of my
blood,' no, 'Gee Urs, maybe if you rest awhile you'll heal...'
Nooooo. He dumped me at the morgue where I was almost dissected by
that ghoul girlfriend of his."

He got the feeling her next kick was meant for Nick, but he got it
anyway.

"Urs, I was sick. I didn't know you were hurt..."

"I was sick, I didn't know you were hurt," she mocked him again, and
then pulled down the collar of her shirt. "Do you have any idea how
much make-up it takes to cover up the fact that your head was
practically twisted off?!"

"Uh... no."

"Well, I came to tell you we're through. I don't care if you are my
master or whatever it is you think you are. I've found someone else,
and he has one thing you don't have and never will, Javier..." she
dangled a diamond bracelet in front of him. "Money!  His name is
Julian and we'll be living in San Francisco. Stop by and visit if you
ever scrape up enough money for plane fare." And with a toss of her
curls, she was gone.

Good luck, Julian, whoever you are, Vachon thought.

He turned back to Tracy. She was waking up, still wearing the
bandages from the hospital. He peeked under the one on her stomach.
There was nothing there. So he'd brought her across... He didn't
remember it. He really didn't remember anything clearly after he'd
landed on the hospital's helo deck in Screed's arms.

His senses told him Tracy was a vampire, but it wasn't the strong
sense of a blood link between them.  Maybe he hadn't finished the job.

There was a backpack on the chair by the bed. He recognized it as
Screed's. Two bottles in the pack, one marked 'V-man,' one marked
'Tracy.'

He opened the one with his name on it. He'd need his strength if he
was going to finish this properly.

Tracy stirred and opened her eyes.  Golden eyes. But not quite the
first hunger. . . She'd already fed her first time. . .

He lifted her head and offered her a drink from his bottle. She took
the first few gulps eagerly and then made what was probably the
ugliest face he'd ever seen.  "UGH! Get that away from me!"

Vachon sniffed the blood. Warm. Reasonably fresh. No drugs. B
positive... He didn't get it.

Then he remembered the other bottle. He uncorked it, took a whiff
and gagged. Rat.

Tracy smelled it, too. She grabbed it from him and downed it in one
long, greedy gulp.

Then she smiled up at him, her eyes gold, pretty little fangs
extended, sharp, inviting... 

Okay, they were dripping with rat blood, but he could overlook that
with effort.

He took her in his arms and whispered, "Thank you, Screed."


--- TWO ---


Nick limped down the hospital hallway to Natalie's room with LaCroix
supporting him.

Natalie's eyes were sunken sockets, and she was whiter than the bed
sheets. It had taken 17 units of whole blood to bring her just this
far back from the brink of death.

But she opened her eyes when he spoke her name and smiled at him.
She was alive, and she would stay that way.

"How did I get here?" she whispered.

Nick couldn't answer that. He'd been unconscious at the time.

He looked at LaCroix, whose lips turned up in the slightest hint of
a smile.

Nick didn't know what to say. He'd already told LaCroix he was his
closest friend, but at the time, he didn't think he'd have to face
him again and really mean it.

It wasn't until he limped around the bed to kiss Natalie that
LaCroix finally spoke.  "I think perhaps you should have your foot x-
rayed, Nicholas. Kicking doors can have unfortunate consequences for
those who lack the physical constitution to win the contest."

Nick sat down on a chair beside the bed, and painfully pulled off
his shoe and his sock to reveal swollen toes as purple as grapes.

"LaCroix...."

"Mortality is not without its price, Nicholas."


--- One Month Later.... ---

LaCroix watched the festivities from his CERK booth tucked away at
the Raven. His beloved children of the night... Well, foster children
of the night... Okay, some of them were children of the day, too...

They celebrated the fact that the glamorous and beautiful Janette
was once again among them. She had returned to reclaim control of the
Raven with her new consort, a darkly handsome vampire who didn't
really seem to have a name. He seemed nice enough, though, and
Janette had *asked* him to sell the Raven back to her, not demanded
it. He'd never gotten into running the place, anyway, and the words
of that evil fruit of his loins - innkeeper! - were still stinging
his conscience when he agreed to let her have it back.

Everyone he held dear was here except for Vachon and Tracy. Tracy
was busy at her own club down by the docks.

She had proven to have quite a business head on her, and had taken
the opportunity to create a haven for those of the Undead who
appreciated a more alternative un-lifestyle.

All right, the place was a carouche bar. But Tracy at least gave it
some class.

Vachon had become a regular at both places. LaCroix was beginning to
worry about him. The Spaniard definitely had too much time on his
hands, but he'd use that problem to solve another...

Nicholas had returned to the police force and was now off of limited
duty, his unintentionally inflicted injuries having since healed.

Of course, he was mortal now. LaCroix wasn't comfortable with that.
No, not at all.

The ideal situation would have been to have Tracy remain his
partner, which would have given LaCroix peace of mind. But, alas,
that wasn't possible, because everyone thought Tracy was dead, except
for her parents who had been successfully whammied into thinking
she'd run away to the States with her slacker boyfriend. No one dared
speak her name around her father - the man became irrational if they
did - so the subject never came up.

The night was young, but Nicholas, duty-bound as ever, came in to
excuse himself. He and Natalie had to go to work.

"Is he ready?" he asked.

"He has not even arrived to the best of my knowledge," LaCroix said.

"Do you really think this is going to work, LaCroix? You know how he
is. And I can't wait all night for him."

As if on cue, Vachon sauntered into the Raven. Everyone would have
turned to stare if they'd known it was him, but nobody did. Clean-
shaven, with his hair styled and combed, and wearing a shirt and tie,
he was not the Javier Vachon they all knew. He was barely the Javier
Vachon that Javier Vachon knew.

He was not a happy vampire. He looked at LaCroix, leather jacket
slung over his shoulder. "I... HATE... THIS," he hissed.

LaCroix dismissed him with a wave. "Well get over it. It's time you
had a job."

Vachon stared stubbornly.  "I won't do it."

But the words were still leaving his mouth when two pairs of vampire
hands swung him around to face them. Janette and her new companion.

Janette was stunning in a low-cut red velvet gown that clung to her
every curve. But it was her boyfriend Vachon stared at, his mouth
going slack and his eyes opening even wider than usual.

"You will do it!" Janette's friend commanded.

"YOU!  You're supposed to be dead!"

"Really, my brother, did you think I'd hold on to a bomb while it
blew me to pieces? How dumb do you think I am?"

Vachon groaned. He guessed he'd always known deep down that The Inka
wasn't dead. But he'd been hoping...

"Besides," The Inka told him. "It's time you did as our master
commanded us."

Vachon felt a smirk coming on, but LaCroix cut that short.

"And remember," he warned, "nothing happens to Nicholas..."

And Janette grabbed his face and pulled him towards her. 
"Nothing..." she hissed.

"Well, that does it then," Nick said, clapping his hands together
cheerfully. Thanks to a few well-placed whammies and a little help
from Aristotle, Nick handed a shiny new Metro Police ID to his new
partner, Detective J.D. Vachon.

*   *   *   *   *

LaCroix watched them go. He still felt a bond with his Nicholas, his
now mortal child who would grow old and die before his eyes, he hoped
in that order.

Besides, divorce rates were high, police work was dangerous... He
could still get Nicholas back...

*   *   *   *   *

At the precinct headquarters, Vachon did a bad job of pretending to
be interested in meeting the people he'd be working with... He hated
cops. He hated looking like a damn yuppie. He hated the way the
holster he had to wear itched. He hated work. He'd be the first to
admit that.

"That boy has an attitude," Captain Reese told Nick when he thought
Vachon was out of earshot. "But he has a good record."

"And I'll teach him everything he needs to know."

When Nick joined him, Vachon was staring at a display case that,
among other things, contained the photographs of the precinct's
fallen comrades. Nick's last two partners were on that wall, which
was not something Vachon considered a good omen, even if one of them
was really still alive...

Nick looked sad. Vachon wanted to say something to him, but the
words caught in his throat when he got a good look at the
photographs.  He wasn't choked with emotion like Nick was, but he
felt choked, nonetheless.

He recognized the picture between Schanke and Tracy.  He hadn't
known until that moment that the woman's name was Amanda Cohen, but
he remembered her.

After the plane crash. Waking up, burned, injured, crazy with
hunger...

As soon as he was sure no one could see him, he'd grabbed the first
body he'd found with any sign of life in it.

He'd sunk his fangs into this Amanda Cohen.

And she'd slugged him in the jaw and bitten him back. Her fangs were
bigger than his. A lot bigger.  He shuddered at the memory. He'd come
very close to being eaten alive.

He wondered if anyone had known she was a werewolf?

Nick turned away from the pictures and clapped him on the back.
"Ready to go to work?"

Vachon wanted to punch him, but he couldn't do it in front of those
pictures. Most of those cops were human and really were dead.
Instead, he sighed. Maybe The Inka was right. Damn him, anyway.


--- 4 Months Later... ----

The wedding shower was going to be at Nick's place because it was
bigger than Natalie's and it was safe for the vampires who were
invited... Janette, Lolly, Tracy, even Urs, who had made up with
Vachon now that she was wealthy and could flaunt that in Tracy's
face. Natalie's mortal friends would be there, too, including Grace,
who was the only one besides LaCroix who knew why the wedding plans
were being rushed.

The term 'morning sickness' was a misnomer if you worked nights.
Natalie hoped she'd get through the midnight party without an attack.

She was about to push Nick out the door, explaining that men were
just not wanted at these things, when someone knocked.

"I'll get it!" he said, wondering which guest had arrived early.

But it wasn't a guest for the wedding shower... It was a tall,
athletic man with long, black hair drawn back in a pony tail. He
didn't seem what to know what he should say, and was thinking about
it when another, rounder face peered from behind him.

Nick's jaw hit the floor. For a fleeting instant, he wanted his
immortality back, because he was certain he was having a heart attack
when he recognized who the other man was.

"Schank..." he gasped.  "Schanke???..."

The dark-haired man with Schanke stepped forward and extended his
hand.

"Hi. I'm Duncan MacLeod, and there's something we need to tell you..."

THE END