Alone
a _Forever Knight_ fanfiction
by Amanda Berendt
Copyright 2003


Note:
     This story takes place immediately following "The Human Factor" 
and assumes knowledge of that episode.  It is also kind of an alternate 
ending to the series, since the events in this story make any episode 
after "The Human Factor" impossible (or close to).
     Also, I want to say that I don't necessarily condone or agree with 
what happens in this story.  It certainly does not reflect my views.  
It came about when I listened to the CD "Fallen" by Evanescence.  Every 
time I listened to the CD, I'd get several pictures in my mind.  If 
anyone is interested -- it is a very FK-ish CD in my mind.  So I wrote 
what I saw in my mind's eye, and it went from there.
     Thank you to Nancy Kaminsky for the info on horses.  Yes, it is a 
very small part of the story, but it made it a bit easier for me to 
write it when I was able to visualize it.
     Also a special thanks to Amy Rambow for proofreading this for me.
-------------------------
Disclaimer:
     Nick, Nat, Lacroix and the others do not belong to me, but since 
Sony is not using them right now, I thought I'd borrow them for a bit.  
Although, Tristan is mine.  Yeah, he's not really a big character, but 
I like him. <g>
-------------------------
Responses:
     Please send all questions, comments, or maybe the wonderful 
mantel, to: nicholas_debrabant1228@yahoo.com.
-------------------------



     Medical examiner Natalie Lambert parked her car outside the 
crime-scene tape.  Getting out of the car, she grabbed her bag from the 
passenger seat and headed toward the flashing lights of the squad cars.  
After ducking under the tape and winding her way through the maze of 
parked police vehicles, she found herself at the center of the commotion -- 
a car that had been wrapped around a large tree by the force of an 
impact.  The driver's door hung open where the EMTs had tried to help the 
victim.
     As Natalie approached the car, she looked around trying to see if 
Nick was there.  He and Tracy had wrapped up the Larouche case two 
weeks ago and nothing else had come up, so this should be assigned to their 
caseload.  Natalie hadn't spoken to Nick since then -- he hadn't 
answered her phone calls.  She assumed it was because Janette had returned 
and he had been dealing with that.  Hopefully, he would be here tonight 
and they could talk.
     After about ten minutes, she spotted another of the night-shift 
detective teams -- Jenkins and Quinn.  She approached Jenkins.  "So you 
guys assigned to this case?"
     Jenkins smiled.  "Yeah, you got anything?"
     "So far, you've got an easy one.  Everything points to an 
accident."
     "Good.  Looks like it might be an easy night," Detective Quinn 
added.
     "Do you guys know if Nick is on tonight?" she asked the two 
detectives.
     Jenkins answered, "Knight hasn't been around for a couple of 
weeks.  I guess he's finally taking that vacation time."
     This worried Natalie.  If he hadn't been at work since the last 
case, where had he been?  He certainly wasn't returning her calls.
     Since her shift was just about over, she decided to stop in at the 
precinct instead of going back to her lab.
     As she entered the homicide offices of the 96th precinct, she saw 
Captain Reese putting on his coat as he came out of his office.  He 
smiled as she approached.
     "Dr. Lambert," he asked, "did something come up on that accident?"
     "No, Captain," she replied in a voice that turned the conversation 
serious.  "I'm wondering . . . have you heard from Nick, lately?"
      The captain reacted, startled, but quickly recovered.  "What do 
you mean?  Of course not.  He handed in his resignation two weeks ago."
     Natalie gasped and her knees felt very weak.  "What?"
     Realizing this was a surprise to her, the captain softened.  
"Natalie, why don't you come in and sit down," he said, putting his hand on 
her shoulder and guiding her into his office.
     Once inside, he sat in the chair next to her instead of in the 
chair behind his desk.  "I can't believe you didn't know."  This was a 
huge shock to him, considering everyone in the department, including 
himself, had thought of the detective and the medical examiner as a couple, 
even if the pair didn't realize it themselves.  The idea that Knight 
had quit without telling her was ridiculous.
     Natalie took a deep breath and finally spoke.  "You can't be 
serious.  What happened?"
     Reese put his hand on her arm.  "He said things had changed and he 
couldn't do this anymore.  It was right after that Montreal murder 
case.  I think I still have a copy of his letter."  Reese got up and went 
to the file cabinet that stood against the far wall.
    Opening the top drawer, he sifted through the files until he came 
to the one he wanted.  He took the folder out, opened it and removed a 
single sheet of paper.  As he returned to the chair, he said, "I am so 
very sorry, Natalie.  I thought . . . well, everyone thought you would 
have known.  I'm sure some people even thought you might have been part 
of the reason -- that maybe the two of you were finally getting 
together or something."  He handed her the paper.
     Taking the single sheet from Reese, Natalie examined it.  In 
truth, there was nothing remarkable about it.  It was a standard letter of 
resignation -- no letterhead, just a computer printout.  The only thing 
that made it real for her was Nick's signature at the end.
     Not saying anything, she looked up from the letter.  She stood up 
quickly.  "I have to go."  Handing the letter back to Reese, she turned 
away from him, opened the office door and stepped through.
     "Natalie," he called after her.  "If you need anything, we're 
here."
     Natalie sat in her car in the parking lot of the police station.  
The keys were in the ignition, but she hadn't yet started the vehicle.  
*How could he do this?*  She had to see for herself if he had indeed 
left.  Turning the keys, she put the car in gear and pulled out of the 
lot.
     Less than thirty minutes later, she turned into the gravel parking 
area in front of Nick's loft.  The sky was beginning to lighten with 
the coming dawn.  She parked her car and got out.  When she reached the 
door next to the garage, she held her breath, then punched in the alarm 
code.  Hearing the lock click open, she let the air out of her lungs.  
There was still hope.
     Natalie stepped into the freight elevator and pressed the up 
button.  As the elevator began its ascent, the knot that had been forming in 
her stomach tightened.  She prepared herself for what she might find.  
What seemed like hours later, the elevator ground to a halt and she 
pushed the door open.
     Stepping into the loft, Natalie found it strange to see the 
morning sunlight streaming into the room.  The furniture was just as it 
should be, but not all of Nick's personal effects were there.  The piano 
still stood in the corner, the art supplies were still under the balcony, 
but she could tell things were missing.  There was an emptiness.
     She crossed to the sitting area.  The small black box where he 
kept the relic still sat on the table next to the couch.  She hesitated 
for a moment, then reached over and opened the box.  It was empty.
     Several hours later, she sat on the couch staring at the cold, 
empty fireplace.  It felt so lonely here.  She had often joked to Nick 
about it being a fortress of solitude, but now it truly was.  She didn't 
have the heart to search through his things to see exactly what he had 
taken.  It seemed like a violation of his privacy, although she was 
pretty certain he would not be returning.  She stood up, gathered her coat 
and purse from the couch and walked slowly to the elevator.
     Once outside, she put her coat on.  Even though the sun was now 
high in the sky, it seemed to be growing colder.  Too much had happened.  
If she didn't go home now and get some sleep, her mind would just shut 
down.  She got in the car, started the engine and set off toward her 
apartment building.
     Natalie woke up late that evening.  As she opened her eyes, she at 
first thought perhaps it had all been a horrible dream, but when the 
cloudiness of sleep drained away she realized it wasn't.  She glanced at 
the digital alarm clock on her nightstand as she eased herself out of 
bed.  It was eight forty-five.  She was supposed to start her shift at 
nine-thirty.  Knowing there was no way she'd be able to get through an 
entire shift after what had happened last night, she picked up the 
cordless phone from the nightstand and dialed.
     "Hi . . . Grace? . . . It's Natalie.  I think I might be coming 
down with something . . . yes, thanks . . . .  See you then."
     Setting the phone back in the cradle, she stood up and went into 
the bathroom.  When she came out, she felt a little better.  *A warm 
shower can do wonders for the soul,* she thought.  She changed into a pair 
of jogging pants and an oversized Blue Jays sweatshirt and went into 
the living room.
     While she waited for the coffee maker to brew, she went to the 
window and gazed out over the skyline -- or at least the part she could 
see from her apartment.  The coffee buzzed.  She returned to the kitchen 
and poured the coffee into a mug she had gotten out of the cabinet.
     Picking up the mug, she went to sit on the couch.  As she sat 
down, her eyes fell upon a photo of Nick and herself at one of the precinct 
picnics.  He had his arm around her and they were both smiling broadly.  
She couldn't help it.  She put the mug on the coffee table and covered 
her face with her hands as the tears began to fall.

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

     It was after midnight.  The Raven was in the throes of a busy 
Friday night.  Lucien Lacroix sat alone on the last stool at the end of the 
bar.  The music and lights from the dance floor did not appear to 
intrude into his thoughts.  He sat staring into the depths of the dark 
liquid that sat untouched on the bar before him.  He seemed to radiate some 
kind of signal that told those around him not to come near.
     Taking a deep breath, he turned his head to glance at the patrons 
of the club.  At the other end of the bar stood the Spaniard, Vachon.  
He had come in earlier with Detective Tracy Vetter, but now he was 
talking to the beautiful, melancholy Urs.  As though sensing his gaze, the 
two young vampires looked up, but he turned away before they could meet 
his eyes.  He didn't want company.
     During the past few weeks, since Janette had briefly returned, 
there had been an emptiness inside of him.  There was a feeling of 
something missing.  It had been far too long since he had seen Nicholas.  He 
had last come in when he brought that horrible police drawing of the 
murder suspect that resembled Janette.
     Lacroix tried to reach out to his son through the link they 
shared, but it was no use.  Something was wrong; he should be able to feel 
Nicholas through their bond.  The ancient vampire stood up from where he 
sat at the bar.  He must go to Nicholas's loft to see what had 
happened.
     Usually enjoying taking to the night sky, he would soar leisurely 
over the mortal world, reveling in his superiority, but tonight was 
different.  Tonight he wasted no time getting to Nicholas's apartment.  
Lacroix stood on the roof, facing the strong March winds and gazed 
through the skylight.  Using his heightened senses, he determined the loft 
was empty.  Silently, he slipped through the skylight and landed on the 
upper balcony, right outside the bedroom.
     Everything was in its place; nothing seemed amiss.  He did notice 
that some things were missing, though.  He slowly walked through the 
loft, touching the furniture and remaining personal items, trying to get 
a sense of what may have happened.  Again, he tried to reach out to 
Nicholas, but nothing was there.  What was wrong?  Nicholas had never been 
able to block his thoughts or even his location from his master.  
Lacroix had conveniently 'forgotten' that lesson.  If something had happened 
to his son, he would have felt it over their link.  But there had been 
nothing other than the recent trauma of Janette's death.  Perhaps 
Nicholas had left, unable to cope with the loss, but still there should be 
something.
     After going through the entire loft, searching everywhere for some 
kind of sign of what happened, Lacroix found himself standing in front 
of the ornate fireplace mantel.  Nicholas had stood here many times 
pondering one thing or another.  Lacroix ran his fingers over the carving 
of the dragon.  It would soon be dawn.  He sat down on the black 
leather couch.  Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he sat 
pensively, his hands folded as if in silent prayer.
     "Oh Nicholas," he said out loud to the empty room.  "What have you 
done?"
     The ancient vampire leaned back into the soft leather.  He closed 
his eyes and let the darkness envelop him.  Outside, the darkness began 
to yield to the dawn.
     The room was dark once more when Lacroix opened his eyes.  For a 
moment, he didn't realize where he was, but as he awakened, the events 
of the previous night returned.  Once again, he tried to reach out for 
his son, and was not surprised when he discovered it was in vain.
     Lacroix rose to his feet and crossed to the refrigerator.  A sly 
smile spread across his mouth when he looked at the painting hanging 
over the appliance -- called "The Yawning Apprentice" or some such 
nonsense, it could easily be misconstrued as a scream.  Was this supposed to 
mirror the torture Nicholas put himself through when he fed?  Shaking 
his head, Lacroix opened the fridge and took out one of the green 
bottles.  He selected a glass goblet from the shelf above the counter and 
filled it with the dark liquid.  He took a small sip from the glass and 
grimaced.  *This* would definitely have to be changed.
     He retraced his steps from the previous evening, occasionally 
sipping from the goblet.  As he walked through the rooms, he made a mental 
note when he noticed something was missing.  Once more, he finished his 
exploration in the main room in front of the fireplace.  He was 
surprised Nicholas had not taken the mantle.  But it seemed as though only 
small items were taken.  A thought came to mind as he placed the glass on 
the coffee table.  He stepped over to the small end table and opened 
the black lacquer box sitting alone on it.  The box was empty.
     Lacroix picked up the remote from the coffee table and lit a fire 
in the fireplace.  He then opened the metal shutters.  Returning the 
remote to the table, he stepped over to the window and gazed out over 
lights of the city.  He would stay here in this city for now.  Here in 
this place where so much had happened.  He had come here to be with his 
children and now they were gone.  He drew in a deep breath and let it out 
slowly.  He turned away from the window.  He was truly alone for the 
first time in almost a thousand years.

-----------

     The sun was barely breaking over the horizon, making the crests of 
the waves sparkle as they crashed onto the rocky shore.  Clouds still 
remaining from the storm during the night seemed to glow from the 
reflections of the sun's light.
     A lone figure perched on one of the large rocks lining the coast.  
The man sat crouched on the highest point.  He had been in the same 
place every morning for almost six months.  Every morning, he would arrive 
in the darkness upon his black steed, climb to the highest rock and 
wait for the dawn to come.  He would be there even when it was overcast or 
raining.  The sun would rise behind the clouds and he would be there to 
greet it.
     This morning, as the sky continued to lighten, the man closed his 
eyes and let the warm morning light caress his fair skin and golden 
hair.  It seemed as though the sunlight became a part of him.  He sat 
there, upon the boulder, for another hour or so, watching the sun rise into 
the sky.  When it was fully above the horizon, he stood, brushed the 
sand from his khaki slacks and white cotton shirt and climbed down onto 
the beach below.
     Instead of returning to the horse waiting by the rambling fence at 
the edge of the beach, he decided to walk along the water.  Today was 
going to be a beautiful day, he thought.  This was the kind of day he'd 
been waiting so long to be a part of.  As this thought crossed his 
mind, a wave of sadness crossed his face.
     This had happened so quickly.  Janette had returned to Toronto . . 
. mortal.  She had come to his apartment that night and it had gone 
further than either of them had expected.  Although she was mortal, he had 
been able to control the vampire inside of him when he was with her.  
He wouldn't deny that she had truly loved Robert, but there had always 
been a connection between Janette and himself -- something that went 
beyond mortality and immortality.
     The thought of Janette made him stop.  He looked out over the 
water and drew in a deep breath of the fresh sea air.  His stomach 
grumbled.  Looking at his watch, he saw that it was almost noon.  He turned 
back the way he had come, and followed his footsteps in the sand.  When he 
reached the fence, he stopped to put on his boots, then stood and 
stroked the silky black mane of the large black horse.
     "Hello, Tristan," he said kindly, as the horse nuzzled his 
shoulder.  "Yes, we're going home now."  Tristan shook his head as if nodding 
in agreement.  His long black mane trailed behind him in the off-shore 
breeze.
     The man mounted the horse and headed off away from the beach.  
Surprisingly, the countryside had changed very little.  Of course there 
were the modern conveniences of telephone lines and the occasional plane 
flying overhead, but otherwise it was very much the same.  He felt at 
peace riding Tristan.  He could pretend that so much time hadn't passed 
and so many things hadn't happened.  It was just the two of them.  Two 
lonely souls riding through the midday sun.
     Reaching the estate, or at least what was left of it, he 
dismounted the horse and led him to the makeshift stable.  He had hired some 
local carpenters to build it when he first came back.  The wooden shelter 
would do until the permanent stables could be erected.  When he 
reemerged from the shelter, he looked at the main building.  The first floor 
was still standing, but the upper floors were in the midst of 
reconstruction.  It had been six months and the architects and stonemasons were 
well on their way to rebuilding his family home.  The local towns were 
quite pleased, since he had agreed to let it be toured when it was 
complete.  He had explained he was a descendant of the original family and 
had just recently discovered its existence.  Officially, the project was 
being funded by the Foundation.  Upon entering the house, the contrast 
was amazing.  Yes, the outside was well on its way, but the interior 
was a long way from completion.  Now, it was just barely habitable.  He 
was living in only two rooms off the main hall.  It would probably take 
years to fully furnish the home.
     Leaving Tristan in the care of the local boy he had hired as a 
stable hand, he headed toward the manor house.  The workers smiled and 
waved as he crossed the grass from the stable to the main building.  He 
nodded a greeting, but his mind was far away.
     The evening had come and the workers and stonemasons had all 
returned to their homes in the nearby village.  The architects and 
historians had returned with them to the lodging houses where they were staying 
during the project.  He was alone.
     After lighting the fire in the great stone fireplace, he sat 
before it in a large leather armchair, letting his mind wander.  The 
beautiful flames dancing in the hearth before him, became, in his mind, the 
deadly flames climbing the curtains and enveloping the suburban Toronto 
home.  She lay bleeding on the floor and gasping for air in the 
smoke-filled room.
     "I can bring you across, Janette," he said frantically, kneeling 
over her prone form.
     "No," came the breathless reply.
     The flames were threatening to overcome them.  He lifted her in 
his arms, his heart wrenching as she cried out in pain, and took off into 
the night.  Moments later, he landed on the roof of his loft.  He 
lifted the skylight with his foot and dropped down onto the main floor.
     He knelt in front of the ornate fireplace, cradling Janette in his 
arms.  Tears tinged with red began to roll down his cheeks.
     "Oh, God, no," he cried.  "Please, Janette, don't leave me."
     As he held her, he felt her body relax.  She took a final breath 
and released it as she slumped against his chest.  He pulled her even 
closer; the pain inside of him was unbearable.  It was as if eight 
centuries of guilt, anger and pain were welling up inside of him at once.  He 
could no longer endure it.  A roar erupted from his throat, releasing 
all of the despair he had carried within himself for so long.
     As the scream died into the night, his body fell next to Janette 
and he lay there exhausted.
     A log crashed in the fireplace, jarring him back to the present.  
He blinked away the tears forming in response to the memory.  A single 
crystal tear escaped down his cheek.  He wiped it away as he stood up 
to attend to the fire.
     After tending the fire, he returned to his chair near the hearth.  
For some reason, his mind flashed to himself and Natalie sitting 
together in front of the ornate fireplace in his loft.  He shook his head, 
trying to clear the image from his mind.  He had truly thought that she 
was the one to rid him of the monster he had carried inside of him for 
so long.  But it was Janette who had been the one to grant his wish.  In 
her attempt to reaffirm the vampire in herself, she had obtained 
mortality and had, in turn, unwittingly granted it to him.  The vampire had 
left him along with the grief and rage when Janette had died in his 
arms.
     After believing for so long that Natalie would be the one to help 
him, he couldn't bear to tell her what had happened.  So in his grief, 
he had resigned from the precinct and returned here to his first home.  
He had not spoken to anyone -- not Tracy, not Natalie, not even 
Lacroix.
     Lacroix would know what had happened, of course.  He would have 
felt the break in their connection.  Perhaps his master was searching for 
him even now.  But Natalie . . . what must she think?  The last time he 
had seen her was when he had brought Janette to the lab to be treated 
for the gunshot wound.  She had listened in disbelief as Janette 
described how she had become mortal.
     Turning away from the warmth of the fire, he went over to the 
newly installed front windows.  They were modern versions of the original 
style -- diamond cuts of glass held together by leading -- but they were 
now insulated to current standards.  He gazed out into the night, 
thinking again of Janette -- her beauty, her grace.  When the tears came 
again, he let them fall unchecked.  He had not let himself grieve.  He had 
been hiding his feelings for far too long.
     When he awoke the next morning, he had a crick in his neck from 
sleeping in the armchair.  The ashes still smoldered from the evening's 
fire.  Looking up at the mantle, his eyes fell upon the portrait of 
Janette she had had commissioned by Leonardo.  Leaning against the dark 
wooden frame was Joan's cross.  *Faith.  Pure, simple faith,* her voice 
came out of his memories.
       Feeling his muscles protest as he got up, he went into the back 
room that served as his bedroom.  He took a shower and changed into 
clean clothes.
     Returning to the living room, he stood once more in front of the 
fireplace.  He placed his hand on the carved wooden box that sat on the 
mantle below Janette's portrait.  Taking a deep breath, then slowly 
letting it out, he took the box off the mantle.  Then he kissed his 
fingers and touched them to the cross.  *I DO have faith.*  Tucking the box 
under his arm, he left the room and went outside.
     It was very early.  The sky showed only the smallest hint of the 
coming dawn.  The workmen had not yet arrived.  He went to the stable 
and smiled as Tristan greeted him with a whinny and a shake of the head.  
He took a carrot from the cabinet near the stall and gave the horse the 
treat.  After a few moments of petting, he saddled the horse and led 
him outside.
     Placing the box safely in the saddlebag, he mounted the horse and 
headed off towards the coast.  The morning would be clear and 
beautiful.  He tied Tristan to the usual post of the fast-degrading fence and 
took the box out of the saddlebag.  This morning, though, instead of 
heading towards the large boulders, he walked out onto the flat expanse of 
sand.  When he got to the water's edge, he took off his shoes and socks 
and sat down on the cool sand, carefully placing the box on the ground 
next to him.  He sat with his arms resting on his knees and waited.
     The light of the sun grew brighter on the horizon and the tips of 
the waves began to sparkle.  As the sun rose higher in the sky, he 
stood up, taking the box in his hands.  The morning breeze blew through his 
hair as he waded out into the water, not caring that his pants were 
getting wet.  When the water level reached his knees, he stopped.  The 
breeze was growing stronger.  Perfect, he thought.
     Holding the small wooden box in front of him, he slowly opened the 
lid.  The fine gray powder inside stirred slightly as the wind blew 
across the open box.  As he took a deep breath, a tear slid down his 
cheek, followed by another.  It was time.
     Taking some of the ash into his palm, he raised his hand toward 
the sky, letting the breeze carry it away.  Once more, he took some of 
the ashes into his hand and released them into the wind.  Tears streamed 
down his face, glistening in the morning sun.
     When the box was empty, he closed the lid once more and fastened 
the latch.  He wiped his eyes and drew in a breath of the clean coastal 
air.
     Holding the empty box to his lips, he kissed it tenderly and 
whispered, "Goodbye, Janette.  I love you."  Then he threw the box with all 
of his strength toward the sun.
     Returning to the shore, he sat again on the cool sand.  Wiping the 
remaining tears from his cheeks, he gazed out at the rising sun and 
smiled.  This sunrise was different.  He was not sitting here remembering 
the past; this morning, he was looking toward the future.  This sunrise 
was a new beginning.


-Finis-