When news is revealed that an asteroid will hit Earth, killing all mortals, everyone panics. LaCroix appears in Nick's loft, asking for his companionship for after the anticipated loneliness.
LaCroix has been waiting in Nick's apartment. Drinking his favorite's - 'wine'. Behaving slightly 'off' of his, usually confident self. His sarcasm is a bit more revealing, his conversation a little more abstract.
(Taken directly from the episode, for pace:)
LC: "Which do you suppose is worse, Nicholas...to die?" [pause] "Or to be left in a living hell?" [LaCroix is standing behind the open staircase]
Nick descends the steps. He then moves around to the right, at the continuation of his mentor's speech.
LC: "A form of life who's only purpose is survival and nothing more. To exsist for the sake of existing." [NK comes to rest, facing his master, with his right hand on the side of the stairs] "Such bitter irony, the mortals sustain us. Their art, their laughter, their society, their - blood... Our eternal lives aren't worth much without them, are they?" [LC sips from his glass of bovine]
N: [looks up and away] "So who is the more powerful in the end?" [glancing at LaCroix] "The hunter or the hunted?"
LC: "I don't know." [in flat monotone. Nick looks back at him] "Perhaps there is a power that is greater than both."
Nick pulls away from the side of the steps, to walk around LaCroix. He turns to face his companion's back, beyond the other's right shoulder.
N: [haughtily] "And the possibility frightens you, doesn't it?"
LaCroix lifts his chin and head, eyes gaze upward.
LC: [almost hissing his reply] "What kind of god is it that can create such perversity, that can make such torture?" [LaCroix finishes with another sip of blood]
From behind his maker, Nick looks astonished, at the unexpected remark.
Recovering from the comment, Nick sharply retorts, "The eternal torture is of your own choosing, LaCroix." Malice ices the cut of his voice. The last thing he needs right now is his master lurking about his loft, spouting gibberish. Why this? Now?, Nick angrily wonders. He is more preoccupied with the present pending disaster, whan his maker's brooding presence.
"Is it, Nicholas? What choice were any of us given...really? At having to elect our future...given the circumstances, at the time."
LaCroix' attention briefly fades away as he recalls, to himself, his final days as a mortal:
Being abruptly awakened from a drunken slumber by his daughter Divia.
She rambling on, something about "living forever".
His haze of intoxication. Not comprehending her ambiguous statement.
The rumbling, quaking doom of Vesuvius.
Divia's voice coming once more from behind him, "...live or die. What is your decision?"
Him smiling ironically at the ridiculousness of the question.
Responding, "To live. Divia... To live!"
He never truly expected the full fate of those five, short, words.
"What do you mean?" Knight senses something, unfamiliar, in the older man.
"Nothing...nothing at all. Except that given the current state of affairs, wasn't the original option chosen, with the most selfish of intentions?" LaCroix raises the glass of cow blood to his lips once more. It's a most horrendous assault to his palette. He thinks, What one must do, to survive....
"So, you believe all this? The meteor?"
"If it is to be..." LaCroix shifts his gaze away and gently places the goblet of burgundy liquid on the step behind him. "If it is to be...I will mourn you, Nicholas, the most." Turning around, back, the ancient vampire moves slightly forward, towards his child, and slowly extends his hand. His cool fingers brush cautiously up the sleeve of Nick's arm.
The tightly muscled limb beneath the cloth stiffens minutely at the unexpected caress. It pulls back a breath, though not out of reach.
Nick is quite confounded at the words and actions of the, what he thought, perpetually controlled LaCroix. "Remorse is something I never thought you capable of feeling?" The youthful man's bravado temporarily returns.
"I, my dear son, as you most surely recall, have been in existence long before I found and created, you. I am...capable...of a great many emotions. I just choose to call upon and exhibit, the more amusing ones." LaCroix' face shows a small hint of a sad smile.
He now reaches his other hand up to softly clasp the younger's shoulder. Idle fingers restart up the sleeved arm. They now stretch gently across the eternally toned chest. To neck, jaw. "None...none but you, my dear lad, have stirred me to such depths of want and desire."
Nick is finally aware of a look of despair playing minutely along his master's masked features. He is frightened! The shock of that revelation stuns him. He has never before seen LaCroix - 'afraid'.
Attempting to stay composed, "That was a long time ago." Nick replies softly.
"For you, perhaps, Nicholas." Cool digits continue, to spread along the stubble of Nick's chin. LaCroix' thumb casually traces the edges of the other man's lower lip.
Knight drops his gaze and subconsciously leans into the intimate touch. A subtle sigh issues through his parted mouth.
It is so difficult to repulse his master's caress. That, coupled with the flow of newly resurfaced sensations and emotions he is gleaning from his mentor. The extent of the power emanating from the tall, usually remote, form is a potent force. One he has been trying so hard, for centuries, to escape and forget.
"I will miss your company. Your...will, your...passion. You are my greatest creation, my most worthy adversary...my deepest pleasure. Surely you know my love of the chase, the hunt, the conquest. Mortals are so...disposable. You, my Nicholas, on the other hand..." LaCroix shifts, "Your scent and taste is like no other." Strong fingers now flutter down towards the ivory smooth curve of his protege's collar.
Snapping out of the intoxicating trance he has fallen into, Nick steps back. Full away from his master. This offered openness of LaCroix' vulnerability is...disconcerting - to say the least, and beginning to become uncomfortable.
Warily, "I have no intentions of submitting to you, as I have before. I live with enough past regrets. This present crisis will not alter my convictions!" Knight's words are given with more bite and venom then he has intended.
LaCroix remains uncharacteristically calm. Mentally brushing off the outburst of his son. "But, my Nicolas...'submit'...is such a harsh word." Using a name that hasn't passed his lips in centuries. "Even, you, purport as to the intensity of the situation presented to us this day. There may be no tomorrow. What of regrets then?"
With a determined stride LaCroix closes the the safe distance between them. The sudden movement backs the detective to within inches of the wall behind him.
Nick, still upset and overwhelmed at this odd confrontation, spits out, "What is wrong with you, LaCroix? You promised not to force your will on me again!"
The usually sultry voice returns in a hollowed tone, barely above a whisper, "Desperate times. Even...for me."
A look of fear once more passes in an instant through the normally composed demeanor of the venerable man. Just as quickly, the wall of impartial emotion arises.
This crack into the soul of LaCroix is obvious to Nick now. He is fully hit with the knowledge that his creator is truly frightened by the possibility of being alone, forever.
Nicholas' next reaction comes more from centuries of deeply imbedded instinct, than conscience thought. His father, mentor...other, is in deparate need of him. And he knows how to at least temper the ancient's fears.
Nick deliberately steps into the waiting arms of LaCroix. Molding himself to the physique yet so familiar, even after all these lifetimes. He sinks into the other's overwhelming vampiric vitality and strength, pressing along the cold curves so like his own.
LaCroix is correct, there may be no tomorrow.... He trails off in thought.
Wrapping one hand about the taller's waist, the other around the back of the neck, Nick tugs the elder's head down to his own, placing a strong kiss on the full waiting lips. He pulls back slightly, just enough to expose the inviting column of his neck. He now anxiously awaits his master's eager feeding, the heady sting of fangs. The all-consuming, blinding, sensation of want, desire...need.
He is not disappointed in his anticipation.
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