This is a FK/HL xover. All the FK characters and concept belong to
TriStar, Inc. and the HL characters and concept belong to Davis/Panzer
Productions, Inc. No infringement is intended. The rest of the cast
and this story are created and copyrighted by me. This story follows
my previous one: 'Children - The Little Bundles Of Joy' which can be
found on my web page at: http://www.dlc.fi/~dce/fic/index.html 

Many thanks to Diane Franz for beta reading. 

All and any comments are welcome.


WHITHER NOW? 
by DCE aka ViciousGurl
<geek-tastic AT gmx DOT com>
(c)1999


Vachon sat on his Triumph Thunderbird, staring blindly ahead. In fact,
he'd been sitting there for a good ten minutes, holding his hand ready
on the ignition, but for some reason he hesitated in starting the
bike. Turning his head a little he took a good look at 'his' church.
He'd stayed there for a long time. Well, a long time for him, anyway.
But he didn't think that he'd miss it much. After all, he'd left lots
of places behind, and most of them he hadn't thought of since.

Wrapped up in his thoughts, he let go of the key and leaned back a
little. Although he kept staring at the building it wasn't really what
he was seeing. With his minds eye, he saw a fresh, unmarked grave just
behind the abandoned church.

Sighing, he blinked a few times and asked himself again the million
dollar question.

"Why should I stay?"

Initially, he'd stayed because of Knight, but Knight was long gone.
And yeah, Urs had liked the city, but now she was gone, too. So, what
was keeping him, really? Screed wouldn't mind leaving, and if he did,
well... It wasn't like he'd hold a stake to his heart, or anything.
Besides, Screed wasn't even in Toronto; he'd flown to Las Vegas again
last week. Maybe he should join him there. Then again, maybe not.

Sure, he'd made a few real friends in Toronto, and some of them even
knew 'of him', but were they really enough to make him want to stay?
There were the guys in the band, and some younger vampires he'd met at
the Raven, but... Oh, and Antonia, of course. They weren't 'buddies',
exactly, but he considered her a friend. Especially after what she'd
done to help him when Urs had been killed.

And then there was Tracy.

The sweet, innocent detective Vetter. Well, maybe not all that
innocent anymore, not after she'd found out about vampires. Too bad
she'd been a resister. Everything would've been so much easier if she
hadn't been one. Then again, who knew, maybe things wouldn't have been
quite as interesting without her.

Yeah, he liked Tracy. He'd always had a weakness for blondes. As far
as weaknesses went it wasn't a bad one to have. But this particular
blond was... What was she to him, exactly? A friend? Sure. Someone he
was attracted to? No doubt about it. Something more than that? Who
knew? He sure didn't. And he was pretty sure that neither did Tracy.
But would he consider staying in Toronto because of her, to find out
if there was something developing between them?

Shaking his head slightly, Vachon sighed again. He couldn't remember
the last time he'd had this much trouble making up his mind. Tilting
his head back he looked at the stars above him, half hoping that he'd
find his answers there.

If the stars had a solution to his problem, they were keeping it to
themselves. But they did remind him of a New Orleans night some
hundred years ago. The night he'd met Urs.

Urs.

She'd been a shining jewel in that dump of a saloon. Okay, so it
hadn't been the sleaziest saloon he'd ever been to, but it had been
close enough. He'd never met another vampire as gentle as her. Nor a
mortal, for that matter.

He missed her. He missed their link. She hadn't been the only one he'd
ever brought across, but she'd been the only one to stay with him.
Loyal to a fault, she'd been. And so -- insecure, at times. Most of
the time.

He hoped she was happy wherever she was now. Cause she sure hadn't
been happy that many times while she'd been alive.

She'd liked Toronto better than most of the cities they'd stayed in.
She'd even gotten herself a small house. But even so, she'd sometimes
still preferred to spend the day at the Raven's cellar. Usually,
whenever the loneliness had gotten to her, or when she'd been scared.
Or, when she'd cut it too close to dawn.

She'd felt safe at the cellar, where she was never alone. But then
there'd been the times when she'd preferred her own company, and she'd
stayed at her own place. Which had been surprisingly often, now that
he thought of it.

Blinking once more, Vachon moved his eyes from the stars to the open
road ahead of him.

What the heck was he supposed to do?

Without thinking, he started his bike and let it roll down the slight
slope. The wind felt good against his face, and it would feel even
better if he was going full speed...

What the heck, he always thought best when on the move, anyway.

Speeding up he took the first turn to the right, heading out of the
city. He didn't really need to make any decisions right that second.
He'd just take a little trip, and if it would turn out to be a
permanent one, well... That's just the way it would be then.

For a moment he considered stopping by to see Antonia before he left,
to thank her. When she'd called him late last night to let him know
that Urs' killer had been taken care of, he'd been a little out of it
and hadn't really managed to thank her. But, the road ahead was more
alluring than a detour to her place, so in the end he decided against
going.

Maybe he'd send her a postcard from the road.

***

Sighing, Antonia glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand once
again. It was just past four in the morning. Rolling on her back she
stared at the ceiling and held her breath. Another night wasted. She
glanced at the empty space beside herself and closing her eyes sighed
again, this time from relief. LaCroix hadn't come home yet.

For a moment she contemplated on giving sleep another chance, just to
see if it would rise to the bait this time around. She was dead tired
and she really needed to sleep, and yet she couldn't. As in, was not
able to. Oh, her body was more than ready to drop, if only her mind
would slow down for just a little while. She'd tried all of her usual
tricks but nothing worked. And of course, the harder she tried the
more elusive sleep became. She would lie in her bed, floating towards
the blessed sleep but that final line to unconsciousness always
remained just beyond her reach. So, she'd lie in the darkness, alone,
with only the very thoughts she sought to escape into sleep to keep
her company. Keeping her awake.

In fact, she hadn't really slept for more than a few hours after That
Night. The night she had helped to destroy Divia. LaCroix's master.
LaCroix's daughter. The demon child from hell. Whatever.

Divia.

Groaning out loud Antonia tossed the covers aside and got up. Heading
towards the bathroom she hoped that a cold shower would shock her
brain to shut up.

No such luck.

Antonia dried herself up and dressed comfortably in jeans and an old
sweater. Sitting down at her dressing table she picked up her brush
and slowly ran it through her damp locks. The repeated, monotonous
movement was oddly soothing and she felt herself relax, just a little.

Absentmindedly, she noted that the slight reddish tint of her hair had
almost faded. Not that it really mattered. She'd begun to tire of the
auburn once again, anyway. Maybe it was time to return to her natural
chestnut for a change. Pausing, she let the brush rest on her lap and
took a good look at herself through the mirror.

She looked tired. The look in her eyes was tired, dull. Not surprising
really, considering the past few days. She looked the way she felt.
Worn-out. Old. She gave out a mirthless laugh. She hadn't lived a full
life even in mortal terms, yet. How the heck did the rest of the
immortals do it? How did Mac do it? Or LaCroix? How did they stay sane
through it all? How did they live with the guilt? All those years...

Weary, she wondered if it was possible for an Immortal to develop an
ulcer. Every time she thought of Divia she felt a burning sensation at
the pit of her stomach. And the harder she tried not to think about it
the more vivid images would fill her mind.

It was all so confusing, and the more she thought of it the more
tangled it all became. She *did* feel guilty, but not for taking
Divia's head. Not exactly. She knew that under the same circumstances
she'd do it again if she had to, but she felt sorry for LaCroix. She
felt guilty for killing his child, his *mortal* child. But she wasn't
sorry for Divia. And how could she apologize for something she didn't
regret?

Antonia snorted at her own thoughts. As if an apology would make it
all right. *Nothing* could ever make it all right.

Sighing, she shook her head. Something would have to give though, and
soon. She couldn't go on like this for much longer but she didn't know
how to make it better, either.

Placing the brush on the dresser she got up and strolled downstairs.
Pausing in the middle of the kitchen she realized that she really
wasn't hungry, after all. Nothing new about that either. Her appetite
had all but vanished along with her ability to sleep. But she was
thirsty.

Finishing off her glass of water Antonia glanced at the clock and
realized that she'd have to hurry. LaCroix would be back from the
Raven soon, so she'd better make haste if she wanted to avoid him. She
knew it was stupid, not to mention cowardly, but she just couldn't
face him. She was barley able to be in the same room with him these
days and any attempt to actually talk to him made her feel queasy. She
was acutely aware that she'd have to face him sooner or later, but
right now she really wanted it to be later rather than sooner. So,
grabbing her purse and keys, she fled the house.


By noon Antonia was ready to crash out on any bench in a park. Her
eyes were bleary, her feet were killing her and she had a pounding
headache. *And* she was no closer to answers about the 'Divia issue'
than she'd been three days ago when it had all begun. Adjusting her
sunglasses she decided that she needed a drink. A soft-drink. No point
in aggravating her stomach with alcohol. And after that, she'd take a
long drive out of the city.


After hours of driving nowhere in particular she pulled over a quiet
dirt road and got out of the car to stretch her legs. Breathing in
deeply she savored the gentle breeze which blew over her. The
quietness of the place was a welcomed change after the busy streets of
Toronto, even if it meant that she could again hear her own thoughts.

But maybe it was time. She could hardly keep running from her problems
forever. Besides, as her mother had always said, running away never
solved anything. Her mother had been a wise woman. What a pity that
her daughter obviously had grown up to be a simpleton.

"Enough", Antonia whispered to herself. There was no point in
continuing to kick herself up. She had more important things to do.
Like to try and figure out what she'd do if, and when, LaCroix decided
to walk out on her. She feared it was only a matter of time before
that would happen. And the worst part was that she could hardly blame
him. She *had* killed his daughter, after all. No, maybe that wasn't
the worst of it. The absolute worst had to be the recognition that
even though they still loved each other, love still just wasn't enough
to make it all right again.

The sun was setting. Wiping her eyes Antonia was suddenly struck by
the thought of how beautiful it was. It was as if she'd noticed the
brilliant, golden colors for the first time in her life. Of course, it
was hardly the first time, but now that she thought of it, it *had*
been a long time since she'd seen a sunset. Not counting the last few
days, it had been a long time since she'd seen the sun, for that
matter. And she hadn't even realized how much she'd missed it, until
now.

She concentrated on savoring the sunset until the last orange ray had
vanished, and for the first time in a while, she felt peaceful. Maybe
this was what she'd needed. To get out of the darkness. To see the
light again, really see it. Maybe, just maybe, she'd survive after
all.

What she really needed was to talk to someone, but to whom? Tessa
didn't know about vampires and Natalie.. Well, they just weren't that
kind of friends. Maybe one day, but not just yet. The obvious person
was of course LaCroix but he was out of the question since it was him
she wanted to talk about. And she'd need to solve this for herself
before she could face him.

Of course, there was always Janette... They got along all right but
she still didn't really know her that well. But maybe that would be a
good thing. And besides, for obvious reasons, if there was anyone who
could understand what she was going through it would be Janette.

***

"Interesting", Janette thought to herself as she watched Antonia leave
the back room of the Raven.

To her knowledge Antonia hadn't been to the club for nearly a year and
yet she had chosen to talk to her there rather than at the house. But
what she found even more interesting was that they hadn't actually
talked at all about what Antonia had obviously really been meaning to
talk about. She'd kept mostly to general subjects and then excused
herself as LaCroix had began to play his rebec, or what ever it was
called, on the Nightcrawler show. Not that she could fault her, the
sound of the instrument was rather -- unique. In retrospect though,
perhaps it would've been wiser to turn off the radio altogether for
the duration of their discussion.

Then, shrugging slightly, Janette ended her musings and returned to
the club area, just in time to see Antonia make her exit. Walking to
the bar she ordered a house special. She sat down and took in the
scene before her, noting with satisfaction that her former kingdom was
back in business as usual. The word that the trouble at the Raven had
been taken care of had gotten around very fast through the Community,
and even the mortals seemed to have found their way back.

Glancing towards the radio booth at the back of the club she thought
of LaCroix. He'd been rather subdued for the past few days but then,
perhaps it wasn't very surprising in the circumstances. What *had*
surprised Janette was that he hadn't 'confronted' Antonia yet. Surely
he must've noticed what the guilt she felt was doing to her. Of
course, Antonia had been absent quite a lot in recent days but that
shouldn't have stopped LaCroix. Indeed, in the past it wouldn't have.
But, perhaps he had changed.

And perhaps a leopard could get rid of its spots.

Smiling faintly at her own musings Janette's thoughts returned to
Antonia. She had looked positively ghastly, with the dark shadows
under her eyes and her hair all dull and lifeless. Such a change in
just four days. That poor child was even worse than dear Nicolas,
carrying all that guilt around with her, as if it would help her any.

Arching one elegant brow Janette took a sip from her glass. No, guilt
was for fools. She had learnt that a long time ago. Guilt didn't suit
her, and so she tried to avoid it at all costs. And truly, most of the
time she'd been extremely successful. This time was no exception.
After all, there really wasn't anything to feel guilty about. She'd
saved the life of her master. If anyone could find something to fault
about that, she'd be most interested to hear them out. She only hoped
that Antonia would soon come to the same, inevitable conclusion.

And perhaps it wouldn't hurt to give LaCroix a hint or two before she
returned to Montreal. Just in case.

***

"The house feels different without Janette", LaCroix thought silently.
He found himself missing the familiar sense of his daughter close by
now that she had left Toronto.

But that wasn't really the only reason the house felt different to
him. He'd noticed the change five days ago, since Divia's death. And
it hadn't been because of Janette, but because of Antonia.

Knitting his brows he thought of Antonia. He knew that Janette had
told her most, if not all, she knew of Divia. He was also very aware
of how that knowledge, along with Divia's actions, had effected her.
Still continued to effect her. And he had *tried* to give her some
space because he knew that that was what she had needed. It hadn't
been easy, and now he was having second thoughts on the validity of
his lenience.

He'd hardly seen Antonia since that night, and it was painfully
obvious to him that it was a very deliberate act on her part. She was
doing everything in her power to avoid him. And during those brief
moments when she hadn't succeeded in it, he could've sworn she'd
*flinched* at the sight of him.

Pursing his lips tightly he almost cursed the day Divia had been born.
She'd had him wrapped around her tiny finger from the moment he'd
first laid eyes on her. To him, she had been absolutely perfect. She
could do no wrong, and he'd doted upon her every whim. Maybe that had
been her downfall. Or maybe it was as simple as genetics.

Whatever it was, even in death she still continued to be *his*
downfall. She still held the power to destroy him and the lives of
those he held most dear. And yet, he still couldn't curse her. Not the
day she'd been born. Nor the day she'd been brought across. Not even
the day he'd killed her in that ancient tomb. He could curse himself,
but not her. Not his daughter. Not his Divia.

Divia.

Whether he liked it or not, she was still the reason for Antonia's
recent behavior. Or was she? Well, partly of course, but he was
Divia's father. Maybe Antonia thought along the lines of 'Like
daughter, like father'. She'd been repulsed by Divia. Maybe she now
found him repulsing, by association. Maybe the reason she was keeping
her distance was because she was trying to find a way to tell him that
she could no longer stay with him. That sometimes, love just wasn't
enough.

Narrowing his eyes, he contemplated on different scenarios along the
same lines. But no matter how many maybes he came up with, there was
always one thing he was absolutely certain of. His own response. If
Antonia thought that he'd simply sit down and watch her leave, she'd
do well to think again. He might not be able to, to use Antonia's
gentle term, 'bully' her into doing anything, but there were other
ways to handle this situation. All of which involved her staying with
him. After all, he hadn't achieved the rank of a general for nothing.
The time to wait had definitely passed. And the age old rule 'good
offence is the best defence' most certainly applied.

Now, all he had to do was wait for her to return back home, and then
corner her.

***

...

"My dear, aren't you the one who once accused me of shutting you out?
Pushing you away?" LaCroix asked. He kept his tone deliberately light,
while taking in Antonia's evident distress as she tried to come up
with a valid answer.

"That.., that was hardly the same..."

He simply arched one of his eyebrows in return. She was on shaky
ground and she knew it.

"But -- she was your sire.. mistress.. whatever."

The quiver in her voice was barely noticeable as she tried to find the
right words, but LaCroix could hear her heart thundering in his ears.
And the look in her eyes... Furrowing his brows LaCroix tried to
understand what was actually going on; their conversation wasn't going
at all the way he'd anticipated.

"Yes, Divia was the one who brought me across", he said carefully.

"And I killed her."

She spoke slowly, gazing deep into his eyes, as if she was trying to
make him understand something important. And when he saw the slight
glimmer of threatening tears in her gray eyes, he finally did
understand.

"You -- and Janette, my dear", he corrected her gently.

"Why didn't you tell me that she was your daughter?" Her question
almost sounded like an accusation. Her breathing came in short,
shallow gasps, and there was a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead.

"Would that have made a difference?"

Antonia seemed surprised at his question. She fell silent and turned
her back on him, trying to come up with an answer.

Finally he heard her speak up again.

"Maybe. I don't know... Maybe I could've found another way to handle
the situation..." She fell silent once more, her shoulders hunched,
and then she turned to face him again. Her eyes were so sad they broke
his heart.

"Probably not." Her whisper was so quiet that even he had to strain
his hearing.

LaCroix couldn't take it anymore. Stepping closer to her he enveloped
her into his arms and simply held her for a while. Then he spoke
softly into her ear. "You didn't do anything I haven't done myself
before, my love."

Lifting her face from his chest she searched his eyes, confused. "What
are you talking about?"

Evidently, Janette *hadn't* told her everything, after all. So he did.
In gruesome detail.

Silent tears streamed down her face by the time he finished.

"But -- at the Raven, you said 'no'. After all that, you still said
'no', Lucien."

"Mere reflex."

He wasn't sure whether or not she believed him, but she let it slide.
Instead, she lifted her fingers to brush his cold cheek, ever so
gently.

"I'm sorry."

"It's all ancient history, my dear."

"I'm so sorry, Lucien." She just couldn't stop the tears from flowing.

"Shhh."

Cupping her face, he tenderly cradled her head in his strong hands and
bent down to kiss her tears away. Like feathers, his lips brushed her
eyelids, first the left then the right one, savoring her salty tears.
Finally he pressed his wet lips against her forehead, lingering for a
small eternity.

"I love you."



The End