Title: The Tides of Change
Author: Kiristeen ke Alaya
Series: No, not yet, but who knows what the future holds
Genre: BtVS/Forever Knight X-Over
Codes: Lacroix/Xander (I know, odd pairing. :)~ )
Rating: R for adult situations and violence (violence is no more than the BtVS series itself.

Warnings: This story contains slash elements of the male/male variety, if this bothers you, you may want to miss this story. It also contains violence and mild language.

Summary: Lacroix, despite appearances to the contrary, is troubled by the necessary death of his vampire master and mortal daughter (Divia) -- a double whammy, so to speak -- and is attempting to put the whole sordid affair behind him. But left feeling that, after everything was said and done, the ending was too easy, too pat, can't help but wait for the last shoe to drop. It isn't until he finally begins to relax that Divia's final revenge comes calling and Lacroix is ripped from everything he holds dear.

Disclaimers: The worlds and characters of neither Forever Knight, nor Buffy the Vampire Slayer, belong to me. They belong to others with more power, and more money. : )~ This story is not for profit, and no infringement is intended. It is purely for entertainment value -- my pitiful attempt to keep the love alive.

Setting: This story is set right after the episode where Divia, Lacroix' mortal daughter (his vampire master) returned to try and destroy him and was ultimately destroyed (Ashes to Ashes), and in the Buffy universe, it takes place between seasons six and seven.

Author's notes: Yes, I realize the timelines don't match up. : ) Don't worry, I take care of that within the story itself. It should become apparent why the differing timelines don't matter at all.

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Prologue
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Settling himself into his seat, Lacroix waited until precisely the right moment before switching from canned music to 'live'. Tapping into the lingering unease he had felt since Divia's death, Lacroix, for only the second time, planned a broadcast around his own emotional state, his own concerns. The song came to gentle end, the last note dying away with a mournful tone. Pausing briefly, the better to build his audience's tension, he began speaking, his voice, low and seductive, almost a purr.

"Greetings, Gentle Listeners all. Have you ever considered the seductive power of fear? Face it, we all have our fears -- great and small. Something out there brings it out in us, sets our hearts to beating wildly, and our blood to flowing freely. It makes the adrenaline rush through our bodies instructing us to choose -- choose to fight or flee. Fear; it paralyses us, it frees us to act without conscious thought. But most of all it gives us that rush that tells us we're not dead yet, that we still . . . exist.

"What is it you fear? Is it something simple? Is it pain? Do you fear the aches and pains of growing old? Is it Betrayal? Death? Or, is it something more, something darker? Do you fear the shadows, and all that is unseen there in that eternal twilight where our imagination makes every half-seen flutter into a monster, every nearly-identifiable sound into the very thing the frightens us most?

"Do you dream of these terrors, startling awake in a cold sweat? Do you scream into the darkness when these so-called terrors approach? Do you hold yourself back from truly living, enjoying your existence for fear of . . . fear? And just what is our fascination with this unquantifiable emotion? What about it makes us feel so very alive?

"This is the Nightcrawler, and tonight's subject is fear. Call me, tell me what frightens you. I am here to listen."

x-x-x

Nick frowned, casting a quick glance down at the radio, though he well knew it would provide absolutely no insight into Lacroix's mind. Tonight was different than usual, however. Tonight, Lacroix spoke not to him, but to someone else. Who? Nick wondered.

Usually, the Nightcrawler's monologues spoke directly, occasionally indirectly, to those thoughts that plagued him the most. This unexpected change both relieved and concerned him.

Since the morning he'd left Lacroix beside Divia's burning pyre, they'd taken the first tiny steps to reconciling their seemingly irreconcilable differences. They weren't 'buddies'. Nick doubted that colloquial term would ever describe their relationship, but at least now, they weren't arguing from the moment either of the stepped into a room with the other.

Of course, Lacroix still didn't agree with either his insistence at, as the older vampire phrased it, 'playing at mortality', nor with his search for true mortality, but at least for the moment, they'd . . . agreed to disagree.

It was curiously freeing. No matter how much he wanted to deny it -- to deny that part of himself. No matter how much he, at times, despised it. There was a bond between them, one that went beyond the mental connection between a vampire and his child. In his calmer, saner, moments, Nick knew it was this bond, this bond of love, that had kept Lacroix -- his father, his master -- chasing after him through the centuries.

Some would call it obsession, and technically, he supposed, it was. He was the first to admit, however, that everyone had their obsessions. His, as Lacroix had frequently taunted him, was his 'useless' quest to become mortal again. He'd been chasing it as long as Lacroix had been chasing him.

So, he thought to himself with a humorless chuckle, who's obsession is worse -- his or mine?

Nick sighed. No doubt, they wouldn't agree on the answer to that question either. No matter, he thought. He'd never ask the question, anyway. What did matter, however, was Nick's growing concern that tonight's monologue was a reflection of some inner turmoil of the older vampire's.

He'd never been as adept as Lacroix at reading emotions across the bond they shared -- though he suspected that was as much due to the older vampire's long experience at blocking, as to any inability on his part. Tonight, though, was different -- again. The bond was thrumming with Lacroix's . . . discontent. That wasn't quite right, but Nick couldn't quite pin down what was wrong. All he knew for sure was that something was wrong. For several long moments he considered showing up at the broadcast booth -- which was now back in the CERK building, the Raven still under repairs. Bad things tended to happen when Lacroix was upset. He should, at least, try to head that off.

In the end, he decided against it. Lacroix would not appreciate the realization he'd been 'broadcasting' -- all puns aside -- and likely wouldn't open up as to what, exactly, was bothering him anyway. Of course, all that would do is end up angering both of them, and Nick was in no hurry to destroy the very fragile peace they'd managed to establish.

If it was still bad tomorrow, he'd go to the Raven before work. A full day's sleep was always a good idea before confronting Lacroix, and, if nothing else, it would help him hold his temper.

TBC
Kiristeen ke Alaya
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