It didn’t take long to take stock of the battle. The house had been largely destroyed by the three vampires and the Quickening, but the two bodies still needed to be disposed of–headless children would draw much too much unneeded attention. On top of that, LaCroix and Janette were both still weak, their bodies for some reason refusing to heal the wounds that Divia had inflicted on them.
The ancient Immortal studied those injuries gravely, his mouth drawn into a tight, grim line. Finally he drew his sword in a sudden slashing line across his wrist and held it to his ancient friend.
LaCroix turned his head away from the tantalizing flow of blood. “Methos, no–”
“Lucius, in the nineteen centuries we’ve known each other, I’ve always treated you as an equal. Don’t make me break my perfect record by forcing you to drink from me, damn it!”
The vampire glared at his friend but was too weak to fight the thirst. Pulling the Immortal’s wrist to his mouth, he began to drink savagely.
Richie offered his own wrist to Janette. She didn’t argue, only sank her teeth in gratefully as he resisted the impulse to pull away. Janette wasn’t Divia, he reminded himself. She wouldn’t drain him over and over again just for her own amusement.
With almost miraculous self-control, the vampire did indeed manage to pull away from the young Immortal before he began to grow faint. “Merci,” she whispered with a feeble smile.
Apparently they had judged correctly that the fresh Immortal blood might counteract the poison even if it hadn’t blocked it. When LaCroix’s strength finally began to return, Methos offered himself in turn to Janette. When they were both mostly healed, conversation turned instead to disposing of the unpleasant evidence of their activities.
“The easiest way would be to just burn the house,” the older Immortal pointed out.
“No.” LaCroix’s voice was firm and cold.
Methos turned to look at him, his face painted with exasperation. “Lucius–”
“Do what you like with the boy, Methos. But in spite of everything…Divia is still my daughter.”
“And look what happened last time you decided to give her a decent burial,” the older man retorted.
“Then I will give her a decent pyre instead. But I will not allow her to be burned in this way, like so much rubbish. As evil as she was…she was my child. I cannot just disregard that bond.”
After a long, drawn moment between the two men, the older one finally nodded. “All right.”
Richie gaped at them and Methos turned to glare at him. “What? Even five thousand year old men can be wrong once in a while.”
The younger Immortal’s mouth snapped shut and he grinned broadly. “Can I use that on Mac next time he gets all high-and-mighty?”
“No, you can’t,” Methos retorted. “All that would accomplish is he would use it against me.”
Richie laughed and LaCroix chuckled ruefully.
Standing, the ancient vampire crossed the room to where Divia’s headless body lay. He sighed deeply, eyes dark with sorrow, then bent down to pick up the corpse which he cradled in his arms like a sick child. By silent consent, Janette collected Divia’s head while the two Immortals picked up Kenny’s body and head and the four carried their burdens out of the house.
o/
Some time later…
The flames stood out bright and golden against the black sky as they spread over the pyre. Several feet away stood the four, LaCroix’ eyes never leaving the shrouded form of his daughter. Janette was behind him, her hand on his arm a constant but unobtrusive presence.
Richie’s face was no less pensive. As much as he’d hated Kenny by the time the child Immortal had finally been defeated, watching his body slowly wither into ash brought back different emotions. Emotions he’d felt when he thought the boy was exactly what he seemed–a frightened child just beginning to face a grim destiny. He’d identified with that child even as he thanked whatever power controlled his destiny that he’d been given a few more years before crossing the threshold. Because he’d come just far enough to have a chance of surviving. For the short time before the kid’s true nature showed, he’d considered him a spiritual brother.
Both the ancient vampire and the young Immortal couldn’t help but wonder who the childlike pair could have been if not deprived of the chance to grow up.
The fire was still high and the bodies still unconsumed when Methos suggested quietly that they should be returning. “As it is, we’ll be cutting it rather close with the sunrise,” he pointed out.
“You go on. I will follow shortly,” LaCroix stated calmly.
Methos nodded, knowing the vampire could cover the distance much more quickly in flight. “How are you doing, old friend?” he asked.
“As well as one can expect of a father who has lost his child,” he replied honestly. “I will never cease to wonder if I somehow failed her, if there was something I could have done besides end her life. But for the moment…I want only a few minutes alone with her…to say goodbye.”
Conceding to his wishes, the other three turned away towards the Thunderbird. LaCroix watched them disappear before looking back to Divia’s pyre.
A sad smile twisted his lips as he murmured, “I may even say a prayer for her soul.”
o/
Behind the dojo
the next night
“Will you be coming back to Toronto, cherie?” LaCroix asked as the other vampire prepared to leave.
Janette shook her head with a sad smile. “Non, mon pere. I have already said goodbye to that city and all its entanglements.” She leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. “But perhaps, one day, you will give up on Nicolas and come to visit me.”
“Perhaps I shall,” he agreed with a calm smile of his own. “In the meantime, you must keep me in your correspondence. Your letters often provide a much needed diversion.”
“You will always be in my correspondence, just as you will always be in ma coeur.”
LaCroix lifted her hand to his lips to place a kiss on it, then released it with surprising reluctance. Turning to the two Immortals, she gave them each a peck on the cheek–laughing when Richie turned crimson–then disappeared into the night sky.
The ancient vampire then turned to the two as well.
“Methos.” He grasped his old friend’s hand firmly.
“Take care of yourself, Lucius.”
Richie smiled as LaCroix held out a hand to him. “Maybe we’ll meet again, someday,” the young Immortal suggested. “In another life, so to speak.”
“I shall plan on it,” the older man responded politely. “Someday I may even be able to give back to you a part of what Methos gave me when I was young.”
Richie nodded. “I’d like that,” he agreed.
With one last careful look around to make sure no one but the two was watching the alley where they stood, the vampire stepped into the sky and vanished within moments.
“Now,” Methos suggested, turning to the younger Immortal. “What say we go break in that new sword of yours?” They had failed to locate the rapier.
“You want to spar with me?” the young man feigned disbelief.
The ancient one tried to look affronted. “Look, I may not be as good as MacLeod, but five thousand years of experience ought to count for something against a whelp such as yourself.”
Richie glared at the older man as he followed him into the building. “Hey, who’re you calling a whelp!”
“Of course, if you’d prefer ‘brat’–”
The younger Immortal shook his head vigorously. “On second thought, ‘whelp’ is fine.”
I have you fast in my fortress,
And I will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.And there will I keep you forever,
Yes, forever and a day,
Till the wall shall crumble to ruin,
And moulder in dust away.
–Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Children’s Hour”