SADNESS, IN A MINOR KEY

Standard disclaimers apply.  Nick, and Natalie, for what 
little she appears, aren't mine, I've just taken them for a 
brief spin.  Any similarities to real-life events or other 
stories are entirely coincidental/unintentional.  Permission 
is granted to archive at fkfanfic.com and the ftp site; all 
others please ask so I that can keep track of it.  For those 
of you who are interested, my other stories are all 
available at 
http://filebox.vt.edu/users/diharris/Homepage.htm.

This story is a real first for me.  It's probably the 
closest to a factionless story I'll ever write, even if it 
is Nick-centric.  Also, while I have avoided flashbacks like 
the plague in the past, that's basically all this story is 
:)  I decided to write this to explain my favorite lines in 
the whole of Forever Knight:

"How 'bout that?" 
"It's a beautiful piece.  Do you remember who wrote it?"
"No, I don't.  But it's by Beethoven, right?"
"Very good!"
"It's funny, as I was playing just now I remember a friend 
jotting down notes as I was playing... with a quill.  He was 
hard of hearing.  It's weird..." 

Why was that the first thing he remembered in Night in 
Question?  There had to be some importance to it all, and 
this is my attempt to explain it.

I would like to note that while I tried to make this story 
as historically accurate as possible, history concerning 
Beethoven is full of inconsistencies.  I've included real 
events in several places, but as they were not dated, I had 
to do some major guesswork as to what happened when, as well 
as deal with the fact that there are about fifteen or so 
different stories about how the song Fur Elise came to be.  
Please keep that in mind.

Historical Notes: 
1.  The incident in which Beethoven was called a 
"scoundrelly phiz" was real.  He actually sent a man running 
out of a tavern because he spat at his feet.
2.  Giulietta Guicciardi was a real person who really turned 
down Beethoven's proposal.
3.  Beethoven was really suicidal.  The only reason he gave 
for not killing himself was that he had more music to 
compose. 

There are many other true-to-life things strewn around the 
story, but those are the most obvious ones.

Thanks A BILLION times over to all of my beta readers.  
Lois, Heather-Anne, Desiree, Portia, you did a wonderful 
job!  Without your help, this story would not only be a 
shell of what it is now, it would be a typo-ridden, 
grammatical mess!  Well... ok, I wouldn't be that severe... 
but I think several red pens died in agony for this story.  
Pay homage to them, for they gave their lives with bravery 
;)

Any and all comments can be sent to Diane Harris at 
aria5@vt.edu.  I thrive on positive and/or constructive 
feedback.  One could even say that I'm a feedback glutton.  
So bring it on!

SADNESS, IN A MINOR KEY

The soft strains of a familiar bagatelle swept through the 
loft as Natalie exited from the lift.  Fur Elise.  Probably 
one of the most well-known pieces of music to ever grace 
the Earth, written by a phenomenal composer, and yet so over
-played it had become the classical equivalent to Happy 
Birthday.  But now, as Nick played it, Natalie couldn't help 
but hear a difference.  How much more sad and tormented it 
seemed, even when his graceful fingers progressed to the 
lesser known second part that, to Natalie, had always 
sounded like a happy dance through the country.

"Natalie..." Nick whispered softly, almost regretfully, not 
bothering to open his eyes as she approached him.  He simply 
continued playing, his body swaying minutely as he sat 
hunched and tensed over the keys, pouring as much emotion 
into the piece through the narrow columns of his fingers as 
he possibly could.

"Nick, it sounds beautiful," she replied, her voice soft and 
filled with awe as she brought her hands to rest on his 
strong, broad shoulders.

His eyes still did not open.  He seemed not to be paying 
attention to her, as if he didn't care or didn't notice that 
she was standing right behind him.  His entire being was 
being placed into the music.  "No one plays it right 
anymore..." he stated sadly, his body quivering slightly 
under the feather-light touch of her fingertips.  
Trembling...

Finally, he reached the end.  The music stopped.  The 
seconds ticked by and Natalie waited patiently, but Nick 
stayed wrapped up in his own little world.  Still and 
silent, he sat there poised over the keys, long enough to 
make Natalie feel the slight beginnings of discomfort.

"I, uh," she began, clearing her throat with a hesitant 
cough in an effort to stop the dismal mood of the loft from 
crushing her.  "I wanted to see how you were doing.  Did 
your talk with LaCroix help?" she asked, intending to be 
understanding and sympathetic, but even as she mentioned 
_his_ name, she couldn't help but shiver with loathing.  
Even worse, it made her angry that Nick had sought _him_ 
instead of _her_ to help him recover. 

Nick finally opened his sad blue eyes and looked at her 
bleakly.  "Yes, I remember everything now," he stated 
bluntly, his tone cold and strangely detached.  His 
shoulders shook with strain, and his chest gave a mighty 
heave before he grew eerily silent again, as if he were 
attempting to overcome some unseen force.  Perhaps it was 
the guilt that was weighing him down now, perhaps the 
sadness of all his past lives.  She doubted he would divulge 
his torment to her.  He never did.

But she had come for answers to another question, one that 
had about the same probability of getting answered as Nick 
confessing what had happened with LaCroix to make him so 
glum.  Regardless, her curiosity was piqued.  She had to 
try...  "Nick, can I ask you a question?" she began 
hesitantly.

He looked back at her, eyes awash with infinite pain, but 
face as cold as stone.  "Do I have to answer?" he asked her 
gruffly.  She was taken aback by his bluntness, although 
somewhat comforted by the fact that it wasn't aimed 
at her, suspecting that it was just an effort to mask 
his own pain.  It must've been so hard for him to regain so 
many bad memories at once...

"No...  not if you don't want to.  It's just..." she paused, 
unsure as to whether this was a good idea or not.  He almost 
never told her of his past; what would make this time any 
different?

He sat there silently, his eyes daring her to intrude on his 
own wallowing guilt as though he expected his stare to be an 
impenetrable wall. 

His glare, however, was enough to bolster her own stubborn 
side, and she plunged onward.  "I want to know why the first 
thing you remembered was that song," she commanded, her 
voice much more firm than she felt.  It was selfish of her, 
she knew, but a part of her needed to know why he had 
remembered that first, and not her...

"What song?" he asked.

He was playing dumb with her, she was certain, and all at 
once she felt her cheeks flushing red with anger.  How dare 
he...  "Fur Elise..." she stated coolly, trying to contain 
herself.

Nick looked at her sharply, as if she'd just struck a 
sensitive nerve.  He sat there silently, staring with a 
forlorn look at the piano which he had been playing so 
beautifully only moments before.  For a brief moment, 
Natalie thought she'd lost the battle of wills and that he 
simply wasn't going to tell her.

He got up, much to her surprise, and with a heavy sigh he 
moved to his large, black-leather easy-chair.  "No one plays 
it right anymore..." he repeated softly, and then to 
Natalie's surprise, he began to tell his tale.

VIENNA 1809

The candlelight in the corner where he sat was sparse, at 
best, softly flickering over his pale face in a manner that 
made him appear to be a heavenly being of Godly countenance.

But God scorned creatures such as he.

Nick grimaced harshly at the thought, so intent on brooding 
that he wasn't really paying attention to the din that 
surrounded him.

Until now.

There was a group of men a few tables away, smiling smiles 
that extended beyond mere curves of their lips into subtly 
cheerful wrinkles around their eyes.  Rosy cheeks and warm 
skin flashed as toothy grins were traded back and forth, 
their boisterous laughter virtually shaking the room in 
which they sat, vibrating against his own still heart in a 
subtle mockery of his own desperate loneliness.  They didn't 
know a killer was sitting among them.

There were others in the large, dim room, indeed, but there 
were none sitting so close.  The rest were but a cheerful 
ambience.  These men...  These men were the life of the 
small tavern.  They alone had set the mood.

A sad hint of a smile marred Nick's lips as he watched them 
conversing lightheartedly.  Now that... that was one thing 
he sorely missed from his mortal days.  He had lacked a true 
and trustworthy comrade since the day Janette had walked 
into his life.                    

It hurt to watch them.

He looked away as a small frown invaded his face, turning 
his eyes down towards his clasped hands.  The mild pain 
emanating from his stomach was growing increasingly hard to 
ignore with each passing moment.  

The laughing men didn't know.  

They didn't know that he would have to hunt tonight to quiet 
his terrible desires.  The hunger that dwelled in his 
abdomen was sure to erupt into an unstoppable bestial fury 
if he were to let it go for another night--he'd already 
abstained for a week.  But now... he was regretting the 
decision to wait until he arrived in Vienna.  It made the 
urgency of his plight all the worse since he hadn't fed 
while traveling.                    

"Sir?  Sir, are you unwell?  Can I get you anything?"

A young woman stood there quietly, her white apron spread 
fully across her pale, worn dress.  Small and hesitant, a 
smile crossed her thin lips as he reluctantly brought his 
eyes to look upon her.

Nick groaned softly, desperately trying to drown out the 
sound of her wildly beating heart, the laughter of his 
jovial neighbors suddenly fading into the background.  
Threatening to split his head in two, the rampant pounding 
of the girl's heart refused to cease its torturous, hypnotic 
song.  His nostrils flared delicately as he caught wind of 
her.  The tangy scent of the blood in her veins smelled 
glorious to his acute olfactory sense, and he closed his 
eyes in an attempt to deny the golden amber he knew was 
surely there.

"Sir?" the woman questioned softly, her feminine voice rich 
with concern as she placed a warm hand on his sleeve.  

He took a deep breath and furiously willed the vampire away, 
finally able to bring his stunning blue eyes to look at her 
squarely.  But the instant his eyes met with hers, he found 
himself grabbing the hand which she had so gently placed on 
his arm, and he flung it away.  Take her, take her, take 
her!  She's so warm and hot and innocent...  You could have 
her blood running through your veins.  Burning you...  Take 
her, damn you!  

"No!" he whispered hoarsely, his breath coming in heaving 
gasps as he fought to overcome his inner demon.  The thin 
column of her neck pulsed wickedly as she gasped at his 
outburst and swallowed, backing up a step.

Away from him...

Immediately, he regretted his actions.  With as pleasant a 
smile as he could muster, he nodded his head.  "I apologize 
and thank you, but I shall not have anything tonight," he 
said warmly, despite the utter coldness he felt.

He would certainly have something tonight.  Just not what 
she could offer to serve him--not reasonably, anyway.

The maid looked shaken, but she nodded and went on to 
another, more inviting table.  "Wait..." he wanted to 
whisper, but no sound came from his lips, only a silent gasp 
of air.  He sighed and placed his head heavily in his hands.  

Had he become so uncivilized that he couldn't even talk to 
_one_ of them?  Forget the table of laughing comrades, he 
couldn't even converse with but one frightened barmaid.
The loneliness that was threatening to overwhelm him gripped 
his heart and shook it terribly within his chest.  He felt 
jarred, out of place.

<_You_ don't belong anywhere but with me!>

Nick squeezed his eyes shut, trying to deny the words he had 
so recently fled from.  He knew LaCroix would catch up with 
him eventually, find him despite his efforts to remain 
inconspicuous, but could he not enjoy his brief freedom 
while it lasted? 

No, it seemed that now his torment was only greater, even in 
his tormentor's absence.

He sighed.

So lonely...

"I swear!  What a scoundrelly phiz!" an angry, flustered 
voice suddenly cried out above the soft murmur of voices 
that littered the room.
                                       
Nick's head snapped up in the direction of the disturbance, 
like a bird of prey scoping out a possible meal.  

A dark man sat there alone at a table in the opposite 
corner, his hair a wild wave of fury atop his head, 
complimenting the smug grin that was now on his face.  Nick 
looked at him, appalled.  It appeared as if the man had not 
met with a comb or any means of grooming in an eternity 
barely shorter than the one Nick knew himself...  A savage 
air fitted him like a glove to a hand, and Nick found it 
quite disconcerting to see a mortal so affected with a mood 
that would better suit himself...  

The man who had cried out, a well-dressed red-head, shoved 
off from the wild-man's table with a disgusted look, and to 
Nick's surprise, the wild-man spat on the floor at the other 
man's feet.  "You are a savage, Herr Beethoven!  You disgust 
me!" the man cried and rushed out the door with such haste 
it was as if some unseen force propelled him forward.  The 
wild-man just smiled and went back to his drink.

Nick's eyes widened as his thought processes screeched to a 
halt.  Herr Beethoven?  No...  He shook his head.  It 
couldn't be.  Impossible.  The genius composer would not be, 
_could not_ be such a savage, crazy man...

No.  It was crazy.  Inconceivable.  He had heard wrong.

He got up quickly, the swiftness of a deadly predator 
keeping his feet soft and silent against the heavy wooden 
floor.  No one in the tavern noticed his departure into the 
frigid night.  Not that they would have cared--strangers to 
the city of Vienna were regular occurrences.

Growling softly, he stared into the night, keenly observing 
the few people who were out in the darkness, his hot breath 
clawing outward from his mouth in a misty cloud of moisture.  
The hunger burned brightly within him.

He had to feed.

Now.

Launching forward on his feet, bringing up a spray of dusty 
snow, he began to prowl the darkened streets in search of 
prey.  There was a symphony of heartbeats surrounding him, 
almost to the point of overwhelming him.  But... which one 
would he snuff out?  Which one would have the misfortune?

It was agony to choose.

He was not God.  He had no right, and yet there he was, 
stalking in the night like he owned the very streets he 
walked.

"Stop!  Thief!" a gnarled woman's frightened voice cried 
from across the street, her long fingers pointing wildly 
down the street at a fleeing individual.  Nick couldn't help 
but smile regretfully.  At least...  At least the vampire's
unfortunate victim would deserve it tonight, although it did 
little to soothe him as he focused on the fleeing man. 

The man's heart was beating wildly in Nick's ears now, 
strong and persistent as he was pursued, beating even faster 
when the man realized he was being stalked...  Skillfully, 
through turn after turn in the snowy streets, Nick corralled 
his victim to a side-street and into a dark corner.

Nick honed in on the sound of the man's heart pounding 
viciously in his chest as his veins pumped with sheer 
terror.  The sound was like a sweet song of finely tuned 
tympanis in his ears.  Delicious.  Ah... to be finally 
assuaged.  

Shaking terribly, the man backed against the cold brick 
wall.  The beast within quivering for a long-denied release, 
Nick snarled savagely and advanced upon him.  "What in God's 
name are you?" the man cried as his back hit the wall with a 
thump.  His broad chest heaved in fear, his eyes wide like a 
man who had just set eyes on some ungodly specter, a stunned 
rabbit cowering before the hunter.

Nick felt a brief pang in his heart at the fear, and out of 
shame, did not answer as he gripped the man harshly and spun 
him around so that he was granted better access to the neck.  
The joy of the hunt that had consumed him had strangely left 
him now that he was so close to fulfillment.  Now it was 
only the guilt.

But he was so hungry...

He hissed softly and clamped his jaw down on the man's 
pulsing neck, Nick's elongated fangs piercing the soft 
flesh.  The second his pearly teeth broke the skin, hot 
blood immediately spurted into his mouth.

It burned his throat.  Ecstasy!  He groaned in pleasure.  
Even better, the sweet ambrosia was imbued with fear.  
Delicious, heart-wrenching, mind-numbing fear.  He growled 
savagely and buried his fangs deeper into his victim's neck, 
viciously ripping his jaw back and forth like a lion 
attacking its prey.  

The guilt was gone.  It was all about the kill now.

Why would you ever want to give this up to become one of 
_them_?

"DEMON!  Get your claws off of him!"

A terrible pain ripped through his side, and Nick let his 
prey go in surprise.  The man he had taken blood from fell 
to the ground and scrambled away woozily.  Whimpering in 
pain, Nick gripped the jagged knife that had been embedded 
in his side, but was unable to pull it out as he looked 
wildly about for his attacker.  Three burly men had come out 
of nowhere.  "Devil!  Kill it!"

Stupid.  How did you let them corner you?

They came upon him brutally, beating him into the cold snow. 
Too weak, from hunger and from surprise, to fight, he had no 
time to react.  What little sustenance he'd gotten from his 
intended victim tonight was simply not enough to bolster his 
strength.  They hadn't even given him a chance...

<_You_ don't belong anywhere but with me!>

He blinked.  His face was numb as he lay there in the dirty 
slush, and he stared weakly at the shoe of his attacker 
through blurred vision.  It shifted about in front of him 
almost imperceptibly as his attacker moved his weight to the 
other foot.  Vaguely, he could feel his blood spilling out 
into the snow, but there was nothing he could do.   He was 
splayed on the ground like a broken rag doll, and trying to 
move his arm from underneath his heavy body to staunch the 
flow resulted in nothing but pain.

It was useless.  He gave up and resigned himself to his ugly 
fate.

"Is it dead?" one of them asked with a whisper, the 
aggressiveness gone from his voice as if he had suddenly 
realized what he'd done.  

The second of the three spat in disgust.  "No.  Just leave 
it for the sun.  Let's go..."

He heard their footsteps retreating loudly, crunching in the 
soft snow as the trio disappeared into the waning night.

Help me...  God, the sun...  He didn't mind dying, he 
accepted it, he deserved it, but... the pain of the sun...  
His fear of it brought him into a panicked frenzy.  Agony 
ripped through his body as he thrashed weakly about with a 
stream of pitiful whimpers emanating from his throat.  He 
was cold, and frozen, and bloody.

And he was doomed.

He shivered.  Cold...  He wasn't used to facing the effects 
of extreme temperatures...

It seemed as though he stared straight ahead for hours, 
bloody tears streaming down his frost-bitten cheeks until 
they froze in place.  But, just when he was sure that the 
sun would grace the horizon and kiss him good morning, a 
soft, warm hand turned him over with a light grunt, patting 
his cheeks in an obvious attempt to make Nick lucid.  

As he looked up through amber-colored vision, Nick couldn't 
help but groan in pain.  His frozen hands reflexively 
clutched around the knife in his gut now that they were free 
from underneath his deadweight body.  What on Earth?  He 
squinted, trying to focus his misbehaving eyes, trying to 
figure out what was going on.

Coughing, with blood coming up his throat and out of his 
mouth in a trickle of spittle, Nick choked slightly as the 
wild-man from the bar sat him up, his face showing some 
concern.

The pain was simply too much for Nick to bear, and as the 
blackness enveloped him, he heard the soft mumble come from 
above him, a voice that was thick with disuse, like an out-
of-tune piano...  From the wild-man.

"Vampire..."

*****

It was quiet.  And dark.  And warm.  And cozy.  

He smiled, not wanting to move an inch.  What a wonderful 
inn, such service, they must've gotten him after...

OHMY!

Nick sat up like a slingshot that had just been released, 
only to be greeted with immediate, lancing pain in his side 
and a dull ache pretty much everywhere else.  "AUGH!" he 
cried out brokenly as he clutched at his abdomen and slowly 
lay back down to appease his protesting innards.

Trying to blink the pain away, Nick lay still as bloody 
tears streamed down his face.  He stared at the ceiling, 
making not a sound as his eyes uncontrollably filled and 
overflowed.  Luckily, despite it all, he felt no hunger--it 
had already been assuaged.  But how?  

And by whom?

Where was he?

What was he doing here?

The questions were overwhelming him now, and it was killing 
him to know that if he got up it would hurt him just as 
badly as the agonizing torture of not knowing.  Gently 
fingering the wound in his side with the skill of an 
individual who'd been injured countless times before, he 
found that at least it hadn't opened again, but the probing 
he was giving the tender area still made him wince.  One 
thing was for sure: if he'd been mortal, he'd probably be 
dead.  The knife had been serrated, and the man who'd 
stabbed him with it had obviously given it a twist for good 
measure.

Nick sighed.  Well maybe he could...

This time he sat up as slowly as he could manage, and he 
found the pain to be a definite nuisance, but certainly 
bearable.  He glanced around, finally taking in his 
surroundings.  

The room he was in was quite large, and very ornate.  The 
bed where he lay was grand, and yet, despite its size, the 
wood-tiled floor sprawled outwards from it for what seemed 
like eternity until it finally hit the white trimming around 
the edges of the room.  Dark, cascading burgundy drapes were 
drawn across the bay windows, a dim outline of light the 
only evidence that it was indeed daytime.  That, and the 
usual buzzing feeling in the back of his mind.

Hesitantly, he shifted and dropped his right foot slowly to 
the cold floor, noticing for the first time that he was in 
a clean set of clothes, untorn and unbloodied.  Why...  Why 
would anyone have wanted to save him, least of all the 
savage wild-man that had seen fit to spit at another man's 
feet?  No benevolent man would do such a horrendous, vulgar 
act.  So why?  Nick racked his brain for answers, but came 
up with none, only winding up exceedingly frustrated for his 
efforts.

Even more hesitantly than he had slipped his feet to the 
floor, he stood up.  It hurt.  A lot.  But it was bearable.
The wound was still closed, and the spare rag bandage that 
covered it underneath his shirt remained unstained despite 
his earlier probing.

He took a step, surprised at the ache in his muscles, and 
then took another.  And soon, he was at the door of the 
large bedroom, looking back at where he'd lain for only God 
knew how long in the care of a strange man he'd never met 
before.  It was slightly disturbing, but the thought served 
to press him onward.

Pulling the door open cautiously, he was relieved to find 
the hallway both uninhabited, and safely traversable.  While 
there were a few patches of sunlight here and there, they 
were easily avoidable.

As he stepped out of the hallway, the strains of soft piano 
music filled the air.  The tune sounded forced, and 
definitely not played at all skillfully, but Nick was not 
one to judge.  He knew nothing of the piano, despite the 
fact that he desperately wanted to learn.  Ever since he'd 
seen the prodigy composer Wolfgang Mozart play blindfolded 
for a crowd, he'd wanted it.  

But time had simply not permitted.  Fleeing from LaCroix had 
him constantly skipping towns and cities very shortly after 
he took up residence.  He didn't have time to transport a 
piano with him, let alone find a new teacher in every new 
region that he visited.

"No, Therese..." said a thick, male voice, the same that he 
had heard the night before, or at least what he hoped was 
the night before, followed by a rap that could've only been 
something hitting against the top of the piano.

The playing stopped for a moment and started again; the same 
hesitant, soft sound that had permeated the halls before 
began again.  "Therese, no!  Your rhythm is off," said the
voice again, although slightly more annoyed this time.  
Another rap at the piano.

Nick heard a frustrated sigh as he drew closer to a small 
staircase, and he quickly identified that the sound was 
filtering up from there.  Again the playing stopped and 
restarted.  But it didn't take long before...  "Therese, NO!  
Did you not practice anything that I gave you?" the voice 
cried, this time very incensed.

"Ludwig, I'm sorry!" cried a feminine voice whose owner was 
obviously close to tears.

"Therese, how do you expect me to teach you to play if you 
will not practice?" the male voice scolded harshly.

"I'm..."  A sob followed, and then the flutter of footsteps 
as tiny feet fled the room.

"Therese..." a sad whisper replied.

But it was too late.  Nick could see, as he descended slowly 
into a large room where a beautiful Viennese piano sat, that 
the room that had once been inhabited by two was now 
inhabited by one.  The wild-man was sitting on the bench, 
his head in his hands, and for some reason Nick found 
himself wanting to go and comfort the man.  An impenetrable 
wall of sunlight, however, prevented him from advancing any 
further into the room.

An angry growl fell from the wild-man's lips as he ran his 
hands through his unruly brown hair.  "Sir?" Nick called 
hesitantly, wincing as his muscles again protested movement, 
but the man did not look up.  "Sir?!" Nick called, slightly 
louder this time, but the man still did not look up.  
Something was wrong...

But strangely, as if he had sensed a presence in the room, 
the man stopped, his head lying silently in his hands for a 
few long moments before he brought his eyes upwards to look 
at Nick.  "Ah, it's you..." he said softly as he wiped his 
eyes, a gesture of fatigue that Nick recognized instantly.  
"How do you fare?" he inquired curiously.

Nick nodded slightly, despite the growing ache in his side 
and pretty much everywhere else.  "Well, thank you..." he 
replied as he stood there, several inches behind the wall of 
natural light.  Tracing the line that separated him from the 
wild-man with his eyes, he stared back at his 'captor'.  He 
still had no idea what was going on.  Was this friend or 
foe?  Unease sat heavily on his shoulders.

Suddenly, the wild-man hopped up, snapping his fingers as a 
thought came to him, one that he obviously felt was very 
important.  "I'm sorry..." he murmured as he raced to the 
draperies and pulled them shut.

Nick stood there, stunned, as the room was bathed in blessed 
darkness.  How could this man know so much about him?  How 
did he know about vampires?  He obviously did...

The man approached him with a smile.  "I am Ludwig von 
Beethoven.  Welcome to my home..."  

Although his feet stayed firmly planted to the floor, Nick 
felt like he'd been knocked back a step.  He'd thought he'd 
heard wrong before, and then when the woman had called him 
Ludwig, he'd purposely ignored that, too, but here... here 
there was no question that he'd heard correctly.  No 
question at all.

"Ni... Nicholas de Brabant," he responded automatically as 
his eyes flew to the small piano again.  That wasn't just a 
piano.  That was _Beethoven's_ piano...  The piano that 
Beethoven had probably sat at to tinker out the notes of the 
Eroica, the Moonlight Sonata...  Nick's heart quickened at 
the prospect.

Beethoven squinted at him as if he were listening to Nick 
very hard, although Nick couldn't see why.  He wasn't 
speaking very softly...  "Why..." Nick began, but Beethoven 
put his hand up to shush him.

"You are a vampire, are you not?" he asked bluntly, his 
voice gruff, and Nick still couldn't figure out why it 
sounded so...  Well...  It was as if the man hardly ever 
spoke at all, like a door that creaks terribly when it's 
been left to rust on its hinges.  

"How did you..."

"I have heard the stories... it wasn't that hard to figure 
out once I caught a glimpse of you in the alley..."

Nick's eyes widened at the thought.  "You saved me," he 
stated softly, still unable to figure out why this man, this 
famous composer, would ever want to save a hideous creature 
like himself...  

Beethoven was staring at him, unblinking, his eyes never 
leaving Nick's lips.  He found it rather disturbing to be so 
intently stared at, very strange indeed.  It made Nick 
shudder, involuntarily.  

"Is it true?  What they say?" Beethoven asked softly, his 
voice the awestruck sound of a young boy first exposed to 
the beauties of the world outside his own small home.

"I'm not sure what you mean..." Nick hedged, beginning to 
worry about where this dangerous conversation was headed.

Beethoven sighed a frustrated sigh and shuffled his feet in 
a sign of impatience.  He wanted something,that much was 
clear...  "My father told me once, when I was a young boy, 
that there were terrible creatures that stalked the night."  
Nick cringed as the composer began to explain, self-disgust 
overwhelming him.  He was the embodiment of that terrible 
creature...  

Beethoven, however, did not notice Nick's discomfort with 
the subject, and he plunged onward.  "He told me that they 
lived off of human beings as if they were cattle, but in 
exchange for that heinous sin, they were granted 
immortality, incredible healing capacity, and hence became 
addicted to their ungodly acts.  At the time, I considered 
it a reason to stay indoors at night, but now..."  His voice 
trailed off as he reached the end of his explanation, his 
eyebrow raised in silent inquiry.  

Nick offered no reaction whatsoever as he felt his stomach 
dropping into his feet, hoping that he could dodge the 
subject entirely.  Far too many mortals had been mistakenly 
enchanted with the idea of living forever without having the 
foresight to look at the other side of it.  The side that 
was death and guilt and inhumanity.  It was obvious to him 
that, sadly, Beethoven had become a victim of that 
misconception.

"I want you to make me like you..." Beethoven whispered 
seriously, his voice cracking with emotion.

Nick felt the rage erupt from him before he could stop it, 
and he snarled viciously at his host.  "You want to be like 
me?  A monster?  You don't know what you ask..." he hissed 
and backed away, suddenly wishing desperately that he wasn't 
wounded, and that it wasn't daylight.  As things stood now, 
this man could probably take him in a fight...

"I do know what I ask..."  Beethoven replied with surety, 
his eyes ablaze with a passion that had been absent before.

"You are in the light of God, a light which I stepped out of 
centuries ago..." Nick argued back, trying to knock some 
sense into the man.  He snarled again, showing off his sharp 
canines in an attempt to ward Beethoven away from his 
misguided concept of the vampire.  Let Beethoven see the 
beast that he said he wanted to become.

But Beethoven merely laughed, a cynical-sounding grunt 
almost.  "I am in the light of God?  God?" he questioned, 
visibly seething.  "Well tell me, Nicholas de Brabant, if I 
were in the light of God, why would He have taken away my 
most prized possession?  Why would He have made one of the 
world's greatest composers as deaf as the muddy earth we 
walk on?" Beethoven asked viciously, defeat and pain 
dripping from his tone.

Nick found that he could not answer, instantly feeling a 
sympathy for the man who was standing before him, despite 
his condescending words.  Words that explained everything.  
The strange sound to Beethoven's voice, the intent way in 
which he listened.  The world's greatest composer since 
Mozart couldn't hear...

"Tell me!" Beethoven demanded, shaking Nick roughly to the 
point that Nick couldn't help but gasp in pain.  "Tell me 
where my supposed God is now!" he cried viciously, but when 
he noticed Nick's agonized expression, he removed his hands.

"I'm sorry," Beethoven whispered, beginning a sincere 
apology.  "I didn't mean to hurt you... but... I want to be 
able to hear again.  You, ironic as it may sound, are my 
only prayer, and if sacrificing my time in the sunlight 
means that I get my most precious gift back, I would gladly 
make the trade..."

Nick fought valiantly to catch his breath, but his side was 
protesting just as valiantly.  "I need to sit," he gasped 
with a heaving breath as the dizziness overcame him, but it 
was obvious that Beethoven couldn't hear him.  Without 
waiting to be offered one, he fumbled to a seat.  Politeness 
had pretty much been discarded as soon as his legs had 
threatened to give out.

Finally, he was able to regroup himself.  Despite the 
abominable request the composer had just made, there was... 
well, Nick had to admit that there was sense in his 
arguments.     

Beethoven sat in a chair opposite to him, distressed.  He 
began to run his hands through his wild, mangy hair again,
incensed and yet seemingly unwilling to let himself pace it 
out of his system.  

Nick watched the man with interest.  Here was an individual 
filled with as much pain as he, and yet, it was of a 
different kind.  While Nick had erringly walked out of the 
light, Beethoven seemed to have been thrown viciously from 
it, offered no choice whatsoever in the matter.  And for 
some reason... Nick felt himself drawn to this man more 
strongly than he had been to any other mortal, even Alyssa.  
Her sweet, innocent smile, which had so enamored him before, 
was nothing when compared to this angry man's soul.  A soul 
to which he could relate.

A soul that was in pain...

"I will consider your request," Nick finally admitted after 
the longest of silences, speaking loudly so Beethoven could 
hear him.  So help him if he was making a mistake...  A 
voice in the back of his mind was screaming in protest, 'NO, 
NO, IT IS A MISTAKE... BACK OUT!' but he purposefully 
ignored it.

Beethoven looked up with a smile.  "Thank you," he replied 
sincerely, sitting forward in his chair.

"But only on one condition," Nick added.  Here... well, here 
was a chance he was likely never to receive again.  And he 
would take it.

Beethoven nodded, prodding him to name his price.

"You will teach me to play the piano," Nick said, more of a 
command than a request, his voice suddenly filling with the 
snobbish air of an aristocrat.  Strangely, Nick had always 
found it easy to fall back into that role.

Beethoven, however, paid his arrogant tone no mind, and his 
lips spread into a wide grin.  "Yes, Herr de Brabant.  I 
would be happy to," he said, visibly pleased with the trade 
and giddy at the prospect of possibly being granted his 
request.

"Please, that's too formal for my tastes," Nick said, trying 
to ignore the lump forming in his throat, "Call me Nick."

Beethoven raised his eyebrow.  "That is an unusual request.  
Nick, eh?" he questioned, the shortened name sitting 
strangely on his tongue as he uttered it.

"Only one person calls me Nicholas anymore..." Nick 
clarified, hesitating.  "And I," he paused again, trying to 
find the words, "well, I just don't like him much."  It was 
the honest truth, if a bit over-simplified.

Beethoven nodded.  "And you must call me Ludwig."  

They merely sat in companionable silence as the seconds on 
the nearby grandfather clock ticked away.  Nick took the 
time to observe the large room he occupied.  The decorations 
that were set about certainly indicated that Beethoven was 
an affluent man, or at least pretty well off.  It made 
sense--he was currently one of the most popular composers in 
the great musical city of Vienna... and all of Europe, for 
that matter.

As he glanced about, Nick's eyes fell on the piano.  It was 
a beautiful mahogany, four thin legs tapering down from a 
sleek, thin body.  Obviously meant to be used by a very fine 
pianist, its crafting was purposeful and very well-done.  
Although Nick didn't play the instrument, he did know a 
well-crafted one when he saw it.     

And as he looked there at the fine instrument, he felt 
saddened that he hadn't yet had a chance to learn.  
Considering himself to be a connoisseur of music, even going 
so far as to dabble in a few instruments here and there, he 
had yet to try the avant-garde and ever popular pianoforte.

"Why do you frown?" Beethoven asked quietly, his voice 
tearing through the silence.

Nick was startled from his thoughts at the intrusion.  He 
hadn't even realized he was frowning...  "I am not happy..." 
he answered simply.

"A good reason, I suppose..." Beethoven hazarded, although 
disappointed that he hadn't received more of an answer.  
"Would you like to try it?" he asked softly, his dark, 
penetrating eyes darting to the piano that Nick had been 
admiring moments before.

Nick felt something in his chest lift at the thought.  
"Already?  I thought we would work out times for me to have 
lessons..."  His voice trailed off, suddenly realizing that 
he hadn't a clue what he'd gotten himself into, not even the 
smallest inkling.

"Do you have a place to stay?" Beethoven asked.

"What?"  Nick was surprised by the question, and Beethoven's 
seemingly random subject changes.

"I didn't think so.  You will stay here and study with me.  
Now sit at the piano," he commanded, and Nick, for an 
instant, was shocked.  How dare a mortal talk to him in such 
a manner!  And then he was relieved that he had been offered 
shelter.  And grateful.  It was indeed a strange progression 
of emotions.

Finally, Nick obeyed and sat himself on the small bench in 
front of the keys.  "Now, this is how we will proceed," 
Beethoven began, sitting at the piano next to Nick.  "You 
will successfully perform a task that I instruct you to do, 
and when you do, I will ask you a question that you must 
answer truthfully."

Nick, who was staring at the keys of the small piano in awe, 
quickly turned his head towards Beethoven.  "But...  that 
doesn't seem fair.  What do I get out of it?" he found 
himself asking without thinking.  You ungrateful little...  
How could you ask that, he demanded silently of himself.

Offense, however, was not taken.  Beethoven merely smiled.  
"You will see," he replied cryptically. 

Nick was more confused than ever now, but he chose not to 
reply, opting rather to wait for instructions.  But the 
instruction that Beethoven gave, well, that was not quite 
what he was expecting.  "Play," Beethoven commanded.

"What?!" Nick exclaimed.  "I don't know how!  That's why I'm 
here!" he yelled as his temper flared, and he suddenly found 
himself regretting the deal he had made, but Beethoven paid 
his outburst no mind.

"Put your hands on the keys; your left pinky should be on 
lower C, your right thumb on middle C," he responded 
patiently.

"Well..." Nick looked down at the keyboard in confusion, his 
eyes darting from the lower bass notes to the high ones on 
the right, praying that somehow one of the keys would simply 
shout 'I'm middle C!!!' or something.  "Where's that?" he 
finally asked, giving in to the fact that while he knew how 
to read music, he couldn't even begin to fathom the keyboard 
that sat so innocently in front of him...  Beethoven merely 
grabbed his hands and placed them on the keyboard, making 
sure Nick's fingers were properly curved and in the correct 
position.

"Now.  Play," Beethoven repeated.

Nick's eyes widened, as if someone had requested the world 
of him.  And at the very same time, he felt a growing 
respect for his new teacher, although he didn't know why. 
"Play what?" he questioned, slightly fearful of what the 
answer would be.

"Your heart..." Beethoven whispered in response.

Nick swallowed and looked down at the keys.  How could he 
play his heart?  It was just a dead thing sitting still and 
silent in his chest.  But Beethoven prodded him onward.  
"Play..." he repeated.  

Nick pressed his left thumb down and was greeted with a 
light, firm tone.  His middle and pinky fingers went down 
next, and he was greeted with a nice-sounding chord--a C 
chord.  Plinking a few more notes out onto the keys, he 
began to get the feel for the sound and its subtle 
overtones, what combinations of keys produced which 
harmonies, and where everything was situated.

And soon he was playing.  Really playing.  He didn't know 
where it came from or how, but suddenly it was as if his 
soul were pouring out onto the keyboard through his 
fingertips.  Hands flying across the keys, he barely paid 
attention as Beethoven got up from the bench.  The sad, 
tormented music flowed through the air.  While it was light 
and airy at first, it soon became dark and brooding, 
modeling particularly the moods he had been feeling lately.  

Time passed, but he did not notice it passing.  His music 
flowed, but he did not notice it flowing.  He felt like he 
was having an intimate tjte-`-tjte with his soul.  It felt 
strange, and new, and good, and he wanted it to never end.  
But, to his dismay, it was over as quickly as it had 
started.  The real world had intruded once again, and he 
found himself sitting there with his fingers poised over the 
keys, unmoving.

It was then that he realized what he had just accomplished.  
"How did I...  I mean...  I can't...  I've never..." Nick 
stuttered inarticulately, amazed with himself.

"Nick, the musically inclined do not need instruction, they 
need encouragement.  You do not have to know the mechanics 
and the fingering to play an unwritten piece, as long as you 
have the coordination...  Now, if I had presented you with a 
page of music, you'd probably still be sitting there 
wondering what to do.  The sheet music, for you, would be an 
impediment..." Beethoven explained patiently.  

Nick found it too hard to believe, and was protesting almost 
as soon as his new mentor was finished.  "But I..."  This 
was not an orthodox teaching strategy...  Wasn't he supposed 
to learn scales or something first?  

"You will learn how to play in the technical sense of the 
word later; right now you are just exploring," Beethoven 
interrupted him, answering Nick's question as if it had been 
voiced aloud.  "Now play more."

And for some reason, Nick found himself blindly obeying, as 
if his fingers had lives of their own.  Again, they were 
racing across the keys in a flurry of arpeggios and other 
spectacular finger acrobatics.  

"Nick, you play beautifully..." Beethoven whispered, his 
head placed on the lid of the piano.  His hair flared out 
around his head like a lion's mane, and his face was bright 
and awed as he lifted his head to look at Nick.

Nick looked back at Beethoven, noticing for the first time 
that he had moved from his position beside Nick to his 
current hovering stance over the lid of the piano.  "What 
are you doing?" Nick asked as he allowed his fingers to stop 
their flight over the keys, trying to figure out why 
Beethoven was standing above the piano so strangely. 

"Tell me how long you have walked this Earth," Beethoven 
replied, avoiding the question Nick had posed for him.

The question stabbed him in the chest like a knife.  He'd 
forgotten the conditions of this learning experience when 
he'd gotten lost in his music.  "I...  Six hundred years, 
roughly," he commented softly, and he regretted making 
Beethoven strain so to hear him, but it pained him to say 
it.

Six hundred years of sin and torment.  Six hundred years 
without a God to lead him home...

Beethoven's eyes widened, but he did not appear to be 
surprised.  He merely drew in a deep breath and began, "I 
was feeling your music.  Sometimes I find it easier to feel 
than to listen now...  My hearing comes and goes without 
warning.  Right now I have been somewhat better, but the 
habit, once I grew into it, has not stopped.  Here, stand 
here."  Beethoven motioned to the space he occupied with a 
wide sweep of his broad hands, stepping aside as he did so.

Doing as he had asked, Nick watched as Beethoven sat at his 
beautiful piano and began to play.  Although the tune 
started very similar to Nick's foray, it soon became angry.  
Nick could feel the harsh vibrations of the strings through 
the lid of the piano, coursing upward through the aged wood 
and rattling his eardrums viciously. 

Fury.  Fury was pouring out of Beethoven now, and the piano 
shook as he pounded at the keys.  Nick was slightly 
unsettled, but he remained, listening, feeling, learning.
The twangs that were ringing through the rich mahogany were 
almost painful now, painful as Beethoven wrung every emotion 
out of the strings he could, utilizing such a wide range of 
dynamics that Nick was, at first, horrified.  

No one played like this.  A piano piece was supposed to be 
light, melodic, and pure, but this was none of those things.  
The little Viennese piano could barely take the strain of 
such emotional shifts, and he was very surprised that the 
legs of the piano hadn't already snapped.  Yet the more Nick 
listened and felt, the more he grew to appreciate what he 
was hearing.  It was far more powerful than anything Mozart 
or Haydn, or any other composer he was familiar with, had 
ever produced.  He was sure that he was hearing what was to 
be the wave of the future.  He was positive.

And then it stopped.  Nick gasped as the beautiful sound 
left a void in its wake.

Beethoven looked up and took a deep, cleansing breath.  "Why 
do you hate what you are?" he asked, brushing his wild hair 
away from his face.  Little streams of sweat were cascading 
down over his forehead and cheeks, and he patted them away 
with a cloth from his pocket.

"Because God loathes what I am..." Nick answered 
automatically.  But somehow, that didn't really seem to fit 
anymore.  Beethoven waited patiently while he pondered the 
question further and finally came up with, "Because I hate 
what I must do to live."
 
Nick looked down at the floor in shame.  "I...  I need to go 
out tonight.  My wound is not fully healed and I need..." he 
stumbled over the words, unable to admit what he required, 
suddenly afraid that Beethoven's hospitality would run out 
the second the composer finally realized whom and what he 
was dealing with.

Beethoven smiled calmly in response.  "The butcher can give 
you what you need.  I have already acquired enough for a 
little while," he said as he stood.

Feeling the weight of a ton of guilt lifting from his 
shoulders was like a breath of fresh air, and Nick inhaled 
deeply with a smile.  No one would die at his hands tonight.  
The butcher had always been off limits to him in the past, 
simply because such businesses did not usually operate after 
dark and because LaCroix had heavily frowned upon it.  But 
now, it seemed, it was an option.  "Ludwig, I shall not 
forget your kindness..."

Beethoven dodged the issue at hand again, as he was so apt 
at doing.  "Nick..." he began with a whisper, "I don't 
profess to know what God hates and does not hate, nor do I 
claim to know the reasons for his obvious dislike of my own 
person, but I doubt He is as petty as you claim, to deny 
you, a man of such obvious, if not misguided, piety..."

"I..." Nick began, but he simply did not know how to 
continue.  "Tell me of Therese," he requested bluntly, 
finding himself suddenly remembering the young woman who had 
fled the room earlier.

Beethoven looked slightly shocked at the change of subject, 
and Nick couldn't help but feel a little smug.  Ha!  See how 
_you_ like it!  The pain that entered Beethoven's eyes then, 
however, quickly silenced those feelings, and stabs of 
regret ripped at Nick's heart.

"Therese... is none of your concern," Beethoven stated 
gruffly, but it was obvious to Nick what the real problem 
was.  Beethoven was in love with her.  

Nick, however, had no time to ponder it.  Beethoven pivoted 
quickly on his feet and left the room with a heavy sigh, and 
an infinitely more heavy heart.

THE PRESENT

Natalie sat entranced, sitting Indian-style on the floor in 
front of Nick like she was a child being read a bedtime 
story.  "You learned to play the piano... from _Beethoven_?" 
she asked incredulously, her words falling from her lips as 
if someone had punched her in the stomach.  She knew Nick 
had known some famous people in his day, but still, this was 
almost too difficult to believe.  Beethoven?

Nick let out a little chuckle, but it was not a happy sound.  
Natalie felt her heart wrench in her chest.  "Nat, he was 
the only true mortal friend I'd ever had...  He taught me so 
much, and I gave him nothing in return," he stated with a 
disgusted snort, but Natalie felt it wise not to console 
him.  

Not only would it not work, as Nick tended to wallow no 
matter how much she tried to lift his spirits, he might feel 
inclined to stop his tale, and she did so want him to 
continue...

"He was invited to a party at Therese von Brunsvik's house a 
few weeks later.  He insisted that I come with him..." 

VIENNA 1809

"Herr Beethoven!" a cheerful voice called, bringing Nick out 
of his reverie.  "You must tell me who this new friend of 
yours is..."

Beethoven had been hovering around Nick the entire night, 
using him to deflect pretty much any social interaction he 
could manage, and the more the party wore on, the more it 
was obvious that Beethoven was growing increasingly 
uncomfortable.  Sadly, amongst the din, it was almost 
impossible for Beethoven to hear anything, let alone the 
polite request for an introduction that had just been posed.  
Nick was beginning to understand why Beethoven was 
considered somewhat of a social recluse and an all-around 
misanthrope.

In hopes of sparing Beethoven an unwanted scene, Nick bowed 
with a polite flourish, trying to ignore how uncomfortable 
he was himself with all these mortals milling about.  "I am 
Sir Nicholas de Brabant.  Pleased to make your 
acquaintance," he stated regally, entirely used to the 
situation, even if it was uncomfortable.  

The man shook his hand with a smile and Nick flinched, 
trying desperately to ignore the moving sea of heartbeats 
flowing around him, a morass of talking, laughing mortals.  
"I am Mathias Wagner," the man responded, and Nick couldn't 
help but notice the strange look he gave the silent 
Beethoven.  

After several pleasantries, the man departed, leaving 
Beethoven and Nick on their own in the crowd again.  
"Ludwig, if you don't like coming to parties, why did you 
come, and why take me?" he spoke loudly, hoping that 
Beethoven would be able to hear him over the crowd.

Beethoven looked at him, and a sad smile spread across his 
face, his eyes weary and pained.  "Because...  _She_ invited 
me..." he stated thickly, letting his eyes wander across the 
large, splendorous room to a woman standing regally amongst 
a few others.  Her brown hair was swept up in a fancy array 
of curls, her white lacy dress hanging down from her body in 
a beautiful display of angelic grace.  While she was 
certainly not the most beautiful woman Nick had laid eyes 
upon, she was certainly not one to simply pass over either.

"Ask her to dance," Nick commanded, giving Beethoven a light 
shove forward, but Beethoven had other ideas.

He protested vehemently, so loudly that a few people who 
were around turned to look at them with odd expressions on 
their faces, until they saw who it was.  "No!" he cried 
forcefully, shoving back against Nick.  "She would not deign 
to dance with a social outcast..."

"Ludwig, you are only a social outcast because you make it 
so.  If you would just talk..." Nick began, but Beethoven 
interrupted him harshly.

"I canNOT!  People would know from the instant I spoke that 
my hearing was not of good faculty.  It would be a joke!  
Who would listen to a deaf composer's work?" Beethoven 
exclaimed, his voice wavering ever so slightly.  He looked 
about ready to break into tears.  

"Ludwig, if you do not request that the good lady Therese 
dance with you, I will depart and leave you to do your 
brooding alone," Nick stated with finality, and gave 
Beethoven another shove.

His friend looked back and forth between Nick and Therese 
with consternation.  He obviously did not want to be left to 
fend for himself in such a social atmosphere, but he also 
did not appear to like the other option either.  But whether 
it was his stubbornness over his poor hearing or something 
else, Nick simply couldn't tell.  "Fine," the truculent 
composer grumbled, and slowly made his way over to the 
object of his affection.

Nick watched silently as Beethoven bowed slightly to the 
woman, and was happy to see that she smiled in return.  
Beethoven had not said as much, but it was obvious to Nick 
that he loved her, and Nick felt his own heart lift as she 
followed him onto the dance floor.  It was as if he thought 
he could experience things through Beethoven which he could 
not normally even think about without terrible guilt ripping 
through his soul.

It was...  uplifting, to say the least.

They danced for quite awhile.  Nick watched in pleasure as 
she and Beethoven seemed to be having a very friendly 
conversation.  She would look down occasionally with a sweet 
little smile, and he would smile a wonderful, airy grin 
back.  And in those moments that Beethoven was courting his 
young lady love, Nick felt the strain of being in such a 
large crowd drain away into nothing.

"The wild and cruel Ludwig von Beethoven, and the fair 
Therese von Brunsvik.  It is an interesting match..." 
someone commented beside him, obviously noticing the objects 
of Nick's unblinking stare. 

With a slight glare, Nick looked to his side at the man who 
had uttered the simple statement.  How dare the man 
interrupt!  "Ludwig is not cruel," he defended, a dangerous 
tone entering his voice. 

The small blond man held up his hands in surrender.  "I 
meant no offense," the man said hastily, "but it is of well-
known fact that while there is only one Beethoven, and his 
works are grand, he has not a nice bone in his body..." 

Nick, surprised to find that it almost felt as if the slight 
had been directed at himself, had to restrain himself from 
grabbing the man and shaking some sense into him, but the 
man rushed off before he could reply.  He shook his head.  
The man didn't understand!  No one did...  

The rage burned in him deeply, and he found himself growling 
low in his throat before he was able to stop himself.  
Luckily, the noise of the surrounding crowd masked his loss 
of control, and he was able to come to grips with himself 
before others noticed that they had a beast in their midst.

"Nick, thank you..." Beethoven said as he came upon him, 
shaking Nick out of his dangerous mood.  

Nick returned Beethoven's gratitude with a weak smile, 
though he truly felt sick to his stomach.  People disgusted 
him when they were so quick to judge, though he realized it 
probably made him a hypocrite to think such thoughts.  

"Friend, we must retire.  I have much to teach you 
tonight..." Beethoven continued, and Nick could only nod 
mutely, letting Beethoven drag him out to the street to 
their carriage.  Anything to get away from all these 
pathetic mortals...  It almost made him angry that, as of 
late, he'd been consumed with thoughts of joining them once 
again, longing for it so much at times that it pained him.

Almost, but not quite.  There was no way he could let go of 
a centuries-long dream because of what one ignorant man had 
said.

"Nick, what troubles you?" Beethoven asked quietly once 
they were in the carriage, visibly worried.

"It is nothing of concern, I am merely uncomfortable around 
so many people..." Nick answered, praying that Beethoven 
wouldn't see his half-truth.  Luckily, Beethoven seemed to 
accept his explanation, and they rode in companionable 
silence back to the waiting piano.

"Do you know how to read music?"  Beethoven asked curiously 
as they sat down at the piano.  The question had never come 
up before because he hadn't allowed Nick to play anything 
that was already written.

"Yes..." Nick answered hesitantly, wondering if perhaps 
Beethoven was finally going to let him play something other 
that his so-called heart.  Although he did enjoy composing 
his own works, he also wanted to know how to play formally, 
perhaps even something that Beethoven himself had written.

"Good," Beethoven replied matter-of-factly as he produced a 
sheet of carefully written music.  It was one of 
Beethoven's, that much was obvious right away.  It was 
actually the only possibility, since it was handwritten in 
that familiar, almost illegible script that belonged solely 
to Beethoven.  "Play."

Once again, for the second formal lesson in a row, Nick was 
shocked.  He couldn't play that.  There was simply no way...  
"Ludwig, that's too hard, I cannot simply sit down and play 
that..."

Beethoven laughed heartily at Nick's balking.  "Nick, you 
have astounding ability.  You've played for an hour with no 
music at all; this is merely changing your medium.  I have 
great faith in your ability to play this piece.  It's not 
nearly as hard as it appears," he tried to assure Nick.  It 
didn't work.

"Before, you said it was an impediment..." Nick pointed out 
the contradiction, but Beethoven only smiled.  Damn that 
man!  He was almost impossible to argue with...

"Not now.  You are ready..." he replied with a twinkle in 
his eye.  At Nick's look of nervousness, he laughed again 
and grabbed Nick's hands, putting them into position, 
checking to make sure his fingers were curved correctly.  
"Now, start on the G-sharp and the C-sharp.  Go ahead..." he 
prodded as he had done before.

Nick couldn't help but cringe when he made an attempt, only 
to produce a terrible sound.  But Beethoven was staring at 
him expectantly so he began again, slowly working out the 
keys.  It was hard.  Very hard.  While he knew quite well 
how to read music, he had never read two clefs at once 
before, and he'd certainly never tried to keep track of both 
of his hands, ten fingers in all, while he was doing so.  
Just moving his eyes back and forth from the page of music 
back to his hands was bound to make him dizzy.  And then, he 
didn't even want to go into the issues of adding pedal and 
dynamics...  Nevertheless, his respect for piano virtuosos 
increased exponentially, and at the same time he realized 
why Beethoven had not presented him with sheet music 
earlier. 

"Nick, you're making it too hard.  Try not to concentrate on 
how difficult what you're doing is, and focus more on what 
you're trying to do," Beethoven said soothingly.

Nick could only growl in frustration, clenching his teeth in 
a desperate attempt to keep his fangs from descending.  "You 
just said what I was doing _wasn't_ difficult!" he seethed.  
His vicious temper was getting the best of him, and try as 
he might, he was having difficulty containing it...   

Beethoven just smiled a secretive little smile.  "It won't 
be, soon..." he replied cryptically, and that was almost 
enough to set Nick off before he was able to take control of 
his anger..

Taking a deep breath, Nick slowly continued.  "Accidental!  
Don't forget the natural!" he heard Beethoven say softly.  
"Watch it, don't speed up!"  Nick, his earlier fury 
re-igniting, tore his eyes from the page and looked at 
Beethoven with a glare of death, hoping for a brief instant 
that his stare would smite his teacher down where he stood. 

But Beethoven only smiled as he began to count softly.  Nick 
growled.  Was there nothing that affected this man?  "One, 
two, three, four, come on, Nick, keep the beat.  One, two, 
three, four," Beethoven said, accentuating his counting with 
firm claps.  And so help him, Nick felt his fingers speeding 
up to meet Beethoven's set rhythm.  Even his eyes gradually 
stopped flipping back and forth constantly when Nick found 
he could look at the page of music and his hands would 
pretty much keep track of themselves.

The strains of the mournful Moonlight Sonata began softly, 
hesitantly, but soon Nick was pouring it out onto the 
keyboard.  It was a song he'd heard before, he was familiar 
with it, and in a way, he already knew it.  He was sure that 
Beethoven had picked this piece on purpose for just that 
reason, so that he could have his memory working with him 
instead of just his sight-reading ability.

<"Ludwig, I cannot marry you.  I simply cannot...">

Inhaling sharply, Nick broke his eyes briefly from the sheet 
of music and looked to see if Beethoven had heard that, but 
Beethoven was still furiously rapping out the beats for Nick 
to follow, completely unaware.  

<A quill hit the paper and began to flow:  I have once again 
known some blissful moments, and for the first time I've had 
the sense that marriage can make someone happy...>

Nick shook his head, his music pausing for a moment in a 
split second of confusion.  Where was this coming from?  It 
was like the images he received from blood, except...  It 
was music.  Music...  He didn't understand, but Beethoven's 
furiously clapping hands drove his fingers onwards.

<"Giulietta!  Please!">

<"No... No, I cannot...">

<"Giulietta...">

His fingers stopped on the ending chord, a sad finish to a 
sad song...  Nick finally understood the emotions that the 
song had always generated for him.  It was Beethoven's 
farewell to a former love.  A dedication to what could never 
be.  But could music contain the same soul as someone's 
blood?  He hadn't thought it possible until now...

"Good, Nick.  Very good.  You're a natural at this," 
Beethoven said with a wide smile, but the pleased look on 
his face faded when Nick looked up at him with blood tears 
in his eyes.

"Who was Giullieta?" Nick asked with a sigh and a heavy 
heart.

Beethoven's head snapped up in response.  "How do you know 
her name?" he snarled accusingly, but his eyes softened when 
he saw Nick's bewildered expression.

"I...  From the music...  I just heard all of these thoughts 
while I was playing, and I..." Nick responded, trying to 
make sense of all the imagery he had been bombarded with 
while he had been playing.  So like the blood, and yet...

"She is a woman I know," Beethoven responded bitterly, 
looking at the ground as he shook his head.  "The song was 
for her, but...  she is nothing to me now..." 

Nick desperately wanted to press for details, but the way in 
which Beethoven spoke told him that the subject was not open 
for discussion.  "That is why you hesitate with Therese..." 
Nick conjectured, but Beethoven would not answer.  He merely 
snatched up his staff paper and fled the room, his quick 
footsteps echoing in the large room like quiet thunder.

But it was obvious.  Although he denied affection for her 
with his words, Nick could see it hidden in the depths of 
his pained eyes.  Beethoven had loved her, once...

THE PRESENT 

"So Beethoven wasn't ready to pursue Therese because of that 
other woman?" Natalie questioned softly, bringing Nick out 
of his flashback.

"No," he sighed dismally, "but he was using it as an excuse, 
I think.  It was more his hearing problems that stopped 
him...  You must understand that back then they didn't have 
sign language, at least not widely used, or anything like we 
do today.  What his unfeeling doctors dismissed as a malady 
made him a cripple in his mind.  After all, what was a 
composer who couldn't hear?"

Natalie nodded.  He had a good point.  

"He fell into terrible depression at times, and he was very 
bitter about it.  Before I met him, when he had first 
discovered that his hearing was failing, he even 
contemplated suicide..."  

"What stopped him?" Natalie asked, curious.

"He didn't want to die before he'd produced all the music he 
felt he'd been meant to compose..." Nick stated simply.  

"That was his only reason?"

Nick nodded.  "His only reason, at least, until Therese came 
along." 

VIENNA 1810

"Nick!  Wake up.  I require your presence!"  

Nick's eyes fluttered open, only to be startled out of his 
wits.  Beethoven's enthused face was only a mere six inches 
above his own, his wild hair flaming about his head like a 
halo.  A surprised snarl escaped his lips before he reigned 
in his beast.  "What time is it?  The sun's still up..." he 
grumbled, closing his eyes again.  There was absolutely no 
way he was going to get up now...  He'd been dreaming a 
rather pleasant dream, a rare occurrence, and he wanted to 
relish it.  Perhaps he could get back to it if he fell back 
asleep fast enough.

He received a heavy, down pillow in the face for his 
trouble.  Choking in surprise, he gasped and sat up like a 
released lever.  "Nick, come!  I have a lesson to teach you, 
and I cannot very well do it while you sleep..." Beethoven 
scolded lightly as Nick flailed about, trying to regain his 
equilibrium.  

"Ludwig," Nick said with a hiss, so glazed with sleep that 
he didn't have the focus to contain his beast, "It is the 
middle of the day.  What could possibly require my presence 
so urgently?"  With a wide, jaw-cracking yawn, he stretched 
his lithe body like a cat waking up from a nap and 
reluctantly swung his feet down to the cold, wooden floor.  
This had better be damn important.

"It is imperative for you as a student to observe others 
learn as well..." Beethoven replied as he left the room, 
giving Nick his needed privacy to change, but little 
opportunity to protest.

Ah, so that was it.  Beethoven was going to have him sit in 
on a lesson.  That didn't seem to be worth getting out of 
bed in mid-afternoon for, but Nick reluctantly got dressed 
anyway.  He would do what Beethoven asked if it meant that 
he learned more.  For that much, he was willing to do pretty 
much anything.  

A stab of hunger impaled him, but he forced it down.  That 
would have to wait until later.  Stumbling down the hall and 
down the stairs, he was greeted, to his utter surprise, by 
Therese.  "Herr Brabant!" she exclaimed, putting her hands 
to her face in a gesture of surprise.  Apparently she had 
been expecting him as little he had been expecting her.  

"Frdulein Von Brunsvik," he replied with a curt nod, trying 
not to display how startled he was by her presence.  He did 
not like being startled...

"Herr Brabant, I did not expect you to be up and about at 
this hour.  Ludwig has told me that you live for the 
night..." Therese explained, obviously both prying for 
information and trying to start a conversation at the same 
time.

"Usually, that is the case..." Nick replied tersely, 
suddenly very uncomfortable under her prying, mortal eyes.  
The light beat of her heart did nothing to calm his 
insatiable bloodlust, and he was still filled with the need 
to sleep.  He wanted to go back to the blessed safe haven of 
his down comforter.  

"Ah, Therese!"  Nick nearly sighed in relief as Beethoven 
entered the room, but he caught himself just in time.  "Nick 
will be observing your lesson today.  Do not pay him any 
mind," Beethoven assured her and guided her to the small 
piano bench.

"Now, did you practice this time?" he asked, his tone that 
of a parent talking down to a child.  Therese nodded and 
smiled innocently, paying no mind to Beethoven's tone.  
Beethoven smiled back.

"All right, then, why don't you begin at the start of the 
second movement..." Beethoven suggested, and Nick sat back 
in his chair to watch.

As the minutes passed, Beethoven's clipped tones faded away 
into the background, and he began to pay more attention to 
their interaction.  It was truly fascinating to watch.  She 
would smile a teensy smile at the man, so light that it 
barely upturned her pale, thin lips, and he would respond 
with a wide goofy grin, completely uncharacteristic of his 
usually dour features.  And, as her small hands would grace 
the keys ever so much more delicately than Nick ever could 
have managed, Beethoven would place a large hand on her 
shoulder, counting loudly to keep her at the right pace for 
the piece.  

It was endearing to watch, and Nick sat back with a weary 
smile, no longer paying any attention whatsoever to what was 
being said.  He was staring at the perfect example of 
companionship, something he had sorely lacked for most of 
his existence, and he realized with a pained sigh that it 
was one of the many things that had abandoned him after his 
conversion, one of the things that he truly missed and 
longed for.

Being a vampire, to him, meant being alone.  He could no 
longer safely interact with the mortals which he was 
usually forced to feed upon, no matter how fond he was of 
any particular one.  Beethoven, it seemed, was an odd 
exception in that respect, and he felt that his friend was 
somehow safe from his beast, although why, he hadn't a clue.  

A sad frown marred Nick's face as he stared at the couple, 
realizing that he envied Beethoven more than ever now.  
While Beethoven was an exile, he was one by his own hand, 
and, when properly drawn out of his protective shell he 
could be quite sociable, though most people didn't know it, 
nor did they care.

Nick had sadly noticed, however, that lately Beethoven had 
been withdrawing more and more from society, becoming more 
and more of an outcast as he became more obsessed with the 
fact that he could barely hear.  He continually worried that 
people would discover that he was almost completely deaf--he 
was very self-conscious about the matter.  But despite all 
of that, Therese was drawing out a side of Beethoven that he 
did not often reveal, a side which Nick had only seen in his 
own presence.

Nick, though, had no one.  No one at all except the 
companionship offered by this angry soul standing before 
him, tentatively courting a young woman named Therese.  And 
perhaps, just perhaps, Nick would be able to experience the 
things that vampirism robbed from him through that strange 
companionship.  Two lonely men brought together by the very 
things that set them apart from the rest of the world.  It 
was almost poetic...

"Nick?" 

Nick blinked, shaken from his thoughts when Beethoven 
speared through them with his words.  He glanced around, 
disoriented, and was surprised to note that Therese was no 
longer there.  Looking up at Beethoven with questioning 
eyes, he shifted in his seat.  

"Therese left... you said goodbye.  I thought you had 
noticed," Beethoven said with a hearty chuckle, answering 
Nick's unspoken question.  "Where were you just now?" he 
asked curiously.

Nick shook his head.  "I was just thinking about things, a 
dangerous thing when you have as many memories as I..." he 
replied wistfully, a heavy sigh freeing itself from his 
chest.

Beethoven nodded thoughtfully.  "I believe I can understand 
that," he commented, sitting down on the chair situated 
across from Nick's.  "So," he began, "what do you think?" 

Raising an eyebrow, Nick frowned.  "About what?" he asked, 
confused.  Where was this going?  Hopefully Beethoven wasn't 
going to drill him about the lesson since he hadn't seen 
anything beyond the first five minutes of it.  At that 
thought, Nick was suddenly regretting not paying any 
attention. 

"About _her_!" he emphasized with a wide, sweeping gesture of 
his hands.  The expression on his face betrayed how smitten 
he was with Therese, but he was able to get a hold of himself 
quickly, and his visage grew more serious.  "I think I'm 
going to ask."   

Nick felt a lump form in his throat, his stomach feeling the 
beginnings of queasiness.  Beethoven was going to propose to 
Therese?  But...  

What about me?  

While he had just moments before been contemplating a sort 
of surrogate companionship, now he just felt jealous.  
Jealous and afraid that what had before meant two 
friendships, one real, and one imaginary at this point, 
would be reduced to dust.  Nothing.  Gone.  And he would be 
completely alone again.  

What about me?

Although caught in an emotional see-saw, he quelled the 
thought and forced a smile to his lips.  "I think you 
should pursue it!" he exclaimed, with a tone several times 
more happy than he felt.

Beethoven nodded with a warm smile, but the grin faded when 
he saw the forced look of Nick's expression.  "Nick..." he 
began, his face suddenly turning very serious.  "What's 
wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"It's nothing," Nick replied, denying all existence of any 
problem, but he felt his stomach dropping sickly in his 
torso.  Once Beethoven sensed that there was something 
wrong, he often would not let things lie, rather preferring 
to get to the root of the problem and expose it naked to the 
world.

"You are worried that this will place a barrier between 
us..." Beethoven said, sensing the problem in a moment of 
inspiration, and basically catching Nick completely off 
guard.

Floundering in his seat slightly at the surprise, Nick let 
out a small gasp that was somewhere between a gurgle and a 
yelp.  "What?  How did you know?" he exclaimed, astonished.

But Beethoven just smiled one of his cryptic smiles and 
reached across to pat Nick on the shoulder.  "Nick, I assure 
you that this will not be detrimental to our friendship.
Besides, I haven't even asked her yet.  I..."  Beethoven 
paused and looked down into his lap.  "I've never been much 
good at proposals.  Remember when you asked about Giulietta?  
She refused me," Beethoven stated glumly, and Nick couldn't 
help but feel sorry for the man.

Nick looked back at Beethoven sympathetically.  "Why?"

"Because we were not of the same class.  She didn't want to 
marry down..."  Beethoven replied wanly.  "I really thought 
that I would be happy with her, I really thought..."  His 
voice trailed off in a muffled choking grunt, and Beethoven 
turned his face downwards.

Nick watched silently as the man's shoulders trembled, and 
he knew that Beethoven was crying, despite the fact that he 
was desperately trying to hide it.  He found himself at a 
loss for what to do.  How was he to comfort the man?  It was 
an answer which he simply didn't know.

"I know how you feel," Nick stated softly, and Beethoven 
looked up in amazement, salty tears still trailing down his 
cheeks in lazy tracks over his dark skin.

"You do?" Beethoven asked, hope in his voice, as if the 
fact that he wasn't alone was enough to bring him out of the 
depression tugging at him.

"Yes," Nick stated, his voice strangely monotone and 
detached as he recalled the terrible events.  "Alyssa was 
her name.  I hoped to live with her for eternity.  But I 
killed her instead," he said in clipped tones, not daring to 
look Beethoven in the eye.  Guilt was threatening to drown 
him; he couldn't, he _wouldn't_, look up to find once kind 
and passionate eyes judging and cold.  He just couldn't do 
it.  He didn't have the strength.

Until he felt a hand on his knee.  "Nick, you obviously 
repent..." Beethoven said softly, trying to reassure him.  
Although there wasn't complete understanding in his tone, 
there was certainly compassion.

"Here I am supposed to be comforting you, and you've turned 
the tables on me..." Nick commented woefully, forcefully 
shaking himself out of the doldrums into which he had sunk.

Beethoven sighed, shaking his head.  "I just...  I don't 
know if I'm ready to take rejection again," he said softly.

"Ludwig, you won't know if it's rejection until you try it.  
If there's one thing I've learned, it's don't put things 
off," Nick stated wisely, despite how ironic it seemed that 
the very reason he was still in that chair was because he 
was putting off the decision to make Beethoven a vampire.

Beethoven nodded reluctantly, coming to a decision.  "You're 
right.  I will go as soon as the hour is reasonable," he 
commented, glancing sidelong at the grandfather clock 
ticking lazily in the corner.  It was nightfall, far too 
late to go now.

"Good," Nick stated, certain now, that it was, indeed, good.  
Beethoven had a large enough soul to share--he could see 
that now.   

THE PRESENT

"So what happened?" Natalie asked eagerly, shifting in her 
seat in anticipation.

"He went to her house, proposed his undying love for her, 
and she refused him," Nick stated glumly, the weight of his 
years suddenly seeming to crush his tall posture into a 
slump. 

"Ohmygod, that must've been terrible for him," Natalie 
whispered hoarsely, a sob strangling softly in her throat.  
The whole story just made her want to cry, and at the same 
time, she was still hungry for more.  Hungry for knowledge 
of the famous composer who had lived and died over a century 
before she was born.

"It was.  The first few weeks were hellish.  After awhile, 
he withdrew completely from society, and even with me there 
he refused to socialize with others, but it was terrible 
when..."  Nick paused, his eyes getting a spaced-out look as 
if he were already back in time, reliving the past.

"When what, Nick?"  She got up off her knees and roughly 
shook him back to the present.  There was absolutely no way 
she was going to let Nick get this far and then deny her an 
ending to the tale.  "When what?"

He blinked and returned to the present.  "When his hearing 
went completely..." he whispered forlornly.

VIENNA 1810

Nick was awakened from a deep slumber by a terrible crash 
and the sound of shattering glass.  "Noooooo!"  The howl was 
furious, wild, animalistic, but Nick knew at once who it had 
come from.

Beethoven...

As fast as he could, he literally flew to Beethoven's 
bedroom.  His mentor was sitting on his bed, shaking 
terribly.  "Please, nononono," he was mumbling over and over 
again, a terrible mantra, his knees clutched to his chest as 
though he would fall apart if he were to let go.

"Ludwig?" Nick asked loudly, aware that lately Beethoven's 
hearing had been very poor.  Beethoven did not look up.  
"Ludwig!?" he shouted, but Beethoven still did not look up.  

Nick sat on the bed next to Beethoven, but if the composer 
had noticed his friend sit beside him, he gave no indication 
of it.  "No..." Beethoven mumbled, his voice cracking and 
breaking, and Nick looked down, horrified to see that there 
was a knife clutched pitifully in Beethoven's shaking, bone-
white hands.

Suddenly panicked, Nick pried the knife out of Beethoven's 
grip, but not without a desperate fight.  "No!  No, I won't 
let you!" Nick cried softly as yanked at the sharp, 
offending object.  Beethoven looked up with a sob and 
finally gave it over willingly.

"Nick, please, friend.  Have you made your decision?" he 
asked shakily, his voice wavering slightly as he wiped his 
eyes on his sleeve.

Nick shook his head fitfully.  Not now!  Why did Beethoven 
have to ask this of him now?  "No.  No, I cannot.  Not yet.  
I'm not ready..." he whispered, closing his eyes to the 
emotional pain as he realized that the inevitable had 
finally arrived.  Beethoven merely looked at him blankly.  
He hadn't heard.  And suddenly...  Nick understood.

"Nick, I cannot hear at all now.  I am not simply deaf, I am 
blind!  I cannot live without my hearing.  Please, please, 
if you care at all about me, please do it now..." Beethoven 
pleaded, pulling desperately at Nick's sleeves.

"No!" Nick replied passionately, shrugging off Beethoven's 
frantic hands from his shoulders as he stood up.  No.  He 
had been hesitant before, but now he simply couldn't.  
Beethoven's humanity was not something Nick wanted to be 
responsible for taking away, even if Beethoven was 
miserable.  He simply couldn't do it...  He would not be 
weighed down with the guilt of that as well as his other 
grievous sins.

Beethoven stood up behind him and looked at him furiously.  
"Nick, you promised me..." he whispered, his voice wavering 
with emotion.  Nick could see his friend's lip quivering as 
Beethoven began to comprehend the size of his betrayal.  
"Please, I do not want the sun, I do not want it!" he cried 
pitifully, and then he was silent for several moments, his 
eyes glistening with unshed tears.  "You promised..." he 
whispered as he sat down on the bed in defeat.

Nick couldn't help but protest, trying to save what little 
honor as a friend he had left.  "I said that I would 
consider it!"

Beethoven only glared.  He couldn't hear, so arguing with 
him would be pointless without some other means of 
communication.  Although Beethoven had gotten better at 
reading lips, he was still not nearly good enough to 
maintain a conversation as though he could hear.  "If you 
will not help me with this, then the least you can do before 
you leave is help me finish my piece..." Beethoven growled 
meanly, pulling Nick along with him harshly down to the 
piano.

"Ludwig, I don't understand..." he complained with a 
whimper as Beethoven forced him roughly down on the bench.  
Nick was too shaken to protest, although he could've easily 
overcome Beethoven's force had he put his mind to it.

"Finish this piece!" Beethoven cried as he placed staff 
paper in front of him.  The only thing on the entire paper 
was a key signature.  

Nick looked back and forth between the furious Beethoven and 
the empty paper, confused.  He didn't understand!  Why was 
Beethoven making him play at a time like this?  "Play what 
you think I feel!  See if you understand as much as you 
think you do..."

Nick wondered how he could possibly understand how Beethoven 
felt.  He'd never been robbed of one of his major 
faculties...  He hadn't been sick or crippled by injury 
since he had been mortal, all too long ago...  How would it 
feel to long for something you knew would never come back?  
It felt like... like his longing for mortality.  He 
supposed, when looking at it like that, that he had more in 
common with Beethoven than he had first assumed.

And Nick began to play.  It started sadly at first, sad and 
lonely and longing for something he could not have.  And he 
thought about the beauty of mortality, the wonderful things 
he couldn't even begin to fathom anymore, because he'd been 
so long without them.  The more he thought about not having 
his humanity, the more dismal the song became, the more 
tense, and explosive.  Mortality, it seemed, was out of 
reach.  The notes contained every bit of tension that he 
held within himself, longing to explode into a flurry of 
something more spectacular, but he allowed the piece to 
brood a while longer with pent-up emotion.  And just when 
the piece seemed to be calm again, his fingers exploded into 
a huge crescendo and a wicked descent back into the 
original, lonely, longing theme until he finally brought it 
to a close with a powerful set of octave A's.

There.  That was what he thought about his loss of 
mortality.  Beethoven's loss of hearing...  That was how it 
felt.  He was sure of it.

Beethoven was frantically writing notes beside him, and 
surprisingly, he did not ask Nick to repeat any part.  He 
had been able to write the whole thing down based on where 
he saw Nick's fingers hit the keys.  And he hadn't heard it 
once.  It was sad.

Nick sat in silence while Beethoven put the finishing 
touches on the composition, and then, in his messy, cramped 
handwriting, Beethoven wrote the title.  

Fur Therese.

"Yes," Beethoven said coldly, "I believe you do know how I 
feel.  Strange that, even with that understanding, you will 
not help me."

Nick opened his mouth in astonishment, but wisely said 
nothing as Beethoven switched to regular manuscript paper 
and began to write a long flowing letter to his sweet 
beloved.

"I want you to take this to Therese.  I lack good closure 
with her and I wish to smooth the waters," he whispered 
bitterly, handing Nick the finished letter.  "Please, do not 
come back for a while.  I am upset and am not good company," 
Beethoven said evenly, his voice only breaking at the end.  
The betrayal he felt was palpable.

Nick nodded softly in acquiescence, and he could tell that 
Beethoven was very angry with him.  His eyes stinging with 
unshed tears, he went back to his room to dress, unable to 
let himself respond to the fury with which Beethoven had 
dismissed him.  He would have to apologize.

Soon, he was blindly fighting through the wildly falling 
snow to deliver Beethoven's farewell message to Therese, and 
he couldn't help but wonder why Beethoven had kept the staff 
paper that contained the song he had dedicated to her.  Was 
it or was it not for Therese, as the title suggested?  And 
although Nick found it terribly odd that Beethoven had kept 
it, he found himself growing into a panic over another 
matter. 

What was he to do?  Beethoven was terribly angry that Nick 
had decided not to commit him to immortality.  In the whole 
year that Nick had known him, Beethoven had not asked for 
anything in return for his kindness and hospitality but 
Nick's consideration over the matter of him becoming a 
vampire.  That was all.  Never any money requested, nothing.  
His friendship and tutelage had all been freely given.  

But, needless to say, the cold had cleared his mind.  He 
decided that, yes, he would do as Beethoven asked, no matter 
how much it would pain him to do so.  Because however much it 
pained him, not bringing Beethoven across would probably 
pain Beethoven infinitely more than the weight of all the 
guilt in the world would hurt himself.  If only to make one 
person happier from his wretched 'gift' of immortality, the 
result would make his own guilt over the matter worth it.  

"Nicholas..."  

Nick stopped cold in his tracks as the harsh wind whipped 
around him and stung his face, the snow making him squint 
against the darkness that was sitting upon him like a cloak.  
"LaCroix..." he whispered as he felt his stomach sinking.  
LaCroix had finally hunted him down... 

In the howling, frost-bitten wind, LaCroix's cloak seemingly 
flew up around his features like a lion's mane.  "It seems 
that I have finally found you, _again_..." he said casually, 
but his voice contained a lower, darker element that Nick 
found very threatening.

"LaCroix," Nick began reasonably, even as he found his feet 
backing up in the cold, wet snow, completely out of his own 
control.

"Enough, Nicholas!" LaCroix responded, not accepting any 
explanation.  "I have had _enough_ of you running off...  
Come with me," he commanded softly, and yet with such 
underlying force there was no room for questioning.  

But Nick found himself talking back anyway.  "No!" he cried 
vehemently, and launched backwards on his feet, trying to 
gain some distance between them.  But LaCroix's hands shot 
out and grabbed the lapels of his coat and he snapped 
forward like he was on a spring cord, his neck painfully 
flinging his head forward with the unexpected change of 
direction.  

He growled, exposing his sharp canines to his sire as he 
clawed at LaCroix's firmly clenched hands, but it had no 
effect other than wasting his energy.  LaCroix merely held 
him fast, wordlessly denying him escape.  "Come with me," 
LaCroix repeated calmly, his voice low and angry.  He was 
obviously incensed, but he was not permitting himself to act 
on it other than to prevent Nick's departure.

And while Nick dizzily thought about posting additional 
protest, he realized, dismally, that not only would it be of 
no use, it would lead LaCroix right back to Beethoven, 
something that Nick absolutely did _not_ want to do.  Not if 
he could help it.  While he may have been willing to bring 
the man across, he was completely unwilling to have LaCroix 
be witness to it, or to perhaps even do the deed himself.  
Beethoven would _not_ be committed to the same torment that 
he had been.  The whole idea was unthinkable.  

"All right!" Nick snapped nastily, but LaCroix still held 
him fast, as if he were debating the veracity of Nick's 
apparent acquiescence.  "Let go!  I'll come!"  LaCroix's 
eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.  "LET GO, DAMN IT!" Nick 
yelled, pulling at LaCroix's hands.  He kicked out with his 
foot, only to be dumped unceremoniously on his rear, into 
the cold mess of slushy snow.
 
"Must our meetings always be this way, Nicholas?" LaCroix 
asked him in a mockingly sympathetic tone as he brushed his 
hands off in disgust.

Nick chose not to answer, despite the anger burning deep in 
his chest.  Must protect Beethoven...  He kept that thought 
as close to the surface of his fury as he could manage, and 
with that to help him, he managed to retain the various 
biting comments that were so viciously trying to escape his 
mouth.  

He got up off the ground and stared at his sire with a 
murderous glare, but LaCroix only smiled and turned to 
leave.  Nick glowered, scraping the wet snow off of his 
cloak, and as promised, forced himself to follow his master 
into the dark, snowy night.

THE PRESENT

"Ohmygod, Nick..." Natalie whispered, pain in her voice and 
in her heart.  "I..."

Nick stared ahead blankly.  "I never got the chance to 
return...  Ludwig probably hated me...  I tried to come back 
and grant him his wish, but...  I couldn't.  God, Ludwig 
probably died hating me..." he said darkly, a flutter of 
sadness shifting across his face before he tucked it away.

Natalie sighed as she saw Nick battling with his inner 
turmoil.  She was unable to think of any words to comfort 
him.  There was nothing she could say that would ease his 
pain.  "I..." 

But Nick wouldn't hear her.  "Just go, Nat.  Please, just 
go..." 

Natalie nodded mutely and got up from her seat, feeling 
guilty for even bringing up the question.  She'd gotten her 
answer, but at what cost?

As she stepped into the lift, she closed her eyes in 
sadness, finally understanding why the song sounded so 
mournful when Nick played it the way it was meant to be 
played.  It was an ode to his lost mortality; it had nothing 
to do with Therese, or Elise, as the name had been 
mistakenly translated.  And as she slid the door shut, a 
tear slipped hastily down her cheek.

Nick was playing again.

THE END

Thanks for staying with the story until the end.  Please do 
tell me what you thought!  Feedback, feedback...  Ever notice 
that it sounds like, "Feed me!  Feed me!" :)