The Tides of Change

**********
Part Eight
**********


Xander completely lost his train of thought at the vampire's comment -- he wasn't altogether certain he hadn't just been insulted. He drew back into himself before muttering. "Well, yeah, I said I did." But then he frowned. **So what?!** "What's it to you, anyway?" he asked angrily. "You're just a untrustworthy, lying . . . vampire!"

**Oh yeah, real great insult there, Xander Harris!** he thought sourly. **Maybe you should steal his little red wagon next!**

The vampire's eyes narrowed, and suddenly Xander remembered this wasn't just some common minion. The partially healed wounds on his neck itched as he was forcibly reminded it just *might* be best not to piss off the master vampire. On that note, he became determined to simply keep his mouth shut. Inside, however; he was still babbling. He couldn't believe how *good* the vampire had made it all sound. He'd come within *inches* of actually *believing*. He'd *wanted* to believe.

It hadn't been until the vampire had tried to convince him he'd still be around to 'enjoy' it all that he'd been jerked out of his self-delusional fantasy. Now, he glared, leaning back against the wall, trying desperately not to seem as afraid as he was.

When the vampire's eyes widened fractionally, his face lighting with . . . comprehension? . . . Xander tensed warily. **What now?**

"If I understand you correctly, you believe I am like those . . . *things* you fought before?"

Xander snorted, rolling his eyes, and this time didn't bother stopping the words. "Well, *duh*!" **Wait!** "You were watching?"

Smirking at him, the vampire shook his head. "No, I saw them in you, when I drank from you."

Xander shuddered as memories swamped him, memories of vice-like arms pressing him tightly against that solid chest, long, razor-sharp teeth sinking into his throat.

"I'm not like them, Alexander," the vampire said, breaking into his thoughts.

"Stop calling me that! And what the hell do I call you?" Xander clamped his mouth shut after his outburst. Why should he even care?

"Lacroix will do for now," the vampire replied easily.

**Laqua, will do for now,** Xander mimicked silently. "You are one arrogant, son of a b--" Xander's words were cut off as he suddenly found himself once again back to chest with the white haired vampire. **How the hell did he *do* that!?** Xander thought frantically, struggling wildly. **I didn't even see him *move*!**

"Do not speak of that which you know *nothing*!" Lacroix hissed into his ear.

"Erk!"

A chuckle sounded from behind him, and he frowned. "You do not know my 'mother'. You do her an injustice to call her 'bitch'."

"Yeah, I bet your mother was all sweetness and light," Xander retorted bitterly.

A genuine laugh from Lacroix sent a draft of cool air across his neck and Xander flinched. **What the hell?**

"Ah, I see, you were referring to my *mortal* mother. Well, I suppose the appellation might apply in that case."

Xander blinked in surprise, for a moment unable to get his mouth to work. "You refer to your sire as 'mother'?" he asked finally. "How . . . Drusilla of you."

"And the insults keep coming," Lacroix replied evenly, and Xander swallowed convulsively.

**Don't insult the vampire who you *can't* get away from!** became his silent mantra.

"So you know Drusilla, then?" he asked, suddenly desperate to keep Lacroix talking.

"No," Lacroix responded, "your tone of voice was enough to tell me how your comment was intended."

"Oh."

"Why will you not trust me, Alexander?"

Xander snorted, but managed to remember his mantra *before* opening his mouth, and opted to give the most diplomatic answer he could come up with. "You're a vampire. I've, uh, learned not to trust vampires."

"You're repeating yourself, Alexander. I've already told you, I'm not like the creatures you refer to as vampires."

Xander stiffened. He *really* didn't want to insult the vampire with the *really* sharp teeth, but he just *couldn't* let that pass. "Oh, so *now* you're going to tell me your not a vampire?"

"No, of course not," Lacroix chuckled. "I am a vampire. I do not know what *they* are."

This was getting old fast, and Xander'd had more than enough. "Okay, dude, we're *so* not going to get anywhere. I *don't* trust you. I *won't* trust you. And speaking of which, holding me like this isn't exactly trust inducing!"

"Why not?"

Xander almost growlis fis frustration, his fear all but forgotten at Lacroix' utter *gall*! Lacroix continued before he could retort, however.

"I've held you like this, savoring your fear, my teeth inches from your *delightfully* vulnerable throat, and yet I haven't bitten you. Doesn't that tell you *anything*?"

Xander's mouth wouldn't work. It opened and closed several times, but nothing came out. His brain, however, was working overtime. Unfortunately, it wasn't doing him any good. It was throwing out half thoughts, incomplete retorts, and other generally useless information -- like how close to his throat the *vampire* forcibly holding him really was -- like how cold the hand that held his arm felt against his.

"N-not really," Xander finally stammered, swallowing hard. He flinched at the frustrated sigh that sounded behind him.

"Do you have any concept just how . . . insulting, your belief that I have no self control is? Do you have any idea how utterly galling it is to be considered as reliable as an untried, unseasoned *fledgling*?"

"Oh, God. No need to take it personally," Xander hurriedly assured. "Not even the few master vampires I've met have exactly been big on the self-control and delayed gratification thing."

"Oh?" Lacroix questioned. "Setting aside the fact that I've already *told* you that I'm different, how old were these so-called 'masters' who were so lacking control?"

Xander grinned then. "I'm not sure exactly how old Spike is, but I know he's over a hundred, Angel is over 200."

Lacroix burst out laughing, spinning him around and pinning him up against the wall. "And you think these two 'vampires', Spike and Angel, are old enough to be true masters?"

Eyes narrowing, Xander nodded. "Well, yeah." Of course he did. Angel was, by default, the head honcho of his line. That had to count for something right? **Wait!** "Umm, you don't?"

"No," Lacroix replied promptly. "They are but children."

"Ch-children?" Xander stammered. "Um, how old are you?" he asked, then hastily added. "I-if that's not a bad thing to ask."

"How good is your history, Alexander?"

Xander groaned. He should have realized there was actually a good reason to pay attention in class, but who the hell knew he'd be getting a pop quiz just before he died. "Iffy," he replied honestly. No sense lying about that.

"Ever heard of the city of Pompeii?"

Xander blinked. He knew this. "Yeah! Um, wasn't that the city that, that volcano destroyed?"

"All the wonders that city had to offer, and *that* is what it is remembered for," Lacroix remarked sadly. "No matter. I was brought across the night 'that volcano' erupted."

Xander frowned. So how old did that make him? Umm, wasn't that like back in. . . . "Holy shit!"

Lacroix chuckled. "Such language, Alexander. I trust your . . . exclamation means you remembered your history lessons?"

Xander nodded numbly. This dude was claiming to be damn near 2,000 years old. Son of a-- "Why should I eve eve you?"

Lacroix rolled his eyes. "Very well, I will show you."

"Show me?" Xander squeaked, wishing he could try that question again without looking like an idiot. "How?" he continued, gratified when his voice actually came out sounding normal -- if suspicious.

"You remember the last time we met?"

"How could I forget? Oh, yeah, that's right! You took my memories," Xander snapped bitterly. "Yes, I remember!"

"Good, I will show you the same way I did that night. Only *this* time, you will pay attention."

"You didn't--" Xander's words cut off as he suddenly remember the images he'd seen. "Oh, no! You are *so* not biting me, pal!"

Lacroix sighed again, staring Xander directly in the eyes for several long moments. Just when Xander began to wonder what was going on, the vampire surprised him.

"Very well," Lacroix replied quietly, stepping back and releasing Xander.

Xander gaped at the vampire.

"And you still do not believe me," Lacroix murmured quietly, shaking his head. "Very well. Let me ask you a few questions."

Xander nodded warily. Questions he could do.

"Do you believe I could do whatever I want with you right here, right now?"

Swallowing convulsively, fear churning in his stomach, Xander nodded. He didn't really trust his voice to answer that particular question.

"Do you think our joint captors would do *anything* to stop me?"

Xander shook his head vigorously, barely moving. He knew they wouldn't. It was obvious what they'd intended when they'd thrown him in here.

"Don't you think that, perhaps, just perhaps, you might stand a better chance -- even against me -- if we *weren't* locked up here?"

Xander frowned, his eyes narrowing. He had to admit that Lacroix had a good point. He didn't think he'd have much of a chance *anywhere*, unless he could get into a house -- or to Buffy -- but here in this room, he had no chance at all. He just didn't want to admit it. He sighed, closing his eyes. "You're right," he finally admitted.

"It does happen upon occasion," Lacroix replied with a chuckle.

Xander's eyes snapped open and he glared at his cellmate, but took a deep breath and started asking question of his own. It didn't take long to discover that Lacroix had tried to break the chains, pull the ring out of the wall, snap the manacles that held his wrists -- all to no avail. The only thing he *hadn't* been able to get to was the heavy duty collar around his throat.

After working up the nerve, and inching forward -- like it actually would have made a difference -- Xander spent almost an hour fiddling with the collar, trying to figure out a way to get it open.

"It's no use," he finally admitted, dropping down to his knees. "That's *not* coming off."

Lacroix growled softly, and Xander forgot to flinch.

"Now, I wish I'd listened to Spike the one time he tried to teach me how to pick locks."

"I thought you didn't trust vampires?"

"I don't," Xander replied flatly. "Spike is, was, a . . . unique case."

"How so?"

Xander sighed, eyeing Lacroix for several moments before shrugging. **Why the hell not?** he thought. It would certainly pass the time. "Well, at first it was just the same ol' same ol'. But then he got a chip in his head and he couldn't bite."

"What?!" Lacroix hissed.

Xander remembered to flinch that time, scrambling hurriedly backward. In a rush he told the rest of the story, leaving out unnecessarily personal bits along the way. No sense telling *this* vampire that he'd tied *that* vampire to a chair, for example. Of course, he didn't mention Spike having actually slept with the slayer. In fact, 'the slayer' didn't come up even once. He *did* make doubly sure that Lacroix understood he had nothing to do with the chipping of Spike.

"It seems," Lacroix replied thoughtfully, long after Xander's voice had trailed off, "that I have a lot to learn about this world."

" *This* world?" Xander asked.

Lacroix drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he replied. "Yes. Apparently, I'm being . . . 'taught a lesson'."

The corner of Xander's mouth twitched upward, but he hastily pressed his lips together. Somehow, he didn't think Lacroix would appreciate being laughed at.

"Dare I ask who, or what, would even try?"

Amusement danced through the supposedly ancient vampire's eyes as the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a smirk. "You would not just happen to know about 'vengeance demons' would you?"

Xander snorted. "Too much about them, actually."

"Really?" Lacroix drawled, his entire attention suddenly focused on Xander.

"I was engaged to one -- well ex actually."

Lacroix' eyes widened so slightly that Xander almost missed it, but felt a spurt of warmth at having surprised Lacroix. "Was?" he asked -- and did Xander imagine the wariness in the vampire's tone?

Xander sighed, shaking his head. He couldn't believe he was doing this, but he launched into the story of his and Anya's often stormy relationship -- including how it had ended. It didn't occur to him until it was too late that he might have been better served by letting Lacroix believe he and Anya were still together. The vampire did, after all, have reason to be wary of vengeance demons.

Lacroix sat silently after Xander finished spilling his tale. The silence lasted long enough that Xander began to fidget restlessly, and he almost missed Lacroix' first quiet words. As he told his story, Xander couldn't help but begin to feel a little sympathetic. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to suddenly find himself in a world that didn't have Buffy, Willow, and the gang in it.

"God!" he breathed, then shook his head. "What did you do that got a vengeance demon called on you?"

Lacroix' eyes narrowed dangerously, his lips thinning as they pressed tightly together, and Xander sucked in a quick breath. **Okay, maybe that wasn't the most intelligent thing I've ever asked!**

Xander watched as a conflict played out behind Lacroix' eyes. He wasn't sure what the inner debate was about; he just hoped he ended up alive at the end of it. His eyes widened as Lacroix began to speak, slowly, hesitantly at first, as if he couldn't believe the words were coming out of his mouth. Almost immediately, Xander found himself caught up in the flow of the ancient vampire's words as he wove a strange and very old story. He could almost see the streets of Pompeii the night he was . . . brought across.

"Your *daughter* turned you?" he yelped in surprise, interrupting Lacroix' narration, wincing when the sharp eyes focused on him once more. "That must of sucked!" He paused, grinning ruefully. "Um, no pun intended."

Lacroix laughed. "You have the most . . . interesting turns of phrase, Alexander Harris. But to answer your implied question; it was, to say the least, awkward at first. The power shift alone was unsettling."

"I bet!" Xander exclaimed, reeling from the conversation he was having. It didn't seem quite real. Time wore on, however, as Xander asked questions, and to his surprise, Lacroix continued answering. He found himself in the strange position of having to add another category to his definition of vampire. At first there had only been one: vampire's bad, kill on sight. Then along came Angel, and he'd had to add a second. Souled Vampire: hate, but don't kill. Then the initiative had messed with Spike, and Xander had found himself adding a third category. Chipped vampire: pain in the ass, hate, but don't kill. Now, entirely against his will, he was adding yet another slot. He wasn't yet sure what to put in it, except -- Lacroix.

Lacroix was everything he'd learned vampires weren't. He was well-spoken, his voice cultured and pleasant, soothing even. Most startling, however, was Lacroix' calmness. The ancient vampire practically oozed calm confidence. He spoke of things other than blood, violence, and torture. Rather, he spoke of culture, music, family, and duty. He wove tales so vivid that Xander almost felt like he was there.

A subtle longing in Lacroix' voice alerted Xander that the vampire was not as . . . matter-of-fact about it all as he tried to appear, and a suspicion began forming inside Xander. He wondered if Lacroix had ever had anyone he talked to. He was near to tears by the time Lacroix finished telling him of Divia's final death. No matter how much he hated vampires in general, even he could see the love Lacroix had held for his -- what the hell was she? Had he considered her his daughter or his sire? Either way, her death had to have been devastating.

Xander rolled over, trying to get comfortable on the hard floor. He had to admit, he had enjoyed the conversation. Unlike the one's he'd had with Anya or Spike -- even Angel for that matter -- it hadn't been peppered with sidelines to torture, killing, and/or violence in general. Oh, he wasn't deceived into thinking there hadn't been any. He wasn't convinced that Lacroix was *that* different. He did, however, now believe that he *was* different. All the proof had been paraded before him, and he had no choice but to believe it. How different remained to be seen; though Xander now intended to at least *try* and keep an open mind.


TBC
Kiristeen
Feedback is a muses friend, and is craved and deliciously savored. : )
Kiristeen@kiristeen.com