Series: Permanent Midnight, sequel to "Hollow" so it's sometime between "Left Turn" and "Alive" But it is not at all necessary to have read any of the rest of the series.

Notes: This one is for Rita and for Katail who posed the question that got me thinking in this direction.  Thanks to Shug, Gemma, Melis, Barb, and Nicole for encouraging the hell out of me both with this series and writing in general.

Warnings: None
Summary:  In the aftermath of Reese's death, Trevor takes a philosophical view of vampire life & death, and finds out that not everyone shares his outlook.

Feedback welcome at jb7811@comcast.net
 

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No one's going to save you
'Cause they can't rearrange you
And nothing ever changes
You're cynical and dangerous
--"Wear Me Down", Treble Charger
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The only way Trevor knew how to shake off the disturbing feelings that Reese's death had left with him was to go back to the club.  The music and people and alcohol would smooth the way for him to walk right past this little interlude with nary a bobble.  It's not as if this sort of thing had never happened before.

First there was Stefan.  Poor doomed Stefan, with the face of an angel and, unfortunately, the soul of a saint.  Trevor should have known he was a bad choice for the gift, but the boy had been so sad and so beautiful--a combination that was one of Trevor's stronger weaknesses.  He hadn't lasted a month until his conscience overwhelmed him and he walked out into the sun.  Trevor, being young himself and not even called Trevor yet, had cried and raged at the tragic waste of it all.

Then came Selwyn who held a grudge for three hundred years before challenging Trevor one too many times.  After the first hundred years or so, he'd come to almost enjoy the vicious little games Selwyn would play each time their paths crossed, and he believed that Selwyn had too.  Maybe that was what kept him alive for two hundred more years before boredom and despair had set in.  Or whatever it was that had caused him to push Trevor into staking him.

Trevor never understood it--maybe never would understand why anyone would take his own life.  He'd been living it for nearly five hundred years and he wasn't tired of it yet.  Sure, ennui set in occasionally, but there were always new places to go, new people to meet, and new blood to taste.  His bouts of boredom were minimal and only vaguely annoying until his natural enthusiasm subsumed them.  They were never enough to push him to such a place that Stefan, Selwyn, Reese, and many others had reached.

The thought of openly dealing with his feelings, of accepting responsibility for the lost ones never crossed his mind.

At the bar, he ordered a shot of Jim Beam and drank a silent toast to Reese Hilliard, a fine young man who had left this world much too soon.  He let the whiskey settle in his stomach for a moment before he waved the bartender over and ordered a double of the expensive single malt scotch that he much rather preferred.

Fresh drink in hand, Trevor sauntered up the stairs to the semi-circular balcony that would allow him to look out over the dance floor and most of the rest of the club.  After several moments of solitary people-watching, Trevor felt someone walk up beside him and lean against the railing, mirroring his pose.  He glanced over and sighed when he saw who it was.  "Hello, Sloan.  Fancy seeing you here.  Last I heard, you thought our 'tawdry little pleasure palace' was much too gauche for your sophisticated tastes."

"Consider it slumming, if you will."  The older man gave Trevor a glance that made clear just exactly how far that extended.  "I like to keep up with what's going on in The Community."

Trevor snorted at the way the man pronounced the words with capital letters, but all he said was, "Oh, really?  Heard any good gossip then?"

"I heard you left here with a teary, wild-eyed young one and then came back alone less than an hour later."

"What I do is not gossip."  Trevor calmly took a sip of his drink.  "At least not to me.  What else have you got?"

"Sandrine is back in town."

"I can see that."  Trevor motioned to a blonde in a very short red dress dancing with a shirtless young man.  "She looks as gorgeous as ever."

Sloan cut him a look out of the corner of his eye, and said in a smarmy voice, "You've had her then?"

"Not unless there's a penis concealed under that dress."  As if on cue, the young man pulled Sandrine's back to his front, tightening her dress across the front of her body.  "It would have to be very cleverly concealed indeed, and either way the answer is still no."

"How is it that one with your appreciation of beauty would not want to take full advantage of it?"

"I happen to think lions and tigers are incredibly beautiful, but I wouldn't want to fuck one of them either."

"For some reason, I didn't think you were that choosy."

Trevor tried to think of something clever to say, but couldn't so he went for the unvarnished truth.  "You're just jealous because I've never fucked you."

"Hardly.  *I* have some standards," said Sloan with a haughty lift of his head, but Trevor caught the way his gaze ran down Trevor's body.

"Why don't you go away and let me drink in peace?"  He waved a waitress over and ordered another scotch.

"The young one, Trevor," Sloan reminded him, unnecessarily since Trevor had not forgotten the implied question.  He was merely trying to avoid talking about it.  "What happened to him?"

Trevor looked into blue eyes, pale and icy, so different from Reese's warm, ocean color.  He wondered why he was having this conversation that he didn't want to have, with this man he didn't like.  This man whose face looked young and lively, but whose brain was old and set in its ways.  He took a deep breath and found himself answering.  "He decided to shake off this immortal coil in one of our time honored traditions.  Ashes to ashes and all that."

Sloan's mirthless smile insinuated so much more than his simple question, "With a little help from you?"

"Just like I'd put any wounded animal out of its misery," Trevor replied coldly.

"And just who wounded him in the first place?"  For the first time, Sloan's voice lost its slightly taunting tone and tightened with anger.

Trevor stared at him silently.

"Well, Trevor?  Have you nothing to say in your own defense?"

"I need no defense."  Trevor spit the words out and turned away.  The return of the waitress gave him a chance to swallow down some of his anger.  He paid her and took a long sip of his drink, opening up his senses to fully savor the peaty, smoky burn of the liquor trickling down his throat.  When he felt calmer, he turned back to Sloan and spoke in a more reasonable tone.  "He begged me.  What else should I have done?"

"You should have thought twice before you brought him over."  Off Trevor's surprised look, Sloan nodded smugly.  "Oh yes, I'm sure you made him--foolishly, imprudently, without a care as to what it might do to the boy.  Just as you have so many others.  You've been getting quite a reputation in The Community."

"A reputation, have I?"

"A dangerous one, I'm afraid."

Trevor laughed with genuine amusement.  "Oh, I rather doubt that."

Sloan turned to fully face Trevor and put his hand on his arm.  "Look, Trevor, I like you--

"Since when?"  Trevor interrupted with another laugh, this one incredulous, but Sloan ignored him.

"--and I don't want to see you in disfavor.  You're pushing your luck--and that of the rest of us--by running around making new vampires right and left.  There are so many things wrong and dangerous in what you do, not the least of which..." Sloan stopped and visibly gathered himself, then spoke in a carefully measured tone.  "We are by necessity a secret society.  The more people who know a secret, the less likely it is to be kept."

"And what will you do about it, if I don't stop?"

"I?  Nothing.  But there are others, some older and even more paranoid than I, who would dust you in a second."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"See that you do."  Sloan nodded and turned away, but not before Trevor caught a strange look on his face.  It almost looked like concern, but Trevor had known and clashed with Sloan for far too long to think the man actually cared about him.

Alone once more, Trevor watched the dancers below and contemplated going to join them.  He'd been having quite a good time before Reese had shown up.  But now, he had too much to think about, too many choices to consider.

While it was true that he was rather liberal about making new vampires--often doing it for no other reason than that he thought it would be fun-- he didn't go around making them everyday.  He had in fact gone for years at a time without making a new one.  If he was properly involved with someone, a young vampire he wanted to teach or an old one he wanted to learn from, he felt no need to give the gift.  He hadn't been in either situation for a long time, he thought wistfully, nor any other close relationship.

So now the old ones wanted to curtail his reproductive habits, did they?  A bunch of musty old killers, half of them running 'round in evening attire because of some stuffy old tradition.  They probably called each other Count whatever and pretended to be aristocrats, even if they started out life as goat herders.

Trevor, on the other hand, was highly adaptable.  He liked flying on the Concorde and driving fast cars and listening to rock and roll.  He liked television and movies, and appreciated the convenience of computers even though he didn't understand them.  He lived in the age he was in, instead of clinging to some glorious past just because it was the past.

He liked being his own man, and not subject to the whims of some feudal overlord--been there, done that, got the lash marks.  More than 'liked', it was essential to who he was.  However, in the name of adaptability, he would curb his sharing for awhile.  He could do that.  But he wouldn't give it up altogether, not if someone asked for it and knew what he was getting into.

It was a gift after all.  Better to give than to receive and all that.
 

The end.
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