It had been thirty years since he had last set foot in this fair Canadian city. He hadn't mixed with too many mortals the last time he had been here, but thirty years wasn't technically long enough for him to be back. The risks were too great that someone might still recognize him. So, the hair had been cut, and he had his cover story ready. He was "Javier Vachon, named after his father's brother, Javier. Come to see the city his uncle had told him so much about." Sounded plausible enough, and the Enforcers were willing to let him slide. Besides, he was only interested in running into one mortal anyway.

He drifted along the street, watching the people hurrying up and down the snow-covered sidewalks. It was Christmas Eve, and everyone hurried to make their last minute Christmas purchases. Everyone had some place to be, some place to go. He, on the other hand, drifted.

He had been to Tracy's apartment. Not surprisingly, she wasn't there. Not just not home, didn't live there. What did you expect? he'd asked himself, bitterly, it's been thirty years. And she was either no longer in law enforcement, or had transferred to a different precinct. He paused again outside a shop front window. It was a small market, a neighborhood grocery store. He took another deep breath and was about to continue on when he detected the scent of apricots. He sniffed again. Apricots. Not that unusual, since he was outside a market, but then he scented the callalilies. His head came up, and he peered more closely into the market. Could it be? Could he have stumbled across her after all?

He turned and pushed open the doors to the market and sauntered inside. He strolled across the front of the store, looking down each of the aisles, then his breath caught as he spotted the angular woman back in the frozen foods. He stole down an aisle and came silently up behind her. She was perusing the selections of frozen turkeys when he tugged lightly on the sleeve of her coat.

She turned and looked at him blankly. "Yes?" she asked, slightly distracted. He didn't reply, simply drank in the sight of her face. Then he grinned and cocked his head at her. He saw the recognition blossom in her eyes and heard her breath catch in her throat. She stood there frozen for a moment, then breathed out, "Vachon," even as she moved forward to hug him. He lifted his arms at the wrong moment, and they tangled awkwardly, her purse falling to the floor and spilling open. Then he enveloped her in his arms and pressed her close against his body. He pushed his face into her hair and breathed in full lungfuls of her scent. She might look thirty years older, with a few grey hairs mixed in with the blond, and a wrinkle or two on her face, but the scent was still Tracy.

They broke apart a moment later, and both bent to pick up the contents of her purse. Tracy shoved everything in haphazardly then picked up the small basket of groceries at her feet. She straightened and looked at him again. "I can't believe it's you. What are you doing here?"

Vachon shrugged, "Oh, you know. Just visiting." He grinned again.

Tracy laughed, shaking her head. "Well, here," she said, handing him the basket. "Hold this while I grab a turkey." She grabbed one at random then headed up the aisle. "Let's get out of here."

Vachon trailed her up the aisle to the check out registers. He watched as she paid for the groceries then picked up one of the two bags and followed her outside. She glanced over her shoulder at him. "My car's just up the street here." He followed her up the street until she stopped by a late model Rolls Royce. Vachon's eyebrows raised slightly at the sight, but he made no comment. She opened the trunk, and they set the bags down inside the voluminous space.

She closed the trunk and turned to look at him. An awkward silence fell over them, and they stood there in the falling snow.

"So, it's really good to see—"

"So, what made you come back—"

They spoke at the same time then stopped. Finally, Tracy asked, "You want to go get a drink or something?" She immediately clamped a gloved hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry, I forgot."

Vachon reached out and gently took the gloved hand in his. "Why don't we just go for a drive?"

Tracy smiled in relief. "Okay." She pressed a button on her key chain and the doors unlocked. Then she stepped around and got in the driver's side. She started the engine and pulled out into the thinning traffic.

Vachon couldn't take his eyes off her. He also couldn't think of a word to say. So much time, so many years, and he couldn't recall a single thing he wanted to say to her. Everything he thought of sounded so inane in his mind. So, how ya been, Trace? You don't look a day older than fifty, Trace. Ever think about me, Trace? Ever miss—

"You're staring, Vachon." Then she gave a short flustered laugh. "I don't even know if that's your name this time around."

"It is," he answered softly. Then he slipped into his rehearsed speech, "I was named for my Uncle Javier, my father's younger brother, the wanderer and wastrel of the family."

"I see," Tracy replied with a smile, then, "you've cut your hair."

"Yes. A necessary evil."

Tracy pulled the car into a parking lot overlooking Lake Ontario. She parked, shut off the lights, then turned to face him in her seat.

"Why?"

"Why what, Trace?" Vachon asked.

Tracy looked at him for a moment, and he saw a lifetime pass in her eyes. "Why everything, Vachon. Why cut your hair? Why was it a necessary evil? Why did you come back? Why did you ever leave...?" Her voice trailed off sadly, and his ever-so-slow beating heart turned over in an ache.

Vachon reached out to touch her face, but she brushed aside his hand, shrugging him off. He sighed and pulled his hand back into his lap then reached up and unzipped his jacket, pulling it open in the warming car.

"What do you want me say, Trace? I cut my hair because I had to. I had to because thirty years isn't long enough for me to return here unnoticed. I came back because I wanted to see you again. I left... because I had to."

"And now that you've found me, what do you expect?" Her voice had an edge to it that was unfamiliar to him, a hardness that startled him.

"I didn't expect anything, Trace. I just wanted to see you again, see how you're doing...." His voice trailed off at the look she gave him.

"Why now, Vachon?" Tracy asked, in a voice laced with anger.

Vachon shrugged again, unsure what to say. "It just seemed like the time to do it...."

"Oh, I see," Tracy replied. "Did you just think, one day, 'Hey, I wonder how Tracy Vetter's doing? Maybe I'll go see her.' Or was it more like, 'Hey, Tracy Vetter's gotta be getting pretty old by now. Better go see her again before she dies or something.'"

Vachon flinched back from the bitterness in her voice, totally at a loss of what to say next. He stared open-mouthed at her, blinking, until the only phrase he could think of stumbled it's way up past his lips: "I'm sorry."

Tracy stared back at him in disbelief, then her anger dissolved, and he saw tears filling her eyes. He waited a moment, then reached over and pulled her over to nestle against his black sweater. She sobbed against his chest as he stroked her hair, and kept murmuring, "I'm sorry," over and over.

After a while, her crying subsided and she sat upright again, reaching for a tissue on the dash. She blew her nose, dabbed her eyes, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that it's been so long, and to have you show up now, of all times. It's just a little more than I can handle."

Vachon nodded, giving her time to regain her composure. He'd thought of what it'd be like to see her again, many times, but hadn't really factored tears into the equation. The Tracy he'd known had been more prone to fainting when surprised, never crying. Ah, but that's always been your problem, Javi, never thinking things through. Why shouldn't she be upset to see you, even angry? It's not like everything was settled when you left.... He shook that thought off, and concentrated on her last statement.

"What about now, Trace? Why is now such a bad time?"

Tracy looked at him for a moment, then finally asked, "Do you know what today is, Vachon?"

"Of course I do. It's Christmas Eve."

Tracy almost looked surprised that he was aware of the holiday, then shook her head sadly. "Yes, it is. And tomorrow is Christmas Day." Vachon nodded. "It will be the first Christmas Day since my father died." Vachon grimaced in sudden sympathy at that, but she continued, "And for the first time, both of my children have decided not to come home to celebrate." She glanced up at him then, but he could only stare silently at her in shock.

"Yes, Vachon, my children," she said gently. "I have two, a boy and a girl."

He shook off his daze and cleared his throat. "Wh- what are their names? How old are they?"

"Michael will be twenty-three in March, and Rebecca will be twenty in May."

Vachon nodded again at the information. "And they're away at school?"

"Yes, Michael is a graduate student studying law at Stanford University, and Rebecca is an undergrad at Vancouver, majoring in art and architecture."

Vachon's eyebrows shot up with surprise. "Architecture? That's not what I would expect out of a family of cops."

"She gets it from her father," Tracy said, very directly.

Ah, stupid, Javier, of course there would be a husband in all this. "Your ... husband" — Javier nearly stumbled over the word — "is an architect?"

"Yes," she replied, "William is quite renowned throughout North America for his innovative designs. He's very much in demand."

Vachon absorbed this information, made the necessary mental adjustments, then smiled at Tracy. "I'm glad, Tracy. I'm glad you found love in life."

Tracy simply stared back at him, unsmiling. "Who says I love him?"

Once again her words took him aback. "Bu— But you married him. Had children with him. Surely you loved him, at least at some point?"

Tracy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, looking at her lap. "I don't know, maybe. He was nice to me, Vachon. He wanted me, and... well, my parents had been pressuring me to get married... and, well, he was safe. And he's always been good to me." She looked at him them, waiting for his reaction.

Vachon shook his head. "You should've waited for someone better, Trace. You should've married because you loved someone, not because he was safe."

Anger flared in her blue eyes. "I did wait, Vachon. I waited five years. Then I stopped waiting. And I married William. And even then, a small corner of my heart kept hoping, hoping one day you'd—" Her voice caught and she stopped. She reached out and angrily grabbed another tissue but held her tears at bay.

Vachon sat rigid, frozen by what she had just said. Silently, he felt his soul curl up into a small ball and hide itself in his aching heart. How did this always happen to him? First he screwed up with Urs by bringing her across when she hadn't wanted it, then he'd left Tracy to live out her mortal life, and apparently that was the wrong decision too.

"Why, Tracy? Why did you wait? You knew what I was, what I am. The only way for us to be together was for you to become what I am, and you didn't want that."

"How do you know?" Tracy asked, tiredly, "Did you ever ask me?"

Vachon gave a short laugh of bitterness and frustration. "Uh, Trace, do the words, 'You're evil, Vachon. It's inside you, and it scares me,' mean anything to you? I had my answer that night."

Tracy flinched back slightly at his words, closed her eyes, and rested her head against the back of the seat. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and quiet. "Have you ever said anything that you wished you could take back? Or done something you wished you could change?" She paused but kept her eyes closed. Vachon didn't answer, and she continued. "More than anything else in my life, I wish I could change that moment. What I said. More than wishing I could change my parents, more than wishing I could go back and save the life of my childhood friend Susan." She opened her eyes and looked directly at him. "More than anything else, I wish I could take back what I said that night. It was a stupid thing to say, and... I'm so sorry."

"I thought you were just scared of me and trying to put distance between us."

"Yes, you did scare me, Vachon, what did you expect? You're a vampire. You suck blood and kill people. Why shouldn't I be afraid of that? But it didn't stop me from loving you. What else do you think could've kept me with you even when you were sick? Even when you were crazy?"

"I just thought you were too stubborn to leave when I told you to, that's all."

Tracy looked at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Yeah, I was pretty stubborn in those days, wasn't I?"

Vachon reached out and touched her on the cheek, sobering her brief laughter. "Tracy, why didn't you say anything before I left?"

"When?" she asked. "When you were crazy and talking about killing? Or asking me to kill you? When I thought you were dead or when you miraculously were alive again? Or when you said you were leaving for a while? Just when was I supposed to say something?"

"Well, I would say before I left, for sure," Vachon answered defensively.

"Gee, Vachon, if I'd known you were leaving for thirty years, I probably would've." Tracy replied, sarcastically.

Vachon cast his mind back to that night thirty years earlier. He'd said he was leaving. He couldn't remember if he'd said 'a while' or not, but to a vampire, thirty years was 'a while'. But he still couldn't convince himself that Tracy had been willing to be brought across back then.

"But would you have let me bring you across, Trace?" Vachon asked, "because that's what would've happened. It was getting too dangerous to leave you mortal."

"I don't know." she answered, candidly. "I don't know if I'd have been willing right then, but I think, yes, eventually I would have. I think I would have been scared out of my mind, but if you were with me, it would've been okay."

Vachon didn't say anything. He raised one hand and rubbed his mouth and face thoughtfully. The silence stretched as he considered what she'd said. Finally he looked directly at her and asked, "How about now? I can still bring you across, you know."

Tracy stared at him blankly for a moment then laughed bitterly.

"It's a little late for me now, don't you think, Vachon?"

Vachon shook his head. "Why? Until you're physically dead, it's never too late, even if you were terminally ill, or paralyzed, or anything like that. I bring you across, and you're fine."

"But would I be young, Vachon?"

"No. You'd always look the age you are now, but you'd never look any older," he added the last, hopefully.

"So, even if we were together, then what you're saying is that I'd forever look like your mother."

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't matter to us, Tracy. The age you look physically is far less important than your actual age." It was a subject he hadn't given much thought to in a long time.

"But to the mortal world, I'd still look like your mother."

"So what, Tracy?" Vachon said, impatiently. "Look, you remember LaCroix, the guy that owned the Raven?"

"Sure, I asked you if he was one of you, and you said he wasn't."

"I lied." He raised his hand to silence her immediate comment. "I did it to protect you, Tracy. LaCroix was very old. I think he was brought across sometime around the fall of Pompeii, and that's pretty dang old, Tracy." He smiled at her, hoping to deflect her anger at him for his deception. "The point I'm trying to make here, Trace, is that he was physically old for his time when he was brought across, and it never mattered. Divia, the child who nearly killed me, was even older than LaCroix. And she looked like she should be heading off to high school or something. Age really doesn't matter to us, Tracy."

"Yeah, well, it matters in the mortal world and that's where most people would see us. Besides," she added tiredly, "wouldn't I have to be technically dead to everyone I know? My kids aren't old enough to handle my 'death' right now."

Vachon simply shrugged at that. "It's a decision you have to make, Tracy, and I'll never force anyone into it ever again. Just remember, the offer is open to you until the day you die."

Tracy nodded. "Does that mean you'll be around then? I don't exactly know any other vampires making this offer."

Vachon shook his head. "Technically Toronto is still forbidden to me. But I'll give you an address where you can always reach me. Just give me at least twenty-four hours to get here, okay?"

Tracy smiled and nodded. "Okay."

A silence fell over them that began to stretch uncomfortably for Vachon. Tracy simply stared out over the hood of the expensive car, watching the waves lap against the shoreline.

Now what? Talk about the weather? Vachon was at a loss when Tracy spoke softly.

"I saw your CD a few years back, Vachon. I have a copy of it. Your band was pretty successful for a time, why did you leave it?"

"Hard to tour in my condition, Trace," he answered matter-of-factly. "It was fun for a little while, though."

"My kids thought I was suddenly turning into a teenager on them, trying to embarrass them. Suddenly their mom was listening to their music, and that was unacceptable."

Vachon grinned and shook his head. "Somehow I never figured you to like rock and roll music, Tracy, you always struck me as a classical kind of person."

"I am. But this one was special." The silence fell over them again, and once again, Tracy broke it by asking, "So if you're not in a rock band anymore, what do you do?"

"Who says I have to 'do' anything, Tracy?"

"Oh, so you're back to being a slacker again, huh?"

Vachon laughed, "Sure, why not?" When she looked at him disapprovingly, he continued. "Actually, I give guitar lessons to disadvantaged children in an evening after school program."

Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. "Wow, that's great, Vachon"

"So what do you do, Tracy, besides being a mother?"

"Well, after the shooting, and Nick leaving, I decided to—"

"What shooting, Trace?" Vachon interrupted.

Tracy stared at him for a moment. "You really didn't hear?" When he shook his head no, she took a deep breath and filled him in about getting shot and nearly dying. "Then Nick and Natalie both disappeared, and I finally decided to get out of homicide. My heart wasn't in it anymore. I transferred to corporate crimes, which made my father very happy, and eventually, I met William through it. His business kept losing funding and I helped find the embezzler." She went on to tell him about their courtship, and how she eventually decided to marry him, and about their two children. Finally she wound down and looked at him, slumped back in his seat, listening to her. "So that's it, story of my life. Boring and safe."

Vachon nodded. "You may not love the guy but at least you created something with him. You have a home, a family, children you could watch grow up. That's more than I've ever had in my lifetimes."

"No baby vampires, Vachon?"

"Not in that sense, Tracy, and none at all in a long time. When I was last here in Toronto, I had my 'crew', but when I lost Screed and Urs, well...... I haven't really replaced them, if you know what I mean."

"No close friends is what you're saying," Tracy asked sympathetically.

"Yeah, no close friends. I have some acquaintances, both vampire and mortal, but no one inside my heart."

"I guess that time was pretty rough for both of us, then, wasn't it?"

"I wouldn't say so, Trace." Vachon replied quickly. "No, I would rather have not lost Screed or Urs, but I also wouldn't trade having known you for anything." In fact, you're the only remaining person still inside my heart, Trace.

Tracy nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I understand. Even with the way things turned out, I wouldn't want to ever give up the knowledge of knowing you. Even though I do seem to have a bit of a blank zone in my memory right after your 'death'."

Vachon smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. That was LaCroix. Nick thought it would be kinder if you didn't remember all the details about me, and my supposed dying, and asked LaCroix to make you forget. Since he's so much older, he was able to break past your resistance. Of course, when I turned up on your doorstep, alive and covered in dirt, that snapped you past his mental adjustments. I couldn't tell you at the time, because I didn't want to tell you the truth about LaCroix."

Tracy looked at him. "Or Nick. I found out, you know. That he was one of you. When I got shot, I saw him. Yellow eyes and all. And I knew. When I finally got out of the hospital, he was already gone, so I could never tell him that it was okay with me. That he could have trusted me."

"He probably knew that he could trust you, Trace, but keeping secrets is a big part of who we are. So is pretending to be mortal, and keeping our cover stories from being blown. Nick could no more acknowledge me as a vampire around you, then I could acknowledge him. It's a form of protection, and it's deeply ingrained."

"How old was Nick? Really?"

"I don't really recall, Trace. Somewhere around eight hundred years, I think. He was a crusader in the Middle Ages, and then LaCroix brought him across."

"LaCroix brought him across?"

"Yes. They had an... interesting... relationship. Nick wanted to become mortal again, and Natalie was trying to help. LaCroix didn't approve."

"Was Natalie....?"

"Strictly human. But she knew about us, and helped us from time to time. Like coming up with a cure for a plague killing vampires."

"That was her doing?"

"Yes."

"Was there anyone else from my past that I didn't know was a vampire?"

"That I also knew? No, I think that was everyone." Vachon smiled. "And of course, you didn't hear any of this from me."

Tracy smiled as well. "Of course not."

Silence fell again as lights twinkled on the bay. Ships, decked out in Christmas lights, added to the festivity of the holiday. Finally Tracy took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.

"So what happens now, Vachon? You want to come back to my place for the night? I could say you're a friend of Michael's or something...."

Vachon shook his head. "Not necessary. All I'd have to do is 'convince' your husband I was never there, but I already have a place to crash tomorrow. Tomorrow night, I'm headed back to home again."

"So soon?" Tracy asked, dismay in her voice.

"Had to be. Technically I'm not supposed to be—"

"Yeah, I know, Toronto's still off-limits. It just doesn't seem fair, you know," she said, turning in her seat to face him. "Here I've missed you all these years, and I get you back for all of an hour or so. I want more."

He leaned forward then, and cupped her cheeks with his hands. Gently, he kissed her, teasing her lips with his tongue. When she opened her mouth for him, he deepened the kiss and explored inside, running his tongue along the roof of her mouth. She responded in kind and he felt the passion spark between them. He continued to kiss her, pouring out all his need and wanting for her, until he felt the inevitable change come over him, and knew she could feel the fangs in his mouth. Even then, he finally had to be the one to break the kiss, and she could see his eyes, wild and yellow, before he forced them back to brown. Both of them were breathing hard and steam filled the interior of the car.

Finally he broke the silence. "That really wasn't the reason I came back, you know. I really did just want to see you again. Make sure you were okay."

Tracy nodded in response. He could see tears glistening in her eyes again.

He stared down at his hands a moment, then looked back at her. "Okay, truth," he said, drawing in a ragged breath. "I came back because I wanted to tell you that I love you. That I've always loved you. That I'm sorry I left. About the way I left, and the fact that I didn't come back. Or contact you or anything. I wanted to apologize, ask your forgiveness, and try to make things right. Because no matter how much time has passed, I can't forget you. And now that I'm actually saying this out loud, I realize that I'm still being a selfish bastard, because even this is about making me feel better, and it's probably hurting you... and.... I wish— I wish I had never come back here and put you through any of this. I'm sorry." He stared back down at his hands, miserable.

Silence filled the car for a long moment, then Tracy reached over and touched his cheek, drawing his face around to look at her. "It's called 'closure', Javier," she said, softly. "You're looking for closure, and you couldn't find it without seeing me again."

"But closure implies an ending," he protested, "and I don't want this to end. I'm serious about the offer to bring you across."

She smiled at him then. "I know you are. Just as we both know it probably won't happen. But I will remember your offer and keep it safe in my heart. And dream about 'someday'. Until then, just know that it has meant so much to me to see you again and have this chance to talk. To talk honestly about the past and what happened between us, and... and what might have been."

Vachon could see the peaceful calm in her eyes. He picked up her hand and clasped it in both of his. Then he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it softly. He nodded against her captured hand, his own eyes introspective. Finally he released her hand and looked at her.

"It's time for me to go, isn't it?" he said, quietly.

She gave him a half smile and nodded.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small package and handed it to her. "Merry Christmas, Tracy Vetter."

She unwrapped the small present and opened the small box. Inside, she found a gold locket. She pressed the clasp and it opened to reveal an inscription:  for TV, my querida. JV.  He saw her breath catch as she read it, then she drew a steadying breath. "Thank you, Javier," she said, simply.

"I know," he said, hastily, "you probably can't wear it or anything because of your husband, but I still wanted you to have it."

She clasped it tightly in her palm. "I will wear it, Vachon, I promise you that." She leaned forward then, and kissed him, softly and gently. When she broke away, he knew it was time to go. He ran a hand down her beautiful blond hair, with its slightest hints of grey, then opened the car door. "Until I see you again, Tracy Vetter," he said as he stepped out.

She nodded. "Until then, Javier Vachon."

He nodded in reply and stepped back, swinging the door shut. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and stood there, as she backed the car out of the parking space then put it in gear. He followed the red taillights of the vehicle with his eyes, as it moved out of the parking lot towards the exit.

With a start, he realized that this was the beachside park where he had buried Screed all those years before. Beyond the exit, he could just make out the small hill overlooking the bay, where the grave had been. There seemed to be something on it and, in a flash, he was beside it. A concrete park bench stood in the exact spot where Screed, and briefly next to it, he himself had been buried. Leaning closer, he could see an inscription:

"Goodbye, Tracy," he said quietly to the night.