Date: Thu, 11 Jan 1996 20:33:24 -0800 From: Dianne Therese De Sha **************************************************************** REMEMBER! This is a "Syndie-call-ware" story. You are on your honor NOT to read this until you've called your local sydie station (whether or not they show FK now-- no excuses!) and make it clear that you want them to *ASK* TriStar for FK_! Not just decide to take it if it's offered... (it _won't_ be). Make them *ASK*! Email me for Susan's checklist or the station info if you need it! (or check out http://tvnet.com/TV/localtvni.html) Knightie-style angst ain't gonna do it here, guys. We don't have 800 years. I don't even think we have 800 *hours*! (and no, I'm not gonna work out the math now). CallCallCallCALL! :-) **************************************************************** Well, here it is. The story they said couldn't be written! (Well, that's what *I* was mumbling to myself as soon as I heard the good news...) My vow story in which, in return for getting the end of the third season, I promised to: ...write (and _ post_!) a story in which Tracy gets the better of LaCroix *and* Nick is not made fun of or injured in _any_ way. And I _did_! The Cousins are gonna *kill* me! Not only that, but I managed to aviod any use of the word "perky" (mostly for the sake of my own stomach). My apologies to the Knighties in advance, but in order to keep Nick safe when I'm writing I basically had to keep him _out_ of the main storyline altogether. It was the only way. He just seems to mysteriously come to a bad end whenever I get my hands on the little *Bri....*... um... "Detective." Note, I only had to have Tracy "get the better" of LaCroix. Leave it to me to go one huge step further and write a _seduction_ scene! *Enjoy!* Dianne The Masochist [Mucho thanks to Christina Kamnikar, Catherine Boone, and Deborah Menikoff for beta-reading and to Nancy Duemling for the picture quote!] =============================================== A Vow Fulfilled (1/2) by Dianne la Mercenaire It had been so easy. Urs was not the most clever creature, and deathly afraid of him, when he wanted her to be. She obeyed without question, her eyes wide and lips trembling. Her elaborately-contrived distress from a continent away had sent Vachon racing out of town as though the Devil himself was spurring him on. And perhaps he was. Vachon would be gone for weeks, plenty of time to get to know Nicholas' new partner a little better. *************************************************** Returning from the captain's office, Nick looked up as his partner flopped down on one side of the desk they shared. He watched as she sat there a moment, chair tipped back, body slouched half-sideways, a dreamy smile playing over her face and eyes focused on a wisp of nothing somewhere just shy of the ceiling. Whoever this guy was-- and she'd been very secretive about him-- he'd been doing quite a number on her for the past week. "Tracy?" No response. He raised the volume a bit. "Earth to Detective Vetter!" "Oh!" She started, turned, and blushed, suddenly unable to raise her eyes any higher than the papers she shuffled meaninglessly before her. Realizing how silly she looked she pulled open a drawer... and started, her eyes going wide. In an instant Nick was at her side, closing the drawer. "Your desk is on the other side, Space Cadet," he said with a smirk. "You _know_ him?" "Who?" Nick looked up, confused. "The Nightcrawler. I saw the photo. 'To Nicholas, Always Regretting.'?" Nick looked only half as uncomfortable as he felt. "Um, yeah. Well I've known him for a long time, from before he was 'The Nightcrawler'." _All_ he needed now was a star-struck partner! He grabbed for a guaranteed way to change the topic. "So, how are things with your new 'friend'?" To his surprise instead of the coy denial he was used to, she blanched and swallowed hard. "It's fine," she answered distractedly, standing up and gathering her things. "I just remembered, I've got... an errand I have to run. I'll be back." And she was gone. Nick just stared for a moment, then shook his head. From anyone else he'd figure it was a phony-- and highly suspicious-- excuse. From Tracy... well, she probably _had_ just remembered an errand. *************************************************** It would be so easy. He would romance her across-- bringing her into the dark night not by force, but with her own breathless whispered consent. And Nicholas, his dear Nicholas. The mortal repercussions of losing another partner-- and the Commissioner's daughter at that-- would be nothing compared to the snares it would wind about his soul. The doubts, the self-recriminations-- he could hear them now. As always, Nicholas would take the loss of another mortal life as yet another nail in the cross he bore so proudly on his back. Nicholas would be angry, furious, for a time. That was hardly news. But all too soon his well-trained doubts and fears would begin to kick in-- Was he not truly a deadly bane in the life of any mortal he befriended? Might not his precious Dr. Lambert be next? Tracy having chosen her own way into darkness, Nicholas could not place the blame entirely where he would like to. And he could never blame her-- the pure innocent mortal seduced by the darkness?-- never. Nicholas would be left with no one to blame but himself. And then at last, the _coup de grace_, would come down upon poor Nicholas his crushing sense of responsibility. Having been the unwitting, yet still damned, instrument of her destruction, he would feel obligated to care for her. After all, he could hardly leave her to the tender mercies of the... _monster_ who had raised him, could he? Another doomed partner, proof of the danger he brought to mortals, fear for his precious coroner, the need to take the new fledgling firmly in hand... pain, shame, fear, guilt.... Nicholas would have no choice but to leave this place. This place that somehow tied him more closely to the mortal world and his insane death wish than had any place before it. And once Nicholas was safely away, a _vampire_ once more, then there would be time for anything and everything else. *************************************************** "Surprise!" He felt the soft warm hands against his cool skin as they closed over his eyes from behind. Prepared for her approach, he was able to pause for a moment to enjoy inhaling the scent of warm living blood pulsing through veins just inches from his mouth. "Tracy." Smoothly he turned to see disappointment stealing over her usually lively expression. "I _never_ surprise you, do I?" He looked at her-- she was pouting like a disappointed child. It was amusing, for the moment. "I'm afraid not, my dear," his lips curved up slightly. "One of the advantages of age." Her pout deepened, but a smile was creeping out. "Let's make it a bet then." Her enthusiasm was undimmed by his raised eyebrow. "If I can do it-- really _surprise_ you, just once-- then you have to do a dedication to me on your show. You have to say whatever I want." His smile was indulgent, bemused. "You have my word." Her answering smile was as open as it was sincere. *************************************************** (to be continued) **************************************************************** REMEMBER! This is a "Syndie-call-ware" story. You are on your honor NOT to read this until you've called your local sydie station (whether or not they show FK now-- no excuses!) and make it clear that you want them to *ASK* TriStar for FK_! Not just decide to take it if it's offered... (it _won't_ be). Make them *ASK*! Email me for Susan's checklist or the station info if you need it! (or check out http://tvnet.com/TV/localtvni.html) Knightie-style angst ain't gonna do it here, guys. We don't have 800 years. I don't even think we have 800 *hours*! (and no, I'm not gonna work out the math now). CallCallCallCALL! :-) =============================================== A Vow Fulfilled (2/2) by Dianne la Mercenaire ********************************************************* It was so easy. She would be a pretty toy for an evening's pleasure. A chance to revel once more in the sweetness of the seduction-- the hunt in which the prey finally came begging for its own death. Vachon might be angry when he returned, it was of no consequence. Or would he be? On the contrary, he would likely be grateful. He obviously was attracted to this one and would probably have brought her across himself long ago, were he not afraid of Nicholas' wrath. Once Nicholas was safely away, drowning in his own regrets, ready to take the offered hand of an old friend.... Then she was unnecessary. She could be given over to the young Spaniard as a present. After all, it never hurt to be owed a favor. *************************************************** Dinner at the Trattoria Giancarlo, dancing-- a very elegant, very mortal Saturday evening. Then back to his apartment... the first step on the path to eternity. She lingered by the fire as he poured the drinks-- red wine for her, something slightly richer for him. They sat on the expensive leather couch and talked a little, and moved a little closer, and then their lips were brushing together and his were sliding down towards her warm soft throat... She pulled away suddenly, flushed and embarrassed. "I need to... um... go and... uh... freshen up...," she stammered, racing for the bathroom door. And he'd let her go, laughing to himself. When she returned, she was a little more composed, although he could still hear her pulse racing as she sat beside him again. She had put on a faint fragrance, one of those that changed as it warmed on the skin. Even now it was shifting, as his hand twined once again in her hair, and his lips moved from hers softly along her jaw and down towards the pulsing vein in her throat, from a soft floral to a strong... biting?... *Garlic!* Instinctively he snarled and pushed her away-- only to find a small pointed stake pressed firmly against his chest. He still could have done it-- torn the stake from her hand, swallowed the choking nausea, and taken her right then, leaving her a crumpled, lifeless heap on the floor. But his sheer surprise stopped him. He staggered back a few steps-- the ghastly odor was increasing as it warmed against her skin-- and quickly regained his composure. "Oh, I _am_ impressed, my dear," he admitted, as he straightened himself up and retook control of the situation. "However did you figure it out?" "Nick knows you, he said he'd known you for a _long_ time." Her pulse was pounding loudly and distractingly in his ears. "So, then, you know what Nicholas is?" Tracy gave a little laugh, a slight show of bravado. "Of course. I figured that out months ago. He's not very subtle, you know." To both their surprise, he laughed. "No. He never has been, has he?" *************************************************** It *should* have been so easy. He'd let her go. She was much too interesting to take so quickly. A sharp mind and a brave soul hidden behind the childish demeanor. Who would have guessed? And knowing she was one step ahead of poor Nicholas, well... that was simply _too_ rich.... *************************************************** It was almost three in the morning, and just before he signed off for the night, the Nightcrawler paused. "Now, gentle listeners, it is time to speak of vows-- of promises made and promises kept. It is so easy at the time. Caught up in emotion or in our own certainty of what the future will hold, we offer a piece of our soul to whatever powers might be listening. A deal, a trade, a wish-- a bet made with Dame Fortuna or the Fates or with Destiny. "And then the wheel turns and what will be comes to pass. And in the joy of victory or the depths of defeat comes the memory. A tickle in the back of the mind, a tug at the edge of the sleeve-- a promise to be kept, a vow to be fulfilled. But what matter now? the mind insists. What has happened has happened and cannot be undone. Idle promises played no part in it. "But deep within there is the nagging, the unease, the primitive fear that such a deal must not be broken. That the wheels of Fate have crushed far greater than you beneath their wheels and ground them nameless into the dust. And so, listeners, we make good the foolish promises shouted at the skies or whispered into the darkness. And in doing so expect not only the balanced restored, but the stage set once again. "And is it not this, rather than 'honor' or 'integrity' or even our 'good name,' that truly holds us to any vow? For having kept this promise when held to it only by our own conscience, should we not expect to be looked upon with favor the next time we come knocking at Dame Fortuna's door?" The glowing bars of light set into the slick black surface of the control panel read 2:59. "So, dear listeners, before the Nightcrawler slips back into the shadows of your mind, he too has a promise to keep...." His voice dropped to a soft rich purr. "I am a *good* vampire." -------------------------------------------------- Sitting in the Caddy and carefully ignoring the choking sound from the driver's seat, Detective Tracy Vetter smiled to herself and reached over to turn the radio off. *************************************************** Dianne