From: Lisa Wolters Subject: Shape Of My Heart OK, I lied! I'm participating in the song challenge, after all. Blame it on Sting (my other favorite blue-eyed blonde...) if you hafta blame someone....and if you're interested, this song is off his excellent albulm, Ten Summoner's Tales. MVRJasper@aol.com ***** Song Challenge: Shape Of My Heart (1/1) story by L.A. Wolters lyrics by Sting "He deals the cards as a meditation And those he plays never suspect He doesn't play for the money he wins He doesn't play for respect" Nick landed lightly in the blackened alley and grabbed the perp by the back of his collar, holding him several inches off the ground. "It's over, Hastings," he growled. "It's all played out." He heard his partner running toward him and lowered the serial killer reluctantly. Schanke's hand on his shoulder, ragged breathing in his ear. Blood red light from the squad cars blocking the entrance. "We got him, buddy." Schanke cuffed the man and passed him to the uniformed officers. "Man, oh man, is this gonna make us look good at salary review next week!" The corners of Nick's mouth turned up slightly, but he didn't respond. His gaze simply followed the passenger in the back of the black-and-white as the car disappeared into the night. "He deals the cards to find the answer The sacred geometry of chance The hidden law of a probable outcome The numbers lead a dance" Black and white. If only it were that simple. How many criminals had he helped put away now? How many white marks to replace the thousands of black ones on his soul? And could that small number make the difference? Nick didn't know the answer, and wondered bitterly if he ever would... "I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier I know that the clubs are weapons of war I know that diamonds mean money for this art But that's not the shape of my heart" What he did know frightened him: death, lust, greed... In every killer like Hastings, Nick confronted that part of himself that he needed to slay. His entire life, both mortal and immortal, had been colored by violence. How many loved ones had he lost? How many of those by his own hand? "Earth to Nick!" He grabbed Schanke by the wrist--a bit too strongly--before the detective could snap his fingers in front of Nick's face. Schanke winced and Nick dropped his arm as if it burned him. He shook his head to clear the memories. "Hey guys, that was good work!" Nick looked up and into Natalie's warm eyes, losing himself momentarily in them. He felt his heart beat twice, an effect she was having more and more on him these days; he'd have to be more careful around her in the future. She pulled off her medical gloves and glanced away--almost as if she were flustered. Nick, too, glanced away. When the woman's body was removed from the scene--they'd been too late to save her, and it tore at Nick--and the evidence collected, Natalie drew Nick aside. "I've got a brand-new shake and a couple of videotapes with your name on them," she smiled. But the sunlight in that smile scared him. It would be too easy to extinguish, even if by accident. "Sorry, Nat. I've got plans," he said uneasily, slipping into the Caddy and speeding away, leaving his cowardly words in his wake. Why was it that the closer he came to happiness, the farther he ran from it? "He may play the jack of diamonds He may lay the queen of spades He may conceal a king in his hand While the memory of it fades" The Raven, and solace. He slipped onto the barstool behind Janette and dared to brush his lips along her neck, imagining that the cool flesh was Natalie's. He let the club's pounding music drown his senses. "Nicolas," Janette smiled, turning to face him. He grasped hr hand and raised it to his lips, grazing her knuckles with his teeth. "Ah!" she said playfully. "Have you come to pay homage at last?" In response, Nick leaned forward and kissed her hard, losing himelf in the sensation that was as delicious and forbidden as the first intimacy they'd shared. This was how it had all begun: as an act of desperation in the corner of another noisy, crowded tavern. "Perhaps...we should...go...upstairs, mon chevalier," Janette breathed bewteen Nick's nips and kisses. He let her lead him, pushing aside his guilt over using her like this. Somewhere deep in his memory, he saw a young knight on bended knee, full of faith and hope and light, commending himself to his God and his king...but as he lowered himself onto Janette's bed, the vision faded and he saw only the blood. "I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier I know that the clubs are weapons of war I know that diamonds mean money for this art But that's not the shape of my heart" He let himself into the loft at dawn, weary, but not from pleasure. He should have felt sated, but he was emptier than he'd been in a long time. He felt her presence before he'd fully opened the elevator door. "Hi," Nat said simply, taking him in with those eyes that missed nothing. "Hi," he said, tossing his keys on the table and his jacket on the sofa with what he dully hoped looked like ease. "I left the pitcher in the fridge," she offered hesitantly, eyeing the front of his shirt. He glanced down guiltily; several spots of dried blood marred the area around the collar. Her guarded tone tugged at him. "Look, I know you don't want my company," she said, meeting his gaze evenly and lingering a bit too long on the word "my," "so I guess I'll just see you at work." "And if I told you that I loved you You'd maybe think there's something wrong I'm not a man of too many faces The mask I wear is one" She brushed past him, and with the contact, Nick's heart responded. He reached out for her, catching her by the elbow. "I do want your company." The words came out hushed. He felt the wall that he had built so carefully between them begin to crack. "Those who speak know nothing And find out to their cost Like those who curse their luck in too many places And those who smile are lost" "Nat...I'm so sorry." He took both her hands, squeezing them to better feel the life that pulsed through her. "It's just...it was just the case." She let her breath out slowly and focused on the evidence before her. "Must've been a bad case," she answered with a hint of sorrow that threatened to break him. She dared to touch the small red spots near his neck. "It was," he said raggedly, hating himself for it, knowing she saw through it as she always did. "Well, then. Case closed. Good night, Nick." She tapped his chest once, lightly, then smacked it hard and stepped away. He grabbed her and pulled her desperately to him, winding one fist in her hair and wishing he could only tell her... "Do you know how much I...I appreciate you?" He couldn't speak the word, could barely let himself think it. It would cost them both too much; it had happened to him too many times before. He wouldn't ever curse his luck like that again. Natalie returned the fierce embrace. "I...appreciate you, too. But I gotta tell you, you're not an easy man to appreciate sometimes," she said shakily. "I know, and I swear to you...I won't ever have a bad case again. I appreciate you too much for that." He realized that his whole body was trembling, and that Natalie's was, too. "Yeah, you will." "I won't. I swear it." She absorbed his words in silence. "Cross you heart?" she ventured softly. He felt her tears soak through his shirt, and imagined them washing away the blood. "Cross my heart," he whispered. And as much as eight centuries of suffering told him to run from this before he could be hurt or cause harm, his heart held him firmly in place by Natalie's side. "I know that the spades are the swords of a soldier I know that the clubs are weapons of war I know that diamonds mean money for this art But that's not the shape of my heart." *****