From desha@bcf.usc.eduFri Feb 9 12:21:57 1996 Date: Tue, 6 Feb 1996 23:21:47 -0800 (PST) From: Dianne Therese DeSha To: Cynthia Subject: ALK "A Little Knowledge" (0/7) by Dianne T. DeSha Hi all! This is really part three of the story begun in "My Soul to Take" and "Benighted Walks" (this one has a _real_ end-- I promise!) If you haven't read the other two... well, let's face it: You're gonna be _so_ lost it isn't even funny. But if you feel like "rushing in," be my guest. Just don't say I didn't warn you . Disclaimer: (Only one this time, it's just getting ridiculous! If you need the others, go back and read the other stories! :-) This is a 2nd season, pre-plane-go-boom story (originally laid out before "Close Call" in fact). So, deadly explosions, serious bodily damage to a certain vampire, Schanke's suspicions... I thought of them _first_, really! :-))) I apologize for the massive delay between parts two and three! I *really* meant to post them about a week apart... only just after I posted part two-- right after Yule-- everything went all to **** and we've all been running about ever since! (Yeah, it's all *USA's* fault!) Many humble thanks to my patient, precise, picky, and patiently wonderful beta readers Jill Kirby, Jen Lackey, Deb Menikoff, and Diane Echelbarger-- (She Without Whom None of These Would Make Any Sense at All! :-) So enjoy! Dianne ***************************************************** Gideon shook as though coming out of a trance, the horror on his face reflecting his recognition of Satan in the very flesh. "O Lord, be merciful unto me, and raise me up that I may requite them!" he whispered as he brought the flaming torch down in a sweeping arc, like the avenging wrath of heaven itself. Nick had only enough time to lunge toward Maeve before a deafening burst of fire blew the world apart. *+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+.*+. >>>The End<<< ****************************************** Comments, question, flames, bloopers, and/or chocolate, to: Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- "A Little Knowledge" (1/7) by Dianne T. DeSha The force of the explosion threw two bodies clear. Stumbling forward, Nat almost tripped over Maeve before the flare of the burning building lit the scene with an eerie red glow. Falling to her knees, she checked for, and found, a pulse-- strong and steady. Bruises, small cuts-- the coroner tallied automatically-- and a blow to the back of the head serious enough to cause a major concussion. Unable to rouse her, Nat covered Maeve with her own jacket and left her for the paramedics, who were certainly already on their way. Moving closer to the burning church, she saw Nick limned in the red glow... and felt her stomach twist. Next to Nick, Schanke was standing up slowly, shock turning to grief on his face. Natalie ignored him as she braced herself to examine the badly burned form lying in front of her. 'He can heal,' she kept repeating to herself to keep the panic at bay. 'He is going to heal. Days-- perhaps weeks-- but he _will_ be all right. He's been through worse.' But she knew that only second- hand. Nat had never seen anyone, even Nick, recover from injuries like this. Not even when they'd first met.... She carefully assumed her most clinical approach. She had seen almost every gruesome thing that could be done to the human body; she had examined the horrors in microscopic detail. Now, she needed that detachment to help her concentrate on the most important thing right-- getting Nick out of here before anyone saw what had really happened. She hardly needed a microscope to see the difficulty that could pose-- flesh torn and burned, bones exposed and shattered, blood-- she swallowed hard-- blood _everywhere_. One eye was crushed shut, but she lifted the lid on the other, needing to wake him-- and yet knowing, in the back of her mind, that should he awaken in such a state, he would be dangerous, ravenous-- _mad_, even-- with hunger. As she saw his eye, staring fixedly into space, Nat had a sudden realization. "The _Pact_," she muttered under her breath. She had watched from the ground, helpless, as he had moved towards Maeve just before.... It was certainly thanks to his protection that she had survived at all. But in pulling Maeve out of the way, Nick must have broken the law of the Pact-- he would have had no choice if he were to save the witch. He _wasn't_ going to wake up- - not until Maeve was awake herself to release him. 'The knight in shining armor,' she thought, as her heart twisted inside her. 'Always out to save the world.' She let the eyelid close and kissed him briefly on it. But then the urgency of the situation returned. If he were found in such a state, he would have to 'die.' No one would ever believe a recovery from this. And there was no way she was going to lose him. He would have to be moved, hidden until he was more presentable. After all, he could hardly be _less_ presentable than he was now.... The hand placed gently on her shoulder made her jump-- Schanke! She'd completely forgotten him. His eyes were sadder than she'd ever seen them and she stared back at him for a split second before she was able to remember _why_. Fighting the twisting in his own guts, Schanke had acted out his own sense of denial by checking for a pulse. There was no way Nick could still be alive, not with so much damage, so much blood, but it wasn't until he had felt the side of his throat-- cold and very, very still-- that Schanke was able to accept that Nick was dead. The coroner came over just as he straightened up. She went through the same motions of denial-- of refusing to believe what could not be mistaken. She opened his one eyelid, and as she saw the fixed, lifeless stare it contained, she started to silently shake. When she let the eye fall closed and gently kissed it, Schanke didn't think he could take much more. He put his hand on her shoulder and she turned to look up at him, an unreadable expression on her face. "We have to get him out of here." Schanke just stared for a moment. Her voice was so controlled, the urgency in it so clear that it completely threw him for a moment. "Get him out"? Surely she didn't think he was still.... "He's not dead, Schank." No! Suddenly he felt a flare of anger at Nat for forcing him to do this to her, putting him in the position of insisting on reality. The shock of that unexpected rage was enough to shake him out of his silence. "Nat," he began slowly, "there's _nothing_ you can do." "But he's not dead, Schank. You don't understand, he *can't* be...!" "Nat!" Schanke pulled her to her feet more roughly than he'd intended, "He's gone, dammit! Nick's *dead*!" The coroner stopped for a moment, looking at Schanke. What was he supposed to think, after all? Here she was, mouthing all the traditional phrases of hysterical denial and yet unable to stop herself. She needed his help, not only in moving Nick to safety-- it would take far too long to fetch Janette, or even LaCroix-- but also to keep quiet about what he'd seen. She didn't know how it would all work out-- Nick could presumably hypnotize him later-- but Nat didn't have that luxury of persuasion. How could she make him understand without sounding like she'd gone right off the deep end from grief? "Schanke, listen to me," she said, her gaze as calm and her voice as steady as she could manage. "Nick's 'skin condition'... it's more than that." His face betrayed his doubts, but he was listening at least. "It's a *very* rare systemic condition...." She paused, searching desperately for words. "Hemolopapsia." It took Nat a moment to recognize the name she'd once made up for his benefit. Greek-ish for 'blood-sucker'-- how original. "_Right_, hemolopapsia. It's very complicated and almost completely unknown." 'Outside of a certain community,' she added silently. "The paramedics won't know what to do; the hospital can't help him." She paused, putting all the conviction she could muster into her tone. "But *I* can." Schanke looked at her for a moment, wanting to believe... until he caught sight of the shattered body lying at their feet and his frustration turned once again to anger. "Look at him, Nat! He's not breathing. He's lost way too much blood. His pulse...." "Has dropped to an almost imperceptible rate," she interrupted. "Yes, I know. But I can save him if you help me get him out of here." She continued before he could protest further, "Please, Schank, you *have* to trust me!" Schanke stared into those pleading eyes. He saw desperation, yes... but none of the denial or hysteria her words indicated. At the very least, _she_ believed what she was saying. And after all, what could it hurt at this point? Nick was obviously beyond any other doctor's skill. If there was any chance.... He only prayed he wasn't feeding into a delusion that would cause them both even more pain. Overcoming his professional resistance to mucking about with a crime scene was nothing when compared to the instinctive revulsion he felt in having to handle the mangled corpse of a friend. But, having decided to go along with Nat on this one, he wasn't going to back down now. They lifted what remained of Nick into the back seat of Nat's sedan with equal parts speed and care. As he stood back to let her close the door, another shape on the ground caught his eye. He shook his head suddenly-- the shock must already be getting to him. "What about Maeve?" "She's unconscious but her vital signs are good. The paramedics will take care of her and I'll go see her as soon as I can," the doctor responded, pulling a towel from her gym bag and using it to cover the most gory of Nick's wounds from public view. As Schanke paused he could hear approaching sirens, which gave him some reassurance. He reached for the car door. "The Caddy?" "It's still at Maeve's place." Nat dismissed the question with a slight wave of her hand. "I'll explain later, _really_ I will!" She doubted if she'd have much choice. "*Please*, Schanke!" He got in and was thrown back in his seat as Nat sped off. ****************************************** Comments, question, flames, bloopers, and/or chocolate, to: Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- "A Little Knowledge" (2/7) by Dianne T. DeSha "What are we doing, Nat?" With a few moments to think and a bit of distance from the scene, Schanke's sense of reality had returned full force. 'Skin condition' or no, Nick was very definitely, _gruesomely_ dead. The situation was taking on all the elements of a very bad dream, and he had to stop this madness before things got any worse. "We'll take him to the morgue. We can find a way to explain it later. You're the medical examiner, after all." "Look at him." Nat checked her mirrors and edged the speedometer further over the legal limit. Although it was the last thing he wanted to do, Schanke obeyed, casting a quick glance into the back seat. "*Nat*," he persisted. "No, I mean *look*. You're a detective. Take a good look at that cut on his cheek. The abrasions on the arm." He stared at her until she glanced up at him. Still, the calm, sane determination in her eyes. So, bracing himself again, he did as she asked, noting that 'abrasions' was in no way a sufficient term for what he was seeing. "Okay. So now what?" "Now we're going to take him to the loft," she answered with more conviction than she felt. The Raven? Should she be taking him to Janette? Was she risking his life over her own fear and jealousy? 'No,' she insisted to herself. 'All he needs is blood and time.' She could arrange for both. It was too dangerous to hand him over to Janette-- and thereby, quite possibly, to LaCroix-- when he was in such a weakened state. Schanke seemed to accept her answer. What was she going to tell him? She would try, but she wasn't sure she could avoid the truth this time. Glancing sideways at the man sitting beside her, she could see the shock and stress showing in every line of his body. She hoped he could handle at least one more surprise. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Without further protest, Schanke helped her carry Nick's body out of the car and into the loft. They placed him on the black leather couch, heedless of the smears of congealing blood. After taking a moment to check Nick's eye and gaze into his face again, Nat headed for the kitchen, leaving Schanke feeling more uncomfortable by the moment. Just as he was about to try to reason with her, he saw her sorting through the wine bottles in the refrigerator. Heaven knew he wouldn't mind getting thoroughly drunk himself right about now, but this was just too much. "*Nat*!" "Look at that cut now," she ordered calmly. Automatically he glanced down and, for the hundredth time, wished he hadn't. But as he opened his mouth to protest, his detective instincts took over. The cut _was_ different-- smaller, shallower, almost as though it were _healing_.... Reluctantly Schanke pulled aside the corner of the blood-soaked towel to see Nick's arm... and stared even harder. His aversion overcome by fascination, he pulled back the towel to expose the whole body. Nick *was* healing. The wounds were still terrible, still deadly... but _less_ than they had been before. It was impossible, but the evidence was right there in front of him.. He could almost have managed to convince himself that it was his imagination-- wishful thinking, shock, self-delusion-- that accounted for the change in appearance. Except for the cut on Nick's cheek. Schanke had *looked* at it with the trained eye of a detective-- focusing on it to keep from having to accept just who lay beneath it-- and there was no doubt. It was _healing_. He looked up at Nat, speechless, and she smiled. "He's gonna make it," she assured him. And for the first time all evening he let himself believe her. "He's going to need blood, lots of it-- _transfusions_," she clarified quickly before realizing that that was what Schanke would assume she'd meant. Nick was hardly in a position to drink at this point anyway; she wasn't even sure if he were free to swallow reflexively when controlled by Maeve, as he was. A simple transfusion would be less messy-- in every sense, she added to herself, glancing sideways at Schanke. Nick was healing fast enough to amaze his partner, but not fast enough to satisfy Nat. Once again she was faced with the bittersweet knowledge that the closer she brought him to humanity, the more vulnerable she made him. Human or vampire, she wasn't willing to take risks with Nick's recovery-- she wanted something stronger than the cow's blood or the protein drinks in his fridge. "He'll need more," she announced, employing her best professional, 'I know what I'm doing, don't ask questions' tone of voice. "Go to Janette at the Raven and tell her Nick's here, he's badly hurt, and he needs blood." It didn't work; Schanke was staring at her like she'd lost her mind again. "Go to the *Raven*?" he protested incredulously. "Janette knows about his condition; she keeps blood there for him in case he needs it... for _emergencies_." Nat was amazed at how easily the twisting of truth and deception came from her lips, but Schanke wasn't buying it. "I think he's doing just _fine_ for somebody who's _dead_!" he exploded. "Nat, I want to know what's going on!" Natalie just stared at him. She'd been dreading this moment... putting it off, hoping to avoid it entirely. She had known better, of course-- Schanke could be trusting and accepting to a fault, but he wasn't stupid. "Sit down," she instructed, taking the chair across from him. Impatiently, he obeyed. Natalie took a deep breath to steady herself, then began, "Do you remember back, months ago, when you started asking questions about Nick? About his 'condition,' about his life?" He nodded slowly. His own sense of embarrassment and chagrin had kept him from dwelling on the incident, but the slightly blurry memories seemed to clear and sharpen in his mind as she spoke... what he had done...what he had suspected.... Schanke could have sworn he felt his heart stop at the thought. Surely she wasn't saying...! "You were right," Nat continued, looking at him intently. "Nick is a vampire." Schanke sat there, stunned, as the coroner continued to talk, explaining everything. Some distant part of him realized that she probably needed to talk about it as much or more than he needed to know. He was so busy trying to absorb what he was hearing that it took him a minute to realize Natalie had finished and was staring at him apprehensively, studying his face. He turned slowly to look at Nick, his wounds again noticeably less severe, and tried to reconcile the vampire he was hearing about with the partner he knew. He couldn't do it... not so quickly. Turning back to her, he asked the first question that came to mind. "So why doesn't he wake up?" The relief on her face threatened to completely undo her careful composure, and Schanke wasn't sure whether to be offended or flattered by the intensity of her response. "It's because of Maeve." He looked up, startled, as the world threatened to shift under him again. "You mean _Maeve's_ a ...." But Nat was already shaking her head, "No, Maeve's a _witch_." "Well sure," Schanke agreed in frustration. "Everybody knows that!" "No, not just by religion," Nat corrected, "by _blood_. She's a special kind of witch-- one that has a special relationship with... she paused for just a second, unused to saying it aloud... "vampires." Schanke felt as though he had fallen into a fairy tale as he listened to Natalie explain the binding, unforgiving terms of the ancient truce. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Still more than a little dazed, Schanke had nonetheless agreed to go to the hospital and check on Maeve. Nat knew she should go, both as a doctor and a friend, but she found herself simply unable to leave Nick. She _knew_ that he would recover, but seeing him looking so frail, so fragile-- still sporting injuries that would have killed the human he wanted so desperately to be.... There was no reason to stay... but her heart would not let her go. And Schanke had seemed to understand, even though she could not explain, and left without protest. They'd moved him up to his bed and she'd given him three bottles of cow's blood. She'd called Janette for more potent stock. Unable to do more for the deathly pale figure lying beside her, Nat gently ran her hand along the side of his battered face. "Hang in there, Nick," she said softly, brushing back the bloodstained hair. There was no way to tell if he could hear her. Maeve had been fully awake when so entranced, but unable to give any sign of it. But with such damage he was probably still, mercifully, unconscious. "You _can't_ leave me, Nick," she whispered. "I love you." ****************************************** Comments, question, flames, bloopers, and/or chocolate, to: Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- "A Little Knowledge" (3/7) by Dianne T. DeSha She hadn't knocked. And even though Natalie had asked her to come... _needed_ her to come... she still found herself irrationally annoyed by that detail. One more reminder of the closeness, the connection that still existed between Nick and his long-time lover. Nat couldn't help but jump when Janette appeared suddenly by her side. And she resented the _hell_ out of that too, even though the heavy cloak and the faint odor of charred blood indicated that the sun was already risen. The beautiful vampire sat three bottles on the nightstand. "There are more in the kitchen," she said as she moved to Nick's side, her hand carefully caressing the side of his face. She looked up at Natalie with an accusing look. "He is bewitched?" she asked, her eyes glowing ever so slightly in the darkened loft. The doctor nodded slowly, although she'd already explained everything over the phone. "Can you help him?" Janette let the question hang in the air for a few moments while she traced the slowly-healing cuts and abrasions with one perfect fingertip. "Oh, Nichola! You _fool_," she hissed almost under her breath. "You and your 'chivalry'! And for _what_?" Just as Natalie was about to scream in frustration, Janette looked up at her with the slightest trace of worry in her eyes. "There is nothing I can do." Natalie felt herself deflate, unable to tell if she was more worried or relieved by the news. Moving forward, she opened the first bottle and began rigging up a makeshift transfusion to get it safely inside him. At least she didn't have to worry about infections, or air bubbles, or.... "What if she doesn't wake up?" Janette flinched, covering quickly but unable to disguise that she'd been startled by the sudden question. Natalie felt a childish pleasure in being able to ruffle this one's feathers, if only for a second. "You plan to have the... witch... release him?" Nat frowned slightly as she readied the second bottle, annoyed at the way she had side-stepped the question. "_Maeve_," Janette flinched at the name, "_will_ release him." The look on the vampire's face made it clear what she thought of that assurance. Natalie ignored it and repeated her question. "But what if she doesn't wake up?" Janette stood up and paced around the room, brushing absently at her skirt. "It makes no difference, if the witch dies. He is still enslaved-- mind, body, and soul. He has no will of his own... but he will eventually regain consciousness-- if he hasn't already." "You can't tell?" Nat noted the gashes the vampire's nails had torn in the fine velvet of her dress. "No," Janette snapped. Seeing the rent fabric, she hissed in dismay. Quickly regaining her composure, she turned back to the coroner. "His mind is no longer his own. I cannot trespass upon the witch's _property_." As Natalie opened her mouth, Janette raised her hand to forestall the question. "If she dies, he is still forfeit for that injury. He can be claimed by the first witch who comes to collect the debt- - to take revenge for one of their own." She looked up and met the mortal woman's eyes over Nick's still form. "And then he will _certainly_ find the hell he has always feared." >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> The slow, steady beeping of the heart monitor brought Schanke's mind back to the hospital room his body had been sitting in for hours. His mind had been... he didn't even know where, but far away from the quiet of this room. He looked over at Maeve, pale and unnervingly still against the white sheets, tubes snaking from her arms between the scratches and bruises that covered her. The doctors had assured him that any lasting damage was unlikely from her injuries, but they were unable to give him any idea when she would awaken. 'She's a _witch_.' The words ran over and over through his head as they had since Natalie had first explained. 'And she holds Nick's very soul in her grasp, even though she doesn't know it. Because he's a _vampire_....' Somehow, Schanke was almost bewildered at how _little_ he was shocked by all this. How easily his rational mind accepted this up- ending of the universe. He should think he was going crazy. He should think Natalie had lost it long ago. But he didn't. It all made an eerie kind of sense-- as though he had somehow known all along. Had he...? His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a nurse. "Detective? Here are Ms. Katz' things." She handed him a small plastic bag. "If you could just sign...." "Thanks." Schanke took the bag from her and signed for it. It wasn't needed as evidence, but Maeve had said she had no family, so he figured no one else would pick it up. In the bag were the shredded remains of a plain white nightgown-- wet, scorched, dirtied, bloodstained... and then wrapped in plastic and held for several hours. He wrinkled his nose and pulled out the only other item. He held the necklace up by the clasp and watched the pentacle as it twisted slowly under the fluorescent lights. He remembered Jenny's face as she sat on the picnic bench-- her eyes slightly wide despite her attempts at teen-age cool. And Maeve's voice, patiently explaining: <"... The points represent earth, air, fire, water, and spirit-- the things that make up the whole world. They're all evenly spaced because they're all equally important, and they're hooked together because everything in the world is connected to every other thing... Then the circle represents life, with no beginning and no end-- day turns to night turns to day again, the years go around and around, plants and animals and people and mountains are born and die and are born again, 'round and 'round forever....."> "It was a gift." Schanke looked up, startled to see an older woman, with dark chestnut hair and a wistful gaze, who looked past him to the still figure in the bed. After a moment she turned and smiled briefly at him. "I gave it to her for her thirteenth birthday." "And you are...?" Schanke could swear he felt some sort of presence about her. It worried him. Was she another witch? A vampire? Something _else_? Or was he simply starting to see strangeness in every face? She smiled and offered a hand. "I'm Sara de Gaia, Maeve's aunt." "Maeve told me she didn't have any family in Toronto." The woman looked at him more closely. "I'm only visiting her here," she assured him as she moved past to sit on the edge of the hospital bed. She took one of Maeve's hands in hers. "You are the detective investigating the case?" Schanke still wasn't sure what to make of this new player in an increasingly bizarre little drama, and he kept a close eye on the woman. "Actually, the case is pretty open-and-shut," he admitted. "She'd been stalked for some time by this religious nut...." "Gideon." He nodded. "He apparently followed her to Toronto from L.A.-- then kidnapped her and tried to hold his own private witch burning on the roof of St. Barbara's last night." Sara winced slightly, then asked simply, "And Gideon?" "He's dead. When they finally got the fire out they found his body in what was left of the church." Sara nodded, gently stroking the hair back from Maeve's face. "Then why are you here?" Schanke paused long enough that she looked up at him with the question reflected calmly in her eyes. "It's for a friend," he explained. "My partner. He was injured rescuing Maeve." "How is he?" He wanted to know where she stood, how much she knew. "He'll be better once she wakes up," he said pointedly. That got her attention. She looked at him levelly, sizing him up in return. "Your partner is a detective? Works _only_ the night shift?" Schanke nodded. "Detect...." She shook her head firmly. "No names. He lives?" "More or less." She nodded and he continued. "Is there anyone else we should notify? Her parents...?" "Her parents were _lynched_ when she was three," Sara said, immediately shaking her head as if in apology for her sharp tone. Her voice continued, much softer, "I am the only family she has." He leaned forward, handing the pendant to her. "You are a _witch_, as Maeve is?" Sara nodded as she took the pendent and fastened it around Maeve's neck. "I taught her what she knows." Sara shook her head in frustration. "_Including_ how to choose her 'friends' more wisely!" Schanke's loyalty to his partner, his _friend_, kicked in automatically. "If my partner hadn't been there, she would be _dead_ now!" Sara looked at him, obviously startled by his vehement defense. Then she nodded slowly and took a deep breath, "Then I owe your partner a great debt." Placing one hand on Maeve's chest and the other on her forehead, she began chanting softly, in words that Schanke couldn't understand. Resisting a superstitious shudder and the impulse to interfere, Schanke nonetheless crossed himself automatically... before realizing what he had done. But Sara did not react, staying focused on Maeve's face as the soft chant continued. And Schanke, too, watched the pale face, the slack mouth, the eyelids as they started to move.... Maeve's eyes opened slowly and, as they looked into Sara's, a weak smile spread across her face. "Welcome back, Little One," Sara smiled. Schanke went to fetch a nurse. ****************************************** Comments, question, flames, bloopers, and/or chocolate, to: Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- "A Little Knowledge" (4/7) by Dianne T. DeSha The day passed with infuriating slowness. Natalie had given Nick all three of the bottles Janette had brought from the Raven, and even the most ghastly of Nick's wounds had healed completely. But still he lay there unmoving, unreachable. It was late afternoon when Schanke called. She almost cried with relief when she heard that Maeve was alive, awake, and anxious to "clear up their little problem." Janette was noticeably less confident, but Nat had no difficulty ignoring her while she called the hospital. There was no reason for the coroner to avoid going to the hospital herself. It would certainly have saved time, and Nick could be left under the watchful eye of Janette, who would be trapped in the loft herself for several hours yet. No reason... except for the irrational fear that by leaving she would somehow lose him. It was foolish, Janette could hardly run off with him-- she would be taking him away from his only possible cure, but.... No, it made no sense, but still she could not do it. She could not leave Nick alone-- so weak, so utterly _helpless_-- with Janette. So she had spent over an hour arguing with various hospital officials by phone, calling friends and calling in favors, and finally got Maeve released to her care via Schanke. As she hung up, she turned to see Janette standing silently next to her. "He's going to be okay." And as she spoke the words, Nat realized that she really believed it for the first time since seeing his broken body. Janette nodded slowly. "I certainly hope so, doctor." >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> "Does it bother you?" Maeve had been checked out and passed by all the relevant doctors, who nonetheless insisted upon keeping her another night for observation. Sara had left to take care of Maeve's kittens, while Schanke had called Nat. Maeve appeared more than ready to leave, looking somewhat the worse for wear as she sat on the edge of the bed in the clothes Sara had brought her. "Does it bother you?" Maeve repeated, startling Schanke out of his reverie. He looked up, confused. "Does what bother me?" "To find out that your partner, the guy you've worked side-by-side with, trusted your life to, over the last three years is one of the _bloodsucking undead_?" Schanke started a bit. He hadn't thought about it in _quite_ those terms before. But then he took a deep breath and looked directly at her. "Nick is my partner. Yeah, he's weird, and he can be a real jerk sometimes, but he's always been there for me. *That's* what matters. And if he's, well... a bit different...." Maeve laughed outright. After a moment Schanke joined her. "Okay So he's a *lot* different. But he's still _Nick_, and that hasn't changed." Maeve sobered a bit. "He's awfully lucky to have you, Schanke. He really has no idea how lucky." "Yeah, well that's Nick for you. What, _eight hundred_ years old!" Schanke shook his head, amazed by such a lifespan. "And he can _still_ be awfully thick sometimes." Now it was Maeve's turn to roll her eyes. "And yet you get all over my case when I give him a little grief?" "Last month you put him in right in that druggie's path!" "If he gets shot, he'll get over it!" "You turn out the lights before he's even left the room!" "He can see in the dark!" "You stand there and make him move furniture for you!" "He can do it one-handed without breaking a sweat." Maeve paused and her face became serious for a moment. "And I _can't_ get that close to him." Schanke glared at her for a moment. "You stole food off his plate!" "*You* tried to make him eat it!" He paused, realizing that, of course, she was right. For all of his grievances against her over the last few months, she hadn't actually done anything that would more than mildly annoy Nick. Maeve saw the sheepish look on his face and relented. "Hey, you couldn't have known that. You were just looking out for your partner. I shouldn't have been giving _you_ that grief. I'm sorry." Schanke looked at her for a minute, then smiled and rolled his eyes towards heaven. "My partner's a _vampire_," he mused, shaking his head in amazement. "Just when you thought your life couldn't get any weirder...." >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> "Won't Sara want to come with you?" Schanke followed Maeve out of the hospital building and directed her towards his car. "I'd think she'd want to keep an eye on you." "She'd _want_ to keep me flat on my back in the hospital for another night... and away from _you-know-whats_ for the rest of my life," Maeve corrected as she climbed into the passenger seat. Schanke was obviously startled. "But shouldn't you at least tell her...." "I left word at the front desk," Maeve assured him. "She has no patience for the 'company' I keep. She wouldn't come anyway." Schanke gave her the 'oh?' look he'd recently perfected with Jenny and almost laughed as Maeve glanced away like any child caught in a slight 'stretch' of the truth. "She _might_," Maeve admitted, "but I wouldn't want her there." There was no longer any levity in her tone. Under Schanke's questioning gaze, she shook her head definitively. "No. It's just too dangerous." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she gazed out at the passing traffic. "And if I do something stupid, there's nothing she could do to save me." >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Natalie saw Janette tense before she heard the elevator move, and when the door slid open the witch and the vampire were already staring at each other as though they'd seen right through the door. "Maeve! Schanke!" Nat tried to break some of the tension. For his part, Schanke was staring at Janette with a whole new, and slightly unsettled, appreciation. Maeve moved forward, catching Nat in a quick embrace. "He's upstairs?" Nat nodded. "And _he_ hasn't shown?" Maeve asked, with a meaningful glance at Janette. The stare she received might have been worry, fear, hatred-- or all of the above-- had it not been schooled into an air of superior indifference. "LaCroix has not arrived... yet." As Janette turned to gaze at him, the corners of her mouth twitching ever-so-slightly in amusement, Schanke was finally able to tear his eyes away. Swallowing hard and trying to calm the racing of his pulse-- Could she actually _hear_ it?-- he turned to Nat. "This 'LaC... roix'," he tried to pronounce the name the way Janette had, "that would be the 'Nightcrawler'-- the one who said he was Nick's family?" Nat nodded. "The one who made him what he is. Who made them both," she added, with a glance at Janette The vampire, for her part, turned and began ascending the stairs with that regal air that was more instinctive than pretentious. The other three followed, Maeve allowing Nat and Schanke to go ahead, putting as much space as possible between herself and the vampire who waited at the top of the stairs. The room was dark and Schanke had to stand by the doorway for a moment before his eyes adjusted fully. When they did, he realized Maeve had stopped to do the same, unwilling to compound her danger by entering a room she could not see. Nick lay on the bed. Schanke could see that he had healed completely-- the figure before them bore almost no resemblance to the torn and bloodied body he had helped Natalie carry last night-- but he was _so_ pale and so still that he could have been a carved wax figurine. Janette stood to one side, a faintly trapped air about her-- as though she were desperate to escape, yet unable to leave. He followed Maeve as she stepped over to the bedside, looking for all the world like a miracle-worker called upon to raise one from the dead. A smile almost flickered across his face. Well, to raise one _to_ the dead, perhaps.... "Open your eyes." As she spoke Nick's eyelids rose like a mechanical doll's... and revealed just as little awareness. She leaned over until she was looking directly into those blank eyes and rested a hand upon his forehead. "I release thee." The words were little more than a whisper. "Mind, body, and soul-- I release thee." Schanke had thought he was prepared, but he was wrong. Even Maeve had started back a bit at the sight of the golden-eyed, bare- fanged snarl that transfigured his partner's face. Natalie, however, seemed oblivious as she started checking him with a concern no attempt at medical detachment could have hidden. 'This is _Nick_,' he tried to remind his revolted instincts. 'Your partner, your _friend_.' But the words died as he watched the monster that lay behind that familiar face. The snarling lips that curled just a touch farther in surprise at spotting Schanke standing there. Then faltering altogether as the paling eyes shifted to a look of... fear. And Schanke understood immediately. Nick was afraid. The Nick _he_ knew. Afraid of having exposed a secret he'd kept carefully buried for so long. Afraid that Schanke would turn from him in disgust and revulsion. Afraid... Afraid to be thought a monster. And suddenly Schanke no longer had to fight the urge to run. He began to move forward, to reassure Nick, when Maeve turned suddenly, glaring at the doorway behind him. ****************************************** Comments, question, flames, bloopers, and/or chocolate, to: Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- "A Little Knowledge" (5/7) by Dianne T. DeSha "Dear Dr. Lambert," whispered a caressing tone that carried clearly across the room, "your concern for our dear Nicholas is quite touching, really." Janette was already at the door. The tall, blonde figure ran his hand gently down the side of her face. "You have a business to run, my dear. Your patrons await." She looked down, any show of emotion or expression hidden under the dark lashes. She nodded slowly and left with a final, silent glance at Nick. Instinctively Nat pulled Nick tighter, while never taking her eyes off the imposing creature whose words dripped sweetly-poisoned honey. "I'm sure he is quite grateful as well," LaCroix assured her, "though his better manners seem to be wanting. In fact I am certain he wants desperately to express his deep gratitude and affection for you...." Schanke could not say how or why, but suddenly the creature was uncomfortably close to the four morta... three mort... He shook his head to clear it.... Uncomfortably close to *them,* and yet without stirring an inch. Seeing the rising glow and vacant look in Nick's eyes, he suddenly understood. Nick was still weak, far too weak to resist the monster who spoke to him... who now held him in thrall... and Natalie's throat was only inches away.... "Natalie!" Before Schanke could react, Maeve had taken her friend by the arm and pulled her bodily off the edge of the bed. Scrambling to her feet in outrage, Natalie saw Nick's face... the glazed, angry expression of hunger thwarted... and allowed Maeve to back her tightly into a corner of the room. Trapped behind Maeve's protective presence, she tried to reach Nick with her words. "Nick! It's _me_, *Natalie*. You can stand up to him! You *don't* want to be like this." LaCroix merely smiled indulgently at her attempts, but to Schanke it looked like it was working. Nick was shaking his head as if to clear it, and he seemed to be taking in his surroundings again. "Natalie...?" "Yes, yes, Nicholas, she's right there, and quite safe... at the moment," the master assured his child, those inscrutable eyes making contact with Maeve's. "But you have another friend who's come to see you." Maeve's eyes widened and Schanke felt a cold knot of fear coalescing in his stomach. "_Really_, Nicholas!" LaCroix said in his most indulgently paternal tone, "Where *are* your manners?" "Schank?" Nick was fighting it, but it didn't look like he was winning. As Nick moved forward, his eyes slipping in and out of focus, Schanke could hear Natalie's tone grow more desperate-- although he could not look away from the glowing eyes before him... His sensible, crisis-trained cop's mind told him he could never out- run a creature who could _fly_, but he barely managed to keep his reflexes in check. Every nerve was screaming at him to run, to flee, to escape, but he knew, with the instincts that had kept him alive for nearly two decades on the force, that that would be the biggest mistake of all. He was dealing with a predator, a predator that-- hard as he was fighting it-- was being overtaken by pure instinct. Schanke knew as clearly as if Nick had told him that, if he broke and ran, the urge for the hunt, the chase, would be more than the vampire before him could resist. So he stood there, forcing himself to keep absolutely still. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the look of desperation on Maeve's face. She could only hope to protect one of them at a time. From the way LaCroix was watching her, the vampire actually hoped that she would try to shield them both. But it was hopeless, and Maeve clearly knew it. Dodging back and forth between the two, she risked losing both-- more, she risked losing herself to the Pact with no more than a badly-timed step. Schanke felt Nick moving behind him, his hand running down the side of his neck like a lover's... the electric feel of fang-tips sliding along the skin covering his jugular... a sensation he did not even want to understand... And then Nick was on his other side-- hand still on his partner's throat, but his gaze fixed on his master. "No." But the very whisper of the word betrayed his weakness, his inability to enforce it against LaCroix... or against himself. The ancient vampire looked at him and the terrifying smile faded into a look of ever-so-slightly-affronted reprimand. "You have been ill...." The words felt as though they were being spoken directly into Schanke's mind. How much more were they affecting Nick? "You must feed." The slightest whisper of emphasis on the second word. "You must regain your strength, your self-control...." Nick was shaking now; Schanke could feel the hand against his throat trembling. 'You can do it. We're all here for you, buddy.' Schanke could not speak aloud, dared not break Nick's concentration, but he _willed_ all the strength and support towards his partner that he could. 'I _know_ you can do it.' Turned to him as though he'd spoken aloud, the inhuman eyes shining with a horrified desperation, Nick staggered back a step. He was shaking so hard he could barely stand and he held Schanke for a moment at arm's length, the tips of his fingers still clinging to the pulse in his throat. Then without warning Nick flung his far arm violently backwards, catching Maeve right in the stomach. The glow left his eyes as they glazed over once more and he crumpled limply to the ground. With a snarl of rage LaCroix was behind Schanke, one cold hand on his shoulder and the other against the side of his face-- pausing there as if undecided whether to sink his teeth into the bared neck or simply snap it in two. "Don't you *dare*!" Maeve gasped out. "You so much as _scratch_ him and I'll personally take it out of your _precious_ Nicholas' hide!" Natalie visibly choked, but managed to keep from interrupting. Nick lay unconscious, his head resting where she'd drawn it back into her lap. "You're bluffing," LaCroix spoke softly. Schanke visibly shivered as the whisper of icy air brushed against his skin. "Don't tempt me!" Maeve snapped back. LaCroix stared at her silently, undecided. He was in no less danger than she in this little encounter, and Maeve was apparently counting rather heavily on his own instinct for self-preservation. "Natalie is my _friend_," Maeve stated calmly. "You and I of all people know the danger she is in because of _him_." She kicked dismissively towards Nick's limp form. "And that doesn't even consider the danger _I'm_ in." "You would _not_ kill him." LaCroix's tone made the statement sound like an order. Maeve just shook her head. "How can it be wrong to kill someone with a centuries-old death wish? It's called 'euthanasia,'-- a 'good death'-- to make up for the _botched_ one he had eight centuries ago." If the dig hit home, it was impossible to tell, but his grip on Schanke loosened ever so slightly. "A noble goal, no?" Maeve's voice had dropped to little more than a whisper. "To rid humanity of one of the vicious _parasites_ that feed upon it. To break the back of one more _flea_ between my nails...." The barely-suppressed fear radiating from the coroner only bolstered Maeve's argument. After all, Natalie knew Maeve better than anyone else there. And even Schanke knew that, fond as Maeve might be of Nick, there was no question where her loyalties lay should it come to choosing between the vampire and Natalie. But for Schanke...? Schanke barely missed hitting the dresser as LaCroix tossed him aside with the indifferent air of a gourmet offered an inferior vintage. "Very well." His voice betrayed noting but a bored indifference. "Release him." Maeve looked up at the towering figure from her seat on the floor, one arm still cradling her sore midsection. "I do not take orders from you." The slightest glint of fire in the eyes. "We had a _deal_." Maeve raised one eyebrow. "_You_ had an ultimatum." The creature glared at her with a force that should have flattened her against the wall. Maeve's eyes met and held his calmly with a look of mild curiosity. Then he was gone. After a moment, Natalie looked questioningly at Maeve, who seemed to be listening for something no one else could hear. Maeve nodded definitively. "He's gone." Schanke felt as though a band around his chest had just been released. Gratefully he took a deep breath as he watched Maeve kneeling over Nick, releasing him again. Nick's reaction was less violent this time, but still vampiric-- all fangs and shining eyes. Recovering quickly, Nick struggled to his feet, avoiding any eye contact, and staggered from the room. Natalie moved as if to follow, but looked up when she felt Maeve's restraining hand on her shoulder. Maeve's gaze was fixed on him. "Go talk to him," she said softly. He looked at Nat, who nodded her agreement. He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah." ****************************************** Comments, question, flames, bloopers, and/or chocolate, to: Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- "A Little Knowledge" (6/7) by Dianne T. DeSha As he entered the kitchen, Schanke could see Nick standing at the sink, desperately draining a wine bottle. Sensing him, Nick turned quickly, letting it clatter into the sink against another empty bottle that had never held wine. And suddenly, Schanke didn't know what to say... where to begin. They stood facing each other for a moment, frozen, until Nick self-consciously raised his hand to wipe a trickle of dark red liquid from the corner of his mouth. Schanke put on the biggest smile he could manage. "So... when you said you had a 'sun allergy'... you really weren't kidding, were you!" Nick's expression, if possible, became even more dark. "I told you. I _implode_." But Schanke refused to play along with his partner's angst. "And that's why you'd never stop off for a plate of souvlaki with me!" The slightest smile was beginning to creep back into Nick's voice. "No," he said with just the hint of a wry grin, "The garlic on your breath was _quite_ enough, thank you." Schanke couldn't help grinning. "And you can _fly_...." His partner nodded slightly. "But you don't turn into a bat...." Nick's eyes threatened to roll completely back into his head. "And you don't talk vith a vunny Tranzhylvanian ak-zent?" Nick groaned. Schanke's version of a "funny Transylvanian accent" was utterly unspeakable-- and he knew it. "Well, not _this_ century anyway," he answered with a smile. That startled Schanke a bit. " '_This_ century'," he mumbled to himself. "Man, oh _man_...." He moved towards the refrigerator. "Now _I_ need a drink; you got anything else in there?" "Uh, I... I don't know...," Nick admitted, nervously. "Well, Nat's been around here for a while," Schanke reasoned as he opened the door and started rummaging past the wine bottles. "She must have brought _something_ by...." He could feel Nick hovering anxiously over his shoulder as he dug further. "Ah, ha!" he proclaimed, dragging out a paper carton and carefully checking the code date. "I'm afraid you're outta beer," he said, looking up at Nick with a smile, "but get us some mugs and I'll join you in a cup of 'cow'!" Nick brought the mugs to the table, obviously trying to avoid eyeing the bottle Schanke had brought over for him. But as he sat down, Schanke pushed the dark glass bottle towards him. Nick started slightly, then shrugged and poured himself a glassful. "So," Schanke started again, "Nat says you knew Joan of Arc!" Nick looked surprised, then frowned and shook his head slightly. "I didn't 'know' her... we met... twice...." Schanke rolled his eyes... 'Well, if that's _all_!' He started to take a sip of milk, but Nick was getting that "space cadet" look he recognized so well. "Whoa, Nick! Back to this century!" Nick looked up, confused, like someone suddenly awakened from a dream. "She warned me about those killer flashbacks of yours, too!" he explained with a grin. This time, Nick laughed. "Sometimes Natalie talks too much." "_Oh_?" The two women were descending the staircase, one sporting a completely spurious look of affronted dignity on her face. Schanke glanced back at Nick, who had a perfectly human glow in his eyes, then back to Nat. Oh, man. _That_ was love if he'd ever seen it! Damn! It was like some Greek tragedy... and he was half-afraid he was going to cry. "So," he broke in before it all got to be too much. "What _now_?" That sobered Nick up immediately. "Now, we have to find a way to make you forget." "What?" Schanke couldn't believe this. "You've gotta be kidding!" "No." Schanke could tell he was very serious. "You've already seen how much danger this puts you in. And you've got Jenny and Myra to think of." Schanke's protests died on his lips. "He _wouldn't_...." But even as he said the words, he knew better. "He _would_, Schank," Nick repeated. "And so would others. There are those who believe that any human who knows about us must be made to forget, be made one of us... or be killed." Schanke was a full shade paler by this point. "But what about Natalie?" Nick's eyes dropped to the table and Schanke saw guilt and fear chase across his features until Nat laid her hand on his shoulder. "I knew the risks," she said, and Schanke could see Nick flinch. "But you've got a _family_." He knew she was right. Much as he _hated_ the thought of going backwards-- of giving up all he had learned in the last 24 hours-- he couldn't risk Myra or Jenny. "So how do I forget?" There was an almost embarrassed pause, which Maeve promptly broke. "He hypnotizes you," she explained. "He pulls out those glowing eyes of his and stares at you and-- Whammy!-- it's all over." He turned back to Nick, who was glaring at the witch (who was glaring right back at him). "But you've tried that, right? That time you got shot. And it didn't really work." He would swear he could see Maeve was fighting to suppress a smirk, and his automatic loyalty to his partner kicked in, "And neither could Janette! It took that Nightcrawler guy, _LaCroix_... and he's older than you, right?" Maeve was no longer smiling. "A genuine Roman general," she informed him distractedly, her attention on Nick, "from back when they were all the rage." Schanke's eyes opened wider. "No, I was there," Nick admitted. Schanke looked up, although he'd almost lost the ability to be surprised by anything anymore. "LaCroix didn't _make_ him forget. He just... well, talked him out of it, I guess." "I don't suppose we could ask for a repeat performance?" Nat asked wryly. "So why _didn't_ he kill me then?" Schanke demanded suddenly. "He seems the type to get rid of anyone who gets in his way. I mean, he didn't seem to hesitate tonight...." "It didn't serve his _plans_," Nick said bitterly. "He wanted me to owe him... _again_. You were just a pawn to him-- then, now. We're _all_ just pawns to him! But if you forget, if things go back the way they were, then he'll have no reason to notice you any more." Nick looked at Schanke. "It was hard enough to block your memories when you only had suspicions. Now you *know*. You've seen it with your own eyes, and for a cop, a detective, that _is_ evidence. I can't _make_ you forget... but if you _let_ me do it, I think we can make it work." Schanke sighed. "*Everything*?" He looked around the room, but no one spoke. "Oh, man! Okay _everything_. You just better not make me think I'm a _chicken_ or something!" He looked at Maeve. "So here I go back to acting like a jerk?" She smiled, then looked at Nick. "Well, maybe not *everything*." >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Maeve and Natalie stood back, almost holding their breath as Nick began the trance. There had been good-byes and hugs... until Schanke had announced-- much too loudly-- that it was starting to sound like a funeral and he wasn't planning on *dying,* for heaven's sake. But they all knew that a part of him _was_ being lost, shut away in a back corner of his mind-- the friend who knew why Nick and Natalie didn't 'just get together already,' who knew why Maeve could never resist giving Nick a hard time... ...who had accepted that his partner was a bloodsucking undead creature of the night... and who could deal with that. The friend Nick would always know was in there. Slowly, Nick brushed away that new understanding, that new acceptance. Then he talked Schanke through the events of the last 24 hours as they might have happened in a dream world, where there were no vampires and witches were no more scary than any other religion, and people who were horribly blown apart _stayed_ very, very dead. Lastly, he added the few little touches they'd agreed on: a sudden aversion to eating souvlaki on duty, an inner understanding that-- however much of a pain she might be-- Maeve's teasing was only that. And then there was left only the final seal on the buried time capsule. "You stopped by this evening to update me on the Johanson case, but you've done that. You pulled a really long shift and now you're tired, and you just want to go home to Myra and Jenny and sleep for a while. And any of this you start to remember will just be traces of a dream you had, safe at home in your own bed...." Nick's voice trailed off... ... and a moment later Schanke started awake. "Geez, I'm sorry!" he said, shaking his head, "Been a long shift and now I just want to get home and get some shut-eye." "Sure, Schanke." Schanke started to rise, then paused for a moment, thinking. "I finished about the Johanson case, right?" "Yeah." Nick forced a smile. "Now go get some rest, partner. You look beat." Schanke nodded. "Just anyone try to stop me!" Turning, he said his good-byes. "Natalie." A pause and a reluctant sigh. "Maeve." The wry grin that split her face completely bewildered him, but he just kept moving. 'She may be nice and all,' he thought to himself, 'But there is something just *weird* about her...!' ****************************************** Comments, question, flames, bloopers, and/or chocolate, to: Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*- "A Little Knowledge" (7/7) by Dianne T. DeSha "I can't believe it's over. That Gideon's really gone." Maeve was sitting on Natalie's desk as she finished paperwork. The coroner looked up with a raised eyebrow. "You want to see the body?" Maeve couldn't quite hide her revulsion. Nat had assured her that her stalker had almost certainly died from the initial explosion. But he hadn't been thrown clear, and she knew they hadn't been able to retrieve the body from the flames for hours. "_No_. Thank you. I'll take your word for it." She was mercifully distracted from her thoughts by the sudden awareness of an approaching.... Nick opened the door to Natalie's lab with a boyish grin on his face- - one that was only slightly dimmed by the look of weariness on the faces of the two women inside. "What's the matter? Did somebody die?" A reluctant smile crept onto Maeve's face as Nat thwapped him playfully on the shoulder with a folder. "Here's the file on Alexandra Gwyn-Du." "So, when's my next treatment," he queried, taking the folder and placing it unopened on the steel table beside him. "Nat was just telling me that you never came for the last one." Maeve stared at him accusingly. "You let it go stale on the shelf?" He leaned over as close as practical to her, his smile never wavering. "Sorry, but I got 'tied up' saving an ungrateful witch's _hide_." Maeve rolled her eyes in exasperation. 'Which wouldn't have been an issue if you hadn't put it off in the first place!' she wanted to snap at him. But it was no use; his mood was too infectious. "What is up with you anyway? Are you on a no-more-souvlaki-fumes-in- the-Caddy high, or what?" Nick ignored her question and turned to the coroner with a mock salute. "Detective Knight reporting for his next treatment!" The doctor smiled, but shook her head. "I'm afraid not. I'll need to make sure you're fully recovered from the explosion first. Maeve will need more time...." At the dejected look on Nick's face she relented, "Give it a week and we'll try again, Okay?" The exuberant expression was already back. 'If we could just tap into that optimism we could power half of Canada for a month!' Maeve mused. "So Schanke doesn't remember anything?" Nick looked at her, puzzled, "I don't think so." Sometimes she wanted to just thwap him one upside the head for being dumb-- the way she used to do to the neighbor kid down the street when she was seven and Sara wasn't looking. "You mean you haven't tested...." Schanke's entrance cut her off in mid-sentence. "_What_ is taking so long, partner?" he demanded, smirking at the coroner. "We're supposed to be on dinner break. _Remember_?" A look of wicked delight spread across Maeve's face. "You should try that new Greek place up on Danforth. I hear they make some killer souvlaki!" Nick's glare could have cut steel. "Nah, I'm not in a souvlaki mood," Schanke said, completely oblivious to the unspoken exchange. Maeve caught Nick's eye and nodded with a combination of surprise and grudging respect. "But I know where we can get some great garlic chicken!" Nick groaned theatrically, as Maeve and Nat tried desperately to keep from laughing. ****************************************** Comments, question, flames, bloopers, and/or chocolate, to: Dianne la Mercenaire... -*- -*-"We must be powerful, beautiful, and without regret."-*-