Subject: Treasures (1/1) Date: Sat, 22 Nov 2003 09:21:58 -0800 From: April French To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Treasures By April French Author's Note: A completely spur-of-the-moment little story written for Nire the Evil, who insisted that I write a 'Happy LaCroix' story. Well, I tried. This was the best I could come up with. If not happy, well, he's at least having some fun. This is a first season SoL story, taking place just after Nick and Nat get back from their honeymoon. Comments, etc, send 'em my way. Flames? Keep 'em. Will be archived somewhere when I get around to it. ~~~ Treasures (1/1) "Miranda, have you seen my copy of The Aeneid?" Miranda LaCroix spared her husband half an eye. "Yes, dear, I borrowed it for a bit of light reading." LaCroix chose to ignore the mortal chit's poor sense of humor; really, her insubordination to him, her husband, was quite shocking at times. Of course, at other times, he rather liked it. "That was my favorite edition, too," he continued, his tone level but slightly mournful. "That's the leather one with the gilt lettering and gilded pages? Has an engraving of Virgil in the frontispiece?" "Yes, that's the one. Do you know where it is?" His wife tossed her long blond hair. "Haven't set eyes on it." She went back to her own book. "What are you reading?" LaCroix snatched the thick volume from her hands. "Hey!" "I just don't get it," he said, thumbing through the pages, "what is your fascination with this novel? And aren't you a little old for this?" "Old? Lucien, compared to you, I'm still a bloody zygote," Miranda retorted, grabbing back her dog-earned copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. "Besides, this coming from a man whose favorite movie is 'The Nightmare Before Christmas'?" "I suppose one of the boys might have borrowed it..." "Daniel doesn't read Latin. And Alexei's got his own copy." LaCroix tapped his chin with an idle finger. "Hmm..." Wandering back over to the bookcase, he ran his hand over the polished wooden shelves. A faint psychic vibration tingled under his sensitive skin. "Oh, so that's it," he growled lightly. Miranda looked up. "Hmm?" Her husband only shook his head. Throwing on his coat, LaCroix exited the apartment by the back window. he thought gleefully, *** Running a hand through his still-damp hair, Nick downed a quick mug of lunch blood. "Come on, Nat," he called to his wife, "we're gonna be late!" The annual precinct picnic was today and now that he could frolic about in the sun, Nick sure as hell wasn't going to miss another one. Natalie stumbled down the stairs with one shoe on and the other only half on. "What's your hurry?" she groused. Nick just grinned. He opened the tin box where he kept his watch and car keys... and stopped. "Nat." "Yes, O Hasty One?" "Did you take my car keys?" "What? No. Nick, you know I won't drive that boat unless there's no other alternative." "They're gone." "Check your coat." Nick checked his coat. "Check the jeans you wore yesterday." Nick rooted through the clothes hamper and checked his dirty jeans. "Nothing." "Check the couch. And the chair. And the garbage." "The garbage?" "Well, you were tired yesterday." Nick arched an eyebrow at her. "Check your purse." Natalie checked her purse. "Nothing." "Jesus, we're gonna be late!" "Nick! Chill out! God, it's not like it's our wedding day. Couldn't you hot-wire the thing?" He gave Natalie such a horrified look, one would've thought she had suggested sacrificing their as-yet-nonexistent firstborn to the vain and vengeful Cadillac gods. "I'll call a cab," he said hoarsely, eying his wife as though she were the very devil incarnate. *** "I thought you knew how to play baseball!" Meekly, Nick followed his wife into the loft. "I said I liked baseball, not that I was good at it. Besides, that was softball. There is a bit of a difference..." "Oh, stop making excuses. You lost us the game!" Nick proceeded to melt his wife's wrath with his patented puppy-dog eyes. "Oh..." Natalie threw up her hands. "I'm getting in the shower." Nick grinned at her retreating back. "Am I good? I'm good." Still snickering to himself, he went to put his watch in the tin box. Inside was a tiny slip of paper, bearing a note written in firm black script: I have something you don't have... Nick crumpled the note in his hand. "LaCroix...." *** Nick banged his hand on the bar. "Where is he?!" Janette was unfazed by her brother's rage. "He's in the back. Nicolas." She grabbed his wrist. "I'd be careful if I were you. He's very... disappointed." "He's disa--With what?!" She shook her head. "Just be careful." Now that Nick was completely confused, he turned and made his way into the back, to the radio booth. There he found his master, hidden safely behind the one-way mirror, twirling a set of old Cadillac keys around his index finger. "What's this, what's this?" he jeered his son. "You know, Nicholas, you're far too attached to these little metal things. Soon you'll be forgetting how to walk, and even how to fly. You need to remember what it was like in the good old days, to get your brain out of the gutter of the 21st century and do some old-fashioned reading. 'A good book is the precious lifeblood of a master spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life.' John Milton, of course." "Give them back, LaCroix," Nick growled without preamble. "I'm in no mood." "Y'know... I don't think I will." The General tossed the keys into the air and then caught them, lightening-quick, before Nick could even fire a neuron. "After all, why should I?" "You don't drive!" "What will you give me if I give them back?" "Give you--!" Nick was livid. "They're mine!" "And you've never taken anything of mine without cause or permission?" "Oh, good God, LaCroix, if you're bringing up Fleur again at this late date--" LaCroix rolled his eyes in disgust. "No, you pitiful excuse for a creature of darkness. I want my book back!" "Your... your book?" "Yes, my intelligent son--or so I've been led to believe. My book. My copy of the Aeneid?" "Virgil's Aeneid?" "Have you forgotten how to speak in full or declarative sentences? Yes, Nicholas, Virgil's Aeneid. Founding of Rome and all that jazz. Ringing any bells in that famously empty head of yours?" "Umm..." "My favorite book, Nicholas, why on earth did you take it in the first place?" "Umm... I borrowed it for a bit of light reading?" LaCroix groaned. "Why? Why was I cursed with such idiot sons?" Nick put on his best 'innocent little boy' face. "Just lucky, I guess." "Just bring me back the book, Nicholas. Tonight. Or these keys, like all prisoners of war, will meet an unfortunate and mysterious 'accident.'" Nick gulped. *** The Raven was witness to a very strange transaction later that night. Just after closing time, two men stood at opposite end of the dance floor, facing off in dueling-fashion. Slowly, they walked towards each other, one pulling a small oblong shape from under his trench coat, the other twirling a set of car keys on his index finger. When they were within touching distance of the other, each reached out, and like two thieves exchanging stolen goods, switched items. Nick held his keys up to the dim light, and then, satisfied, slipped them into his pocket and kept his hand safely over them. LaCroix took a bit longer, running his fingers over the worn leather cover and checking to see if all the relevant pages were intact. The two men eyed each other. "If you ever--" "Don't even think of touching--" Father and son sputtered for a few minutes, then, apparently unable to come up with any threats adequate to the situation, turned and walked away without another word. Behind the bar, Janette shook her head and sighed heavily. "Little boys and their treasures..." ~Finis--November 11th, 2003~ April French daomir_darkfell@yahoo.com ===== ~Knightwalker: Forever Knight Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/fkficindex.html ~The Corvina: Original Fiction, Poetry and Fan Fiction -- http://www.geocities.com/runeshard/index.html "The Devil and I had a chat this morning..." -- Charles Baudelaire __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? Free Pop-Up Blocker - Get it now http://companion.yahoo.com/