Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, wish I did, yada, yada, yada. "When You Love
A Woman" is written and performed by Journey, and is their property. I
don't own 'Three's Company' either. Permission is granted to archive at
www.fkfanfic.com and the ftp site, as well as to any Vaq, Ratpacker, or DP.
Special thanks to Carol for the street, and to Libby Singleton for making
Screed sound like Screed. (((Libratsie))) Happy Birthday to Susan, who
inspires us with her writing! Thanks also to my beta reader and Vaq Twin,
Teresita. And away we go. . .
Cyrano de Vachon (01/04)
By (still) Vaq Scribe #3, Felicia
Javier Vachon was sitting in his church stumming his guitar when his
friend Screed flew in.
"'Ey, mate o' mine! 'Ow's it bangin' n' fangin'?" Screed was
animated, energy radiating from him in strong waves. He was moving quickly
around the room, almost pacing, when he realized that Vachon hadn't answered
him.
Vachon didn't look up. He continued playing, oblivious to Screed's
presence.
Screed stopped directly in front of the Spaniard. "Yello! Mr. V-Man,
knocky-the-knock-knocks, are ya h'in rez-zee-dunce? Or 'ave ya va-cated the
prim-n'-proper-senses?" No reply. Screed was moving from excited to
miffed. He had come here to share his great news, and Vachon didn't have
the decency to pay attention. He didn't even have the decency to
acknowledge him. Screed grabbed the guitar out of Vachon's hands and tossed
it to a nearby chair.
"What the. . .Oh, hi, Screed."
"Oh, lissen ta 'im. Hi, 'e says like this were jest 'bout inny type o'
day h'in the night, eh? Hi, 'e says like ol' Screed wuz jest 'bout inny
droog passin' by 'im h'on the street o' life." The carouche's frustration
was nearly tangible. "I come h'all this way o'er ta 'is a-body-ment ta pass
along the most geatest bit o' newz o' me life an' h'alls 'e kin cough h'up
iz a 'oh, hi.'" Screed stuck his tongue out and blew a loud raspberry at
Vachon. The one-time Conquistador blinked.
"I'm sorry, okay, I was off in another world. What's this about the
greatest news of your life?" Vachon tried very hard not to let his
amusement show.
"Maybe ya h'ain't got the time-o-day fer yar FORMER best mate? Hmph.
H'ain't like I'd want ta be in-ter-ruptin' yar dreamland..."
"It's okay, Screed, really! Now, tell me your news." Vachon shook his
head. Screed could be so sensitive!
"Me newz? Oh, yeah, *NOW* ya wants Screed-N-N 'eadline newz, duz ya?
Well, if I don't got a choice ... Now brace yar knickers cuz ol' Screed's
been 'it h'in the heinny-kin by Cupid's h'arrow."
"In love," Vachon made it a question.
"Ya 'eard me the foirstest time, Vachonetti, I'm h'in luv."
"Uh-huh. With a. . .?"
"Wit' a type o' wench! A fiesty one at tha'! Wha did ya
think I meant? Mickey Mouse o' sump'thin?"
Vachon wisely let that one pass. "Wow, Screed. That is big news.
Ummm, does she know?"
"A ripe bit o' 'eadline newz, h'ain't h'it jest?" Scree's enthusiasm
returned. "But ta put h'a bit o' babble ta yar second o' twenty questions,
err, nope, she don't 'xactly know."
"Who is this woman, Screed? Is she one of us?"
"No ... I wouldna say she's a vampy-h'out-wit'-the-fangs sort o' fiesty
wench.
She's more ... well ... loik tha' Sweet Baby Jane o' yours."
Vachon frowned. "Like Trace? She's a Homicide Detective?"
Screed sighed and rolled his eyes. For someone nearly five hundred
years old, Vachon could be so dense at times. "No, she's not one o' them
coppers. There's utter types o' mortals, ya know.
'Er nomiker's Patsy. She peddles victuals h'at a eatin' 'stablishment down
on King Street."
"Uh-huh. And just how did you meet this, um, Patsy?" Vachon struggled
to keep track of the conversation. He racked his brain, but could never
recall his long-time friend *ever* claiming to be in love. "This is a new
one," he thought.
"Well, h'it came a-bout loik this, ya see. Ol' Screed wuz rummagin'
'round the dumpster fer me din-din, then 'ere comes this vi-sine o'
luverliness h'out the back ta toss the rubbage." Screed was beaming as he
remembered the scene.
Vachon nodded, waiting for Screed to continue. He thought, "loveliness
and rubbish in the same sentence doesn't work for me."
Screed snapped out of his reverie. "Any-who, she put 'er peepers on me
mag-nif-i-cents selfishness, an' dinna h'open 'er gab-'ole ta scream o'
nut'in-honey. She jest kinda glides right h'on
o'er an' asked h'if she could h'assist-stance me. Na many o' folks, vampy
h'or mortal-like, 'ave done tha' fer me; I donna 'ave ta voice tha' ta ya,
matie."
"Well, I suppose that's true. I, um, can see why you were drawn to her."
Vachon would be supportive even if this whole thing sounded crazy.
"Oh, tha' h'ain't but a fracture o' the story! I asked 'er h'if ol'
Screed could meet h'up wit' 'er when she wuz gonna be 'eadin' ta 'omebase,
an' she said the affirm-a-nation-tive! Inny-wayz, I've been meetin' 'er an'
walkin' 'er 'ome for three weeks, Ol' Scree haz! I, uhr, wanna tell 'er wot
me deepest mostest feelin' o' luvin' 'er are, but I'm a bit shakin' h'in me
knickers o'er h'it."
Vachon thought, "So that's why he's been so scarce these days." He
looked at Screed. In four hundred and some odd years, he had never seen
this side of his friend. He liked it. "Well, Screed, there is a small
problem, ya know," Vachon hated to do it, but he had to warn him.
"Prob-blem-o, mate?"
"Yeah, there is that little matter of being members of different species
to contend with."
Screed frowned, looking confused. Vachon sighed. "Screed, she's a
mortal, you're a vampire, see the difference?"
Screed laughed. "Oh, tha' bit o' the facts o' life. Patsy's knows wot
makes me h'up ta be Screed."
Now Vachon looked confused. "She does?"
"O' course. One night, I found a bit o' a nibble jest h'az she wuz
comin' h'out ta greet n' meet me. She saw h'all there wuz ta peep upon. I
put an ex-cla-mation ta h'it, an' she unnerstands."
Vachon just blinked at his friend. "You explained the whole thing to
her?"
"I did."
"And she's okay with it?"
"Sure, she h'iz. Even tol' me sweetie-pies I wuz doin' the city a
flavorino by gettin' rid o' the squealers. Good cit-o-zin Screed."
Vachon shook his head. "This is nuts," he thought. He looked at
Screed. "You do know, don't you, that you've endangered her?"
"'Ow, cow?"
Now Vachon was frustrated. "The Enforcers, Screed, the Enforcers.
You've broken the code!"
"Ahhhhh, tha' lot. I'm not a-feared o' 'em. Ya've broken h'it, too,
wit' tha' Sweet Baby Jane. So's Nicky-Knight-Night wit' tha' lady doc o'
'is." Screed liked Tracy, and Natalie, too, but he didn't quite trust her.
Not even after she had helped the vampires during the virus outbreak.
Screed still couldn't believe that doctors didn't use leeches in this
century.
Vachon's eyes went wide. "Umm, wasn't that you telling me to kill Tracy
when we were hiding out at your place?"
"Ah, well, ya dinna, did ya? Ya told 'er all wot ya wuz made o', bats n'
cat's n' bloody cocktails, an' she 'cepted h'it. Same fer me an' me
luv-o-me-loif."
"Okay, Screed. I just wanted to make sure ya knew what you were getting
into. So, when can I meet her?"
"Well, I want ya to meet 'er, V-Man, I really do. But I wanna tell 'er
'ow I feel 'bout thingees foirst. I need me best mate's 'elp for tha'
task."
"My help, huh? Well, you know I'll do anything for you. What have ya
got in mind?"
Screed began pacing again. " Ya know I've never been much o' a
romantical type o' ladies' man, roight-o-mongo? But ya've 'ad more women
than ya deserve, mate. The romancin' not snackin' sort. Ya alwayz knows
wot ta chat ta 'em, ya sings 'em tunes h'on tha' string machine o' yours.
H'all them thingees wot they loik. Must be why Baby Jane swoons o'er ya."
Vachon couldn't help a grin from spreading across his face. "All this
is true, I suppose. What can I do to help?"
"Well, I put me peepers on the boob tube once, say a bit 'bout a fella
'elpin' 'is mate woo a girl proper-loik."
Vachon's brow furrowed. "You've seen Cyrano de Bergerac?"
Screed looked puzzled. "Sear-ya-nose wot? Nah, matie. H'it wuz h'one o'
them more in-tell-lick-tual programs. 'Three's Company,' me thinks. Ya
know, tha' show where the bloke re-sides wit' the two birds? Innywayz, the
fella, Jack, fell in luv wit' this Southern type o' sweetness, h'only 'e
dinna know 'ow ta tell 'er. So 'is friend, Barry or Larry or sump'thin',
'elped 'im. Wot they dun, they went ta 'er abode. Jack, 'e stood h'outside
'er window an' 'is friend 'id h'in some trees nearby. "Jack jest h'opened
'is trap while the mate strumbed a get-tar an' sang an'..."
"Okay, okay, I remember, Screed. Are you saying that you want me to go
with you to Patsy's place and play so you can pretend and she'll think it's
you?
"Oh, mate-o-mine-fer etern-i-ty! Would ya really da tha' fer ol' lowly
Screed? Would ya? I'd be in-tern-ally tasteful, I ould!"
Vachon saw the look on his friend's face, and knew he had to do it.
"Alright, Screed, I'll help you. Have you thought about what song you want
me to sing?"
"'Ow 'bout sum o' tha' Def Leppard tune 'bout sugar?"
"You don't mean 'Pour Some Sugar on Me?"
"Tha's h'it, mate!"
Vachon stifled a laugh. "Umm, Screed, that's not quite the kind of song
we're looking for, here. Why don't you let me pick it?" He knew who to ask
about such things.
Screed smiled. "See, I knew h'in me noggin' ya'd 'elp out a pal. Ya
pick the tune; sumpthin' tha' fiesty wenches go far for. I've got ta be
movin' an' grovin'... I'm late, I'm late, fer a very imp-ish date wit'
Pasty-Ratsie. I'll be jammin' wit' ya h'in the morrow."
Vachon rose from the sofa. He slung an arm around his friend as he led
him to the area just below the skylight. "Leave it to me, Screed. Til
tomorrow."
"Tanks n' Thanks again, V-man-o-me-h'own," Screed said before launching
himself into the night sky.
"I thought I'd seen everything," Vachon told the empty room. He dug out
the cellular phone that Tracy had bought him and dialed her number.
"Vetter."
"Hey, Trace, whatcha doin'?"
At the precint, Tracy Vetter shook her head and smiled. She looked
across the desk at her partner, Nick Knight, who was busy avoiding the
paperwork on their latest case. "Just finishing up some reports."
"That partner of yours slacking off, again?"
"Who is this talking about slacking?"
"Ouch, Trace! Listen, what's your favorite romantic song?"
End of part One
Cyrano de Vachon (02/04)
Disclaimers and archival permission in part One
Javier Vachon chuckled as he hung up the phone. Tracy had questioned
him incessantly for a full three minutes before giving up and telling him
the name of the song. He had expected as much. Actually, he figured he had
gotten off easily. Tracy could be terribly persistent when she was curious
about something. It was one of his favorite things about her, even if she
drove him crazy at times.
The song was "When You Love A Woman" by Journey. Vachon was unfamiliar
with it, but Tracy had the disc. He flew to her apartment building and
landed in the alley. After a few choice words to the doorman, he was
admitted. He took the elevator up to her floor. He entered the apartment,
using his special technique that she had never understood.
Vachon surveyed the room, deciding that it was just *too* neat. He took
off his jacket and tossed over the sofa. "Better," he thought. He moved to
the entertainment center and began opening cubbies until he found Tracy's CD
collection. Once he found it, arranged in alphabetical order, of course, he
selected the disc and put it in the player. He sat back to listen.
In my life I see where I've been
I said that I'd never fall again
Within myself I was wrong
My searchin' ain't over... over
I know that
When you love a woman
You see your world inside her eyes
When you love a woman
You know she's standin' by your side
A joy that lasts forever
There's a band of gold that shines waiting
Somewhere... oh yeah
If I can't believe that someone is true
To fall in love is so hard to do
I hope and pray tonight
Somewhere you're thinking of me girl
Yes I know... I know that
When you love a woman
You see your world inside her eyes
When you love a woman
You know she's standin' by your side
A joy that lasts forever
There's a band of gold that shines, waiting
somewhere... oh...
it's enough to make you cry.
When you see her walkin' by
And you look into her eyes
When you love a woman
You see your world inside her eyes
When you love a woman
Well you know she's standin' by your side
A joy that lasts forever
There's a band of gold that shines
When you love a woman...
When you love, love, love
When you love a woman
You see your world inside her eyes
Vachon was hooked after the first verse. It described him perfectly.
He wondered if Tracy had caught the similarities. He decided that the song
would work for what he and Screed had planned. He was trying to figure out
the particulars and was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't
hear Tracy come in. She looked at him from her position just inside the
door, waiting for him to say something or acknowledge her. He didn't. She
smiled and crept up slowly to the sofa. When she was standing directly
behind him, he still hadn't moved. Tracy couldn't believe her good luck.
She carefully raised both arms to both of his shoulders and quickly grabbed
him, shouting, "Gotcha!"
Vachon jumped and sputtered, "Oh, my God, Trace! What are you trying
to do? Geez! I just about had a heart. . ."
Tracy had dissolved completely into laughter. She was jumping around
clapping. "*Finally*!! You don't know how long I've been waiting for that!
Woo-hoo, that was worth the wait, though. You jumped, you actually
jumped! Oooohhhh, that was tremendous!" Tracy was laughing so hard that
tears rolled down her cheeks.
Vachon glared, but she only laughed harder. He changed tactics and put
on his best puppy-dog-eye look. It had worked everytime in the past. Every
time, that is, until now.
"Oh, no, ya don't, Javier! I got you *good*! Heck, I'd almost say
we're even with that one."
"No way, Trace, I'm still way ahead of ya. Ya like laughing, huh?
I'll give you something to laugh about." He rose from the couch and began
to come around to her side. He had a fiendish look in his eyes.
Tracy immediately stopped laughing. "No, Javier, don't. Please? I
was just having fun, ya know? Don't. . ."
But he did. Using his speed, he caught her easily, almost before she
could run. He tackled her, and gently pinned her to the floor. He then
tickled her mercilessly. She shrieked with laughter and begged him to stop,
but he only relented when he decided enough was enough.
"Really, Javier, what *will* the neighbors think?"
"Well, if they'd seen what you did, they'd applaud me."
"You're a sore loser."
He kissed her nose. "You know it." He got up and offered his hand to
help her. She declined. "Now who's being sore?"
"Okay, okay. So, what is all of this about a song, Javier. I let you
blow me off earlier, but that was because I was at work. I want to know,
*now*!"
He sighed and sunk into a chair beside the sofa. She sat on the sofa
and waited. "Okay, Trace. I give up. Screed's in love."
"Screed's in love? With a woman?"
He just blinked and shook his head. "Ya know what? That's exactly
what I said. Anyway, yes, with a woman. He told me today."
"Okay. Ummm, well, that's nice, right?" Tracy looked uncertain.
"Screed in love," she thought, "well, I guess there *is* someone for
everyone."
"Well, yes, it's nice. Could be interesting, though. The girl's
mortal. He met her when she was at work at some restaurant. She was
throwing out the trash, he was in the dumpster, and bang, love at first
sight."
Tracy eyed him warily. "You're teasing."
Vachon's eyes widened. "Trace, I'm not, I promise. That's what he
said."
Tracy laughed. "That could only happen to Screed."
"Yeah, tell me about it. Anyway, they've been seeing each other for
the past three weeks. Now he wants to tell her how he feels, but he is
nervous."
"That's understandable, I suppose. It's always hard to tell someone
that you care." Tracy looked at Vachon meaningfully. He had never really
told her anything like that, and she wasn't about to tell him first. She
had tried that before with her last boyfriend, and the results had been
disastrous. Even after they had been dating for five months, he had bailed
when she told him how she felt. She and Vachon had known one another for
eight months, and had spent a lot of time together in that time, and he was
always attentive and kind, but she was gun-shy. She would wait until he
actually *said* something, even if it killed her.
Vachon didn't miss the look, but let it pass. He sighed. He knew he
loved her, and knew that she needed to hear those words from him. It had
taken him several months to realize his feelings, and then a few more to
accept them. He had tried to tell her a couple of times, but something
always came up. He was working up his nerve again, but wanted to plan
something really special. "Um, yeah, Trace, I guess so. Anyway, have you
ever seen 'Cyrano de Bergerac'?"
Tracy sighed. "Well, he wormed out of that one, again," she thought.
"Seen, no, but I've read it. What has that got to do with. . .wait a
minute! You don't mean that you and Screed. . ."
"It was his idea, Trace. He asked and I couldn't say 'no' to him, ya
know?"
"Yeah, I know. So, you're gonna sing the song I told you about? Hmmm,
lucky girl."
"It'll do, I suppose. We'll, um, need to practice. Would you mind
acting as our. ."
"Javier Vachon, if you *dare* say guinea pig, I'll never let you tickle
me again!!"
He burst out laughing. "Let me, Trace? You don't *let* me! In fact,
you couldn't stop me!"
Tracy's eyes narrowed. "Is that so?"
Cyrano de Vachon (03/04)
Disclaimer and archival permission in part One.
Tracy pulled up to the church and parked her car, 'the Bucket' as
Vachon called it. She had agreed to be the audience for serenade practice
with the idea that Vachon could 'owe her one'. She had formed several
thoughts on just what that 'one' might be.
She hurried across the street and entered the old building. The
familiar scent of candle wax wafted down from the living area as Tracy
climbed the stairs. She ran her hand along the banister and it came away
covered with dust. "I am gonna *have* to get in here with my cleaning
supplies," she thought.
Vachon and Screed sat on the battered sofa, going over their plans.
"Hey, Trace," Vachon called out as she reached the top of the steps.
Screed jumped up and hurried over to Tracy, ushering her into the
room. "Oh, me sweetest Baby Jane wit' whipped type-o-cream h'on the top, I
wants ta give ya a big thank-ya-kindly fer 'elping ol' Scree like this. So
kind o' ya, really, wot to lend a 'and h'or two." He was beaming.
Tracy's face broke into a wide smile. She'd never seen the carouche so
happy. "You're very welcome, Screed. I'm glad I could help." He led her
to the sofa, and she sat, tossing her tote bag and jacket down beside her.
Vachon stood and said, "Okay, we've got the layout of her house down.
There is a tree to the left of her front door, so that's where I'll be.
I'll just stand in the corner over here for now." He moved off.
"Stand in the corner, huh," Tracy repeated. "How fitting." He looked
wounded. She laughed. "I just have one question, though. Ummm, you've
spent a lot of time with this girl, right Screed?"
"E'ery night o' me un-loif, Babykins Janiekins, why?"
"Well, I was just wondering, um, what about your accent and your
voice?"
"H'accent? Wot she's ramblin' h'on about, V-man?" Screed's brows
furrowed.
Tracy's eyes widened in surprise. "Oh, come *on* you guys!" She
turned to Vachon. "You know what I'm talking about, don't you? I mean, I
don't know what he's saying half of the time! In fact, I don't see how
*you* understand it."
Vachon chuckled. "Years of practice, Trace, years of practice.
Anyway, it shouldn't be a big deal. Lots of people 'lose' their accents when
they sing. As for the voice, well, she's never heard him sing before, so
she shouldn't think anything's strange."
Tracy shrugged. "Okay, I guess you've got everything covered." She
settled back on the sofa and waited for the show to commence.
Screed stood a few feet in front of her. "Roight-o-rainy-o. I'll be
a'knockin' h'on the door. She'll h'open 'er h'up
an' she'll be standin' there h'in the doorway, an' I'll be h'in the yard.
Ready, steady, Freddy-V?"
From the corner came, "Ready."
"Okay-dokay, Ol' Screed's gonna jammy-jam along the lines
o', 'Patsy, I've been wantin' ta put ver-be-age h'on this subjec-tion fer a
bit, I 'ave, but I wanted h'it ta be special-loik' an' then you 'it h'it
wit' the song-ta-sing." Screed picked up a second guitar and strummed.
Noise filled the church.
"Um, Screed, ya gotta promise me you *won't* actually try to play,
okay," Vachon said through clenched teeth.
"Sorry, mate. Won't be occurin' a-gain."
"Thank goodness," Tracy put in, uncovering her ears.
"Okay! O-kay! No need ta be nasty 'bout h'it, get ya panties - if ya're
wearing h'inny, tha' h'iz - h'in a wad h'up yar bum." Screed looked from
one to the other and pouted.
Vachon sighed. "Alright, you wanna do this, now?"
"Yeah. Tha's the E-ticket. Jest go a'ead. I'll jest play
pre-tend-loik."
Vachon began the opening chords, and Screed mimed. Tracy had to admit
that it looked okay so far. Then Vachon began to sing the song, *her* song,
and she had trouble concentrating. She kept her eyes on Screed, who did an
admirable job pretending.
Her mind wandered, carried by the sound of Vachon's voice. She knew he
could play, but she had not expected him to be such a good singer. In her
mind, she saw the two of them alone together. She drifted. A moonlit
night, down by the lake, him singing *that* song with *that* voice. The
picture was so vivid that she shivered. And then his song was over, he
leaned close to her and. . .
"Trace? Earth to Tracy, come in Tracy!" Vachon was standing directly
in front of her, a puzzled Screed next to him. They stood watching her with
interest.
"Oh! Oh, sorry!" She looked up, blushing. "I guess I'm a little out
of it; long day. Long shift. I had lots of errands, ya know," she
sputtered. She hoped they bought it.
"S'okay-dope-kay, Baby Jane, Ol' Screed knows 'ow buzy-az-h'a-bee ya
h'are. Da ya think h'it might've trans-spired okay?" Screed's mind was too
occupied to notice the blonde's discomfort.
Vachon grinned and gave her a look. He'd seen the rush of crimson in
her cheeks. "Well, well, well, Trace, what *were* you thinking," he asked
himself. He feigned sympathy. "Lots of errands, riiiiight, Trace."
Tracy silently cursed herself. "Why does he always have to know when
I'm lying? What does he have, some kind of built in polygraph?" She said,
"Yes Screed, it worked for me, err, it worked okay." She mentally kicked
herself. "Oops," she thought, "Tracy Vetter, blithering idiot."
With her still-elevated heartbeat ringing in his ears, Vachon almost
missed that last line. Almost. He nearly burst out laughing, but somehow
knew Tracy wouldn't have appreciated it. He congratulated himself. He was
learning.
"Great! Thanks for givin' h'us a-sissy-dance, Baby Jane. "He turned to
Vachon. "In the morrow night, then, mate? Ya wanna meet an' greet 'ere, say
'bout 9 h'on the clock?"
"Sure, that's fine, Screed. I'll see you then."
Screed clutched his friend's hand. "Thanks a'gin an' a'gin an' wit'
gin, mate-o'-mine. Ya're the bestest, mostest friend I've h'ever 'ad the
pleasure of. See ya 'ere-n-there." With that, the carouche launched
himself through the opening in the bell tower.
Tracy shook her head. No matter how many times she had seen it, the
quick blur of motion always made her dizzy. She looked at Vachon as he
shoved aside her belongings and sat beside her on the sofa.
"So did you pay any attention at all," he asked.
"Hmmm," she said in a sleepy voice.
"The song, Trace! Did you watch him at all? Is it really okay?"
Vachon gave her a quizzical look. "Hey, are you okay?"
She smiled. "I'm fine, really. Just tired, I guess. And to answer
your question, yes, I did pay attention." She didn't say what she had paid
attention to; didn't tell him that his voice had had her entranced.
"Well?"
"It was good, really. The girl is in for a treat. Must be nice to have
someone sing to you like that. I wouldn't know. . ." she let her voice
trail off and looked the other way.
Vachon rolled his eyes, knowing that she wouldn't see. "Sheesh, Trace,
tell me how you *really* feel," he thought. He gently turned her face
towards him. "Maybe your luck will improve."
She looked into his liquid brown eyes and nearly drowned. "Here's
hoping," she breathed. She looked away quickly. His eyes always got to
her, even without him trying. "It's a good thing I'm a resistor," she
thought. "Thank God for small favors." Vachon slid an arm around her
shoulders and leaned close.
"Why won't you look at me, hmmm," Vachon whispered into her nearest ear.
Was she imagining things or was the old church growing warm? She turned
slowly, and he leaned back.
"I, um, wasn't trying to avoid you, Javier. I'm just kinda out if it,
ya know?" He gave her a dazzling smile. She sighed. He was playing cute.
"So, how're things on the detecting front?"
Tracy was grateful for the change of topic. "Oh, alright, I guess.
Too many dead bodies, as usual. I'm actually ahead of the paperwork,
though, and that's a first," Tracy broke off into a long yawn.
He grinned and thought, "yeah, and no thanks to Knight, I'm sure."
She yawned again, and her eyes began to droop shut. He sat still, not sure
what to do. He knew she couldn't stay; knew if he woke up hungry with her
in the room, he couldn't control himself. And yet he made no move to wake
her. She lay back against him, sighing deeply. "Ah, Querida," he spoke
softly, "you are so beautiful when you sleep." He stroked her hair with
feather-like touches.
Tracy was dreaming. Vachon stood with his back in front of her,
strumming his guitar and singing something in Spanish. She didn't have to
understand what the words to know what they meant, but she recognized a
couple of them. Something about beloved, she thought. Then he turned
around, only the face on the man before her belonged to Screed. Tracy
jerked awake with a muffled cry.
"Trace, hey, it's okay! You were sleeping. What happened? Nightmare?"
Tracy sat up straight and stretched. "Yeah, sorta. Look, I'm sorry
that I fell asleep on you. I'm just beat. I'd better go before I'm too far
gone to drive home." She rose and gathered her jacket and bag. "Good
night, Javier, sleep well."
Vachon walked her to the stairs. "Good night, Trace. You too."
He watched her descend the stairs with a smile on his face. "Yup, Jav,
you've got it bad," he thought to himself. "Now what are you going to do
about it?" He wandered to the crate where his stock was stored and selected
a bottle. He took a long drink and sighed. "What indeed?"
He wandered back to the sofa and flopped down. Then he saw it. A well
worn paperback book was lying on the floor. With a curious expression he
picked it up and eyed the cover. On it was a picture of two lovers in a
passionate embrace. It wasn't his, and Screed didn't read. That left
Tracy. He realized it must have slipped from her bag when he moved it.
"So, Detective Vetter, this is how you fill your free time," he thought. He
opened it to one of the more creased sections of the book and read. A plot
formed in his mind.
End of part Three
**********************************************************************
Cyrano de Vachon (04/04)
Disclaimer and archival permission in part One
The first thing that entered Tracy's mind when she woke up the next
afternoon was "I'm *so* glad to be off tonight." The second thing was:
"I've just *got* to see how this serenade goes." Her mind made up, she
leapt from her bed and moved to the closet. She rooted around, trying to
find dark clothes to better conceal her. She selected black pants and a
charcoal grey sweater and quickly headed for the shower.
Across town, Javier Vachon was also waking. He smiled when he saw
Tracy's forgotten book laying on the floor next to his bed. He had thumbed
through it, and was not a little surprised at what he'd found. It seemed
that Trace did a good job of hiding her darker side, but he had every
intention of seeing it for himself. He climbed the stairs to the living
area, intent on a few moments of solitude before Screed was due to arrive.
Vachon sat, idly strumming his guitar and thinking. His head was full of
things to say, things to do to show Tracy how he felt, but none of them
suited him. It had to be perfect. He continued his musings in silence, but
to no avail. The right time would come with the right words and method. He
set aside the guitar in frustration and paced around the nave. To his
relief, Screed appeared a bit early, and the two practiced their act before
heading over to Patsy's house.
Being a detective at Metro Homicide had many perks, and one was that it
was pretty simple to get information. Tracy called in her request, and
within thirty minutes she knew the full name, the title of the restaurant,
and the home address of the woman in question. She smiled. This was almost
too easy.
Tracy watched from across the street. She had concealed herself behind a
row of cars, and only hoped that one of the owners didn't think she was a
thief. She noticed that both sides of Patsy's house were flanked with
trees, and knew she had to pick a side. She remembered that Vachon had
stood in the left corner when they had rehearsed in the church, so Tracy
chose the right side of the house. She dashed over to the clump of trees
and waited.
Soon enough, Vachon and Screed appeared. Literally. It would have seemed
odd to anyone else, but Tracy realized that they must have flown over and
landed behind the trees on the other side. "Well, so far, so good. I
picked the correct side," she thought. She shrank back slightly, hoping
that they would not see her.
The moment they landed, he knew she was near. He could hear her heartbeat
and smell her essence. He sniffed the air. "Apricots. Oh, Trace, what
were you thinking," Vachon muttered. Screed looked a question at him, but
Vachon motioned for him to go on. "It's alright. I think she just wanted
to watch." Screed shrugged and moved up the walk to Patsy's door. Vachon,
now nearly lost in the familiar scent continued to gripe to himself. "She
catches me off guard one time and now she's 'The Shadow' or something? What
is that woman. . ." He was on such a roll that he missed his cue, and it
was only when Screed cleared his throat a bit too loudly that he snapped out
of it and began the song.
Tracy watched as the door opened and a small woman with dark brown hair
and hazel eyes stood on the porch. "Why, she suits him perfectly," she
thought as Screed took Patsy's hand and told her his feelings. The moment
was so sweet that she almost didn't notice that something was amiss. There
was a slight pause when the music was supposed to begin, and then finally,
the chord came. The charade came off despite that small flaw, and Tracy
couldn't help feeling a bit envious of Screed's love. "At least *he's* not
afraid of his feelings," she said softly as the song came to an end. She
saw the two embrace, and finally withdraw into the house. Tracy paused,
waiting for the door to shut before she turned to leave. "I never thought
I'd say this, but I wish Vachon were more like Screed," she whispered.
"I never thought you'd say that either," Vachon said into her ear.
She let out a cry and glared at him. "How long have you been here," she
asked.
"I wasn't *here*," he said indicating their position. "I was over there.
But I could hear *you* from the moment we arrived."
"Hear me how? I was silent," she protested.
He reached up and placed one hand above her heart. "I know your heart,
Trace. I could pick you out of a crowd easily. Besides, the air was full
of you, your scent. I knew you were here." He slung the his guitar around
his shoulders and shifted it so it hung across his back.
Tracy blushed. "Oh," was all she could think of to say. She looked at
the vampire before her. She was suddenly nervous. She tried to change the
subject. "So, what happened? You were late with the song."
He knew what she was doing, but he decided that he wasn't going to let
her this time. "I was thinking about you," he said, watching her intently.
She blushed again. "Come with me, Trace, I want to talk to you," he told
her. She nodded, and he wrapped an arm around her waist. "Don't be afraid,
I promise I won't let anything happen to you," he said as he lifted them off
the ground and into the night sky.
Tracy had always wanted to experience flying with him, though she imagined
that she'd be scared. She had been unconscious the last time and didn't
remember anything until she had awakened in Screed's sewer-home. Now as
they glided through the air, she realized that she wasn't afraid. Vachon's
strong arm around her reassured her, and she enjoyed the view of her
hometown from above. It ended too soon as he landed on Cherry Beach near
the lake. Vachon led her to a bench, and they sat. He removed the
instrument and set it down beside them on the bench.
"So," she said, "what is it that you wanted to say?" Vachon knew that
the time to tell her had come despite the lack of ambiance. He took her
hand and frowned slightly, trying to summon up his nerve. Tracy
misinterpreted the look and stood suddenly, sliding her hand out of his.
"Look, I think I know what's happening." She gave a humorless laugh. "This
is the big brush off, isn't it? The big adios! That's it, isn't it?"
"No," he said softly.
She turned to face him. "No?"
Vachon rose and walked over to Tracy. "No," he repeated firmly. He shook
his head. "Tracy, you've got it all wrong."
"So tell me," she demanded.
He let out an exasperated sigh. "It's not that easy." She started to
turn away, but he touched her shoulder. "Wait, please, I'm willing to try."
Vachon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Tracy, I found your
book," he began.
"Book? What book?"
He shrugged. "I don't remember the title, but it's the one with all of
the. . .beach scenes."
Tracy blushed again. "You found that? How did. . ."
"It must have fallen out of your bag at the church. Look, Trace, I know
that's what you want, what you deserve." He gestured at the lake. "Tracy.
This is the only beach I can give you. I don't know how to be one of those
guys. I do love you, but I. . ."
"Oh, Vachon. Javier!" She paused, and then said, "What an idiot."
Vachon jerked back as if she'd slapped him.
Tracy realized her mistake. "No, not you! Me. I'm an idiot. This isn't
easy, is it?" He shook his head. She reached out to him, and he caught her
hand. "I don't want one of those men from my books, Javier. I want you. I
have since I met you. And I'm not interested in the things you can't give
me. All I care about is what we *can* have together."
Vachon smiled and pressed her hand to his lips. Tracy shivered at the
touch; lightening moving through her. "Are you cold," he asked.
"Oh, no," she said. "It's more like I'm too warm," she added silently.
Vachon pulled her into his arms and held her tightly. "I love you, Javier,"
she whispered.
He pulled away slightly so he could look at her. "I love you, too,
Trace." He leaned in to kiss her, and she met him halfway. The embrace was
gentle, yet full of the passion that had been building for months. They
glided backwards towards the bench and collapsed, gasping for breath.
Tracy caressed one scruffy cheek. "That was, um, wow."
Vachon smirked. "Wow, huh? You believe me now?"
She nodded. "So, Javier, when do I get it?"
His eyes widened, and he let out a laugh. "It, Trace? Moving a little
fast, aren't you?"
She cuffed him on the shoulder. "No! That's not what I meant, although.
. . " She gave him a look that would have made him blush if it were
possible. "I meant my song, Javier. When are you going to sing for *me*?"
He shook his head in amazement. "Tracy Vetter, you are too much! I was
thinking of you when I sang this the first time, but I suppose it's only
fair for you to hear it again." He picked up the guitar and thought
briefly. Vachon quickly checked to make sure that it was still in tune, and
began the Journey song once again.
She smiled and snuggled closer to him on the bench. At that moment, all
thoughts of envy towards Patsy melted away.
End of Part Four and Finis
**********************************************************************
Send all comments and virutal calla lilies to:
Felicia
Vaquera Brat Extrordinaire, DP, T&V Pack, Les Mistress, RoGes, Urchin, DH,
Incarnate. Proud Survivor of War X.
"Is that cotton candy? I smell cotton candy. . ."
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