Okay, you're all going to get a weird story right now. Post LK, Tracy centered,
weird, weird story. This is sort of graphic, in that Tracy throws up a couple times
(but come on! She's had a rough day!)
Disclaimers: I don't own them, I think, however, they might have some legal claim on
me by now ? Permission to archive granted to the www.fkfanfic.com site as well as
to any DP, all others please ask.
Survivors (1/1)
By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) 1-99
Tracy woke up in pain. She was laying on something cold and hard, it was
dark and she was naked. Never a good way to start your day.
There was something over her head, a blanket or something. She tore it
away and looked around. Didn't do any good, it was still pitch black. She moved
her hands, she felt a hard pad beneath her, it ended abruptly and dropped off. She
was on a cot.
Tracy sat up, her head was throbbing and her stomach was doing cartwheels
inside her. Her mouth began to water, she turned her head and vomited off the side
of her hard little bed. As she sat up again, she wiped her mouth and tried to
remember what had happened.
Last thing she remembered was being at the station. She'd been… Her
eyes clouded over, she couldn't quite remember, everything was a blur. She
decided to try and get up.
Choosing the side she hadn't thrown up on, Tracy lowered her feet to a
freezing tile floor. She grabbed the blanket off the cot and wrapped it around
herself. Then, she began looking for the light switch, or preferably, the door. She
stumbled forward and her searching hands fell on another cot. Frowning, she let her
hands travel across the starched blanket and discovered what felt like someone
laying beneath it. The blanket was covering his face. It was a corpse.
Tracy suddenly noticed how cold it was. She was in a cooler.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Anyway, there's no suggestion of foul play and everyone seems
satisfied that Laura Haynes is a suicide, so..."
"So?"
"So, I was thinking of writing it up as such and maybe logging off
early for the night "Captain, I... I feel something coming on."
"Okay. Sure. The flu _is_ going around. Tell you what. Go home,
get some rest, get in bed."
Tracy gasped, her fragmented memory calling up images she didn't really
recognize. Sick? Tracy moved away from the body, bumping back into another cot,
she didn't check, but guessed that one was occupied too. She was in a cooler, a
morgue, or the room in a hospital they stored the bodies in for transfer.
Had she passed out? Did they think she was dead? "Well I'm not!" She
mumbled past cracked, dry lips.
Tracy moved past what she realized now were gurneys, she found the wall
and began groping her way all it's cool length. At last she found a switch, flipping it,
harsh fluorescent lights flickered on.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Dawkins, listen to me. You don't really want to die, do you? And I
don't want you to hurt anyone. You wouldn't want to be responsible for that
now, would you?"
"I'm telling you, I'm not going back."
"Dawkins, listen to me. Put the gun down on the floor. Kneel down
and lay the gun very gently on the floor."
"On the floor."
"No!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tracy flinched as the echoes of her barely remembered past
screamed in her skull. The precinct, she'd been in the precinct. A prisoner,
Dawkins, had gotten loose. She'd found him in the locker room, Nick had
come in, tried to talk him down. The lights had come on… then. Then.
Tracy groaned, she couldn't remember! Her eyes swept around the
room, she noticed two doors, one was slightly ajar and looked like it led to a
room with a wall of lockers. Weaving her way towards it, she found she was
breathing heavily by the time she crossed the room. She felt something wet
and warm trickling down her back. Raising her fingers, she found a cut
scrapped across the base of her scalp.
It was blood flowing down her back. She brought the edge of her
blanket up and blotted at the sluggishly oozing wound, eventually it stopped,
though she could tell her hair was matted with gore. "Great, just great."
She tried to remember how that had happened, but couldn't seem to
call anything up. She pushed her way into the locker room. There, she
wrenched open the nearest locker, surprised to see the steel door give
beneath her shaking hand. She knew that was wrong, but shook her head,
she could worry about that later.
Inside, she found a pair of light green scrubs, she pulled them on
quickly. As she was doing that, she noticed the dark pink splotch on her
slightly rounded abdomen. It looked sort of like a burn, but not quite.
Sweeping her cold fingers over it, she flinched.
~~~~~~~~~~~
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"Captain, I didn't know."
"Nick, she made her own call on this one. You can't go telling
yourself it was your fault."
"She took two bullets; abdominal and there's some really bad head wound.
I... I just can't say for sure right now."
~~~~~~~~~~~
Tracy's head snapped up, she'd been shot! Shot, through the belly, by who?
Dawkins, had to be. So why couldn't she remember?
Tracy pulled on a worn pair of sneakers she found sitting on top of the locker
bank. She sat down heavily on a bench then, burying her head in her hands. She
had to get out of here.
Surging to her feet, ignoring the way her head swam this time, Tracy made
her way to the door that hopefully led to the hall. It did. She slipped out, trying to
keep her back, and the sight of her blood matted head, out of view of the few people
walking the hospital's sterile white halls. The janitor gave her a strange look, but for
the most part, no one seemed to give her a second glance.
When she reached the end of the hall, Tracy found a fire exit. Not caring if
the alarm went off or not, Tracy pushed it open and rushed into the parking lot. She
gulped greedily at the cool night air, marching off towards the rows of cars just
because she needed to move. She needed to get away from the hospital, the smell
of death and memory of anything that had happened there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"They've done everything humanly possible. Now we just wait and
see. Shooting review board wants to talk. Managed to put them off until
morning. Dawkins didn't make it. Nick, you took it pretty rough."
"I'm doing okay. She still has a fighting chance."
"Yeah. She does. She does. But if she doesn't pull through... I'm
just saying, I know what it's like to lose a partner... Nothing on this earth
could rip you apart like that. Hell, Nick, you know that. You lost Schanke.
There is life after this when we get through. Remember that. I'm here if you
need help. Okay?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tracy's hands came up to either side of her face, covering her ears as if to
stop the flow of voices singing to her through the thick mist that seemed to slow her
thoughts. She stumbled to a bush and retched again, bile and blood coming up and
spewing across the plant and curb.
"Got to get out of here, got to get home," Tracy mumbled, hugging her arms
around herself and rocking gently as she crouched at the bumper of a Buick.
"Everything will be okay once I get home."
With that thought in her still muddled mind, Tracy stood and stumbled to a
car. It was a Taurus, not hers, but that didn't really seem to matter. With the sudden
jerk of her fist, she smashed the side window, then opened the door. She brushed
the broken glass off the seat and calmly hot-wired the car, pleased to see that she
could still remember what Bruce had taught her.
As the car roared to life, Tracy glanced down at her hand. It was bleeding,
heavily. She brought it to her lips, tasting the salty liquid as it shot into her mouth. A
few moments passed and the wound closed over, she stared at it, "Wrong, wrong,
wrong."
She shook her head, shifting into reverse and pulling out of the parking lot.
This was not right, this was very, very wrong. She noticed the radio was on, how
long had it been playing? She hadn't turned it on, so it must have started when the
car had. She just hadn't noticed until now.
"Tonight our topic is your love life. Are you happy? Lonely?
Fulfilled? Empty?" Some nameless, faceless DJ asked her.
"What happened to the Nightcrawler?" A caller demanded.
"He said it was time to move on." The DJ said, then continued, "I
want to hear from all of you lonely hearts out there. I know there's a lot of
you so get on the phone and call me."
The DJ droned on, Tracy ignored her as long as she could, then went
to turn off the radio. When her first attempt didn't succeed, she ripped it from
the dash and flung it out the window.
Tracy started when she realized what she'd just done, "Wrong, wrong,
wrong."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"If she dies, it's my fault."
"How do you know that that's what she wants?"
"And why is it so easy to consider bringing her across and so
impossible to consider bringing me?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tracy shook her head, unable to fit that piece into the puzzle. Voices,
no images. Didn't make sense.
She drove almost by sheer instinct to her building. Looking up at her
third story window she could she the lights were on. The silhouette of her
father talking to someone she couldn't see shone through the curtains.
She couldn't deal with him now. She shifted out of park and drove to
the next place her Swiss cheese mind suggested. The church.
She left the car running out front, tripping over her own feet as she
stumbled up the steps. She hoped the car would be stolen again, then by
some strange logic it wouldn't be her fault anymore.
She pulled open the door and practically fell into the welcoming
darkness. Stars swam before her eyes, she half walked half crawled up the
aisle. She paused at the stain where Vachon had died. Her memory offered
up conflicting images. Her staking her lover, Vachon leaving and the
strangest of all, that creep the Nightcrawler staking her. "Wrong, wrong,
wrong."
She struggled down the steps to the basement, barely staying up-right
before falling into Vachon's musty bed. Once there, she cocooned herself in
the blankets that smelled of them both.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Tracy..."
"Nick..."
"We need some help in here!"
"You could have trusted me."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tracy whimpered, closing her eyes as tightly as she could against the
images in her head. Nick- a vampire. Vachon- dead by her hand. Lacroix-
killing her. Someone else…
Her hands went to her middle, there, the comforting roundness of her
belly calmed her. Her baby was all right. Vachon's baby.
"Everything will be okay baby," Tracy curled up into a tight ball, "You'll see, I'll
take care of you. We'll survive. We have to."
>>>>>>>>>>
Told you it was weird. Comments to anteros@juno.com
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