From:	JKocich@AOL.COM (Julia Kocich)
Sender:	FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU (Forever Knight TV show stories)
Reply-to:	JKocich@AOL.COM
To:	FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU (Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L)
Date: 97-01-29 21:48:56 EST

This is a first attempt. I am not a writer. This has not been alpha or beta
read. But since I'm the First Inquirer After the Suits (thanks, Marcia), I
decided to take a stab at the Challenge. Comments, criticisms please to
JKocich@aol.com

****
Bridging the Gap
by Julia Kocich


"Man oh man oh man," Schanke moaned, cradling his third drink of the flight.
"Myra's never gonna understand. She's gonna think I totally flipped my lid."

His seatmate on the red-eye from California glanced over at him. Several more
hours spent in the company of an inebriated, lachrymose policeman would be
most annoying.

"Detective," his eyes fixing on Schanke's, "I'm sure your good lady will . .
."

He was surprised to be interrupted. "Yeah, well, you may be sure, but I don't
suppose you have to explain yourself when you get home. I can just see it.
`How was your trip, dear?' `Uh, fine.' `Who else was there? What were people
talking about?' `Uh, well, you know that Nightcrawler guy? He was there, and
 . . .'  Man oh man, then what do I say?" Schanke's turned in appeal to
Lacroix.

Lacroix controlled himself, wishing he could put a stop to this. Wishing he
could say, "Simply tell her you met a very old and powerful vampire and
forged an unlikely--a most unlikely--comradeship for a couple of days," or
alternatively wishing he could drain the man where he sat, Lacroix sighed and
considered his next words.

"Tell her that some overactive imaginations invented a relationship where
there was none, but the . . . fantasy took on a life of its own."

Again Schanke burst out, fueled by the combination of alcohol and altitude.
"No kiddin'. And what the heck were you doin' there, anyway? It's not exactly
your kind of thing, is it? Not exactly your cup of tea." He enunciated these
last words with a sneer.

"Unless this is a police matter, Detective, I don't believe my motives are
any concern of yours. Nor would that knowledge ease your current
predicament."

"Sorry, sorry, I just meant . . ." They both knew what he meant. Lacroix, the
Nightcrawler, did not automatically come to mind in refence to a charity
auction. Schanke looked over and saw a flash of anger. I must have hit a
nerve, he thought. "Yeah, well, I guess you've got to do publicity for your
radio show, right? Your bosses at CERK probably twisted your arm into going,
eh?"

"How . . . perceptive of you, Detective." The subject was closed. Lacroix's
motives were irrelevant. He did as he chose, and it was not for anyone to
question or wonder at. He was relieved, however, that the detective had put a
graceful end to this tedious line of interrogation. For all his hearty
buffoonishness, this mortal was less tiresome than most.

"Come on, Lacroix, gimme a break. You're good with words. Tell me what to say
to Myra. Please?"

"Tell her . . . tell her that imagination is a wondrous thing that creates
realities out of thin air.  And sharing those alternate realities can be . .
. quite stimulating.  Would your Myra object to a little shared levity in the
name of charity, in the cause of good works? And who was injured by any of
this levity? No harm, no foul, as they say. As for describing the specific
details of this imagined reality, and all that was said in jest, well,
perhaps the less of that, the better."

Schanke nodded glumly, unconvinced. He just knew that he'd never be able to
explain it. If only Myra had been there and seen for herself, she'd have seen
how completely off-the-wall they had all been, even Lacroix! Maybe it was one
of those cases of mass hysteria, where everybody convinces themselves of some
crazy notion. . . Schanke decided he'd had enough to drink.

"And, Detective . . .?"

"Yes, Mr. Lacroix?"

"If there were to be a repeat of this event," Lacroix winced slightly at the
thought, "would you be kind enough to bring a different suit?"

---