Date: Fri, 12 Feb 1999 16:03:13 -0500 From: WILSONE1 Subject: XOVER: Knight of Hearts (01/??) To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Warning! Temporal vortex ahead. All craft not cleared for fluctuations in the time/space continuum of up to seven years should be restricted to an area of safe assumptions. Otherwise a significant amount of damage to narrow perceptions is possible. Disclaimers: The characters of 'Forever Knight' are the property of Sony/Tristar and I receive nothing but a sense of quiet satisfaction from their unauthorized use. 'Cupid' is currently being aired by ABC and everyone with even a smidgen of warm mushiness in them should be watching it. It's a hoot, let me tell you. Settings for Temporal Alignment: FK: February, 1st season Cupid: February, 1999 ============================================================ Knight of Hearts - A Cupid/Forever Knight Crossover Part One of Some Erika Wilson February, 1999 "Need we say it was no love, just because it perished?" - Edna St. Vincent Millay ***** Toronto, 7:05 PM Saturday ***** Detective Nick Knight stepped through the door of the vacant townhouse. The uniformed officer in the foyer nodded in recognition and pointed him toward the stairs. Upstairs, the stream of people moving in and out of the bedroom left no doubt as to the location of the crime scene. As Nick edged his way through the doorway, a photographer moved aside and Nick got his first glimpse of the victim. She was sprawled on the floor, dressed in a short white negligee with little red hearts scattered over it. A larger heart had been cut out of what looked like newspaper and secured to her chest with something long and shiny. The paper heart was stained dark red with dried blood. Nick knelt down, careful not to disturb the area around the body. He leaned in over the victim and saw that the heart was pinned through woman's breast with a slim golden arrow. "Not exactly the most romantic use of Cupid's arrow, eh Knight?" Said Donald Schanke, the extrovert in their oddly matched, but strangely effective partnership. He stood behind Nick's shoulder, munching on the remains of a burrito. Nick sighed and stood up, grateful at least that this time, Schanke's dinner was light on the garlic. "Have you seen anything like that before?" Schanke thoughtfully sucked the last of the ancho sauce from his thumb before shaking his head. "Uh uh. Not unless you count the time Myra's finger slipped when she was trying to learn how to bow hunt." He grimaced with the pain of the memory as he reached up to rub his shoulder. "I've still got the scar." Nick refrained from commenting on yet another of Schanke's domestic mishaps. "What about the heart? Cut from a newspaper?" "Yup," Schanke verified. "It's an article from the Chicago Tribune. Nat said she could probably decipher the title and author in a few hours, once she gets the body back to the morgue and removes the arrow." "Good." Nick nodded. "The killer was obviously trying to make a statement, so maybe that article holds the key." "The key to what?" Natalie Lambert broke in sharply. "A killer's heart?" Her face was grim as she knelt down to place plastic bags over the victim's hands. "Or maybe his twisted little brain." She was obviously upset and Nick wished there was something he could say to help, but how could he? He had both a killer's heart and a killer's mind, which Natalie knew perfectly well. So what use would his words be? He turned away and began scanning the room, looking for something that might help identify the killer or his victim. It was a model townhouse, decorated by the real estate company, so there wasn't much for Nick to focus on. "Aw Nat, c'mon." Schanke responded to Nat's distress. "I know how this kinda thing gets to you, but ya just can't take it to heart." He realized what he had said and tried to rectify his poor choice of words. "I mean, I know sometimes it seems like we're just shooting in the dark, but you better believe that we'll get this guy down and nail him to the wall--aw geez." By this time, Nat's lip had begun to twitch and Nick was having a hard time restraining his own mirth. Leave it to Schanke to lighten up the darkest moments. Feeling his own demons chased away, at least temporarily, he reached down his hand to help Nat to her feet. Their eyes touched briefly and he felt the warmth of her grasp as she squeezed his hand gently before letting go. "You'll be fine, then?" Nick asked quietly. "Yeah, sure, you know me--tough as nails." She replied gamely as she prepared to pack up and head back to her office. He helped her into her coat, resting his hands on her shoulders for a moment longer than necessary as he leaned over to brush his cheek against her temple. "Yes, but you're also human." He reminded her. "You *should* feel anger and disgust from such things. The day you stop is the day you should start worrying." She nodded, knowing how much he envied the very feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. "I know. It's just . . . hard sometimes." The men with the gurney had lifted the woman's body up and were getting ready to place her onto the gurney for the trip down the stairs. "I've gotta go." Nat told him. "Come by when you're done here. Maybe I'll have something for you by then." "Right." Nick nodded, returning to his role of detective as he turned to rejoin his partner and she followed the woman's body out the door. ***** Toronto Coroner's Office, 2:10 AM Sunday ***** "'Cupid's Arrow: Hit or Myth?' by Dr. Claire Allen." Schanke read out loud when Nat handed him a clean copy of the article from the Chicago Tribune. "Now why does that name sound so familiar?" Nick shrugged as he perused his own sheet which contained Dr. Allen's curriculum vitae. "It says here she's a psychiatrist who specializes in 'relationship conflicts and intimacy disorders'." "That translates to 'Love Doctor', Schanke." Natalie offered helpfully. Schanke slapped his hand against his forehead. "Of course! I know who she is now. Oh, Myra's *nuts* about this lady. She's read everything Dr. Allen's ever written and quotes it like gospel. She works in Chicago and runs a group counseling session for desperate singles. Myra recommended it to a cousin of ours. Poor guy hasn't been on a date since junior high school." "How old is he?" Natalie asked. "Forty-six." Schanke shook his head mournfully. "He's such a basket case, if a woman even asks him what time it is, he swallows his tongue and starts going into convulsions." Nat and Nick glanced at each other. "Sounds pretty serious." Nick remarked in a careful deadpan. "Was the doctor able to help him?" Schanke shrugged. "Dunno. He hasn't been taken to the hospital recently, so maybe that's a good sign." "One of the best." Nat remarked pointedly. Nick wondered if her remark was directed at him in some way. "So," Schanke continued, oblivious to any of the subtle undercurrents swirling about the room. "besides the obvious tie-in with the title, what's the connection between this article and our killer?" "Does it have to be anything else, Schanke?" Nick folded his arms and leaned back against Natalie's desk. "Maybe the killer saw the title and got inspired." "No, I don't think so." Schanke's eyes narrowed thoughtfully and he began to pace across the room as he expounded his theory. "This was a guy with a plan. He didn't just stumble into this kind of dramatic presentation like a second-grader in the school play. He wrote the script, gathered the props, set the stage and auditioned his leading lady like a true thespian. That article *meant* something to him. You can bet on it." Schanke looked up to see both Nick and Nat regarding him with wide, astonished eyes. "Hey," Schanke protested. "So what if I watched Colombo last night? It sounded pretty good, though, didn't it?" Nick turned to Nat. "He sold me on it." "Me too." She agreed. "So what're you going to do?" "I'm going to give Dr. Allen a call." Nick answered as he headed for the door. "If the killer felt such a strong connection with her article, maybe she can give us some insight on his character and motives." He paused. "Well Colombo, are you coming or not?" Schanke clapped his jaw shut and strode towards his partner. "You're joking, right? I was only kidding." "Hey, a good idea is a good idea, Schanke." Nick answered as he waved good-bye to Nat. "And who knows, our killer may even have been one of Dr. Allen's patients." "Oh, great, so you're just gonna call her up and ask if any of her lovelorn losers had a history of violence. Myra will never forgive me." End Part One ============================================================= Comments, puzzled looks and worried glances too: Erika See Part One for disclaimers and small-craft warning ============================================================ Knight of Hearts - A Cupid/Forever Knight Crossover Part Two of Some Erika Wilson February, 1999 ***** Chicago, 8:30 AM, Claire's apartment ***** "Oh yeah, Dad had quite the temper," Trevor pitched his voice over the sound of Claire's hairdryer. His mouth quirked in a half smile as his eyes got a distant look. "I remember the time he caught Mom fooling around with Vulcan. Well, he didn't actually catch them 'en flagrante', but the soot smudges were a dead giveaway. Boy oh boy the pillars of Mount Olympus sure shook that night." The hairdryer shut off and Claire stomped out of the bathroom, half-dried hair falling into her eyes. "Trevor, why are you here? Alex said he'd call from the airport and I'd just as soon not have you pick up the phone when he does." Trevor showed no sign of egressing and Claire attempted another tack. "Don't you work late on Saturdays? Shouldn't you be in bed?" "Is that an invitation?" His eyebrows perked eagerly. "I don't know what Alex will think, but if you're up for it, I'll see what I can do to substantiate my claim of godhood." Claire bared her teeth savagely and brandished her blow dryer at him with unmistakable intent. "Whoa there now, that's a pretty big gun for such a sweet little thang." "Trevor!" "Okay okay," Trevor backed down. "We had a little post-closing poker party at the bar and it just broke up. I thought I'd stop by and see if my good friend Claire wanted to join me for a coffee and danish." He held out his hands in an overt demonstration of the pureness of his intent. "Danishes are passe, Trevor." Claire felt the weakness of her retort immediately and swirled back into the bathroom, hoping at least for the victory of the last word. A futile expectation, of course. "A poppy seed muffin, then." Trevor offered. His only answer was the renewed whine of the blow dryer. Shrugging, he plopped down onto the sofa and began riffling through a psychology journal. When the phone rang, he stiffened and looked at it. Then he looked towards the bathroom. He looked at the phone again and without batting an eye, struck like a snake, grabbing the receiver just as Claire came hurtling out of the bathroom. "Gooood morning, Claire's shimmy shack, how may I direct your call?" He fended off Claire's attempt to grab the phone from him with negligent ease. "Why certainly, I believe she would be willing to speak with you." . He mouthed broadly as he handed the phone over. She snarled at him soundlessly and without missing a beat, smiled into the phone. "Alex, hi, are you at the airport?" Her voice fell. "Oh. I see. Yeah, that's too bad. No, I understand. Of course. Really, it's okay. This was a spur of the moment thing, subject to change without notice. I'll see you next month, then. Like we planned. I know. Love you too. Bye." Claire returned the phone to its stand, biting her bottom lip in thoughtful vexation. Trevor watched her, a surprisingly sincere look of sympathy in his eyes. "I can be going." He offered. "No," Claire murmured, still looking at the phone. "No that's okay." She brought her head up with a tight smile. "Suddenly I'm in the mood for a danish. Just let me finish getting ready." "Hey, going for danishes isn't passe, it's retro, right?" Trevor stated firmly as Claire returned to the bathroom. This time when the phone rang he didn't even hesitate. "Heartbreak hotel," he chirped merrily. "How may I help you? Why, yes she does, who might I say is calling?" His cocky demeanor suddenly drained away. "Just a minute, I'll get her." He covered the mouthpiece and pushed the phone into the bathroom. "Claire, it's the Toronto police department. They'd like to speak with you." "What? Are you joking?" Claire squeaked in disbelief. Trevor backed away slowly, as if the phone was about to nab him for indecent disclosure. "Absolutely not. Go on, ask the nice officer yourself. Oh, and you might tell him I was no where *near* the scene that night. I was in Poughkeepsie, visiting my aged and infirm grandmother. In the presence of several witnesses, I might add." Claire's eyes seemed to be swimming. "What scene? What night? *What* grandmother?" She closed her eyes and took a breath. "Never mind." She put the phone to her ear. "This is Claire Allen." After the first few sentences, Claire shut the door of the bathroom and Trevor had to content himself with trying to decipher the inarticulate murmurs that filtered through. He nearly pounced on Claire when she finally came out and replaced the phone. "Well?" He burst out. "What do Toronto's finest want with Chicago's savviest shrink?" She seemed distracted and a little shaken. "They want me to help with a case." Trevor's eyes brightened with interest. "Ooh, what kind? No, let me guess-- vice, right? Getting sex back out onto the street where it belongs?" "No Trevor. That was a homicide detective. I've been asked to assist in a murder investigation." Trevor found himself at an uncharacteristic loss for words. ***** Chicago, 4:00 PM, Claire's office ***** Claire was diligently trying to straighten out her schedule for the days she would be in Toronto while Trevor bounced around like an excited Jack Russell Terrier. "This could be a really good thing," Trevor soliloquized. "I hadn't given much thought to branching out, but the world's a big place, right? Chock full of people---people just *looking* for other people. I don't need to restrict myself to Chicago, there's plenty of me to go around, spreading the seeds of love like . . . like a modern day Johnny Appleseed." Trevor was excessively pleased with his metaphor. "More like Typhoid Mary." Claire muttered. "Look, Trevor, I didn't want to tell you like this, mostly because I didn't think I'd *have* to tell you, but you're not coming with me." Trevor's grin faded. "What do you mean, 'not coming with you'? I thought you were supposed to keep me under close observation, to make sure I don't pose a danger to myself and others?" He pointed in dramatic fashion to a framed document on the wall. "Does your physician's oath mean *nothing* to you, woman?" "That's my Honorable Mention from the Pillsbury Bake-off." She corrected him. "Really?" He peered more closely at the ornate script. "Well I'll be damned, so it is." He whirled around. "But that still doesn't explain why I can't go with you." He staggered towards her, a pathetic expression on his face. "I *need* a break, Claire. The day-to-day pressure of dragging lonely single people, kicking and screaming into each other's arms is taking it's toll. I . . . I have to get away. It's killing me." He collapsed onto the couch in a pathetically quivering heap. Claire glanced at him briefly. "No." She replied and returned to her day-planner. He bounced up off the couch. "Fine." He replied. "But while you're gone, I guess that means I get to run the group." He rubbed his hands together eagerly. "I think a Bacchanalia Night would be an excellent catalyst to help break through some barriers. It's hard to hang on to your inhibitions when your toga keeps slipping." He mimed pulling the edges of his clothing together. "Whoops!" Claire stared at him in horror. "You're coming with me." She declared. "Great, when do we leave?" End Part Two ============================================================= Comments, undeliverable mail and unsolicited opinions to: Erika See Part One for small-craft warnings and disclaimers ============================================================ Knight of Hearts - A Cupid/Forever Knight Crossover Part Three of Some Erika Wilson February, 1999 ***** Toronto, 8:00 PM, Nick's precinct ***** "Detective Knight?" Nick looked up at the sound of his name and blinked in surprise at the lovely woman who smiled uncertainly at him as she held out her hand. "I'm Claire Allen." He stood up hastily. "Dr. Allen, thank you for taking time out from your work to help us with this case. We really appreciate it. Um, tell me, have you done any work with law enforcement before?" "Not . . . exactly." She glanced behind her somewhat nervously. "I'm a consultant for the judicial system, in cases where the competency of an individual is in question." As if on cue, Trevor spun into view. "Man, this is great. I've been in squad rooms before, but never as a tourist. It's a lot more fun without the handcuffs and that's not something I say about many things." "Trevor." Claire rumbled in what she hoped was a quelling tone. "Ah, detective Knight, this is Trevor Hale, he's--" "--the chaperone." Trevor stuck out his hand and pumped Nick's arm up and down. "Can't let a little minx like Claire run around in a strange city all by herself. She's likely to get into all sorts of trouble." Trevor blinked in surprise and pulled his hand away hastily. "Wow, that's . . . some grip you have their, detective. Reminds me of Bigfoot, oh, wait, that's Sasquatch up here, isn't it?" "Trevor!" Claire elbowed him briskly and smiled apologetically at Nick. "I'm sorry detective, Trevor's just a little--" "--Oooh, is that where you interrogate suspects?" Trevor zipped off to investigate. "--Irrepressible." Claire continued. Detective Knight followed Trevor's erratic progress through the station with a quizzical expression. "Is he one of your patients?" "More like a project." Claire muttered. "Don't worry, he's rather like a mosquito. Annoying, but basically harmless." Nick looked at her curiously. "Do you feel that way about all potentially deadly, blood-sucking creatures, Dr. Allen?" "What?" She frowned in confusion. "Never mind." Nick smiled ironically. "My partner is at the coroner's office right now. I'd like to take you there and start going over some of the details of the case with the pathologist. If that's all right?" "Sure, just as soon as we round up my 'chaperone'." "You called?" Trevor appeared with a suddenness that surprised even Nick. "Where to now?" Claire wrapped her hands around Trevor's arm as an anchor. "The coroner's office, Trevor." "Cool. What do they do there?" "Cut up dead bodies mostly." Claire tugged at Trevor's suddenly immobile body. "C'mon Trevor, what's the matter?" She noticed that Trevor's face looked rather pale, almost greenish. "Uhh, it's just that me and death, well, we're not exactly on speaking terms." His eyes flicked almost imperceptably towards Nick. "Immortals are like that." "Like what?" Claire asked impatiently. "Uncomfortable with the concepts of death and dying?" "Bingo!" Claire sighed. "Join the club. It's not exactly a picnic for the rest of us either. Let's go, Trevor. If it bothers you that much, you can wait in the police car, okay?" Trevor suddenly perked up. "Can we run with lights and sirens?" Nick squelched a smile. "We'll see what we can do." "Cool." Trevor bobbed his head and led the way out the door. Nick leaned over to whisper to Claire. "Is he always . . . ?" "Pretty much." Claire nodded tiredly. "Though he seems in particularly good form this evening." She hesitated for a moment. "I suppose I should tell you, in case he decides to target someone while we're here--" Nick looked alarmed. "--What do you mean, 'target'?" "Oh no, it's nothing like that!" Claire hurried to explain. "It's just . . . he wants to set people up--to fall in love with each other." Nick looked baffled. "He thinks that's his purpose here. You see detective, Trevor believes himself to be Cupid, the God of Love." Nick didn't say anything, but his eyes locked onto the back of Trevor's head with a cold, purposeful glare. Up ahead, Trevor stiffened noticably as if struck by a sudden chill. ***** Toronto, 8:20 PM, Coroner's office ***** Nick ushered Claire into Natalie's office where Schanke was tapping with two-fingered abandon at the computer. He looked up and his eyes widened as he stood up hastily. "Dr. Allen," Nick began the introductions. "This is my partner, Detective Donald Schanke." He bent over to stage whisper in her ear. "He's one of your biggest fans." "Actually, my wife is. One of your biggest fans, I mean." Schanke stuck his hand out and bobbed his head nervously as he greeted her. "Dr. Allen. Oh, which reminds me . . . " he whipped around to grab something from Nat's desk. "She threatened me with dire consequences if I didn't get you to autograph this." He held out a hardcover book with Claire's picture on the back. "D'you mind? The continued happiness of my marriage is at stake here." "Well, I guess it wouldn't help my professional reputation if I were the direct cause of a domestic dispute." She took the book and the pen Schanke was quick to produce. "What's your wife's name, detective?" "Myra." He looked over her shoulder as she inscribed the book. "Thanks a lot Dr. Allen. This is gonna mean the world to her." "Hey Schank," Nick broke into his partner's open admiration of the lovely doctor. "Where's Nat?" "Right here." Natalie stepped into the office from the exam room, pulling off a pair of gloves as she strode towards them. "You must be Dr. Allen." She shook Claire's hand with a smile and shot a sideways glance at Schanke. "I've heard a great deal about you---had actual passages of your book read out loud to me, as a matter of fact." Claire waved at the book negligently. "Oh sure, one little mention on 'Oprah' and I'm a household name." She and Nat laughed. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?" "Oh, Natalie Lambert. I'm the pathologist on this case." Claire blinked in surprise. "Really? You seem so . . . you must be very good at what you do, Dr. Lambert, to be where you are." "I could say the same to you, Dr. Allen." The two women regarded each other measuringly and then smiled as they realized how closely their thoughts were aligning. Nick looked from one to the other, noting the same thing and smiled quietly to himself. "Now that the introductions are over, shall we get started?" He broke in smoothly. "The rest of us may be used to the late hour, but I'm sure Dr. Allen is anxious to get back to her hotel." "Oh please, everyone, call me Claire. And I'm ready to stay as long as necessary." She gestured at an extra chair. "May I?" Schanke hurried to bring the chair over. "Here y'go doctor--I mean, Claire. Allow me." He brought another chair over for himself while Nick perched on the edge of the desk. "Thank you, detective." Claire dimpled generously for Schanke's benefit, then turned to address Nick. "Now detective Knight, you said on the phone that one of my newspaper articles was found at the scene of a murder. I guess I need to know how the article was presented. What made it such a compelling piece of evidence that you needed me to come here?" Nat opened the folder on her desk and pulled out several photos and a zip-locked bag with the rust-colored heart. Claire reached out with some reluctance and examined the photographs with growing revulsion. Her lips were clenched tightly together as she looked at the heart, noting the two jagged holes where the bloodstains seemed most concentrated. She spoke with difficulty. "This . . . appears to have been . . . attached to the victim." Natalie held out the slender golden arrow. "The assailant pinned it with this. It appears that he used some other sharp object to cut through the skin and the upper pectoralis muscle in order to facilitate the entry of the arrow through the article, into the victim's flesh and back out again. Based on the amount of blood, she was alive during the procedure, but since the marks are relatively neat, which would be very difficult to achieve if the victim were struggling, I'd say she was probably unconscious at the time." Claire took the arrow with trembling fingers and held it up against the heart, aligning it with the holes. She looked up at Nick with wide, horrified eyes. "We're calling him the 'Cupid Killer'." He told her grimly. She shook her head. "No, it's not . . ." She glanced towards the door. "There's got to be a . . . he would never be able to . . . " She stared at the arrow and the heart helplessly. "Just because he thinks he's Cupid and you found one of my articles, it doesn't mean . . ." She trailed off. Natalie and Schanke looked at each other in confusion as Nick and Claire engaged in what appeared to be a private discussion. "Claire," he saw how distressed she was and reached out to grasp her shoulder. "All he needs is an alibi for Friday night." Her eyes gleamed brightly. "He was working!" Then her expression dimmed. "No, wait, Dell had to cover for him on Friday. I remember now, he was very upset with Trevor for 'bailing on him' at the last minute." She bit her lip anxiously. "But I'm sure there's some perfectly stupid explanation. Really." "Very possibly." Nick agreed. "But we need to ask him. Let's go." She followed him out the door and down the steps and nearly bumped into him as he halted suddenly. "Damn!" He exclaimed furiously. Nick's Cadillac, in which they had left Trevor intently flipping through the Toronto radio selections, was gone. End Part Three ==================================================== Comments, expressive gestures and inappropriate remarks to: Erika See Part One for small-craft warnings and disclaimers ============================================================ Knight of Hearts - A Cupid/Forever Knight Crossover Part Four of Some Erika Wilson February, 1999 ***** Outside the local Buckstar's ***** Trevor stepped out of the coffee shop carrying a paper bag and a carrier of coffee cups and stopped in his tracks at the sight of Detective Knight leaning against the large green Cadillac parked against the curb. "I can explain." Trevor stammered hastily. Nick was having none of it. "Get in the car." He said in a menacingly even tone. Trevor nodded compliantly and headed towards the vehicle. "*Not* the driver's seat." Nick specified as he steered Trevor towards the rear door. "Ah, the back seat." Trevor noted as he climbed in, careful not to spill the coffee on the upholstry. "That can't be a good sign." "It's not. I could have you booked for grand theft auto." "For going on a donut run?" Trevor protested. "You guys looked like you'd be at it for a while, so I thought coffee and danish--uh--pastries would be looked upon favorably. Lookee here," he pulled out a large powdery lump of dough from the bag. "Jellies. Mmmm, just oozing goodness. That should be enough to obtain an offer of clemency, shouldn't it?" Nick glanced at the sticky red substance seeping from the donut and tried not to shudder. "Now I can add bribery to the charge." He replied as they pulled up to the Coroner's building. "Put that thing away and come upstairs. You need to answer some questions." Trevor's eyebrows lifted in curiosity. "I've never heard it put quite that way before, but sure, whatever you say officer." "Hey, coffee!" Schanke exclaimed as Nick ushered Trevor into the lab and Claire breathed an almost audible sigh of relief at Trevor's successful retrieval. "Jellies!" Schanke's delight continued to grow as he investigated the contents of the bag and Trevor looked at Nick meaningfully. Nick just shook his head and motioned towards an empty chair. "Sit here." He handed Trevor the photos of the victim. "Have you ever seen this woman before?" Trevor stared at the pictures in growing horror until he finally thrust them back at Nick. "No! She's dead, I can't . . ." He stopped abruptly. "Wait, let me see that one, the face, again." He took the picture with trembling hands and looked intently with his mouth pressed in a thin line. "I know this face." He almost chanted. "I know this face." Claire started forward with a distressed look on her face. "No, Trevor, don't--" She pulled her outstretched hand back and pressed it against her mouth. Nick watched Trevor intently. "Where?" He prodded. "Where did you see her before?" "I don't . . . I can't remember. Not from this." He looked up suddenly. "Is she here?" Natalie nodded and motioned towards the cold room. "Yes, back there, but I wouldn't--" He was already pushing open the door and all they could do was follow him in. With a few quick deep breaths, Trevor reached out and pulled the sheet away from the shrouded body. The muscles in his jaw worked fiercely as he stared intently at the pale, stiff features. Then his eyes filled with tears and he stroked her forehead gently before replacing the sheet. "He name was Audrey." He told the silent row of people behind him. "Audrey Stein. She was named after Audrey Meadows. From 'The Honeymooners'. Her mother loved that show." He turned around and smiled, though his eyes were damp and red-rimmed. "She was a checkout girl at the drugstore around the corner from the bar where I work. She always slipped a free pack of gum into my bag." Claire let out a gasp of surprise. "Omigod, I *do* remember her!" She looked at Trevor in amazement. "I've been going to that drugstore for years and never even noticed her. How did you . . . ?" "Sometime you should try noticing people Claire. Go ahead and talk to them. Strike up a conversation with a total stranger." He glanced back at the white-sheeted form. "Otherwise you'll never know what you're missing." And he walked out. "Schanke." Nick said quietly. "Audrey Stein from Chicago. I'm on it, Nick." Schanke hurried out, glancing curiously at Trevor, who was sitting at Nat's desk in a tightly clenched attitude. He was staring at the items found at the murder scene, but his eyes weren't focussing. Nick walked over and put his hand on Trevor's shoulder. "Why is it," Trevor began. "That most people live such short, unremakable lives? It's not that way in the stories. If you listened to the poets or watched the Soaps, everyone should be living each moment with passion and with fire and with glory. Audrey should have blazed like a comet across the sky, while everyone looked up, astonished at her brilliance and her beauty. Instead, she's lying back there on a cold metal cart and no one even knew that she was gone." Something wet splashed onto Nat's blotter. "It's said that God sees the sparrow fall." Nick answered, a little surprised at himself for the reference. Trevor's mouth twisted bitterly. "Yeah, well, if God's the only one watching, the world's about to be cancelled due to poor ratings." He leaned back tiredly. "All right, detective. Where to from here?" "You need to come back to the station with me and answer some more questions. You've identified the victim, so now we need to see if we can pin down the killer." "Let's not be coy," Trevor held up the bag with the bloody arrow. "You consider me a suspect, don't you?" Nick shrugged. "Don't take it personally, it's part the job. So far you're the only one we've found who has a connection with both Dr. Allen and the victim." "And I think I'm Cupid. Don't forget about that." Trevor reminded Nick. "I used these things to pick ambrosia out of my teeth on Olympus." He stood up and held out his wrists. "Do I get the 'cuffs now?" "Will you come along without them?" Trevor agonized over that for a few seconds. "Oh, all right. But the next time you don't get off so easy." "Deal." Nick looked back at Claire who had a stricken look on her face. "Dr. Allen, I'd like you to stay here with Natalie and go over the rest of the evidence. See if you can ascertain a possible motive," his eyes flicked back to Trevor. "or a personality profile for the killer." His expression softened slightly. "And don't worry, I'll make sure he receives fair treatment." "Well that's a relief," Trevor remarked on the way out. "I was afraid you were planning to rough me up." "Only if you steal my car again." "Right. Got it. Does that mean you're not going to let me drive?" Nick just growled. End Part Four ==================================================== Comments, bamboo slivers and klewless Network executives to: Erika See Part One for small-craft warnings and disclaimers ============================================================ Knight of Hearts - A Cupid/Forever Knight Crossover Part Five of Some Erika Wilson February, 1999 ***** Natalie's Office, 9:00PM ***** With a weary groan, Claire pushed herself away from the personality profile that she was trying to type on Natalie's computer. "I can't do this. No matter how hard I try to concentrate on just the facts of this case, I keep seeing Trevor doing those terrible things to that poor girl. But it couldn't have been him, I'm sure of it." "So why can't you convince yourself?" Natalie asked, looking up from her own pile of paperwork. "Maybe you don't know him as well as you think you do." "That's the problem right there," Claire replied as she raked her short dark hair away from her face. "I *don't* know him. I have no idea who he really is, or what terrible sort of trauma he must have experienced that forced him to retreat behind such a powerful delusion." "So he really does think he's Cupid?" Natalie's mouth tipped into a smile. "It sounds like a harmless enough delusion to me." Claire shook her head. "It's not the effect that I'm so worried about. It's the cause. The sheer strength of Trevor's unshakable belief in his identity as Cupid indicates a major personality fracture at the most basic level. He must have suffered a deeply profound shock from which he has not yet recovered. He's real self is still hiding from the knowledge of his pain. The 'Cupid' persona functions rather admirably, but it's hardly an acceptable substitute for a normal existence." Natalie was regarding her intently. "Are you so sure about that? I mean, it could be a lot worse." "Or sure, he could be Napoleon, or Ghengis Khan, or Dracula for that matter, but that's not the point. He thinks he's a god. What sort of responsibility for his actions does a god have? What sort of consequences is he going to suffer if he does something wrong? He doesn't share our version of reality--he makes up his own as he goes along. He could hurt someone, even kill someone and it would be no more real to him than a Bugs Bunny cartoon." "I don't know Claire," Natalie observed. "He seemed pretty aware of the reality of Audrey's death. Perhaps more so than all the other sane people in the room at the time." "I know." Claire exhaled in frustration. "He's constantly surprising me that way. He can be in the middle of a thunderous rant about his 'intolerable exile here on Earth' and without warning, he'll whirl around and with a few simple words, slice right to the truth of a situation. I don't know how many times he's made me change my mind about something I was so *sure* about." She pressed her lips together. "But," she stated deliberately. "that's certainly no proof of his sanity. Rather the contrary, actually. He's trying so hard to ignore what's going on inside of himself that his focus is turned almost entirely outwards. He views other people without his own personality getting in the way and that allows him an astonishing clarity of perception." "He can see the forest since he's standing outside of the trees." Natalie mused. "Something like that." Claire found herself smiling in spite of everything. Natalie tapped the pile of evidence on her desk. "But this event really doesn't fit his delusion, does it? Despite the 'Cupid connection'." "I know." Claire murmured thoughtfully. "His one overriding obsession, for as long as I've known him, has been to bring people together. To do something like this . . . it would be wasting a perfectly good opportunity to bring him one more step closer to his goal." "Goal? He has a goal?" "One hundred loving couples," Claire elaborated. "If he accomplishes that, he gets to return to Olympus." "Huh." Natalie mused. "So what happens to his delusion when he gets to a hundred and nothing happens?" Claire looked perplexed. "I don't know." Her lips pursed. "Maybe the shock would be enough to snap him out of it." "So looking at it that way, you're both working towards the same thing." Claire rolled her eyes. "Right now I'd be happy to accomplish the goal of keeping him out of jail. Or even worse, the security ward of a mental institution." She groaned again. "If I only knew who he was; his background, his history. This sort of violent expression doesn't come out of nowhere." "You know," Natalie began. "there might be a way." Claire saw that Natalie was eying a coffee cup with a bright jelly stain on the side of it. The stain was just the size of a thumbprint and conveniently dusted with powdered sugar. "You mean you could . . . ?" "Uh huh." Natalie slipped on her gloves and picked up the cup. "I can run it through a number of databases; Canadian, American, FBI, RCMP, even the large mental health facilities keep fingerprints on file these days, especially for violent cases." ***** Nick's precinct, 10:00PM ***** Trevor was sprawled in the chair as if they'd been at the interrogation for days, instead of barely an hour. "I'm telling you detective, I tried every trick I knew to coax Audrey out of her shell, to set her up with every guy in line behind me, but she was having none of it. She'd just smile her little shy smile and slip a pack of gum in my bag." "But you're sure she was single?" Nick asked, watching Trevor's reflection in the two-way mirror. "Utterly unattached." Nick looked skeptical. "Hey, I know these things. It's my job. Besides, her mother took her out to lunch on her birthday." He opened his hands at the inevitability of the conclusion. "So there was nobody. Ever." Nick urged. Trevor was about to repeat his emphatic conclusion when he paused in thought. "The last time I saw her--" "--Which was?" Nick pounced quickly. "Thursday morning." Trevor replied with deliberate emphasis. "I stopped in for some razorblades, lip balm (cherry flavored), triple-A batteries for Dell's remote and *ahem* assortied toiletries. I was in a hurry, so that must be why I didn't notice . . . " His voice trailed off. "Didn't notice what?" Nick prompted. "No gum." "No gum?" "No gum." Trevor repeated. "She *always* gave me gum. Except that last time. Come to think of it, she even charged me twice for the lip balm. Thirty-nine cents, big deal, but Audrey *never* overcharged anyone. She must have been distracted that morning." "Nervous? Scared?" Nick offered. "Excited. Flushed." Trevor amended. "How did I miss it?" He looked up and met Nick's eyes. "She was in love. Right there in front of me and I missed it." He shook his head. "This is terrible. I must be slipping." The door opened and Schanke stepped in. He motioned Nick towards him urgently. Trevor leaned in to listen. "Audrey Stein, thirty-three. Mother reported her missing Sunday morning. Apparently she skipped their weekly brunch date. Mother's coming up to ID the body, but this is the photo scan the Chicago PD sent me." He held up a scanned picture of a young woman caught in a laugh. It was very different than the last pictures taken of her, but they were the same person. "That's her." Nick sighed. "Did her mother know why she would have come to Toronto?" "Not a clue. She said her daughter never went anywhere. When she wasn't working, she stayed home and played on her computer." Nick eyed Trevor deliberately. "So the drugstore is the most likely place for her to have met the killer." Trevor was paying absolutely no attention. His eyes were vague and unfocussed and his lips were moving slightly, as if her were reviewing a theory with himself. His eyes suddenly cleared and he smiled tightly as he looked up at Nick. "The computer." He said. ***** Natalie's office, 10:05PM ***** "Nothing?" Claire asked, disappointed in spite of herself. "Not a blip." Natalie replied. "If Trevor has a secret hobby, he's be keeping it *very* secret." "So we're back at square one again, aren't we?" "Not entirely. I think you need to learn from Trevor's example and try to see both the forest and the trees." "All right." Claire took a breath and laid out the pieces of evidence in front of her. "Here are the trees. Now where's the forest?" She read through the article once more, deliberately ignoring her suspicions of Trevor as she looked for a possible connection between it, the killer and the woman. The phone rang and Natalie answered it. She listened for a moment and placed her hand over the mouthpiece. "Claire, what about computers?" Claire looked at her blankly and then with a start, scanned quickly through the article. "Yes! Here it is! 'In this modern age, the myth of Cupid's arrow has been replaced by the magic of e-mail. Like an invisible dart through the aether, we shoot our hopes, our dreams and our deepest desires, fervently wishing for them to lodge in the breast of our perfect soul-mate. But this too is a myth. The intimacy that links two distant keyboards is nothing but an illusion. When the arrow melts away, when the computer is removed, anyone who thinks they've found their perfect 'e-mate', will find only disappointment.' It goes on, but that's the gist." Natalie smiled and spoke into the phone. "It's there. Uh huh. All right, I'll tell her." She hung up. "The Chicago PD are going to download Audrey's computer files." "And what do you want to bet the killer's e-mail address is in there?" "Yup, that's what they think too, so it looks like Trevor's in the clear. Nick is sending him back to your hotel." Claire let her shoulders droop with relief. "Oh that's marvelous." Then she buried her face in her hands with a tragic moan. "I can't believe I suspected Trevor of being a murderer. He's never going to let me forget it." End Part Five ==================================================== Comments, boiling oil and additional klewless Network executives to: Erika Note: Many apologies for the delay. RL is up to its old tricks again. I'm also frantically reading nominated fanfic before the voting deadline. How about you? Have you voted yet? No?! Well what are you doing wasting time with this? Move it into a folder and get back to reading those nominations! See Part One for small-craft warnings and disclaimers ============================================================ Knight of Hearts - A Cupid/Forever Knight Crossover Part Six of Some Erika Wilson February, 1999 *****11:00 PM, Claire's Hotel room ***** Trevor was waiting for her, enthroned upon the couch with his arms crossed; judge, jury, executioner all squeezed into the compact body of one outraged love-god. "I can't believe you actually entertained the notion of my being a vicious, cold-blooded killer for even one teensy-weensy split of a second." Trevor wasted no time on introductory pleasantries. "The detectives, well, I can understand their suspicions, it's the nature of the job." He sprang to his feet and stalked around Claire. "But you? I thought we were building something here --- something vaguely like a trusting relationship. Dare I say it --- even a friendship? And you're ready to chuck it all at the first sight of a paper heart and a bloody arrow. Call me crazy if you must, but right now I'd sure rather be crazy like me than wrong like you." Claire hung her head tiredly. "I'm sorry." She apologized sincerely. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I should never have infused your --- relatively harmless --- delusional state with psychopathic tendencies." "'Relatively harmless'." Trevor smirked mirthlessly. "I like that. 'Relatively harmless'." Suddenly he was furious. "All I want to do is *help* people. I want to show them how much love there is in the world and how easy it is reach out and take some for themselves. Compared to your inept analysis of this particular situation, how is my pursuit of the happiness of others in any way harmful!?" It had been a very long, unpleasant day which was turning into an ugly night and under the lash of Trevor's perceptive scolding, the thin leash of her control snapped. "Illusions Trevor!" She almost spat. "That's all you have to offer: the pie in the sky, the brass ring, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow --- you dangle them in front of sad, lonely people who desperately want to believe in what you peddle, just like this killer dangled the illusion of love in front of poor Audrey. It's true, you may not leave them dead when the dream is over, but you've almost certainly killed something by the time they wake up, alone once again." Trevor stared at her in shock. Finally he found his voice, though it was hoarse with disbelief. "Is *that* what you think of love? Is that what you think of *me*?" He shook his head slowly, almost sorrowfully. "I had . . . no idea." He moved around her and put his hand on the doorknob. "Thank you for clearing that up for me, Dr. Allen. I think I have a much better understanding of the situation. In fact, I'm certain that no further sessions will be necessary. Good night." Claire heard the soft as the door shut behind him, but the sound was obscured by the harsh echoes of her own words resounding through her head. With a sob, she dragged her hand across her mouth and collapsed onto the couch, crying bitterly. ***** Claire's hotel bedroom, 2:00AM ***** Claire had finally resorted to sleeping pills in order to quiet the roar in her head, so she barely registered the awareness of someone touching her until the gag was tied in her mouth and she was picked up and dumped into a cloth-sided cart. 'Laundry'. Was all she was able to register before the sheets were stripped from her bed and piled on top of her. It was warm and stuffy and she could barely breath through the gag, so she was unable to fight the insistent pull of the sleeping pill back into the muffled darkness. She woke again to a feeling of discomfort and movement. She tried to raise her head, but her forehead collided with a cold metal surface. 'A trunk'. She realized. 'I'm in the trunk of a moving car'. Her arms were tied as were her ankles. A few moments of futile wriggling convinced her that she was well and tightly bound. Panic threatened to overwhelm her and all she could think of was the look in Trevor's eyes just before he walked out the door. 'It can't end like that'. She moaned in the silence of her mind. "Not like that, please." But she was helpless to do anything about it now. ***** Trevor's hotel room, 2:15 AM ***** Trevor couldn't sleep. Audrey's face, the bloody arrow and his last conversation with Claire were all colliding around his mind like bumperless bumpercars. 'How could she think such a thing?' He wondered endlessly. 'How could she *say* such a thing?' The link Claire had drawn between himself and Audrey's killer had hurt him, more deeply than he wanted to believe. He jumped out of bed, unable to continue pretending that sleep was even a remote possibility. 'Why did she say that? I don't *hurt* people. I would never hurt anybody. How could she see me doing anything like that?' He thought about all of the people that he had nudged, pushed and yes, on occasion, body-slammed into loving relationships and wondered if there really could be unhappy outcomes to some of his fairy tale endings. "That's not my job." He muttered into the darkness of the room. "I set the pins up and walk away. If the cosmic bowling ball decides to come along and knocks them all down, well, there's nothing I can do about it. I can't hang around and interpose my body between them and all the slings, arrows and bowling balls of outrageous forturne. That's *not* my job." Or was it? Was his job merely to strike the spark; cue the fireworks; waft the first pheromonal whiff to set the hormones humming? What about everything that came after? Was he responsible for keeping the embers glowing when the first flames of passion were spent? It was a sobering thought and one that he needed to talk over with someone who knew something about the subject. He paused to grab his bathrobe and tie the belt before he was in the hall standing outside of Claire's door. "Claire?" He called out softly. "It's me, Trevor. I know it's late but I really need to ---" He paused as he realized that her door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open cautiously. "Claire?" He reached over and flicked on the lights. End Part Six ==================================================== Comments, hot pokers and some more of those klewless network executives to: Erika See Part One for small-craft warnings and disclaimers ============================================================ Knight of Hearts - A Cupid/Forever Knight Crossover Part Seven of Some Erika Wilson March, 1999 ***** Coroner's office, 2:20AM ***** Natalie leaned back in her chair, pulling out her scrunchy and running her fingers through her hair with a tired sigh. A pair of strong, cool hands slipped under the mass of brown curls and began kneading her shoulders gently. "Ohhhh," she exhaled reverently. "That feels wonderful. It's been a loooong night." The hands paused for a moment before resuming their soothing motion. "I know the feeling." Nick said, allowing humor to override the irony in his voice. Natalie twisted her head around to regard him from the corner of her eye. "Yeah, I guess you do." She reached back and placed her hand over one of his, holding it still before slipping free of his grasp. "Thanks. It helped." Nick stepped back, watching as Natalie scooped her hair back up while evading his eye. He wondered why she tended to avoid contact with him --- aside from clinical examinations, of course. Was it because of the vampire? Or was there something else? He frowned thoughtfully, noting the faint flush suffusing her skin and the slight exceleration of her heartbeat. Then he shrugged. Maybe she was just one of those people who had an aversion to casual physical contact. "So," her voice broke deliberately into the silence of the room. "You were able to trace the e-mail address?" "Yeah," he replied, shaking himself out of his thoughts. "We got a phone number and a billing address. Schanke went to check it out, but no one was home. We'll get him, though. Will there be enough evidence to connect him to the scene?" "I hope so." Natalie grimaced. "He was pretty careful." Nick jerked his chin up irritably. "Ah yes, my favorite criminal type; a prudent psychopath." Natalie lifted her hands helplessly. "It's how they work. You know that, Nick. They obtain their thrill from the slow, careful planning and from replaying it afterwards. It's not the sex or the lust or the---" "--- Blood," Nick finished bitterly. "Yes I know. I guess that's why I can't seem to understand his kind. We have so little in common." "Nick . . . " Natalie started to remonstrate, but just then the phone rang and she made a small sound of frustration as she turned away to answer it. "Coroner's office, Natalie Lambert speaking. Trevor? Is that you? Hey, hey, slow down, I can't understand you at all. What? Yes, he's here, hang on." She handed the phone to Nick with a worried look. "It's Trevor. I think something's wrong." Nick took the phone. "Knight here. What's up?" His eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Gone? What do you mean, 'gone'? Where would she go?" Then his posture stiffened noticeably. "Taken?" He asked sharply. "By whom?" Natalie could hear the tinny sound of Trevor's frantic voice from where she stood. "Come on Trevor, how could he know where to find . . . all right, I suppose he could've called her office, but why would he have . . . yes, I know, but that's still no reason to conclude . . . I don't know who else would . . . yeah, okay, assuming you're right, where would he take her? He's not at his listed address, we checked. Trevor, just wait there, okay? I'll come to the hotel and we can start from there. All right, I'm on my way." "Nick," Natalie tugged on his arm urgently. "What's happened?" "Trevor claims that Claire's been abducted. He's assuming by the same man who killed Audrey." He picked up his coat and swung it over his shoulders. "Get a hold of Schanke. Tell him to keep an eye on the suspect's address." "Oh no." Nat replied. "We'll call from the car. I'm coming with you." ***** Outside Claire's hotel room, 2:35 AM ***** "Where is he?" Nick demanded from the hotel manager. "'He' sir?" The manager asked. "This is Dr. Allen's room. Who else were you expecting?" "Trevor Hale, Dr. Allen's guest. He was the one who reported her missing." The manager motioned a clerk over and conferred briefly. "It would appear that Mr. Hale left the hotel some moments before you arrived. He appeared to be in something of a hurry, as he was wearing a bath robe under his coat." "He didn't say where he was going?" Nick snapped. "No sir." "Dammit." Nick exclaimed harshly. "Why would he have left?" "A better question might be 'where did he go?'." Natalie chimed in as she returned from her examination of the room. "I don't like the looks of this, Nick." She held up a bottle of medication. "Sleeping pills. If Claire took any of these, I doubt she'd be in any condition to put up much of a struggle, but look at the place. Pillows everywhere, covers on the floor and a crooked mattress." Nick looked at the bare mattress and the pile of blankets beside the bed. "No sheets." He observed. Natalie did a double-take. "Of course, he made the mess himself by stripping the bed. Why? To wrap her up?" "Or to cover her." Nick turned to the manager. "Take us to the service elevator, quickly!" They found the discarded laundry cart in the employee parking area beneath the hotel. Nick scanned the area with growing frustration. It was too dark and deserted for anyone to have seen anything. There was only one possible lead left. "Trevor couldn't have known where he was going, so why did he leave?" "I don't know Nick, maybe he did." Natalie replied. "Now how would he have any idea---wait, he saw the report on your desk didn't he?" Natalie nodded slowly as the light dawned. "The townhouse." "The townhouse." Nick agreed and turned quickly. "Call for backup!" He yelled back at Natalie as he darted off. "Tell them we may need an ambulance." And he disappeared into the darkness. Natalie stood frozen for a moment, knowing that there was little reason to worry about Nick's safety, but feeling her heart clench all the same. "Just get to them, Nick," she muttered fiercely. "Before that butcher does." ***** The townhouse, 2:40 AM ***** The tape across the door that indicated a crime scene had been broken and there was a light shining in an upstairs window. Trevor noted these things peripherally as he strode purposefully up the steps, opened the door and trod cautiously upstairs. He winced as the stairs creaked faintly and wished fervently for Hermes' little winged sandals. Not that the little twerp would ever lend them to him. Even if the circumstances were those of life and death. Life and death. Now there's irony for you. Who'd have thought that Cupid, God of Love and mischief would ever find himself in this sort of situation? It was so ludicrous he should be laughing. Trevor wasn't laughing. Instead, he was sweating. Copiously. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he found it quite distasteful. The front of his mind was too busy dealing with unwieldy amounts of fear. He had no idea what he was going to do when he reached the top of the stairs. He just knew he had to get there. And with surprising abruptness, he was there. Light spilled out around one door that was slightly ajar and Trevor leaned in to get a look. Claire was laid out on the bed, clad in a short white nightie that was covered with little red hearts. The other person in the room was a slight, nondescript man with thinning brown hair and glasses. He was rummaging around in a paper shopping bag, mumbling breathlessly to himself. Trevor turned his head to try and hear what the man was saying. "I wasn't expecting a visit from you, Dr. Claire. Not so soon, anyway." The man murmured in a strange, halting voice. "I had hoped to be more prepared, more . . . experienced." He glanced over at Claire and smiled crookedly. "But that's all right. I know how hard it was for you to wait for me." He pulled a slim golden arrow from his bag and stroked it tenderly. "Love will not be denied. Isn't that right, Dr. Claire?" "You got that right," Trevor agreed as he pushed open the door and sauntered into the room. End Part Seven ============================================================= Comments, boiling oil and any klewless network executives who were hiding to: Erika Aack! I know, I know this is getting posted much too slowly. I have many excuses, none of which you want to hear. Bear with me, it's almost over. Cross my heart and hope to be licked by yaks (I hear their tongues are like razors. Imagine that). See Part One for disclaimers and small craft warnings. ============================================================ Knight of Hearts - A Cupid/Forever Knight Crossover Part Eight of Some Erika Wilson March, 1999 The small man twitched violently at the sound of Trevor's voice and his expression grew blank with shock. As Trevor moved farther into the room, he recovered his wits and jerked the sharp arrow towards Claire's vulnerable throat. Trevor stopped immediately and nodded his understanding of the situation. "Who are you?" The man snarled with red-faced intensity. "What are you doing here?" Trevor produced what he hoped was a cocky grin. "Cupid, God o' Love, how're ya doin'? As to what I'm doing here, why, I heard about your work and I just had to drop by to see it for myself. I love it when someone takes a basic element of cupidian style and just runs with it. What you've done with that tired old heart and arrow schtick is positively inspired. I only wish I'd thought of it. But then, even being a God doesn't always ensure you a position right there on the cutting edge." Trevor paused politely after his breakneck exposition, but the other man was still frozen in an attitude of confused suspicion. "Please," Trevor indicated Claire's unconscious form with a gesture of invitation. "Don't let me interrupt." The man frowned narrowly. "You won't try to stop me?" "Stop you?" Trevor laughed wheezily in disbelief. "I would as soon slap Rosetti's paint-laden brush from his canvas." Trevor's voice expressed a sense of reverence. "You're an artist, I can see that. You take that ultimate moment of love, when it is most pure, most perfect and you capture it on the tip of your arrow, preserved forever like a butterfly on a pin. Not even I can do that. For me, love always has to run its course." Trevor shook his head sadly. "And we all know what happens when it does that, don't we?" The man hesitated, encouraged by Trevor's sincerity. Almost without volition, he looked down at Claire, his expression growing tender. "It dies." He murmured quietly. "It always dies. It's kinder to kill them before it happens." "Before the disappointment and disillusionment set in." Trevor agreed as he edged closer. "Take Dr. Allen here as a prime example. She doesn't even believe in love. She certainly doesn't believe in me, but she won't even give the basic concept the benefit of the doubt. You've read her articles; you know how much of a skeptic she is." The man nodded, rubbing the arrow lightly against Claire's skin, oblivious to Trevor's careful maneuvering. "Yes, she knows so much, but she still refuses to see the truth. Don't fight it Dr. Claire," He crooned. "I'll show you what you've been missing and then you'll understand. You'll understand everything." He gripped the arrow tighter and began to press it against Claire's breast. "NO!" Trevor shouted, lunging towards the man. He knew he was still too far away, but at least his rush distracted the man from Claire. Only now his attention was bent towards Trevor and his apparent betrayal. Trevor had planned on coming in low with his shoulder in the man's chest, but he found himself shoved off-balance and pushed to the floor with the other man's enraged face looming over his own. He saw the arrow coming down towards him, but he couldn't seem to bring his arms up to block it. He thought about how disgusted his father would be with his pathetic attempt at physical combat and closed his eyes tightly. The sound of breaking glass, accompanied by an animal-like growl and a shriek of terror from the other man caused them to snap open again. Detective Knight held the man in a tight grasp, the sharp fangs that seemed to fill his mouth poised above the man's neck. His eyes were glowing with a bright, feral light and there wasn't much in his expression that resembled anything human. Trevor blinked in surprise and levered himself up to take a closer look. Then understanding dawned and he grinned broadly. "I don't think you want to do that." Trevor told him. "He's sure to taste lousy." Nick's head snapped around and he glared hotly at Trevor. "What do you know about it?" Trevor shrugged. "No direct personal experience, I'm no vampire, but I *am* a bartender and I know how much the state of the container can effect the contents." He jerked his chin at the man who was blubbering in terror. "That, my friend, is one rotten barrel." Nick looked at the man and then tossed him aside with a sneer of disgust. Reaching down to help Trevor up, he smiled, fangs still in evidence. "I think you're probably right." "Thanks." Trevor replied sincerely. "I don't know if you intercepted my request for divine intervention, but your timing was excellent." He looked Nick over curiously. "Though you're not exactly what I would have expected." "Yes, well, about that . . ." Nick looked intently at Trevor and the sound of a beating heart seemed to fill the room. Trevor glanced around in puzzled suspicion. "Look at me." Nick commanded and Trevor complied. "You did not see me like this. You will forget what you have seen and heard here tonight." Trevor looked blankly at Nick and then he grinned and clouted him on the shoulder. "Aw, hey, don't worry about it. I won't tell, promise." Nick sighed and hung his head tiredly. "What is it about drunks and nutcases?" "And Gods," Trevor amended. "I'm not delusional, I'm a deity." "Yeah, right." Nick replied without bothering to mask the sarcasm. Trevor rolled his eyes. "Oh, like you're in a position to sneer? I don't think so, Mr. Lugosi." He turned away dismissively and went over to the bed to check on Claire. Nick acknowledged his defeat and joined him. "How is she?" "Okay, I think." Trevor replied with a frown of concern. "But I'm no doctor, so I think we should get her to a hospital as soon as possible, just to be sure." "Right." Nick agreed as he pulled out his phone. Then he paused and put it away. "Never mind," he pointed to the window where the approaching lights and sirens were now apparent. "The cavalry has arrived." End Part Eight ============================================================= Comments and volunteers to help me pack up all my worldly possessions to: Erika Almost there . . . bear with me. The yak tongues are in readiness. See Part One for disclaimers and small craft warnings. ============================================================ Knight of Hearts - A Cupid/Forever Knight Crossover Part Nine of Some Erika Wilson March, 1999 ***** Toronto General Hospital, 7:00 AM ***** Claire felt as if she were floating. She felt light, warm and comfortable and snuggled deeper beneath the covers of the bed. Then she realized that the sheets didn't smell right. The bed felt different too. 'That's right,' her mind murmured sleepily to itself. 'I'm in Toronto. I'm asleep in the hotel.' Reassured, she tried to recapture the sense of peace and tranquility that now seemed determined to elude her. She'd been having the most wonderful dream . . . Alex had flown in to meet her and they had buried themselves under the bedclothes for hours and hours of the most amazing . . . she frowned as the memory of her dream took an unexpected twist. Someone kept pounding on the door, calling her name over and over again. 'Trevor', her mind grumbled. 'I should have guessed. Didn't he know enough to take a hint? Hadn't she told him what she thought about his insufferable interference in other people's lives and his ridiculous pretension that he knew what was best for them?' Her body grew cold as she remembered exactly what she had told him. And then she remembered the abduction; the trunk of a car and the cold sting of a needle in her arm that had rendered her helpless as someone undressed her with moist, gentle hands. Her eyes snapped open and she drew in her breath to scream. All that came out was an airy squeak as her eyes focussed on the clean white walls and familiar hospital paraphernalia that surrounded her. At Claire's faint sound, Natalie leaned forward in her chair to check on her. Claire's eyes were wide and darkly dilated, but they were clear and full of surprise. "Natalie?" Claire croaked with difficulty. "What . . . ?" Natalie smiled reassuringly as she glanced at Claire's monitor and double-checked the I.V. "Hey, welcome back." She murmured quietly. "I suppose you're wondering what happened last night?" Claire tried to swallow in order to bring some moisture to her desiccated throat, but her mouth was just as dry. She grunted her frustration and nodded vigorously. "Oh, let me get you some water." Natalie offered and moved away to fill a cup at the small sink. "You *were* kidnapped out of your room. Do you remember that?" She looked back over her shoulder to see Claire's tight nod. Natalie returned with the water and held the cup to Claire's lips carefully. Claire took a few grateful swallows and then took the cup into her own hands to drain it. "Thank you." She sighed. She looked at Natalie uncertainly. "Was it the . . . the Cupid killer?" Natalie nodded. "Trevor noticed that you were gone and called Nick." She paused for a moment, considering whether or not to ask why Trevor had been looking in on her at two o'clock in the morning, but she decided to abstain. "Somehow he figured out who was responsible and that he must have taken you to the townhouse where the first murder had been committed." Natalie shook her head in disbelieving admiration. "I thought Nick was good with a hunch, but Trevor beat him on this one." She shot Claire an amused glance. "I guess he must have been personally motivated." "I'm sure he was." Claire said with a telling blush, but Natalie was disappointed as she continued along a completely different line. "I'd all but accused him of being the killer and he wanted to prove how wrong I was." "Well," said Natalie, taking Claire's empty cup to be refilled. "He did a lot more than that. He actually went to the townhouse, interrupted the killer's careful preparations and tried to tackle him all by himself." Claire's face blanched with fear. "He didn't?! Oh that presumptuous idiot! He wasn't hurt, was he?" Natalie turned towards the sink with a little smile as she heard the concern override the anger in Claire's voice. "He's fine. Detective Knight arrived in the proverbial nick of time and was able to apprehend the killer. You're both in line for a citation from the Toronto police department, you know. If it hadn't been for you two, who knows how long this creep would have continued his killing spree." She handed Claire the water with a look of sincere gratitude. "And I'd like to offer my thanks to you right now. You saved me a lot of sleepless nights." Claire made a face. "Thank me? For heaven's sake why? All I did was point the finger at my best . . . at Trevor and then get myself kidnapped. That hardly elevates me to heroine status." She looked at the water and sighed. "You know, what I could really go for right now is a cup of coffee." She looked at Natalie hopefully. "Do you think the nurse could bring some?" Natalie regarded her bright eyes and healthy color clinically and then smiled. "I think we can do better than that." She reached down and pulled a stethoscope out of her purse. "We *are* both doctors, after all." They looked at each other and began to laugh. Moments later, Claire's I.V. had been removed and Natalie was helping her dress. "Ugh," Claire commented as she tried to stand up. "I do feel wobbly. What did that guy give me?" "Pentothal." Natalie told her. "We found it with his 'supplies'. Fortunately he gave you a light dose, otherwise the interaction with your sleeping pills might have been serious." Claire remembered why she had resorted to the sleeping pills and her lips tightened unhappily. "Where . . . where is Trevor, anyway?" She managed to ask. Natalie rolled her eyes. "Oh lord, he would *not* be separated from you. Nick had to take his statement outside the emergency room and he was hopping from one foot to the other until they let him in to see you again. Just before dawn he finally conked out and Nick 'helped' him to a couch in the waiting room before going home for the day." She looked at Claire curiously. "We could stop by on our way to the cafeteria and wake him up. I'm sure he'd be relieved to see you up and about." "No!" Claire said a bit too hurriedly. "No, that's okay. It sounds like he needs the sleep. And I need . . . I'm going to need some coffee before tackling Trevor again." Natalie laughed. "Yeah, I've only met him a few times, but I can see that caffeine would be required to keep up." "Caffeine, patience and self-control." Claire ticked them off one by one. "The necessary ingredients for remaining in close proximity with a displaced Greco-Roman deity. Unfortunately, two of those three don't come in liquid form." "That's okay." Natalie assured Claire as she took her elbow and led her through the door. "I happen to know that chocolate-filled croissants work just as well." She glanced archly at Claire and they both started giggling again. End Part Nine ============================================================= Comments and volunteers to move furniture and scrape wallpaper to: Erika Whew! Finished before April Fool's Day, what a relief! It seems I won't need those yak tongues after all. Hmmm, perhaps I should send them to a few ABC programming executives . . . See Part One for disclaimers and small craft warnings. ============================================================ Knight of Hearts - A Cupid/Forever Knight Crossover Part Ten of Ten (yay!) Erika Wilson March, 1999 ***** Hospital waiting room, 10:00 AM ***** Somewhere in the dim mists of his sleep-befuddled brain, Trevor was aware of an ache in his right leg. he pulled it closer towards his body, but that only made the ache worse. He tried to straighten it out, but his toes encountered an unyielding surface with unfortunate intensity. Wincing, he pressed the bottom of his foot against the surface and exerted a force commensurate with his irritation. Instead of removing the blockage, he propelled himself in the opposite direction, wherupon the top of his head slammed against the upper arm of the couch. He uttered a pithy curse popularized by Aristophanes and tried to arrange himself more agreeably by twisting onto his back and slinging his ankles over the armrest. This was even more uncomfortable than his previous position, so with a weary groan of surrender he rolled upright. He rubbed irritably at his eyes, wondering if they sounded as crunchy as they felt. He blinked the room into focus and saw a blur sitting in the chair across from him that slowly resolved into Claire. She smiled at him gently. "Good morning Trevor." He quivered as if he were about to spring towards her with an exuberant exclaimation of relief, but he caught himself just in time. His head twitched with the effort. "You---" he coughed the hoarseness from his voice. "Are you okay?" "Got a clean bill of health from Dr. Lambert." Claire informed him, then eyed him critically. "You look a bit worse for wear, though." "Yeah, well, once you get used to lying on a bed of rose petals surrounded by soft nymphs, nothing else can really supply the good night's rest needed to wake up looking bright-eyed and refreshed." Claire's mouth pursed skeptically. "I would have thought the soft nymphs would be something of a hindrance as well." "Ah," Trevor waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "That's where our definitions of 'rest' differ." To his surprise, Claire grinned at him. "You might have a point at that." She stood up. "And since your nymphless sleep was so unrefreshing, how about I buy you a cup of coffee?" Trevor staggered to his feet, reaching out like a drowning man towards a floating spar. "Coffee?" He gasped pathetically. "This way," Claire directed him towards the cafeteria. "They don't have the selection of a Buckstar's, but what they do have will scrape the stubble from your chin. From the inside." "Perfect." Trevor sighed happily. The dregs of his first and second cups were still steaming as Trevor leaned back with a happy sigh and allowed the caffeine to scour the clogs and stubborn encrustations from his system. "When I get back home," He remarked, more to himself than to Claire. "I'm going to open the first Olympian coffee bar and drive those snobby nectar peddlers out of business. Earth doesn't have a lot of things going for it, but the dark sweat of the coffee bean is definitely one of them." Claire had been deep in her own personal thoughts and wasn't really listening. At the sound of Trevor's voice, she shook herself back into the moment. "Trevor . . ." she began somewhat hesitantly. "The last two days have been . . . there've been things I've said that I'm really . . ." She trailed off into uncertainty. Trevor's leaned forward with great interest. "Are my ears deceiving me?" He inquired with a slow curl of his lip. "Do I detect the uneven stumblings of an apology attempting to make its way past the barbed wire of your professional pride?" He settled himself into the attitude of an alert listener. "Please Dr. Allen, do continue." Claire's eyes narrowed with irritation, but she knew that she had to do this, no matter how much it hurt. "I was wrong. You are nothing like that murdering monster. You are brave, kind, courageous---" "---Don't forget courteous, clean and reverent." Trevor interrupted smugly. "---And you truly care about people." Claire continued through gritted teeth. "You risked your own life to save mine and I know you wouldn't think twice about doing it again, for anybody." She waited for another of Trevor's characteristic quips, but he remained silent. Strangely encouraged, she plowed forward. "When you look into a crowd, you don't see a faceless mass of strangers, you see people. You see them for what they are and for what they could be. No monster can do that." She threw up her hands. "Heck, I don't know many people who can do that, including myself. I only know that since you've crash-landed into my life, I can sometimes see the world through your eyes. I want to thank you for that." Trevor made several movements towards speaking, but nothing seemed to fit. Finally he just reached out and took her hand, rubbing his thumb lightly across the knuckles. "Thanks. That couldn't have been easy." She let out her pent-up breath. "It wasn't." They caught each other's eyes and smiled, for once on perfect accord. "Well," Claire said finally, unable to bear it any longer. "I for one am more than ready to leave this hospital. Shall we head back to the hotel and pack up?" "Absotively." Trevor agreed, grabbing the last muffin and holding it in his mouth while he put on his jacket. "There's one other thing I wanted to tell you about, Trevor." Claire told him as he helped her into the coat that Natalie had brought for her. "Ungh hunh?" He mumbled past the muffin. "I think maybe it isn't such a bad thing to step in and help two people come together. Sometimes it takes an outsider to see what's already there and point it out. Sure, getting involved is a risk. Any relationship can end badly, but that's no reason to stay home alone night after night, wondering what it might have been like. Life can end at any time, but that's not the tragedy. The tragedy is when life ends without ever having been lived." Trevor took a bite out of the muffin and chewed thoughtfully. "Uh huh. So is this going somewhere?" Claire smiled. "I certainly hope so. Gauging Natalie's reaction when I told her the same thing, by this time next year, she and Detective Knight should be celebrating Valentine's Day with roses, champagne and sweet promises. Trevor choked violently on his muffin. ***** Coroner's Office, 8:00 PM ***** Natalie was reading Claire Allen's article in the Chicago Tribune about the 'necessity of allowing risk in our lives' when a pink carnation suddenly imposed itself between her face and the paper. "Guess who?" A voice asked from behind. She took the flower gingerly between her thumb and forefinger and whispered urgently over her shoulder. "Schanke!" She hissed. "I told you, not here! What if Nick found out?" "Ah ha!" Nick exclaimed as he placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her cheek. "My clever ruse has succeeded, you are found out!" Natalie chuckled and batted him on the nose with the flower. "So what's the occasion? Trying to get on my good side so I'll review your cases before any one else's?" Nick shrugged. "I just thought it would be nice to bring you a flower. Is that okay?" Almost without volition, his fingers started to rub the tight muscles of her shoulders. Natalie tensed slightly at his touch. "I suppose so." She recalled Claire's words and pondered the advice in her article. Then she thought about the nature of the man standing behind her which was so at odds with hands that were so gentle and sure. "Oh well," she sighed. "What harm can one little flower do?" And she relaxed into his ministrations. END ============================================================= Comments and volunteers to help me decide on the color of my bedroom walls to: Erika