Date: Sun, 28 Apr 1996 22:27:14 -0400 From: "Susan M. Garrett" Subject: Seduction of the Diligent Part 1 (1/1) This is a series of stories I wrote for Tippi's charity EC zine which has been put on hold. Since it is a charity zine I will ask one thing of you--if you like any of these stories, send a few bucks to charity. Yes, I know lots of people have given money already. But if just giving money once or twice would solve the problems we face, we would no longer have AIDS, widespread poverty or hunger, and many of the other ills on earth. $1, $2, $5 all counts, whether it's to save the Rain Forests, supports a local food bank, or The Pediatric Aids Foundation, which we've supported on behalf of FK. Someone said there's no such thing as a free lunch. Let's make that part of our reason for being here. No matter what happens with FK, let's continue to support the ideals of hope, humanity, and redemption that we discovered in this series, from "Dark Knight" to the bitter end. If we don't do it, no one else will. Enough preaching. On with the fiction. ********** Seduction of the Diligent -- Part 1 -- Testing the Waters by Susan M. Garrett Giving the red light above her car a weary glance, Natalie sighed. Of course Nick couldn't see the resemblance to their lives in the series, 'Eternal Champion.' It was just like him to watch the series for all this time and not have gotten a clue. God only knew when this had started, but his sudden attachment to this show was par for the course--he seemed to throw himself, heart and soul, into anything that gave him hope. Even if it happened to be a television series about a werewolf private detective. The thought made her snicker. And, as the red glow of the light reflected in her windshield suddenly became green, she found herself glancing down at the tapes on the car seat beside her, wondering why on earth she hadn't refused when he'd foisted them off on her. When was she supposed to watch them? Between solving crimes and trying to make Nick mortal, she barely had time to feed Sydney, never mind watch some goofy show about a guy who sprouted hair and fangs on cue. And, she had to admit, the show goofy. The writing was . . . well, somewhere between soap-horror and loopy melodrama. The acting wasn't half-bad--she wasn't at all put out by the guy playing Nate and that young guy could sure fill out a pair of jeans. But it was just a TV show. Yeah, the episodes Nick had shown her tonight handled some pretty heavy moral and emotional themes--some of which cut a little close to home--but that was probably accident more than anything else. It was a waste of an hour once a week, that was all. Of course, Nick was hopelessly addicted. Pulling her car into a parking space outside her apartment, Natalie checked her watch. She'd gotten off an afternoon shift, which is why she'd gone to Nick's to watch videos that evening. He'd been so up on the idea of watching the show with her that she'd even told him to tape it for her, anything for a little quality time with him that didn't involve vampires. No. This was about She rolled her eyes, picked up her purse and the tapes, and headed into the building. By the time she'd made it up the steps, she'd figured out that she wouldn't be able to hold onto the tapes and not watch them until this thing blew over. Nor could she give them back and pretend that she'd watched them--she'd spent half the episode hearing Nick softly echoing Nathan Champ's dialogue along with the voice track and had a pretty good idea that she was in for a quiz when she handed the tapes back to him. It was when Natalie was fitting her keys into the lock of her apartment door that she realized she'd have to watch all three tapes. Six episodes. Six hours of a goofy television show about a werewolf. It made her want to scream. Pushing open the door, she barely scooped Sydney up into the crook of her arm before he made a break for freedom, and ended up falling onto the couch with Sydney, her tapes and her purse. "He will understand just what the hell I put up with for his sake," she informed Sydney, holding him up and giving him a slight shake as his attention wandered. His expression looked so reminiscent of Nathan Champion going into a flashback that she snickered. And then stopped, cold. Nick looked like that, too, didn't he? When he kind of shut down and looked away, whenever he remembered anything about that back log of eight hundred years that he wasn't always so willing to talk about? Her amusement changed to a shiver, which ran the length of her. Natalie dropped Sydney onto the couch cushion. He meowed and snagged a claw on the upholstery in protest, but she didn't really notice, focusing her attention on the tapes. Lifting one from the couch, she held it as if it might explode. Nick couldn't see the similarities because he was too close. But maybe . . . maybe this was a chance to view the situation from the outside, for a change. All of the similarities to their situation were just surface, of course. Coincidence. It had to be coincidence. And . . . logic. Similar situation, similar ideas, similar circumstances, which could lead to some similar investigation, if the show had any kind of continuity. Watching these tapes would get her out of a post-viewing grill session with Nick might lead her to some insights into a cure for his condition. Yawning, Natalie closed her eyes and leaned her head against the couch. God, it was late. She didn't have to be at work until eight that evening and it wasn't even four AM yet. Her muscles groaned as she pushed herself up from the couch, dropping the tape back on the cushions. It could wait until morning. All she wanted was a quick shower and some uninterrupted sleep. She hadn't even reached the bathroom before she heard the knock at her door. Natalie hesitated, then walked the length of the hall and to her front door, wondering who it could be at this hour of the morning. Whoever it was hadn't buzzed her from downstairs, which meant they had a key to the building. Nick. It had to be Nick. Maybe he wanted the tapes back. Maybe he was going to let her off the hook. The thought so cheered her that she barely looked out the peephole into the empty hall outside, then took the chain off the door, sprang the lock, and opened it, saying, "You could have just called--" "At this hour? That would have been rude," said LaCroix, brushing past her and stalking into her apartment as if he owned the place. Anger and terror went one-on-one in her gut for a minute, until anger shot terror a kidney punch and took control of the situation. "Most people wait until they're invited in," she said sharply, pointedly remaining by the door and holding it open. "But I'm not 'most' people. Ah, they are." LaCroix casually scooped up the video tapes from her couch and turned toward her, his expression suddenly apologetic. "Forgive me, Doctor, for disturbing you at such a late hour, but Nicholas was supposed to loan me these--I have a friend who's asked for copies. He told me that he'd inadvertently given them to you. I'll make certain they're returned to him promptly." Anger stomped on terror's head a bit, then Natalie walked over to LaCroix and took the tapes out of his hands. "Nick loaned those to . return them to him." When LaCroix reached for the tapes again, Natalie pulled them back and folded her arms across her chest, protecting them. LaCroix raised an eyebrow. "Surely, Dr. Lambert, you don't intend on them? I know how persuasive Nicholas can be, how easily he gets wrapped up in delusions and fantasies. I thought I might save you the trouble of having to suffer the pretense of watching it for Nicholas' sake." The eyebrow made her think of Duvalier. Which might have scared her if anger didn't decide to stomp on terror's head again. "Why shouldn't I watch them?" "Well . . . ." LaCroix shrugged and gave her a confiding smile. "We both know how silly it is--a television series about a werewolf who works as a private detective? Really!" He had a point. But she knew enough by now not to trust LaCroix when he smiled. "You watch it." "Now and again. It . . . amuses me." "I can understand why. Duvalier and Nate--" "Nathaniel," corrected LaCroix, off-handedly. He leaned against the back of the couch. "You've seen some of it, then?" Natalie shrugged. "Nick and I watched a couple of shows tonight. He gave me these tapes so I could catch up on some old episodes." "Just like Nicholas to be so thoughtless, wasting your time," sighed LaCroix. He took a step toward her, towering over her as he reached for the tapes. "He forgets that mortals don't live forever. I'll take them off your hands, Doctor." Backing away toward the door, Natalie hung onto the tapes for dear life. "If I were the suspicious type, I'd think you didn't want me to watch these tapes." LaCroix gave her a look of innocence so feigned that even Forrest Gump would have known something was up. "You wound me. I only wanted to keep Nicholas from making a mistake and wasting your time. to pick up those tapes for my friend." He'd walked toward her as they spoke, but Natalie maneuvered him into the open doorway. "I'll tell you what--I'll get these back to Nick tomorrow night. You can get them then and copy them. Would that be soon enough?" LaCroix frowned, but lowered his gaze, as if giving the matter some thought. "Yes. I suppose it would work--I can express mail the copies. My friend needs them for a party, you see. The fans in the United States didn't get the entire episodes as we did. There's a large section missing from 'The Solitary Life.' Or . . . so I'm told." It was Natalie's turn to frown--she'd just seen that episode and couldn't imagine that it would make any sense with anything missing. "Really? What did they cut?" "The whole scene with--" LaCroix stopped in mid-sentence and fixed her with a carefully neutral expression. "I wouldn't know. I can wait until tomorrow evening for the tapes. But no longer than that. I'd hate to disappoint my friend." "All right. I'll get them back to Nick tonight." "Thank you, Doctor. My apologies for having disturbed you." "Yeah. Well. Okay." Not about to utter any false assurances that she didn't mind him dropping by--and just the idea of LaCroix 'dropping by' was enough of a mind-blower as it was--Natalie closed the door, missing his parting comment. She was almost certain he'd said, 'Welcome to the night,' but wasn't sure. By the time she'd opened the door again, he was gone. Shaking her head and thinking unkind thoughts about Nick--boy, was he going to hear about , sending LaCroix to her place to pick up video tapes?--Natalie walked back into her living room, still cradling the tapes in her arms. She set them down on the end table, then yawned and stretched. It was late. It was very late. She was tired and wanted to go to sleep. But she had to watch these tapes before her shift started this evening, so Nick could give them back to LaCroix. And she watch all of them. There was only one reason LaCroix would have made up such a blatant and pitiful excuse as copying a tape for a friend--like LaCroix would any friends. There was something on one of those tapes he didn't want her to see. She thought about that as she walked into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee. Staring at the pot as it bubbled and hissed, after taking a moment to get Sydney a fresh bowl of water, Natalie considered the implications of that assumption. It make sense. If she'd seen the coincidences in the series, surely LaCroix had too, even as a casual viewer. And much as Nick seemed to think LaCroix might be a fan of the show, she knew he had to be wrong. LaCroix a fan of 'Eternal Champion'? She smiled and shook her head in disbelief. Nick--yes. He liked fantasy, would live in Disney World if he could. But LaCroix was too sensible, too intelligent to get involved in following a television series. If he was a--what did they call themselves? 'Champers' or something like that? Well, if LaCroix was a 'Champer,' she was a full-fledged, dyed-in-the-wool, pointy ears-and-everything Trekkie, like Captain Reese's wife. Which she wondered about. Did good-old, police blue through-and-through Joe Reese have a secret passion for space battles and alien races with pointy ears? Then again, love blind. Which was why she had no small amount of empathy for Mel's attraction to Nate Champion. She wouldn't mind seeing that episode again--'A Solitary Life,' wasn't that it? Although if she watched it now, without Nick in the room, she'd be pretty vocal about coaching Mel to give Nate a bit more than a piece of her mind. Like a smack in the skull with a sledge-hammer would get through that wolf's woolly thinking! The thought startled her and she smiled sheepishly as she picked up her coffee and headed into the living room again. God, now she was starting to like a Champer. As she picked up the tape and popped it into the VCR, Natalie decided she'd only watch the first of the two episodes on the tape before she went to sleep; she could pick it up in the morning and finish them all off before she had to go to work. The music started and she found herself smiling--in its own way, the show was very seductive. Settling back into the couch and turning off the light beside her, Natalie wasn't worried. She knew she wouldn't fall prey to this particular affliction. She was only doing it for Nick, after all. And if she managed to annoy LaCroix, so much the better. End of Part 1 ***************** susang@vitinc.com -- http://www.vitinc.com/~susang Faithful Ravenette, because somebody STILL has to. Visit THE essential webpage for Forever Knight info at: http://members.aol.com/CuznJamiMR/SaveForeverKnight.html "Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies." See part one for why. And the plea for charity. ****** Seduction of the Diligent Part 2 -- Wading by Susan M. Garrett The phone rang. And rang. And rang. Natalie clutched the receiver desperately. "Come on, Nick," she murmured, listening to his answering machine message. "I know you're home, I know you're home, I know--" The beep sounded. "Nick, this is Nat. Come on, I know you're there. Please wake up?" She heard the receiver slide over the cradle and a crash as something fell to the floor. "Nat? What's wrong?" Nick's voice was breathless, but sleepy. "What's happened? Are you--?" "I'm fine." With a sigh of relief, she dropped back onto the couch cushions and pulled the lap-robe over her. "Thank God you're up. I was trying to wait for a decent hour." "What--what time it?" There was a yawn at the other end of the phone, but before Natalie could check the clock on the fireplace mantel, she heard Nick exclaim, "It's ?! Nat, it's !" "I know. And I'll make it up to you. But I need your help." She bit at her fingernails and her gaze fell on the blank television screen. ", do I need your help. You have the rest of the episodes of 'Eternal Champion,' don't you?" "Rest of the--uh--sure. I've been taping them since first season." This sigh of relief was heartfelt and she closed her eyes, letting her head fall back against the couch cushion. "Great! I'll be right over." "Nat, you go to bed? I mean, if you watched all six episodes--" Natalie rubbed her eyes with her fist, then opened them--the vaguest rays of sunlight were peeking past her blinds. "Well, I cat-napped during commercials--the batteries in my remote died. Which reminds me, can't you pay attention long enough to take out the commercials?" "I have to leave it on timer; I work at nights, remember?" Then was a long-suffering sigh from Nick. "I'm sorry I started this." "I'm not. I like the show. Really." She sat up on the couch and stared at that blank television screen again. "Look, why don't I drive over and pick up the tapes? Go back to bed. Just leave them on the table, I'll let myself in." Nick yawned again. "You haven't slept--Nat, do you think it's a good idea to drive over here? And don't you have a shift tonight?" Natalie rested her head in her hands. God, she when he was right. Then again, that happened so seldom . . . . "Yeah. I guess. I can pick them up later when I drop these off. But only if you'll make me copies--?" "I'll make you copies." Nick's chuckle segued into another yawn. "Go to sleep, Nat." "Okay. Sorry about waking you. But--oh yeah! I had something I wanted to ask." She closed her eyes in an attempt to concentrate. "It was important." "What?" Ignoring the annoyed but concerned note in his voice, Natalie opened her eyes again and her gaze fell on the tapes. "That's right--it was about making other werewolves." "Making other--?" "Yeah. One of the episodes, they talk about how one werewolf has to bite someone to turn them into a werewolf, but in another episode, it's just a scratch. So how do they--?" "Go to sleep, Nat." "But--?" "Go to ! We'll talk about it tonight!" Natalie stared at the phone in her hand as the line went dead. Nick had never growled at her like that before. And she could have sworn he said something like, 'Damn newbies!' before he hung up. Was it fault that he wasn't a morning person? Frowning, she switched off her phone, folded her arms across her chest and stared at the blank television screen. Taking into account the seven cups of coffee she'd worked her way through during the six episodes, plus the two repeat showings of 'Solitary Life,' she couldn't have slept if she'd wanted to. Nate could be pretty thick some times. Not unlike a certain sleepy male vampire of her acquaintance. She sat there for a moment, fuming. Couldn't he keep his eyes open long enough to answer her question? After all, it was something Nick should have expected. He'd given her the episodes. He wanted her to watch them. And now he wouldn't answer her questions? With a start, Natalie realized that it was very possible that Nick didn't the answer to the question she'd asked about how the werewolves were brought 'into the night.' He might have all the tapes and have watched all the episodes at least once, but police detective or no police detective, Nick was not always the most perceptive guy around. Which meant that she'd have to find another source of information about 'Eternal Champion.' Maybe LaCroix's friend would know-- That thought got nipped right in the bud. With a groan, Natalie pushed herself up from the couch and stretched, deciding that she was becoming delusional--why else would she ever consider asking LaCroix for ? The best thing to do was to go to sleep. When she took the tapes back to Nick, maybe he'd have the answer. Or he'd know where she could go to find it. In fact, she was on her way to the bedroom when she realized she really should put out a new dish of food for Sydney. And just happened to pass the computer on her way to the kitchen. Natalie stopped, catching sight of the machine out of the corner of her eye, then turned to stare at it. Well, it couldn't hurt, could it? There just might be some sort of FAQ or something on 'Eternal Champion' hiding on an FTP site somewhere. Or, at the very least, maybe one of her friends on the coroners' mailing list (DedPeep-L) watched the series. Sitting down behind the keyboard, Nat turned on her laptop and modem. The boot sequence went through quickly enough, as did her connection. Once into her web browser, she searched for 'Eternal Champion' and hit pay-dirt almost instantly. There were dozens of home pages listed, but a page about saving the show caught her eye. It took only a moment to tag the information and then she popped the URL into her browser. The problem with information in the information age, she decided, was that there was just too darn much of it. The web page proved to be no exception--her eyes kept crossing and her vision blurred as she found herself moving from page to page and topic to topic . . . but she couldn't find the FAQ. Damn! And then she came across the mailing list address and knew that there, at least, she might find an answer to her question. Natalie carefully punched the correct procedure into her e-mail program and sent a sign on message to the ECHAMP-L list. A yawn made her decide that maybe one more cup of coffee wouldn't hurt and would give her a few minutes--long enough to receive a confirmation message back so that she could post her question to the list. Stumbling into the kitchen, Natalie yawned again. She'd just sign onto the list to get her question answered and then sign off again. Although she might just lurk for a bit and see what the list was like. On DedPeep-L, she was lucky if three or four posts a day dropped. This list probably had more activity, but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Things were a little slow at work right now and she was getting bored with scanning talk shows while doing her paperwork. By the time she returned to her computer, her mailbox icon was blinking--she'd gotten the sign on message at least. But when she opened her mailbox, Natalie received something of a shock. All ten of the new messages in her mailbox were from the ECHAMP-L list. Pulling the chair back from her desk, Natalie seated herself at the computer keyboard. The messages were odd and didn't make much sense; it was as if these people had a language all their own to which she wasn't privy. Then again, she realized with a shrug, there were certain terms used freely on DedPeep-L that would baffle, if not horrify, the average man on the street. At least she was signed on. With a sigh, she opened a new message, typed in the list posting address, then hesitated. What should she say? Deciding that it might be best to speak plainly, Natalie typed: Could someone direct me to the location of a FAQ for Eternal Champion? And in the meantime, what are the exact rules about bringing someone 'into the night'? The episodes I've seen seem to contradict one another. Thank you. She paused again, wondering how she should sign her inquiry, then decided that her ID, NatLamb, should be sufficient. That done, she sent the message and picked up her coffee cup. Even if her search for a FAQ had proven fruitless, she'd at least signed on to the one list where she might get an answer. Now she'd go to bed. Somebody would have an answer for her by the time she got up. The coffee cup was empty. Natalie rose and carried it to the kitchen, giving it a quick rinse and a promise when she found herself yawning. God, but she was tired! And her head was spinning with what she'd found on the EC web pages--news about cancellation and wishing wolves and conventions. It was a lot to have to take in all at once. She was almost sorry she'd ever agreed to sit down and watch this thing with Nick. On her way out of the kitchen she realized that she'd left the computer on and returned to it. The mailer was still on screen. On an impulse she decided to connect again and see if her inquiry had posted. She had thirty-two new messages from the ECHAMP-L list. And at least five pieces of private correspondence from the message she'd posted. Startled, Natalie looked at the clock. It was a bit of a shock to find that it was almost one--she wasn't going to get much sleep this afternoon at this rate--and that she'd sent that message less than fifteen minutes ago, if that. What she should do is log off and handle everything later. But curiosity won out. Sitting down before the keyboard, Natalie attended to her personal mail. The first was nothing less than a mild mash note-- NatLamb? Is that 'lamb' as in werewolf prey? Nice to see some fresh meat in the-- Delete. The rest were generally the type of thing she'd grown used to from DedPeep-L, chatty little notes, although a bit livelier than the ones she was used to receiving from her friends on the coroners' list. It made a change from desiccated liver comparison stories, though. After a few messages, what began to strike her was that they were all referring her to one person for an answer to her question, someone named 'Rosebud.' Odd enough for someone to name themselves after a sled, but it wasn't any stranger than the other names she'd seen. Putting aside the other messages, Natalie sent a quick note to Rosebud explaining her question. She'd only begun to send brief notes of thanks to the other who'd responded to her message when she checked her mail again-- There were another seven list messages. And one from DedPeep-L. This was getting out of hand. She had to go to sleep. Now. This time she actually made it halfway out of the chair before she realized that she couldn't leave her computer on--Sydney might nibble the wires and get a shock. Which meant closing her mailer and dealing with all of this later. Of course, it would be silly for her to check if she had any more mail. Eight more messages. One was an answer from Rosebud. Promising herself that she'd just see what Rosebud might have to say--because she wouldn't be able to get to sleep not knowing the answer to her question--Natalie sank back into her chair and opened the message. Welcome, NatLamb, to Eternity. Before you do anything else, send this message to the listserve address ( the list address, note). SET ECHAMP-L DIGEST This will prevent the flood of messages you're no doubt receiving, and will send all of the messages to you in several large file digests per day. Please, feel free to do it now. I can wait. We have eternity, after all . . . . Natalie considered the message for a moment, then followed Rosebud's instructions, sending the digest message. Just since opening his e-mail to her, she'd received another three messages from the list. How was she supposed to cope with that at work? After hitting the key, Natalie opened the message again. Have you sent that? Good. Now, as to your question--I'm afraid the people who produce EC are far less concerned with matters of logic and continuity than are we, its faithful followers. They aren't certain how a werewolf is actually --it's simply a matter of convenience to them, a mere plot device. It may be a bite, an exchange of bites, and I assume we'll see someone drinking water pooled in the footprint of a wolf one day-- Startled, Natalie sat upright. Now how would Rosebud know about that? Nana had told her all about werewolves and drinking out of a wolf's footprint was part of the old legends. In fact, according to Nana, Red-Riding Hood was actually about a werewolf and the little girl had gotten exactly what was coming to her. Scanning the rest of Rosebud's message, Natalie realized what a thoughtful and intelligent reply he'd composed to her very hesitant questions. She couldn't put this off until later, not after he'd had the decency to reply so quickly. Natalie sighed in resignation as she hit the reply button in her mailer and began to respond in kind. She would not look at the clock. She would think of sleep. And if Nick made any cracks about her looking like a racoon, she'd deck him. After he gave her the rest of the Eternal Champion tapes, of course. ***** End of part 2 susang@vitinc.com -- http://www.vitinc.com/~susang Faithful Ravenette, because somebody STILL has to. Visit THE essential webpage for Forever Knight info at: http://members.aol.com/CuznJamiMR/SaveForeverKnight.html "Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies." See part 1 for why and wherefore. ****** Seduction of the Diligent Part 3 -- Sinking Fast Section (1/3) by Susan M. Garrett It began as a small, unsettled feeling in the back of her mind, hidden behind her current ruminations about whether they'd need to get the organ scale recalibrated (probably) and theories about why Nick hadn't asked for his next set of vitamins (the current being that he'd lost them somewhere--probably at a crime scene--and was afraid to tell her so). Not that she noticed it right away. There were bodies to dissect, murders to solve, the list digest to keep up with, Nick's cure to pursue . . . a coroner's work was never done. Well, coroner's work was never done. She was getting very used to swinging by the loft after her shift to watch tapes of 'Eternal Champion.' It had become a habit. And, like most habits, she barely noticed how dropping by to watch an episode on the way home had turned into something of a ritual. If she got in first, she'd set up the munchies, which always prominently featured THAM, proud sponsor of 'Eternal Champion' (and more than a little surprised by the sudden surge in sales and mail received from satisfied customers who watched EC). Granted, Nick was still into that liquid diet thing, but even he'd take a bite now and again just to support his favorite show. He'd spit it out when she wasn't looking, but he try it. Odd, but she'd never thought addiction to a television program about a werewolf was an option in getting him to change his dietary habits. That was something she'd have to log and consider for future. Just what effect might other television programs or video tapes have on him, hmn? When Nick arrived, or if he got there first, he'd set up the tapes. They'd begun by alternating tape choices, his one night and hers the next, but he balked after his eighth viewing of 'Solitary Life,' and began whining about how she was going to wear out his only tape of the episode and why didn't she watch that at home, if she was so fascinated by it. He'd even made some veiled threats about contacting the production company and buying her a prime copy right from the master tape if she didn't stop--which had given her pause at first, but then she'd decided that was perfectly within his reach and would make a lovely birthday present. Or so she hinted. Often. Now they'd gotten into a very complicated process involving a Magic 8 ball, several gaming dice, and a well-worn deck of cards. Natalie had agreed that their tape choice was entirely random, but was beginning to suspect that Nick was stacking the deck, especially since the choices run for that full week usually contained scenes involving Nate and a scantily clad female wrapping herself around his wolfen (or attractively mortal) frame. Although, Natalie would never accuse Nick of living vicariously. She wouldn't do anything to spoil their time together . . . or her chance to view better copies of the episodes than the dupes he'd given her. And she enjoying their time together, even during Nate's more lascivious moments. Somehow, Nick would edge closer to her--if he was sitting in the chair, he'd get up during a break to adjust the tracking or fix the color, then return to sit beside her on the couch. His arm would slip around her shoulders by the end of the second act, for which she had to give him a of credit because he was fairly unobtrusive about it and a real master of the art. At first she'd slap him when she heard him echoing the dialogue, then found herself joining in as time went along, quoting favorite lines with glee or groans or gusto. And when the last strains of that glorious music trailed off, Nick would ask if she'd like to see another episode. She'd give the matter consideration for a few minutes, letting him rattle off the pros and cons while she looked into his blue eyes and savored their being close without having to worry about a murder or a dead body or someone trying to kill him, her, or anyone else . . . except on the television. Eventually, she'd decline, calling it a day. And they'd part at the elevator door maybe with a hug, or the barest pretense of a kiss, making a pact to meet the next night. It couldn't last forever. Nothing, not even Champion, was eternal. The series was canceled and this too would pass. And she knew how it would happen--they'd start to pass up this or that episode because they'd seen it too often. There'd be a valid reason for one of them to miss a night, maybe working double-shift or something. Then it would be easier to blow off the whole thing, any excuse passing as acceptable. Eventually, they'd realize that it was over, that the time they'd shared was no longer in their present, but in their past. Natalie was determined to stave off that moment as long as possible. So when she finally noticed the thing that was sitting in the back of her brain behind the decision to buy a new organ scale, she recognized it for what it was . . . . It was, in the broadest possible terms, a story. Not a Pulitzer Prize winning literary type of story, or even the brief 'History of THAM' on the side panel of the package. Just the germ of a sprout of an idea, the barest beginning of a flicker of a start of a story. And she had no idea what to do about it. Natalie wrote reports and autopsy descriptions. She wrote about weights and appearance and times of death. The reports she fudged to disguise the involvement of vampires didn't count. She didn't write fiction. Not since school, anyway, when she'd had to write a story to satisfy her course requirements. It had been short. short. It was silly, after all. Writing fiction based on the characters from a television show? Who would read it? Who would to read it? She was a Forensic Pathologist, not an author. It was while she was sitting at her desk in the lab, justifying her hypothesis that Mrs. Midhaven's fatal fall down the stairs of her home had been an accident, without any suspicious circumstances, that she felt the idea wiggle, just a bit. Somewhere back behind the new-organ-scale-which-could-not-be-purchased-on-this-year's-budget, two thoughts connected and made sense. It a story. Natalie looked up from the computer on her desk and sighed. Great. Now she had a story. So what did she do with it? She hadn't the faintest idea of how to write a story. 'Start at the beginning,' said a voice in her head. 'That's where they always start. At what Nate found.' "But what--?" asked Natalie aloud. And then she froze and clasped her hands over her mouth and glanced around, worried that someone might have heard her. Thankfully, no one was there. Grace was working on filing. And much as she wanted to share this manifestation of mania, because she was certain she was going out of her mind, she was also very hesitant about actually admitting what was going on in her head. Grace had mentioned that she'd watched "Eternal Champion." Her considered opinion, which meant three swallows of coffee worth of deep thought, was that it was kind of strange, being about a werewolf and all, and she really didn't watch it all the time, but the guy in the jeans had a nice ass. Natalie had left it at that--agreeing with the latter part of the sentiment--and had let the matter drop. She wasn't about to go barging out of her office and tell Grace that one of the characters from "Eternal Champion" was talking in her head. Because she . It was Melanie, plain and simple. Or . . . not so simple. She was going out of her mind. And Nick was to blame. He was the one who'd gotten her started in this craziness. And now that she had characters in her head . . . . It was at that moment she saw, in her mind's eye, Nate Champion standing at the foot of a set of wooden basement stairs, lifting something from the ground. It was a silk scarf, scarlet. And one end was darker than the other, a deeper red, crimson droplets falling into the dust on the basement floor. It was only a flash, but it was there. Instead of panicking, Natalie saved the file she was working on, opened a new document, and began to type exactly what she'd seen. Time passed--she wasn't certain how much. Natalie got up and crossed the morgue to get another cup of coffee, wondering how a six foot man could have gotten through such a small window. Later, when she'd given up on the story and returned to the report on the ill-fated and possibly congenitally clumsy Mrs. Midhaven, she heard Nate explain to her why he'd left Budapest in such a hurry in 1938 and felt compelled to add that information to what she'd already accumulated. By the time her shift was over, she had twelve pages of type. And it almost all made sense, too. Natalie had seated herself on an empty gurney, pages in one hand and coffee cup beside her, looking over what she'd written. It make sense. She had no idea what she was doing, but it made sense . . . because the characters had wanted it to make sense. The ringing phone surprised her and the coffee spilled all over her story. Annoyed, Natalie hurriedly snatched some paper towels from the wall and tried to blot the pages, while she picked up the phone in her free hand. "Coroner's--shit! Office?" "Nat? Are you okay?" It was Nick. Of it was Nick. Natalie tossed the pages down onto the gurney . . . directly into the puddle of spilled coffee, then realized that it didn't matter because she could just print out another set anyway. "Yeah--fine. Just spilled some coffee. Don't tell me we've got a late arrival because I'm almost off shift." "Nope--this one's on my end. Tracy's come up with something and I'd like to see if we can take it somewhere. Just wanted to let you know we'd have to cancel tonight. You can go ahead and start without me and I'll catch up--" There was a choking sound on the other end of the phone and Natalie heard Nick ask, "Tracy? Do you need help?" "Nick?" "It's okay," he told her, returning to their conversation. "Her coffee was too hot. Or something. Like I said, I'm going to be a little late." Natalie looked down at the story on the gurney, the pages now acquiring a decidedly limp, tan appearance. "Um, actually, I'm working on something myself. Why don't we skip tonight?" "Skip . . . tonight?" He sounded absolutely forlorn. Natalie smiled at the image, knowing how his blue eyes got all wide and sad and--aw, who was she kidding? Nick looked like a three-year-old who'd dropped an ice cream cone on the pavement when he fell into that tone of voice. "Your choice tomorrow night," she promised him. "And we'll watched 'two' episodes." "My choice, huh?" There was a moment of thought, then he said happily, "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow. If we don't come across a body first." "Great." Just about to hang up, Natalie turned and caught sight of the paper mache wishing wolf--okay, so maybe it looked more like a demented platypus--that Nick had made and given her, and which was perched on her pencil holder. "Oh, I forgot! Did you get a chance to drop by the toy store and see if the figures were out yet? The list said they were supposed to be in stores by this morning. I'll die if I can't get a Mel and a wolf-action Nate." "No--damn. And they're all closed now," said Nick unhappily. "I'll check when Tracy and I go out; there's probably still open on Younge Street. Don't be surprised if we have to get them by mail-order. I don't know if they'll be available up here." "Well, I'll check tomorrow before work, just in case. What ones do you want me to pick up for you if I see them?" Natalie held her breath--she just he wanted a Janine, probably one in each one of the designer outfits the doll was 'almost' wearing. But what she really wondered was whether he'd pick up a Duvalier. Although she'd be more than happy to have a Duvalier and marshmallow toasting on the warehouse roof some evening. There was another pause. "No, thanks anyway. You get your toys, I'll get mine, and we'll try them out tomorrow night. Deal?" "Deal. See ya," said Natalie. Although she hesitated a moment before cutting off the connection, hearing Tracy snort and choke again in the background, following by Nick's admonition to, "--Try not to breathe when you drink," and something about being covered in coffee. Placing the phone back in the cradle, Natalie then turned her attention to her story--coffee-soaked as it was. She lifted the pages carefully and tossed them into the trash without splattering the rest of the office, then did the most perfunctory clean-up she could manage. Her last official task of the day was to close all of her files and remember to drop her story to a diskette, which she dropped into her coat pocket. Grace walked in, coat already on, and sniffed. "Hmn--spilled coffee. Talked to Nick, right?" "In one. A good night's work." Natalie tapped the folder on her desk. "Mrs. Midhaven can now be laid to rest without any hint of foul play." Grace's eyes widened. "That was you got done?" she asked suspiciously. "Well, it's very thorough. There some questions. And--" Guiltily, Natalie glanced back at her computer, knowing she'd spent quite a few hours on her story. "--Halfway through I deleted the file and had to start over." "Awww, poor baby." Grace patted her shoulder. "Damn computers. They're supposed to help us and half the time I think they make more work. You wanna share some tea and sympathy? Or maybe a scotch and sympathy? got a paper-cut." Grace held up a bandaided finger to confirm her statement. "Naw. I want to get home. Things to do." Natalie picked up her purse and headed for the door, knowing that Grace would be just behind her. "You go ahead." "You're not going over to Nick's place?" asked Grace in surprise. When Natalie cast her a sharp glance over her shoulder, Grace shrugged. "Well, it's not like it's a secret or anything. You two have been spending a of time together, if you catch my drift. And can one assume that you don't spend it talking about the weather and politics?" Natalie tried to hide her smile. What would Grace think if she knew that she and Nick were talking about werewolves? "Actually, we don't talk that much--" "I'll bet!" "We just watch tapes." Grace's eyes narrowed as she moved to walk beside Natalie--they were at the steps on their way out of the building. "Oh. Okay. Nick's the kind that needs a little inspiration, huh? Never would have thought it to look at him." Natalie slapped Grace's shoulder lightly with her purse. "Not kind of tapes--television episodes. Regular shows. Stuff we miss while we're on shift." They'd reached Natalie's car. Grace gave a heartfelt sigh, placed a hand on Natalie's shoulder sadly, and said, "Nat, honey, your life is just boring. Tell you what--next time, turn off the TV, turn down the lights, you and him on the couch with a little wine and see what happens. Okay? Couldn't hurt, right?" "You have no idea." Natalie grinned in response. "See you tomorrow." "Yeah. Unless a handsome prince in a Mercedes stops by to sweep me off my feet." Grace's chuckle drifted behind her as walked toward her car. (Continued in part 3, 2/3) susang@vitinc.com -- http://www.vitinc.com/~susang Faithful Ravenette, because somebody STILL has to. Visit THE essential webpage for Forever Knight info at: http://members.aol.com/CuznJamiMR/SaveForeverKnight.html "Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies." See part 1 for why and wherefore. ****** Seduction of the Diligent Part 3 -- Sinking Fast Section (2/3) by Susan M. Garrett Taking a deep breath, Natalie kept her smile in place as she opened her car door and slid behind the wheel. Only after she was seated did she let out the air in a whoosh. Grace had no idea what could and couldn't hurt with Nick. And that was one scenario that could prove dangerous. For some reason "Eternal Champion" was proving to be a distraction, or enough of one so that he didn't seem to notice that they were getting closer, that he held her so tightly, or that he'd give her a little smooch now and again. She wondered if anyone had investigated the effects of television on a vampire's instinctual need to hunt and kill, then decided it was unlikely. It looked promising though. And it might be worth her while to put some time and energy into that line of inquiry . . . . >From the instant she turned the key in the transmission to the second she pulled into her parking space at her apartment, Natalie's mind was elsewhere--Budapest, 1938. She came to with a start as she automatically turned the ignition off and realized for the first time what Nick must feel when he 'went away' and memory seemed to grasp his attention to the exclusion of the real world. Breathless, she leaned her head against the steering wheel and tried to remember the drive home, but it was mostly a blur. She stopped at the lights and signs, kept to her own side of the road, but it was as if her mind wasn't really there. Of course not. It was in Budapest. In 1938. With Nate Champion. That scared her, but only for a moment. There was more to write, more to tell, and the words hammered at her brain and made her fingers itch. "Hang on," she growled beneath her breath. "Let me get inside, at least!" And it abated, for a minute. She managed to get up the stairs, into her building, and into her apartment. Self-control, however, took a very abrupt leave of absence and she found herself heading straight for the computer. She dug into her coat pocket--which she was still wearing--for the diskette that contained her story and shoved it into the drive before the computer had even started booting. Which resulted in the very scary but pointless message about not being able to boot from the disk until she removed it and hit enter. She was frustrated at the wasted seconds, waiting for the machine to boot, then her word processor to load. When all was ready, she opened the file right from the diskette and began typing. Nate was in wolf form, tearing through the streets, a pack of tracking dogs at his heels. Duvalier's laughter was echoing from the stone alleyways around him. He had no idea where he was going, his sense of direction turned around. Heart pounding in his chest, he slipped into an alley--and found that it was a cul-de-sac. Turning to retrace his steps, he was faced with a line of snarling dogs, saliva dropping from their mouths, teeth sharp as they barked and growled and snarled. They were trained enough not to attack, not unless he tried to get away. They were holding him there, or would try to, until their master released them. And just as Nate leaped into the fray, a moderately sized ball of fur sailed into the air and landed half on the keyboard and half in her lap. Natalie shrieked and jumped up, toppling her chair. Her keyboard fell, Sydney got tangled in the computer cord, and the screen went dark. She stared in horror, frozen. It was lost. It was gone, all gone. The machine had been turned off, she hadn't saved a thing-- "Bad cat!" she snarled, as Sydney rubbed up against her leg in way of apology. "Bad, bad cat." A push with her foot gave him the message and she barely noticed that he slunk away, disconsolate, ending up beneath a chair not so far away, washing his paws and watching her with plotting, vengeful eyes. Natalie was too caught up in trying to restore what she'd lost. Plugging in the machine, she let it boot up again, received the disk error message, pulled out the disk and pressed enter, hoping against hope that something of her twenty minute writing binge had been saved. The word processor came up . . . the story that she'd written that afternoon was intact. The first five paragraphs she'd written just now were recovered, but pages, at least three of them, were gone. Disappeared. As if they'd never been written. It was as if someone had knocked the wind out of her. Natalie picked up the over-turned chair and fell into it, staring at the screen. For a moment she had hope that the memory might have dumped somewhere in her system. Running through the various disk tools, she opened temporary files and odd flotsam and jetsam that swam around in her computer. Although she found a bit of a digest from the DedPeep-L list she thought was long gone and a recipe for brownies that Grace had given her, the rest of the search proved fruitless. It was gone. Three pages. She didn't quite know what to do. Rising from the chair, she shrugged off her coat and tossed it to the couch over her keys, then snagged Sydney out from his hiding place. He struggled in her arms but she cuddled him. "I'm sorry, baby. I know, you were only saying hi. And you were hungry. I forgot to feed you, didn't I? It wasn't your fault. Come on, let me get you something to eat." Wandering into the kitchen, Natalie tucked Sydney under one arm and then fell into the ritual of feeding--getting the can, opening the can, dumping the can onto a plate, mushing it with a fork, and then letting Sydney have at it. So simple. So perfect. So infallible. It should have been the first thing she did when she walked in. Instead, she went straight to the computer. Placing her head in her hands, she leaned against the counter and sighed. This was a mania, wasn't it? It just took control of you, like an addiction. Yes, an addiction. That's what this was. No matter how heartsick she was at having lost those three pages of her story>, she wanted to go back to it. She didn't know how she'd remember what she'd written, but she knew she had to try to recreate it. She had to. Because the story wouldn't let her do anything else. She fought the urge for a little longer, making a cup of coffee, then sitting down on a kitchen stool while she watched Sydney wolf down his food and tried to decide if she wanted meat or fish. It didn't matter; it was microwaved and whatever it was would taste like toasted cardboard. What she wouldn't give now for a nice steak, a bottle of wine, some candle-light . . . . Why was she doing this? She didn't write. She wasn't interested in writing. It was just that this--this . . . this wouldn't go away. With the series canceled, she would have figured it would be all over. They were done, right? No more episodes. No more new stories. But there were still stories left to tell, weren't there? And as long as there were new stories, people would still be interested. Which meant that what she and Nick were sharing didn't have to end. Instead of a VCR, they could curl up on the couch and read-- story? Natalie felt a cold chill down her back and placed the coffee cup on the counter before it fell out of her hand and hit the floor. She hadn't thought about that. What would she do with it when it was done? She wouldn't let Nick read it--he'd tease her unmercifully! And after all the experience he'd had with writers over the years--God, he Dickens, didn't he?--he'd think her stuff was dreadful. How could he not, it was her story. The computer was calling. Filling her coffee cup as a final, although fruitless act of defiance, Natalie returned and sat before the keyboard. She opened her mailer, realizing that she had a ton of digests to get through. She hadn't checked her e-mail all day. And she'd been right when she'd initially signed on--ECHAMP-L generated mail than did DedPeep-L. She could barely keep up with the digests. Private notes were another matter entirely and she always checked those first. Natalie found herself smiling as she watched her mail drop into her box, seeing a message from Rosebud. They had quite a correspondence going and by now she was certain that she knew a bit about him. Definitely male (unlike some of the ambiguous, gender-nonspecific, or outright masquerading names of some of the other list participants), educated, fairly conservative, mature . . . she found herself wondering what he looked like and where he lived and if he was married or had children. Not that she'd ever ask him. She was of the opinion that he was the C.O. of a large corporation somewhere, a captain of industry. Guessing made the game more interesting. And it added a certain allure to their conversations. Not that she'd ever tell Nick. Or that Nick had anything to worry about. But it was a way to pass the time, to keep in touch. She read his answer to her latest message, chuckling aloud at some of his responses. He had a way with words. Maybe he was a writer? And then Natalie stopped, and stared, and wondered if she should tell Rosebud about her story. It wasn't like telling Nick. She not only respected Rosebud's opinion, but also had the feeling that he wouldn't laugh at her. So she typed out a brief message, explaining what she'd started and asking his advice on what to do if she ever finished it. Natalie sent the message, choking back a laugh. she ever finished it? Like she had any choice in the matter? She was going through the rest of her mail--the list had discovered she was a Forensic Pathologist and a lot of medically-oriented EC questions had started coming her way--when she received a reply from Rosebud. As usual, his answer was succinct, although a bit shorter than she liked. Dear NetLamb: (Because that was what he called her.) I would love to see your story. Have you investigated the fiction archive? Or signed up on the EC fiction list yet? Directions to follow. And if you wish your story to remain anonymous, for whatever reasons, (She'd told him that she wasn't sure about her friends reading her first story) I would be happy to post your story for you. I offer this service to a number of authors, my only request is that you allow me to critique your work before posting (checking your spelling and grammar), because I do only have your best interests at heart-- Fiction archive? Fiction ? And she'd missed all that? Then again, she'd been so busy, keeping up with the digests alone had been difficult. She hadn't even gotten a chance to go back and check out the web pages as she'd intended. But there was more to Rosebud's message. There is also an 'adult' list and archive-- What did mean? for material not suited to a PG audience. Some of our list-members are quite young-- Oh. OH! I had several sets of the action figures shipped to me, directly from the factory--the shipments have been delayed to most places. If it isn't too forward, I'd be happy to send you Melanie and Duvalier figures (the shipment contained only one Nathaniel and I'm keeping him for myself). Please don't offer money--previewing your fiction should be recompense enough-- There was some hint that the figures would be express mailed, but that Rosebud assumed she would have the story finished before they arrived. Natalie quickly posted a message telling him that he was getting the raw end of the stick, but that she was thrilled about getting the figures and couldn't wait to lord it over a friend of hers who always seemed to get everything first. Then she opened her word processor again. The cursor blinked at her and her eyes teared at the memory of those three pages--probably the best three pages she'd ever written--lost to the gods of computer power. But Natalie bit her lip and began to type again. The story had to be written. Neither she nor a hungry-cat induced computer power outage was going to stop it. Besides--her toys were in the mail. And Nate was being chased through the streets of Budapest by a pack of ferocious hunting dogs. *** (Continued in part 3, 3/3) susang@vitinc.com -- http://www.vitinc.com/~susang Faithful Ravenette, because somebody STILL has to. Visit THE essential webpage for Forever Knight info at: http://members.aol.com/CuznJamiMR/SaveForeverKnight.html "Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies." See part 1 for why and wherefore. ****** Seduction of the Diligent Part 3 -- Sinking Fast Section (3/3) by Susan M. Garrett Natalie hugged the Federal Express box to her chest all the way up in the elevator. When the door opened, she surprised Nick by thrusting it into his hands. "What's this?" "Look and see!" she said gleefully. Nick frowned, then opened the box. He pulled out the Melanie figurine, then the Duvalier one, still sealed in their blister wrapped packages. "Where'd you get these?" he asked in amazement, looking inside the empty box again. "I called the distributor--they don't know why, but all of their North American shipments have gone haywire. I'm trying to track down a set from Paraguay." " have contacts." Natalie picked up a THAM sandwich from the table, a bag of chips, and a Diet Coke, then headed for the couch. "Aren't they great? Although they added a few extra inches to Mel's bust size, I think." "Did they?" Nick held up the package to the light and grinned. "Yeah, I think you're right. Looks good on her, though." "Pig." Natalie threw a handful of chips at him (he had a cleaning service--let him pay for it), then hesitated when he put the figure down on the table and looked in the box again. "What's wrong?" "No Champion?" It was the 'three-year-old dropped ice-cream' voice again. Natalie smiled sympathetically. "Sorry, it's the best I could do." "Better than I did," said Nick sorrowfully. But he dropped the box and picked up the packages. Walking toward the couch, he waved them at her. "You have more willpower than I ever will--these are still sealed." "I wanted to open them with you," she admitted and reached up to grab the Duvalier figure out of his hand. "Give me that." Then she hesitated again and met his eyes. "Um--I was going to give you one of them anyway. You want first choice?" Nick looked at the Duvalier in her hand, then back at the Mel figure in his. "I've got the only one I want." "Good answer," applauded Natalie. "I guess I'll buy another set to keep, but this set is to play with." She waited until he sat down on the arm of the couch, then said, "We rip on three. Ready? One--two--three--" In his eagerness, Nick nearly tore the figure apart. For a moment cardboard flew. They spent the next half hour comparing the faces of the reproductions to the actors (general consensus being 'poor'), commenting on what items had been included with the characters (Natalie was very taken with Duvalier's signature wolf-headed walking stick), and the whole situation went to hell when Natalie's Duvalier chased Nick and Mel around the loft, growling. It was only when Nat collapsed on the couch in hysterical laughter and Nick was wiping specks of blood away from his own eyes that she looked around for the tapes--and didn't see them. "Nick--what episodes did you choose for tonight?" "I didn't choose any episodes." He stood Mel on the table, well away from Duvalier, then looked over at Natalie guiltily. "I thought we'd do something different." Natalie thought back to Grace's suggestion and wondered if Nick had been 'got at.' "Different?" "Yeah." Nick walked over to the shelves beside the television. "It's EC, though." Natalie leaned back against the arm of the couch and stared up at the ceiling, wondering what he was up to. She frowned when she heard the rattle of paper. "It's not those paper mache wolves again, it is? Because you you promised not to make them any more. They're blaming that flood in Sioux Falls on you--" "I know, I know, I've sworn off them." Natalie looked up when she felt Nick brush her feet from the couch. He seated himself on the cushion and she sat up and scooted over to his side, eyeing the sheaf of paper in his hand curiously. "What's that?" "Something from the ECHAMP-L fiction list,' said Nick, shuffling through the pages and obviously sorting them in order. Natalie swallowed. How had he found out? "Fiction list?" she echoed faintly. Nick gave her a brief smile. "Yes, the EC fans are fairly literate." He turned his attention back to sorting through the pages. "You're pretty new to it, so you probably didn't realize it was there. I don't bother with the regular list; I just don't have the time to read all those digests. They pile up in my box and then I end up deleting them. If there's anything I need to know, I can catch it on the website or LaCroix sends it to me--he's on regular subscription to all the lists. The only ones I really check are the fiction lists." "?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and wondering if that meant what she thought it meant. "I thought you said there was only one fiction list?" Nick suddenly looked across the room and if he'd been able to blush, she'd have sworn he would have done it. "Well, there's another list. It's sort of private. The stuff that can't be put on the general list." He cleared his throat and looked at her, expression even. "You know--a lot of violence, swearing . . . adult situations . . . ." Deciding to let him suffer, Natalie pulled her knees to her chest and gave him an innocent expression. "Adult situations?" "Um . . . yeah." She wasn't about to let Nick off the hook, no matter how much of his attention appeared to be applied to getting those pages in order. "What of adult situations?" "Um . . . stuff. The point is--" He held up the sheaf of paper and smiled. "This is EC fiction. Written by fans. For fans." "Really?" Natalie swallowed and tried not to turn pale. "Is it from the regular list or the private list?" Nick blinked. "The . . . uh, regular list." "Oh." She tried not to sound disappointed, although the thought of Nick handing her a bunch of soft porn both excited and scared the hell out of her. Especially since a good segment of it was such badly-written soft porn. Natalie knew. She'd checked out the list last night, after Rosebud had mentioned it. "It's a good story," said Nick defensively. "It really captures the show." "Okay." Natalie reached for the pages and took them from his hand. "And you want me to read it?" "Actually, I thought I'd read it to you. If you'd like." She barely heard him. All she saw was the black and white type in front of her eyes, the words that made sentences that made paragraphs that made a story. Her words. Her sentences. Her paragraphs. Her story. Under a pseudonym, just as Rosebud had promised. Nick had read it. liked it? "Nat?" "Huh?" She blinked and looked up at him, managing a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Still trying to deal with the concept. By fans? Right?" "Right. And it's good. I don't get to the stuff right away, but LaCroix dropped me a note about this one--said I should read it." Her heart stopped beating. Natalie was certain of it--she felt the sudden stab of pain in her chest. "LaCroix--?" she managed, after a second. "He . . . liked it?" "Yeah." Nick took the pages from her hand and looked them over again, smiling. "He said it was well-written. And he's right. I thought you might like it." He tapped the pages against his hand. "You can take it with you and we can watch tapes. Or . . . I'll read it to you." "You'll read it to me?" Natalie shook her head, trying to clear it. This was just weird. LaCroix had read her story. LaCroix had her story. LaCroix had passed her story to Nick. And now Nick wanted to read it to her? "I know some people don't like to be read to," said Nick evasively, trying not to look crestfallen. "No, no, I like being read to. It's just that--" Natalie looked up, trying to think of an excuse for her hesitation. "You don't do the voices and stuff like that, right?" Nick shook his head. "Nooo--" "Okay. Wait a second--let me get ready." She grabbed his arm and pulled him closer, then turned so that her back rested against his shoulder. Natalie picked up her Diet Coke from the table then, as an after-thought, the Melanie action figure, which she hadn't really gotten a good look at. "Ready?" asked Nick. Natalie snuggled against him, leaned around to punch his shoulder a little, then settled in again. "Shoot." And she very calmly and blissfully listened to Nick read her story aloud, managing to hide her winces at her own mistakes in phrasing. But, she decided, next time she'd be better. Because there would a next time. There were lots of stories out there and with positive reinforcement like this, she couldn't to tell them, if Rosebud would be willing to continue posting to the fiction list for her. Natalie made a mental note to ask him if he'd consider helping her out with posting to that 'private' list. And wondered, mischievously, if Nick would be so inclined to read those stories to her. And if she'd let him. *** The End Dedicated to us. susang@vitinc.com -- http://www.vitinc.com/~susang Faithful Ravenette, because somebody STILL has to. Visit THE essential webpage for Forever Knight info at: http://members.aol.com/CuznJamiMR/SaveForeverKnight.html "Friends help you move. Real friends help you move bodies."