Greetings all, this is a test of your less than emergency disclaimer system. If this had been an actual disclaimer I would tell you that I don't own Tracy or any of her FK friends, but since this is just a test, I'm going to skip right to the story ;-) DPs can do what they will, Mel can archive it at the www.fkfic.com site, all others please ask. Enjoy! Special Place By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins) 10-98 Tracy trudged up the worn stone steps that led to Vachon's Church. 'Funny,' she thought, she hadn't been to a real church since she was a kid, but she seemed to becoming an almost devout member of this one. Things hadn't been going well at work. Nick and her just weren't connecting. They didn't trust each other, at times she wondered if they even -liked- each other much. And her parents, well, things hadn't been going well between her and them for a very long time now. With a sigh and a shrug she pushed open the heavy dry-rotting door. It's not like she really expected Vachon to be any help, more often than not he showed little interest in her real life. She'd try to talk to him about his life, but that made him uncomfortable, and if she ever mentioned hers… Well, he never seemed to care. In fact, sometimes she got the impression that he actively didn't want her to talk about her parents, her job, or her partner. Especially her partner. He said he liked him and that she should trust Nick's instincts, but that was as far as he'd ever go. As Tracy moved past the entranceway she tugged off her leather duster, letting it fall to the ground. One thing she liked about coming here, she never had to be neat. She never had to put her things up, or play nice, or even make small talk. Everywhere else she had to be good. Even in her own apartment, she had to keep everything neat, in case someone dropped by and judged her. But not here, never here. Sometimes Vachon would look at her strangely when she dropped by. She'd slouch on his couch, crack open a beer and just relax. Sometimes she wouldn't even talk to him. Tracy smiled at that thought. Occasionally she'd come by with a bag of fast food, last time they'd been baby back ribs, and just sprawl on his bed and listen to the hockey game on his old staticy radio. He'd be there, restringing his guitar or something, but he wouldn't bother to talk. Neither of them would. Tracy pulled off her holster next, and draped it over the arm of St. Anthony. She grinned, it looked good there. "Vachon?" She finally called out, even to her own ears her voice sounded reluctant. She was hoping he wasn't here. She felt a bit guilty about that, but it was true. This place, this church, made her feel calm. At peace. And this time, she'd come for it, not for Vachon. She waited, ears perked, but no response came. She let her eyes wander about the church, searching the shadows for those familiar eyes, but he wasn't there. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Walking over to the small fridge hidden behind the pulpit, Tracy pulled out a Dr. Pepper and sat down heavily on the steps. She pulled the tab and took a long drink. Sighing in contentment, she could feel the tension leaving her body, it was as if a large knot were slowly working itself out in the middle of her back. The throbbing in her head, the one that had become so common she no longer even thought about it as a headache, began to fade. Kicking off her shoes, Tracy leaned back and contemplated the stained glass window high above. It was painted over, so no sunlight could get in, but she could still make out the Madonna and child. It gave her a sense of peace. The whole place did in fact. From the dusty reliefs, to the gutted candles and spent incense, everything about it calmed her. She buried her fingertips in the thick pile of the rug that sat under the pulpit. It was faded now, but she could still make out the floral design. Beige and burgundy. She closed her eyes, rolled her head around, she could feel the last of her anxiety leaving her. The stress of the week seemed to roll down her neck, down her spine and seep into the church's floor. Nothing had really been resolved, but she felt better. Finishing her soda, she laid back on the ground and stared up at the beams high above. The vast open space was probably suppose to give a sense that God could be there with his worshippers. Or maybe it was just to make the church goer feel small in comparison to the divine. Either way, that's not how it effected her. The church made her feel…connected. Connected to God, to the universe. But alone at the same time. Alone in a good way though. Being on her own here, she could let her mind wander. The only other person who ever came didn't really know what to make of her, and she liked that fact. Usually she tried very hard to give off an impression of strength and competence. To her co-workers she was someone who could get the job done. To her friends she was the stable one, the one who knew what she was doing. Here, here she didn't -try- to be anything. She knew that usually confused Vachon. When he saw her outside the church she was in 'work-mode' or sometimes 'at-home-mode' but never…free. Free, that's what she was at the church. Absolutely free. Here she didn't try to be witty. Or wise. Or anything. She just was. Vachon had once told her that while here she sometimes seemed 'beyond him.' Of course there were other times, like when munching chocolate covered pretzels on his couch, that made him quirk an eyebrow and abandon that interpretation. She knew she was confusing him. She liked that. She liked it a lot. But even more than her amusement at that, she liked who she was here. She was good at her job, well liked by her friends, but sometimes it didn't really feel like it was 'her.' It was a role she was playing. She could be: 'a detective,' 'a daughter,' 'a partner,' or even 'a girlfriend.' But it wasn't -really- her. Here, she was everything and nothing. She could be wise, or completely innocent. No one would come to judge her. No one could. Only Vachon saw her here, and since he was confused already…well, she didn't have to make anything clear for him did she? Truth was, she didn't know what to make of anything herself. Here she could find out exactly who she was. Independent of the structures and rules of society. Separate even from the rules she usually kept for herself. Here there was no Tracy Vetter. There didn't need to be. She was alone in this beautiful place. She didn't have to define herself -as- anything. She wasn't contained in the words that described her, no amount of labeling would do it, a thousand writers could work for a thousand years and still never come up with something that would define a person's soul. Tracy closed her eyes and let the silence of the Church wash over her. It was so quiet here. The traffic outside was just a muted whisper. There was a loose shingle somewhere on the roof, the wind whistled slightly. But that was it, and she had to strain to hear even that. Reaching her hands above her head and pointing her toes, she stretched slightly, feeling each muscle pull along her body. The cool floor felt good, the scented air felt good, even the silence felt good. She held the stretch for a long moment, until her muscles began to protest. She sighed and rolled over onto her belly. Reaching her hands down she rose up to her hands and knees. Opening her eyes she found her eyes locked with those of a stray cat, the one that she'd found in the precinct parking lot many months ago as a kitten. She'd brought it to Vachon, who after much protesting had given up and kept the thing. She'd never told Vachon this, but the cat reminded her of herself. A lost stray that he'd let come into the church with him from time to time. A refuge from the big bad world, to share the warmth from the space heater, to listen to the silence. It was a shabby looking thing, had already been in countless fights, as the torn ears and scarred flesh attested to. There is something unnerving about a cat's gaze, and Tracy returned it tenfold. They gazed at each other for the longest time, something, an understanding, passed between them. She'd named the cat 'Father Tom,' something that Vachon hadn't liked at all, but she liked coming into the Church and asking for him by name. "You like it here too," Tracy smiled at the feline, "Don't you Father?" The cat seemed to smile back before twitching his tail and going off in search of a mouse for dinner. With catlike grace Tracy rose to her feet. She looked around the church and sighed in contentment. Yet again the place had restored her spirit. She made her way to the statue of St. Anthony and picked up her holster, then scooped up her jacket by the door. Pulling open the door she was surprised to find Vachon on the other side. "Hi Trace," He blinked in surprise at her, he was just returning home and had obviously not expected to find her here. He seemed to look past her into the darken church beyond. "Did you need something?" Tracy smiled mysteriously, and as she past him, leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "No thanks, already found it." And with that, she walked off into the night, leaving a very bemused man in her wake. >>>>>>>> A little odd, but for anyone who's ever had a 'special place,' I think it rings true. 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