Date:         Mon, 1 Apr 1996 16:21:51 -0600
From: Kimberley <$LOWKD@BRANDONU.CA>
Subject:      Temper, Temper (1/1)

None of these characters belong to me. Natalie Lambert, Nick Knight, Javier
Vachon, and Tracy Vetter all belong to whoever owns Forever Knight.  Doug
Gilmour belongs to himself (and partially to the Toronto Maple Leafs, I
guess).  I apologise for any character deviation inherent to Doug Gilmour.

Warning:  This story was written for a friend who, though very much into
hockey, doesn't really watch Forever Knight all that often.  Contact me if
you have any problems or comments.  Feel no compunction to be nice, but
please coach it in polite terms.  Please remember that this is the first
non-war fiction I've posted.




                            Temper, Temper

    "Vachon, calm down!  It was just a hockey game."

    Tracy had been at the church since the beginning of the Senators/
Leafs game and seen a remarkable change in Vachon.  Ever since it
became obvious that the Leafs were going to win, Vachon had become
livid.  Ever since the Leafs had actually won, he'd gone into a fit.
He'd started off with the ref's (of course).  They had _obviously_ been
biased against the away team.  Almost all the penalty calls had been
against the Senators, which, at that point, was the only reason they
had lost.  Of course,  the "only reason they had lost" kept on changing
with each passing minute.  Until he reached Gilmour.  The Leafs'captain
seemed to be a sore spot with the vampire.  He'd actually held his attention
for the past five minutes.

    "What do you mean, _just_ a hockey game?  It was all his fault!  If
Gilmour hadn't scored that first goal agianst Rhodes they would have
won!"

    "Vachon, we're talking about the Senators.  The better half of the
Leafs' team _plus_ the coach could be taken out in a freak sheet
lightening accident _in_ the dressing room _just_ prior to the start
of the game, and the Senators _still_ would have had a hard time
breaking a tie."

    "Cute."

    "I thought so.  Anyway, don't you think you're taking this underdog
thing a bit too far?"

    Vachon just glared at her.  At least it had shut him up.  Tracy
smiled back sweetly.  "I gotta go,  Nick'll be waiting.  And in the
meantime (and I don't believe I'm about to say this to you) try and
take it easy.  They're all big boys.  They can take care of their own
problems."

    And with that she walked out, muttering something about never
again watching what amounted to a blood sport with a tempermental
vampire.

    "I can hear you!"

    "I know!"

**************************************************************************
    Underdog.  When had he told her about that?  Oh yeah, it was
during the murders related to the land claim dispute last year.
Had Tracy even caught his "interrupting supply lines" crack?  He
doubted it.  Interrupting supply lines...  Now that had possibilties.
Vachon grabbed his coat and took off, literally.

***************************************************************************

    Doug Gilmour walked out of Maple Leaf Gardens.  He was happy.
The game hadn't been much of a challenge, but the post game
interviews had gone well.  And that goal agianst Dusty would make
a great news clip.  Now if he could only get rid of the feeling that
someone was watching him.

    "Grk."

  ***************************************************************************

    Vachon was waiting in an alleyway with a perfect view of Maple
Leaf Gardens' exit.  That was one of the benefits of being a
vampire; just about anyplace afforded a perfect view, a perfect
view of that low-down, sneaky, filthy, dirty-playing bastard!  Just
thinking about him, that shade of red so rare in most of the
vampire populas, and exceedingly so in him, appeared in his eyes.
That was when the object of his ire decided to make his appearance.

    Vachon rushed out of the alleyway, grabbed Gilmour by the back
of his collar, and flung him back into the relative darkness.  All
Gilmour had time for was a small "Grk."  Gilmour smacked face first
into the wall but Vachon, in his rage, had forgotten one important
detail.  His victim was a professional athelete.  He had quick
reflexes and experience in a fight.  So when Vachon whipped his
victim around, he was surprized to find a strong fist smashing into
his nose.  Vachon returned with a punch to the mouth, meeting
some resistance but a great deal less than was expected.  He didn't
give this much thought as he grabbed Gilmour by the back of the
neck and began to feed.  He also didn't give much thought to the
effects of his apparently broken nose bleeding into Gilmour's
wounds and open mouth as he raised his head.

    Vachon dropped, what he assumed to be the lifeless corpse
and  contemplated whether he should leave it there or dispose
of it properly.

    <Tha-thump>

    The lifeless corpse stirred, evidently not so lifeless.

    "Ah, s--t!"  Today was not going well.  Vachon figured he was
already risking too much just having Tracy around.  An
abandoned fledgling would definitely draw the wrath of the
local Enforcers.  He'd take him back to the church for a couple
of days then see who he could pawn him off onto.  Well, one
couldn't have a vampire Doug Gilmour wandering the streets
of Toronto, could one?

**********************************************************************

    The church idea hadn't lasted long.  A problem had arisen
and Vachon had decided he needed help.  He also decided
that Nick would have a harder time refusing that help if
they were all stuck in Nick's loft for the coming day.  So he
packed up his bouncing baby boy and hoped he got there
before the illustrious detective did.

    "Bottled cow, bottled cow, bottled cow...  Human blood in a
bag.  In the crisper?!"

    "It keeps better there.  What are you doing in my fridge?
In fact, what are you doing in my home?"

    "You certainly like to cut it close, Detective.  I realize that
it's winter, but the sun's practically up!"

    Nick settled his weight more towards his heels and crossed
his arms.  He was willing to wait out an explanation.

    "The truth is, I'm having a bit of a problem and I was hoping
that your doctor friend could help."  Vachon pointed to the
figure on the chesterfield playing with the remote control.

    "What's Doug Gilmour doing on my couch?"

    "Last I checked, he was looking for the X-Men.  Wolverine's
his favourite."  That wasn't improving Nick's mood any so he
called Gilmour over.  "Doug, smile for the man."

    To tell the truth, Doug wasn't in a very good mood either.
Instead of a smile, he growled.  It was a pretty good show, all
in all.  Nice imposing figure and stance.  Good gold colour in the
eyes.  Lots of throat in the growl and sufficient anger crossing
the rest of his features. There was only one thing marring the
expression of ferocity.  He was missing all six of his front teeth.
Not a fang in sight.

    "What happened to all his teeth?!"

    "You certainly are full of questions tonight."  He tossed
the blood bag to Gilmour.  "Here.  Drink this."

    "How?"

    "I don't know!  Tear out the stopper and use the IV tube
as a straw, I guess."

    Gilmour went back to the chesterfield looking very much
like a kid with a drinking box.  Vachon returned his attention
to Nick.

    "You could say we didn't start off on the best of terms.  The
plate with four of his teeth is back in an alley somewhere.
It came out when his face got too close to a brick wall.  The
canines came out during an exchange of pleasantries,"  he
pointed to his now slightly crooked nose and the remnants
of two black eyes.  "We figure he accidentally swallowed them.
So are you going to call your doctor or what?"

    Nick looked at Vachon, looked at the man on his chester-
field, looked back at Vachon, and sighed.  "Sure, I'm not sure
what she could do though.  I didn't figure you for a Leaf's fan,
by the way."

    "I'm not.  Look, just call the doctor and I'll explain while we
wait."

**********************************************************************

Kimberley *NatPacker* ($lowkd@mail.BrandonU.ca)
Game of gopher, anyone?
"Shouldn't we be doing something - constructive?"
"What did you have in mind?... A short, blunt human pyramid...?"(RAGAD)


                         Temper, Temper (2/2)

    Natalie sat at her desk trying not to be bored.  Begrudging a slow
night at the Coroner's Office was always good for a Nick sized guilt
trip. The only thing of interest this whole night had been talking to
Tracy and hearing her rather edited version of the hockey game
fiasco.  At least it was almost time to go home, which was also the
same time Nick called when he wanted something.  As if on cue, the
phone rang.

    <Ring>

    Nat smiled as she picked up the phone.  "Nat's Place, you stab 'em,
we slab 'em!"

    "Hi, Nat."

    Natalie's smile widened in triumph.  In the background she could
hear someone saying,  "Should a coroner really be answering the
phone like that?"

    "Is that Vachon?  Tell him I knew it was you."

    "And how did you know that?"

    "Oh, ESP, a little birdie told me, predictable behavior..."

    "Predictable behavior?"

    "Nevermind."  Nat smiled at his puzzlement.  "So, what'll it be this
time?  Bullet removal?  Head examination?  Running low on protein
shakes and you want to stock up early?  You're not having any more
problems with that fever, are you?"

    "No, no, nothing like that.  Actually, it's a dead hockey player
watching cartoons on my couch."

    "What?  OK, what dead hockey player do you have on your
chesterfield?" She was trying to be patient.  She was trying not to
think of how much good a nice, heavy sledge-hammer could do in
these situations.

    "Doug Gilmour."

    "You mean Doug Gilmour of the Toronto Maple Leafs?  The one
that did those milk ads in just the jersey, gloves, and cow-patterned
paint?  The georgous one with the beautiful legs?"

    "Nat?  You're not going to start gushing on me, are you?"

    "I do _not_ gush."

    "You gushed when you met Alix Logan."

    "I did not!  And you have no proof otherwise.  Photographic memory
doesn't count.  So what's the problem with Dead Hockey Player?
In fact, WHO THE HELL KILLED DOUG GILMOUR?"

    "Um, maybe I'll just wait until you get here to explain."  He was
hedging again.  She really hated that.

    "Well then, what should I bring?"  She was back to trying to be
patient.

    "Oh, I'm not sure...  Just bring a wide variety of stuff."

    "A wide variety.  OK, but when I get there I expect a full
explanation."

    "If I get one, so will you."

    Nat rang off with a slight sense of foreboding and a huge sense
of curiosity.  Trust the scientist to get in trouble again.

**************************************************************************

    Nat was sitting in an armchair surrounded by the three
vampires.  Well, to be accurate, she was slouched in the armchair,
tears streaming down her face, collapsed in helpless laughter.
The three vampires surrounding her ranged in emotion from
repressed laughter to humiliated anger.

    Finally, Nick felt that she had quieted enough to hear any
comments offered.  "Uh, you do realize that it's not a good idea to
laugh at an easily upset vampire, especially a fledgling?"

    "What's he going to do?  Gum me to death?"  And with that she
relapsed into laughter dragging Vachon along with her.  The
mental image was getting to Nick too, but it was his apartment
so he had a vested interest in keeping Gilmour pacified.  He had
been given the full lecture on how Nat was his best hope of a
normal, if nocturnal, life and that if he even laid a finger on her,
this whole promise of immortality thing would be instantly
rendered void.  However, Gilmour was also looking around for
things on which vent his anger, and Nick had spent far too long
collecting these things to lose them to slightly damaged pride.
The fact that most of his precious antiques and toys were already
punctured with the sliver-like fragments of wine bottles and
splattered with the odd drop of blood was selectively ommitted
from his memory.  (And you thought the dregs from _your_ favourite
bottle of red were problematic.)  Luckily for Nat and Vachon (and
the piano, and the stereo system, and the computer, and the...)
they stopped laughing just as Gilmour was reaching the breaking
point.

    "I'm sorry,"  Nat said still gasping for breath and wiping the tears
from her face as she got to her feet.  "Let's take a look at your teeth."
She looked at his gold-flecked eyes as Nick began to raise his hand
and give a warning.  "On second thought, maybe not."  And she swung
around to Vachon.  "We might as well check out your nose first."

    "What about my nose?  It's fine.  It's healed."  Vachon was
backing up, slightly alarmed, as Natalie advanced.

    "Do you snore?"

    "Of course not!"

    "Well, you will now, unless that break is set properly.  Now
stand still and stop being such a baby."

    After a cursory inspection, Nat declared that the break did
indeed have to be reset.  As she walked over to her bag to get
some equipment, she paused and turned to Gilmour.  "Which
do you prefer, Doug or Gilmour?"

    "Doug's fine."  He seemed a little puzzled in the abrupt change.

    "OK Doug, you're going to get a chance to express some of
that anger." She grabbed some cotton and beckoned him to
follow.  Vachon looked decidedly uncomfortable, and it was Nick's
turn to suppress a grin.  He wasn't doing a very good job, either.

    "I want you to grasp his nose just under the break.  That's right,
just there.  Now give it a quick snap."

    "Hey!  Ouch! S--t, that hurt!"

    "I don't doubt it."  Nat said as she set the break and packed
his nose. "Punches, bullets, don't you guys duck anything?"

    Nat turned to a rather self-satisfied Gilmour.  "There, feeling
better?"

    A sullen "no" came from behind her.  Nat tossed back an "I
wasn't talking to you" as Nick said, "You're the one that wanted
to call a doctor," through a very wide grin.

    When she had finished making her first forays into dentistry,
Nat gave her prognosis.  "Well, they must have been loosened
before since there isn't even any root left.  That's why nothing
extends.  If you swallowed them, as you believe, they're not going
to be in any shape to be reimplanted."

    "So, what does he do now?"

    "You've got to be kidding.  All those centuries without
toothbrushes and no one's come across this problem before?"

    "Well, just around the turn of the century someone got it into
his head that toothless vampires were an aboration that was
holding back the progress of the rest of us.  Social Darwinism
was big back then.  In the space of two years they were all dead.
The Enforcers never did find the guy.  He's probably lurking around
somewhere.  I think it's in everybody's best interest if he just
gets shipped out to Alert as soon as possible.  What vampire would
follow him someplace where it's going to be daytime for the next
six months?"  Vachon looked wide-eyed and innocent as he said this.

    "What?!"  Doug was not taking the revelation well.

    "Vachon!  Doug, he's not serious."

    "Well, he broke my nose.  Twice!"

    To be fair, Nick was trying.  And so far, he had been quite
patient.  It had been about an hour since Nick had come home
to discover Vachon and the new fledgling and he had yet to start
into his "value of life" speech. However, it was just a matter of time.

    "Well if you hadn't idiotically given in to the urge to hunt, this
never would have happened!  You'd be comfortably hiding out in
that wreck of a church, and Doug, here, wouldn't be damned for the
rest of eternity!"

    "Whoa!" Gilmour tried to speak up, "Wait a minute here.  This is
the first I've heard about eternal damnation.  I'm not _that_ fond
of sunlight."  But Vachon and Nick just ignored him.

    "Only you consider it eternal damnation, Detective.  Anyways,
I wasn't out hunting.  I just wanted him dead!"

    "WHAT?!"  This was about the time Vachon realized that he
hadn't meant to say that in front of Gilmour.  It was also about
the same time he found himself pinned to the wall by a strong
hand around his neck, facing murderous, glowing red eyes and
a non-befanged snarl.  "What do you mean you just wanted me
dead?"

    Suddenly, things clicked for Nat.  While she wasn't all that
interested in keeping Vachon's image intact, she did feel that
knowing that the one who brought you across was an insane
hockey fanatic wasn't really what Gilmour needed right now.
She pulled up a chair from the rarely used dining table and stood
on it.  In the midst of this she reflected that it could be a good
thing that Vachon wasn't known for getting worked up about
things.  It seemed that when he did, the results were pretty idiotic.

    "Hey!"  Surprisingly, she managed to get their attention and
hold it.  If artificial height advantage worked this well on vampires
she might go back to wearing heels.  "Tramatic as this night has
been, I doubt a knock-down drag-out fight is in order now.  You
called me for help and advice so I'm going to give you some.
First, Vachon was right about shipping you out, Doug. I don't
really follow sports but even I find you recognizable by sight.
Nick, shut up."  Nick closed his mouth but the smile was still
there.  "Second, all I can recommend is that you find a good
denturist somewhere where you won't be recognized and get
two sets of dentures made up."  Now the smile was on Nat's face.
"I'm assuming that the right attitude, lots of black leather, and
even more money should get you through the whole experience
with as little questions as necessary.  Now I'm going home and
to bed.  I suggest you all do the same."

    Nat recalled Nick's spartan living arrangements (ie. one bed,
one couch, three vampires) and decided that leaving before _they_
remembered them would be a good idea.  However, as she walked
to the elevator she remembered something else from her
conversation with Tracy and just couldn't resist one last
parting comment.  Timing it just for when she closed the
elevator doors she said, "Oh, and Vachon?  Stay away from
Muller and Don Cherry, please?"

    She sang "How You Gonna Spend Your Energy" from the
milk commercials,  all the way home, smiling as she drove.


                The End

Final Note:  This story was written because Marcie is always
complaining that her favourite Leafs' get traded away.  (ie.
Rhodes and Bill Berg)  She even said that her least favourite
player was her favourite in the hopes that he too would be
traded.  (He was.)  I'm just trying to say that, even though she
denies it, Gilmour is now her favourite and, therefore, he must
leave.
Kimberley *NatPacker* ($lowkd@mail.BrandonU.ca)
Game of gopher, anyone?
"Shouldn't we be doing something - constructive?"
"What did you have in mind?... A short, blunt human pyramid...?"(RAGAD)