Date: Sun, 23 Jan 2000 21:20:36 +0200 
From: dce <dce@dlc.fi> 
Subject: Adult: Xover: 'Tis the season (1/5) 
To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU 

Since this didn't get through the first time around I'm reposting
this with McLisa's kind permission.

Title:       'Tis The Season....
Author:      C. Bart
Email:       dce@dlc.fi
Archive:     Okay to archive on www.fkfanfic.com , all others must
             ask permission.
Rating:      ADULT - for violence.
Disclaimers: This is a FK/HL xover. All the FK characters and concept
             belong to TriStar, Inc. and the HL characters and
             concept belong to Davis/Panzer Productions, Inc. No
             infringement is intended. The rest of the cast and this
             story are created and copyrighted by me.
Feedback:    Yes, please :)

Big thanks to Catelyn and Jessi who graciously helped me out by beta
reading this.

Further notes are at the end.
This story follows my previous one: 'Janette At Noon' which can be
found on my web page at http://www.dlc.fi/~dce/fic/index.html

'TIS THE SEASON.... (1/5)
by C. Bart
<dce@dlc.fi>
(c)2000

It was a dark and stormy night.

Well, it wasn't really but Tracy Vetter felt that it should've been.
That way it would match her present mood. It was Christmas Eve and
she was on her way to work. She wasn't upset that she had to work on
Christmas, after all she'd volunteered for it. No, the reason was, as
usual, her beloved parents.

She'd just sat through a quick Christmas dinner with her father.
Then, she'd been on the phone for half an hour with her mother. She
knew what to expect from them by now, of course, but still she always
hoped that *this* would be the time she'd finally be wrong. So far,
no such luck, though.

Sighing, she stopped at a red light and turned the radio on. A cheery
Christmas song filled the car. Reaching for the nob again she
intended to find something that would better suit her mood but then
thought better of it.

Waiting for the lights to change, she brushed her stomach with one
hand. Her stomach always hurt after dealing with her parents. One of
these days she was bound to develop an ulcer.

She was abruptly jarred out of her dark thoughts by a shrieking honk
from the car behind her. The light had changed. Stepping on the pedal
she tried to push any and all thoughts of her parents into the back
of her mind but naturally, they refused to obey her.

Why on earth did two people who'd been divorced for what seemed like
ages ago still haven't managed to get over each other? That was a
good question, all right. Unfortunately, after all this time, she
still didn't have an answer for it. Who knew, maybe they just
*enjoyed* torturing themselves - and her - with their badmouthing.
Heaven knew that she wasn't their only audience, but she was
definitely their *best* audience, under obligation by birth.

Sighing again, she wondered if all children felt this way about their
parents. That they were a duty, not a privilege. The thought made her
pause. Then, she silently rebuked herself.

It wasn't that she didn't love her parents, she did, but it was their
fighting she hated. That, and the way they always tried drag her in
the middle of it all. Couldn't they just get on with their lives and
put the past behind them?

With a small, mirthless smile Tracy shook her head again. Yes, it was
Christmas but one shouldn't hope for miracles. Not for the Vetter
family, at least.

When she finally reached the station Tracy was truly well and tired
of thinking of her parents and their problems. With determination she
cleared them off her mind and stepped out of the car.

Shivering a little in the cold evening despite her long coat, she
hurried inside.

"Merry Christmas, Addison", she greeted the officer at the front
desk.

"Vetter, I thought tonight was your night off."

"I traded with Dettective Ellis. She should be in Florida by now,
visiting her parents."

"Lucky Ellis", Addison said, nodding towards the windows.

It was snowing and it looked as if the wind had picked up as well.

"Yeah. I hope she makes the most of it." Tracy smiled as she
continued towards her desk.

Looking around the room she noticed that someone had gone through a
bit of trouble decorating it. It looked nice. She also noted quite a
few strange faces. She guessed that most of those she didn't
recognize usually worked the day shift and had traded with someone
for tonight, just as she'd done. Not all of them, of course. There
had been a nasty flu going around the past few weeks and the office
was were a little understaffed, so Reese might have pulled some
people in whether they'd volunteered or not.

Reaching her desk she saw that Ben had already arrived. Looking at
him she thought, not for the first time, just how different he was
from her former partner. Sometimes it still hit her anew that the
face opposite her over the desk didn't belong to Nick Knight. It
happened less frequently as time went by, naturally, but it had taken
her a while to get used to a new partner, although in the end it had
worked out better than she'd dared to hope.

Yes, she missed Nick sometimes but then, they hadn't really been the
best of friends. They'd never socialized after work or anything like
that. They'd gotten along well enough and, most importantly, they'd
gotten the job done but that had basically been it. Oh, she'd learned
a lot from Nick and she was glad that she'd had a chance to work with
him but he'd always kept his distance. As far as she knew the only
people he'd ever been really close to, work-wise anyway, were Natalie
and his late partner, Donald Schanke.

Now, Detective Bendigo Escobar was a whole different story. First of
all, he wasn't a loner like Nick. No, he came from a large family and
he himself was married, with a child on the way.

It had taken awhile but eventually she'd become friends him and now
she hang out with him and his family on a weekly basis. Of course,
all that might owe a little something to the fact that he hadn't
replaced her tragically died partner of X amount years. Yeah, that
might've put a damper on things, all right. But luckily, this time
that hadn't been the case.

Ben was a nice, regular guy and he was a good partner; no mood
swings, and most importantly no running off on his own while
conveniently forgetting to inform his partner of doing so. No, the
two of them worked well together and Captain Reese had a breeze with
them but sometimes Tracy got a feeling that he missed being able to
yell at her, demanding to know where the hell her partner was and
what did she mean that she didn't have a clue. Oh, the good old
days....

"Do I have lettuce stuck on my teeth, or something?" Her partner's
dry voice brought Tracy back to the present.

"What?"

"You've been staring at me for the past five minutes without so much
as a 'hello'."

"Sorry." Tracy gave him a somewhat sheepish smile. "I was just
thinking..."

Ben gave her a sympathetic nod. "How did the dinner go?"

"The usual." Tracy shrugged, not really wanting to dwell down that
lane again. "So, what have we got?"

Her partner gave her a grin which filled her with dread.

"Your favorite, Trace. Paperwork."

"Great", she sighed, flopping down to her chair.

However, after the first few files she came to the conclusion that it
could've been worse. She'd rather spend the Christmas Eve catching up
on old paperwork than trying to figure out why someone had decided to
jump off a bridge or how John Doe had managed to squeeze himself into
a barrel, seal it and then roll off the edge of the pier into the
lake. Or something like that.

"I'm gonna get myself a cup of coffee", Ben announced, interrupting
her musings. "Want me to bring you a cup, too?"

Tracy cooked her head and gave him an amused look. "That was a
rhetorical question, right?"

"Okay, okay." Ben grinned, putting his hands up in mock surrender.
"One coffee, coming right up."

Smiling at his back, Tracy picked up the ringing phone. The call
didn't take long but it wiped the smile off her face.

"Forget the coffee, Ben", she told her partner who was just returning
to their desk, balancing two steaming cups in his hands. "We're going
to the Sheraton."

"Ooh, what's the occasion?"

Tracy gave him a look before dignifying him with an answer. "They
found a dead body in one of their suites."

"And I thought it was going to be a slow night", Ben said grabbing
his coat. "Let's go."

******

In the car, Ben once again approached a familiar subject.

"You know, Trace, you're more than welcome to join us for Christmas
Day. And I know that you don't have any other plans since you told me
so yourself."

Tracy gave him a quick glance from the corner of her eye while trying
to make sure that she didn't drive them off the road. "I don't know,
Ben. Christmas is supposed to be a family thing..."

"True", her partner agreed readily. "But it's also a time to be
shared with friends."

"But still..."

"Look, if you said 'yes' you'd be doing me a favor. A double favor,
really."

"A double favor?" Tracy repeated, risking another glance towards him.

"Yeah. Tiff's been badgering me to make sure you'll say yes", Ben
explained. "And you know what she gets like when she wants something,
don't you?"

"I know what *you* get like when she wants something, Ben. You just
can't say 'no' to her." Tracy smiled despite herself.

"Yeah, I'm butter in her fingers." Ben sounded almost proud at his
admission. Then he continued to plead his case. "But it's not just
Tiff, Trace. Matt's been on my back ever since he met you."

"Matt? Your cousin, Matt?"

"Is there another?" Ben grinned a little. "Now, don't get me wrong,
I'm not asking you to marry the guy. Although, if he could convince
you..."

"Ben.." There was a warning edge to Tracy's voice.

"Okay, I can take a hint. But honestly, he really liked you and he
would just love to meet you again. So, what do ya say?" Ben turned on
his seat so he could see her. "You'd be saving your partners butt.
Isn't that what partners are for, anyway?"

"All right, all right", Tracy surrendered, smiling at his speech.
"I'll think about it."

"Great! Just as long as the final answer is a 'yes'." Ben just
couldn't leave it be. "And if you're worried that you'll stick out,
don't. Christmas is a big production in our family and everyone's
bringing their friends along. Like mom and dad always say, it's not a
Christmas party unless it's a full house."

******

end of part 1

--
Claude
<dce@dlc.fi>
*NA**NatPacker**N&NPacker**HB*
http://www.dlc.fi/~dce/index.html 


For disclaimers, see part 1

'TIS THE SEASON.... (2/5)
by C. Bart
<dce@dlc.fi>
(c)2000

At the Sheraton Center, they were escorted to the scene by the
hotel's chief of security.

"Wow, I think my entire house would fit in here", Ben whispered to
Tracy as he took a look around the exquisite suite.

"I know my apartment would", Tracy returned eyeing their
surroundings.

Following the chief of security to the bedroom she spied a familiar
figure standing apart from the forensic's team that seemed to be
finishing off.

"Hi, Grace. So, what are we looking at here?"

Grace Balthazar looked up from her clipboard and gave Tracy a tired
smile. After Natalie had quit the Coroner's Office, her position had
been offered to Grace who had graciously accepted. Sometimes though,
she wished that she hadn't. This was one of those times. She was
supposed to be at home with her husband having a nice Christmas
dinner but instead she'd found herself to be on duty, courtesy of the
raging flu virus.

"A Kathleen Levy. Or at least, that's what her ID says. Caucasian.
Mid twenties. TOD..." pausing to take a breath Grace glanced at her
watch. "Well, she hasn't been dead for more than three hours or so.
The maid must've found her pretty much right after. I can be more
specific once I get the body on my table."

"Any idea if she had some assistance with this?" Ben asked,
inspecting the body which was lying on a huge king sized bed.

Kathleen Levy had been a pretty brunette. Now she was a very dead
pretty brunette whose artery had been slashed open, from her left
thigh near the groin. Not the most usual place to slash a vein if
she'd committed a suicide but not totally unheard of, either.

"Can't say for sure, yet", Grace answered, turning to Ben. "I'll have
to get a closer look at her back at the Morgue but the incision
*could* be self-inflicted. There isn't quite as much blood as I'd
expect but who knows how much of it has been absorbed into that
mattress." She gestured towards the huge bed.

The mention of blood caught Tracy's attention. Moving closer to the
body she squatted down to have a better look at the wound. It didn't
seem like a clean cut to her but then, suicides were rarely done all
that neatly. But what if it wasn't a suicide? The choice of vein was
definitely odd, surely it would've been more convenient to go for the
wrist. But, what if the cut had been made to conceal something else.
A bite mark, maybe?

As Ben went to take the maid's statement Tracy got up again to take a
better look at the bedroom. Nothing seemed to suggest that there had
been a struggle of any kind. Everything seemed to be neatly in place,
except for a pair of jeans which were lying on the floor next to the
bed. The bed itself was a mess of course but that was to be expected.
As for Kathleen Levy, except for the jeans she was fully clothed. But
if the wound on her thigh *did* hide a bite mark wasn't that an
indication of sex? Of some sort? And if so, shouldn't she be
undressed? Or was it all just about feeding?

Frustrated, Tracy headed towards the open French windows which led to
the balcony. Wrapping her coat around herself more securely she
turned back to look at the scene inside.

If there was a vampire involved that would explain the blood, or lack
thereof. It might also explain why no one had heard or seen anything
out of the ordinary. It would certainly explain why the cut was on
the thigh instead of on a wrist. And what about the open French
windows? If Kathleen Levy had committed a suicide why open them? The
cold might've caused the blood to clog.

"Or maybe I'm just reaching", Tracy muttered to herself.

It was times like these that she really wished she'd had someone to
talk with, someone who knew about the existence of vampires. She
wished that Javier Vachon was still around.

She'd been surprised to learn that he'd left. She'd thought that
they'd been friends, if nothing else, and she'd always trusted him to
say good-bye at the very least. But he'd gone without a word.

Turning her back to the room Tracy stared into the night, deep in her
memories.

She couldn't count the nights she'd spent looking for him, of fearing
the worst. Truth be told, she still didn't know for sure if he'd
skipped town or if he was dead. However, since most of his belongings
had disappeared from the church she was inclined to believe the first
option. Still, it would've been nice to know for certain.

Closing her eyes, she summoned his image before her. He'd been --
different, from anyone she'd ever known. He'd opened her eyes to
things she'd never thought possible. She'd been intrigued by him,
fascinated by him, and yes, attracted to him. But deep down, she'd
always felt that no matter how 'nice' and 'normal' he'd seemed in the
core of such a creature as he was there had to be evil. She'd even
felt its presence, more than once. But even so, when he'd disappeared
she'd been worried about him. And she wasn't entirely certain that
she was still completely over him.

But, personal feelings aside, right now she just wished that he'd be
there to tell her whether or not her imagination was running wild
with this vampire theory of hers. And if it turned out to be more
than just a theory, what was she going to do about it? How was she
going to protect her partner against one of Them? Or herself, for
that matter.

Shaking her head, she returned back to the bedroom. All she could do
at present was to just wait for Grace's report. Maybe it would turn
out to be a simple suicide, after all. But in the mean time, she had
more important things to do than to moon over the memory of a certain
fanged Spaniard.

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

"You leave a city for a few months, and suddenly everyone's gone."

Shaking his head in disbelief Javier Vachon turned his back to the
bar and scanned the crowd at the Raven.

The club was exactly the way he remembered, still the most popular
hang out for his kind in Toronto. He recalled some of the faces he
saw but majority of them were new ones. Not surprising, really. As a
rule the members of the community were on the move a lot. Some would
be staying for a while but most of them were just passing through.
Like him.

He'd flown down from Montreal on a whim. He'd had some free time on
his hands and no plans, so he'd decided to pop in and check out some
of the old haunts. But when he'd asked around he'd found out that
apparently he had been the only one without any plans; Screed had
disappeared to Vegas once again, LaCroix and Antonia had gone to
Europe and even Tracy Vetter was nowhere to be found.

Vachon was seriously beginning to think that maybe coming back to
Toronto hadn't been such a great idea, after all.

Ordering a House Special from a bartender he didn't remember from
before, he decided to check out the action in the Sanctum, to see if
Mavericks was on. He'd try Tracy's apartment again a little later.
And if that didn't pan out, he'd check out the precinct. That
decided, he finished his drink and took off.

*******

There was a fair crowd at the Sanctum, considering it was Christmas
Eve. And surprisingly, but not disappointingly, the club wasn't
running some sort of holiday theme. Sure, there were few decorations
here and there but nothing overly distracting.

Vachon had never really been big on holidays. To him, they were
simply periods of time when people seemed to have a publicly accepted
reason to go crazy. Times when everyone was supposed to be slap happy
and all smiles when in reality all they wanted to do was to slap the
face of the idiot who dared to smile at them too widely. Too much
stress, that's what holidays were. And he was out to avoid stress if
at all possible.

Settling down at a vacant table he sat back and relaxed. The
Mavericks was playing, just as he had hoped, and they seemed to be in
a pretty good form. They had a good set, and the new guitarist wasn't
half bad.

After a good half an hour, they called out a break and Cody, the lead
singer, headed towards Vachon.

"Well, look who's back in town." Smiling broadly Cody clasped arms
with the band's former guitarist. "Been here long?"

"Just came in today."

"Hey, V-Man!" Pete, the drummer, joined them, beer in hand. "Good to
see you. Oh hey, that's Jake." He waved towards the new guitarist.

Vachon nodded his greetings as the rest of the gang sat down.

"You guys didn't sound too bad up there."

"Yeah well, we've been having some good gigs lately, so we had to
practise a little." Cody grinned. "So, how've you been?"

"Yeah, man. Where did ya go?" Pete threw in his two cents.

"I've been around." Vachon evaded the questions with practised ease.
"Played in a couple of bands, covered for their guitarists. Nothing
major."

"Hey, I've got an idea!" Pete gulped down the last of his beer. "Why
don't ya come up and show little Jake here how it's done."

Jake just grinned goodnaturedly at his teasing. He knew damn well
that he was more than just a decent player himself, so if the guys
wanted to play with an old mate for an evening it was no skin off his
nose.

"Yeah! Come on, Vachon." Cody chimed in. "It'll be fun. For old times
sake."

Vachon thought of it for a few seconds. He really wasn't in a hurry,
so why not. It would be fun. "Since you twisted my arm..."

"Great! I'll just get another beer and then we can put up a *real*
show", Pete enthused, already heading to the bar.

Five minutes later, Vachon was testing a pretty nice Fenton Jake lent
him. When they were all settled down Cody took the center stage.

"Tonight, we have a special surprise for you all! An old friend is
back in town and he's agreed to jam with us tonight. He's probably
one of the best guitar players I've ever met, so you're in for a
treat. And now that I've managed to swell his head, here he is, the
V-Man!"

They played a lot of cover songs since Vachon didn't know any of
their new material. But it was fine. The blues seemed to go well with
the crowd and the slightly metallic rock didn't get hissed at,
either.

The old saying of 'time flying when you're having fun' was definitely
true that night and it was closer to four when Vachon finally went to
check out Tracy Vetter's apartment. Finding it empty, he then flew
over to the 96th precinct.

Landing a little ways from the entrance he'd taken only a few steps
forward when he spotted Tracy and a dark-haired man, who he presumed
was her new partner, getting out of a car parked close-by. Stopping,
he watched the two walk towards the front-door, discussing animatedly
about something or other. Not wanting to draw attention to himself,
Vachon stepped back a little, closer to the shadows.

Tracy Vetter still looked like a fresh faced girl from next door. She
looked tired, yes, but the big smile she gave her partner was a
genuine one.

Shamelessly eavesdropping, Vachon tuned in on their conversation.

"Okay, okay, I'll come to the dinner at your house tomorrow -- I mean
today", Tracy was just saying.

"Great! You've just made Matt a very happy guy."

"You know, Ben, it's still not too late for me to change my mind."

Grinning, her partner put up his hands in surrender. "All right, all
right, not another word about Matt." Then he continued with more
seriousness. "I'm glad you're coming over, Trace. And so is Tiff.
She's been so..."

That was all Vachon heard before they disappeared into the building.

Staring after them for a few more minutes he thought of Tracy. He was
glad that she seemed to be doing okay, that she'd moved on with her
life. He'd never called her after he'd left Toronto, hadn't even sent
a postcard. Knowing Tracy, he probably should've let her know that he
was okay. That had been one of the reasons he'd flown in to town
today. He'd just wanted to say 'hello', and to make sure that she was
all right.

For a second he toyed with the idea of just marching in after her, to
say 'hi' but the thought was gone as soon as it had come. She seemed
to be doing just fine. There was no reason to interrupt her life
again, not when he was just popping in.

Smiling a little to himself, Vachon turned around. Taking to the air
he headed to his old church for the coming day.

It hadn't been a bad night as far as Christmases went. It had been
good to see the guys, and he'd really liked playing for a real
audience once again. Maybe he should try and find a local band from
Montreal, or something. Maybe next year. In the mean while, he had
big plans for the New Year, with Janette.

Janette. Who would've thought that he'd ever end up with someone like
her. She was probably as far removed from his 'type' as could be. And
now that he came to think of it, the same was probably true for her
as well.

Anyway, he was going to take her to that new Latino club that had
just opened near his place. A special night called for special
entertainment.

And then, they'd go hunting.

He couldn't wait to see her in action.

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

end of part 2

--
Claude
<dce@dlc.fi>
*NA**NatPacker**N&NPacker**HB*
http://www.dlc.fi/~dce/index.html 


For disclaimers, see part 1

'TIS THE SEASON.... (3/5)
by C. Bart
<dce@dlc.fi>
(c)2000

"How very -- homey."

Janette let her eyes roam over the de Brabant residence. This was the
first visit she'd paid to her siblings in New York and she was
curious. What she'd seen so far most definitely reflected more of
Natalie's tastes than it did Nicholas', it just didn't seem quite
gloomy enough for her dear brother.

"Well, it is home, and we like it." Natalie's voice sounded a trifle
flat.

"Oh dear, I must've hurt the little one's feelings", Janette thought
to herself, a tad amused.

"Of course it is", she then said out loud, keeping her tone just
slightly on the better side of placating. "The decor should always
tell something of the inhabitants, and this one does."

Natalie couldn't tell if she'd just been insulted or not, so she
decided to let it slide. This was only the second time she'd met
Janette after they'd become 'sisters'. She'd always been a little
intimidated by the older vampire but even though she still wasn't
quite at ease around her, she didn't feel overshadowed by her
anymore, either.

"Would you like to have a drink?" she asked, remembering her duties
as the hostess.

"Yes, please." Janette gave her a polite smile.

Natalie went to the kitchen to cork a bottle and poured the ruby-red
substance in to two crystal glasses. She'd brought out their best
china, so to speak, for Christmas.

Thanking her, Janette took the offered glass and took a careful sip.
Her brows rose in appreciation as she was pleasantly surprised.
"Human. And such an excellent vintage, too."

Natalie met her blue eyes with a faint smile, and took a taste from
her own drink. "You're right. It's not bad."

Two sets of blue eyes met, and a message was exchanged.

"So, the kitten has claws", Janette thought silently while savoring
her drink.

It was true that Natalie was still extremely young but she'd changed
during the last two years, matured in a way. She now had an intimate
knowledge of what it was like to be a 'creature of the night' and she
no longer 'judged' them in her mind. She didn't take the sight of
blood served in a glass as an insult against humanity, as a sign of
failure of some kind. And best of all, in Janette's mind, she didn't
feel guilty enjoying the said nectar. Yes, the little one had come a
long way, indeed.

Emptying her glass Janette set it aside on the coffee table. Then,
settling more comfortably on her chair, she again turned to Natalie.
"So, where is Nicolas? Or is he planning on hiding the whole night?"

"Not at all", Natalie answered calmly. "Actually, he should be back
any minute now."

She'd barely finished her sentence when they heard the front door
open. Getting up, both women walked to greet the late arrival.

With an arched brow, Janette eyed the red suit and the huge false
belly that shook with every step the man inside the costume took.
"You know, Nicolas, I think that even Nick Knight was a more
believable -- pretend than.. St. Nick, is it?"

"Ho-ho-ho!" Nick grinned behind the white beard. "And a Merry
Christmas to you, too, Janette."

"How did it go?" Natalie asked.

Nick took off the fake beard and gave her an amazed smile. "They
loved it! Nat, you should've seen their faces when they saw me, I
mean Santa." His eyes shone as he thought of the excitement on the
children's' faces.

"I told you it would be all right." Natalie smiled at the expression
he still got on his face. Then, seeing the one on Janette's face, she
explained, "Jim and Marina Henderson moved to the apartment just
below ours five months ago when Marina's company transferred her here
from London. They have four year old twins, Lucy and Caitlin, who
were worried that Santa wouldn't know their new address here in New
York, so Nick volunteered to help."

"You mean, *you* volunteered me to help." Nick corrected her with a
fond grin.

Natalie was all innocence. "Well, it worked, didn't it?"

"Yes, it did." Nick gave her a big hug and a wet peck on the cheek.
"Thank you."

Then, releasing his wife, he headed to the bedroom to change. When he
returned he found the women sitting cozily in the living-room.

"So, what have you two been up to?"

"I was just asking Natalie if you two had any big plans for the turn
of the century", Janette said.

"Yeah?" Nick settled on the couch beside his wife. "Well, I don't
think we have any plans, yet."

"There's no hurry, really", Natalie said. "I know most people have
their big celebration this year but since the new millennium doesn't
actually begin until next year, we're going to wait until then."

"What about you, Janette? Made any special plans?" Nick asked.

"What's another year?" Janette gave an elegant shrug, then smiled
sweetly. "But why choose when you can have it both ways?"

******

Later, when they'd exchanged gifts and were relaxing with fresh
drinks, Nick halfheartedly wondered what LaCroix was doing.

It was probably a combination of the three of them concentrating at
the same time and a sudden lack of control on LaCroix's part, but
whatever it was, they certainly got their answer, in vivid detail.

"You had to ask." Natalie threw an almost accusing glance at his way.

"They seem to make the most of their honeymoon", Janette remarked
lightly, suppressing a smile.

"Honeymoon? What honeymoon? What are you talking about?" Nick hadn't
still quite recovered from the onslaught of what had just happened,
and couldn't understand what she was talking about.

Janette gave him a look which was half scolding, half exasperation.
"Really, Nicolas, if you kept in contact every once in a while,
instead of insisting on living in seclusion --"

"This is New York, Janette." Nick interrupted her, smiling a little.
"I don't think it quite qualifies as 'seclusion', do you?"

"You know very well what I mean." This was an old argument, and it
had all but lost its amusement for Janette a long time ago. "It's bad
enough that you don't keep up with Community news but when you don't
even know what is going on within your own family..."

"So, what else is new?" Nick quipped with a grin that didn't come
quite as easily as he would've liked it to.

Natalie had quietly observed their bantering but when it seemed that
no answers were forthcoming she cut in. "So, when did they get
married?"

"The first of May, in Reno", Janette answered.

"Reno?" Somehow that wasn't what Natalie would've pictured LaCroix's
wedding to be like. In fact, she'd never pictured him to get married,
period.

"A 'Mayday' wedding?" Nick lifted his brow in amusement.

"I hear it was a lovely ceremony", Janette said calmly, not bothering
to address neither of their fixations.

"You mean, you weren't there?" Natalie asked, somewhat surprised.

"I understand that they wanted to keep it simple, so it was just the
two of them, no guests", Janette explained. "I only found out about
it when I visited them in July."

A short silence filled the room as the three of them were lost into
their own thoughts.

"Well, I guess this means that now she really is our 'step-maman'."
Nick broke the quiet with a faint grin, remembering the joke Janette
had once made.

"Step-maman?" Natalie repeated looking up at him. "Oh no, I don't
think so." At Janette's amused expression she went on to clarify.
"For that to be true, LaCroix would have to be my father - which he
most definitely is NOT."

"He is your master", Janette reminded her gently.

Seeing that his wife was about to protest yet again, Nick set his
hand on her knee and gave a comforting squeeze. "I never thought
LaCroix had it in him but since they've now tied the knot I think we
should wish Antonia good luck. She's gonna need it."

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

end of part 3

--
Claude
<dce@dlc.fi>
*NA**NatPacker**N&NPacker**HB*
http://www.dlc.fi/~dce/index.html 


For disclaimers, see part 1

'TIS THE SEASON.... (4/5)
by C. Bart
<dce@dlc.fi>
(c)2000

New Year's Eve

The archeological excavations of Pompeii were closed to the public an
hour before dusk, as usual. However, it was precisely an hour *after*
sunset that two figures quietly slipped in from the sky to have a
little private tour in the ancient city.

Despite it being winter time, the weather was mild to say the least,
especially when one was used to the more wintery temperatures of
Toronto. Wrapping her long coat around herself a little more soundly
against a slight breeze Antonia couldn't still quite believe that she
was finally in Pompeii. Only, now she wished that she'd brought a
flashlight along since it *was* dark and she had to squint to see
around herself. Stealing a glance at LaCroix from the corner of her
eye she tried to imagine what was going through his mind at that
moment.

This was the first time LaCroix had laid eyes on the old city since
he'd left it after its destruction. Watching the ruins around them,
he didn't feel particularly nostalgic. This was not the city he
remembered. This - wreckage - wasn't the Pompeii of his mortal days.
No, what lay before them was nothing but an empty shell. A pillaged
empty shell at that.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Antonia breathed beside him, fascinated.

Looking down at her he met her gray eyes which shone with excitement.
Then, he took another look around them, trying to see it the way she
did. He tried, but was unable to.

Shrugging a little, he met her enthusiastic face again. "That, my
dear, I suppose depends on ones perspective."

He watched her enthusiasm being turned down a notch as she swept her
eyes over the ruins again, trying to envision what he saw when
looking at it all.

"I suppose you're right", she said after a moment's silence. "I'm
sorry. This must be difficult for you. I didn't think when I asked
you to bring me here..."

"No", LaCroix assured her. "It was all a long time ago, and this..."
He motioned towards the ruins. "... this is nothing but a pile of old
bricks to me."

"Oh, come on. You don't really expect me to believe that, do you?"
Antonia gave him an inspecting look. "This was your home, Lucien. And
it may be a pile of old bricks, now, but I don't buy for a second
that that's all you see when you look at it."

He gave her a small smile. "Like I said, it was all a long time ago,
my dear."

He felt her eyes on his face but said nothing more of the subject. If
he felt something when walking down the once familiar streets again,
or saw a few flimsy ghosts walk by, that still didn't change the fact
that old bricks were all that was left at this excavation site.

"Now, what would you like to see first?"

"Everything." Antonia laughed. "Umm, I think your place would be a
perfect spot to begin the tour."

"Yes, it would. But, unfortunately my villa was in the part of
Pompeii that they haven't excavated yet."

"Oh." She was rather disappointed. "Well then, why don't you show me
some of your favorite places. You know, where you liked to hang out,
those sort of things."

His favorite places... That was a tough one. He'd actually spent more
time away from the city, conquering new territories for the Empire
and managing his affairs in Rome, than in it. There was Seline's old
place, of course, but it probably wasn't a sort of place one would
take his wife to. Besides, it hadn't been dug up yet, either.

"How about the baths?" he finally asked. Not the most interesting of
places perhaps but he'd certainly spent a fair share of his time in
them.

"Lead the way, mon General." Antonia grinned at him.

*******

After the Stabian Baths, they continued their way towards the two
theaters which were built almost side by side.

"What's this?" Antonia stopped at one of the many locked gates.

"That's the Temple of Isis, what's left of it."

"That's a temple? But it's so small."

"Well, she wasn't much of a goddess."

"Right. And that's why she's merely a forgettable footnote in the
history books about ancient Rome, not to mention Egypt." She was
almost drowning him into her pool of sarcasm.

"I take it you'd like to get a closer look?"

"You read my mind." Stepping into his arms, she gave him a toothy
smile.

LaCroix levitated them over the gate, as requested. While Antonia
satisfied her curiosity by walking up and down the flight of stairs
on the front of the temple, and by circling the building, several
times, LaCroix watched her and let his mind go back a week, to
Christmas Eve.

They'd arrived to Paris a week before Christmas, so that they'd have
a little time to get everything ready. Even so, they probably
wouldn't have managed without Mrs. Watson. Not that he'd really
minded the hectic schedule, it had helped him keep his mind off
certain other things.

Antonia had wanted to give him a special kind of Christmas present,
but she'd needed his cooperation with the preparations. *She* had
been his gift. He always enjoyed unwrapping her but she'd wanted to
be a true treat for him. And, as she'd carefully explained to him,
for it all to be truly special, he had to keep from biting her for
the whole week preceding Christmas. Now, he hadn't been altogether
thrilled but somehow he'd managed to pull it off. And what a present
she'd been...

His mouth watered at the memory. She had positively gorged on fruits
and honey during his week of abstinence, and on Christmas Eve she'd
enjoyed a little more of red wine than she usually did. And all that
'marinade' combined with his week long fasting had turned her sweet
blood to pure ambrosia. He'd totally lost control at the first taste
of it. At that moment, had she asked for it, he'd given her the moon.
Well, she hadn't asked for the moon. Instead, she'd asked to see
Pompeii. She'd thought it was The perfect place for them to receive
the coming year.

No, he wasn't having second thoughts. He probably would've brought
her here one day, anyway. But seeing the remains of what to him had
been a city full of life, was -- disappointing. Oh, he'd known what
to expect and yet, somehow, he'd expected more.

"It's simply marvelous. I definitely like it better than that Temple
of Jupiter you showed me before."

Antonia's declaration brought LaCroix back to the present.

"Yes, she always did attract more female followers than males",
LaCroix said dryly. He really did not see what was so special about
this temple. It was a temple. In Pompeii they were a dime a dozen.

"Ha-ha. Come on." Antonia walked over to him and turned back to
squint at the temple again. "You can't deny its beauty. And damaged
as it is.. to think that it's still here, after all this time... It's
still beautiful."

"Oh yes, and to think that after all this time - I'm still here, as
well."

His dry wit was wasted on Antonia.

"Oh, I'm sorry, hon. You're beautiful, too." Grinning, she patted his
arm in mock consolation.

*******

>From the Temple of Isis, they finally continued on to the theaters.

LaCroix had never been particularly in to the plays. He'd always felt
that at best, most of them had lacked true wit and at worst, they'd
been enough to put a grown man to sleep. Still, the structures
brought back many memories. The good old days, as the saying went.
Well, at least those days one could be direct with criticism if the
play was beneath all contempt; there'd always been plenty of not so
fresh fruits and vegetables at hand. Nowadays, the best one could do
was to leave the theater - and that definitely lacked a certain
something in the satisfaction department.

>From the Odeion, they returned to the Via dell'Abbondanza and checked
out several of the houses along it as they headed to the
Amphitheater.

Antonia let out a sigh of wonder at her first sight of the
Amphitheater. Hurrying forward she almost ran the stairs up to get a
proper view down to the arena.

"It's so *huge*!" Her eyes were wide with awe as she turned to look
at LaCroix. "I mean, of course I knew that it would be, but.. this..
it's just.. wow!"

>From her not-quite-coherent words, LaCroix got the gist of the idea.
And she was right, of course. It was quite magnificent. Still,
knowing what it should have *truly* looked like, he couldn't help a
wave of - something - flowing through him. The seats which had once
been so well kept were now covered with grass, as were parts of the
arena itself. And there was a feeling of emptiness hovering over it
all. Shaking his head ever so slightly in disapproval, LaCroix
couldn't help but to think that no matter how grand it seemed, it
still looked every bit of its age.

His not-so-happy thoughts were cut by Antonia. Following her in a
somewhat more sedate fashion, he descended the stairs and walked
behind her through a gate which led to the arena.

Curiously enough, as often as he'd frequented the Amphitheater during
his mortal days, this was the very first time he'd ever actually set
foot to the arena itself. It looked decidedly different from this new
perspective. Larger. 'Intimidating' was perhaps not quite the word he
was looking for but then, had he been a mortal gladiator in the days
long gone....

"Can you believe this place?" Antonia had wondered closer to the
center of the arena but she still spoke with a normal voice, knowing
that he'd hear her. "It's amazing. Astounding. And a little sad."

"Why sad?" LaCroix moved closer to her.

"When you think of all those poor chaps who had to die here for
*entertainment* it's-- " She paused, searching for words which would
perfectly describe her feelings. "I mean, look around you. Can't you
see the audience screaming for blood? And if you were the one whose
blood they were after... Well, it's just - sad."

"It was the way things were back then. And it wasn't seen as sad, at
all. What it was was a distraction for the people, designed to keep
them happy. When the people were happy, the elected officials could
be relatively certain that they would continue to hold their offices.
As with most things, my dear, ultimately it was all about politics",
LaCroix explained pragmatically.

"Politics?" Antonia repeated. "That's worse than sad. That's just
cold."

"It's a windy business, my dear." LaCroix smiled, a little amused.
"But, if it makes you feel any better - to us, death was simply a
part of everyday life. One accepted it, lived with it. Think of
yourself, for example."

"What about me?"

"Your view of death was quite different before your first death,
wasn't it? Now, you live with it, with the knowledge of it, every
day. Death hasn't changed, only your perception of it, of the
necessity of it, has. In a way, you've become more Roman. It's merely
a question of practicality over sentimentality."

"Practicality over sentimentality?" Antonia arched her brow. "Trust
me, when it's a question of *my* death, I get REAL sentimental."

LaCroix chuckled at her words. "Oh, I have no doubt abut that. BUT,
if you met another Immortal, practicality would inevitably take
over."

"Well, it would --" Antonia's words were suddenly cut off. Then,
casting her eyes around them, she turned to face the other entrance
leading to the arena. "There's someone here. My kind."

Even before she finished, LaCroix could see what she'd sensed only a
moment earlier. It was a girl, barely out of her teens, clad in a
long, dark coat and flat leather boots which made little sound as she
approached them across the grassy sand. She was just a little bit
taller than Antonia, tanned, and her black, curly hair had been cut
very short, revealing her small ears. She didn't look like much of a
threat but she had a certain air about her, air which could only be
brought on by a number of years, years which most certainly exceeded
her outward appearance.

She stopped a few meters from them, looking from Antonia to LaCroix
as if trying to figure out which of them was the Immortal and which
merely the companion.

Antonia took a step forward to indicate herself. "Antonia Jones."

"Calida. Salute."

When she received no reply, she began to speak in Italian. However,
as soon as she heard LaCroix begin translating for Antonia, she
switched to a heavily accented English.

"The gods are smiling upon me. I have prayed for this for a very long
time. Finally, they have sent me an answer - you."

She looked expectantly at Antonia, who shook her head a little in
reply. "I don't follow."

"Scusi." Calida made an apologizing wave with her hand for not being
clear enough. "I was a retiarius during the time of the great Sulla.
This is where I became Immortal. And every year I return to this
place at New Year's Eve, at night, to pay my tribute to the gods."

She looked around them, almost caressing the old stones with her dark
eyes. "It as been many years since anyone has made an offering to
them, many years since they have seen blood on this sand, and they
have not been pleased. They have been silent for a very long time but
now they have brought you here."

end of part 4

--
Claude
<dce@dlc.fi>
*NA**NatPacker**N&NPacker**HB*
http://www.dlc.fi/~dce/index.html 


For disclaimers, see part 1

'TIS THE SEASON.... (5/5)
by C. Bart
<dce@dlc.fi>
(c)2000

"The 'gods' didn't bring me here. I was --" Antonia tried to protest
but was ignored.

"You may choose to believe what you will, but still, you are here,
Antonia Jones." Calida's faith remained unshaken as she brought out
her sword.

"No, wait! I --"

Once again, Calida interrupted Antonia. "Of course. You wish to
prepare yourself. I shall wait for a moment."

And she stepped a little further away, allowing Antonia and LaCroix a
modicum of privacy.

Glad that she'd brought her sword with her, Antonia turned to her
husband. "Speak of the devil... She's a little cuckoo but I can't
ignore her, I can't just walk away from this. But I want you to go."

"That's quite all right, my dear. I'm in no hurry. I'll wait for
you", LaCroix replied calmly.

He watched her face tighten as she tried to keep her voice steady.
"Look, maybe she's just bluffing but if what she said is true... She
could be as old as you are. Older. And I've never faced an ancient
before. I'm not sure I-- Look, I don't want you here. What I want is
for you to leave. Please."

LaCroix understood her perfectly. And he'd do almost anything for
her, just not this. Not when she was so clearly uncertain of herself.
But there was something else he *could* do for her.

Grabbing her face between his large hands, he held her still. He
stared deep into her eyes and listened to her errant heartbeat.

"Lucien, what.." She tried to pull out of his reach only to have him
tighten his grip.

"Trust me."

She became still as a statue. Gray eyes stared into his blues without
blinking. She'd surrendered her will to him. Trustingly. Completely.

"You can beat her." Pause. "You *shall* win."

"I will."

The tightness of her face relaxed, and he could hear the drum of her
heartbeat slow down again. Her voice was calm and unquestioning, the
look in her eyes clear and decided. She was composed, sure of her
abilities; confident but not overbearing. In short, there wasn't a
hint of doubt left in her.

There was no more talk of him leaving.

She was ready.

Handing her coat to LaCroix, Antonia turned to face the ancient
Immortal. She felt the familiar weight of her shamshir in her hand,
swirled it around a little to become more conscious of the
connection, to reaffirm the sensation of the weapon as an extension
of her arm. Once satisfied, she readied herself in a relaxed stance.

Calida had observed the movements of her opponent, still, waiting.
When Antonia stopped, she saluted her with her sword and uttered the
familiar words by which she'd lived for so long already.

"...uri, vinciri, verberari, ferroque necari."

The words were whispered so quietly that Antonia couldn't hear them,
and even if she could have she wouldn't have understood them. But
LaCroix heard them, and he understood them perfectly.

His sharp eyes evaluated Calida anew, trying to see if he'd missed
anything the first time around. He found nothing. Still, the old
phrase he'd heard her say had just about succeeded in overthrowing
any doubts he might've had of her true origins.

However, he put all his musings aside at the first clash of swords.

The two women began cautiously enough, partly because of the darkness
and partly in an effort to try and pry out any weaknesses in the
other. They kept their attacks short and quick, avoiding any
unnecessary risks. But as they warmed up, so to speak, they began to
get more creative with their use of blades. Certainly, neither of
them could have been accused of fighting according to the numbers.
They were careful, naturally, but there was nothing mechanical in
their movements.

As LaCroix watched, the fight progress he almost felt himself
transported back to his mortal days. He didn't need to use his
imagination to hear the crowd yelling, to smell the anticipation of
blood emanating from them. It was all so clear he half expected to
find Claudius standing next to him, suggesting a 'little wager'
which, if he won, would support him for at least the next six months.

He, like most Romans, had enjoyed the games in all their forms,
although he'd been particularly partial to the venationes. Something
about the idea of a man against beast had appealed to him whereas the
more typical fights between gladiators, while certainly entertaining,
hadn't held such a sense of fascination over him. Probably because to
a General, fights between men had been rather commonplace. Still, a
fight to the death *was* a fight to the death.

Now, at the familiarity of the scene in front of him, LaCroix
couldn't help but feel the old excitement return. And he found
himself agreeing with Calida - it *had* been too long since blood had
last flown on this old Arena. And as long as the blood spilt here
tonight belonged to Calida, he was all for it.

In his mortal days LaCroix had never witnessed a fight between two
female gladiators. Watching Calida and Antonia now, he wished that
he'd had the chance. Although, he strongly suspected that such a
fight could not have competed with what he saw now. No matter how
well trained the gladiators might've been, they wouldn't have had
centuries of experience behind them.

The thought gave him pause.

Antonia still didn't have that. She was young, a fledgling compared
to Calida. But she fought well, with the certainty which he'd given
her. Knowing, that in the end she'd be victorious. Believing, that in
the end there could be only one - and tonight it *would* be her. But,
perhaps most importantly, if all else failed, she had him - and her
rules be damned.

His ruminations came to an end when at long last, first blood was
drawn. And it was Antonia's. The wound wasn't serious, a mere nick on
her thigh but it looked as if it served as a kind of signal to the
women. They were less cautious and took more chances, almost taunting
each other to 'come and get it'.

Once or twice, LaCroix found himself biting his tongue, to try and
not shout warnings at his wife. While he could perhaps see more
clearly the mistakes and missed opportunities, standing aside as he
did, he still remembered well what it was like to be the one holding
the sword. In the thick of a fight, time sometimes seemed to slow
down. Even though you knew things happened very fast, indeed, you
still had enough time to calculate your chances, to decide whether or
not to bluff, to change your tactic in the midst of it all if need
be. He also remembered the importance of concentration. The winner
between opponents with equal skills was most often the one who could
hold his or her concentration the longest; therefore any distraction
on his part might prove to be fatal, to Antonia. So, he held his
tongue and continued to serve as a spectator only.

While Calida seemed to have better technique, Antonia was the faster
of the two. However, it was hard to say which of the two qualities
would bring the final victory. The fight had gone on for quite long
already without either of the women clearly getting an upper hand.
Both of them had taken various hits but so far, neither of them had
managed to deliver nothing even close to lethal. And they were both
getting tired...

They must've summoned the last of their adrenaline since the fight
seemed to pick up again. And while they still paid attention to
defense, it wasn't the most important thing in their minds, anymore.
The battle would be over soon, it had to. Waiting for the other to
make a mistake was no longer an alternative.

Calida held her sword a little tighter and attacked. Antonia met her
blade with her own, sliding the sharp edge off herself with a move
which looked quite effortless but was anything but. Without a pause
she continued her motion, swirling around a full circle, and ended it
with her blade slicing through Calida's tendons at the back of her
right knee.

Her opponent dropped down, her leg no longer able to support her.
Lifting the shamshir above her head Antonia was ready to bring it
down, to finish the battle when Calida played her last card. Down on
her knees on the grassy sand she, gathered her strength, everything
she had left, and lifted her sword in one last bid for victory. Her
thrust delivered the blade just below Antonia's heart, scraping it
along its way through the flesh.

It all happened so fast, even LaCroix had trouble following. But when
Antonia sank on her knees with a surprised gasp, the blade still deep
in between her ribs, he broke his silence.

With a horrible, primal scream, he watched Calida draw out her sword
and then, supporting it with both hands now, swing it towards
Antonia's slender neck.

In a blurry of motion, LaCroix flew towards the two Immortals, not
even considering the possibility that he might reach them too late.
That simply was not an acceptable option.

Calida's blade was only a hairbreadth away from it's target when it
was suddenly whisked off her grasp. She no longer had even the
strength to turn her head but from the corner of her eye she saw
something that made her freely flooding blood freeze. The last thing
she ever saw was a demon with burning eyes.

Growling, LaCroix sent Calida's sword flying to the other end of the
Amphitheater. Without a pause, he grabbed the Immortal and in a
terrifying show of strength he pulled, and did not stop. Howling as
if he was really a werewolf, LaCroix felt a warm splash of blood on
his face and basked in it, in the smell of it, not getting enough of
it.

Slowly, it registered with him that there wasn't a single heartbeat
around. Only then, he finally let go of Calida, of what was left of
her, and turned to see his wife. His wife, who lay on the ground,
dead.

She'd bled to death while he'd literally torn Calida's head off. And
he hadn't even noticed. Dropping down beside her, he gently put his
right palm against the wound over her heart while the fingers of his
left hand caressed her untouched throat, smearing it with Calida's
blood.

Too close. It had been too damn close for his comfort. It chilled him
to think what could've, would've, happened had he not been there.
Breathing in the scent of her blood, aching to have a taste, he felt
something warm and sticky run down his cheeks. Just too damn close.

A change in the air swirling around them alerted him to the fact that
it still wasn't over, yet. Reluctantly, he let go of his wife and
backed a few paces. Almost immediately the wind picked up, throwing
sand and grass up high above them. And right at the heels of the
wind, he could feel a charge of electricity rocket up. The sound of
the Quickening was deafening to the point of intense pain which made
him back down further still.

Shielding his eyes against the flying debris, LaCroix saw the two
bodies being lifted up and suspended in mid air by an invisible
force. Electric charges seemed to jump off from one body to the other
in a light show which rivaled the simultaneous fireworks spectacles
in the nearby towns.

And in the middle of it all, Antonia was revived. But the Quickening
wasn't over yet. It held her in the air, twisting her back to the
point of snapping her spine, mauling her as if to punish her for
receiving a Quickening she had not earned herself. She screamed for
all she was worth but all sound was lost into the wind, until finally
the Quickening came to an end, dropping her to the ground like an
abandoned rag-doll.

In a blink of an eye, LaCroix was beside her again, gathering her in
his arms, assuring her - and himself - that she was still there,
still breathing, still alive.

She was like a helpless little kitten on his lap. All the strength
she had left was spent in breathing, and still her fingers tried to
grab a hold on the front of his shirt. Gently as he could LaCroix
rocked her back and forth, whispering softly into her ear,
surrounding her with himself as best he could.

Slowly, her breathing became easier and the fingers grasping at his
shirt tightened into a fist. As she recovered from her most powerful
Quickening yet, the shock of surviving stepped in. Her breathing
became labored again as painful sobs escaped from between her tightly
pursed lips. LaCroix had no idea how long it lasted but by the time
she had no tears left to shed, his shirt was soaked and his chest
covered in deep scratches. She was so utterly spent that LaCroix
fully expected her to fall asleep where she lay. Instead, as the last
of her sobs died out, she reached blindly towards him, almost
frantically tearing him closer.

"Antonia..."

His whisper had no effect at all. There was no soothing her as she
was determined to have her way with him. She was heedless even to the
headless corpse lying not too far away from them. All she wanted, all
she needed, was to feel him again. To feel *alive* again.

There was nothing particularly gentle in their coupling. What it was
was pure, raw emotion. It wasn't so much even an act of love as it
was a reaffirmation of life.

It was the dawn of a new millennia - and they were both still alive.


The End

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Translations and terms:
1. retiarius = Gladiator who was armed with a net, a trident and a
small dagger and who wore no helmet.
2. uri, vinciri, verberari, ferroque necari = "I will endure to be
burned, to be bound, to be beaten and to be killed by the sword."
3. venationes = Animal displays, staged as hunts in which
increasingly exotic animals were pitted against each other or hunted
and killed by bestiarii.

Notes:
Yes, there really were women gladiators in the ancient Rome, though
they were few and far between. However, I have no idea whether or not
any of them actually fought in Pompeii.
And yes, after I visited Pompeii this fall it was way too much to
hope that I wouldn't write a 'gladiator' scene set on the Arena. <bg>
And a final Yes, it really is an amazing place (the whole of Pompeii,
not just the Arena, that is) and if you ever have a chance to go see
it - go for it. You won't be sorry.

--
Claude
<dce@dlc.fi>
*NA**NatPacker**N&NPacker**HB*
http://www.dlc.fi/~dce/index.html