HOUSE CALL 6 (SAUCE FOR THE GOOSE)

by Apache

Content:
Het
Vachon/Tracy
Implied or Graphic Sexual Situations
No Violence

Ok, so we aren't exactly Lucy and Desi, but the vampire does come over to my place to do his laundry.  And take a shower.

Indoor plumbing.  Great basis for a relationship.

Actually, no way around it, there's chemistry -- plain, dumb hormonal chemistry (or whatever vampires have instead of hormones). I know I got to live through my first sight of him as a vampire mainly because I'm blonde; he knows that his being a gorgeous supernatural mystery had everything to do with me showing up at the church the night after the plane crash.  Whatever else happens -- no many how many times I blow him off or he gives me an ironic smile and swallows some secret -- it's just there, it's heat, it doesn't quit.

OK, indoor plumbing, and lust.  Marriages have happened that way. Not good ones, probably, but... there is this thing between us.  Every time we just look at each other for more than a few seconds, the fuse starts burning again.

Where did it get us?  Where else?-- into trouble.  And now we were heading into the deepest water possible.  My dad always says, "the best defense is a fast retreat through your enemy's forward position."  Well, that's how I felt about this.  This time, we deal with it-- go *through* it-- before it kills me for being stupid.

~ ~ ~

It's been a couple weeks, and the punctures where Vachon bit my shoulder had healed over, though the muscle's still sore -- looking at them, you wouldn't think those fangs could go that deep, but they did.

We'd already been stupid twice.  This time.... tactics.  Strategy. Planning.  //Planning, right.  I plan every time I can manage to quit thinking about what it's like, just kissing him, for five seconds at a time.//

He agreed when I said we needed to make a plan, but I don't think he realized I'm going through with it.  Tonight's probably going to be a laundry night, because "Petrified Forest" is on the late show, and he knows it's my night off.  He'll make me watch it -- it feels like he's making me watch pretty much every movie ever filmed.

It's fun really, because sometimes he'll tell me where he was when he saw the movie for the first time -- except that I feel like Laura Holt in 'Remington Steele' all the time now.  You know, the dark, handsome stranger with the mysterious past says, "Of course!  'They Fly By Night,' Paramount, 1950, Ford Prefect, Joe Beebelbrox, Lana Turner...." and Stephanie Zimbalist goes, "what?" but it solves the case.

Fine.  We'll watch Bogie.  Then we'll talk.  I know how I'll handle it, just discuss it calmly, maybe run down a few questions.  The more objective we can stay about this, the better-- like, the better chance I have to live through it.  Just two calm, rational adults....

Yeah, I had the calm, rational approach all figured out. Hah-- one little glitch.  This is Vachon I'm talking about.

~ ~ ~

"You made a list?"  His voice cracked and his eyes lit up with pleasure.  He reached for it.  I whisked it behind my back.  Bang -- he was behind me, had my wrist in a viselock, and was removing the list.

 "Hey, no fair."

"Fair?"  he was in front of me again, eyebrows climbing, voice lilting with amusement.  "Vampire, Tracy, vampire.  Not umpire.  You gotta get it straight some day."

I made a face at him.  "I can never win."

"Right," he agreed.  "So-o, let's see this list--"  he held it up and started reading aloud:

WHERE?

my place-- comfier

his place -- safer for him? (safer for me??)

neutral turf -- a motel?  (NOT a B & B...)

This made him smile; he cut his eyes at me, then went back to reading:

WHEN?

-- time of day?

-- time of month?

(moon?)

"Moon?" he echoed.  "MOON?  Now I'm a werewolf?"  I never saw Vachon laugh like this, ever.  He was almost howling.

"I don't know."  I gave him an infuriated glare.  It made him laugh more, and really howl:  "Rrrrroooooo.....  Awwwwrrrrooooooo...."

Now I yelled: "Look, I don't know, okay? -- where can I look it up?  It doesn't say in this thing--"  I swept a hand at this gigantic black paperback I have called 'The Encyclopedia of the Undead.' Vachon loves it.  "And you won't -tell- me, so how would I know?  I..."  I waved my arms.

Vachon completely hates shouting, especially if it's aimed at him.  His eyes were looking now at the ceiling or maybe out at infinite space.  I walked away.  "I feel like an idiot," I said, sounding like an idiot, too.

Vampire speed again.  He was right in front of me, not laughing, running a hand down my arm and giving me a really good Sincere Look with the big dark eyes.

"No," he said.  "I don't.  The less you know, the safer you are." The hand ran up to pull my head against his.  His thumb followed the outer curve of my ear, and I heard his breath go in fast, that involuntary whiff of my blood.  "We both are."  He let go.

"Wait a minute -- this is dangerous for you?"

He took another deep breath, but this one was to give him time to think about what he was going to tell me.  I could almost hear the editorial pencil scratching out the possibilities.

"Mortals aren't supposed to know about us."

"Oh, thanks for the hot tip, Vachon."  Then, dropping the scorn: "Don't you trust me at all?"

"Not the point." It was that voice that makes a sentence sound like a question.  He rested his eyes on me for a minute.  "Everyone pays," he said finally.  His eyebrows went up like, Ok, now?

It rattled me.  I think of him as practically invulnerable.  I mean, I've seen him sick, and I've seen him scared of the Inca... but those things are over and I think of him as next to indestructible.  But he knows different?

"All these months?"  I was suddenly terrified -- and not so much for myself as for him -- knowing for sure in that instant that it isn't just heat and fascination.  I care.  I care incredibly.

"No big deal."  He shrugged.

I hit him -- which is to say, I launched a maddened thump that would have hit his shoulder -- but he caught my fist in his hand and immobilized it.

"Why are you doing this?" I said softly.  I meant all of it -- every time he's gone through my drawers, looked at my pots and pans, answered a question, showed up to help me... touched me.  Kissed me.

He lifted my fist to his lips and gave it a courtly little kiss.  "Because I" -- my eyes began to narrow, and he let me hang for a second -- "want to."  His eyes held mine for a moment, soft and wide.  Then he shrugged again.

OK, it was a little better than 'because I can,' but, as major declarations of romantic passion go, it left a lot to be desired.

He went back to the list.  Case closed.  Emotional moment over.  Five hundred years, and he's still a total guy.  "Men," I said, and turned around to pull a ginger ale out of the fridge.

He continued to read aloud:

WHAT HAPPENS?

Not bite

possible?

handcuffs?  (muzzle????)

Vachon stopped here and threw me a look.  I concluded the muzzle was out.  Which is fine-- it was a little too much like Anthony Hopkins in the hockey mask anyhow.  Plus, the one thing I already know about this experience is that Vachon is a truly excellent kisser.  I wrinkled my nose and grinned, which meant 'okay.'

"Jason," said Vachon, with a smile.

I made a face.  "Silence of the Lambs," I said back. "I can't actually face those slasher movies."  Another face.  "I guess they're a little too real for me."

Now he was inscrutable.  Is he thinking that's a funny weakness for a homicide cop, or is he thinking that's cute and feminine, or is he thinking that his real life is -exactly- like a slasher movie or....  it's pointless.  Once in a blue moon, I can tell what he's thinking and the rest of the time, I'm clueless.  Fortunately, that goes both ways.

"To bite or not to bite," he declaimed suddenly, flinging one hand in the air.  "That is the question."  Then he glanced over and said, very offhandedly, "actually, it's not."

I bit my lip.  No avoiding the bite, then.  Oh god...  I went spinning off into a dark mental picture, trying to imagine it, and then trying NOT to imagine it.  I crossed my arms and kept gnawing on my lip. Is it going to hurt like that bite in my shoulder?  Will it make a big scar?   //Well, Trace, it won't if you die.... now -there's- a cheering thought.//  What could possibly make this worthwhile?

He watched me for a few moments, then went back to reading aloud.  The funny spin was gone from his voice.

Bite?

how much?

*look up**** how much blood you can lose and be OK

can he measure/control how much?

Vachon looked over at me, and the weirdest thing happened.  It usually happens between blinks (usually?  like it's this regular feature of your life, Trace?) but this time, he looked up at me right as his eyes were turning yellow; I saw the color change.  And he looked at me for a few seconds and they went back... the yellow darkened and suddenly they were just brown-black Vachon eyes again.  And with the oddest expression on his face, and one of those smiles that only happen with the smallest expression in his eyes, the smallest parting of his lips. He didn't say a thing, and just looked back down at the list.  What that moment meant, I have no idea.  I didn't know whether to jump out of my skin or kiss him.

Do I pass out?

If so, then what?

If not, then what? (what do you think, stupid?!!)

How much like a regular guy is he?

erection?  (yes)

He shot a glance at me.  I shot a glance at the carpet.  Then at the kitchen counter.  Then at some dried spices I have hanging.

pregnancy? (no)  diseases?

**will it turn me into a vampire???**

"Don't write this word down," Vachon said.  It was like a reflex.  This time I met his eyes and nodded.  Okay.  There's a whole other level of safety issues I didn't know about hiding behind the pure question of what he and I can have for ourselves.

Worst case scenario:

I die.  (stay dead-- tell him!!!)

Get me to a hospital?  Some public place?

(vampire rules:  another cause of death?)

tell him:  not just disappear/unsolved.

make sure my parents find out for sure.

The eyes swung back to me again.  They had that sadness in them.  It's his reaction to the distance between us.  And the difference between our wishes.  He'd rather be what he is.  He'd also rather that I be what he is.  I'd rather be human.

"I know," I said.  "You think I should want it."

Half a smile.  "I think anyone in their right mind who finds out it's possible should want it."  And then we let it go.  His eyes went back to the list:

Best case scenario:

it works

--does he come?

Oh my gawwwwd, oh no no no no no, I forgot about that.  Another quick glance.

"Yes, he comes," Vachon said.  With a truly evil grin.

I wanted to fall through the floor, right then, no waiting, do not pass GO do not collect two hundred dollars and never mind the hot supernatural interspecies love scene--

I blushed to the roots of my hair and at least halfway down my back.  When this happens, the very tip of my nose stays white -- which is where the nickname Button started -- but the rest of me is like a beefheart tomato.

When I could bring myself to look at him, I got a huge surprise. I was all steeled to see the yellow vampire eyes-- after all, there was about a quart of blood showing in my face alone -- but what I got was -- amazement, I think.  He took a step toward me -- I got scared, but his eyes were staying brown-black and he'd gone vampire in that other way, the one where he forgets to move like a human being and all the years he's lived are right up front in his eyes.  It's weird, looking at that window down the centuries, but it's Vachon, the same... person.  Man.  It crossed my mind that I've gotten to like those old eyes a whole lot, even though I've only seen them a couple of times, and even though it makes me feel like I'm having sexy thoughts about my grandfather.  He reached out and touched just the tips of his fingers to my hot face.

"I've never done this to a woman before," he said softly.  He flattened the fingers against my cheeks -- I could feel the flush starting to recede.

He swallowed, and I shivered.  He shook his head, telling me it wasn't about being hungry. And he held my eyes and sort of said one or two things with -his- eyes that made it a lot better.

But let's be real here.  "You've never embarrassed a woman?  Give me a break, Vachon."

"Me.  I."  ...Ohhhhhh.  Only the pretense, the fake-human.  All those years.

I can't begin to explain where it came from, but I threw my arms around him and burst into tears.

~ Go to Part 4 of the "House Calls" series ~

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