HOUSE CALL 9 (v)

by Apache

Content:
Het
Vachon; Nick/Natalie
No Sexual Situations
No Violence

Another Vachon/Nat encounter.

Stop me if you've heard this one:  I'm standing here with somebody's duodenum in my hands and what I'm really thinking about is... vampires.

So what else is new?

Once again, the undead are way ahead of the dead in the race for Natalie Lambert's attention.  There may be a brain cell here and there that isn't completely consumed with the information a relic of the Spanish Conquistadors just gave me, but I really wouldn't take any bets on it.

And Vachon was right.  I did want to track Mary Ann Carr.  Mercy notified the P.D. about the sexual activity, and I horned in, using the excuse Vachon concocted -- that I was her regular doc.  It worked, and her samples -- and more to the point, his -- were in my lab before my shift ended.

There's no point in looking for clues like decreased motility in vampire sperm.  Nick has never been thrilled about donating, but science prevailed, and I've known for years that even fresh from the farm, vampire sperm are old and dead in -the- most literal sense.  But I was wondering if I might find them differently dead once they'd been in contact with Mary Ann Carr's living vagina.  Or even... showing signs of life?

In a word, no.  Struck out again.

End of shift came, but it didn't make much difference.  I just took my buzzing brain out the door with me as I pulled on my winter coat.

I wanted to talk to Nick more than anything, but I knew I needed to organize my thoughts first.  Everything about this is going to upset him:  the fact that a male vampire can do this; the fact that the male vampire in question, Vachon, practiced on a woman in Toronto, which Nick regards as his turf; and the fact that Vachon's ultimate goal is sure to be Tracy Vetter, who Nick also regards as his turf.  So to speak.

Actually, Nick's partner is a funny kid.  She's grown on both of us over the months.  I mean, she's no Don Schanke -- is the world ready for another one of those? -- but she's sweet, well-intentioned, and a lot more serious as a person than she looks.

And let's not forget her helpful obliviousness to some of Nick's more... ah, eccentric... qualities.

~ ~ ~

Oh great.  Vachon at my door.  Literally.  Outside the building in a light jacket in the almost-dead of winter, looking completely comfortable.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you to dress warm?"

He looked startled, then got the message.  "I forgot."

Wonderful.  A careless, preoccupied vampire.  My very favorite kind of visitor.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you weren't at work."  He grinned.  "I passed your car on the way here."

"So?"  I was too tired for his cuteness.  //Gee, a vampire flyover. Did you do a victory roll?//

"I wanted to say I'm sorry I didn't trust you."  Perfectly sincere.

"You're forgiven," I said instantly.  "Goodnight, Vachon."  I got the key in the lock.  He hung around, looking -- preoccupied.

"Good NIGHT, Vachon."  //Go to the Raven.  Go home. Go AWAY.//

I went through the door, which swung shut behind me.  I felt my regular OK-I-lived-through-another-vampire-interaction relief.  Then I saw Vachon.  Indoors -- he'd made a vampire move, right past me, slipping in as the door swung shut.  One of those moves that remind you that the main reason you're not dead is they didn't feel like killing you.

"Can I talk to you?"

My eyes closed momentarily.  "Oh sure," I said.

~ ~ ~

As soon as I got in upstairs, I went to the kitchen to brew some coffee.  I prefer to be alert when talking to vampires.  Call it a personality quirk.

On a whim, I pulled down two cups.

"OK, Natalie Lambert's Vampire Psychotherapy Bar and Grill is now open.  What'll ya have, pardner?"  Like my old Russian granny always said -- if you're not free to cry, laugh.

Vachon looked at me like I was demented.  Good.  Go home now, vampire.

Then he said:  "Well, ma'am, ya got any whis-key back there?" just like John Wayne.  I mean, -just- like.  It made me laugh for real, and play along.

"Wa-a-al, young feller, I just might."  I actually started to reach for the bottle -- strictly medicinal/I'm a doctor although I don't play one on TV -- and he caught my eye.  Not really.  Oh well.

"That is a *dead-on* impression," I said.  If I said that to Nick, he'd cringe.

Vachon grinned.  "Why, thank ya kindly, ma'am," he drawled.

My coffee started to hiss and sputter into the pot then, and I held a cup directly under the drip for a minute, then went through the motions of sugar, cream, stirring... just stuff to do with myself.  You know, put him at his ease?  //So, Sigmund, shall I tell him to stretch out on the couch? Close his eyes and tell me his dreams? //

But he wasn't saying anything.

"Look, I don't want to stay up til the crack of dawn just to watch you have inner turmoil," I said tartly.  "You can do that in the privacy of your own home."  A wonderful place, from what Nick says -- if you have eight legs and spin webs for a living.  //Sorry, Sigmund, I know you think I should keep my mouth shut.  I know the patient has to initiate the communication for it to be valid.  I know the anxiety to speak is a counter-transference... but Sigmund, it's 4 a.m. here.//

"Vampire Psychotherapy Bar and Grill," he imitated.  "The Doctor Ruth of the undead."

Nope.  No way I am going to start a therapeutic relationship with a vampire by allowing the patient to mock the doctor.  //Sigmund, you'll back me up on this, right?//

"OK, that's enough of that," I announced.  "You may not, ever again, under any circumstances, compare me with Dr. Ruth, Dr. Joyce Brothers, Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman, Dr. Kildare, Quincy M.E., Hawkeye Pierce, Jonas Salk, Albert Schweitzer, or any doctor whatsoever on Medical Center, St. Elsewhere, E.R., or Chicago Hope.  Not to mention General Hospital.  Did I leave anyone out?"

"Dr. Zorba," said the vampire humorously.

I crossed my arms defiantly.  The least he could do is fight fair. "I have -much- better hair."

This made Vachon smile.  The air was comfortable.

"Bu-u-t it is three -- ah-- no -- -four- a.m., so... what do you want?"

He just stood there.  Clueless.  Aha-- that.  //Men.  Even vampire men, they're just... men.//

"Never mind, I'll tell you," I said.  "You need to talk about Tracy Vetter." //Boy, I hope that's it.  Because if it's anything else...// And then I thought of that short, cold, exhilarating levitation on Valentine's Day -- the city laid out below me like diamonds on velvet, and myself safely clamped in the arms of a vampire -- who was not Nick.  Who was this scruffy kid.  A five hundred year old scruffy kid.

He blinked.

"O-kay, you need to talk about Tracy Vetter and you don't know how you feel about her."

Another blink.

"You need to talk about Tracy Vetter 'cause you don't know how you feel about her but you're on the brink of doing something that everyone in Toronto, vampire or human, would tell you is truly, truly dumb."

Vachon was watching me with great caution.  The flip side of the look I gave him when he'd slid into the building right past me.  It was kind of funny, really.

"Not used to being understood at all, are you?  Yah -- well, neither am I.  Join the club."  I thought about it for a minute.  "Hell, we -are- the club."

It relaxed him.

"So... are you in love with Tracy Vetter?"  Whoops, there goes the comfort level. //So, Sigmund, you don't think I should have gone right for the juicy? I should have said 'Nice weather we're having' or 'Seen any good movies lately?' Well, maybe you're right.//

But Vachon's answer was interesting, to say the least.

"You use these words like they have to mean something," the vampire said.  "Love? In love?"  He snorted.  "If I say yes or no, does it mean something?  It's just another variety of noise."  His eyes dropped.  "Before too long, you've heard all the words.  In all the languages.  They just... blend."

"Walk a mile in my fangs," I said sardonically.

Vachon smiled again.  "Not what you want," he said easily. "That was what I thought at first, that Knight wouldn't give it to you.  But that's not it."  His voice was very sure, like he had me all figured out.

"Dead right," I said, a little defensively.  "I like chocolate way too much to give it up."  //Nat, Nat, the patient always tries to find weak points in the therapist... get a grip.// "OK, let me try it another way.  Are you planning to attempt sexual intercourse with Tracy Vetter? If so, why?"

I was so wrapped up in my psychotherapy persona, I didn't realize how the question sounded until it was out... oh God, please don't give me a rhapsody about her big blue eyes....

Nope.  Instead, he counterattacked. "Why, would you rather I 'attempt sexual intercourse' with you?" -- mimicking my tone exactly.  //You know something, Vachon?  I preferred your John Wayne.// "You want to try the experiment on yourself? Isn't that what Marie Curie did?  Or someone?  Nobel Prize juice, Dr.  Lambert.  Split the vampire atom."

"You know that's totally out of the question.  Besides, you don't want to be human," I said.  I meant it two ways.  But he'd hit a nerve, and my voice wasn't quite firm.  And then his face softened, and his eyes seemed to get larger.  Did he actually come closer or did I imagine...

The wolfish grin.  "No," he agreed.  "But you -do- want to go to bed with a vampire.  And maybe I'll be obliging..."

Oh God, life just took a turn for the weird... talk about your quick transferences. //Sigmund, you wrote whole treatises about this, right?  C'mon, help me out here -- what do you say to amorous vampires?//

Vachon's eyes were fixed on mine, deep dark brown, almost black, bottomless eyes, and he was moving in on me... was it vampire charm or was it really just him?  My pulse was racing, and I saw in his eyes that he was hearing it, that every sense he had was trained on me with laser intensity, absorbing me...

"What would I tell Nick?"  I was backing away.

"Something.  Nothing.  I don't care."  His voice was whispery, his eyes deep and welcoming.  He was closing in...

"What would you tell Tracy?"

Thank God, that stopped him.  My good sense, which seemed to have stepped out of the room for the last few seconds, finally showed up.  And right behind it, the thought of the literally thousands of women who must have died succumbing, just like that -- the eyes, and one hand on you, and it's over.

"You really *don't* look before you leap, do you?" It came out angrier than I meant it to.  "'Surprise, Tracy, I love you, but I stopped off for a quickie with your friend Natalie...'"  //And the flip side... uh, Nick... you know what Janette.... Don't even think of THINKING of it, Nat.//

He looked unhappy.  I felt safe enough to laugh.

"You really are a matched set, you two," I snapped. "She goes charging off to face down a serial killer without so much as a by-your-leave to the Captain, let alone Nick, and practically winds up on his trophy wall--"

This put a final end to the seductive atmosphere around him.  He was staring, and then he looked away.  At the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but at me.

//Oh my.// "She didn't tell you that one, huh?  It's been a few weeks -- Reese ordered her to take three days after shooting a suspect. It's optional, but the captain took the option, and you know Tracy Vetter.  She took it personally -- a woman, a rookie, the Commissioner's daughter."  Vachon was looking at the ceiling, at the wall... anywhere but at me.

"So naturally Tracy goes out to play Supercop, off-duty, by herself, dressed like 'Debbie Does Toronto.' And naturally Dr. Demento kidnaps her.  About a block away from the Raven, in fact."  Vachon's eyes jerked toward me at this. "Nick barely got there in time.  And then she wound up shooting *that* perp, too.  She thinks she saved Nick's life."

//Sigmund, what's the book on telling your vampire patient stuff about his girlfriend that he didn't already know?  That one's in the chapter on Bad Ideas, isn't it?//

But if I hadn't already believed he cared about Tracy Vetter -- and I wasn't sure I did -- I would have believed it now.  His fear, even knowing she had come out of it alright, was palpable -- just for a second, then he hid it. //'Narcissistic cathexis,' right, Sigmund?  Your fancy Latin name for 'like to like?'//

"You've really got it bad, huh?"  This came out in a sympathetic doctor voice. "C'mon, Vachon, it's plain as day -- you should excuse the expression."

He looked at me.  Hating to be understood, grateful to be understood.

"Look, Vachon -- I ask a question about Tracy, you make a joke.  I ask a question about Tracy, you start discussing semantics. I ask a question about Tracy, you start coming on to me. I ask a question about Tracy, you pull a strong silent act.  Are we noticing a pattern here?"

He looked startled.  All these years, and you've never read Freud on sublimation?  Vampire, heal thyself.

"One life... is almost nothing," the vampire said quietly.

It was like he'd slugged me-- they came out of him so easily, those words that were everyone's death sentence.  I was frozen, struck through with horror, too stunned and appalled to even feel fear -- it was the naked revelation of the essential vampire mind, calm, matter of fact, heartless, unselfconscious, shamelessly cruel...

"One life is everything."  I barely breathed the words.

He met my eyes.  'I know'-- he just mouthed the words.

But my thoughts were like a rioting mob //"I know" -- no you don't, you monster.  Not as long as you drink blood.... Nick, oh God Nick...  and I'm not here to sit in judgment on this vampire, who came to me for help on how *not* to take a human life...  you be nice, Nat... Sigmund, tell me how to be nice to a guy who makes Charles Manson look like a hot date.// I turned my back on him, grabbing a little privacy to think with...

He said it like that on purpose, to shock me -- why? //Sigmund.... ?// Start with what the patient says, doctor.  It will be there in the words... some trace of the truth.

//Trace.  Thanks, Sigmund.// The minute it crossed my mind, the thought clicked:  Of course, impetuous Tracy -- she's the one pushing it; Tracy, who believes that happy endings are the only kind there is.  How many years has it been since I believed that?  Or did I ever?  And the weird thing is ... for Tracy, it works.  Things come out OK all around her.  The case gets solved, the bad guy gets put away... of course she thinks she can have her vampire lover. In her world, all she has to do is want him.

I swallowed all the angry things, and went with the Sigmund instinct, the one that said if we don't manage to have compassion for each other, we may as well all be dead anyway.

"You could Just Say No," I said softly.

He pulled a smile.  "It got complicated," he said just as softly.

He can't turn her down... Last fall, Nick had to threaten him to keep him in town, making sure Tracy stayed safe from other vampires.  Now he's saying he can't bring himself to go.

Oh boy.

"You -said- I should be nice to Tracy," he said wryly.

"Yeah I did, didn't I?"  I mused. What was that, six weeks ago? Ancient history... before Janette.  "Maybe 'be nice' is all there is to say."

"There's nothing to say," he said abruptly, with complete seriousness.  "Nothing to say.  What I wanted..." he shrugged.  "Not words, I guess."  He gave me a wry smile.  "A fortune teller, maybe."

"Well, my crystal ball's all dusty these days," I told him.  "You want guarantees?  Buy a refrigerator."  That came out harsher than I meant.  "But I'd like to help... really."

"You would?  With which part?"  Vachon was very amused.

I laughed for a second. //Yeah, okay, I'm not going to sprout fangs and crawl in bed with her,// I thought, //but this is an issue you can't afford to turn aside with a joke.  Not if Tracy's going to live.//

"Okay, very cute, ya got me," I said.  "But sooner or later, you'll have to get serious.  Take some responsibility."

"Responsibility," Vachon murmured. "Matched set."  He gave me a funny look.  "You and Knight..."

What about Nick?  But I didn't want to ask, not at this hour.  And I didn't want to discuss Nick with Vachon -- did I?

Somewhere in my head, N.L.'s V. P. Bar and Grill hung up a 'closed' sign and put out the lights.  //The fifty minute hour is over, eh, Siggy? Yeah, you're right.// I put my coffee cup down in the kitchen and walked over to Vachon, signalling him to stand up.  He did, looking puzzled.

I put a completely impersonal arm around his shoulder and headed him toward the door, where I patted his shoulder with my very best professional compassionate pat.  I think I actually -did- learn it from watching "Marcus Welby" when I was a kid.

The vampire went along with being steered out, though he was looking at me with blank curiosity.  I enjoyed being incomprehensible to a vampire -- it turned the tables, just for once.

        "Good luck, Vachon," I said, patting his shoulder a few last times for emphasis.  "You're gonna need it."  And closed the door on him.

~ Go to House Call 10 (vi) ~

~ Return to "Forever Knight" ~

~ Return to Apache's Archive ~