Revenge and Redemption
By Danii
Disclaimer: I own almost none of the characters used in this fic. They are the property of Tristar, Fox, James Parriot, and other assorted parties. I am not profiting from this story in any monetary way, shape or form. All I get is the tingly sensation of feedback. Besides, it'd be useless to sue because I'm a part of the broke-student faction...
Distribution: If you have anything of mine already, feel free to put this story up. If you don't, simply put it up with my name on it and notify me with the URL of your site.
Rating: I'll say PG13
Feedback: I'd really appreciate it, and it gets me writing faster...so, I ask, please?
Notes: This is a crossover between Forever Knight and Brimstone. For info on Forever Knight, check out http://fkfanfic.com and if you need info on Brimstone, try http://www.scifi.com/brimstone cool?
And now:
Detective Ezekiel Stone, formerly of the NYPD (not to mention the land of the living), sighed tiredly and lowered his gaze to the ground. Though he knew it was important, he couldn't help but look away from the distorted remains.
He hated this. He hated to see the people, the faces...those he had failed without even knowing it. Whenever he walked onto a crime scene, or found a dead victim of one of the Damned that he was chasing, Zeke couldn't stop the emotions and thoughts that would run through his mind. The 'would'ves'...the 'couldv'es'...the 'shouldv'es'. And worst of all, the 'maybes'.
Maybe if I hadn't had breakfast this morning, I could have caught the bastard before he did this.
Maybe if it hadn't rained...
Maybe if I'd slept less...
Maybe...maybe...maybe.
But none of this brought the body before him, or the three others he'd seen in the nights past, back to life.
"Aw, is this little hunk of flesh upsetting you, Ezekiel?" asked a familiar voice from behind his ear, "And I thought you were made out of tougher stuff then that, detective..."
Zeke was silent for a moment, then slowly turned his head until he met eyes with the bane of his existence. Namely, the Devil.
"It's not a 'hunk of flesh'," he told the fallen angel quietly as he held his rage within. It didn't pay to get angry at his employer. Fury only served to make matters worse for Zeke. But he wasn't going to let that comment stand. "It's a she. And she used to be young, happy...with a whole life ahead of her-"
"But now she's not..." the Devil pointed out with a grin, "And for the time being, 'she' is nothing but evidence for all intents and purposes..."
"Maybe to you," Zeke told him, allowing just a sliver of his anger into his voice. It was one thing to avoid trouble, and another to let the bastard walk all over him.
The Devil smiled once more. "And I suppose that she isn't to you?"
"No..." he answered, his voice tight.
"Yes, maybe she isn't..." the fiend mused with a raise of an eyebrow, "But she will be...eventually. You can't keep thinking of her as a person, Ezekiel. Not forever. You'd go mad if all those bodies you'd seen over the years were people to you, and you'd never get anything done at all."
"Shut up."
"Just an observation, my dear detective..." the Devil hissed quietly, "A simple-"
"I said 'shut up'..." Zeke repeated once more, his tone now completely hostile. He'd had enough of the bastard's taunting for the night, especially since his 'employer' hadn't told him anything of value.
"And to think, I haven't even said anything yet..." came a totally unexpected voice from over his shoulder. Shocked, and more then a little spooked, Zeke spun around to face the source of the comment.
When he spun, he found behind him a man of around 5'10'' with dark blonde hair and blue-hazel eyes set in a handsome face. The stranger was dressed in a sharp black suit, far too expensive for any cop to own (let alone go to work in), with a burgundy vest underneath that did nothing to lighten the tone of the outfit. Then again, considering the setting and situation, there was no need for lightening.
"Um..." Zeke began intelligently, "Who're you? Any relation to the deceased?"
The stranger gave a small chuckle, but he obviously refrained from anything more joyous due to the dead body within a few feet of them.
"Am I under suspicion, detective?" he asked without answering.
Zeke shrugged. He didn't want to lie, but he also didn't wish to be impolite. The dead man figured that this gesture covered both bases. Plus, something about this guy was wigging him out, and he didn't want to speak just yet.
"I see..." commented the stranger in response to the detective's shrug, "But since I know I didn't do it, I'll be happy to answer both questions for you."
"Okay..." Zeke finally got out. Yes, there were definitely some strange vibes coming off of this dark-suited gentleman, and despite the man's obvious friendly manner, Zeke had a feeling that the guy in front of him was a very dangerous person.
"I am Dr. Nicholas Chevalier," the newly introduced Nicholas told him, "This office is where my wife and I practice."
"Oh," the dead detective responded half-heartedly. True, a part of him was interested in finding out as much about this peculiar doctor as was possible, but another part, the more base part of his instincts, told him that he should go. Away. Now. However, both parts agreed that they needed to stop whichever Damned asshole was doing this, and the first part knew that a component of that was getting to know the man before him.
"And as for relation to the deceased," Nicholas continued, looking at Zeke as if he knew about the conflicting emotions boiling within the other man's mind, "She was a patient of mine. Natasha Singer."
Though there was little emotion in the voice as he mentioned the name, Zeke could hear the pain within the doctor as he mentioned his now dead patient. It was faint, controlled, but very there. The detective supposed that it must be horribly agonizing for a doctor to lose someone, especially when there was nothing he could have done to save her. Zeke also had a feeling that this cheerful bit was merely a façade to hide this pain and anger.
Yes, that's what was making Zeke uncomfortable, he realized. The anger. The raw, unadulterated rage that was silently pouring out of the man before him with such strength. It was this that was scaring him. This, and the sense of power that accompanied it. Old and dark, this too oozed out of the figure standing in front him, and the almost tangible nature of both these usually intangible things had him puzzled beyond his normal limit of caring. Who (and what, a dark corner of his mind added) was this man really?
Zeke's question was somewhat answered as the good doctor placed his hand upon the detective's shoulder. He watched as the dark-suited man's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in malice. What had he done to-
Suddenly, the touch on his shoulder tightened to a steely grip that, to Zeke's surprise, hurt, and the friendly smile twisted into a heated snarl.
"What do you think you're doing here?" the man asked, no longer a sweet-hearted doctor, "Do you think being a detective is a game, boy?"
"Boy?" Zeke asked in confusion, "I'm not-"
"You're a boy to me, fledgling..." hissed the one before him, "A foolish boy, trying to play with those who know no better, those he thinks he can control."
Zeke was still as he watched the other's face. What was going on?
"Well, I'll tell you now, child, that I could obliterate you faster then you could imagine, and that I don't appreciate such games being played...especially with me, or those I care about."
"What are you-"
"Did LaCroix send you for some reason? Perhaps to mock me about the past? Was it his idea to-"
"Listen, buddy, I don't-"
"Hush..." he silenced the one within his iron grasp, "I don't know what you were planning to do, but I suggest that you instead make your way out of my building, forget whatever my bastard of a father told you to try, and never get within my site again. Is that clear?"
"But-"
And now an even more peculiar and frightening thing happened.
The face in front of Zeke changed. As he watched, two of the teeth in that angry snarl lengthened till they were nearly down to the bottom lip, and those once blue-hazel eyes were drained of their peaceful color only to be replaced with a rather feral amber. What was left after this change was something far more frightening then anything Zeke had dealt with thus far. Not by much, but it was enough.
"Don't make me tell you again, detective..." the creature (for there was no other word the dead man could think of to describe the being before him as) hissed out, making the last word sound like an insult, "Now, get out..."
Zeke nodded, and then yanked himself out of the grasp of the creature. He definitely needed to get out of there.
"Go..." repeated the thing he had thought of as Nicholas Chevalier with a growl, "Now..."
And Zeke, throwing his rebellious nature out the window for the time being, did just that, actually hoping for once to meet his torturer/employer in hopes of finding out just what the hell was going on, and just what he was getting himself into.
By Danii
Disclaimer: I own almost none of the characters used in this fic. They are the property of Tristar, Fox, James Parriot, and other assorted parties. I am not profiting from this story in any monetary way, shape or form. All I get is the tingly sensation of feedback. Besides, it'd be useless to sue because I'm a part of the broke-student faction...
Distribution: If you have anything of mine already, feel free to put this story up. If you don't, simply put it up with my name on it and notify me with the URL of your site.
Rating: I'll say PG13
Feedback: I'd really appreciate it, and it gets me writing faster...so, I ask, please?
Notes: This is a crossover between Forever Knight and Brimstone. For info on Forever Knight, check out http://fkfanfic.com and if you need info on Brimstone, try http://www.scifi.com/brimstone cool?
And now:
Detective Ezekiel Stone, formerly of the NYPD (not to mention the land of the living), sighed tiredly and lowered his gaze to the ground. Though he knew it was important, he couldn't help but look away from the distorted remains.
He hated this. He hated to see the people, the faces...those he had failed without even knowing it. Whenever he walked onto a crime scene, or found a dead victim of one of the Damned that he was chasing, Zeke couldn't stop the emotions and thoughts that would run through his mind. The 'would'ves'...the 'couldv'es'...the 'shouldv'es'. And worst of all, the 'maybes'.
Maybe if I hadn't had breakfast this morning, I could have caught the bastard before he did this.
Maybe if it hadn't rained...
Maybe if I'd slept less...
Maybe...maybe...maybe.
But none of this brought the body before him, or the three others he'd seen in the nights past, back to life.
"Aw, is this little hunk of flesh upsetting you, Ezekiel?" asked a familiar voice from behind his ear, "And I thought you were made out of tougher stuff then that, detective..."
Zeke was silent for a moment, then slowly turned his head until he met eyes with the bane of his existence. Namely, the Devil.
"It's not a 'hunk of flesh'," he told the fallen angel quietly as he held his rage within. It didn't pay to get angry at his employer. Fury only served to make matters worse for Zeke. But he wasn't going to let that comment stand. "It's a she. And she used to be young, happy...with a whole life ahead of her-"
"But now she's not..." the Devil pointed out with a grin, "And for the time being, 'she' is nothing but evidence for all intents and purposes..."
"Maybe to you," Zeke told him, allowing just a sliver of his anger into his voice. It was one thing to avoid trouble, and another to let the bastard walk all over him.
The Devil smiled once more. "And I suppose that she isn't to you?"
"No..." he answered, his voice tight.
"Yes, maybe she isn't..." the fiend mused with a raise of an eyebrow, "But she will be...eventually. You can't keep thinking of her as a person, Ezekiel. Not forever. You'd go mad if all those bodies you'd seen over the years were people to you, and you'd never get anything done at all."
"Shut up."
"Just an observation, my dear detective..." the Devil hissed quietly, "A simple-"
"I said 'shut up'..." Zeke repeated once more, his tone now completely hostile. He'd had enough of the bastard's taunting for the night, especially since his 'employer' hadn't told him anything of value.
"And to think, I haven't even said anything yet..." came a totally unexpected voice from over his shoulder. Shocked, and more then a little spooked, Zeke spun around to face the source of the comment.
When he spun, he found behind him a man of around 5'10'' with dark blonde hair and blue-hazel eyes set in a handsome face. The stranger was dressed in a sharp black suit, far too expensive for any cop to own (let alone go to work in), with a burgundy vest underneath that did nothing to lighten the tone of the outfit. Then again, considering the setting and situation, there was no need for lightening.
"Um..." Zeke began intelligently, "Who're you? Any relation to the deceased?"
The stranger gave a small chuckle, but he obviously refrained from anything more joyous due to the dead body within a few feet of them.
"Am I under suspicion, detective?" he asked without answering.
Zeke shrugged. He didn't want to lie, but he also didn't wish to be impolite. The dead man figured that this gesture covered both bases. Plus, something about this guy was wigging him out, and he didn't want to speak just yet.
"I see..." commented the stranger in response to the detective's shrug, "But since I know I didn't do it, I'll be happy to answer both questions for you."
"Okay..." Zeke finally got out. Yes, there were definitely some strange vibes coming off of this dark-suited gentleman, and despite the man's obvious friendly manner, Zeke had a feeling that the guy in front of him was a very dangerous person.
"I am Dr. Nicholas Chevalier," the newly introduced Nicholas told him, "This office is where my wife and I practice."
"Oh," the dead detective responded half-heartedly. True, a part of him was interested in finding out as much about this peculiar doctor as was possible, but another part, the more base part of his instincts, told him that he should go. Away. Now. However, both parts agreed that they needed to stop whichever Damned asshole was doing this, and the first part knew that a component of that was getting to know the man before him.
"And as for relation to the deceased," Nicholas continued, looking at Zeke as if he knew about the conflicting emotions boiling within the other man's mind, "She was a patient of mine. Natasha Singer."
Though there was little emotion in the voice as he mentioned the name, Zeke could hear the pain within the doctor as he mentioned his now dead patient. It was faint, controlled, but very there. The detective supposed that it must be horribly agonizing for a doctor to lose someone, especially when there was nothing he could have done to save her. Zeke also had a feeling that this cheerful bit was merely a façade to hide this pain and anger.
Yes, that's what was making Zeke uncomfortable, he realized. The anger. The raw, unadulterated rage that was silently pouring out of the man before him with such strength. It was this that was scaring him. This, and the sense of power that accompanied it. Old and dark, this too oozed out of the figure standing in front him, and the almost tangible nature of both these usually intangible things had him puzzled beyond his normal limit of caring. Who (and what, a dark corner of his mind added) was this man really?
Zeke's question was somewhat answered as the good doctor placed his hand upon the detective's shoulder. He watched as the dark-suited man's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in malice. What had he done to-
Suddenly, the touch on his shoulder tightened to a steely grip that, to Zeke's surprise, hurt, and the friendly smile twisted into a heated snarl.
"What do you think you're doing here?" the man asked, no longer a sweet-hearted doctor, "Do you think being a detective is a game, boy?"
"Boy?" Zeke asked in confusion, "I'm not-"
"You're a boy to me, fledgling..." hissed the one before him, "A foolish boy, trying to play with those who know no better, those he thinks he can control."
Zeke was still as he watched the other's face. What was going on?
"Well, I'll tell you now, child, that I could obliterate you faster then you could imagine, and that I don't appreciate such games being played...especially with me, or those I care about."
"What are you-"
"Did LaCroix send you for some reason? Perhaps to mock me about the past? Was it his idea to-"
"Listen, buddy, I don't-"
"Hush..." he silenced the one within his iron grasp, "I don't know what you were planning to do, but I suggest that you instead make your way out of my building, forget whatever my bastard of a father told you to try, and never get within my site again. Is that clear?"
"But-"
And now an even more peculiar and frightening thing happened.
The face in front of Zeke changed. As he watched, two of the teeth in that angry snarl lengthened till they were nearly down to the bottom lip, and those once blue-hazel eyes were drained of their peaceful color only to be replaced with a rather feral amber. What was left after this change was something far more frightening then anything Zeke had dealt with thus far. Not by much, but it was enough.
"Don't make me tell you again, detective..." the creature (for there was no other word the dead man could think of to describe the being before him as) hissed out, making the last word sound like an insult, "Now, get out..."
Zeke nodded, and then yanked himself out of the grasp of the creature. He definitely needed to get out of there.
"Go..." repeated the thing he had thought of as Nicholas Chevalier with a growl, "Now..."
And Zeke, throwing his rebellious nature out the window for the time being, did just that, actually hoping for once to meet his torturer/employer in hopes of finding out just what the hell was going on, and just what he was getting himself into.