Death of TV Shows
Part 2: Playing with LaCroix
A Forever Knight/ Buffy/ X-Files Crossover
Disclaimer: if it's not mine, it's not. There is a short scene from Last Knight which, aside from the story format, is directly from the show. __________________________________________
Nicolas de Brabant desperately did NOT want Buffy in his loft. He had just killed his girlfriend, and she and LaCroix had disappeared soon after. He was in no mood for taking care of lost citizens. But . . . at least he wasn't hungry. And as an officer of the law, it was his duty to assist . . . even if the girl *did* refuse to go to the station . . . which was why Buffy Sommers was sitting on his couch wrapped in a blanket and sipping coffee.
"Would you stop pacing?" Buffy asked Nick, feeling a little dizzy. "It's not going to help anything."
Nick stopped and looked at her. "That's it," he asked, "a 'weird' person showed up – in California – and told you to look to me for help, and then suddenly you're freezing in Toronto?"
Buffy considered this for a moment. "Yes," she replied, "basically."
"What did this person look like?" Nick said, sitting on the other side of his couch.
"I told you; I can't remember."
Catching her eye, Nick stared at Buffy. "Try," he ordered in a soft but persuasive – and hypnotic – voice. "Tell me everything about her. Did she tell you her name?"
"She was . . ." Buffy started, and then froze, shaking off the whammy. "I don't know – just weird. I know this isn't exactly helping. Maybe I should just try and get home. Though it's not like I have one left," she muttered, frowning.
"Your home was destroyed?" Nick inquired curiously. This was new information. "What happened?"
"Oh, you know," Buffy replied. "Natural disaster – it's California, we have lots of earthquakes; this one took our whole town out.
"Ah," Nick said. It was obvious to him that Buffy was lying about the 'natural' disaster – and doing a very good job of it. He wondered why she would – but she seemed to be a resister to his hypnotic ability, and he knew he wouldn't get any more out of her on the subject. He'd have to do some research on this Buffy Sommers. But for now . . . "Do you have a passport?"
Buffy shook her head. "I've never really been out of California before," she admitted. "Sorry if I'm being a pain, but – what was that?" she asked suddenly, reaching for a stake. "Did you hear something?"
Nick nodded – he'd been listening for several minutes now. "It's not unusual to hear that around here. Don't worry about it."
"What is it?"
"The signal for me to check you into a motel," Nick answered dryly. "You can't stay here. But we can take care of the passport problem tomorrow night – it's late."
Buffy stared. "It's not even four in the morning!" she exclaimed.
"I work the night-shift," Nick explained. "This is getting late for me – but, in any case, I'm tired and so are you."
"I don't have any money," Buffy said suddenly, almost interrupting Nick. "Please – just let me stay here – uh – today. I won't make a mess, promise. Anyway, who would be open at this time of night? Couldn't I just check in later?"
Sighing, Nick agreed. It was times like these he needed Natalie. Nat!
*Flashback:* [Last Knight]
Nick is holding Nat. "You cannot deny what I am."
"You cannot deny what's in your heart," Nat counters, looking into his eyes.
"What are you saying?" Nick asks in surprise.
"I have faith. There is a future for us. Here as we are or somewhere else. I believe in you. I trust you. Make love to me, Nick. Take just a little a time."
"I'm afraid of what might happen," Nick replies.
"I'm not afraid of death . . . Or of an eternity of darkness as long as I can spend it with you. All I have is faith and love. All I'm asking is for you to make love to me. I trust you."
Nick takes Nat's hands in his own. "I won't leave you. Whatever happens, we'll be together." Nick leans forward and bites Natalie . . .
*End Flashback*
"I left her . . ." Nick murmured, too softly for Buffy to hear.
"Are you still with me?" Buffy asked, waving her hand over Nick's glazed eyes. He blinked, focusing on her, fighting his threatening tears. "That's the second time you've done that – just zoned out. Am I that boring?"
"I'm fine," Nick answered, almost smiling. "I suppose you are correct – you may spend the night here. If you will give me a moment, I will prepare the bed for you –"
"No need, thanks," Buffy answered gratefully. "This couch would be just fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." As Nick shrugged and went to get her some (black) blankets, Buffy settled back into her seat. She hadn't really had a chance to thing (probably a good thing) before, but now she had far more than a million questions – but none that Nick could answer. After all, if this really *was* a different universe (which she still doubted . . .) Detective Nick Knight had probably never even heard of vampires.
Then again . . . Death, however crazy, had seemed very . . . sure of her choice of universe. But why had she picked this one? "Forever Knight" it was called. The "Knight" part referred to Nick, that was obvious. But what did it mean?
Buffy barely noticed as Nick gave her blankets. She fell asleep wondering if she had been knocked out and brought here . . . that would explain the season and time change.
Nick looked sadly at her glazed look. At least he wasn't the only one. But that would do no good now . . . it was time to go and angst about his problems.
___________________________________________________
"No," LaCroix said, staring directly into Death's eyes with his golden ones.
"But they love you!" Death exclaimed, squirming a little under his gaze. "And you're a non-dying canon character! They need you!"
"I don't see you pushing Nicholas into this 'fan fiction' world to be drooled over by mortal girls! And *he* might actually have enjoyed it."
"Well . . . no," Death answered. "But he was the star! *The* main character has to stay to satisfy canon and satisfy the 'verse!"
"You *will* put me back," LaCroix said hypnotically. Death stared incredulously at him.
"You can't hypnotize me," she said. "I'm crazy – it doesn't work." Death pulled out her notebook and began to write, muttering "Doesn't understand these things . . ."
"Put it away," LaCroix ordered. Death complied a little sulkily. "And let me go – I have to stake Nicholas." His eyes glowed even more brightly at this, until Death turned slightly away.
"No," she answered with quite emphasis. "I can't do that."
With vampire speed, LaCroix pinned Death to the ebony wall, with one arm pinning hers and the other over her neck. Death looked up (at least a foot) at his face, apologetically. "This is a warning," LaCroix said. "Something which I usually don't give."
"Oh, that's nice," Death replied dryly, trying to reach her notebook. "But you're still due in a fic in just a couple minutes." She turned insubstantial, and slid through LaCroix icily. "I hate doing that," she noted mildly, pulling out a different notebook from the first. LaCroix could see it was a slightly different shade of black.
LaCroix, only momentarily surprised by Death's ability to go through him, watched her. "And what 'fic' would that be?" he asked.
Death shrugged, and then checked her notes. "It's called 'Seduction' and in it you meet an original character and –" she paled, staring at the notebook. "Where did you want to go again?"
LaCroix looked at her suspiciously. Why had she changed personalities and convictions so quickly? "What was written in there?"
Death shook her head, composing herself. "The sick fantasies of a teenage," she answered, making some notes. "And she spelled your name wrong."
Smiling wryly, Death switched notebooks and looked back at LaCroix. "I'm not *that* evil." – It was a *bad* fic. But then again . . . Death could almost *taste* what could be done with LaCroix in the mix. Fun. – "All right, I'll allow you to go back – and even to The Hospital, but I have two conditions."
"What are they?" LaCroix asked sharply, not bothering to hide his fangs from the meddling, game-playing Death. He almost liked her – they were alike. Except for the whole insanity thing, that is.
"You make no contact with Nicolas de Brabant."
"And?"
". . . and you 'escort' the two FBI agents – Fox Mulder and Dana Scully – I'm sending to Toronto."
LaCroix's eyes narrowed menacingly, but Death didn't even wince this time. "Those terms are unacceptable."
"I could put you in the fic . . ." LaCroix glared. "What are *your* terms then," Death asked. "You follow my game, and I'll follow yours."
Now LaCroix actually smiled – the possibilities . . . "That would be fine. I will agree if you swear to come if I call . . . and keep Dr. Lambert away from Nicholas."
"Excellent!" Death exclaimed. "Shall we bind the contract with a drink?" she motioned to a small, ebony table where two glasses had appeared. LaCroix looked at his doubtfully, but after sniffing it found the finest young blood.
"To game playing," Death said, lifting her glass.
"And the victims of it."
___________________________________________________
Mulder was more than ready to leave his place at four the next morning. As he was exiting, an elegant (and extremely expensive-looking) car pulled up, and a tall, pale man stepped out and walked up to him. "Agent Fox Mulder?" he asked in a strange accent.
"Yes?"
"I am Lucien LaCroix. If you will please come with me, I shall escort you to Toronto." Mulder looked past the elderly vampire to the shaded windows of his car where Scully already sat. She nodded to him.
"Thank you," Mulder answered cautiously. He edged around LaCroix, who took his bags as if they weighed nothing. Mulder immediately headed to the car and slid in next to his partner. "Are you all right, Scully?" he asked in a low voice, thinking LaCroix couldn't hear him – which, of course, he could.
"I'm fine. I just don't like this, Mulder," Scully replied. "There is something wrong with that man." Mulder nodded, but didn't answer as LaCroix had just opened his door. A moment later, they were driving. Neither agent noticed LaCroix's careful concentration on the eastern horizon.
"I take it the girl who spoke to us hired you," Mulder said, trying to make conversation with his silent driver. LaCroix didn't answer. "Did she hire you?" Mulder tried again.
"You could say that," LaCroix replied shortly. Scully found herself surreptitiously loosening her gun in its holster.
But the remainder of the drive was uneventful, if not uncomfortable (and amusing, in LaCroix's case, as he was very aware of the affect he was having on the two FBI agents.)
By the time the three of them had reached the airport, LaCroix's vampire sense was positively yelling at him: 'the sun is coming up! Run for your life!' But he knew better; Death had promised him a (after the fourth glass) no sun for today. Yes, it was sure to be dreary, grey, and dark. He didn't much care to think of the vibes he was sure to get from Nicolas on such a day, but at least he would be able to walk around in buildings with *windows* today . . . as long as he was careful, that is.
"Come quickly," LaCroix ordered. "Follow me." He led them into the semi- crowed airport, past the check-in and onto the airplane in less time than either of them had ever managed it. LaCroix then left them without a word – he wanted a "snack."
"We're on a public flight," Mulder noted, looking around. "Why would someone send an escort to put us on a public flight?"
"I don't know," Scully answered. She looked around, but LaCroix was nowhere to be seen. "And what do you think of our . . . escort."
"LaCroix?"
"Yes."
"I think he needs to take a vacation to somewhere sunny and get a decent tan. That guy looks like he hasn't gotten any good rays in a decade!" Mulder answered, pulling a little sack of stale sunflower seeds from his pocket. "Want one?"
"How did you get those?" Scully laughed. "The food cart hasn't even come around yet."
"When traveling on long plane trips, it's best to carry them along. One time when I was –"
"Mulder?" Scully asked, tapping him on the shoulder. He turned to her, stuffing several seeds in his mouth.
"Mmm?"
"You're avoiding my question," Scully said reproachfully. "What do you think of Mr. LaCroix?"
"Yes, Miss Scully?" LaCroix's voice asked from just behind her. Scully jumped, looking a little embarrassed.
"Never mind," she answered quickly, not looking at Mulder. He was grinning broadly at her.
Disclaimer: if it's not mine, it's not. There is a short scene from Last Knight which, aside from the story format, is directly from the show. __________________________________________
Nicolas de Brabant desperately did NOT want Buffy in his loft. He had just killed his girlfriend, and she and LaCroix had disappeared soon after. He was in no mood for taking care of lost citizens. But . . . at least he wasn't hungry. And as an officer of the law, it was his duty to assist . . . even if the girl *did* refuse to go to the station . . . which was why Buffy Sommers was sitting on his couch wrapped in a blanket and sipping coffee.
"Would you stop pacing?" Buffy asked Nick, feeling a little dizzy. "It's not going to help anything."
Nick stopped and looked at her. "That's it," he asked, "a 'weird' person showed up – in California – and told you to look to me for help, and then suddenly you're freezing in Toronto?"
Buffy considered this for a moment. "Yes," she replied, "basically."
"What did this person look like?" Nick said, sitting on the other side of his couch.
"I told you; I can't remember."
Catching her eye, Nick stared at Buffy. "Try," he ordered in a soft but persuasive – and hypnotic – voice. "Tell me everything about her. Did she tell you her name?"
"She was . . ." Buffy started, and then froze, shaking off the whammy. "I don't know – just weird. I know this isn't exactly helping. Maybe I should just try and get home. Though it's not like I have one left," she muttered, frowning.
"Your home was destroyed?" Nick inquired curiously. This was new information. "What happened?"
"Oh, you know," Buffy replied. "Natural disaster – it's California, we have lots of earthquakes; this one took our whole town out.
"Ah," Nick said. It was obvious to him that Buffy was lying about the 'natural' disaster – and doing a very good job of it. He wondered why she would – but she seemed to be a resister to his hypnotic ability, and he knew he wouldn't get any more out of her on the subject. He'd have to do some research on this Buffy Sommers. But for now . . . "Do you have a passport?"
Buffy shook her head. "I've never really been out of California before," she admitted. "Sorry if I'm being a pain, but – what was that?" she asked suddenly, reaching for a stake. "Did you hear something?"
Nick nodded – he'd been listening for several minutes now. "It's not unusual to hear that around here. Don't worry about it."
"What is it?"
"The signal for me to check you into a motel," Nick answered dryly. "You can't stay here. But we can take care of the passport problem tomorrow night – it's late."
Buffy stared. "It's not even four in the morning!" she exclaimed.
"I work the night-shift," Nick explained. "This is getting late for me – but, in any case, I'm tired and so are you."
"I don't have any money," Buffy said suddenly, almost interrupting Nick. "Please – just let me stay here – uh – today. I won't make a mess, promise. Anyway, who would be open at this time of night? Couldn't I just check in later?"
Sighing, Nick agreed. It was times like these he needed Natalie. Nat!
*Flashback:* [Last Knight]
Nick is holding Nat. "You cannot deny what I am."
"You cannot deny what's in your heart," Nat counters, looking into his eyes.
"What are you saying?" Nick asks in surprise.
"I have faith. There is a future for us. Here as we are or somewhere else. I believe in you. I trust you. Make love to me, Nick. Take just a little a time."
"I'm afraid of what might happen," Nick replies.
"I'm not afraid of death . . . Or of an eternity of darkness as long as I can spend it with you. All I have is faith and love. All I'm asking is for you to make love to me. I trust you."
Nick takes Nat's hands in his own. "I won't leave you. Whatever happens, we'll be together." Nick leans forward and bites Natalie . . .
*End Flashback*
"I left her . . ." Nick murmured, too softly for Buffy to hear.
"Are you still with me?" Buffy asked, waving her hand over Nick's glazed eyes. He blinked, focusing on her, fighting his threatening tears. "That's the second time you've done that – just zoned out. Am I that boring?"
"I'm fine," Nick answered, almost smiling. "I suppose you are correct – you may spend the night here. If you will give me a moment, I will prepare the bed for you –"
"No need, thanks," Buffy answered gratefully. "This couch would be just fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." As Nick shrugged and went to get her some (black) blankets, Buffy settled back into her seat. She hadn't really had a chance to thing (probably a good thing) before, but now she had far more than a million questions – but none that Nick could answer. After all, if this really *was* a different universe (which she still doubted . . .) Detective Nick Knight had probably never even heard of vampires.
Then again . . . Death, however crazy, had seemed very . . . sure of her choice of universe. But why had she picked this one? "Forever Knight" it was called. The "Knight" part referred to Nick, that was obvious. But what did it mean?
Buffy barely noticed as Nick gave her blankets. She fell asleep wondering if she had been knocked out and brought here . . . that would explain the season and time change.
Nick looked sadly at her glazed look. At least he wasn't the only one. But that would do no good now . . . it was time to go and angst about his problems.
___________________________________________________
"No," LaCroix said, staring directly into Death's eyes with his golden ones.
"But they love you!" Death exclaimed, squirming a little under his gaze. "And you're a non-dying canon character! They need you!"
"I don't see you pushing Nicholas into this 'fan fiction' world to be drooled over by mortal girls! And *he* might actually have enjoyed it."
"Well . . . no," Death answered. "But he was the star! *The* main character has to stay to satisfy canon and satisfy the 'verse!"
"You *will* put me back," LaCroix said hypnotically. Death stared incredulously at him.
"You can't hypnotize me," she said. "I'm crazy – it doesn't work." Death pulled out her notebook and began to write, muttering "Doesn't understand these things . . ."
"Put it away," LaCroix ordered. Death complied a little sulkily. "And let me go – I have to stake Nicholas." His eyes glowed even more brightly at this, until Death turned slightly away.
"No," she answered with quite emphasis. "I can't do that."
With vampire speed, LaCroix pinned Death to the ebony wall, with one arm pinning hers and the other over her neck. Death looked up (at least a foot) at his face, apologetically. "This is a warning," LaCroix said. "Something which I usually don't give."
"Oh, that's nice," Death replied dryly, trying to reach her notebook. "But you're still due in a fic in just a couple minutes." She turned insubstantial, and slid through LaCroix icily. "I hate doing that," she noted mildly, pulling out a different notebook from the first. LaCroix could see it was a slightly different shade of black.
LaCroix, only momentarily surprised by Death's ability to go through him, watched her. "And what 'fic' would that be?" he asked.
Death shrugged, and then checked her notes. "It's called 'Seduction' and in it you meet an original character and –" she paled, staring at the notebook. "Where did you want to go again?"
LaCroix looked at her suspiciously. Why had she changed personalities and convictions so quickly? "What was written in there?"
Death shook her head, composing herself. "The sick fantasies of a teenage," she answered, making some notes. "And she spelled your name wrong."
Smiling wryly, Death switched notebooks and looked back at LaCroix. "I'm not *that* evil." – It was a *bad* fic. But then again . . . Death could almost *taste* what could be done with LaCroix in the mix. Fun. – "All right, I'll allow you to go back – and even to The Hospital, but I have two conditions."
"What are they?" LaCroix asked sharply, not bothering to hide his fangs from the meddling, game-playing Death. He almost liked her – they were alike. Except for the whole insanity thing, that is.
"You make no contact with Nicolas de Brabant."
"And?"
". . . and you 'escort' the two FBI agents – Fox Mulder and Dana Scully – I'm sending to Toronto."
LaCroix's eyes narrowed menacingly, but Death didn't even wince this time. "Those terms are unacceptable."
"I could put you in the fic . . ." LaCroix glared. "What are *your* terms then," Death asked. "You follow my game, and I'll follow yours."
Now LaCroix actually smiled – the possibilities . . . "That would be fine. I will agree if you swear to come if I call . . . and keep Dr. Lambert away from Nicholas."
"Excellent!" Death exclaimed. "Shall we bind the contract with a drink?" she motioned to a small, ebony table where two glasses had appeared. LaCroix looked at his doubtfully, but after sniffing it found the finest young blood.
"To game playing," Death said, lifting her glass.
"And the victims of it."
___________________________________________________
Mulder was more than ready to leave his place at four the next morning. As he was exiting, an elegant (and extremely expensive-looking) car pulled up, and a tall, pale man stepped out and walked up to him. "Agent Fox Mulder?" he asked in a strange accent.
"Yes?"
"I am Lucien LaCroix. If you will please come with me, I shall escort you to Toronto." Mulder looked past the elderly vampire to the shaded windows of his car where Scully already sat. She nodded to him.
"Thank you," Mulder answered cautiously. He edged around LaCroix, who took his bags as if they weighed nothing. Mulder immediately headed to the car and slid in next to his partner. "Are you all right, Scully?" he asked in a low voice, thinking LaCroix couldn't hear him – which, of course, he could.
"I'm fine. I just don't like this, Mulder," Scully replied. "There is something wrong with that man." Mulder nodded, but didn't answer as LaCroix had just opened his door. A moment later, they were driving. Neither agent noticed LaCroix's careful concentration on the eastern horizon.
"I take it the girl who spoke to us hired you," Mulder said, trying to make conversation with his silent driver. LaCroix didn't answer. "Did she hire you?" Mulder tried again.
"You could say that," LaCroix replied shortly. Scully found herself surreptitiously loosening her gun in its holster.
But the remainder of the drive was uneventful, if not uncomfortable (and amusing, in LaCroix's case, as he was very aware of the affect he was having on the two FBI agents.)
By the time the three of them had reached the airport, LaCroix's vampire sense was positively yelling at him: 'the sun is coming up! Run for your life!' But he knew better; Death had promised him a (after the fourth glass) no sun for today. Yes, it was sure to be dreary, grey, and dark. He didn't much care to think of the vibes he was sure to get from Nicolas on such a day, but at least he would be able to walk around in buildings with *windows* today . . . as long as he was careful, that is.
"Come quickly," LaCroix ordered. "Follow me." He led them into the semi- crowed airport, past the check-in and onto the airplane in less time than either of them had ever managed it. LaCroix then left them without a word – he wanted a "snack."
"We're on a public flight," Mulder noted, looking around. "Why would someone send an escort to put us on a public flight?"
"I don't know," Scully answered. She looked around, but LaCroix was nowhere to be seen. "And what do you think of our . . . escort."
"LaCroix?"
"Yes."
"I think he needs to take a vacation to somewhere sunny and get a decent tan. That guy looks like he hasn't gotten any good rays in a decade!" Mulder answered, pulling a little sack of stale sunflower seeds from his pocket. "Want one?"
"How did you get those?" Scully laughed. "The food cart hasn't even come around yet."
"When traveling on long plane trips, it's best to carry them along. One time when I was –"
"Mulder?" Scully asked, tapping him on the shoulder. He turned to her, stuffing several seeds in his mouth.
"Mmm?"
"You're avoiding my question," Scully said reproachfully. "What do you think of Mr. LaCroix?"
"Yes, Miss Scully?" LaCroix's voice asked from just behind her. Scully jumped, looking a little embarrassed.
"Never mind," she answered quickly, not looking at Mulder. He was grinning broadly at her.