Death of TV shows
Part 5: Of meetings, watching, and crazy people.
A Forever Knight/ Buffy/ X-files crossover
Disclaimer: Forever Knight, Buffy and X-files belong on TV And this Disclaimer is really cheesy. [I don't own them, for this I'm glad For then the series' would be really bad.]
If my parts take too long to get out, just remember: "Work expands to fill the time available for its completion." – Northcote Parkinson.
After Lucien LaCroix had abandoned the two X-files agents to their fate (Alex Lemone) he went to find Death. Or, rather, he called her and she came, however grudgingly. "What do you want?" she asked a little rudely, pulling out a black notebook that LaCroix glared openly at. "Very demanding," she muttered, making a little note in the book.
"Put it away," LaCroix ordered, quite aware that this probably just make her write another little memo on the black page. "We have business to discuss."
"Very direct," Death muttered, but the notebook did find its way back into her raven robes. "Okay, now what is it you want already? I have been fulfilling my part of the agreement."
"By doing absolutely nothing," LaCroix pointed out in a way more sarcastic than his usual, though but just as dry.
"Naturally," Death replied, quite unfazed by the vampire. "I wouldn't make a deal that would actually put me at a disadvantage, or cause any unnecessary paperwork. I do hope you have had a nice little break between times of seeing me. I wouldn't want to make you insane."
LaCroix didn't pause a moment at this blatant and seemingly random changing of subject. "Who are these FBI agents you have sent for? I have heard them speaking of Nicholas, and it would be very unfortunate if they were to learn what we are. I imagine the Enforcers would not like it very much."
"They wouldn't? I guess not. They're a rather cruel bunch of leeches." Death caught the look on LaCroix's face. He probably guessed – correctly – that Death calling other vampires 'leeches' implied he did as well. "What? Leeches are blood-suckers! Would you prefer I had called them ticks? Those nasty little arachnids that you can pull of, but their heads stay, bitten into your skin? Leeches on the other hand – they're perfectly respectable slugs!"
"Where are the Enforcers?" LaCroix asked sharply, serious considering attempting to take Death's head off. But . . . it would be so much more interesting to see how much control he could gain over the game they were playing first.
Death considered this for a moment, before answering: "They're not in this fic yet."
"Excuse me?"
"Mmmmmm? Oh, I don't want them to appear yet, so they won't." And that's all there was to it. Stupid author. "Is there anything else you would like?"
LaCroix now really did pause. Would his next 'question' make him seem any less potent? No, probably not. "Show me how to get to the hospital."
"Fun! Off into the wild blue – er, white – hospital we go!"
Alex Lemone was one of those people who like to talk for the sake of hearing their own voice. He would say, of course, that he was very impressed with what he had heard of the agent's work, and were they familiar there was a big shortage of people around (which Mulder assumed to mean something had something to do with missing persons, although, quite frankly, he was too busy reviewing UFO sightings in the area to really pay much attention. . . .)
"And here we are: the grand police station of Toronto! Please mind your steps, as we may actually encounter stairs – and, possibly, if I know me, stares! Now if you'll come this way, we'll enter the homicide department where the famous Nicholas Knight resides. Yes, right over here . . ."
"No wonder they sent him away to get us," Mulder murmured in Scully's ear. She quite agreed, but gave him a Look anyway.
"Okay, be nice, people here are very touchy," Lemone whispered as they approached, suddenly stopping. "Rumor has it the captain and Natalie Lambert have disappeared, and Knight is quitting. It's really tense in there. Your own your own. Bye!" He almost ran away from the door he had been so excited about a moment earlier.
It must be really bad in there.
Feeling more than a little uncomfortable (they didn't really have much jurisdiction here, even with the Canadian government's permission) Scully lead the way into the building, closely followed by her partner.
It wasn't, she supposed, that the work there was particularly bad – but there was a feeling of lethargy that covered the building, along with depressing. It was a mood that might fit a funeral, not a homicide department. No officers where making jokes, and few were eating donuts (which Mulder looked rather longingly at, before snapping back into professional mode.)
"What's going on in here?" Scully whispered to her partner. "Why is everyone so depressed?"
Mulder shrugged, and led the way back into the captain's office (he could tell by the label on the door, and a sort of universal design which one it was). There, as Mulder pushed the door open, he saw a young man who looked quite out-of-place behind the desk, looking, while less gloomy than the others, certainly not joyful to what was obviously a recent promotion (anything else, and he might have actually changed the design from the last captain's family pictures.)
"Yes?" the captain asked, looking up slowly from something he had been staring at. "May I help you?"
"We're agents Mulder and Scully," Mulder said, holding up his identification as Scully did the same. "We're here with the permission of the Canadian government to run an investigation of joint interest. Is Detective Nicholas Knight here?"
"He just arrived," the captain (or, perhaps, substitute captain) said, pointing to the door where a very haggard-looking man who looked perhaps in his thirties had entered.
"Thank you," Scully said, then paused. "Is something going on here that we should know about?"
The captain sighed heavily. "I don't know what's going on. That's part of the problem. Everyone is suddenly missing. The way things are going, I'm surprised to see Knight at all. Everyone seems to be missing! We've had countless people coming in to report them. I'm just glad I work in Homicide instead of Missing Persons. But no, aside from that, nothing is going on."
Mulder and Scully exchanged a look that said 'ah' and they moved away after Scully politely bid the captain a thanking goodbye. Then, together, they moved in towards Nick.
Buffy sat in a sort of waiting room, fiddling. Not fiddling with anything specific, just in general. She was . . . she somehow felt this was all wrong. After all, wasn't she Buffy, The Original Slayer? Girl of action (albeit, often this action was not morally sound, quite the reverse, and she was too Sue-like by half) she should be doing something!
But, somehow, a part of her felt it was better to wait. To tell the truth she was very uncomfortable – she had never been in a police station for more than a moment or two, save for that mess with her mother's boyfriend being a robot . . . but that wasn't like this. She at least had a home, then.
Buffy sighed and got up, walking to the phone. But who could she possibly call? Her entire town was not nothing more than a really, really, big crater. And it wasn't exactly like she could just snap her fingers and summon that weird Death person. Hmm. Maybe a long-distance to England? If only she knew the numbers!
"Death," Buffy raged. "Why did she ever have to show up? I was just fine until the insane –"
"I hope you weren't going to swear, because that would be bad." Buffy turned to face Death. . . .
As soon as Nick saw the FBI agents heading towards him, he did something LaCroix would have approved of: groaned (well, not that part), turned, and walked away. As soon as he had left the precinct, Nick sped up his pace, made sure they hadn't caught up yet, and launched into the air, landing on the roof above them. While it was true he didn't know who they were, exactly, the trench coats, stern expressions, and how they headed straight at him reminded him too much of agents. But instead of flying away, he waited as they went outside, and listened.
"—He was here, Scully, you saw him."
"I know I did, but where is he now? Mulder –"
"Come on, Scully," said the man, who was obviously called 'Mulder.' "I think he went this way."
Nick sighed in relief, and took off from his position of the roof. Now was not the time for confrontation, and all his instincts were yelling at him to run. Oh, well. At least he wasn't hungry.
Unsure of exactly what he was feeling, Nick went home to pack the few belongings he would take with him when he left. Because he was going to leave very, very soon.
Disclaimer: Forever Knight, Buffy and X-files belong on TV And this Disclaimer is really cheesy. [I don't own them, for this I'm glad For then the series' would be really bad.]
If my parts take too long to get out, just remember: "Work expands to fill the time available for its completion." – Northcote Parkinson.
After Lucien LaCroix had abandoned the two X-files agents to their fate (Alex Lemone) he went to find Death. Or, rather, he called her and she came, however grudgingly. "What do you want?" she asked a little rudely, pulling out a black notebook that LaCroix glared openly at. "Very demanding," she muttered, making a little note in the book.
"Put it away," LaCroix ordered, quite aware that this probably just make her write another little memo on the black page. "We have business to discuss."
"Very direct," Death muttered, but the notebook did find its way back into her raven robes. "Okay, now what is it you want already? I have been fulfilling my part of the agreement."
"By doing absolutely nothing," LaCroix pointed out in a way more sarcastic than his usual, though but just as dry.
"Naturally," Death replied, quite unfazed by the vampire. "I wouldn't make a deal that would actually put me at a disadvantage, or cause any unnecessary paperwork. I do hope you have had a nice little break between times of seeing me. I wouldn't want to make you insane."
LaCroix didn't pause a moment at this blatant and seemingly random changing of subject. "Who are these FBI agents you have sent for? I have heard them speaking of Nicholas, and it would be very unfortunate if they were to learn what we are. I imagine the Enforcers would not like it very much."
"They wouldn't? I guess not. They're a rather cruel bunch of leeches." Death caught the look on LaCroix's face. He probably guessed – correctly – that Death calling other vampires 'leeches' implied he did as well. "What? Leeches are blood-suckers! Would you prefer I had called them ticks? Those nasty little arachnids that you can pull of, but their heads stay, bitten into your skin? Leeches on the other hand – they're perfectly respectable slugs!"
"Where are the Enforcers?" LaCroix asked sharply, serious considering attempting to take Death's head off. But . . . it would be so much more interesting to see how much control he could gain over the game they were playing first.
Death considered this for a moment, before answering: "They're not in this fic yet."
"Excuse me?"
"Mmmmmm? Oh, I don't want them to appear yet, so they won't." And that's all there was to it. Stupid author. "Is there anything else you would like?"
LaCroix now really did pause. Would his next 'question' make him seem any less potent? No, probably not. "Show me how to get to the hospital."
"Fun! Off into the wild blue – er, white – hospital we go!"
Alex Lemone was one of those people who like to talk for the sake of hearing their own voice. He would say, of course, that he was very impressed with what he had heard of the agent's work, and were they familiar there was a big shortage of people around (which Mulder assumed to mean something had something to do with missing persons, although, quite frankly, he was too busy reviewing UFO sightings in the area to really pay much attention. . . .)
"And here we are: the grand police station of Toronto! Please mind your steps, as we may actually encounter stairs – and, possibly, if I know me, stares! Now if you'll come this way, we'll enter the homicide department where the famous Nicholas Knight resides. Yes, right over here . . ."
"No wonder they sent him away to get us," Mulder murmured in Scully's ear. She quite agreed, but gave him a Look anyway.
"Okay, be nice, people here are very touchy," Lemone whispered as they approached, suddenly stopping. "Rumor has it the captain and Natalie Lambert have disappeared, and Knight is quitting. It's really tense in there. Your own your own. Bye!" He almost ran away from the door he had been so excited about a moment earlier.
It must be really bad in there.
Feeling more than a little uncomfortable (they didn't really have much jurisdiction here, even with the Canadian government's permission) Scully lead the way into the building, closely followed by her partner.
It wasn't, she supposed, that the work there was particularly bad – but there was a feeling of lethargy that covered the building, along with depressing. It was a mood that might fit a funeral, not a homicide department. No officers where making jokes, and few were eating donuts (which Mulder looked rather longingly at, before snapping back into professional mode.)
"What's going on in here?" Scully whispered to her partner. "Why is everyone so depressed?"
Mulder shrugged, and led the way back into the captain's office (he could tell by the label on the door, and a sort of universal design which one it was). There, as Mulder pushed the door open, he saw a young man who looked quite out-of-place behind the desk, looking, while less gloomy than the others, certainly not joyful to what was obviously a recent promotion (anything else, and he might have actually changed the design from the last captain's family pictures.)
"Yes?" the captain asked, looking up slowly from something he had been staring at. "May I help you?"
"We're agents Mulder and Scully," Mulder said, holding up his identification as Scully did the same. "We're here with the permission of the Canadian government to run an investigation of joint interest. Is Detective Nicholas Knight here?"
"He just arrived," the captain (or, perhaps, substitute captain) said, pointing to the door where a very haggard-looking man who looked perhaps in his thirties had entered.
"Thank you," Scully said, then paused. "Is something going on here that we should know about?"
The captain sighed heavily. "I don't know what's going on. That's part of the problem. Everyone is suddenly missing. The way things are going, I'm surprised to see Knight at all. Everyone seems to be missing! We've had countless people coming in to report them. I'm just glad I work in Homicide instead of Missing Persons. But no, aside from that, nothing is going on."
Mulder and Scully exchanged a look that said 'ah' and they moved away after Scully politely bid the captain a thanking goodbye. Then, together, they moved in towards Nick.
Buffy sat in a sort of waiting room, fiddling. Not fiddling with anything specific, just in general. She was . . . she somehow felt this was all wrong. After all, wasn't she Buffy, The Original Slayer? Girl of action (albeit, often this action was not morally sound, quite the reverse, and she was too Sue-like by half) she should be doing something!
But, somehow, a part of her felt it was better to wait. To tell the truth she was very uncomfortable – she had never been in a police station for more than a moment or two, save for that mess with her mother's boyfriend being a robot . . . but that wasn't like this. She at least had a home, then.
Buffy sighed and got up, walking to the phone. But who could she possibly call? Her entire town was not nothing more than a really, really, big crater. And it wasn't exactly like she could just snap her fingers and summon that weird Death person. Hmm. Maybe a long-distance to England? If only she knew the numbers!
"Death," Buffy raged. "Why did she ever have to show up? I was just fine until the insane –"
"I hope you weren't going to swear, because that would be bad." Buffy turned to face Death. . . .
As soon as Nick saw the FBI agents heading towards him, he did something LaCroix would have approved of: groaned (well, not that part), turned, and walked away. As soon as he had left the precinct, Nick sped up his pace, made sure they hadn't caught up yet, and launched into the air, landing on the roof above them. While it was true he didn't know who they were, exactly, the trench coats, stern expressions, and how they headed straight at him reminded him too much of agents. But instead of flying away, he waited as they went outside, and listened.
"—He was here, Scully, you saw him."
"I know I did, but where is he now? Mulder –"
"Come on, Scully," said the man, who was obviously called 'Mulder.' "I think he went this way."
Nick sighed in relief, and took off from his position of the roof. Now was not the time for confrontation, and all his instincts were yelling at him to run. Oh, well. At least he wasn't hungry.
Unsure of exactly what he was feeling, Nick went home to pack the few belongings he would take with him when he left. Because he was going to leave very, very soon.