Martyr's Moon

(Nip/Tuck / CSI:Miami)

DISCLAIMERS: Characters from Nip/Tuck are the property of Ryan Murphy (long may he push our envelopes). Characters from CSI: Miami are the property of Jerry Bruckheimer (long may he blow stuff up). Used without permission. No copyright infringement intended.

Lyrics of "Love Is the Drug" and "Avalon" written by Bryan Ferry. Used without permission. No copyright infringement intended.

"Talking in Bed" written by Philip Larkin. Untitled poem written by Denis Johnson. Used without permission. No copyright infringement intended.

This story may be reproduced and distributed without charge if proper author credit is given and disclaimers are retained. Feedback is welcome.

THIS FANFICTION MAY CONTAIN SCENES OF VIOLENCE, STRONG LANGUAGE, ADULT SITUATIONS AND NUDITY AND THEREFORE MAY BE UNSUITABLE FOR CHILDREN UNDER 17. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

MARTYR'S MOON

(Nip/Tuck / CSI:Miami)

By wordwolf

PART I.

The body lay still in a puddle of blood and moonlight, yellow tape marking the awful divide between normality and crime scene. Horatio Caine looked from the dead woman up to the window from which she had fallen, then back to the corpse. Light and noise were still pouring from the thirteenth-floor apartment, and more lights were coming on all over the fashionable condominium complex. The uniformed officers were doing a fine job of holding back the swarm of the curious, and the detectives were busy up in the apartment, securing the scene and taking statements from everyone on the premises. Caine sighed, contemplating the destroyed young life at his feet.

"H." The chief of the Miami Police Department's Crime Scene Investigation unit turned to hear his subordinate's report. "Her name's Blair Blackwood. That's her condo she fell from. Had a little get-together going on for some friends from work."

"It must have been one hell of a party." Caine looked down at her again, noting the shattered head of the victim, the blood spattered all over her long blonde hair and delicate silk robe. Then he returned his attention to CSI Timothy Speedle. "Speed, do you entertain wearing nothing but a bathrobe?"

"Only one guest at a time," Speedle replied with a wry grin.

"Exactly. What kind of work are we talking about?"

The wryness stayed. "Miss Blackwood was a big success in the field of adult video. Played a popular character – maybe way too popular – named Mistress Scorpio. Whips, chains, all that wholesome family entertainment."

"Cute. What else do we know?"

"The story we've got so far: Blair 'Mistress Scorpio' Blackwood and about ten or eleven of her distinguished colleagues were re-enacting 'Boogie Nights' upstairs at her place, complete with various controlled substances. Blair picked one of the guys, they retired into one of the bedrooms for a little while – SOP for her parties, of course."

"Of course." Caine nodded. "Cut to the chase, Speed. Did she jump or was she pushed?"

"Pushed. No question. About six of them saw her and the guy come out of the bedroom, open the French doors, and wander onto the balcony. Everyone watched as she climbed up on the balcony rail, sat there with her arms held out. She looked all excited and happy, they say. Then she shouted, 'The blue moon is the new moon!' –"

"What?"

"We got five witnesses say the same thing: she said 'The blue moon is the new moon.' And the guy, the one she'd been with, just strolled up behind her, put his hands on her back, and shoved. This is the creepiest part: the same witnesses say that as she went over, she wasn't screaming."

Caine's eyes narrowed. "Was she silent?"

"No. She was laughing."

The CSI chief shook his head. "She must have been coked up to the eyeballs. But this one's going to be open and shut. Who was the guy?"

"No one knows."

"WHAT?!" Now this was a stunner. "Nobody recognized him? Didn't all these people know each other?"

Speedle shrugged. "Apparently not."

"Did they at least stop him? Someone had the presence of mind to call 911. Did ten people just let a killer walk out?"

"Apparently so." Speedle shrugged helplessly. "Look, H, this is all looking a lot weirder than when we came in. Eric's been talking to the detectives upstairs, and they say that no one in the condo will even give them a description of the pusher. It's as if they're all afraid of reprisals – or maybe no one really got a good look at him. With all the blow and pills they've got up there, who knows what anyone saw." The younger investigator tried to sound optimistic. "Maybe there was a written guest list."

"Are you kidding, Speed?"

"It was a thought."

"I understand. We need all the leads we can get. With a little luck, we'll have some semen to work with." Caine's voice cooled. "Speed, I want you to get back up there and see to it that everyone in that apartment, male and female, is swabbed and printed. I want that robe dusted for prints. And I'm having Alexx push through the blood work ASAP. I want this psycho."

"Right, H. We all do."

XX

"Tell me what you don't like about yourself." Dr. Sean McNamara asked the standard interview question, while beside him Dr. Christian Troy sized up the prospective patient. Not a bad prospect, at first glance: twentysomething, a little shorter than he preferred but slender enough, smooth shoulder-length dark hair. Face had an exotic cast, with nice color and dark, slightly angled eyes; she could be Eurasian. He could tell that she wasn't here for a boob job. Good. Not at all shabby for the first new consult on a Monday morning.

The woman didn't answer. She wouldn't meet their eyes. McNamara leaned forward and kept his voice soft. "Miss Avalon," he said gently, "we can't help you if we don't know how."

She drew breath as if steeling herself. "Then I'd better show you." With an almost stiff dignity she stood up and turned around, putting her back to the doctors, then took hold of her blouse and pulled it up. With the other hand, she pushed down the waist of her skirt.

The mark began at the base of her spine, with a point spreading out into a hook. The hook bled into a curve that was made up of short segments, moving up the back, around and above her right hip. Slowly and smoothly, she turned to face them.

Only professionalism kept the plastic surgeons from gasping. There, sprawling across her otherwise perfect torso, was the rest of the scorpion. Black, bruise-like, its once crisp detail blurred by age and growth, it defaced most of her abdomen. The eight legs were partly drawn up under the arthropod body, and the pincers were reaching up towards the left breast from below, open as if to strike at her heart from both sides.

The junior partner of McNamara/Troy almost whistled. "Well, Miss Avalon, I can understand why you're here."

She smiled wryly. "If I may get to the point, can you get this thing off me?"

"I'm sure we can," McNamara said reassuringly. He rose and approached. "May I take a closer look?"

She nodded. McNamara came around the desk and bent to peer at the hideous tattoo. "Miss Avalon, when was this applied?"

"I'm not precisely sure, but I've had it almost since I can remember."

The thought almost made him shiver. Well, they could explore that later, the senior plastic surgeon reasoned. Right now was the time to reassure the patient. "We'll see to it that you don't have it much longer." McNamara straightened up again as his partner came over. "Unfortunately, it IS pretty big. It's going to take more than a few sessions with the laser to eradicate it all, with three weeks between each to give the skin time to absorb - "

To their astonishment, she went pale. "Oh, no! That won't do, not at all! This blight has got to go within a week or two, and I don't care what it takes!"

Her vehemence took them both aback. McNamara narrowed his eyes. "I have to ask you: If it has to be taken off by a deadline, why did you wait so long to come to us?" Troy almost smirked; HE could think of a reason or two, all having to do with the need to strip in the presence of a member of the opposite sex. This poor bitch was likely pushing thirty and still a virgin.

The woman raised and dropped her hands in a gesture of utter helplessness. "The truth? With the cost of living in this city what it is, I haven't been able to afford it. I've been saving up for the operation as best I can, but I still don't have enough."

"Then why rush it now? Miss Avalon, this is surgery we're talking about, elective or not!"

Now she met McNamara's eyes for the first time. "I know what you're going to think of me once you hear this, Dr. McNamara. But without making any claims for myself, I've just had too many strange things happen to and around me to ignore my instincts when they scream at the top of their metaphorical voices." Another up-and-down of her hands. "How to explain it? Either this horror goes or I do."

Behind her where she couldn't see him, Troy sighed quietly. Another nutcase. Damn, and he thought she'd had possibilities. Couldn't this practice get any female patients who weren't drug-addled, old as the hills, or just plain crazy? Well, it'd been too long since he'd had a shot at a virgin. This Karen Avalon might be good for a little fun.

"But what's the point anyway? I still can't afford you." She lowered her eyes and tucked her blouse back in.

"Don't concern yourself with that," Troy replied, turning on his medium-wattage smile. "We've been known to adjust our fees, even do a certain portion of our work pro bono under circumstances like these. Wiping out this sucker, if you don't mind my saying so, qualifies as a public service." He turned the smile up a little brighter, and was gratified to see a shy answering smile from her. Yes, this could be worth it after all.

The senior partner watched with a distinct air of disapproval. "But there's still the issue of methodology. Miss Avalon, would you mind waiting for us a moment? Christian?" McNamara led the way out of their consulting room, and Troy quietly prepared himself for yet another scolding.

"Christian, what the hell were you thinking?" McNamara growled, pacing the practice's break room. "Oh, she's pretty. Never mind; I know what you were thinking."

"Please, Sean." Troy rolled his eyes. "You heard her. If we don't get that disgusting thing off her ASAP, she'll just go doctor-shopping until she finds someone who will. Someone who will leave her more scarred and in worse danger of infection than we will, by the way, if that matters to you."

"It matters more than anything else at this point. The laser won't scar at all, and doesn't require anesthesia. What it does require is time. We can't possibly abrade a tattoo that big."

"We can excise it, Sean. Cut the whole ugly thing away, stitch the wound closed on the narrower parts like the tail and claws, and harvest a graft to patch the main body. We can take it off in one operation, just like she wants."

"I know. But why does she want that?" McNamara's concern was genuine. "Why the hurry? Would YOU make a decision like this on a premonition?"

"I'm not her, Sean. Whatever her reasons, she's not going to wait for a full laser course, and she's better off in our hands than being butchered by some lazy dermatologist."

McNamara snorted. "Maybe if she were in another doctor's care, you could get into her pants with fewer ethical ramifications."

Troy shot him a look that could have raised welts.

"Besides, this is just too weird," McNamara continued. "According to her forms, Karen Avalon is twenty-seven years old. That tattoo is at least twenty. Christian, who tattoos a child? With a giant black scorpion? Who, or WHAT, are her parents?"

"Maybe if we take her on as a patient, we can find out," Troy replied with a smirk. "Like we haven't had weirder cases than this?"

"You have a point," his partner conceded. "She'll definitely be happier without it – and we can do a better job of it, as you said."

They returned to their consulting room, and McNamara announced, "We'll be happy to perform your tattoo removal, Miss Avalon. I do want to warn you first, though, that while we can excise the whole image in a single surgery, the operation will have to be performed under full anesthesia."

"Me or you?" Both surgeons burst into laughter, their patient joining them.

"I do appreciate your attitude. It'll help speed your recovery," McNamara said as he regained composure. Then back to business: "Skin grafting will be required, and there will be some scarring, which of course we'll try to minimize."

Karen smiled with relief. "I already wear a one-piece swimsuit. How soon?"

Troy glanced into the appointment book. "Not before next week, I'm afraid."

"Oh." Slight disappointment. "Then can it be Monday?"

The junior partner flashed his smile at her again. "See you next Monday at ten-thirty, Miss Avalon." To himself he thought, And maybe before then ...

TO BE CONTINUED