Nigel sighs to himself.
What was he doing here? He'd learned of this place during a case a few months ago and couldn't stop thinking about it; couldn't stop thinking about what Jeremy/Alistair had said.
"He was so much more interesting than me."
And that's just how Nigel felt.
Even with his abilities and his cool gadgets and what not, no one really found him that interesting as a person. They couldn't. Otherwise, he wouldn't be here, on a busy Saturday night, for the third week in a row without someone taking notice. Even the odd bird who'd licked Woody hadn't approached him since that day.
He looks around solemnly as he sips his drink. Mostly regulars greet his gaze and the few new faces he sees are scurrying about after whomever brought them; some are wide-eyed with excitement, others with fear.
"I finally found a place to fit in," Jeremy/Alistair had said.
Nigel sighs again. Even in this place, he didn't fit in. When he'd first returned four Saturdays ago, it felt right to be here. The fact that he basically mingled with himself didn't discourage him. The next Saturday brought more of the same and the last two weeks he could almost swear they were avoiding him.
Maybe they thought he was a cop?
'That's it. That's why they're avoiding me,' he concludes, clinging to that thought to quell the rising doubts about himself.
His notion is dashed moments later when he overhears a conversation next to him at the bar.
"So, Harry," Woody's 'vampire' oozed sensuously, "are you gonna show us your gun tonight?"
"Yeah, Harry," another sexy voice intones, "You know we want it."
"Humph," Harry replies, "You know once I'm off duty I leave it at home."
"Please, Harry," they plead, "couldn't you just bring it by once?"
"No, I can't. But if you're really bad tonight, I'll 'arrest' you and take you to 'the precinct' 'for questioning'," he smiles.
"Ha! You always say that," the 'vampire' spits, "but we always wind up back at your place. We want to actually be put in hand cuffs and taken to jail!"
"At least for one night," the other one purrs.
"Okay," sighs Harry, "I'll lock you up for real this time."
Nigel ignores the girls' delighted exclamations, winding away through the crowd. As he finishes his drink, dropping the empty glass on a low table, he decides to call it a night, vowing not to return.
Making his way toward the door, he encounters a rather unusual sight for a high-Goth club.
The voluptuous, dark-haired beauty looks as lost and out of place as he feels. Watching her dark eyes scan the crowd uneasily, he moves slowly in her direction. The fuchsia-trimmed, black, leather bustier sensuously accents the soft curls laying about her chocolate-brown shoulders.
'What's a stunner like her doing alone,' he wonders.
As he draws nearer, she looks his way. For an instant, the world freezes and all he can hear is his heartbeat.
'What was it they said in "The Godfather",' he smiles to himself, 'Hit by the thunderbolt?'
Stepping to her side, calls to her over the raucous music.
"I couldn't help noticing that you looked as out of place as I feel."
"Y-yes," she forces, looking around nervously.
"It's a little quieter out front. Care to join me?"
"Sure," she replies, gratefully.
Offering his arm, they pick up their coats from the coat check, stepping into the chilly fall air.
"So love," he ventures, "how's about we make our way to the diner for a spot of tea?"
"That sounds nice," she smiles.
Quickly, they traverse the block or so to the all-night diner, grabbing a booth near the back.
"I must say," Nigel begins, removing his hat, scarf and gloves, "I didn't fancy meeting anyone of color at that club."
She laughs lightly, removing her own scarf and gloves.
"No, I guess not," she replies. "It's not like I haven't done Goth clubs before, but that place…well…I was there with friends. Well, they're not friends really, just acquaintances. I write for a small, independent magazine and some of the staff goes there regularly and tonight they invited me. I lost them in the crowd within the first ten minutes," she admits sheepishly.
"I decided to try mingling a bit, but no one would talk to me. It made me uncomfortable."
A slight sigh escapes her lips and Nigel is mesmerized.
The waitress comes to their table and Nigel orders hot tea for them both.
"So, what's your story," she questions abruptly.
"Oh," he starts, "my story." Pause. "Well, it's a bit complicated." He pauses again before continuing with, "I'd been here sometime before and thought I could enjoy myself. Sadly, I was wrong,"
"That's not complicated."
"That's not the whole story."
"So what is the whole story?"
"Oh, it's very boring," he covers, "You wouldn't want to hear it."
"Alright," she replies amiably, though he can tell by the glint in her eyes that she's not buying it.
The tea comes and they sip happily, enjoying the warmth spreading through their bodies.
"So, what do you do," she continues in a polite lean.
Nigel hesitates. He can't say he works in the Coroner's office. Every woman he's told his occupation to has instantly found a reason to get away from him. And he really likes this woman. A nervous grin is all he can manage as he tries to make up something good.
A frown creeps onto her face and she leans away from him, suspiciously.
"Or are you one of those men living 'woman to woman'," she scowls.
"No! Nothing like that," he replies, hastily.
"Then what?"
'Might as well get this over with,' he sighs to himself. 'We didn't even get to finish our tea.'
"I work at the Coroner's office. I'm a Medical Examiner."
"Oh. Is that all? Why didn't you just say that?'
"I've found that giving my occupation usually ceases all conversation," he deadpans.
"Why?"
"I cut open dead bodies for a living," he answers, amazed that she's still talking to him. Dare he hope?
"So. Somebody has to. Besides, knowing how much time you had to spend in school should be impressive enough."
He smiles.
"Not to mention the size of your college loans," she teases.
Nigel laughs.
'Perhaps there is a chance,' he muses.
Tea and conversation turns into pie and conversation, which turns into more tea and more conversation until the rising sun becomes their only indication of time's passage.
"Oh my," Nigel begins, squinting, "have we been talking all night?"
"I guess we have," she responds, shielding her eyes.
"Why don't we continue this later, once we've gotten some sleep," he suggests.
"Are you tired?"
"No, but I thought you might be."
"No, but maybe we could continue this elsewhere."
"Why not? Where shall we go? Maybe an early mornings' traipse around the city?"
"How about my place," she offers, shyly.
Nigel is doubly taken aback, because of her offer and because he can tell she's never done that before.
Maybe the thunderbolt struck twice.
"Well love, he begins sincerely, sliding one of his hands into one of hers, "while I'm terrible flattered, I wouldn't want to take advantage of your obviously good nature. Why don't we start with the walk and go from there?"
Her face falls and he instantly knows she thinks he's rejecting her. How humiliated she must feel. But that's not what he means at all! He just doesn't want her to think she has to sleep with him to keep his interest. As she pulls away, tears glistening, he realizes that he has to say something to explain himself.
"Hey now," he smiles, gripping her wrist lightly, "I'm not saying I don't want to visit your boudoir, I just think I should at least know your name first."
She laughs. Just the effect he was going for. As she wipes away a few escaped tears, he extends the hand not on her wrist in greeting, ignoring the fact that they'd spent the better part of the night together.
"Nigel Townsend, at your service," he grins.
"Morgan. Morgan Banks," she smiles, grasping both his hands warmly.
"Right then! Let's say we blow this pop stand, eh," he prods enthusiastically.
"Yes, let's," she joins.
Their early morning walk becomes lunch downtown, culminating in an early dinner as exhaustion finally begins to claim them.
Nigel flags a cab outside the restaurant to take them home.
"Watch you step, love," he warns, helping Morgan into the cab.
"Where to," the driver asks, as they settle in.
"The offer still stands," she whispers in Nigel's ear.
He grins at her.
"Tempting, love, but I think we're both too tired to enjoy it."
Turning to the cabbie, he rattles off their separate addresses. Morgan is soon asleep against him. He's sorry to wake her when they arrive at her apartment 20 minutes later.
"Sleep well," he whispers into her ear after helping her out of the cab, hugging her tightly.
"I'm sure I will," she muffles in a yawn. "Oh, sorry."
"Forget it. I'll call you later."
"Okay."
Her lips brush his in a light kiss and she heads into her building.
"Wow," Nigel breathes as he falls back into the cab.