AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is set during the undescribed eighteen-month period in the end of Tribulation Force. The authors of the series did not explain how Buck finally succumbed to the pressure to take the job of publisher for the Global Community-owned Global Community Weekly. Plus I just wanted to shamelessly take advantage of that unused eighteen months, as well as the obvious chemistry between Buck and Nicolae.

WARNINGS: Pre-slash slashiness, and some things may be incorrect or people may seem out of character, due to the fact that this fanfiction author has not yet read past Tribulation Force.

DISCLAIMER/Cheesy yet dramatic opera music in the background, a crash of cymbols, and then the loudest opera singer loudly declares in glass-breaking soprano/ She does not own anything... except the plot. /Crickets chirp as one single audience member claps with an air of uncertainty. Someone with more sense throws a shoe at the lone clapper, shutting him up/

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PART ONE

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The Something

It was a lot like the emotion that came of having an itch deep down beneath the skin, so far down that all the pressure of trying to scratch it only made it worse by increasing awareness of the spot.

Cameron "Buck" Williams had finally found a good analogy for the way the person in front of him made him feel.

"I am very happy you have finally decided to join the team, my friend," Carpathia said, his usual disarming smile turned up a notch, as it always seemed to be around him.

Buck couldn't really say the same. Besides, everything Carpathia was saying was going in one ear and out the other. The new publisher of the Global Weekly-- redubbed Global Community Weekly-- was still critiquing his analogy. It was good, but incomplete. That... irritation wasn't the only feeling that assailed him whenever he was in the new Potentate's presence.

There was a bit of an adrenaline rush. The sort Buck used to get when he tried a new trick on his bicycle when he was a kid, and he was sure he'd biff it but was trying to defy fate. This was contradicted by a strange feeling of comfort that shouldn't have been there, because it wasn't the same as the comfort he felt from God. It was the comfort of knowing Nicolae didn't really want to hurt him, and would in most instances probably repeat the Stonagal/Todd-Cothran murder to protect Buck.

But the worst feeling was The Something. The Something was an emotion that had a name, Buck knew it did, but he couldn't quite identify it. Or maybe he was just not willing to. And whatever The Something was, it came with a feeling of damnation. So whenever The Something began to well up in him, Buck thought of hellfire and brimstone.

It hadn't helped yet.

Finally through analyzing the sensations for what felt like the millionth time, Buck sighed. He was tired. He'd had no sleep when he arrived at his hotel, and all during the stupid plane ride he had been bombarded by questions from Steve. Now he knew why so many "normal" people disliked journalists. He really wished the man hadn't flown all the way to Chicago just to accompany him to the U.N. building in New York.

"You are tired, Buck."

Buck wasn't quite so out of it, though, that he didn't feel guilty over the way The Something swelled when Nicolae said his name. He wished the man wouldn't say his name that way. "Yeah, I haven't had much sleep lately, with all the breaking stories."

Nicolae frowned, and seemed to sink into deep thought for a moment. Then he smiled. "Perhaps you should spend a few days recuperating, my friend." The weary journalist opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off. "Now, I know you will not take my advice if you go back to the hotel, or back home. So I insist you stay with me. We shall take time off together, 'get caught up,' as you Americans say, and rest. You need it. You do not relax enough, Buck."

There he went saying Buck's name again.

"I need to get home to my wife now," he argued futilely. Part of what made it so hopeless was the lack of conviction in his own statement. If Nicolae sensed any indecision, any slight wavering, he would take advantage of it.

And he did. Smiling, he said, "Come, my old friend. As lovely as your new bride must be, and as anxious as you must be to return to her, your weariness would hinder you. Returning home now could only agitate you."

Irritably, he thought God shouldn't let the Antichrist make good points. It was unfair. Not that it wouldn't have been a losing battle anyway. That gave Buck an idea. God, he prayed silently, deliver me from this situation. You promised that no weapon formed against your followers would prosper. Foil Nicolae's plan, Lord, please. You know more than I do about The Something, and I know You won't let that weapon strike its mark if he finds out about it and chooses to use it against me. Give me the words to get out of this. Thank You, Father. Amen.

Waiting in silence, Buck felt nothing. No compulsion from above to speak certain words, no heavenly hint to stay silent, not even an extra idea bouncing around in his head. Apparently God was going to make him wing it. He hoped he'd pass the test.

Dread rose within him with the sure belief that The Something wouldn't need any help from Nicolae to send him to hell.