Blood Bonds
by Sage Darkwoods
Disclaimer: The characters in this story that were created by Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy belong to them and them alone. No infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.
Author's Note: The nurse in the chapter is a tribute to my dear high school music teacher. She also tended to jump to conclusions and be mildly frazzled, especially about one week before the opening of the musical. The medical scenes I attribute to an ever-so-fun physical I had recently. Spike's line about Canada is Bjork-inspired. This chapter finally sees more of the Forever Knight characters. Also in this chapter: Cassie's in trouble, and insults someone. Again.
Chapter 6: Daylight
The sun streamed through the small window in the med centre, casting sharp shadows against the pristine walls. Birds were chirping out a lovely song to greet the new day. Life in Los Angeles seemed wonderful.
Cassie was too busy throwing up to notice all this.
She eventually pried her cheek off the cool surface of the toilet bowl seat. This was not how she envisioned her day starting. She would have preferred waking up next to a hot guy and going for breakfast with him. The thought of food made her stomach roil again. It settled, and she half-stood, half-crawled back to her bed, where she covered her head with the sheets and tried to shut out the cheery brightness of the world. It's as though L.A. turned into a Technicolor cartoon with the tweeting birds and smiling sunshine.
The minute the sheets were over her head, someone knocked at the door. "Go away," she mumbled, but whoever it was took it as an invitation to enter. It was the nurse from the day before, coming in with her chart to check on her. One look at her pale and clammy face sent her running from the room.
The nurse, D. Martin according to the nametag, came back with a tray full of instruments and two men in labcoats in tow. "Don't worry about a thing, hun, we'll figure out what he did to you."
"Wha–" she started to protest, but D. Martin shoved a thermometer under her tongue.
"Just keep still," the blonde woman advised, checking Cassie's pulse at the wrist and keeping time with her watch. She called various numbers to one of the lab guys, who scribbled them diligently on his clipboard. The other lab guy was busy attaching a blood pressure monitor to her arm, and began pumping the little bulb at the end to inflate it.
Spike sauntered in then, swiftly followed by a tall man in glasses. He raised his scarred eyebrow when he saw the perplexed look on Cassie's face. "You look dreadful," he said instead, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"She's having a delayed reaction to the drug from yesterday," the nurse replied, a bit frazzled. She fitted a stethoscope in her ears and began listening to her heartbeat. "We think we're close to isolating the agent that caused her to react like this."
"Oh, I can tell you what it is," Spike said, moving further into the room. The bespectacled man followed, curiosity written on his face. "It's a mystical brew created from the root of the agave plant." The man in glasses snickered. "Men, especially Mexicans, have been using it for centuries to make the women they want susceptible to them. They even get intoxicated themselves on it."
The lab flunkies were writing furiously on their clipboards. "Please tell us the name of this mystical brew!" one nearly shouted he was so excited.
"It's tequila," interjected the man in glasses. "I don't think you need the IV hookup for a hangover, Donna," he chided.
Donna Martin looked shame-faced, and started to gather her instruments, slamming them back on the metal tray. She nodded without looking up at the two labcoats and they left quickly.
Spike sniggered. "How are you really doing, duck? You drank a lot last night."
"Less than you," she countered, sitting up slowly in bed. "But you have that great healing factor thing. Damn vampires and their liquor tolerance." She tried to fix her shoulder-length auburn hair as much as she could. There were, after all, men in the room. Granted, men who knew she'd just finished throwing up, but cute men nonetheless.
The man in glasses ahemed and looked at Spike pointedly. "Oh, right. Cassie, this ponce here is Wesley Wyndham-Price. Nancy, this is Cassie Harvey, slightly hungover."
He smiled and nodded at her, pointedly ignoring Spike's slam. "It's a pleasure, Miss Harvey." He glanced over at Spike. "I take it Spike took you out last night?"
"Yeah, he got me rip-roarin' drunk, too." She managed a weak smile. If she tried to giggle, even a bit, her stomach would protest the movement.
"And you thought that… wise?" he prodded.
"No, actually, it was damn stupid," she retorted a bit too forcefully. "But I'm a big girl now, and if it's my time to get brutally murdered, then it's my time."
"Ah. I see." He cast his gaze to his shoes. "I, ah, have things to attend to in Ancient Artefacts. Nice to meet you, Miss Harvey." He closed the door quietly behind him.
Cassie sighed and buried her head in her hands. She just tried to bite the head off a guy she barely knew. Again. She remembered something her ex-boyfriend said a while ago: 'Each time I go on vacation, I get instantly stupid. Like, my IQ drops a good twenty points.' She was beginning to wonder whether the same thing was happening to her.
Cassie sat forward and hugged her blanket-covered knees. "That's another apology I have to make."
"How Canadian of you," Spike said, sinking into the armchair on the other side of the nightstand. He glanced at her, and his gaze traveled the length of her body. "Borrowing clothes from Harmony? I thought you had better taste than that."
She looked down and realized the blankets had slipped, and most of her torso and the bare skin of her thigh were left revealed. She quickly rearranged the blankets while Spike chuckled. "Do you enjoy having fun at my expense?"
"You make it rather easy, luv," he replied, still chuckling.
She cocked her head to one side. "Why are you here?"
"Well," he began. "I came to see what the fuss was about. Donna went running to the lab to retrieve her pet monkeys. I asked what was up and she shrieked out that there was a problem with 'the patient'. I naturally assumed it was you. I was right." He leaned back in the chair and stretched his long limbs in front of him, a smug smile on his face.
She shook her head, then winced at the pain it brought. "While you were busy gloating, did you manage to bring aspirin with you?" He tossed her a bottle, and she mumbled her thanks. "What are you doing today?"
"Oh, the usual." He stretched luxuriously again, and began counting on his fingers. "Annoying Angel, moving around things people need, bugging Nancy, calling him assorted other poncy names, beating on the know-it-all-powerful Smurf, and being watched like a lab rat while I get pummelled. Sounds like a full day to me."
She blinked, only comprehending about half of that. "Well, when you get a chance, let me know if you're up for anything."
"Anything?" he asked, and waggled his eyebrows.
"I'll rephrase," she amended, mentally cursing herself for walking right into that one. "If you are interested in showing me the good parts of the city, the safer parts, and the parts where I can get a good cheeseburger."
He nodded, and said he'll let her know, and walked out. She dressed in her old clothes, and made the decision to get back to her hotel room as quickly as possible to shower and put on something clean. On the way down, she ran into Nancy – ah, Mr. Wyndham-Price, who offered to call her a car to take her over. She tried to protest, but he said he would be more than happy to do it.
She went back to her small hotel room, showered, and changed into a fresh pair of black jeans and a light blue buttondown shirt. She blow-dried her hair into a nice flip, and tried not to think about what she had to do next. It was going to be a very difficult call, but it had to be done.
She sat down in the armchair next to the little table that held the phone. Her hand reached the receiver, and she drew it back again. "Alright girl, you can do this," she coaxed herself. She picked up the receiver and dialled the number she had been dreading for a long time. Breathing a loud sigh, she waited until she heard a familiar voice on the other end. "Hi, Nick? It's Cassie. How's it going?"
Nicholas Knight had just woken up from a long day's sleep. It was just another night in Toronto, solving cases for the homicide division. This last case was particularly hard to stomach. The had just brought in a man who had been kidnapping prostitutes and torturing them before killing them. He had been infected with HIV by a hooker he picked up, and this was his way of getting back at her. For once, they brought in the culprit alive. Around Nick, that was usually a hit and miss. He tended to really throw himself into his work. For an 800-year-old vampire cop, that kind of exuberance for bringing to justice evil-doers usually leads to a death.
He padded barefoot to his fridge and pulled out a green wine bottle. Looking at his fridge, one would assume Nick was an alcoholic who liked to bottle his own wine from a Brew-Your-Own. Upon closer inspection, the bottles contained cow blood. He yanked the cork out of the bottle with his teeth and proceeded to drink his breakfast.
The phone rang then. He wondered who would be calling him this close to sunset. He was willing to bet it was a telemarketer, and was going to let the machine pick up. The lack of wakefulness got the better of him, and he picked up the receiver. "'Lo? Nick Knight." He stifled a yawn.
"Hi, Nick? It's Cassie. How's it going?"
"Cassie!" A smile brightened his face. He really liked the redhead. She was so much like Natalie, it was as though they were really related. "How are things in L.A.? Are you okay?"
"Yeah, more or less." Her voice sounded tinny through the connection. "A bit of a hangover, but that's the least of it."
The smile left Nick's scruffy face. "What happened. Is everything okay." The questions were direct statements; Nick had dropped into detective mode.
"Yeah, pretty much." A pause. "I've met some people who are willing to help me out. I have a lab and everything. It's probably really high-tech, Nick, Nat would be so jealous-"
"What aren't you telling me?"
Another, longer pause. "I'm at Wolfram & Hart."
"WHAT!" Nick shrieked. "Do you know what they do there? Are you out of your mind? Do you know what they DO THERE?"
Cassie's voice was quiet. "You said that already."
"I'm making a point." He sighed, and sat on the couch. "Cassie, that place is dangerous. It's run by a vampire! A really bad one!"
"I've met Angel, Nick. Who do you think allowed me the use of the lab?"
"Cassie, you don't understand the gravity of the situation," Nick pointed out. "Their clients are murderers and demons, and… and really evil. They've been around since the beginning of time, and they span the globe. They are Evil Incarnate."
The silence was longer than before. "Well, they're willing to help." Then she let the other shoe drop. "Besides, I've met someone else who hates LaCroix."
Nick wondered a moment who it could be, and finally asked. The response sent him into another shouting round, during which Cassie tried to reassure him, saying at least he didn't try and drug her like the last guy did, which sent Nick reaching for even higher decibels. When Nick hung up the phone, he packed a small bag and went to work, unshaven (not like that's never happened before). He explained to the chief that there was a situation that he needed to take care of involving Natalie's niece. Officially, to show where he was for payroll, he "convinced" the chief to let him go on a goodwill mission to Los Angeles, to further support police liaisons between the two countries.
He then called Natalie, who should know what was going on with her protégé. She reached higher decibels than Nick had. She demanded that she go with him. He said nothing doing, he was going to fly there, and she would not be able to withstand the height and cold. She browbeat him further, letting him know in no uncertain terms that she was going. He used all the excuses in the book: it would be too dangerous (she scoffed); no one could take care of the coroner's office (she hired someone two months ago, remember?); she's the best damn coroner in the city (she told him to stuff it). Nick acquiesced, and went to pick her up. On the way, he called in a favour from the DeBrabant Foundation, and chartered a small plane. Thank goodness for 800 years and a really good accountant. They would be in Los Angeles in a few hours, putting them at about ten o'clock locally. Cassie Harvey was in a lot of trouble.