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Crimson Claws

23.

Nash stood in one of the bathrooms where he was putting his eye drops in. Even though he only had one appointment today - a radio show - he was so tired. Less physically and more emotionally. It wasn't a difficult job, where he had to play the suave, sometimes charming token gargoyle with gestures and facial expressions for an audience. As with his TV appearances, everything he had to say was scripted (even every banter and every laugh) and the staff were briefed accordingly. He was a safe guest who never caused problems because he was so predictable and Pam or Xanatos Media only expected the same from the hosts. Nevertheless, he felt drained. And these damn flashes. People would never learn that. Or they didn't want to learn. And he couldn't even say anything anymore. Bitchy airs like that wouldn't reflect well on him, his clan or his race. Pam could snap at as many people as she liked, that flashing lights were forbidden - tourists, excited fans or sleazy paparazzi didn't bother to change their camera settings, they just wanted an acceptable shot. The latter especially loved it when gargoyle eyes reflected a flash of light, giving them an even more demonic glow like those of cats. He couldn't remember a time when his eyes didn't hurt at the end of each night and he often got a headache and blurred vision.

The door was open and down the hall he could hear Lex and Brooklyn talking. Nothing serious, they both sounded too random for that. He rubbed excess fluid from his cheeks with his knuckles and pricked up his ears more. It was patrol stuff but just because he didn't take part in it 19 nights out of 20 didn't mean he didn't care. Although what his uncle and dad were talking about didn't sound very exciting. Something about birds of prey released last night at the Bronx Zoo. Rather unusual, he hadn't heard of anything like that since-

Nashville almost knocked the soap dispenser off the edge of the sink with his wing as he whirled around to catch up with his kin. Don't run! he admonished himself. Don't appear too greedy. He tried to control his racing heartbeat and breathing and, above all, his voice.

"Hey!" he called out, clearing his throat in an attempt at bored coolness. "I'll come with you if you want to check out the place. I need to stretch my wings anyway."

.

.

Nashville landed at the Bronx Zoo. He had already visited the zoo from time to time (of course not during opening hours and not during the "open nights" because he knew that he would have felt like one of the animals on the loose) but even without that he would have easily found his way to the enclosures of the birds of prey. Old memories pushed him forward and also the severed cables in front of the cages reminded him of his former, not quite law-abiding adventure with his best friend at the time.

He listened - and heard nothing but the multiform noises made by the nocturnal animals. Then he sniffed, but his nose was covered with the scents of the zoo and its inhabitants. Of course, underneath were human smells. Those of the keepers, the thousands of visitors, and the police who had secured the grounds during the day so that no one would think the sharp cut steel wires were an invitation to explore the cages and see the world from this side of the fence. His feet creaked loudly on the gravel. Louder than he was used to and preferred. But he looked around - and saw no one. The fluttering in his stomach that he had felt all the time since earlier, died down to a dull disappointed tug.

"A stupid idea," he muttered. Lexington touched down, sailing silently, on one of the wooden waist-high railings in front of the cages while Nash stomped over to him.

"What was a stupid idea?" he asked.

"Oh. Just thought. I'm sure released birds that have spent their lives caged can't survive long in the wild."

"Mhmmm. Not all of them, at least," his uncle agreed, hopping over to the cut steel ropes. They were ropes as thick as a child's finger but twisted from numerous thinner wires.

"The ends are scorched," Lex muttered, and like Nash, set about frisking the area around the crime scene with sharp gargoyle eyes.

"A laser weapon?"

"Probably."

"Pretty up-armed for animal rights activists."

"You seem disappointed," the little web-wing commented.

"Yeah? Really?"

"Yeah, really. You were so into checking out that place. Man, you were almost faster than me in the air. And now you're shuffling around here depressed. So why?"

"There's no reason. I just thought. I don't know. Something different for a change, I thought."

Lex twisted one of the wide corners of his mouth into a wry grin.

"Knew from the start it wasn't a thing. We're just here to scope out the situation in case the humans missed something. Speaking of. Any footprints on your end which may not be from cops?

Nash swept his hand across the expanse of soft sand of the eagle enclosure. The cut ropes curled above him like individual strands of hair from a mechanical giantess who had made herself comfortable for a nap on the roofs of the aviaries.

"Nah. Nothing at all," he said truthfully, crawling out of the enclosure. Despite the open gaping barrier, being in it alone made him massively uncomfortable - again because of old memories. He stood on his feet and came to his uncle, who continued to chatter boredly. "- and world saviors, freeing the animals doesn't really fall into our area of concern. Brooklyn only sent you along so willingly because he thought it was a bummer himself. We'll tell the others about our suspicions with the laser weapon. But for now, we'll continue our patrol and take care of real cases."

"You got it," Nash said demotivated. He didn't feel like patrolling anymore. Not after this failure. But what had he expected? The very prospect that this might have something to do with his past had been ridiculous and infantile. She was gone. She had been gone for more than ten years. Infinitely long for a human child. An infinite amount of time to let the short weeks of a magical, crazy and towards the end almost fatal summer fade away and be forgotten. He- Nashville, the gargoyle child, Divergence boy- was just another crazy kid story. A memory she had to tell her many friends and admirers, because she had to have them. Even if puberty had taken away some of her filial beauty, he still imagined that she must look fantastic by now. Beauty of a different, adult quality. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't see something fly past him until it landed on the gravel in front of his uncle.

"What-?" began Lex who had already jumped back onto the waist-high rail since he could take off even from that height.

But the rest of his obvious question was lost in the loud hiss that came from the gray canister the size of a cola can, which began to spin wildly with pressure and emit a pale gas.

"It's a trap!" shrieked Nash, trying to get to his uncle. But the little web-wing had been hit right in the face by the first massive jet of gas and was already toppling off his perch with a blank stare like an overtired parrot. Nash's legs gave way under him just as he reached Lexington. His plan to get them both out of the gas canister's haze flowed out of his head along with every other thought. He could still feel the gravel on which he hit hard.

.

.

"Lex? Lexington, come in."

"Errrrgh, damn it," Lexington croaked, rubbing his head. He heard Goliath's voice in his nightmares. It wasn't until he still heard the voice after he turned around that he realized he wasn't dreaming. The gravel pecking him in the skin of his flying skins and the back of his head were also clues.

"Patrol team three. Report. Why haven't you guys shown up for interim briefing in Soho yet?" came Brooklyn's voice over the intercom. Ohhhh, no one would like that, least of all the second boss.

Lex straightened up with a groan and tried to wave away the fog in his head. Then he touched the wristband they all wore, which was connected to his ear bud, and opened the channel. As he did so, he was horrified to see that four hours had passed. It was almost four o'clock in the morning!

"Pa - patrol team three. We've encountered problems at the Bronx Zoo." He looked around sullenly and his heart began to race as he realized Nashville wasn't sitting or lying anywhere. He had briefly thought that the attackers had left his nephew lying. Just like they had with him. As a ... statement. But Nash was gone. Not again!

"What kind of trouble?," Brooklyn radioed into the channel.

Lex rubbed his head and couldn't hide the shy tone in his voice as he told the boy's father the truth.

"It was a trap. Gas knocked us out. And Nashville's gone ... "

"Again!" Brooklyn hissed, then spat out a few Japanese phrases. Probably curses and imprecations. His channel closed and Goliath's voice rang out as he addressed everyone. He also sounded grim. But there was also a tiredness in his voice. Understandable. This was the seventh time since 1996 that Nashville had been involuntarily "lost". Or the eighth time? No one really believed that he was in any life-threatening danger. That had never been the case before. After all, he was a superstar and too valuable to simply be smashed like a run-of-the-mill gargoyle. Even if he was in danger because he wasn't as grateful as he should be for being freed from celebrity enslavement, most of the time the perpetrators talked to him at length, wanting to "get to know him", bonding over restraints and cages and such craziness. Nash knew how to buy time. Mostly plenty of time to find him using the transmitter in his wristband or the one under his skin. However ... the thought of the sun rising in an hour was horrible. Nashville's reward card for such incidents must soon be full. After ten, there was a free abduction.

.

.

Nash woke up tied to a chair. A classic! He immediately realized that he wasn't injured - except for his throbbing skull. But that was probably due to the anaesthetic gas rather than a blow.

He no longer smelled any zoo animals, so he knew that whoever had abducted him had taken him somewhere far away. But he could see nothing and even if he opened his eyes wider he would see nothing. He felt the intense warmth of a bright lamp on his skin and even saw the glare through his almost completely closed eyelids. Nevertheless, against his better judgment, his instinct and gargoyle-like stubbornness forced him to raise his head and try to catch a glimpse. A concrete floor, the iron feet of a spotlight. And then nothing more. But he heard footsteps. And whispering voices talking.

He cleared his throat and swallowed the lump of bile, forcing himself not to make his voice sound too indignant.

"I'm awake," he stated. "Show yourselves."

His voice echoed. So a wide near-empty room. Warehouse?

"I'm glad you woke up. I was beginning to think we dosed the gas wrong," said a female voice. This voice sounded young. Friendly. Sympathetic. They usually sounded like this at first.

Nashville grumbled. He could no longer feel the wristband of his radio-controlled watch on his wrist. And the wireless transmitter button was no longer in his ear. But his opponents knew nothing about the microchip in him. So ... stall for time again to be rescued like a damsel in distress or until he came up with something himself.

"Listen," he said, squinting into the far too bright light, colorful spots dancing in front of his eyes. "Nice trap - one of the better ones. I don't care at all that you set the birds free. It was illegal, but we Gargoyles understand if you're upset about the caging. I've been in cages myself. Probably everyone in my family has been. So what's this all about? I hope you animal rights activists don't still think we gargoyles need rescuing. From whatever."

"We didn't think you needed rescuing," said the female voice. Whoever she had been talking to was now silent. So the woman was the boss.

"Where's my uncle?" he asked, the question alone making his eyes glow with anger that they had taken them both by surprise, kidnapped and then separated them.

"We left him there. He must have woken up by now. Don't worry," the woman replied, and despite the intense light that nearly blinded him, his head jerked in the direction of the source of the voice.

"So that's it? Again?" he spat towards the spotlight she must be standing behind. He had already been through several training courses on how to talk to criminals, kidnappers and hostage-takers. And shouting and swearing at them was clearly NOT one of the techniques. But the disembodied voice seemed more curious than offended.

"What do you mean, again?"

"I'm so sick of it," he growled out his thoughts, followed by a bitter laugh that sounded very sinister. "Do you think you'll be the first? This get's old. I soon won't have enough fingers left to count how many times greedy people of all kinds have kidnapped me. Greedy for money, or fame or - please don't laugh - friendship. Some wanted to sell me. Others wanted to kill me as an example to our race. Others wanted to save me from whatever. Oh, the overzealous psychotic sympathizers who only mean well are the worst. Once a madwoman lured me to her home because she thought I would become her lover because you humans don't realize for the life of you that we only age half as fast as you do. Do you know how traumatic it is for a fourteen-year-old to be confronted with your perverted human fantasies about us? Just because I am the poster child for Gargoyles doesn't mean you own me. None of you. I'm not a piece of meat or some kind of compensation for your needs."

"Oh cavolo," the voice whispered after a few seconds. "I had no idea what kind of shit you were going through. I thought ... after the Quarrymen were no longer much of a threat, you'd be better off."

Nashville blinked in irritation. The voice was unfamiliar. But there was something. In that tone, in those expletives. Pragmatics and phonetics. All that made a little bell ring inside him. Nashville ignored it. He was no hatchling to be lulled by a candy cane-waving adult.

"You have no idea, lady. Times are changing. So do the threats. But they always remain threats. They've just become ... more colorful."

"I know what it's like to be seen as just a piece of meat," the voice whispered.

"Oh yes, I can imagine the immense pain it causes to be able to walk down a street without tourists and stuck fanatics wanting autographs on their fat bellies, comics or tits."

Where the female voice sighed softly, making Nashville's skin prickle, the other, more serious one spoke up for the first time. Nashville's own tone had been dripping with sarcasm (something he'd inherited from Brooklyn), the man now showed just a hint of it.

"What a burden to be a big shot celebrity."

Male. Deeply dark, though not as melodic as Goliath's. Not a voice that could come from a frail little body. Clearly a bigger threat in battle than the woman. I'll have to take care of him first, Nash thought, baring his teeth as he began to slice the bindings on his wrists with a claw. What a beginner to bind a gargoyle with normal ropes.

"I never asked to be famous. I just didn't want to be alone anymore."

"Yes. The Divergence Boy. The one who makes the difference. I suppose it couldn't get any stupider than that."

"Dude. I hate that name too. Xanatos media 97 thought that would be the trick. It goes against the nature of Gargoyles to solicit sympathy and empathy. And yet, public relations supported it when the media pushed the name on me. Even after eleven years, I still hear it. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is? What expectations the name raises in people? As if I knew the answer to ANYTHING."

"As if your stardom and their popularity didn't earn you a lot of money," the male voice growled and Nashville shrugged.

" One advertising deal was okay. The other one less so. We turned most of them down anyway. But the rarer we made ourselves, the more people chased us. Less with weapons and more with cameras." Nashville scoffed. What did these guys think? That he had influence? He was the plaything of the universe - not the other way around. Of course he made money, just as Goliath's shares in Cyberbiotics and Lexington's work brought in money. Everything went into the clan account from which he could withdraw money if he wanted to - as soon as he told his Rhydderch and father what it was for. Maybe it would be cool to just have a card from which he could withdraw as much as he wanted without having to report - but honestly - what for? Most of his clothes were given to him as a gift so that he could wear them as a living clothes rail in public. These were altered by Xanato's tailors. He was usually driven around in a car with his own chauffeur. At business lunches where new gigs were proposed and later put to the clan for approval, he had never had to pay. Pam made the phone calls for him. He basically only snacked for the cameras when he was out, so he didn't need funding for that either.

"But-" the man began and the woman silenced him with a chilly "That's enough".

Then she addressed Nashville again, sounding much softer.

"Did it at least work?"

"What?" he asked brusquely.

"Your loneliness. Were you able to make friends?"

After a few moments to sort out his thoughts on the unusual question, he answered soberly and truthfully.

"I had people to spend time with. Children whose families declared my clan harmless - and vice versa, heh! But even when I could spend time with them, there was always this aftertaste. That I wouldn't have been their "friend" if I had been a human child. How they basked in the admiration of their buddies when they could show me off at events or birthday parties. Or their jealousy when they noticed that other children idolized me and left them in the dust. I was always the odd one out, the unique one. Either people got far too close to me in their liberal over-friendliness or they kept a cautious distance. I was rarely treated like a normal person. To your question, Lady Spotlight. I was no longer alone. I was and am surrounded by people. All - the - time. But in my whole life, I've only had one real friend."

And she's gone, he wanted to add, but he couldn't get this truth out. Nash took a deep breath. His claw had rasped against the ropes throughout his story. In a moment, his bonds would be severed. It was too easy. As if these kidnappers wouldn't even try. He would knock them both out and drag them to the nearest police station. Assault. Kidnapping. Hostage-taking of an endangered sentient species. That would bring at least three months, 400 community service hours and a court ruling for a 200-yard restraining order. Just like last time. Even the woman's warm, almost affectionate voice couldn't change that. Wackos remained wackos.

"We'd like to be your friends," said the voice.

Nashville snorted cheerfully.

"Charming offer," he said. "The gas cartridge, the kidnapping and the ropes gave a somewhat mixed impression, u know? You wouldn't be the first either. But I'm only sixteen. I'm not even allowed to drink beer yet. You wouldn't have much fun with me. And my schedule is pretty tight. So find people your own age and let me go."

"We had to get you away from Lexington and the restraints would keep you immobilized until you recovered from the gas. A rude awakening like that might have made you do things you would have regretted later," the woman explained, the frown audible in her voice. "And I don't want to make 'people' my friends. It's about you."

"And I gratefully decline," Nashville proclaimed, bursting out of his torn restraints, jumping up, sprinting on all fours towards the spotlight and knocking it over. The tripod crashed to the floor, the light dying out with a brief shattering of glass. Nashville threw the hulking black man down with his tail, causing him to lose the weapon he had been holding and slide backwards a few yards instead. Then he spread his wings, rose to his current 5.4 feet, grabbed the woman by the arm, who still towered over him by 6 inches, and hissed angrily in her face. But between the smudges in front of his eyes from the previous blinding, he saw her grinning broadly. A grin with bright, straight teeth. A grin that twisted full lips and made brown eyes glow with joy. There was an almost black mole under her left eye. Nash felt the glow in his eyes diminish as the confused bewilderment eased the anger. Her skin under her blouse was warm and soft and despite the fabric, he could feel his own skin tingling from the contact.

"Hello, Nash," said the woman who resembled the girl from his memory in a disturbing way and yet looked VERY different. The girl in the worn, faded photos from the passport photo machine by the Statue of Liberty where he had once taken Graziella. He couldn't stop his second glance from going to the large bulges under her light-colored blouse. A blouse light enough that he imagined he could see the darker fabric of a brassiere quivering under her chuckle.

"Damn, Graziella, you said this would be smooth sailing," someone hissed behind them. Nashville let go of the woman and whirled around. The six-foot-something beefcake had picked himself up and was rubbing the back of his neck as he came towards them, bending down for the gun as he moved. Now with only the faint overhead lights, Nashville's eyes quickly recovered and his gargoyle instincts kicked in as he saw this opponent and his re-arming. He crouched down and, despite his immense confusion, made to leap towards the henchman, screeching. But the woman's laughter made him pause as his feet and one of his hands stuck to the ground and he was only able to pull the other one free by losing the first layer of skin. Not that he let the pain show. She laughed loudly and joyfully, it sounded deeper, more grown-up, but in the middle of it - a grunt escaped her.

She walked up to the man who towered over her by a head, brushed back her gorgeous curls that fell almost to her hips and patted the guy's cheek like he was a well-behaved dog.

"Oh Sonny, don't piss yourself. It was just a little shove," she said cheerfully, taking the gun from him and bending down to place it on the ground - and let it slide across the floor to Nash. Perplexed, Nash looked at the gun that came to a stop not half a yard in front of him, caught by the same sticky substance that held him to the ground despite all his Gargoyle strength.

"Don't be afraid of us, Nash. The laser gun was, like the ropes and the glue, just... well, a safety feature. And only set to the weakest setting."

"Who are you! What do you want from me?" he shouted indignantly. There were too many " safety measures" here for the woman to pretend she was playing nice. The woman the guy had called Graziella remained crouched down - her fierce guard dog behind her. He noticed how plump and shapely her bottom looked in the knee-length black shorts, how wonderfully tanned her long legs were.

Her smile was warm and smarmy at the same time.

"Nash, you know who I am," she said.

His eyes began to glow again and once more he let his wings rise to their full size. The threat gestures fell a little short because he was literally stuck to the ground, but he was still somehow a gargoyle and would not surrender to whatever fate these maniacs had in store for him. Most people's instincts were like those of bears. If you made yourself big and threatening enough, they'd shy away.

But his anger was real enough. How dare these guys! How dare they play with his memories like that and use them against him.

"I do NOT know who you are! You did your research well and yes, girl. You look like the child from back then that's in the WRVN footage - good make-up artists, good make-up, good wig. Everything fits. You've certainly won the Oscar. And you've rolled through some files to find out that name too. But you're not her."

The woman, perhaps just over twenty, looked briefly disappointed as the black man chuckled. In the semi-darkness, his teeth shone in his jet-black face. He had almost orange cornrow braids which hung to his cheeks and just looked ridiculous. "He thinks it's make-up. Not a good report card for you, boss."

"'Knock it off, Sonny," the woman sighed and straightened up. Nashville took the opportunity to stretch without getting his upper body in the sticky substance (glue or whatever). He took the weapon - a laserglock - with his last free hand and crumpled it into shards of plastic and metal in front of the two acting maniacs. The female Impostor looked on with an almost sad expression.

"Nashville, I am Graziella," she said seriously. "Ask me a question. Any question that only you and I can know."

"And if you could answer one of them- that wouldn't mean much. You have no idea who has tried to deceive us over the years," he said coldly, thinking of their more devious opponents. Like the Illuminati, who had ways of gaining knowledge and information that he couldn't even imagine.

The woman had approached him slowly, gesturing for the guy to stay back. "I can understand that you are wary given your previous experiences. But it's me. And that big lump back there is Sonny. I'm Tony Dracon's daughter. He's Glasses' son. We've been at school abroad for the last 12 years. No lies, ask me anything." She smiled as she stood in front of him and turned to her human companion as if the gargoyle ready to attack wasn't a threat. He probably wasn't as a gargoyle sticker. Not without losing the skin on his stuck hand and the ball of his feet- oh that would hurt.

"Sonny looks mean but he listens," she added with a cheeky but affectionate tease, and the guy across the room rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. But Nashville did notice the holster hanging from his belt. One that still had a gun in it. The guy looked more relaxed - but he was still a danger. Because he reasonably suspected that a gargoyle was a danger. That seemed smart. But he knew how the bad cop-good cop act worked.

The woman turned to him and the smile faded, probably because she saw his suspicious look. "Did you find Grigio? Did you understand my message? I was absolutely convinced you would understand," she said with a hint of uncertainty and concern.

Nashville would have liked to flinch away, but he could only back off a few inches without falling on his butt and inevitably losing his pants because they would get stuck. HOW did she know about the gray stuffed bunny, his emotional anchor the first year after Graziella left him? The Plushy was always in his room. He felt confusion and suspicion about what could not be carved into his features.

"I don't know where you got your information, but I don't believe you," he stubbornly snapped, saying it mostly to himself. This woman was so beautiful. Even more beautiful than he had imagined in his limited imagination that Graziella would become. But that was just a trick. A trick to lull him. Just like her disturbing knowledge. It couldn't be. His dreams didn't come true that easily. He had realized that at the latest in the months after the Quarrymen movement had died down and citizenship was pending for them all. Real life beyond the humans was never easy - just different and exhausting.

The woman walked towards him and crouched down in front of him, the tips of her sneakers almost in the glue. Earlier she had simply stepped out of it without sticking. What was different now? She was close enough that he could have carved her a new face with a swipe of his claws. He imaged the bruise forming on her upper arm where he had just grabbed her. This woman was so fragile. And wasn't the least bit afraid. Even after hundreds of pictures in the press. Even after documentaries and TV reports and comics and action figures and other merchandise. People who hadn't had much personal contact with gargoyles simply didn't feel as secure and fearless around them. Some were invasive in their touching and displays of affection for him - but those were the disillusioned fanboys and girls - he didn't even count them. This woman, however ... was neither.

"If you don't believe me, no matter what I say..." she said, narrowing her eyes and only now he noticed her long eyelashes. "...then you'll have to convince yourself," she murmured almost shamefacedly.

"How- how convince?"

"Didn't you say you can tell people apart by their smell? Or the mole. She wiped her hand over it. "That's not make-up. I didn't put any on today. No perfume either. But you can see for yourself. If you want to."

She reached behind her to her pants and Nashville hissed threateningly at the danger of a new weapon. But the woman pulled out a small spay bottle - like a deodorant spray.

"Don't worry," she whispered and uncapped it. "This is a cold spray. You spray it around your feet and hand, it reacts with the glue."

As if anticipating his next snide remark, she sprayed some of it on her own hand, showing him that it wasn't hydrochloric acid that would hurt him. "It's my invention, so I know it won't irritate your skin or ... whatever else you're imagining. When you're free ... you can just leave and never think of me again." At the prospect, the woman bit her beautiful lips with a sorrow on her face that almost hurt Nashville himself, despite everything.

"Or," she added. "You convince yourself it's me."

She held out the small bottle to him. Nashville eyed the woman suspiciously, letting his eyes slide over this Sonny who remained motionless in the background, watching them both with a sour expression. Nash put his head forward and sniffed. It smelled like nothing. Not like something that could harm him.

He grabbed the thing without his claws touching the woman's fingers and hurried to spray the stuff around his hand and feet. It was cold - but not painful. It would probably have given a human goose bumps at most. After a few seconds, the glue became warm instead of cold, bubbling with a chemical reaction, but it only tickled his skin a little. Then Nash tore himself free and jumped out of the sticky circle and away from the humans. He didn't give a shit about holding himself straight, sprinting through the hall on all fours, his feet making a disgusting undignified squeaking sound every time they came off the floor. Then he pushed open the first door he saw and was out. Just like that. No nets falling over him out of nowhere to pin him down, no electric shocks from an invisible field, no crazy fans or haters, just night air and the hum of the city.

And then - he stopped. He HAD to leave - he recognized the first glimmer of dawn in the east. No matter where he was, it might take him a few minutes to orient himself in the air and find a safe place to petrify. BUT. Walk away - and never think about this again. Never think of her again, whoever she was. Or ... Go back and get clarity. Or pay bitterly for this desire for clarity, because all of this was one of those sadistic human games. He lifted his hands and looked at them. One with the painfully torn skin. The other a little sticky but unharmed. Would he be able to forgive himself for not finding out for sure?

He tended to brood and be anxious. He would think about this missed opportunity for God knows how long every night. How long? Weeks? Months? Years? What if he messed up something here that ... wouldn't be a horrible disaster?

When he went back into the hall, the woman stood where he had left her. The guy a few yards behind her looked surprised that he'd come back like a world-weary idiot but the woman smiled and Oh God, if she was an actress then she'd had to practice that Graziella Dracon smile ad nauseum because it was TOO GOOD and that hurt.

Slowly, his gaze roaming the darkest corners of the nearly empty warehouse like any observant gargoyle, he made his way to the woman until he stood in front of her. lt was eerily quiet, as his feet were now covered in dirt and dust, they weren't even tacky. Nash looked suspiciously at the man - Sonny. He seemed to be waiting too. Attentive. But his muscular arms were still folded and not at the gun.

Nashville then looked into the woman's eyes, searching for uncertainty, fear, anything logical. But there was only gentle patience, perhaps a little nervousness, and it looked sweet and innocent. As if she were offering herself to him. Whatever he was supposed to do with her. Well, what should he do? She had suggested it. He raised his hand. And was surprised again because the human woman tolerated him stroking her cheek with his thumb. Again his skin seemed to hum. She closed her eyes. His claw was only half an inch from her eyelid. He felt the small elevation of the mole. But also that it was real. Perhaps his new (or old) enemies had just found an actress who looked EXACTLY like his former friend. That was possible. Humans were usually so ordinary. They often looked alike.

"You may, if you want. Smell me," she said and he watched the woman in front of him blush.

He felt his throat tighten and his voice sounded as creaky as Lexington's for a moment.

"You wouldn't smell like the kid you were back then anyway. Even if you were her."

"No. Probably not," she admitted, but Nash reached for her wrist and leaned in. Again, she didn't resist and showed no disgust, no tension in her muscles as he shifted and took a whiff. His beak was so close to her neck that a small twitch would have been enough to tear her throat out. Not that he would ever have done that even if the scent hadn't given him goose bumps all over his body. And suddenly, with a mutual sigh from her and him, something inside him loosened. A knot of scratchy yarn that had become a part of him, filling his chest and holding his heart in an almost painful but always squeezing tangle. Just gone. He let go of the woman as if he had burned himself and backed away, eyes wide. The smell was not the same. But similar enough. His subconscious screamed yes where his intellect shouted no.

The woman stood there as if struck by lightning, staring at him with wide eyes and her hand pressed to her heart, as if she had just experienced the same sensation as he had.

"Graziella?" he asked, whispering into the silence.

The woman in front of him laughed amazed and hacked off. She smiled that broad smile from the beginning again - but now with a good dose of relief.

"Hi Nashville," she repeated, "did you miss your swallow?"

Nashville gasped, realizing that he had dreamed of this moment so many times in his daytime sleep and fantasized about it in his waking hours. Every time the tugging in his chest became too strong, every time he thought he couldn't breathe no matter how many breathing exercises he did, every time he felt as HOLLOW as if he were one of those plastic mechandise dolls. And yet - even if a hint of pure happiness wanted to wash over him because he wanted to believe. He couldn't. His eyes darted to the door. Outside. Sunrise. He had to find safety.

"I can't."

-stay," she added, nodding. "I know, the sun's rising. I want you to petrify in safety. I wouldn't have it any other way," the maybe-probably-but-more-likely-not-Graziella said, pulling out a cell phone and handing it to him. It was the latest generation but black and unremarkable.

"No code to open it, no transmitter to track you, no built-in bomb. I've had the touchscreen reinforced and I think if it works with artificial fingernails, it works with claws too. Text me."

"I-I," he stuttered. He had to go! He could already feel the sunrise in his bones.

"It's okay. I'm back - and again I won't leave until you want me to. Take your time. I'll wait," the woman assured him, smiling so sweetly that Nashville felt the need to move backwards just to look at her longer.

.

Awww my babies reunited!

Thanks for reading Q.T.