Been awhile, but I still don't own FK.
Archive: permission to Mel, Anita, any DP and the Rat Pack.  Others
can email me and let me know where.
AN: This is for Libby's Challenge, which I'll list at the end so not
to ruin a surprise.  

Not So Odd (1/1)
By: Cousin Mary

	In an effort to avoid any and all involvement in her parent's
divorce, this included calls and unannounced 'visits,' Tracy had
taken to staying at Vachon's on her days off.  Not that there was
anything going on, hell, she hadn't even seen her favorite snitch in
three months, but he'd replaced the locks on the door, there was heat
and water now and well, her parents were driving her insane!  

If someone had told her a year ago that she'd be Tracy Vetter:
squatter, the cop would have laughed them out of the room.  But
somewhere along the way she'd lost her normal, middle of the road
midset and after vampires, insane kidnapping, serial killers and
Jerry Tate, well, bunking at an derelict church in her cookie monster
pajamas didn't seem that odd.  

She smiled to herself as she thought of what a strange turn her life
had taken.  Sipping at the latte in her hand, she tried to adjust the
rabbit ears on the old TV Vachon had dug up only god knew where.  She
could almost get channel 6, 7 was a lost cause, but 9 came in just
fine, but 9 was a home shopping channel and she didn't really need a
hepafilter shaped like a lamp at this time.  She was just settling in
for a nice evening of 'The Dirty Dozen,' dubbed to Portuguese, when
there came the muffled sound of something from upstairs.  

"Hell," Tracy muted the TV and stared at the rickety wooden stairs
that led to the equally rickety balcony where originally the choir
might have sang, but now just stored abandoned boxes of abstinence
pamphlets and the occasional dead pigeon.

She didn't want to go and investigate.  She was off duty, she
shouldn't have to.   Truthfully there wasn't much it could be.  There
was no way to get up to the balcony without going up the stairs and
no way to get to the stairs without walking right by the couch Tracy
had parked herself on for the last several hours.  Plus the door had
been locked when she'd let herself in earlier that evening and all
the other doors and windows on the first floor were boarded up.  So
chances are there wasn't a person up there, probably a rat and who
knew what kind of diseases it might be carrying?  Tracy's nose
wrinkled, maybe she shouldn't be staying here after all.

Another loud bang followed by what sounded like cursing rang through
the air.

"Damn it!"  Tracy jumped to her feet, grabbed her gun and headed to
the stairs, "I don't know who you are, but boy did you pick the wrong
place to break in!"  

"Wotter ya doin' 'ere!" Came an equally irate voice, "I 'as ev'ry
right ta be 'ere!  I 'ave you know tha' my close chum an' associate,
'ey now," Screed's head popped over the balcony rail to stare down at
her, "Baby Jane?  Wot's a bird like you doin' 'ere?"

"Screed?"  Tracy lowered her gun and came to a sudden stop on the
stairs, which swayed dangerously under her weight, "Uh oh."

She heard the wood creaking and groaning beneath her.  Screed hadn't
gone up these steps, vampires could fly, probably no one had gone up
the dry-rotted circular case in longer than the church had been
condemned.  Tracy held her breath as the old planks shivered beneath
her.  

"Um, Screed?"  She turned wide eyes up to the carouche, "Little help?"

He stared at her, shaking his head wildly, "Nah a good idea Baby
Jane."

Tracy looked back down at the stairs and the dust falling to the
floor as countless nails loosened and chips fell, "I really think it
is."

If anything Screed's eyes were wider than hers, "Nah, ya don'," He
watched the blonde's hands clutching white-knuckled on crumbling
rail, "Uh, might want ta stop doin' tha, Baby Janey."

"Screed!"  Tracy hissed, "I'm twenty feet up!  If this goes I'm not
just going to fall, I'm going to fall on jagged pieces of rotting
wood, so get your undead butt over here and help me!"

"I'm nekkid!"  He yelped suddenly.

"What!?" Tracy's voice trailed up into a scream as the staircase
swayed violently at her jerk of surprise.

"Careful copper," Screed gave a nervous laugh, "T'would be a nasty
fall."

"What do you mean?  You're not wearing anything?  Why aren't you
wearing anything?!"  Tracy was panting, her eyes darting from Screed,
to the stairs, to the balcony rail that hid Screed's supposedly
unclothed body and then back to the stairs.

"Welly, I was a' this gamin' establishment, nah the mos' upstandin'
kinda place turns out," He trailed off, "Thought Vachonetti might
have sum togs fer a droog ta borrow-like."  

Tracy was sweating now, really, she didn't particularly want to see
Screed in his birthday suit, but if it came down to seeing him naked
or dying, well, she was a big girl, "Screed!  Just come and help me!"

Screed stared at her in shock for a moment before leaping over the
railing towards her.  Just in time too, the stairs collapsed after
giving one last splintering groan.  

When the dust started to settle, Tracy found herself pressed face
first into the worn couch with Screed on top of her.  She kept her
eyes screwed shut as Screed got up with a yelp and screamed, "Don't
peep!" before disappearing into the small, pink bathroom.

Tracy counted to ten before sitting up.  She sighed and turned back
to the TV,  'the Dirty Dozen' was about halfway through.  "Screed,
you want me to find you some clothes?!"  She yelled out, eyes glued
on Charles Bronson.

"Dur!" Screed didn't even open the door, just shouted back through
it, "I 'ardly want ta stay in 'ere all night!"

With one last look at the screen, Tracy made her way to the
cardboard boxes she was reasonably sure Vachon had stashed some of
his things.  She dug through about forty black tee shirts before
selecting one at random and a pair of jeans with the knees blown out.
"Here," She held them up the door and when he didn't open even then,
set them down and went back to the TV.

A few minutes later a fully dressed carouche settled next to her on
the couch and swiped a sip of the diet Dr. Pepper she'd been saving
for a morning caffeine fix.

"Thanks for saving me," Tracy said after a minute of awkward silence.

"Sorry I 'ad ya on those rickety pickets ta starts with," He leaned
back into the cushions with a grunt, "Ya didn't see anythin' did ya?"

"What?"  Tracy looked at him and smiled, "Would it matter if I did?"

Screed would have been blushing if he were able, "A man's best mate
ought nah ta be showin' 'is, uh, Manchester United ta 'is best bird."

"I didn't see anything," Tracy said simply, then added, "But I'm not
Vachon's bird."

Screed raised a red eyebrow at that, but didn't saying for a few
minutes.  "Hey!  Innit this tha Dirty Dozen?  Good flick that."

Tracy nodded, all in all, still not that odd of a night.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.
The Challenge: In celebration of Greg Kramer's March birthday. The
challenge is to write a story, song/filk or poem about Screed and his
birthday suit. Any definition of birthday suit is allowed as long as
it follows FKFIC-L's list rules.	
I love feed back!  Send all comments and such to anteros@juno.com
For more of my fic check out:
http://www.geocities.com/cousin_mary1228/