So this was a psychiatrist's waiting room. Vachon looked around, unimpressed by the beige walls hung with prints of fruit bowls and flowers, fake plants, light brown carpeting, and uncomfortable chairs upholstered in taupe with dark brown pin-dots. A coffee table held all manner of old magazines, with a clear plastic display of brochures on mental illness sitting on one corner. The clock on the wall told him he'd been there nearly an hour already, during which he'd done little else but stare at a print of magnolia blossoms. If this took much longer, he might have to browse those brochures just to make sure he wasn't developing symptoms!
A strangely blond Japanese guy beside him was reading one of
last month's exotic car magazines. He was young and quite handsome,
with delicate features. . . "bishounen", if Vachon remembered the word correctly. By far he was the most sane-looking one in the room.
"What you here for?" Vachon asked.
"Hmm?" The young man looked up from his magazine. "Oh, I'm here with my. . . partner. . ."
Vachon nearly fell off his chair! "Bishoujo", he found, was the more appropriate term for his seatmate; the voice was deep, but to his sensitive vampire ears, identifiably female.
"She painted the end of the world in art class again," the young woman continued, "so they sent her here for evaluation. You?"
"Here with a friend," Vachon replied. "Lady cop, killed her first crook not long ago, then almost got butchered up by some serial killer. Needs to pass this evaluation before they'll let her back on the job."
"Was the killer German?" a middle-aged, shaggy-haired Japanese man sitting across the room interrupted. "About twenty years old, with blond hair?"
"I dunno," Vachon said. "Didn't see him, myself. Why?"
"I performed the surgery that saved his life," the man said.
"I allowed that monster to live, to kill again. Now I have to track him down and kill him myself."
"Erm, yeah. . . good luck with that," Vachon said, giving the obviously troubled man a strange look.
"You think that's something?" challenged a young Japanese guy
(Vachon was sure this time) with spiky blond hair. "You oughtta try
being Death for a while! And I thought my life was strange before,
when I could just see the dead and talk to them and stuff. . ."
Vachon just blinked. Where did they find these people?
Mercifully, Tracy chose just that moment to emerge from the doctor's office and retrieve her purse from where she'd left it on Vachon's lap.
The androgynous blonde sitting beside Vachon looked Tracy up and down appreciatively.
"Not bad for a lady cop," she purred. "I can sleep easy,
knowing a good-looking woman like you is out there to protect me."
Vachon's jealous side kicked in immediately.
"Look, the lady don't swing that way," he said, drawing a puzzled look from Tracy, "and besides, didn't you say you were here with your girl?"
"I seem to recall you saying you two were just friends. . ."
"It's complicated," Tracy interrupted, then turned to Vachon.
"Ready to go?"
"Yeah. It's been. . . interesting. I'm just glad it's all over," he said wearily.
"For this week, anyway," Tracy said. "Doc's asked me to come back same time next week for a follow-up, just to make sure I'm okay."
Vachon stopped in his tracks, a look of horror on his face, at
the thought of having to deal with these crazy people again in a week.
Already, in the background, he could hear that weird doctor comparing Tracy to some girl he knew-- twin sister to the killer he claimed to be hunting. Between that and the chick who'd just been trying to chat Tracy up, Vachon knew backing out of next week's appointment wasn't an option.
"I'm there," he said with a sigh, as he trudged out behind her.
"Oh, and what was that all about back there, 'the lady doesn't swing that way'? Vachon, did you tell that guy I was gay?"
Vachon opened his mouth to explain the whole ordeal, but knew Tracy wouldn't buy it if he told her-- he barely even believed it himself!
"It's complicated," he echoed Tracy's earlier statement. "I just wanna go home and try to forget this whole thing ever happened."
"Sure thing," she replied, starting up her practical Ford and heading for Vachon's church, "until next week. . ."
?005 Naia Zifu, all rights reserved.
Vachon, Tracy, Haruka, Dr. Tenma, and Ichigo all belong to their respective creators, not me. I just thought it would be fun to poke them all into this fic together! Once again, I'm not trying to make money off others' ideas.
This fic was written in answer to a challenge on the Vaqdreams list.
Lazy person I am, these challenges may be the only way to get me steadily writing anything FK-related, so let's hope they continue!