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/