Wow, it's been forever since I've written a fic.  Let's see if I remember how to 
do this.  Usual disclaimers apply:  FK belongs to other people, no infringing 
going on here.  Permission to archive granted to Mel, Anita and any DP who wants 
it, others just drop me a note.  Feedback is loved and will hopefully get those 
creative juices flowing more often.  All my bases covered?  'Kay, lets go.

Favorite Show (1/1)
By: Cousin Mary

	Urs looked down at the watch on her wrist and then across the sports bar 
to her master, waiting.  Sure enough, at exactly 7:00 Vachon caught the 
bartender's eye and "suggested" he turn off the game and change it to 7.  
'Agents' was on.  

	To tell the truth, 'Agents' wasn't really a front runner in the realm of 
reality TV.  It got decent ratings and was respected by critics -slightly- more 
than the other more lowest-common-denominator shows, but that wasn't why her 
master was such an avid viewer.  Sure, the concept of 'Agents' was intriguing.  
The show had started off with 20 men and women from around the world.  They been 
told at the beginning of the show that they were to be 'spies' for an ultra 
elite multi-national organization, sent on assignments and that only a few of 
them were expected to last.  There was no 'voting off,' if you were discovered 
while under cover you were off, if you were caught by the police or any other 
entity, you were off.  So far 2 of the 'agents' had been thrown into a Mexican 
prison, one had been detained by the F.B.I, three had been brought in on 
suspicion of bank robbery in New Zealand, and one had just disappeared entirely, 
though the network swore he was all right.  But it wasn't the spy games that had 
Vachon tuning in every week without fail.  

	Urs took a sip of her 'wine,' as she watched the opening credits light up 
the small, flickering bar TV.  After a moment a face and name flashed by.  A 
slightly older, and much harder, Tracy Vetter was shown standing on a beach in a 
bikini, night vision goggles in one hand and a spear gun in the other.  That had 
been a good episode, she'd led her team on a raid of the French embassy in 
Brazil, walking out with the red and green flag that signified another win, and 
all without losing even one member of her team.  In Vegas they were laying odds 
that the ex-cop from Toronto would be the one to walk away with the million 
dollar prize. 

	Urs watched her master dispassionately.  His eyes were wide and fixed on 
the screen.  His hands gripped the mug in front of him so hard she thought it'd 
shatter.  They'd left Toronto, and indeed Canada, after that mess with Lacroix's 
daughter.  Later, long after it'd happened, they heard through the grape vine 
that Tracy Vetter had been shot, lapsed into a coma, been declared dead, only to 
later make a full recovery.  She'd then surprised everyone by resigning from the 
force.  Word was she was completely disillusioned and unwilling to trust another 
partner.  Nick, the news had reported, had disappeared.  

	Urs sighed.  Vachon hadn't seemed to miss his mortal much at first.  It 
had almost been like old times again.  Yes, Screed was gone, but they'd run into 
Bourbon and things had been good... for awhile.  Then it happened.  Cover of 
'People' and 'TV Guide,' the cast photo of 'Agents.'  It had been like someone 
had staked him, that's how thoroughly they'd lost him that day.  Well, that 
wasn't true.  Most of the week he was almost normal.  Sure if he saw a new 
magazine article or something she had to wait as he bought it and devoured every 
word.  But after he was finished, he acted like nothing unusual was going on.  
Once she'd confronted him about what she'd called his "problem," and he'd just 
said that he was simply curious and a fan of the show.  It sounded almost 
reasonable... 'til Wednesdays at 7 o'clock rolled around, then all pretense was 
swept away in the rush he made to the nearest television set.  He was a man 
possessed.  Urs was sure if the bar caught fire during the show her master would 
be toast before leaving that stool in front of that TV.

	Turning her attention to the episode, Urs watched as Tracy once again came 
out ahead as other contestants were picked off one by one.  This week she 
managed to steal an Egyptian army officer's jeep, with the flag hanging from the 
exhaust pipe, while he was investigating the package she'd left on the barrack's 
steps.  A clip of a smiling Tracy, interviewed later on, explained that the 
package was filled with various items such as baseball cards, pink stuffed 
rabbits, and salt and pepper shakers, just the kind of odd assortment that would 
keep someone distracted while you made off with their jeep.  When the show ended 
there were only 3 players left, next week's episode would be the last.  

Urs sighed.  She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Vachon wouldn't be worth 
much for the next week.  She was also pretty certain that the world would be 
shocked when the winner of the spy show mysteriously vanished, because it would 
have nothing to do with the game.




Hope you liked it.  Send all comments and night vision goggles to 
anteros@juno.com



Usual disclaimers apply.  Permission to archive to all the usual suspects (Mel, 
Anita, Tracy Sue, any DPs).  Feedback is a gift nearly as wonderful as chocolate 
:)


Tracy Jam  (1/1)
By: Cousin Mary (Jenkins)

	
	"V-E-T, as in turtle, -not- dalmatian, T-E-R,"  Tracy spelled her last 
name out through clenched teeth to the reporter on the phone.  For the last 
couple of years now people had been having trouble with her last name.  Was 
Vetter so hard to figure out?  It was obviously a 'T' sound.  

	Listening in from his desk, Nick laughed.  "Sure you aren't a grunge 
rocker?"

	Tracy shot her partner a look and finished up confirming the facts for the 
local newsman.  She put down the phone and took a sip from her ever present mug.
	
	"How's the coffee?"  Nick asked with mock innocence, "Seattle's Best brand 
isn't it?"

	Something very close to a growl escaped from the back of her throat.  Not 
even bothering to dignify that with a response, Tracy got up and prepared to 
call it a night.

	"Isn't that jacket a bit heavy for a warm autumn night?"  Nick went on, 
ignoring the daggers being shot his way.  "Wouldn't a flannel shirt be more 
comfortable?"

	"You think your funny, don't you?"  Tracy griped, "I get this all the 
time, you know.  What's next?  Going to ask if I'm a Mariners fan?"

	Nick just grinned at her.

	More than visibly annoyed by this point, Tracy just glared down at her 
partner's widely grinning face.  "What is it?"

	"They're doing great this season."

	"Grr," She actually growled this time, then stomped out of the precinct.  

Half way to her car Vachon appeared next to her.  "Hey."

Tracy glanced at him, took in the boots and the flannel under his leather jacket 
and kept on walking.

The Spaniard blinked before falling into step beside her, "Bad day?"

"Hrrmph," She confirmed.

"Ah," He nodded, then smiled.  "I know what'll cheer you up.  I have a present 
for you."

"Oh?"  Tracy stopped and turned toward him warily, "What is it?"

Vachon grinned and pulled a jar from his pocket, handing it to her.

Tracy looked down at the unmarked container with suspicion.  A light shade of 
brown, it looked almost like... "Peanut butter?"

Still grinning hugely, the vampire shook his head, "Nope.  It's pearl butter.  
You know, to go with your -oomph!"  The air rushed from his lungs as the jar was 
chucked back at him full force.  He laughed at took to the sky.

"Not funny!"  Tracy shouted at the dark sky, then turned to a returning patrol 
who were staring at her as if she were crazy, "What?!" 

She stomped off to her car, got in and started it up.  As the engine turned the 
CD player came on, "Don't call me daughter-"  

"Ugh!"  Tracy pulled the CD, probably another contribution from Vachon, from the 
player and tossed it out the window.  "Not funny at all," She grumbled under her 
breath, turning the radio to a classical station.

When she got home, she found a small package sitting in front of her door.  At 
first, the warning bells went off in her head, but then she noticed a card in 
Nat's familiar scrawl.  She let herself in, scooping up the package as she went, 
and plopped it onto the kitchen table.  She prepared for bed and took two 
aspirin before braving what she was sure was yet another joke.  

She opened the car and read, "Thinking of you," It was signed "Gossard."

Tracy groaned, already knowing what was in the small box before she even opened 
it.  Sure enough, inside was a small rock... or stone.  "As in Stone Gossard, 
guitarist of the omnipresent Pearl Jam."  She sighed.

She placed the "gift" back in the box and shut the lid.  She climbed into bed 
and shut her eyes, trying not to hum "Jeremy," even though it was running 
through her head.  Tomorrow would be another day.  And hopefully, tomorrow, 
someone named Vebber would discover a cure the leprosy.  Then all she'd have to 
deal with would be little rubber fingers and toes left on her desk.  And with 
that happy thought, she fell asleep.



-Just in case someone doesn't know, thhere's a very famous band who came out of 
Seattle called 'Pearl Jam,'  Eddie Vedder is the lead singer and whenever I 
mention 'Vetter' people always think I'm talking about the band.  Have to 
imagine it would be a lot more annoying to Tracy than it is to me though   ;-)

Feedback more than welcome at anteros@juno.com