Reckless: Season 2: Betterment - Act 1
by redmoon
Betterment - Act 1
Niki took a big bite of the hamburger, chewing thoughtfully, then swallowing. She repeated this several times then set the remainder down to take a swig of her beer. Secretly, she hoped by reducing her alcohol consumption to beer she might head off her Slayer visions and have a good dream for once.
In the two weeks since she had put that FBI officer in the coma, Niki had managed to avoid going back on her deal with the Goths and had actually dodged the cops’ black market bust on the stolen silver she had just sold. She allowed herself a little smile. It had been a good couple of weeks. She took another bite of the pub’s questionably quasi-famous burger.
“I won’t tell the police if you don’t,” a grim voice said from just behind and to the left of her.
Niki slowly lowered the dripping burger to the paper basket in had come in. Her mouth was empty but she swallowed anyway. The owner of the voice slowly rounded the table and sat down across from the Slayer.
Niki blinked. The woman looked to be in her mid fifties, hazel hair streaked with grey and pulled back in a severe bun. She wore an unsettlingly old-fashioned dress which was dark red with small white flowers and lace. The woman said nothing as Niki hesitantly reached for her beer and took another swig.
“Can I help you?” The Slayer said uneasily, her face betraying her confusion. “Tell the police what?”
The woman appraised Niki for a moment, the a warm smile spread across her face. It looked very comfortable there.
“Who you really are, Niki Valtaine.” She steepled her fingers on the table top and would have looked happier if she were lashing the back of a truant’s hand with a wooden ruler.
The Slayer’s eyes shifted. And who am I? she was about to say, but stopped herself. This woman must be the seer Whistler had spoken about. “Well good. Then I won’t have to kill you, will I?”
The woman’s face cracked into a broad grin. “Whistler told me you were amusing.”
Niki’s face was blank. “I’m a laugh riot.” She tipped the beer bottle back and let the last of it pour down her throat. With a satisfied sigh she set it back down and wiped her mouth on a crumpled napkin. “Is there something I can do for you,” Niki asked, her patience thin, “besides not turn myself in?”
The woman raised a thin grey eyebrow. “You were told to seek me, weren’t you?”
Niki shrugged. “To discuss the Deceivers. But I haven’t ever seen them and I’m beginning to think they’re just a figment of my imagination.”
The woman tilted her head. “But that would mean you killed Megan Brandon by yourself. Are you willing to accept that?”
Niki’s expression grew sullen and her tone sour. “Everyone makes mistakes.”
“But you are not everyone, Niki Valtaine, Vampire Slayer.” The woman’s voice was strong and clear, such that Niki frowned and held a finger to her lips.
“You wanna say that a bit louder?” Niki hissed, “I don’t think the guy in the coma heard you.”
The severe woman nodded gravely. “Yes. The man in the coma. Not a vampire, not a demon. Not even an evil man. A detective you had shot to protect yourself from your mistakes.”
Niki shrugged innocently. “What, I’m not aloud more than one mistake?”
“Do you think it was a mistake?” the woman said evenly. “Look at yourself.” Niki did. The woman continued. “Look at who you are! You’ve carried on an affair with a married man. You’ve raised your own army of demons and vampires! And won! You make allies of demons, deals with vampires and enemies of humans. You are a fugitive in the daylight world. What are you?”
Niki winced. “Complicated?”
“How many vampires have you slain in the past month?” the woman demanded.
Niki’s gaze dropped. Few enough. Considering the number she had been in contact with: The dealers at the airport. The junkie on the subway. The numerous Goths. “What’s your point?”
The woman’s face took on an air of complete astonishment at the Slayer’s reply. What’s my point? “You’re on the wrong side, Niki,” the woman hissed. “You’re more an asset to evil than you are to good!”
Niki scoffed. “That’s bullshit. I could shower this city in dust if I wanted to. I’m just taking a break.”
The woman shook her head with disgust and stood, pointedly leaning in to focus her glare. “Don’t presume to deceive a seer with the lies you use on yourself.” And she stalked off leaving the Slayer staring angrily at her unfinished hamburger.
The grin wouldn’t leave him alone. It tugged at the corner of his mouth and he was sure it made him look like a fool. He couldn’t help it. Full partnership.
The letter lay innocently on the coffee table in the Kilpatrick’s living room. Full partnership.
“I’m so proud of you honey,” she said in his mind. “You’ve worked so hard for this, now your job is secure for the merger.” He blinked. That’s what she would say. Full partnership.
“Are you seeing someone else?” she stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes cold. He looked up from where he sat in the living room to her glowering form in the front hall. His smile melted. She took his moment of shocked silence for a denial. “Where did you get this?” She let the silver IXI bracelet dangle from her hand. She draped his coat over the back of one of the easy chairs facing him.
Logan’s brow creased. “It’s, uh... Medic Alert bracelet. The firm’s nurse gave it to me. Apparently I’m allergic to something called haloperidol.” He kicked himself immediately for having lied about that. She was studying for her nursing degree. He braced himself.
With a frown she examined the silver tag and its inscription. “It doesn’t look like any medic alert bracelet I’ve ever seen,” she said skeptically. “What’s I.X.I.?” He shrugged. Eventually, however, she dropped it onto the coffee table. “You’re supposed to wear it,” she said at last, distractedly picking up the open letter to scrutinize it as well.
“I got promoted,” Logan’s smile reappeared as quickly as it had vanished. “Full partnership.”
After a moment, his smile spread to her. “That’s great honey,” she seemed genuinely happy. All her former suspicion and distrust had evaporated. “Let’s celebrate.”
Logan raised an eyebrow. He knew what that meant. His grin widened. He stood and took her hand following her up the stairs to the hallway. At the end was their bedroom.
He looked to the left as they past Hanna’s bedroom. “Hold on,” he said absently, letting go of his wife’s hand to gently knock on his daughter’s door. “Let me just say goodnight to Hanna.”
When he got no answer from inside her room he opened the door and tiptoed into the darkness. In the wedge of light from the hallway, he could see her pretending to be asleep under her covers. She had likely been writing in her diary by flashlight when he had knocked. Now she lay with her eyes closed, the very picture of an angel.
“Hey,” he said gently, sitting down on the edge of her bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he had sat at the edge of her bed. She wasn’t the child she had been then. Wasn’t his baby. He swallowed. With everything that had happened these past few years... he feared he had missed her grow up. “I know you’re awake,” he said bluntly, “am I magic or not?”
Her eyes finally opened, a wry smile on her face. “Yeah, I guess...” Then she perked up. “Sing me to sleep,” she said with finality.
Logan did a mock double take. “Sing you to sleep?” he said with a quizzical frown. “I haven’t sung you to sleep in... years. Besides,” he added with a twinkle, “I have a date with this totally hot chick in the other room—”
“Dad, that’s gross,” she scrunched her face and gagged. “C’mon. Mom’ll be around forever. I’ll be moving out of the house in, like...” she thought about it, “five years.”
Logan heard her sarcastic tone, but shared none of her amusement. “Are you trying to break your poor father’s heart?” he said weakly. It was closer to the truth than he could even admit to himself. “Who said you could grow up so fast, huh?” She smiled sweetly, batting her eyelashes. “Alright,” he sighed at last, shuffling his bum on the edge of her bed to get more comfortable. “What d’you want to hear?”
“Boxer,” she said contentedly, closing her eyes and snuggling under the covers.
Logan took a deep breath and cleared his throat, swallowing and trying to hear the key in his head.
“I am just a poor boy,
though my story’s seldom told.
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles, such are promises, all lies and jest
Still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest,
hmmm...”
Hanna felt asleep with no expression on her face. Logan gently kissed two fingers and touched her forehead, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth again, though his promotion was the furthest thing from his mind.
Addison slowly poured the stuff into the coffee mug. It wasn’t tea and it wasn’t a teacup. It was depressing, that’s what it was. Lukewarm, liquid depression.
The Watcher winced as he brought the stuff to his lips. Nope. Not tea. He’d heard some rather depressing things about Niki since he’d gotten back from London. He was getting too old for this sort of thing. All he wanted was to go back to his estate and write a book. Write his memoirs. Oh, no one would read them of course. His life contained more sensitive details than an MI 5 agent. The only people who would even believe any of it were the stodgy old farts on the Council. And they were too boring to read something exciting like “Richard J. Addison; The Chronology of a Warrior.” Yes, he was too old for this.
The door opened and Niki strolled in, tossing her black leather jacket on the kitchen table, tossing her blond hair and tossing a glace to the old man who was again living in her apartment. “Evening.”
“Sit down,” Addison said quietly, taking another sip of the stuff which continued to fail to be tea.
“Aren’t you a little old for this?” Niki said, marching into her room to change. Addison stood and followed her as far as the door which she closed in his face. “I thought we established I can handle myself. I don’t need you anymore.”
The old Watcher blinked wearily. “Logan only calls me when things are really out of control. I’m not here because you can’t handle yourself. It is abundantly clear you are handling things. I hear you’ve become quite the negotiator. I’m here to make sure peace doesn’t break out in New York City.”
“Funny,” she replied dryly. “I’m just taking a little time off. Entrepreneurs are allowed to do that.”
“Funny,” he answered curtly. “Remember the war didn’t end on Atlantic Avenue: you cannot just stop fighting.”
The door opened and Niki emerged wearing a clean white T-shirt and slightly more faded blue jeans. “You know there’s a whole school of thought which says violence doesn’t solve anything.”
Addison nodded. “Yes, you burnt that school down as I recall. Making peace with vampires is all well and good, except you’ve given them the privilege of feeding whenever they want. Need I remind you... they’re inherently evil.” He turned and followed her as she made her way towards the bathroom. Again the door was closed in his face. “You have a very simple job. If it lacks a pulse and yet still walks around: put a stake in it.”
“It sounds very simple when you put it that way,” Niki agreed from behind the closed door. “Now let’s jump to the part where you con one of the walking pulse-less to be my Watcher. Then he tries to kill me. That’s my favorite part.” The toilet flushed and there was the sound of running water. The door then opened and Niki strolled out. “And don’t forget that the magical little bracelet was your idea.”
Addison took a deep breath. “I know that—”
“You want to know what I know?” Niki interrupted, on a roll. “I know that I have given up absolutely everything for you.” Her tone implied she could say a whole lot more, but she simply held his gaze, daring him to criticize her.
After a long moment, the old man conceded. “You’re right,” he sat down on the couch in the living room, setting his mug on the only coaster in sight. “It’s just... how many have you slain—”
“Is that what this is about?” she demanded, crossing her arms. “My quota?” She laughed hollowly. “Fine. I’ll go kill some vampires. I’ll go right now. Bracelet or not.”
“Niki–”
“No,” she snatched her jacket off the table, “I thought I could have one fucking night off, but if you want numbers, I’ll give you your damn numbers. I’ll give you twenty— Hell, I’ll give you twenty five. Fitting number.” She slammed the door behind her.
Addison scowled. Twenty five?
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