(no subject)
Written for cliche_bingo
Title: One of a Kind
Cliche: Secret admirers
Pairing: Caldwell/Elizabeth (yes, you read that right)
Rating: PG-13 for bloody themes
Word Count: 700
Betas: neevebrody and mischief5 Title courtesy of the lovely mischief5
It should go without saying, all mistakes are mine.
Summary: In which we have some of Caldwell's back-story. Written for mischief5 who needed more Caldwell.
Part of the Sensual Magic AU where John is a vampire and Rodney is not. Follows All of a Kind
One of a Kind
Steven Caldwell watched John and Rodney walk away into the night. They’d been hiding something from him. He was sure of it. Had they conjured up a ghost? Something had certainly happened to cause quiet disarray throughout half his house. Well, he’d figure it out. It was only a matter of time before they came back. The Potential was too curious about his library. He could always tempt him later, if need be, drop hints that he hadn’t shown them everything.
Steven went to his bedroom, and paused before opening the dresser drawer, already knowing its contents like the back of his hand. Maybe he should have told them about her. Calling himself a sentimental fool, he opened the drawer and pulled out a small, silk wrapped bundle. Sitting down, to catch his non-existence breath, he reverently pulled the silk away to reveal a tiny frame. A picture of the most unforgettable woman Steven had ever seen stared back.
Steven had come across the picture in an old antique shop. He’d been drawn to it, hunting it down before he had any idea he was hunting. The old man that ran the antique shop had only seen value in the delicate silver frame, completely disregarding the portrait it held. But Steven had recognized her the moment he laid eyes on the picture. She hadn’t changed since he’d seen her the first time. Remarkable, considering cameras hadn’t been invented for another 150 years.
He’d been Stephen then. Blood lust had taken him over at his turning and, for fifty years, he’d had no problem with it. He relished the power and control. There was good reason Sheppard called him The Colonel, from the way he’d made his reputation on the carnage of the human race.
Stephen found it easy to acquire the regimental dressings of whichever local war was waging at the time. He’d chosen a colonel when he could, following him into his tent where he’d help himself to a warm drink. One efficient snap of the neck, a quick change of clothes and he was free to swagger his way onto the battlefield. No one ever questioned his presence, at least not for very long.
He must have been a terrible sight for her eyes. It was one of the few things Stephen deeply regretted and he winced at the memory. He’d been feeding on his third or fourth of the night. It’s was ironic how the wounded would beg for his help until they saw his fangs in the moonlight. By then it was too late for them, their final cries in the dark too weak to be heard.
Stephen’s uniform was dirty and blood stained from his victims. His long hair was matted with gore and smears of blood streaked his chin from his feasting. His fangs were dripping with warm, sticky blood when he raised his head from the neck of his last victim.
She was standing there, gazing at him. She was as elegant as the crescent moon, completely serene in the chaos of war, and all Stephen’s power was useless to him as he stared, mesmerized by her presence.
He would never forget her. She’d spoken his name, but that’s all she’d said. She seemed to be waiting for something. Calm waiting in the midst of slaughter, in her long black dress, the high collar concealing her neck. She held a silver cane, the top of it a sleek hound’s head, and she delicately curled one hand over its ruby eyes. Stephen wasn’t sure if it the cane was an affectation or a weapon, but before he could find out anything more, she was gone.
Since then, she’d haunted his dreams, and left him yearning. Because of her, Steven left his old lifestyle of catacombs and wars far behind. He bought the Victorian mansion, redesigned the interior, opening the rooms, and decorating them with cream walls, military brass and black damask drapery. He hoped she’d like it.
Then he began to work on gathering as much history on Potentials as he could find. When he’d seen the name written in the old tales, he knew it was her. Decades had passed and she still called to him.
Elizabeth.
Next- Out of Time
My Card
Title: One of a Kind
Cliche: Secret admirers
Pairing: Caldwell/Elizabeth (yes, you read that right)
Rating: PG-13 for bloody themes
Word Count: 700
Betas: neevebrody and mischief5 Title courtesy of the lovely mischief5
It should go without saying, all mistakes are mine.
Summary: In which we have some of Caldwell's back-story. Written for mischief5 who needed more Caldwell.
Part of the Sensual Magic AU where John is a vampire and Rodney is not. Follows All of a Kind
One of a Kind
Steven Caldwell watched John and Rodney walk away into the night. They’d been hiding something from him. He was sure of it. Had they conjured up a ghost? Something had certainly happened to cause quiet disarray throughout half his house. Well, he’d figure it out. It was only a matter of time before they came back. The Potential was too curious about his library. He could always tempt him later, if need be, drop hints that he hadn’t shown them everything.
Steven went to his bedroom, and paused before opening the dresser drawer, already knowing its contents like the back of his hand. Maybe he should have told them about her. Calling himself a sentimental fool, he opened the drawer and pulled out a small, silk wrapped bundle. Sitting down, to catch his non-existence breath, he reverently pulled the silk away to reveal a tiny frame. A picture of the most unforgettable woman Steven had ever seen stared back.
Steven had come across the picture in an old antique shop. He’d been drawn to it, hunting it down before he had any idea he was hunting. The old man that ran the antique shop had only seen value in the delicate silver frame, completely disregarding the portrait it held. But Steven had recognized her the moment he laid eyes on the picture. She hadn’t changed since he’d seen her the first time. Remarkable, considering cameras hadn’t been invented for another 150 years.
He’d been Stephen then. Blood lust had taken him over at his turning and, for fifty years, he’d had no problem with it. He relished the power and control. There was good reason Sheppard called him The Colonel, from the way he’d made his reputation on the carnage of the human race.
Stephen found it easy to acquire the regimental dressings of whichever local war was waging at the time. He’d chosen a colonel when he could, following him into his tent where he’d help himself to a warm drink. One efficient snap of the neck, a quick change of clothes and he was free to swagger his way onto the battlefield. No one ever questioned his presence, at least not for very long.
He must have been a terrible sight for her eyes. It was one of the few things Stephen deeply regretted and he winced at the memory. He’d been feeding on his third or fourth of the night. It’s was ironic how the wounded would beg for his help until they saw his fangs in the moonlight. By then it was too late for them, their final cries in the dark too weak to be heard.
Stephen’s uniform was dirty and blood stained from his victims. His long hair was matted with gore and smears of blood streaked his chin from his feasting. His fangs were dripping with warm, sticky blood when he raised his head from the neck of his last victim.
She was standing there, gazing at him. She was as elegant as the crescent moon, completely serene in the chaos of war, and all Stephen’s power was useless to him as he stared, mesmerized by her presence.
He would never forget her. She’d spoken his name, but that’s all she’d said. She seemed to be waiting for something. Calm waiting in the midst of slaughter, in her long black dress, the high collar concealing her neck. She held a silver cane, the top of it a sleek hound’s head, and she delicately curled one hand over its ruby eyes. Stephen wasn’t sure if it the cane was an affectation or a weapon, but before he could find out anything more, she was gone.
Since then, she’d haunted his dreams, and left him yearning. Because of her, Steven left his old lifestyle of catacombs and wars far behind. He bought the Victorian mansion, redesigned the interior, opening the rooms, and decorating them with cream walls, military brass and black damask drapery. He hoped she’d like it.
Then he began to work on gathering as much history on Potentials as he could find. When he’d seen the name written in the old tales, he knew it was her. Decades had passed and she still called to him.
Elizabeth.
Next- Out of Time
My Card