Many thanks to Susan Bennett for some crucial research in her freezer. This takes place in Season Two so I can have Schanke. Readers may deny any or all of the events of Season Three, if they wish. The Hospital for Sick Children in Toronto (affectionately known as ‘Sick Kids,’ according to its website) is real, and so is Casa Loma. The story is copyright to me.

“Flights of Fantasy”
By Mary Combs

“It’s awfully short,” Nick said, leaning over Nat’s shoulder and looking skeptically at the forest-green tunic hanging on the clothes rack in front of them.

“Short? You think that’s short?” Natalie turned to the young man behind the counter. “Could we please see the list for the Sick Kids’ benefit? Thanks.” She leafed quickly through a notebook crammed with illustrations of bright-colored costumes. “Let me see.... Ah, here it is. Now *that* is short,” she said, pointing to a page titled “Italian 1490 -- Romeo and Juliet.” The young man was dressed in a doublet cut to just above the waist, revealing a slight blousing of white linen shirt above close-fitting striped hose and a neatly laced codpiece.

She looked over her shoulder at Nick, eyebrows raised. He laughed, his cool breath caressing her cheek. “What can I say? I’m getting conservative in my old age. On the other hand.....” He leaned forward, showing exaggerated interest in the décolletage of “Juliet’s” dress.

“Sorry, buster, that one’s taken.” She tilted her head to read the handwritten note in the margin. “Ms. T. Vetter and Mr. Bruce something-or-another. I can’t make it out. Think that’s ‘Vetter’ as in the commissioner? Anyway, it isn’t your size. In fact,” she pointed to the rack and the set of waiting costumes tagged with their names. “This is just about the only thing left that would fit you.”

“Just about...?"

“Well, if you really need a choice, we could always do this...” She flipped through the notebook and turned a page back halfway.

“That’s pretty!” Nick said, admiring a silver and pink dress cut along vaguely 18th-century lines, accessorized with wings and a wand. “Who’s that supposed to be?”

“The Tooth Fairy.” She smiled at him, mischievously.

“Oh. And who’s her date?”

“Three guesses.”

“Let’s see..... Santa Claus is a married man....... I give up.”

Eyes dancing, Natalie revealed the rest of the page. Nick blanched -- or would have if it were possible. “Oh no.”

“That’s right -- The Easter Bunny.”

He shrugged and smiled devilishly. “You know, it might almost be worth it to see you in that dress....”

“Okay..”

“I said, ‘almost.’”

“Well, it’s not my fault that you couldn’t make up your mind about doing this.”

She was right, of course. The “Flights of Fantasy” benefit for the Hospital for Sick Children -- a joint effort of Ambulance Services, Fire Services and the Police -- had been the talk of the town for months. The first half of the evening would be a party for kids, with volunteer hosts dressed in costumes. Then, at 9 p.m., with the children safely ferried back to their hospital beds, more adults would arrive for a dinner dance and their own costume gala.

Casa Loma, with its towers, turrets, gardens and grand Victorian-Medieval chambers, was the perfect setting. All the theaters in the area had combined to put together sets of costumes for the volunteers to borrow, and there had been plenty of outfits to choose from -- at first.

Nick had been both charmed and leery when Nat had suggested that they join the corps of hosts. He was still a little shy of crowds. Nat had pointed out that Casa Loma was full of places to duck away if he felt overwhelmed, but somehow he had thought that it would be better to disappoint her by not going at all than to disappoint her by “chickening out” at the last moment, as his partner would have described it.

He was, of course, quite wrong about this, and if Nat had known what was in his mind, she would have read him the riot act — while pointing out to him that he was thinking exactly like a human male.

But she didn’t know, because he couldn’t tell her, any more than he could bring himself to tell her why he finally decided to do it after all: The bottom line was, he loved Natalie and he loved children, and in the end, he could not resist the temptation to say, “Yes.”

Nat stopped riffling through the pages and looked up at his pensive face. “Seriously, Nick. Are you okay with this?” She was worried that she’d pushed just a little too far. It was so much fun to tease him, and he was usually such a good sport — but he was only human, even when he refused to admit it.

“Okay. I’m resigned to my fate,” he grinned and pecked her on the cheek. “I’m just trying to figure out why they have a Peter Pan costume in my size.”

“Don’t ask.”

They had agreed to change at the loft, so they could take Nat’s car to the party. Nick’s caddy was sure to be an unwelcome guest in the crowded parking lot.

When she came out of the bathroom, Nick was sitting on the sofa, reading.

“So, how do I look?” She pirouetted in front of him and curtseyed.

Nick put his book aside and grinned. “Adorable.”

She was, too. The nightgown was true to the period, with a lace-trimmed yoke and ruffles at the wrists of the long sleeves. She was wearing pink ballet slippers, and her hair was loose about her shoulders, tied up with a blue ribbon. She’d kept the makeup to a minimum. He had a sudden vision of what she had looked like when she was 10... or what her daughter would look like.

“How about me?”

Nat grinned down at him. He’d done a close shave, and in the lamplight his face had a boyish look that made her heart turn over. “You’re adorable, too — but your hair’s too neat,” she said, mussing it for him before she sat down. “What are you reading? Oh. Boning up on your part?” She picked up the slim leather-bound volume and read the title aloud: “Peter and Wendy.”

“Uh-huh. Have you ever read it? The book, I mean?”

“Yes — more than once. But it’s been awhile. I think I was 12 or 13 the last time I tried.”

“Tried?”

“I guess I was getting too old. Old enough to really understand it....”

Nick nodded. “Parts of it are truly magical, but it’s a dark little tale in its way. I liked the play better.”

“You saw it on stage? I mean, the first time?”

He smiled and answered with a touch of posh in his accent, “My dear, it was the hit of the London season in 1904, and not only among the children.”

“What did LaCroix think of it?”

“He despised the play, but a few years later, when the book came out, he gave me that. He said, if I was so entranced with mortal fantasy, I might as well learn from it. He suggested that I pay particularly close attention to the concluding chapters,” Nick added with uncanny mimicry.

Natalie flipped to the back of the book to refresh her memory and nodded. “The part where Peter starts becoming Hook...” She looked back at him. “And how he forgets.....”

Nick smiled a crooked smile and quoted the last line of the book: “‘...and thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and * heartless * ’...”

The word hung between them. She knew what he was thinking. LaCroix’ message was not so very subtle. He wanted Nick to be as content with his vampire life as James M. Barrie’s creation was with his thoughtless, eternal youth. No going back. No happy endings with mortals.

He reached out and tapped her wrist. “Better leave your watch here, Nat, or put it in your pocket, if you’ve got one.” He winked at her. “It spoils the illusion.” Nick reached into the leather pouch hanging from his belt and checked his own timepiece. “We’d better get going.” They stood up, and he reached back into the pouch and produced a small box wrapped in pink tissue. “It’s sort of an apology present,” he said diffidently.

Nat opened the box and lifted out a slender silver chain, laughing with delight when she saw the exquisitely crafted silver acorn hanging from it. “It’s beautiful Nick. Help me put it on.” She handed him the necklace and turned her back, lifting her hair out of the way as Nick fastened the chain around her neck.

“D’you know what it is?”

“Yes.” She nodded, turning back toward him but still looking down at the little silver trinket, so he might not see that she was blinking away a tear. “It’s a kiss,” she said softly.

“Uh-huh.”

Nat looked up at him. “And I don’t have anything for you.... unless....” She almost succeeded in keeping her tone light and airy... “Unless, of course, you’d like a thimble.”

Nick smiled gently down at her.... “I’d like a thimble very much, if you please....”

She put her hands on his shoulders and he bent his head toward her. The kiss was sweet and tender and brief. He didn’t put his arms around her, but she felt his fingertips lightly touching her cheek. They reluctantly stepped apart.

“We’d better go, or we’ll have to fly.”

At Casa Loma....

“Ho, Ho, Ho!” Nick turned at the familiar voice and did an exaggerated double-take. “Schank, I think you’ve got the wrong line there. You’re Henry VIII, not Kris Kringle.”

“That was for you, pardner. Aren’t you supposed to be the Jolly Green Giant?”

“See?” Nick said to Nat plaintively.

“Don’t be silly, darling, they’re Peter and Wendy. And they’re adorable.” Myra, resplendent in a green velvet Tudor gown, slipped her arm through her husband’s and beamed at them.

“Oh, yeah, I get it. Cute,” Schanke added, taking a bite out of a very large turkey leg. Myra sighed and rolled her eyes. “It’s a prop, honey, I keep telling you, it’s part of the costume.”

“Oh well, at least it isn’t a souvlaki,” she said, winking at Nick and Nat.

“No,” Schanke said gloomily. “You said it wouldn’t be ‘period.’ ”

Nick laughed. “Actually Schank, a leg of mutton would be more appropriate.”

“What? Oh boy, now you tell me.”

“So, Myra,” Nat interrupted, deciding it was time for the conversation to change tracks. “Which wife are you? ‘Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced beheaded, survived...?’” She ran off the old rhyme.

“Number three. Jane Seymour -- The only one suitable to *this* occasion,” Myra added with a laugh.

“Yeah. Now if it were Hallowe’en, we could have fixed her up as Anne Boleyn, ‘with ‘er ‘ead tucked underneath ‘er arm,’ “ Schank said enthusiastically......

More and more volunteers filled the Great Hall with characters from fairy tales, legend and history. The Fire Commissioner came as St. George, minus the dragon. The Stonetrees were there as the Santa Clauses. Police Commissioner Vetter appeared as Richard the Lionhearted, which Nick found very amusing.

“What’s so funny?” Nat asked.

“Let’s just say, they are both men whose reputations owe a lot to good PR.”

Nat ducked away to say hi to Grace Balthazar and to admire her Mother Goose costume, which included a hand-puppet goose nestled in a basket.

“Hey Nick, can you help me with this?” It was Vice’s Mike Fitzwilliams and his youngest son, teamed as Long John Silver and Jim Hawkins. Unfortunately, the squawking prop parrot that came with the costume was a little the worse for wear.

“Um, Fitz,” Nick said with a twinkle in his eye, as he tried to push the bird into a more alert position, “I hate to tell you this, but it looks to me as if that is definitely an ex-parrot.”

Fitz rolled his eyes. “No ‘Monte Python’ jokes, please, Nick? I’ve had more than I can take. Our dog thought it was a new toy.” He gave Nick the once over. “What are you supposed to be? Robin Hood?”

“I wish. Peter Pan.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, he’s not,” said Nat as she joined them.

“Well, with ‘Wendy’ beside him it makes sense,” Fitz said. “But where did they ever get a Peter Pan costume in his size?”

“Don’t ask,” Nick and Nat replied, in unison.

Nat was pleased to see that, in spite of his protestations, Nick was very at ease in his costume -- which was more than could be said for most of the other men wearing tights.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he hissed in her ear while they were standing in line to check in.

She set her chin and answered him honestly. “You have nice legs.”

“Why thank you, milady” he said with a chuckle and a slight bow. “Although I can take no credit for the generosity of nature. If I’d taken after my mother’s father, my nickname would have been ‘spindleshanks’ for sure.” While they were waiting, he entertained her with stories about the false calves 18th-century dandies used to put under their stockings and other examples of male vanity.

At last they made their way to the head of the line and received their instructions. As many characters as possible would be in the windows and on the balconies and turrets outside to wave at the children as they arrived. Then each group or couple was assigned a station within the house for the rest of the evening. The benefit coordinators were briefly caught off balance by the unexpected arrival of two Alices, but solved the problem by putting the Wonderland characters in one wing and the Looking Glass folk in another.

Nick and Nat were sent to the top of the porte-cochere, where Nick gracefully hoisted himself up onto the parapet and stretched out his legs, as easily as if he were sitting on his couch instead of a stone wall 30 feet above the courtyard.

“Yikes, Nick, you’ll give someone a heart attack.”

“I won’t fall... ”

“You know that and I know that....”

“They’ll just figure I’ve got a safety harness on. People are very sophisticated about that sort of thing nowadays. In fact, I could probably get away with hovering a little -- they’d just think it was special effects.” He was joking, but there was an odd look in his eyes.

“What’s it like, flying? How does it work? When I fly in dreams, it’s usually like swimming.”

“We just do it. It’s instinctive.” His face was shadowed and his voice suddenly chill.

“You don’t make it sound like much fun.”

“It isn’t. Not the way you mean. It’s exhilarating and exciting, but.....” He took a deep breath and met her gaze with a grim little half-smile. “It’s a hunter’s tool, Nat. And whether I do it because it’s the only way to catch a perp or because I’m late for a date with my favorite coroner, underneath, the predator’s always there. It’s always.... tainted.” He turned his head toward the street and the shadow left his face. “Here they come... Start waving....”

After the ambulances, vans, buses and other transport had arrived and deposited their precious cargo, Nick and Nat moved inside. The halls were filled with children, some walking on their own, others in wheelchairs and a few on gurneys. Every child had been given a program, and it was no time at all before collecting autographs became the order of the day.

Nick and Nat answered all the questions about Neverland very seriously. The younger children didn’t seem to have any trouble with Nick’s size, and several asked him to fly, but he demurred on account of being all out of fairy dust.

He was charming with all of the kids, and Natalie found herself more than once thinking how sweet he would be with his own. Fortunately, the demands on her time as “Wendy” kept her from dwelling on that bittersweet thought for too long.

When it came time for the children to go home, Nat suggested that they call it a night.

Nick smiled down at her. “Are you really tired, or are you just offering me an out?”

“I refuse to answer.....”

“Let’s stay.”

So they did. Nick disappeared briefly, twice, to fortify himself from the flask he had tucked away. But as far as Nat could see, he really was having a good time. They danced and talked with friends, and Nick even managed to choke down a couple of bites of very rare roast beef during dinner.

After the party broke up, they drove back to the loft in a companionable silence, unbroken until they were standing in front of the fireplace.

“I had a wonderful time tonight, Nick.”

“Me, too.”

“You sure you don’t mind taking the costumes back?”

“No. I have tomorrow night off. It’ll give me something to do.”

“I’d better go up and get changed.”

“Uh-huh.”

Nick watched her go up the stairs with a faint smile. He was tired, but surprisingly, not very hungry. He stretched out on the sofa to wait for her -- and fell fast asleep.

He woke, and knew he was dreaming.

The loft was dark, the shutters raised to reveal the night sky -- but not the familiar view of Toronto. The harsh glare of the city was gone, the lights in the streets below flickering gaslight, the blue-black firmament above spangled with stars.

There was a sound like bells, and the windows -- suddenly transformed from double-hung to casements -- blew open, and a flashing light, no bigger than his fist, flew into the room.

Nick swallowed carefully and whispered, “Tinkerbell?” The light darted around the room and hovered in front of him. He stretched out his hand and it came to rest.

He looked down at the tiny, glowing figure perched on his palm.

“Janette?”

“Oui.” She was pouting, clearly out of sorts, as she smoothed the folds of her long, form-fitting red-velvet gown.

Nick raised one eyebrow. Then he raised the other.

She answered his thought. “This may be *your* dream, Nicola, but I absolutely refuse to dress up like a child’s plaything.”

“You’re lovely.”

She sniffed and turned her back to him, doing something to her hair.

“Janette?”

She kept her back turned to him, but her posture, and the dip of her wings, showed that she was relenting.

“Janette, please...?”

Shrugging delicately, she gave him a half smile over her shoulder. “This really is ridiculous.” She lifted up slightly and shook her skirts. A shower of gold dust fell into the palm of his hand.

“There. Is that enough for your great mortal girl?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

With a small French utterance of disdain, she flew around behind him, pinching him on the ear. “Silly ass.”

“Janette!”

“It’s in the book,” she said with dignity, and, tilting her lovely nose in the air, flew out the window.

“So it is,” Nick chuckled, rubbing his ear with his empty hand.

He turned toward the open window, and tossed a pinch of fairy dust into the air over his own head. “Now all I need is a happy thought..... Natalie....” And out he flew into the night.

He had been flying for 10 lifetimes but it had never been like this. This was the way he had flown in dreams as a child, soaring without a care, as the hawks did above the forests and river. Below him, no heartbeat called, no warm blood beckoned, no taint of the hunt marred the beauty of the night.

He hovered outside Natalie’s window and tapped lightly on the glass. She had been waiting for him -- wearing Wendy’s nightdress -- and at the first tap, she flung the casement wide. He threw the rest of the fairy dust on her. “Now, think a lovely thought, Nat.” Grinning, she kissed him and floated out the window, laughing.

He followed, and they sped through the night -- “second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning.” The sky blushed rose, and they saw the island ahead. They danced in the air over an impossibly blue sea, and swooped in low, over the Mermaid’s Lagoon and past the mouth of the Mysterious River. to land on the southern shore. The sun came over the horizon, gilding the sea and making them squinch their eyes at the brightness.

Laughing, Nick stretched out his arms and turned his back to the dawn. “Look,” he said, nodding at his hands gleaming gold in the sunlight and at their silhouettes, stretching out along the white sand, “Look, Nat.” His face was wet with tears.

“Boy,” Natalie asked softly, “Why are you crying?”

“Because I’ve found my shadow.”

Nat came downstairs to find him fast asleep. She draped her costume over the armchair and carefully covered him with the afghan he kept for nights when the loft was too cold for her. He didn’t stir. She knelt beside the sofa and lightly caressed his face, ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him very gently, just once. He smiled in his sleep and whispered her name. Reluctantly, she stood up and watched him for awhile, playing with the silver acorn at her throat. She bent and kissed him again, then turned out the lights, closed the shutters, and quietly left the loft.

The End