AU Crackship: Laurel Morgan and Stefan [lol]

[Laurel Morgan]

 The alarm clock was probably the most annoying noise Laurel had ever heard in her entire life. She put a hand out and knocked it off of the bedstand, sending it flying to the pillows that had naturally made their way off of the bed because she had too many of them and her husband hated them and thought that decorative pillows were stupid. Also, she had too many of them. She rolled out of bed without verbal protest, rubbing her eyes. She was thankful they'd just laid carpet down in their bedroom, too, because when she put her feet down on the floor there was no longer the shock of ice cold hardwood to wake her up.

  Her husband was still buried under a mountain of blankets (which she did not have too much of, he said) and she left him there to go downstairs and start to make breakfast. He'd be hungry, she'd be hungry, and they'd both be running late because neither of them were morning people. She was thankful they'd decided to wait until later to have children, because her morning routine was already slow enough as it was without dealing with screaming people.

  She started a pot of coffee and threw some eggs into the skillet, absently observing that she looked like an escaped mental patient with her light blue pajama pants (his) and white tanktop (hers). Her hair was in a messy blonde ponytail, and all she needed was a medical bracelet on her wrist to ID her, and she had a new Halloween costume. Of course, considering the crazies she had to work with on a daily basis, this was nothing new.

  "Stefan, breakfast!" she called from the bottom of the stairs - and Laurel had a piercing sort of yell. She waited until she heard shuffling, and then went back into the kitchen to pull the bacon off of the frying pan before it burned into ashes.

[Stefan]

The alarm clock was probably the most annoying noise Stefan had heard since he was mortal and listening to alarms warning about air raids, which made him think for a moment in his still dreaming state that he was back in Germany.  Nobody was yelling, so it was probably too far away to really affect him.  He was as safe as he'd be, so why get up?  If someone started losing their shit, he'd get up and see what was going on.

It didn't occur to him, being only half-lucid at the moment, that the bed he was in was far more comfortable than anything he'd slept in...probably ever.  As a mortal, his family had been well-off, but he'd never worried about something as frivolous as the comfortable blankets and pillows that other members of his family had wanted.  Perhaps when he'd married he'd have been talked into changing his ways, but he went into the military and lost his mortality before he left the battlefields.  It hadn't mattered much to him since then. 

Now?  Now, his subconscious mind was too pleased with the soft warmth he was surrounded in and the sheer contentment of a good sleep that it didn't even care if something wasn't right.  He'd forgotten what it felt like to enjoy a good night's sleep, to really sleep, and he was dozing off within half of an instant after the alarm was turned off.  It was the slow approach of the smell of food that started to draw him back to the surface, a foreign kind of hunger nagging at him like it hadn't been fed in too long even though he'd cut a pretty little blonde girl down before he'd settled in for the day, and then the shout of his name.  There was nobody in his household that would shout for him that way, as though they had the right to call upon him and expect him to appear, and he honestly couldn't imagine anyone who would possess such a voice.  The owner was a woman, he knew that even in his sleepy state, but he didn't know who, nor did he understand where she could have come from. 

He was sure to lay still, trying to figure out what was happening, and that uncertainty started with where he was.  He wasn't in his own bed, he knew that instantaneously, though he couldn't say he minded.  He just didn't like not knowing how he'd gotten there, or why the smell of bacon was so ridiculously tempting at that moment.  Human food didn't bother him, but he couldn't remember it holding any particular draw for nearly a lifetime.  Why did it appeal so much now?  It didn't take a genius to understand that he wouldn't get any answers laying where he was, so he cautiously left the cover of the blankets, sleepily taking in his surroundings.  There was nothing familiar about the room he was in, only the fact that it looked ridiculously normal.  If he didn't know better, he'd have thought that a human couple lived there, which made little sense to him.  Of course, stepping out of what looked like the marriage bed of said couple in just a dark blue pair of pajama pants made little sense to him.  At least the carpet was there, or he'd have been upset at how cold the floor could be.  He was already displeased at the cool feel of the air, which was actually a little frightening.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd minded the cold.  He'd ripped through Soviets after he'd been turned with absolutely no reaction to the cold climate.  He almost preferred cold to the heat, actually.  This shouldn't matter, so why did it?

He scowled, blinking in the morning light as he tried to put it all together, but nothing was really working out.  Something was wrong with his eyes, that was for sure, but he actually thought that might be true of his ears, too.  He felt a little like he was in a bubble, the way his senses all felt so dull, but his skin felt oversensitive.  It made no sense, at ALL.  Whatever, he had to go investigate more, but he wasn't going as he was.  He took a quick walk through the room, deciding where the best escape route was if he needed it, not to mention weapons of opportunity (he was disappointed to find there wasn't much), and found two robes hanging from the inside of the master bathroom's door.  One appeared to be female sized, and one was obviously masculine, so he snagged it and made his way slowly downstairs.  He didn't care if the robe's owner was displeased with his decision to borrow the clothing, and he honestly didn't think it mattered.  If someone was calling his name, then there was obviously something going on that he was somehow blanking on.  The owner of the robe was likely dead, if that was the case.

Strangely, he didn't find himself walking into a grisly scene when he entered the kitchen, unless you counted domesticity as gruesome.  There was a pretty blonde woman in a tank top and a pair of pants that looked rather similar to the ones he was wearing, and a very normal kitchen scene.  She was plating the food that she'd obviously cooked, the kitchen was clean while still looking lived in instead of being spotless, and there was literally no sign of murder or torture.  He wasn't used to this, and frankly didn't know what to do about it, but being in the same room as the breakfast she'd yelled to him about was making him reconsider his potential plans.  Perhaps he should partake of the food she'd prepared before he considered killing things?  He didn't know why it appealed to him, but it smelled fantastic, so he was willing to try that route.  After she'd eaten first, of course, in case it was some elaborate trick, but this was all looking like an elaborate trick already.  He felt as though he had no real course of action other than biding his time and seeing what happened.

"Thank you," he offered, stifling a yawn that nearly escaped him just because he didn't expect it.  When did he ever yawn?  He took a seat, trying not to look too upset by the whole situation, and scrutinized her while her back was turned.  She really was attractive, a prime example of the type of women he liked, but her presence was confusing.  He didn't know who she was, or even what she was.  He couldn't read her mind, or even read what she was.  He still felt like he was in some sort of bubble, unable to do anything that he was used to, and that was frustrating as HELL.  He was determined to maintain his composure, but this was NOT COOL.  How was he expected to act?  It was hard to tell, since he didn't even know where he was or how he'd gotten there, but he gathered that he was expected to join her for breakfast, so he could play along that far.  Perhaps making leading comments would help?  Considering how much truth he could put in them today, he was confident that they could help.

"I almost feel human this morning," he yawned again, not even faking it for once.  Yes, unpleasant.  "Imagine that."

[Laurel Morgan]

 Laurel didn't seem to miss a beat, dropping her plate down with a thunk as she sat across from him. She gestured to his robe. "So, trying to keep the house at seventy-two to try and manage the cost of the heating bill? Not going to happen. It's going back to my tropic seventy-five as soon as I get home tonight. You can turn it down when you leave if you want, but I'm really not going to do this frigid shit every morning. It's already hard enough to roll out of bed, especially when they put me back on swing shift," she said, pointing at him with her fork.

  "Speaking of which, I'm already behind. Raphi is going to be here in fifteen minutes. I'm picking my car up today, so there won't be anymore car pooling, which I'm sure you'll be thrilled about. I know you love your BMW more than I do," she remarked with a laugh. She didn't like German cars - too goddamned electronic. She'd finally found a car she could settle with for a while - a 2009 Charger SRT-8, and someone had promptly backed into it a month after she'd bought it. Luckily, insurance covered it.

  She also knew that Stefan didn't like her partner - for whatever reason - but she supposed it was because he was dependent on the man's competence to keep Laurel safe, and he'd never been keen on the idea of anyone besides him looking out for her. She didn't make a fuss out of it; most spouses didn't like their significant other's partner. It was the way it had always worked - but she didn't like Stefan's partner, either. Something about a pretty blonde hanging around her husband made her a little irritated; it was almost ironic because Desten was as queer as a three-dollar bill, and if Laurel had known that the hawk was more attracted to her than her husband, she might have felt rather embarrassed. As it stood, Stefan had more fun with the idea that his wife was angry over nothing and had been saving a nice instance to tell her, like in the middle of an argument where she was not budging on her position regarding Desten.

  She scooped her plate up and breezed by him with a kiss on the cheek. "Please, please don't forget we have dinner tonight at eight with your coworkers. You made me find a hole in my schedule for it, so don't get stuck at work until midnight. I know the government is pressing, but there has to be some leeway here. I'm going to get changed," she said. She paused at the sink and glanced back at him.

  "You're awfully quiet. Have a bad dream or something?" she asked, crossing her arms. She could make Raphael wait a few minutes for her to finish getting ready if he chose to show up early - she felt like she never saw her husband these days.

[Stefan]

He tried to avoid openly staring at her when she pointed her fork at him and proceeded to tell him things that sounded as though they were supposed to mean something to him while still managing not to.  He didn't understand, and it was only frustrating him more, but he was actually alarmed by her mention of the temperature.  Why DID it matter to him?  He hadn't cared about temperature once he'd been turned.  Hell, there had been times that he'd deliberately worn less than was necessary just to upset humans around him when he walked around in frigid temperatures.  Why was he chilled at 72 degrees?  The obvious answer was that he'd gotten out of bed and all of the body heat, but he was a vampire.  Unless he'd fed recently, there wasn't any body heat to have. 

Speaking of feeding, that was wrong, too.  He was way too interested in the breakfast food she'd made, but when had he bothered with human food without playing a part?  Here, he wasn't planning on playing a part, yet there was something inside him that wanted that food.  He could feel his stomach rumble just at the thought of it.  WAT.

She was still talking, and he was still trying to absorb while attempting to figure out what the deal was with this strange fascination with human food that he was entertaining, and she spoke of cars, one of which was supposedly 'his' BMW.  Well, at least one thing was normal.  He did enjoy that piece of machinery.  The mention of 'Raphi' made as much sense as the rest, though.  He didn't know who she was talking about, but that wasn't really that strange right then.  She kissed him on the cheek, weird, mentioned dinner with his co-workers, weirder, and finally suggested that he worked for the government, weirdest.  He was pretty sure that the American government would be happy to have him, but not for employment, after the messes he'd made of its citizens over the years.  He was confused. 

"I..." he started, looking up at her as she stopped in her flight and called him out on his silence, then rubbed his hand over his forehead and temple.  "I'm wondering if I'm still in it.  Today seems very...surreal."

How else could he possibly describe it?  Honestly?  Nothing made sense to him, but it seemed as though anything that DID make sense to him didn't make sense to to world he'd somehow woken up in.  How did this happen?

[Laurel Morgan]

 She smiled. "You didn't go to bed until like, two, Stefan." She leaned forward and gave him a kiss on top of the head. "Just have a cup of coffee or something, should jolt you out of it. If Raphi gets here please don't be hateful?" she asked, poking her head around the corner of the kitchen. She smiled again, and then vanished.

  Laurel was a one-woman show when it came to getting ready in a hurry. She ran a brush through her hair while she was pulling on her black slacks, and then of course came the button down shirt and a lint roller to pick up what blonde hairs she'd inevitably shed all over the place. She had to stop short when she realized she didn't know where her badge and purse were, and began slowing her roll so that she could retrace her steps.

Meanwhile, a black Dodge Challenger pulled up along the curb in front of their home, and out stepped Raphael "Raphi" Aristos. He flicked a cigarette against the pavement and let it smolder, glancing at his watch. By his calculations, Laurel's asshole husband should be scooting off to work soon. He really didn't like the guy - something about him just rubbed him the wrong way entirely. It was almost chemical; Raphael didn't like a lot of people, but this was different. Or maybe it was just that he felt like he knew Laurel better. He didn't know. At any rate, he knocked on the door, concentrating on rolling his sleeves down to a more professional look while he waited for his partner.

  When the door finally opened, he was surprised to see Stefan on the other side. "Hey, Stefan. Laurel ready yet? We're skipping court today. Got a fresh new murder scene to go and pick through," he said, raising his eyebrows with a grin as he stepped into their home. He walked to the edge of the stairs.

  "Laurel! Come on!" he shouted.

[Desten DuPont]

 Desten chose that exact moment to pull up, in her Mercedes AMG SL600, the top down and her long blonde hair windswept, but in a sexy sort of way. She always managed to be sexy, actually - it oozed out of her. It was why Laurel disliked her, although Desten was more likely to be attracted to Laurel than to Stefan. She was as straight as a paperclip was, which was to say, not very at all. She got out, giving a disdainful look to his big, burly American car that took up half the fucking road, and swept her sunglasses off with a graceful motion involving her long arms and fingers.

She walked into the front door, nesting her 500 dollar sunglasses atop her perfect blonde hair, and raised her eyebrows. She focused her crystal blue eyes on Raphael as he called for Stefan's wife. How distasteful. Did he have no tact to wait quietly? She rolled those eyes and looked from him to her partner, pursing her full lips.

"Running late, I see?" she observed coolly, her voice as silky as ever. She shifted in her heels - a pair of black Manolos that made her height intolerable, and crossed one ankle over the other. She wore a pair of Rock'n'Republic pants that cost more than the couch she was now leaning against, and a simple teal blouse that made her look all the more golden.

"Raphael." She added. She said his name as though it left a bad taste in her mouth.

To Stefan, she nodded. "We have an appointment in a half an hour back at the office," she advised. Office, synonymous for Guild.

[Stefan]

Yeah, a cup of coffee was NOT going to jolt him out of this, but he wasn't about to tell her that.  She obviously had no idea what was going on, and if he wasn't so utterly confused and out of his element, he might have freaked the fuck out.  The problem was that he didn't know where he was, who SHE was or why this was happening, but the longer he was awake, the more sick the whole ordeal made him.  There was one unbelievable explanation for all of this, (well, a few, but the second was that he'd lost his mind in a whole new way and the third was that this was an elaborate joke, and they were actually more believable than the alternative), and that was basically that he was somehow human and in some Twilight Zone kind of situation.  He would have thought that was utterly impossible, except that it suddenly made everything make sense once you got past the idea of him being human again, and he'd heard of that asshole voodoo man doing ridiculous things. 

Great.

Frankly, the idea of having to go to 'work' was a foreign idea to him, since he hadn't had an actual job to tend to in about 70 years.  Midnight was more of a hobby, so that didn't count, and so the thought was extremely unlikely to occur to him, even after the blonde woman who had already dropped two kisses on him in about five minutes had mentioned something that sounded like a government job.  Besides, once Raphael appeared, Stefan's thoughts were on him.

Yeah, he hadn't realized that Raphael was supposed to be 'Raphi', or really, who he was here.  All he saw was the trainer, and it didn't make sense to him that Raphael would be here.  What also didn't make sense was that he didn't know what the hell was going on, but he still didn't want to let the pretty blonde woman that Raphael had called Laurel around the other vampire.  Human.  Whatever the hell he was.  Raphael's behavior was just as odd as everyone else's, but it didn't stop Stefan from disliking the man instantaneously.  That wasn't odd to him, that he disliked the other trainer, but what was odd was the sudden chill that went with the knowledge of what Raphael could do, what Stefan had seen Raphael do, and the idea of him doing it to Laurel.  He was half of a second away from heading up the stairs and doing anything he could think of to keep Laurel from going with Raphael, at least until he could figure out what the hell was going on.  He was just paranoid enough to wonder if that fresh murder scene was going to be Laurel's.

Then, Desten appeared in Raphael's wake, inviting herself into the house much like Raphael had, and while it seemed natural that she would be there because she was always around him (it was the first feeling of relief since he'd woken up), the entire situation was shattered as soon as she settled against the couch and opened her mouth.  That looked like Desten, but it wasn't her.  That wasn't his Desten. 

WHAT THE FUCK.

"I'm..." he didn't know what to say, and that wasn't a usual state of being for him.  He shut his mouth, frowning, and then he was up the stairs.  "Laurel?  What would it take to convince you to send Raphael away and get back into bed?"

If he'd had the slightest idea, he'd have just done it, but he figured the truth wouldn't work and he didn't know enough about what was happening to come up with an incredibly convincing lie, so he was left with brute force.  The fact that he was still reeling from the appearance of Desten didn't help, and frankly, he didn't want to have anything to do with the two people waiting downstairs.

[Laurel Morgan]

 Laurel turned as Stefan came up the stairs, half-done slipping her shoes on as she sat on the edge of the bed. "What?" she asked, confused as all fuck when he came running up there and pleaded with her to stay. She stood up and brushed past him to the dresser, where she opened a false drawer and pulled out her badge and her duty weapon, securing both. She turned, obviously in cop-mode now, but managed to tone it down for a second - long enough to draw him into a hug.

"You have an appointment today," she reminded him. She gave him a light kiss on the lips, surprised that he pulled her in more closely, and gently put her hand up to stop him. "And I have a murder scene to get to," she said. A pang of guilt swept across her chest and was gone, as quickly as it had come. She hated to leave him, knowing that every day she potentially could die, but she trusted Raphael to keep her safe. She smiled and patted him on the face, and then practically ran down the stairs to Raphael.

"Coming!" she yelled. She spun around the rail and grabbed a bottle of water that she'd preemptively set down, then nodded to the door. "Let's go, Raphi," she said. She looked at Desten with her eyes narrowed a little, and smiled. "Desten."

"Mrs. Reinhold," the blonde said, her head inclining. She looked up and closed her eyes very suddenly. "STEFAN!" she yelled deliberately, looking like an impudent teenager.

Laurel took Raphi's arm and literally ducked out of the house. As soon as the door was shut, she made a frustrated noise and stomped ahead of him. "Oh, I hate that bitch. She's supposed to be his secretary. Why does she dress like that? And speak to him like that?" she demanded, gesturing back to the house.

Raphael shrugged a little, watching Laurel dance around in a flurry. He reached out and grabbed her by the arm, ushering her to the car. As he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Stefan looking out the window at him, and he smiled in his sinister sort of way to the blonde, directing his attention back to Laurel. "You don't dress like that when I see you," he said. She missed how he looked at her, in her ire, and he was glad for it. It was in bad form to have thoughts and feelings about your partner, especially in their department. They'd get cracked in half and split up before either one of them knew what happened - that was the rule. "I don't think he'd let you out of the house if you wore a blouse that slutty, though," he added.

Laurel made an angry noise, and walked around to the passenger side of his car. "Fuck you," she said, but she was smiling. "He would if I told him to. I'd walk right out the fucking door and he couldn't say anything." She smirked, but they both knew it was bullshit. Laurel was a good girl. Mostly, anyways. Raphael had watched her beat on a few people, but it wasn't some dark part of her soul that she carried around with her.

"You wouldn't," he said with a smile. It was a smile he only reserved for her. She got him. Stefan had no reason to worry, because Laurel was her own person, but the minute he did anything to fuck it up, Raphael would be there to scoop her up. He'd switch departments if he had to. "So, this place we're headed. Unreal. I mean it, looks like a pack of wild dogs got to the body before someone called it in."

"I would not, you are correct," she laughed, finally able to seat herself since he opened the car up. She clicked her seatbelt down, furrowing her brow that he didn't. He never did. H'e said he never wore one when he was in a cruiser, why wear one in his own car? He figured if he needed to jump out on someone, it would only hinder him. "Wild dogs? Well, okay then. Any ideas?"

"Well, I don't know what the official word is," he said. He didn't. He knew what the unofficial word was, though. Serial killer targeting women that looked a goddamn lot like Laurel. He side-glanced her, and then looked back at the road.