Diversified : DJ's Musebox

WHO Shannon Vaughn (privatematter), Eli Delacroix (aspectional).
WHAT Meet cute. This may or may not be a Loveless fusion.
WHEN 1984. Shannon is 7 28, Eli is 19.
WHERE Chicago, [wherever their region is, I don't remember. We totally figured it out once, though].

The scene was not pretty. Shannon couldn't see it, strictly speaking, but he had been given the brief and knew what had happened. He could smell the copper on the air and it rested like lead on his tongue no matter what he did. That was always how it was when dealing with a murder; the taste lasted for days, sometimes even after the case was closed. It never let him forget what they were dealing with, and while Shannon Vaughn was not the most compassionate man on earth, he felt anger bubble up inside of him whenever he was confronted with one human killing another for some petty reason or another. It was always petty when measured up to the price of another human life.

Then again, it was part of the job. He enjoyed his work, enjoyed (most of) the people he worked with, and he did his part of the job well. Catching the sons of bitches who thought they could shatter peace with no consequence, that their wills were above those of everyone around them, that last moment at the end of the day where the war was not given up and evil had not won, was worth it. His parents didn't really understand why Shannon had wanted to work with the police when he had so many other options, things that weren't so limited by his abnormality. His blindness. That was exactly why he did it, though, the satisfaction of not letting anything get in the way of feeling right. When it came down to it, Shannon just wanted others to feel safe. His part of the work now entailed checking in with any witnesses who had heard the fight in the alley, the screams as the mugger brought out the knife. Thank God for tape recorders, or it may have taken even longer than his seven years tenure to be allowed to take witness statements without any way to officially keep it on record.

He was walking the perimeter now, ears at half-mast while he kept his head tilted and tried to make any heads or tails of the gossip around him, see if maybe anyone had been holding out or noticed something without realizing what they had seen. Lacey was waiting by the truck, drinking from her bowl after escorting Shannon all around the scene while the actual cops had set up. The body was still in the alley and the investigators were crowding around and making it near-impossible for onlookers to get a peek. With the POLICE jacket and his glasses on, Shannon knew he cut an official-looking figure, if incredibly young thanks to his ears, and not the blind police aide that had never attended any sort of law enforcement academy. Now it was up to Shannon to head off any questions or make any statements requested while the officers did their work.

WHO Shannon Vaughn (privatematter), Eli Delacroix (aspectional), Alyssa Vaughn.
WHAT surprise water powers!
WHERE Delacroix-Vaughn abode.
WHEN Summer of '93.

It had started with the Americans With Disabilities Act in '91. Someone had clapped Shannon on the shoulder and jokingly asserted that he could go and adopt some little Vaughnlets without worry. Shannon had, of course, related it to Eli with amusement but not much thought, and that had somehow led into more serious discussion about whether they would actually ever want children someday. The idea had simply sat there in the corner of their minds, waiting and growing while they went about their lives, moving in and coming together in all senses except legal.

Then they remembered that someone in their little group of reincarnated weirdos was actually a high-profile lawyer. Things had snowballed from there and by the very end of '92, the cogs turned in a miraculous way, and Shannon and Eli found themselves the fathers of a very precocious and amazing little girl named Alyssa.

Currently, it was a weekend which meant Shannon had the day off with his family. Because he wasn't officially a cop, he actually managed to have a normal schedule despite working for the Chicago PD. Sometimes he went in anyway, but nowadays he tended to lounge around at home and try his best to keep up with a three year old. That in itself was pretty challenging, especially when she forgot to put her toys away and Shannon ended up stepping on all the sharp, hard corners of her dolls or cars. Those cars were going to be the death of him, he just knew it.

"C'mon, Lyssa," he said, shaking his foot free and trying not to let the pain poke holes in his tone. "It's time for lunch. You wanna get cleaned up for lunch?"

Surprisingly, it was not one of the boring days up at the FBI building for Neal Caffrey. There were things going on, a case to be solved, and just enough work that Neal could keep his mind off other, less legal activities. As much as he ever stopped thinking along that train of thought, anyway. But for right now, Peter was up with a witness that Neal's presence kept agitating (how was he supposed to know George Langely's old poker connections would end up flipping on this guy?) and Neal was left dithering around at his desk. Waiting for a new lead to present itself. Currently, their witness was the only chance they had at catching up with their real suspect, but until they could get him to say something or otherwise frighten him into going underground to be followed...

Well, it left a lot of entertainment to be desired.

With not much else to do, Neal made his way to the coffee machine and eyed the rest of the room in speculation. Everyone had something going on today, but there were a few agents who were easy to distract in the office today. They were hard workers, capable of catching up on any work he'd make them lose, and Peter rarely ever called him on it since the fear of getting in trouble for stopping to chat tended to make them work more efficiently anyway. He was just about to make his way over, extra mug of coffee in hand, when he spotted the stairwell door opening. Black hair popped out on top of an attractive face, glanced around in abject confusion, and then shut itself back in.

"One of these things is not like the other," Neal muttered to himself, making a quick drop of the mugs at a random agent's desk as he made for the office doors. He waved behind himself when Jones spoke up ("Grabbing some real coffee today!"), and hurried his way into the elevator to let himself off at another floor and slip into the stairwell behind the stranger.