Title: Mick -or-Treat

Setting: Post-rescue, 1986

Author's Note: Another old one I found in my files and failed to post. 'Cause I'm lame like that.

The noise from the other side of his door was odd. The typical human heartbeat - two of them, the wind sounds of breathing and... rustling?

Mick muted his TV, silencing both Bogart and Bacall, and shifted his stack of paperwork from his lap to the table. The smell was ... her.

He swung the door open uncertainly.

"Hi?"

"Trick or treat!" Beth grinned up at him. She'd lost two teeth since last time he'd seen her. Grown an inch or two. She was decked out in a swirl of blue dress.

Her mother was a few feet behind, giving Mick a sheepish grin.

"Sorry to barge in, she really wanted to see you and I have your check, so I thought we'd kill two birds with one stone," Diane Turner explained.

Mick blinked a few times at the females.

"Come, uh-" a glance at the kitchen. Clean, cabinet locked. "Come in."

Beth moved toward him and twirled, edges of her taffeta hitting him.

"I dressed like you. If you were a girl," she announced.

"An angel," her mother clarified, rummaging in her purse. "Hang on, I left the check in the car. Can you keep an eye on Beth while I run down?"

Fighting terror and excitement at getting to see the little girl again, Mick nodded and Diane loped toward the elevator.

When the doors closed, Beth rummaged around in her trick-or-treat bag.

"I traded my Gem folder for these," she pulled a pair of plastic fangs out. "But they hurt my mouth."

"They hurt mine too, sometimes," Mick winked at her.

"So, I said trick-or-treat," Beth gave him a long-suffering look.

"What?"

"Trick-or-treat. You give me a treat or I have to trick you. That's the rules," she folded her arms and waited.

"I have..." Mick scanned the kitchen. "apples. Lots of apples."

"Only losers give apples on Halloween. Plus, mommy said they might have razor blades," Beth responded.

"So, no apples."

The only other treat Mick kept in the kitchen was liquor. Probably not a good idea to deposit a bottle of that in her trick-or-treat bag.

As he wondered, Beth wandered through the apartment, looking over the sparse furniture, the art pieces less than fitting for a five-year-old. She made a face.

"You need some toys."

"I do," Mick smiled. "Let me see if I have anything upstairs you'd like..."

He eyed the distance to his storage area. He couldn't remember. Too young to leave alone for a minute? He compromised, racing to the closet – nothing suitable at first glance – but back in a flash.

"Do it again, do it again!" Beth dropped her bag and clapped. One eye on the door, Mick sped up the stairs and back. "Again!"

To the office and back.

Beth cheered.

"Me now!"

Mick swung her up and onto his back, the dress crunching against him and tickling his neck as he hefted her up.

"Hold tight," he warned. Her thin arms tightened at his neck, hands interlocking, and he took a slower circuit around the apartment. He could smell the chocolate on her breath and preferred it not end up on his shirt. Her scream of delight echoed around the apartment.

On the second lap, Mick heard the whir of the elevator gears. He lifted her over his head, into his arms and jumped the couch, bouncing on the springs in a way both his and her mother would be ashamed of.

"Fun, huh?" he winked at her.

"That was a great treat," Beth flopped on the couch with a smile.

Mick met Diane at the door before she tried the handle.

"Thank you, Mr. St. John," she pressed the check Mick had no intention of cashing into his hand.

"No trouble," the moment was over and Diane was taking Beth away again. Mick bit down the pain that pricked at him.

The girl jumped from the couch and retrieved her bag. Hunched over, she pulled her prize out again and put them in her mouth. Then her hand was in her mother's.

"Bye," the garbled farewell came through plastic fangs.

"Goodbye, Beth," Mick hesitated, then shrugged, flashing a smile with fang of his own as Diane led her away.

He closed the door and stood there, savoring the last few minutes of her.

"Mommy," he heard from the hallway, her feet dancing against the hardwood. "Did you know angels can run, too?"