Valentine’s Day love fan fiction for of viewers’ favorite couples!
by Wayne-Daniel Berard
Soaps Spoilers figures since Valentine’s Day is coming up on Sunday and since Ciara and Ben can’t be together right now, that we’d get a new Days of our Lives fan fiction story together for all our CIN fans! Hopefully, everyone enjoyed today’s Days of our Lives episode recap and we hope you’ll love this story, which has Ben searching to find his wife and soulmate, finding her and living happily ever after! A few treats include appearances by other Salemites we adore.
Pour L’Amour de Ciara (Part 1)
The scene is the Memorial Service for Ciara. In this scenario, Ben has heeded the pleas of the “vision” of Ciara and has not gone after Vincent. He does attend the memorial, although he walks in late. Hope is absent, as she is off looking for any clue as to her daughter’s whereabouts.
A large photo portrait of Ciara stands front and center with a candle burning before it. Claire is leading the procedure and invites anyone who wishes to speak to come forward and do so. Shawn speaks, as do Jack and Jennifer, taking the podium together. Theo, who came home from abroad for the occasion, speaks sparingly but very movingly. Julie comes up, of course, and gives a heart-wrenching eulogy. Then the room descends into silence.
Claire steps forward again, with her guitar at the ready. She explains that she has written this song for Ciara and for the occasion and hopes that it speaks for everyone there.
Gently, Claire begins to pick the strings and sings:
“All I ask of you is forever to remember me as loving you . . . “ *
She asks those gathered to repeat the refrain with her.
“All I ask of you is forever to remember me as loving you . . .”
Then she continues,
“Deep the joy of being
Together in one heart,
And for me, that’s just where it is.”
They all sing, and harmony breaks out:
“All I ask of you is forever to remember me as loving you . . .”
“Persons come into the fiber
Of our lives, and then their
shadows fade and disappear,
But . . .”
Related: Jack & Gwen Fan Fiction
“All I ask of you is forever to remember me
as loving you —”
“STOP!” A talk, striking, older African-American woman comes into the room! “Stop this service!” she calls out.
“Grandma, what are you doing?” Theo asks.
“Grandma?” Ben says.
“Yes,” Abe jumps in, trying to restore calm. Kate stands beside him. “This is Celeste Perrault — my mother-in-law, and Theo’s grandmother.”
“Celeste, honey,” Maggie steps forward. “What are doing.”
“This young woman is NOT dead!” Celeste insists. “I saw it in a vision!”
“Vision?” Claire asks. “What vision?”
“My grandma is a psychic medium,” Theo responds. “She sees all sorts of things.”
“I KNEW IT!” Ben jumps up, beside himself. “I knew Ciara wasn’t dead. Please, ma’am, where is she? Tell us!!!”
“I need more energetic material,” Celeste replies. “All I saw was her face — THAT face,” she motions to the picture. “She was alive! Later, when I saw the photo and story online about the service, I knew who she was. I got here as fast as I could!”
“What the hell is energetic material?” Ben asks, looking around at all the faces plaintively.
“Something that belonged to her, something that she held close to her heart, that might have absorbed her essential energy,” Celeste explains.
Ben puts out his hand. In it is Ciara’s wedding ring and the washer from her father’s bike which Ben had given to her as an engagement ring.
“Will these do?” he asks.
Celeste reaches out and hesitates a little as her hand nears Ben’s. “Oh yes! I can feel the energy.”
“Are we buying this stuff?” Kate whispers to Abe.
“I know, I know,” Abe replies. “But over the years, she has done some amazing things.”
Celeste takes the rings from Ben and places one hand upon the other. She closes her eyes.
“Oh,” she whispers.
On their TV screens, the audience sees flashes of pictures. There’s Ciara, but she looks different. Her hair is dyed jet black. She has a nose ring and piercings, wears heavy black lipstick and eye shadow. She’s dressed in black leather with silver studs. You can hear moaning in the background and the sound of whips.
“Estelle!” a rough male voice calls out. “Vous etes debout!”
Ciara sighs and turns away. A street sign flashes into view: Boulevard de Clichy.
“Agghhh!” Celeste is yanked back to reality. The rings clatter to the floor.
“What is it?!” Ben demands. “What did you see?”
“I saw your Ciara,” Celeste is gasping, clearly moved. “And a sign, ‘Boulevard de Clichy.”
“That’s in Paris!” Kate exclaims. “The Pigalle, the Red Light District.”
“That would explain the way she was dressed,” Celeste explains. “They called her ‘Estelle.’”
“That bastard, Vincent!” Ben is furious. “He white-slaved her! Probably drugged away her memory! I’ve got to get to Paris! I’ve got to find Ciara.”
“I’ll go with you,” Celeste bends and retrieves the rings. “The Pigalle is a big place. These will lead us to her. And I speak French.”
“You’re not leaving me behind!” Julie insists. “I’m going to get my granddaughter back!”
“Sounds like a case for the Salem Ladies Detective Club!” Maggie perks up. “Count me in! We can use the Titan jet and the company apartment in Paris.” Victor just shakes his head, resignedly.
“Well, I think I’d better come, too,” Kate offers.
“You? Why?” Abe asks.
“Red Light Districts and pimps and prostitutes? Anyone else here have any experience dealing with any of those?” Kate asks.
The crowd kind of mumbles and shuffles their feet.
“I’m going, too!” Claire insists. “Ciara is my best friend. And no offense, but you all might need someone along who DOESN’T qualify for the Early Bird Special at Chez Denny’s!”
Kate turns toward Claire. “Actually, I think I have a plan, and I could use you. But it might be dangerous. Are you sure?”
Claire approaches the lit candle in front of Ciara’s picture. She picks up the lighter from the table and flicks a flame into being. She holds it in front of her face, looks out at the gathering, and says, “Dangerous? Oh, yeah. I’m sure.”
Maggie holds out her cell. “The Titan jet is fueled and ready to go!”
“Very well then, mes amis! Allons! Vite, vite!” Celeste calls out.
Everyone kind of stares at each other.
“That’s French for, ‘Move your asses!’” Kate commands. And they all head for the door!
*Song by monks of Weston Priory
American Made? (Part 2)
The team exited the plane at DeGaulle in the wee hours of the morning pretty bleary-eyed. No one had slept much on the flight. Ben, always on the alert now, led the way, followed by Celeste, who seemed positively delighted to be in Paris, regardless of the hour. She was followed by Julie and Maggie, engaging in whispered conversation, stealing glances over their shoulders at Kate, who had revealed to no one what her plans might be. Claire stuck close to Kate, who wore chic sunglasses even though it was still dark and kept one arm draped protectively across Claire’s shoulder.
Passing through customs and baggage pick up, they headed for the curbside.
Ben looked around the empty parking places. “What, no Titan limo?” he asked.
“We need to keep a low profile,” Kate answered. “We’ll take the shuttle to the metro.”
The Parisienne subway was quite empty at that hour — and eerily quiet. The car’s large rubber wheels prevented the clicking and clacking that the Americans were used to. Each of them stared straight ahead, lost in their own thoughts.
The train pulled into the Pigalle stop, and the six of them took the stairs to the street. This district was THE Red Light Quarter in Paris, but at 5 AM it just looked tawdry and worn. No one was about.
Related: Jack & Gwen Fan Fiction, Rolf’s twist
“So, this is why you had us fly when you did,” Ben asserted.
“You catch on fast, cowboy,” Kate replied. “Places like these are filled with eyes and ears all night, but they collapse in a heap come morning. This way.”
Kate led the half-dozen down a broad and straight thoroughfare. A sign read “Boulevard de Clichy.”
“This is it, isn’t it?!” Ben exclaimed to Celeste. “The street you saw in your vision? What are we waiting for? Let’s find Ciara!”
“The energy tells me she is near now.” Celeste holds Ciara’s rings in her clasped hands. “Not immediate, but definitely here.”
“Shhhh!” Kate scolds them both. “Keep your voices down. And what are we going to do once we find Ciara — barge into a room full of pimps and muscle, and ask for her back, si’l vous plait?”
“Besides, Celeste says Ciara doesn’t even know who she is,” Claire jumps in. “She might not want to go with us!”
“Ciara’s love broke my own drugged trance once,” Ben insists. “I know mine can do the same for her.”
“But we still need a plan,” Kate says definitively. “And here’s step one.”
The group stops in front of a ramshackle old building. Like lots of the structures here, it’s made of sandstone, with a cream-colored tinge. A decrepit-looking fern sits in a red pot at the door. Kate reaches under it and produces a key.
“Willkommen. Bienvenu. Welcome,” she says sarcastically.
“What is this . . . place?” Julie asks contemptuously. They seem to be standing in a reception area, with some chairs and a high desk. Julie runs a finger across its surface — caked with dust.
“It was an old charity clinic of some sort,” Kate responds. “But now it’s our new Centre de L’American Fait.”
“Center of the American Made?” Celeste asks. “As in ‘senior center?’”
“Exactly!” Kate smiles triumphantly.
“But why?” Maggie asks.
“Because, although prostitution is legal in France, brothels aren’t,” Kate adds. “And — we’re OLD! (or most of us are, anyway).”
“Wait a minute!” Maggie blurts out. “‘Center of the American Made?’ Kate, what are you expecting us to DO in this place?!”
“Right now,” Kate tilts her head and smiles sarcastically, “I expect you grab a mop and clean it up!”
Time change: several days later. The old building is looking very much renewed. The reception area is bustling with mostly older men. A cover version by the Indigo Girls of ‘La Vie En Rose’ wafts in the background. Julie and Maggie are going from person to person with tablets, taking names and giving out numbers. They are dressed to the nines, with a very classy sexiness — necklines fairly low, skirt-slits fairly high. They laugh and flirt with the men (winking to each other). They are clearly enjoying themselves!
Kate and Ben are standing to the side, overseeing things. Ben, dressed all in black, does his best to look formidable, while Kate projects the air of a highly successful, VERY high-end madame.
“Maybe we should call Claire and bring her back in,” Ben begins. “Her leafleting is going great, but we’re starting to get flooded here.”
“I’ll text her,” Kate takes out her phone. “She did an amazing job designing the flyer and creating our website on such short notice.”
The camera pans to a big-screen TV, high behind the reception desk where Celeste is sitting. It’s showing a picture of the flyer in question: The revamped building’s front sports an attention-grabbing but very tasteful neon sign that reads: “Centre du L’ American Fait — ou les aines vinnent en vie!” “Centre of the American Made — where seniors come to life!”
The projected flyer then goes on to say:
“Life does not end at 60, and virility knows no age limit! Come to our new Senior Center and let our beautiful staff of mature, experienced, US professionals reinvigorate you! Come be ‘American Made’ — by reservation only!”
Celeste is being extremely charming with the older men lined up to make their reservations.
“Numeral Trente-Cinq?” She sings-songs pleasantly. A man looking about twice that in age steps forward.
“Bonjour, handsome!” Celeste smiles coquettishly. “And welcome to our senior center. Which of our full slate of activities would you like to sign up for? Let’s see, there’s ‘The Greek Treatment’ — the red-headed beauty over there is leading that workshop. Then there’s “Getting Baked the Cookie Way” — Madame Julie takes care of EVERYTHING there, n’est pas? And for the TRULY adventurous, we have ‘All Choked Up,’ overseen by our Directors” (she motions toward Ben and Kate). “They will demonstrate the sensual fulfillment of the choke-hold —- all the rage in the American Midwest! Ah, and I see Mademoiselle Claire has just returned. Her specialty is Fireplay! Singe it, don’t twinge it! No, Monsieur, we do not officially open till next week, but as you can see, demand is, shall we say, out straight? So please reserve your place now?”
A sharp ‘SLAP’ reverberates through the room, followed by Julie’s unmistakable tone!
“Look with your eyes, Frenchy, not your hands!” Julie scolds. “Unless you want another one!”
A diminutive, very French elder sporting a raspberry beret with a LePen button reaches out a wrinkled hand. “Promesse?” he smiles.
“The oldest profession disguised as senior activities,” Ben smiles. “Impressive, Kate, I must say!”
“And Ben’s not the only one impressed,” Claire speaks up having just entered the building. “Two scary-looking guys visited me while I was handing out flyers. Seems their boss, Renaud, wants to meet with our ‘senior management.’ Looks like they don’t care for competition. I have a cell number.”
“Good!” Ben says. “Set it up. He’s got to be the guy who has Ciara.”
“But even so, how do we get her back?” Claire worries aloud.
“Leave that to me,” Kate announces. “For now, just keep up the charade.”
“And me, you ask?” Celeste answers a man old enough to be her father and seeming randy enough to be a teenager. “Oh, I read minds, uncover fantasies! And I see a MAJOR surprise in your future, Monsieur — just sign here!”
Yes, You Can-(Can!) Part 3
The scene: early morning at the Arc de Triomphe in the center of Paris. The Arc sits in a large roundabout with 12 roads radiating out from it like spokes from the hub of a wheel. But at 7:00 AM on a Sunday, the traffic is sparse, though by no means absent. Claire, Celeste, and Kate stand with their collars turned up against the early chill. Ben surveys the perimeter dressed all in black: shirt, tie, slacks, leather jacket, and dark glasses. Even at that hour, tourists stroll beneath the Arc, stopping at the eternal flame or sitting at the various benches that line the circle.
A dark green Hummer pulls up and three dangerous-looking men emerge. Two are clearly the muscle: sleeveless jean jackets, shaved heads and scruffy beards, studs and piercings, and dark glasses. The third is shorter and slighter, in an expensive suit that looks unnatural on him. A cigarette dangles nonchalantly from his lips.
The three approach the Americans.
“Not a ve’ree private place for a meeting,” Renaud, the well-dressed leader, comments.
“No place more private than a public place,” Kate smiles at him (like a cobra).
“Ah, mais oui,” Renaud smiles back, displaying a gold incisor. “Smart. I vie-you that in a woom-man.”
Kate turns to Celeste, “What did he say?”
“He said that he ‘values that in a woman,’” Celeste answers.
Renaud gives a characteristically French shrug.
“Elle a du mal a comprendre voter accent,” Celeste says to him.
“I ‘ave no accent,” Renaud insists. “My Englishes are perfect!”
Now it is Kate’s turn to shrug. She turns to Claire.
“I thought we BOTH were bringing translators?” she says impatiently.
“I told him,” Claire responds. “I even mentioned that new American girl he has. She speaks French.” She looks at Renaud. “We do our homework.”
“Well, there’s no point in continuing if we can’t understand each other,” Kate turns to go.
“Attends!” Renaud calls out and raises a hand. “Wait! Estelle?” And he snaps his finger.
The Hummer’s front passenger door opens and out steps Ciara. She appears just as Celeste had described her in her vision. Jet black dyed hair in a punk cut, tight black tank top under a black jean jacket. VERY short black skirt with ankle boots. Her nose is studded and one ear features a thin chain pierced from lobe to helix.
Ben barely contains himself. His cheek muscles flex in and out.
“Traduisez!” Renaud commands. “Translate!”
Ciara just looks vacantly on.
“Ask him why he requested this meeting?” Kate says.
Ciara begins to speak, but Renaud interrupts her.
“I understood that perfectly,” he says. “Dites-leur quelle leur novelle enterprise est sans mon territorier. Ils dovient faire leur valises immediatement.”
Ciara looks straight ahead and monotones: “He says your new business is in his territory. You need to pack your bags immediately.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Ben flinches and whispers to Claire.
“Drugged probably,” Claire whispers back. “Stay cool.”
Kate takes a step forward. “And if we don’t?”
Renaud smiles sickeningly and nods. One of his men places a fist in his palm and cracks his knuckles. The other looks at Claire menacingly and makes a kissing sound.
Kate coolly raises a hand and gestures backward with an index finger. Ben steps up beside her.
“Do you know who this is?” she asks.
Once more, Renaud shrugs. Kate puts out her other hand, into which Claire places a tablet she’s just withdrawn from her shoulder bag. Kate hands it forward.
Renaud looks at it questioningly.
“It’s an American newspaper article. Hit ‘translate,’” Claire says, whispering “dumb ass,” under her breath.
Renaud does so and his eyes widen. He looks at the photo on the screen and then at Ben, who has begun to loosen his thin, black tie.
“L’assassin du cravat!” he says, astounded. His two men look at each other.
“That’s right, you bastard,” Ben is seething. “I’m the necktie killer. You know, I always thought you French guys liked fashion. Where’s YOUR tie?”
At that, Ben springs like a jaguar and wraps his own tie around the Frenchman’s neck. His two associates move forward but Kate and Celeste snap Glocks out of their handbags and train them on them.
“Touché?” Kaye grins triumphantly.
“What . . .,” Renaud gasps for air. “What do you want?”
“That’s right!” Claire shouts loudly. She’s holding her smartphone out in front of her. “A bit more to the left.” She looks around at the concerned crowd. “Making a movie,” she explains. “Le cinema? She’s Sophia Coppola!”
“Oooh! Oooh”!” The crowd murmurs. “Sophia Coppola!” And several try to angle into the shot.
“We want Ciara . . . Estelle!” Ben hisses, trying to exert just so much pressure.
“Ciara, it’s Claire,” she says. “You’re safe now. Come with us.”
“I don’t know you. I’m Estelle,” Ciara says blankly. “I belong to Renaud.”
“This isn’t working,” Celeste moans.
Related: Jack & Gwen Fan Fiction, bringing Eve down
Just then a low rumble is heard approaching the circle. A motorcycle zooms up and over the curb, ridden by two figures in black with dark visored helmets.
The engine stills and the two figures dismount, dramatically removing their helmets and tossing their hair free. One’s tresses are red, the other’s a shimmering white.
For the first time since arriving, Ciara turns her head and seems to notice something.
“You like bikes, don’t you, sweetheart?” Julie intones calmly.
“Why don’t you come take a closer look?” Maggie invites her.
Almost like a sleepwalker, Ciara steps toward the motorcycle. She touches, almost caresses, a handlebar.
“Seem familiar, darling?” Julie continues reassuringly. “It should. It was your Dad’s.”
Ciara looks at her quizzically.
“Here,” Maggie puts out her hand. “This is part of the bike, but we couldn’t for the life of us figure where it went.” She hands Ciara the washer that had been her engagement ring. “Maybe you know where it belongs?”
Ciara stares at the washer intently. Then slowly she places it on the ring finger of her left hand.
“With this ring, I thee . . .,” she barely whispers to herself. Then before our eyes, her face clears.
“BEN!” she calls out.
CIARA!” he answers but loosens his grip. Renaud twists away and pulls a switchblade from his pocket. “Now, let us see,” he growls.
“Let’s not and say we did!” a gravelly voice interrupts from behind. John Black pokes the muzzle of a Smith and Wesson into the back of Renaud’s neck. In his other hand dangles the copy of Le Monde he’d been pretending to read on a nearby bench.
The two henchmen look at each other, but the decisive click of another pistol behind them freezes them in their place. “Give me une raison!” Steve Johnson grimaces.
“Thanks for joining us on such short notice,” Kate smiles.
“ISA at your service,” John smiles back. The pulsing of French police sirens can be heard in the distance. “But we’d better wrap this up. These guys can come with us. Human trafficking is an international human rights violation.”
Ben and Ciara have not stopped kissing each other all this time.
“I knew inside you’d find me. Husband!” Ciara smiles.
“Always!” Ben smiles right back. “And hey, we’re in Paris! We never did get a honeymoon, you know. Wife.”
Ciara straddles the bike with Ben right behind her. Julie and Maggie hand them their helmets. And they zoom off down the Champs-Elysees.
The crowd applauds. Calls of, “Sophia Coppola! C’set magnifique!” can be heard
“Not to say ‘I told you so, SOPHIA, but’” —Julie says.
“Yes, yes, bringing the bike on the plane was a good idea!” Kate admits.
Arm in arm, Kate, Julie, Claire, and Celeste stride triumphantly down Avenue Victor Hugo!
“Where to now?” Claire asks. “Home?”
“Not on your life!” Kate announces. “Maggie, I think it’s time for you and I to pull some Dimera-Titan strings!”
Scene change: late that evening, we see the front of the fabled Moulin Rouge. The camera switches to inside. There in box seats sit Doug, Victor, Jake, and Theo.
“I can’t believe Maggie dragged me all this way for this!” Victor grumbles characteristically.
“Oh, Vic, don’t be such a stale old croissant!” Doug is all smiles. “Sit back and enjoy it. I know the girls will!”
Just then, a voice peals from the loudspeaker.
“And now, Madams et Messieurs, the event you have all been waiting for! Le Can Can!”
The familiar music pours over the hall, and a line of dancers enters the stage. Frothy skirts swirl, and legs kick and twirl — and right in the center of them are Kate, Maggie, Julie, Celeste, and Claire.
“I don’t know,” Theo says shyly, “should I be seeing this much of my grandma?”
“Says the generation that invented Tic Toc!” Jake laughs and smacks his nephew on the back. “GO, KATIE!” he hollers loudly, putting two fingers in his mouth and whistling!
The final shot is a freeze-frame of the five Salem ladies, arms linked around each other’s
shoulders, dancing, and smiling widely — clearly having one of the best Days of Their Lives!
Fin!
Join in the conversation with a comment or two about the Days of our Lives fan fiction and stand by for part three. While you’re here, feel free to like and follow Soaps Spoilers on Facebook and Twitter.
Are you a fiction writer who wants your work considered to be featured? Email us!