Do you remember how rotten you felt after you saw _The Empire Strikes
Back_ the first time, when Bobba Fett had Han and the whole gang was
breaking up and you were sure things would never be the same again?
And do you remember how great you felt when you sat down in the theater
to see _Return of the Jedi_ because you just knew that things would all
work out for the best?  Well, welcome to Bonnie's version of _Return of
the Jedi_.

If you were bummed out at the end of "Changes", this story sets things
right again, so never fear.  However, be warned.  In light of Dana's
Immortality this story is largely set in the _Highlander_ universe,
rather than the _X-Files_ universe.  Mulder does appear, though, and so
do Maggie and Skinner, so don't despair.  Tiki makes a comeback, too,
and so does Regina Swift, so all is not unfamiliar.

You'll also be meeting another of Bonnie's characters and my literary
alter-ego, Elizabeth "Sally" Bradstreet.  Sally is an 800 year old
Immortal whose two driving passions are the theater and children.
Though she was a head hunter for a while, she now uses her skills to
train other Immortals, including Duncan and Richie.  A couple of other
things to about Sally--she was married to a Watcher for several years
and is currently madly in love with Joe Dawson.

This is a long one, but it's well worth the read.  --Sally

DISCLAIMER: (Big breath now!)  Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Maggie Scully,
Walter Skinner, Clyde, and any other names that are familiar from the
_X-Files_ universe belong to Chris Carter and 1013 Productions.  Duncan
MacLeod, Richie Ryan, Joe Dawson, and any other names that are familiar
from the _Highlander_ universe belong to Gregory Widen and Panzer
Productions. _The Pirates of Penzance_, Frederick, Mabel et al belong
to whoever is currently in charge of the Gilbert and Sullivan empire.
All of these lovely people are used without permission, but the author
is pure of heart and will use them only for good.  Tiki Drew, Regina
Swift, Sally Bradstreet, Nathaniel Gryphon, and any other name you
don't recognize belong to Bonnie Drew and she is very protective of
them.

Send all effusive praise to Bonnie c/o amstone@ix.netcom.com.

First Time For Everything 1/14
by
Bonnie Drew with Sally Bradstreet

Seattle, Washington
        The blisters had burst and were now callouses.  After six months,
she had learned not to grip the hilt so tightly.  It wasn't a reflex
yet.  Her reflexes told her to hang onto it like it was her last hope
of heaven.  Then again, she thought as she slashed out toward her
opponent, she would probably have to forfeit hope of heaven as an
Immortal, and the hilt had been ripped from her grasp so many times
that she was certain the thing had squirmed away of its own accord.
        She shouldn't have thought of it.  Her blade was caught from the
base.  Her opponent followed up with the scraping screech of steel on
steel.  A moment later, the blade was flying from her hand and his
sword was at her throat.
        "What happened that time?" the now-familiar deep voice asked.
Duncan MacLeod removed the blade from her neck and unstrapped the
fencing mask.  His words were calm, but his eyes were nearly black.
        Dana released her own mask, brushing back the strands of bright
red hair that had escaped from the braid.  She knew his moods, and his
eyes were black most of the time now.  It meant he was angry with her,
or worse, impatient.
        With an effort, she kept her voice steady.  "I was distracted.  I
was thinking of something else."
        MacLeod shook his head in disbelief.  "You were thinking of
something else?" He echoed.
        This time, the steadiness took considerably more effort.  "Yes."
She closed her eyes and massaged the bridge of her nose with her
fingers.  It was a gesture she had unconsciously picked up from
Skinner.
        "Dana, I'm not teaching this to see you sweat!"MacLeod barked.
Scully winced.
        "Hey, hey Mac.  Take it easy."  Richie put in from the sidelines.
 "She's doing the best she can." The other Immortal looked from one to
the other, trying to decide if he should interfere.  It was too late.
        "You don't need to defend me, Rich."  Dana said coolly.  This
time it was MacLeod's turn to wince.  Her tone was impersonal,
detached.  Duncan recognized it as her
Dana-Scully-professional-FBI-agent-and-forensic-pathologist voice.  "I
can take care of myself."
        "No you can't."  The words slipped out before he could call them
back.  "This is what you need to know in order to survive."
        "Don't you think I know that, Duncan!"  She shouted back at him.
She stepped directly into his space, glaring up at him.  "You've
drilled it into me every day for six months!  I know the Rules!  I know
about the Game!  I know about the Prize!"
        "Then why in hell aren't you doing what I tell you to do?"  He
bellowed into her face.  She did not retreat, but pushed her face
closer to his.
        "Because," she hissed, "It is physically impossible for me to do
the things that you do.  You're a 6' Male, Duncan, trained to fight for
400 years.  I am a 5'2" female who had never picked up a sword until
six months ago.  You're an intelligent man, MacLeod.  Do the math!"
        "The only math that I need to do is subtraction when another
Immortal chops off your head!"
        She turned her back to him.
        Dana Scully's jaw set.  Her voice was level when she spoke again.
 "If you are so certain I'm going to lose, why teach me at all?"
        Duncan MacLeod closed his eyes and Richie looked away.  Neither
said anything until Duncan's baritone stated flatly, "I guess it's
because I love you.  I don't want you to die, but it seems that you
have already decided not to live."  He stripped off the fencing
clothing and headed for the door of the dojo, snatching up his gym bag
long enough to stuff the sword and clothing into it.  "If you want to
learn how to survive, Dana, be here tomorrow at our normal time.  If
not, don't bother.  I won't trouble myself by teaching a corpse."
        He stalked away.
        Scully's shoulders slumped and her neck bent under the weight of
her thoughts.  Richie stood and walked behind her.  He kneaded the
muscles of her shoulders with thumb and fingers.  Then began to
unfasten the fencing gear, or as Dana had only half-joking called it,
"the Straitjacket."  "He didn't mean it, Dana."
        "Yes, he does."  She answered quietly.  "I can't do this, Rich.
It's too hard."
        "Hey, Dana."  He gently turned her to face him.  "You're a tough
lady.  You'll make it ok.  I think Mac's been living so long, he
forgets that he was new at this too, once."
        "It's not being new at this, Rich.  I've been working on it for 6
months."
        Richie's mouth quirked up into a rueful smile.  "In our time
line, that's pretty new, Dana."  She smiled, just a little, and he
continued, encouraged.  "You're so much better at this than I was when
I started out, Dana.  Mac wiped the floor with me constantly, didn't
even break a sweat."
        "So how is this different?" Dana asked, cocking her head up to
look at the younger man quizzically.
        "Well," Richie supplied, straight-faced, "I didn't have to sleep
with him.  That's cruel and unusual punishment, isn't it?"
        She laughed and stepped away.  "Don't.  It hurts to laugh."  She
peeled off the long-sleeved fencing shirt with a grimace for her aching
muscles.  The boots and pants were glued to her skin by sweat.  She sat
down to scrape them off her body.  Richie watched her.  Although she
didn't realize it, she was pretty good.
        She had been in decent shape as an FBI agent, but after 6 months
as an Immortal, the workout clothes beneath the fencing costume showed
an entirely new body.  Soft and curvy before, she was now toned and
muscled.  She lacked Amanda's lean grace, Richie thought to himself,
but she retained her more womanly figure.  Amanda had been fluid and
rangy.  Dana was compact.  Richie guessed that Dana was destined to be
a powerful Immortal if she survived her training.
        "You know," Richie said, tossing her a towel.  She accepted it
with a nod of thanks and he continued, "You have improved
tremendously."
        She gave a snort.
        "Really, Dana."  He urged her.  "I doubt your old friends would
even recognize you now."
        Scully tossed her braid over her shoulder to towel her back above
the grey lycra tank top.  Her hair was longer now, the tips reaching to
the bottom of her shoulder blades.  "Tiki would."
        "Who?"
        "My friend, Bonnie Drew.  Everyone calls her Tiki.  She would
recognize me."  Dana smiled to herself.  "As a matter of fact, she
would probably tell me to get off my butt and work harder."
        "Sounds like somebody I need to meet."
        "Yeah."  Scully agreed.  "She'd chew you up and spit you out,
Rich.  But everyone needs to meet someone like Tiki."
        "Why's that?"
        Scully took a deep breath and draped the towel around her neck.
He joined her on the bench.  "Tiki makes things happen.  When I was
with her, I found myself doing things I'd never imagined myself doing.
It some ways, she was my training ground for the X-files, for Mul-" she
stopped and leaned back against the wall.  "For my work." She finished
lamely.
        "I see." Richie said, and he did. "Does she know about you?"
        "About me being Immortal?"  He nodded.  "Yes.  As a matter of
fact, I came to on her table when I died."
        "What?" He shook his head to clear his ears.  He was imagining a
kitchen table someplace lit by tiki torches.
        "No.  An examining table."  She chuckled a little wearily.  "Tiki
is a Medical Examiner for the FBI.  She got my body the first time."
        "Must have been quite a shock."
        "Yup." Dana veiled her eyes to recall the memory.  "She pulled a
gun on Mulder and Duncan.  Told them to back off."
        "Really?"  Richie was impressed.
        "Yup.  She's just a bitsy little thing, but what she lacks in
height, she makes up for in brass."
        "She cute?"
        Scully rolled her head to one side to look lazily at him.  "As a
button.  But she's all dynamite.  You'd like her Rich.  She has more
energy than a room full of kindergartners.  I'd be interested to see
how she'd handle you."
        "So would I."  Richie agreed fervently.  "I haven't been handled
in ages."
        Dana laughed again, a real laugh this time.  She patted him on
the knee and stood.  "I'm glad you're here, Rich.  Thanks."  She
stretched and walked up the steps to the loft.
        He considered himself amply rewarded by her laugh.  The pat on
the knee was an unexpected bonus.  He watched her thoughtfully and
filed away the information for future use.
        She stayed in the loft only long enough to grab her walkman and
her keys and stuff them both into the front panel of a grey sweatshirt.
 She pulled on socks and laced up her Nikes, then yanked the sweatshirt
over her head.  A familiar scent washed up against her nostrils.  It
was male, musky.  She recognized that she was wearing Duncan's
sweatshirt.
        Oh well.  His house, his dojo, his Rules, his Game . . .  Dana
smiled grimly as she shoved her hands into the sleeves.  Might as well
take his sweatshirt.
        She jogged down the back stairs of the loft and began to run.
Her body protested with tightened muscles, but she ignored it.  His
Rules.  His Game.  His life.
        Her feet pounded on the pavement in time to the drums of an old
Pat Benatar tape.  "Hit Me With Your Best Shot", indeed.  She'd never
counted on Immortality.  Why should she?  She had spent most of her
life trying to fight.  Fight the old biddies who said she couldn't be a
doctor.  Fight the corporate boy's club who disdained her FBI
aspirations.  Fight with Mulder.  Fight for Mulder.  Fight for the
X-files, for Missy, for Dad . . .  Now, Duncan was teaching her how to
fight in his world.  It was still his world.  It couldn't possibly be
hers.  She would never understand beheadings, or quickenings, or the
Prize.  It was just more fighting.
        Dana Scully was tired of fighting.
        Pat Benatar had sung her heart out twice before she returned to
the dojo.  She jogged around the block a couple of times to cool down
her muscles, then walked up the stairs into the loft.  Her course did
not deviate from the shower's path, and she paused only long enough to
jerk her sneakers and socks off.  Dana padded into the bathroom on bare
feet, twisted the shower knobs and tested the temperature of the water
with her fingers.  Duncan's sweatshirt was tossed carelessly on the
floor, followed soon after by the tank top, shorts, panties and bra.
        She stepped into the shower, letting the pulse of the water
massage her tired muscles.  Her hair loosened from its fiery braid and
she began to scrub it with shampoo.  She soaped up her skin thoroughly
and then just stood beneath the artificial rain.  She rested her
forehead against the tile wall of the shower and closed her eyes.
Water streamed down her face and across her cheeks, looking for all the
world like tears.
        Duncan came home soon afterward.  He heard the shower, and knew
by his Sense that she was here.  He tossed his bag down by the table
and selected a bottle of wine.  Then he picked up the telephone and
ordered enough Chinese delivered for two, with extra eggrolls and those
little potstickers Dana liked.  It wasn't exactly a Hallmark, but she
would recognize it as an apology.
        He looked over to the couch.  She had gone running.  He picked up
the little shoes and carefully stowed them away in her half of the
closet.  The stocks he stuffed into a hamper.  He frowned thoughtfully.
 What had Dana said about her former partner?  Their first case
together, he'd asked her to come running with him.  She'd turned him
down.  She claimed to dislike the exercise; it hurt her joints.  He
wondered why she was jogging now, more and more lately.
        The telephone rang shrilly, breaking into his little reverie.  He
started guiltily at the sound.
        "Hello?" He said into the receiver.
        "Duncan MacLeod?" A voice asked.  It was gravelly, masculine.
        "Yes.  Who is this?"
        "My name is Gryphon, Duncan MacLeod. I was a prot‚g‚ of Kalas."
        Duncan's eyes narrowed, remembering the scarred Immortal who had
killed Fitz, had tried to kill Amanda and Methos, and had come pretty
close to killing MacLeod.  "Really?  My condolences."
        The Voice chuckled drily.  "Thank you.  I'll be sure to send them
to your pretty redheaded girlfriend after I take your head."
        "Look," Duncan began.  "Kalas came after me.  I defended myself."
        "That's not how I heard it."  growled the faceless Gryphon.
        "That's what happened.  I don't want to fight.  I just want to be
left alone.  It doesn't have to work like this."
        "I'll be seeing you, MacLeod."  The line went dead.
        Duncan replaced the phone on the cradle and collapsed onto the
couch.  This was becoming ridiculous.
        He heard Dana turn off the shower.  A moment later, he heard the
hair dryer.  The knock at the back stairs signaled the arrival of the
Chinese food.  He had just enough time to lay out the plates and fill
the glasses before her voice asked, "What's all this?"
        He found the candles and lit them.  "I didn't think you'd want to
cook too much tonight, so I ordered in."  He met her eyes for the first
time.  "I hope you don't mind."
        She smiled, and he felt his breath catch.
        "No."  She answered softly.  "No, I don't mind.  Thank you,
Duncan.  I'll just get dressed."
        "What you have on will be fine."  He assured her, dark eyes
traveling over her white terry cloth bathrobe.  It was worn along the
cuffs, well-used, and at least two sizes too large for her.  He thought
it the sexiest negligee in the world.
        She colored a little.  "I'll bet."
        He grinned his patented, "little-ol'-me?" grin and held out his
hand.  "Dana."
        "I know, Duncan."  She crossed the room to take it and then his
other hand.  She stood on tiptoe and kissed his chin.  "I know."  He
snuggled her into his broad chest and scrunched her hair beneath his
chin.  His wrists crossed over the small of her back, resting on her
hips.
        Dana felt his cheek on her temple, rubbing it like her cat used
to.  She raised her chin and his eyebrows lifted in an unasked
question.  She threaded her fingers in the Indian-black hair at the
nape of his neck in silent reply.  His mouth closed over hers, a sweet
sensation.  His lips never left hers as he tucked his arm behind her
knees to carry her to their bed.
        The Chinese food was cold and the wine was warm before they
remembered it again.

        Richard Ryan knocked peremptorily on the door before letting
himself in.  Duncan was pacing the length of the room.  "Where the hell
have you been?" He barked, then saw him.  Richie and MacLeod stared at
one another for a moment, then MacLeod's eyes dropped.  "Sorry.  I
thought you were Dana."
        Richie arched his eyebrows.  "Good thing I wasn't.  You talk like
that to her, and you'll be lucky if she only cuts your head off."
        Duncan snorted.  "You're right."  He raked his hands through his
hair, pulling it back.  "What a week!"
        "Mac," Richie began hesitantly, "I know this isn't any of my
business, but-"
        "You're right.  It isn't any of your business."  Came the clipped
reply.  Duncan threw himself down on the couch and tried to ignore the
hurt on Richie's face that smote his conscience.  He put his hand over
his eyes, attempting to block the memory.  Dana had slid out of bed
this morning early, trying not to wake him.  He had watched her beneath
half-closed eyelids as she crossed to the window and stared out of it.
She looked so young, the new sunlight highlighting the ivory delicacy
of her face, her skin, her throat.  The blanket brushed the floor
behind her bare feet and she wormed her way further into it.  It was
warm in the dojo, but she had shivered.  Then, Dana had made a little
nest of blankets on the couch and curled up to sleep in them.  She had
not come back to his side, and the light falling on the bed pierced him
like lances.  He had eventually gone back to sleep, but she had been
gone when he woke this morning.  She had carefully folded the blankets
and put them away, leaving only traces of her perfume on the couch to
mark her presence.
        "What's going on, Mac?" The younger Immortal asked.  "What's
happening with you and Dana?"
        For an insane moment, he considered telling him about Gryphon,
about the phone call, about the terror he felt when the thought of Dana
at the mercy of another, stronger Immortal.  He nearly told Richie how
frightened he was that he was losing her.  Then he took a breath, and
was himself, Duncan MacLeod, once again.  "Nothing.  I'm just a little
tired is all."
        "Uh, huh."  Richie replied with absolutely no trace of belief in
his voice.  MacLeod smiled.  He was so transparent.
        "The board asked me if I knew anyone involved in drama."  MacLeod
ignored the previous ten minutes.  If he said the subject was closed,
it was closed.
        "Why's that?" Richie knew better than to press.  He bided his
time.
        "Their director for the spring musical broke his legs.  Can't get
around.  They need a new one."  Duncan walked over to the telephone and
began to dial.
        "Know anyone?"
        Duncan smiled, tucking the receiver beneath his chin.  A clipped,
British, and very female voice answered.  "Judith Woolf."
        "Is that what you're going by nowadays?"
        Sally laughed.  "Duncan!  How are you, my darling Scot?"
        "Weel enow."  He replied, exaggerating the brogue, much to
Sally's delight.
        "And how's Richie?"
        "Oh, he's fine, Sally.  How are you?"
        "Perfectly well, Highlander.  Perfectly well."  Her voice sounded
a little tinny as she asked, "Now, to what do I owe this unexpected
surprise?"
        "A pair of broken legs."
        "What?  Duncan, we do tend to heal rather quickly.  Whatever have
you done to yourself?"
        "Nothing.  Look, the director of our little college production
fell down and broke himself.  He can't do the play.  Are you free?"
        Sally's voice was hesitant.  "Well, yes, but-"
        "Good.  I'll pick you up at the SeaTac airport."
        It wasn't that easy.
        "One moment.  I didn't say I would do it.  I'm a very busy woman,
Duncan, and I can't possibly-"
        "It's Gilbert and Sullivan."  He interrupted her.
        There was a long pause.
        "I could do that here."  However, her words didn't hold as much
conviction.
        Duncan waited a beat and played his trump.  "_Pirates of
Penzance_."
        "_Pirates_?" came the scarcely-whispered word.
        Duncan grinned into the phone.  Gotcha!  Out loud, he only said,
"Yes.  Think you can do it?"
        "Highlander, you are a tricky bugger."  She told him absently.
"Pick me up at SeaTac."
        "Sally?"
        "Hm?"
        "I knew you would do it."
        Her chuckle warmed his ear.  "Oh, Duncan darling, we both did."
She hung up.
        Duncan shrugged on his coat.  "I have an errand to run.  Keep an
eye out for Dana, Rich."  He stepped into the elevator and vanished
downstairs.
        "Sure, Mac.  Sure."
        Richie's perpetually cheerful face was thoughtful as he crossed
to the phone.  He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a
faded slip of paper.  Taking a deep breath and praying he wasn't doing
something stupid, he dialed.
        "Federal Bureau of Investigations."
        "Yes, I would like to speak with a Dr. Bonnie Drew.  She's a
medical examiner in your Forensic Pathology Division."
        "One moment, please.  I'll connect you."
        Richie waited.

J. Edgar Hoover Building
Forensic Pathology Lab #3
        "Mulder, for such a big guy, you can be a such a chicken."
        "Tiki," responded her companion as he opened the door for her and
they came back into her lab.  "I have learned through bitter experience
that the last thing I ever want to do is take something you offer me."
        "What bitter experience?"  She demanded hotly.
        "How about the pickled pig's feet?"
        "They are a delicacy, you know."  The little woman shook a pious
finger at him.
        "Yeah, if you are one of the extras from Deliverance."
        "Snob!"
        Mulder grinned and pressed his advantage, boosting himself up
onto one of the countertops.  "What about that squid you gave me?"
        Violet eyes smiled serenely into hazel ones.  "That wasn't
squid."
        Mulder began to choke, then the blood drained out of his face as
he stared at her.  "`What was it then?"
        "Not tellin'." She crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her
lower lip out.
        "Tiki-" He said warningly.
        "Maybe I'll tell Regina.  She could give it to you on a
stakeout."  She said, almost to herself.  Almost.
        "Tiki, are you playing with my head?"  He asked, at last.
        She turned to look directly at him, hands clasped behind her
back, head cocked, eyes innocent.  "Why, yes, Agent Mulder.  As a
matter of fact, I am."
        He groaned and she grabbed him by the lapels of his coat.
"C'mere, Squid-boy!"  She kissed him quickly on the mouth, then
released him, grinning like the Cheshire Cat from Hell.
        "Ha! You never do that like you mean it."  He teased amiably.
        She sized him up, not without regret.  "I make it a policy never
to swim in another woman's pool.  Especially if that woman is my best
friend."
        He looked at his feet.  "I don't know what you're talking about."
 He mumbled.
        Tiki rested her hands on his knees and gazed up at him soberly.
"I miss her too."
        "She's fine without me."
        She nodded.  "Yes, but she's better with you."
        Mulder looked down at her, the one person he could talk to now
that Scully was gone.  Physically, she and Scully weren't that similar.
 Tiki a brunette, Scully a flaming redhead.  Scully's eyes were liquid
sapphires, Tiki's a bright amethyst.  Still, they had the same small,
curvy figure and elegant porcelain prettiness.  What hurt him, he
decided , was that they were too similar for him to ignore the
resemblance, and not similar enough for Tiki to take Dana's place.
With the odd masochism that was so customary for him, he persisted in
calling Tiki, going to lunch with her.  He wondered why.
        The shrill sound of the telephone rousted him from his
self-flagellation.  He flipped the receiver into his hand.
End Part 1

First Time for Everything 2/14
Bonnie Drew with Sally Bradstreet

Disclaimer in Part 1

        "Tiki Room."  He quipped.  "Where the stiffs are dead and big
guys swoon."
        She blew him a kiss.
        "Not surprisingly, it is for you."He whispered, and squeezed her
shoulder.  "I'll see you later."
        She nodded and took the phone.  Mulder chuckled to himself while
leaving as he heard her opening line:
        "FBI Forensics Lab.  Where things keep piling up."  Tiki listened
for a moment.  "Oh, hey Emily. . . Yes . . . Hey, it was just a joke. .
Are you saying that my telephone answering skills doom the FBI PR
department? . . . No," She added tartly, "As a matter of fact, it
wasn't an agent.  It was a customer. . . Yeah, some guy just hopped off
the slab saying, `Hello, my baby, Hello, my honey' . . ." She listened.
 "Oh, good.  Put him through."
        "Dr. Drew?"
        "Yup."
        Richie breathed a sigh of relief.  The connection had taken
longer than he had anticipated.  "Dr. Bonnie Drew?"  He heard a long
sigh and than a silvery female voice.
        "You're doing this all wrong.  If this is an obscene phone call .
 ."
        Richie removed the phone from his ear and stared at it.  A
doctor?
        "Look, you obviously haven't done this before."  Tiki was telling
him patiently.  "First, you need to breath heavier."  She demonstrated.
 "Then, you need to sound, um, sweatier.  You ask me what I'm wearing,
and make a couple of suggestions involving pudding and leather.  Then I
ask you what you're wearing-."
        "Dr. Drew," He interrupted.  "Do you know Dana Scully?"
        There was a long, long pause.  Her voice was soft, frightened.
"Do I know Dana Scully?" She repeated, like a little girl.  "Who is
this?"
        "Doctor, my name is Richard Ryan.  I'm a friend of Duncan
MacLeod's.  Did you know about Dana's -?" He had no idea how to say it.
 If she didn't know, Richie would have told a secret that was not his.
If she did-
        He was saved the trouble by Tiki's snort. "About Dana's rather
long lifeline?  Yes, I do.  Is she hurt?  What's wrong?"
        "She's fine.  She's fine."  Richie assured her quickly.  "She's
just having a little trouble adapting is all."
        The faceless voice on the other end of the phone line gave
another little editorial snort.  "What a surprise.  I don't imagine
people adapt quickly to using swords and cutting off heads."
        Richie muffled a snort of his own, but continued, "I think she
needs a friend."
        There was no hesitation this time.  "I'm on the next plane out.
You in Seattle?"
        "Yeah."
        "Great.  Pick me up at the airport.  I'm wearing black jeans and
a blue silk shirt.  I'm five foot nothing, and dark-haired."
        "OK.  I'm blond, tall.  I look about 20."
        "`Look'?  You're one of them?"
        He smiled.  "Yeah."
        "It sounds like Dana already has a friend."
        Something in her voice casually flipped his stomach.
        "Dr. Drew?"
        "Yes?"
        "What are you wearing?"
        He heard laughter, sweet and low, like a brook, and then,
"Nothing.  Underneath all my clothes, I'm completely naked."
        Richie hung up, lips still quirked into a grin.

        MacLeod stepped through the doorway of Joe's tavern and breathed
in deeply.  He'd met Dana Scully here.  He'd danced with Amanda, heard
Claudia and Joe belt out a few riffs.  This place, though Joe's, was
home.
        "Mac." Joe greeted him with a nod and a smile.  "Soaking up the
atmosphere?"
        "Yup. The place is a dive."
        "Sure is." Joe agreed, affection warming his words.  "It's my
dive."
        Duncan smiled.
        "So, what brings you down to my level, MacLeod?"
        Ah, just the opening he had been looking for.
        "I need a favor."
        "You've got it."  The bartender replied.  Then, after a moment's
hesitation, "Within reason."
        "No problem.  I just need you to pick up a friend at the airport
tonight.  From London."
        Joe frowned, running a mental finger down his list of things to
do.  "Sure.  I can swing it."
        "Great!" MacLeod waved and started to walk back out the door.
        "Hey, Mac!" Joe called, bemused.  "You forgot to tell me who I'm
picking up."  He shook his head and limped around the bar, cane in
hand.
        "Did I?"  MacLeod rolled his eyes heavenward.  "I swear the
memory's going."
        "So who?" Joe demanded.
        "Who?" MacLeod hooted back.
        "Am I picking up at the airport?" Joe growled and thumped his
cane with impatience.
        "Oh," Duncan reached the door and eased his body halfway out of
it, then his head poked inside the club at a parallel to the floor.  He
grinned.  "Sally Bradstreet."
        Joe dropped his cane.  "MacLeod!" He bellowed, but Duncan was
gone. "Dammit!" This was said to the universe in general.  He scratched
his beard thoughtfully.  "Sally."  His heart stopped, then raced to
catch the missing beat.  "I'm getting too old for this sort of thing."
This was said to his body rather sternly, and then, of himself.  "What
can I say to her?"
        Ironically enough, that was precisely the question Duncan was
asking of himself as he walked into the dojo.  He could Sense Dana's
presence, smell her clean perfume.  She glanced up at him from her
position behind the counter and smiled a tentative smile.
        He returned it with a grin, and swooped down to kiss her
thoroughly.  She laughed against his mouth, relieved.
        "I'm sorry."  They both said, then again, simultaneously,
        "You?  Why?" and "Don't be."
        This time, they both grinned and Dana continued chopping the
onion with skilled, precise movements.  "That was easy," she told him
with a sigh.  "I didn't want to fight."
        He slipped up behind her to wrap his arms comfortably around her
waist.  He nuzzled her neck, and lipped her earlobe.  "What are you
making?"  His soft voice was a danger sign, and she shivered.
        "Nothing, if you don't knock that off."  The reply was saved from
being tart by a quick, very sweet kiss of her own.  The onion was
scraped off the cutting board into a bubbling sauce pan.  "We're having
spaghetti.  Nothing fancy, but homemade sauce."
        "Smells great."  He inhaled deeply, than his hands stroked over
her hips and thighs.  "So do you."
        "Later."
        "Promise?" She lifted a spoon of sauce and tilted it into his
mouth.  His eyes widened.  It was good.  He watched as she took the
spoon back and her small, tulip-colored mouth closed over the bowl.
Fascinated, he saw her lips close over the little pool of spaghetti
sauce he had left.  The silver gleamed as she delicately polished it
with her little pink tongue, lapping like a kitten.  Her eyebrows
arched and Duncan felt warm.  How did she do that?
        "Promise."  She purred, satisfied with his reaction.
        His hands began to explore again, and she slapped them away
playfully.  "I said, later.  Go wash up.  Oh, and the mail came.  It's
by the chess set."
        He groaned.  "Yes, ma'am."  Later, he repeated to himself over
and over, Later.  He flipped through the mail until he saw the
envelope.  He felt his skin goose pimple.  It was black-edged, on thick
linen paper.  He opened it carefully.  The card inside was also trimmed
in black, around an equally expensive sheet of stationary.
        The letters, written in a bold, black hand, informed him that his
time was running out.  It was signed, "Cordially, Nathaniel Gryphon."
        He gave himself the pleasure of a skeptical grunt.
        "What is it?"  Dana asked, at his elbow suddenly.  "You froze
up."
        "Nothing."  He evaded with his best flashy smile.  It was the one
that he had used on Mulder.  It had infuriated many a law enforcement
officer.  Too late, he remembered that Dana was a law-enforcement
officer.
        "Nothing?" She echoed, eyebrows brushing her bangs.
        "Nothing."  He repeated firmly.  "Just a note. From an old
acquaintance."
        The eyebrows drifted down as those clear blue eyes slanted.  "How
old?"  She asked pointedly.
        He laughed.  "Old enough.  Lunch ready?"
        He dodged past her to the kitchen and she watched him narrowly,
then gave a mental shrug.
        He would tell her.  If it was important.  She squirmed inwardly.
After all, she thought, the man has lived 400 years.  He's entitled to
a few secrets.  Lord knows I've kept my share and Mulder's too.  Mulder
again.  She pushed away her former partner's memory, but it stubbornly
sprang back like a yo-yo on a really good elastic string.  She finally
promised herself to talk to him on e-mail, then went to eat with
Duncan.

        Joe hated airports.  People, perfectly normal people outside of
this artificial island, became automatons who smelled weird, pushed,
slept and were extremely rude.
        His eyes wandered around the terminal.  A harried mother was
trying, unsuccessfully, to restrain a screaming two-year-old.  A couple
of businessmen shot her a dirty look as the child grabbed at their
suits with sticky fingers.  The mother ignored them and they returned,
grumbling, to the certainty of their laptop worlds.  His gaze finally
settled on a young couple trying desperately to detonsilize each other
using nothing but their tongues.  He observed their technique, decided
that it was nothing new in the field.  If fact, there were a few errors
in form alone . . .
        "Get a room!" a man about Joe's age snarled beside him.
        Joe shrugged, "They're young."
        "Youth does not forgive everything."
        "No.  But it does forgive a lot."  Joe grinned.  "And aren't we
glad for that?"
        To his pleased surprise, the other observer blushed.  "Yeah.  I
suppose we've all sowed a few wild oats.  Are you meeting someone?"
        "Yeah.  You?"
        The other man was mostly bald, thin, with a lean, austere face
that softened at his next words.  "Yes.  My daughter is flying in from
London."
        "That's terrific."
        "What about you?  Meeting your wife?"
        "Sort of an old friend."  Joe said cautiously.  About 800 years
worth.
        Both men's attention were drawn to the gate as the passengers
began to disembark. The other man's face lit up when he saw the figure
of a pretty young woman.  Joe was reminded immediately of his niece,
Horton's daughter.
  She was fresh-faced blond of about 23, the kind who actually look
better without makeup.  She waved and said something to the woman
beside her.  "Wow!" His companion breathed.
        The woman beside her.  Joe felt every nerve in his body stand up
and salute as Sally Bradstreet strolled over to him.  Her July-sky eyes
smiled and he was suddenly very glad he'd worn the gray suit.  The two
women were an interesting study in contrasts.  The daughter was all
round curves and youthful exuberance.  She hugged her father
enthusiastically, grey eyes wide.  "Dad, this is Judith Woolf."  The
girl was explaining.  It took a moment for Joe to realize that Sally
was shaking the other man's hand.
        "How do you do, Mr. Jackson?"  Sally greeted him.
        "Miss Woolf.  What part of England are you from?"  The other man,
Jackson, took a quick look at her legs and Joe instinctively moved
closer to Sally's side.
        "I've been all over."  She told him, brushing her long ebony
braid back over her shoulder.
        "Are you on vacation?"
        "Actually, this is a working holiday.  I'm afraid I'm going to be
a bit spoiled.  Your daughter was such a delightful companion during
the flight."
        "And now," Joe added with a solemn shake of his head, "You're
stuck with me."
        Sally's eyes turned slowly to Joe's and he swallowed at what he
saw there.
        "There are worse fates." She said quietly, low enough so that
only he heard.
        Amber Jackson looked from her former seatmate to the grey man
with the cane and her lips curved.  "C'mon, Dad."  She announced,
pulling her father away.  "I think they have some things to discuss."
        Ken Jackson broke off his thoughts, which were suddenly filled
with the tall, graceful woman who was looking so intently at the
stranger with the beard.
        "Don't stare, buddy." Joe growled out of the corner of his mouth.
 "Get your own."
        Blushing, Jackson hurried off.
        "Joe?  Aren't you even going to welcome me to your fair shores?"
        "Wh-What did you have in mind?"  He knew what he suddenly had in
mind and he flushed beneath his beard.
        She smiled, took two steps and was in his arms, chin resting on
his right shoulder.  He breathed her in a moment, closing his eyes and
returning the hug.  "It's good to see you, Joe."  She rubbed her smooth
cheek lightly against the silky scratchiness of his.  "I'm glad you
came."
        What do you think you're doing?  His mind screamed, but his arms
fit so well around her waist.  He could feel the heat of her body
through the short cream sweater dress.  "Well," he answered, trying to
say anything.  "MacLeod didn't give me much choice."
        It was the wrong thing to say.
        She stepped back, robbing him of her warmth.  "I see."  She
stooped to pick up her little carry-on bag that she had dropped.  "I'm
sorry to have inconvenienced you."  She didn't look at him.
        He could have gladly bitten his tongue in half.
        "It was no inconvenience, Sally.  None at all."  He tried to
stuff all the assurance he could into those eight words.  "Let's get
your bags.  Do you have a place?"
        "Yes.  Under Judith Woolf."
        "Do you mind stopping by the bar first?"  Joe suddenly
remembered.  "I need to clear up some scheduling problems with my
second bartender."
        "I don't mind.  I'd love to see the place again."
        His heart thumped against his chest at her smile.
        They collected her bags and had a porter put them in the trunk of
the car.  Joe opened her door and found that peeking at her legs was
the reward for this little act of chivalry.
        He drove in silence, while she kept time to the music on the
radio by patting her knee lightly. "Ah, Sam Cooke."  She sighed.  "Did
I ever tell you about seeing him in a Harlem nightclub?"
        "You saw Sam Cooke?"  He repeated, duly impressed.
        She grinned a little at the memory.  "He was quite surprised to
see a white Englishwoman there.  Imagine his shock when I began to sing
`Spanish Harlem' with his band."
        "I've never heard you sing."
        "I'm no Ella Fitzgerald, but I get by."  She reached over to
brush the hair out of his eyes.  He gripped the steering wheel hard.
"You need a haircut."  She observed softly.
        He gulped and the action filled his lungs with her honeysuckle
scent.
        "That was red light." She returned her hand to her lap.
        "So?" he snapped back.
        "Just an observation."  She waited a beat, then two.  "Do all
women make you nervous, or is it just me?"
        "What makes you think I'm nervous?"
        She turned her eyes level to his and gave him a flat,
disbelieving stare.
        "Right."  He muttered.
        She waited another beat, playing idly with the curl at the end of
her braid.  "I've missed you."
        "Really?"
        "Is it so hard to believe?"
        "Yes!" He blurted out.
        "Why?"
        "Because you . . . you're . . ."  He stammered, and wished
silently that she didn't smell so good.
        "Tall?  You don't like brunettes?" She guessed.  "The accent
irritates your finely-honed musician's ear?  You dislike my legs?  You
hate older women?"
        He chuckled.  "No.  I think it's because . . ."
        She sighed.  "I'm 800 years old, and I find you absolutely
irresistible."
        "Irresistible?" His voice was hoarse.
        "Mm, hmm."  She leaned over to stroke his hair back over his
ears.  "Absolutely irresistible."
        "Here's the bar."  He managed to choke out.  The car squealed to
a stop.
        "Oh, good." She chirped.  "Just what you need.  Liquor."
        He gave her a dirty look, and hobbled into Joe's.  She trailed
behind, laughing softly.
        "Hey, Joe!" Petey, the pianist for the band waved.  "Who's the
hot-lookin' lady?" He plunked out the first few bars of "Pretty Woman."
        "I'll let you field that one," Joe called to her, heading for the
bar.  "Hot Lookin' Lady."
        Sally introduced herself and chatted comfortably with the band
for a moment while Joe took Mike in the back to iron out the schedule.
It didn't take long.  Mike left and Joe sat alone in his office,
arguing furiously with himself.  He didn't want to face her.  He really
didn't want to face her.
        "Hullo."  She was in the doorway and his palms itched to feel the
smooth skin of her face, her neck, her shoulders.  He clenched his
hands into tight fists and thought desperately about ice cubes,
snowcones, Idaho . . .
        She came in to sit on his desk.  She perched on the corner and
crossed her long legs at the ankle.
         . . .snow-melt lakes, glaciers, the Matterhorn . . .
        "What are you working on?" She asked, dragging the tips of her
fingers over his desktop.
         . . .Alaska, Canada, Siberia . . .
        "Just the schedule."
        "Oh."  Sally pressed both her palms against the desk on either
side of her hips.  "So."
        "So."  They waited in silence.
        "Joseph."  She sighed.  "I am far too old to play games.  I never
learned.  I'm not about to start now."
        He studied her.  Blue eyes met his grey ones in perfect candor.
        "I've never in 800 years thrown myself at a man.  I've never
needed to.  But you are being terribly dense and I simply don't have
the time for it."  She took a deep breath.  "And I know you don't."
        He dropped his eyes, but she lifted his chin with her hand and
forced him to look at her.  This time her voice was tender.  He knew
instinctively that it was the tone of voice that was his, the one she
saved for him.  "Joseph, I'm here because I want to be.  I'm here
because I'd like to be with you." Her hand moved to his cheek and
caressed his jaw.  "I'm here because I think I could love you."
        Joe Dawson swallowed.  Then swallowed again, trying to fathom
those frank eyes that were the color of a Greek sea.  He wanted her.
He wanted her quick wit and her lean body and her lovely face.  Most of
all, he wanted her, Sally Bradstreet.
        An Immortal.
        Sally Bradstreet, Immortal.
        Joe Dawson, Watcher.
        "I can't Sally."  He heard a grief-stricken voice say.
        Her head dropped as if he had slapped it down.  "Why?"  Her voice
was steady.
        "I'm a Watcher.  You're an Immortal.  It wouldn't work."
        "Why not?  Ian and I made it work."
        "That was different."
        "How?"
        "It just was!" He exploded, the pain ripping through his chest
like shrapnel.  She finally looked up, and he saw the tears brimming
there in her eyes.  She would never let them fall in front of him, he
knew.  Now, the shrapnel burned acid from each tiny, ragged point.
        "Your world. . . It's different from mine.  Sally, it couldn't
work."  He pleaded with her.
        "Who are you trying to convince?" She demanded.
        "You!  Me! Both of us!  Sally, Please!"  He stood to take her by
the shoulders.  "I want to.  I do.  But it could hurt you, hurt me.
The risk is just too great."
        She stared into his eyes for an eternity, then lifted her
delicate chin and jerked away from his touch.  "If you're that afraid
of life, Joe," she offered in tones of pure scorn, "I'd be happy to
protect you from it." She was at the door in two long strides.
        "Sally!" He shouted.  She wheeled, and he was surprised to see
the tears fall after all.  "You're . . .your luggage." He finished
lamely.
        "I'll call a cab."
        "It's in my car."
        She gave a short laugh that was completely devoid of humor.
"I'll pick the lock."  And she was gone.
        Joe slumped down into his chair and laid his head on the desk.
He could hear someone pick out a blues guitar riff outside in the bar.
He tried very hard to convince himself he had done the right thing,
that if they were to become involved, they'd use him as a bargaining
chip like they had done with MacLeod.  He told himself he could never
hope to satisfy her emotionally, intellectually, or even physically.
His head pounded on the desk.
        Thump.  Thump.  Thump.
        Felt good compared to the rest of him.
        Thump.   Thump.  Thump.

        Richard Ryan was panting by the time he reached the baggage
carousels.  Flight 1013 from DC had been delayed, rerouted and finally
landed.  They had told him three different gates.  He had ran to each,
only to be told to go to a different one.  By the time he reached the
correct gate, Dr. Drew's plane had deboarded and he was told to wait by
the baggage carousels by a flustered clerk.
        Most of the passengers had already picked up their baggage and
had cleared the area.  There were a few airline employees standing and
talking.  An older man with a large dog rested on one side of the
bench, talking to two girls who chomped gum and surveyed Richie with
the jaded looks of 16-year-olds.  A little girl whom Richie assumed was
the granddaughter of the man was placidly eating a twist cone of
chocolate and vanilla soft ice cream.
        Richard watched the little girl curiously.  Her black boots were
propped up on two black, medium-sized suitcases.  She continued to lick
the cone.
        Lick.  Lick.  Lick.
        Richie stared.  Dark, curly hair.  His eyes drifted down.  She
had a lovely figure.
        Lick.  Lick.  Lick.
        It was not a little girl.  He grinned and ambled over to stand in
front of her.
        "Dr. Drew?" He asked.
        She tilted her head to the right and looked past him.  "I have
heard," She said, in a low, very feminine voice, "That Seattle
cultivates ugly people like lettuce.  I never believed it.  Until now."
 The curls bounced as she shook her head.  "You're blocking my view."
        "What?" He had the feeling he'd be doing a lot of that with her.
        "I'm having myself a little Ugly contest.  That is, people who
work at being Ugly.  So far, I have Ugliest man, Ugliest Woman, Ugliest
Teen and Ugliest Couple."  She explained by way of conversation.  "I'm
auditioning people, now."  She finally looked up with wide violet eyes.
 Richard Ryan forgot his name when she grinned a purely evil grin.
"You do not qualify."
        He found himself grinning back as she deftly switched the cone
from right hand to left and offered the right to him.  He took it.
        "Bonnie Drew.  You can call me Tiki, Handsome."
        "Anyone who calls me `Handsome" can call me whatever they want."
        "How about, Soaring Falcon, The Warrior Prince?"
        "What?"
        "Never mind." She pointed an imperious finger at the parking lot.
 "Take me to my red-headed friend."
        "Yes, Ma'am."  He stooped to pick up the suitcases.
        Tiki's grin faded.  "Rich.  How is she?"
        He busied himself with the handles.  "I don't know.  I mean, I
didn't know Dana all that well, before."
        Tiki stood and was precisely the height to meet his eyes with her
head angled slightly.  "Rich."  She laid her palm on his cheek and he
felt his pulse speed up.  She didn't appear to notice.  "You were
worried enough to call me.  Dana's my friend.  My best friend.  I've
talked to her a few times.  But I couldn't get anything out of her.
Talk to me.  Explain it to me."
        Richie knew he was in over his head.  "C'mon, Doc.  I'll explain
on the way to the dojo."
        She nodded and offered him a lick of her ice cream cone, which he
absently accepted.  "By the way, what kind of doctor are you again?"
        Bonnie Drew grinned her kitten-in-the-cream grin.  "Oh, I take
apart things and put them back together again."
        "What?" He asked again.
        "Dead bodies."  She replied blithely, winked, and breezed out the
door.
        "I'm in love."  He said to the universe in general.  Actually, it
took longer for them to reach the dojo.  Tiki hadn't had any food since
her hurried lunch some time ago.  He told her what he knew as she
wolfed down french fries and a quarter pounder with cheese.  She
listened thoughtfully, only interrupting occasionally to ask a
question.  Richie finished his tale, slurped up the last of his Coke
and obligingly ate the last few french fries she pushed at him.  She
nodded and blew out her breath, then delicately licked the salt off her
fingers.  At that moment, he decided he would have given one-hundred
years of his lifetime, in advance, to be a grain of salt.  She caught
his fascinated stare and squeezed his knee.  "C'mon.  I'm full.  Let's
go see my friend."

        It was evening and Dana and Duncan were in the dojo, practicing.
Slowly and patiently, Duncan led her through the steps of an elaborate
kata.  She breathed deeply, concentrating her energy on the movement.
        "Discipline."  He murmured beside her. "Feel the pulse of your
blood, the muscles under your skin.  Feel your mind focus."
        She inhaled, closing her eyes and Duncan watched in amazement as
she executed the next exacting steps flawlessly.  She brought her feet
together, her hands pressed palm to palm and lowered her head .
Gracefully as any dove, she knelt and rested her hands on her thighs,
still continuing her gentle breathing.
        Amazing, Duncan thought, how she could do that so easily.  It had
taken him years to perfect the technique.  Now, she was in precisely
the same position he had been in that morning months ago.  The memory
lifted his heart.  It was then that he had learned the Dana Scully he
knew now.  Behind that cool, composed exterior was the heart and
passion of a gypsy.
        The Sense rocked her forward, and Duncan stiffened.  After 400
years, he had plenty of reason, and Gryphon. . . Dana's eyes were wide
as Richie strolled in.  "Hi guys.  Expecting someone?"
        They both breathed out a hidden sigh of relief, MacLeod's perhaps
a little gustier than he had intended.
        "Rich." Dana greeted him with a smile.  "Where've you been all
day? We missed you."
        He eyed the two of them.  "Yeah.  I'll bet."  His lips stretched
wider at Dana's blush and Duncan's vaguely guilty expression.
"Actually, I went to the park, and look what followed me home."  He
stepped aside and Duncan saw a small, china-doll pretty woman behind
him.
        "Whassup, Doc?"  She drawled.
        "Tiki!" Dana rocketed into the other woman's hug with a force
that knocked them both slightly.  They embraced for a minute as Richie
bounced happily on his toes.
        "Wow, Flame!  Look at you!  You're a total body Nazi!"
        Dana blushed, cursing her fair Irish skin.  "Well, I have to be.
Now, I mean."
        "Yeah.  In your line of work.  You look great though.  If Mulder
could see you now, he'd sprain somethin'."
        "Ahem."
        "Oh, Tiki, you remember Duncan, right?"
        The two sized each other up like rival curs at a dogfight.
"Yeah.  Hello, Duncan."
        He smiled at the wariness in those words.  "I thought all was
forgiven, Tiki."
        Tiki glanced quickly at her friend's anxious face and shrugged.
"Sure."  Dana looked doubtful, so she repeated reassuringly, "Sure.
All is forgiven.  Next time you die, let me do an autopsy on you, and
all will be forgotten."
        "Tiki!" Dana hissed.
        To both their surprises, Duncan laughed out loud.  "No thanks.
I've been to Disneyland.  That's the only Tiki Room I want to find
myself in."  He stepped close, and offered her his hand.  "Pax?"
        She raked her eyes over his face and down to his hand.  "What the
hell."  She said, giving him hers.  "Pax.  I could never resist a
begging man without a shirt."
        "You'd better shower if we're going to Joe's tonight."  Dana told
him.
        "Yeah.  You too."
        "Tell you what."  Tiki suggested brightly.  "You go up and
shower, Duncan, and Dana and I will catch up."
End Part 2

First Time for Everything 3/14
Bonnie Drew with Sally Bradstreet

Disclaimer in Part 1

        "Oh, yes."  Dana agreed.  "We do have a lot to catch up on.  Such
as what you're doing here?"
        "Medical conference."  She replied, a little too quickly.
        "Try again, Tiki."
        "Forensic workshop.  They're ordering in cadavers."  She offered
hopefully.  This was met with a shake of her head.
        "Strike two."
        "Is it so awful that I'm visiting my best friend?" Tiki
protested.  "You're so suspicious, Dana.  Sometimes I think Mulder gets
it from you."
        Dana tried to stare Tiki down, but failed.
        "Why don't you come along with us to Joe's tonight, Tiki?"
Duncan invited.  She flashed him a grateful smile.  "You could catch a
ride with Richie."
        "I'd love to." Richie said quickly.
        "Sounds great.  Just give us a few minutes, huh, Guys?"
        They disappeared obediently.  Dana slumped onto the bench and
tried to read Tiki's inscrutable face.
        "He's a good man, your Duncan."  Tiki observed.
        "Yes he is."  Dana lifted her knees up to her chin and wrapped
her arms around her folded legs.  "How's Mulder?"
        "He's. . .Mulder."  Tiki replied at last.  "That partner Steve's
got him with, Regina Swift, she doesn't put up with much."
        "Do you like her?"
        "No."
        "What?  Tiki, you like everyone!"
        "I do not.  Especially not when she and Steve are . . ." She
shrugged.  "Well, that's the rumor.  I'm not sure of my source anymore.
 He claims they're just old friends."
        "Regina and Skinner, huh?  No wonder Mulder's got his knickers in
a twist.  And so do you."
        "I do not!" Tiki protested heatedly.
        "Oh, I see.  Sorry."
        Tiki glared at the floor and muttered something uncomplimentary
that sounded like, "Smart mouth."
        Dana chuckled and Tiki's natural good humor was restored.  The
dark-haired woman hugged the other one impulsively.  "How are you,
Flame?"
        The question was a serious one, and Dana took a few seconds to
consider it.  At last, she answered simply, "It's so good to see you
Bonnie."
        Bonnie Drew knew then that she would be staying awhile.

        Richie and Tiki arrived at Joe's before Dana and Duncan.  Tiki
stopped at the entrance of the club and inhaled deeply.  "Blues and
booze." She purred, satisfied.
        Richie laughed, took her hand and led her to one of the tables.
She rested easily on the wooden chair, ankles hooked around its legs.
Her fingers drummed along with the rhythm of the band.  "Been to New
Orleans, Rich?"
        "Not yet."
        She closed her eyes.  "Great town."  She listened to the pulse of
the raw blues and allowed it to soak into her skin.  "I definitely like
this place."
        "I'm delighted to hear that."
        Tiki sat up as the rumble behind her shook her chair.  A tall,
grey man with a cane stood behind her.  His face spoke of a sternness
that was belied by his smile.  He reached to take her hand.  "Joe
Dawson.  Proprietor."
        She took the proffered hand and shook it.  "Tiki Drew."  She
couldn't resist adding, "Pathologist."  She laughed as he extricated
his hand and wiped it unobtrusively on his pants.  "I did wash my hands
before I came, you know."
        "That's alright.  So you're the infamous Tiki."
        "In the flesh."
        "And such lovely flesh."  She quirked her eyebrows as those grey
eyes roamed over the black jeans and soft silk tank top.
        "All done?"  She inquired sweetly.  He refused to blush.
        "Yup.  So, how'd you end up with a moniker like `Tiki'?"
        "Not-so-clean-living."  She explained.  "Short for Tequila,
actually."
        Richie's eyebrows rose.  "Must be quite a story."
        Her face was serene.  Unreadable.  "It is.  Her attention was
shifted back to Joe.  "A girl could die of thirst around this saloon,
Dawson."
        "My apologies, ma'am.  Tequila, straight up?"
        "Iced tea.  Extra lemon."  She corrected him.
        "You, Rich?"
        "Beer, draft."
        "Am I driving?"  She asked.
        "Always."  He winked at her.
        "Wise man."
        "Ah, young love!" Joe rhapsodized.  "Every time, no matter who it
is . . ."
        "Makes you sick?"  Tiki supplied.
        He laughed.  "Yup.  Drinks are coming right up."  Joe stalked
back to the bar and caught the breeze of the door opening and closing.
Joe saw Richie stiffen, then relax as Duncan and Dana entered.
Richie's date whom he now knew as Tiki hopped up to hug the redheaded
Immortal.  The two heads, one dark, one flame, bent close to each other
and conferred a moment.  Then, Dana gave a peal of laughter that
pleased Joe.  It had been sometime since he had heard Dana Scully laugh
with the abandon of a child.  Duncan looked puzzled as Dana shook her
head and joined them at the table.
        "What?" Duncan asked.
        "Oh, nothing." Tiki replied blithely.  "Just admiring Dana's
outfit."
        Dana hid a grin as the two men exchanged glances.  Richie grinned
and shrugged.
        "How did you put it, Flame?  You look like `a Catholic schoolgirl
gone wrong'?"
        "I am a Catholic schoolgirl gone wrong."  Dana countered.  She
caught Duncan's eye and smiled.  "Don't ask, Duncan.  Just accept."
        "Words to live by."  Duncan gave a stoic nod and raised his chin
to see Joe, who was carefully avoiding his gaze.  "Will you excuse me
for a moment, ladies? There's an urgent personal matter I need to
attend to."  He dropped a vague kiss on Dana's cheek and headed
purposefully to the bar.
        Richie glanced at Tiki.  "I gotta see this."
        "Go."  She made shooing motions with her wrist.
        He stooped, kissed her nose and winked at Dana, who could only
look on in disbelief.  He heard her ask as he headed toward the bar,
"Geez, Tiki.  What'd you do to the boy?"
        When he arrived at his destination, he was ignored by MacLeod,
glowered at by Joe.
        "Quite a woman, Rich.  You sure you're up for the challenge?"
Joe said by the way of an ice-breaker.
        "Nope.  But I'm sure as hell gonna enjoy the ride."  Richie
scooted the bowl of peanuts toward him and leaned against the bar,
elbows resting on the brass railing.
        "Speaking of rides," MacLeod said, not-so-subtly, "Did you see
Sally?"
        "Yes."
        "Did she talk to you?"
        "Yes."
        Duncan rolled his eyes with impatience.  "And?"
        Joe rammed the spigot into a keg fiercely.  "And what?"
        "And if I know Sally Bradstreet, and I do, she told you how she
felt about you."  MacLeod's smile had spread to silliness.
        "You set me up."
        "You can thank me later.  What did you tell her?"
        Joe turned away from them, not realizing they could still see his
face clearly reflected in the mirror behind the bottles.  "I told her
no."
        Duncan stared and Richie upset the peanut bowl.
        "Dawson, tell me again what you just said," MacLeod said, his
voice dangerously quiet.  "Because I'm sure I didn't hear you right the
first time.  Did you just say that you turned her down?"
        Joe faced him, jaw set.  "Yes.  As if this is any of your
business, MacLeod."
        He ignored the jibe.  "Are you crazy?  You're crazy about her.
You have been for years.  You've been moping around this bar for months
since she left."
        "And," Richie added, popping a peanut into the air and catching
it with his mouth.  "You haven't scored any action since the Carter
administration."
        The two older men both pinned him with a glare.  He shrugged
ingenuously.
        "Butt out, MacLeod."  Joe snarled.
        "No!  You love her-"
        "What if I do?  It's not your problem.  Please.  Just let it be."
        MacLeod's broad shoulders slumped.  "She could have made you
happy, Dawson."
        "I know."
        "You would have made her happy, too."
        "Shut up."  Joe said softly.
        "Hey boys."  Came a familiar drawl behind them, and Joe saw two
female hands slide over Richie's t-shirted shoulders.  "I told you I
washed before I came.  Did I do something to offend?"
        Richie reached around to pull her in front of him, trapping her
between the bar and his body.  Joe and Duncan both managed a gallant
smile.
        "Not a chance.  See?  I have your iced tea all ready for you.
And Dana's too."  He plunked the two glasses on the napkins and kept
the smile convincing.
        Tiki was not convinced.  "Hm.  What are you plotting over here,
fellas?"
        Richie's hands went round her waist and he murmured into her ear,
"Joe here thinks you're corrupting me."  It wasn't a lie, he reasoned.
They had been talking about her.  At one time, anyway.
        "Oh I am."  She admitted brightly.  Then looked Joe over once and
gave him a bold wink. "You can wait your turn, Joe."
        The bartender chuckled.  "Tiki, did anyone ever tell you that you
reminded them of a young Liz Taylor?"
        "No."  She dimpled prettily at him.  "Joseph Dawson, I have found
you out.  You are a flirt."
        "Guilty as charged."  He raised his arms in mock surrender.
        "Hmm."  She said again thoughtfully.  "I wonder what you'd be
like to a woman you really cared about."
        Duncan choked, but Joe managed to hold that violet gaze. "Why,
exactly the same.  Surely you realize that a man would have to be a
complete fool not to fall for you."
        "Flattery will get nowhere.  But don't stop trying." She blew him
a kiss, picked up the drinks and headed back to the table.
        "Hey, Flame." She whispered as the men kept talking.  "The band
here do requests?"
        "I think so.  Why?" Dana's eyes narrowed.  "You're up to
something."
        "No good."
        Dana looked from Tiki to Joe and frowned.  "I want in."
        "I have a hunch."
        "What about?"
        "Joe.  The song's the thing."
        Dana arched one expressive eyebrow.  "With which to catch the
conscience of the bartender?"
        Tiki giggled.  "Poor Hamlet.  But the idea's a good one."
        Dana realized what her friend had in mind.  "Mousetrap?"
        "Mantrap.  C'mon."  She grabbed Dana's hand and headed for the
stage.
        "Yes, Sahib."
        After putting the plan into action, they settled back down into
their chairs to watch.
        "I wish we had popcorn."  Tiki muttered.
        "Shh.  Boys are back."
        Duncan and Richie joined them.  Two pair of eyes, one light
grey-blue, the other dark hazel, darted from one woman to the other.
Then, the two sets of eyes met in a mutual, unspoken "Uh, oh."
        Tiki sipped her tea and listened.  "I just love this song.  Don't
you?"
        Duncan recognized it immediately.  Richie was a little slower,
waiting until Petey belted out the first heart-wrenching lyric.
        "When a Man Loves A Woman."
        Two pair of eyes, one blue, one violet, were riveted to the
bartender's face.  His jaw tightened, and his eyes squeezed shut for
just an instant.  The two sets of eyes met.  "Yup."
        Oblivious for the most part, to this silent conversation, Richie
stood held out his hand, palm up, to Tiki.  "I hate to waste a good
song.  What do you say, Tiki?"
        She smiled.  "Lead me on."
        A moment later, she was clasped tightly in his arms, her cheek
resting just at the hollow of his neck. "You're a brave man."  She said
at last.
        An interesting beginning, he thought.  "What do you mean?"  He
pressed the heel of his hand against the slope of her hip and she moved
obligingly closer.
        "I haven't been dancing in decades.  I'll smash your toes to a
pulp."
        He draped both her hands over his neck to clasp his just at the
small of her back.  "I like to live dangerously."
        "Being Immortal, I suppose it's not a concern."  Tiki replied
flatly.
        He arched an eyebrow at her tone, but only answered in a
mock-whine, "But it still hurts."
        Tiki laughed and rubbed her cheek against his shirt.  "You're a
good friend, Rich."
        "To you?"
        "To Dana."
        He sighed.  "Good.  I'm glad I haven't been relegated to the
status of friend with you just yet, Tiki."
        "Was that a proposition?"
        "A suggestion."  Richie changed the subject.  "So, what do you
think is wrong with Dana?"
        Tiki licked her lips thoughtfully.  "I think she's homesick."
        "For DC?"
        "For her life there.  Her work.  Her family."  She snuggled into
his chest and he tightened his arms around her.  "When Dana became-
came out here, she left everything behind.  Everything.  She's strong,
Rich, but that kind of change is never easy."
        "Tell me about it." He snorted.
        She stroked the back of his head, just at the nape of the neck.
"I can't begin to understand what she's going through.  I don't think
anyone could, not even MacLeod."
        "I think Mac could.  If she'd talk to him."  Richie defended.
        Tiki shook her head slowly.  "Rich, did Dana ever tell you what
kind of work she did for the FBI?"
        "I knew she was an agent."
        "She worked with a man named Mulder-"
        "We've met." Richie growled.  Tiki smiled and patted his cheek
consolingly.
        "Dana told me you two weren't exactly fraternity brothers. And
Mulder can be pretty surly.  That and his interest earned him a few
enemies.  Dana was sent down to spy on him.  They ended up working
together, trusting each other.  No one trusted Mulder like Dana did.
And likewise for Dana with Mulder."
        Richie shrugged.  "I hear a lot of law enforcement types have
close relationships with their partners.  It happens while they
investigate."
        "Do you know what they investigated?"
        Richie frowned, trying to remember if Dana had told him.  "No.
Kidnappings?"
        "Abductions."
        Richie gulped as the light dawned.  "Alien abductions?"
        "And mutants, psychopaths, paranormal activity."
        "You're serious."
        "How about a liver-eating mutant?  Or a bunch of bugs that can
cocoon a man?  Or government experiments and conspiracies?"
        He stared down at her violet eyes.  She wasn't joking.  "You're
not saying that Dana-"
        "Has seen them.  Been threatened by them.  Some, she hasn't even
told me.  I asked her why once, Rich.  She told me she didn't want to
scare me."
        "You? Scared?"
        "Hard to believe, but I have a sneaking suspicion that she may be
right."
        Richie shivered and Tiki rested her cheek on his chest for a
moment.  Her head tucked neatly beneath his chin.  "What's this got to
do with Dana now?"  Another song, "Steamroller Blues," began.
        Tiki drew in a shuddering breath, remembering, and without
knowing, Richie kissed her temple comfortingly.  "Dana disappeared
about two years ago.  She was gone for months.  She almost died."  Tiki
said in a small voice.  "Someone or something had been experimenting
with DNA.  MacLeod says you all are bastards, with no biological
parents that you know of?"
        "Yeah."
        "I think, and Dana thinks, that her abduction might have altered
her, given her the Immortality that the rest of you have.  See, Dana's
parents are hers.  DNA is a match."
        "I still don't see what you're getting at."
        She sighed.  "Dana sees herself as a freak.  Not only that, but a
freak among freaks."
        "Thanks a lot."  He grumbled.
        She managed a small smile.  "You must admit, it is a little on
the odd side.  I doubt even Clinton had this in mind for an
`alternative life choice.'"
        He chuckled.  "You're probably right. So Dana's different.
What's the big deal?  No one cares how we got this way.  We just are."
        "Rich." Her lips tightened.  "Don't you see?  They called the
cases she worked on with Mulder, "X-Files."  Think about the life she's
living now."
        He stopped dancing and stared down at her.  "She thinks she's an
X-file."
        "And the only person she could talk to about her fears is in DC."
        This silenced him until the very last bars of the song.
        "You're here."  He suggested hopefully.
        "I never worked on the X-files.  She needs Mulder.  I'll do for
now, but-" Her gaze wondered from him.
        He took her chin in his hand to angle her head up.  "What about
you?  What do you need?"
        She grinned.  "A vacation."
        "Been rough?"
        "More than you know."  He almost didn't hear her.
        "The last guy must have been a winner."  He grimaced.
        "What?"
        "The last guy you went out with.  He must have broken your
heart."
        Tiki's eyebrows rocketed into her curls.  "Oh, pits!  Is it that
obvious?"
        "Nah."  Richie shrugged his broad shoulders.  "My guess, it was
someone from work.  Maybe someone you shouldn't have gotten involved
with."
        Her jaw dropped as he continued pressing her gently toward the
edge of the floor.  "He was probably a decent guy, a little
conservative.  Reserved.  Looking for the four-kids and a mortgage
type."
        "Are Immortals psychic, too?" She demanded.
        He tried to look aloof and then broke down.  "Nah.  Dana told me
a little.  I inferred the rest."
        She didn't know whether to be angry or not, so she laughed
instead.  "What else have you inferred?"  She added emphasis to the
word, making it his.
        "That you're incredibly sexy, and a lot of fun.  You care about
your friends."  he looked down at her soberly, his normal sunny smile
replaced by a canny, insightful expression.  "That you're a little
lonely right now and could use some cheering up."
        She cocked her head to one side.  "Oh?  I've inferred a couple of
things about you, too."
        "Oh?" He echoed.  "And what, pray tell, are they?"
        The band began to play "Mandolin Rain."
        "Well," She drew the word out to three syllables.  "You're cocky,
but not stupid.  You're a flirt, but you genuinely like women and
respect them."
        "Oh, naturally."  He winked broadly at her, and was rewarded by a
grin.  He nudged her away from the dance floor.
        "And you've been bounced a few times yourself.  Fairly recently,
I'd say by the scar."
        "What scar?"
        She idly traced a cross over his heart with the tips of her
fingers.  "Here.  I am a Medical Examiner, remember?"
        "When can you fit me in, Doc?"  Richie was no slouch when it came
to working the charms of his baby-blues.
        Tiki stretched in his arms, enjoying the play.  "I'm not that
kind of doctor."
        "Oh, I think you'd be well-qualified for treating my problem."
He persisted.
        "Mm.  What's the diagnosis?"
        "Broken heart.  You are my second opinion."
        "What'd the first one say?"  She found herself tucked into a
dimly lit corner behind the stairwell.  He had maneuvered her back here
during their long dance.
        "That I needed some tender," he dropped a kiss on her forehead,
"Loving," another on her cheek, "Care."  She pulled his face down to
hers, lacing her fingers in his hair and kissed him thoroughly.  He
picked her up by the waist to settle most of her weight on his hips,
leaving his hands free to slide over her back and behind her neck.  She
giggled.
        "What?"  He asked against her lips.
        "That is the cheesiest line in the world."  She murmured,
brushing her lips against his jaw.
        "It worked, didn't it?"
        "Nah.  Wasn't the line that did it."  She tilted her head back to
grant him access to her throat, which he gratefully accepted.
        "Yeah?  What was it?"
        "Nothing.  I'm just a pushover."
        He laughed.  "Must be my lucky night."
        She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively.  "Could be."
        He went to kiss her again when the Sense tugged his attention
away.
        "What is it?"  She asked, seeing his mood shift.
        "Another Immortal."
        "That's weird."  She said after a beat.
        They looked to the stage to see Joe sitting on a stool.  He
nodded to Petey and began to strum, "Pretty Woman" on the electric
guitar.  Joe's stormy grey eyes were riveted to the door.
        "Ah.  The plot thickens." Richie said under his breath.
        "Beg your pardon?"
        "Wanna see some fireworks?"
        "Sure."
        "Let me introduce you to Sally.  When we met, she held a knife to
my throat."
        "I like her already."  came Tiki's pert reply.  She peeked
through the stairwell at the doorway and whistled.  "She's an
Immortal?"
        "One of the best."
        "And she'll never age?"
        "Nope.  She's 800 years old."
        Tiki's elegant ebony eyebrow drew an arc.  "I lied.  I hate her."
        Richie laughed and pulled her around the stairwell in time to
hear a crisp English voice ask, "But where's Richie?"
        "Right here Sally."  He leaned forward to kiss her proffered
cheek.  "I see you've met Dana."
        "Yes."  Sally Bradstreet smiled at the redhead.  "Duncan, you've
done well for yourself."  She stroked back her thick curls from her
face and placed her hands on the table to whisper conspiratorially at
Dana, "And you, my dear, could do better.  Much better."
        "That's what I keep telling her."
        Dana smiled.  "Sally Bradstreet, this is my best friend, Bonnie
Drew.  Most people call her, Tiki."
        "Tiki, hmm?  That must be a good story.  I'd like to hear it."
        The ME considered this a moment, then replied, "I'll tell you if
you tell me what it's like to die of the Plague."
        Sally looked the smaller woman over with bemused blue eyes.
"Unpleasant."
        The two women swapped grins.
        "I like her.  I really do like her."  Sally stated.  Then she
turned, and caught side of Joe, who had left the stage and was standing
behind her.  Out of slapping distance, MacLeod noted.  They stared at
one another for a minute before Joe walked over to the table.  "Thank
you for the tribute."  She said softly by the way of greeting.
        "Just telling the truth."  He answered by way of apology.
        She nodded.  "I suppose I'd better be getting up on stage."
        "Stage?" Joe repeated.
        "Yes.  I'm doing a set with the boys.  Petey and I worked it out
this afternoon.  Just for tonight.  No commitment necessary."  She
explained evenly.
        "I wouldn't think you'd want to hang around for a small-time
tavern like this."
        "Why not?"
        "Well, you're the most class this place has ever seen."  Joe
scrubbed at his beard with his fingers.  "And you could definitely do
better."
        "Maybe.  But I like it here."  Sally reached down to glide her
fingertips over the smooth top of the table.  "The place has so much
style.  So much charm.  I think I could be quite comfortable here."
        Dana, Duncan, Tiki and Richie sat holding their breaths, not
daring to disturb this elaborate dance or duel.
        Joe wanted desperately to say something, anything to this
beautiful Immortal.  Instead, his hand reached out and he found himself
touching her cheek timidly.  Her eyes widened as she leaned toward him,
and Joe snatched his hand back as if her skin had burned him, as if her
flesh was not as soft as honeysuckle, as if he didn't at all wish that
they were alone somewhere dark and warm.
        Those blue eyes that would gleam like a she-wolf's in the winter,
were hurt.  She turned and walked toward the stage, her short black
skirt swishing over her hips.  Petey grinned and handed her the mike.
End Part 3

First Time for Everything 4/14
Bonnie Drew with Sally Bradstreet

Disclaimer in Part 1

        "Hullo."  She greeted the room's patrons amiably. "My name is
Sally.  I'd like to sing a bit for you if you can bear it." This
received a few chuckles and a couple of unenthusiastic groans.  "Now,
now." She cautioned.  "I'm not completely dreadful.  In fact, I'm
utterly innocent of all wrongs committed in the name of music.  I
suggest you gentlemen push back your chairs and spin the lovely lady
sitting across from you onto the dance floor.  I'm all for seduction,
myself.  Here we go.  Hit it."
        Petey's soft Latin piano began, followed by an acoustic guitar.
Sally looked out at Joe and winked (winked!).  He felt his heart stop
and his mouth quirk into a rare smile despite himself.  He saw Dana
reach out for Duncan, who stood, gathered the smaller woman in his arms
and gently kissed her lips.
        Wordlessly, he led her to the dance floor, his hands on her hips,
guiding them to the rhythm of the delicate cha-cha.  They locked eyes
even as his arm locked her waist to him.  Sally began to sing, low and
sweet.
        "Some people stay far way from the door if there's a chance of it
opening up.
        They hear a voice in the hall outside and hope that it just
passes by."
        Joe looked up to watch her as the single spot splashing her with
white-blue light.  Her thin sweater waved the light back in sapphire
shimmers.  He looked away.
        "Some people live with the fear of a touch and the anger of
having been a fool
        They will not listen to anyone so nobody tells them a lie."
        His eyes finally landed on Dana and Duncan on the floor.  They
were moving with the timeless grace of the slow cha-cha.  Duncan's big
hands dwarfed his partner's waist, but her blue eyes met his dark hazel
ones unflinchingly.  They promised, demanded.  Joe sighed.
        Still, Sally's voice drifted over them:
        "I know you're only protecting yourself.
        I know you're thinking of somebody else.
        Someone who hurt you."
        Joe looked down at the bar, drowning in memories, clinging
defiantly to this solidity.  Why did she have to do this?  Drag old,
painful memories into the light? They squirmed there, squinting and
bunching in agony as the last line speared through them.  Her voice
soothed and released them:
        "But I'm not above making up for the love
        You've been denying you could ever feel.
        I'm not above doing anything to restore your faith if I can."
        He faced the back mirror, polishing the sparkling glasses.  He
felt her voice in his ear, as if she were standing against his back:
        "Some people see through the eyes of the old before they ever get
a look at the young."
        He made an elaborate show of rubbing his left eye to peek at her
from behind his elbow.  Her hand was smoothing over the sweater, over
her waist, to the roll of her hip and the firm line of her thigh.  She
was not watching him.  But she might have well have been.  Somehow, he
knew she was perfectly aware of his eyes on her.
        "I'm only willing to hear you cry because I am an Innocent Man.
I am an Innocent Man.  Oh yes, I am."
        Sally?  Innocent?  Of evil perhaps, but passion?  Or Compassion?
Not likely.
        Restless eyes again found Dana and Duncan.  She had whirled away
from him along the track of his arm, and he brought her back into his
embrace and step with a tug.
        "Some people say they will never believe another promise they
hear in the dark.
        Because they only remember too well they heard somebody tell them
before."
        Promises in the dark.  Duncan was whispering something into
Dana's ear, nibbling her lobe with tiny love-bites.  She didn't giggle
or even smile, but raised her arms with his high above their heads.
Duncan's palms stroked down her arms, from wrists to waist.  He took
hold of her body and lifted Dana so that her hands rested on his
shoulders.  His head pressed against her chest.  She slid down him
slowly, but did not touch back down to earth.  He bent forward, keeping
her beneath him, one shapely leg propped against his hip.
        Joe felt a sharp twisting thrust of envy.  They could dance like
that.  He envied them that ability.  He envied everyone who was dancing
to Sally's persuasive, seductive song.  He closed his eyes and saw
clearly - blue eyes burning into his.  His face was brushed by glossy
black curls that smelled of honeysuckle.  His palms and fingers itched
at the imagined fuzz of her sweater.  He closed his eyes tighter to
bring in a clearer picture, then his lids snapped open as he heard:
        "Some people sleep all alone every night instead of taking a
lover to bed.
        Some people find that it's easier to hate than to wait anymore".
        She never looked at him.  Instead, her attention was directed  to
the audience as she flirted, bouncing light to a dark corner, or a line
to a couple sharing heated looks.  Frustrated, and not understanding
why, he continued his observation of Dana and Duncan.  He felt like
blushing, like he was intruding on something intimate by watching them.
 His legs ached.  Odd.  They hadn't done that in years.
        The hairs on the back of his neck prickled up.  He raised his
head slowly and felt two very blue eyes drawing him to her.
        "I know you don't wanna hear what I say
        I know you're gonna keep turnin' away
        But I've been there and if I can survive I can keep you alive
        I'm not above going through it again."
        She released him and he gulped in air.  The penetrating contact
had been replaced by a generic smile, one meant for public consumption.
        "I'm not above being cool for awhile.
        If you're cruel to me, I'll understand."
        She knew how to work a room, Joe admitted to himself.  With just
the piano, the guitar, the soft drum and the spot, she had the place
completely enchanted.  Dana and Duncan weren't the only ones on the
floor, but they might as well have been.  Each couple had found a world
of their own, a world of forgiveness and understanding.
        A world that he could not allow himself to join, despite Sally's
tender:
        "Some people run from a possible fight."
        Joe shook his head and mouthed the next line with her. "Some
people figure they can never win." She wasn't looking at him, but she
was with him, nonetheless.  Her words as private as the bedroom.
        "And though this is a fight I can lose
        The accused is an Innocent Man."
        She continued through the chorus.  Duncan and Dana were no longer
dancing the cha-cha.  Rather, they stood only inches apart, stepping
like reflections of one another, from side to side, forward, back,
always keeping the same distance between them. Never touching.  Joe
swallowed again and imagined closing that distance between Sally and
himself.  He wondered if his beard would scratch her cheek.
        He pushed the thought away savagely.  Enough.  He was a Watcher.
She was an Immortal.  The die was cast.  He stalked from behind the bar
and headed for his office.  He tried to ignore her, but the lyrics
arrested his flight.
        "You know you only hurt yourself out of spite.
        I guess you'd rather be a martyr tonight."
        He obeyed her silent command and stayed rooted in place.  There
was a beat of crashing silence.  He felt his life being weighed, all
before and all behind.  Then her deafening whisper:
        "That's your decision."
        They finally allowed their eyes to meet and hold. A silent flurry
of pleadings, explanations, protestations, and promises darted between
them during that gaze.  For Joe Dawson and Elizabeth Bradstreet, there
was no one else in that bar.  Only a few chairs, a stage, and another
human being.
        "But I'm not below anybody I know if there's a chance of
resurrecting a love.
        I'm not above going back to the start to find out where the
heartache began."
        She tossed His Smile to him like a rose, that one she saved for
him.  It was a particular quirk of the lips that was her gift
exclusively to him.  He smiled back.
        "Some people hope for a miracle cure
        Some people just accept the world as it is."
        She glowed in the spotlight and her chin jutted out determinedly.
 "I'm not willing to lay down and die because I am an Innocent Man!"
He wouldn't look away.  Not this time.
        The song slowed, then stilled.
        The room rocked with applause as Sally took a graceful bow, then
stepped back to acknowledge the rest of the band, which earned an
enthusiastic ovation.  Joe clapped with the others, long and hard.  She
began her next song and he quietly gathered up his books and ledgers.
He slipped into his office, leaving nothing behind but a caution that
he was not to be disturbed and an order to the bartender to make sure
the band got a round on the house after their performance.
        Sally sang for over an hour, and finally pleaded to be allowed to
leave the stage.  Her voice was roughened with the smoke that blanketed
the bar.  At last, she tripped lightly over to the table and joined
Duncan's party.  She flopped into a chair, heedless of the short black
skirt, and blew her hair out of her eyes.  "Well, Highlander?  What'd
you think?"
        "Don't you think you're being too subtle, Sally?"
        She sighed. "Really Duncan," she began reproachfully, "If there's
one thing you should have learned from me by now is that I rarely have
time for subtlety."  Dana was nearly certain that Sally had added, "And
Lord knows he doesn't." under her breath.  Sally was surprised to see
the newest Immortal smiling sympathetically.  Intrigued, she asked the
lovely redhead, "What do you think, Dana?"
        "I think it's none of my business." Dana replied calmly, sipping
her tea.
        Sally gave her an approving nod.  This one may live to see a
thousand after all, she thought, no fool she.  "In any case, I wonder
if I could prevail upon you for a ride home, Duncan?  I took a cab, and
I don't mind another one, but . . ."
        "Say no more.  You are sort of dead here, aren't you?"
        "My older persona is, yes.  Thanks, Duncan.  I'm going to go talk
to Petey.  We're negotiating for another night." She glanced up.
"Place is emptying fast.  I think Joe will be closing pretty soon.
I'll be right back."
        Without knowing why, Scully grabbed Sally's arm and whispered
confidently, "He's worth it.  Don't give up on him altogether."
        Sally squeezed her new friend's hand in thanks, marveling at the
younger Immortal's perceptiveness.  The only mortal at the table was no
slouch either.  Tiki hastily pulled Scully aside.  "Flame, those two
are made for each other."
        Scully looked at her longtime friend with baleful eyes.  "What
did you have in mind?"
        Her friend winked one violet eye eloquently.  "Nothing.  Nothing
at all."
        "Tiki," Dana warned, "Don't get messed up with this.  Your
performance in the romantic arena has been less than stellar."
        Bonnie Drew became very serious, and leaned down to whisper in
Dana's ear, too softly for Duncan to hear, "Your big Scot is a doll,
Dana, but I still have hope for you and Spooky.  Indulge me, OK?"
        Scully gave an inward flinch at the mention of her former
partner.  She wasn't sure if she should be angry or not.  If anyone
knew how much it had hurt her to leave DC, it would be Tiki.  She
searched Tiki's eyes for signs of cruelty or indifference, and found
only the gentle humor and genuine respect that had first drawn Dana to
Bonnie to begin with.
        "All right." She agreed at last.  "I don't have to kill anyone,
do I?"
        "No.  But I'll call you if I need that done sometime."  came the
traditional Tiki one-liner.  "Just play along."  In a more natural
voice, she said, "Actually, Dana, if you and Duncan want to take off,
Richie and I can take Sally home."  She rested a hand on Richie's
denim-clad knee and squeezed.  "Can't we?"
        Immortal or not, Richie was only human.  Moreover, he was male,
and there weren't many males alive who could withstand the full force
of Bonnie Drew's considerable charm. He made the mistake of meeting her
eyes and fell victim to them.
        "Sure." He breathed.
        Duncan shook his dark head at Dana, and she asked the question
for him, "How do you do that?"
        "I don't know.  I've always had it."  She replied with a shrug.
"Now, run along, and let me work."
        Dana knew what Tiki had in mind, and she knew the end result was
probably going to be very different from the one Tiki was picturing.
Still, if it worked. . .  Duncan returned with her coat and she
abandoned Joe and Sally to Tiki's rather questionable mercies.
        As soon as Duncan and Dana were out of the door, she hopped into
Richie's lap, threw her arms around him and snuggled into his chest.
Surprised, but not displeased, he wrapped his arms around her
diminutive body and rubbed his chin over her already-tousled black
curls.  "Well, hello, Little One."
        "Let's go." She said abruptly.
        "Where?"
        "Your place."
        "Great.  We'll get Sally and -"
        Tiki took his face in her hands and kissed him lightly on the
lips.  "Let Sally get her own man. Take me home. Now."
        The light flashed on in Richard Ryan's mind.  "You're devious.  I
like that in a woman."  He told her admiringly.
        "If we leave now, and if you're a very good boy, I may show you a
few of my other tricks."  She promised.
        He didn't need to be asked twice.  He glanced upward and mouthed,
"Thank you."
        So it happened that Sally walked out a few minutes later to an
empty club.
        "Hm.  Rather like an opening night I once had.  Duncan?  Dana?
Hello?"
        "I think they left."  Joe told her.  He was leaning on his cane
in the doorway of his office. "Where are the guys?"
        "They left out the back door.  Oh, bother!" She blew out her
breath in exasperation.  "Duncan was supposed to be my ride home.  Can
I use your phone to call a cab?"
        "If you'll wait a few minutes," he volunteered hastily, "I'd be
happy to give you a ride home.  I just need to clean up.  Do you mind?"
        She smiled her full, sunshine smile at him.  "Not at all.  Let me
give you a hand.  Toss me a sponge."
        They worked together in companionable quiet for awhile.  The
bitter tension was gone, leaving a queer sort of tautness in its place.
 Neither wanted to disturb this new truce.  He watched her sponging off
the tables with a practiced flick of the wrist.
        "You've done this before."
        "A table's a table."  She announced with a shrug.  "I've cleaned
up after too many little bodies to not be an expert."
        He smiled, "You know, you were really great tonight."  He put the
stopper back onto a bottle of gin and replaced it beneath the counter.
        "Thank you Joe.  That means a lot coming from you."
        She stopped her chores long enough to watch him.
        They stood, holding communion, locked in one another's eyes until
Sally dropped the sponge.  She bent to retrieve it, her face appearing
a little pink in the smoky light of the club.  "How about some music?"
        "Sure.  What do you want to hear?"
        "Oh, I don't care.  Surprise me." She began to stack chairs.
        He strolled over the jukebox and inserted a couple of dimes.  Joe
had refused to rewire the Wurlitzer to accept quarters.  Dimes had a
certain nostalgia for him, and people were more willing to pay ten
cents than twenty-five for a favorite tune.  He had a little something
for everyone, programmed into that glowing sphere, but primarily it was
a small archive for classic rock and jazz.  Ella Fitzgerald rubbed
shoulders with Van Halen.  Billie Holiday and Sarah Vaughn were
featured beside Chuck Berry and Elvis.  Duke Ellington played piano,
but so did Billy Joel.  He ran a finger down the smooth glass surface
until a title made him grin.  He quickly punched A-24.
        Then, his attention was snagged by another lyric. He stole a
furtive glance at Sally.  She was still stacking chairs, unaware of his
dilemma.  He took a deep breath.  It was ridiculous.  He thought of his
mentor, Ian.  Ian had trained Joe in the Watchers, and much of Joe's
go-to-Hell philosophy had been Ian's legacy.  But Ian had married
Sally, and braved the threat of summary dismissal from the clandestine
group.  His marriage had been an exception, and only by brazening out
the criticism with the support of his Immortal wife, had the breach
been allowed.  Joe had bent some rules into unrecognizable shapes.  His
friendship with MacLeod was still viewed with suspicion.  But this was
different.  Did he have the courage to dam the tide of nay-sayers and
take an Immortal woman to bed?  To wife?  To heart?  He looked down at
the jukebox.  The choice was too lonely. Too longing.  He decided, and
pressed G, then 2, 5 in sequence.
        Sally was in a crouch when the first stains of the first song
reached her ears.  It was very familiar, like a brass band in a
turn-of-the-century picnic.  She hummed along for moment, trying to
place it, and did just before the first lyric:
        "When I get old and losing my hair.
        Many years from now. . ."
        She sat back on her haunches and caught Joe's grey eyes. They
twinkled at her.  "`When I'm 64'?" She began to laugh.  "Are you trying
to tell me something?"
        He grinned at her beneath his beard.  "What, me?  Never!"
        She gave a highly unladylike snort of disbelief and waggled her
finger at him.  "You don't fool me, Joseph Dawson.  I happen to know
there's a decent human being beneath all that gruff and bluster."
        He laid a finger over his lips.  "Sh.  Don't tell anyone.  People
will start saying I have a sense of humor next."
        Sally flung the back of her hand to her forehead and rolled her
eyes back dramatically.  "Perish the thought!" She began to sing with
Paul McCartney.  "Every summer we can rent a cottage in the Isle of
Wight if it's not too dear.  You'll be older too."  This last she added
with a wink at Joe.  Then she merely whistled.
        It was contagious, he admitted.  He was whistling with her.
        This was good.  Sally decided.  At least he has stopped twitching
away when I get near him.  She sighed inwardly.  Her song had probably
been over the top, but he had needed it.  She either told how it was,
or kept it close to her chest until she exploded.  Sally was not the
type to suppress.  Oh, well.  Whatever happens, happens.  After 800
years, why was she so nervous around this man?
        Because, she told herself, he knows about your 800 year past and
still trusts you.  Because he gave you the news that the love that
lifetime had died, and held you while you wept.  Because he knew
everything and would stand up to you.  She was lost in her musings, so
she didn't notice the beginning of the new song.  The upbeat, teasing
sounds of "When I'm 64" had been changed to something else.
        This was raw emotion.  This was the longing of one soul for
another in tones so plaintive, it hurt her heart.
        "These arms of mine, they are lonely.
        Lonely and feeling blue.
        These arms of mine, they are yearning
        Yearning from wanting you."
        She lifted her head in confusion, about to say something about
his choice when the words died on her lips. He sat by the bar, watching
her, one arm on the bar, the other in his lap.  His eyes, always grey
as a December sky before a snowfall, were now dark, still on her.
        "And if you would let them hold you
        Oh, how grateful I would be."
        She swallowed and found she couldn't breathe at all well. He
stood and took a few halting steps toward her, and slowly opened his
arms, reaching out tentatively to her.
        She rushed into them, pressing her arms into his chest. He
clasped his hands just above the small of her back.  They fit perfectly
there, as if the position had been created with them in mind.
        "I don't dance as well as MacLeod."  He murmured into her hair.
        "Who wants you to?" She snapped back, rubbing her cheek against
his shirt like a cat.  Her head fit perfectly.  This is was what I was
waiting for.  He's the one I was born for.  After 800 years . . .
        "These arms of mine, they are burning
        Burning from wanting you."
        Her hands were under his jacket, stroking up to his shoulder
blades.  Her blue eyes burned into his, just as he had imagined, only
this was real.
        "These arms of mine, they are wanting
        Wanting to hold you.
        And if you would let them hold you
        Oh, how grateful I would be."
        Joe's hands released each other to take hold of Sally's hips and
pull her roughly to him.  "Sally."  He told her huskily, "If you want
out, you say so now, because I couldn't stand giving you up later.
        "I'm not going anywhere."
        He groaned and buried his face in her shoulder just beneath her
jaw.  "I was afraid you were going to say that."
        She smiled enigmatically, then put one hand of each side of his
head and guided it up to hers.  Joe needed no more urging.  He tilted
his head to the right, and so did she.  His lips were warm and
grateful on hers, and his beard didn't scratch her face.
        She tasted of summertime, and smoothed the grey and black beard
with her hands, burying them in its softness, threading them in the
silver and black brush that skimmed his collar.
        They kissed slowly, languidly.  Hands explored and territories
were eagerly mapped.  He pulled away suddenly.
        "Ow!"
        "What?" She asked, a little breathlessly.
        "You stabbed me."
        "I most certainly did not!"
        "Then your sweater bit me!"
        "Oh."  She laughed and a few quick movements of her hands
produced an object.
        "Oh, so that's where you keep your throwing knives."
        "That's one of the places I keep one of my knives." She
corrected.
        "How many do you have?"
        "That is something you'll have to discover for yourself."
        "With pleasure."
        She giggled while outside, someone Watched and was not pleased.

        Across town, Duncan MacLeod was being beaten. Badly.  He stared
into the ice-blue eyes of his opponent, looking for mercy, and found
none, just the smug satisfaction of victory.
        "Yield."  The cool voice of his opponent commanded him.
        His position hopeless, his options at zero, Duncan sighed, bowed
his head and accepted the inevitable.  "I concede."
        Dana Scully grinned widely.  "Too bad.  I was looking forward to
saying, `Checkmate'.  Oops! I guess I just did, didn't I?"  She
stretched and folded her arms behind her, fingers interlacing at the
nape of the neck.
        "You are a cruel woman, Dana Scully."  He leaned over the
chessboard to kiss her, only to have her turn her head away, refusing
his lips.
        "Nope.  I won.  I pick my reward."
        "I was trying to give it to you."  He stole a kiss before she
could dodge, and she smiled.
        "That was if you won."  She pointed out.  "I have my own
demands."
        "Och.  Ye ha' vanquished me. Me life belongs to ye to do as ye
weel.  Command me, ye fire-headed wench."  He replied in broad Scots.
        She laughed aloud, as he knew she would, then sobered.  "I want
one thing, and one thing only."
        Uh, oh.  He thought, but then said, "Alright."
        "Who is Nathaniel Gryphon?"
        Duncan paled, but kept his voice steady as he picked up the
chessmen and replaced them in their positions.  "What have you heard?"
        His even tones frightened her more than if he had screamed at
her.  She helped him reset the pieces, handling the delicate ivory
pawns with care.  "I found a note under the door the other day."
        "Addressed to me?" He asked sharply, righting a fallen black
knight.
        "No.  Addressed to me.  He's an Immortal, isn't he?"  Her small
fingers gently assisted a Bishop to the square.
        "Yes.  A protege of Kalas."
        "Who was?"
        Duncan turned the black king over in his palm before setting it
down gently.  "An old. . .acquaintance."
        "You killed him?"
        "Yes."
        "And now, Gryphon is coming for your head.  To avenge his
teacher's death."
        "I think so."
        "Is he good?"
        "It's possible.  If he was trained by Kalas, he's probably very
good."
        "Why didn't you tell me?"  She asked him, her words completely
without reproach.
        He stared down at the board, and thought about this woman.  A
lone queen stood in the center of the board, proudly solitary.  He
picked her up, and returned her to the safekeeping of her army.
        Dana shook her head.  "You can't protect me forever, Duncan."
        "I can try."  He smiled crookedly at her and received a ghost of
a smile in response.  "Things haven't been so good between us lately.
I didn't want you to have to worry about this too."
        For an instant, Scully had a flashback to her former partner.
How many ways had he said, `It's better if I do this alone.  I don't
want to worry you.'?  They were different words every time, but the
message remained the same.  Well, if it hadn't worked then, and it
wouldn't work now.
        "No more, Duncan.  You tell me.  Don't ditch me again.  I'm not
some simpering little female twit.  I can take care of myself."  This
last was said with a little more heat than was strictly necessary.
        "C'mere."  She didn't resist when he drew her into his lap.  "I
know you can take care of yourself, Dana.  I just like taking care of
you."
        She relaxed against his chest, and he held her like that for a
long time.

        Joe was whistling when he got to the club the next morning.  He
had taken Sally home the previous night, and returned to his own bed to
dream of her.  He blew a few more notes between his lips, trying to
place the tune.  Ah, yes.  "Someone to Watch Over Me."  He grinned and
turned his attention to the inventory and his morning coffee.
        "Long time, no see, Joe."
        He looked up, startled to see the other Watcher.  "Yeah, Paul.
It's been awhile."  Joe responded warily.  "I guess it's been long
enough for you to forget how to knock."
        Paul smiled thinly.  "Long enough for you to forget your oath."
        Joe refilled his mug and pointedly omitted offering Dover any.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
        The younger man shrugged rather narrow shoulders and regarded Joe
through watery grey eyes.  "You're not a stupid man, Dawson.  Don't
pretend to be.  I'm talking about Elizabeth Bradstreet."
        Joe met his eyes unflinchingly.  "I never discuss a lady behind
her back."
        Dover snorted.  "We all discuss them behind their backs."
        "Then you're a pig."
        "And you're a fool!" Dover barked.  "She's an Immortal, Dawson!
She's my Immortal, and you are interfering."
        "How?"
        Those boiled-onion eyes were wide in disbelief as Joe pressed,
"How am I interfering?  She knows about us already.  Ian married her
for Heaven's Sake!  She's not asking for information, or anything else.
 She just wants me."
        "You can't be serious!  Don't you realize what she's doing?"
Disgust dripped from his words like acid.  "She's using you.  She'll
use you and then drop you.  You don't think she's attracted to you,
Dawson!  Why should she be?"
End Part 4

Note: None of the songs mentioned in this section belong to Bonnie.  I
know.  Duh!

First Time for Everything 5/14
Bonnie Drew with Sally Bradstreet

Disclaimer in Part 1

        Dawson's face was expressionless as the rest of him reeled from
the verbal blow.  He was right.  Dover was right.  Sally was beautiful,
sexy, brilliant.  What possible claim could he have on her?  He was a
middle-aged amputee with a paunch and an obsession.  Why would she want
him?
        Now, it was Dover's turn to press.  He stepped closer to Dawson,
whispering, insinuating in his ear.  He'd had huevos rancheros for
breakfast.  "You break it off now, and I won't tell anyone .  No one
will be the wiser.  You just need a break.  You've lost your
objectivity.  I'm only telling you this to help you, because we've been
friends for so long."
        "I hadn't realized we were so close."  Joe's dry voice slapped
him across the face.  "You're a real pal."
        "For Ian's sake, Joe.  Don't do this."
        Joe flinched at the mention of his mentor's name.  "Low, Paul.
That's really low.  Ian would have been the first to congratulate me,
and you know it."
        Paul tried one last tack.  "This friendship with MacLeod has
skewed your perspective, old friend."
        "I think it's your perspective that's skewed, Paul.  What are you
doing here?  Trying to blackmail me?  How long have you been Sally's
Watcher?"
        "16 years.  Since Ian was killed."
        "And you still don't know her, do you Paul?"
        The other Watcher bristled.  "I know her better than any man
alive."
        Joe shook his shaggy grey head.  "I don't think so.  In sixteen
years, have you ever seen her do anything dishonest?"
        "What do you mean?"
        "Has she ever taken an unfair advantage of an opponent?  Taken
money from someone?  Failed to meet a challenge or help a friend?"
        Paul hissed out, "She took Edward Pedant's head after you gave
her information!"
        "No.  Pedant had a gang of thugs shoot her first and tried to
take her head.  Just like Xavier St. Cloud.  She outsmarted him and he
came to her."
        "She took his head!"
        "She tried to spare him!  He had pinned murders on the kids she
was caring for.  She was wiling to let the police handle it, but he
came after her. It was self-defense.  I was there!"
        "So was I!" Dover snarled.
        "Then you know she is a decent woman.  A good person.  I'm not
the one who needs a break here, Dover.  You are.  You don't interfere,
and that includes her love-life."  Joe took a deep breath. "She's an
amazing woman."  He continued quietly, "I don't know why she wants to
be with me, but she does, and I thank my lucky stars for that.  I'm
going to do my damnedest to make her happy.  But you?  You, I don't
want to see again."
        "Dawson, I'll ruin you."
        "Hullo."  An English voice sang out.  She ducked in from the
sunlight, her hair gleaming with blue fire.  "Spare a poor girl a cuppa
tea, Gov'ner?"
        He grinned and poured her out a cup, which she saluted him with
and began to sip.  Dover drew up his collar over his ears and headed
for the door.
        "Oh, don't go, Mister Dover."  Sally called after him.  He froze.
 "I believe you were about to finish an attempted blackmail.  I haven't
seen a good blackmail in decades."
        She perched on the bar stool, legs crossed demurely a the ankle
beneath her long, colorfully-patterned skirt.
        Dover swallowed.  "I know you?"
        Sally laughed as if she were at a garden party.  "That's pretty
good.  But you need to hit the `know' harder."  She took another
swallow of her tea and eyed him sympathetically.  "Like this."  She set
the cup on the bar and her normally-innocent features set into a mask
of indifference.  "I know you?"  She repeated, all traces of her
English accent gone.
        He choked and Joe smiled under his beard.
        Then, Sally braced her elbows on the countertop and leaned back.
"How is Melissa?  And Bret?  He must be, oh, fourteen about now.
Right?  He must be quite the terror on the baseball field."
        Dover did not react well to this polite questioning.  "How do you
know about my son?"
        "I've known about your son for years. I've known about you, too."
 Her blue eyes were flinty.  "Cut the crap, won't you Dover?  You've
been my Watcher since Ian's death."  She raised her hand to forestall
his next words.  "Don't trouble yourself to deny it.  I've been
watching your progress as well.  You have improved.  But you must work
on your tailing technique.  It's ridiculously easy to spot you."
        "How did-How did you know?"  He spluttered out.
        Sally's tone was clipped.  "How old am I?"
        "Over 800."  He answered against his will.
        "And how many campaigns, wars, battles, etc. have I fought in?"
        "Hundreds."  He whispered.
        Her voice lowered.  "And you think I can't recognize a clumsy
tail?  If Ian were here, he'd have you drummed out so quickly, it would
make your head spin."  She sat back again to sip her tea, her eyes
utterly unconcerned as she sized him up.  "Now get out. And don't
presume to tell someone else their business again."
        He tucked tail and fled.
        "Oh, Paul?" She called sweetly and fished in her purse.  "I have
something for you.  I almost forgot."  She held out something to him.
"Try not to be so careless with your American Express card."  She
cautioned him piously.  "You never know if some unscrupulous person is
going to use it for evil purposes."  He snatched the card and fairly
ran out the door.
        Joe looked her over appreciatively as she chuckled.  "That was
deftly done.  How long have you been listening?"
        "Long enough to recognize a weasel when I hear one."  She
shuddered.  "Ugh!  What a repellent little man."
        "How much did you ring up on his card?"
        Her answering grin was pure evil.  "Just enough for a pizza party
for his son's baseball team."
        "I admire deviousness in a woman."
        "Oh, good.  Because it happens to be my defining characteristic."
 The two exchanged a rather telling glance.
        "You know," he began, elaborately nonchalant.  "I have this
incredible desire to kiss you."
        "How shocking!  Whatever are you going to do about it?"
        He demonstrated, and after an interval, she pulled away.  "I came
by," she gasped out, "Now stop that!"  He didn't.  "To invite you to
come to the first rehearsal for _Pirates_.  I'm supposed to be looking
over my new cast.  Joe!"  She squealed.  "Are you even paying
attention?"
        "I'm busy."  He murmured.
        "Yes, I know.  Can you come?"  She removed herself from his
grasping hands and held his shoulders at arm's length.
        "When?"
        "Around one.  Duncan's college."
        "I'll be there."  He stole another quick kiss and she had to
sprint for the door to evade him.
        He laughed, and resumed his whistling and his work.

        They stole into the theater, padding barely within its walls and
filing along the back row.  Sally breathed in deeply.  Ah, the smell of
theater.  Greasepaint mingled with ambition.  Bodies pressed against
pretensions.  Talent and cunning stirred together.  She stretched her
hands out in front of her, humping her back like a cat.  "My natural
habitat."  she purred.
        "Shh!" Someone cautioned.
        A tiny frown appeared between her eyebrows as she squinted
through the dim light to identify the speaker.
        "Geez!"  Tiki whispered from beside her.  "Is there one of those
in every theater?"
        "Yes."  Sally whispered back, bemused. "They're standard issue."
        Tiki's eyes laughed in the dark.
        "Shh!"  The voice came again, more insistent this time.
        "I suggest you have that patched."  Tiki offered helpfully, in
her normal voice.  "It could be dangerous if it blows."
        One of the people on the stage turned, flipping a length of hair
over her shoulder.  "Do you mind?  We're trying to rehearse here!"
        "Not at all."  Richie called from Dana's left and Tiki's right.
Duncan glared at him over the top of Dana's head, but the younger man
shrugged.
        "Sally."  Tiki asked after a moment, again lowering her voice.
"Isn't this supposed to be _Pirates of Penzance_?"
        "Yes."
        "So.  Where are the Pirates?"
        "And the costumes?" Dana asked.  "And the stage?" She jerked her
chin toward the black-draped stage.
        Sally chewed thoughtfully on her lip.  "`Well, this is just a
rehearsal.  Maybe the black blocks are just for props."
        They watched for a little while longer.  Duncan began to frown.
"Sally?"
        "Hmm?"
        "Why is the Pirate King all in black?"
        "Costuming, I suppose.  Making some sort of statement."  She
sounded uncertain.
        "Then why is Mabel all in black?"
        "Rehearsal clothes?"
        "Get serious."  Richie scoffed.  "Who'd want to rehearse in
that?"  He had a point.  The actress playing Mabel wore an authentic
Victorian gown.  It covered everything from neck to ankles.  It was
also, Sally realized, a mourning gown.
        They listened for a few more minutes.
        "Sally?"
        "What is it, Tiki?"
        "I, uh," The younger woman began timidly, "I always understood
that `Modern Major General' was supposed to be fast."
        "It is." Sally sighed.
        "This sounds more like a ballad."  Tiki cocked her head,
considering. "Maybe like something Barry Manilow would sing."
        The rehearsal stretched on for another half hour, ending with a
listless rendition of the `Poor Wandering One' reprise.
        Before the lights came up, Sally was inhaling and exhaling in
slow, deep breaths. Duncan and Dana exchanged glances.  Richie looked
at his feet.
        "Well."  Sally exclaimed.
        "It's very . . ." Dana tried to come up with an adjective, failed
and looked entreatingly at Duncan.
        "Well-lighted."  Duncan supplied.
        "Nice stage." Was Richie's contribution.
        There was silence before Tiki summed up their thoughts in two
descriptive words.
        "This sucks."
        "Yes.  Yes, it does."  Agreed Sally.  She shook her head sadly.
"This is not at all what they had in mind."
        "Who?"
        "Gilbert and Sullivan."
        As if pulled by a single, invisible thread, four heads swivelled
left to stare at her.  She met the stares evenly.  "What?  Were you
there?  I'll have you know I was in the running to play the original
Mabel."
        Tiki's interest perked.  "Really?  What happened?  You couldn't
get your voice high enough?"  She jerked her head toward the stage, as
the sopranos began a few cool-down exercises.
        "No.  I couldn't get my skirts high enough."
        Richie's eyes popped.  "You mean the Victorians-"
        "Were an odd lot, Richard.  There were three brothels for every
church.  Which was fine for the women, who considered sex to be a duty,
like peeling potatoes in the army."  Sally shook her head again.
"Remarkable people, those Victorians.  It's amazing to me that they
propagated themselves as a species."
        Richie choked.
        "All right."  The anonymous voice was now identified as the
lights came up.  "I asked you twice to keep it down, and now I'll have
to ask you leave."
        Sally stood, five foot seven inches of black-haired, blue-eyed
she-wolf.  "No, you won't."  She told him clearly.  "My name is Judith
Woolf.  These are my friends.  I just came in to see what you were
doing with my play."
        The man peered at her through rimless glasses.
        The White Rabbit, Dana thought.
        "You're Judith Woolf?" The man twitched, and the normal rehearsal
hubbub behind him was stilled.  "I thought, from your reputation, that
you'd be much older."
        "Than what?"  she snapped back, "The Pyramids?"
        Duncan snorted, and Dana administered a quick kick to the ankle.
        Sally ignored them. "And who, may I ask, are you?"
        The White Rabbit drew himself up to his full height, around 5'6".
 "I'm the assistant director.  I'm just filling in until you arrived,
Miss Woolf."
        Sally smiled warmly.  "Well, I appreciate that.  What is your
name?"
        "Joshua.  Joshua Hoyle."
        "Excellent, Joshua Hoyle.  I congratulate you in keeping the cast
together and rehearsing."  The smile widened to include the rest of the
cast.  "My congratulations to you all, for your devotion to the play.
It's not at all easy to continue without a director.  Excuse me,
Richie, Duncan."  She squeezed past them and made her way to the stage,
arms swinging in an almost military fashion.  The image was only
intensified when she clasped her hands behind her back at the wrist.
"Tell me, Joshua Hoyle, were you always the assistant director?"
        "No, Miss Woolf.  I was the Stage Manager."
        "I see.  And Professor Bentley's untimely accident promoted you."
        "Yes, Miss Woolf."  The boy replied miserably.
        "And this," she indicated the stage with a sweep of her hand.
"Is Dr. Bentley's blocking, I take it?"
        "Yes."  The cast nodded and answered in a ripple of affirmation.
        Sally nodded and studied the stage for a few seconds.  "I have
one question."
        "Yes?" Hoyle gulped.
        "If Bentley did this to this play, are you sure his broken legs
were accidental?"  Her sapphire eyes twinkled at the stage, and Hoyle,
who grinned.  The rest of the performers giggled.
        "Pretty sure."  Hoyle replied.
        "Well."  She clucked her tongue.  "I see we have an excellent
cast, which is at the heart of any good production.  Mr. Hoyle, would
you mind terribly resuming your position as Stage Manager?"
        "And not direct?"
        "Not at all." She promised.  "Too many directors are like too
many cooks. In the end, there can be only one.  Isn't that so, Duncan?"
        MacLeod gave her a look that was half-grimace, half-grin.
        "Thanks, Miss Woolf."  said a relieved Hoyle.
        Sally laid a hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed.  "My
pleasure."  To the cast, she announced, "My name, as I said, is Judith
Woolf.  However, because of a very long, highly improbable story, I go
by the name of Sally.  You are all welcome to call me that.  I daresay
you'll think of other phrases for me as well before we're through."
The cast chuckled appreciatively.  "Now, this show needs a lot of work.
 Gilbert and Sullivan's _Pirates_ is terribly difficult, and it's also,
in my humble opinion," She inclined her head slightly, "the best
musical theater that exists.  I think it's possible to show an audience
this, but I will require a complete commitment from all of you.  It's
going to be rough going.  Bow out now if you don't think you can manage
it."
        She paused, eyes searching the crowd, which stood rock-still.
        Her face broke into a pleased smile.  "Ah, wonderful!  We shall
be friends.  Right."  She stalked onto the stage and began to peer
around her.  "Well, first thing is to cut that damned Mabel/Frederick
song down to something shorter than the last recorded Ice Age, and then
we'll see about some costumes . . ."
        She began to move people around, poking here, prodding there.
Her small following watched with fascination as she gently restructured
an entire scene before their eyes.  After about 45 minutes of cajoling,
praising, urging and scolding, she was ready to run a scene.
        "Now, " she was saying, "this is one of my favorite numbers in
the play. Where's Mabel?'
        "Here."  The lead said sulkily.
        Sally arched an eyebrow but said nothing.  "Ah, good.  Joshua
Hoyle, do you think you could find me a parasol?"
        "Right away, Sally."
        Her attention shifted back to the Daughters of the Major General.
 "Now," she explained to them. "This is Mabel.  She's your sister.
She's the youngest.  The prettiest.  Papa's darling.  How do you feel
about her?"
        Someone in the back mewed.  Sally laughed.  "Precisely.  I want
to hear it and see it when you say her name.  Here is this handsome
man," She pointed to Freddie, "Who has insulted you, and you are
promptly given a lecture on the duties of pious women.  Ladies," She
leaned forward conspiratorially.  "I want to see some cattiness.  I'm
sure you can manage it.  I'm in theater too."  Her eyebrows arched
expressively.  They giggled. "Ah. Thank you, Joshua."  She took the
parasol and turned to her female lead.  "Mabel, I want you up on those
blocks.  You'll walk down, and I want you to use this parasol in `Poor
Wandering One.'"
        "How?" the girl pouted.
        "As a flirtation device."  Sally quipped.  "Be coy. Be artful."
        "I'm not sure I know you to do it to your satisfaction." `Mabel'
sniffed.  "After all, my duet with Freddie is going to be cut."
        Sally bit her tongue.  "Well," she replied amiably.  "Why don't
you show me, and I'll direct you from there.  And if you don't like my
style, you are welcome to walk."
        `Mabel', a petite blonde, replied, "Don't make me laugh!  Where
are you going to find someone else to sing this role in the time you
have?" She crossed her arms over her chest, looking smug.
        Sally's eyes narrowed, then she smiled her warm smile at the
girl.  "Tell you what."  She offered, "I'll show you what I have in
mind.  If you don't think you can manage it, we'll shake hands and part
like gentlemen.  Agreed?"
        `Mabel' nodded once.
        Sally strolled over to the boxes and stood on one of them.
"Maestro, from the line before Mabel's entrance on the beach."
        The piano-player, a middle-aged woman who was watching this
exchange with interest, obliged.  Duncan leaned over to whisper in
Dana's ear, "Watch this."
        "It's May-bel."  The bevy of daughters sang, sounding for all the
world like a fence full of alley cats.
        Sally simpered up to the young man who played Freddie, and began
to deliver "Shame" notes.  Then she began to sing in earnest.
        "Poor Wand'ring One.
        Though thou hast surely strayed.
        Take heart of grace
        Thy steps retrace.
        Poor wand'ring one."
        She twirled the parasol prettily, always keeping the screen
between herself and the boy, `Freddie', seeing her game, began to dodge
around to sneak a peek.  Occasionally, she would dart a missish glance
at him from beneath lowered lashes.
        The rest of the cast seemed to swallow as Sally effortlessly hit
those ear-bleeding high notes.
        "Take any heart.  Take mine." Sally urged Freddie, who managed to
duck beneath the parasol, but Sally turned a cheek and a modest hand to
him.  This elaborate dance continued as Freddie frantically tried to
breach the all-too-innocent defenses of Mabel.
        Sally caught sight of Joe standing a the top of the right aisle.
She tossed him their smile, which he caught and returned, and began to
walk towards the stage.
        "Take heart, take any heart." implored the Maidens.
        Sally, no longer concerned with Mabel's role, inched toward the
stage apron, where Joe watched with amused grey eyes.
        "Take heart, take any heart," She sang to him, scootching over to
him on her knees.  "Take heart, take any he-art.  Take any heart-" She
paused and batted her eyelashes at him coyly.
        "Take mine!"  She jumped off the stage, into his arms and kissed
him soundly.  The cast applauded raucously, and in the back of the
theater, Tiki and Richie both whistled their approval.
        Joe was chuckling as he sat her down carefully on her feet.
"Good.  `Cause you've got mine already."  He rumbled into her ear.  She
kissed him again lightly, then, unruffled, addressed herself to her
cast.
        "Well Mabel, what do you think?" Sally's eyes were innocent.
"Was that satisfactory?"
        Mabel got the hint.  "Yes, Sally."  Her director winked at her,
and Mabel gave a tentative smile.  "Now for the stage.  Oh, Duncan,
Richie?"  She called in honeyed tones.  "Could I possibly persuade you
to work crew?  Duncan, after all, it was your idea to get me out here.
And Richie still owes me for his lessons."
        Richie gulped, remembering the skills Sally taught him. He looked
to MacLeod for support, found none, and reluctantly agreed.
        "Good."  She continued crisply.  "Well, you can report to Joshua
for instructions.  Unable to resist, she sang in her best Pirate King
voice, "I `sally' forth. . ."
        There was a collective groan.
        Sally grumbled, "Pharisees."  But she continued her work.
        Joe had to get back to the bar, and Richie and Tiki pleaded
"urgent business" elsewhere.  Cynically, Sally could imagine what that
"urgent business" might entail.
        Dana and Duncan, however, stayed, and were oddly quiet as Sally
gave her cast a list of notes, scribbled impressions and thoughts for
the improvement of the show.  When the last of the exhausted cast
members was allowed to leave with expressions of gratitude, which Sally
demurred, or anxiety, which she soothed, Duncan and Dana approached the
stage.
        Sally blew her hair out of her face and slumped.  "Good Lord!
What a nightmare!  Still,"  Her normally cheerful personality
reasserted itself, "They are a great group of kids.  Things may work
out, after all.  They sometimes do."  Sally smiled to herself and Dana
shook her head at the idea that Tiki's well-intentioned scheme had
succeeded.  She made a mental note to make an `I Love Lucy" comment
later.
        Sally roused herself.  "Well, my darlings.  What can I do for
you?" She reached around the back of her neck to massage the muscles.
She winced, but managed to keep her smile intact for the time-being.
        "Have you heard of an Immortal named Gryphon?"  Duncan asked
without preamble.
        Sally stopped kneading her flesh.  "Nathaniel Gryphon?"
        "Yes."
        There was a beat.  "Yes."  Sally replied in a
carefully-controlled voice.  "What do you want to know?"
        "Is he any good?" Blurted out Dana.
        Sally sucked in her breath and made an effort to blow it out more
calmly.  "Good enough.  He was a prot‚g‚ of Kalas."
        "Yes, we know."  Duncan said.
        "And of mine."  Sally began to twist the folds of her skirt.
        Duncan and Dana looked at each other.  "No.  No, I didn't know
that."
        They waited, thinking she would tell them in her own time.  She
gathered her thoughts around her like a cloak and began. "It didn't
last very long.  He came to me before he found Kalas.  I gave him a
week."  She shuddered.  "He had the morals of a centipede.  After I
told him politely to go away, he wouldn't.  Came after me with a
sword."  Her eyes narrowed with remembered anger.  "After that, I told
him not-so-politely to go away. Left him something to remember me by."
        "And that was?" Duncan prodded.
        "A scar."  She drew her index finger across her throat.
        "I thought we didn't scar."  Dana frowned.
        "Around the neck tends to be the exception." Duncan explained.
"He took the hint that time?"
        "Yes.  He left, and found Kalas.  Like calls to like, I suppose."
Sally fingered her own flawless throat absently.  "If I had my wish,
they all would be branded like that.  A mark of Cain."
        "You're serious." Duncan realized.
        "Deadly serious."  Sally took a deep breath.  "If Gryphon is
after you, Duncan, he's quite good.  No match for you with a sword, but
a devious little bugger. Watch yourself."
        "I will." He promised, more for Dana's pale face than for his own
sake.
        "Good."  She nodded and left the two of them to deal with the new
information themselves.  Sally went home to change her clothes.  She
had plans that evening.
End Part 5