Time To Spare is a sequel to When Day Breaks, a story I posted around 
late March of last year.  If this story is to make any sense, it's 
pretty essential reading.  You can get WDB from either the ftp site, 
the web site, or from me.  It's long (11 parts), so keep that in mind.  
Thanks.

Oh, and these stories start at about mid-third-season for Forever 
Knight and after One Minute to Midnight in Highlander and run off on 
their own.  So specifically the actions of Last Knight, Human Factor, 
and The Messenger never happened. 

Time To Spare (1/15)
a sequel to When Day Breaks
by Catherine Boone
catheboo@cco.caltech.edu


Natalie shuddered as the Quickening left her and she sank to the 
ground, laying her head wearily against the gravelly cement.  She 
managed to avoid most of the broken beer bottles, and sighed as her 
cheek soaked up the chill of the pavement beneath her.  This wasn't 
supposed to happen.  They weren't supposed to find her now, not here.  
This was her time off, her vacation.  She was going home, you see.  
Immortals were just not supposed to find you when you were trying to 
go home.  There really ought to be a law.

She cracked open an eyelid, noting that her adversary's body had 
disappeared.  Handy, that.  Nick would be jealous.  She smiled faintly 
at the thought, as she pulled herself up off the ground of the grungy 
little backlot that that idiot had insisted on fighting in.  One of 
these days, she should really find a nice, backwater godawful hole in 
the earth that *didn't* have an immortal lurking in it, and build a 
retirement home there.  She snorted.  Yeah right, retire for the next 
century, but then what do you do after that?  

Her eyes forlornly traveled to the gravel road ahead of her, and the 
small town behind her, where she'd just stopped to eat a burger before 
she made the last leg of her journey to Toronto.  One would think that 
staying off the main highways and taking the path less traveled by 
would at least afford her some security against meeting more of her 
kind.  She stretched thoughtfully and trudged her way back to the 
car.  Apparently she was in error; once you become one, you just can't 
seem to get away from them, even if you want to.

She stretched again before she opened the door to her rental, and 
yawned hugely.  *Damn, I knew this was going to happen.*  Two minutes 
after a Quickening, and she was ready to curl up and go to sleep right 
there in her carseat.  But she pinched herself and blinked rapidly 
instead, knowing she didn't have time to sleep it off, she had to get 
out of here before anyone started missing their friend.  Not knowing 
how long that would be, she'd better make tracks while she could.  She 
sighed and rubbed her eyes.  She'd tried to get him to wait till at 
least morning, so she could have a good night's sleep under her 
belt... if only he hadn't been in such a stupid rush to kill, kill, 
kill.  After another jaw-cracking yawn, she started the car, and 
prayed the next town would at least be big enough to have a 
Seven-Eleven.

As she pulled off the last of the pavement for a while (figures, the 
towns have just enough cement to cover their own roads, but once you 
leave you're on your own), her thoughts turned to Toronto.  As for what 
she would do once she got there... well, she'd been pointedly trying 
*not* to think about that for quite some time now, thank you very much.  
But, as usual, she did anyway.  It had been twenty years since she'd 
left, and she still wasn't sure if she wanted to see him.  Never mind 
that, she wasn't sure he would want to see *her* anymore.  They hadn't 
parted under the most flowery of circumstances.  But here she was, 
battling the most annoyingly washboard gravel road you could possibly 
imagine, gritting her teeth against the jarring motion and mentally 
double-checking on the spare tire in the trunk. Never mind the fact 
that she was racing to get to Toronto before the first snowfall... 
traveling down an icy, no-traffic road was very chancy if something 
happened, to say the least.  So definitely *some* part of her must 
want to see him, or else she was far too bored.  Well, if nothing else, 
this little adventure was definitely going to liven up her life for a 
while... for good or for bad.

In a practiced mental maneuver to get her brain to think of something 
other than what she didn't want to think about, Natalie tried to wonder 
why Nick was still in Toronto in the first place.  She knew all the 
logical arguments against staying in one place too long; Adam had 
thrown them at her countless times over the years, especially in the 
beginning, when the temptation to go back had still been strong.  Her 
friends all thought she was dead, she couldn't have made herself look 
twenty years older for long, and it's better to cut the ties clean, 
instead of making it harder for them, and for you.  Most of those 
arguments went double for Nick.  Why hadn't he moved on?  What had he 
found to tie him there so thoroughly that he would risk the exposure? 

She could only think of a few answers, all bad.  *You better not have 
picked yourself up another mortal, Nick.  One would think you'd have 
learned that lesson by now.*  She wasn't jealous, of course.  She 
didn't really have the heart to, anymore.  Twenty years was still a 
very long time, even for matters of the heart.  And then there was 
Adam.

Adam.  She sighed.  *Well, if I'm going to end up thinking about all 
the things I shouldn't be thinking about, might as well get them out 
on the table all at once...*  She didn't smile at the thought.  It had 
been fourteen years since she had last seen him, and it still hurt, 
even more than when she left Nick.  At least when she left then, it 
was her idea, and her anger did a lot to help the pain.

But with Adam, it hadn't been her idea.  Not even a little.

*I guess I shouldn't talk about making another mistake, huh, Nick?  Not 
when I went out and made quite a doozy of my own...*  God, how did she 
get on the subject of Adam?  The last thing she needed to think about 
was the one memory that actually hurt *more* than the memory of her 
leaving Toronto... no, she was not going to cry.  No, she'd been there, 
done that, got the tattoo, and it was gone within the week.  She didn't 
have the slightest reason to cry.  He most certainly wasn't crying over 
her.  She took some deep breaths and opened her eyes wide, hoping to 
dry them out a little.  Come on, Nat old girl, stiff upper lip and all 
that. 

She looked at her watch, and sighed.  Four more hours to Toronto.  That 
next town had better darn well have a caffeine outlet, or there'd be 
hell to pay.

Time To Spare (2/?)
by Catherine Boone
catheboo@cco.caltech.edu


Five hours and two liters of Mountain Dew later, Natalie found a 
hotel, got herself checked in and managed to sling her bag in the 
corner without too much of a whump.  She pulled her alarm clock out of 
a side pocket and plugged it in, setting it to her watch, and 
considered when she wanted to set the alarm for.  It was seven in the 
morning now, which meant she had about eleven hours to shut the blinds 
and let herself be dead to the world.  She smiled and put on the DO 
NOT DISTURB sign... *without* adding "under pain of beheading", much 
as the idea tempted her.  She thought about it, but she decided she 
did eventually want her room cleaned, and terrorizing the housekeeping 
wasn't the best way to do endear herself to them.  She was barely able 
to pull off her most confining clothes and flick on the alarm before 
she fell back on the pillow, fast asleep.  

She woke to the alarm in her ear, the clock radio bellowing out the 
fact that she'd overslept, and not just a little.  She sat up with a 
gasp.  6:50.  "Ohhh, no no *no* no *NO*!"  She leaped from the bed and 
into the shower, praising her foresight in at least having picked out 
the clothes she'd wear to the concert beforehand.  She'd only be about 
fifteen minutes late.  Only.  

*Come on, Natalie, Nick doesn't even know you're coming.  It's not 
like he'll be disappointed if you don't show up on time.*  But if she 
got there late, she might not be able to get a good seat.  She still 
hadn't been able to decide between sitting in the back so she could 
watch him a while and approach him in her own time, or to march up and 
sit right under his nose, just to see the look on his face.

As she battled the last of rush hour, she rechecked her directions on 
the back of the flier.  She turned it over, looking again at Nick's 
face, framed by information about the piano concert he was featured 
in.  She'd gotten the flier in the mail, even though she was two 
thousand miles away at the time, and she hadn't thought anyone knew 
where she was.  She decided Adam must have sent it, he was the only 
one who could have traced her steps.  She'd always thought it was kind 
of spooky how easily he could predict her.  

The whole thing seemed very strange, though.  If it was Adam, he'd 
surely be the last person encouraging her to reappear in Toronto so 
soon after she'd left.  It was totally impossible to know what he was 
thinking, of course... but she still trusted his judgement, even when 
she probably shouldn't, so she didn't try to analyze his actions.  She 
simply took the surface advice and made her way to Toronto without 
question.  He was right, after all.  It was time. 

The sun reflected blindingly through the rear view mirror for a moment 
as she made a turn, and she couldn't help but wonder why the concert 
started so early.  She couldn't imagine that Nick would voluntarily 
agree to perform before dusk, and this was several hours before.  At 
least it was in a downtown locale, he could take the sewers without 
having to expose his vampire skin to the sunlight... but it still 
begged the question: why go through all the trouble?  She always knew 
Nick could be a beautiful pianist if he wanted to, but he always seemed 
to brush off his talents, and never took advantage of them.  Why the 
sudden change of heart?

Twenty years, Natalie.  Who says the change was sudden?  It might just 
be a change of pace, and don't think you haven't made a few changes 
of your own in the same time.  Besides, with luck, you'll find out for 
yourself soon enough.

Well, it seemed at least the seating decision had been made for her.  
She grimaced, wandering aimlessly through the parking lot of the small 
auditorium, searching for a space.  She'd be lucky if she could find 
some standing room at the door.  But she did, gambling by slipping 
through a side door, and she found, to her surprise, that she actually 
didn't have that bad a view.

But all that had moved to the back of her mind once she laid eyes on 
him.  He'd already started playing, she checked her program to see it 
was his third song out of five.  With a practiced eye, Natalie examined 
Nick from afar.  Part of her mind was surprised, and saddened, that he 
didn't look as she remembered him.  She shook herself and looked 
harder... he seemed all right, a little tired.  His head was bent 
slightly in concentration, and he looked exactly as he did those few 
times he played for her in the loft, in a happier time.  That pose, 
just so, she remembered as easily as her own name.

And the music!  The notes seemed to come alive as they poured from his 
fingers, thundering fury one moment, soft, almost hesitant the next.  
Dancing, playful tunes melted away as the song fell seamlessly into 
seriousness, then a dirge pounded out its anger and despair.  A 
pause... the playful melody quietly returned, to be swiftly drowned out 
by the furious harmony.  The melody returned though, and this time 
would not be drowned out, but somehow added to the low harmony, 
changing its focus, drawing out the strength and the power while 
leaving behind the despair, creating a tower of strength that carried 
the listener through the song and seemed to linger still, even after 
the last note fell.

Natalie found her eyes brimming with tears as she watched him, and knew 
now why he was always so reluctant to perform: ironically enough, it 
was because he was so good at it.  A true performer didn't just play 
the music, he *felt* it, and in performing managed to convey some of 
that feeling to his audience, to give them some small understanding of 
what the music said to him.  In some, they conveyed this through their 
gestures as they played, their posture and the way they caressed the 
keys.  With Nick, it was in his expression.  Natalie could see his face 
clearly from where she was, and she saw all the rage, sadness, teasing 
and joy, every emotion the music brought out in him clearly reflected 
on his face, for all to see.  And the acceptance she saw in the closing 
notes, well, that was the reason she was doing her wide eye-opening and 
deep breathing routine again to banish the tears from her eyes.  *Twice 
in one day.  I do need more sleep.*  Funny how this time she didn't 
seem to mind.

Nick rose and bowed while the audience clapped politely.  She was ready 
to glare at them in annoyance at their lack of response, until she saw 
that she couldn't see a single dry eye.  Smiling thoughtfully, she 
turned and did some polite clapping of her own, just a little louder 
than those around her.  She was far enough out of the his line of sight 
that there was no way he could see her, anyway.

It wasn't till he had settled in for his next song that she saw the 
open window across from her.  In the time since she'd come in, the 
setting sun was casting a beam of sunlight on the stage.  It had 
already come dangerously close without her noticing, and from the way 
the sun was angling down, it would only be getting closer as time went 
on.  Even now, it was three quarters of the way up the piano.  Natalie 
didn't know how to get across to close the blinds... hadn't he told 
them about his skin condition?  Or was this the curse of another 
well-meaning bystander throwing open the blinds at the last minute?

Natalie cursed inwardly, but Nick had already started his song, it was 
too late for him to excuse himself now.  He was stuck there for a few 
more minutes.  Well, he only had two more songs left, how bad could it 
be?  And with the music calling to her so softly, she couldn't help but 
fall back under its spell for a little while longer.  She watched his 
mobile face, captured completely in the song, and couldn't help but 
wish he'd allowed himself this outlet to his feelings more often, 
instead of shutting them out, shutting everyone out.  But looking at 
his face now, not only allowing all those feelings to exist, but to 
share them with others... something had happened to this man.  
Something important.

She snapped out of her reverie to the sound of the polite clapping, 
this time a bit more forced, as if they knew too that their applause 
was sadly lacking, and were trying to compensate.  But the sunlight was 
getting dangerously close, and it was time for Nick to take his final 
bow.  She moved to get ready to leave and intercept him before he 
ducked through the nearest manhole, when her heart froze in her chest.  
She simply stared, too surprised for a moment to move as he sat back 
down in his chair and waited for the applause to die as his hands moved 
to begin the next piece!  And the very instant she regained her voice 
to call out to him, to warn him, something, *anything*... that was the 
moment that the applause died out and the first notes began.  

Natalie stared hard at the leading edge of sunlight and debated the 
improprieties of simply walking across the room to shut the blinds, or 
physically getting up on stage and dragging him to safety.  But to do 
either would bring attention to herself, and to him.  She wasn't sure 
if she recognized any of the faces in the audience, but she wasn't 
going to find out by making a spectacle of herself and just hope no one 
would recognize her.  If the positions were switched, she'd thoroughly 
despise someone who appeared alive before her, after certified dead 
years before.  No, that wasn't the answer.

And so she waited in the background, watched the light progress, and 
sweated.  The light slowly arched its way across the highest keys, the 
ones hardly ever used.  But it didn't stop there.  Natalie glanced at 
the program, but it didn't give approximate times for the pieces.  Not 
that it would have helped anyway, she was too nervous to have kept 
track of how long he'd been playing.  The first time his hand darted 
in the sunlight, she jerked as if she'd been slapped.  But then almost 
immediately he was back in the shade, safe.  

Natalie could only watch.  There was no excuse now, no matter how 
involved he was in the music, he had to see his danger now.  He had to 
leave immediately, before it really was too late to hide.  

But still he played.

And finally, the sunlight progressed enough to hit his fingers, and 
stayed there.  Natalie caught her lip and closed her eyes, her nails 
biting into the palms of her hands in sympathy for the searing pain he 
must feel, and she waited for gasps to turn into screams, murmurs into 
shouts as Nick's skin began to burn in the sunlight.

And still the music played.

She opened her eyes slowly to see... something she could not believe.  
His hand... his hand moved rapidly in the sunlight.  It cast a shadow 
along the polished black wood of the piano.  His hand was moving in the 
sunlight.

And nothing was happening.  Nothing at all.

A hand flew to her mouth, to remind her not to make a sound, not a 
sound, he was still playing, she could laugh and cry and let it all out 
later, but for now she couldn't make a sound... oh my god, oh my *god*, 
no be quiet...

Finally his last song, a quiet gentle piece, drifted to an end, and the 
audience, finally allowed to express themselves without the 
anticipation of another song, was as loud and enthusiastic as Natalie 
or anyone else could have possibly wished them to be.  Nick bowed 
again, but did not smile.  His eyes seemed to do that for him.  He left 
the stage, and everyone started to pick up their things and leave.  
They were all leaving, and they never even knew the miracle they had 
just seen.  A miracle she never thought she'd live to see.

And then they were all gone, and Nick came back out to gather his 
things, getting ready to leave himself, when he noticed the one person 
still there in the auditorium with him.  She had sunk into the nearest 
chair, but otherwise she hadn't moved.  Still frozen, with had one hand 
to her mouth, her eyes still wide with shock.  

"Natalie?"  She came out of it with a start, and her eyes locked with 
his.  That's right, she was supposed to be nervous about this moment, 
wasn't she?  She wasn't supposed to be sure what he would think about 
her coming back.  A laughable thought, for she had already flung 
herself into his open arms.

After a long moment, she pulled away to look at his face.  She couldn't 
hold back the tears that tracked her cheeks as she brushed her fingers 
across the lines that had deepened around his mouth, the crow's feet 
that had appeared beside his eyes, eyes that looked younger than she 
had ever seen them.  And his face was so warm, warmer than she had ever 
felt it... human. "Oh god, Nick, why didn't you tell me?" she 
whispered, as he quietly dried her tears.

He opened his mouth to respond, and just looked at her a moment, as if 
a hundred conflicting answers were fighting to the fore.  Then he 
glanced out the still-open window, and smiled.  "Come on.  The sun's 
going to set soon, and we don't want to miss the light."

He pulled her out the door, and together they sat on the grass and 
watched the sun fade behind the city skyline.  Or at least, that's what 
he watched.  She watched him, watched the sunlight fade slowly on his 
face.  But even when he was finally in full shade, with only the 
afterglow of the sunset to see him by, his eyes remained bright, 
defiantly so.  And no darkness could take that from him.  Never again.

Time To Spare (3/?)
by Catherine Boone
catheboo@cco.caltech.edu

The two continued to sit and watch the sky as it darkened to orange, 
purple, then finally black.  At last Nick rose and the two of them 
walked silently to her car.  She had a thousand questions, but from the 
apprehensive look on Nick's face, she could tell he wasn't ready to 
answer them.  She knew he'd tell her everything she wanted to know, but 
in his own time.  So she was silent.  She wondered idly when exactly it 
was that she'd gotten so good at reading a man whose thoughts used 
to constantly elude her...

"Why are you smiling?"  Nick's voice broke the silence, and she 
started, then suddenly laughed and rubbed her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I was miles away."

"Yes, you *were* miles away, but now you're not.  Now you're here."  He 
smiled in simple happiness, that turned just a little wistful at the 
end.  "I missed you."

Natalie glanced back at the many long years that had stretched between 
them, years that she had never thought would matter, nothing in the 
face of their immortality.  How could she have been so wrong?  "I 
missed you, too."

Their eyes caught, and... and more things were said right then and 
there than either was quite ready for. 

Nick blinked.  With determination.  "So!"  He even clapped his hands 
together for good measure to make sure the moment was well past.  
"Where are we going?"
 
*Moment?  What moment?  Well for once, Nick, I agree with you...*  She 
returned his bright smile just a bit late, but she managed.  "Beats me, 
Nick.  It's been twenty years, for me.  You're the one who lives here." 

His eyebrows lifted as he glanced at her.  "The city hasn't changed 
*that* much."

Hmm... Natalie tapped her finger on the armrest idly, trying to think 
of a suitable place to talk... inspiration struck on cue, and she 
snapped her fingers.  "Is Carl's still around?"

"Right where you left it."  Nick started the car, idly commenting 
further as he pulled out of the parking lot, "Though I heard they 
nearly went out of business when you disappeared... not to mention the 
nosedive of the Canadian ice cream market..."

Natalie glanced at him through slitted eyes.  "Nick, don't start..."

"They called you in as a missing person after three days..." His 
perfect mask of innocence was starting to crack at the edges.  Lord 
help her, those really were laugh lines on his face, every last one of 
them.

"All right.  For that, you're buying."  *Laugh* lines... she restrained 
herself from touching his face again, but she couldn't help staring.

He glanced away from his driving, seeing her eyes on him.  "Nat, just 
out of curiosity... why Carl's?"

That changed the subject perfectly, and Natalie's eyes gleamed.  
"Nicholas Knight, I've waited over a quarter-century for this..."  Her 
jaw was set, even though she was laughing.  "Tonight, I am going to sit 
down and *watch you eat* a hot fudge sundae."

He looked back at her with amusement, chuckling.  "That, I think I can 
do." 

****

As Nick ordered their ice cream, Natalie found a booth for them.  She 
waved him over when he had the goods, and they sat for a moment, spoon 
in hand, as if waiting for the other's permission.  Natalie grinned at 
their polite behavior, shook her head, "Well, it's not going to eat 
itself," and plunged in.  

"Natalie..."

"Nick, I..."

They both stopped short.  She took pity on him, "You go first."

"I was just wondering how long you were going to be in town."

"Well, that kind of depended on you."  He raised his eyebrows 
questioningly, and Natalie fidgeted, just a little.  "You see, I... 
wasn't sure what your situation... your reaction... would be, and I..." 
she sighed, and decided to try again.  "I wasn't sure you wanted to see 
me," she said simply.

Nick looked a little stunned.  He opened his mouth to say something, 
but suddenly shut it again and moved to her side of the booth instead, 
wrapping her in a fierce hug.  "I *missed* you," he whispered, "and I 
can't tell you how sorry I am about all the stupid things I said before 
you left..."

"Nick, they weren't stupid.  You were just trying to look out for me," 
she mumbled into his shoulder.

"And a fine job I did, too.  Driving you off was really the coup de 
grace."

Natalie closed her eyes, and bit her lip to keep from groaning aloud.  
The more things change... "Nick, it is *not your fault*."

He took her chin and lifted it until she met his eyes.  "You can't deny 
that if I hadn't said what I did, you wouldn't have left."

"Nick, I had to leave anyway.  I couldn't maintain my life here while 
trying to learn how to fight.  I have too many ties here, too many 
memories..." she pursed her lips together, and tried to look away, but 
he wouldn't let her.

"But if I hadn't made such an ass of myself, I could have gone with 
you." 

Natalie cocked her head and rolled her eyes at him.  "Oh, and I'm sure 
LaCroix would have *loved* that idea..."

"Natalie..."  By this time they were both giving each other patiently 
exasperated looks.  Nick shook his head and smiled helplessly at her.  
"We can't agree on anything, can we?"

"Except that it was a long time ago," she replied, her voice full of 
soft regret.

He nodded solemnly.  "Truce?"

"Truce."  She smiled and released him, making shooing motions as she 
did so.  "Now go eat your ice cream.  It's melting."

How was it that he could look ten years older, and still make the 
little boy face?  "But it's better melted."

Natalie winced.  "I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

Nick grinned and took another spoonful of mostly-liquid ice cream.  "So 
where are you staying?"

"I'm at the Best Western down the street," she said between her own 
mouthfuls, waving her spoon vaguely.

He favored her with a disapproving frown, which he immediately 
dismissed with a wave.  "Well, not anymore.  You're staying with me."

She raised her eyebrows.  "Nick, that loft of yours only has one 
bedroom, and I really hate sleeping on your couch."  She was *not* 
going to think about how that last sentence could be taken, she was 
*not* going to think...

Fortunately, Nick didn't seem to notice.  "I'm not staying in the loft 
anymore.  And besides, who said you had to take the couch?"  He was 
*not* going to think about how that last sentence could be taken, he 
was *not*... "I *like* sleeping on my couch," he amended.

Natalie decided to get off the thin ice while she could.  "Why did you 
move?  Your place was huge."

"Exactly.  It was too big, now that I really do have to live on a cop's 
salary." 

"No longer rich anymore?" Natalie smiled teasingly.  "What happened to 
the Brabant Foundation?"

"I had to give up the 'Brabant' name when I crossed back over to 
humanity, along with... a lot of other things."  He smiled a little too 
quickly.

"Are you sure?"  She still looked pretty hesitant, and for a moment, 
Nick wondered if he was pressuring her.  But then he saw something in 
her expression that reassured him somehow, and he baited her just a 
little more.

"Come on.  It'll be fun."  He smiled temptingly.  "I even learned how 
to cook..."

He was rewarded by seeing her face relax.  "Really?"  She laughed.  
"Well now, this I have to see."

****

"Wow."  Natalie surveyed Nick's new apartment with approval.  
Admittedly, it wasn't as big as the loft, but it had definite style, 
with all the knick-knacks she knew, plus some hanging plants here and 
there.  And windows.  Big *big* windows, with a fair view of the 
sunset.  If he really did buy this with a cop's salary, she was 
impressed.  She smiled back at Nick as he was hanging up their coats.  
"If you ever decide to leave the force, Nick, I'm sure you'd have a 
bright future ahead of you as an interior decorator."

He snorted, and helped Natalie move her things into the bedroom.  He 
stopped in the doorway on his way out.  "Feel free to anything in the 
fridge, coffee's in the cabinet above the sink..."

"Shoving off on me?" 

Nick smiled.  "I'm beat, and unlike some ex-coroners, *I* have to go to 
work in the morning."  At Natalie's saddened face, he added, "I have to 
find someone to cover for me for the next week or so."

"Why not just take a few days' worth of sick leave?  I'm sure your 
captain wouldn't mind..."

He looked at her tolerantly.  "Natalie, I am the captain."

Umm... what?  "Oh."

He grinned at her stunned expression.  "I'll take that as a compliment.  
See you in the morning."

"Nick?"  When he turned back to look at her from the doorway, she wore 
an unreadable expression, and spoke softly, "You'll tell me about... 
this," and her gesture seemed to include all of his aging body, 
"tomorrow."

He still hesitated, but finally nodded.  "As much as I can."

Reminder: This story is set mid-third-season, before both Last Knight 
and Human Factor.  So don't get any funny ideas based on those eps, 
okay?

Time To Spare (4/?)
by Catherine Boone
catheboo@cco.caltech.edu


Nick stopped to check on Natalie before he walked out the door the next 
morning.  Just to make sure she didn't need anything.  Mmm-hmm.  He'd 
already written a note telling her where the food and plates were, he'd 
only be gone for a few hours, and how much coddling did he think she 
needed, anyway?  It still amazed him how easily he could still hear her 
voice in his head, even after all these years.

All right, so he was really going in to look at her, really *look* at 
her, just one last time before he had to go.  So many things about her 
amazed him now, not the least of which was the fact that she had 
returned, when he'd been certain she would never come back in the time 
he had left.  He'd resigned himself to never seeing her again, and he 
couldn't believe how lucky he was to have her reappear in his life now, 
while he was still a healthy man.  She couldn't have known, of course, 
but he was still illogically grateful.  

Her hair was longer, and seemed darker somehow, though with the amount 
of sun she must be getting compared to before she left the night shift 
behind, it should surely be lighter.  She usually kept it away from her 
face in a long braid, like the one she wore now.  Not the best thing to 
have in a fight, giving your opponent something so tempting to grab, 
but undoubtedly better than simply having her hair loose and blocking 
her view.  The only other option was cutting it off, and that was 
something literally unimaginable to him.

Her face was leaner, harder, even as she slept.  He'd always thought he 
brought so much hardship to her life when he rose from her autopsy 
table and barged into her life; he'd never imagined she'd live to see 
an even harder life than the one he had thrust upon her.  But she was 
strong, stronger than almost anyone he knew, and it seemed fitting 
somehow to see that strength reflected physically, for all to see.

And she was *here*, here before him.  That was what truly stunned him.  
That she could have appeared back in his life so abruptly, as if she 
never left... 

But she had left.  He clenched and unclenched his hand in front of 
him, feeling the barest hint of pain in the bottom joint of his thumb.  
He didn't need Natalie's medical knowledge to know in a few years it 
would blossom into full-blown arthritis, just as he knew the twinge at 
the base of his spine from sleeping on the couch would only get worse.  
And in the end, it would be Natalie who would never know wrinkles or 
arthritis or slipped disks or broken hips... and now that the situation 
was here, Nick couldn't say that he would change a thing.  He'd opposed 
Natalie's decisions about her immortality before... no, let's be 
honest.  It wasn't just a disagreement.  He'd rejected her, and told 
her that if she killed to keep her immortality instead of simply 
remaining on holy ground, she'd become the same kind of soulless thing 
that he had believed himself to be.  

It was just that... he'd always assumed he'd have control, he'd be able
to take action, that if her life came into danger of becoming like his,
he'd be able to do something about it.  He'd be able to prevent it.  
But this, her immortality, was something so completely out of his 
control, and he felt as if he'd failed.  Again.  It was a 
disappointment he couldn't handle, and he took out his anger at himself 
on the one person he shouldn't have.

But that was a long time ago.  A lifetime, to be exact.  Many things 
had changed since then, and now... now he was glad that she would live.  
No more, and no less.  A simple warm assurance that her voice, her 
eyes, her life would still be here when he was gone.  He smiled faintly 
and wondered what LaCroix would say. 

But he was late, it was time to go.  He'd be back in a few hours.  Nick 
closed the bedroom door softly and locked the apartment door behind him 
on his way out.

****

"Nick, do you have any idea how old those Spaghetti-O's in your cabinet 
are?  You could probably donate them to the Natural History Museum,"  
Natalie cheerfully called out as soon as she heard the door slam.

"Well, I never promised the food would be edible, just that it exists."  
Nick took one sniff as he entered the kitchen.  "This is not my food."

"Yes, Mr. Investigator, there being no tin cans about, however did you 
guess?  I went on a grocery run a couple hours ago, once I saw the 
state of your refrigerator."  She smiled over her shoulder as she 
stirred the spaghetti sauce.  "Now go make yourself useful and set the 
table."

During dinner they chatted about the inconsequentials... shop talk, of 
a sort.  Natalie asked him about his work now, the increase of crime in 
the city while she was gone; during dessert, it was catching up on old 
friends.  Captain Reese, sadly, had died two years ago of a heart 
attack that no one saw coming.  Tracy was married and had a daughter, 
Melissa.  She would turn three in September.  At Natalie's unspoken 
question, Nick's only reply was "I don't know where Vachon is."  He 
shrugged helplessly.  "I kind of... lost touch."

"Nick...?"

"Natalie..."  He opened his mouth to speak, then abruptly shut it and 
rose to begin clearing the table.  She caught his hands.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me.  I'm not a stranger, Nick, you know 
that."  At the honest concern in her eyes, Nick let out a breath he 
hadn't realized he was holding.  He nodded, and motioned for her to 
follow him into the kitchen.

"Come on.  I'll wash, you dry."

****

"First of all, I can't tell you exactly how I became mortal.  I'm 
sorry."

Natalie tried to squash down her screaming curiosity, and merely 
frowned.  "Why?"

"They still watch me, even now.  I barely survived the Enforcers the 
first time; the moment I betray that secret, I and anyone I told would 
be immediately destroyed."  Natalie whipped her head around, alarmed, 
and Nick smiled.  "Don't worry, they don't really care anymore what I 
do, as long as this one secret dies with me."  She noted the 'they'.  
Not 'us'.

"How *did* you survive the Enforcers?  I can't imagine how they would 
let you live once you'd become mortal again.  You could have destroyed 
them, their whole way of life."

"I..." Nick's eyes clouded over momentarily, but cleared as he looked 
back at her.  "I'm sorry.  I just don't know where to begin.  It's a 
long story."

She pulled her feet up on the couch where they sat, and smiled softly.  
"You know what they say, Nick; start at the beginning."

"The beginning.  I guess that would be when you left."  He kept his 
eyes firmly on the floor in front of him, reliving the past as he had 
so often before.  "Funny that that should be the beginning, since it 
felt so much like the end."  He smiled to himself.  "When you left, 
I... gave up.  On a lot of things.  I stayed in the loft, even at 
night, and wouldn't let anyone in.  I fed, I slept.  I painted a 
little.  But... mostly I spent my time going from one fit of rage to 
another.  I practically destroyed the loft... I broke everything I 
could get my hands on.  I just... didn't care.  What you see here," he 
pointed at the walls and the endtables, "is all that survived unbroken.  
My friends, my job, my life, it just seemed like none of it really 
mattered anymore.  Nothing was worth the effort."

"That is, until Janette came back."

"She came back?"  Natalie remembered when Nick's elegant vampiric 
sister had just disappeared, with only instructions that Nick not look 
for her.  No explanation, no trace.  "Did she say where she had gone?"

"I never asked.  We didn't really talk about it."  His mouth twitched, 
but when he looked back at her, he was smiling through it all.  "She
was wonderful.  She brought me back, out of the depths I'd fallen to.
She cared about me when I didn't care about myself, and convinced me 
that there really was something worth living for."  Nick paused, his 
eyes lost in those memories.  "If she hadn't returned when she did... 
I don't know where I'd be right now.  Or even if I'd be alive."

"You went back.  To vampirism."  He looked startled, but the statement 
was made without accusation, without anger.  Maybe that's what he was 
startled about.  He hadn't thought she'd understand... but she did; 
both the statement, and the reaction.

"Yes.  I went back, moved in with Janette after a year.  For once, the 
idea that the cure might never be found was... tolerable.  I would 
still search, I would always search, but now it wasn't an 
all-or-nothing bid.  For the first time, I gave myself the option of 
failure."  His face twisted again.  "Of course, with my luck, it was 
when I stopped looking that mortality fell into my lap."

"The Enforcers were not pleased..."

****

The thick metal door of the warehouse basement slid open, and two bound 
forms were shoved through.  Janette fell heavily on Nick, and heard his 
gasp of pain.  He was still unused to mortal frailties... Janette
still wasn't sure how she felt about that.  Therefore, she didn't think
about it.

She rose and helped Nick up, or as best she could with her hands 
tied firmly behind her back.  Enforcers were getting better with their 
knots these days.  As they stood, a voice appeared before them.  

"Hello.  My name is Oreleus."  A young man, no more than twenty-five in
appearance, with neatly combed black hair and crisp clothes, was seated 
at the table in front of them.  There were two chairs on their side, 
straight-backed but functional.  What caught their attention was the 
two long wooden stakes lying innocently in the middle.  But the boy was 
speaking again.  "Please, sit.  We have much to do between now and 
sunrise."

"What are you going to do with us?"  Nick's voice rasped in his chest, 
and Janette dared not consider what injuries he might have sustained 
fighting them on the way here.  As it was she barely looked at him.  
His torn and bleeding face was not something she wanted to remember.

The Enforcer made no attempt to hide the truth from them, quirking an 
eyebrow at the question as if surprised that they needed to ask.  
"Why, kill you, of course."  He motioned toward the stakes, shaking 
his head slightly in disbelief at their denseness.  "What, did you 
think these were for show?"

"He's mortal, not a vampire.  Why do you need a stake?"  She really 
didn't care, but the longer he talked, the longer they lived.

"I don't really, but it is what we're most skilled at, and it will kill 
our little converted friend just as thoroughly as anything else."

"You will NOT!"  The door was flung open, and LaCroix came storming 
through, eyes flaring red, as furious as even Janette had ever seen 
him.  For a moment she thought he might bodily throw the youngster 
through the wall, but he came to a halt just in front of him.

The other was completely unperturbed, and simply rose to greet him.  
"Lucius."  He smiled without smiling.  "It's good to see you again."

Nick and Janette exchanged glances.  This was no youngster.

"You will release my children *immediately*."  LaCroix had lowered his 
voice, but his eyes were still pools of crimson and his tone could 
dampen the sun.  

The Enforcer laughed, obviously either highly invulnerable or highly 
stupid.  "No.  Lucius, you've been coddled far too much over the 
centuries.  Your son is worse.  An example must be made.  You don't 
have the strength to stop me."

LaCroix raised himself up to his full height, several inches above the 
other.  "There are those with more strength than you, and they have 
promised me my children's safety.  They will be... displeased at the
realization that they have broken their word."

The Enforcer glared with pure hatred, only to have the expression 
vanish without a trace.  "No.  Your... agreement," you could just hear 
the covered hiss of 'bribery', "was made to save *one* of your 
offspring, should he or she discover a method to achieve irreversible 
mortality."  He gestured toward the seated pair.  "Here you see two."

Nick couldn't help but stare.  LaCroix had bargained with the Enforcers 
for his life, in case he ever became mortal?  Against everything he 
believed in?  How was that possible?  He'd been sure that LaCroix would 
simply allow him to die, as a sort of punishment for defying him.  Or 
at least succeeding in defying him, anyway.  The idea that LaCroix 
could even allow himself to conceive of his own failure was difficult 
to believe, but to go so far as to act on it?  Had he really convinced 
LaCroix that much of his eventual success in finding mortality?  But 
the two were still speaking.

"Janette is a *vampire*," LaCroix insisted.  As if it were more than 
just a physical state... and isn't it?  "She would never become mortal. 
She can tell you that herself."

"She still KNOWS, LaCroix!"  Oreleus' fist made cracks in the plastic
table.  "She was there when it happened, the knowledge exists in 
*both* of them!  I don't care if neither tells a soul, the danger 
*still* EXISTS!"

Oreleus stood a long moment, composing himself.  Watching LaCroix, 
watching his children.  Calculating.  "But I will bargain with you, 
LaCroix."  The Enforcer pursed his lips and paced a moment, turning 
abruptly to face him.  "One of them may live."

He suddenly stepped quickly forward and grabbed one of the stakes, 
thrusting it into LaCroix's hands.

"But you will choose the one who dies."

Time To Spare (5/?)
by Catherine Boone
catheboo@cco.caltech.edu


A chill settled over LaCroix's heart as he stared at the stake in his 
hand.  He looked up to the eyes of his children, who sat mutely; they 
seemed as stunned by this sudden turn as he.

Oreleus whispered again, "You have to choose."

Choose?  Janette watched him impassively, her black hair falling down 
into her face, her sculpted features betraying nothing of what was 
going through her mind.  They were so alike, words seemed unnecessary.  
So precisely in tune, even when their purposes conflicted.  His 
beautiful, perfect daughter... who reminded him so much of Selene, at 
times it frightened him.  

And Nicholas.  Always Janette's opposite, from his golden hair to 
the expression of open agony that weighed his face.  He looked as if he 
were actually feeling LaCroix's pain.  Certainly that was how his own 
face would look, if he allowed it.  Nicholas... Nicholas was simply 
everything he was not: fiery when he was cold, passionate when he was 
reserved, chaos to his order.  

His inner thoughts were bitter, as the wood in his hand began to 
splinter under the strain he placed on it.  *Which do you choose, old 
man?  Your image or your other half?  Which to cut off, your right arm 
or your left?*

*Which to kill?  Your daughter?*

*Or your son?*

Helplessly, his perception seemed to fade away as he retreated 
somewhere very far away, a place where perhaps love could be weighed, 
measured, tallied, and placed on a scale to see which side tipped.  He 
didn't know where he would find such a place; part of him hoped he 
never would.

Yet it was in this blackness, these depths, that a third alternative 
arose.  *Why yes, of course.  How very simple.*  The idea was daring.  
Bold.  Maybe even passionate.  Nicholas would be proud.

He raised the stake high...

... and sent it hurtling toward his own heart.

****

The stake never reached its target.  A hand snaked out at the last 
minute and caught the wood before it ever pierced flesh.  "Ah, Lucius,"
The Oreleus' voice was smooth as silk, and twice as mocking, "still 
ever the noble soul, I see.  You truly have an Achilles' Heel with 
these two, don't you?"  He looked hard into LaCroix's eyes, and said 
flatly, "If you don't choose one of them, both will die.  No one will 
bother to remember any promises made, if you aren't there to refresh 
their memory.  Besides," he commented over his shoulder as he walked 
back to his chair to watch, "this will do you good.  Weaknesses are 
best confronted head-on, don't you think?"

LaCroix pondered burying the stake in the Enforcer's heart.  Then he 
pondered exactly how many inches he would get before the other stopped 
him and killed him for his impudence.  He ground his teeth slightly and 
remembered why he heartily despised all vampires more powerful than he.

****

Janette had watched Oreleus hand LaCroix the stake without comment 
or expression.  Perhaps because she didn't want to unduly influence his 
decision.  Perhaps because she didn't know what that decision would be.  
Or maybe she did know, and was trying to pretend it didn't matter.  
Trying to tell herself it was the right decision, and for the best.  
Maybe it was only because she was slowly but surely loosening the knots 
at her wrists, and didn't want to get distracted.

Whatever the reason, she watched him calmly as he raised the stake in 
front of her, and looked directly into his eyes.  Eyes she had avoided 
thus far, because she knew what she would see there.  His face was 
safe, passionless as usual, but his eyes... just before the stake began 
its downward slide, his eyes rose to meet hers.

And what she saw there shook her to the bone.  But not for the reasons 
she thought.  She screamed, "NO!" and attempted to lunge out of her 
chair to bodily knock the stake away from him, but she didn't have the 
proper leverage, and fell heavily back on the chair.

But her shout had been enough warning for Oreleus, who moved faster 
than even she could see.  She barely heard his words as she stared at 
LaCroix, her expression now anything but impassive.  

She attacked the knots at her wrists with as much ferocity as she 
wrestled with her incredulity.  How could this be?  Could he actually 
not choose between them?  

Even she knew who LaCroix's favorite was, and had never envied Nicola 
the position.  She had lived for two hundred years as LaCroix's only 
daughter, and by the end of that time she had welcomed the transfer of 
his obsessions.  The role of the lesser child had afforded her more 
freedom and more liberties than even most mortals of her time.  No, she 
had never once maligned Nicola for being first in LaCroix's eyes, even 
in her thoughts.  

It was impossible.  She had known LaCroix for what seemed like all her  
life. She knew the way he thought, his drives, his secrets, and almost 
all his weaknesses.  All except the one most important to her, the one 
she should have seen a long time ago.

LaCroix was a survivor.  He prized his life, his existence, above all 
things, save Nicola.  He could watch famine, plague, and bloodshed 
without comment, much less action.  Yet he went into a rage at the mere
idea that his son might become mortal, and lost to him. He would kill a
man in an instant, if he threatened his existence; he could not 
tolerate weakness in himself, nor even the *idea* of weakness.  Yet he 
made bargains and pleaded for the assurance of a single man's life.  

A man does not love that way twice.  Not in a thousand years.  

He had lived two.

Janette would have laughed in a man's face, if he'd told her LaCroix
would die to save her.  She would have laughed, and then she would have 
killed him.  Had she not seen it with her own eyes.  Even now, she
couldn't help watching him, staring as if she'd never seen him before.
Perhaps she never had.

*With knowledge comes strength.*  Yes, LaCroix, you were right.  You 
were always right.  

And Janette made her own mind, as she always had.  

She watched Nicola for one long moment.  On the one hand, he was so
pivotal... but on the other, this had nothing to do with him.  Nothing 
at all.

She then turned back to LaCroix as the knots about her wrists finally
loosened, and were undone.  Remaining still for the moment, she watched
LaCroix's face as the walls he built around himself were breaking, and 
his torn emotions began to leak through.  

She couldn't shape what was running through her mind, couldn't put 
words to them, not even to herself.  She didn't try.  She looked at 
LaCroix's face, and her eyes brimmed over with tears she'd never known 
existed.

*Thank you, father.*

So wrapped up in his own thoughts was he, that LaCroix never saw in her 
mind what she was planning.  That one last thought snapped him out of 
his own reverie.  

But in the instant it took for him to come back to himself, Janette 
leapt from her chair, snatched up the second stake, and plunged it into 
her own heart.

He was too late.

****

And Natalie held Nick in her arms as he cried.

Time To Spare (6/?)
by Catherine Boone
catheboo@cco.caltech.edu


"Nick, do you like your eggs over hard or over easy?"

"Mmcmmcmmnphmm."  Nick's voice could barely be heard over the crackle 
of the skillet, even though his bed on the couch was only a couple 
yards away.  He'd fallen asleep around one in the morning, after 
several hours' more talking.  It was only when Natalie could make him 
laugh again that she finally felt sure that he would be all right, and 
could let him sleep.

But even so, he'd been unconscious for ten hours.  The two of them 
didn't do the night shift anymore, and she didn't want to start now.  
It was time to get up.

"Nick?"  The blanket was pulled over his head in a most decisive 
manner.

Natalie sat down gingerly on the edge of a cushion and carefully peeled
back a corner of the blanket till his face was peeking out.  "Nick."  
One of his eyes propped open.  "Your eggs.  Squished or unsquished?"

He sighed, but it turned into a yawn halfway through.  "Squished.
Coffee?"  Natalie wished she could bottle that little-boy pout. 

"Oh no.  You buy one of those weird little espresso things, *you* get 
to make the coffee.  And make me a cup too, while you're at it."  Nick
mock-grimaced and tried to hide under the covers again.  "*No*," 
Natalie cried, laughing as she ripped the covers completely off him.  
"Come on and get up.  The sun is shining.  We're going out."

His sigh came out a half-groan as Nick dug the heels of his palms into 
his eyes.  "Okay, okay, I'm up."  He staggered into the kitchen and 
started the coffee going, more by touch than anything else.

He turned and paused for a moment to inspect first the eggs, and then
Natalie, in turn.  "I have been known to cook my own food, you know."

She wore a wry smile as she flipped the eggs expertly.  "Recall that 
I've *seen* you cook. I prefer not to test the bounds of immortality, 
thanks."

Nick snorted and fiddled again with the coffeemaker, causing even more
horrid noises to come out of it.  "Oh, come on. That was only the one
time, and you *said* you wanted something new..."

Natalie paused as she went fishing for plates to favor him with her  
patented 'I cannot *believe* you' look.  "Pouring twenty different 
spices on a fish and then setting it on fire is not 'new', Nick."

Nick was the picture of innocence as he reached for two cups, only to
have Natalie hand them to him instead.  "Thanks... my point is, I don't
experiment anymore. I use recipes."

"*Valid* recipes?"

He handed her the forks and knives, produced from who-knew-where in his
maze of a kitchen, gifting her with a reassuring smile as he did.  "Off 
of boxes and everything."

Natalie took her fork and knife and contemplated.  "Well... all right, 
I'll watch you cook dinner tonight."  She speared her first bite of egg
and waggled it at him, threatening.  "But if I catch you sneaking any 
red pepper flakes, we're eating out."

****

*All right, lesson number one: you can't pack a gap of twenty years 
into a day.*  Natalie cast one longing look at the street behind her.  
"Nick, do you remember when you ran that red light, in the middle of 
the afternoon in broad daylight? That was right over there.  That 
intersection *right* there."

Nick walked ahead of her toward the park, anxious to be able to sit 
down, even if it was on the ground.  He limped slightly as he walked, 
unused to being on his feet for six hours straight anymore.  "Yes, 
Natalie," he replied with exaggerated patience, "and you got a flat 
tire two blocks down, bought some cat food for Sidney at the pet store 
around the corner, and..." he caught her hurt look, and sighed, 
laughing softly as he rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry. I know the total 
recall's a little disconcerting at first.  It happened to me, too."

Natalie trotted to catch up to him, shaking her head thoughtfully.  
"And here I thought I'd figured everything out about this immortality 
thing... I fooled myself into believing there'd be no more surprises."

Nick raised his eyebrows, and smiled.  "There will always be surprises,
Nat. Be it twenty years or a thousand, life always manages to remain 
interesting."

They reached the green grass of the park, and Nick got hardly six feet 
away from the pavement when he collapsed onto the grass, barely pausing 
to take off his shoes before laying out on the comfortable carpet of 
green.  Natalie continued, "How did you stand it? Remembering 
everything?  I'd been told about the recall, but even still, I suppose 
I never expected it to be this... intense, when I came back to a place 
I knew.  This city seems to be literally crawling with memories at 
every turn.  Maybe I was just unconsciously avoiding places I'd been 
before.  Still, it's eerie, like having your whole life flashing before 
your eyes."

"To be honest?  You just have to get used to it."  Nick sighed in
contentment as he slid into a more comfortable position on the grass.
Given the opportunity, he could fall asleep right now...

"But you never did."  It was neither a question nor an accusation; her
tone was soft and unassuming.  "Did you?" She knew his answer before he
even turned his head to look at her.

He smiled faintly.  "No.  I never did."  He looked down at his hands,
fingering the new creases here and there.  He raised one up to her.
"This," and she knew it was his mortality he was speaking of, "is 
obviously one of the better reasons why I could put the past behind me.
But the best by far was that I was allowed to finally, *finally* 
forget, even for just a moment..."

Natalie tried to imagine living so long, when every movement, every
speech, every event had been done before, and could be linked to his 
failures, all seven hundred years' worth of them... she shuddered and
blamed it on the wind sweeping through the trees nearby.  "How much do 
you remember now?"

"Oh, I *can* remember most things.  A few of the less memorable decades
may have passed by the wayside," his wry smile was infectious, "but the
difference is that now I don't *have* to remember; I'm not compelled to
anymore.  Which helps more than you might think."

"That, and not having talked... not even having been in the *presence* 
of a vampire... in nearly twenty years, made it downright easy."  
Nick's eyes were still closed, and he was smiling, just a tiny bit.  
Without being able to see his eyes, Natalie couldn't tell if it was a 
true smile or not.

"Were there really so many bad memories, that you had to reject them 
all?"  She didn't think about what she was saying until the words had 
already left her mouth, and she couldn't take them back.  "Oh god, 
Nick, I'm sorry..."

He looked up at her, startled by her reaction, not the question, and 
quickly shook his head.  "No, it's okay." He sighed.  "The truth 
is, I *couldn't* go back.  There were two... additional... consequences 
to the bargain for my life.  The first I already told you about, that I 
could never tell anyone how I came back. They *still* watch, waiting 
for the chance to finish what they'd started, to kill me and be done 
with it.  But I won't give them the satisfaction... remaining alive and 
mortal is the only vengeance I'm allowed."  His expression was still 
lighted with that peaceful calm he'd found somewhere along his way, but 
this time his eyes sparked with a defiance that she remembered very 
well indeed.  But there was a difference.  In his powerlessness, he'd 
learned patience.  And that patience was a power in and of itself... 

"The second consequence was that I had to separate myself from the
Community forever.  No contact of any kind.  That was why I hadn't 
heardfrom Vachon... I don't know what happened to him.  I couldn't even 
askTracy.  And she, of course, never talked about him unless I brought 
it up, even before."

"Nick, you don't have to talk about it..."

He cut her off.  "Yes, I *do* need to talk about it!"  He raised 
himself up into a sitting position so she could see full-on his earnest
expression.  "Nat, do you realize how hard it's been to have something
like this happen, and not to be able to tell anyone?  Not to be able to
talk to anyone at all?  When Janette died, I had to pretend I caught a
bad flu.  I took a week's worth of sick leave, but after that I had to
just walk back in to work and pretend that everything was all right."  
He took her hands and gave them a light squeeze as his face relaxed 
into a relieved smile.  "To be able to talk about it, just to have 
someone there to listen, lightens the load so much, I can't tell you."

"Well then, don't."  Natalie replied decisively.  At Nick's confused 
look, she smiled ironically.  "Nick, it's okay.  I'm not going 
anywhere for a while, and I can stay as long as you need me to.  You 
don't have to try to get it all out in a day.  Trying to force yourself 
to heal is like trying to force the grass to grow... it might make you 
feel like you're doing something, but that doesn't mean it's a good 
way to expend energy.  Besides," she added with a mock-irritated frown, 
"I've been trying to keep your mind off your troubles all day, and I'm 
certainly not going to let you off the hook when we're in the home 
stretch, so... come on."  She abruptly stood and held out a hand to 
help him up.

He looked up at her so sorrowfully, she almost let him lie.  "I have to
stand?"

"Yes."

"On my feet?"

"That *is* usually the way."

Nick raised himself painfully to his feet (Natalie was positive he was
exaggerating, he couldn't be hurting *that* bad) and picked up his 
shoes, declaring, "I'm going barefoot," as if he thought she might 
challenge the notion.

She merely smiled innocently.  "That's fine.  We'll stick to the 
grass," and they started off.

"So where are we going?"

"I thought I heard running water coming from somewhere around here, 
like from a creek of some kind. I thought we might go check it out."  
One corner of her mouth lifted slightly.  "You think you can find out 
where it's coming from, Mr. Investigator?"

He snorted in laughter, mimicking her expression.  "I think I can 
handle that."

"Hah!  I'm still wondering if you can handle dinner.  Don't push your 
luck." 

Time To Spare (7/?)
by Catherine Boone
catheboo@cco.caltech.edu


Natalie dressed as quietly as she could the next morning.  Once again,
she'd woken at the crack of dawn and couldn't go back to sleep.  At 
least this morning she didn't have to worry about waking Nick... she'd 
managed to convince him to sleep in his own bed last night.  He 
protested, of course, but she could tell he'd practically be ready for 
traction if he tried to sleep on that couch another night.  She blamed 
the couch, but she knew it was the body that was really too old to 
sleep there.

So she took a couple bagels out of the fridge, snatched her coat off 
the rack, and slipped quietly out the door to watch the sun rise.  It 
was dangerous, she could be spotted and recognized at any time.  She 
knew that.  Many of her friends had apparently moved away since she'd 
left, as people tend to do over time, but there were enough still here 
to make going out of doors unwise. She'd pushed her luck as far as it 
would go yesterday, running around all over town, she should know 
better than to push it any further.  But Nick had needed something to 
distract him from his memories, and sitting at home twiddling his 
thumbs was anything but distracting. 

This morning?  It was really too early to see many people, the odds  
weren't that bad.  So, as long as she was up, she might as well go out 
and watch the sun rise.

Mmm-hmm.  Never mind the fact that she was walking back to the park, 
back to the green grass and trees and birds singing.  Never mind it 
took her an hour and a half to get there.  She found the tree she'd 
spotted last night, a monster of a thing, gnarled and tangled.  She 
climbed high enough to see the horizon, where the sky was slowly 
brightening.  Lazily she stretched out along the wide limb, rested her 
head on her hands and watched the hazy mountains in the distance.  She 
sighed softly as the calm penetrated her soul.  *Oh Natalie, you really 
are spoiled for life...*  

The truth was, she wasn't sure why she came here.  No, that's not true.  
Nick had been through so much... she sighed.  And as usual, she'd taken 
his pain and made it her own, like she had so many times before.  She 
needed some time to herself, to get back a little equilibrium.  Or a 
lot of equilibrium, she decided, as she watched the mist start to fade 
with the first rays of the morning sun.  She couldn't remember a time 
when she hadn't found the sunrise the most peaceful thing in all the 
world.

Actually, yes she could, because the reason for that sense of peace 
rose to the forefront of her mind like the dew rising from the grass 
below...

****

"Come on, love, time to get up."  Usually the sound of Adam Pierson's 
voice alone was enough to bring a smile to her face, but at five 
o'clock in the morning?  It didn't even come close.

"Unnnhhhh... uh-uh."

"You have to get up now, or we're going to be late."  This only 
promptedher to wrap her pillow around her head.  He stared at her limp 
form for a moment, frowning.  Then he shrugged lightly, picked her up, 
and hefted her onto his shoulder.  Steadying himself, he started 
resolutely for the bathroom, talking all the while.  "Not to worry, a 
nice cold shower will be just the thing to *aieech*!"

Because poor Natalie, unused to waking up upside down, had grabbed hard 
onto the nearest solid object available, that being Adam's rear end.
This startled him, predictably, and he stumbled a step.  This panicked 
a still-half-asleep Natalie even further, and she proceeded to throw 
her arms completely around Adam's waist and hold on for dear life.

Unfortunately, this only served to upset Adam's balance in the other
direction, and the two went tumbling in a heap of arms and legs, 
Natalie taking the brunt of Adam's fall.

In an instant he was off the floor and bending over her, pushing
her hair out of her eyes.  "Natalie? Are you all right?"

She cracked one eye open to look up at Adam, and was disappointed to 
only find one of him.  If there'd been two, she could have considered 
killing one.  Well, you don't get everything.  She slowly sat up.  
"Ow.  Ow.  Owwwww... okay, I think I'm up.  Or dead.  Ow.  Did you 
say something about being late?"  She was gently moving everything to 
make sure it was all in working order.

"We told Karen we'd go to her poetry reading at eight, remember?  And
it's across town, so..." Adam was unabashedly wearing his little smile
that ran the gamut from sarcastic to amused, depending on his mood.  
She knew which one this was; his sense of humor seemed to get more 
twisted the longer she knew him.

"Don't laugh, that hurt!" She attempted a frown... badly... and smacked
the side of his head as she made her own way to the bathroom, thinking 
up proper tortures for one twenty-five hundred year old smart-aleck 
Immortal.

"So where is this place again?" she called out as she waited for the 
water to get hot.

"Mmm... El Kharim, or some such.  At any rate, it's clear on the other 
side of Cairo, and with the morning traffic what it is, it should take 
us at least an hour to get there."  Adam silently tested the doorknob.   
Unlocked.

Natalie ducked into the shower and started to get her hair wet.  "Why 
is she having it all the way over there?"

"I don't know," Adam's voice appeared right next to her, and her eyes
snapped open to see him undressing on the other side of the curtain, 
"she said she liked the architecture."  With a perfectly *wicked* 
smile.

She raised one eyebrow as she took in the view.  "I thought we were 
going to be late."

He stepped in next to her and let her take the brunt of the spray, the
water making rivers and pools across the curves and planes of her body 
while only barely misting on him, beading up all along his skin.  He 
tried to catch her eyes, but she was busy tracing slow patterns of 
water on his chest with her fingers.  "So we're late."

Natalie glanced up from her work to look at his face.  He was still 
smiling, as always, but this smile was... well, it was a smile she 
knew very well indeed, and returned.  "You're impossible... and lucky I 
heal fast," she sighed luxuriously as she slid her arms around his neck 
and up to let her fingers run through his spiky hair.

"Oh, I think I'm lucky for more reasons than *that*..."  His lips 
brushed hers briefly as his hands found her waist and her fingers began 
to run up her spine.

"Mmm... that's a nice beginning," Natalie smiled as she found his 
mouth again by pure touch.  Adam chuckled, wrapping his arms more 
tightly about her as he stepped forward into the spray.  

"Then you should love the end."  Oddly enough, kissing and laughing at 
the same time is actually much easier than it sounds.

****

"You were late.  Was everything all right?"  

"Oh yes.  Cairo traffic's just horrid in the mornings, isn't it, 
Natalie?"  Any attempt to look repentant was just completely futile, 
which didn't help their story, but one had to give them points for 
effort.

"Terrible."  

"Awful."

"I was screaming in pain."  Adam was abruptly consumed with a coughing
fit, and Natalie changed the subject, smiling brightly at Karen.  "But
your poetry was beautiful.  As always.  I'm sorry we missed the 
beginning."

Karen didn't look the least bit fooled, but wasn't really upset about 
it.  Trying to get those two out of bed anytime before noon required a 
major concerted effort, and she knew it.  "That's all right, I'll read 
them to you again sometime."  She smiled.  

Karen Hunter was the first immortal Natalie met when she came to Egypt.
Which was fortunate, as neither she nor Karen could speak a word of 
Arabic at the time, and a misunderstanding could have been disastrous.  
But as it turned out, the petite brunette was calm and funny, and it 
was no time before the two became fast friends.

Someone came to collect Adam, apparently he had a phone call.  Natalie 
smiled at his retreating back, then returned her gaze to Karen.  "Let 
me take you out to dinner.  My penance for being late."

"Oh, you know how much I'd love to eat off your credit card," she 
laughed, "but Tom is taking me out for a congratulatory night on the 
town after this.  He gets ridiculously proud of me at these things ever 
since I told him how nervous I get in front of an audience..."  Karen 
rolled her eyes in annoyance, which vanished when said Tom appeared, a 
tall, lanky man with black hair and laughing eyes.  

They had been married eighty-four years, Karen said... a rare 
commitment, according to Adam, even for immortals.  *Because in the 
end, there can be only one.*  As simple as it was final.  She was 
really starting to hate the phrase.

"Adam Pierson."

"Methos?" The voice roared into his ear, and he yanked the phone away a 
couple inches.  "Hey, it's Joe, how you doin'?" 

Methos looked up at the ceiling for a little help.  If anybody looked 
back down at him, he or she had obviously already decided it would be 
*far* more amusing to just let him run around and make his own messes.  
Correction, have other people drag him into *their* messes.  As usual.  
He sighed. "Joe, you've managed to capture me away from home, which I'm 
not even going to ask how you did, because I'm certain I won't like the 
answer.  But this means that we actually have a real phone, with a real 
connection and everything.  You don't have to shout."

"Oh.  Heh.  Sorry."  Seeing how Joe's volume had lowered considerably, 
Methos switched the receiver to his other, unflattened eardrum, and 
fiddled with the cord as he talked.

"So, who's in trouble now?"

"Actually, you are."  Joe's tone was slightly hurt and slightly smug.  
Methos wondered if telephones always conveyed that much tone.  If so, 
his little cordless was more dead than he thought.  He wondered if he 
should buy a new one here or in the States.  For the life of him, he 
couldn't remember what the conversion rates were anymore... wait a 
minute.  "What?"

"Somebody broke into the European Watcher Headquarters a few months 
back.  Since then, they've been going through their files, checking to 
see what was missing."  Methos grimaced, and nodded to himself.  That 
was the thing about Watchers, they were as meticulous and thorough as 
anyone could wish for, if one wishes for such things.  But given an 
emergency, they were slow, slow, *slow*.  It didn't surprise him a bit 
that it took them a couple months just to figure out what was taken.  

If they'd just bothered to join the twentieth century and put it on 
computer... no, actually, let's not go there.  Tried that before, 
remember?  Nearly got the entire Immortal community exposed as a 
newsflash on the bloody BBC.  Between that little joyride and the 
latest episode, which managed to decimate most of the world's 
highest-ranking Watchers, not to mention nearly killed Joe and spun 
Duncan off into one of his self-destructive phases, taking Methos along 
with him...yes, he'd twisted the Watchers' collective skirt enough to 
last a couple lifetimes.  Certainly longer than Adam Pierson would be 
around.  The fact that they'd got a nice twist in his skirts as well 
made the decision to leave that much easier.  But it was how angry he 
was at himself that set off the big neon signs saying it was time to 
get the hell out of there and calm down for a while.  Despising 
yourself got very unhealthy if you did it too long, and if his natural 
equilibrium was *that* far off kilter... well, he'd left for smaller 
things, that's for sure.

Meeting up with Natalie had originally just been a timely bonus.  She 
had needed someone to teach her, and he'd been available... he owed it 
to Nicholas anyway, for not telling him she was Immortal when they met 
for the first time.  And if Natalie's watcher decided to tell 
Headquarters that a decidedly ex-mild-mannered ex-grad-student and 
ex-Watcher Adam Pierson was living with an Immortal and teaching her 
to fight... he really wished he could be there to see the looks on 
their faces.  Impotent rage did such interesting things to the blood 
vessels at the temples.  He couldn't help smiling at his own little 
teeny tiny vicious streak.  I mean really, happiness wasn't *always* a 
warm puppy...

But Joe was still talking, and Methos felt like he just missed an 
important part of the conversation.  "Hold on, what was that last bit?"

"They found some research on the Methos Chronicles missing, especially 
the last couple sections.  The part with Adam Pierson's signature."  

Methos hissed a curse.  "Will someone please tell me when the Watchers 
decided to drop the 'secret' part from their 'secret organization'?  
'Cause I'd really like to know."

He could practically feel Joe's double-take.  "You didn't keep the 
name Adam Pierson, did you?"

"Natalie liked it, and I didn't think there could possibly be anything 
the Watchers would try to track me down for."  It was a lame excuse, 
and he knew it.  He hadn't been thinking.  Damn damn *damn*.

Joe didn't help.  "What the hell were you thinking?!  Didn't Kalas 
teach you anything?!?"  Methos could just see Joe waving his free arm 
around as he thundered into the phone.  This time he let his ear get 
flattened; he deserved it.  

Besides, he had to think.  He chewed absently on a thumbnail, then 
spoke.  "Joe, I'm getting on a plane to Paris.  I need to know 
exactly what we're dealing with here."

"You want me to meet you there?"

Methos' voice was firm and decisive.  "No.  I want you to stay right 
where you are, and keep an eye on Natalie for me.  Call me the minute 
anyone new comes into Cairo."

The pause on the phone was a little too long, before Joe's voice came 
in again, his soft tone contrasting the force of his words.  "Tell me 
this means you had an attack of conscience and decided to tell her who 
and what you really are."

One of his eyebrows slowly raised, and for once Methos wasn't smiling.  
First Alexa, now this.  One would really think you'd learn to stay out 
of my personal life, Joe.  "No."

"And you're not taking her with you?  Adam, if she still thinks you're 
Adam Pierson, two thousand five hundred year-old God-only-knows-what, 
she's not going to stand a chance if someone comes looking for you."

Dammitall, do we really need to have this conversation *right now*?  
"Precisely!  Joe, she's only forty years old," he growled, "which is 
why I'm getting as far away from her as possible.  If I can lead this 
guy away, she'll be all right."

"But..."

"Joe, I have to leave.  Now.  If he's been on my trail for a couple 
months, he can't be too far behind.  We've moved a couple times in 
the past few years, but not enough to make that much of a difference.  
I'll talk to you... when I talk to you."  He hung up before Joe could 
finish his tirade, and stood with his hand on the phone for a moment 
longer than he had to.  A moment longer before he had to go back and 
face Natalie.

Other than his name and age, he'd never lied to Natalie.  About 
anything.  In a moment, that was going to change.  He wasn't sure she 
would forgive him for this, when she found out the truth.  He was 
fairly certain he wouldn't if he were her.  But it had to be done.  
Come on, old man, do we have to go over the logic again for the 
thousand and first time?  

Yes.  Because it will keep me in here a moment longer.

Just one more moment.

****  

Adam returned, making the tiniest glance toward the door as he walked.
Natalie was wrapping up her conversation by the time he got within 
hearing distance, and by the time he reached her side, they were ready 
to go.

She waited till they were back in their own apartment, just to be safe, 
before turning worried eyes on Adam.  "Why are we leaving so early?  
What did you hear?"

He tossed the car keys onto the endtable and tilted his head to look at
her, wincing apologetically. "I have to go to Paris.  As soon as 
possible."

Natalie's brows instantly furrowed, trying to figure out what could be 
wrong in Paris.  "What is it, what's happened?"

He sighed and frowned just a little, rubbing his eyes with one hand in 
weariness.  "Joe... I told you about Joe, right?  Well, he's gotten 
himself in a bit of a jam.  I need to go straighten it out."

Natalie sat for a little while in silence.  She was a little taken 
aback, but decided not to let it bother her.  She also decided not to 
let the idea of Adam leaving bother her either.  She could just hear 
Adam's reaction, with just the right kind of smile, the kind that would 
make her feel about a thousand percent better about all this.  
*Become quite the selfish little thing, haven't we?* Well, yes, 
frankly.  "How long will you be gone?"  

She felt a hand on her cheek, and looked up to see Adam smiling gently, 
having just dragged an overnight bag out of the closet.  "It'll only be 
for a few days.  You won't even notice I'm gone."

The side of her mouth quirked up against her will.  "Buy me an electric 
blanket, and *then* I won't notice you're gone."  She stood to help him 
pack his things.

He smirked back and threw some clothes at her to stuff into the bag.  
"Just as long as it's an electric blanket with long toenails."

"Oh, heaven.  Remind me to get shin guards when you get back."  That's 
the problem with having two people at once who need to have their hands
busy... the work gets done twice as fast.  Adam glanced at his watch, 
and looked back at her with a crestfallen expression.

She sighed.  "Yeah, yeah."  She walked him to the door, then fidgeted, 
straightening the creases in his jacket. "Better miss me."

A corner of his mouth turned up as his arms wrapped around her waist.
"You'd kill me if I didn't."

"You better believe it!"  She tried strangling him with his coat, but 
he won the tussle with a kiss.  Then another, deeper, as he wound his 
hand tightly in her hair.

He pulled away, and his thumb gently caressed her temple.  "Bye."

"Bye."  Then he was gone, and she shut the door with a sigh.

Methos always told himself later that he couldn't have guessed his 
efforts would be futile.  That he'd already been found.  He couldn't 
have known what would happen.

It never made him feel any better.

Time to Spare (8/?)
by Catherine Boone
catheboo@cco.caltech.edu


By the time Natalie came out of her reverie, the sun was full in the 
sky, though thankfully still very low on the horizon.  Still, she'd 
have to move to get back to Nick's apartment before the streets got 
too crowded.  Besides, Nick was probably up by now.  She wished she'd 
left a note saying where she was going.  Difficult, though, considering 
she didn't know where she was going... bah, let's get back to basics 
here.  Get off the tree first, think later.  She liked that idea.

"Natalie?"  Nick poked his head around the corner to see her hang her 
long trenchcoat carefully at the door, keeping the sword harness 
obscured in its folds and leaving no obvious bulges.  She'd gotten 
quite good at it, purely by necessity.  Another way to try to fit in.  
He knew the feeling.  Since she didn't seem to have heard him, he 
watched Natalie scrutinize her coat a moment longer, then quietly 
intruded, "You can't see it."

She started violently, spinning on one heel, and had her sword half out 
of her coat before she it dawned on her who had spoken.  Then she just 
shook her head as she resheathed her sword, chuckling.  "Nick, you 
scared half a decade off me."

He smiled archly.  "I think you have a few to spare."

Natalie sat down next to him on the couch.  To call it sinking into a 
boneless heap is more accurate, but less graceful.  "Mmm... your turn 
to be the active one.  I think I woke up too early this morning."

"Well, it had to happen sometime."  Nick rose and produced her blanket 
out of nowhere, draping it carefully over her.  She cuddled 
appreciatively into her two-thirds of the sofa, and left Nick to warm 
her feet.  Now that his body temperature was finally high enough that 
he *could* warm her feet, that is.  Fortunately, he didn't seem to 
mind.  "Where were you coming from, that your body was operating on 
such a strange sleep schedule?"

She yawned hugely, and resolved not to fall asleep.  She'd never get 
adjusted if she didn't stay awake.  Mmm-hmm.  It was just really comfy 
under this blanket... did Nick say something?  Oh yeah.  "I flew in out 
of Dublin, to this teeny little town about two hundred miles, er, that 
way.  I think."  Her hand snuck just far enough out of the covers to 
point vaguely in the direction of the hallway.

"Natalie, that's in the middle of the Atlantic."

"Oh.  That way, then."  She waved in the direction of the door, and 
slipped her hand back under the blanket.

"Why'd you fly all the way out there?"  He knew she was falling asleep, 
but couldn't help asking.

Natalie opened her eyes to look wearily at him.  "Because Immortals 
look at me, and they see a young one.  A woman.  An easy kill.  That's 
the problem with these guys," she smiled, "none of them have heard of 
The Year of the Woman.  And if they had, they wouldn't have believed 
it.  Fourteenth century sensibilities in twentieth century culture... 
it's annoying as hell."

But her smile faded.  "I got tired of killing people, Nick.  I wanted 
to go somewhere, even for just a little while, where I didn't have to 
be Immortal.  Where I could just be me, and leave all the rest behind.  
Relax.  For just a little while."  Her eyes were starting to droop 
again.  "Just a little while," she sighed, sinking back into the couch.

Nick got up carefully, though he was sure Natalie wouldn't have woken 
if a grenade had gone off in the middle of the room.  He brushed a few 
stray hairs off her cheek, tucked them behind her ear.  "For as long as 
you want.  As long as you need."

****

Natalie sighed in the midst of her dream.  It was a nice dream, a warm 
dream.  She was flying over mountains covered in forest, wall-to-wall 
greenery.  They topped the crest of one of the higher mountains, to 
see an amazing vista of sparkling lakes and rivers.  They?  She turned 
to look beside her.  Yep, there was Paul Hogan flying right next to 
her, same as always.  He was saying something, probably chatting about 
the local wildlife or something, but as usual, she couldn't tell what 
he was saying, so she just turned back and watched the scenery.  She 
supposed that this meant they were flying over some part of northern 
Australia.  She'd never been to the north of Australia.  It looked 
pretty.

She never could figure out this dream.

But it was a safe dream, one she'd had a thousand times before.  So 
what on earth was the horrible screeching noise?  It seemed to be 
coming from Paul.  She wanted to ask him what kind of animal made that 
kind of noise, and where it lived, so they could fly down and put it 
out of its misery.

Then she realized it was the smoke alarm, and woke up.

Smoke was billowing out of the kitchen.  Nick was shouting at the stove 
in what she assumed was some derivative of French, and attacking it 
valiantly with a fire extinguisher.

Natalie got up, stretched, and by the time she'd reached the kitchen, 
Nick was sitting on the tiled floor with an empty canister.  Half the 
room was covered in white dust, and there was a nice burn pattern 
around one of the larger pots.  She leaned in and pulled out a mostly 
charred vegetable.  She guessed it was an asparagus at some point.

"Hi, Natalie.  How was your nap?"  She had to give him points for 
cheerfulness.  

She continued inspecting his stovetop.  "I had the Paul Hogan dream 
again."  She paused in her work to give him a sideways glance.  "You've 
been busy.  Grease fire?"

"Yeah.  I *can* cook."

"Of course you can.  Where do you want to go out?"

He sighed the sigh of the long-suffering.  "Let's open some windows, 
and we can talk about it."

They settled on an Armenian place nearby that Nick had heard was good, 
but never tried yet. They mutually decided to hold off dinner until 
the apartment was clean and ventilated, but that alone took a good 
couple of hours, even with all the fans on, all the windows open, and 
a jumbo can of Ajax.  But they finally did declare it Good Enough For 
Government Work, and hit the showers.

"This isn't a formal place, is it?"  Natalie called out from the 
bathroom.

"I wasn't planning on dressing up.  Besides, I didn't think you could 
fit a dress in that little pack of yours."  It was pretty big thing to 
put on your back, but considering it held virtually all of her 
belongings at the moment, it was nothing.

Natalie opened the door, already in jeans and a loose-fitting 
sweatshirt.  "Of course I can fit a dress in there.  It's just a very 
*wrinkled* dress, that would set dinner back another half-hour.  And 
since it's," she glanced at her watch, made a little squeak, "nine 
o'clock already, we better hurry and get there before they close 
outright."

"I'm ready if you're ready."

"Then we're off.  Just let me get my coat."

As the two stepped outside, Natalie unconsciously dug her hands into 
the pockets of her long trenchcoat and lifted her shoulders to protect 
her neck from the cool night air.  They walked in silence a moment, 
then Nick turned to her.  "So what were you doing in Dublin?"

"Not Dublin, precisely.  I lived about thirty miles out of town.  I 
helped the local veterinarian for a few years in exchange for room and 
board."  She shrugged slightly.  "Nothing fascinating, mostly mending 
broken bones, vaccinations, and the occasional birthing cat.  But you 
couldn't beat the countryside.  Beautiful."  Her smile lightened as she 
looked back at Nick.  "Cold, but beautiful."

"You've lived *here* most of your life, and you can't handle Ireland's 
cold?"

Natalie snorted.  "Not when I'm working all day outside, away from my 
nice warm heater, I can't!  Besides," and her enthusiasm lowered 
considerably, "I lived in Cairo for a while.  It spoiled me."

Her eyes were staring ahead when they suddenly came into focus.  "Hey, 
isn't that our place?"

Nick couldn't quite see, so he replied helpfully, "That's it."

"So, what do Armenians eat, anyway?"

Nick didn't answer.  Natalie finally glanced at him expectantly, and he 
shook his head.  "Don't look at me.  I'm not sure I could even place 
Armenia on a map."

That earned him a wry smile.  "Well, this could get interesting."

Luckily, the food was excellent, heavy on the cous-cous and spicy 
meats.  Doubly lucky, their meal was already finished when the belly 
dancers came out to play.  Though the look on Nick's face was almost 
worth it.  He always did have the greatest expressions when he was 
surprised.  They got better when he was embarrassed.

Natalie had just taken breath to laugh herself silly, when it all came 
out of her again in a whoosh as the Buzz hit.  

She quickly scanned the crowded restaurant, but the feeling faded 
before she could get a fix on it, which bothered her even more.  It 
meant that the other Immortal already knew who she was and where she 
was without needing the fix.  

Which meant that he'd been watching her.

She felt like a bucket of ice had been poured down her back.  Nearly 
all the immortals she'd run into so far had been as she'd said: 
overconfident and looking for an easy kill.  This one was obviously not 
making that mistake.

Across the table, Nick's smile at the dancer next to him was full of 
trepidation.  He looked to her for rescue.

He didn't know what it was he was asking.


Time to Spare (9/?)
by Catherine Boone
catheboo@cco.caltech.edu


Nick took in Natalie's silence, her rush to leave the restaurant, and 
the hours of sword practice without a word.  She'd tell him what was 
bothering her when she was ready.  Knowing Natalie, if he tried to talk 
to her before then, she'd likely just snarl at him and continue working 
it off until she felt better.  So he waited.

Besides, he'd never watched her practice.  She was quite good.  Of 
course, his swordfighting skills were at least two hundred years rusty, 
and he'd never been up to Immortal standards, even at his prime.  With 
a vampire's strength and hypnotism, he'd never had to rely on a sword 
for survival, so he never saw the need to perfect the art.  But he 
could see just looking at her why some did.  And why it was called an 
art.

She spun effortlessly on one foot, landing into a crouch and cutting in 
the same motion, smoothly blocking an exposed shoulder, then another 
downward slice in the opposite direction as the first, and back a step 
to come in from a different angle.  She never stopped moving, or made 
any one movement faster than any other.  Each action flowed naturally 
into the next, and the next.  For hours on end she shadowdanced, until 
her long hair was wet to the core, her clothes were soaked, and she'd 
nearly fallen twice.  Only when she stumbled a third time did she 
finally stop and let her sword tip drop gently into its scabbard.  And 
it was only then that she noticed he was watching.

She tilted her head at him disapprovingly.  "Nick, it's the middle of 
the night.  You should really be asleep."

"So should you.  Want some coffee?"  Nick was holding two mugs in his 
hands.  Natalie made the tiniest glance at the kitchen to make sure it 
was still in one piece.  Nick caught the glance and grinned as he 
handed her a mug.  "No need to worry.  There's no grease in coffee."

She smiled slyly, with effort.  "There's no grease in *my* coffee."

"You didn't complain the first time I made some."

But she just didn't have the heart to banter more.  "You're right, I 
didn't," she sighed.

"You want to talk about it?"

Natalie's eyes looked old, old and sad when they reached his.  "I felt 
the presence of another Immortal, but he got back out of range before 
we got a fix on each other.  The only reason I can think of anyone not 
waiting to see who was near is if he already knew.  And I don't know 
how he could have known I was near without the Buzz, unless he was 
watching me."

Nick sat on the couch and pressed his clasped hands to his lips in 
thought.  Finally he looked up to her and said, "Are you sure it wasn't 
a friend?"

Natalie laughed without humor.  "I don't have any Immortal friends."  
Seeing Nick's expression, she consciously brightened.  "Not to worry, 
Nick.  This just means I'll never have to worry about forgetting to 
send someone a birthday card.  No big deal."

"Not even a friend with a truly awful sense of humor?"  

Natalie's face tightened against her will.  Dammit Nick, can't you 
leave this alone?  "No."  She took a big gulp of coffee, gasped as the 
hot liquid burned her throat.  Then she took another.  Maybe she could 
burn a hole in her larynx so she wouldn't have to say the words.  Now 
there's an idea.

But Nick was peering at her with worried eyes again.  "You're sure you 
don't want to talk about it."  Hell.  He'd been pouring his guts out 
for the past few days, she really owed him the same trust.  Besides, 
there had to be something therapeutic in it.  Somewhere.  Somehow.  
Right?

She contemplated giving him the one-sentence version, just spitting it 
out and then going and hiding under the bed.  Then she sighed and went 
to the kitchen to fetch the mostly-full coffeepot.  She set it on the 
table in front of them.  Refilled her cup.  Refilled his cup, though 
he'd barely sipped his.  He smiled at her, knowing a stall for what it 
was.

Keeping her eyes on the rim of her cup, she began.  "Adam and I were 
living in Cairo fourteen years ago... which is, let me think, six years 
after I left Toronto, which would make it 2002..."

****

(Funny how Methos was thinking about precisely that time period at 
precisely the same time, halfway around the world... must be true love.  
Or maybe they both just had too much Armenian that night.)

Methos arrived in Paris late that night, late enough that all good 
little Watchers were snuggled tight in their beds.  So he found a 
cheap and relatively clean room in the outside of the city, not too far 
from the vast grounds and mansion that made up the European Watcher 
Headquarters, and went to sleep, resolved to go over and figure out 
what was going on in the morning.  He didn't know when Headquarters 
opened, but it didn't matter.  He'd simply never had a need to find 
out.  You see, Methos had a thing about alarms.  Meaning, he hated 
them.  He went to bed when he was tired and got up when he wasn't, 
thank you very much, and didn't need some obnoxious little machine to 
tell him when that was.  

Unfortunately, that didn't stop obnoxious little people from doing the 
job instead, he grumbled to himself as he woke to someone pounding on 
the door, the poor thing rattling in its frame.  "Coming!"

He snatched some jeans off the chair, ran his hand through his hair so 
it only pointed in about five different directions, and opened the 
door, just as it was about to get pounded on again.

Predictably, it was Duncan.  The fact that Methos could come up with a 
snarky comment, less than two minutes out of a sound sleep, before 
Duncan MacLeod could even open his mouth was something he was actually 
proud of.  "Let me guess.  You're here to say 'I told you so.'  Or, 
even better, 'I knew you'd get yourself in a great mess eventually, 
and I just wanted to be there to see it.'"

Duncan snorted.  "Quite a welcome you've got, there."  He surveyed the 
room with a practiced eye, and took the only chair.  "And I never say 
'I told you so.'" 

"Duncan, you *constantly* say 'I told you so.' You just never say the 
words."

Duncan shrugged.  "You're worse about it than I am, anyway."  Clueing 
in that Methos was being even more prickly than usual, he peered at 
the other skeptically.  "So what's gotten into you?  You can't be that 
upset about this Watcher business."

Methos just watched him from the center of the room, his hands on his 
hips.  "You really have no idea what time it is, do you."

Duncan glanced at his watch, and instantly looked like he just sat on 
a scorpion.  "Ow."

"Yes."

"Forgot about the time change.  Want me to come back later?"  He was 
too bloody early, but at least he was contrite about it.

Methos rubbed his face with his hands vigorously.  "No, I was probably 
going to get up in a couple hours, anyway.  It wouldn't be worth it to 
go back to sleep.  Come on then," he dug a shirt out of his bag and 
pulled it on.  "Let's go find some breakfast."

As they walked to the nearest cafe, Methos watched the sun rise over 
the vineyards for a moment, and remembered why he missed France.  
Suddenly out of nowhere a car teetered around the curve, nearly 
flattening the pair of them as it took the turn at about twice the 
speed it should have.  And Methos remembered why he left.  "So, I take 
it Joe sent you."

"He was worried."

"He was *angry*," Methos corrected.  "He was very *very* angry, and 
since I hung up on him and wouldn't let him come out here to cane me 
himself for my thoughtlessness, he sent you to do it for him."  The 
two of them shared an amused glance.  "Well, am I getting close?"

"You're hitting more than you're missing, I'll give you that."

"Joy."

They walked along in silence a while longer.  Good old Joe, he had to 
vent at somebody about Natalie, and Duncan was apparently the lucky 
winner.  Which meant... Methos counted quietly in his head.  Three... 
two... one...

"So why *haven't* you told her what you are?  Don't you think she 
deserves to know?"  Hah!  He just won a five dollar bet with himself.  
Part of him was highly annoyed.  Another part was gloating.  He 
reminded himself to pay himself when he got back to the room.  He also 
reminded himself that he should really do something about this closet 
schizophrenia.  Part of him told him to go to hell.  He couldn't tell 
which part.

But Duncan was still looking expectantly at him when he raised his 
eyes again.  *His* mind could wander, but Duncan was still focused on 
the question.  Well, fine then.  "Did you ever tell Richie?"

Duncan's head snapped back a touch.  "That's different."

"How so?"

"Richie is not Methos' student."

"No, but at the very least, he's a friend of a friend.  If I wanted 
leverage against Methos..."  Tactics went into full swing, and Methos 
barely acknowledged Duncan's presence for a moment as he weighed the 
circumstances.  "All right, it'd actually be a toss-up between Joe and 
Richie.  Joe's more vulnerable in and of himself, but he's usually 
around you.  Richie's on his own a lot more, and might still be the 
easier target for someone with experience."

Duncan obviously did not at *all* like the way this conversation was 
going, but Methos didn't really have the heart to pity him.  He started 
it, after all.

"This isn't about Richie, this is about Natalie."

"Right.  The point is, you didn't tell Richie because you didn't think 
he needed to know, not because he's totally out of danger, far from it.  
You took a calculated risk and, incidentally, one that will probably 
pay off."

He paused for a moment to think about the words to say what was on his 
mind.  It was a good thing he'd already given the matter a lot of 
thought, or Duncan would have been able to sweep the floor with him.  
Finally he continued, "It's like telling a mortal what you are."  
Duncan looked skeptical, and opened his mouth to reply.  "No, hear me 
out.  Look at it from my perspective.  What would I say to her?  'Hi, 
honey.  Listen, you know how I told you I was only two thousand years 
old?  Well, I'm actually over five thousand."  His voice turned bitter.  
"I lied to you about who I was and what kind of person I am, hope you 
can forgive me."  His voice started to rise in the stillness of the 
morning.  "And, oh yes, don't forget to lock up at night, because you 
never know when someone who's been planning his whole life to have 
Methos' head on his mantlepiece may come barging through the front 
door!"  He was shouting by the end.  "Tell me, Duncan, how many times 
have you said the *exact same thing* and held your breath while you 
waited for her to slam the door in your face?"

Duncan looked slightly stunned at his outburst.  "Minus a few zeroes?"  
That earned him a chuckle, and he smiled back, but it faded a little 
before he replied.  "More times than I can count."

Methos was still chuckling as he shed some stored-up tension.  "Teach 
you to ask me deep questions before my morning coffee."

"Well, we're here, which means you're only off the hook a little 
while."  He pointed ahead, and sure enough, there was the sign, 
swinging softly in the morning breeze.

"Did I say 'coffee' singular?  I meant plural."

Duncan rolled his eyes.  "And me, without my spatula to peel you off 
the ceiling."

Methos smirked back.  "A cookie sheet does in a pinch."

"You'd know."

Methos smiled, a real smile this time.  "Damn straight I would."

After they were shown to their seats and each had been fortified with 
at least one coffee, Duncan began, "So what's our plan of attack?"

Methos pinned him with a look.  "*My* plan of attack is to go in, find 
out what the Watchers know about the burglar and why he stole some of 
Adam Pierson's reports on Methos, and then leave.  *You* are going to 
stay in the car."

Duncan pinned him right back.  "That's a joke, right?"

Methos sighed, and rubbed his eyes with one hand.  "Not usually... 
look.  The Watchers are already looking none too starry-eyed at me 
right now, never mind you.  One look at the two of us together, and 
they might very well kill us before we reach the gate."

"Methos, that was six years ago."

He snorted.  "Perhaps.  But you're assuming they're looking at us more 
leniently over time.  They could just as easily be puffing up the 
horrible things we did, and grinding their axes while we wait.  I go, 
you stay."

Duncan shook his head in amazement.  "You are so paranoid, Methos."

He snorted in laughter, and raised his coffee in salute.  "Words to 
live by, my friend."


Time to Spare (10 and 11/?)
by Catherine Boone
catheboo@cco.caltech.edu


After breakfast, the two of them headed out.  Just before Methos left 
the car, down the road a bit from the gates, he made Duncan swear 
again not to leave the car till he got back but, short of handcuffing 
the man to the steering wheel, he didn't think Duncan was going to sit 
and wait anywhere.  Well, maybe all his hysterics would ensure a 
little more caution on Duncan's part when he sneaked his way in.

Speaking of getting in, it was time to get moving.  Methos walked to 
the gates and handed the guard his old Watcher pass, purposefully 
using the arm with the tattoo.  Well, he took the time to re-stencil 
the pattern last night, might as well get some use out of it.  

The guard frowned at him, unimpressed.  "What's your business?"

"I heard there was a break-in, that some stuff I used to be working on 
got stolen.  I wanted to make sure this guy isn't going to come after 
me."  True enough.

The guard looked at his pass again, and sneered, "Says here you worked 
on the Methos Chronicles.  Why d'you think anyone would want to come 
after *you*?"

Oh, goody.  Yet another Watcher flunky ecstatic to find someone even 
lower on the totem pole than they.  Just what I need.  "Maybe because 
the *last* time we had an information leak and our names got out, my 
partner got stabbed to death!  Made me a cautious soul," he snapped.  
Snatching the pass out of the guard's hands, he stalked past him toward 
the mansion.  The guard didn't challenge him.

Fortunately, it hadn't been too long since he'd left, so most of the 
important people hadn't changed.  Oh, the department heads had switched 
around, everyone was still grabbing for positions in the upper 
echelons.  But not the really important people.  His expression 
brightened into a smile as he caught sight of his destination.  The 
office of Ms. Christine Cannick, Head Librarian.  Gifted with an 
extraordinary memory and an eye for organization, Chris could point you 
in the right direction for any era of history and the records of nearly 
any immortal, dead or alive.  Gifted also with a reputation for a 
closed mouth and a link to the secretarial gossip pool, Chris' office 
was the place to go to get information on just about *anything* that 
could be even remotely considered Watcher business.

Plus, she liked him.  Which relieved Methos to no end.

He knocked on her door politely.  She was on the phone when she 
answered, but she hurriedly made an excuse about something coming up 
and slammed the phone down before giving him a hug.  "Adam!  How are 
you?"

"Hi, Chris.  I hope that wasn't anyone important."

She wrinkled her nose.  "I don't think so... I think I dozed off there 
for part of it.  I'm sure if he said anything important, he'll remind 
me."  Grinning, she leaned back into her chair and kicked one over for 
him to sit in.  "So, long time no see.  I heard you've been a very bad 
boy."  Against her will, she started chuckling.  "Really, shacking up 
with a new Immortal and teaching her to fight?  You should *see* the 
pretty colors the Watchers' faces have been turning.  Better than a 
pack of Skittles."

Ah, so he'd been right.  Adam tried hard to look contrite.  He 
really did.  Really, seriously... "Oh, wipe that grin off your face.  
I'm amazed they even let you through the door."  She snorted, trying 
not to laugh as she composed her expression to properly businesslike.  
"The point being, you didn't come back to say hi.  Let me guess, you're 
here about the break-in?"

He nodded.  "What did they find?"

"Well, he was definitely after something specific, whatever it was.  
Nearly tore my library apart looking for it."  She frowned at the 
memory, and Adam winced, knowing the vast majority of the books here 
were irreplaceable.

"Did you lose anything?"

That snapped her out of it, and she smiled wryly back at him.  
"Nothing that couldn't be fixed, thank goodness.  Just a lot of mess 
to sift through."  She turned back to her desk, opened a drawer and 
started searching as she continued, "Turned out he took just a few of 
the later reports on the Methos Chronicle, none of any importance that 
I could see.  And one more bit, taken from the clear other side of the 
library."  She finally pulled out a file and shut the door, turning to 
speak to him directly.  "It was your personnel file, complete with name 
and home address."  Before Adam could wince, she brought up a finger to 
stop him.  "Fortunately, since you managed to evade the Personnel 
Department longer than anyone else in history," she smiled briefly, 
"we don't have a photograph of you on file.  And since you decided to 
leave us so dramatically, we don't have a forwarding address, either.  
So you're better off than you could be."

"Yeah, but I'm here, so I'm also not as well off as I could be."  She 
favored him with a sympathetic look.  "Do you know who the thief was?"

"Ah!  Now that's the good part."  She waved the file in her hand.  "He 
apparently didn't know we had videocameras around the place, or didn't 
care, so we got a nice good look at him on tape."  She rolled her chair 
over next to his and opened the file so they both could read.  "Guy by 
the name of... Thomas Hunter.  Here, a picture of him."

A lanky face with black hair looked back at him.  Tom.  Tom Hunter.  
Karen's husband.  Natalie.  Shit!

Methos was already on his feet.  "Thanks, Chris.  This means a lot.  
I'll talk to you later!"  He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and 
was running down the hall.

She called after him, "Good luck!"  He barely heard her.

Even the mighty Duncan was huffing and puffing to get back to the car 
before he did, and dove into the driver's seat next to him.  Without 
bothering with words Methos patted Duncan's jacket till he found what 
he was looking for: a cell phone.  *That's my Boy Scout... don't ever 
change.*  He pulled it out over Duncan's protests, turned the ignition
and slammed the car into gear as they sped back to Paris.  "Yes, my 
name is Adam Pierson.  I'd like my return ticket from Paris to Cairo 
moved to the earliest flight possible, please."

As the reservations clerk put him on hold, he finally started tuning 
Duncan in.  "Who is it, Methos?  Do you know him?"

He looked at Duncan with eyes too hard for despair.  Know him?  "He's 
probably in my house as we speak."  He turned back to the phone.  "Yes, 
I'll accept the charges..."

****

"Tom, hi!  What are you up to?"  Natalie swung the door open wide to 
let him past.

Tom smiled easily at her.  "Not much.  Is Adam around?"

Natalie eyed him speculatively.  "Why?  Are you guys finally going to 
compare power tools?  You know, I've been waiting for this moment to 
come."

His smile got a little brighter.  "Close.  Actually, I have a surprise 
for you."  It wasn't till then that she noticed one of his hands was 
behind his back.

"Mmm.  Do I get three guesses?"

"Nope, just one."  He brought his hand out.

Natalie gasped in surprise.  "Hey, a new phone jack!  Tom, you are such 
a sweetie!  How did you know our phone was on the fritz?"

"Because I've called you, that's why," he replied, laughing.  "Come on.  
Let's see if we can hook it up."

Natalie went to get screwdrivers and such out of the kitchen, calling 
back over her shoulder, "Where on earth did you buy that?  I thought 
Adam and I had searched every low-rent Radio Shack in Cairo!"

"Oh, you just have to know where to look."  Door to the right, window 
to the street.  Window in the kitchen, but not big enough for a grown 
man, or woman, to slip through.  

He turned as Natalie reappeared, tools in hand.  "I think I got 
everything."

He cocked his head at her.  "Well, let's crack this thing open and find 
out."

Natalie sat down in front of the jack in the wall.  "Well, I suppose 
step number one would be to take out the old one, huh?"  She unplugged 
the phone and started attacking with the screwdriver.

****

"Dammit, Natalie, *pick up the phone!*"  That earned him a sharp look 
from the man sitting next to him on the plane, a slightly more 
sympathetic one from his wife.  He could have cared less, as he calmly 
redialed the number on the airphone in his hand.  Twice now he'd had 
to consciously *not* demolish the thing, or twist it into a shape more 
likely to get his call through.  He'd been trying to get Natalie to 
pick up the phone for a good hour now, but it just rang off the hook.

She's in the bathroom, taking a very long shower.  She went out to eat.  
She went shopping.  She figured out who you are, and left you on the 
spot... *anything* was preferable to the image that kept invading his 
mind when he wasn't looking: Natalie, broken and bleeding, dragging 
herself toward the phone with one hand while Tom stood over her, sword 
raised for the final blow.

The phone rang again, and again, and Methos started to seriously wonder 
if destroying the phone wouldn't be worth it.  It was certainly better 
than ripping a hole in the side of the plane out of pure frustration.  
*Come on, Natalie.  That's my girl, just pick up the phone, that's all.  
Pick it up...*

****

After nearly three hours of leaning over this stupid phone plug, never 
mind trying to decipher the instructions, helpfully written in 
technical Arabic... "I think we're almost done."  She turned to look 
behind her, finding Tom with his eyes on the window, with the view to 
the street outside.  She grinned.  "Still waiting for Adam?  You won't 
find him."

He turned and smiled back at her.  "Oh, really?  Where'd he run off 
to?"

She shrugged and told him, deciding she was just being petty by keeping 
her mouth shut.  "He said a friend of his got into some trouble... I 
dunno."  She laughed it off, turning back to her work.  "*I* think 
he's run off to have some torrid affair with some statuesque brunette 
'Parisienne'," she said in a voice two octaves too high, chuckling to 
herself.  "What do you think?"

"Parisienne?"

"Hmm?  Oh!" she replied, still intent on the last bit of wiring.  
"Yeah, that's where he went, Paris."

If she'd been watching his face when she said it, she'd have seen the 
flicker of reaction on his face.  But she wasn't.  "That's too bad."

Natalie snorted.  "Ain't it, though?"

"I'm sorry."  There was a sound, one Natalie couldn't quite place.  

Have you ever actually heard a sword being drawn?  Not a sound artist's 
representation of a sword being drawn, like in the movies, but an 
actual sword against its scabbard?  It has a distinctive ring to it, 
like a bell.  Maybe it has something to do with the metal of the blade.  
Maybe it's just in the mind of the listener.  But Natalie never forgot 
that sound, for the briefest moment that she heard it.  It was what 
saved her life.

She started to turn to see what it was and saw Tom's sword beginning to 
arc towards her neck.  She yelped and threw herself out of the way 
purely by instinct.  She was on her feet in an instant, but Tom was 
already coming at her with another swipe, which she also just barely 
avoided.  "Tom?"

Tom grimly pressed his advantage.  "I'm sorry, Natalie.  If he already 
knows how close I am to him, he'll just go into hiding again... but I 
know how much he cares about you.  If I kill you, I won't have to 
search so long for him again.  He'll come for me."

Natalie wasn't sure how much of that statement she understood, but at 
the moment she had more pressing concerns.  Namely, saving her life 
from one of her best friends.  She tried to forget about the fact that 
this was someone she trusted, someone she *wanted* to trust... no, this 
is not Tom.  Some kind of evil twin, possession, something, *anything* 
to make her mind believe it wasn't her friend.  Because if it wasn't 
Tom, then she could hate it, and she could kill it.  She already knew 
she had to kill it.  She backed quickly out of range and eyed Tom's 
sword as she tried to remember where she'd put her own.  But she 
started to feel jolts of panic when, for the life of her, she couldn't 
remember where it was... stupid stupid *stupid* damn gonna die... she 
dove for another part of the room, to keep him from pinning her in a 
corner, but she waited just a fraction too long to jump, and he 
managed to catch her in the upper arm as she flew by.  She tried to 
roll to her feet without abusing her arm, but couldn't help landing on 
it a bit, which tore open the wound still further.  She had to find 
something to fight back with, and soon.  Or she really was going to 
die right here in her living room. 

Her fear was rapidly converting itself to anger as it occurred to her 
that she had been deceived by someone she trusted.  Someone she had 
allowed in her home.  And now he was going to kill her on her own 
carpet, for Christ's sake, not because he hated her, not because she 
had done anything to him at all.  Her friend was going to walk into her 
house and kill her because it was most convenient for him.  Most 
time-saving.  Her blood was going to splatter the walls, so that a man 
who would live forever could be saved a couple months' wasted time.  
Cute.  Anger and hatred finally closed around her heart, blotting out 
the fear.  One side of her mind screamed its fury, while the other side 
began to think very, very clearly.  Come on, Natalie.  Something, 
anything.  Knives.  Kitchen.  She turned and ran for it, with Tom 
charging behind her.  She suddenly skidded to a halt and yanked open 
the freezer door, allowing Tom's face to slam into it full tilt while 
she scrabbled for a knife without looking from the sink behind her.  
Almost instantly she found one and swung it down to slice his sword 
arm near the wrist.  Those two together managed to stop him for a 
moment, and his sword clattered to the ground in front of him.  
Instead of diving for it, putting her in a position where he could 
easily overpower her, she waited until *he* dove for it, and gave him 
a football punt to the face.  That gave her just enough time to snatch 
up the sword while he spun away to land flat on his back in front of 
her.  She didn't know if he was conscious, she didn't know if she'd 
broken his neck.  She really didn't care.  Her fear had caught up to 
her, and that, along with the anger that still boiled within, saved 
her from hesitating an instant.  Natalie brought the sword down with 
a sharp cry.

Adam had just landed when he caught the flash.  If he hadn't been 
keeping his sight constantly in the direction of their house, or if it 
hadn't been a typically bright Cairo day, he might have been able to 
convince himself that it was something else.  But he had, and it was.  
He wanted to turn away, just close his eyes and pretend he didn't see 
it.  But he stood in the terminal, very still, with a bag slung over 
his shoulder and one hand touching the cool glass of the window, and 
watched the whole thing, until the last flicker died.  

And then he started to run.

Oh Natalie, don't be dead.

****

It's interesting how some people erect emotional barriers to keep 
themselves from being hurt.  I don't mean to say that it's interesting 
that people *do*, I think everyone does at some point or another.  Part 
of the human condition, one of those dreaded 'character-building' 
things your mother always warned you about.  It's sometimes 
interesting, though, *how* people do it.  That is to say, how well 
different people can distance themselves from their emotions.  Some 
people never seem to learn very well, and they go through life with 
their heart on their sleeve, get terribly hurt, and are terribly happy, 
again and again.  But most of us aren't that strong.

Most people can distance themselves pretty well, certainly well enough 
to get by in life.  A sharp word still stings, but it's nothing to 
burst into tears over.  You go home at the end of the day, lick your 
wounds, do something fun, sleep on it, and are ready to take on the 
world again the next day.  You approach happiness cautiously, but also 
get hurt far less often.

Then there are those who can distance themselves so much, that it's 
almost like another emotion.  Like Love and Hate, one may also feel 
Nothing.  It may start out as a mask to cover their feelings, but it 
becomes something else, because essentially the mask is there to make 
one seem like everyone else, and everyone else can feel.  No, it's more 
like a panic button, something to switch on when one starts to feel too 
much.  The mask likes and dislikes.  The rest loves, and hates, and 
feels Nothing.  

Such a person is usually happy, sometimes angry, never hates, and 
hardly ever loves.

Adam liked Natalie.  He liked her very, very much.

Methos never realized how much he loved Natalie until the day he lost 
her.

****

Well, the body disappeared.  She supposed it was a good thing; she had 
no idea what to do with a dead body in the middle of a crowded city, 
especially a very *hot* crowded city.  But it still scared the life out 
of her when she turned around, and it was gone.

She wished the blood would disappear, too.  It looked like he spilled 
at least two quarts before his heart figured out that he was dead.  She 
really needed to clean this place up, or she'd never get the stains 
out.  She told herself she'd get right to it.  Yes, sir.  Just as soon 
as she finished throwing up.

Adam crashed through the door in a flat run, looking for all the world 
like the hero he tried so hard not to be.  He was just a little late, 
that was all.  He took in the blood without a second glance.  Well, 
he's undoubtedly seen it many times before.  She herself felt like she 
was back in first-year anatomy.  It was not a pleasant memory.  

Adam had his sword out as soon as he was out of sight of the street.  
"Natalie?"  Bright boy, keeping his sword handy.  She just remembered, 
hers was in the kitchen, above the cabinets.  She'd gone in the right 
direction for the wrong weapon.  Oh well.  

He couldn't see her from where she was, sitting on the bathroom floor 
leaning against the wall.  She could only see him because the bathroom 
door was still open just a bit, but she didn't have the energy to reach 
out and move it.  Or she didn't have the willpower.  Same difference.

"In here."  She cleaned her mouth out for about the fiftieth time, and 
turned on the shower, feeling like she had about ten pounds of grime 
to scrub off.  *I'll be out sometime tomorrow, dear.*  Just as she 
stepped into the tub, he swept open the door, sword clattering to the 
ground unheeded.  And for a moment, neither moved.  They just stared at 
each other, Adam in the doorway, Natalie in the shower with water 
pouring down her face.  

Adam couldn't move.  He just couldn't.  He walked into the bathroom 
prepared to kiss her absolutely breathless, and froze.  He just 
remembered that this was Natalie's first Quickening.  He just realized 
that Natalie's training was complete.  And he just remembered why he 
never, *ever*, got involved with his students.

Finally, Natalie said, quite calmly, "I really ought to remember to 
lock the door... I mean, anybody could just walk right in."

Adam stood stock still for another moment, opened his mouth to say 
something, shut it again.  Then he turned and walked out, closing the 
bathroom door behind him.

The scene in the kitchen wasn't very conducive to thought, and the 
bedroom wasn't much better.  Adam... no, *Methos* settled for sitting 
in the hallway with his back to the wall.  He had a wild thought or 
two about not making her leave, pretending to continue their training 
as always, as if nothing had happened.  But it had, and he couldn't 
ignore the rule.  He *couldn't* ignore it.  Not when he'd made it 
himself.

*And do you remember *why* you made that rule?  Remember Alanna?  
Urick?  Yu Chang?  Constance?  You couldn't let them go, and they 
*died* because they never learned to live on their own!  Do you 
remember the looks on their faces when they died?  How many more, 
before you learn your lesson?*

No, here he did not have the option of failure.  This was too important 
to waste time with selfishness.  So he dried his tears, and proceeded 
to purposefully, methodically place emotional armor around his heart, 
one piece at a time.  To fortify his heart until he felt absolutely 
Nothing.

He was surprised how easy it was.  But he shouldn't have been.  He'd 
been doing it a long, long time.

By the time Natalie finished her shower, he was ready.  She opened the 
door with a smile that neatly undid all his hard work.  "Well, I feel 
about a thousand percent better."  He didn't return her smile, and it 
faded.  "What is it?"

He was so busy looking at her and trying to reconstruct his calm that 
he had to snap himself out of it to answer.  *Hello?  Methos?  That's 
your cue.  Speak.  And don't let your voice break.*  "You need to 
leave," he said quietly.  His voice didn't break.

"Why?  Am I in the doghouse over the rug?  I'm sure we can afford 
another one..."  He shook his head.  "Is it the electricity that's 
bothering you?  I think I managed to burst about every light fixture 
we have, but don't worry, it'll get fixed if I have to string the 
wiring myself!"  She tried to lighten the mood, but he wasn't 
responding at all.  "Well then, what?" she cried, exasperated.  "What 
*is* it?  What's wrong?"

His only elaboration was, "It's time for you to go."  She watched him 
go into the bedroom, bring out a medium-sized duffel.  "I packed your 
things."

"What?"  This time it was a mere whisper.  "Adam, does this have 
something to do with Tom?  He told me you were hiding from him, that 
he'd been searching for you... whatever it is, you can tell me!"

His eyes met hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw pain on his 
face.  But no, on second glance, these eyes were *old*, old and cold 
and hard.  These eyes didn't cry for her.  They barely even knew her.  
"There's nothing to tell.  Now get dressed."

He almost told her.  He came within inches.  But if he had, she would 
never have left.  He knew that, he *knew* it.  And still he almost 
told her.  It would have been the perfect excuse to keep her here, 
wouldn't it?  Even with all his supposed resolve, he still almost let 
her stay.  This was not good.  Not good at all.  Natalie needed to 
leave, and right now.

Unfortunately, she wasn't cooperating.  "The hell there isn't anything 
to say!  Now you *tell me* what's going on, Adam, I deserve to know.  
Because, in case you might have forgotten, I nearly got killed today!" 
Natalie shouted from the bedroom, pulling on clothes as she did.

He gritted his teeth.  "Natalie, don't make this harder than it has to 
be."  Because his heart was melting fast, and he was going to lose all 
composure any second now, which would be disastrous for both of them.  
The worst part was, he knew exactly what he had to say to make her 
leave.  He felt sure nothing less would compel her to go.  And he 
wanted desperately not to have to say it.

As he feared, Natalie was digging her heels in even further, tears 
beginning to form in her eyes.  "Why *not* make this hard?!  Why even 
do it at all?  Adam, I love you!  Whatever is wrong, we can..."

In Methos' mind, everything froze, and he said what he had to.  "NO!  
There is no 'we!'  Don't you get it?  I don't love you.  I never loved 
you!  I *left* you here when I realized Tom was coming after me because 
I thought if he got your Quickening, he might leave me alone!"  

An instant later, when he could feel again, the look on her face 
cracked his very soul.  God above, how does my mind think of such lies, 
let alone my tongue bear to speak them?  But he held his ground, and 
played his part the best he knew how.  He glared at her with scorn in 
his eye, and pleaded with his heart.  *Natalie, if you ever loved me, 
leave!  Now!*

Natalie had already been betrayed by someone she trusted once that day.  
It was getting easier to believe with practice.  After a moment, her 
eyes froze over.  *You see?  I can be heartless, too.*  She picked up 
her bag and walked out without looking back.

Methos waited, once again standing very still, until he was sure she 
was out of earshot.  Then, as if he were released from a gun, he swept 
up his sword and plunged it into the wall with a cry that was more 
howl than yell.  He left it there, vibrating, the point sticking a good 
three inches out of the kitchen wall on the other side, and went to bed 
for a nice long cry.

Time to Spare (12/?)
by Catherine Boone
catheboo@cco.caltech.edu


Natalie's eyes were hard and glittering as she glared at the floor.  
She probably didn't even realize she was crying.  "Natalie?"  

Her head snapped up, and she recalled her surroundings.  She took a 
deep breath and smiled weakly at Nick.  "It was a long time ago."

Nick gave her a knowing look.  "Are you trying to convince me, or 
yourself?"  The coffee was long since cold, so he got up to toss what 
was in their cups, and put what was left in the pot back on the heater.  

Natalie tried to get up to help, but he waved her off.  "Since when did 
you get your amateur psychology degree, anyway?"

His back was to her as he washed out their cups, so she didn't see him 
slowly smile, but she did see him waggling his finger for a moment at 
no one in particular as he replied,  "As a matter of fact, I have a 
theory about that."

"A theory."

He glanced back over his shoulder as he put the cups in the dishwasher.  
She was smiling.  Good.  He reached for two more cups.  "Yes.  My 
theory is that vampirism, while slowing down the aging process, 
creating a blood lust, et cetera, alters the brain chemistry to inhibit 
mature thinking."

"Oh *really.*"  This had to be good.  Natalie got up and walked into 
the kitchen to wait with Nick while the coffee reheated, loving every 
minute of Nick's delighted look at being able to tell this particular 
story.

For his part, Nick was really starting to warm up, and couldn't quite 
suppress an evil grin.  "Yes.  Moreover, the tighter hold vampirism has
over a body, the longer his fangs grow, and the less grip he has on 
mature thought."

"You wouldn't happen to be thinking of a particular kind of vampire,
would you?  Say, the kind that might be watching us right now?"

"Of course not," he replied with a not-quite-perfect poker face, and 
Natalie had to laugh.  "You like my theory?"

"I love your theory.  Tell me more."

Nick maintained his barely repressed grin, as he reached back into the 
sink.  "Well, you know how to kill one, don't you?"

"Mmm... do tell."

"Well," and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "legend has 
it that if you sneak up on one very... very... slowly, and then..."  
Nick flipped on the faucet with one hand and grabbed the sink sprayer 
with the other, and Natalie caught the spray full in the face, letting 
out a high-pitched yelp in the process.  "... you do that.  And they're 
dead meat."

Natalie looked at him impassively for a moment.  "They're not the only 
ones."  A hand reached behind her, and found the refrigerator door.  
She opened it, glanced inside, then turned back to Nick.  "What does 
legend say about potato salad?"

"Mmm..." Nick paused thoughtfully.  "Invented by the Irish in 1712 to 
ward off evil spirits."  Natalie just looked at him.  "Though there's
really no way to know for sure unless you try it out for yourself."

"The power of the sink sprayer versus the power of potato salad.  This 
could be war," Natalie commented as she took the bowl out of the 
fridge.

"If you can't pick your battlegrounds, and you can't pick your enemies,
the least you can do is pick your weapons.  En guarde."

"Hee-*yah*!"  As the kitchen dissolved into shrieks and giggles, 
splashes and splats, if there *was* an Enforcer watching, she rolled 
her eyes, and made her own judgements about maturity levels.

****

Natalie forlornly surveyed the damage they'd done to the kitchen.  
Again.  "Didn't we just clean this place?"

Nick was lying on the floor in defeat, which was a pretty disgusting 
thing to do, considering the mess.  He probably reasoned that whatever
the state of the floor, it was still cleaner than they were.  And he'd 
be right.  "We could just let it go till tomorrow," he responded 
without opening his eyes.

She shot him a glance that he was totally oblivious to.  "Nick, it is 
tomorrow."

Nick smiled and shook his head.  "Tomorrow is defined as after sleep."

That made her pause for a moment.  "How did you ever survive sleeping 
days then?"

"By setting my watch to Tokyo time.  I still say we leave the mess."

"No.  Nick, it's gonna start growing germs."  She nudged his shoulder
with one foot.  "Come on.  We have to clean it up.  Or I'm going to let
you just sleep there till that stuff cakes on you."

"I don't think you want to know my response to that."

"No, I don't.  C'mon, upsy-daisy, the sooner we start, the sooner we 
finish."

"All right, all right, I'm up."  She tossed him a washcloth, and he 
attacked the cabinet walls while she started in on the floor.  "You 
know, Torquemada has nothing on you."

"And I suppose this is the point where you tell me you knew 
Torquemada."  Natalie threw him an amused glance.

Nick dumped the contents of his washcloth in the sink, rewashed it.  
"Are you kidding?  LaCroix *was* Torquemada, didn't you know?"

"Ha!  Now *that*, I believe."  Natalie paused for a moment in her work 
to look at Nick.  He was busy trying to push all the gunk collected on 
the countertop into the sink in one fell swoop.  He kept missing 
pieces and having to go back, but his face was a mask of concentration.  
His clothes were a complete mess, and he had what looked to be tomato
in his hair.  He looked old.  He looked happy.  He looked normal.

"Nick?"  He turned.  "Have I told you how glad I am that I came to 
see you?"

He smiled at her, the smile she loved best, with all the laugh lines 
and crow's feet and happiness that he never had in all the time she'd
known him before, and wiped a piece of celery off her nose.  "No.  But
I'm glad you came, too."  She pulled him into a hug, and his arms 
tightened around hers for a long moment.  

Then she pulled away and looked down at them, and the state of their 
clothes.  "Eww.  Next time, clean first, hug later."

Nick laughed softly, and picked up his washcloth.  "I'll remember.."

By the time they finished cleaning up the second disaster of the night, 
it was well past the wee hours of the morning.  "...It looks like it 
might be dawn soon."

Nick was operating solely by touch again, it was a little frightening 
how good he was at it.  "Already?  And here, the party's just started."

"Nick?"  He turned his face in her direction and grunted, eyes still 
closed.  "Nick?"  Come on, dearie, open those baby blues, there you 
are...  "Have you ever watched the