Joe turned, following Richie's horrified gaze. "Oh, Christ," the Watcher moaned. "Why the hell is this happening to me?" Richie and Auralia pulled their swords simultaneously. "You lost the handcuffs," Auralia observed with a wolfish smile. "And your shirt. A good trade." "Go home," Richie said. "Mac's busy." "I think he'll find time for me. I did take out Mabel for him, after all." "Look, I already told you. Mac has a girlfriend, and she's right here." Auralia scrutinized the bedraggled Elena with undisguised amusement. Elena put one hand on Joe's shoulder and pushed herself up off the sofa with great dignity. It took a moment for her to gain her balance. Her broadsword remained on the cushion beside Joe. "Elena!" Richie fretted. "Sit down! I'm handling this!" She shook her head. "Let it go, Richie." She shuffled toward the bathroom and yanked open the door. Thanks to the perfect acoustics provided by the tiled walls, the sound of Duncan retching was audible to all. A moment later the toilet flushed and Duncan wavered in the doorway. "Elena," he whined. "Could you make me some tea? And rub my back?" Auralia's eyes widened and she lowered her sword. "Oh, my God." Richie grinned. "You want to make him feel better? Or maybe catch what he's got?" "Screw that!" Auralia exclaimed fervently. She turned back to Richie, lowering her sword. "How about you? You don't make me sick." Richie laughed, not certain whether Auralia's phrasing reflected a lack of complete fluency in American slang or an assessment of his charms. "Well, actually ... " Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Joe's wink at Elena, and her answering smile. "I thought you had a bone to pick with me," he said. "And that we had something to discuss." "Yes. First the fight, then the making up." Auralia's brow furrowed. "Or is it the 'making out'?" she queried. "Whatever," Richie said solemnly. "Unless you are sick, too," she said, studying him closely. "Nah," Richie lied, lowering the point of his own sword. His fever was back--especially since, in spite of the midnight swim, Auralia still seemed quite ... uh, lively. He knew how it felt to take a Quickening. It was the same way he felt just about every time he looked at a beautiful woman--times one thousand. She misinterpreted his hesitation. "No hard feelings," she said regretfully, making her weapon disappear inside her raincoat. "You are taken." "Well, I kind of lied. Considering our situation and all," he admitted. Her eyes narrowed. "And you looked such an honest child," she complained. Then she slowly looked him up and down. "You have any more surprises?" she purred. With that one long leer, he felt her strip off all his remaining clothes--jeans, shorts, socks, and all. He liked the feeling; how come so many women complained about it? He wet his lips, trying to think of a proper comeback, when he was distracted by a muffled chuckle. Joe and Elena were watching him with wide smiles. He put his sword away. "Um, Auralia, maybe you can wait for me outside for a minute?" She took a deep breath. "Don't keep me waiting too long, sugar," she smiled. "There are other men, you know, who might not even want to cut my head off." "But they won't have my stamina!" Richie called after her retreating figure. "And I never kiss and kill!" His pulse was pounding, but he wasn't sick anymore. Just lovesick. Auralia's steps were still echoing down the stairs when Richie turned to the others. "Don't say it!" Elena smirked, and Joe replied innocently, his eyes dancing, "Me? I wasn't going to say a thing." Joe. Damn, he wanted to go off with Auralia, but he couldn't leave Joe here all wet and exhausted with no one but two sick Immortals for company. Duncan returned to the bathroom door. Now he closed his eyes and leaned against the door jamb. "What's going on?" he gasped. Everyone ignored the Highlander. Elena fixed her eye first on Richie and then on Joe. "Everything about tonight is under omerta," she said. "Omerta!" Richie agreed heartily. Joe bared his sleeve to show his tattoo. "I grok oaths of silence." Elena nodded. "Tell you what, Richie. Get Dawson one of the canes in Duncan's umbrella stand and I'll take our friendly neighborhood Watcher home. Or maybe out for a drink?" Joe smiled. "Great!" No way Richie was going to pass up this opportunity--although it meant he'd now owe Elena big time. Maybe if he didn't mention it, she wouldn't notice ... yeah, right! In any case, he had more important things to think about right now. He picked out a fine silver-headed mahogany cane and handed it to Joe, then grabbed a sweater from Mac's drawer. He pulled the garment on over his head, leaving his shirt wrapped around his waist. Just for the moment, he hoped. He noticed Mac pale and return to the bathroom, but he knew the Highlander would be fine. Eventually. "You sure about this, Duran?" Joe asked her. "I can call a taxi." She shrugged, and Richie was almost at the door when, feeling a little guilty, he turned back to speak to the barkeep. "Hey, Don Martini, better get your flu shot. And take some vitamin C." Joe shook his head. "Get out of here! And watch your head," he added unnecessarily. If Richie had a nickel for every time he'd been warned about that--but then he realized that this new day might turn out well after all. Better than yesterday. *If* he kept his head. It was a chance he was willing to take. "Don't watch, do!" he admonished Joe happily, and he ran out the door. ******* Elena shook her head. "Four hundred years, and I'm still amazed at how men let their gonads make their decisions for them." Dawson countered with, "The lady seemed eager, didn't she? No gonads there." Elena sighed. Dawson was too observant by far. "Richie has no idea." Then she looked Dawson over. He was wet and cold, but he seemed to have caught his second wind. So had she. "Actually, I'm feeling much better. You can borrow one of Duncan's sweaters too, Dawson. I'll just change my clothes and we'll take Duncan's car." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a hand reach for the frame of the bathroom door. Duncan dragged himself to his feet. "Elena!" he objected. "You can't leave now!" Elena began to shimmy out of what remained of her yellow flamenco dress. "Not tonight, dear. I have a headache." She studied Duncan for a moment, starting to feel sorry for him, remembering how sick she'd been feeling just a little bit ago. And whose fault had it been that she'd been out, sick, in the rain, in that rotten dress--? Duncan groaned piteously and grabbed for his abdomen. "Suck it up, Duncan," she said sweetly. Dawson, who had not, she noticed, taken any of Duncan's clothes, and who had studiously avoided watching her take her clothes off, tch'd. "Shouldn't you at least help him get to bed?" he asked. "No mercy, Dawson," Elena said. "He can crawl to bed by himself." She put on jeans and a t-shirt, then pulled out one of Duncan's sweatshirts and helped Dawson into it. Then she snagged Duncan's keys from the kitchen counter and held her arm out to Dawson. "Shall we?" He got up and looked at her dubiously. "You're *absolutely* sure about this?" "Dammit, Dawson, I've been carrying you all night. I deserve a drink. I'll even buy you one. You did help me get up when I was yurking," she admitted. "Elena, *I* need you here--" Duncan whined again, then sat down heavily on the bed. "See? He made it to bed already on his own. Let's go, Dawson." They stepped into the elevator arm in arm, and she released him to pull down the elevator door. He leaned against the back wall. "Are you sure *you're* not going to upchuck anymore?" Dawson asked her. "In MacLeod's T-bird, maybe?" "Nope. No more stomach flamenco." "No more yodeling?" he insisted. "No more un-eating," she replied. The elevator started down. Dawson thought for a moment. "No more horking?" She growled. "No fair! You know English better than I do! I'm out!" Dawson chuckled. "The winner, and still champion," he crowed, holding up one fist and leaning heavily on his "new" cane with the other arm. "And you'll notice I never sprayed, either." Narrowing her eyes, she challenged him, "I know more swear words than you do." "Oh, yeah?" Dawson answered, drawing himself up. "In what language?" Elena smiled. Yesterday had been un dia de madre. But it was after midnight, and the new day was going to be fun. *The End* Feedback welcome at vmoreau@adelphia.net and sef1029@att.net