Richie approached the car cautiously. Despite the cover of darkness, he felt exposed. Cuffed and swordless, he'd be fish food before another Immortal could say "Fish or cut bait!" He just hoped the damn guard had exited the scene so that he could grab his sword. Elena's buzz faded off into nothingness, leaving just the reminder of a headache. Not a hangover, he thought obstinately. The flu. Not that he was anxious for Elena to know that, either. Wasn't flu the kind of thing only Junior Immortals got? The sedan sat dark and abandoned beside the pier. Richie pulled open the back door and retrieved his sword. He left the jacket in the car, since it was no good to him as long as he was in handcuffs. Finding a place to stash the sword was a problem; ultimately he decided there was nothing to do but brandish it about like Luke Skywalker. He moved to the front seat. Joe's keys were still in the ignition. Richie coaxed the car to a start without much difficulty, concluding that Joe had probably just flooded the engine. He let the car warm up while trying to figure out how to remove the hand controls--the last thing a handcuffed driver needed. "Oh, shit, not another one!" A skincrawling sensation announced the sudden arrival of another Immortal. It couldn't be Elena--even in the rain and the dark, Richie was sure she couldn't approach unnoticed in her present ensemble. Not wanting to be trapped in the car, he kicked open the driver-side door, grabbed his sword, and dove out in a spectacular belly flop. The move worked about as well on the pier as it had earlier that afternoon in the dojo. He rolled onto his back. "Arrgh!" Dammit, the puddles were getting deeper and colder, and he had forgotten that rip in his jeans. A woman peered down at him. He couldn't see much but the gleam of her smile. She looked young and was probably a crone. "You're not Duncan MacLeod," she said, amused. Richie couldn't tell if she felt that was a good or a bad thing. He considered his circumstances. "Nah," he said. "I'm the comical sidekick." The Immortal woman laughed out loud. "You're very good at it." "Thanks." He sat up, keeping his sword in hand without lifting it high enough to even suggest a threat. "You know Mac?" "As of today," she confirmed. "He was gracious enough to let me fight Mabel first." She spoke in an obscure European accent that made Richie think of Connor MacLeod. He hoped she wasn't as dangerous as Connor. "When I heard your engine," she went on, "I had hopes Monsieur MacLeod was going to offer me a ride to somewhere--how do you say it?-- somewhere more comfortable." Richie squirmed at her suggestion. "Mac's *got* a girlfriend!" And she would stomp you to death if she were here right now, he didn't dare say aloud. Not while he was on the ground in handcuffs, and she was standing over him with, no doubt, a sword of her own. One she had recently used to kill Mabel, whoever Mabel was. She leaned in close, appraising him. "And you?" "Taken!" he squeaked. She cocked her head. "A pity. I like men in handcuffs." She sighed. "But I will take the *car* ride instead." She stepped over his legs, slid into the car, and locked the door shut. Richie jumped to his feet and pounded on the car window. "Hey! It's not my car! You can't take it!" She puzzled briefly over the hand controls, but he had given her an edge by starting the engine. She gave him a little wave, backed up the car, and paused to search for the correct gear. The sedan jerked and then sped down the street. "Stop!" Richie yelled. He ran after the car, hampered by both the cuffs and his sword. "Please, stop!" ******* Elena grinned at Dawson's discomfiture and shook her head. With her right hand she pulled her train aloft, and with her left she hacked at her skirt. It took several loud, blasphemous swipes to remove the majority of the dress's tail. Dawson breathed a quiet sigh of relief, not fooling Elena. The Watcher had been genuinely worried about her intentions. But her sadistic enjoyment of this fact was cut short when Dawson cried out, "Son of a bitch!" Elena turned and saw the Watcher's own car barreling down the wharf, headed directly toward them. She leaped forward to knock Dawson out of the car's path, but he had already flattened himself against the wall. Whether by accident or intent, the car veered westward, jumped the curb, and soared out over the water. "Son of a bitch," Dawson repeated softly. He took a deep breath. "You're gonna have to fish him out, Duran. He's sure to drown in those handcuffs." "!Me cago en prin!" she exclaimed. Saturation point or not, she was not up for diving into a cold, dark ocean to rescue a drunk driver. She growled. Unfortunately, repeated drowning for his young friend and former student was the sort of lesson Duncan would disapprove of. Heartily. So she tugged off her remaining petticoats and unhooked her stockings from her garter belt. Then she went to the edge of the concrete and sat, legs dangling over the water. She unbuckled the hated shoes and stripped off the stockings. At least she found some pleasure in tossing the nail-shod shoes into the deep. The second shoe had just sunk out of sight when she sensed the approach of another Immortal. Jumping back to her feet too quickly, she shook her head to try to clear the dizziness. She managed to whip her broadsword into position, thanking God that she was at least free of the heels and most of the ruffled skirt. Richie huffed into sight, his sword clasped in both hands, bobbing with each step. "Elena!" he said. "Some Immortal just stole Joe's car! She drove it right off the road and into the water!" "Thank God." Elena sat back down, relieved that she would not have to fight *or* dive. "Hey!" Dawson protested. "That's my car! Do you know how much it cost me? It's gonna take an arm and a leg to replace it!" Elena laughed and closed her eyes. God, she felt awful. "The leg will have to come from you, Richie," she said. "I feel limbless." In spite of everything, Dawson guffawed. "That's what we call a lame excuse, Duran." She managed a weak smile, clutched her stomach, and threw up at his feet. "Christ!" Dawson bent over her, held too rigidly by his prosthetics to be of much help. "And *that's* what I call decorating the pavement." "The technicolor yawn," Richie said, not unkindly. "Matches her outfit." He grabbed a portion of her abandoned petticoats and used the fabric to wipe her mouth. A perfect use for that horrid garment, Elena thought. Richie helped her move away from the exposed area near the water, lowering her to a seat against the building wall. "I'm sorry, Richie," she murmured. "You really were sick." He smiled and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially. "I won't tell anybody if you don't, OK?" "OK," she agreed. "Move away now." Richie scooted off and let her continue emptying her stomach. Dawson made a face and looked away. "So much for ironclad Immortal constitutions. Now who the hell was at the wheel?" he asked Richie. Richie shrugged. "Some Immortal woman. She didn't leave a card." "What? Another Immortal?" Elena hated being left out of the discussion. "Are they going to start walking out of the sea now, like Godzilla?" "Kinda," Richie said, brightening. "She says *she* offed the other Immortal, not Mac." "That goddamned white knight." Elena coughed and spit, trying to clear the terrible taste out of her mouth. "He doesn't even fight the bitch and we're out here rescuing him? !Pendejo!" "And my *car*?" Dawson asked pointedly. "I think you just flooded the engine," Richie said helpfully. "I got it started." "Gee, thanks for that," Dawson responded. "If it hadn't been for your help, I'd still have my car." "We Immortals pay for our mistakes with our heads. You Watchers pay with your cars. Seems to me like you're ahead of the Game," Elena said evenly. Richie looked a bit sheepish. "I figure she got confused by the hand controls, Joe. See, she was in a big hurry to find a man." "Passed you up, did she?" Dawson asked. Richie laughed. "Yeah, she was hoping for Mac. The usual." !Que mierda! Elena pulled herself to her feet. "!Mal rayo le parta a la puta esa! I hope she drowns twenty times before she gets out!" The two men turned to her. "Maybe she's a champion swimmer," Dawson said. "I wonder who the hell she is?" "Not a champion driver," Richie said. Turning to Elena, he asked, "You done cleaning house? Can you walk?" "I'm not a champion walker," she said, pulling her coat back on. She wiggled her bare toes. "I hope I don't step on anything gross. Ugh." She shuddered. Richie studied her for a moment. "Wow. You look like hell." "Like a pirate in drag," Dawson added. "With no one but Peg-Legs and Peter Pan here to walk you home from the party." Richie smiled. "Hey, if Xavier was here we'd have Captain Hook, too!" "!Maldita sea!" Elena had no intention of playing Wendy to any lost boys. She'd rather make them all walk the plank. "As long as I keep swearing I can keep going," she explained. "Swearing helps." "That's what Mac always says about bagpipe music," Richie offered. "Not much difference between the two," Dawson quipped. Elena grunted her agreement with the Watcher's opinion of bagpipes. She steadied herself against the wall and pulled a pin from her bun. "Come here, Richie," she said. Despite the near-complete darkness and her aching head, she managed to pick the cuffs--though not without further enriching Joe's vocabulary. Richie rubbed his raw wrists. "How come you didn't just do that in the first place?" "I would have if you'd given me a chance," Elena reproved him. "Do you really think it's wise for an Immortal to wander a killing ground in handcuffs?" "I did OK!" "Yeah?" Dawson said. "Where's my cane then?" "Your cane?" Richie repeated. "I was kinda busy, Joe. Not to mention my hands were full." He stuck his sword into his belt. "Well, they're not full now, so you get to help me carry Don Martini here," Elena snapped. "Let's get going." She paused to reconnoiter. "Our friend in the ocean is that way," she said, waving vaguely west, "so we want to go in the opposite direction and find a telephone." Then, her voice rising in loud frustration, she added, "See if we can call a taxi or Duncan or one of those Watcher vans or any-fucking-body to get us out of here!" Dawson shook his head. "There are no telephones around here, Duran. You Immortals always find the most remote places on earth for your fights, remember? There's nothing around here but muggers and rats," he said, sighing. "Wet rats." "Rats?" she whispered. "Does it have to be rats?" "Snakes!" Richie and Dawson chorused. "I hate snakes!" Elena didn't understand the reference. She took a wobbly step forward, slipped, and fell. She lifted her head out of a puddle, coughing. "!Cono! I'm going to drown on dry land!" "Dammit!" Dawson said. He tottered over to her. "You're right, Duran. Swearing does help." He grabbed Richie's arm and offered his other hand to Elena. Richie moved closer to better support Dawson. The Watcher shifted, throwing his arm around Richie's waist. Richie jumped away. "Jesus, Joe!" Dawson swayed back toward Elena, and she caught him and pushed him upright. She smiled brightly at Richie. "Cold water in your decolletage, Richie? I know what that feels like." "Cold *hands*!" Richie said. "I know what that feels like, too," Elena said, getting on Dawson's other side. "And if Duncan ever tries it again, *he's* going to be playing Captain Hook." "That's more information than I wanted to know," Dawson said. "Really?" she asked silkily. "I thought you Watchers wanted to know everything." Dawson shook his head. "Not *everything.*" "Just stick to above the waist!" Richie instructed. He took one step forward, and Dawson and Elena stepped after him like a drunken chorus line. Elena tried to do her part to keep the Watcher moving, but it wasn't easy when her own head was spinning. She had to concentrate on each step, and she wondered if she would, at some point, actually step on some drowned rodent. Or even worse, a live, drowning rodent. That thought kept her head down, scanning furiously with her one eye. Gradually, Richie picked up the pace. Dawson began to hum some inane melody that made Richie laugh and attempt to sing. "Hey, hey, we're the Monkees, people say we monkey around--" Elena grimaced. "Shouldn't we be singing that Russian Volga boatman song? You know, 'ay da da DA da, ay da da DA da, yesho ravits, ay OOKH nyem!'" She stopped singing. "What the hell am I doing? !Carajo!" "I'm not a barge," Dawson said, smiling. "And that's a repeat. You haven't run out of swear words already, have you?" She closed her eyes, but smiled too. It was either smile or cry, and she was too wet to make crying worthwhile. "The classics bear repeating," she explained. Even with Richie's help, Dawson was heavy, and she was feeling woozy again. And if she was feeling bad ... All of a sudden it occurred to her that she would recover, no matter how bad the virus, and so would Richie. But Dawson was an old man, and a mortal, and he might not survive a bug that she and Richie could burn through in a few hours. As much as she hated and even feared Watchers, she did not want Dawson to get double pneumonia and wind up hospitalized or dead. Dammit! Swallowing her bile and taking long deep breaths for energy, she speeded up her pace. *******