What was that, the two-dozenth rotten pier they had passed? Richie wondered. How many could there *be*? He felt like a popsicle, cemented by the cold rain to the icy weight that was his sword. He could only imagine what this hike was doing to Joe. The Watcher was leaning heavily on the two Immortals and complaining colorfully about everything except his own aches and pains. Suddenly Elena slowed down again and didn't seem to be pulling her weight anymore. "Wait, Richie," she gasped. Gasping was bad. Elena Duran could spar for hours before she started gasping. She pulled away from the two men, grasping her stomach. Her stomach *wasn't* empty. Yet. "She's throwing up again," Richie murmured to Joe. "Yeah," Joe answered, not sounding too happy. "Spewing." Richie took advantage of the break to shift Joe's grip a little higher on his shoulder. "Choking on chunks," he said philosophically. "Chewing backwards. Launching the food shuttle." Joe looked at Richie, smiling a little. "Blowing her groceries," he contributed. "Tossing her cookies. Talking to Ralph on the big white telephone." Richie shook his head. "No telephones around here," he pointed out. "She's just burping solid. Spraying. Insulting her shoes." "Those shoes deserved it. But she's barefoot now," Joe reminded him. "And she's still barfing. Losing her lunch. Painting the wall." He's running out, Richie thought, smiling. And so was he. "Making a chunky puddle. Laughing at the lawn." Joe's eyes narrowed. "Revisiting her beer." Ah, a bar one, no fair, Richie thought--but he was determined to win. "Having an impromptu protein party." "Bracking. And that's it for me. I'm starting to feel a little queasy myself," Joe said, but his smile was broader now. Richie felt refreshed. He offered the coup de grace: "Delivering a sidewalk pizza." Joe made a face. "I'll never eat pizza again," he vowed, as Elena, wiping her face with the rain, made her way back to them. "Miss me?" she asked, taking up her burden again. "Nah. You done worshiping the porcelain god?" Richie asked. Elena raised her head proudly. "Yes, I'm finished coughing up my colon." Richie chuckled, and the three began to move again. A quarter-mile or so later, Richie--who wasn't scanning the ground for rats--was the first to see the lights of the city twinkling ahead of them, the lights at the end of a long, wet tunnel. "Hey, look! Civilization!" Elena grunted wearily. "Civilization, my ass," Joe grumbled, but he didn't douse Richie's enthusiasm. "Now it sure would be nice if it stopped raining," Richie suggested. The rain stopped. "Hey," he said, "I can control the weather!" "Great. The heaving is followed by hallucinating," Joe said weakly. "Yeah? Well, is *that* a hallucination?" Richie said, pointing with his chin at a car that had just turned toward them. A limousine whose passengers, happily, were not Immortals. The vehicle headed straight for them, its headlights blinding. Hoping for the best, Richie stood his ground. After all, he and Elena couldn't flee, not with Joe sandwiched between them, and Elena was in no shape to run or fight, anyway. The car screeched to a halt. Doors opened and closed on both sides of the limo and two men came toward them. They were dressed very nattily in suits and ties. Wide suit jackets, suitable for hiding a shoulder holster. *Shee-it.* The man on their left looked them up and down and laughed without much humor. He didn't seem too impressed by the swords Richie and Elena were toting. "Who the hell are you, and whaddya think you're doing out here?" A genuine Italian accent this time. These two were soldiers. Richie looked toward the limo, where the boss was undoubtedly waiting. He wondered what the real capo's name was, and he almost laughed aloud. Joe opened his mouth to offer an explanation, then closed it again. Richie was at a loss for words, too. Both men looked at Elena expectantly. She sighed. "Can we talk to your boss? In the car there?" she asked. "He don't talk to nobody he don't wanna," the man answered. "So why don't you ask him if he wants to?" Elena suggested. "If only to satisfy his curiosity." The man hesitated, and she said, "What, do you think you can't protect him from *us*? Have Tony there keep an eye on these two, and I'll talk to your padrone alone. Deal?" The man went back to the car, spoke for a few minutes, and said, "Nico, keep an eye on them." He pointed to Elena, waving her closer. Richie and Joe watched in bemused silence as Elena went to the car window and bent over slightly. After a long conversation in mixed Italian and English, she swept back to them. "Let us speak in private!" she told Nico imperiously, and the goon backed off. "Don't talk!" she hissed at Joe. "You are Don Jose Martini, revered mob boss, Portuguese branch. Ricardo and I have just saved you from an attempt on your life." "Wha--" "I said *shut up*! You only speak Portuguese!" Joe's voice dropped to a growly whisper. "I don't know a word of Portuguese, Duran!" "Don't you Watchers study ancient Sumerian or something? Use that! *Nobody* here knows any Portuguese, including Don Carlo and his bodyguard, Luigi. And if you blow his offer of a lift for a fellow member of La Famiglia, I'll personally make sure you won't be speaking any languages again, ever." Richie grinned. "Who am I--Ricardo, the studly, quick-thinking bodyguard of Don Martini?" Elena snorted. "Have you any idea what you look like from the back, *Ricardo*? If I were you, I'd wrap my shirt around my waist before Nico over there gets a rear view. Or any ideas." "Ah, good point!" Richie hastened to unbutton his shirt. "And as long as you're getting undressed, you can hand over your sword to me," Elena said sweetly. "Don Carlo's bodyguards are never going to let you in that car packing heat." "But they'll let you? How come? Hey," he asked, his voice taut with suspicion, "who did you tell them *you* were?" Elena cleared her throat. "Is not important," she said. "Now come on." She took Joe's arm and started to drape it around her shoulders again. "Wait," Joe whispered. "I need to know who you told them you are, so I can play the part ... especially since I can't say anything." Elena grimaced. "I told them I was ... Don Martini's ... your ..." She drifted off. Richie snorted, trying valiantly to hold back the laughter. He succeeded only in starting a coughing spell that made him double over. Elena Duran, Joe's woman. His broad. His *moll*. "Shit," he finally said, "this is one helluva goddamn rescue party." He coughed again. "A friggin' par-tay!" Elena was right. Swearing did help. Dutifully but unhappily, he handed his sword to Elena, who gave both weapons to the driver. No sooner had their swords passed from sight than Richie sensed it--another Immortal's approach. "Oh, come on!" he exclaimed in disbelief, glancing at Elena, who was looking, pale and exhausted, toward the sea. He realized it was a good thing Elena's sword was out of reach. Otherwise, she'd be shoving him into the ocean in her eagerness to be the first to present arms. Out of the mist, sword in hand, came the woman who had beheaded Mabel, dumped her in the ocean, then stolen Joe's car and dumped *that* in the ocean. "Hey!" she said, pointing her sword at Richie. "I have a bone to pick with you, young man!" "Who the hell is this?" Luigi asked. "And what's with them pigstickers? Some sort of mouseketeer convention or somethin'?" The Immortal ignored Luigi. She picked a piece of seaweed from her hair and let it drop on the sidewalk with a splat. "You were going to let me just drown in that car? And drown again?" she hissed at Richie. "I told you not to take the car." Richie shrugged. "And this is not the time or place to pick a fight, anyway," he added. "Just get rid of the gorillas there, and you and I can have our own personal ... discussion," she suggested. She was very articulate for someone who was obviously furious. Richie knew he was about to make her angrier. "Some other time, lady," he said. At the same time Elena said, patiently--very patiently for her, Richie thought--"We have to get Don Martini home. If you're smart, you'll go now. Come back later." "Hey, you want us to get rid of the broad for ya?" Luigi asked. Richie glanced back at the two soldiers. Nico already had his hand in his jacket--and Richie's sword in his other hand. Richie shook his head and tried to wave them off. "Look," he said, approaching the unknown Immortal cautiously. "I don't even know your name. But unless you want to be full o' holes in the next ten minutes, you better pack it in." "My name is Auralia Jones. And I'll 'pack it in', as you suggested. But our ... argument is not exactly over." "Fuck off, Auralia," Elena said, turning her back on the other woman and heading determinedly for the car with Joe at her side. Angry and dripping, Auralia looked very much like she intended to kill Richie before the night was over. But she backed away. "Double damn," Richie said softly. It absolutely helped. He gave Auralia a mock salute, turned, and walked rapidly to the car. He slid inside and the limo drove smoothly away. Swords and chauffeur in the front seat, mobsters and would-be mobsters and Italians and so-called Portuguese in the back, they drove toward the dojo beneath the beneficent smile of Don Carlo. Elena didn't hurl once during the whole trip--although her color was still not good. Don Carlo seemed very interested in her tattered dress and Joe's tattoo, and she answered his questions politely in Italian. Richie scowled and tried to look like a wiseguy. Joe, exhausted, adopted the clever strategy of simply closing his eyes and leaning against the back of the seat. The limo pulled up at an apartment building down the block from Duncan and Elena's home--probably, Richie guessed, because Elena hadn't told Don Carlo and his soldiers where the two Immortals really lived. She and Richie helped Joe maneuver out of the car. "Grazie mille," Elena said, waving happily to the Mafiosi as they drove off. Richie waved too, wondering if there was any hope Don Carlo would find Ms. Jones on his territory and cut off her head. Hmm. Maybe that wasn't the execution style he ought to be evangelizing among mobsters. In case they were being watched, the three sodden travelers entered the lobby of the unfamiliar building. The doorman was not at all pleased by their appearance. Elena met his objections with a flood of vehement Spanish. Ten minutes later, they left the building and laboriously supported Joe all the way to the dojo. Before they got to the front door Richie sensed an Immortal. "That better be Duncan," Elena said, breathing hard as they climbed the steps to the dojo door. "Otherwise I'll be vomiting on my sword. Very corrosive for the metal." "Still feeling bad, little lady?" Richie asked, emboldened by the fact that he felt almost normal again. She stopped to give him a chilly stare. "Little lady?" she asked, ice in her tone. "Richie," Joe said, "you've blown it this time." The barman chuckled. "You might just get your ass kicked once more before the day is over." Richie hoisted most of Joe's weight onto his shoulder and set off for the elevator. "I meant that in the best possible way, Elena," he said, panicking a little, wondering how long he'd have to avoid the dojo while waiting for her to cool down. Or warm up--one or the other. Luckily she was too tired to say anything more. She supported Joe while Richie heaved up the elevator door. "Hey, Mac! It's me, us!" When Mac failed to respond, Elena growled and drew her sword. "!Que lo mato*!" Richie stepped inside the loft, looked around quickly, and returned to the elevator. "Mac must be in the bathroom," he said. "Let's get Joe out of this box." Joe was so tired that he hardly even protested as Richie and Elena carried him in and dropped beside him, wet and exhausted, onto Mac's leather sofa. The Highlander still didn't appear, although he--or some Immortal--was clearly nearby. Somewhere. "Hey, Mac!" Richie leaned forward and called out again, getting a teensy bit nervous. No way Auralia Jones could have gotten here before them, could she? "Whisky!" Elena demanded, leaning back and melting into the sofa. "You sure you need that whisky, Duran?" Joe asked. "'Cause if you don't, I'll take it." His tone was light, but Richie could see the pallidness of his face. Her eye closed, Elena said, "Not just whisky. Silk pajamas. A foot massage. Hot chamomile tea. A soft bed. Sex." Joe chuckled. "I'll pass on the foot massage and raise you a hot water bottle." "Sex?" Richie asked. "How come you didn't suggest that sooner?" He hurriedly abandoned the sofa to get out of Elena's punching range. As the healthiest person in the room, he figured he should get that whisky for Joe. He couldn't fill all of Elena's requests, but he could probably brew some tea. Elena shrugged, not even lifting her head. "Auralia's not the only one looking for a man to take care of her needs. Where the hell is Duncan, anyway? Go drag him away from the mirror!" "It might not be Mac in there," Richie pointed out with a sigh. Elena was not yet 100 percent, which meant he was on his own. Whoever said life was fair? "Shit," he murmured. Taking up his sword, he moved quietly to the bathroom door and listened, practicing Mac's advice to know your enemy. His enemy, whoever it was, was puking in the bathroom. Puking? He leaned his forehead against the door and knocked softly. "Mac? Is that you?" "Go away, Richie." Definitely Mac. "Are you sick?" Richie asked, not sure whether he was sorry for Mac or happy to have another comrade in misery. The answer from inside was loud and clear, and didn't involve words. Richie went back to the sofa and sat down. "It's Mac all right. He's heaving his haggis." Elena raised her head again, her mouth open, as she digested this morsel of information. "Peleandose con el monstruo.*" "Yeah," Richie agreed, pleased that Elena was willing to join in the word game. "Fighting the monster. Laughing in the loch." "Staining his kilt," Joe supplied. Elena smiled. "Jugando al exorcista*." "Ugh," Joe said. "Does that have to do with 'The Exorcist' and that green slime junk the girl spews--" "Yeah," Elena said grimly. "Having a *food* flashback," Richie said, swearing to himself, that's the last one. "Doing the plaid yawn," Joe said. "Viendo lo que comio ayer*," Elena quipped. "Seeing what he ate yesterday?" Richie asked. At that precise moment, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod emerged from the bathroom. He was dressed only in pajama bottoms and he looked, well, green. Green plaid. "Oh, it's you," he said, sinking with a moan onto the bed. "Where have you *been*, Elena? I feel terrible. I haven't been this sick in two hundred years." Elena raised her head again. Richie wondered if that was all the strength she had left. Couldn't Mac see she was soaked through, her dress was in shreds, her feet were bare, and her wet hair was plastered to her head? Apparently not. "Could you get me some aspirin?" Duncan pleaded. "And put on some soft music?" "I'm going to kill you, Duncan," Elena promised. "Just as soon as I can get up from this sofa. Maybe tomorrow," she said. "Here, I'll help you to bed, Elena. Don't you want to take those wet clothes off?" Richie suggested. She gave him a hard stare. "No, gracias. I'll just crawl to the bathroom over there and get my robe." Her head turned. "Where is the bathroom again?" Duncan answered that question by groaning, rushing into that very room, and slamming the door behind him. "You probably don't want to go in there anyway, Elena," Richie said, getting back to the game again. "It's pollu--" He froze. Damn, he should have locked all the exits! Even just closing all the exits might have helped. Because there, standing framed in the door to the exterior stairs, stood Auralia Jones. Fuck. His heart in his throat, Richie realized swearing couldn't help in *every* situation. ******* Translations (Spanish): Peleandose con el monstruo - Fighting the monster Jugando al exorcista - Playing the exorcist Viendo lo que comio ayer - Seeing what he ate yesterday !Que lo mato! - I'll kill him!