"Why both names?" he asked, not looking up from the page.

Guin shrugged. "I was Carol when I wrote most of those, but I really feel like I'm Guin now, so I figured I'd use both. I printed it all up myself, then sent it away to have it bound." She blushed.

Connor flipped through the pages, shaking his head in wonder. "It's beautiful," he said finally, his eyes shining. "Thank you."

"Better than those cufflinks I got you, huh?" Guin made a face.

"I like them," he replied indignantly. "They're very tasteful."

"Even the roadrunner-shaped ones?"

"Even those." Connor offered her a charming smile. "They're very you."

"Is that a good thing?"

"Well, I think so." Connor smiled at her. "You always give me great gifts."

"I think John made out the best, and not just in terms of his new CD's. Suddenly he's got aunts and uncles and cousins and a grandmother who adore him."

"I'd still like to make those relations official," Connor replied, giving her a serious look.

"There are still a couple of things we ought to talk out," Guin said gently. She rubbed the third finger of her left-hand with her thumb. "But I'm starting to think I wouldn't mind having a ring."

Connor took her hand in his and began stroking her fingers. "We can start looking at designs. I want it to be something special. When we've picked a design, then I can decide when to have it made."

"You can decide?" Guin quirked an eyebrow at him.

"There has to be some spontaneity in this, right?" Connor smiled at her.

"I suppose so." Guin looked away, then turned her eyes back to him. "You're really serious, aren't you?"

He nodded. "Once everything is talked out, I want to be ready."

Guin laughed. "And when I've finished my fencing lessons, maybe I'll be ready for you."

"I think you're enjoying those too much," Connor replied, giving her a mock dirty look. "That was an interesting gift for Ceirdwyn to give you."

"I think she wants me to be comfortable with the idea of swords." Guin shrugged. "Which isn't a bad idea when you're surrounded by fencers and sword collectors. Besides, I've really enjoyed the lessons I've had already."

"She says you're a natural," he remarked, the pride in his smile making her blush. "She's talked about teaching John, but..." Connor shrugged. "I'm not sure that's a good idea. Not yet."

"He'll be thirteen in February," Guin reminded him. "I think he might be able to handle it." Guin glanced over at John, whose eyes were closed as he listened to his music, before continuing quietly. "He's been so good on this trip -- keeping his temper in check, not talking back to either one of us, even when I could see he wanted to. And he was good enough that he didn't get his punishment extended." She frowned thoughtfully. "Teaching him this skill might be a good way to help his focus, and give him more confidence. And maybe give him more respect for you, as well as another thing you two have in common. It could make a good birthday present. Something to think about, anyway."

Connor simply nodded as they both turned their attention back to the photo album. Connor watched Guin's face as she turned the pages, her fingers delicately stroking the pictures, her eyes lost in the memories. He brushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, and she glanced over at him, blushing. "Sometimes I forget that I've got happy memories in my past too," she said quietly. "All the bad stuff just seems to stand out more."

Connor nodded, his gaze meeting hers. "I know the feeling."

Guin stroked his cheek, hoping to ease the sadness in his eyes. "I can only begin to imagine what it must be like for you," she whispered.

"Don't even try." He took her hand again and kissed her fingers "It's not worth trying. But perhaps now you understand why I don't want to celebrate my birthday."

"Not again." Guin shook her head. "You won't even give us a chance to make it a happy birthday, will you? You refuse to be anything but your grumpy ol' self."

Connor frowned. "I just don't see a reason to celebrate."

"I don't get it," she said, furrowing her brow. "You don't want to celebrate still being alive?"

"Sometimes it's not such a blessing," he muttered.

"I was hoping you'd think differently about it, at least for the moment," she replied saucily. Guin lowered her voice further still. "Or maybe you regret being here in this moment on this earth with me and John."

"I didn't say that..."

"You might as well have." Guin closed the photo album and put it back in her carry-on. Connor rolled his eyes and shook his head, but didn't reply. Guin stared out the window, cooling her temper in the vast expanse of darkness interrupted only by tiny spark-points of light. She kept her focus there for a moment; then, without looking, she reached over for Connor's hand. He squeezed her palm and stroked her fingers gently. Finally Guin turned her head back to him. "I'm sorry."

Connor shrugged. "You had a point."

Guin leaned over to him and put her head on his shoulder. "We're glad you're around, Connor," she said seriously. "I just want to know that you're glad you're around."

"I am," he said gently, resting his cheek against the top of her head. "Really. I'm just not comfortable with the idea of a birthday party, that's all."

"Then just pretend it's a normal New Year's party. I won't remind you if you don't want me to." Guin giggled, then added in a whisper, "And I promise not to spank you 481 times."

The back door to the building on Hudson Street opened onto a stairway and a hallway, that much Guin could see through the glass. A pile of mail had accumulated on the floor beneath the mail slot. Connor opened the door and set their bags inside before sifting through the letters. Several in particular seemed to catch his eye; he opened one, his eyes scanning the enclosed forms.

"No," he said in disbelief, his face paling as he shook his head. "No..." Connor quickly walked back through the door and across the street, breaking into a jog, then a run.

"Where's he going?" Guin asked John, staring in bewilderment after Connor's retreating figure.

John looked puzzled as well. "The garage...the Porsche?" John and Guin started across the street as Connor opened the garage door and stared inside in stunned silence. The garage was empty. Guin could nearly see the black cloud forming over Connor's head, and she wondered for a moment if he was going to break down and cry. Instead, Connor let off a frustrated howl and gave the door framing his hardest kick, causing the door itself to rattle over their heads. He stared at the form in his hand again, and Guin leaned in to read over his shoulder. The notice was dated November 20th, when the car had been found and impounded after it had been taken for a joyride and stripped of any saleable parts. Almost as an afterthought, it was noted on the form that the Porsche had been so badly damaged that it would require a tow truck to move it from the impound yard. Guin was hoping Connor hadn't noticed that part, but she knew he had by the growl emanating from deep in his throat.

"So much for the guy who was supposed to be keeping an eye on my car," Connor vented. "Why didn't Charlie call me about this? Come to think about it, he hasn't called me at all lately."

"Maybe he has a good reason," Guin offered.

"It had better be one hell of a good reason," Connor muttered, looking like he might take some heads without his sword. "I'm paying him good money to look after that car." He frowned and began pacing in front of the garage door.

"Connor, let's go inside," Guin said quietly. "There's nothing you can do until morning. You'll go down and claim the car then. No big deal." The black cloud over Connor's head was growing larger, but he just shrugged and headed back to the residence. He opened the door roughly, picking up their bags and walking quickly toward the lift to the apartment. Guin and John followed a few steps behind. "Geez, Connor, it's just a car," Guin remarked as they got in the lift. "It's not like you can't afford to fix or replace it."

"Just a car?" he hissed, turning on her. "Just a car? That car was just a Porsche that I've had since 1958. Do you know how much work has gone into maintaining it so that it still runs? So that it's street legal? Do you know how much of myself has gone into that car?"

Guin lowered her eyes. "No, I didn't know. I'm sorry, Connor." Connor turned away, picking up their bags again and heading into the apartment as the lift came to a stop.

Guin slowly descended the stairs of the bi-level loft apartment as Connor sat down on the queen-sized bed -- tucked into the far corner of the upper area -- to call the police. The upper level was only a fraction of the floor space of the lower, without any walls save the outer ones it shared with the area below, separated from the lower level only by railings and the single staircase. The lower level was a single space, with areas sunken or elevated to create "rooms": a sparsely-furnished living room with a view out the spectacular long windows; an office area with a large desk and pictures along the wall; a dining area and kitchen; and a den, with an uncomfortable-looking sofa, a recliner and a large-screen television.

"Watch this," John said enthusiastically, picking up the remote and pushing a button. Guin expected the television to come on. Instead, the entire wall panel that included the television slid to one side, revealing double doors. Guin stared, perplexed. John opened the doors and gestured for her to enter. She looked at him for a moment, then walked through the doors, with John following her. A short entryway with lion statues to either side led into a perfectly round room. An outer ledge encircled a further sunken area, which had circular seating. Both the ledge and the inner area had polished hardwood floors, while the upholstery was a greyish-white, as were the walls in the areas that were not lined with dark wood shelving. There were no windows, save a large domed skylight in the center of the ceiling. Aside from a few artifacts left in the room, it was empty, and yet it felt like it held the weight of centuries. Guin walked around the ledge, examining the few items still there, and turned to John as she came full-circle.

"This is what Connor was talking about," she said quietly. "The room he wants to recreate."

John nodded. "That's why I figured it was okay to show it to you."

"This is going to sound weird...it feels like him in here," she remarked. "I mean, the whole apartment does, but this place...this was special to him. This was his room." Guin thought a moment. "Kind of like his office, but even more so. You know what I mean? This was his space, where he could be at home with himself and his thoughts. It's downright tangible." She shook her head. "If I had any doubts about him rebuilding this room in the house, this dashes them completely. That space would be good for him." The pair heard footsteps approaching, and turned to find Connor in the doorway.

"Charlie's phone number has been disconnected," he said flatly as he zipped his bomber jacket. "I'm going over there to see what's up."

"You're going to try to hail a taxi at this time of night?" Guin raised an eyebrow at him.

"It's not that far, I can walk."

"But Dad," John protested, "the last time you went walking around here late at night..."

"I know what happened." Connor shrugged. "I'll be careful."

"What happened?" Guin demanded. Neither answered. "Dammit, you better tell me what happened, if John's concerned about it."

With one look at the drawn line of her mouth and her steadfast gaze, Connor knew he couldn't lie to Guin -- she'd see right through it. He squeezed his eyes shut. "I was attacked by a street gang," he said quietly.

Guin's eyes opened wide. "Then you are not going out there. It can wait another day. If his phone's been disconnected, then he probably isn't even there, or might not be at the same address."

"I can at least find out that much," Connor retorted.

"Connor, you're just overly tired, you're probably still jet-lagged, and you're very irritated by this whole situation..."

"What right have you to tell me how I feel?" Connor glared at her.

Guin closed her eyes and sighed. "Fine. Go, leave us here worried and wondering if you're all right. You might not be able to die, but it doesn't mean you can't get into trouble out there."

Connor snorted and turned to exit, but he stripped off his jacket and tossed it on the sofa as he walked out of the room. He quickly jogged up the stairs and walked through a door behind the bed. Guin looked quizzically at John.

"Bathroom," he replied. They could hear the water begin to flow through the pipes. "He's taking a shower."

"Did you two live here?"

"Yeah, but not for long. When I was little. When he was..." John paused.

"When he was what?" Guin cocked an eyebrow at the boy.

"When he was still running from Brenda's ghost. We lived in a lot of different places." John turned a shade of red. "We've talked about that a lot. Because of those dreams he was having."

Guin nodded. "So where are you going to sleep?"

"The sofa down there," John answered, pointing to the living room area. "As usual. I know where all the sheets and stuff are." He gave a wry smile. "Whenever we're here, that's my space."

"Mmm. So, what now?"

John shrugged. "There's always TV." Taking his suggestion, Guin and John sat down in front of the set for a while, although Guin's attention was more focused on Connor than the mindless drivel on the screen. She heard him emerge from the bathroom; after a few minutes, she finally decided to go upstairs. The abundance of window space giving her the willies, Guin decided to get ready for bed in the bathroom. As she emerged, she was taken aback by the beauty of the apartment as moonlight flooded it through the semi-sheer curtains hung over the huge windows that made up most of the wall space. Connor was already curled up in the bed, and Guin crawled in next to him. "Connor," she whispered, touching his shoulder. "I'm sorry about the car."

"Mmmphmm." Connor shifted, drawing his shoulder out from under her hand.

"Are you angry with me for what I said?" she asked gently. "You know that I didn't know how much you'd put into the car. I didn't know how special it was to you. I'm sorry." Guin gently laid her hand on his shoulder again, rubbing the back of his neck with her thumb. "You know I wouldn't intentionally hurt you like that."

"Mmmm," he intoned blandly.

Okay, hon, I give up, Guin thought. She gave a thin smile and patted his shoulder before rolling onto her back. "I love you, Connor," she whispered.

John woke up to the smell of breakfast, but was surprised to find that Guin was the one cooking. "Where's Dad?" he asked.

"He was still sleeping when I got out of the shower, but it sounds like he's in the shower now," she replied, listening to the water run through the plumbing from above. Guin frowned as she stirred the scrambled eggs around in the pan.

"He's still upset, isn't he?"

Guin nodded. "He slept on his stomach, and he only does that when he's really edgy."

John raised an eyebrow. "So you didn't make up?"

Guin laughed gently at the question. "I tried, but no, we didn't." She shrugged. "But I can't blame him. It's a big deal to him, and my reaction wasn't exactly supportive." Guin gestured toward the table. "Go ahead and have a seat, this'll be ready in a few."

Guin and John both turned their heads at the sound of Connor coming down the stairs. Freshly showered, he was preoccupied with buttoning his black silk shirt as he walked toward the kitchen. Guin turned back to the stove, and John took a seat at the table. Connor stepped up behind Guin, wordlessly wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her cheek. Guin arched her eyebrows as she turned her head toward him; a mix of uncertainty and guilt clouded Connor's eyes. Guin gently kissed his cheek and greeted him cheerily: "Good morning."

Connor pulled her tighter and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Need any help?"

"Nah, it's almost done. Go get your coffee and have a seat." Guin smiled as she reached up and stroked his still-damp hair.

Connor exhaled a long breath. "I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear.

Guin laid her hand along his cheek. "Me too, sweetheart. I didn't mean to make you angry."

"You've already apologized, no need to do it again."

"I just want to make sure you know." She nodded toward the table. "Go sit down."

Connor set his temple against hers for a moment, then kissed her cheek again before releasing her to fix his coffee and sit at the table.

"Going to claim the Porsche today?" John asked hesitantly.

"What's left of it." Connor's jaw tightened, and he shook his head.

"You still can't believe it, can you?" Guin set breakfast on the table as she sat down and gave Connor a sad smile. "Do you think it can be fixed?"

Connor shrugged. "Depends on the damage. It won't be easy to find parts." He squeezed his eyes shut.

Guin swallowed a mouthful of eggs. "Do you want us to come with you?"

Connor shook his head. "I just want to get in and out, get this over with as quickly as possible. The New York police and I haven't always gotten along very well."

Guin raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Let's just say headless bodies make them nervous." Connor gave a sarcastic smile.

"Ah. Gotcha."

"Besides, Rachel will be happy to show you around New York while I'm out. I've seen it all many times over."

"And it gives us time to shop for your birth...er, the New Year's Eve party." Guin laughed, and Connor gave her a dirty look. "Oh come on, let us do a thing or two for you. It won't be that bad, I promise."

"With Duncan coming in and bringing a few friends of his...I don't even want to guess what's in store for me." Connor drank from his coffee cup and sighed. "I just wish it were all over."

"So are you going to Charlie's before or after the police station?"

"Before. I want to know why he didn't call. And he'd know the best places to look for parts."

"You don't think he was in on all this, do you?" Guin asked seriously.

Connor shook his head. "He's not like that. Which is why I'm worried that his phone's been disconnected."

"Well I'm sure you'll find some answers today," she reassured him.

"First I need my identity." Connor stood up and walked to the desk. Taking out a key, he opened one of the locked drawers and removed a wallet and several papers.

Realization dawned on Guin. "You're not Andrew Beaton here."

"No." Connor glanced up at her, glad to see that this information didn't seem to phase her. "Russell Nash." Connor frowned as he looked inside the wallet. "That may have to change soon. He's getting too old for me to keep up appearances."

The sound of the lift moving startled them all, but the concerned look on Connor's face was soon replaced by a smile.

"Look what I found downstairs," Rachel said proudly as she and Duncan walked out of the lift.

"I see you still have your key," Connor accused tauntingly.

"Of course," Rachel responded haughtily. "And who taught me never to throw anything away?" she said with a smile as they descended the stairs.

"Connor." Duncan extended his hand.

"Duncan." Connor clasped his kinsman's hand. "Good to see you."

"Always good to see you still have your head," Duncan replied cattily.

"Fine, don't greet the rest of us," Guin said with a smile and she and John walked toward the clansmen.

"Ah, Guin." Duncan enthusiastically embraced her. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Which is more than I can say for the Porsche..."

"The Porsche?" Duncan interrupted. "What's wrong with the Porsche?"

Connor sighed. "It was stolen. Stripped down. I've got to go down today and gather together what's left of it."

Rachel shook her head. "Poor Connor. You love that car more than you love most people," she remarked with a twinkle in her eye.

"It's easier to love something that doesn't talk back," he retorted with a smile.

"What about Charlie?" she asked.

"His phone's been disconnected. I'm going to check that out first, while you're showing Guin and John around New York."

"Want some company?" Duncan asked his kinsman.

"I think it might be a good idea for you to have someone with you," Guin interjected up. "Just in case."

"Fine." Connor nodded at Duncan. "Are you ready?" Duncan nodded soberly. "Don't keep them out too late," Connor admonished Rachel, "and don't plan too much for my birthday. This little surprise with the Porsche was more than enough."

The sky was crisp and clear, the weather cold and more than appropriate for the week between Christmas and New Year's. As Charlie's apartment was only a few blocks away, Connor and Duncan opted to walk there. They kept to side-streets, avoiding the tight New York crowds. Duncan followed Connor through the streets, his longer legs helping him keep up with Connor's quick gait. Duncan could sense his kinsman's frustration and impatience as they walked in silence.

"This is all your fault, you know," Connor commented suddenly.

"My fault?" Duncan repeated, shocked. "And just how did you come to that conclusion?"

"You're always encouraging me to make more acquaintances, be more social. That's what led me to trust someone with the care of my car. My antique roadster. Do you know what that car means to me?"

Duncan rolled his eyes with a sigh. "More than most people do," he muttered.

"Excuse me?" Connor turned an angry eye on his kinsman.

"You heard me," Duncan retorted, "and it's true. You love that car because if you work hard enough at it, you can make it 'live' as long as you do. You can keep it from dying -- or so you thought." Connor glared at him, then looked away. "You're willing to invest your soul in it because it isn't doomed to die like the mortals around you are."

"You're reading too much into it," Connor said flatly, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket.

"No, I don't think I am," Duncan replied tersely. "The Porsche has the potential to be as immortal as you are - and when its safety is violated, you feel vulnerable. When you feel vulnerable, you get obstinate. This conversation is proof." When Connor didn't reply, he added, "You're more upset than you'd be if someone hurt Guin or John."

"Oh come on," Connor protested.

"I'm serious," Duncan countered. "You care too much about the Game, and too little about being human."

"The Game is something we have to contend with every day of our lives..."

"But it doesn't have to be our lives, Connor," Duncan argued. "Graham Ashe taught me that you shouldn't live to fight, you should fight so that you can live -- explore new ideas, experience new things..."

"That's fine for you to say," Connor retorted. "You, the one who drops in and out of the Game as if it didn't hold your destiny, as if it doesn't matter who ends up with the Prize, good or evil..."

"I care," Duncan replied firmly, "I'm just not obsessed with it." Duncan looked squarely at Connor, who returned his stern look; then they both looked away, carrying on again in silence. After several minutes, Duncan finally spoke up. "Does Guin know you love the Game more than you love her?"

Connor stopped suddenly, turning on his kinsman with fire in his eyes, his fists clenching. "I love her more than you'll ever know," he hissed.

"Then that's something you ought to tell her," Duncan replied calmly.

"She knows."

"Make sure she does," Duncan insisted. He shrugged. "It took me years to figure out that you cared about me, rather than just tolerated me."

"Yeah?" Connor's eyes glittered with amusement.

"Yeah. And she doesn't have as long as I did to figure it out. Her time's a bit more limited." Duncan paused. "Unless, of course, you don't intend for your relationship to go any further -- in that case, you'd better let her go, soon. And gently, if you can."

Connor glanced at his kinsman, then back at the sidewalk. "We've been talking about marriage. Kids." He looked over again at Duncan, who was watching him. "But sometimes I'm still not sure. In the end, it's always painful getting involved in their world."

"It's our world, Connor," Duncan reminded him. "Two universes, maybe, but one world that we all share." Duncan laid his hand on his kinsman's shoulder. "And it's better to share than to lock yourself away in your loft apartment, observing their universe but keeping yourself separate from it. You can't become too detached, or you'll lose your perspective."

"It's not good to become too attached either," Connor commented quietly.

"For God's sake, Connor, won't you let yourself live for once? Love Guin with all your heart, cherish her while she's here, raise children with her. You can miss her when she's gone, but don't start missing her while she's still here." Duncan gave a half-shrug. "I owe it to Tessa not to let you rob yourself of time with Guin. Time's too short for them as it is."

Connor fell silent for a few moments. "That was the last time we really discussed the Game, in front of Tessa."

Duncan nodded. "You just couldn't let me get away with not filling her in completely on the Rules," he said, giving Connor a mock dirty look.

Connor laughed. "No, I couldn't." He paused. "I figured she had the right to know, Duncan. Just like you argued with me, before I had told Guin."

"I wouldn't let you leave her, either," Duncan remarked pointedly, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Which you did for Tessa and me too."

Connor shrugged off his kinsman's unspoken appreciation. "Better than leaving you to mope all by yourself out on the island," he grinned. "Besides, you two were better off together. Her persistence told me that she could tolerate your Immortality, and all its aspects."

"Guin's very similar in that regard," Duncan replied. He studied Connor for a moment, then looked away again as he spoke. "You were a little jealous of me and Tessa, weren't you?"

Connor didn't immediately respond, but nodded slowly. "How could I not be?" he answered finally. "It hadn't been that long since I'd lost Brenda. And here you had someone who was not only beautiful and smart, but more than willing to accept you as you were." Connor glanced at Duncan, then looked into the distance again. "You had what I lost. And what I wanted, but didn't think I'd ever have again."

"But you've had it twice," Duncan reminded him. "In Alex and Guin."

Connor nodded. "And lost it once." He sighed. "How long is it going to take for Guin to leave me? What's going to drive her away?"

Duncan shook his head. "Hopefully nothing."

"The way you live, you can say 'nothing,'" Connor replied. "You don't pursue the Game like I do, Duncan."

"You haven't been pursuing it so hard the past few years, Connor. And maybe..." Duncan frowned, almost as afraid to speak his mind as he had been when Connor had first been his mentor nearly four hundred years earlier.

"Maybe what?" Connor prompted, curious.

"Maybe it's time for you to take a break from the Game for a while, at least as much as you can. Give yourself a chance to be a human being again." Duncan cracked a smile. "Get married. Raise kids. Love."

"Watch them die," Connor added.

"Eventually, yes," Duncan acknowledged. "But years of joy can help balance out the sorrow. And you'll always have the memories." Duncan gave a half-smile. "You could use a few more good memories to reflect on, rather than all the bad things you've seen."

Connor looked at his kinsman a moment, then broke into a smile. "Yeah, I could." The smile faded. "But then there's the aging...I can't stay with her and not age, not being connected to her family..."

"I know some make-up artists who could help with that," Duncan replied. Connor raised a brow, and Duncan shrugged. "Anything to help."

"Perhaps you're right," Connor conceded.

"You said yourself, we don't know when The Gathering will arrive," Duncan reminded him. "It may be centuries yet. You've got to take your breathers when the opportunities arise."

The pair arrived in front of a well-worn brownstone, and Connor wordlessly halted as his eyes scanned the unkempt facade. Weeds were growing in the flower box, and the windows were dirty. "Charlie wouldn't leave the place like this," he remarked to Duncan, his voice laced with concern.

"Not unless he was leaving for good," a woman's voice issued from behind them. Duncan spun around at the sound, but Connor just turned his head and raised an eyebrow at the tall, svelte African-American woman with close-cropped straight hair.

"Good morning, Renee," Connor greeted her cordially. "So he's moved?"

"Not exactly. He's moved on, Russell. Charlie's left us for a better life."

Connor's face drained of color. "He passed away?"

"'Passed away' is a phrase you use when someone has moved on peacefully. That wasn't the case here. A month ago somebody broke into Charlie's place, he surprised them and they killed him -- knifed him right in his living room." Renee paused, her eyes furious. "Of course the cops don't have a clue who did it, and they didn't find anything important missing, so it's no big deal to them."

"Of course," Connor agreed solemnly as the information began to sink in.

"Are you all right?" Renee's concern over Connor's ghostly pallor was obvious. "Did you need something from him, Russell?"

Connor shook his head. "No. I was just stopping by to check on him." Connor stared blankly at the building's facade. "I wish I'd known."

"I thought about you," Renee replied quietly. "But Charlie didn't have your number written down -- he had it memorized -- and directory assistance isn't much help when you're not sure what corner of the world to start in. All I knew was that you were living abroad."

Connor gazed over at the woman, his eyes dull from shock. "I'm sorry."

Renee shook her head. "You couldn't have known something like this would happen."

"What happened to his personal effects?" Connor asked. "He had my spare set of keys," he added to Duncan.

"That's right, he was keeping up maintenance on your car," Renee remarked. She pursed her lips. "I don't remember them being in his things, they inventoried everything, and I volunteered to help out with that."

"There are pluses to working with the police." Connor winked at her.

"Not many. But I'm not ready to quit just yet, although dog trainers are in high demand."

Duncan cleared his throat, and Connor blushed slightly. "Renee, this is my cousin, Duncan."

"Pleasure to meet you," Renee answered.

"We'd better go, Renee," Connor said, extending his hand to her. "It was nice to see you...I only wish it had been under better circumstances."

"Well, I could have let you know if my investors wouldn't disappear on me," she taunted him as she shook his hand. "I don't know where to send the profit-sharing."

"I told you that's not necessary..."

"But it should be, Russell. We've been successful enough that if I wanted to, I could quit the force and do the training thing full-time. If it weren't for you, we never would have gotten off the ground."

"I'll send you an address," Connor promised her. "Take care, Renee."

"You too, Russell." Renee walked up the steps of the next brownstone and disappeared inside the door. Connor and Duncan, meanwhile, turned back down the street. Connor was quiet, entranced by his own thoughts, and for a long while Duncan left him alone.

"Can I ask about this investment of yours?" Duncan finally inquired.

Connor shrugged. "Renee trains dogs -- guard dogs, drug sniffers and the like. I gave her some money to get started."

"You've got a good heart, Connor." Duncan grinned.

Connor shook his head. "I just wish it didn't cause so many problems."

The pair finally made their way over to the next major street and hailed a taxi to get to the police station. Connor trudged up the steps, with Duncan following closely at his heels. Police stations in general made Connor edgy, but this time was only made worse by the fact that he had been questioned at this particular station before. Connor took out the letter he had received and laid it out in front of the officer at the desk. "I was informed they found my stolen car," he said flatly.

The officer took the form, then looked up at Connor. "May I see some ID, Mr...Nash?" Connor took out his driver's license and handed it to the officer, who nodded. "Just a minute." The officer stood up and disappeared through double doors into another section of the building. Connor drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited.

"Chill, Connor," Duncan said under his breath.

"I just want to be able to claim my car and get the hell out of here," Connor replied in a growl. "Nothing wrong with that."

A few minutes later the doors opened again, and a lanky man with dark hair combed over a receding hairline appeared with the officer. "Russell Nash," he said contemptuously. "So we meet again."

"They moved you down from homicide to grand theft auto, Lieutenant Stenn?" Connor replied, his eyes glittering with animosity.

Stenn laughed. "Don't you wish. No, it seems your stolen car was involved in a little murder as well as mayhem. So I'd like to talk to you in my office for a few minutes, if you don't mind." Connor glanced back at Duncan, and Stenn added, "Alone."

Connor shrugged nonchalantly. "Certainly, if this will get me my car back and let me be on my way."

Stenn motioned toward the doors, and Connor preceded him into the inner bowels of the station. Ushering Connor into one office, Stenn secured the door and sat down in his chair behind the desk. Connor settled into another chair across from Stenn, folding his hands in his lap and leaning back, maintaining his air of coolness.

"So, Nash...just how well did you know Charles Glenn?" Stenn eyed his adversary suspiciously.

"Charlie?" Connor responded with honest astonishment. He shrugged. "Pretty well. He was keeping up the maintenance on my car while I was away. I knew him well enough to trust him with that."

"So where've you been if you haven't been around here?" Stenn raised a brow as he stared at Connor.

Connor stared back. "If you're going to accuse me of something, then do it, Lieutenant. Otherwise I just want my car back so I can get it fixed."

"Charlie Glenn was stabbed to death in his apartment a month ago. The object used to kill him was apparently something longer than a standard knife -- like, say, a sword. Like the one we confiscated years ago in the beheading of Iman Fasil -- which went missing only a few days before Glenn's murder." Stenn set his face in a smug expression as he leaned back in his chair. "About that same time we found your car, with no sign of being hot-wired, and the keys tucked conveniently under the floormat. And we found your prints and Charlie's prints in the car, but no one else's. So I put two and two together." Stenn leaned forward. "I want a confession, Nash."

Connor gave a brief laugh. "In order to confess, Lieutenant, I would have to have done it. Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not your man." Connor gazed calmly back at Stenn. "Your so-called evidence is all circumstantial, and stretched to its limits at that. And you're crazy if you think I would have destroyed my own car." He set his jaw. "So is my Porsche still 'evidence,' or can I have it back -- what's left of it, that is?"

Stenn's look was dark, and boiling with barely-controlled anger. "I'm going to keep holding it for evidence, for a while."

"Then can I at least see it, to see if it's repairable and what parts I might need?" Connor responded calmly.

"I suppose." Standing up gruffly, Stenn opened the door and called to the officer outside. "Show Mr. Nash his car...just make sure he doesn't touch anything."

"Yes sir." The officer led Connor to the evidence impound lot. A shiver ran down Connor's back as he looked at the shell of his car. The front tires were missing, the back tires were slashed; most of the instruments in the dashboard were missing as well, as was the gearshift knob. The leather interior had been knifed, as had the convertible roof, and there were key-made scratches along the sides.

Connor gazed at the car silently and shook his head. "Is the engine still in it?" he quietly asked the officer.

The uniformed policeman looked at the notes. "The distributor was destroyed, but the engine's intact."

Connor gave a sigh of irritation. "Okay, I've seen enough." He turned back to the doors of the police station, his dark mood from the day before re-forming as he made his way to the front desk.

"So?" Duncan prompted him as he arrived.

Connor shook his head. "It's a complete mess. Needs a replacement of just about everything on the outside, plus the distributor and God-knows-what-else inside. And a paint job too." Connor led the way outside.

"And what about the Lieutenant?" Duncan asked quietly.

"He's keeping the car for 'evidence.'" Connor paused. "He thinks I killed Charlie."

"Oh?" Duncan raised an eyebrow.

"It appears he was stabbed with a sword," Connor replied. He and Duncan exchanged knowing glances, then hailed a taxi and headed for the apartment without another word. Connor finally spoke as they entered the building and approached the lift. "I'd like to be alone for a while," Connor said quietly, turning toward Duncan.

"Do you want me to stay here and intercept Guin, John and Rachel when they come back?"

Connor nodded. "That might be best." He entered the lift, his morose expression saying what words couldn't.

"Connor..." Duncan said hesitantly, surveying his kinsman's face. "I...I'm sorry."

Connor shrugged. "We can't keep them from dying. They all do."

Doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt when they do, Duncan thought, especially if we feel responsible for their deaths. He sighed as he watched Connor begin his ascent to the apartment.

"Hi, Duncan." Guin looked quizzically at the man sitting in the chair behind the desk as she, John and Rachel entered the shop late that afternoon. Tilting her head slightly, she fixed Duncan with her gaze. "What are you doing down here?"

Duncan gave a mild shudder. She's learning all of Connor's tricks, including his penetrating gaze, he mused to himself. Giving a plastic smile, he said aloud, "Why don't we go out for some coffee?"

Guin raised an eyebrow and gave him a stern look. "What's going on, Duncan?"

Duncan's smile faded. "Charlie's dead. He was murdered in his apartment a month ago. The weapon looked like it might have been a sword, too."

Guin pursed her lips. "Meaning that the murderer might be an Immortal?"

Duncan nodded. "Then we went to see about Connor's car -- they still want to hold it to look it over, but it wouldn't matter much, it's pretty badly damaged."

"Oh no. Poor Connor, getting it from all sides." Guin walked toward the lift, but Duncan stepped in her way.

"He said he wanted to be alone for a while," Duncan stated emphatically. "I suggest we go get some coffee and let him have another hour or two yet."

Guin looked at him defiantly. "I'm going up," she announced, using the spare key Connor had given her to call the lift down to the ground floor.

"Guin, don't," Duncan scolded her.

"Don't tell me what to do, Duncan. He may be your kinsman, but I'm his fiancee...as unofficial as that might be. I'm going to be there if he needs me." Guin opened the gate as the lift stopped.

"Guin..." Duncan began. Guin threw him an angry glance, and Duncan swallowed his protest. He knew that single-minded look from Connor, and figured it was probably as futile to argue with Guin, if that was her mood. He turned to Rachel and John. "Give them a few minutes to talk it out before you go up, all right? I've got some things to check out." Grabbing his coat, Duncan walked out the front door.

The lift settled at the top floor with a whir, and Guin opened the noisy gate. Connor was standing in front of the windows on the floor below, his back to her. "Why did you come up, Guin?" he inquired without turning around.

"How'd you know it was me?" she asked, surprised.

"Logic. Duncan wouldn't come up here after I told him not to. And of you, Rachel and John, you're the only one who wouldn't accept his interference."

Guin guiltily began to descend the stairs to the lower level. "I just thought I could help, Connor."

"You can't," he replied bluntly.

"Duncan told us about Charlie," Guin said quietly. "You can't blame yourself."

"I can't?" Connor retorted. "Did Duncan tell you the rest of it?"

"That there might be another Immortal involved?" she responded. "Yes, he did. That still doesn't mean you caused Charlie's death."

"And what about Lieutenant Stenn?"

"Who?"

"The cop in charge of homicide. The same one who had it out for me a few years ago when they found a headless body." Connor glanced over his shoulder at her, then added as he turned back to the window, "and before you ask, yes, it was something I'd done."

Guin shrugged. "Duncan didn't say anything about him."

Connor took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "Stenn thinks I killed Charlie."

"So?" Guin replied defensively. "He has absolutely no proof..."

"He kept my car as evidence, he thinks he'll find something there. But I wouldn't be surprised if he's having me tailed too." Guin could see Connor's head moved slightly to and fro, scanning the street below.

"Relax, Connor," Guin said gently, finally approaching him and putting her hands on his shoulders. "Rachel and I found some neat things today, we'll make New Year's Eve and your birthday special to take your mind off things..."

"Will you stop about my birthday?" he said angrily, turning on her.

Guin sighed. "You should snap out of this mood, Connor, it's very ugly and it's not good for you -- try and enjoy yourself, relax for once, celebrate..."

"Why should I celebrate the fact that I was born?" Connor spat out. "It wasn't exactly a blessing."

"How dare you say that?" she reprimanded him angrily. "I, for one, am glad you're here. And I am willing to bet that Rachel and John appreciate your existence. Duncan too." When Connor didn't respond, she added, "And Heather, and Brenda..."

"Don't throw them in my face," he hissed.

"I'm only making my point." Guin frowned as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"Well, you've made it." He turned toward the window, gesturing broadly. "Nearly five centuries of life and only a half dozen lives I've made a difference in."

"What about Elisabeth? Sarah? Alex? Dozens of others I haven't even heard of because you haven't talked about them? You've touched a lot of lives."

"Like Charlie? Like Molly Fenster?" he retorted sarcastically. "Like all the people killed by the gun-running I did? All those killed in the wars I participated in?"

"Connor MacLeod, you are such a single-minded, bull-headed, cranky, moody, brooding human being..."

"If you don't like it," he growled as he turned back to the window, "then leave it."

Guin picked up her coat with a frustrated sigh. "Fine. I will." She trounced up the stairs, getting to the lift just in time to meet Rachel and John coming out of it.

"Where are you going, dear?" Rachel asked.

"Anywhere but here," Guin replied, her jaw set as she frowned down at Connor's back. She got in the lift and set it on its way.

"What did you do to her?" Rachel inquired as she descended the stairs.

"Just butting heads again." Connor shook his head. "I've got more important things to worry about right now."

"Such as?"

"Getting the Porsche fixed. The possibility of an Immortal killing Charlie. And Lieutenant John Stenn getting all over my case again."

"Did he?" Rachel asked. "Why?"

"He thinks I killed Charlie."

Rachel shook her head. "I can't believe he still has it out for you. Perhaps I should have Frank have a talk with him..."

"Don't interfere in these things, Rachel," Connor warned her.

Rachel shrugged. "Let's talk about Guin, then. Did I hear you right? You have more important things to worry about?"

"That's what I said."

"So you're making her the last priority again?" Rachel remarked pointedly, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"What about Frank's priorities?" Connor shot back. "He's off at some gun and ammunition convention while you're alone in New York City for New Year's Eve."

Rachel bristled. "Don't bring Frank into this argument. He and I agreed that he could go -- if I had said no, he'd be here. He told me it was up to me. I was first on his priority list. On the other hand, Guin is constantly displaced by everything else in your life on your list."

"What am I supposed to do, Rachel?" he said in exasperation, turning toward her. "Things are coming up that are beyond my control, and I need to focus on them." He sighed. "Every now and then she and I clash, and we both get so heated that we don't listen. It's better to just let it be." Connor watched John look at the pictures on the wall, trying to ignore the conversation between the two adults.

"You could try talking to her, calmly," Rachel replied gently. "Or perhaps listen to her. You're not always so good at that, you know." At that comment, John glanced back at his father, but said nothing.

Connor breathed out a long, heavy sigh. "She'll have cooled off by the time she gets back," he said quietly. "I'll talk to her then." He looked up at Rachel. "Where's Duncan?"

"He said he had some things to check out," Rachel replied.

"Probably checking with Joe for other Immortals in the area," Connor replied in a disapproving tone.

"You think he's getting the Watchers involved?"

Connor nodded. "I know Joe's around, Duncan already asked about bringing him to the party tomorrow night. So he would be a logical person for Duncan to turn to."

"Well, I hope he finds something useful," Rachel replied. "Because this tension isn't helping you enjoy your vacation."

Rachel settled herself on the sofa to read the newspaper she had bought, while John sat at the desk and occupied himself with a deck of cards and endless games of solitaire. Over the next hour, both of them occasionally glanced up at Connor, who was pacing the full length of the apartment in every possible direction: up the few steps to the piano, back toward the television, over to the kitchen table, back to the desk, over and over. Finally Rachel could take it no longer.

"Connor, will you sit down!" she scolded him. "Fidgeting will do you no good. You need to focus your energies on something."

Connor jogged up the stairs and removed a few things from dresser drawers, then came back down with his katana. Sitting next to Rachel, he began to methodically sharpen the blade of his sword.

Rachel shook her head and sighed. "I suppose that's better than nothing." She laughed. "Do you know how irritating that noise used to be to me when I was young? Especially when I was trying to study...it's not the most pleasant sound in the world."

Connor shrugged. "It's comforting to me."

Rachel gently laid her hand on his shoulder. "I know it is." She tried to connect eyes with him, but Connor refused to look at her, keeping his eyes focused on the katana's blade as he ran the sharpening stone across it again and again. With one last stroke, Connor halted his distraction and glanced at the clock.

"She should be back by now."

"I'm sure she's just taking her time cooling off, Connor," Rachel reassured him.

"Maybe she got lost." The furrow between his brows told both Rachel and John that Connor didn't really believe that. "Maybe she's not coming back," he added softly, finally turning his eyes to Rachel.

Rachel shook her head. "All of her things are still here. She wouldn't leave you without some warning, anyway. She loves you too much to do that."

Leaving his katana on the coffee table, Connor began to pace again. "Then where is she?" The question was left hanging in the air as Connor continued to pace and Rachel began to fidget with the pages of the newspaper. As Connor was passing the desk, the phone rang. He put his finger to his lips for quiet, then hit the speaker-phone button. "Hello?"

"MacLeod, you're home! How splendid."

Connor's brow furrowed as he searched his memory for the source of the voice. "Edwin Mason?"

"Good, you remember me. Because I have some news for you. I have your companion, and if you ever want to see her alive again, you'll meet my challenge."

Connor's eyes met Rachel's worried ones, then John's. He was sure his own expression matched theirs. "I don't understand, Edwin. We've been friends for a long time..."

"We were friends," Mason replied, cynicism edging his voice. "Or so you said."

"We were," Connor said evenly. "I don't see why that should have changed."

"Meet me, and I'll explain it to you. I'm just down the block, enter Sander's Graphics by the back door and come up to the third floor. I'll be waiting." The phone clicked, then the dial tone came on.

"So who is this lunatic?" Rachel asked, her eyes wide.

"An old friend." Connor laughed bitterly. "Mason and I go back a couple hundred years. He made a lifetime career out of training animals -- mostly circus acts, dog and pony shows, that sort of thing. We met about two hundred years ago, just before the beginning of the French Revolution -- he was training pets for the aristocracy. He's not a large man, so he was chased a lot by more ruthless Immortals -- he didn't have a chance in hell of besting them. So he begged me to teach him how to fight better." Connor shrugged. "So I did -- he had a lot of spirit in him, he really wanted to learn. I've run into him several times since. He's always been a sort of timid but congenial man...but he never did get the hang of running his businesses successfully. Although he was doing fairly well...until about forty years ago." Connor looked at Rachel expectantly.

Rachel reached back in her memory. "You were a health inspector for a while," she recalled.

"Mmm hmm. Do you remember why I quit?" Connor prompted her.

"Because you had to close down a friend's business for...rabies." Rachel's eyes opened wide again at the last word. "So..."

"To make a long story short, we tried to shut down his circus act because his dogs exhibited signs of rabies. He refused, and we argued. One of his dogs got so upset at the sound of our fighting, it bit one of the handlers." Connor frowned. "They died from rabies, and he got shut down anyway."

"And somehow he blames you? And this is his idea of revenge?" Rachel asked incredulously.

Connor nodded. "I guess so. But why now, so long after the fact?" He stared at the telephone and shook his head. "Whatever his reasons, I have no choice but to go. And hope Guin is still alive." Connor frowned as he shrugged into his trenchcoat and tucked his katana inside. "I should have sent her away after that business with Fenster. Then she wouldn't be in danger because of me."

Rachel shook her head sagely. "You say that with such certainty now, but one day it will come back to bite you."

Connor laughed. "You're probably right." He sighed. "If Duncan shows up, have him stay until..."

"Until you come back?"

"...until it's over." His eyes turned sad as he looked at Rachel, then at his son. "Don't wait up."

"As if that order has ever been followed," Rachel retorted playfully. Turning more serious, she added, "Bring Guin home safely. And yourself as well."

"All right, Mason, show yourself," Connor called out into the dim space from the overhead walkway. The third floor entry led onto a catwalk running over the second-floor space, which was accessible via the barely-visible staircase to Connor's left.

Suddenly the lights came on, all but blinding Connor. He held up his hand to shield his eyes, finally focusing on shapes in the room below. Mason was there, sword drawn. Connor recognized it as Fasil's Toledo Salamanka broadsword. Someone's been raiding the police property room, Connor noted.

Mason had built up from the scrawny man Connor remembered, and his biceps were well-defined within his tight sleeves. Mason himself knew he was a more formidable opponent as well, and he smoothed his dark hair back in eager anticipation of a good fight. Behind Mason were a set of cages. A Labrador and a German Shepherd occupied the ones to either side, but in the center one was a human form that Connor knew all too well.

"Let her go, Mason, she's not part of this!" Connor shouted as he took the katana from his trenchcoat, which he dropped over the railing to land on top of Guin's own coat on the floor below.

Mason unlocked the cage, dragging Guin out by a close-fitting dog collar. "But she's taken so well to her obedience training. She's almost as acquiescent as my puppies here." Mason pushed Guin off to one side, where she stood, trembling. "Fear does wonders on behavioral patterns."

"I said let her go," Connor growled.

"Ah, but don't you want to see how I've trained her?" Mason gloated. "Let me demonstrate. They have these wonderful programmable electric collars now, with a remote." Mason took a small object from his pocket. "When they disobey, you can give them a tiny electric shock, with variable intensity." Mason pressed a button, and Guin yelped, her hands flying to her throat in reflex. Connor's eyes narrowed venomously as he scowled. "And for smarter dogs, they even lock, so they can't be unbuckled accidentally." Mason reached in his pocket again and held up a small key. "And until you pry the key and controls off my cold, dead body, she's mine."

"She's not part of this," Connor repeated, his voice rising with his anger.

"Ah, but she is, MacLeod. Because she's yours." Mason put the items back in his pocket. Connor's face began to flush as his anger ran rampant through his veins.

"Focus, Connor!" Guin cried out. "Don't even think about me, pretend I'm not even here. Use your anger, don't let it use you."

Mason laughed. "Your lady's a smart one," he told Connor. "You'll have to take her advice, if you even want to think about besting me."

Connor took a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. "There's just one thing I want to know first, Mason. We've known each other a lot of years, and we got along for most of them. Why are you after me now?"

"Because you enjoy shutting down my businesses!"

"What?" Connor asked in disbelief.

"You shut me down forty years ago, and you're about to do it again. You're the one who turned tables against me, MacLeod. And I won't let you do it." Mason's eyes burned with hatred.

"I shut you down because your dogs had rabies, years ago. What do you mean I'm about to do it again?" Connor furrowed his brow.

"You've invested heavily in Renee Marsen's Training Academy, have you not?"

"Mmm hmm," Connor nodded. "So?"

"They're consistently underbidding me for jobs. There's no conceivable way they could be making a profit on their bids. But you know that, don't you? You know they're taking my business, that I'm going to go bankrupt. That's what you want, isn't it? You enjoy doing that to me. You like bullying me, just like everyone else over the years. You're no different from the Immortals who tried to chase me down because I was weaker. You're just doing it in a different way."

"You're crazy!" Connor shouted back as he began to descend the stairs. "I only have an investment there, I don't run the place. I don't even get a profit from it." Connor looked Mason in the eyes. "C'mon, Edwin. Put your sword down, let Guin go, we'll go our separate ways and forget all about this." Connor glanced at Guin, who nodded her agreement at him. "We were friends once. Let's end this peaceably, all right?"

"This will end when one of us is dead!" Mason shouted, rushing up the stairs to meet Connor head-on. Connor knew that he was at a disadvantage being the higher person on the stairs, and metal clashed against metal as he tried to drive Mason down to the floor below. He could see that Mason had improved greatly in his swordsmanship, as Connor was having difficulty budging the man at all, much less driving him back. Sparks flew as blades glanced against the metal railings and connected with each other. Mason slashed at Connor, who was nicked in the abdomen before he could fully move out of harm's way.

"First blood," Connor said evenly, not letting down his defenses as the slight wound healed. "You've won. Let this go."

"No." Mason shook his head, his teeth set in a grim smile. "I'm not going to let anyone bully me or talk down to me, especially not you, Connor MacLeod."

"That's not my intent," Connor replied calmly. "Never was, Edwin. I always knew you had the spirit and drive to become a good swordsman. But I didn't think you had this in you."

"You're just like the rest of them," Mason growled. "Either you come after me directly, or you make friends with me so you can take advantage of me, bring me down so you and your friends can step on me." He scowled at Connor. "What did you do, steal the tricks of my trade and pass them on to this Marsen woman? I should have known..."

"This is crazy," Connor replied. "I am not your enemy, I'm not out to ruin you. And I never was. I've been your friend..."

"I have no friends," Mason spat back. "Just the dogs, now You know what happened to my friends? They deserted me, backstabbed me, or tried to take my head. At least I know my animals won't betray me like that."

"You want my head just because you think I'm taking your business away from you?" Connor tried not to let his disbelief interfere with his focus.

"I know you are," Mason replied with a sneer. "So I decided to take some things away from you, see how you like it. Stole your car, even though I had to kill your friend to get it. Stole your woman..."

Connor glanced over at Guin, who seemed to have regained some calmness and was watching the two fighters closely. Focusing his eyes back on Mason, Connor's anger-edged voice hissed, "You killed Charlie."

Mason nodded with a vile smile. "And ruined your precious Porsche."

Connor breathed deeply, pushing down his anger. "You did that."

"Yes, I did. And I will do more than that!" Mason lunged at Connor, and their battle began anew. Studying his opponent carefully as they fought, Connor noted Mason's awkward stance on the stairs and hoped to take advantage of it. Connor raised a foot to kick Mason backward, but Mason grabbed ahold of his ankle and pulled Connor off his feet. The katana clattered down the stairs, and Connor's head bounced violently against the step as he fell backward, knocking him unconscious. From the depths of his blackout, Connor let out a deep groan as Mason grabbed Connor's shirt front and pierced his body with the broadsword.

"NO!!!!!!!"

Mason turned at the cry, and offered a bemused smile at the sight of Guin holding Connor's katana, ready to fight. He pulled his own weapon from Connor's midriff and shook off the remnants of blood. "I'll finish you off in a minute," he muttered to the motionless form as he descended the stairs toward Guin. "Think you can challenge me?" Mason asked pompously, waving his blade toward her face.

"I can damned well try," she replied through gritted teeth, gripping the katana's handle firmly.

"Well you could," he responded, advancing on her, "but you're at a distinct disadvantage. Not only do I have several hundred years of experience over you, but I have a little extra control at my fingertips." Balancing his sword in his left hand, Mason reached into his pocket and pressed the collar's remote. As the electric shock hit her system, Guin dropped the katana and stumbled backward several steps before finally losing her balance and falling to the floor. Mason shook his head. "Tsk tsk," he said, giving a devious smile that sent chills of terror down Guin's spine. "And I thought you were a smart girl. Never, ever disobey me." Mason lifted his sword, preparing to strike her down. Suddenly a figure tumbled across the floor, and in one fluid motion Connor swept up his katana and rolled to his feet between Guin and Mason.

Connor glanced over at Guin, who was pushing herself to her feet as she backed away. "Nice necklace," he commented.

Guin furrowed her brow at him a moment, then realized what he was doing. "Next time I'd prefer a strand of pearls instead," she replied cattily, moving further out of harm's way. As long as we have our senses of humor, we're okay, she told herself.

The infuriated expression on Mason's face egged Connor into battle mode once more. "If your problem's with me, you fight me," he hissed at Mason.

"I look forward to it," Mason replied, lunging forward toward his opponent. Connor deflected the move, managing to drive Mason back a few steps before the latter lunged for him again.

Never overextend your thrust -- you're vulnerable and off-balance. Connor could hear Ramirez's voice in his head as he watched Mason demonstrate the point. With a quick shove he knocked Mason over, the broadsword skittering across the floor as Mason lost his grip. Connor stood over him, the katana at Mason's neck.

"We can still end this peaceably," Connor said flatly.

"Finish it, MacLeod," Mason wearily replied, looking up into Connor's face. "I'm tired of these Immortal games."

About to raise the katana for the final stroke, Connor hesitated. "I won't do a mercy killing," he stated quietly, thinking back to Jax's plight so many years before.

"Finish it, or I will finish you," Mason said fiercely. "You won, you're the victor. Take my Quickening, just as you and others have taken everything else from me."

Connor glanced over at Guin, his heart sinking. "I don't want or need anything of yours, Edwin. Don't make me do this."

Mason grabbed for Connor's leg, but Connor was alert for his moves and quickly sidestepped him. "Just do it, God damn you!" Mason shouted. "Finish what you've started!" The look on Mason's face resembled a rabid dog, his eyes glittering with violent, malicious intent.

Connor took a deep breath to steady himself, then raised the katana. "Guin, turn your head," he commanded, then added to no one in particular, "There can be only one," as he brought the katana down across Mason's neck.

There were a few moments of calm-before-the-storm before gale-force winds began to sweep the room. The caged dogs began to whine and howl. Twines of electrical force slithered down and around the catwalk railings, looping around Connor's body and dangling him as if from puppet strings. The muscles in Connor's face drew taut with pain, and he cried out in anguish as the Quickening rippled through his body. The lightning extended outward, igniting sheets of paper on a nearby tabletop and a stack of newspapers to the left of the staircase. Mason's body began to levitate and hovered a few inches off the ground from the power of the energy circulating in the room. Even Guin felt as if she were being pushed back against the wall by this invisible force. She had only witnessed one Quickening from close proximity before, and had never felt anything like the sheer amount of terrifying, turbulent energy emanating from this experience. Suddenly the windows blew out, and the fire flared and began to spread with the new breath of air in the room. Then as quickly as it had begun, the electrical storm halted, and Mason's hovering body fell to the floor as Connor dropped to his knees. Hesitantly Guin approached Mason's body, turning her face from the damage Connor had wrought as she searched Mason's pocket for the key to the collar. Connor rose wearily and staggered toward her as she unlocked her miniature prison.

"Must...go...now..." Connor gasped out as he recollapsed to his knees. Guin picked up their coats and tossed the trenchcoat over his shoulders, then shrugged into her own coat as she helped Connor to his feet again.

"The dogs..." she fretted as they headed for the door.

"We can't," Connor rasped. "No time." Clutching her to him for support, Connor managed to get them out the back door before the burning building caught anyone's attention. Connor cradled Guin against him under his trenchcoat, and she could feel the press of his katana against her as she tugged at the flap of the coat to hide the bloody pierce-marks in his shirt. They could hear the fire alarm going off as they headed toward home, and the fire engine sirens began to wail toward the scene even as they walked up the short steps to the back door of Connor's brownstone. Still unsteady, Connor opted for the lift rather than taking the stairs up to the apartment.

"Thank God!" Rachel exclaimed as the pair entered, rushing up the stairs toward them. "You're a right mess," she scolded Connor teasingly as she took his coat. "Oh my," Rachel added as she saw the bloody rips in his shirt.

"It's only a scratch," he said with a weary smile and a sly wink. Turning to Guin, he began to help her with her coat. "Let me take that..."

"No." Guin took a step away before removing her coat herself. "Go take a shower," she reprimanded him, frowning. "Get cleaned up."

"What about you?" he replied, disconcerted by her rebuke.

"I'll just change clothes, get some tea and try to relax." Guin stretched and a visible shiver ran down her back.

Connor looked her over for a moment, then nodded and headed toward the bathroom.

"He looks tired," Rachel remarked quietly.

"He should be, he's had a rough evening," Guin answered, sounding as weary as she looked.

"And you?" Rachel said with concern, quirking an eyebrow at Guin.

"I've had a rough evening too," Guin said tonelessly, glancing down to see John waiting at the bottom of the staircase.

"You're bruised," Rachel noted, gingerly touching Guin's neck. Guin winced.

"Mason had a dog's shock collar on me. It was a little tight."

"And he used it, too," Duncan observed.

Guin glanced up at him, then her face flushed as she fidgeted uneasily. "Look, I'm going to change and wash up a bit. We'll be right out." She quickly grabbed a change of clothes and headed into the bathroom.

Connor could see Guin changing through the opaque glass door of the shower and hear her washing up in the sink. "Guin?" he called out.

"Hmmm?" she replied.

"Are you all right?" Connor tilted his head as he put the bar of soap down, waiting for her answer. For a few moments there was only the sound of the shower running, then he heard her sniffle back tears.

"Yeah."

Connor stopped himself before he asked if she was sure. I don't think I want to know if she's going to change her answer. He heard Guin leave with an abrupt closing of the door. I know you've had a rough time of it today, he thought quietly. But I need you to tell me how that's going to affect things.

When Connor finally came down the staircase, Guin was already curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea, her hair piled on top of her head, revealing a hint of the light bruise marks that her turtleneck shirt was hiding. Rachel was sitting in the desk chair; John was huddled in the recliner in front of the television, having fallen into exhausted sleep once his father and Guin had arrived safely home; and Duncan was pacing the floor in front of the windows. Connor headed for the opposite end of the curved sofa from Guin, easing himself onto the seat with a sigh.

"Are you all right, Connor?" Rachel asked him seriously.

"I'll be fine, Rachel." Connor glanced over at Guin. "It's just been a long evening."

Rachel nodded. "I'm glad you're safe. Both of you."

"I wish we could have saved the dogs," Guin said quietly, her eyes half glazed over with weariness. "They didn't deserve to die in the fire."

"We didn't have time," Connor said sharply. "Besides, they were trained guard dogs, and probably would have ripped us to shreds if we'd even opened the cages."

Guin gazed over at him with wide eyes, stunned by his rough response. "Doesn't mean I can't feel sorry for them." Connor glanced up to meet her gaze for a split second, then averted his eyes.

"I killed someone I once called friend tonight," he said bitterly. "Maybe you could spare some of that overactive sympathy for me, hmm?" Rachel shook her head at him disapprovingly as they exchanged glances.

Duncan finally seated himself next to Connor and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Been there, done that," he said with a sarcastic smile.

"I know." Connor looked straight at his kinsman. "But you make more friends, you have that problem more often. It's not something I'm used to."

"It's not something you ever get used to," Duncan replied. "But it's something you live with, when you've had to do it."

Connor nodded slowly. "It'll take some time."

Duncan nodded back, noting the stolen glances Connor was giving Guin. He also observed that Guin wasn't noticing the glances at all -- her eyes were distant, as if she were far inside herself, contemplating. Duncan knew that this self-imposed isolation was not necessarily a good thing, and that Connor was probably worried over it, even though there were no overt signs of distress from his kinsman. The frequent glances were enough.

"Duncan, would you take a walk with me?" Guin asked suddenly, looking over at him, eyebrows raised hopefully.

Duncan shrugged. "Sure, if you'd like." As he retrieved their coats, Guin stood up and leaned over to Connor, kissing his cheek.

"I've got my keys, I'll be back soon," she told him, offering a weak smile. Connor smiled back but averted his eyes. Duncan helped Guin into her coat, and the pair walked upstairs and started the lift on its downward journey.

Connor was quiet a few moments, staring at his hands. Rachel cleared her throat gently, and Connor glanced over at her. "I suppose you want me to tell you what's bothering me," he said flatly.

"Only if you want to, Connor." Rachel's eyes scrutinized him.

Connor laughed. "You mean only if I can stand the way you're looking at me." The corners of Connor's mouth twitched. "She's going to leave me, Rachel."

Rachel arched her brows. "She told you that?"

He shook his head. "She didn't have to."

"You're jumping to conclusions, Connor."

"Why else would she ask Duncan to walk with her?" he countered. "Why didn't she ask me? Because she's getting his advice on how to leave me, that's why."

"Oh come now. Was it really that horrible that she'd leave you?" Rachel asked, crossing over to the sofa.

"Worse." Connor closed his eyes and shook his head. "And she hasn't let me do anything for her since we got back, or said much of anything to me."

"Give her time to recover," Rachel admonished as she sat down next to him. "After all, is this really any worse than the first time she saw you fight?"

Connor glanced across at his son, still fast asleep in the big leather recliner. "He almost had me, Rachel," Connor admitted quietly. "She almost watched Mason behead me."

Rachel gasped. "Oh, Connor..."

"In fact," he continued, blushing mildly, "if she hadn't interfered, I would probably be dead."

"And you think she'll leave you for that?"

"I think she'll leave me over the trauma she's suffered," Connor answered. "The physical wounds will heal faster than the psychological ones." He sighed and shook his head. "I should get my son into bed." Connor put the blankets and pillow back on the sofa, and shook John awake long enough to lead him across the room and get him to take off his shoes. John quickly curled up under the covers and went back to sleep. Connor smoothed back John's curly dark hair and kissed his son on the forehead. Rachel and Connor crossed the room and sat down at the dining table, and Connor put his head down with a sigh.

"You're falling into your old mode again," Rachel commented, gently rubbing his shoulders.

"What mode?"

"The one where you won't let anyone love you." Rachel keenly watched Connor bury his face further in his arms. "See, you won't look at me because you know I'm right. She loves you, you know." Connor shrugged. "Don't turn her away now, Connor. Not when she needs you...and you need her. Support each other."

Connor finally picked his head up and looked at Rachel, giving her a sarcastic smile. "Well, if she wants to stay, I won't say no."

"That's all I can ask." She patted his hand.

"Do you want me to call you a cab, Rachel?" Connor asked quietly.

She shook her head. "I'd like to wait until Duncan and Guin get back. Are you going to bed?"

"That was my intention, but..."

"Then you go right ahead. You've had a long evening. I'll wait for them downstairs." Rachel shook her head as Connor began to protest. "Go to bed, Connor. I'll be just fine by myself." She touched his cheek, and they smiled at each other. "Goodnight, Connor."

"Goodnight, Rachel." Connor wearily stood up, stumbled up the stairs and headed toward the bed as Rachel took the lift down to the shop level.

Guin nestled into her coat as she and Duncan quietly walked down Hudson Street. He had offered her his arm, and even though she took it, she was decidedly uncomfortable hanging onto anyone other than Connor. After a long stroll in silence, Duncan finally spoke. "I think you have other motives for asking me to walk with you -- other than having Connor not worry about you being out here by yourself."

"Why do you say that?" Guin inquired innocently.

"Because you would have asked him to walk with you instead." Duncan looked into her face, and she blushed. "Yes?" he prodded, and Guin nodded in reply. "You're not going to tell me anything I can't tell him, are you? There isn't much I keep from him."

Guin shook her head. "I just wanted to ask you some things."

"Like what?"

"Did you know Heather?"

"No, she died before I met him." Duncan tilted his head at her. "Come on, Guin, what are you really asking?"

"What was he like around other women?" she finally pressed. "Not just any women, but women he really cared about?"

Duncan furrowed his brow in thought. "Hard to say. I haven't always been around him. And there haven't been a lot of women he's cared that deeply about. Or I should say, that's he's allowed himself to care that deeply about." He shrugged. "He probably wasn't much different than he is around you or anyone else he cares about, myself included. He's overbearing...overprotective...brooding..."

Guin found herself laughing out loud at Duncan's blunt assessment of Connor's moods, and the corners of Duncan's eyes crinkled as he laughed with her. "Speaking of brooding," she remarked, "I just realized, I've hardly ever seen you really laugh. Smile, yeah, but not honestly laugh."

"Sometimes there's not much to laugh about," Duncan replied soberly.

Guin nodded. "I know. When Connor gets down, sometimes I wonder if he'll ever snap out of it again."

"Why did you want to know what he's like around other women?" Duncan raised an eyebrow at her.

"I dunno. I guess I wanted to know if he was always so overprotective. And I sort of wanted to know if he ever had to rescue them from stuff like tonight's events."

"Ah." Duncan nodded slowly. "Yes, he has. And John too."

"And is he always this sullen afterward?" she asked.

"Sullen?" Duncan repeated quizzically.

"He's been really...well, withdrawn, even for him. I don't quite know how to explain it. The look in his eyes, his expression. And he's worried about me, which makes it worse. I don't want that. I want to reassure him that I'm okay, but I'm not quite sure how."

"So you didn't bring me out here to tell me you were leaving him, or anything like that," Duncan stated.

"Heavens no!" Guin exclaimed. "Not a chance."

Duncan patted her hand. "I think that's just what he needs to know."

"Oh come on, he wouldn't think I'd leave now...would he?" Guin's eyes opened wide.

"These are the kind of events that we worry about, Guin," Duncan replied solemnly. "The ones that bring the mortals we care about too close to our world, too close to the Game. Events that have the potential of frightening away the ones we hold dear." Duncan stared out into the distance for a long moment. "He's probably afraid that you'll decide you don't want to deal with his Immortality anymore."

"That's ridiculous!" she retorted. "I mean, I knew all about this, you know? I was warned...I even dealt with Fenster myself..." Guin's voice drifted off. "Although this was different."

"Yeah. This time you were kidnapped."

"Not just that, Duncan. I just realized, he hasn't said one word to anybody about the fight, and neither have I. Just some of the stuff about the collar." Guin subconsciously tugged at her turtleneck again. "He'll probably kill me for telling you this, but...Duncan, he came very close to losing this time."

"What?!?" Duncan stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her. "Tell me what happened. Everything."

"When he and Mason were fighting, he tried to kick Mason, and Mason grabbed Connor's foot and pulled him off his feet on the stairs. It knocked him unconscious, and Mason ran Connor through with his sword. I thought that was the end of him." Tears came to Guin's eyes as the re-telling brought the events to the forefront of her mind again.

Duncan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Go on."

"I...I went into irrational mode, I guess. When Mason pulled his sword out of Connor and was preparing to take his head, I grabbed the katana and challenged Mason myself." Duncan suppressed a grin, and Guin gave him a reprimanding look. "Don't laugh at me, it's not funny."

Duncan grew serious. "Sorry. The image just struck me as sort of humorous."

Guin shrugged. "Maybe someday I'll be able to laugh at it. But not yet." She sighed and closed her eyes, tears beginning to streak her face. "Mason gave me one hell of a shock with the collar, knocking me to the floor. He was about to come after me with his sword when Connor recovered and demanded to fight again."

Duncan gave a low whistle. "So Connor owes you his life, too."

Guin shook her head, brushing her tears away. "And I owe him mine. I thought I was dead meat until Connor stepped between Mason and me." She bit her lip. "But my God, if I'd lost Connor there..." Guin shook her head roughly. "I've got to stop thinking about it, or I'm going to cry."

"Do you need to cry?" Duncan asked, putting his arm around her. "I'm not a bad shoulder, or so I've been told."

"No." Guin cleared her throat. "I don't want to cry. I don't need to be shedding tears over things that might have happened, but didn't. I just want to know how to be there for Connor." She blushed. "I may be his fiancee, but sometimes I don't know what's best for him, and there are things I don't know how to do for him."

"As his kinsman, I'm not sure I know either." Duncan thought long and hard, searching for the right words. "Since you're asking me for advice...what I think you should do is just give him as much reassurance as you can. He needs to know that you're not upset, and he needs to know that you're not leaving. He'd never admit that to you, you know, but he needs to hear it from you."

Guin nodded solemnly. "He seems so troubled, I just want to hold him."

"He probably wouldn't refuse that either." Duncan grinned and winked.

Guin laughed. "No, he probably wouldn't." She pursed her lips. "Let's head back, it's getting late." Looking up into Duncan's face, she added, "Thank you."

He shrugged. "Don't mention it."

Guin stretched, cat-like, as she walked out of the lift and toward the bed, glancing down toward the sofa and John's still form. Connor was sitting on the end of the bed, elbows on knees, the light of the moon illuminating his troubled expression. "What's wrong?" she asked quietly. Connor just shrugged and shook his head. "Don't you shake your head at me," she scolded, "not after everything that's happened tonight. There's something going on in that head of yours, and I want to know what it is. Talk to me."

Connor stared at his hands, his jaw tightening as he spoke. "When are you going to walk out on me?"

"What?" Shocked by the bluntness of his question, Guin furrowed her brow deeply as she walked over to stand in front of him. "You don't really think I'd leave you now, do you?" Connor's half-shrug didn't fool her. "You do, don't you?" she said softly. Guin ran her hands through his hair, pulling him close as she kneeled on the bed next to him. She kissed his brow and cradled him tenderly. "My dear sweet one, I'm not going to abandon you over this. Besides, he wasn't interested in hurting me, he was just using me for bait..."

"You shouldn't be used for bait!" Connor said gruffly, pulling away. "It's not part of The Game!" He stood up and walked to the windows.

Guin followed him, running a hand along his back. "I'm okay..."

"This time. But what about next time? Or the time after that?" Connor blew out his breath in a huff. "You should have let me send you away, after the business with Fenster."

Guin stroked his cheek. "Do you want me to go away?" she asked soberly, tears beginning to form in her eyes again. Guiltily Connor shook his head. "Well, I don't want to go either. That being the case, we'll just have to put up with this stuff as it comes." A few tears rolled down her face. "I couldn't honestly tell you I wasn't scared, Connor. I was, most definitely. But the risk of something like this happening again is nothing compared to the pain I'd feel if I left you over this." Connor sighed, and Guin glanced back toward the area where John was sleeping. "Think we've woken John?" she asked worriedly, peering out into the semi-darkness of the lower level.

Connor gave a brief laugh. "That boy could sleep through a Quickening."

Guin smiled, then gently tugged at his shoulder. "Come to bed, sweetheart."

"I'm not sleepy."

"No, I'm sure you're not. You're so exhausted and upset that you can't relax. Come on, let me give you a backrub." Guin smiled as he glanced nervously at her. "What, afraid I'm going to strangle you instead?"

Connor laughed. "It'd serve me right."

Guin shook her head. "Come on. Turn around, give me a hug. Let's go to bed."

Connor turned from the window and embraced her tightly. "I owe you," he said quietly.

"Yep. I saved your butt tonight, and I'm not going to let you forget it." She smacked his rear end playfully. "Come on now, you're worse than a child. In bed you go." Guin flopped down on the bed, landing on something hard. She pulled out the poetry book she had given him, half-hidden under the pillow. "You were reading?"

Connor nodded as he climbed into bed next to her. "This morning. Before I came downstairs." Guin nodded, then set the book aside, got undressed and slid under the covers. Connor nudged her and motioned toward the book, flipping on the bedside lamp. "Read to me?" he asked with a grin.

"You want me to?" she replied with a raised brow, incredulous. He nodded, smiling broadly at her. Guin shrugged. "Okay." She picked up the book and selected a poem as Connor curled around her and laid his head against her chest. "It kinda bothers me that I wrote most of these for someone else, and it's not how I feel about them at all now. But a lot of it is how I feel about you now, and I don't see that changing anytime soon." Connor nodded, and she began to read aloud:

Beyond Words

Touch me, you shall
be heard; the stroke speaks clearly,
easily, deeply to me.
Fingertips
on my shoulder, now my arm,
quieter than "I love you"
but just as strong.
Five fingers curling with mine,
our palms touching,
saying one and one
equal one,
at least for us.
Speech without
the limitations of language.
Our love reaches out too far, in too far,
to be confined by such restrictions.
Love is more than words.

"You're still upset," she whispered. "Relax, it's over." Guin pressed her lips to his forehead, putting the book aside and reaching over to turn off the lamp. Not speaking a word, Connor snuggled in closer to her. Guin's mind began to range over the events of the day. "Now, about our little tiff this afternoon..."

"I'm sorry about that. And for snapping at you tonight." Connor wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even nearer to him.

"I'm not looking for an apology," she gently scolded him. Guin was quiet for another moment. "That fight wasn't about us, or your birthday, was it? It was about mortality." She paused again, Connor's sigh her only answer. "And you weren't arguing with me, you were arguing with yourself. Sometimes you want to be part of mortal lives, and sometimes you don't." Guin toyed with the hair on the back of Connor's neck as he shrugged. "You can't fool me, I've seen it."

"It hurts," he said simply.

"It hurts both to care, and to be alone," Guin remarked. Connor nodded in agreement. "And which hurts more?" she asked.

"I don't know." Connor let out a deep, mournful sigh.

"You feel torn about this because your ability to care and your loving heart distract you from your good intentions of defending The Prize." Guin gave a short laugh and gently poked him in the chest. "And you know where the road paved with good intentions leads."

Connor laughed briefly, finally breaking into a smile. "Yeah."

Guin tilted his head back so that his eyes would meet hers. "I know it's tough to let anyone in, and to watch them grow old and die. And harder yet to see them endangered because of your Immortality. But it really is worth it to love, Connor. Honest."

"I know," he replied quietly, a slight blush touching his cheeks.

"Sometimes you don't know," Guin corrected him. "That's when you tend to fight with me." Connor closed his eyes and pressed himself tightly against her, but said nothing. "You're lucky I understand that," she added, "and that I can forgive it so easily."

Connor swallowed hard. "I really do owe you," he said quietly.

Guin stroked his hair and pressed her lips against his brow. "No, you don't owe me anything. Whatever I do for you, I do out of love. Now try to get some sleep. We have a party to look forward to tomorrow." Before Connor could offer a protest, Guin began to hum, pressing her cheek against the top of his head. He released another sigh, and Guin could feel his body finally start to relax. She continued to hum gently until Connor's breathing evened out and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Heavily cloud-filtered sunlight made the day hazy outside the windows, like a shadow of the diffuse fluorescent light of the second floor of Connor's brownstone. What had once been storage space for the antique store below was now mostly empty, and made for an adequate practice space for the two Immortals sparring katana-to-katana. The elegant but deadly weapons shimmered under the lights as the MacLeod men burned off their excess energies and strutted their stuff in front of an audience of two: Guin and John.

Guin had worried as she watched Connor's initially angry and aggressive moves. Duncan, however, casually deflected the blows, letting Connor get a prick in here and there. As she observed their behavior, Guin came to realize that despite the aggressiveness, Connor was not out to draw blood; this exercise was more along the lines of Duncan holding a punching bag while Connor threw punches at it. Connor needed the release of the sparring, needed a real opponent to match wits with and distract him rather than a potentially too-predictable kata, and Duncan was giving him that.

After the initial bout of aggressiveness, the taunts and laughter began while the MacLeods continued to spar. Guin couldn't help but smile as the pair began to relax and enjoy their "game." Their jibes reminded her of brothers or close childhood friends, and she knew their relationship made both comparisons on-target. While Connor had been Duncan's first teacher, the pair was only 74 years apart -- a minimal difference in Immortal terms, particularly since Connor had spent many of those years not fighting but staying with Heather. And Duncan treated him like an older brother -- respecting him at times, taunting or defying him at others. But when the chips were down, they were there for each other, and Guin was glad for Duncan's presence after Connor's mentally taxing run-in with Mason.

Connor called for a break. "Guin, come here," he said as he waved her over. Guin gave him a puzzled look, but stood up and walked toward him. Connor placed the handle of his katana in her hand. "Your turn," he said with a mischievous grin.

Duncan raised his brow incredulously, staring at the pair for a moment before looking toward John and asking, "They're not serious?"

"Oh, they're serious," John replied, mirroring his father's grin.

"Just do it," Connor told him, adding to Guin in a low voice, "remember, even if you hit him, you can't hurt him." Connor leaned his shoulder against the wall next to John. "Go on," he egged Duncan.

Duncan shrugged, but came at Guin in a gentle and half-hearted way. Guin surprised him by not only blocking his easy blows, but by managing to nick his sword arm as well. "Damn," he remarked, an eyebrow raised. "What are you teaching her, Connor?"

"I'm not teaching her much," Connor replied. "But Ceirdwyn is."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Figures."

"She's a natural," Connor said proudly, and Guin blushed.

"Too bad you're not Immortal," Duncan commented. "You'd be a good contender for the Prize."

Guin cast a glance at Connor, then blushed a shade further. "I wouldn't want that life."

Duncan gave a brief laugh. "Sometimes I think the same thing, but I don't have much of a choice." He flipped his sword behind him, parallel to his arm, the dragon head resting in his hand. He bowed to Guin, who returned the bow, then handed Connor's katana back to him. Guin stopped short as she looked out one of the windows.

"It's snowing again," she said excitedly, rushing to the window and pressing her forehead to the glass. "You're never going to not be excited by snow no matter how many times you see it, are you?" Connor teased.

Guin made a face at him. "I come from a place where it rarely snows, and where it's even rarer for it to stay on the ground. Give me a few years to get over my fascination."

Connor and Duncan exchanged long looks, and Connor's face took on a wicked smile. "Come with me," he told Guin, heading for the door.

Guin gave him a puzzled look, but he was already in the hallway heading for the stairs. She cast a suspicious look at Duncan, but he only shrugged and gestured for her to precede him. John trailed out behind the two of them.

By the time Guin reached the stairs, she was left to follow only the echo of the back door closing. "All right, Connor my dear," she said with a hint of irritation as she descended the stairs, "where are you taking me?" Opening the back door, she stepped out to see which direction Connor had gone. As she looked left, she shrieked as she was hit on the right by something cold and wet. Duncan's laugh chimed in with Connor's staccato one, which was emanating from the same direction as the snowball.

Guin's face turned dark and mischievous as she knelt down and began rounding out a mound of snow. "Why you..." Connor made the mistake of not moving, and was hit square in the face with the new snowball. Duncan's laughter turned harder -- until he was pelted by both Connor and Guin. John rushed out to join in, and the foursome were soon soaked through as the snow flew between them. Breathless with laughter, the four combatants collapsed on the steps.

"Has this broken you of your snow fascination?" Connor taunted as the laughter subsided.

Guin shook her head and grinned. "Just the opposite, I think."

"We'd better get ready for the party," Connor reminded her.

"And I'd better get ready to pick up my guests," Duncan remarked. At a look from Connor he added, "Don't worry, they all know. In fact, I think you know them all. But I'll let the rest be a surprise."

"Just what I need," Connor answered, trying to slick some of the wetness from his sweatshirt. "More surprises."

"Oh come on, Rachel, just tell me!" Connor's voice floated over to Guin as the lift came up to apartment level. "I know you're hiding something from me."

"I only bought what you told me to for this party," Rachel scolded him. "John, will you tell your nosy father to leave me and my shopping bags alone?"

John laughed. "Think he'll listen to me?"

Connor opened the lift gate, stopping short as he caught sight of Guin sitting on the bed, arms around her knees, her back to him. He and Rachel exchanged worried glances before he proceeded toward the bed while Rachel and John made their way down the staircase.

"Why aren't you getting ready?" Connor asked gently, sitting down next to Guin. She shrugged. "You don't look so good," he added, stroking her tear-stained face. "What's wrong?"

Guin shrugged again, but her tears began fresh. "I think...I guess last night finally got to me."

Connor quickly scanned her pale face, then put his arm around her and cradled her to him. "I'm sorry, Guin."

Guin shook her head, gently pushing herself away from him. "That's exactly why I wish you three would have taken just a bit longer to finish your shopping. I could have been finished with this."

Connor looked at her in shock. "You didn't want me to know you were upset."

Guin averted her eyes from his scrutinizing gaze. "I didn't want you to worry about me."

At a loss for words, Connor cradled her to him once more, and Guin leaned her head against his shoulder with a heavy sigh. Suddenly a smile twitched at the corners of Connor's mouth. "But what if I want to worry about you?" he asked, tickling her. Guin giggled briefly through her tears. "Hmm? What about that?" Connor pinned her to the bed, tickling her as she tried to fight him off.

"Stop!" she shrieked, laughing harder.

"No," he replied with a devilish grin, his laughter beginning to add to hers.

Rachel tilted her head at the sounds from above, exchanging smiles with John. "Are you going to come down here and help us, or are John and I going to have to prepare for this party all by ourselves?" she chided them.

"Coming, Rachel," Connor replied as he finally stopped his torment. He kissed Guin gently, and leaned his forehead against hers. "Are you going to be all right?" he whispered.

"Yeah."

"You're sure?"

"Mmm hmm." Guin kissed him back. "I'm sure."

"I'll help Rachel. You get ready." Connor began to climb off the bed.

"What, you're not going to take a shower with me?" Guin quirked an eyebrow and gave an impish grin as she propped herself up on one elbow.

"I think Guin has the right idea," Rachel called from below with a laugh.

"You sure?" Connor called back over the railing.

"I'm sure. You two could use a few...um...private moments. Go. John and I are quite capable of handling things down here."

Connor offered Guin his hand. "Let's get ready, then."

Connor and Guin stood inside the door situated below and to the left of the lift opening to the apartment, preparing to receive their guests. Connor had given Duncan a key to the outside door, but Duncan had rung the buzzer downstairs anyway to let Connor know they were on their way up. Connor had gone the comfortable route, in jeans and a black tee under a denim shirt, while Guin had opted for a little more flair with a turtleneck sweater of variegated blue and a navy broomstick skirt. "My birthday, my choice to not dress up," he'd teased her as they were getting ready. Guin wrung her hands nervously at Duncan's light knock.

As Connor opened the door, Guin stared in jealous shock at the beauty who rested on Duncan's arm, her sequined black jumpsuit skin-tight under her matching cropped-waist jacket and gallant cape, all of this in stark contrast to her short platinum-blonde hair. After a few moments Guin's eyes finally wandered to Duncan's second friend, whose gold-flecked greenish eyes caught her attention. Noticing her gaze, he offered her a sheepish smile, pulling at the edge of his long, cream-colored turtleneck sweater to tuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The last guest was one she recognized: Duncan's friend Joe, whom they'd met while out dancing several months earlier.

Connor nodded at this last guest. "Joe. Good to see you again." Guin got the feeling that there wasn't much sincerity behind Connor's greeting, but she didn't remark on it.

"Good to see you still have your head, Connor," Joe replied with a grin. "You're getting quite a reputation for yourself again out in the big bad Immortal world."

Connor shrugged. "I do what I have to." Guin watched Connor narrow his eyes at the woman. "Ah, nice to see you, Amanda," he hissed. He sounds like a snake, Guin thought with dismay. What could he possibly have against friends of Duncan's?

"Oh, Connor, don't you look adorable," Amanda fawned. "So much better than the last time I saw you. Look, your socks even match. Finally find a woman who can dress you?" Amanda gave Guin a sly wink. Guin could feel Connor breathe slowly in and out to keep his calm.

"Connor, Guin," Duncan interrupted, "this is Adam Pierson."

Connor shook the other man's hand firmly. "We've already met."

"So I heard," Duncan replied.

"Nice job in Tucson," Adam commented. "I think you put out half the lights in the city. Or in the foothills, anyway."

Guin finally made the connection as she shook Adam's hand. "So you're the one who left the note at our hotel, and gave Connor the information on Dugal." Adam nodded. "Well, you scared the bejeebers out of me with that meeting-in-the-middle-of-nowhere stuff. You should have just come up to our room."

Adam shrugged. "I suppose I should have picked Holy Ground, actually. I figured the seclusion might be better. I didn't know if you knew about Immortals, that's why I didn't come up."

"How did you know I was there?" Connor inquired, his eyes narrowed.

A smile played on Adam's lips. "I have friends in watchful places."

Connor looked as if he were about to growl. "Watchers."

"They told me that there was an Immortal gone psycho by the name of MacLeod, and I thought...well..." Adam cast a sideways glance at Duncan. "I thought it might have been someone I knew. It wasn't until I got to Tucson that I found out who it was, and who he was after. And I didn't even know you knew Jax until I saw him again."

"How did you know which hotel I was in? Duncan didn't even know that."

Adam quirked an eyebrow. "Ah, but I knew what you go by. I started out calling the bigger resorts and worked my way down. Lucky for me I didn't have far to go."

"If I didn't know better," Duncan remarked with a smirk, "I'd swear you were becoming a regular boy scout, Adam."

"Ha!" Adam sneered back at Duncan. "No, thank you. That's your job, o' Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, great protector of Clan Humanity."

Connor snorted. "He's obviously a very good friend of yours, Duncan, to know you so well." He gestured into the apartment. "Let's not stand here all day, shall we? Come in, please."

Connor headed toward the kitchen as Guin led the way toward the sofa and chairs looking out onto the New York view. Joe and Duncan walked over to look at Connor's pictures on the wall, while Amanda seated herself on the sofa and Adam sprawled in one of the easy chairs, resting his feet on the edge of the coffee table. John and Rachel greeted the guests, but remained occupied in the game of gin they had turned to after setting up the few party decorations they had bought.

"Drinks, anyone?" Connor called out.

"What do you have, darling?" Amanda replied. "Anything with a good vintage will do."

"I have a good bottle of port I pulled out of storage just for you, Amanda," he answered. "I know you like the finer things...especially when you don't have to pay for them." Now he's being nicer to her, Guin mused. What the hell?

"Sounds wonderful." Amanda turned her attention to Guin, who blushed under the other woman's scrutiny. "Now we'll just see if he poisons it first." Amanda flashed a smile at Guin.

"I heard that," Connor said loudly. "Adam, what can I get you?"

"A beer will do nicely, thank you," Adam replied.

"Joe? Duncan?"

"For shame, Connor," Duncan scolded him. "Glenmorangie, of course."

"I'll second that, if you don't mind," Joe added.

"Rachel? John?"

"Nothing, thank you. We're fine." Rachel squared off with John again.

"Guin?"

"Let me come help you with that first," Guin admonished him. "I'll have the port, and I'll carry a few of these to our guests while I'm at it." Guin balanced her glass in one hand and the glasses of whisky in the other, which she handed off to the gentlemen still engrossed in the pictures. Connor was walking toward his guests with the beer, port and his own serving of Glenmorangie when Amanda called out, "Connor, stop!"

Connor stopped short. "What?"

Amanda pointed upward toward a small plant hanging from the railing above. "Mistletoe." Guin bristled as Amanda sauntered over to Connor and, taking the glass of port from him, rested a hand against his back and kissed his cheek gently. "Happy birthday, Connor," she said sincerely. As she backed away, Connor balanced the beer bottle and his whisky in one hand and held out the other, palm-up. Amanda gave a wistful smile, then put Connor's wallet back into his hand. "Damn, thought I had you." Guin snickered at the other woman's antics.

"I know you better than you think, Amanda." Connor gave her a dark look, but finally smiled. "You're not nice to me for no reason. I learned that firsthand a long time ago, and I know better than to trust you. You've been a cheat and a thief all your life. Perhaps you should try something new, like say...honesty."

"People can change, Connor," she insisted as he delivered the beer to Adam. "In fact," she added, "I have a present for you."

"Oh?" Connor furrowed his brow as she handed him a business card and reseated herself on the sofa. Connor took a seat next to her.

"Victor there is a car restoration specialist," she began. "And I know he'll be able to find whatever you need to fix the Porsche. In fact, I think you'll find some of the parts are exactly like the ones that were stolen." Amanda smiled sweetly.

"Exactly?" Connor asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

Amanda nodded. "And at very reasonable prices, too. Some of the fences in town found it in their hearts to turn over the pieces to Victor."

"With some prompting, I'm sure," Connor laughed. "Did you invent sarcasm, Amanda? You have such a way with it."

"Nope," she replied with a smug smile. "Just perfected it."

"So what do you want in return?" he asked, looking at Amanda expectantly.

"Nothing, Connor. Really." Amanda's smile softened into a sincere one. "You're awfully hard to shop for. This little incident, as bad as it was, made it a bit easier to find something appropriate."

Connor looked at her a moment as if contemplating whether to believe her, then nodded. "Thank you."

Amanda shrugged. "Don't mention it."

Guin seated herself next to Connor, and he pulled her to him protectively.

"Now aren't you cute," Amanda cooed, tilting her head at them. She spied Guin's camera on the coffee table and picked it up. "Let's get a picture." Connor grimaced and put his hand in front of his face. "Oh, come on," she chided. "Just a couple. Unless you're saving this film for something else?" Amanda looked over at Guin, who shook her head. "Good. Oh come on, Connor. Do you have any picture of the two of you? Even one?"

Connor thought a moment. "No."

"And how long have you been together?"

Connor began to turn red. "Nine months."

"Then it's about time." Amanda brought the camera to her eye. "Smile."

Guin grinned from sheer self-consciousness, but Connor just rolled his eyes and said, "Cheese."

Amanda made a face at him. "Smile, dammit, or I'll take your head." Connor snorted, but he finally smiled. "Much better," Amanda noted, snapping a couple of photos. "Family portrait now -- John, get in there." Guin scooted over to make room. "That's it," Amanda directed. "Connor, move over so John can sit on your other side." Once they were all seated, Connor's arms around each of his loved ones, Amanda tilted her head and frowned. "Guin, John, you two need some connection." Guin reached over and clasped John's hand, drawing it into Connor's lap. "Perfect," Amanda praised them, taking a few more pictures.

"Hell, while we're here...Rachel, Duncan, get over here," Connor demanded. John gave up his seat to Duncan and knelt on the floor. Guin was about to do the same for Rachel when Connor pulled her onto his lap. "You're staying right here," he said with a grin. "I'll hide behind you."

"Connor..." Guin protested.

"Actually," Amanda interrupted, "that just might work. Sit sideways, Guin...put your arms around him...there. Rachel, tilt in a little, in toward them...good. John, think you can squeeze between Connor and Duncan?...Perfect, just perfect."

"Have you ever thought of going into an honest trade, Amanda?" Adam smirked. "I think professional portrait photography might just be your bag."

"I tried that once," Amanda replied as the group disbursed, with Connor, Guin and John remaining on one end of the sofa as Duncan and Amanda took seats on the other end; Joe opted for the easy chair next to Adam, while Rachel pulled up a chair from the desk where she and John had been playing before. "Well, as a cover for a little...um...business, anyway. Didn't like it much. It was too mundane for my tastes...but you should know that by now, Meth...mmmm, Adam."

Adam threw Amanda a dirty look. "Soon the whole world's going to know because of your loose lips, and what will I do then?" He gazed at Connor, who was giving him a one-brow-cocked puzzled look. "You want to know? Well fine then, here it is. I'm Methos." Connor gave him an odd stare. "Yes, the Methos."

Connor laughed out loud, but shifted in his seat. "Come on, Methos is just a legend." At Guin's puzzled look, Connor added, "He's supposedly the oldest living Immortal, over five thousand years old."

The man calling himself Methos shrugged nonchalantly. "No one said you had to believe me."

Connor looked from Duncan to Amanda, then to Joe -- none of whom seemed bothered by this revelation -- then finally back to Methos. "Don't tell me you really are Methos," Connor said, still incredulous.

"The one and only." Methos peered into his empty beer bottle. "Sorry to disappoint you that I'm not some sage monk in a monastery somewhere."

Connor shook his head as Guin got up and took another bottle of beer from the refrigerator. She opened it as she walked over and handed it to Methos, who smiled up at her gratefully. Connor leaned back against the sofa as Guin sat down next to him again, and he put his arm around her. "I can see why you don't advertise who you are," Connor remarked. "A lot of Immortals out there would give their lives for a chance at taking your power."

"A lot of them have," Methos replied simply, taking a swig of beer. "That's why I'm still here." Connor raised a brow at him, but said nothing.

"After that much time, you must..." Guin paused, blushing. "I was going to say you must get used to the beheadings, but that sounds so awful." She turned a deeper shade of red.

"I don't think you ever get used to it, really," Methos answered quietly, examining his beer as he swished it in the bottle. "Each fight, each opponent, is different."

"And each one affects you differently," Duncan added.

Methos narrowed his eyes a bit, as if lost in thought. "And you have to watch yourself, make sure you don't start enjoying it," he stated, waxing philosophical. "That twinge of delight can lead you straight to hell." Methos and Duncan exchanged glances full of dark implications, but neither said anything more.

"I have a question about Immortality," Guin interjected. "You don't have to answer, it may be a really stupid question..."

"There are no stupid questions," Methos replied, flashing her a charming smile. "Fire away."

Guin leaned forward eagerly. "What do you remember about your mortal lives, before you knew about your Immortality? And how does that affect your outlook on things now, hundreds -- or thousands -- of years later?"

Methos spoke up first. "I suppose that's easiest for me to answer, because I don't remember it at all. In fact, I hardly remember when I took my first head." Methos paused with a sigh. "But I did have a young woman in my life recently who reminded me what it means to be human." Methos, Amanda, Joe and Duncan exchanged knowing glances. "Alexa was a good reminder that wisdom and lifespan aren't always correlated -- and that life itself is a precious thing. I think we all need that reminder now and then," he added, kicking his feet up on the coffee table again, which earned him a brief dirty look from Connor.

Amanda nodded. "It's important to remember how to be human, and to remember how fragile life is. Even for us." She twitched her lips in thought. "Sometimes it's a tough reminder, but necessary." Amanda frowned. "Now, as for me, pre- Immortality...I remember being poor, stealing, not trusting anyone."

"And you haven't changed much," Joe added with a grin.

Amanda shrugged, her mouth forming a self-satisfied smile. "Well, my tastes have gotten better. And petty thievery is pretty much out."

Duncan snorted. "Except to piss Connor off."

"Now, now," Amanda scolded, "I came to this party to have fun, and I'll get it any way I can." She smiled, turning back to Guin. "Seriously, though...my beginnings have affected me a lot. Joe's right, I haven't changed all that much, in a lot of ways. It still takes me a long time to trust." Looking as if she had already said more than she should, Amanda added, "Your turn, Duncan."

Duncan sighed, his expression turning dark and serious. "I remember a lot...probably too much, sometimes. I was a chieftain's son, so family and clan meant a lot to me. I was raised to be a protector, and there's still a lot of that in me."

Methos smiled. "Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, protector of Clan Humanity, Do-Gooder, Righter of Wrongs..."

"Enough." Duncan flashed his friend a dirty look.

"Did I get too close to the truth?" Methos asked innocently.

Duncan frowned, but didn't reply. "Your turn, Connor," he said sourly.

Connor shifted uncomfortably under the scrutinizing eyes of his family and friends, old and new. "You already know my past, Guin," he stated simply, drinking down the last of his Glenmorangie. "And many is the time I wish I'd never heard of Immortality."

"It hasn't all been bad, Connor," Duncan chided him. "Look at all the things you would have missed out on...and all of the people you would never have known, if you had lived on in Glenfinnan and married Kate."

Connor snorted at the name. "I never knew what kind of person she really was until she accused me of being in league with Lucifer."

Duncan nodded. "See? And what if you had never known Heather... Ramirez... me... Rachel, John, or Guin? Just to name a few of many. Not such a bad life."

Connor glanced down at the woman by his side. "No, I guess not." He stood up and stretched. "Another round?" Guin helped Connor collect glasses, and they headed for the kitchen.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, Connor," Guin said quietly as they began refilling glasses.

"You didn't." Connor shook his head, pausing for a few moments before speaking again. "And Duncan's right, I would have missed out on a lot." He glanced at Guin out of the corner of his eye. "You mean a lot to me."

"I know," she reassured him.

Connor was silent a few minutes more. "Duncan asked me if you knew I loved the Game more than you," he added, guilt tingeing his features.

"I know the Game comes first, if that's what he means," she replied. "You have a larger purpose in life, and I can't begrudge you that. It's good to have worthy goals. I have no problem coming in second to that." Connor shook his head and smiled as he silently stroked her cheek. "Oh no," she scolded him, "don't get all serious on me now. Bad enough I had to ask that question and get everyone serious on what should be a joyous holiday. Just know that I love you because of what you are, not in spite of. All the complications of it don't mean much in the grand scheme of things because it makes you the person I love." Guin picked up what glasses she could manage as she added with a blush, "I couldn't find anything that seemed good to get you for your birthday. I promise I'll try again once we're home."

Connor kissed her cheek as she turned back toward the main room. "You're the best present I could ask for."

Joe had begun warming up on his guitar, and he entertained the group for an hour or so with everything from slow blues ballads to rollicking tunes as they danced. Finally they turned on the radio to give him a break, and Joe chose to dance with Guin as the rest of the group settled into their seats again.

"So you're a Watcher," Guin said with a small grimace.

Joe laughed. "I take it you've heard Connor's version of what a Watcher is."

Guin smiled sheepishly. "Yeah. I've heard Duncan's too, but...I'm just a wee bit uncomfortable with the idea of someone sneaking around, watching Connor's every move." She blushed.

"Particularly certain moves, hmm?" Joe prompted. Guin flushed a deeper shade. "We're not that sick, we do give some privacy." He grinned. "Well, most of us. Most of the time."

Guin laughed. "Thanks for the reassurance."

"So did my Watcher follow me over here, or are you filling in for him?" Connor asked Joe, an eyebrow raised suspiciously.

"You mean did anyone note your Quickening last night?" Joe nonchalantly responded. "Yeah, it got marked down. But that was more in the network, it wasn't my doing."

"More in the network?" Connor's expression turned worried.

"You aren't the only one with a Watcher. Mason had one too," Joe replied. Connor nodded.

"Joe only sticks his nose into the good cases," Duncan taunted. "Like helping you get Fenster."

"Fenster?" Amanda queried. "Simon Fenster?" Duncan and Connor both nodded. "I wondered who finally got that bastard. At least you won this time around."

Connor narrowed his eyes at her. "How did you know I'd faced him before?"

The twinkle in Amanda's eyes sparked, then faded as she realized he was serious. "You don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" he snapped, leaning forward.

"Remember that little diversion that distracted Fenster's men so you could get away?"

"Mmm hmm," Connor replied tightly. "So?"

"Who do you think caused it?" Amanda smiled in self-satisfaction.

"Then why didn't I feel you?" Connor retorted.

"Maybe alcohol had impaired you. I knew Fenster felt me, he turned his head right before I made the noise."

"And how did you know he was there in the first place?"

Amanda sighed in exasperation. "Word gets around quickly in places like that. And he didn't limit his pirating ways to foreign ports -- he'd attacked a friend of mine. Not only raped her, but came damned close to killing her. I wanted revenge."

"So why didn't you kill him then?" Connor asked, still suspicious.

"I saw what he did to you, how he put his men on you to disarm you first. I knew as a woman, I had even less of a chance. I can't say I wasn't glad I never ran into him again. But congratulations on finally ridding the world of that scum." Amanda held up her glass in cheers, then took a sip.

Connor made a noise in the back of his throat. "I suppose you think that means I owe you."

Amanda rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No, I don't. Sometimes, Connor, I don't want anything from anyone, not even favors owed. No matter how hard that is for you to believe." She suppressed a laugh as Connor just stared down into his glass. "Okay, think of it this way. I did Duncan a favor by helping out his kinsman. So now Duncan owes me a favor, not you. All right?"

"Hey..." Duncan began to protest.

"Don't worry, darling." Amanda smiled sweetly at Duncan. "I owe you enough times over that this won't cancel out much."

Connor glanced up at her. "You're actually beginning to convince me you have changed," he admitted.

"A little bit," she said with a catty smile, holding her fingers a half-inch apart. "Just a teensy-weensy little bit."

Everyone jumped at the sound of the door buzzer, and Connor walked quickly toward the windows overlooking the back door. His expression quickly curled into a broad smile. "I'll be right back." Connor disappeared out the door of the apartment, returning a few minutes later with a larger man about Rachel's age, with greying hair and a ruddy complexion.

"Frank!" Rachel exclaimed in delight, racing up to the man and hugging him tightly.

"You squeal like a schoolgirl, Rachel," Connor scolded her with a smile.

Frank put his arms around Rachel in a bear hug. "Couldn't leave my girl alone on New Year's Eve, now could I?" he asked her. "Well, not alone, but...you know what I mean."

"But what about the convention?" she asked, puzzled.

Frank made a gruff sound in the back of his throat. "A bunch of old cops trying to out-talk and impress the hell out of each other. It got boring real fast." He gave Rachel another squeeze. "They're certainly no match for you."

"What'll you have, Frank?" Connor asked as the newly reunited couple moved toward the sitting area.

"I don't suppose you've got a beer there, do ya?" Frank replied.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Connor was startled to see the uncomfortable looks on the faces of Duncan, Amanda and Methos as he handed the beer to Frank. "Don't worry, he knows."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Connor shrugged. "He knew Brenda, he married Rachel...I figured if he was around enough, I should tell him."

Duncan shook his head. "You, of all people, don't just open up like that. Even if he is practically family."

Frank laughed. "I think he neglected to mention that I saw a Quickening."

"Ahhhhh..." Duncan nodded. "Now that makes sense."

"I figured he deserved an honest explanation." Connor smiled. "A basic explanation, but an honest one." He shrugged. "It was after I'd left with Brenda...he was in the line of duty when he ran across Immortals fighting...and he couldn't explain away what he saw. But he did remember some of the eyewitness accounts around the time they were investigating some other beheadings..." Connor shot Frank a glance, then gave a brief laugh. "Let's just say he knew who to call."

"Speaking of beheadings...I caught word that there was one just down the street last night." Frank looked Connor in the eyes. "Care to comment?"

Connor smirked. "I don't think you really want me to do that."

Frank nodded. "That's what I thought." He shrugged. "Rachel tells me you're a good guy just doing what you have to do to stay alive...the same thing Brenda used to tell me. Guess I have no choice but to believe them...especially since you saved Rachel's life all those years ago. And I never would have met her if it wasn't for you."

"I'm glad you believe them, or you'd probably still be trying to arrest me," Connor remarked cynically, finishing off his glass of whisky.

"Nah, those days are over." Frank smiled. "I know, once a cop, always a cop -- but I also know that there are different kinds of justice. Normal law isn't effective in every situation."

"He's learned quickly, hasn't he?" Rachel taunted with a hint of pride.

Connor nodded and laughed. "Sometimes life throws lessons at you a little faster than you wanted to learn, doesn't it, Frank?"

The apartment's occupants jumped again as the door buzzer went off a second time. "Expecting anyone?" Connor asked Frank, who shook his head. Connor returned to the windows and scowled as he looked down to the street. "Damn."

"Who is it?" Guin asked.

"One Lieutenant Stenn, if that's still his car." Connor shuddered. "He has to bother me on New Year's Eve, of all days."

"Probably to question you about the incident down the street," Frank added. "Rachel and I will follow you down...maybe a few witnesses that you were here all night last night will satisfy his curiosity...or at least make him go away for a while."

Connor made his way out of the apartment down to the back door, followed by Guin, Rachel and Frank. Guin watched Connor's posture straighten and his stride become more confident as they descended the stairs, his face growing progressively more stern, his eyes dimming to an expressionlessness that made Guin shudder. Connor opened the door roughly. "May I help you, Lieutenant?"

Stenn's eyes wandered from Connor to the three people standing in the shadows behind him. "I have some questions for you, Nash."

"You insist on disrupting my New Year's Eve party with questions?" Connor raised a brow. "Questions about what?"

"You know about what," Stenn sneered. "There was an incident down the street last night, and I have reason to believe you were involved."

"I think you're mistaken, Lieutenant Stenn," Frank countered. "My wife spent the evening catching up with her former employer Mr. Nash, here."

"Excuse me, Mr...Stenn, was it?" Guin stepped forward, her chin tilted up haughtily. "My fiancé was, indeed, here all evening with myself, Rachel and another of our guests who is currently upstairs at our party. So unless you intend to pull some magic evidence out of your hat, I suggest you leave us alone. Incidences of police harassment often lead to unhappy endings for the officers involved."

Stenn's eyes bore through her, but Guin calmly maintained her steadfast, disapproving gaze. Frustrated, Stenn fixed his dark look on Frank. "This will reflect poorly on your pension if you're hiding something, Moran."

Frank shrugged. "Then I don't have nothin' to worry about, 'cause I ain't hiding anything."

Stenn's gaze roved over the group. "One of these days, Nash, I'm gonna nail ya."

Connor gave a brief laugh. "I've heard that one before. Good evening, Lieutenant. And Happy New Year."

Stenn snorted, then turned and strode angrily toward his car.

Connor closed and locked the door, and the group made their way back upstairs. Guin let out a sigh of relief. "I thought maybe he'd actually have some evidence to pull out."

"Whatever might have been left probably burned," Connor replied soberly.

Frank shook his head. "He doesn't have a damned thing on you. If he did, you'd be down at the station already."

Connor opened the apartment door, and everyone still inside turned and looked at him expectantly. "Well?" Duncan asked.

Connor shrugged. "Just out to harass me. But if anyone asks, I was here all evening with you, Guin, John and Rachel." Duncan nodded.

Joe began to play again; and Duncan and Amanda stood up to dance, and Connor and Guin took their place on the sofa. Connor's gaze drifted off into the distance, his eyes as cold as they'd been while facing off with Lieutenant Stenn. Finally he closed his eyes and let out a long, tight-lipped sigh. Guin laid her hand on top of his, smiling at him as he looked down at her. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly. He nodded.

Methos leaned over from his chair, handing a packet to Connor. "They found this among Dugal's things...I thought you might like to have it." Connor opened the small package and emptied it into his palm. Guin leaned in to look at the piece of metal adorned with a crude bull's head.

Connor snorted. "His kiltpin." He held up the ornament, examining it carefully. "Angus made these for us when we were young...it's pretty good, given his limited smithing skills."

Guin marveled at the piece. "I think it's wonderful. Crafted with care and love." She glanced over at John, who was now challenging his Uncle Frank to a game of cards. "Perhaps something to pass on to a new generation of the MacLeod clan?"

"I've tried to instill clan pride in him, but he doesn't seem interested." Connor frowned as he closed his hand over the kiltpin.

Guin's face took on a contemplative expression before she spoke. "Perhaps if he actually owned something MacLeod, rather than just being surrounded by all of his father's MacLeod items, he might change his tune." She almost laughed at Connor's startled look. "Does he himself own anything MacLeod? Tartan, a pin, anything?"

Connor shook his head. "No."

"Well, we were talking about his birthday coming up. What would he say if you got him a kilt for his birthday?"

Connor gave a brief laugh. "He'd probably say I was being pushy."

"And what if I gave him a kilt for his birthday?"

"For whose birthday?" John's voice piped up from somewhere in Guin's far peripheral vision.

"For your birthday," Guin replied as John seated himself next to her. "Would you like to own a kilt?" John shrugged. "You don't have to decide right now. And if not, we'll find you something else just as good, and unique. Special present for a special guy." She elbowed him playfully, and he smiled.

"Speaking of birthdays," Rachel interrupted, "I believe it will be someone's birthday within the hour." She was carrying a plate and shielding with her hand the flame of the single candle perched atop a slice of cheesecake.

"Well, it is already tomorrow in Glenfinnan," Guin added.

"I knew you were hiding something," Connor accused Rachel with a grin as she handed him the plate.

"Make a wish," Guin taunted. Connor's lips twisted into a thoughtful frown for a moment before he finally blew out the candle. Guin stood up to help Rachel distribute the remainder of the cake.

"I hope you wished for no more surprises, Connor. I think you've gotten all you can handle lately," Duncan noted.

"Yeah," Connor agreed. "No more surprises, please. Especially not from the NYPD."

"How about from me?" Guin replied as she reseated herself next to him. She took his hand, emptying the contents of her fist into his palm. Attached to a chain was a St. Michael's medallion, depicting the slaying of a demon -- with a sword.

"I used to wear that, several years ago. I hung onto it even after I stopped wearing it, and still carried it around, never quite knowing why it held such an attraction for me. And now...it just seems appropriate I give it to you." Guin blushed deeply.

Duncan and Rachel leaned in to look as Connor held the medallion up by its chain. "Fitting," Duncan remarked, flashing Guin a smile.

Connor looped the chain over his head, toying with the medallion where it lay against his chest. He stared at the figure engraved in the pewter, but didn't say a word.

Rachel had been whispering with Frank, and now turned to Connor. "I would like to give you a small present too...I was thinking that Frank and I could take John with us when we leave tonight, to give you two a little time to yourselves."

Guin glanced at John, worried that Rachel's suggestion might leave him feeling unimportant and unwanted. She opened her mouth to protest, but John cut in first. "I haven't seen Uncle Frank in a while, that'd be great. Can I, Dad?"

Connor raised a brow at his son. "If you'd like."

"Speaking of leaving," Duncan began, "I arranged for our cabs to be here a little after midnight...I know we barged in on your party at the last minute, sort of. You weren't expecting more than me until just before you arrived in New York. I don't want you to feel you have to entertain us until the wee hours of the morning."

Connor shook his head. "You're not intruding."

Duncan shrugged. "We'll see each other again before you leave." He winked at Guin. "And I'd think you two might like to have a little private celebration."

The stroke of midnight finally arrived; champagne flowed, glasses clinked, couples kissed, and a new year was begun. Shortly afterward, the party began to break up, leaving Connor and Guin by themselves. They sat down on the sofa, cuddling together as they looked out on the New York skyline.

"This is nice," Guin said, closing her eyes as she leaned her head against Connor's shoulder.

"Yes, it is," he replied. Connor put his hand behind Guin's neck, and she winced as he accidentally touched her bruises. A wave of guilt ran across his face, and Guin touched his cheek gently.

"The bruises will heal," she reassured him. Connor closed his eyes and sighed. Shaking her head, Guin tugged at the medallion around his neck. "You're my hero," she told him with a smile.

"Some hero," he scoffed. "I put you in that danger in the first place."

"Doesn't mean you aren't brave and good-hearted," Guin replied. She put Connor's hands on her waist and her arms around his neck. "There. Now we can get close without my neck problems getting in the way." Connor blushed slightly, and she delicately kissed him. "I love you. In spite of what happened yesterday... and because of what happened yesterday. I appreciate your protectiveness. I appreciate the fact that you were so worried about how this affected me that you'd convinced yourself I'd leave you." She brushed the hair away from his brow and kissed his forehead. "I think I've got quite a guy here." Guin released his neck, snuggling up against him again. They sat for a few moments, unmoving, then Connor stood up quietly and crossed the space behind and above the sofa, seating himself at the piano. Guin looked back at him, puzzlement turning to amazement as he began to play. Recovering her senses, she lifted herself from the sofa and walked up behind him, gently resting her hands on his shoulders.

"I didn't know you could play," Guin said softly.

Connor stumbled over a few notes, startled by her voice. "You never asked," he replied, continuing to wend through various artists' work: Bach, Chaikovsky, Mussorgsky, then on to more recent ballads by the likes of Gershwin and Rodgers and Hammerstein, keeping the mood soft and mellow throughout.

"It used to be that if you played the piano -- or the harpsichord, or clavichord, or whatever keyboard instrument was popular at the time -- you hardly had to say one word about yourself," Connor said quietly, changing to a simpler tune as he spoke. "You could be the center of attention but no one asked you much. Except maybe where you learned to play, and I always had an answer -- my parents, or just 'here and there,' to sound modest. Playing kept me from having to make small talk in social circles."

"You don't play much anymore, do you?" Guin asked as she watched Connor's long fingers make a sweeping run up and down the keyboard.

"I'm not very social anymore. Society today has allowed us all to become detached and asocial...all the better for my kind, I suppose." Connor switched again to a morbid-sounding Russian piece.

"Sometimes socializing isn't so bad, even for 'your kind,'" Guin replied. "It gives you memories, friends and events to help mark the centuries with. Otherwise it gets hard to keep track of time...and the world gets awfully cold without a little companionship." A smile played across her lips. "Moyo gryadushchee v tumanye, builoye polno muk i zla...Zachem ne pozhye il ne ranye/menya priroda sozdala?"

Connor smiled wistfully. "Lermontov. 'My future is in fog, my past full of torment and evil...'"

"'For what reason, not later nor earlier, did fate create me?'" Guin finished the translation. "For what reason, indeed. I think fate tossed me your direction in this particular time and place to help you see that a little involvement isn't so bad. Or else you might have found the likes of me twenty years ago...or a hundred."

Guin fell silent as Connor continued to meander from piece to piece. Finally she nudged onto the piano bench beside him. Connor smiled at her as he struck into a familiar tune, and Guin returned his smile as she began to sing:

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and days of auld lang syne?"

Connor put his arm around her and pulled her close. "I think it's time we went upstairs and warmed up that bed," he said playfully.

"You think so?" She raised a brow at him, then laughed. "Actually, I like that idea myself." Guin strode across the room, grabbing an unopened bottle of champagne and two glasses. "I think it's time we celebrated your birthday the old fashioned way," she said with a wink, starting up the stairs.