When Conspiracies Collide:
Auspicious Beginnings.
By: Axianna

I know this intro is a bit long, but you only have to read it once.

Disclaimers:

Jane is mine.

Duncan MacLeod, Richie Ryan, Joe Dawson, Methos, AKA Adam Pierson, Immortals, the Game, Watchers, Joe’s bar and the Dojo all belong to Rysher’s and their creators.

Jarod, Miss Parker, Sydney, Broots, Mr. Raines, Mr. Lyle, Angelo, Brigitte, Kyle, Mr. Parker, Mrs. Catherine Jameson Parker, Sweepers and the Center belong to their respective owners, such as NBC. I expanded their universe to include the Assassins.

Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, AD Walter Skinner, Cancerman, the Lone Gunmen, the Well Manicured man, Mighty Morphin’ Bounty hunters, Giant Fluke men, Eugene Tooms, William Mulder, Mrs. Mulder, Samantha Mulder, Mrs. Scully, Melissa Scully, the X-Files and it’s associated conspiracy all belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and all those guys.

This is a work of fiction that I’m not making any money of off so don’t sue me. It’s not like I have any money in the first place. Just talk to all the people I owe money too, including the Bank. I’m just a poor, starving student, who’s soon to be a poor, starving working stiff trying to pay of student loans.

Continuity:

Just forget about it and call it an AU; it doesn’t really fit in anywhere. But if you want to get picky, it could take place before the season finale of the 97-98 season for Pretender (Season 2) and X-files (Season 5) and so before XF: Fight the Future. I do mention in passing various things that have occurred in previous X-Files, but nothing too major and it’s not like you have to have watched every episode to get what’s gong on. For Highlander, just ignore the season 5 finale. Maybe I should take out membership in Clan Denial… RICHIE LIVES!!!!

Personal notes:

Thanks to Michelle and Terri for encouragement and picking out holes in the plot. They also put up with me calling them and obsessing about this thing. Also for my Mom, for reading it in the first place and for correcting my grammar in the second. She even liked it.

As for myself, all I can say is that I’m finally DONE!!!!! This part at least.

Rating:

Well, nothing too bad in this one, a touch of language and a little violence, but this would hardly rate a PG 13 on TV ratings. People do get hurt, but not bad. In this one.

Summery:

Meet Jane. See Jane meet Duncan and Richie. See Jane give them a funny look. See Jane meet the Pretender. See Jane run. See Jane meet Mulder and Scully. See Jane punch Mulder. See Jane mess with all their lives.

***

Prologue

He hated this part of his job. The money was great, but when he had to actually watch his handy work in action, it made him wish he’d never been born. After a day like this one, he'd get as high as he could without killing himself, bury himself in the nearest willing body and try to pretend the world didn’t exist.

It was the eyes that got him, that look of intense confusion as the mind just. . . emptied. They didn’t know, couldn’t possibly understand what was happening to them. He could isolate a single thought and remove it from memory, or he could wipe the mind completely clean, leaving an empty husk. This one was one of the slightly more lucky ones, if you could call any of the poor bastards lucky.

The last needle was plunged into the vein, emptying the chemical cocktail into the blood stream and racing the enzymes to the delicate tissues of the brain. There it would start disrupting synapses and disconnecting pathways. The process was fairly permanent. Not in all cases, but those occurrences were far and few between, requiring a particular set of circumstances. For all practical purposes, they never recovered. This lost soul would be lucky enough to remember what century it was, let alone the date. Names were now a thing of the past now that memory was gone. At least the mind would stay relatively intact this time.

Chapter 1

I woke with a really big headache. One of those headaches with Excedrin written all over it. I think Tylenol and Beyer were also vying for advertising space. Cracking open an eyelid, brilliant light pierced through my head and the pounding went up a few notches. Maybe I wouldn’t open my eyes just yet. Bringing a hand to my face, I could feel my elbow grind as it moved. Something else to add to the list. Placing a hand over my face, I tried opening my eyes again, marginally more successfully this time. The light still shot through me, but the hammers on my head actually started to ease up a little. Staring at my palm wasn’t all that interesting so spreading my fingers, I let the sunlight filter through. I was outside then.

Finally propping myself up with an elbow at my side, I forced myself up into a sitting position. Lightning I wasn’t really seeing started to explode and the those hammers started back up again with a vengeance. Squinting at the destruction around me, I wasn’t too surprised. It seemed to fit, even if for the life of me I had no idea what I was doing there. Glancing around, I found I was in the basement of a half-constructed building, its naked skeleton partially destroyed by the explosion. An exploratory hand over the back of my head came back with blood on it: wet, sticky and dark. I didn’t even want to think about what that meant.

A more thorough look around revealed that there wasn’t much to see. Framework above me, concrete walls around me, debris under me. Now what? I should get up and move, see how bad off I was. But why? Not thinking about that, I tried to get up.

Getting my legs under me was an interesting experiment. One knee didn’t look too healthy and maneuvering the other so that I could push myself up took some time; everything was going rather slow. Finally pulling myself up by sheer determination I wavered a few minutes, watching the world spin without me, before I even tried to put some weight on the swollen knee. Not too bad, I thought, as shooting pains radiated from it. If this wasn’t bad, what was?

I couldn’t remember.

Putting my full weight on that knee dropped me back on my butt, as it gave out under strain. Ignoring the agony, I pulled myself over to one of the walls and managed to get up again. This time locking the joint stopped me from falling and I managed a few tentative steps. Looking around for a way out, there wasn’t much. I could pull myself up over the edge, but I had no idea what was on the other side. No ladders were evident, but there was a pile of scrap in a corner that I could climb up on to see what was out there.

Peeking over the edge revealed a few fire trucks, an ambulance and a sprinkling of cop cars around the smoking corpse of a building across the street. Not good. I froze as the thought crossed my mind. I was hurt and there was an ambulance there, more than willing to help me, but I felt that revealing my presence to the ‘authorities’ would not be in my best interest. Actually it filled me with dread. The pounding in my head increased in tempo as I tried to think about that. My mind scrambled as it tried to remember something, anything. I couldn’t remember the last few days, I couldn’t remember the last year; my name, my age, who I was, what I was, what I was doing there. It was just blank. All I had were a few impressions: light playing across a face that I can barely see, a spoken word, I can’t hear, and a bright flash. Maybe that was the explosion?

Driving the rising panic down, I made my way to the other side of the basement. I was just tall enough to reach the top of the wall and with a lot of grunting, I managed to pull myself up by my hands. Legging myself up a little further I managed to swing my good leg over the top and roll onto the ground on the other side. Thank heavens they’d already back-filled the foundation. My knee wouldn’t have survived a drop very well.

I was now on the far side of the skeletal building and out of the immediate search zone. Most of the people were concentrating on the remains of the other building, which, from the looks of it, had been the business section of a strip mall. Searching my pockets came up with about twenty dollars, cash, and nothing else. I could probably call a cab or something once I got far enough away. To where, I didn’t give a thought.

Carefully glancing around from behind a stack of 2x4s, I checked out a group of rubbernecks off to one side, a safe distance off, pointing and gawking. Too far off to mingle in with, though. Not to mention the blackened, ripped remains of my sweatshirt wouldn’t allow that. Underneath it was a fairly clean white T-shirt that might pass. Ripping off the gray remains, I left them behind the pile of lumber, ignoring the goose bumps that started to form despite the spring sunshine.

Trying to walk as normally as I could I started to off, heading to the street running behind my shelter. Would have gone fine if I hadn’t fallen. There was a fair bit of junk lying around from the construction and the explosion, and I caught my foot on a piece of board.

I fell hard, smashing into the concrete that eventually would become a parking lot. Blood started to ooze down my leg, but I didn’t notice. I was too busy curled up around my knee, trying not to pass out while the blood pounded in my ears. Blackness came in waves, interspersed with surges of pain. And then there was panic. I had to leave, I had to get away, I couldn’t be caught. When a hand touched my shoulder, I knew they’d found me and that I had to escape.

***

Max looked at the destruction around him. He’d seen worse and fortunately there were hardly any injuries. Thank heavens for small miracles. Pushing aside another piece of ruble, he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. Standing up he looked over to the framework building across the street but didn’t immediately see what had caught his attention. Wait, there it was again. Someone was climbing out of the basement. Waving to Chris, he pointed over to the building and ripped off his helmet once he was far enough away. Taking a deep breath, he thanked the various deities in existence that the thing was finally off. Then he ran a hand threw the sweaty mess of his hair and ripped off his heavy yellow coat to leave behind at the truck. They’d have to check over by that building any way, so he might as well do so now.

Telling Hank where he was off to, he jogged across the street and went around to the back. Once around the corner he noticed a figure curled up on the ground, barely moving as she rocked back and forth with her back to Max. Her long, dark brown hair was loosely tied back, looking the worse for wear, and was matted with blood that was seeping down her neck. Great, just what he needed, some princess in need of rescuing. It looked like something hit her from the explosion. While there where a couple other minor injuries out front, they’d already been taken care of. Apparently someone had hit the fire alarm so everybody was out of the building by the bomb went off. Otherwise it could have been much, much worse.

"You okay, Miss?"

The woman hadn’t noticed him as he circled around her. He didn’t want to startle her and if she’d hit her head hard enough, she might be a little out of it. Once he was in front, he noticed her arms wrapped around her one leg, her eyes shut and her face drawn from the pain.

"Hey Miss, I’m with the Fire Department. Can I take a look at your leg? Miss, can you hear me?" He kept up a running dialogue as he got closer. So far, she hadn’t even noticed him. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, now that he was crouched directly in front of her. As soon as she felt his touch her eyes snapped open too wide and a hand shot out to hit him in the jaw with an open palm. He fell back, his head ringing loudly and he cursed those stupid baggy pants that tripped him up and landed him on his butt. They may have saved his life multiple times, but this wasn’t one of them. She had reached behind her and now had a piece of rebar, about a foot and a half long, racing towards his out stretched legs. Quickly scrambling back, the bar still managed to hit his foot, but it was protected by his heavy boots. Now that he was out of her immediate reach, he stood up and wiped his hand across his forehead, dabbing at the blood trickling from his lip.

She looked at him with glassy, panic filled eyes and her mouth stretched into a grimace. Then she threw the piece of steal at him. Moving his arms up to protect his face, he managed to deflect most of it, but he’d have some real nice bruises to show for it later. Glancing back, he saw her scrambling away, half-crawling, half running, regardless of her leg. Racing up to her, he went to help her up, still offering reassurances, when she smashed a piece of concrete into the side of his head. While he normally enjoyed fire works, he wasn’t too impressed when they were inside his head.

‘Screw this,’ he thought, ‘Let the paramedics deal with this. Or the police. They’re trained for it.’ Shaking out his head, he got up and hollered out, still keeping the injured woman in sight.

"Hey, Hank!"

"What?"

"Get over here with some help! I got a live one here! Won’t let me get near her!"

"You can’t handle her by yourself!? I’m disappointed!"

"This is one very nasty damsel in distress! The lights are on, but nobody’s home!"

Hank was having a good chuckle over that one. Max didn’t care what Hank thought; he’d seen the look in that girl’s eyes and she wasn’t too happy about going anywhere she didn’t want to. She’d stopped crawling by this time and was looking around her. Somehow this didn’t sit too well with him.

She started moving again, over to a pile of rocks that had been cleared from the site. Once there, she picked up a fist sized stone and hurled it at him. He just dodged out of the way and noticed another one heading his way. Running back he hid behind a pile of lumber that, while not out of her range, at least prevented him from getting pelted. He winced as a rock hit with a heavy thud and bounced over the top

"Listen lady, I just want to help you!"

*thunk*

"You know, it’s a bit early in the relationship to already be throwing things at me."

No thunk. That was good.

"Listen, some guys are coming and they’re gonna help you." Because, he wasn’t gonna step within striking distance thank you very much. "Just don’t hurt them okay? Are you still there?"

Cautiously poking his head over the pile of lumber, he looked over at the woman, again hunched over her leg and trying to get back up. She must have hurt it something fierce, but it didn’t look like she was slowing down any. By that time, Hank had finally shown up with some paramedics and was heading in his direction. He warned them about getting too close and then went back to the less treacherous semi-demolished building that was threatening to fall over.

It took the Hank, the two paramedics and two other police officers to eventually subdue her to the point where they could strap her down. She seemed almost resigned once they had her down, but she’d left her mark on them. Hank was walking oddly; she must have canned him really good.

There were also some bleeding noses, as well as multiple bruises on all involved, and one of the cops came away with a broken arm. He didn’t look too impressed as it was getting braced. Max watched as they transferred her onto a gurney and into the ambulance. Ten bucks said she’d end up in the psyche ward by night fall. Shaking his head, he went back to sifting through the ruble.

***

I must have passed out, cause the second time I came around I was much more comfortable. The head was still pounding, but within manageable proportions, and I couldn’t feel my leg at all. I love modern medicine. Painkillers are wonderful things.

White walls. Most places have white walls but that particular smell of antiseptic and illness, identified this as a hospital. Oh joy. I hate hospitals. They’re right up there with Police Stations. Well, time to get out of there.

As I tried to sit up, I found my progress impeded by straps. Forcing down a wave of panic, I took a deep breath and made myself to calm down. Both arms and, yup, as I shifted a leg, I could feel the restraints around my ankles. I was mildly surprised they didn’t have one across my midriff and shoulders. Amazing the damage you could do, even if your hands and feet where tied down. I pulled at the straps some more, determined to get out of them.

I stopped struggling when I heard footsteps in the hall. After a few moments, a doctor came in. She was a tired and worn down woman in her late thirties. She glanced at me, looked at the chart in her hand, went over to a monitor and then scribbled some notes. She turned to leave the room without saying anything to me.

"Excuse me, but why am I here?" I must have startled her because she dropped the chart she was holding, the clatter loud in the quiet of the room.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were awake."

"You looked right at me." Who was this chick?

"Let me rephrase that, I didn’t realize you were coherent." She didn’t look too happy about having to talk to me.

"Excuse me?" I said, letting my irritation slip into my voice.

"When you came in, you were unconscious and I wasn’t aware you had woken up." That doesn’t explain why she was hanging from the ceiling when I spoke up. Besides which, like I’d said, she looked right at me with my wide-open eyes.

"Why am I strapped down then?" This. . . person was really starting to get annoying.

"I’ll go get Dr. Doyle, he could probably explain things better for you." Make that really, really annoying. "It may take a few moment though, he’s a busy man." The woman promptly turned around and fled. I guess I hadn’t made that much of a first impression. Though that bruise on her temple, which I hadn’t seen when she walked in, might explain the straps. But what to do now? I didn’t particularly feel like sticking around; the straps weren’t exactly making me feel all that welcome.

I still had the drive in me to get away, the panic was still at the edge of my thoughts, but I don’t think they were gonna let me check myself out. Let's see. The straps were pretty standard with buckles and padded leather. Kinky. Pulling my thumb in so far it was nearly dislocated; I managed to pull my left hand through the strap. A few seconds later, I had the other straps off and was ripping off the bandaging, to examine my knee. It wasn’t moving that well. Aside from being swollen to the point of abnormality and the stitches on the one side, I think I had royally damaged the cartilage. Oh well, I’d live.

It took me a few moments to wrap the thing up again and then I stepped out of the bed, heading over to the wardrobe that was against the wall. My leg didn’t hurt, it just didn’t move. Opening the closet door, there was a robe and the remains of some of my clothing. Not fair, they cut the jeans off. At least the boots, with the socks stuffed inside, were in one piece. Well, we’re gonna have to find something to replace the pants, cause those hospital gowns would embarrass a stripper. Grabbing my also intact shirt and my boots, I eased open the room door.

There was a short hallway with a few open doors before you hit a nurses' station. Well, let’s see who else they have in this section. Walking away from the nurses’ desk, I passed a few closed doors and then past an open one. Bingo. Looks like someone just went out for treatment.

Closing the door behind me, I quickly rummaged through the guy’s personal stuff. There was a pair of Dockers that, with a belt would be passable, a wallet with a few dollars cash (sorry, but I had a feeling I could use all the cash I could get), a pack of cigarettes, a shirt that could go over the T-shirt and some keys. Leaving the cigarettes and the keys, I put on the pants and eased them carefully over my re-wrapped knee. Next my T-shirt and then the boots. It took me a few minutes to bend over in a way that wasn’t putting any pressure on my knee but so that I could still reach the laces. Next the wallet was emptied of the cash, about thirty dollars, then placed with the keys and the dress shirt had the sleeves rolled up to be eased over the remains of my T-shirt. I was a bit more stiff than I wanted to admit. Spying a travel bag by the bed, I figured it might come in handy. Emptying out the books and crossword puzzle, I shoved them into a drawer and shoved the cash in one of the pockets, putting my stash in the back pocket of the pants. I slung the strap over my head, leaving both hands relatively free. As finished as I was going to get, I stepped back out of the door, looking more like a visitor than a patient. Provided you ignored the limp. Maybe I’ll pass a blind nurse. Hey, I could hope.

Still out of sight of the desk, I noticed a door that didn’t lead to a patient’s room. It was a supply station. Yes! Slipping in, I started to search through the medical supplies looking for anything that might be useful. All the medication was behind locked doors but there were dressings, bandages, gloves and that sort of thing neatly packed away on shelves. I grabbed a few tensor bandages, threw in a few rolls of gauze, followed by some medical tape. There was also some peroxide and hundred proof alcohol that could come in handy. Stuffing everything in the travel bag, I headed out the door and then, bag over shoulder, I put my shoulders back and walked as normally (and quietly) as I could, pass the nurses' station. I must have a rain check for luck, cause the nurse never even looked up from her station. Exiting by the stairs, I made my way to the main floor and then it was out the front door.

I had fifty dollars plus change in my pocket, the clothes on my back and no idea of who I was, where I was, or even what year it was. I was in trouble. First thing I wanted was a bottle of Tylenol, extra strength and a paper. That would see me through the day and answer some questions for me. Finding a 7-11, I got the paper and the painkillers, then sat down on the sidewalk in the sun and read.

It was Friday, April 24^th, 1998, I was in Seattle and Bill Clinton was President. There was a small article about the explosion that I was found at, but it was mostly speculation, no facts. Everything else was human-interest stories and politics. I think I hate politics. If I didn’t before, I do now. There were ten stories about the affairs of the president and they were all the illicit kind. I pity his wife.

Leaving the paper on the bench, I got up and headed down the street. I was mostly running on instinct and considering I was still alive, it seems to be working. Right now, my instincts were yelling at me to keep moving and disappear.

A few hours later, my knee was in agony and I was in the back of a dark alley, trying to keep myself from being stabbed. The guy with the knife was an absolute amateur, so that didn’t bother me, but the pain in my knee did. I couldn’t walk – or run – as fast as I should considering the situation. Dodging a swipe at my midsection, I tried to give the guy another chance.

"Listen, you really don’t want to do this. I didn’t really mean it when I said you looked like a drowned sewer rat." I hopped back on my good leg, as the knife stabbed out to my stomach. This guy had no imagination. "Besides, in India being called a rat could be considered a compliment." I don’t think that helped. The punk lunged at me and I let myself roll with it, going down, grabbing him by his coat and smashing him head first into the pavement. He landed with a wet smack but he got up again, wavering uneasily on his feet.

"Forget this." I was still on the ground, now facing him. This guy just wouldn’t give up, but I was in a hurry; I wanted to find a hole to hide in before dark and this was wasting too much time. Hands behind me, I kicked up with my good leg, butt still planted. Caught him in the groin and he was down for the long count. He was starting to turn an interesting shade of green and he probably wasn’t going to be popular among the girls for a while. I’d pity him, but I wasn’t feeling particularly charitable at the moment.

Crawling over, I picked up his knife, a cheap butterfly affair and though sorely tempted to plant it between his ribs, I just used it to add force to the punch that knocked him out. Crawling up the side of the wall I noticed my audience for the first time. Great.

"You didn’t see anything. You’re gonna turn right around, go back inside and pretend this never happened. Got it?" I never realized I could growl like that. I have to admit I sounded particularly mean. Flipping the knife closed, I pocketed it and looked back at the young man who was unfortunate enough to have witnessed this sad excuse of a fight. He hadn’t moved, the garbage bag hanging limply in his hand as he stood at the back door of what a sign proclaimed the Cairo Pub. Instead of menacing him quiet, I’d scared the life out of him and he just stared at me.

"Listen, drop the garbage, turn around and head back inside. I’m not gonna do anything to you. I just want to get out of here, Okay?" I didn’t want the guy to pee his pants and he relaxed marginally as I said that. Picking up the bag I dropped and turning around to leave, I’d barely taken a step, when a voice bellowed out the door.

"Mike! How hard is it to take out the damn trash!" The voice got closer and then stopped as it reached the door. "Mike, what’s wrong." Now the voice was softer, concern coloring its timber.

"She. . . she. . . " Still walking away, I never saw the finger pointed in my direction.

"She what Mike?"

"She beat up Angelo."

"What!?!?!"

"She beat up Angelo. . . with a bum leg." Great, I was now on my way to becoming an urban legend.

By that time, I was around the corner and back on the main street. If you could call it that. Turning left, I crossed in front of the building and headed down a few blocks. This was more of an industrial district now, but there was still the occasional restaurant and bar. It was almost dark by now and I really wanted a place to crash. I eventually settled on a warehouse that, while not empty, was closed for the weekend. Rummaging through some of the metal scraps, I came up with a thin piece of steel. The raw edges snagged at my hand, but by carefully twisting it around and fiddling with it, I came up with a suitable lock pick and started in on the people entrance beside the big bay door. The lock eventually clicked and I eased the door open when the alarm rang out. Pulling open the alarm panel, I went to work.

A minute later, I was sitting in the lunchroom with the alarm disabled and feeding false information to the monitor station, wherever that was. I rummaged around and came up with a dozen cans of soup, some dried Chinese noodles and the usual clutter of lunchrooms every where. Opening up the can and dumping it in a bowl, it went in the microwave and three minutes later, I was chowing down. I hoped I wasn’t allergic to tomatoes. Curling up later in a corner, I pulled a moving blanket over me and promptly fell asleep.

The next morning, I was up with the crack of dawn and exploring my temporary lodgings. It was a small metal shop with some older punching machines and a metal bender that looked like it had seen better days, as well as a couple hand operated cutters and a hand press. It was a pretty small shop and was probably a small order company of some kind. From some of the half-finished work, it looked like they made light fixtures.

Already my knee was starting to grind and I could feel the pain building up. I had to do something about it. Fortunately, there was enough junk laying around that I’d be able to come up with a solution. Scrounging through the scraps, I came up with a few lengths of galvanized steel, each about an inch wide. That could work. Smoothing the edges on the grinder, punching the appropriate holes with the hand-held punch and riveting it together, left me with a passable brace that should help take some of the strain of the joint.

Two pieces ran the length of the joint with four bands circling around: the top one all the way around and the other three half way around the back. It wasn’t the most secure, but it would keep my knee immobilized and should take off some of the strain. I’d have preferred to have the bands circling all the way around and clipped in the front or something, but it had to avoid the stitches and I needed to be able to slide it on and off. I could improve on it later. The grinder took off the corners and after wrapping anything that might dig in or poke with PVC tape, I padded my knee with some of the dressing from the hospital, wrapped a tensor over the mess and slipped the brace on as snug as I could get it, using duct tape to keep it all in place. The mess was as secure as I could get it and when I put some weight on it, it didn’t hurt all that badly. With my pants on over top you couldn’t even see it, although I still limped.

Walking around, I started to look for anything that might come in handy. I stuffed handful of miscellaneous wiring in with the gear I still had from the hospital, added a few roles of duct tape, PVC tape and clear packing tape. I had to get going soon, this wasn’t someplace I wanted to be seen and the panic was starting to eat at me again. Careful to make the theft as unobtrusive as possible, cleaning up the dishes I’d made and erasing as much of my existence as I could, I reset the alarm, closed the door and locked it.

Stopping at a bus stop, I took a load off and give my leg a rest. It wasn’t all that bad and the Tylenol was enough to make it bearable, but I didn’t want to over do things too much. When a bus pulled up, I didn’t look the gift horse in the mouth. So digging out enough change, I got directions to a mall and was on my way.

Two hours later left me twenty dollars poorer, but I had some metal buckles from a craft store, a canvas strap for tying stuff down to your pickup truck, a cotton-by-product camp blanket, a box of meal replacement bars that were on sale, a large bottle of the cheapest pop they had, a three pack of underwear, a tooth brush, comb and hitting a second hand store a block over got me a slightly worn black wind breaker that could double as a rain jacket.

Heading back to the mall, I took advantage of the washrooms. Combing out my hair, I found the goose egg on the back of my head. No stitches but there was a jagged cut. Braiding my hair back and tying it with the elastic left from the hospital, I pulled out the toothbrush and scrubbed off a layer of plaque. After washing my face I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Not quite curly, not quite strait, brown hair, down past the middle of my back, was ruthlessly smoothed down and braided. Dark brown eyes stared back at me from deep-set sockets, faint blue smudges underneath accenting them. Features were just a little too irregular to be pretty with a generous mouth, though the pale color almost made it invisible. I wasn’t too tall, but not short either, and with a trim figure, but nothing flashy. My clothes didn’t exactly hang on me, but you could tell they weren’t bought with me in mind. On the whole I didn’t look too bad, but I wasn’t going to go out and win any beauty pageants. I pretty much faded into the background.

Feeling more human, I found a shoe repair shop and taking out the canvas strap and the buckles, I told the guy behind the counter what I wanted. He was a nice, generous man, waving off my offer of cash and did it for me for free. Fifteen minutes later, I had three straps, each over a foot long with a buckle secured using shoe tacks to rivet the material around it and best wishes that my luck will improve. I told him with all honesty, that it was as good as I ever remember it being.

Taking the three straps, I put them along with the left over canvas in my bag. The duct tape would hold my knee for now, but it wasn’t a permanent solution and these straps would be more secure. Wandering over to the supermarket, I browsed around, availing myself of all the samples that they had out for the Saturday shoppers and finally left after receiving pointed looks from the clerks.

By now, it was evening and everything was closing down. Heading back to the industrial zone, I found a less prosperous area and broke into an abandoned front office. The black paper over the windows kept unwanted viewers from looking in and gave me a modicum of privacy. I took a back office just in case though. Emptying my bag, I started to organize what I had, eventually setting up a bit of a bed out of strips of packing foam over in one corner. I nibbled on one of the bars, washing it down with some pop.

Stripping down a little, I unwrapped my knee and took a closer look at it. The swelling was better than yesterday, so the brace was helping, but I should still ease up on it. Taking the brace off completely I carefully flexed the joint, listening carefully and feeling it grind slowly. It was stiff, no doubt, but with some rest it should be better. I had food, the water here ran and while there wasn’t any heat, the weather was warm enough that I wouldn’t freeze. I could stay here for a while and give my leg a chance to heal.

Chapter 2

A few days later, with some rest and relaxation, I took the stitches out of my knee. It no longer felt like it had a black smith pounding on it and the goose egg on the back of my head had practically disappeared. The panic that had been driving me was gone now and while I didn’t like thinking about the gaping hole that was my past, it wasn’t bothering me. For some reason I didn’t have a lot of desire to find out who I was.

By now, I could walk around without feeling like Igor, I was running out of breakfast bars and I was starting to climb the walls. Time to meet the world.

Bracing up my leg, the canvas straps done up over some scraps of cloth left by the previous owners of my abode, I got dressed, packed up most of my gear, leaving the bedding and a few other bulky things, and left my sanctuary. I planned on coming back, but you never know what could happen so I didn’t leave anything behind that I couldn't replace. Brushing off some of the dust that I’d collected on my clothes I knew I didn’t look too bad, considering.

After a day of wandering around, my knee was sore, my feet ached and I was nowhere near the office I was using as a place crash. It was stupid to let myself get so far away, but I felt the need to get out and see things. It wasn’t so much that everything was new, it was more like I’d never taken the time to look before. I’d spent an hour watching a street busker play his heart out for the lunch crowd before I finally moved on. All this wandering around conspired to leave me in a section of town farther from the industrial strip than I’d like.

Sucking it up and berating myself, I got up off of the doorstep I was taking a break on and started to make my way back. A few blocks over I stopped, listening to the strains of music lilting out of a door. It came from a bar, nothing fancy, just heavy wooden doors under a blue neon sign that proclaimed the place to be Joe’s. There was a moody, sultry tone that called to me. Giving into my curiosity I stepped in the doors, letting the melody wash over me.

It wasn’t very crowded and I was able to get a small table in a dim lit corner. It took a while for the waitress to get to me, which was just fine with me; I only had about twenty dollars left and no idea where I could get some more cash. By the time she got to me, I just ordered a plate of the fries that seemed to be on most of the tables, accompanied by ribs in many cases, and turned my attention back to the man on stage.

He wasn’t all that much to look at, older, with the character of a lifetime etched across his face, hair that would ordinarily be swept back, falling into his eyes as his head bent forward over his guitar. I watched in fascination as his fingers played over the strings, pulling out pure emotions and weaving them into a song that reached into my soul and touched my heart. He left me with the impression that this man knew what it was to love and also what it was to hurt.

The song didn’t end so much as blend into another one, this one more playful -- not so much joyful, but more like it teased and jumped along like a woman playing hard to get -- and then there was a love song, touchingly sweet and unfulfilled. After about thirty minutes of playing, he got up amid a round of heart-felt applause and walked stiff legged up to the mike.

"Well, you guys have been nice enough to put up with this amateur and I should get back to tending the bar like I’m supposed to." There were good natured comments to the extent that he never should have quit his day job, but these where refuted by the rest of the small crowd with the ease of familiarity that made it obvious that this was part of the regular performance. "Well, not to disappoint you, but I’ve got a few other guys who’d like their minute in the spotlight, so be nice to them." With that, he reached back for a cane and leaning on it heavily, descended off the stage and over to the bar.

The new guys weren’t as good, but the moody jazz eased a few aches and I couldn’t make myself get up and leave. I just sat and let the notes wash over me. Once, I even found myself humming along, words coming unbidden that I knew belonged with the song. It got later and as the crowd got smaller I munched on the cold fries, getting a coke to wash them down, until it must be well past the time I should have left. But I didn’t want to leave the warmth of this place for the cold and most likely painful walk back to the industrial zone.

***

The place was almost empty, the crowd having dwindled as the hours got later. It was the middle of the week, so that was to be expected. Joe sat behind the bar and looked out at the people left. There was a crowd of university students off for the summer and enjoying their freedom from studying, a couple that had been lost in each other's eyes for the past hour and a girl sitting off in the corner. She didn’t order much, but it wasn’t crowded so Joe didn’t care. She wasn’t part of the normal crowd, just walked in from the street, sat down and lost herself in the music. She almost looked like part of the university crowd, but there was desperate look that most students didn’t have, except maybe around exams and those were over. Maybe she’d just had a hard day. By now the band was on the last set and the bar would be closing soon after so she reached into the travel bag beside her, pulled out enough to cover her order then sat back, her legs stretched out in front of her, to enjoy the last few songs.

The small group of students started to break up when the music was over, with one of the more obnoxious ones staying in his seat, practically sulking. Left alone by his companions he finished off his beer then headed over to the girl in the corner. She was still sitting there, as if getting up the courage to face the great outdoors and when the guy pulled up a seat, she stared blankly at him.

From his spot at the bar, Joe had a good view for the show. He could hear most of what they were saying and waving over one of his bartenders, Russ, he asked him to keep an eye on them just in case. The guy was pretty plastered.

"So what you doing here all by yourself, sweet thing." She ignored him. "Hey, did you hear me?"

"Get lost." Guess she wasn’t in the mood.

"Come on sweet cheeks, give a man a break." His face had a cocky grin on it. She rolled her eyes at the comment before replying.

"Sweet cheeks? You’re mother obviously abandoned you at birth."

The guy’s red face got even redder as he sat and stuttered for a few seconds. "What the hell do you know about anything?"

"More than you do apparently." She had a definite bite in her comment.

"Oh you think you’re so high and mighty." He leaned over her table in an attempt to intimidate her.

"Well at least I’m not thinking from below the waist." She wasn’t intimidated.

"At least I got something there." His face went red and he started to bluster.

"I wouldn’t be too sure of that," she snapped.

The woman, Joe had revised her age up a few years, was still as calm as before. The guy however was letting his voice get louder, disturbing the peace of the couple in the middle of the floor that were dancing to the soft blues piped in to cover the silence. Russ was getting out from behind the bar, ready to run interference.

"Listen here bitch, nobody talks to me like that." Most people would have gone away to lick their wounds in private, but this guy was either too stupid or too drunk to care.

"Must not get out much then." This time he grabbed her wrist, holding it in a stiff grip.

"I don’t think you understand me you little whore, nobody talks to me like that because I don’t let them."

He was pulling her wrist back, twisting it at what couldn’t be a comfortable angle. She just smiled at him, flicked her hand around and out of his like he was holding nothing but air. That smoothly led to her grabbing his wrist, digging her fingers into the joint and twisting it around, not like he had, but pinned down to the table.

His face went sweaty and when he looked up at the girl, fear leached the last of the color from his face.

"Now here’s a lesson for you. A girl says get lost and you get lost. No ifs, ands or buts. Got it." Her voice had gone from playfully sarcastic to deadly serious in those few seconds. "And if you ever grab the wrong person like that again, be prepared for a broken arm."

Russ was behind her not sure of what he should be doing: rescuing the woman, who no longer needed it, or the guy, who didn’t deserve it. The woman increased the pressure a bit, just to let him know that she could break his wrist if she wanted to, then pushed him away. Russ grabbed the guy by his other arm and escorted him from the premises.

The girl simply got up, picked up her bag and limped over to the bar where Joe was still sitting. Nothing as pronounced as his own gait, it was more like a stiff joint that didn’t bend. Something clicked in the back of Joe’s head. Something about a girl at Cairo’s. Richie was in here earlier this week with a story about this girl with a bad leg taking out one of the local toughs who’d tried to mug her. Could be the same woman.

"I’m sorry about that, I sometimes say more than I should." Her voice had lost its icy edge and now was toned down to a soft alto.

"That’s okay. He’s not a regular but came with some friends. I’m Joe by the way." He put down the glass he was drying and held out his hand.

"I sorta figured that. You can call me Jane." She had a firm grip. Then she sat down on one of the stools.

"I noticed you liked the music." He picked up another glass and continued the chore of polishing them off.

"What an inane thing to say." Her hand with a pretzel paused halfway to her mouth as she realized what she said.

‘Ouch, she does say more than she should.’ Joe thought.

"There I go again. I must be more tired than I thought, but yah, I did like the music." She sounded tired as she brushed back a strand of frizzed brown hair that worked its way loose of the braid.

"Not a problem, I’ve been insulted worse. I’ve also done worse to others myself, so consider yourself forgiven. It was worth it just to see that guy brought down a few pegs."

"He was pretty full of himself wasn’t he?" She grabbed another pretzel.

"Yah he was." He chuckled as he finished the last glass and put the towel under the counter.

"I should get going, you’re probably closing soon." She didn’t make any effort to get up though.

"Normally yes, but I don’t want to disturb the two love birds." Joe pointed to the couple still swaying together on the dance floor.

"I should get going anyway, I have a long walk ahead of me." This time she leaned over and picked up her bag.

"Walking on that leg?" He was surprised that she’d be doing a lot of walking.

"Not as bad as it looks, just smashed the knee a little while ago. It’s healing and I can still get around in the mean time." Her look said more about how her leg was feeling then what she was saying.

"How about something to see you on your way then? More pretzels, a drink, a cab?" He took a few swipes at the bar with a damp cloth, mopping up a few stray rings.

"Thanks, but no. I’m tight on cash right now."

"Are you new in town?" A strange look paced over her face as he asked that and with a short laugh she answered.

"You could say that. Why’d you ask?"

"The travel bag." He pointed to the bag she had hanging from her shoulder.

"Oh" She leaned back onto one of the stools, not fully sitting this time but taking the weight off her leg.

"Have you got a place to stay yet?" Joe was starting to get the idea she probably didn’t, at least nothing legal, and she quite probably didn’t want anyone to know it.

"Nothing permanent. But I have a place to crash, it’s just a bit of a ways away from here."

"How about I pay for the cab and you pay me back when you can." He figured it was the least he could do for the night's entertainment.

"That’s not likely to be any time soon," she admitted, dryly.

"We’ve all had bad luck at one time or another." He didn’t even want to think about some of his.

"Some more than most, but I’ll live," she joked. Joe just reached behind him, picked up the phone and quickly called a cab.

"Well, it’ll take a few minutes for the cab to get here. Do you listen to blues much?" He watched with satisfaction as she settled back in her chair and started munching on the pretzels again. He was going to have to refill the bowl soon.

"Not really, but I liked your performance."

"You make it sound like Carnegie hall or something. I’m not that good." He could feel the heat rising in his face.

"Yes you are," she insisted, "In your venue."

"Do you play?" He nodded over to the stage and the set up of drums, piano, guitar and a few other instruments lying around.

"Not sure." She looked a little uncomfortable for a moment. Not so much at the question, but at her reply.

"That’s an unusual answer."

"I’m an unusual person." She gave a rueful chuckle. Joe just raised an eyebrow. "It’s a long story. Actually what I know of it is rather short."

"Oh?" Joe shot her a confused look.

"Never mind. I wouldn’t want to bore you with it." She tried to down play it and the look in her eyes, the desperation he noticed earlier, was back.

"I thought that’s what bartenders were for?" he teased, hoping to break the tension. She just gave him a look that said drop it, then changed the subject.

"Do you always go for live bands?" she asked.

"As often as we can." he said. "We’ve scraped the bottom of the barrel a couple of times, but there’s a good jazz community out here and they like to play in smaller joints."

"It’s more intimate I think." She looked out over the bar and at the couple still swaying together.

"Yah, it’s always nicer to see who you’re playing for," he admitted.

"Do you usually play up there yourself?"

"It’s a perk of the job." His cocky grin gave away just how much he liked his perk.

***

Two and a half months later, I had managed to spend every evening I could at Joe’s for the most part. The music created an atmosphere that really appealed to me; it let me forget that I was a person without a past and it eased the panic that still rose up in me on occasion. After the band for that day was done, I’d sit and talk with Joe until the wee hours of the morning and though I still kept some stuff at my sanctuary, more often than not, Joe let me sleep in a spare room at the bar.

I eventually confided my story to him. Since I didn’t remember all of it, there wasn’t much to tell but he offered to help me find out who I was. I didn’t want to know and the vehemence of my answer took him by surprise. Since then he let me have my blank past and we talked about the moment and sometimes, a bit about the future. I had no idea what I was good at, or what I could possibly do, but I needed to do something. I couldn’t stay in the anonymity of the street forever.

My leg healed to the extent that I could take the brace off, provided I wasn’t planing on standing on it all day. The joint remained stiff but I could get around well enough. A few of the regulars would say "Hi" but everyone else pretty much kept their distance, mostly because my tongue had gotten away from me a few times with interesting results. There was a whole group of guys from the university who avoided me like the plague.

I still didn’t have a name although ‘Jane’ seems to have stuck. I said it at first as a bit of a personal joke; the only references to me were as Jane Doe. It seemed to suit me though and I answered to it so it would do for now. Joe was letting me help out on the days I wasn’t wandering the city and I subbed in for who ever was late or sick and he paid me enough so that I wasn’t starving. I even got around to picking up some clothing that actually fit. I got enough so that I wasn’t totally disrespectful, but I didn’t want to tread too far on charity.

Right now it was early evening, a bit of a supper crowd had gathered, and there was some taped music piped in over the sound system. I was starting to recognize some of the Jazz and Blues that was constantly playing and pegged this as Frank Morgan. The mournful wail of a saxophone mixed with the sun streaming in the windows and some residual cigar smoke to give the place a surreal, dreamy quality. I wouldn’t have been surprised if a creature from Faerie stepped in. I was close.

Joe was behind the bar and I was sitting at it munching on a sandwich and nursing a pop. For some reason I don’t really like drinking. The door opened, letting in a shaft of light, bringing me back to the site where I first woke up. Shaking my head loose of the memory, I let the music ease the hole in me and concentrated on my food. Joe waved over the two people who came in and they moved over to a spot beside me.

"Hey Mac, I thought you were out of town right now." When I heard the word Mac, my head spun around and I stared at the man beside me. I expected shorter, lighter hair and a leather jacket instead of the taller man with dark hair that was taking off a duster. Joe shot me a glance through calculating eyes and I knew I'd be hearing about this later. Joe was still after me to at least go to the police and see if there was a missing persons out on me. This brief exchange went mostly unnoticed by the two men. The other guy was slightly taller with short, curly red hair. They both had the easy grace of confidence.

"I thought you were supposed to know everything about me, Dawson. And you can’t even tell when I’m due back. I’m disappointed." The dark guy, Mac I guess, sat beside me, but didn’t pay me much attention.

"If you’d quit taking off like that I wouldn’t have to sic people on you." Joe pulled up his stool behind the bar and sat down, his patronizing grin just egging on his friend.

"I have to do something to keep your life interesting."

"You’re more likely to send me into an early grave." The banter between these two seemed like the teasing of good friends, although there was something more between them that I couldn’t put my finger on. There was also something about this Mac guy and his companion that seemed familiar. Not the flash of memory when I first heard his name; this was different. Well, I didn’t want to know, so I let the thought rest and waited for Joe to quit being rude and introduce us. I should have been more patient, but this is me we’re talking about.

"Are you gonna introduce us, you old cripple, or do I have to torture it out of you?" I blurted out.

"Who you calling an old cripple, you gimp. Besides, I need the disability check to keep this dump open." Joe took it in stride and spat back the same. The young red head, however, was staring at us with his mouth open and the Mac guy looked a little shocked. "Jane, meet Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod and his side kick, Richie Ryan, the street punk."

"I must be a bad influence, you’re starting to sound like me." Holding out a hand to them, I waited a moment before it was enveloped in a strong grip, the calluses on Duncan’s hand striking another note off in my head. Ignoring that as well, I pressed on. "Just call me Jane."

"Nice to meet you, I think." His voice held a slight Scottish burr, but it was buried beneath a bunch of different influences that made me think this man had traveled a lot.

"Same." Richie’s hand had the same calluses, but seemed much more. . . young.

"So, how long are you in town this time, Mac?" Joe reached under the bar and placed two beers in front of them. I just dug back into my sandwich deciding not to enter too much into the conversation. The familiarity of the two strangers had shaken me and I needed a few moments to settle things in my head. This continued until Joe pulled me back in.

"Jane, you really need to start exercising that knee soon, or it’ll stiffen up so bad it’ll be useless." He was up to something.

"Not useless, I could still trip people with it." I looked up from the crumbs on my plate, not sure if I wanted to know where this was going. "But you’re right, I need to work on it some more. Just walking isn’t cutting it."

"Well, Mac owes me a few favors and he happens to own a Dojo a few blocks away." He was taking this somewhere I was pretty sure I didn’t want to go.

"Hold on a second Joe, I’m not set up for beginners let alone any sort of physical therapy." Duncan looked a bit like a trapped rat. I was feeling much the same way.

"Joe, what are you getting me into?" This is like the time he invited the cop over to talk to me. I bolted and took off for a week.

"Hold onto that thought for a second," Joe then looked back at Duncan, "She’s no beginner and you did fine with Richie."

"That was a special case and you know it." Mac was starting to look even more uncomfortable.

"I don’t think this is a good idea Joe." I was starting to feel like bolting was a better idea.

"One day, that’s all I’m asking. Test her out Mac. I think you’ll be surprised and Jane, this will do you good." He said it like a car salesman saying ‘Trust me, of course this car will run.’

"You’re meddling again Joe." I was really starting to feel the need to bolt. The only thing stopping me was the fact my bag was in the back room and I didn’t have my lock pick, such as it was, on me.

"You owe me too, Jane." He was playing dirty. "One day."

"One day?" Duncan and I said it at the same time, looked at each other and then we both relaxed a degree more. One day can’t be all that bad.

"One day."

***

It was a sunny morning as I walked to the address of the Dojo. I had my brace on, but I planned to take it off when I got there. Wouldn’t do my leg any good to exercise with it on. What was I saying, I wouldn’t be able to exercise period with the thing on.

Stepping in, I entered a large open gym with a pair guys sparing in one corner and a fairly extensive free weight set-up in another. Raking the fighters over with a critical eye, I picked out a few openings that hadn’t been exploited by the other partner and watched the play of attack and counter, enjoying the familiar smell of sweat and energy.

The red head from yesterday came up beside me, Richie, now dressed in a pair of loose sweat pants and a tank top. "What do you think?"

"Not too bad, though the shorter one needs to improve his balance. He keeps over extending himself."

Richie’s reply was his eyebrows climbing up his forehead. "Mac apologizes but he’s been called away for a little while and he asked me to put you through a bit of a warm up before he gets here."

I’m pretty sure that was on purpose, to discourage me and soften me up before he threw me across the room a few times.

"Let me change first?" I was just sweetness itself.

Half an hour later, I was sweating, but my breath was still steady and nothing really hurt. Much. I knew I’d feel it tomorrow though. Richie put me through the paces with some light weights, nothing more than establishing my strength and flexibility, and then we sparred a little. We’d only gone a few rounds when Richie paused, held up a hand and looked around him. That’s when Duncan finally showed up. I had wandered over to a fountain and was getting a drink by the time he actually walked in.

"How are you doing, Jane?" Duncan waltzed in, a smug, little grin showing on his face. I think he was disappointed that I wasn’t gone already.

"Not too bad. So are you gonna spar with me, or do I have to mop the floor with him first?" I jerked a thumb in Richie’s direction. What little sparring there was with him was pretty relaxed and I was ready to stretch myself a little.

"Are you sure you want to?" Maybe he wasn’t the type to beat you within an inch of your life to teach you, you couldn’t fight. I think he was just annoyed at Joe for saddling him with me.

"Come on, I’m big girl. I won’t cry when you throw me, as long as you promise the same thing." Two can play at the patronizing game. That got to him. He didn’t even change; he just stripped off his shirt revealing a fine set of muscles and kicked off his shoes.

"We’ll start off easy than; you attack, I’ll defend. Nothing major." Oh, he was too kind. Bet he thought he’d be nice, let me get in a few hits and then send me off home like a good little doggy. He had another thing coming.

"If you want." He just stood there, relaxed, not even in a defensive posture. I noticed Richie hadn’t warned him about how hard hit. Gosh darn. I circled him; he didn’t even turn with me, but let me go completely around him. He knew exactly where I was at all times and from his stance, I knew that if I where to attack his back, he’d still block me. Instead I completed the circuit, limping only a bit and ignoring the slight ache in my knee.

When I faced him again, I just threw a feint to his face and followed through with a quick jab to his stomach. He easily blocked them both, not too hard, but hard enough to make the skin sting. Not pulling his punches then. I shook out a hand slowly, making a show of it. It didn’t really hurt, but it was fun to watch the slight knowing grin on his face. To be fair I was giving him what he expected. So far.

I threw a couple more feints, following through every once in a while to test out his reflexes and letting him know what I was doing. His face quickly lost the condescending grin and it was replaced with an honest smile that matched my own. Now that we had dispensed with preconceived ideas, we could get down to the business at hand. A good match.

I started by aiming a spinning kick to his head, pivoting on my good leg. He ducked under this and kept his word to stay defensive. I followed this by dropping down and sweeping my leg just above the ground. A bit of an awkward move, but good at getting the opposition to jump around a bit. I threw a flurry of punches at his head and body, a few getting through his defenses and I heard him grunt a bit as I made contact with his gut.

A few minutes later, I managed to throw him. It was a bit gawky because my knee bent under me faster than I wanted and I ended up on the floor myself.

Picking himself up, he shook out his limbs and stood to face me.

"Let’s take this up a notch then." And that was all the warning I had before I had to go on the defensive myself.

Twenty minutes later, I’d been thrown a few times, once almost across the room, but I was having the time of my short remembered life. I felt this was the part of my life before that I enjoyed the most. The stretching of my limits and testing myself against another person. I wasn’t as good as Duncan, but I still made him pay for every time he threw me. We were both breathing heavily but steady by the time I was getting back up from the last throw. We had gathered an audience during the spar and when Duncan called it quits a brief spatter of applause greeted us.

In a gesture of the moment he grabbed my arm, made a courtly bow, that I returned with a reasonable facsimile of a curtsy (I have no idea where I could have picked that up from) and then we both turned to our watchers and made a grand stage exit.

Sitting down on a bench, Duncan let out a rich chuckle, his face lit up with good humor.

"You were holding out on Richie weren’t you?"

"I was toying with him. Allowing him to maintain his male dignity." I said, keeping the tone light, but I winced a little as I lifted my leg up beside me.

"How does it feel?" He moved over a bit and gestured for me to move it over so he could take look at it.

"Not to bad, though I probably over did it today, as always." I didn’t like the fact that my leg throbbed as much as it did, but I downplayed it. He ran a practiced hand over the joint, flexing it gently.

"You did, but if you stay off it tomorrow, you should be okay. What did you do to your knee any way?"

"Just twisted it really good, then damaged the tendons and banged up the cartilage when I fell on it soon after." At least that’s what I could piece together from what little I remembered and from what I looked up in a medical dictionary at the library.

"Well, next time, we’ll take it easier on you and exercise that knee more gently," he said, easing my leg back down to the bench

"Go easy on me next time and I’ll sweep the floor with you." I wasn’t about to let him baby me when I wanted nothing more than to expand my limits. There was a fair bit he could teach me.

"Is that a threat?" he asked.

"It’s a promise."

***

It was about three weeks later when I found out what exactly Duncan and Richie were. In a way I already knew, I just didn’t realize I knew. I was almost at the Dojo, when the sound of clashing swords drew me to the alley on the far side of the Dojo. I was just about to round the corner when Richie came out and dragged me into the building.

"It’s nothing you want to get involved with," he said, offering no other explanation.

"Richie, those were swords. It sounds like fight." I looked over my shoulder trying to see but not really bothering to break out of his grip. Richie glanced nervously around and then pulled me into the Dojo.

"It was probably just somebody going through the garbage out back, rattling a few cans." He continued his campaign to make me believe that nothing was wrong.

"Richie, that was sword play, not falling cans." Straining all my senses, I couldn’t hear the clash of steel on steel, but I had an idea it was still going on. There wasn’t any static in the air.

"What, people fighting with swords in Seattle in the twentieth century, You’re nuts." He gave out a shaky laugh.

"Listen you weasel," I grabbed Richie by the collar. I’d been on my good behavior the last month, so something was bound to break. I don’t think I was used to restraining myself in my previous life. "I want to know what is going on and I want to know now." All of a sudden I felt a shiver go up my spine and my fingers tingled with the build up of static in the air. I dropped Richie and looked over at the large glass windows that showed the main gym as they started to rattle. Instinct took over and I dived across the desk.

I made it behind just as the glass shattered, sending shards flying. A few moments later the lights followed and burst as an overload of localized lightning raced through the circuits. The computer on the desk started to smoke and I could see the flashes of light flitting from metallic surface to metallic surface, throwing off instant shadows that glared in stark relief.

Finally the static was released from the air, only the smell of ozone betraying it’s earlier presence. Standing up from my spot behind the desk I leaned forward, hands pressing into the glass, trickles of blood slipping down my arms from cuts I hadn’t avoided. I didn’t notice any of this. I was lost in the pounding of my head, the throb of a memory trying to break free.

It was the clash of swords in an abandoned building, the interplay of two masters, both older than they looked. One taller, lanky, the other shorter, wiry. There was a dance of give and take, attack and defense, love and hate, until a step faltered and the dance was over. With savage glee, the shorter man whipped his sword through the other, the point gleaming through the thick blood pouring out the back. "It’s been a while since I played the game. I forgot how fun it is." The English accent betrayed him as a foreigner. Putting a foot on the chest of the kneeling man, he pulled his sword free with a practiced twist. "What is it I’m supposed to say now? Oh yes. There can be only one." With a casual swing of his hand, the sword bit into the other’s neck, cleaving head from shoulders. I made a noise from my corner and the Englishman turned to glance at me, his eyes cold. "I told you not to come." And then the lightning hit him.

Falling back, I managed to catch myself before I fell to the floor but only just. Over the beat of my heart, I could hear Richie rush over to me, but I shrugged him off, my legs now steady. I looked around at the shattered glass, blown lights and decimated electronics. That was definitely a Quickening. Duncan. And Richie? Both of them. They were Immortals; but they didn’t fight?

Running out the door, I headed around to the alley. There on the ground was a headless body and near it was Duncan, down on his knees, sword in hand, still in the thrall of the Quickening. I could already hear the sirens in the distance. Pulling him up by his hand, I glanced up at the sides of the alley. No windows looked in. Good. By now he was coming more to himself and we were at the back door of the Dojo.

"What are ye doin’?" he asked, not really with it yet.

"Saving your Immortal butt, that’s what and your accent’s slipping." I dragged him through the door.

"Why?" He was standing straighter now and looked less shell-shocked.

"I don’t know." Closing the door behind us, I called out to Richie and ordered Duncan upstairs to change as fast as he could. I headed over to the first aid cabinet and pulled out some gauze and tape. Wiping off the blood on my arms with a piece, I let it soak through the gauze and waved Duncan over as he came down the stairs.

"I can take care of myself you know."

"I know, but this will help things along." I reached up and put the bloody gauze on his arm, taping it in place so that it looked like a bandage that was starting to bleed through. "I’m all cut up and you should be too, since we were sparing in front of the windows when it all broke loose. Shoot! Cover that for a second." Once his hand was over the bandage, I flicked as much of the blood still on me on him, making us both look rather messy.

"You’ve done this before?" he asked. I’m sure curiosity was eating him alive, but now wasn’t the time.

"I think so, you want to start looking over my cuts? The police should be in here by now. Where’s Richie?"

"I sent him out to gawk for me. Who suspects the bystanders?" He took the package of gauze out of my hand and reached in the kit for some antiseptic. Dribbling some on a wad, he started to dab at the cuts on my arm just as Richie escorted a few officers in the Dojo.

To be more accurate, it should be pointed out that the officers were more along the lines of forcing themselves in with Richie dragged behind. Time to start the show.